By Nazlan Ertan
In the rich tapestry of Turkish names, few are as paradoxical as 'Satılmış.' Literally translating to 'sold' or 'sell-out,' this name carries a weighty connotation that intertwines cultural beliefs, societal perceptions and individual destinies.
In Anatolian traditions, giving newborns names like 'Satılmış' or the female version “Satı” is a protective measure. The name was traditionally bestowed upon children with the underlying belief that by symbolically 'selling' the child, parents could deceive malevolent spirits or fate, thereby safeguarding the child from harm or premature death. This practice reflects an interplay between language, belief systems, and cultural practices in Anatolian societies.
While the intentions behind the name were rooted in love and superstition, wise parents would think twice before giving that name to their child. In contemporary Turkish vernacular, 'satılmış' is often employed as a pejorative term, implying betrayal or corruption. For instance, disgruntled football fans might chant 'Satılmış hakem!' ('Sell-out referee!') to accuse an official of bias or bribery. Consequently, children bearing this name may find themselves targets of ridicule or bullying, their names becoming unwarranted labels questioning their integrity.
RECURRENT NAME
The name 'Satılmış' recently resurfaced in Turkish political discourse.
Istanbul Mayor Ekrem İmamoğlu publicly criticized an expert witness named Satılmış Büyükcanayakın, (Literally translated as Sell-Out Close-to-the-Big-Heart, a name that Charles Dickens would envy), alleging that he was consistently selected to provide biased reports against municipalities led by the main opposition CHP.
İmamoğlu questioned the improbability of such an individual being repeatedly appointed from a pool of thousands of experts, suggesting ulterior motives behind these selections. Keyboard-happy Turks had a field day creating variations on the expert witness’ name and function.
NAME YOUR HERO
In the context of Turkish culture, names like 'Bahtiyar' (meaning 'fortunate') or Betül (meaning “Virgin”) can carry unintended ironies, especially when the individual's life experiences starkly contrast with the implications of their names. Some combinations of first names and surnames in Turkey also create humorous or unexpected meanings, such as 'Kayakız Kuru' (Dry Stone Girl), 'Ufuktan Aydoğar' (The Moon Rises from the Horizon), and 'Maşallah Doğrultan' (May God Praise the Straightener). Some politicians with compound names also invite humor. A pundit once said that Ahmet Kurtcebe Alptemoçin, a former foreign minister, sounded like a union of pan-Turkic associations. Not surprisingly, Mr. Alptemoçin was a right-wing politician. Karen Fogg, the outspoken EU representative to Turkey in the early 2000s, referred to Devlet Bahçeli as “the State Garden,” a tongue-in-cheek translation that mocked his nationalist EU-skepticism.
This phenomenon is also prevalent in literature, where authors use character names to convey irony or satire. Anthony Trollope was known for descriptive names, such as Mr. Frigidy and Mr. Startup, which humorously reflect their contrasting dispositions. Charles Dickens similarly employed evocative names, such as the sharp and severe Mr. Jaggers in Great Expectations and the heavy, oppressive Mr. Tulkinghorn in Bleak House. This technique, called cratylic naming, involves assigning names that signify an essential trait or characteristic. My favorite author of all time, Martin Amis, was a master at it. His seductive anti-heroine in London Fields is called Nicola Six, while the crude slob who makes a living by turning to tricks is called Keith Talent. Should Amis have ever tried to write Istanbul Fields, I cannot even imagine what he would do with a name like Satılmış.
