Turkey: The Verdict

For eleven months, when Turks referred to “The Island,” it was understood that they meant Yassiada island, off Istanbul, where former Premier Adnan Menderes, ex-President Celal Bayar and 588 lesser functionaries were on trial, some of them for their lives. Last week the long proceedings on The Island were over, and the end was grim.

When General Cemal Gursel and his military junta put Menderes & Co. on trial last year after seizing power from them in a bloodless coup, the legal case against the ex-Premier and his associates was based on the Turkish penal code, which can prescribe death for those who “attempt by force to change, replace or abrogate the Constitution.” There is no doubt that by vast, showy projects and wild fiscal extravagance, Menderes had brought Turkey close to ruin, and consistently tried to hide the fact by severe press censorship and high-handed rule. But many Turks wondered whether the death penalty was justified for this offense and for the grab bag of other charges raised against Menderes and his fellow defendants in court. Among the charges: inciting anti-Greek riots in 1955, threatening the life of former Turkish President Ismet Inonu, organizing a riot to destroy a newspaper, profiting from the sale of a dog received as a gift from the King of Afghanistan.

Last week, while jet planes roared low overhead, the verdict was announced: death to Menderes, Bayar, two former Ministers and eleven other former government officials.

A Thousand Deaths. Menderes himself was not in court. Guards coming to rouse him in his cell on the morning of the verdict had been unable to awaken him. A squad of physicians was summoned, Menderes’ stomach was pumped and the contents flown to Istanbul by helicopter for analysis. Newsmen were invited to view Menderes—lying on a small iron cot in blue pajamas with a feeding tube up his nose—to scotch any speculation about mistreatment. Istanbul’s medical report indicated an overdose of sleeping pills. Menderes, who had complained of insomnia, had been given pills by prison doctors, had probably hoarded a near-lethal cache in the lining of his suit. Only a few days before, Menderes had observed to a visitor: “Why didn’t they kill me right away at the time of the revolt? This way I die every day.”

Most defendants received sentences ranging up to 15 years in jail; 31 were given life imprisonment, 123 were acquitted, and charges against five were dropped. The death sentences could be reversed by General Gursel’s junta, and there was considerable pressure for reversal. The U.S. and British embassies told the Turkish Foreign Affairs Ministry that they feared serious repercussions if the death sentences were carried out; Indian Ambassador J. K. Atal called on ex-President Inonu, leader of the Republican Party, asking him to intervene and throw his considerable weight behind a bid for clemency. Inonu refused to interfere. As for the junta, a spokesman had stated before the verdict: “We aren’t concerned about foreign opinion.” But Gursel obviously cared for the thoughts of a powerful army clique, which was strongly in favor of executions to “justify the revolution.”

Toward Election. In the end, twelve of the death penalties were commuted to life imprisonment, including that of aging (77) former President Bayar. Unchanged remained the verdicts against Menderes, Fatin Rustu Zorlu, 51, former Foreign Minister, and Hasan Polatkan, 46, former Finance Minister. Less than 24 hours after the verdicts, Zorlu and Polatkan, in white smocks and wearing signs around their necks listing their crimes, were hanged on the prison island Imrali. After the execution, the traditional hafiz (mourners) began to chant over the bodies. Menderes’ hanging was postponed until he recovers.

Ever since Kemal Ataturk, almost singlehanded, built modern Turkey, the country has made impressive progress in democratic rule. It remained to be seen what effect the long trial and its grim climax would have on that progress—and on the free elections that Gursel has promised for next month.