One of the more entertaining spectacles to watch in post-coup Turkey is a carefully tailored atmosphere of public unity and warmth hanging over the country. Secularist and conservative media alike exude nationalistic optimism. There is not a single politician in the country who does not speak of learning from the grave experiences of July 15 to make a fresh, more civil, more inclusive start. Political parties that were at one another’s throats until the coup attempt invite one another to their rallies. Even Turkey’s celebrities race to issue ebulliently patriotic, anti-Gulen Instagram posts.
Read a couple of news articles, watch an interview with government minister or an opposition leader, hear a pop singer talk on TV, and you’ll think Turkish citizens are on the brink of leaving all their differences aside to irrevocably come together.
If only it was that easy. Behind all the carefully constructed discourse of togetherness lies much exclusion and insincerity. Post-coup Turkey, where everyone speaks of renewed mutual understanding and unity, reminds me of a monologue from Samuel Beckett’s absurdist masterpiece Waiting for Godot. In it, the character Lucky speaks of a God who “loves us dearly” but “with some exceptions.”
It seems to me that many in Turkey are pretending to be such gods lately.
And It is not an altogether bad thing: It was lovely that the opposition parties all spoke out against the coup even as its defeat was uncertain.
Yes, It was lovely when President Recep Tayyip Erdogan met with opposition leaders shortly afterwards, and when Prime Minister Binali Yildirim promised to consult with opposition leaders regarding his government’s work more often in the future.
Similarly lovely when the secularist Republican People’s Party (CHP) hosted conservative Justice and Development Party (AKP) in a pro-democracy rally without anyone losing their lives in the process.
And as I mentioned above, in a sign that it truly “loves us dearly”, Turkey’s irrationally polemical -and at times slanderous- media is giving followers something of a break.
But is there really much to be cheerful about? These niceties constitute the absolute minimum that one can –one should– expect of any democracy. And the more poisonous side of Turkey’s politics, the “some exceptions” Beckett speaks of, have continued more of less in full force since July 15, hidden behind the lovely developments above.
For example, it wasn’t so lovely when President Erdogan refrained from inviting the leaders of the pro-Kurdish Peoples’ Democratic Party (HDP) to his post-coup meeting with opposition leaders. It isn’t so lovely that the HDP is not invited to a massive non-partisan pro-democracy rally to be held in Istanbul on Sunday either. It is definitely not lovely when President Erdogan decides to drop all of his 3,000 personal insult lawsuits except those against HDP MPs. In fact, some would call these moves a sign of sustained hatred.
What is certain is that President Erdogan, his Justice and Development Party (AKP), and state officials at all levels, continue a complete boycott of the HDP, the country’s second largest opposition party representing an entire 10% of Turkey’s electorate. Opposition leaders who play along with this narrative of political unity only serve the underlying act of exclusion. The HDP may be an imperfect political body, one with questionable ties to a separatist movement; but pretending that it doesn’t exist will not make the party –or Turkey’s deepening Kurdish problem– go away.
Another thing that surely does not count as lovely was how President Erdogan used the political momentum he gained after the coup attempt to rekindle an older battle: the Gezi Park protests of 2013, when millions of Turkish citizens across the country protested not only the government’s decision to build the replica of an Ottoman barracks over one of Istanbul’s last central parks but also its increasing authoritarianism. Speaking to supporters a mere day after the coup attempt, Erdogan exclaimed: “We will build (the barracks over Gezi Park) whether they like it or not!” and the promise to build the barracks, if initially out of place in a speech about the perils of military coups, has been a prominent part of Erdogan’s speeches ever since. Gezi Park has high symbolic value since the protests; and bringing up its planned replacement with the barracks is perhaps a good way for Erdogan to work up his own supporters; but what about the millions who do want the park to remain in place? The millions who protested exactly against this kind of “whether they like it or not!” attitude?
What perhaps summarizes the nullity of all this unity-and-understanding talk is how Turkey’s ongoing OHAL State of Emergency is being conducted. The AKP government, using its extraordinary powers as part of the State of Emergency, is bypassing the political opposition and public debate entirely as it revamps state institution after state institution. Addressing concerns regarding the way such changes are made, President Erdogan summed things up with his usual eloquence: “What can I do if you are not ready?”
Indeed, he “loves us dearly”—if we are ready.
Oh, and a note about the media, the messenger and loudspeaker of this new bright phase of unity and understanding: Our newspapers have indeed paused tearing apart politicians and civilians on opposing sides of the political spectrum; but I suspect that is because they have a better role nowadays. They gleefully volunteer to try, convict and condemn suspected coup attempters and Gulenists—all in an environment where arrest warrants for putschist generals and elder poets go hand in hand, mind you. What has changed in most Turkish media after July 15 is the target of broad, ill-researched attacks, not faulty journalistic principles.
All of these show that the “some exceptions” are easily overtaking the “dear love” in post-coup Turkey.The reality of the situation is that Turkey’s rulers are incapable of taking steps towards the spirit of unity and understanding they have been preaching since July 15. When President Erdogan and his followers in the AKP speak of such high-minded concepts, they are not sincere. “Unity” is possible only under their banner, and “understanding” is not offered to dissenting citizens, it is expected of them.
In any case, it is not only wrong but also deeply silly to pretend that a single crisis, no matter how deeply existential it is, will be enough to bring Turkey’s deeply polarized people together. That is not how any community works, let alone one as troubled and divided as Turkey. The unintelligent pretention that such a dramatic reunion is possible only oversimplifies the myriad social dysfunctionalities the Turkish state and people must confront in sincerity and seriousness.
This air of meta-unity, already revealed for the illusion that it is, will dissipate soon. As soon as Turkey faces its first post-coup crisis, perhaps, for the incidents I list above show that Turkey’s political actors, for all their sweet talk, remain unwilling to change their ways. And as Turkey settles back into its polarized, implosive self, the country’s problems and divisions will only have become more gangrenous.
It is easy to utter words in support of unity, of understanding and reconciliation. Such words, whether one is a politician or a journalist or a private citizen, are good political commodity. In turbulent times like those Turkey is facing, they almost have to be uttered, individuals and parties more or less have to perform the words lest they be suspected of siding with the treacherous enemy.
Such showmanship is perhaps useful in the short run. But if people who hold power in Turkey do not start putting some meaning into those words, the country will be waiting for peace and democracy for a long time to come.And its drama, already shifting from a Beckett-esque absurdism to a full-on tragedy, will only darken further.