"In its entire lifetime (from 1936 to the early 1950s), the new penal system [of the Republic of Turkey] worked on the basis of a duality of “old” and “new” prisons. The four-stage progressive system was actually never implemented. In practice, there were only two stages: staying in the old prisons (all non-labor-based prisons) and working in the new labor-based prisons. The original stage system was allegedly abandoned due to financial inabilities (to construct individual cells for each inmate was too expensive for a small economy). However, I argue that the emerging duality was in perfect accordance with the broader bureaucratic project in which the prisoner world was divided into two spheres based not on (temporal) stages but on (functional) compartmentalization. The old prisons served as a deterrent in order to tame the working prisoners in the new labor-based prisons, whereas the latter served as an ideal to reach for those in the old prisons.
It was not compulsory to go to the modern labor-based prisons; in fact, it was a privilege. The convicts of petty crimes, the recidivists, and the political criminals were excluded from the new prisons. For the rest, an age-limit (a maximum of thirty to forty years) and a restriction on the minimum remaining prison term (between one and four years) applied. Moreover, the forms filled out by prison administrators and physicians in each prison would indicate whether prisoners had shown “good conduct.” Once transferred to the new prison, each working day counted two days of imprisonment, in other words, the remaining sentence was reduced by half. In addition, the prisoner-workers earned daily wages, and they did not stay in an actual prison building but in dormitories. If a prisoner-worker broke the rules (which was presented as “betrayal”), he was sent back to the old prison, and all of his earned days and money were appropriated.
In consequence, the prisoner-workers and the reserve army of prisoners lived immensely different lives in two dissimilar institutional spaces. The ruinous situation of the old prisons was the recurrent subject of complaint in the reports of the regional congresses in 1933. In 1940, 1945, and 1946 the deputies made visits to their electoral districts and wrote reports to the Ministry of Justice regarding the unhygienic conditions and primitive environment in the prison houses. All old prisons were suffering from a lack of sanitary toilets, of sunlight, of modern buildings, and of sufficient space (in one case, six hundred to eight hundred convicts lived in an old church that had been converted into a prison). Among others, the typhus epidemic of 1943 hit the prisons so seriously that the Ministry sent steam cabinets to sanitize the clothes of the inmates.
Life in the labor-based prisons, however, was represented in total contrast to the conditions of the old prisons. The İmralı Island Prison, in particular was turned into a dream-world for the new penal regime. Over the years, many ministers of justice (once even the president) made ceremonial visits to the island, accompanied by journalists and politicians; many columnists publicized the experiment in the national papers. In the 1940s, hundreds of law students made research trips to the island and prepared reports and monographs. In one instance, Professor Sulhi Dönmezer stayed for ten days on the island in order to investigate its autarchic economy. Even high school students and teachers were brought to this symbol of modern life. Visitors were amazed by the freedom enjoyed by the prisoners in this setting without handcuffs or prison bars. Economist and bureaucrat Vedat Nedim Tör found here the essence of an ideal life and even wrote a play entitled The Men of İmralı. Cambridge Professor Clive Parry, after his visit, published an article on İmralı and wrote: “I have no hesitation in saying that the Imrali penal settlement is the finest thing of its kind which I have seen in any country.”
There is no evidence to suggest that these representations of the ideal docile convict-worker were simply ideological fabrications. In fact, albeit probably exaggerated, this relatively better-off life in the labor-based prisons was a direct outcome of the dual structure of the prison system, which divided the prisoner pool into a reserve army (in the old prisons) and a labor aristocracy (in the new ones). There were lower levels of brutality in the new prisons, not necessarily because of humane ideals, but because of the threat of being sent back to the old prison in which the reduction of sentence by half would cancelled. In that sense, there was no “job security.” Contrary to generic prison regulations (for example, of the Ottoman period), which on paper forced all prisoners to work (without any success, ever), this dual system creatively established a miserable nonworking space and a privileged working space so that the structure itself enforced voluntary laboring. Hence, “being fired” was a real threat in the new prisons. On İmralı Island, for instance, 443 prisoners (out of 4,889) were sent back to the old prisons between 1935 and 1947 for various disciplinary reasons, and among the 19 escape attempts, 16 were captured and sent to the old prisons with heavier sentences while the other three died.
The effect of the structural violence created by the dual prison system was also observed in the Zonguldak coal mines. The case of the mines is particularly illuminating because it gives an opportunity to compare the situation of the prisoner-workers to other forced-laborers who were employed in the coal basin under the Compulsory Labor Regime enforced during World War Two. The Compulsory Labor Regime was the response of the state to the so-called “labor problem,” which had prevailed since the early 1930s. In a nutshell, the labor problem denoted the lack of a steady labor force (not to the lack of a labor force). Many male villagers used to work in the mines and in other factories for a short time in order to earn some cash; however, since they kept being connected to their village economy and household or had opportunity to change their job, they did not compose a full-fledged working class, an enduring labor force attached to one single factory. Thus, the labor turnover rates were high: It was 68.3 percent in the Karabük iron factory and 24.7 percent in Ergani copper mines in 1941. In the Ereğli coal mines basin, a worker spent fourteen days per month on average in the mines in 1936. Absenteeism prevailed, too: For example, in Guleman East Chromes, in July of 1943, only 116 of 402 workers showed up every day (30 days).
Accordingly, the new National Protection Law (1940) allowed the government to take extraeconomic measures over workers during the extraordinary war years. The relevant articles of the law were immediately implemented in February 1940 with a decree that constituted compulsory labor regime at the Ereğli coal basin, and the sanctions were toughened in 1942 with another decree. Numbers demonstrate the inordinate system: In 1948, of 27,000 workers in the basin, only 5,000 (18 percent) were free workers; the others were conscribed from men living in the Zonguldak region. Of these compulsory workers, 5,000 were steady workers, and the remaining 15,000 were working alternately for one and a half months. In addition, there were 1,000 to 1,500 soldiers and 1,261 prisoners working in the mines. Apart from mines, the forced labor regime broadened to include construction of public works (roads, bridges, railroads). In sum, what war mobilization in 1940 aimed to accomplish was to secure a fixed worker supply for the growing state-run enterprises.
Even though both compulsory work and prisoners’ work are forms of unfree labor, the structures of force and legitimacy were in complete contrast. Peasants under the yoke of compulsory labor regime tried their best to frustrate the implementers. Every one out of ten forced workers succeeded in running away from Ereğli coal basin (9.7 percent in 1942 and 10.7 percent in 1943). Villagers made use of the infrastructural incapacity of the state to escape this “collective conviction-psycho” in the mines. Compulsory labor regime, seen as drudgery, had no legitimacy at all, and the forced workers had every reason to sabotage the system. This was, however, not true for prisoner-workers. Although the official declaration that the prisoner-workers in Ereğli/Zonguldak mines were working “like sheep” should not be accepted without reservation, substantial evidence exists regarding the submissive attitudes of the convicts. In 1939, the official inspectors reported that prisoners and free workers work together without having any coordination problem. It was testified in 1994 by one of the workers, Sabri Eyüp Demir, that the prisoners’ working conditions had been “very good; they had no difference from us.” The prisoners were, it was reported, not only hard-working but even more productive than the free workers. The 1949 observations of Gerhard Kessler, professor of sociology and social policy, supported the reports:
Because every day spent in the pits is regarded as two days of confinement and because their life in mine basin is freer than that in the prison, they are ready to tolerate everything in order to spend most of their sentence here; they constitute the most obedient part of the work force.
Hence, desertion was considerably rare among the prisoners in comparison to the compulsory labor force. Demir, the above-mentioned worker, said, “I didn’t hear [any escape affairs]. Their concern was to finish the sentence, and go away.” Erol Çatma, historian of the coal basin, concluded that the convict workers were in general quite content, and they attempted to run away only when they were afraid of being sent back to the old prisons. The common reason of sending them back was sickness, which turned the convict into a useless burden for the enterprise. Of significance is the fact that while being hospitalized meant for forced workers at least a temporary escape from the mines, it was a disaster for the convict workers. For them, the alternative to the mines was not being sent back to their village, but to the old prisons. Nevertheless, epidemics such as syphilis, malaria, and typhus were widely seen in the basin due to the impact of war and the absence of public health measures. Thus, the attempts of hospitalized prisoners to escape turned into a serious problem to be related by the public prosecutor of Zonguldak to the minister of economics. The penal system based on labor caused “the abandonment of unproductive prisoners to the margins of penitentiary life.”
In conclusion, the dual-prison system had a peculiar structural effect on convict workers’ attitude in the workplace. Both in the agricultural prisons like İmralı Island and in the mining zones of mixed labor like the Zonguldak coal basin, prisoners worked under threat of being “fired”—that is, of being sent to miserable conditions for a reduplicated period of time. It was not only in the propaganda of the national press that the degree of physical violence in the new prisons was considerably low; similar to the rules of free labor market, without any workers’ rights, oppression was shifted from workplace to the general labor structure. In the compulsory labor regime, however, violence was extensively observed, as “firing” was not an option. In other words, forced workers had nothing to lose for being subversive, but the prisoner-workers had something to lose, which made them work voluntarily even more than the free workers. While debates in the literature previously focused on whether (and how) unfree forms of labor contributed to or impeded the development of capitalism, scholars have now turned away from a rigid dichotomy between free and unfree labor and have instead proposed “a multiplicity of forms of exploitation.” The dual structure of the penal regime in Turkey in the 1930s and 1940s complicates the free/unfree dichotomy by highlighting a particular form of unfree labor, which differed not only from the compulsory labor regime in Turkey, but also from other convict labor cases like chain gangs and prison industrial complexes."
- Ali Sipahi, “Convict Labor in Turkey, 1936–1953: A Capitalist Corporation in the State?” International Labor and Working-Class History No. 90 (Fall 2016): 247-250.
