Coming events cast their shadows before
The 1980s marked the implementation of key components of a long-designed assimilation policy targeting the Turkish minority of Western Thrace. Approximately sixty thousand Western Thrace Turks were stripped of their Greek citizenship. Vast stretches of land belonging to Turks were expropriated. The very use of the word “Turk” was banned. Through economic pressure and systematic intimidation, the foundations of the minority’s future were shaken.
The timing was hardly accidental. As assimilationist policies against Turks intensified in Bulgaria, the government of PASOK in Greece appeared emboldened. While the term “Turk” was prohibited, state middle and high schools were established in mountainous areas, disregarding the bilingual curriculum of minority schools, including Turkish language and religious education. Police and other state officials encouraged—at times pressured—families to enroll their children in these institutions.
During this period, government spokesperson Yannis Roubatis openly declared, “There are no Turks in Greece,” laying bare the administration’s intent.
Yet every action has a reaction. On January 29, 1988, in Gümülcine, the Turkish minority—after years of enforced silence—responded with an unprecedented mass demonstration against the denial of its identity. The message was clear: you cannot erase a people by decree.
As independent MPs from Western Thrace brought minority grievances to international attention, the state schools in the mountainous region quietly continued their mission. Initially, only a handful of students attended; taxis were arranged to transport them. Gradually, step by step—like a slow drip wearing away stone—these schools reached full capacity. Some within the minority, knowingly or unknowingly, supported the initiative.
Over time, administrators and teachers extended their focus beyond education to the region’s folklore and identity. State-funded projects sought to reshape cultural and religious consciousness. Myths such as “Momçe Kamen,” portraying the local population as originally Christian and forcibly Islamized under the Ottoman Empire, were promoted among communities with limited access to higher education.
Ironically, warnings against such divisive narratives had been voiced as early as the 1950s. Osman Nuri—a journalist and long-serving member of the Hellenic Parliament—cautioned against efforts to fragment the minority through the so-called “Pomak question.” He foresaw a strategy that would first dilute Turkish identity under the guise of religious sensitivity, only later to suggest: “You are essentially Greek; you were once Christian, and you should return to your former faith.”
Seventy years on, his words read less like speculation and more like prophecy.
Recent events at Dolaphan Middle School in the mountainous region of İskeçe—precisely the area Osman Nuri referenced—are no trivial matter. Reports indicate that Muslim Turkish children were asked to participate in religious rituals of another faith. Under Greek law, such acts are not merely inappropriate; they are unlawful. This incident has once again reignited questions about the legitimacy and function of state schools in minority regions.
We would be naïve to see this as an isolated episode. It is, at best, the tip of the iceberg.
Turning to the Greek government’s stance, Prime Minister Kyriakos Mitsotakis frequently invokes the Treaty of Lausanne. Yet the spirit of Lausanne demands respect for minority institutions and self-governance. Instead, minority foundations, schools, and religious authorities have increasingly been subjected to state control. Elected muftis are sidelined in favor of appointed ones. Minority-run institutions are rebranded or restructured through administrative maneuvers, often with the assistance of figures who lack legitimacy within the community.
In recent talks in Ankara with Recep Tayyip Erdoğan, Mitsotakis reiterated Greece’s longstanding position: the minority in Western Thrace is religious, not ethnic. Yet when referring to the Greek Orthodox minority in Istanbul, he does not hesitate to use ethnic terminology. Such asymmetry speaks volumes.
Greece’s broader objective appears to be reframing the Turkish minority as merely a Muslim population—an internal religious matter detached from bilateral relations. The appointment of state-aligned muftis and their visits abroad serve to reinforce the narrative that “there are no Turks, only Hellenic Muslims.” The pattern is unmistakable.
If minority institutions are fully absorbed into the state apparatus—if elected religious authorities are replaced, if independent foundations are neutralized—then the very notion of minority status erodes. One need only look to the Turks of the Dodecanese to see the endgame.
Let us be frank: to reduce the Turks of Western Thrace to that status is no small feat. It is not something any government—Greek, Turkish, or otherwise—can accomplish at will. History has shown that identity, once awakened, does not simply fade away.
The writing is on the wall. The question is whether those responsible are prepared to read it.
