So what the heck is an Ypsilanti?
Since I'm to become a resident of the Michigan city bearing this odd name beginning early next month and, well, since it's something that I just have to know, being who and what I am, I set out to find out.
According to elizilla, it's a Greek word meaning "can't afford Ann Arbor." We did shop for a lot of houses in the area and, while we determined that she is factually correct in this matter, I figured there might be a better explanation.
And I found it. Directly beneath the landmark downtown water tower is a statue dedicated to an actual historical figure of that name: Demetrios Ypsilanti, the only successful scion of a Phanariot family of prominent but unfortunate Moldo-Walachian hospodars and dragomen.
I am not making this up. Let's deconstruct that last sentence: Phanariots were the wealthy and connected residents of Fanar, the Greek quarter of Constantinople, now Istanbul. Moldavia and Walachia were Danubian principalities in the early 1800s; Walachia is now part of southern Romania and Moldova is once again an independent state after a long stint as a Soviet republic. A hospodar is a governor/prince, and a dragoman is a minister.
The resolutely nationalistic but hapless Greeks were whipsawed back and forth between the Turks, the Austrians, and the Russians during this era while attempting to establish a political identity to match their cultural heritage. Brave men, no doubt, but it didn't pay to be an Ypsilanti in the early 19th century.
Demetrios' grandfather, Alexander, found himself enmeshed in the Russo-Turkish War of 1787-1792, was captured and imprisoned by the Austrians, and was executed for alleged conspiracy by the Ottomans in 1807. His father, Constantine, fomented an unsuccessful anti-Turkish rebellion in Serbia in 1807. He fled to Russia where he died in exile. His brother Alexander led a disastrous revolt at Iasi, Moldavia, in 1821; he was captured and imprisoned in Austria, where he died some years later.
Which brings us at last to Demetrios Ypsilanti, who escaped his brother's fate at Iasi and did similar work in the Peleponnesus, helping insurgent Greeks capture and hold the Turkish fortress of Tripolis. For a while it looked like he too was to suffer the family fate, but he persevered and triumphed over the evil pashas. He died a hero in his early 40s. One out of four isn't bad, I guess. Especially if you get a city named after you.
Collectively, these struggles represented the beginning of the Greek War for Independence, an event clearly worthy of commemoration by the founders of the Washtenaw County village a few years later. So the answer to my question is: the name "Ypsilanti" represents a Jacksonian-era tribute to a revolutionary hero of the culture most closely associated with the development of democracy. I'm sure it was a resonant sentiment in the years of the Early Republic.
So next time someone asks you what an Ypsilanti is, you can tell them it's "a freedom-fighting Phanariot family of Moldo-Walachian hospodars and dragomen."
"No, really."
Eventually they'll have to believe you. How could you make up something that outlandish? Sometimes history can be more fantastic than mere fantasy.
According to elizilla, it's a Greek word meaning "can't afford Ann Arbor." We did shop for a lot of houses in the area and, while we determined that she is factually correct in this matter, I figured there might be a better explanation.
And I found it. Directly beneath the landmark downtown water tower is a statue dedicated to an actual historical figure of that name: Demetrios Ypsilanti, the only successful scion of a Phanariot family of prominent but unfortunate Moldo-Walachian hospodars and dragomen.
I am not making this up. Let's deconstruct that last sentence: Phanariots were the wealthy and connected residents of Fanar, the Greek quarter of Constantinople, now Istanbul. Moldavia and Walachia were Danubian principalities in the early 1800s; Walachia is now part of southern Romania and Moldova is once again an independent state after a long stint as a Soviet republic. A hospodar is a governor/prince, and a dragoman is a minister.
The resolutely nationalistic but hapless Greeks were whipsawed back and forth between the Turks, the Austrians, and the Russians during this era while attempting to establish a political identity to match their cultural heritage. Brave men, no doubt, but it didn't pay to be an Ypsilanti in the early 19th century.
Demetrios' grandfather, Alexander, found himself enmeshed in the Russo-Turkish War of 1787-1792, was captured and imprisoned by the Austrians, and was executed for alleged conspiracy by the Ottomans in 1807. His father, Constantine, fomented an unsuccessful anti-Turkish rebellion in Serbia in 1807. He fled to Russia where he died in exile. His brother Alexander led a disastrous revolt at Iasi, Moldavia, in 1821; he was captured and imprisoned in Austria, where he died some years later.
Which brings us at last to Demetrios Ypsilanti, who escaped his brother's fate at Iasi and did similar work in the Peleponnesus, helping insurgent Greeks capture and hold the Turkish fortress of Tripolis. For a while it looked like he too was to suffer the family fate, but he persevered and triumphed over the evil pashas. He died a hero in his early 40s. One out of four isn't bad, I guess. Especially if you get a city named after you.
Collectively, these struggles represented the beginning of the Greek War for Independence, an event clearly worthy of commemoration by the founders of the Washtenaw County village a few years later. So the answer to my question is: the name "Ypsilanti" represents a Jacksonian-era tribute to a revolutionary hero of the culture most closely associated with the development of democracy. I'm sure it was a resonant sentiment in the years of the Early Republic.
So next time someone asks you what an Ypsilanti is, you can tell them it's "a freedom-fighting Phanariot family of Moldo-Walachian hospodars and dragomen."
"No, really."
Eventually they'll have to believe you. How could you make up something that outlandish? Sometimes history can be more fantastic than mere fantasy.