Turkish Awakening (26 page)

Has he managed his own people? That is open to (discreet) debate. He has certainly taken pains to look as though he has. It is crucial to his plans to be in charge in some capacity, preferably as president, as Turkey turns one hundred in 2023. Here is how he might plan to do that: although there is no bar to the number of terms someone can serve as prime minister in the Turkish constitution, it is a rule within the AKP that no one can serve as a minister for more than three consecutive terms. Erdoğan, with characteristically grandiose
magnanimity, has made a point of saying he will respect this rule. However, no one believes he has had his fill of power and the odds are decidedly against him bowing out in 2015 when his third term ends.

There will be direct presidential elections for the first time in Turkey in 2014, following amendments to the constitution carried through in the controversial 2010 referendum. Until now, Turkish presidents have been neutral by definition, but usually have an affiliation with the ruling party (or the military), and are not directly chosen by the public. They are, effectively, little more than ceremonial heads of state. In 2014, Turkish citizens will vote directly for their favourite candidate. Erdoğan has been pushing for a presidential system in Turkey, similar to the French system which gives more power to the president than the prime minister, rather than the other way round as is currently the case in Turkey. It looks like these changes won’t go through, which must be annoying for Erdoğan. However, he can still serve as president for one term (rather than the two terms he would prefer as a French-style president) and then run again for prime minister, thus fulfilling his promise not to break the AKP rule of serving for no more than three
consecutive
terms. Most importantly, he would be in power in 2023.

During the protests, Erdoğan repeatedly and rather smugly called on Turks to ‘express yourself at the ballot box’. This spectacularly missed the point made by protesters, who objected to the high-handed way he made decisions while in power. However, the call was made. Erdoğan was confident that he will win, and perhaps he will. Perhaps he won’t, and if he doesn’t, he will have no excuse to kick up a fuss.

The confidence of the AKP in their victories at the ballot box brings to mind Winston Churchill’s criticism of unrestrained democracy, which he explained in a House of Commons debate in 1947: ‘Democracy, I must explain . . . does not mean “We have got our majority, never mind how, and we have our lease of office for five years, so what are you going to do about it?” That is not democracy, that is only small party patter, which will not go down with the mass of the people of this country.’ It seems that finally, in 2013, after coups and false hopes of transparent government in the twenty-first century, it has not gone down well with the people of Turkey either. Perhaps they can identify with what Lord Hailsham called in 1967 ‘an elective dictatorship’, meaning a government elected on a simple majority acting without proper restraint on its power. You will notice that my references have been British. Gezi erupted without any open debate of this topic in their House of Commons equivalent, but the issue was, in essence, the driving force behind the protests.

Crushed in the middle of a huge crowd of angry, chanting protesters, it seemed at one point like the whole of Turkey wanted the government to resign. In the heat of the moment, it was easy to believe that a complete regime change was just around the corner, and that Turks were one hundred per cent united in their political ideals. Of course, this was not the case, and I had several sobering conversations with Turks who disapproved of the protests and were as supportive of Erdoğan as ever. It was disconcerting to go from the spitting rage of anti-Erdoğan demonstrators to the spitting rage of anti-protest Erdoğan supporters, and hear totally different sides of the same story.

Erdoğan is in many ways a victim of his own success. He is, or was, the most popular leader since Atatürk, and the longest continuously serving prime minister, but after a decade of increasingly authoritarian decisions many people think he has pushed it too far. During his leadership, Turks have become, broadly speaking, richer, better educated and more connected to the world through the spread of the internet. Young people are demanding more from their government; Erdoğan’s achievements do not excuse his faults. Older Turks, on the other hand, have lower expectations. They have lived under previous, less successful prime ministers and they are painfully grateful for all Erdoğan has done for the economy and public services. Many Turks are so used to corrupt, power-hungry leaders that they don’t even see the greed of those in power as a fault any more. Erdoğan is above average, because at least he gets things done.

While the Gezi protests were underway I had a conversation with Yahya, a traditional Istanbullu tailor in his fifties who is a stalwart supporter of the AKP. I asked him what he thought of the protesters’ complaints that Erdoğan rules undemocratically. ‘He is uncompromising, yes,’ said the tailor. ‘But I trust him. He is a good man.’ Yahya then gave me an analogy to explain his conception of a good leader: when one goes abroad, one hands over power of attorney to a lawyer so that affairs can be dealt with in one’s absence. It is the same with politics – we vote, we choose a leader, and we hand over the power of attorney for the next four years. This was a real eye-opener for me, explaining a great deal about the implicit trust many Turks have in their leader. When I asked the tailor about the rumours of Erdoğan handing out favours like
building contracts to his friends, he replied steadily: ‘We all bestow favours on friends, why shouldn’t Erdoğan?’

Many Turks view corruption as an unproblematic fact of life. There are, of course, those who are not comfortable with the idea of politicians dishing out favours to their friends, but most do not question it. It is not even a matter of just being realistic, thinking that politicians get away with corrupt decisions because there is no accountability in Turkish government. It is worse than that – these Turks have lost sight of the moral problem with it, because it is so normal. Britain’s 2009 MPs’ expenses scandal would not even break as a story in the Turkish media, not because of censorship but because the public would not be remotely interested in what they all assume happens anyway. The leader of the main opposition, Kemal Kılıçdaoğlu, does not even consider using the government’s alleged corruption as a vote-winning issue. I asked the tailor what he thought of Erdoğan’s legendary wealth, and whether it seemed reasonable that a man employed by the state should have accumulated so much money. ‘Oh yes,’ said the tailor. ‘He earned his billions. Don’t you know a mayor is awarded ten per cent of the tenders he arranges for any successful municipal projects?’ (Erdoğan was the mayor of Istanbul for two years before he moved on to bigger things. The ten per cent ‘reward’ of which the tailor spoke does not exist, to my knowledge, but it is perfectly obvious what the unofficial nature of this reward is.) This satisfied, unquestioning man was dismissive of the protesters’ concerns of Erdoğan’s authoritarian tendencies. ‘Young people don’t understand,’ he reflected, sadly. ‘They don’t know how lucky they are.’

The chasm between those who have grown up during
Erdoğan’s leadership and those who have not is huge – they have such different responses to his style of leadership, and whether or not he is entitled to his high-handed decision-making. Erdoğan has done a magnificent job of winning the hearts and minds of the traditional working classes and emerging middle classes of Turkey, but he has neglected a highly motivated, educated youth who are now speaking up. Previously, his strength lay in going unchallenged by apathetic opponents. That situation has been irrevocably changed in the wake of the Gezi protests.

On the evening of 8 June, Erdoğan met with Cemil Çiçek, the speaker of parliament, at Dolmabahçe Palace in Istanbul, to discuss the protests. Outside, a mighty, disembodied roar called for the prime minister’s resignation. ‘Everywhere is Taksim. Everywhere is resistance. Tayyip – resign!’ Its source was a huge mass of Fenerbahçe football fans surging outside the palace on their way to Taksim Square, blowing whistles and banging drums like uniformed revolutionaries. Jostled by Fenerbahçe fans outside the palace, I wondered how Erdoğan felt at that point. It is hard to dismiss the voices of thousands of people demanding your resignation uncomfortably close at hand. The clamour certainly did not sound like it could have come from a negligible group of foreign agitators and marginal extremists, as he has always claimed. It must have hurt even more considering Erdoğan himself is a Fenerbahçe fan.

That roar of criticism did not chasten Erdoğan. It incensed him. He has often painted himself as a victim of anti-democracy, and his reaction to criticism is almost always anger – a very Turkish trait. He admitted that the protests were about him. His leadership was what, ironically, united all
those against him. The protesters in Ankara, Istanbul, Eskişehir and Antakya were disparate and scattered. They didn’t have a leader but they almost didn’t need one because they had an anti-leader, a focus for their energies.
Tayyip, istifa!
(‘Tayyip, resign!’) was the most common chant in Taksim Square and in squares across Turkey. Tens of thousands of Turks were not protesting because of Gezi Park. They all had their various grievances, from Erdoğan’s Syrian stance to his attempt to outlaw abortion to his restrictions on alcohol consumption, but they had one thing in common: resentment of their prime minister.

A question occurred to me after the initial excitement of Gezi died down: What would Atatürk say about these protests, and the direction the country is going in? Back in 1927 he warned the Turkish youth about ‘the enemy at home’ – did he mean the tear gas-wielding, democratically elected government or the banner-wielding, motley crew of protesters? I would like to believe that he would approve of the courageous and determined struggle of those fighting, and indeed dying, for a better democracy. I asked a Turkish friend to get a second opinion. He laughed and said, ‘If Atatürk were in government he would be cracking the whip like crazy. If he were a protester he would have staged a coup by now.’ I would like to live in a Turkey where I could say something like that without fearing imprisonment, and at the same time be acknowledged as someone who is respectful but realistic about a national hero. When I look back at the founding of the republic, it seems like Atatürk put together the broken pieces of the Ottoman Empire with superglue: modern Turkey was the result. Now the pieces are coming apart, but it is to be
hoped that Gezi will have some part in putting it back together in a new shape more in keeping with the times.

Turkish citizens who criticise Turkey are often condemned as traitors, when in my experience they are usually the most genuine in their patriotism, because they see Turkey’s faults and love it anyway. They do not criticise Turkey for the fun of it, or because they long for its demise. They are frustrated because there is so much good in this country, and yet so many faults imprisoning it in what sometimes feels like the Dark Ages. It is only by being honest and addressing problems that they can be solved, but this goes so against the grain of what any Turk thinks. Denial is a tragic flaw in the Turkish make-up.

When one thinks of how young the Republic of Turkey is, and how it behaves in both a domestic and international sphere, it is impossible not to draw comparisons with an insecure young man. This man is full of promise but prickly because, deep down, he is unsure of himself and his standing in the world. He is doing well financially, and that give him confidence – he is on the up, like a young man with his first pay cheque, determined to spend it as he wishes and not to listen to criticism. The Gezi protests were the equivalent of shouting criticism directly into the ear of this young man. He ignores it now, but perhaps it will make some mark on him a little down the line.

I am proud to be considered a Turk in any way, to any degree, however belatedly. I am now much more hopeful than I have ever been about a change in Turkey which will turn politics into less of an individual popularity contest, encourage people not to place unquestioning trust in the government
and not to take high-handed decisions lying down. If these lessons are learned, Turkey will be on the way to real greatness, not the self-satisfaction which has too often passed for that.

During the Brazilian protests that coincided with the Gezi movement in 2013, the Brazilian president, Dilma Rousseff, said that the period had been the ‘awakening’ of the Brazilian people. No one in power said that about the Turkish protests, but they should have done. Luckily, many Turks have worked it out for themselves.

I would like to thank all the Turks who have unwittingly helped me write this book, and whom I haven’t always been able to name. I thank Alex Reddaway, Tim Hoare, Bulut Girgin and Andrew Boord for their invaluable advice, and my parents and sisters for their support. I am also very grateful to the following people: Sir David Reddaway, Aziz Akgül, Roger Scruton, my agent Georgina Capel and editor Walter Donohue. To all my friends and most of all to Alex.