The Newspaper Law and Control
The second bill I had prepared was the Newspaper Law.
It was the same statute the Japanese Empire had crafted during the colonial period to censor and control the Korean press.
Yes, that one.
When it came to oppression and censorship, copying the Japanese was simply the most efficient approach.
“Isn’t that a bit excessive?”
“It needs to be a little excessive.”
In truth, the Millet System would handle a fair amount of occupation administration on its own. Most of the regions had already been cleared with gas shells, so reconstruction costs would be lower than in previous wars.
The real problem was the press.
A journalist’s elegant sentences could seize people’s attention and deliver a message. If you could not stop the message itself, you at least had to silence the messenger.
In the end, reporters and newspaper companies both needed money. Crush the papers that openly defied you, pour subsidies into the ones that obeyed, and watch the rest scramble after their next meal ticket. Seize control of every outlet that was not already on your side.
That was why I intended to enact the Newspaper Law, and that was the goal I meant to achieve.
“So the Newspaper Law needs to be strengthened.”
“Then I’ll prepare a revised draft and bring it back.”
“Ah, and one more thing—make certain the stock manipulation is thoroughly buried.”
“All related documents have already been incinerated.”
We needed the Newspaper Law precisely so that this never came to light.
“If this gets out, we’re finished. We take this secret to the grave.”
“You needn’t worry that much. We’ll handle it.”
With that, Talaat left the room.
There was, in fact, one more reason I had decided to push the Newspaper Law through.
In the end, every problem comes down to Armenia.
A brief word on the religions of the Ottoman Empire.
The empire’s faiths fell into four broad streams: Sunni Islam, Christianity, Judaism, and the Armenian Apostolic Church.
The first two commanded overwhelming majorities; Islam and Christianity could be set aside for the moment. The real trouble lay with Judaism and the Armenian Church. As minorities, both suffered constant discrimination.
So why was the Armenian Church the greater problem?
Simple. They lacked the cohesion of the Jews.
Armenia itself was partitioned between Russia and the Ottomans. Both empires possessed firmly entrenched state religions and were bitter rivals; the Armenians trapped between them were kicked from every side. The Jews, at least, had the Dreyfus Affair and the rising tide of anti-Semitism to galvanize Zionism. The Armenians had nothing of the sort.
Which is why, in the original history, the Armenians of the Ottoman Empire were nearly annihilated by massacre.
An entire people, all but erased.
And I did not want that ending.
Because it would be useful to me.
I did not care what religion my subjects practiced. I cared only whether they were Ottomans. From that standpoint, the Armenian Apostolic Church had to be protected. Most of them, after all, were wealthy, dutiful taxpayers.
“Couldn’t we just push Russia out ourselves?”
Esra’s offhand remark had set me thinking.
I had no idea where the First World War would erupt on a map that no longer contained Serbia, but if it did break out, we would fight Russia. That much was certain. And Armenia sat right on the Russian border. If we took in the Armenians whom Russia was persecuting in its zeal to spread Eastern Orthodoxy, one of the three Caucasian states would fall into our hands almost by itself.
Might as well put the Millet System I kept around to good use.
Seize the Caucasus and the coming war with Russia becomes far more manageable. I am no master of tactics, but every game I ever played listed the Caucasus as Russia’s weak point, so I was willing to bet on it.
Whatever served the state—religion included—I would accept and claim. That was all there was to it.
“Esra, Esra~”
“Mmph…”
Right. Hard to talk with something in your mouth.
“Hack—cough. What is it?”
“Have you ever heard of a man named Vladimir Lenin?”
“Lenin?”
Esra wiped her lips and tilted her head.
“The man who founds the Soviet Union. Leader of the Bolsheviks.”
“Not that. I mean, do you have any idea where he might be right now?”
Her first father had been a professor. Maybe he had mentioned something.
“…How would I know that?”
Sigh.
“Huh? Wait a second—mmph, ack—”
“Mmph!”
Esra pounded my thigh with both fists.
“What? Do you know something?”
“Maybe one of the neutral countries?”
“I already know that.”
“W-w-wait—Switzerland? Could it be Switzerland?”
Switzerland?
Well, there were not many places a persecuted socialist could operate in this era. And with the title of leader of a Muslim state, there were not many destinations I could visit openly anyway—technically we were not purely a Muslim state, but the outside world certainly saw us that way.
I would ask Talaat to look into it later. For now, time to think about acquiring Chevron.
“Guh.”
“I’ll have to meet Rockefeller before Standard Oil is broken up.”
Strictly speaking, it did not have to be Chevron. What the empire needed was a company that could help with oil exploration, drilling, and refining technology. If I had to pick one all-rounder capable of all three, though, Chevron was the obvious choice.
Whatever I buy, their technology is bound to be better than ours…
What could I offer Rockefeller? What terms would satisfy a man like him?
Should I try asking Germany for support?
No matter how long I turned it over, nothing better than my original idea presented itself: exclusive development rights for the Syrian fields.
Even if Syria’s reserves were only around 2.5 billion barrels, that was more than enough for this era—overflowing, even. Once we learned the techniques there, we could open Iraq and Libya. That would be real creative economics.
That was also why I refused to open the Arabian Peninsula. If we drilled Saudi Arabia now and then lost the concessions, it would be an unmitigated catastrophe. And if Rockefeller refused Syria as well, I could offer the entire Levant—Syria still held the largest reserves in the region anyway.
As long as we keep Iraq, everything else is secondary.
I knew perfectly well that even the whole of that territory was worth less than Iraq.
Knowing the future really is useful.
I climbed on top of Esra and fell asleep a little later than usual.
“…and so I will be making a brief trip to the United States and Switzerland.”
In parliament I argued passionately for the necessity of acquiring Chevron.
“Enver.”
Niyazi spoke heavily.
“I understand your reasoning, but the plan carries far too much risk. Would it not be better simply to invest more capital?”
“Rockefeller earns half our annual budget in a single year. If you want to appeal to a man like that, you show him opportunity, not money.”
Niyazi hesitated a moment, then nodded.
“Go carefully, then.”
With approval for the Chevron acquisition secured, I began preparing for departure.
Holy shit, that was close.
I had fully expected the Swiss leg of the journey to be denied. The moment I said Esra was coming, though, Niyazi agreed without a second thought. Word must have spread that I had dragged my brand-new bride off to Africa the instant our honeymoon ended and put her to work.
Isn’t that the least one should expect of a leader’s wife…?
Anyway, permission had been granted. That was what mattered. The thought of a cup of coffee in the Alps already had me in a good mood.
Though of course I’ll be drinking it with Lenin.
“Enver, step outside for a moment.”
“What is it, Kemal?”
Kemal arrived with a stranger in tow.
“If it would not be an imposition, might this man accompany you on the journey?”
“…It would be an imposition.”
I drew the line at traveling with people I did not know. The entire point of the trip was to cut a deal with Rockefeller and talk to Lenin; more bodies would only get in the way.
“I realize it’s an imposition. Take him anyway.”
Hmm?
It was rare for Kemal to press this hard.
“A pleasure to meet you. I am İsmet.”
“An officer with a keen interest in reform and the state of the world. He’ll be useful.”
İsmet?
The name meant nothing to me.
…So not a named character, then.
I had hoped for more when Kemal brought him, but apparently even he had a blind spot when it came to people.
“Fine. He can come.”
In that case I would simply make him a named character myself. Conveniently, I already had a job that would suit him perfectly.
At the time I had no idea that İsmet would one day become the first prime minister of Turkey and succeed Atatürk as president.
“Talaat, see that the Newspaper Law is passed before I return.”
“It will be done.”
The Private School Law had scraped through just in time for our departure, but revisions to the Newspaper Law had dragged on, so we left without it.
March 1911.
Standard Oil is broken up in May 1911, if I remember right.
I did not know the exact date, so leaving early was the safest course.
“And—any word from Switzerland?”
Talaat glanced around, then spoke quietly.
“Confirmation received. Proceed to this location at the appointed date and time.”
He pressed a small slip of paper into my hand.
Found him—the father of the Soviet Union.
It seemed the Swiss detour had been the right decision after all.
“Pasha, do we not need Germany’s permission for this?”
Judging by the Bolsheviks’ actual platform, Wilhelm would despise them. Workers out to topple the monarchy?
“It’s always easier to ask forgiveness than permission. We’ll just do it.”
Still, we had to try. What other choice was there?