Red Mansion: Change and Continuity of the Space

In historical writing, understanding a period, a process, or a historical transformation has long been largely constructed through events, political ruptures, and leading individuals. Classical and positivist historiography shaped history mostly as chronological sequences of events and around “great men”; space, by contrast, occupied a passive role as background in these narratives. Yet from the second half of the 20th century onward, new historiographical approaches revealed that space is not merely the stage on which events occur but an active component of historical processes, and in some cases even a constitutive element. The Annales School particularly emphasized that historical time is not limited to short-term events (événementiel) but must also be analyzed alongside medium- and long-term structures. Within this framework, space has been understood as the tangible realm where social relations, practices of power, mentalities, and cultural codes are embodied. Fernand Braudel’s conceptualization of the “longue durée” made visible the decisive role of geography and space in historical processes.

^{A Photograph of the Building from the 1930s–1940s and Its Colorized Version Using Artificial Intelligence (}Istanbul Metropolitan Municipality Cultural Heritage Protection Directorate⁾

In this context, historical spaces are not merely physical structures but nodal points where relations of power crystallize, ideologies become spatialized, and collective memory intensifies. Squares, mansions, palaces, public buildings, and urban fabrics hold a central position in historical analysis as arenas where political decisions are made, social tensions unfold, and intellectual transformations leave their mark. Therefore, examining the history of a space means simultaneously analyzing the political culture, conception of power, and worldview that were produced and redefined within it. This approach is also significant from the perspective of the philosophy of history, because historical continuity and rupture can be read not only through texts and discourses but also through material cultural elements and spatial transformations. A change in the use of a building signals a transformation in the value system it represents. The same space can be imbued with different ideological meanings in different periods; these meanings sometimes overlap to create an illusion of continuity, and at other times reveal radical breaks. This phenomenon concretizes the non-linear, multi-layered, and contradictory nature of history.

The Kırmızı Konak (also commonly known as Pembe Köşk), located in the old Istanbul neighborhood of Cağaloğlu, offers a striking example in this regard. This structure is not merely a residence or administrative building; it encapsulates the spatial summary of the political and ideological transformations spanning the late Ottoman Empire to the Republic. Beginning its life as a meeting point for Ottoman intellectuals, it became a center where decisions determining the empire’s fate were made; subsequently, it served as one of the spaces where a new political language was produced as the press organ of the young Republic. The same building has functioned as a carrier of different forms of power, governance models, and historical memory policies across distinct eras. Consequently, studying the Kırmızı Konak does not mean merely writing the history of a single structure. Rather, it enables us to read through this building the regime changes, the spatial organization of power, the processes of political decision-making, and how collective memory was constructed and erased. The transformations the building underwent over time are not merely a reflection of the historical process from the Ottoman Empire to the Republic; they are an active part of that process.

In this framework, the Kırmızı Konak is not a “secondary element” in historiography; it enables us to comprehend historical change itself. The disappearance of space is not merely a physical loss but also signifies the erasure of historical memory and the multi-layered past. This situation necessitates a critical reassessment of how Türkiye relates to its historical structures and engages with its past.

^{The Kırmızı Konak in Ruins Before Its Demolition – 2017 (}Istanbul Metropolitan Municipality Cultural Heritage Protection Directorate⁾

There are two primary sources of confusion regarding the name of this structure, now entirely vanished, largely forgotten, and demolished: “red or pink?” and “konak or köşk?” During research, every possible combination of these designations can be found across various sources and media.

The color debate is not a simple matter of visual perception but an example of how material culture left by the passage of time transformed naming conventions. Today, the building is most often referred to as “Pembe Konak” or “Pembe Köşk,” yet the usage of “Kırmızı Konak/Köşk” remains common. This duality does not stem from different people seeing different colors simultaneously but from the wood’s paint fading over a century, shifting from red to pink. Therefore, “Kırmızı Konak” appears historically accurate as the original designation; conversely, the term “pembe,” referencing the tone the building acquired over time, also holds understandable relevance in contemporary memory. The second question is clearer: this structure is a “konak,” not a “köşk.” A “köşk” typically evokes structures located within gardens or open areas, often smaller and governed by a different logic of settlement; sometimes it may be considered a component or annex of a palace. Here, however, the subject is an independent residence not attached to any other major structure. Therefore, the historically accurate designation is “Kırmızı Konak.”

As the building is named by its color, it is also named after its owner during a particular period: “Münif Paşa Konağı.” The building’s visibility on the historical stage begins with Münif Paşa (1830–1910), a prominent intellectual and statesman of the late Ottoman period. Münif Paşa is described as a “hezârfen” figure—engaged not only in state affairs but also in literature, ideas, and science. He purchased the mansion in the early 1860s and reorganized it with various modifications. Due to its architectural style, color, and shutters, the building during this period was referred to as “Frenk Evi.” In the second half of the 19th century, mansions were not merely residences but also served as spaces for education and intellectual exchange. The Münif Paşa Konağı is said to have hosted both local and foreign thinkers. Münif Paşa’s long foreign postings and travels, along with the death of his daughter, contributed to a more “reclusive” use of the mansion during this period. After the proclamation of the 1908 Constitutional Revolution, the building’s association with public applause for the parliament and the clear indication of Münif Paşa’s support for the 1908 Revolution link this phase to “intellectual continuity” and expectations of reform. Paşa died shortly after the revolution.

The mansion, relatively “quiet” during Münif Paşa’s time, underwent a sharp functional shift in the final years of the empire, becoming a center of administration and power: it became the Istanbul headquarters (Merkez-i Umûmi) of the Committee of Union and Progress. The exact sequence of ownership transfer—from Münif Paşa to Marshal Kâzım Paşa (1855–1936), then to Ragıp Paşa, and finally to the Committee—is uncertain, and establishing precise dates is difficult. It is emphasized that the Committee’s headquarters before the 1908 Revolution was in Thessaloniki, as its organizational and operational base lay in the Macedonian and Rumelian provinces. The primary reason the headquarters was not moved to Istanbul immediately after the 1908 Revolution was security and secrecy. This is evidenced in Kâzım Karabekir’s memoirs, which mention the Istanbul headquarters being kept hidden. In 1908, the Second Constitutional Monarchy was proclaimed; in 1909, following the 31 March Incident, Sultan Abdülhamid II was deposed; yet the Committee’s central administration remained in Thessaloniki.

This situation became a subject of criticism by opposition circles: the fact that the Committee, as an official political party, had not moved its headquarters to Istanbul was used by opponents as a tool to argue that the empire’s fate was being decided by “unofficial individuals.” With the outbreak of the Balkan Wars, the headquarters was finally relocated to Istanbul, and the Kırmızı Konak became the headquarters of the ruling party of the empire. During this phase, the building is portrayed as the site where decisions “still debated a century later” were made. It is emphasized that the 1913 Babıâli Raid was organized here and launched from here, that the decision to enter World War I was made here, and that the collapse of an empire was managed from this mansion. The building, once a house where intellectuals gathered and debated during Münif Paşa’s time, had now become the center where decisions for one of history’s greatest wars were made. It is also noted that the decision and administration of the 1915 Armenian deportation were made here, a matter that remains a major point of debate in Turkish politics to this day.

After the war, with Talat Paşa’s resignation in 1918, the party dissolved; the building passed to the Teceddüt Fırkası, viewed as the successor to the Committee. However, shortly thereafter, the new ruling party, the Freedom and Accord Party, accused it of being “the continuation of the Committee,” shut it down, and looted it. Following this brief and turbulent period, the new owner of the Kırmızı Konak became the Cumhuriyet newspaper, which would assume the role of the new regime’s spokesperson in Istanbul.

The Cumhuriyet newspaper was founded in Istanbul in 1924 by journalists who were prominent supporters of the National Struggle. According to Aysun Köktener’s claim, the first building of the newspaper, the Kırmızı Konak, was gifted to Yunus Nadi by Mustafa Kemal himself. With this gift, the mansion’s association with the Cumhuriyet newspaper continued for approximately 80 years. During this period, it is noted that opposition publications were made in Istanbul’s press, and claims were voiced that Mustafa Kemal was establishing a dictatorship. Ekrem Karaca recounts an account by Mustafa Kemal, linking the Kırmızı Konak to Zekeriya (then Sertel): Mustafa Kemal is said to have expressed the idea of establishing a newspaper in the heart of Babıâli to combat enemies of the Republic and supporters of the Caliphate; that Hakimiyet-i Milliye and Yeni Gün in Anatolia had fulfilled their duties; that the new newspaper’s name would be “Cumhuriyet,” identical to the regime; and that its headquarters would be the former general headquarters of the Committee of Union and Progress—the Kırmızı Konak. The text also includes an affirmative response to this statement: “—Yes, Paşam…”^【1】

Thus, the mansion, once the headquarters of the ruling party, became the press center of the new regime. This transformation is interpreted as an example of Mustafa Kemal’s intention to neutralize his opponents and prevent any possible resurgence of the Committee of Union and Progress. However, it is noted that during the newspaper era, the building, which had once been the center of national governance and critical decision-making in the early 20th century, lost its significance and gradually fell into ruin.

The final phase of the Kırmızı Konak illustrates how the failure to preserve a space’s historical weight transforms “change” into “loss.” One might expect that Türkiye’s venerable and important newspaper, Cumhuriyet, would have shown greater care for this cultural heritage; instead, the mansion was neglected and even used for a time as a magazine storage facility. The gradual deterioration and lack of awareness regarding the value of many wooden structures from the Ottoman period are mentioned as broader context. Cumhuriyet used the mansion as an office for approximately 50 years; however, when the building became inadequate for the newspaper’s needs, the office moved to a new, larger building nearby. With this relocation, the process of abandonment and decay began. In the early 2000s, the newspaper moved to its current building in Şişli. Hasan Cemal describes the building’s condition as follows: when he joined Cumhuriyet in 1973, he worked there for a while before moving to a new building in the same courtyard; thus, the “Pembe Konak” was left to its fate and was slated for sale in 2012 to become a boutique hotel. Reports circulated that the mansion had been renovated multiple times, yet warnings were ignored. On 10 September 1977, the Board of Monuments requested, via document no. 1024, that the owners submit a survey and restoration plan; ten years later, a similar request was repeated, yet these appeals were again disregarded. Despite all warnings and reports, the building was never restored.

The building was later purchased for conversion into a boutique hotel; however, it is claimed that the acquiring company did not recognize the building’s importance and undertook no renovation work. The old wooden structure could no longer withstand the elements and collapsed in a fire. Today, curious observers cannot even see the remnants of this structure, once described as European-style, because the site is now a parking lot. The building has been entirely erased. Nevertheless, according to the account of a person who works in the adjacent office building and wishes to remain anonymous, in early 2019, the wooden components of the mansion were carefully dismantled and relocated elsewhere. It is noted that this account may be credible, as similar methods are employed in wooden structure restorations. Thus, the hope is expressed that the Kırmızı Konak, with its high historical and symbolic value, may one day be reconstructed faithfully. Another “transformation” point emphasized in the text is this: several months after the building’s demolition, news reports appeared; Cumhuriyet newspaper even published a critical article about the demolition—but made no mention of its own historical connection to the structure or its role in the demolition. This silence is not an overlooked detail but a sign of how memory is selectively constructed.

As the building’s function changed, so too did the symbolic values and worldviews it represented. Once the home of Ottoman intellectuals, it became the epicenter of turbulent late Ottoman politics, and then the press center of the new regime in Istanbul. From the multi-party period onward, the newspaper hosted opposition publications and was known for its dissenting stance during the 12 September period. This illustrates not only the functional continuity of the space—its constant engagement with politics—but also the transformation of the ideological world it represented.

The example of Hasan Cemal is particularly striking in concretizing this transformation, because here not only the trajectory of an institution but also an intergenerational shift in mentality within the same family becomes visible. In March 1981, Hasan Cemal was appointed general manager of Cumhuriyet by Nadir Nadi, the son of the newspaper’s founder Yunus Nadi. Hasan Cemal is the grandson of Cemal Paşa, one of the most important leaders of the Committee of Union and Progress. In other words, while Cemal Paşa’s generation held a decisive position in this very mansion when critical decisions regarding the empire’s governance were made, now his grandson would manage a newspaper from the same space. Yet, according to the text, the grandson’s views are far from those of his grandfather.

Hasan Cemal recounts this intergenerational tension and transformation through a memory: during his time at Cumhuriyet, colleagues joked with him:

“Your grandfather, Paşa, used the basement of the Pembe Konak during the Committee of Union and Progress era as a prison for regime opponents.”

Also cited is the muttered remark by Nadir Nadi on the day he appointed Hasan Cemal as general manager: “The grandson of Cemal Paşa is now the general manager of Cumhuriyet! How interesting…”^【2】

The text sharpens this ideological rupture with another example: Cemal Paşa is remembered as one of the decision-makers behind the 1915 Armenian deportation, while his grandson Hasan Cemal authored a book acknowledging the so-called Armenian “genocide” and offering an apology. Thus, the transformation in the worldview of the Kırmızı Konak’s users becomes a concrete narrative through the space itself. Additionally, the text adds that during the founding of Cumhuriyet, the newspaper was seized from an old Armenian printing house, “Matosyan.” This detail further elevates the discussion of appropriation practices of the era and the debate over continuity or change in the newspaper’s managerial mindset into an ideological framework.

The exact date of the Kırmızı Konak’s construction is unknown. However, its historical journey begins with Münif Paşa; during the Committee of Union and Progress era, it became one of the centers most closely witnessing and managing the empire’s collapse; with the advent of the young Republic, it became the Istanbul base of the new regime’s press. From the multi-party period onward, the newspaper’s oppositional stance continued for many years. In contrast, under the pretext of adapting to contemporary conditions and cost considerations, the building was abandoned to its fate; due to insufficient protection, it collapsed in a fire, and today the site is remembered as a parking lot.

The story of the mansion demonstrates how the values and ideas represented by a structure transform as its ownership and use change. While there is an expectation in Türkiye that historical and cultural structures should be recognized for their “true value,” the Kırmızı Konak remains an example of how this expectation has been deferred and how the material foundation of memory has been lost.