The circumstances when we met were far from ideal. It was in 2009, in a suburban Istanbul hospital while I was leaning against the wall, that I became aware of his presence on the other side of the corridor. For a while we stared at one another, and then he patted the chair next to him. Without hesitation I accepted his invitation. Under the curious looks of the people around us, we started a cautious conversation. I asked him about the man-headed cane he was holding in his hand. He wanted to know where I was from. I told him. With a pleasant look, he said: “So, it is the homeland that brought us together.”
 |
| Nesimi Kılagöz |
For years I have been interested in the Alevi creation myth. Due to the absence of any written material or relevant research, I began to record scattered bits and pieces still recalled by elderly people. It was especially the very popular introductory part that led me to ask questions. God is said to create angels and later to want to test them on their awareness of His existence. Thus Gabriel, who is to become God’s favorite angel, is asked: “Who am I?” Gabriel, not knowing that there is any other being, is unable to answer the question and is punished for this by Him. In order to find the answer, he must fly away in the endless universe. The questioning and punishment are repeated three times, and only the last time, when Gabriel is almost exhausted, he hears a voice whispering to him how to answer: “You are superior, I am subordinate.”
Precisely this happy ending did not fit with the overall image of a God that I had learned from Alevi narratives; a God who is not directly involved in the events and definitely does not punish. On the other hand, why was Gabriel, the first angel to be named, characterized by such a shortcoming? This and other questions kept my belief alive that the story we knew might have some missing pieces.
The physical appearance of the man on the other side of the corridor left me with no doubt that he was from Dersim (Tunceli). A white-bearded, elderly face of a type that one could encounter in each village of the region until recently. Indeed, Nesimi Kılagöz was from Dersim or, to be exact, from the village of Loto, which belongs to Mazgirt, a southeastern district of the province. After his wife passed away a few years ago, he was no longer able to live by himself in his village during the harsh winters. Therefore he had moved to Istanbul, where most of his family members and other villagers from Loto had migrated since the eighties of the last century.
Although he was surrounded by many coreligionists in this city, there really was no one who was interested in his stories, which he called “our true history.” The few people of his generation with whom he had shared these stories had passed away in the eighties. For the educated, younger members of the family the grandfather’s memories had little appeal, as they were more engaged with political activities and discussions. Also in the many Alevi foundations and “religious houses” in Istanbul, which Kılagöz did visit from time to time, he could not find anyone who was interested. The activists of the so-called “Alevi awakening” in Turkey, a new urban phenomenon since the eighties, were more focused on written and legitimate historiography than his stories, which for most of them were of no more than superficial interest.
That attitude was partly determined by the overall effect of the modernization the community has been subjected to for the last decades (Shankland 2003:133-85); another reason for their lack of interest was the official Turkish historiography about the Alevis, which was deeply influenced by nationalist ideas. According to this narrative, the Alevis were descendants of Central Asian Turcoman tribes that migrated to Asia Minor during the second half of the Middle Ages. These tribes were accompanied by religious leaders who represented a sort of folk Islam or belonged to popular mystical orders that were active in the late Middle Ages. (At that stage, a Sunni-Shi’a division did not exist. Shi’ite tendencies would become dominant only after 1450 CE, through Safavid propaganda.)
Clearly such a view of history would make it preferable to ignore someone like Kılagöz who, from an ethnic perspective, did not fit into the categories postulated there, and whose religious worldview was difficult to classify as either Sunni, Shi’ite, or Sufi.
To read the full article, click here.
Two other articles have been dealt with Alevi cosmology, each from a different perspective:
Fatemeh Lajevardi, ''Cosmogonic Myths in Religious Beliefs of the Ahl-e ḥaqq and the Alevi Bektashis, A Comparative Study'', SPEKTRUM IRAN 31. Jg. Nr. 3, 2018, p. 40-56.
Emine Yüksel, ''We are the descendants of Güruh-ı naci": The notion of Güruh-ı naci in Alevism and Bektashism'', Journal of the Ottoman and Turkish Studies Association, vol 9-2, 2022, p. 307-330.
Ahmet Kerim Gültekin, ''The Reflections of Raa Haqi Cosmology in Dersim Folk Tales'', Religions, nr. 16, 2025.
