Census

Profoundest silence lay over all Turkey like a pall of death. Not a train ran. Not a boat sailed. Not an airplane flew. Not a factory hummed. Not a siren shrieked, nor a whistle blew. Men neither toiled nor did they sweat. In the cities the streets were deserted, except for a privileged few. Street cars did not run, shops were closed, automobiles were garaged. From Constantinople at the Golden Horn, along the length of the Bosporus, flanked by its minarets and white domes, diurnal scene of a thousand scurrying ships, all was silent as the graveyard.

The Turkish Republic was holding its first census. From the first streak of dawn to the last shadow of dusk all citizens were ordered to remain within their doors; none might venture out unless with an official permit. All day long 50,000 census takers, accompanied by police and soldiers, counted heads, took names, ages, religions, professions, native languages spoken, examined for health and applied simple educational tests, while the suspicious populace, quietly submitting to the inquisition, wondered if all the counting of heads was to assist the taxgatherer in his unwelcome rounds.

For two years the Government prepared for the event and, in order to overcome the passive opposition of the people, it was decided to hold the census on Friday, Moslem rest day, and to keep every man, woman & child at home.

On the whole the day was spent pleasantly enough, families finding amusement in shouting to each other across the streets, joking and laughing, while the children invented new games and, without fear, postured insultingly at their enemies.