Who would think two unassuming parcels of land tell a story of empire, displacement, and a legal battle that has stretched across a century?
One is a 1,735-square-meter plot on parcel 1240/28, first recorded in 1952 under the name of Perikli Klonaridis, a Greek Orthodox pharmacist who lived in the city during the late Ottoman era. The other is an 839-square-meter lot with a 13-story building, once registered to the Sultan Beyazıt Foundation but later attributed to Klonaridis in Ottoman-era title deeds. Together, these properties (now worth an estimated $11 to $16 million in Istanbul’s red-hot real estate market) have become the center of the legal battle between the heirs of Ottoman-era Greeks and the might of the Turkish state.
And in April 2025, Turkey’s Court of Cassation (Yargıtay) delivered a verdict: The heirs of Perikli Klonaridis would not get their property back.
A Family’s Century-Long Fight for Justice
The story begins in the early 20th century, when Perikli Klonaridis (also spelled Periklis or Perikles in some records) was a respected pharmacist in Istanbul, then still the cosmopolitan capital of the Ottoman Empire. Like many non-Muslims in the empire, Klonaridis owned property, ran a business, and contributed to the city’s vibrant multicultural fabric. But as the empire collapsed and the Turkish Republic rose in its place, the lives of minorities like the Klonaridis family were upended.
In 1923, the Treaty of Lausanne formalized the population exchange between Greece and Turkey, forcing 1.5 million Orthodox Christians (including Greeks) to leave Turkey for Greece, while 500,000 Muslims (including Turks) were sent in the opposite direction. Those who stayed, like Klonaridis, found themselves in an increasingly hostile environment. By the 1930s, many had fled, either voluntarily or under duress, leaving behind homes, businesses, and land.
Klonaridis was one of those who left. But unlike many others, his family never formally renounced their claim to the properties in Şişli. For decades, the deeds gathered dust in Ottoman archives, while the Turkish state, through its Directorate General of Foundations, seized the land under laws governing “abandoned properties.” The first parcel was taken in the 1950s, the second in the 1980s both under the same legal justification that the original owners had abandoned them without proper authorization.
Fast-forward to the 21st century, and Klonaridis’s descendants, now living in Greece, filed a claim to reclaim what they believed was rightfully theirs. They claimed that the properties had never been formally confiscated by a court. They had simply been taken by the state, and the family had never been compensated.
A David vs. Goliath Struggle
The heirs’ legal journey began in 2023 when they took their case to the Istanbul 36th Civil Court. Their argument is that under the 1930 Ankara Agreement between Turkey and Greece, non-Muslims who had left Turkey could retain their property rights if they were physically present in Istanbul in August 1929. The Klonaridis family claimed they had evidence that Perikli was in the city at that time.
But the court rejected their claim, citing a lack of proof that Klonaridis had been present in Istanbul in August 1929. the heirs then appealed to the Istanbul Regional Court of Appeals, which ruled in their favor. The regional court ordered that the properties be restored to the Klonaridis heir, This decision would have set a precedent for thousands of similar cases involving Ottoman-era minority properties.
Then, the Turkish state appealed to the Court of Cassations.
On 21 April 2025, the Court of Cassations overturned the regional court’s decision. In a ruling that was as much about history as it was about law, the high court sided with the Turkish state’s argument: The properties had “rightfully passed into public ownership” under early republican laws governing abandoned assets.
The justices reaffirmed that non-returning Greeks who were not physically present in Istanbul in August 1929 forfeited their property rights, regardless of their Ottoman citizenship. Since the Klonaridis heirs could not prove Perikli’s presence in the city at that exact time, their claim was invalidated.
The court found that the properties had been seized under laws that allowed the state to take control of assets left behind by those who fled without formal approval. This was a common practice in the early years of the republic, as the new Turkish state sought to consolidate control over land and property.
The case file was sent back to the Istanbul Regional Court of Appeals for further proceedings, but this time, the lower court would have to align with the Supreme Court’s interpretation. This meant the Klonaridis heirs had almost no chance of winning.
A Pattern of Denial
The Klonaridis case is a much larger pattern of property disputes involving the heirs of Ottoman-era minorities, Greeks, Armenians, Jews, and Assyrians, who were forced to flee Turkey in the early 20th century. Thousands of similar claims have been filed over the years, but few have succeeded.
One of the most high-profile examples is the Prinkipo Greek Orthodox Orphanage on Büyükada, one of Istanbul’s Princes’ Islands. The orphanage (a 20,000-square-meter wooden building and the largest wooden structure in Europe) was seized by the Turkish state in 1997 after being forcibly closed in 1964. The Ecumenical Patriarchate, which owned the property, fought for years to reclaim it. In 2008 and 2010, the European Court of Human Rights (ECtHR) ruled in the Patriarchate’s favor, ordering Turkey to return the orphanage and pay compensation. But it wasn’t until 2012, after 16 years of legal battles, that the Turkish authorities finally complied.
Even then, the building was returned in a state of severe disrepair, requiring €65 million to restore. The Patriarchate has since planned to turn it into a global environmental center, but the case remains a symbol of the obstacles faced by minority groups in Turkey.
The Supreme Court’s decision in the Klonaridis case sets a precedent that will likely doom hundreds, if not thousands, of similar claims by the heirs of Ottoman-era minorities. The ruling reaffirms the primacy of early republican laws that allowed the state to seize properties left behind by minorities. This legal framework has been used for decades to justify the confiscation of land, homes, and businesses.
The court’s decision disregards the context of the early 20th century, when many minorities fled Turkey under duress whether due to violence, discrimination, or the threat of further persecution. The 1923 population exchange was not a voluntary migration but a forced displacement, yet the court treated it as if the Klonaridis family had willingly abandoned their property.
The ruling contradicts the principles of restitution upheld by international bodies like the European Court of Human Rights (ECtHR). In the past, the ECtHR has repeatedly ruled against Turkey in property disputes, ordering the return of seized assets or compensation for the victims.
For the remaining Greek, Armenian, and Jewish communities in Turkey, it gives a message that risks further marginalizing these communities and eroding trust in the Turkish legal system.
For the Klonaridis heirs, this case was never just about money. It was about justice, memory, and identity.
“My grandfather built a life here,” one of the heirs, who asked to remain anonymous, told Nordic Monitor. “He was a pharmacist, a respected member of the community. And then, one day, he was gone and so was everything he had worked for. We are not asking for special treatment. We are asking for what is rightfully ours.”
Greece, the EU, and the Rule of Law
The Klonaridis case has not gone unnoticed in Greece or the broader international community. The Greek government, which has long advocated for the rights of Ottoman-era Greek heirs, condemned the ruling as “a flagrant violation of property rights and international law.”
The European Union, which Turkey has sought to join for decades, has also expressed concern. In its annual progress reports on Turkey, the EU has repeatedly criticized Ankara for its failure to address property restitution for minorities. The 2025 report specifically highlighted the Klonaridis case as an example of “systemic discrimination” against former Ottoman subjects.
But for all the diplomatic protests, there has been little concrete action. Turkey remains a key NATO member and a strategic partner for the West, particularly on issues like migration and counterterrorism. This geopolitical reality means that pressure on Ankara is limited.
The ECtHR and the Long Road Ahead
The Klonaridis heirs have one last avenue for appeal: the European Court of Human Rights (EctHR).
But as the Middle East Forum noted, even if they win, Turkey may simply refuse to comply, as it has in dozens of other cases involving property disputes, minority rights, and freedom of expression.
