Pioneering Turkish Muslim Actresses: Afife Jale and Bedia Muvahhit's Trajectories in the Turkish Stage

Introduction

Emanating beyond the confines of academia, the poignant narrative of the renowned Turkish thespian Afife Jale has garnered widespread recognition within Türkiye. Amid a pantheon of successors, her tale stands as the most profoundly heartrending. It has been immortalized through theatrical productions and cinematic adaptations. Despite the widespread familiarity with her story, the enigmatic underpinnings of her tragedy have perpetually shrouded it in mystery. In an effort to cast light upon the chronicle of her life, a convergence of political and societal truths has emerged. Afife Jale's story, in its very essence, embodies the ideals expounded by Joan W. Scott. The realm of feminist historiography endeavors to bring prominence to women's narratives, elucidating their endeavors to champion their entitlements and autonomy within historical contexts. It seeks to delve into the causalities behind the historical obscurity that has veiled women's contributions, while also revealing the obstructions that have curtailed their authority and efficacy.¹ This article aspires to achieve this objective by scrutinizing the careers of the first Turkish Muslim² actresses, Afife Jale³ (1902–41) and Bedia Muvahhit⁴ (1896–1994), who commenced their artistic journeys at the onset of the twentieth century. Whereas Afife Jale's stage debut in 1920 coincided with the twilight of Ottoman rule, Bedia Muvahhit made her inaugural appearance in 1923, the very year that saw the founding of the Turkish Republic. Despite this seemingly minor difference, the professional journeys of these two actresses were characterized by stark disparities. Afife Jale bore the weight of authoritarian oppression and persecution, and her legacy remained largely overlooked, even after the Turkish Republic was founded. In contrast, Bedia Muvahhit thrived under the patronage and backing of the political elite, leading to a lengthy and prosperous career.

This article aims to delve into the construction of the Turkish national identity, particularly with regard to the emergence of the Turkish female identity. It contends that the recognition of Turkish Muslim actresses was not a spontaneous development; rather, it constituted a crucial aspect of the nation-building initiative, seeking to shape an idealized archetype of the Turkish woman. Within the broader context of political discourse, the enigmatically tragic narrative of Afife Jale takes on increased significance, revealing her incongruence with the evolving female identity of that era. To provide a comprehensive understanding of these issues, the article first outlines the dimensions of the Ottoman women's movement that emerged in the early twentieth century, exploring its impact on the theatrical domain and the role of Turkish Muslim women on the stage. Building upon the broader exploration of feminist nationalism, this analysis integrates insights from Jayawardena and Lois West to illuminate Türkiye's position within the intricate relationship between nationalism and feminism during its early establishment. This contextual foundation is crucial for comprehending the nuanced dynamics surrounding the idealized image of Turkish Muslim women and the distinctive roles played by Turkish Muslim actresses in the nation-building project during the formative years of Türkiye.

Feminist Nationalism

Nationalism in most Western European countries has historically been incompatible with feminism. Instances of feminists aligning with nationalist ideologies are rare, limited mostly to specific local events. Generally, feminists from the nineteenth and twentieth centuries found nationalist ideologies problematic or opposed to their views.⁵ Anne McClintock articulates this sentiment, asserting that “All nationalisms are gendered, all are invented, and all are dangerous.”⁶ Cynthia Enloe provides an explanation for this perspective, arguing that the enduring patriarchal character of nationalisms over the past two centuries has led to the marginalization of women. Such nationalistic ideologies have frequently rationalized the subjugation of women, concurrently amplifying male pride and consolidating political authority. Enloe posits that nationalism has traditionally originated from memory, humiliation, and hope imbued with stereotypically masculine characteristics, stating, “[N]ationalism has typically sprung from masculinized memory, masculinized humiliation, and masculinized hope.”⁷

Vickers, however, highlights that “the globalization of discourse is dismantling barriers among women,” fostering enhanced communication that unveils a spectrum of diverse experiences. Specifically, women who have transitioned from postcolonial nations marked by national liberation, as well as those born in Western societies but affiliated with diaspora nations, offer distinctive perspectives on nationalisms.⁸ Micheline de Sève, for example, argues that feminists can benefit from aligning with democratic nationalisms. She emphasizes the responsibility of women, as equal citizens, to engage in various political movements, including nationalism. However, de Sève notes a lapse in this objective, particularly among Western feminists, who appear to have diverted their attention:

I have the bad feeling that we missed the point. Stressing specific women's issues in the constitutional debate was totally legitimate. But, somewhere on the road, we let fall other centerground political issues as if they were not gendered or as if they were less women's business. As a feminist, I want the world to be mine all the way through . . . . I sometimes feel that, as women, we still act as if national issues were not rightly ours and that we women, even the feminist ones among us, act as if those global preoccupations could be left to the ‘boys’ to look after.⁹

De Sève states that it is crucial to ensure the presence of both genders in discussions surrounding the configuration of nationhood and statehood. Overcoming any reluctance to assume power and accepting complete responsibility for establishing the governing rules becomes imperative in this context.¹⁰

On the other hand, Jayawardena, in her work Feminism and Nationalism in the Third World, explores the potential benefits women may derive from modernizing, anticolonial nationalisms. Her study delves into the feminist dimensions entwined with anti-imperialist, nationalist movements in twelve Asian and Middle Eastern countries during the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. In challenging the Western-centered view of feminism, her research illuminates its active presence in these regions. The findings underscore that nationalist struggles weren't universally unfriendly to women; instead, women actively contributed to pursuits for both national independence and enhancements in the status of women within emerging nations.¹¹

Expanding on the link between feminism and nationalism, West argues that activists in feminist and nationalist movements deliberately cultivate a shared identity with their national groups, advocating for women's rights within their cultural contexts as part of “feminist national movements.” She underscores the active role of women, stating, “Women in feminist nationalist movements are struggling to define and reconceptualize their relationships to states, nations, and social movements as activists central to the debate, not as passive recipients.”¹² Furthermore, West calls for an examination of nationalism and feminism beyond the women's perspective, exploring the “gendered” construction of nationalism.¹³ Challenging male-centered narratives, West advocates for a deeper analysis of gender dynamics, including male status hierarchies and bonding. Despite variations, West contends that feminist nationalist movements share commonalities rooted in the gendered aspects of women's lives. Notably, she observes that contemporary feminist nationalist movements aim to address contradictions in women's struggles for rights while engaging in nationalist efforts based on kin, ethnicity, religion, or region, termed “feminist nationalist,” transcending narrow perspectives tied solely to culture, ethnicity, or economics.¹⁴

The myriad perspectives on the interplay between nationalism and feminism stem from the acknowledgment, as Vickers posits, that both ideologies undergo temporal evolution and transformative dynamics. This recognition rejects a singular or universally correct form for either nationalism or feminism, fostering diverse viewpoints. The historical interplay between these ideologies varies significantly across geographical locations, time spans, and diverse contexts for women, highlighting the intricate and multifaceted nature of their relationship. Vickers argues that the diverse forms taken by feminisms and nationalisms in different contexts result in varying relationships between them. Both ideologies are shaped by a nation's historical and geographic context within global systems of colonialism and neocolonialism. They also evolve over time, carrying different meanings and effects for women situated diversely in the same country in terms of race, language, ethnicity, and sexual orientation.¹⁵

The analysis, having initially explored feminist nationalism in a broader context, now shifts its focus to Türkiye. This concentrated investigation incorporates Jayawardena's analysis and integrates Lois West's perspective on feminist nationalism. By doing so, it aims to elucidate Türkiye's position within the intricate relationship between nationalism and feminism during its early establishment. Lois West's views not only contribute to situating Türkiye within the broader discourse of feminist nationalism but also shed light on how feminist principles may have been expressed or contested within the Turkish nationalist framework. Jayawardena's insights into the feminist dimensions of nationalist movements, including Türkiye's, serve as a foundational understanding of the intersection between feminist ideals and nationalist aspirations during this historical period.

The article subsequently delves into the emergence of the first Turkish Muslim actresses and their contributions to the nationalist movement and women's liberation. Prior to examining their roles, however, the analysis begins by focusing on the Ottoman feminist movement, the changes accompanying the establishment of the Turkish Republic, and the nuanced dynamics between nationalism and feminism during this pivotal period. This approach is taken to comprehend the ideal image of Turkish Muslim women. Following this contextual exploration, the analysis narrows down to the distinctive roles of Turkish Muslim actresses within the broader nation-building project. Through this, it aims to provide insights into the challenges and opportunities women faced in navigating the complex intersections of nationalism and feminism during the early years of Türkiye's formation.

The Ottoman Women's Movement

In Türkiye, it wasn't until the 1980s that the initial origins of women's organized fight for liberation were uncovered. The women's movement and research into feminist history played a crucial part in this revelation. Through endeavors in both academic and nonacademic feminist circles, as well as within different branches of feminism, a feminist history that had previously been unknown to Turkish women was brought to light. Specifically, the struggles of women during the late imperial period (1869–1923) were unveiled and given the designation of “Ottoman feminism” for the first time within a feminist political context.¹⁶ The emergence of historical studies highlighting the existence of Ottoman feminism challenged the previous official narrative that claimed women's rights were granted to them by the republican regime without their active struggle. These studies revealed that women had indeed fought for their rights and contributed to the history of Turkish modernization, reshaping the understanding of women's role in that historical context. The prevailing discourse had designated Atatürk as the sole liberator of Turkish women, suggesting that women's rights were granted to them through a top-down approach. However, the exploration of women's struggles during the Ottoman period revealed that women not only received rights from higher authorities but also actively fought for those rights. This recognition highlights the agency and active participation of women in securing their rights, challenging the notion that their emancipation was solely bestowed upon them.¹⁷

Expanding our examination of women's agency in securing their rights, it's important to explore the Tanzimat period,¹⁸ a pivotal era marked by significant social reform efforts and the growth of public discourse. During this time, intellectuals known as the Young Ottomans played a role in fostering a vibrant print culture. This was achieved through the independent ownership and operation of newspapers, free from state control. Furthermore, the Young Ottomans engaged in a prolific production of translations and adaptations, introducing new Western literary forms such as plays and novels to Ottoman society. However, women's participation in this initial phase of print culture was limited, as they were primarily relegated to the role of a crucial subject in discussions about social reforms. The Young Ottomans vigorously denounced customs that victimized women and actively endeavored to alter the traditional status of women within the family and broader social spheres. This multifaceted approach included the dissemination of translated works, the production of plays, stories, novels, and newspaper articles, as well as efforts toward educational and legal reforms aimed at improving the condition of women in Ottoman society. Within this context it was through periodicals that women began to find their voices.¹⁹

The inception of women's journals was initiated by male intellectuals of the era, given the constrained involvement of women in the realms of social and political discourse. A prominent example is Terakki-i muhadderat [The progress of Muslim women], which made its debut in 1869 as the earliest dedicated publication addressing women's concerns. Nonetheless, women swiftly commenced an active engagement with this emerging domain, leading to the establishment of their own journals. This transition soon proliferated, resulting in the emergence of a considerable number of women-centered journals.²⁰ More than forty women's journals were published in the late Ottoman period, with the first, Muhadderat [Women's conversations], released in 1868 as a supplement to the Terakki newspaper. Others followed suit, such as Aile [Family, 1880], Âyine [Mirror, 1875], Hanımlara mahsus gazete [Newspaper for women, 1895], Demet [Bouquet, 1908], Mehasin [Beauties, 1908], Kadın [Woman, 1908], Kadınlık [Femininity, 1914], Hanımlar alemi [Women's realm, 1914], Kadınlar dünyası [Women's world, 1913], İnci [Pearl, 1919], and Süs [Ornament, 1923]. Some publications concentrated on issues such as childcare, household tasks, and family affairs; others emphasized the advocacy of women's rights and demands. Many women stressed the importance of education and employment for women, while others expressed grievances over marriage traditions, such as arranged marriage and polygyny.²¹ Among these, the journal that deserves special attention is Kadınlar dünyası, an illustrated journal exclusively published by women from 17 April 1913 to 21 May 1921. Kadınlar dünyası had a female owner, Ulviye Mevlan, and an editorial board comprised entirely of women. The journal was even printed by women. Its title signifies the aim of creating a world for women, and its agenda was centered around this objective. Published daily for the first hundred issues and later transitioning to a weekly format, Kadınlar dünyası represented an independent women's movement and stood out as the most radical among the Ottoman women's journals. Notably, the journal strictly prohibited male writers from contributing to its columns. Furthermore, in contrast to certain publications such as Hanımlara mahsus gazete, which exclusively showcased the compositions of privileged intellectual and literary women of the era, Kadınlar dünyası embraced a broader spectrum by incorporating articles from, and garnering backing across, the full range of societal strata.²² When considered collectively, these periodicals undertook a comprehensive exploration of a myriad of subjects germane to the challenges confronted by women.

Another notable development was the emergence of various women's associations, as highlighted by Serpil Çakır. These associations encompassed a wide range of objectives, from philanthropic endeavors to active advocacy for women's rights. One prominent example of such an organization was the Osmanlı Müdafaa-i Hukuk-ı Nisvan (Ottoman Society for the Defense of Women's Rights), which demonstrated a commitment to advancing women's rights.²³ This period of association formation was particularly significant due to the inclusive structure of the Ottoman Empire, allowing women from diverse ethnic backgrounds to come together and organize themselves. Notable among these associations were the Beyoğlu Rum Cemiyet-i Hayriye-i Nisvaniyesi (Beyoğlu Greek Beneficial Association of Women), the Türk ve Ermeni Kadınlar İttihat Cemiyet-i Hayriyesi (Beneficial Union of Turkish and Armenian Women), the Kürt Kadınları Teali Cemiyeti (Association for the Elevation of Kurdish Women), and the Çerkes Kadınları Teavün Cemiyeti (Association for Mutual Cooperation among Circassian Women).²⁴ These associations played a crucial role in fostering collaboration and empowerment among women of various ethnic backgrounds within the Ottoman Empire during that era.

These developments provided educated women with a platform to voice their concerns, although progress was gradual, and women faced significant obstacles in achieving their goals. Despite these challenges, some women persisted in their efforts and continued to advocate for change even after the establishment of the Turkish Republic, ultimately bringing about important reforms. However, during Ottoman rule, women faced significant barriers to achieving equality, and even the realm of theatre remained largely inaccessible to them, making it a highly contested space in which to assert their presence and rights.

Turkish Muslim Women Onstage

During the Ottoman era, traditional forms of entertainment,²⁵ such as karagöz, meddah, and orta oyunu, were commonly enjoyed by the public. In the realm of theatrical performances, male actors typically portrayed female characters. However, the late nineteenth century witnessed the introduction of Western theatre to the Ottoman Empire. This period was characterized by a confluence of political and social reforms, as well as the increasing influence of European modernity. The advent of text-based Western plays had a transformative impact, with non-Muslim minorities, notably Armenian actresses, being cast in female roles. In 1856, the first Armenian amateur actress, Agavni Hamoyan, made her debut onstage, followed by the first professional Armenian actress, Aruzyak Papazyan, in 1861.²⁶

Over an extended duration, Muslim women were excluded from the realm of theatrical arts. Nevertheless, as time passed, Armenian female performers became a significant focal point. Refik Ahmet Sevengil articulates that “the enunciation errors made by the Armenian performers remained a source of vexation for the audience . . . . The enrichment of our theatre could be achieved through diligent oversight of the plays by individuals well-versed in Turkish, possessing a discerning literary sensibility, and capable of rectifying diction and pronunciation.”²⁷ To tackle this concern, a committee was established comprising Namık Kemal, a distinguished Turkish author and journalist, alongside a cohort of intellectuals. Among their chief obligations was the correction of the actors’ pronunciation. In a newspaper article dating back to 1873, Namık Kemal fervently conveyed his aspiration that forthcoming theatrical performances would closely adhere to the language commonly in use among the audience.²⁸ Over time, this matter lost prominence in discussions as non-Muslim female performers, particularly of Armenian descent, were gradually supplanted by Muslim actresses. Cora Skylstad devotes an entire chapter to this issue and asserts that despite the considerable success and importance of Armenian actresses as pioneers of a novel form of public presence for Ottoman women in their time, more than a century later, their legacy is often overshadowed by critiques of their imperfect Turkish accents. Additionally, Skylstad highlights that the emergence of Turkish Muslim actresses is often portrayed as a natural response to perceived limitations placed on Armenian actresses. She argues that the legitimization of Turkish Muslim actresses predominantly involved a negative process that relied on the construction and critique of specific “Others.”²⁹ In alignment with this viewpoint, the sensitivity surrounding the language spoken by Armenian actors onstage takes on added significance within the political context of that era. The efforts of the theatre committee extended well beyond the mere refinement of actors’ language skills, as they were intricately linked to the prevailing patriotic and nationalist ideals of the time. These ideals found expression and resonance within the theatre, making the correction of Armenian actors’ accents not just an artistic matter but a response to the burgeoning nationalistic sentiments amid the declining Ottoman Empire.³⁰

Within the intricate political dynamics of the time, the gradual departure of Armenian actresses from the theatrical stages occurred, resulting in their relatively limited representation in the annals of theatre history. However, this fading presence of Armenian actresses marked a significant turning point for Turkish Muslim women aspiring to pursue careers on the stage.

It was during this period in 1914 that the first state conservatory, Dârülbedâyi³¹ (Ottoman House of Beauties), was established, initially admitting only male students, both Armenian and Muslim Turks, to its theatre department, with no provision for female students.³² The primary objective of the department was to create a national theatre, with a focus on Western theatrical traditions. To achieve this goal, André Antoine, a French theatre practitioner, was appointed to establish the conservatory. Upon arriving in Istanbul, Antoine faced a major challenge in finding female performers.³³ Theatre was generally regarded as an inappropriate venue for Muslim women, and most people considered it disgraceful for women to attend a play with men. Even plays staged exclusively for female audiences were subjected to harsh criticism.³⁴ In some instances, the same play would be performed for women in the morning and for men at night, with a hesitancy to include both sexes in the audience. In February 1909, the İttihat ve Terakki Partisi (Union and Progress Party) organized a theatre event in Izmir, which women wished to attend. The party allowed women to come to the performance, but a group of fanatics armed with weapons surrounded the theatre and threatened to kill any women who attended. This kind of oppression persisted, and Muslim women who wished to watch a play with men either disguised themselves as men or tried to appear as female non-Muslim minorities.³⁵ The fact that attending a play was such an extraordinary issue makes it clear that allowing Turkish Muslim women to perform in front of a male audience was unthinkable.

Notwithstanding the prevailing societal norms, there were notable figures who advocated for the inclusion of Muslim women onstage. One such figure was Mehmet Rauf (1875–1931), a distinguished writer who opined that for the Dârülbedâyi to prosper, women must be allowed to perform. Rauf emphasized that women should have access not only to the stage but to all spheres of life, and that there could be no progress without their participation. He asserted that theatre could not thrive without women.³⁶ Similarly, Muhsin Ertuğrul, widely regarded as the father of modern Turkish theatre, was a staunch supporter of the inclusion of Muslim women onstage.

I have not been onstage for a very long time. The main reason for this is that there are no Turkish actresses. And I will not appear onstage until a Turkish woman shows the courage to perform with me. One day I stated this in a gathering, and someone asked, “Do you expect them to act onstage unveiled?” I glanced around, most of them were like-minded people. “No,” I said, “We will place a cage in front of the stage, and women will perform in veils, headscarves, and chadors.” Some people laughed. Then I cried furiously, “Of course unveiled!”³⁷

Muhsin Ertuğrul, meanwhile, awaited a daring Turkish woman who would take the initiative to perform onstage. This wish was eventually fulfilled when Dârülbedâyi made a bold decision to admit Turkish Muslim women to study theatre.

Afife Jale

In November 1918, the Dârülbedâyi admitted five young Turkish Muslim women, Behire, Memduha, Beyza, Refika, and Afife, to study theatre.³⁸ Among these students, Afife made history as the first Turkish Muslim woman to perform onstage. In 1920, she appeared in Hüseyin Suat's play Yamalar [Patches] at the Apollon Tiyatrosu (Apollon Theatre) in Kadıköy. Six years later, she described this experience as the most thrilling moment of her life:

The first happy night of my life . . . I was entranced by the drunkenness art supplied my soul. There was a nice scene in the play, a scene in which I cried . . . . I cried with overflowing bliss. I cried . . . . Applause, applause, applause . . . . The curtain closed and opened; they brought me flowers. The curtain closed again. It turned out that Muharrir [i.e., playwright Hüseyin Suat] was waiting backstage. He stopped me when I was going out and kissed me on the forehead and said: Our stage needed someone to sacrifice their life for art; you are that person.³⁹

After her successful debut, Afife went on to perform in two more plays: Tatlı sır [Sweet secret] and Odalık [Handmaiden]. However, her presence onstage was met with disapproval from the authorities, and she was subsequently interrogated and accused of violating Islamic customs, denying her religion and nationality, and being unvirtuous. In 1921, Dârülbedâyi received an official letter banning Muslim women from performing onstage, and Afife was informed a week later that she could no longer work for the theatre. Undeterred, Afife continued her career with the theatre company of Burhaneddin Bey, performing at various other theatres. She encouraged another Turkish Muslim actress named Seniye to join her. It was not until the establishment of the Turkish Republic in 1923 that women were allowed to work at Dârülbedâyi.⁴⁰

Following her ban from Dârülbedâyi and performances in various theatre companies, Afife experienced significant hardships, including financial struggles and ongoing oppression by authorities. Her attempts to perform in different cities were met with further difficulties, leading to nervous breakdowns. In order to alleviate her pain, her doctor prescribed morphine, which unfortunately resulted in her developing an addiction to the drug.⁴¹

During Afife Jale's pursuit of an acting career, her family did not provide any support. In an interview with Özdemir Nutku in 1977, Afife Jale's half-sister Behiye Baturay revealed that the family vehemently opposed her decision to become an actress, citing shock at how someone from a noble and respectable family could pursue such a profession. This caused extreme anger, and the family stopped speaking to her. However, Afife Jale's mother, Medhiye Hanım, continued to support her through their difficult times of extreme poverty. It was only after Afife Jale married a Turkish composer and musician, Selahattin Pınar, in 1929 that the family forgave her, as they believed this marriage saved her honor. However, the marriage did not last long, and they eventually divorced. According to her sister, Afife Jale received other marriage proposals, but she declined them, stating that she was already married to the theatre.⁴²

Afife Jale faced mental health issues later in her life, and she passed away in a psychiatric hospital in Istanbul⁴³ at the age of thirty-nine. Her untimely death raises an interesting question, as pointed out by Nutku after his interview with Afife's half-sister: “The first Turkish actress in the history of our theatre . . . if she was so talented, why was she not called back to the Dârülbedâyi? Nobody mentions this in their memoirs . . . . Now this is an important question that's left in the dark.”⁴⁴ Notably, even after the establishment of the Turkish Republic, Afife was not invited to perform at the Dârülbedâyi, whereas other Turkish Muslim women such as Bedia Muvahhit received support from the new regime to appear onstage. To assess this situation accurately, it is important to consider how the ideal image of women changed with the establishment of the Turkish Republic.

New Image of the Ideal Turkish Muslim Women

As the Ottoman Empire dissolved and was replaced by the Turkish Republic, led by Mustafa Kemal Atatürk, the country underwent significant changes; for instance, anyone residing within the borders of Türkiye had the opportunity to identify as a “Turk.”⁴⁵ The new Turkish Republic, established in 1923, aggressively pursued modernization and departed from traditionalism. The ruling elite implemented a range of social and political reforms, including a “bourgeois revolution” that aimed to separate church and state, introduce universal suffrage, including for women, establish a cabinet accountable to the assembly, and create a secular educational system.⁴⁶ The promotion of women's rights was a critical aspect of the state's efforts to build a nation. As the leaders of the nation endeavored to establish a distinct Turkish identity in contrast to the Ottoman legacy, they grappled with the influence of Islam. The association between women and democracy constituted a pivotal aspect of the ongoing struggle against Islamic forces during this period.⁴⁷ The new Turkish Republic aimed to provide Turkish women with more rights, leading to Turkish women receiving political rights before those in many European countries. Shortly after the establishment of the republic, Turkish women were granted access to a range of educational and professional opportunities. In 1926, the Turkish Civil Code was introduced, enacting significant reforms that included the prohibition of polygamy and the establishment of equal rights between men and women in divorce and custody cases. Turkish women were among the first in Europe to achieve the right to vote, as early as 1934.⁴⁸ In the 1935 parliamentary elections, eighteen women were elected as deputies.⁴⁹

Jayawardena's observations about the emergence of an “enlightened” woman⁵⁰ resonate with the strategic utilization of women's visibility in Türkiye during its early modernization years. In both contexts, there is a common thread of societal transformation driven by Western influences. The burgeoning bourgeois class, influenced by Western education or missionary endeavors, sought a “new woman” in Türkiye just as it did in other regions undergoing similar transitions.⁵¹ The requirements for this new woman were shaped by Western ideals, emphasizing proficiency in foreign languages, adherence to contemporary styles, and alignment with Western customs.

In the case of Türkiye, as part of the nation-building project, the secular state strategically employed the public visibility of Turkish women to project a distinct national identity. Alev Çınar's insights underscore how the female body became a medium for institutionalizing the new secular project of modernization,⁵² mirroring the broader theme of transformation and “enlightenment” in Jayawardena's analysis. Thus, the parallel narratives in both contexts highlight a shared trajectory of societal evolution influenced by Western ideas, manifesting in the shaping of a modern and “enlightened” female identity.

The new ideal national female identity was defined by specific requirements. The first was education. The founders of the new republic placed significant emphasis on the education of women, with Mustafa Kemal Atatürk addressing this issue as early as 1919, during the Turkish War of Independence. The government opened secondary schools for girls and aimed to provide education to the entire country. In 1923, elementary education became mandatory and free for both sexes.⁵³ The government invited education experts from the West, who recommended the establishment of “girls’ institutes” in 1928–9. Although education was not segregated, these schools were particularly popular among middle-class families and aimed to educate girls on how to become modern mothers and housewives.⁵⁴ Education and motherhood became closely linked. The notion that educated women would contribute significantly to their nation's well-being by becoming better mothers and embodying greater virtue through education had emerged in the late nineteenth century within the Ottoman Empire. Following the establishment of the Turkish Republic, the concept that educated women could make a valuable contribution to the nation persisted.

The second prerequisite for the new national female identity was the acquisition of a respectable profession. Women who possessed education and modern appearances were portrayed in various professional fields such as law, art, medicine, and aviation, and their images were widely disseminated in official propaganda materials to illustrate the triumph of the new republic in emancipating Turkish women.⁵⁵ This pattern is exemplified by the pioneering Turkish Muslim actresses, who similarly contributed to this narrative.

The third requirement pertained to clothing. The new republic implemented wardrobe reforms for women. The vestimentary reform of 1925 prohibited the wearing of the chador and veil, as they were seen as symbols of religious oppression.⁵⁶ To promote modern clothing, the new regime initiated antiveiling campaigns, which were crucial in redefining the public sphere as a modern, national, and secular space.⁵⁷ The leaders of the republic endeavored to lead by example, manifesting their commitment by appearing in public accompanied by women who did not wear veils.⁵⁸ This commitment was further extended, as evidenced by the subsequent participation of the first Turkish Muslim actresses in a similar capacity.

The new regime cited scientific reasons to support this change, with objections based on hygiene. For example, a doctor named Ali Rıdvan wrote an essay titled “When Will Istanbul Be Free of the Veil?” to support this argument:

The veil: this black robe of death. If only people knew how hazardous it is for women. This black cloth which blocks all the healthy rays of the sun and transmits only its heat is the enemy of health. Its color and its unaesthetic shape are additional offenses to the sight. When you add to all of these the face veil, which reminds one of the tortures of the Inquisition, the creature suffering inside this elected prison has to be the object less of our pity than our anger.⁵⁹

Jayawardena's assertion regarding the quest for a national identity by emerging bourgeois classes illuminates a complex interplay between modernity and tradition, particularly in delineating the role of women. In shaping the contours of the “new woman,” the bourgeoisie looked to a national culture, steering away from a complete rejection of traditional values. This multifaceted expectation for women encompassed not only the elimination of unjust practices and encouragement of their expanded societal roles but also the concurrent role as custodians of national culture, indigenous religious practices, and familial traditions. Consequently, women were tasked with embodying both modern and traditional attributes. To validate this conceptualization, reformers invoked distant historical eras, idealizing civilizations and emphasizing the imperative to regain purportedly lost freedoms. Within the Turkish context, exemplified by figures such as Gökalp, Atatürk, and intellectuals, the assertion of a distinct Turkish identity was intimately connected to historical references. By evoking the pre-Islamic period of Türkiye and emphasizing the existence of women's freedom among nomadic communities in Central Asia, these figures sought validation for the coexistence of modern and traditional roles for women.⁶⁰ This historical narrative played a crucial role in shaping societal expectations regarding women's roles during the transition from empire to republic.

This transition marked a pivotal change for women. Under the Ottoman Empire, they were confined to private spheres, with restricted access to public spaces. This historical context connects to Jayawardena's observations about multifaceted expectations for women within the empire, reflecting the interplay of modernity and tradition. With the republic's establishment, women gained more freedom in the public sphere and political rights. However, the persistent expectation for them to maintain traditional homemaking roles underscores the enduring tension between evolving societal norms and ingrained gender expectations, echoing Jayawardena's exploration of women's roles amid societal transformation.

Accordingly, after the establishment of the new Turkish Republic although motherhood remained essential, it was presented under a new context. According to Durakbaşa, its traditional significance declined, and it was depicted primarily as a biological function. The domestic obligations of women were transformed as a result of the rationalization of household chores and the emergence of the field of home economics. Educational resources pertaining to hygiene, scientific child-rearing, household technology, and homemaking were disseminated through family and women's publications, as well as through courses provided at schools and adult education programs.⁶¹ In general, reforms did not entirely challenge the prevailing moral standards of the time, as women were expected to bear the “double burden” of being active in both the public and domestic spheres.⁶²

Fatmagül Berktay also agrees that reforms during this period did not entirely disrupt the continuity of patriarchal structures. Berktay points out the continuities between the Ottoman Empire and the new republic, revealing the persistence of patriarchy in a seemingly secular form. The male founders of the republic sought an alliance with women, reacting against traditional authority. Women supported their “nationalist brothers” in the hope of achieving equal citizenship. However, this alliance had its problems, as the “modernist brothers” limited women's rights and attempted to confine them to traditional gender roles. Berktay observes an intriguing alliance between male Islamists and Westernists, spanning across the political spectrum. She argues that Islamic patriarchy has been replaced by patriarchy within the nation-state context.⁶³ In succinct terms, the objective of women's education did not encompass the cultivation of either individual or collective awareness conducive to the establishment of a distinct gender-based social group.⁶⁴ Instead, these reformative endeavors were directed toward the instruction of Turkish women in a manner that aligned with the aspirations of the emerging nation.

Building on Jayawardena's studies, it becomes evident that the dynamics of nationalist struggles underscored men's predominant role as the primary architects of historical change. Men not only led nationalist movements and political parties but also defined the parameters of the struggle, assigning specific roles for women. Despite these constraints, the historical narrative uncovered in these studies challenges the notion of men as exclusive historical actors, shedding light on the often overlooked contributions of women.

Within the Turkish context, it is imperative to acknowledge that the construction of the ideal women's image was not only influenced by nationalist struggles but also constrained by traditional patriarchal norms. This led to the formation of an idealized image of women that, while appearing modern on the surface, retained underlying patriarchal restrictions.

These initiatives, though imperfect, played an immensely significant role and paved the way for revolutionary transformations in the field of theatre. During this period theatre was viewed as a powerful instrument for disseminating the ideals of the new nation. The ruling authorities recognized that swift changes were occurring and sought various means to promote these changes. Atatürk, who was conscious of the potency of theatre, supported its development and commissioned playwrights to write plays on certain topics. He even participated in the revisions and rehearsals of some of these plays, leading the renowned theatre critic, Metin And, to refer to Atatürk as the first dramaturg of the Turkish Republic.⁶⁵ Atatürk was also deeply concerned with how Turkish Muslim women were portrayed onstage and used theatre to propagate a new image of women that aligned with the image of the new republic. In this context, even though Bedia Muvahhit was not the first woman to perform onstage, she was the first to be given the responsibility of helping to convey this new image of women.

Bedia Muvahhit

Bedia Muvahhit, a renowned Turkish Muslim actress, was born in 1897 in Istanbul and was raised in a privileged family on the island of Büyükada. She received a multilingual education, learning French from her governess and Greek from the maids employed in her household. She attended Notre Dame de Sion, a prestigious French high school in Istanbul, where she had the opportunity to work at a telephone company, becoming the first Turkish Muslim woman to work in the public sector during the Ottoman Empire. After completing her education, she became a French teacher at Erenköy Girls High School. In 1921, Bedia married Ahmet Refet Muvahhit, a successful actor at Dârülbedâyi. Despite her family's initial disapproval, they eventually accepted her choice. The couple had a son named Sinâ in 1922.⁶⁶

After her marriage, Bedia Muvahhit's lifestyle took a turn as she became more familiar with the world of theatre and famous actors of the period. In 1923, her husband's friend, Muhsin Ertuğrul, encouraged her to play the role of Ayşe in the 1923 film Ateşten gömlek [The shirt of flame], which was directed by Ertuğrul himself and based on a novel by Halide Edib Adıvar.

Halide Edib Adıvar (1884–1964), a prominent advocate for women's rights, played a crucial role as a female writer in the Turkish nationalist literary movement. Adıvar actively engaged with the political and social issues of the era, and her novels featured nationalist heroines and women who participated in the War of Independence. According to Kucukalioglu, Adıvar's heroines embody the idealized image of Turkish women who are eager to contribute to the betterment of their society and the future of the Turkish nation by actively participating in public life.⁶⁷ The character of Ayşe, the protagonist of Adıvar's novel Ateşten gömlek, serves as a notable embodiment of this idealized image. Ayşe flees to Anatolia when Istanbul is occupied by British forces and contributes to the struggle for independence by working as a nurse. Her love for her country ultimately supersedes her affection for Major Ihsan, symbolizing the bravery and dedication of women who donned the “shirt of fire” during the War of Independence.⁶⁸

The film version of Ateşten gömlek represented a significant departure from the practice of casting non-Muslim actresses in Turkish female roles. Instead, a deliberate decision was made to have Turkish Muslim actresses portray these roles, with the aim of promoting Turkish nationalism.⁶⁹ As a result, the theatrical roles of Ayşe and Kezban, both of which were female characters, were portrayed by Bedia and Münire, respectively. Notably, Bedia commenced her career in acting during the same year that the Turkish Republic was established.

Bedia's entry into the theatrical world was swift, as she made her debut in the same year that a group of actors from the Dârülbedâyi went on a tour to Izmir. Bedia had accompanied her husband, who was participating in the play. Although the company had intended to include a Muslim actress in the performance, they were uncertain if this was feasible. During Atatürk's visit to the city, the company invited him to attend their performance. During their meeting, Atatürk encouraged the inclusion of Turkish women onstage. The very next day, on 11 August 1923, Bedia Muvahhit made her first appearance onstage in İbnürrefik Ahmet Nuri's play Ceza kanunu [Criminal code].⁷⁰ Bedia has described how Atatürk congratulated her that night and encouraged her to continue performing onstage. His advice underscored his belief in the transformative power of theatre. Atatürk advised Bedia to persist and even suggested that she travel to other cities like Manisa and Nazilli to perform. However, he emphasized that her head must not be uncovered, as she was the first Turkish Muslim woman to appear onstage. Atatürk recommended that she wear a headscarf that matched the color of her clothes, asserting that people would eventually get used to these changes. Bedia complied with Atatürk's instructions and, in a brief period, no longer required the headscarf. She later recalled that people had become accustomed to the new cultural practice so quickly that she no longer felt the need to wear the headscarf. She also expressed gratitude for the kindness she had received, as not a single person had reacted negatively toward her.⁷¹

Following Bedia's successful debut, Muhsin Ertuğrul made the decision to stage a production of Othello that featured Turkish Muslim actresses. Bedia's name first appeared in a public announcement for the play in December 1923. The production was staged at the Varyete Theatre and directed by Muhsin Ertuğrul, with Bedia Muvahhit performing as Desdemona and Neyyire Neyir taking on the role of Emilia. This was a significant event as it represented an “official” performance that broke away from the traditions of the Ottoman past. Ertuğrul regarded this performance as a major turning point, stating that “the shackles of bigotry on Turkish women were broken” by performing in front of government officials of the republic in Istanbul.⁷² After the performance, a newspaper reported that what had once been deemed outrageous only two years prior was now being applauded. This illustrated that the country had undergone an “ideological revolution.”⁷³

Bedia quickly gained fame and recognition as an actress. She eventually joined a group of actors from Dârülbedâyi and toured many cities in Anatolia, providing an opportunity for women to attend these performances. This encouraged women to be in the same space as men for the first time.⁷⁴ İzzet Akosman argues that this was the first step toward women's rights reforms and points out that Bedia played a crucial role in these developments, as it was only after her appearance onstage that Turkish women were granted the right to vote and stand for election. Therefore, Bedia should be seen as central to this significant shift in Turkish women's rights.⁷⁵

The establishment of the Turkish Republic presented Bedia Muvahhit with an opportunity to venture into the world of cinema and theatre, as evidenced. Despite not initially pursuing an acting career, her performance in the film Ateşten Gömlek drew attention and admiration. However, it was not until the country's founder, Atatürk, expressed his desire to see a Turkish Muslim woman onstage that Bedia had begun considering a career in theatre. Encouraged by her well-rounded education and her husband's influential connections, Bedia became an exemplary representation of the ideal Turkish Muslim woman, who, unlike Afife Jale, was supported by the ruling political authorities. As such, Bedia was more than merely an actress and assumed an influential role in the political sphere, with Cevat Fehmi Başkurt likening her to a soldier:

Mehmetçik [Turkish soldiers] that saved our homeland with their bravery in the War of Independence has become a godlike monument. . . . But remembering corporals like Ayşe and Fatma⁷⁶ carrying ammunition on their backs during the national struggle arouses a different kind of feeling within us, one that is much deeper and more exalted. Even if we forget corporal Bedia's national struggle of Turkish theatre, history will not forget it.⁷⁷

Bedia not only successfully dismantled the negative perception of actresses held by society but also attributed a new and esteemed significance to the profession with the backing of the newly established regime.

Furthermore, merely demonstrating her acting prowess was insufficient for Bedia; society expected her to have both a husband and a son to conform to the idealized notion of a Turkish woman as a dutiful housewife. Bedia herself actively supported this image, as evidenced by her interviews with magazines. For example, in a 1943 interview with İsmet Hulusi published in Perde ve Sahne [Curtains and stage], Bedia is portrayed in hyperbolic terms as an exemplary housewife, contributing to the construction of the idealized image of Turkish womanhood. An excerpt from the interview reads as follows:

The maid brings coffee. There is an embroidered cloth on the tray. I [İsmet Hulusi] ask:

• – Such beautiful cloth.

• – Oh, you like it.

• – Very beautiful.

• – I embroidered it.

• – You embroidered all the covers on these tables?

• – Of course, I did. Who else?⁷⁸

The conversation between Bedia and İsmet Hulusi was furthered as Bedia highlighted her proficiency in embroidery by informing them that she had embroidered not only the curtains but also the napkins and other household items. As an aside, she mentioned that she was ironing before their arrival, prompting them to request that she continue with her task. While ironing, she opined that a woman's primary responsibility is to attend to household chores and expressed her desire to raise her hypothetical daughter as a homemaker above all else.⁷⁹ The accompanying photographs from the interview depict Bedia with her embroidery, iron, books, and piano, all of which symbolize the aforementioned expectations. Overall, Bedia exemplifies the ideal representation of the new Turkish Muslim woman and made sincere efforts to promote it. The journals opted to convey such stories through the actresses’ recounting, trying to create the impression that these actresses genuinely embraced this identity.⁸⁰ However, what they truly thought or felt internally during such a political period remained obscured and not readily visible.

As is evident, none of the available sources provide insight into the true personalities of these two courageous women. While these sources do illustrate how they approached their social tasks, the intricacies of what they truly experienced during this captivating transformation remain shrouded in mystery.⁸¹ Adalet Ağaoğlu, a renowned Turkish female novelist, asks a similar question about such forgotten women in history:

Why have “those women” been the ones whose inner worlds have been the least of interest? Why haven't they been written about with a deep interest in seeing and knowing? When they were written about, they were written merely from the perspective that reflected their social missions. . . . There was so much to wonder about ‘those women,’ there were so many questions to ask them. There still are. Though we can't get the answers from them anymore!⁸²

Unfortunately, there are almost no sources about the inner lives of these actresses, and those who knew them are no longer with us. This problem is mainly due to the fact that these women were there to legitimize the new regime and new norms of feminine behavior. Because none of the reforms could be realized overnight, theatre and its actresses served a great function for some time—one that helped build a new nation but undermined important woman artists of this era.

However, after examining the lives of two Turkish Muslim actresses in terms of their alignment with the ideal image of women in the newly established republic, we can revisit the query posed by Özdemir Nutku earlier in this article: Why was Afife Jale was never reinvited to Dârülbedâyi despite the establishment of the Turkish Republic? I would add: Why was she overlooked, whereas others, such as Bedia, were supported?

Examining Afife's journey reveals that her path was significantly restricted by the rules and parameters set by men, echoing a phenomenon observed in the broader context of nationalist struggles. Using insights from Jayawardena's studies, which emphasize men's predominant role as the architects of historical change during nationalist movements, a parallel can be drawn to Afife's experiences. Much as the women within these movements had their roles defined by the men who led them, Afife faced constraints dictated by male authorities in the performing arts. The societal norms and expectations framing her career were shaped by these male-defined parameters, limiting the scope of her artistic pursuits. Nevertheless, in line with the findings of Jayawardena's studies, it is crucial to recognize that despite these constraints, the historical narrative surrounding Afife challenges the notion of men as those with exclusive agency in her time. Her story sheds light on the often overlooked contributions of women within the performing arts, providing a nuanced perspective on the challenges they faced, and the resilience required to navigate a landscape dominated by male-defined norms.

The contrasting narratives of Afife and Bedia point to profound differences in their early careers, particularly against the backdrop of the Ottoman period. Afife, commencing her journey during a time of heightened societal oppression against women, faced additional challenges compared to Bedia. Unlike Bedia, Afife entered the performing arts independently, lacking the support of a spouse or children. This absence of familial backing compelled Afife to grapple with societal expectations, leading to a perception of her that diverged from the idealized norm for women, especially given her chosen profession. Beyond societal norms, Afife's narrative includes the complexity of battling an opium addiction, a significant aspect of her personal struggles. However, it is crucial to contextualize this addiction within the broader narrative of her experiences, recognizing it as one element among several contributing to the difficulties she faced in establishing herself within the performing arts sphere. Despite her proactive approach in applying independently to Dârülbedâyi, Afife received minimal encouragement to perform onstage and lacked close associates to facilitate connections with male authorities of the time. In contrast, Bedia's journey unfolded with more support, underscoring the multifaceted nature of the challenges encountered by women in the performing arts during their era. The distinct hardships experienced by Afife highlight the resilience required by women navigating this complex landscape.

In contrast to Afife's challenging journey, it is evident that Bedia's greater fortune and career began through her marital status and the assistance of established male figures of the period. Through her marriage, Bedia gained access to Ahmet Refet Muvahhit's connections, leading to her role in the film Ateşten Gömlek. Bedia admits that she had never considered acting until that point,⁸³ and her first role in a play was obtained as a result of her husband's tour to Izmir. Nonetheless, her hard work, talent, and education propelled her to success beyond acting, including her translations and adaptations of numerous French plays into Turkish. Bedia's accomplishments include over two hundred and fifty performances⁸⁴ and more than three hundred translations⁸⁵ during her long life. Bedia's career in acting spanned more than five decades, culminating in her retirement from the Istanbul Municipal Theatre in 1975 and her prestigious appointment as state artist, an honor reserved for exceptional artists by the government.

It's noteworthy that, in contrast to Bedia Muvahhit's notable achievements in Turkish theatre, it's only in recent times that Afife Jale has begun to gain recognition and receive appreciation as the first Turkish Muslim woman to have had the courage to appear onstage. The Afife Jale Awards, established in 1997 and now the most prestigious theatre awards in the country, have played a crucial role in bolstering her legacy and increasing her recognition, particularly among younger generations. Additionally, Ahmet Sami Özbudak's play Hayal-i Temsil, which premiered in 2015, brought renewed attention to Afife Jale's life and career. Her story has also been the focus of several other creative works, such as Ceyda Aslı Kılıçkıran's film Kilit [The lock] (2008), and Şahin Kaygun's biopic, Afife Jale (1987). Her romantic life, in particular, was explored in Can Dündar's documentary Yüzyilin Asklari [The love of the century: Afife and Selahattin] (2003). In 1998, the Turkish State Opera and Ballet paid tribute to her by staging a contemporary ballet suite, Afife Jale Bale Süiti, which was revived in 2012. Ultimately, beyond Bedia Muvahhit's lasting contributions to Turkish theatre, Afife Jale's accomplishments continue to captivate and inspire audiences today.

In reflecting upon the remarkable journeys of Afife Jale and Bedia Muvahhit, their stories stand as powerful testaments to the enduring spirit and resilience of women in Turkish theatre, challenging societal norms and contributing significantly to the cultural tapestry of their time. Although they navigated divergent paths, both women have left indelible marks on the theatrical landscape, inspiring generations and showcasing the transformative power of determination.