I don’t know exactly what lay hidden in that short Facebook scene that shook me so deeply. Perhaps it was her gaze, a look that was not silence but a swallowed scream in the depths of resolute eyes. Or maybe it was her voice, how she defended her rights with a firm, resonant tone amid the cold walls of the palace.
Her name was Hurrem, Hurrem Sultan. That moment alone was enough to awaken something within me, a spark that soon turned into an enduring flame.
From that instant, I carefully followed the series "The Magnificent Century" from the first season on YouTube. What began as curiosity about the Ottoman court’s superficial grandeur evolved into a deeper journey, a dive into the essence of womanhood, freedom, and agency.
Hurrem was born in Ruthenia, in the eastern Kingdom of Poland. During a raid by Crimean Tatars, like thousands of other women, she was captured and brought to the slave markets of Istanbul. She lost her original name, Alexandra Lisowska, but gained a new one, the name Sultan Suleiman gave her: "Hurrem".
The name "Hurrem" (in Ottoman Turkish, Hürrem) is a Persian word meaning joyful, smiling, lively, and enchanting. It reflected her character: a woman who, with social intelligence, a vibrant spirit, and a bright gaze, captured the Sultan’s heart. But this was more than a name, it marked the birth of a new identity. A woman who, in the depths of captivity, blended joy, power, and awareness.
Her entry into Sultan Suleiman’s harem was not an end but a beginning. In a place meant to silence women, Hurrem became a new voice, not through shouts, but through her gaze, her wit, and patience as steady as stone.
Hurrem did not merely win the Sultan’s heart. She shattered the empire’s longstanding tradition, rising from concubinage to become the Sultan’s lawful wife. This ascent was not just personal, it was a political declaration in a male-dominated world that demanded women remain in shadows or silence.
Contrary to the passive image of harem women, Hurrem was not a bystander but a shrewd strategist and consummate politician. From the start, she understood the rules of power and entered the arena with unmatched skill.
She knew that in the Ottoman court, politics flowed not only on battlefields but in glances, words, and hidden relationships. With a deep grasp of power dynamics, she built a network of influence, connecting with eunuchs, statesmen, the royal family, and even hidden enemies.
She was not just a lover but an advisor; not only the Sultan’s wife but his partner in decision-making. Her fingerprints marked domestic politics, governor appointments, council affairs, and even foreign policy, evident in her correspondence with the King of Poland.
Her politics were not brutal but subtle, intricate, and intelligent, feminine yet formidable. Hurrem showed that power could wear another face, one that conquers not with swords but with thought, dialogue, and soft influence.
She did not live for herself alone. She stood for her children, for other women, and for forging a new model of womanhood in politics and history. She did not wield power as a tool of dominance but as a foundation for creation. By building schools, baths, hospitals, caravanserais, and charitable complexes, she proved that power could give life, not just commands. Her womanhood was not a barrier but a means to open new paths, ones where women could shape society’s narrative.
The pinnacle of her political acumen lay in her role in the succession struggles. Her son, Selim, held a fragile position among the princes. To secure his future, Hurrem navigated a complex rivalry, not with violence but with wisdom, strategy, and maternal diplomacy. Her interventions were purposeful: for survival, for the future, and to balance loyalty to the Sultan with motherhood.
Hurrem redefined politics. She proved a woman could be a stateswoman without mimicking male brutality. In her eyes, a woman was not a silent, passive being but an agent of change, a creator of meaning, and an embodiment of awareness.
When I think of Hurrem, I think of all the women who, throughout history, have risen from dust to transform the world. Hurrem is not just a historical name, she embodies a truth: that even in the tightest spaces, one can carve out freedom. Even in captivity, one can become a voice echoing across generations.
In the Ottoman Empire, traditions were ironclad. Men who married women of royal blood could not even divorce them, those women carried the Sultan’s lineage, and no one, not even their husbands, could dictate their fate.
Yet within those same palaces entered a girl from Ruthenia, bound in chains. She had no name, no lineage. No one expected her to be more than another silent face among hundreds. To the Sultan’s mother and court elites, Hurrem was just a slave, rootless, nameless, and stateless.
But her power lay not in bloodline but in will. In an era where royal women held rights by birth, she claimed power through heart and mind. She captivated not only the Sultan’s heart but also his policies.
Hurrem was the only woman for whom Sultan Suleiman broke tradition, marrying her lawfully and etching her name into history, beside the sovereign, not in his shadow. She was not merely a woman who loved; she was a woman who turned love into a tool to change her world.
On April 15, 1558, Hurrem closed her eyes to the world. Her death resonated not only in the palace but in the streets, markets, homes, and hearts of Istanbul. On her burial day, thousands of women gathered, women who had never seen her but saw themselves reflected in her.
The roads leading to the Süleymaniye Mosque brimmed with proud silence. Women carrying flowers, calm and quiet yet with eyes full of awareness and admiration, bid her farewell. Her coffin, draped in silk and white blossoms, was carried by servants, yet it seemed borne on the shoulders of all the women who saw their silent dreams realized in her.
Her tomb, near the Süleymaniye Mosque, was adorned with Iznik tiles depicting paradise gardens, as if to immortalize her inner joy and beauty. Beside Sultan Suleiman’s somber mausoleum, her resting place stood as a testament to delicacy, color, and life, as if Hurrem, even in death, remained a herald of vitality.
Hurrem Sultan was a woman who stood in the eye of the storm, not as a victim, but as the storm itself. Her story is not just one of love but of awareness, courage, and political mastery.
A woman who taught us: If you are a woman, even if risen from dust, you can fight until the day your name is etched into history’s stones.
About the Author:Sohilla Ziaie is an Afghan writer, poet, and social activist with a background in Persian Literature from Kabul University and partial MBA studies. She has held key roles such as Editor-in-Chief of Merman magazine and Director of the Afghan Women’s Social and Civil Organization.
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