Think of Holocaust films, and the first one that comes to mind is likely Spielberg’s award-winning Schindler’s List, a true story about the historical figure of Oskar Schindler, who saved over a thousand Jews from the death camps by claiming that he needed them to work in his munitions factory. Other stories of covert or overt resistance to the Nazis (by the Danish, for example), while less well-known than the deeds of Schindler, are still part of common discourse about the Holocaust.

But how many are aware that during the Second World War, Turkish diplomats in France and elsewhere saved the lives of tens of thousands of Jews by issuing them Turkish passports? This is the subject of a new documentary film entitled Turkish Passport, directed by Burak Arlıel and produced by Bahadır Arlıel and Güneş Çelikcan. The film, which received a warm reception at the Cannes Festival in May, will be released in cinemas in Turkey this week.

While the topic of the film might be similar in some respects to that of Schindler’s List, there are significant differences between the actions of Oskar Schindler and those of diplomats like Behiç Erkin (Turkey’s Ambassador to France), Necdet Kent (its Consul in Marseilles), Fikret Özdoğancı (its Vice Consul in Paris), and Selahattin Ülkümen (its Consul in Rhodes.) As the filmmakers have pointed out, given Turkey’s neutrality during WWII, there wasn’t always a need for subterfuge like Schindler’s in order to save Jews by diplomatic means. Nonetheless, there is no doubt that Kent and his colleagues put themselves in danger through their selfless actions. After Ülkümen successfully demanded the release of 42 Jews about to be deported from Rhodes, the Germans bombed the Turkish consulate there, killing Ülkümen’s wife.

Turkish Passport consists of interviews – with those saved by the Turks, with their relatives, and with the relatives of the diplomats who saved them – as well as reenacted scenes. The story it tells is a fascinating one. Under Behiç’s ambassadorship, the Turkish government claimed as its own any Jews who could show proof of Turkish ethnicity. Stereotypes about the heartlessness of modern bureaucracy go out the window as we watch these scenes explaining how French Jews of Turkish ancestry were able to obtain Turkish passports. It often sufficed to come to the Turkish consulate and recite a few phrases in Turkish (duly memorized beforehand) to qualify for this life-saving document. The Turkish government also evacuated Turkish passport-holders by train to Istanbul, a harrowing week-long journey through Axis-controlled (and Allied-bombed) territory that is well-captured by the film’s reenacted scenes. 

In one incredible incident, Necdet Kent boards a train deporting Jews from Marseilles (bound for a concentration camp) and tells the Gestapo commander that he will accompany his fellow-citizens all the way to their final destination. The Germans stop the train at the next station and release Kent, his colleague, and all 81 Turkish Jews on board. Decades later, upon receiving the Üstün Hizmet Madalyası (Outstanding Service Medal) from the Turkish government in recognition of his wartime heroism, Kent is said to have remarked to his son, “It saddens me that I have received an award simply for doing my duty as a human being...look what humanity has come to.”

The inspiration for this project – which took years to make and involved extensive archival research in Turkey and abroad, as well as shooting in Turkey, Romania, and France – came when producer Güneş Çelikcan happened upon Behiç Erkin’s grave in Eskişehir. While the story told in Turkish Passport greatly redounds to the credit of Erkin and his diplomatic corps, the filmmakers have stressed that their story is a universal one, surpassing the confines of nationality or religion. Do not miss this fascinating new documentary, whose story deserves to be better known worldwide.