Lynn's role in the 1980 coup d'état in Turkey

Email from Lynn Stout 6/19/2016

I got up and put on my U.S. Air Force uniform like always that warm September morning in downtown Adana, southeast Turkey, twenty-two miles from the Mediterranean Sea.

It was the 12th of September, 1980.  On the fourth floor, as I walked to one of my balconies to peer at the street and the orange groves bordering the Seyhan River, it seemed quieter than normal. I could actually hear birds singing in the last of the fragrant blossoms across Fuzuli Avenue.  

There was no clop clop of horse and wagon traffic on the usually busy boulevard running past my apartment building. My only means of communication was an AM radio, which usually had Turkish language morning chat and weather. Instead of the usual banter with a man and woman, there was an official-sounding announcement that seemed to repeat itself every minute or so. The radio voice sounded authoritative, even quite stern, so I attempted to translate what he was announcing using what rudimentary Turkish I had learned in my first twelve months in-country assigned to the Base Commander's office at Incirlik (In-jure-lik) Air Base, about nine miles to the east of the metropolis of Adana. I decided that something big had happened in the country, and that I should go to work as soon as possible, even though I saw no buses running. I decided to take off my uniform and put it into a handbag, and don civilian clothes. Taking my military I.D. And all the cash I had, I went down the slow Turkish elevator to the ground floor. The usual kapaci (kaw-paw-gee) man at the building's door was not on duty. All was silent as I ventured into the street.

In near silence, I began to walk toward the base. After a few minutes, I heard a vehicle in the distance behind me. I turned around and put out my hitch-hiking thumb. An old orange-in-color American Jeep slowed down and stopped. The driver, obviously an American, offered me a ride if I was headed toward the Air Base. I gladly accepted as I hopped in. The wind was warm in my hair as the topless jeep took off toward the Museum intersection where we turned left onto the Roman bridge and headed toward Incirlik village, a little community just outside the massive air base where G.I.'s often went to buy handmade rugs and copper. This time was different. There was no “Adali” bus that cost 40 cents to ride, but instead there were soldiers standing at the side of the highway. We came upon five road blocks in the nine miles to the base. At each stop we explained to the soldiers, most of whom were not educated and probably from small villages, that we were trying to get to work at Incirlik.

After an hour of talking our way through military vehicles and road blocks, we reached the gates of the base, only to find that no one was being let in or out of the base for the time being. Again, we talked to the guards, and to the guards' supervisors, and finally the gates were opened a few feet and we scurried into the relative safety of the base. It's important to note that the U.S. Forces there, mostly Air Force, were guests of the Turkish government, and that the real commander of the base was a Turkish General. It was an uneasy “truce” that we had with the Turks during those days, at a base where in 1960, Lieutenant Francis Gary Powers had taken off in his U-2 spy aircraft to photograph the Soviet Union from 70,000 feet.

This was during the Cold War, and Lt. Powers was shot down by the Russians. The episode brought the two countries to another armed stand-off which filled the American newspapers for many months.

After getting inside the base, I thanked my young civilian employee in the jeep, and walked toward the Base Commander's office near the main gate. When I arrived, there was only a “skeleton crew” at work. They were surprised to see me, and asked why someone who lived “downtown” was at work.

They told me that all military personnel who lived off the base were to stay in their homes and await further instructions. When I asked “why”, I was told that the Turkish military had taken over the government in a coup d' etat.

I was shocked, but then knew the reason for all the soldiers and road blocks. I was embarrassed and relieved to know that I'd made it, but got to thinking later that our notification pyramid was woefully inadequate. A few weeks after the thing “cooled off” and got back to normal, I asked the Base Commander if I could work on upgrading our pyramid alert chart, which we did. It included runners, radios, and any number of improvements. Now that we were ready, we didn't have to use it. And that's how September 12, 1980 was for me in Adana, Turkey.


The 12 September 1980 Turkish coup d'état, headed by Chief of the General Staff General Kenan Evren, was the third coup d'état in the history of the Republic, the previous having been the 1960 coup and the 1971 "Coup by Memorandum".

The 1970s in Turkey were marked by right-wing/left-wing armed conflicts, often at the scale of proxy wars between the United States and the Soviet Union, respectively. To create a pretext for a decisive intervention, the Turkish military allowed these conflicts in Turkey to escalate; some say they actively adopted a strategy of tension. The violence abruptly stopped afterwards, and the coup was welcomed by some for restoring order. In total, 50 people were executed, 500,000 were arrested and hundreds died in prison.
For the next three years the Turkish Armed Forces ruled the country through the National Security Council, before democracy was restored.