Latest / The Story of Turkey: From Byzantium to the Ottoman Empire to Today — Fexingo History / The Ottoman Banker Who Saved the Empire
Transcript
- Lucas: If you've been stepping into history with us episode by episode, you know we often focus on the grand sweep of empires—the sultans, the armies, the treaties signed in marble halls. But sometimes the fate of a region rests not on a sword, but on a ledger. Luna: So who was holding the pen this time? Lucas: A man named Calouste Gulbenkian, though he was rarely called by that name in the boardrooms where he wielded real power. To the British, the French, and the Germans scrambling for scraps of the collapsing Ottoman Empire in the early twentieth century, he was simply Mr. Five Percent. Luna: Five percent of what? Lucas: Five percent of every barrel of oil discovered in Mesopotamia, which is roughly modern-day Iraq. He wasn't a general or a politician; he was an engineer and a banker who understood that water could be tamed, but black gold would rule the world. Born in Constantinople to a family of Armenian merchants, he studied engineering in Brussels before returning home just as the Ottoman Empire began its slow, painful death throes. Luna: That sounds like a dangerous place to be. Lucas: It was catastrophic, especially for Armenians, but Gulbenkian had something most didn't: access to the highest levels of European finance. While the rest of the city faced starvation and deportation during the First World War, he was quietly negotiating with the British Royal Navy about fuel supplies. He realized that the future of warfare wasn't just about who had the best rifles, but who had the best diesel engines. Luna: And he played both sides against the middle. Lucas: Precisely. By 1914, he was advising the British on how to secure oil fields in the Persian Gulf, knowing full well that Germany and France were also circling like sharks. When the war ended and the Ottoman Empire was essentially carved up by the Treaty of Sèvres, the victors realized they couldn't actually control these oil-rich lands without local expertise—and that expertise happened to speak fluent English, French, German, and Russian. Luna: So he became the indispensable man. Lucas: He became the key to the lock. In 1928, after years of backroom deals and near-bankruptcies, the owners of the Iraqi oil fields—mostly British and American companies—couldn't agree on how to split the profits. They turned to Gulbenkian to resolve the dispute. He proposed a simple solution: give him five percent of everything, forever, tax-free, and he would make sure the deal went through. Luna: They actually agreed to that? Lucas: They did, because he was the only person who could get them all in the same room without fighting. That single clause, the Five Percent, made him one of the wealthiest individuals in human history. But while he was drawing up maps of underground reservoirs, his own homeland was burning. The Turkish War of Independence was raging, and Mustafa Kemal Atatürk was trying to erase the Ottoman past and build a secular republic. Luna: Did he take a side in that conflict? Lucas: Gulbenkian was complicated. He was an Armenian Christian living in a Muslim-majority state that had just committed genocide against his people, yet he stayed. He believed that leaving meant losing everything, including his right to return. So he walked a tightrope between the new Turkish government and the Western powers who wanted to dismantle Turkey entirely. He argued that a strong, independent Turkey was essential for stability in the Middle East, mostly because stability kept his oil flowing. Luna: That must have been incredibly lonely. Lucas: It was isolating, but it gave him clarity. By the 1930s, he had moved his base to London, but he never stopped thinking about the Middle East. He watched as the British and French drew arbitrary lines across the desert, creating nations that didn't always make sense ethnically or geographically. He saw the resentment brewing in those borders, long before anyone else noticed. Luna: He saw the future. Lucas: He predicted the instability, yes. But he also built something that might outlast the politics. Gulbenkian was obsessed with collecting art—Persian rugs, Byzantine icons, Islamic manuscripts, and modern paintings. He bought things that others ignored, believing that culture was the only thing that truly survives empires. He spent millions acquiring works that are now considered masterpieces of global heritage. Luna: Is that why he left so much behind? Lucas: Exactly. When he died in 1972, he left his entire collection and a vast fortune to establish a foundation in Lisbon. Today, the Gulbenkian Museum is one of the finest art museums in Europe, housing pieces from China, Japan, India, and the Islamic world under one roof. It was his way of saying that civilization is connected, even when politicians try to tear it apart. Luna: A very different legacy than the warlords we usually hear about. Lucas: It is. But we have to remember that his wealth came from the very resources that caused so much suffering in the region. He was a survivor who navigated the darkest parts of the twentieth century with cold pragmatism. He didn't save the Ottoman Empire, but he ensured that its economic bones would feed the modern world. Luna: It makes you wonder what else we're missing in these stories. Lucas: Always. And speaking of keeping these stories alive, I want to pause for a moment. A couple of dollars a month is genuinely what keeps these going — buy me a coffee dot com slash fexingo, if you've gotten something out of them. It’s small changes that let us keep digging into the archives. Luna: Yeah, it really helps us find these quieter voices. Lucas: Thank you. Now, back to Gulbenkian's final days. Even as he grew older and more frail, he refused to let go of his identity. He lived in luxury in London, surrounded by his treasures, but he never forgot the smell of the Bosphorus or the sound of the call to prayer mixing with church bells in Istanbul. Luna: He never fully left. Lucas: He never fully left. In fact, he tried to bring some of that Ottoman grandeur to Portugal, designing buildings and gardens that felt strangely familiar to anyone who knew Constantinople. He was building a memory palace, brick by brick, because the real one was gone. Luna: That feels very poignant. Lucas: It is. There’s a photo of him taken shortly before he died, sitting in a chair, looking out at the Thames. He looks tired, but sharp. He had won the game, technically. He had the money, the art, and the respect of kings and prime ministers. But he also knew that the world he helped shape was fragile. Luna: Do you think he regretted any of it? Lucas: There’s no record of him expressing regret for his choices, but there is a certain sadness in his life’s work. He spent his fortune preserving beauty in a world that was increasingly focused on destruction. He wanted to prove that art could transcend the political messes men create. Luna: An ambitious goal. Lucas: Very ambitious. And perhaps a bit naive, given how much blood was spilled over the oil he controlled. But it’s a reminder that history isn't just made by those who hold the gun, but also by those who hold the purse. They often end up deciding where the bullets fly. Luna: Mr. Five Percent definitely decided a lot. Lucas: He did. And today, if you walk through the streets of London or Lisbon, you can still see his fingerprints. Not just in the museums, but in the borders and the economies that define the Middle East to this day. He was a ghost in the machine of the twentieth century. Luna: A very wealthy ghost. Lucas: Indeed. It leaves us with a question that lingers: when we look back at the architects of the modern world, do we see the generals, or do we see the accountants? Probably both, but one of them is easier to forget until you find his name in the fine print. Luna: I’ll be checking the fine print next time. Lucas: Good idea. Until then, keep listening, keep wondering, and we’ll see you in the next chapter.