Extra-ordinary cooperation between ordinary Ottomans: creation of the first Armenian refugee settlements in the Syrian Jazira, 1918–1926

ABSTRACT

While the borders of modern-day Syria emerged as a result of partition between two imperial powers, France and Great Britain, in the aftermath of World War I, neither the transition from Empire to nation-state nor the delimitation of its borders was straightforward and immediate. The Ottoman-era connections, cooperation, and trust between various religious, ethnic, and social classes were retained beyond these borders. The creation of the first refugee settlements in the Syrian Jazira is one such case in point.

Drawing on a new corpus of primary sources; the memoirs and writings of Karen Jeppe, a leading figure behind the first such settlements, as well as the Armenian language press of Aleppo and Beirut, this article argues that the first rural settlements created for the Armenian refugees in the Syrian desert were achieved as a result of local cooperation. Contrary to well-established claims that consider these settlements as a colonial undertaking, this article demonstrates instead how collaboration and trust relations between two unlikely partners – Armenian refugees from Urfa, and the local Arab sheikh from the Anezi tribe, were behind the first organised settlements, achieved through the mediation of Karen Jeppe. This article further argues that such cooperation between the ordinary Ottomans was fundamental in the success of the first settlements that did not produce violent clashes between the locals and the new settlers. Instead, the success of the first settlements was skilfully exploited by the French mandatory authorities later to serve as a model for their future, large-scale refugee settlement schemes.

KEYWORDS:

• Armenian genocide
• Armenian refugees
• Syrian Jazira
• ordinary Ottomans
• Arab tribes
• French mandate
• Karen Jeppe
• rescue missions

Introduction

It was as if we had returned to our homeland; Urfa lay on the other side of the river. We were all pleased since we regarded this part of Asia Minor as a homeland. I travelled in my own car, which carried the banner of the ‘Representative of the League of Nations’. Hashem’s personal car followed mine. I could not help thinking that this was by far the strangest connection between the League of Nations, the newest institution of these modern times, and the Bedouin chieftain, the representative of one of the most backward people of the world … (Jeppe 1930, p. 29).

This is how Karen Jeppe, the Danish missionary appointed as the League of Nations (LoN) Commissioner in Aleppo to reclaim Islamised Armenian children and women, described the trip of her delegation to the Syrian Jazira. This delegation, which was headed by Hashem, one of the heads of the influential Anezi tribe, was composed of Jeppe herself, Jeppe’s adoptive son Misak Melkonian, and the notables of Karmudj – an Armenian village near Urfa. One of the immediate outcomes of this trip would be the establishment of the so-called ‘model village’ in April 1924 in a place called Tell Samen, on lands that belonged to Hashem.

The cooperation between the Armenians of Urfa, Hashem the Anezi tribal sheikh, the facilitation efforts of the Aleppo notables, and the intermediary role played by Jeppe was the key to success in this extraordinary endeavour. This article tells the story of this unusual cooperation between the former ordinary Ottomans as a result of which an area of the Syrian Jazira, located close to the Syrian-Turkish border, would be soon dotted by the first Armenian villages. By the end of the 1920s, it would also become a major site for the large-scale refugee settlement scheme implemented by the French mandatory power.

The existing literature has considered the emergence of these settlements predominantly as a French colonial undertaking, achieved in cooperation with the LoN, to tap into a cheap refugee workforce to develop Syria’s economy, on the one hand, and to change the local demographic picture, reinforcing the Christian component, on the other (Robson 2017, Watenpaugh 2015, Watenpaugh 2014). In this regard, historian Laura Robson (2017) has argued that the large-scale refugee settlements implemented in Syria became a main raison d’être for the LoN and the mandatory power alike. Other scholars (Altuğ 2018, White 2017, Altuğ 2011, White 2011), have studied the discourse of the Syrian nationalists of Damascus vis-à-vis the creation of the rural refugee settlements in the Syrian Jazira, highlighting their remarkable opposition. By documenting the Syrian nationalist discourse surrounding the incoming refugees (Armenians, Kurds and Assyrians), these works demonstrated the territorialisation of the Syrian Jazira. They explained how territory only loosely connected with the main cities of Syria was increasingly claimed by the Syrian nationalists. Altuğ (2011, p. 221), for one, documented the discourse of those Syrian nationalists who compared the Armenian newcomers with the ‘Zionist settlers in Palestine,’ concluding that the colonisation of Syrian space by the refugees was without the consent of the Syrians (Altuğ 2018, pp. 167, 168). White (2017, p. 143), on the other hand, went as far as to argue that ‘the modern state of Syria was formed around and against refugees’. Most recent studies have shown that the settlement of the refugees in the borderlands was not only an interplay between humanitarianism and state-building but also an important tool of boundary-making (Tejel 2023, p. 61).

There is also renewed interest in the Arab tribes and the French tribal policies in this region (Barakat 2023, Stocker 2022, Sakatni 2019). However, studies rarely interrogate any interplay or cooperation between the Arab tribes of Syria and the refugee settlements in Syria beyond the Armenian Genocide, the abduction of the women and children and the ensuing rescue missions (Semerdjian 2023, Mouradian 2021, Jinks 2018, Tachjian 2009, Kevonian 2004, Shemmassian 2003, Watenpaugh 2003, Sarafian 2001). The wide-ranging activities of Karen Jeppe, on the other hand, have been studied mostly in the context of missionary and humanitarian work provided to the Armenians before and after the Armenian genocide (Bjornlund and Semerdjian 2020, Jeppe 2015, Cholakian 2001).

Other studies that have specifically scrutinised the Syrian Jazira (Altuğ 2020, Altuğ and White 2009, Tejel 2007a, Tachjian 2004, Mizrahi 2003) have also highlighted the role of the refugee settlements in the delimitation of the Turkish-Syrian border. The emerging border studies, for their part (Tejel 2023, Tejel and Öztan 2023, Dolbee 2023, Öztan 2022, Tejel 2018), have revealed the impact on cross-border trade and smuggling. There is also an emerging interest in exploring continuities and discontinuities after the disintegration of the Ottoman Empire (Tejel and Öztan 2022, Kayali 2021, Abou-Hodeib 2020, Aline Schlaepfer, Bourmaud, and Hassan 2020, Tamari 2011).

These latter studies sought to highlight the complexity by which the transition from empire to nation-state was accomplished in the post-Ottoman space and the delimitation of the new borders was drawn. By doing so, these studies proposed to shift the focus from the capitals and the dominant groups to the borderlands and the local populations in order to acknowledge the agency that these groups exercised and their impact. It is in the interactions of these latter discussions that this article makes its contribution. By telling the story of the first rural refugee settlements in the Syrian desert it reveals a less linear history of these settlements, in which the cooperation and trust relations between ordinary Ottomans, including between various religious, ethnic and social classes, that were retained beyond the borders of the nation-states, were fundamental.

By utilising a new corpus of literature, produced by the actors behind the first such settlements, this article argues that the first villages created for the Armenian refugees in the Syrian desert were achieved as a result of cooperation between two unlikely partners – Armenian refugees from Urfa, and the local Arab sheikh from the Aneze tribe, through the mediation of the Danish missionary Karen Jeppe. All of these actors knew each other prior to finding themselves in the Syrian nation-state, their connection dating back to the Ottoman Imperial era. The article further argues that it was precisely thanks to this local collaboration that the emergence of the refugee settlements did not produce violent clashes between the locals and the new settlers, in contrast to neighbouring Palestine. Furthermore, the French mandatory authorities later used the success of these settlements as a model for their future, large-scale refugee settlement schemes.

This article draws from primary source materials from Armenian language newspapers of Syria and Lebanon, in particular, Suriakan Mamul (Aleppo, 1922–1926), which was the mouthpiece of the Armenian Democratic Socialist Party and (Nor)Pyunik (Beirut, 1924−1926), the organ of the Armenian Revolutionary Federation Party, both of which were active among the refugees (Der Matossian 2023, Panossian 2006). The writings of Karen Jeppe, both in the forms of memoir, published articles and personal correspondence as well as her six pages long article devoted entirely to the construction of the first villages penned in 1930 and reproduced later in Gandsasar, the Armenian language journal of Aleppo, have been central (Jeppe 2015, Kauffeldt 2013, Cholakian 2001, Jeppe 1930). In addition, other primary sources were used, including the archival records of the French Mandate, French diplomatic records, the archives of the League of Nations, and a range of secondary sources.

The use of refugee-produced sources and their treatment as fully engaged actors helps avoid a ‘dehistoricising universalism’; that is, considering these refugees as voiceless victims instead of historical actors in their own right (Malkki 1996, p. 378). Capturing refugee voices and critically analysing them makes it possible to write a different history of refugeedom (Gatrell et al. 2021, pp. 90, 94), one that is uneven and full of contradictions. The result is ultimately a more nuanced picture of both the refugees’ agency and the state’s power over the refugees.

This paper consists of four sections. It first narrates how Syria became a major site for the Armenian refugees, and the ensuing rescue missions to claim Islamised women and children. In the second part, the article explains the interplay between rescue missions, French support and the French colonisation project for the Syrian Jazira. The third part narrates the creation of the first model village achieved as a result of local collaboration without French interference and the far-reaching effect of its success. Finally, the last part explains how French authorities sidelined Jeppe to build their own, large-scale refugee settlement scheme, largely drawing on the success and lessons learned from the first settlements.

The interplay between the Armenian Genocide, the rescue missions and the cooperation with the Arab tribes

In the aftermath of World War I, Syria became a new home for thousands of Ottoman Armenians. Deir ez-Zor, the Syrian desert, was one of the main deportation destinations during the exodus and genocide of Anatolian Armenians that unfolded between 1915 and 1922 (Akçam, 2018, Kieser 2018, Suny 2018, Bloxham 2007, Akçam 2007). According to different estimates, between 1.2 and 1.5 million Armenians were forcibly removed from their homes and sent on death marches by the ruling Ittihadists (Der Matossian 2014, Fawaz 2014, Most of them perished as a result of sickness, starvation, exposure or at the hands of their guards. Those who survived the marches were put in concentration camps without food, water, shelter or sanitation (Mouradian 2021, Mouradian 2016, Kévorkian 1998). In Syria, Aleppo became a major centre for the survivors. The French mandatory authorities estimated that approximately 200,000 Armenians had passed through the city, while 75,000 had resettled in Aleppo province alone (Centre des archives diplomatiques de Nantes (hereafter CADN-SL) 1940. Vol. 575, 8 July). Throughout the interwar years, more Armenian refugees arrived in Syria in several successive waves (Tachjian 2004).

During the deportations, a large number of Armenian children and women were abducted by the local Muslim population (Semerdjian 2023, Watenpaugh 2015, Ekmekcioglu 2013, Rowe 2011). Armenian sources claimed that Arab tribes that inhabited Syrian Jazira, Anezi, and Shammar, in particular, had taken in an important number of Armenian women and children (Dolbee 2023, p. 168, Cilicia 1919, La voix d’Armenie 1918). It was also said that as many as 30,000 Armenians still lived on the Turkish side of the border (Dolbee 2023, p. 209, Macartney 1931, Herardian 1924, Suriakan Mamul, 29 July, p. 1).

The first rescue missions were implemented after the arrival of the Allied forces in Syria in the autumn of 1918 (Jinks 2018, p. 98). As of 1920, such works were led by Karen Jeppe, who, after many years of service as a missionary in Urfa, settled in Aleppo (Bjornlund and Semerdjian 2020, Jeppe 2015). In March 1922, Jeppe was officially appointed by the LoN as its commissioner in Aleppo responsible for reclaiming abducted Armenian women and children.

Prior to her appointment, Jeppe had spent months studying the maps, the arrival routes of the refugees, and the tribes who inhabited the region. She had decided, together with Misak Melkonian, her adoptive son, to settle the peasant refugees, who were crammed into the overcrowded refugee camps on the outskirts of Aleppo, in the Syrian Jazira (Jeppe 1930, p. 28). However, this was not an easy task because refugees insisted on staying together in the cities. In particular, those who were unfamiliar with the region refused categorically to be sent to the desert; they trusted neither the Muslims nor the tribes at whose hands thousands of refugees had suffered just a few years before (Dolbee 2020, Mouradian 2016, Kévorkian 1998). This notewithstanding, Jeppe, in agreement with Artavazd Surmeyan, the head of the Armenian prelacy of Aleppo (1925–1941), sent Misak to Hassake on a fact-finding mission. The Armenian prelacy, for its part, sent father Der Mugrdech, one of the priests of the prelacy, for the same purpose. Misak was to ascertain the attitude of the local and French authorities towards these refugees, while the priest was tasked with collecting detailed information about them (Jeppe 1930, p. 28).

Jeppe and Misak were convinced that such a settlement project was impossible without the agreement of and close cooperation with the local authorities; otherwise, it risked turning the locals against the refugees. Jeppe’s conviction that cooperation with the local tribal authorities was fundamental to success was further reinforced after French mandatory authorities refused her to back an official mission among the Arab tribes to ask the release of the abducted women and children (Macartney 1931). Their first action was a meeting with the chief imam of Aleppo’s mosque, to whom they revealed their plans. The latter was sympathetic and readily provided them with the names of the heads of the tribes in the region who might be interested in this settlement project. The names included Sheikhs Nazem (Shammer), Mijhem, and Hashem (Anezi), all of whom inhabited territories close to the Syrian-Turkish border. In 1921, Jeppe and Misak were presented to Nazem Pasha in Aleppo, who promised his assistance (Cholakian 2001, pp. 41-42). In the spring of 1922, Jeppe was appointed as the LoN’s commissioner. This appointment further enhanced Jeppe’s authority, especially among the tribes. Notably, most of the new target population, the Armenian women and children to be rescued, were held among these tribes.

The first action of Jeppe was, therefore, to invite Sheikhs Hashem and Mijhem to Aleppo to inform them about her new appointment and her new mission. Both sides agreed that the rescued women and men would be settled on the lands that belonged to the tribes, founding new villages and starting cultivation with innovative methods where possible (Cholakian 2001, p. 54). This was obviously a mutually beneficial strategic step; the tribes still retained the same people as cultivators on their lands, while Jeppe regrouped them in ‘Armenian’ villages, returning them to the Armenian nation and giving them a sense of their ‘true’ belonging (Watenpaugh 2015).

The first rescue attempts led by Jeppe’s mission were made in the Syrian desert, in Raqqa and especially in Jarablus, located right on the Syrian-Turkish border. In addition, the mission had permanent agents in several key locations, such as Deir ez-Zor, Hassake, and Ras al-‘Ayn (Dolbee 2023, p. 209). In Deir ez-Zor it was Grigor Haykian and, after his murder, his wife, Satenik (Pyunik 1924, 19 July, p. 2). The rescue missions were initially conducted quietly to avoid conflict with the locals. Jeppe advocated patience to prevent a massive flight of Armenian captives, fearful that this might inundate the Syrian economy and aggravate local animosities (Jeppe 2015, p. xxxiv). One of her preventive steps was her categoric refusal to accept any child born of a mixed marriage with a Muslim father in her institutions (Watenpaugh 2010, pp. 1328-1329, 1336, Cholakian 2001, p. 80, Herardian 1924, Pyunik, 6 August, p. 3). According to Jonas Kauffeldt, who translated Jeppe’s diaries and writings, by adopting the approach of dialogue over force, Jeppe sought to cultivate in the local population an acceptance of the Armenians as people with rights, in other words, to humanise the captive Armenians in the eyes of those holding them and thereby secure their release (Jeppe 2015, pp. xxxiv, xlv). Jeppe’s appointment, and the discussions held with the tribal sheikhs and the Aleppo notables, played a decisive role in convincing Jeppe about the necessity of establishing villages in the Syrian Jazira to settle the rescued men and women to make them self-sufficient. Another reason behind such a decision was Jeppe’s conviction that living in the countryside, with the Kurdish or Arab tribes, was a purer way of life, in contrast to the refugee camps, which she saw as plagued by numerous social issues, such as alcoholism and gambling, to name but a few (Jeppe 2015, p. xxxiii).

The favourable French attitude becomes a catalyst

At the beginning of 1924, the French mandatory authorities became increasingly interested in the works of the rescue mission and even willing to support it. Undoubtedly the trans-border activities of the rescue mission (which the French authorities could exploit during the border delimitation meetings with Turkey ongoing till 1930), the prospect of the colonisation of the Syrian desert in view of the ongoing Christian deportations happening in Turkey (CADN-SL 1922. Vol. 996, 9 November, Suriakan Mamul 1924, 24 February, p. 2, Tachjian 2004, pp. 249-266), and the curious cooperation between the refugees and the Arab tribal sheikhs must have played a role.

The strategic location of the Syrian Jazira, close to the Turkish border and British-mandated Iraq, must have been another factor. During Ottoman times, Jazira was divided between the mutasarifiya of Deir ez-Zor and the vilayets of Mosul and Diyarbekir. Thus, the region was economically connected with the Anatolian hinterlands. After the emergence of the nation-states in the Levant and the establishment of new borders, Jazira was separated from its Anatolian hinterlands. The Syrian Jazira was, therefore, quickly earmarked by the French mandatory authorities as an excellent site for new economic projects that tackled several issues at once. It had the potential to become the vital trade hinterland for Aleppo, developing the entire region. This, in turn, could make the French mandate more popular among the Syrian population and render Syria economically profitable (Velud 1993, pp. 70-71, Velud 1991, vol. 1, p. 50).

The mise en valeur of the Jazira region required the cultivation of its waste and fertile lands. However, to accomplish this, two main objectives had to be met: security and an increase in the number of cultivators. This notwithstanding, French control of the region remained limited; French troops would reach Qamishli only in August 1926, and the extreme north-east of Syria not until 1930 (Tejel 2007b). Jazira was also sparsely populated, mainly inhabited by nomadic Arab tribes, as well as nomadic and semi-nomadic Kurdish populations. While an increase of cultivators could be attained by sedentarising the nomads (which might take several generations), improving the health of the local population, or encouraging the resettlement of a new peasant population, none of these goals could be achieved overnight (Velud 1991, vol. 2, p. 455). In the meantime, a quick and easy option promising immediate results was to channel the refugee flow or encourage the refugees to settle in this far-off region, 350 km away on a semi-desert road from its closest major city – Aleppo.

Thousands of Christian Armenian refugees, meanwhile, were living in overcrowded camps in almost all the major cities of Syria and Lebanon. Moreover, new deportations of Christians were underway in Turkey (Tachjian 2004, pp. 249-266). The spontaneous settlement of refugees in the countryside, in Kirik Khan (Alexandretta) and along the Syrian-Turkish border, had transformed the landscape almost immediately. Kirik Khan, for example, was a mere caravanserai before 1922, while after the arrival of the refugees, it had become a town. By the end of 1923, the population of Kirik Khan reached 5,000, when about 3,500 Armenian refugees arrived there together with Lazarist priests (CADN-SL 1932. Vol. 573, Louis Jalabert 1933, pp. 57-62).

The French interest in the rescue missions and the creation of new settlements in Jazira was not, therefore, accidental. Since lack of security made it impossible for the French to initiate any refugee settlements itself, direct and indirect support was, however, extended to the rescue mission. With French consent, an official representative body, composed of two Muslims and two Christians, was formed in Deir ez-Zor at the beginning of 1924, and was authorised to look for captives in Muslim households. In March 1924, Grigor Haykian was officially employed by Jeppe's mission in Hassake with close collaboration with the Catholic priest in Mardin, across the Syrian-Turkish border. Another Catholic Armenian, Vasil Sabagh, a former merchant from Urfa, used his prior commercial connections to facilitate the release of many Armenians from the Kurdish households of Mardin (Jernazian 1990, pp. 130, 156-157). Through this cooperation, 50 orphans soon arrived from across the border. The efforts of the rescue mission were facilitated by the French military and officials deployed in the region (Pyunik 1924, 19 July p. 2). By the end of May 1924, 546 new ex-captives had arrived, 326 boys and 220 girls (Pyunik 1924, 30 July p. 3).

French indirect involvement, the efforts of the French delegate in Deir ez-Zor, in particular, were acknowledged by Jeppe (1930, p. 28). This support was, first of all, psychological, since the refugees felt protected. Second, French support (both direct and indirect) was also important in the acquisition of land parcels and registration of these lands. The main particularity of the lands available in the Syrian Jazira was the fact that large parcels of land had previously belonged to the Sultan and now belonged to the state. Whoever could prove the cultivation of any parcel of land for ten consecutive years was recognised as the owner (Velud 1993, Dolbee 2017, p. 123). Herardian, one of Jeppe’s collaborators, explained that ‘under the favourable French attitude towards the mission, we have a wide activity arena before us. We may even be able to gather in Syria a large number of refugees, as happened in 1918’ (Herardian 1924, Pyunik, 30 July, 2 August, p. 3, Suriakan Mamul, 24 July, p. 1).

For the French, the plan was to establish their control, and then settle refugees, since ‘the security question is of fundamental importance to the stability for the refugee centres’ (CADN-SL 1927. Vol. 571, p. 11). While such security was achieved only years later, in the meantime spontaneous settlements were created by the refugees themselves. Since many refugees originally came from the region and owned lands and orchards on the Syrian side of the border, they willingly settled across the border, encouraged by the French military presence. Reportedly, these settlers wished to be closer to their former homes in the hope that they could return, depending on positive developments in the future. This was the case, for example, in Azez (located between Aleppo and Kilis), where about 1,200 Armenians, mostly from Kilis, settled. Many others who came from Urfa, Berejik and Seruj settled in Jarablus, Tell Abyad, ‘Ayn Arus, Ras al-‘Ayn, and Manbij (Cholakian 2001, p. 107).

In the case of the Armenians from Urfa, they had already started to establish new villages on the other side of the Euphrates river as of 1908, which, after the creation of the new states, lay in Syria. Three such villages were established before the Armenian Genocide (Cholakian 2001, p. 107). The same situation prevailed in Jarablus, another border village, which had 2,000 Armenians, who came from Aintab and Urfa, and within a short time, already had their church and school. Pyunik, which had supportive attitude towards the French mandate and its ‘civilising mission,’ declared explicitly that ‘thanks to the French military presence, they (Armenians) are a majority in Jarablus with about 200 families’ (Pyunik 1924, 24 December, p. 2). By the end of 1924, there were about 2,000 Armenians in Jarablus to whom land had been given free of charge. In Arab Bunar, the Armenians already had 35 shops, while in Azaz, the local Muslims had warmly hosted the refugees (CADN- SL 1924. Vol. 575, 30 December). The Pyunik reporter testified that, all over northern Syria, from the banks of the Euphrates to the Mediterranean, one could find many small Armenian colonies (Seto, Pyunik 1924, 12 November, pp. 1-2).

The first refugee settlements, thus, became a reality without any direct French intervention. French indirect support, however, was fundamental, in particular their willingness to allow new settlements in close vicinity to their military posts. It is in this context that the rescue mission wished to establish a village to provide agricultural work, thus emptying the overcrowded refugee camps of people who did not have families but were familiar with the peasant life, making the refugees self-sufficient. In the case of former captives, it would prevent their return to their former masters, since many had spent years among the tribes and found it difficult to adapt to the urban live. Many women, in their turn, had tribal tattoos on their faces, and equally preferred countryside over towns ashamed of their appearances (Semerdjian 2023, pp. 149-220). Another advantage was the generation of additional income to finance the activities of the mission. The plans to establish a village were concretised in view of the newest deportations of Christians happening in Kemalist Turkey and their readiness to collaborate with the Arab tribes. The next chapter tells the story of the creation of the first such settlement.

The Armenians of Karmudj and the Aneze tribe: The lasting Ottoman-era connections

In 1923-1924, new deportations were underway in Turkey. As a result, the inhabitants of Karmudj Armenian village, who had been dispossessed and massacred during the Armenian genocide, found themselves in Aleppo again.

Karmudj was a tiny Armenian village close to Urfa, with extensive orchards, as well as vegetable and fruit gardens. For decades, it had served as the main marketplace for many tribes in the region, while its Armenian inhabitants had been intermediaries between the tribes and the merchants of Urfa. For their unique role, the villagers were protected by the tribes in the desert. This is why, once in Aleppo, they appealed to Hashem Pasha, whom they knew well, expressing their wish to be settled under his rule as cultivators. Afraid of being subjected to ruthless exploitation like other villages in the Pasha’s possession, they insisted that Jeppe should be an intermediary. The choice of Jeppe was obvious for several reasons. First of all, she was not entirely unknown to Hashem or the villagers of Karmudj. Jeppe had spent many years as a missionary in Urfa, having arrived there in 1903. Moreover, in 1909, she had bought a parcel of land not far from Karmudj, in a place called Medjeidé, planting orchards and vineyards, and building a summer residence for her orphans. Notably, Medjeidé, before becoming safe and prosperous in the hands of Jeppe and her team, had been famous as a centre for robbers that people avoided even during the daytime. Within a short time, the farm became a stabilising factor in the region (Kauffeldt 2013, p. 85). During the Armenian Genocide, Jeppe and a few of her protégés spent months in the vineyard with the help of some local Kurds and Bedouin and especially Lezgi Osman, a local outlaw and famous sheikh from the village of Karmudj, who shielded Jeppe from harassment by the Ottoman gendarmerie (Kauffeldt 2013, p. 88; Cholakian 2001, pp. 31-33). Moreover, with the help of the local Kurds and Bedouin, a network of escape routes was developed. Once hiding was rendered impossible, many of her team members were hosted by the Anezi tribe under Muslim names. They had also spent some time with the tribe before arriving in Aleppo with the support of the tribespeople. Thus, the trust had already been established between Jeppe, her team, and the Anezi tribe. Secondly, Jeppe’s appointment as the LoN’s commissioner in Aleppo had considerably strengthened her reputation (Cholakian 2001, pp. 109-110).

This is why, when the villagers of Karmudj appealed to Hashem Pasha, the latter arrived in Aleppo immediately. He wished to build a new ‘Medjeidé’ on lands belonging to him, in a place called Tell Samen (Jeppe 1930, p. 29). An agreement was quickly concluded between the sides. It was decided that Misak was to be relocated with the peasants and, in the beginning, only 59 families from Karmudj were to be settled on the site. A delegation composed of Jeppe, Misak some notables of Karmudj and headed by Hashem travelled to Tell Samen immediately (Jeppe 1930, p. 29). The delegation was first greeted in Raqqa by the French military units, before heading to Tell Samen.

Tell Samen was 36 kilometres away from Raqqa in the direction of Urfa and 245 kilometres east of Aleppo. It was located on the banks of the Balekh river, in a place with abundant water and fertile soil, which was nevertheless abandoned and mainly uncultivated (Suriakan Mamul 1924, 10 June, p. 2). A few wheat fields were already seen here and there. Although the Euphrates River ran close by, irrigation was impossible without interventions that required money and engineering knowledge. One of the first preoccupations of the sheikh was to build a dam to prevent conflicts between the new settlers and the locals. The system in place was simple: a wall of grass, ready to collapse at any time, by which peasants directed water towards their fields. According to the agreement, Jeppe was to cover half the expenses of the new dam in exchange for having the right to use the water (Archives of the Societé des Nations (hereafter, ASDN) 1925, C1430, 14 September). Hashem immediately honoured his promise by paying his share. He was also to cover the expenses for the construction of the houses, which started at once. Grains were provided, and vegetables and cotton were planted immediately, with the understanding that the harvest was to be divided. This practice called tenant farming, or sharecropping, Syria had inherited from the Ottoman era. The sharecropper owed the property owner two-thirds of his yield in return for a plot of land, seeds, animals and living expenses (for a similar arrangement in Palestine, see Shafir 2012, p. 205).

The families of the first settlers joined their family heads in Tell Samen at the beginning of June 1924. They were also joined by several newly rescued persons, who soon formed families.

Herardian explained that Hashem Pasha wished to use Armenian labour to create a model village in the region to boost his own prestige. His suspicions of the French provided further motives for his participation in the project (Herardian, Suriakan Mamul 1924, 24 July, p. 2). Hashem’s relations with the French mandatory authorities were problematic. During the French-Turkish confrontation in Cilicia, when it was not yet clear under whose control Jazira would fall, Hashem and his cousin Mijhem made a strategic decision that would allow them to profit from the situation regardless of the outcome of the confrontation. Hashem, who carried the title of ‘President of the Patriotic Movement of the Jazira’, had passed to the Turkish side while his cousin moved to the French side, waiting for the conflict’s conclusion (Dolbee 2023, p. 213, Kayali 2021, Jeppe 2015, p. iii). The agreement was reached that the winning side had to accept the other part of their tribe. As it happened, the French retained control of the Syrian Jazira; thus, Hashem was considered politically suspect by the French and even by certain members of his own tribe (Jeppe 1930, p. 28). In addition, he had taken on many debts to reinforce his authority over his community and struggled to pay them back because of the economic hardship that had plagued Syria during these years. As a result, Hashem, like many other tribal chiefs, felt he was losing the ground under his feet. New strategies and partners were required to re-establish his former dominant position in the region.

During this time French authorities, on their part, were eager to sedentarise the Arab tribes. This was done by close cooperation with the tribal chiefs, who were made privileged interlocutors of the French authorities. Tribal chiefs were also kept accountable for the actions of the entire tribe (Velud 1991, vol. 3, p. 456). Gradually, these chiefs were encouraged to claim waste parcels of land for themselves in order to keep their former political and social status. The French willingly ceded these areas with only one condition – that they must be cultivated. The tribal chiefs, on their part, often entered into negotiations with peasant populations, usually Kurdish or Christian, to cultivate their lands. This was why Hashem decided to cultivate the lands owned by his tribe with the help of the Armenian refugees. Besides, since Armenian refugees enjoyed the protection of the LoN, Hashem had hoped to boost his own authority among the tribes by establishing closer relations with them (Cholakian 2001, p. 109).

Jeppe’s mission was to provide human resources and modern tools. Hashem was very enthusiastic about this joint endeavour, since his deserted village was to be revived; moreover, new scientific methods were to be introduced there, making his village a model for the entire region (Pyunik 1924, 30 July, p. 3).

As for Jeppe, she later explained that the aim was to instil confidence in the refugees, who would then agree to leave the overcrowded camps on the outskirts of Aleppo to settle in the countryside (Jeppe 1930, p. 30). Jeppe also had other hopes for the settlement. She aimed to trigger a spontaneous flow of captives to the model village, where they would feel protected. These secretly cherished hopes would pay off shortly afterward when 50 new orphans arrived, having escaped from their former lords (Jebejian 1996, pp. 83-84).

Furthermore, Jeppe was convinced that the Armenians were well suited to improve agricultural production in Syria and that their presence would help bolster the rural economy by improving efficiency and yields (Kauffeldt 2013, p. 111). It must be said that Jeppe was greatly inspired by the Jewish colonisation happening during the same time in neighbouring Palestine, which she visited in 1924:

All the while it is exceedingly interesting to see the two worlds meet. At times one passes through orange groves, interspersed with vineyards, olive gardens and swaying palm trees, and within the gardens, one can see well-built houses; everything is enveloped in prosperity. Those are the Jewish colonies. Right next to them lie clusters of filthy clay huts without a tree, reflecting the familiar image of the Oriental landscape. Those are the Arab villages. The English surely know what they are doing by ‘bringing in’ Jews to Palestine. Now I truly understand the issue at its core (Kauffeldt 2013, p. 115).

Jeppe immediately drew parallels between the Jewish settlements and those of the Armenians in Syria. Armenians were expected to have the same transformative effect in Syria, although the enormous difference in the available financial resources for their settlement compared to the Jewish ones was acknowledged (Jeppe 2015, p. lvi). Jeppe’s cooperation with the French mandatory authorities became easier after the new French High Commissioner, Henri de Jouvenel, had a similarly inspiring visit to Palestine (Kévonian 2004, p. 459).

Notably, Armenian newspapers also began to highlight the importance of agriculture for the development of Syria and the potential of Jazira in this regard. Pyunik, for example, although acknowledged the importance of agriculture, it also attributed a greater role to the French mandate which was expected to lead the progress. It compared Jazira with the Nile Valley in Egypt, which was backward during Ottoman times but prospered under the British thanks to its mise en valeur (Pyunik 1924, 18 June, p. 1). The paper also reported on the construction of important routes and bridges in Deir ez-Zor and other significant French initiatives (Pyunik 1924, 21 June, p. 3).

It was in this context that the first refugee settlement was created. The land in the new village was worked by the newest European machines; indeed, tractors appeared there for the first time in the region. This gave better results compared to the traditional methods used by neighbouring Arab fellahin. The latter observed the construction of the village closely, and soon they were imitating the newcomers’ system of planting cotton and vegetables (Pyunik 1924, 13 December, p.1, Jeppe 1930, p. 30).

Jeppe testified that Hashem had managed to convince many of his tribespeople that ‘agriculture is the future’, encouraging them to ask for advice from Misak and the Armenians (Jeppe 1930, p. 30). The locals became even more convinced when, because of the harsh winter, they had no wheat but could buy from the new settlers, who not only had enough but were able to sell some in the first year of their arrival (ASDN 1925, C1430, 14 September). However, this was not all: other tribal sheikhs also approached Jeppe, including Medavat and Mijhem, as all of them wished to have similar villages in their domains cultivated by the Armenian refugees.

At the same time, Jeppe also realised the need to establish strong and lasting cooperation with the locals to avoid any land or water disputes that would endanger the lives of the new settlers. This was done, for example, by making sure that the access to medical care and education enjoyed by the Armenians was also extended to the neighbouring villages. Sometimes, technical support was provided to the Syrian peasants directly in order ‘to alleviate poverty and cultivate goodwill’ (Kauffeldt 2013, pp. 116-118). This may also explain why there were no major land disputes in the Syrian Jazira between the locals and the new settlers in contrast to neighbouring Palestine. Although Jeppe had high esteem for the Zionist colonisation, her activities in Syria differed fundamentally, in that it was not settler colonialism which essentially aimed to ‘supplant the indigenous population’ (Robson 2020, Wolfe 2012). Jeppe neither aimed to dispossess the natives, nor she purchased the lands on which the new tenants were settled, nor the historical conditions in the Syrian Jazira were similar to that of Palestine. Palestinian fellahin had experienced dispossession in the hands of the German Templers well before the Zionist colonisation (Li 2015, Yazbak 2012). Instead, Jeppe’s activities ‘implanting refugees on marginal lands for agricultural colonies’ drew greatly on the refugee settlement policies implemented previously in Jazira by the Ottoman authorities who settled there Chechens and aimed to sedenterise the Arabic tribes (Dolbee 2023, pp. 45-58, 214).

Although Tell Samen was entirely surrounded by Kurdish, Turkish and Arab villages, it was well protected by night guards as well as French military units. Misak and the newcomers were respected by all the tribes, who also protected the new cultivations by not allowing their animals to graze nearby. Jeppe explained this success by the fact that a ‘mysterious foreigner’ was behind the project, who rarely appeared in the region, and who, in her turn, was supported by the equally mysterious and fear-provoking ‘League of Nations’, a powerful name for the locals (Jeppe 1930, p. 30).

Refugee settlements enjoyed not only the support of the tribes, the local peasants and the French military units but, most importantly, that of the local government, which was facilitated by the Sheikh (Jeppe 1930, p. 31). Hashem Pasha declared everywhere that the new settlers belonged to the Aneze tribe; thus they no longer were considered a foreign element in the countryside. Not surprisingly, Hashem’s grave became an important pilgrimage site for both his tribespeople and the settled Armenians. He was referred to as the ‘Grand Old Man’, who had managed to improve the economic conditions of his tribe and establish peace and security in the region (Jeppe 1930, p. 30).

In the summer of 1924, Jeppe and her team participated in the Agricultural Exposition of Aleppo and presented the achievements of the model village (Pyunik 1924, 21 June, p. 3). In parallel, Jeppe gathered 35 Armenian notables in Aleppo to present the success stories of the past two years. She spoke in fluent Armenian and used the opportunity to plead for Armenian support for her rescue missions (Pyunik 1924, 21 June, p. 3). She argued that, although the results were satisfactory, and about 200–250 captives were rescued annually, it would take many years to rescue them all. More financial resources were needed, especially as the LoN funding was to end in 1925. Every Armenian national body was to stand by since, ‘If it is a humanitarian action for the foreigners, it is an important way of nation-building for the Armenians’ (Pyunik 1924, 2 August, p. 3).

One year later, Nor Pyunik reported that despite many difficulties (such as a bad harvest due to an unusually cold winter, the distance from the main cities to sell the vegetables and high transportation costs), neither Hashem nor Jeppe was disappointed. Instead, they provided more seeds to the new settlers. The difficulties notwithstanding, the village was free from the financial and social issues that plagued the camps in the cities. It encouraged the Armenian notables and local authorities to give greater importance to such projects. Moreover, soon Nor Pyunik reported that just 12 km from this village, another Armenian village, Sheikh Isa, had emerged with 20 houses. The village belonged to the uncle of Hashem Pasha, Sheikh Mijhem. This village had nothing to do with Jeppe’s village since peasants had agreed directly with Sheikh Mijhem and were reportedly happy. It was said that the French military units protected both villages (Nor Pyunik 1925, 30 September, p. 1).

In the autumn of 1925, two new rescue stations were opened by Jeppe in Arab Bunar and Bab that specifically aimed to liberate Armenians captured by the Kurdish tribes who fled to Syria as a result of the Sheikh Said rebellion (Tejel 2007a, Tachjian 2004, Olson 1998, van Bruinessen 1992).

In the report submitted by Jeppe, it was clearly mentioned that all the rescue stations opened by her team in remote regions were usually close to French military forces, ensuring their safety. The military also delivered laissez-passer to the Armenians, who could travel through Syria without any trouble (Centre des Archives des Affaires Étrangères (hereafter MAE) 1927, vol. 50/382. 28 July). The presence of the French soldiers in these remote places and their eagerness to protect the Christians drew new refugees, who settled along the Syrian-Turkish border and were engaged in cross-border trade.

By the spring of 1926, the region was dotted with more Armenian villages. Besides Tell Samen, which sheltered 120 persons and had its own school and church, there were new ones. 'Ayn-Isa, a two-hour drive from Tell Samen, had 47 families, 22 Armenian and 25 Arab. The village belonged to Melhem Pasha, and the Armenians were settled there with the agreement of Jeppe and the Pasha. Not far from Tell Samen, 45 refugees (12 families) founded Khirbet Rez, which was owned by a Muslim from Urfa. Another 40 refugees from Urfa (11 families) were settled in 'Ayn Arus. Twenty-nine families had founded a new village close to the railway in a place called Tell Abyad, opening up shops and working the land. Three train stations west towards Tell Abyad was Arab Bunar, where 317 people (85 families) and several Armenian-speaking Assyrians were settled. In addition, there were 60 Armenians who owned shops in Arab Bunar, but had left their families in Aleppo. It was said that many Turks crossed the border to shop here. Finally, Raqqa, the largest city in the region, had 285 Armenians (90 families), mostly craftsmen and shopkeepers. Reportedly, the new settlers had good relations with the local population. The local government had provided them with land, free of charge, to construct houses and a chapel (Suriakan Mamul 1926, 4 April, p.3). The same process was occurring in the countryside of Aleppo. Here, the number of Armenian refugees was even greater; 1215 persons (200 families) in Jarablus, 311 persons (79 families) in Manbij, and 178 people (45 families) in Bab (Suriakan Mamul 1926, 14 April, p. 3).

The French takeover

As early as September 1924, merely months after the establishment of the ‘model village,’ Jeppe appealed to the LoN, highlighting the rapid success of her settlement project as a solution to the growing refugee problem and a natural extension of the LoN’s sponsored rescue mission:

No element could even be more suited for the colonisation of this country than these young Armenians with all the energy of their race tingling in their veins, acclimatised and accustomed to the village life among the Arabs. The colony would attract them in thousands and enable them to become Armenians again under the most favorable conditions, with a prospect of future, prosperity before them, utilising that which seemed the greatest obstacle, their ‘Arabisation’ to build up a strong and thriving peasantry fit to understand and to be understood by the native population. Then, we would have erected in this remote place a monument to give evidence of the salutary activity of the League of Nations in the world (Kauffeldt 2013, p. 112).

She then demanded immediate financial support for her colonisation projects, arguing that they would be a success, not only for the mandatory power but also for the LoN. Her calls for financial support and for widening the scope of her activities continued in the coming years. The ‘moral support of the League’ was enough to instil confidence in the refugees and persuade them to leave the overcrowded refugee camps for the countryside. Moreover, ‘while the misery of the Armenians in the camps is frightening many away who wanted to return to their people, the prosperity of the colonies attracts them’ (ASDN 1926, C1430, 10 August).

The French mandatory authorities were soon praised publicly by the League’s Mandate Commission for their ‘wonderful humanitarian action’ (belle action humanitaire), after Jeppe announced that ‘the closer collaboration with the Mandatory Power has proved a real success’ (ASDN 1926, C1430, 10 August). The next year (1927) she would declare that her rescue efforts were backed and supported by the ‘French government whole-heartedly’ (MAE 1927, vol. 50/228, 28 July). In yet another report she would reveal to the League that, ‘there is no political obstacle to this scheme. The High Commissioner himself had asked me to found as many Armenian villages as possibly I could’ (ASDN 1926, C1430, 31 January, p. 7).

By this, a new layer – ‘humanitarianism’ – was readily and unexpectedly added to the French ‘modernisation’ and ‘civilising mission’ in Syria. This new layer was not only fashionable in the 1920s but was much more effective in enhancing prestige than the previous two.

But, as Jeppe was calling on the LoN to seize the colonisation initiative, the French were becoming increasingly wary of ceding power to the League and Jeppe. Riffye, the French Acting High Commissioner, claimed that although the French ‘humanitarian efforts’ had been praised, they were largely overshadowed by Jeppe. He penned a lengthy report highlighting that the French had also made financial inputs to refugee care, spending over 1,329,000 francs in the years 1922–23, creating facilities for the refugees by issuing free-of-charge laissez-passer, and providing medical checks by French military doctors. In addition, almost everywhere, the local authorities had protected and helped the refugees settle (CADN-SL 1924, vol. 575, 30 December). Thus, the French efforts ought to be better known, ‘for they were much more important than the works of Jeppe’. Besides, her work could not succeed without efficient cooperation with the French. Not only did Jeppe’s work overshadow French mandatory efforts, but it was also dangerous. In particular, it could endanger relations with Turkey and the local tribes; one of her agents had recently been killed after liberating an Armenian woman. In short, Riffye cautioned against Jeppe’s activities and advised that she should be replaced by a French representative to continue her work of settling the refugees in agricultural colonies (CADN-SL 1924, vol. 575, 30 December). This recommendation was followed in the context of improved French-LoN cooperation and under the pretext of a lack of finances. Jeppe’s rescue mission ended its activities at the end of 1927 after having rescued 1484 captives (Bilgin et al. 2014).

In the aftermath of the Syrian Revolt, the collaboration between the French mandatory power and the LoN entered a new phase, when the latter together with the International Committee of the Red Cross (ICRC) agreed officially with the French to start large-scale refugee settlement in Syria and Lebanon (Kévonian 2004, p. 461, Abrahamyan 2023). In July 1926, George Burnier arrived in Beirut as the joint representative of the LoN, the ILO, and the ICRC.

It was in this context that the French sought to bring Jeppe and her activities, including her personal humanitarian initiatives, under French control, as well as to establish closer relations with Jeppe and Burnier, who was firmly settled in Beirut. French authorities reported that, since the financing of Jeppe’s rescue missions by the LoN was coming to an end, Jeppe herself was looking for closer cooperation with the French authorities (MAE 1926, vol. 50/382, 27 September). Jeppe, indeed, wished to prolong her activities as long as possible, especially after seeing how her first two established villages had prospered, and realising the need for more such settlements. In September 1926, when her report was to be heard in Geneva, she travelled in person to present the achievements of her project. There, she highlighted once more the valuable support that her efforts had received from the French mandatory authorities and the new High Commissioner, de Jouvenel, in particular. It must be said that her relations with the former High Commissioner, General Sarrail, had been particularly tense (Kauffeldt 2013, p. 114). Now, she praised the French, who badly needed affirmation on the international stage amid the ongoing crisis in Syria, the Syrian Revolt of 1925–27 (Abrahamyan, 2024 (forthcoming)). She stated that her efforts were successful mainly thanks to the support of the French officers in Aleppo and Deir ez-Zor. As for prolonging the timeframe of her activities, she mentioned the arrival of Kurdish tribes in Northern Syria after the Sheikh Said uprising, who had brought with them many captive Armenian women and children. Another year was thus needed to complete her tasks (MAE 1926, vol. 50/382, 24 September). Although Jeppe succeeded in prolonging her activities for another year, the French, too, succeeded in adding a new clause in the conditions, whereby Jeppe’s activities fell under the direct control of Burnier (ASDN 1926, C1430).

By this time, the French authorities were impressed and inspired by Jeppe’s success. An agricultural survey was accomplished in 1925 in Deir ez-Zor that aimed to reveal how many hectares could be cultivable if irrigation channels were built and how many additional cultivators would be needed (Velud 1991, vol. 2, p. 275).

Building on the success of Jeppe’s initiatives, the successful local collaboration between the refugees and the local inhabitants, as well as the eagerness of the LoN and the ICRC to offer support, the French authorities would soon start and accomplish their major refugee settlement scheme. Reportedly, about 10,000 Armenians settled in Jazira in the 1920s (Altuğ 2011, p. 61). By the end of the 1930s the new settlers, comprising Armenians, Kurds and Assyrians, numbered about 150,000 persons (Tejel 2007b, p. 109). It is these latter settlements that would become famous in the Western historiographies on Syria during the French mandate, leaving the origins of the first settlements in the shadow.

Conclusions

The Armenian refugee experience in interwar Syria has largely been depicted in Western historiographies along sectarian lines. In these accounts, Armenian refugees are portrayed as convenient colonising tools in the hands of the French mandatory power to fight Arab nationalism. In the same vein, the recurrent anti-refugee discourse was often justified by the presumed hostility on the part of Muslim Syrians toward the incoming Christian refugees. In the Armenian language sources, on the other hand, the relations of the Armenian Genocide survivors and the Arabic tribes in the Syrian space has been considered chiefly from the angle of the victim and the offender.

By shifting the focus from the French mandatory authorities, LoN, and the Syrian nationalists to the Armenian refugee community and the local actors, this article has told the story of the creation of the first refugee settlements in the Syrian Jazira. The findings of this article further complicate our understanding of the cohabitation between different ethnic and religious groups in French mandatory Syria by showing that the colonisation of the Syrian space by the refugees was not without the consent of the local Syrians, and nor were the local Syrian authorities hostile towards the refugees, especially outside Damascus, as the Syrian nationalist press (of Damascus) tended to claim. Instead, this article demonstrated that the collaboration between the refugee leaders, the tribal sheikhs and the local authorities was multifaceted and largely based on previous Ottoman-era connections, cooperation and trust that often went beyond the newly created borders and across different religious groups.

Furthermore, by zooming in on the first refugee settlements in the Syrian Jazira, this article has showcased the degree to which local actors in the borderlands were independent of both the state and mandatory authorities in their actions and alliances. Tellingly, refugee leaders and the tribal sheikhs entered into direct negotiations to establish the kinds of settlement that best corresponded to their own needs. The creation of the ‘model village’ was a case in point. This was a clear manifestation of agency exercised by both the refugees and the tribal sheikhs. The results achieved were so prominent that the future large-scale refugee settlement schemes led by the French in collaboration with the LoN would be largely built on the success of the first settlements.

By focusing on the cooperation of the ordinary Ottomans – refugees, tribal sheikhs – as well as borderlands dynamics, this article has suggested a different, non-sectarian, and non-statist approach to the creation of the first refugee settlements in the Syrian Jazira.

Acknowledgements

I would like to thank Jordi Tejel and Aline Schlaepfer, the organisers of the workshop – ‘Ordinary Ottomans: Post-WWI Settlements and Experiences of the End of Empire,’ (November 2022, University of Neuchâtel) where this paper was first presented. I am also grateful to Laura Stocker and Sam Dolbee for reading the earlier versions of this paper and commenting on it as well as to the anonymous reviewers and the editor, for their insightful comments and assistance.

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Victoria Abrahamyan

Victoria Abrahamyan is a historian of the Ottoman Empire, the modern Middle East and the Caucasus, from the late 19th century to the interwar period. Her research focuses on violence, the First World War, state formation, instrumentalisation of refugees, and subaltern agency. Currently she is a postdoctoral researcher at the University of Geneva. Her current book project, based on her PhD dissertation, explores the instrumentalisation of the Armenian refugees in French mandatory Syria, 1920–1946.