Faith and Fashion in Turkey: Consumption, Politics and Islamic Identities 9781350986343, 9781786733795

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Nazlı Alimen is a research fellow at Helsinki University. She holds a PhD in Cultural Studies and Marketing from University of the Arts London. Her research interests include visual and material cultures, particularly fashion and dress, consumer culture, and fashion marketing. She has published in a variety of journals and has written a chapter for The Routledge International Handbook to Veils and Veiling Practices.

‘This is a fascinating and important exploration of the diversity that characterises Islam in today’s Turkey. Giving attention to women and men, spaces and bodies, markets and communities, Alimen gives us a compelling and theoretically sophisticated picture of how religion is literally part of the fabric of life.’ Nancy T. Ammerman, Professor of Sociology of Religion, Boston University and author of Sacred Stories, Spiritual Tribes: Finding Religion in Everyday Life ‘Nazlı Alimen’s outstanding study of gender and everyday religion in Turkey is one of the few to move beyond the popular and scholarly preoccupation with the veiled female body. Gaining rare access to members of three religious communities, Alimen’s research on women’s experiences of veiling, not veiling, de-veiling, and re-veiling pair brilliantly with revelations about how men choose clothes and manage facial hair (growing, shaping, removing beards and moustaches). As visible markers of religious and community become newly and differently stigmatising in the crackdown on perceived followers of Fethullah Gülen, Alimen’s exploration of the politics and economics of pious consumption could not be more timely.’ Reina Lewis, Professor of Cultural Studies, London College of Fashion ‘Faith and Fashion provides a fascinating and timely comparative study of Islamic masculinities in three faith-based associations between 2012 and 2016. Interviewing observant men and women from the Gülen, Süleymanlı and Menzil communities, Nazlı Alimen uncovers their everyday identities, subjectivities, practices and tastes, including an examination of Turkey’s Islamic high-fashion industry.’ Miriam Cooke, Braxton Craven Professor Emerita of Arab Cultures, Duke University

Faith and Fashion in Turkey Consumption, Politics and Islamic Identities NAZLI ALIMEN

BLOOMSBURY VISUAL ARTS Bloomsbury Publishing Plc 50 Bedford Square, London, WC1B 3DP, UK 1385 Broadway, New York, NY 10018, USA BLOOMSBURY, BLOOMSBURY VISUAL ARTS and the Diana logo are trademarks of Bloomsbury Publishing Plc First published in Great Britain 2018 by I.B. Tauris & Co. Ltd. Paperback edition published 2019 by Bloomsbury Visual Arts Copyright © Nazlı Alimen, 2018 Nazlı Alimen has asserted her right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as Author of this work. For legal purposes the Acknowledgements on p. xi constitute an extension of this copyright page. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or any information storage or retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the publishers. Bloomsbury Publishing Plc does not have any control over, or responsibility for, any third-party websites referred to or in this book. All internet addresses given in this book were correct at the time of going to press. The author and publisher regret any inconvenience caused if addresses have changed or sites have ceased to exist, but can accept no responsibility for any such changes. A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library. A catalog record for this book is available from the Library of Congress. ISBN: HB: 978-1-7883-1166-3 PB: 978-1-3501-2932-0 ePDF: 978-1-7867-3379-5 eBook: 978-1-7867-2379-6 Series: Library of Modern Turkey, volume 40 Typeset by Newgen KnowledgeWorks, Pvt, Ltd To find out more about our authors and books visit www.bloomsbury.com and sign up for our newsletters.

Contents Figures Acknowledgments Abbreviations Glossary Preface

ix xi xiii xv xix

Introduction The Bourdieuan Framework of Field and Everyday Religion The Body and Embodiment: Multiple Muslim Identities Faith and Consumption Spaces and Spatialities Taking a Snapshot Reaching Members, Holding Interviews Outline of the Book 1

Historical Context: Politics, Religion, Society and the Communities The Foundation and the Early Years of the Republic The Return of the Restricted: Islam in Politics as Religious Populism Political and Social Lives in the 1960s and 1970s The 1980s and 1990s: Economic Liberalisation and its Socioeconomic Impacts AKP Rule: From 2002 to the Present The Communities The Gülen Community The Süleymanlı Community The Menzil Community Veiling Practices and the Headscarf Ban in Turkey Conclusion

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1 4 9 11 16 19 21 24 29 29 32 34 35 38 39 39 43 46 47 52

Contents 2

3

4

Fields and Habitus: The Religious Field of Sunni Islam and the Community Fields The Religious Field of Islam in Turkey: The Structure and Structural Openings Islamic Rules of Dressing and Modesty: The Informants’ References and Negotiations Acquisition of Muslim and Community Habitus: The Community Meetings and Worship Being Raised with Community Habitus, Becoming One of the Community Personnel Visual Clues to Community Identities Strategic Changes and Different Levels within the Communities Publicly Distinguishable Clues to Piety and Community Membership of Men Conclusion Power and Politics: Interactions between Fields Conflict and Conformity: Fields and Players Religious Education and İmam-Hatip Schools Struggle over Authority and Activity within the Religious Field of Sunni Islam in Turkey Field Relations: The Bureaucratic Field and Community Fields The Community Fields: Mobility and Permeability Faith in the Marketplace: The Gülen, Süleymanlı and Menzil Communities The Gülen Marketplace The Süleymanlı Marketplace The Menzil Marketplace Conclusion The Body and Space: Gendered Understandings and Practices Community Spaces and Spatial Practices Being Veiled/Non-Veiled, Becoming Veiled: Women’s Experiences

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55 56 61 67 74 81 86 88 93 97 98 99 102 106 113 118 119 127 134 143 149 150 160

Contents Masculinities and Femininities: In the Turkish Muslim Context and in the Faith-Inspired Communities Visibilities and Invisibilities of ‘Muslim’ Women and Men: In the Turkish Context and Community Fields Conclusion 5

166

174 184

Fashion and Consumption Religiously-Related Apparel From Tesettürwear to the Modest Fashion Field The Intersected and Intertwined: The Mainstream and the Modest Fashion Fields Head coverings: Habitus and Taste Regimes Trends and Trendsetters of the Modest Fashion Field Conclusion

198 202 210 220

Conclusion

227

Appendix Notes References Index

241 245 261 285

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187 188 192

Figures 2.1 Süleymanlı women. Source: Paul Prescott / Alamy Stock Photo.

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2.2 Semtia advertisement in Mostar magazine, August 2012.

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2.3 The ‘navy’ colour of a takke (prayer cap) indicates the wearer’s Süleymanlı membership. Source: urvetekstil.com/urun/10/ fawori-takke.html [Accessed 28 August 2017].

93

3.1 Asya Card advertisement (by Bank Asya), Aksiyon 951 (25 February – 3 March 2013).

123

3.2 Cacharel Eşarp web page [Accessed 2 September 2015].

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3.3 A bookmark with Semerkand logo and font. August 2017. Photo: Nazlı Alimen.

135

3.4 The entrance of an apartment building in Üsküdar, Istanbul. Note the Semerkand logo on the upper-left of the poster. October 2015. Photo: Nazlı Alimen.

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3.5 Umrah tours for the 2015 semester break. Source: Mostar magazine, January 2015.

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4.1 The entrance of the Süleymanlı nursery and elementary school where Muharrem (male, 33, Süleymanlı) works. September 2013. Photo: Nazlı Alimen.

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4.2 A plastic pitcher for ‘taharet’ at the Dialogue Society centre in London. July 2013. Photo: Nazlı Alimen.

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4.3 A Süleymanlı woman preparing for a Süleymanlı charity sale. September 2014. Photo: Nazlı Alimen.

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4.4 A Süleymanlı charity sale held in November 2014 in the yard of a mosque. Photo: Nazlı Alimen.

174

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Figures 4.5 An anti-Erdoğan poster right after the Gezi protests, in Beşiktaş Çarşı, Istanbul. On the right side of the drawing, it reads ‘Moustache moustache, dreary moustache, moustache moustache’. August 2013. Photo: Nazlı Alimen.

181

5.1 A traditional mest made of leather. Source: arslan-mest. blogspot.com.tr [Accessed 24 August 2017].

188

5.2 A plastic overshoe. Source: www.selkapar.net [Accessed 24 August 2017].

190

5.3 Armine billboard at an arrivals hall of Istanbul Ataturk Airport’s domestic terminal. September 2014. Photo: Nazlı Alimen.

197

5.4 A Vakko bag (left) and a Vakko scarf (right) in Hayyat magazine, June 2015.

200

5.5 Kayra Spring/Summer 2015.

201

5.6 Aker Spring/Summer 2013.

202

5.7 Different styles of şals in 2012–2013. Source: Sefamerve [Accessed 30 March 2016].

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5.8 Examples of bonnet styles available in the market. Source: www.sefamerve.com/basortusu/bone.html [Accessed 24 August 2017].

208

5.9 Scarf pins with the Arabic letter, wāw (left), and a smiley (right). Source: www.aker.com.tr [Accessed 25 October 2015].

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5.10 Reyhan, a Süleymanlı informant, showing the alterations (the ribbon around the cuffs and the belt) she made on her summer overcoat. September 2013. Photo: Nazlı Alimen.

212

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Acknowledgments It has been a long journey to complete this research and put this book together. I could not have completed this study without the support and help of a number of very important people. First of all, I  wish to thank all my informants who allowed me to investigate their everyday lives and communities, and the helpful individuals who put me in contact with them. For their academic guidance and advice, I would like to thank my doctoral supervisors:  Reina Lewis, Agnès Rocamora, Anthony Sullivan and Özlem Sandıkçı. I have immensely benefited from their comments and critical responses to my research and writing. Furthermore, I am very thankful to Aneurin Ellis-Evans for his invaluable comments and suggestions on the manuscript and my writing. I am also grateful to Erşan Kap, Lezley George and Rohit Dasgupta for their helpful comments and suggestions during the manuscript preparation and publication process. Moreover, I would like to thank Anne Pelletier, Eeva Salomäki and Elina Koivisto who have been extremely caring friends throughout this process. I am also appreciative of the support by colleagues at the University of Helsinki, specifically Jari Salo and Pekka Mäkinen. I thank Sophie Rudland, my editor at I.B.Tauris, who provided invaluable feedback and support throughout the process of publication. The book has greatly benefited from the insightful comments offered by the two anonymous readers who reviewed earlier versions of the full text. I am thankful to the reviewers along with Nick James who diligently copyedited the manuscript. On a personal note, I  am indebted to my sister, Nilüfer Alimen. Without her significant intellectual and emotional support, I  would not have been able to complete this research and finalise the book. Finally, I am immensely grateful to my parents, Ayfer and Salih Zeki Alimen, for their

xi

Acknowledgments constant support and encouragement throughout my life. I also would like to thank them because I would not have been able to successfully carry out this field research without their help and assistance. This book is dedicated with affection to them.

xii

Abbreviations AKP

Adalet ve Kalkınma Partisi (Justice and Development Party)

ANAP

Anavatan Partisi (Motherland Party)

AP

Adalet Partisi (Justice Party)

BBP

Büyük Birlik Partisi (Great Union Party)

CHP

Cumhuriyet Halk Partisi (Republican People’s Party)

CMP

Cumhuriyetçi Millet Partisi (Republican Nation Party)

DP

Demokrat Parti (Democrat Party)

FP

Fazilet Partisi (Virtue Party)

GİMDES

Gıda ve İhtiyaç Maddeleri Denetleme ve Setifikalama Araştırmaları Derneği (Association for the Inspection and Certification of Food and Supplies)

İŞHAD

İş Hayatı Danışma Derneği (Association for Solidarity in Business Life)

MGK

Millî Güvenlik Konseyi (National Security Council)

MHP

Milliyetçi Hareket Partisi (National Movement Party)

MNP

Millî Nizam Partisi (National Order Party)

MP

Millet Partisi (Nation Party)

MSP

Millî Selâmet Partisi (National Salvation Party)

MÜSİAD

Müstakil Sanayici ve İşadamları Derneği (Association of Independent Industrialists and Businessmen)

RP

Refah Partisi (Welfare Party)

TMSF

Tasarruf Mevduatı Sigorta Fonu (Savings Deposit Insurance Fund)

TSE

Türk Standartları Ensitüsü (Turkish Standards Institute)

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Abbreviations TÜMSİAD

Tüm Sanayici and İş Adamları Derneği (All Industrialists’ and Businessmen’s Association)

TÜSİAD

Türkiye Sanayici ve İşadamları Derneği (Association of Turkish Industrialists and Businessmen)

TUSKON

Türkiye İşadamları ve Sanayiciler Konfederasyonu (Confederation of Turkish Businessmen and Industrialists)

xiv

Glossary Abla– Older sister. Ablution– The Islamic procedure for washing parts of the body using water. There are two forms, partial ablution and full ablution. In this study, the term refers to partial ablution, which is a preparation for performing salat and for handling and reading the Qur’an. Ağabey or Abi– Older brother. Alafranga– Cultural expression or practice in a western or European style. Alaturka– Cultural expression or practice in a traditional Turkish style. Avret– The body parts that are commanded to be covered in the Islamic sources. The avret rules depend on space (public/private) and also a person or people present (mahrem or not mahrem, same or opposite sex, etc.) Başörtüsü– Headscarf. Bez– A square or rectangular piece of cloth for covering the head. Cübbe– A long and loose robe. Dershane– A private course for college-entry exam preparation. Ezan– The Islamic call to worship, recited five times a day from mosques. Ferace– A long and loose ankle-length outerwear with a front closing from neck to hem. Fez– A brimless, cone-shaped, flat-crowned hat which is made of red felt and has a black tassel. Fıtrat– Nature or instinct. Fitre– Charity given to the poor at the end of the month of Ramadan. Gecekondu– Shantytown, slum area. Hadith– The Prophet Muhammad’s deeds and sayings.

xv

Glossary Hajj– Pilgrimage to Mecca that occurs once a year, from the eighth to the twelfth of the last month of the Islamic calendar. Halvet– ‘Being alone with’, refers to when a non-married, mahrem man and woman are in a place where no one can see them. Haram– Sinful, any act that is forbidden. Haşema– A generic trademark referring to Islamic or tesettür swimwear for men and women. Hatim– 1. A complete reading of the Qur’an. 2. Can also refer to Süleymanlı meetings led by a Süleymanlı hoca which involve reading and interpreting parts of the Qur’an followed by a religious talk. Hatme– The prayers of the Menzil community. Himmet– Collecting money or donations from Gülen members and sympathisers. Hoca– Teacher, instructor. Hocabey– Male teacher. Hocahanım– Female teacher. İmam– A worship leader of a mosque and/or Muslim community İmam-Hatip– (Prayer Leader and Preacher schools) Public vocational secondary schools. İmsak– The time for the termination of eating and drinking, which is approximately ten or fifteen minutes before the fajr (dawn prayer). İmsakiye– A one-month calendar for Ramadan showing prayer times. Mahrem– A person whom one is never allowed to marry under any circumstance, unmarriageable kin with whom sexual intercourse would be considered incestuous. Masah– Running the wet hands over the head or feet during ablution. Medrese– An Islamic higher education institution training teachers and scholars of Islam in the Ottoman era. Mekruh– A  disliked or offensive act that is not haram, but from which abstention is encouraged. Mekteb– Primary school in the Ottoman era. xvi

Glossary Mescit– 1. A small mosque without a minaret. 2. A prayer room in a public place, such as a university building/campus, airport, or shopping mall. Mest– Special booties that meet the conditions of masah and allow the wearer to masah the feet. Mezhep– A school of thought within Islamic jurisprudence. Müezzin– A person appointed at a mosque to lead and recite the call to prayer for every event of prayer and worship in the mosque. Müftü– A religious officer employed by the Directorate of Religious Affairs in towns/cities. As state-educated theologians, müftüs are responsible for religiously-related issues, and pore over the Hadith and issue religious rulings, i.e. fatwas. Mürid– Followers of a şeyh. Nefis– Carnal desire. Rabıta– Becoming attached to God by discarding worldly thoughts and affairs while meditating and contemplating through individual prayers and repentance. Sadaka– Almsgiving. Sadat– A male descendant of the Prophet. Şal–  A plain or patterned rectangular piece of cloth (usually 70×200 cm) made of pure silk, cotton, modal or viscose, or a blend of such materials, with plain, laser-cut, or tassel edges. Salat– An Islamic obligatory worship performed five times a day. Şalvar– Baggy, drop-crotch trousers. Şapka– A hat. Usually refers to western style hats with a brim. Sarık– A man’s headdress made by wrapping a long piece of fabric around a small cap or the head. Şeyh– A leader of a tarikat. Sohbet– A  community meeting for reading particular texts and talking about religious and community issues. Sunnah– The habits, words, and practices of the Prophet Mohammed.

xvii

Glossary Taharet– Washing private parts with water after urinating and defecating. Takva– The state of being god-fearing and having self-restraint. Tarhana– Instant soup made from a fermented and dehydrated mix of yoghurt and flour. Tarikat– A school or order of Sufism. Teberru– Collecting money from Süleymanlı members and sympathisers. Tekke– A building where tarikat members live and/or gather for worship and ceremonies. Teravih– The additional canonical prayer during Ramadan evenings. Tesettür– 1. Islamic rules for clothing and veiling which derive from the Qur’an and the Hadith, the Prophet Muhammad’s deeds and sayings. 2. Hijab. Tövbe– Repentance. Tövbe almak– To take repentance. Tövbekâr elçisi / elçileri– A messenger / messengers for the repentant. Tuğra– A calligraphic signature of an Ottoman sultan. Türban– The term largely employed after the 1980s to refer to new forms of veiling. Türbe– A  tomb of Ottoman royalty or of a notable person among the ulema or a tarikat. Ulema– Teachers and scholars of Islam in the Ottoman era. Umrah– Visit to Mecca that can be taken at any time throughout the year. Vaiz– A preacher. Vakıf– A religious foundation for public purposes. Zaviye– A small tekke. Zekât– One of the five pillars of Islam: the systematic giving of a proportion of one’s wealth (including cash, gold, silver and commercial items) every year to benefit the poor. Zikir– Repetition of short phrases, such as parts of the Qur’an and the names of God.

xviii

Preface This book explores three faith-inspired communities in Turkey, the Gülen, Süleymanlı and Menzil, and investigates the everyday lives of both female and male members of those communities. It is based on the doctoral dissertation which I completed in August 2016 at the University of the Arts London. The timing of this research was crucial. I  began this study in 2011, when the AKP had governed for nearly nine years. The AKP was still in power when I completed the data collection in April 2016. During the period of AKP rule (2002 onwards), in addition to observant Muslims, faith-inspired communities have gained increasing power and space, and notably strengthened their positions in numerous arenas, including the state bureaucracy, politics and education. As I will discuss further in Chapter One, there were five significant socio-political changes related to this study: 1) the increased visibility of observant men and women occupying higher positions in state institutions and in the private sector, as well as the diminution of negative attitudes towards them; 2) the increased power and public visibility (and arguably decreased stigmatisation) of religious groups, including faith-inspired communities; 3) the lifting of the ban on veiling in the public sphere; 4) the increase in the variety and quantity of religiously-related products and services; and 5) the shifting relationship between the AKP government and the Gülen community, from strategic allies to public enemies.1 When I was making final corrections to my dissertation, Turkey witnessed the 15 July 2016 coup attempt which the Turkish state claims was masterminded by Fethullah Gülen, the leader of the Gülen community, and implemented by certain community members (trials are still in progress at the time of writing).2 I prepared this manuscript in the aftermath of the failed coup, between September 2016 and August 2017, and was therefore able to revise my analysis and make further corrections to the book in the light of the events which followed the coup attempt, and also to discuss xix

Preface potential impacts of these events on the Gülen, Süleymanlı and Menzil communities. However, how and to what extent the coup attempt and ensuing events have influenced and will continue to influence the Turkish political arena and economic and sociocultural arenas (particularly in regard to the everyday lives of members of faith-inspired communities and community marketplaces), it is too early to tell, and further investigation will be required.

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Introduction

Islam is not solely a religious belief, but a powerful tool that structures the social world, in other words the political, economic and sociocultural lives, of people in Muslim societies. In Turkey, an overwhelmingly Muslimmajority country, religion is an important aspect of society, with around 45 per cent of the population identifying themselves as religious and over 90 per cent as ‘observant’ (Çarkoğlu and Toprak 2007). Since religion is perceived, experienced and expressed through the body, how and to what extent Islam shapes the everyday lives of ‘observant’ Muslims can best be observed through the body and embodied practices. Clothing is probably the most visible embodied practice signalling the wearer’s religious identity in the public sphere. Clothing practices, similar to other embodied practices (such as food consumption), are regulated through Islamic rules deriving from the interpretations of the Islamic sources, i.e. the Qur’an and the Hadith (the Prophet Muhammad’s deeds and sayings).1 These rules involve both women and men; however, scholarly works as well as sources on Islamic dress mostly focus on female clothing and veiling practices. Thus, both Muslims and non-Muslims often define Muslim women as those wearing the veil, and veiled Muslim women are at the centre of socio-political discussions and scholarship due to the public visibility of,

1

Faith and Fashion in Turkey and negative meanings attached to, the veil.2 Nonetheless, there are practising as well as non-practising Muslim women who do not wear the veil.3 Thus, in order to extend descriptions and discussions on Muslim women and Muslim female identities, in this book I  explore observant Muslim women’s diverse experiences of the veil: veiling, non-veiling, unveiling, reveiling and de-veiling.4 In addition, I investigate observant Muslim men’s narratives about and involvement in the clothing and veiling practices of observant Muslim women. This book also looks at the clothing and grooming practices of observant Muslim men, since, for those who know what to look for, observant Muslim men in Turkey display certain clues as to their observant identities, such as loose trousers, silver rings and a well-trimmed, thin moustache style. However, observant Muslim men and Islamic masculinities, in Turkey and elsewhere, have received comparatively limited scholarly attention (see Akou 2007, Osella and Osella 2007, Wahsalfelah 2007, Karataş and Sandıkçı 2013). Thus, in this book I  also  explore the construction, reconstruction and expression of Islamic masculinities in Turkey. In line with the socio-political events and discussions of the 1990s and 2000s in Turkey, much attention is paid to Islamists, referring to individuals representing Islamist politics (Göle 1997b), and veiled women are often categorised as ‘Islamists’. However, not all observant Muslims belong to a particular political party or support political Islam.5 Moreover, they do not constitute an entirely homogenous group due to a number of factors, e.g. ideologies, values, gender, income, education, age, class and group dynamics (Sandıkçı and Ger 2011). Therefore, there is a need to examine factors such as these that might influence the construction of Muslim identities among various observant individuals and religious groups. In order to demonstrate the heterogeneities which exist in the lives of observant Muslims, I  study faith-inspired communities, in particular the Gülen, Menzil and Süleymanlı, since these three communities share similar characteristics.6 Thus, this book contributes to the scholarship on religious groups and faith-based organisations (see e.g. Fader 2009, Griffith 2004, Wuthnow 2004), and extends the scope of these studies by concentrating on Islamic groups in a secular, Muslimmajority context and examining faith-inspired communities that are 2

Introduction formed around individuals, outside of organised religious structures, and that have generated for-profit and non-profit organisations. It also builds on research about lived Islam and Muslims, most of which has focused on Muslim-minority contexts, particularly on Muslims in the diaspora (see e.g. Dessing et al. (eds) 2013). In Turkish, the word cemaat means ‘community’ or ‘congregation’. In public discourse and scholarly works, the Islamic movements which have emerged and become increasingly visible in the public sphere since the 1950s have been termed ‘cemaats’ or ‘tarikats’ (Sufi orders). However, I deliberately do not use the term ‘tarikat’ since it has negative connotations in the country’s socio-political context and is also avoided by the Gülen, Süleymanlı and Menzil. Moreover, ‘tarikat’ is generally understood as a congregation that is involved in religion and religious practices. On the other hand, ‘cemaat’ indicates an involvement in not only religious and sociocultural but also economic and political arenas, as in the case of the Gülen, Süleymanlı and Menzil. In addition, my informants used the term ‘cemaat’ when referring to the Gülen, Süleymanlı and Menzil. Therefore, despite the diversity of terminology used in practice, especially those related to the Gülen (for example, ‘Hizmet hareketi’ [Hizmet movement] and ‘camia’ [circle]), I refer to each of the Gülen, Menzil and Süleymanlı as a ‘faith-inspired community’ or simply ‘community’, and term their members a ‘Gülen member/Gülenist’, a ‘Süleymanlı member/ Süleymanlı‘ and a ‘Menzil member’.7 I introduce these three communities and explain their establishment and proliferation in Chapter One, after reviewing the socio-political and economic history of the Turkish Republic. Most works investigating faith-inspired communities in Turkey focus on the Gülen community (see Çobanoğlu 2012, Hendrick 2013, Turam 2007).8 This is not entirely surprising: the Gülen is widespread in the country itself and abroad, with members and sympathisers from a variety of different backgrounds, and with numerous Gülen-affiliated businesses in many fields, such as publishing, education, textiles, clothing, tourism and finance, and non-profit organisations, such as business associations. By contrast, scholarship on the Süleymanlı and Menzil communities remains limited even though these two communities are similarly widespread in 3

Faith and Fashion in Turkey Turkey and abroad, with members from different backgrounds and with diverse business activities, such as education, tourism and publishing.9 This book, however, investigates the Gülen, Menzil and Süleymanlı communities in comparative perspective.

The Bourdieuan Framework of Field and Everyday Religion The Gülen, Süleymanlı and Menzil communities are not solely involved with religion and religious activities but also operate in numerous other arenas. In this respect, Bourdieu’s concepts of field, capital and habitus provide a fertile interpretive framework for the investigation of these communities and their members, activities (e.g. commercial), practices (e.g. worship) and so on, and the examination of the intersections of various factors, such as religion, gender and socioeconomic background. Bourdieuan field theory enables the investigation of the social space in which interactions, transactions and events occur (Bourdieu 2005). For Bourdieu, a field (such as field of education) can be viewed as a ‘network, or configuration, of objective relations between positions’ (Bourdieu and Wacquant 1992:  97). Accordingly, a field is defined by the nature of the resources that are at stake in the field and also by the struggle for claim and control over these resources (Boyne 1993: 248). Thus, a field is a doubly defined social arena, structured by ‘a state of the power relations among the agents and institutions engaged in the struggle’, or, in other words, ‘a state of the distribution of the specific capital’ (Bourdieu 1993b: 73, original emphasis). Capital in Bourdieu’s sense refers not only to monetary/financial sources but also to social and cultural possessions and attributes, such as skills, knowledge and connections (Bourdieu 2007). Bourdieu distinguishes four fundamental forms of capital:  economic, cultural, social and symbolic. Economic capital is ‘immediately and directly convertible into money and may be institutionalized in the form of property rights’ (ibid.: 84). Cultural capital is not only about acquisition but also disposition (Bourdieu 1993a, 2007). It can exist in three forms: embodied (which can be accumulated consciously or unconsciously by social agents themselves, and deteriorates 4

Introduction and dies with its bearer, such as manners, skills and tastes), objectified (i.e. cultural [material] goods, such as books, pictures and machines) institutionalised (i.e. educational qualifications, such as degrees and certificates). Social capital refers to the actual or potential resources that spring from social connections or membership in a group (Bourdieu 2007). Symbolic capital refers to any form of capital (whether economic, cultural, or social) ‘when it is perceived by social agents endowed with categories of perception which cause them to know it and to recognize it, to give it value’ (Bourdieu 1994: 8). All three forms of capital, social, cultural and symbolic, can be converted into economic capital within a specific field. In addition, each form of capital can be transformed from one field to another at different expense and with varying efficacy (Bourdieu 2007). This illustrates that fields are not independent from, but related to, each other. However, each field may have a different degree of relationship with others; in other words, a different degree of autonomy (Bourdieu 2005). Thus, Bourdieu’s framework of field provides for the identification and exploration of agents and institutions at play within a particular field, for connections, struggles and classifications among them, as well as interactions between the related fields, such as the fields of fashion and art (see Entwistle and Rocamora 2006, Rocamora 2002). Every field has different conditions that produce different forms of habitus (Bourdieu 1984: 170). For Bourdieu, habitus is a ‘set of historical relations [deposited] within individual bodies in the form of mental and corporeal schemata of perception, appreciation, and action’ (Bourdieu and Wacquant 1992:  16). Thus, habitus is both a structuring and structured structure. It is a structuring structure which ‘organises practices and the perception of practices’ (Bourdieu 1984: 170). It is also a structured structure that is ‘a system of schemes generating classifiable practices and works’ (ibid.). Since the habitus specific to a field is internalised and manifested by the agents at play in the field, a field is ‘not perceived by someone who has not been shaped to enter that field’ (Bourdieu 1993b: 72). In addition, the habitus specific to a field enables agents to recognise and appreciate the capital specific to that field. Therefore, habitus enables agents to make sense of the field and predisposes them to perceive and behave in a certain way (Bourdieu and Wacquant 1992). 5

Faith and Fashion in Turkey Mahmood (2005) notes that although Bourdieu ‘acknowledges that habitus is learned – in the sense that no one is born with it’, he concentrates on the ‘unconscious power of habitus’ (p. 138). As a result, the Bourdieuan conceptualisation neglects the pedagogical principle of habitus (ibid.). My ethnography affirms this argument and shows that while applying Bourdieu’s notion of habitus, there is a need to extend his conceptualisation and also cover conscious and pedagogical (i.e. learned/taught) aspects of habitus. Moreover, it supports the idea that in the global era the diversification and horizontalisation of religious authorities and sources, and the rapidly changing circumstances of many areas of everyday life (such as consumption spaces and the internet), result in reflexivity and reflexive responses that lead to the instauration of a religious habitus (Mellor and Shilling 2014).10 Thus, there is a need to integrate habitus and reflexivity, and in so doing reveal the intrinsic hybridity of multiple modernities (Eisenstadt 2000) and traditions (Asad 1993, 2009), in which individuals selectively utilise and creatively reinterpret religious and other cultural resources as they ‘negotiate their way through the heterogeneity of the present’ (Mellor and Shilling 2014: 281). Thus, as I discuss in this book, habitus can be acquired through interpersonal contacts (such as observing those who hold leadership/teaching positions in a community and other community members; see Chapter Two) and institutions (such as attending community meetings and staying in community spaces such as dormitories; see Chapters Two to Three). As several scholars (see e.g. Noble and Watkins 2003) have argued and as I demonstrate in this book, habitus can be obtained and employed both consciously and unconsciously. In addition, as Chapter Three shows, agents can selectively use or avoid a certain habitus in different contexts (e.g. public or community space) and before different audiences (e.g. secular/general, or community). This shows that habitus is not constant, but can and does change over time. Habitus operates in two ways: it enables an agent ‘to produce classifiable practices and works’ and ‘to differentiate and appreciate these practices and products’ (Bourdieu 1984:  170). Thus, habitus forms ‘a system of schemes of perception and appreciation, or “taste”, resulting in a “lifestyle” ’, which refers to ‘a system of classified and classifying practices, i.e. 6

Introduction distinctive signs’ (ibid.:171). Taste is both a resource for and a means of (re)producing social hierarchies and distinctions through practices such as clothing and consumption. The social construction of taste is discursive and continuous:  different meanings, in other words social positions, are attached to different practices and material objects which result in affiliation to and/or distinction from particular others. Thus, ‘taste classifies, and it classifies the classifier’ (Bourdieu 1984: 6). It creates differences and boundaries, and social stratifications or status. As this book illustrates, the habitus specific to a certain field, such as a faith-inspired community and the modest fashion, enables agents to accumulate field-specific capital and forms tastes and taste regimes; therefore, it creates distinct classifications that reflect the position of an agent within this specific field and generates practices that create a sense of belonging for community members and indicate community membership in the social world. To sum up, a field can function if there are stakes and people who are prepared to ‘play the game’ and who are equipped with the habitus that comprises ‘knowledge and recognition of the immanent laws of the field, the stakes, and so on’ (Bourdieu 1993b:  72). There exists a struggle for economic capital, social capital (such as social networks and access), cultural capital (such as knowledge and skills), and symbolic capital (such as prestige) in a field. In order to perform effectively in any field, individuals need to hold the field’s habitus and possess the appropriate capital (e.g. fashion capital in the field of fashion, see Entwistle and Rocamora 2006). Consequently, Bourdieu’s framework of field enables me to describe the religious field in Turkey, define and explore the Gülen, Süleymanlı and Menzil communities within the religious field, and identify and examine the relations among these communities, as well as their interactions and intersections with other fields, such as economic and educational. Several studies on some tarikats and faith-inspired communities, which include the Süleymanlı and mostly concentrate on the Gülen community, in Turkey have adopted social movement theory approaches (Bacik and Kurt 2011, Kuru 2005, Tuğal 2009a, 2009b, Yavuz 2003), in particular, the New Social Movements theory.11 According to this approach, new social movements emerge through engagement of a critique of ideologies and events, such as modernisation, secularisation, nation building, urbanisation and 7

Faith and Fashion in Turkey traditional forms of understandings and practices of religion (Şimşek 2004: 115). However, we should not assume that all religious groups are oppositional collective actions and thereby based on resistance, and are in demand for recognition, rights and justice. Moreover, Tuğal (2009b) notes that in analysing Islamic movements, the New Social Movement theory cannot be adopted in its entirety (p.  426), but can be extended through the examination of both structure and agency by adopting a Bourdieuan framework of field and utilising his concepts of habitus and capital (see also Crossley 2002, Husu 2013). Identities created within and boundaries drawn between religious groups are ‘not always posed at the conscious, cognitive level, but are embedded in habits and practices – though they might pass the threshold of consciousness in certain situations’ (Tuğal 2009b: 425, original emphasis). Thus, research should focus also on what connects and differentiates these groups and their members, and how these connections and divisions are ‘conveyed in everyday practice and speech’, ‘rather than only looking at how activists choose to define the group and its others through conscious discourse’ (ibid.). Consequently, as Tuğal notes, there is also a need to explore everyday practices of Islamic agents. However, Bourdieu’s framework of field fails to account for the investigation of the embodied, spatial, fashion and consumption practices, in other words everyday lives, of members of these communities. Thus, I integrate this framework of field with the lived religion approach. Studies of religion in everyday lives concentrate on how religion is ‘practiced, experienced and expressed by ordinary people … in the context of their everyday lives’ rather than focusing solely on religious beliefs and ideas (McGuire 2008:  12), and religious institutions (Ammerman 2007) and spaces formed and controlled by these institutions (Ammerman 2014, Kong 2001, 2002). Investigation of everyday religion, also called lived religion, includes the embodied and spatial practices of individuals and the political, sociocultural and economic context which they inhabit (Ammerman 2007, 2014, McGuire 2007). Thus, everyday religion examines, ‘how and what people eat, how they dress, how they deal with birth and death and sexuality and nature, and even how they modify their hair and body’, and includes paying attention to ‘the spaces people inhabit’ and ‘the 8

Introduction physical and artistic things people do together’ (Ammerman 2014: 190). It thus draws attention to the multiplicity of convergences and divergences in and interpretations and practices of religion within and across societies, religious groups, times, locations and so on. As Cadge et al. (2011) note, Christian (especially Protestant) values and understandings have long shaped research on and discussions of the concept of religion and its role in everyday life and public spaces. In this respect, this book contributes to works which move beyond the boundaries of Christianity and of Europe and North America (Deeb 2006, Mahmood 2005, Tuğal 2009a). In addition, by adopting the Bourdieuan framework of field and examining everyday lives of Gülen, Süleymanlı and Menzil members, this book contributes to the studies on Islamic movements (e.g. Tuğal 2009a, 2009b, Wickham 2002, Wiktorowicz ed. 2004, Yavuz 2003).

The Body and Embodiment: Multiple Muslim Identities In Islam, there are rules related to the body and bodily practices. These rules are shaped in accordance with Islamic texts, including the Qur’an and the Hadith, which cover the explicit teachings and directions of the Prophet as well as how he behaved, and are built upon several religious concepts, such as tesettür. Interpretations of all these rules and concepts form a basis for the constructions and contestations of the ‘proper’ Islamic body and bodily practices. Islamic bodily practices include, but are not limited to, covering the body (tesettür for both men and women), consuming meat that is deemed halal and slaughtered in a halal or ritually approved way, and abstaining from alcohol and goods containing alcohol that will be absorbed by the body (such as perfumes and skincare products with alcohol). The bodily practices that I investigate in this book are shaped in line with the Islamic rules as well as the norms of the faith-inspired communities. These practices include clothing, veiling, facial hair and food. Important to note here is that interpretations of the Islamic rules related to the body and bodily practices might change between different sects and sub-sects across time and in different geographies. Moreover, as this book 9

Faith and Fashion in Turkey demonstrates, interpretations of these rules may differ at individual and community levels, and there can always be discrepancies between interpretations or expectations and actual practices. According to several Islamic scholars, the Qur’an instructs both men and women to lower their gaze. This, along with the covering of the avret (the parts of the body that should not be exposed to people who are not mahrem, i.e. unmarriageable kin, such as father/mother, sister/brother, daughter/son and uncle/aunt), is considered the basis for Islamic modesty (Beşer 2005). Islamic rules of clothing and modesty (‘tesettür’ in Turkish) apply to both men and women, though they do so to different degrees. In addition, what constitutes avret for a woman depends on location and who is present at that location. In public as well as private spaces, in the presence of men who are not her mahrem, a woman’s avret includes the entire body except the face and the hands (ibid.). When in the company of other (Muslim) women, a woman’s avret is between the navel and the knees (Paksu 2001). Therefore, a woman’s avret affects both the bodily and spatial practices of observant Muslim women. A  man’s avret, regardless of location and who is present, is the area between the navel and the knees. Quotidian bodily practices contribute to the creation, organisation, and control of religious beliefs and identities. Numerous studies illustrate that fashion, clothing, facial hair and consumption (such as brands) are all important markers of collective identities within religious groups (see, e.g., Arthur (ed.) 2000, Karataş and Sandıkçı 2013). In some religions and religious groups, embodied traditions and symbols are practised mostly by religious professionals, such as the clothing of Catholic nuns, while in many others there are embodied traditions and symbols practised by not only religious professionals but also laypeople. For instance, conservative Mennonites wear plain dresses which symbolise their separation from the world and highlight their religious distinctiveness (Graybill and Arthur 1999). Some pious Jewish and Muslim men and women wear distinctive headgear and clothing, such as the kippa (skullcap), scarf and turban (Chico 2000, Goldman Carrel 1999). Thus, as this book demonstrates, the body and bodily practices form, present, and dissolve religious identities at individual and collective levels. 10

Introduction A collective identity stands for ‘an individual’s cognitive, moral and emotional connection with a broader community, category, practice, or institution’ (Polletta and Jasper 2001: 285). The body and embodied practices (such as adopting short and simple haircuts in lesbian communities) are central to the construction and presentation of collective identity because as boundary markers, they ‘promote a heightened awareness of a group’s commonalities and frame interaction between members of the in-group and the out-group’ (Taylor and Whittier 1992: 111). In addition, collective identities can be expressed in ‘cultural materials – names, narratives, symbols, verbal styles, rituals, clothing, and so on’ (Polletta and Jasper 2001:  285). However, ‘not all cultural materials express collective identities’ (ibid.). What forms a collective identity is a shared definition of a group and an ongoing process of negotiating boundaries between members and non-members (Taylor and Whittier 1992, 1995). Polletta and Jasper (2001) underline that although it may constitute part of a personal identity, collective identity is different from personal identities (p. 285). In addition, although ‘in constant interplay with personal identities’, collective identities are ‘never simply the aggregate of individuals’ identities’ (p. 298). As members of the Gülen, Süleymanlı and Menzil belong to different demographic and socioeconomic backgrounds (e.g. gender, marital status, education, income and ethnic group) and possess different know-how, skills and attributes, these communities are not homogenous groups. Consequently, as I  show in this book, they (may) develop, experience and express their collective identities differently. Moreover, as I will discuss in Chapters Two and Three, depending on economic, sociocultural and political contexts, from time to time collective identities may shift (Whittier 1995) and also be deployed strategically as a form of collective resource or action in an attempt to transform actors and institutions and to achieve the social mobilisation of members (Bernstein 1997, Tuğal 2009b, 2009c).

Faith and Consumption As I have already indicated, there is no single form of Muslim identity or Muslim lifestyle demanded by Islam or practised by Muslims all around 11

Faith and Fashion in Turkey the world. On the contrary, Muslims have adopted a great number of lifestyles and (re)constructed a multitude of identities, similar to the diversity of interpretations and practices of Islam. Islamic products and services have shaped, and also been shaped by, consumer needs, desires and tastes, such as Islamic hotels, restaurants and cafés (Sandıkçı and Ger 2001), and Chador Barbie, Razanne and Fulla dolls, and Mecca Cola, as Islamic alternatives to, respectively, Barbie and Coca-Cola (Kuppinger 2009, Ram 2007). These all help foster religious identities through consumption practices. Religiously-related fashions and fashion magazines are the most prominent arena in which Muslim identities are (re)constructed and (re) presented (Jones 2010a, Lewis 2010, Sandıkçı and Ger 2010). In order to further examine observant Muslim identities as well as the Gülen, Süleymanlı and Menzil identities, I  investigate the religiously-related fashion arena in Turkey. Religiously-related clothing and accessories for women have come to be regarded as ‘tesettür’ in public discourses (including everyday conversations and the media) and scholarship, such as ‘tesettür-fashion’, ‘tesettür style’ and ‘tesettür companies’.12 Nonetheless, the word ‘tesettür’ in Turkish refers to Islamic rules of modesty, including clothing and veiling, and covers both men and women (see Chapters Two and Four). However, this business area does not create, alter, produce and market Islamic rules, but rather clothes and accessories which are, arguably, in line with tesettür and are mostly for women. Thus, I have introduced the term tesettürwear in order to distinguish the religious concept (tesettür) and the business area (tesettürwear). This terminology change widens the scope of discussions on modesty and embodied practices, and draws attention to both Muslim men’s and women’s understandings and experiences of tesettür, rather than referring to and examining only Muslim women’s clothing and veiling. As Sandıkçı and Ger (2011) explain, ethnoconsumerism can provide a ‘useful framework to develop a situated understanding of Muslim consumers’ (p. 496). Venkatesh (1995) describes ethnoconsumerism as a conceptual framework to study ‘consumption from the point of view of the social group or cultural group that is the object of the study’ (p. 27). Consumerism here does not refer to consumption-centred ideologies, but ‘a set of cultural practices’ that represent the ‘tendencies of consumer orientation’ (ibid.). Rather than imposing predetermined categories, 12

Introduction ethnoconsumerism employs the theoretical categories ‘originating within a given culture … on the basis of the cultural realities of that group’ (ibid.) to examine consumer behaviour. Thus, it analyses ‘actions, practices, words, thoughts, language, institutions, and the interconnections between these categories’ (ibid.). Ethnoconsumerism extends ‘the so-called native’s point of view’ to ‘the development of knowledge constructed from the culture’s point of view’ (ibid.: 28). It requires the investigation of the individual ‘not only as an individual but as a cultural being, as a part of the culture, subculture, and other group affiliations’ and explores ‘the consumer (his or her personality, cognition, and mental constructs) and the values systems, symbolic belief systems, rituals, and everyday practices all interwoven into a holistic view of the consumer’ (ibid.: 44). This means that ethnoconsumerism is a multi-layered approach consisting of the study of the cultural (symbolic and belief systems, norms and ritualistic practices), the social (such as social organisations and social institutions) and the individual (for instance, personality and cognition) (ibid.). Therefore, ethnoconsumerism provides an alternative to the western-oriented approaches, and a framework to study diverse social groups and cultures within a macro-system. For an ethnoconsumeristic understanding of a given culture, a cultural analysis is essential. This analysis begins with the identification of the cultural framework including cultural objects/things (such as the possessions informants shared with the researchers – meals or photos of family members), cultural practices and experiences (for instance, rituals associated with a specific religious festival), conceptual schemes and structures (for instance, the sacred and profane, institutions of marriage and community), and social histories and memories. From this framework, cultural categories are distinguished, and cultural practices and pertinent socioeconomic trends related to these categories are determined. The relationships among all these cultural categories, cultural practices and pertinent socioeconomic trends are outlined. Following this, cultural categories are interpreted in order to generate meanings, obtain cultural understanding of consumption, and to formulate a theory (Meamber and Venkatesh 2000, Venkatesh 1995). Thus, ethnoconsumerism allows an investigation of numerous factors and sources, and their interrelationships at micro and macro levels (see Chapter Three). This book develops an ethnoconsumerist framework by 13

Faith and Fashion in Turkey reviewing the historical background of the country and the communities in terms of politics, religion and socioeconomics, in order to investigate fashion and consumption practices of observant Muslims and examine the marketplaces of the Gülen, Süleymanlı and Menzil communities. For many religious and political groups in Turkey, including faithinspired communities and political (Islamist) parties, Islam is ‘a network for social mobility and a way of solving the transaction costs of information and enforcement in the market’ (Yavuz 2004c: 281). Particularly since the 1980s, with the shift at that time to liberal economic policies and the sociocultural impacts of these policies, religious and political groups as well as observant individuals have become significant players in the economic arena and thereby gained access to previously inaccessible or limited social arenas. The Gülen, Süleymanlı and Menzil communities are among those groups that have benefited from opportunities in these diverse arenas and developed their own marketplaces, which consist of a great number and wide variety of (branded) goods and services, such as schools, universities, and college preparation courses, publications (such as newspapers and magazines), food and beverages, supermarkets, travel agencies and hospitals. Thus, by investigating the marketplaces of the Gülen, Süleymanlı and Menzil communities, this book sheds light on an understudied dimension of the religiously-related consumption space in Turkey. The tradition of bodily hygiene and the cleanliness of private spaces (for instance, removing shoes while entering a house) in Turkey correlate with Islamic rules related to purity. These rules, as in Judaism, do not only cover outer/physical and inner/spiritual cleanliness but also inner/physical cleanliness. That is to say, what goes into or touches the body and what is consumed or absorbed by the body, including food, cosmetics and specific fabrics and materials (such as the ban on men’s use of clothing and accessories made of gold and silk), constitute crucial parts of faith and worship. This, in turn, contributes to the construction of observant Muslim identities and also creates market opportunities, such as halal food and halal certificates. Islamic dietary laws, set out in the Qur’an and Hadith, revolve around two basic categories: halal (lawful, licit, or permitted) and haram (unauthorised, unsanctioned, or illegitimate). For instance, pork and pork 14

Introduction products, alcoholic beverages and food containing alcohol are regarded as haram. Traditionally, in the Turkish context, the pig is considered a dirty, pestiferous animal, and pork and pork products are not produced and consumed on a large scale, but are served in some restaurants and sold in charcuteries and supermarkets located in upper-class/secular neighbourhoods, such as Nişantaşı, Istanbul. On the other hand, even though alcohol is forbidden in Islam and opposed by several observant Muslims in Turkey as well as by the Justice and Development Party (AKP) government, its abstinence is broadly interpreted as a matter of personal choice; and alcoholic beverages have long been commercially produced and distributed in the country. In addition to forbidden items, there are regulations in Islam defining the halalness of food and drinks, such as the process of slaughtering the animals (al-Qaradawi 2001, Regenstein et al. 2003). Since the 1970s, Islamically-appropriate animal slaughter has become an important public issue. This has largely been a result of Muslim migration to, and growing Muslim populations in, Western (Muslim-minority) countries, such as France and the UK (Bergeaud-Blackler 2007).13 However, in a Muslimmajority country such as Turkey, this has historically not presented an issue, since Islam and related religious practices such as Islamic dietary laws and regulations have been deeply embedded in everyday lives.14 Nonetheless, the concept of ‘halal’ products and services has proliferated rapidly in Turkey in the 2010s. People’s concerns with and discussions relating to the halalness of food products in Turkey can be dated back to the 1970s (see Batu 2012). This was also the decade when political Islam began to spread in the Turkish context. The emergence of such concerns and arguments can also be related to two socioeconomic changes: migration to urban areas, e.g. Istanbul, and the diffusion of packed food and beverages. Debates over the ‘halalness’ of food and beverages in the 1970s were mostly concentrated on foreign brands, imported goods and packed/canned products, such as Coca Cola and margarine. Starting in the 1980s, the shift to liberal economic policies was followed by the transnationalisation of the food industry, for instance, imported poultry feed, as well as genetically modified products in the following decades. In addition, low levels of confidence on the part of Turkish 15

Faith and Fashion in Turkey consumers in food laws and regulations, and in the authorities in charge of assessing food quality and safety (including food labelling, hygiene, food additives, pesticide residues, policies on biotechnology, import inspection, and certification systems), might be influential on ‘halal’ issues, since the halalness of food/drinks is generally understood to prove their quality and safety (Bonne and Verbeke 2008, Jamal and Sharifuddin 2015). Therefore, numerous factors including economic liberalisation, migration, globalisation, marketisation, and consumers’ lack of trust in regulatory institutions and actors in the food chain, have created new spaces and demands for food audit, and have thus led to the development of the ‘halal’ market in Turkey. Thus, as will be explored in Chapter Three, halalness and halal certifications have presented new opportunities for market differentiation and new areas of commodification. However, as I will discuss, the question of who defines halal quality remains controversial.

Spaces and Spatialities Space is not ‘a neutral medium that stands outside the way it is conceived’ (Crang and Thrift 2000: 3). It is ‘at once a precondition and a result of social superstructures’ (Lefebvre 1991:  85). For Lefebvre, space is the outcome of past actions and it is what permits, suggests, or prevents the occurrence of new actions (ibid., p.  73). In this respect, it can be suggested that what forms and maintains a space is the habitus possessed by agents. Therefore, space is both a determinant and an outcome of different forms of knowledge and practices and different social institutions. An illustration of this is sacred spaces that are recognised as arenas in which members perform the rules of a particular religion, and young members and converts learn these rules and norms (Mazumdar and Mazumdar 1993). Sacred spaces also provide a site for gathering and a tool for organising society, and give the sense of community and belonging. In addition, socialisation in sacred spaces enables people to learn religious rituals not only from specialists such as rabbis, imams and priests but also from relatives, particularly older family members, and peers (Mazumdar and Mazumdar 2004). Socialisation also contributes to the production of

16

Introduction sacred space (such as a student dormitory of the Süleymanlı community, see Chapter Four). Gender, particularly in patriarchal cultures and in some religions, for instance Judaism and Islam, regulates embodied and spatial practices. In numerous aspects of everyday lives, such as language, education and religion, there are parallels between gendered practices and gender-segregated spaces that affect and produce each other (Fader 2009). Thus, gender has become a significant factor determining the societal expectations and religious experiences of men and women, such as access to sacred spaces. Sacred spaces of Islam (e.g. mosques and mescits, which, in the Turkish context, refer to small mosques without minarets and also to prayer rooms in public places, such as airports and shopping malls) usually consist of gender segregated areas for men and women, each of which has its own entrance, racks for shoes, toilets, washing facilities for performing ablution, and praying areas. Despite the segregated areas for women, Islamic sacred spaces, particularly mosques, have generally been viewed as an exclusively male domain where men gather, socialise, and may occupy manifold authority roles including prayer leader, preacher, interpreter and authority. Thus, gendered organisation of sacred spaces and women’s restricted access to, and even exclusion from, mosques point to gender hierarchies and power differentials (Morin and Guelke 2007). This, for instance, forms the basis for the exclusion of women from leadership roles (see Aryanti 2013). As in many other contexts, both Muslim-majority and Muslimminority (e.g. the UK; see Shannahan 2014), mosques in Turkey (i.e. official sacred spaces of Islam) are perceived as ‘masculine’ spaces, or spaces for men, due to the traditional and local understandings and practices of Islam. For instance, men are expected to attend the Friday prayer that takes place in every mosque, whereas women are exempt from this practice (and also [potential] social and religious pressure for Friday prayer attendance). Moreover, in Turkey, funeral and Eid prayers are performed as men-only congregational prayers held in mosques. Nonetheless, women as well as men can attend mosques for daily prayers and teravih, the additional canonical prayer during Ramadan evenings.

17

Faith and Fashion in Turkey Spaces and spatialities greatly influence embodied practices and thus contribute to the formation of Muslim subjectivities (Gökarıksel 2009, Secor 2002). Embodied and spatial accounts of religion need to recognise and include both officially and unofficially sacred spaces (Kong 2001, 2002). The community spaces of the Gülen, Süleymanlı and Menzil investigated in this book are not mosques, in other words not officially sacred spaces. In addition, Gülen, Süleymanlı and Menzil members visit both officially sacred spaces, i.e. mosques, such as for Friday prayers, and also their communities’ spaces, which are mundane spaces with community-specific meanings attached to them and which are used for worship and other social meetings of the communities. These community spaces are usually menonly or women-only premises, though some community spaces, similar to officially sacred spaces, are gender-segregated. Thus, the investigation of spatial practices and community spaces as well as the spatial practices of community members in both private and public spaces enables a comparison and critical discussion of Islamic masculinities and femininities within each community as well as among all three communities. In Islam, purity plays a central role. Religious performances, such as the salat (five-time a day prayer), require the purity of not only the body (i.e. minor and major ablutions) but also the space where prayers will be held. Therefore, cleanliness is one of the important characteristics of Muslim domestic spaces and also official and unofficial sacred spaces, such as a faith-inspired community’s student dormitories. Cleanliness of these spaces is mainly ensured by removing shoes at the entrance and keeping them in a designated space, for instance shoe racks and boxes. Therefore, as will be demonstrated in Chapter Four, mundane spaces can be easily turned to spaces for worship. Sacred spaces can be regarded as collective possessions of a group of believers as they comprise collective identity and conscience (Belk 1992). They can contribute to the creation and continuation of the boundaries that sustain religious identities and communities (Kong 2004:  373). As Chapters Two to Four will illustrate, the community houses and community student dormitories of the Gülen, Süleymanlı and Menzil are the spaces where community fields and their structures, including power relations and dispositions, become materialised and thereby visible through 18

Introduction the body and bodily practices (e.g. apparel, the gestures of the players), all of which are ‘fundamental components of the production of sacred space’ (Holloway 2003: 1964). Therefore, the investigation of community spaces helps illuminate the embodied practices of the communities and the collective identities which are learnt, performed, or avoided in different spaces.

Taking a Snapshot This book provides a snapshot of the Gülen, Süleymanlı and Menzil communities and their male and female members living in western Turkey within a specific time period (2012–2016), and attempts to historically link and critically discuss the concepts of gender, body, space, Islam, fashion and consumption within this snapshot. In order to explore observed, narrated, presented and represented accounts of this snapshot, I  employed qualitative ethnographic research methods, particularly visual and textual data, observations and semi-structured in-depth individual interviews. My selection of primary and secondary data included photographs and notes that I took during my fieldwork and visual and textual materials that circulated in the mainstream and community-affiliated print and broadcast media (such as news stories, opinion pieces, debates and commentaries, as well as advertisements, brochures and catalogues of tesettürwear brands and of religiously-related or community-affiliated brands, products and services).15 For instance, I bought Süleymanlı calendars from Süleymanlı charity sales that I visited in September 2013 and November 2014. In addition, I bought monthly modest fashion magazines (such as Alâ, Aysha and Hayyat) and some Gülen (Aksiyon and Sızıntı) and Menzil (Semerkand and Mostar) monthly magazines. As the internet and social media portals are now widely diffused and well-integrated into everyday lives in Turkey, they have greatly contributed to this research. I  was able to follow not only institutional players (e.g. fashion magazines and companies) but also individual designers and consumers of the fashion arena whose websites, blogs and Facebook and Instagram accounts were open to the general public. Similarly, I followed public accounts and browsed images on Twitter. More importantly, 19

Faith and Fashion in Turkey I was able to gather further information about the communities and their activities in different arenas (such as the economic and journalistic fields) that would be difficult or even impossible to reach in the pre-internet era. Consequently, my fieldwork, particularly the observations and collection of secondary data, was not limited to the physical space, but extended to the digital space.16 Furthermore, I observed the general Islamic public in the streets, cafés, coffee houses, restaurants and shopping malls in several neighbourhoods of Istanbul. These include Fatih (low/middle income district located on the European side) and Üsküdar (low/middle income district located on the Asian side), both known as Islamic or conservative; and Nişantaşı and Kuruçeşme (upper-middle/high income neighbourhoods located on the European side), considered secular areas (see Gökarıksel 2012, Turam 2013). Moreover, in order to gather information about modest fashion products and brands and to observe retail spaces, sellers and consumers, I visited commercial areas where religiously-related goods are largely produced and/or sold, such as clothing, products for pilgrimage and Islamic books. These areas include Fevzi Paşa Street and its surroundings, and Beyazıt neighbourhood in Fatih, both in Istanbul, and Çankaya and Kemeraltı in Izmir. In addition, I observed women as they tried on clothes and scarves, and talked with shop assistants about the items, such as those in vogue and bought frequently. I  visited tesettürwear boutiques selling numerous high-end modest fashion brands and accessories in Erenköy (a middle-high income neighbourhood populated by observant inhabitants and located on the Asian side of Istanbul), and in Nişantaşı, a high-end boutique, Studio Nish, which opened in November 2013, offering products mostly for veiled women, from religiously-related brands and special collections designed not only by religiously-related fashion designers and brands but also mainstream fashion designers, for instance Erol Albayrak. My informants invited me to their houses and offices for interviews, and also provided access to various community spaces such as schools, student dormitories and community houses. During my fieldwork, I visited a nursery school, girls’ dormitory, a charity sale and open-air bazaar of the Süleymanlı community (Figure  4.4), a Menzil community house and atelier that makes made-to-measure clothes in western Turkey, and 20

Introduction a Gülenist institution, The Dialogue Society, in London. I also attended a wedding of a Gülenist man and woman on the invitation of two informants, Leyla and Ahmet, who are cousins of the couple and most of whose families are also Gülenists. I participated in a Friday sohbet, open to the general public and led by a Gülenist hocahanım, in the workplace of Nisa (a 38-year-old female Gülen member) in Fatih, Istanbul. Overall, the observations enabled me to accumulate knowledge about Islamic lives and markets and become familiar with trends, products, brands and retailers, as well as Islamic rules and community norms and notions, all of which in turn helped me better communicate with the informants and thoroughly analyse the interview data. Whilst the observations and collection of visual and textual data expanded through a time period of over four years, between 2012 and 2016, as I explain below, I could hold the interviews with members of the three communities within a limited period of time due to the start of the conflict between the government and the Gülen community in late 2013.

Reaching Members, Holding Interviews The Gülen, Süleymanlı and Menzil communities and their members may have high social visibility among observant circles, but their visibility remains low among the secular public due to secular individuals’ lack of knowledge of them, and the limited or non-existent personal contact taking place. In addition, the number of people affiliated to, and the density of, these three communities remain unknown. Moreover, even though the Gülen, Süleymanlı and Menzil are not known as radical and secretive communities, within the socio-political context of Turkey, from time to time these three faith-inspired communities, vehemently or more discreetly, may be regarded as opponents of the secular regime, or as supporters of Islamism and a sharia regime. Consequently, the target population of this research is ‘hidden’ or ‘hard-to-reach’, consisting of groups of people who do not wish to be contacted or found. Reaching members and obtaining their consent for interviews was difficult despite the increased public recognition of these groups and the activities of the communities themselves, mainly through their for-profit 21

Faith and Fashion in Turkey and non-profit organisations, in the public sphere under the AKP rule. There was a potential risk during my fieldwork that (influential) individuals from higher levels of the communities could block my access by ordering members not to contact me if they perceived my research to be potentially detrimental to the community. Alternatively, they could attempt to change the direction and content of my research so as to fit their agendas (see Tittensor 2016). Thus, in order not to be perceived as a spy working for a secularist media outlet or a secularist political party to collect information to develop adverse arguments and claims against these communities, or as an interested newcomer or a potential recruit by members of these communities, I initially recruited informants through my own contacts including friends and relatives. Most of my initial contacts are members of these communities while a few others are in close contact with members of the communities. I  began interviews with informants who were ‘most likely to provide early information’ (Goulding 2005:  296). These informants also enabled me to gain the trust of, and familiarity with, other members of the communities. In addition, these interviews enabled me to see whether there was a difference in the attitudes and answers between the familiar informants (who I already knew personally) and unfamiliar informants (who I had not known previously). Thus, I  used a snowball-sampling method, and through the referrals of the informants, I  obtained contact with potential informants. However, I decided on which potential informants to approach in order to ensure a balance in terms of age, income and gender. Therefore, contacting and recruiting informants was an ongoing and iterative procedure throughout my fieldwork. Due to the increasing socio-political tension between the government and the Gülen community starting from mid-November 2013, the risk of losing access to the communities became higher, especially with regard to the Gülen community. This affected my research in that I could not recruit more Gülenist informants. Soon after this, the Menzil and Süleymanlı communities also became concerned about similar problems with the government. Consequently, I could not recruit more Süleymanlı and Menzil informants either. Moreover, the Gülenist informants I  had interviewed previously, in August and September 2013, refused my request 22

Introduction for follow-up interviews in July and August 2014. Nonetheless, the data collected from the informant group provided insights on the communities and detailed information on the research topics. Consequently, together with the textual and visual materials, the interview data was sufficient to develop arguments. During two sets of fieldwork completed in August/September and November 2013, I interviewed 34 members: 10 from the Süleymanlı (five men and five women), 14 from the Gülen (five men and nine women), and 10 from the Menzil (three men and seven women).17 I conducted all interviews face-to-face and in Turkish. I used pseudonyms while presenting the informants. Details about informants are introduced when they are first mentioned, and thereafter summarised briefly in parentheses. In order to maintain the confidentiality of my informants, especially those with spiritual leadership positions in the faith-inspired communities and those from towns, in general I  do not explicitly state their location. On the other hand, I do mention the locations of six informants, Asude, Havva, Didem, Leyla, Aylin and Nisa, since they live in the city centres of Istanbul, Bursa and Ankara, and do not occupy spiritual leadership positions in their communities. Many of the remaining informants are from three towns that are located in the Aegean region (western Turkey). In these towns, as in Istanbul, Bursa and Ankara, the Süleymanlı, Gülen and Menzil communities are very active, with numerous members and sympathisers, and several community spaces, such as student dormitories and schools. Gender is a barrier to access for a female researcher while interviewing male observant Muslims. This study does not cover radical communities whose male members might avoid personal contact with women, or a topic that male informants might find difficult or avoid discussing with a female researcher.18 However, observant Muslim men may prefer not to stay in a place alone with a strange woman and may therefore refuse the interview request of a female researcher. According to the interpretations of the Islamic rules, a man cannot stay alone in the same physical environment with a woman who is not his mahrem (unmarriageable kin with whom sexual intercourse would be considered incestuous). This is called halvet, meaning ‘being alone with’, and refers to when a man and a woman 23

Faith and Fashion in Turkey are in a place where no one can see them. Yet, it is important to note that these rules of mahrem, like the other Islamic rules, may be interpreted and practised differently in different interpretations of Islamic sources (i.e. the Qur’an and Hadith), in different geographical areas and cultures, and by different individuals with various degrees of religious devotion. In Turkey, the rule of halvet is not followed by all and is even unknown by many, mostly being limited to observant circles, such as members of faithinspired communities. In this research, in order to overcome the problems arising from the Islamic rule of halvet, the male gatekeepers were very helpful. For instance, Davut (a pseudonym), who served as the gatekeeper for the Süleymanlı community, introduced me to his contacts, all of whom were men, and attended all interviews I held with his contacts. In addition, interviewing married couples enabled me to increase the number of men interviewed.

Outline of the Book This book consists of five chapters, in addition to the Conclusion. Chapter One reviews the history of the Turkish Republic (1923–present) in order to understand the political, economic and socio-cultural events which have affected the everyday lives of observant Muslims in Turkey and which have contributed to the formation and spread of the Gülen, Süleymanlı and Menzil communities. It also introduces these three communities and different veiling styles in Turkey, and explains the veiling ban in the public sphere and the lifting of the ban. This chapter thus provides context for the data analyses and discussions in Chapters Two to Five. Chapter Two defines the field of religion in Turkey and explains the religious field of Sunni Islam to which the Gülen, Süleymanlı and Menzil communities belong. It defines each community as a separate entity that consists of agents (e.g. members) and institutions (e.g. Qur’anic teaching courses [hereafter Qur’an courses] and student dormitories). This allows the examination of habitus and different forms of capital, power and authority, within each community. This chapter also evaluates ‘structural openings’ in the religious field of Sunni Islam that have contributed to the development and proliferation of these three communities. 24

Introduction Chapter Two continues with the analysis of the informants’ narratives on the Islamic rules related to the body and bodily practices. Following this, it introduces the communities’ social and religious meetings. It elaborates on the influences which these meetings have on the acquisition of Islamic rules and community norms and on the construction of observant Muslim and certain ‘community’ identities. It thus discusses Muslim habitus and community specific habitus, and identifies commonalities and divergences in clothing, veiling and grooming practices at personal, inter-community and intra-community levels. In addition, it demonstrates inconsistencies between rules and practices as well as the inconsistency of an individual within a faith-inspired community. Chapter Three explores conflict and conformity among the fields, including the religious field, the community fields and the bureaucratic field. It reviews the religious education delivered by the state since the foundation of the Republic and also briefly explains primary and secondary education in Turkey. Following this, it analyses the informants’ narratives and the textual data (i.e. Süleymanlı textbooks) on Süleymanlı education. Comparing Süleymanlı education and narratives about it with the religious education offered by the state, it demonstrates the struggle for authority in the production and dissemination of religious knowledge between the Süleymanlı community and the state in the religious field of Sunni Islam. In addition, it analyses the interaction between the bureaucratic and community fields. It discusses the transformation of community-specific identities and the use of diverse (‘secular’) discourses (e.g. that of the Turkish military on veiling) in an attempt to legitimise the communities and their activities and/or to enter and become players in different fields (e.g. the bureaucratic and educational fields). Chapter Three also studies the marketplaces of the Gülen, Süleymanlı and Menzil communities. It introduces several publicly well-known forprofit businesses and non-profit organisations affiliated with these three communities. By doing so, it presents the communities’ diverse activities in many fields (e.g. the economic, academic and journalistic fields) and discusses the accumulation and transformation of different species of capital, such as economic and social capital, among these fields. In addition, it investigates the informants’ narratives on and practices in the marketplaces 25

Faith and Fashion in Turkey of the Gülen, Süleymanlı and Menzil communities. Therefore, it demonstrates that these three communities’ for-profit and non-profit activities in different fields enable their agents and institutions to generate manifold benefits, for example the dissemination of the religious and political ideologies of the communities, generating money, employment and business opportunities, and recruitment of new members. Chapter Three also examines practices of and debates on halal and halal certification in Turkey through the investigation of marketplace practices and of the narratives and practices of the informants. Chapter Four discusses gender in Islam and in the Turkish Muslim context. Focusing on the gendered bodily practices of observant Muslim men and women (e.g. clothing, veiling and grooming), this chapter critically explores the construction and expression of Islamic femininities and masculinities in Turkey. It elaborates on differences among the veiled and non-veiled female informants, and also examines their motives (personal choice or coercion?) in deciding to start wearing the veil. Furthermore, Chapter Four critically explores community spaces and spatial practices, and examines the informants’ understandings of and spatial practices in public and private, and sacred and mundane, spaces. By doing so, it demonstrates how spaces and spatialities influence members’ bodily practices and thus contribute to the formation of community identities in addition to individual observant Muslim identities. In addition, it presents a comparative analysis of the male and female informants’ narratives and practices related to the body and spaces. It investigates gendered practices and divisions within private and community spaces as well as gendered divisions of labour and activity within the Gülen, Süleymanlı and Menzil communities. Thus, it argues for the existence of feminine and masculine invisibilities in the community fields and related fields and in private and public spaces. Chapter Five concentrates on fashion and consumption. After presenting some religiously-related, traditional and contemporary clothes and accessories in the Turkish marketplace, it discusses the religiouslyrelated clothing and accessories sector (tesettürwear) and defines the modest fashion field which, alongside the mainstream fashion field in Turkey, has its own agents and institutions, including designers, manufacturers, 26

Introduction trendsetters and opinion leaders, fashion editors and commentators, photographers, print and online media, and in-store and online retailers. Chapter Five presents these agents and institutions and analyses the female informants’ narratives related to (modest) fashion trends (e.g. veiling styles) and their fashion consumption practices. Thus, this chapter demonstrates different tastes and taste regimes among observant Muslim women from varying socioeconomic backgrounds. The Conclusion summarises the findings and discusses the contribution of the book. It adds to previous works in six ways. First, it covers observant Muslim men, who have been neglected by scholars. Second, it includes not only veiled but also non-veiled observant Muslim women, who have long been overlooked in public and scholarly discussions. Third, it analyses bodily, spatial and consumption practices of observant Muslims from various education and income levels, and compares their narratives related to these practices. Fourth, by exploring everyday lives, including embodied, spatial, fashion and consumption practices, of male and female members, it contributes to the scholarship on religious groups. In addition, it contributes to knowledge about the Gülen community and builds on the limited scholarship which currently exists on the Süleymanlı and Menzil communities. Fifth, by exploring the religiously-related consumption space in Turkey and the marketplaces of the Gülen, Süleymanlı and Menzil communities and by analysing the consumption practices of observant men and women, it examines the construction and presentation of gendered observant and community identities formed by market offerings. Sixth, it covers Muslims not only from city centres but also from towns. In a nutshell, this book includes Muslim men and women from the Gülen, Süleymanlı and Menzil communities and from city centres (i.e. Istanbul, Ankara, Izmir and Bursa) and towns, mostly in Marmara (north-western) and Aegean (western) regions of the country. It critically explores congruities and discrepancies between expectations (of religion, family, society and community) from men and women, and argues how observant female and male agencies are performed and expressed.

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1 Historical Context: Politics, Religion, Society and the Communities

The Foundation and the Early Years of the Republic The Turkish Republic was founded on 29 October 1923, with Mustafa Kemal (Atatürk) as its first president and İsmet (İnönü) as its first prime minister.1 The Republican People’s Party (CHP) was the only political party of the new regime and it ruled the state single-handedly for over two decades (1923–1946). This period is referred to as the ‘singleparty regime’ or the ‘early Republican era’ (Zürcher 2004).2 The singleparty regime was based on Mustafa Kemal’s political ideology, called the Kemalist ideology or, simply, Kemalism, which consists of nationalism, republicanism, populism, laicism, revolutionism and statism; known as the ‘six arrows’.3 Kemalism is a normative project with the purpose of modernising both the state (along with its institutions) and the society in its core. It equates modernity with the West (particularly Western Europe); thus, the terms modern/modernisation, western/westernisation and civilised/ civilisation are used synonymously in the Kemalist discourse. Kemalism imposes ‘modernisation’ as a normative project that aims to achieve the desired ‘modern’ or ‘Western’ manners and appearances, which symbolise a civilised nation. Accordingly, once the country achieves the desired 29

Faith and Fashion in Turkey outlook, the other advancements related to industrialisation and capitalism of modernised nations will follow. The Western or European versions, namely alafranga (the European way) were considered superior to the local and traditional, alaturka (the Turkish way). For instance, wearing ties and hats, shaking hands, dancing (particularly women and men together) and writing from left to right were some of the characteristics of the modern or civilised individuals (Göle 2000).4 Men, for example, would be ‘modernised’ through the use of a Western accessory:  şapka (hat), a word new to Turkish speakers. With the introduction of the hat law in 1925, all (male) citizens were obliged to wear şapkas, i.e. Western style hats.5 This reform also outlawed the wearing of traditional hats, such as the fez (a brimless, cone-shaped, flat-crowned hat made of red felt with a black tassel), and religious headdresses, for example the sarık (a man’s headdress made by wrapping a long piece of fabric around a small cap, see Baker 1986).6 In 1934 dress reform was introduced through a law relating to the wearing of prohibited garments associated with religion, such as cübbe (a long and loose robe). On the other hand, women were not prohibited from wearing headscarves, though they were discouraged from doing so (Aktaş 2006).7 Nonetheless, the veil was banned in public places where women’s visibility demonstrated ‘the new, modern Turkey’ (Göle 1997a). This resulted in the symbolisation of veiled women as uneducated, rural, traditional and non-modern. I will discuss in detail the veil and the ban on the veil in the last section of this chapter. Kemalism relies upon the normative belief that a modern society is a secular one. Thus, Kemalist modernisation was built upon secularisation. The single party regime introduced several reforms in an attempt to eliminate the role of religion in public and private lives. The 1924 constitution’s second article, which designated Islam as the state religion, was repealed in 1928. On the other hand, the ‘secular’ state has regularised and controlled religion through an institution, the Directorate of Religious Affairs (Diyanet İşleri Başkanlığı), established on 3 March 1924, the same day as the abolition of the Caliphate. The Directorate of Religious Affairs trains and assigns personnel, including müftüs (state-educated theologians who pore over the Hadith and issue religious rulings, i.e. fatwas), imams 30

Historical Context (worship leaders of a mosque and Muslim community), müezzins (those who lead and recite the call to prayer for every prayer and act of worship in the mosque), vaizs (preachers) and Qur’an course teachers. It prepares hutbes (Friday sermons), supervises mosques and Islamic education, publishes books and periodicals, and organises the hajj (pilgrimage to Mecca) and umrah (non-obligatory visits to Mecca).8 As I will discuss in Chapter Three, some observant Muslims and faith-inspired communities disavow the interpretations of Islam by, and the activities of, the Directorate of Religious Affairs. The law which entered into force in 1925 abolished all tekkes (lodges where şeyhs [sheiks] and their mürids [disciples] met), zaviyes (Islamic religious schools) and türbes (tombs of notable religious people) all of which had an independent status in the Ottoman Empire. Consequently, the Sufi tarikats, private religious institutions, which had pervasive influence on Anatolian society, were outlawed. Nevertheless, the impact of secularist legislation was uneven in relation to practices. Especially in eastern parts of the country, religious individuals and institutions, including tarikats, tekkes and şeyhs, maintained and even reinvented religious practices (Yalman 1969), such as the Menzil community (see Chapter Two). In a nutshell, the single-party regime aimed to create a national identity and Turkify both the society and religion (Islam). This included ‘a very particular interpretation of Islam that was encoded in official religious educational practices and institutions’ whereas ‘alternative interpretations were condemned and often declared illegal’ (Shively 2008: 684–685). State Islam, an interpretation of Islam by the single-party regime, advocated that individuals referring to themselves as Muslims did not necessarily need to practise the religion and fulfil the duties, such as daily prayers, fasting, giving alms and pilgrimage (Yalman 1969). This contradicted the views of many observant Muslims on Islam and Muslim identity. In the following decades, several political and religious agents and institutions, in particular right-wing/Islamist politicians and political parties (for example, Recep Tayyip Erdoğan in the 2000s), have successfully employed the ‘victimisation discourse’ which argues that the secular regime has used the Kemalist ideology, with its top-down 31

Faith and Fashion in Turkey reforms, to victimise the ‘(subaltern) majority’, whom they term ‘godfearing’, ‘Sunni’ individuals (Kaya 2015).

The Return of the Restricted: Islam in Politics as Religious Populism Although Turkey was neutral during World War II, the results of the war affected the country in many ways, including politically and economically. One of the main effects was the process of transition to a multi-party system in 1946. The victory of the Democrat Party (DP, a socially conservative economically liberal party, founded in 1946) in the 1950 general election with an overwhelming majority ended the 27-year uncontested power of the CHP. The DP won the following two elections, in 1954 and 1957, and ruled the country until the military coup d’état of 27 May 1960 (Zürcher 2004). What distinguished DP rule from the CHP was the Cold War era in which they governed, which turned Turkey into a geo-politically important regional player (Feroz Ahmad 2004). Agricultural production was mechanised with machinery imported from the United States under Marshall Aid (Feroz Ahmad 2004, Karpat 2004). Some state lands were distributed to landless peasants. The state offered extended credit to farmers and subsidised wheat and cotton. Moreover, there was an emergence of a small group of capital owners in the country (Karpat 2004). During the Korean War (1950–1953), to which Turkey sent soldiers in exchange for NATO membership, there was a boom in cotton prices. As a result of this, cotton producers became rich very quickly and some of them invested in cotton-based industries. Several of the large, family-owned companies that dominate Turkish industry today were among those investors (Zürcher 2004: 228). This further developed the wealth and political power of the industrial elite (for instance, TÜSİAD; see the following section). Agricultural mechanisation created a labour surplus in the rural areas. Also, with the help of the US aid, mobility of people was facilitated through extensive road building. Starting from the late 1940s, increasing numbers of people moved from rural to urban areas and began to develop settlements in the outskirts of cities, close to city centres, and in particular Istanbul (Duyar-Kienast 2005). Starting in the 1960s this trend created the 32

Historical Context phenomenon of gecekondu (slum). In slum areas, Turkish political Islam gained great support from the 1970s onwards. As mentioned previously, the single-party regime aimed to transform the ‘backward’ society into an enlightened one (Heper 1985). Reforms were viewed as progressive development by the supporters of Kemalism, but by the rest of society as the rejection and exclusion of local culture (Robins 1996:  68). Observant individuals had been particularly dissatisfied with the reforms governing Islamic practices, such as the recitation of ezan (call to prayer) in Turkish instead of Arabic with the law introduced in 1933. One of the first actions of the DP government was the removal of the ban on the recitation of ezan in Arabic (Feroz Ahmad 2004, Azak 2010). The DP also closed the People’s Houses (Halkevleri), which had been founded during the single-party regime, helping to disseminate Kemalism and implement its reforms, and influencing the electorate on behalf of the CHP (Karpat 2004, Lewis 1974).9 This takeover signified a stance against, and termination of, the Kemalist reforms (Karpat 2004). The single-party regime positioned the Turkish military as its buttress, and despite the transition to a multi-party political system in 1946, the military continued to play a dominant role throughout the following decades (Hale 1994). Ever since then, the military officers have considered themselves protectors of the regime and Kemalism. Towards the end of the 1950s more and more military officers became discontent with DP rule. The DP policies did not directly stand against the Kemalist reforms but rather ignored or moderated them. For instance, the Hat Law was not repealed, but it became moderate or less binding.10 In a similar vein, there was no law banning restaurants from being closed during the daylight hours of Ramadan. However, no action was taken by the police to help the restaurant owners who were frightened or whose restaurants were attacked. Thus, for Kemalists, the DP had abandoned the Kemalist revolution and betrayed the upper socioeconomic classes (Lewis 1974:  149). All this discontent brought the DP to the end. The 27 May 1960 military coup d’état overthrew the DP government. The military officers formed the National Unity Committee (Milli Birlik Komitesi) and held power until 28 October 1961. 33

Faith and Fashion in Turkey

Political and Social Lives in the 1960s and 1970s From the early 1960s to the early 1980s, the Turkish economy pursued a policy of import substituting industrialisation (ISI). The public sector in the 1960s and 1970s dominated heavy industry and owned the majority of industrial establishments, such as flour, sugar and tobacco. There was almost no foreign direct investment. There was a small number of Turkish private enterprises, mostly family holdings located in Istanbul. These refused any reform that would allow a reorganisation of the state economic enterprises to become efficient competitors, thereby altering the country’s economic structure. Rather, they sought state subsidy for the private sector (Feroz Ahmad 2004). These private firms, the only industrial bourgeoisie of the pre-1980s, aimed to further their interests, and in 1971 they established their exclusive organisation, the Association of Turkish Industrialists and Businessmen (TÜSİAD). With the establishment of TÜSİAD, industrialists officially claimed their privileged position and signalled their capacity to influence state policies. TÜSİAD has consistently supported state secularism, which seeks to restrict Islam to the private sphere (Buğra 1998, Kuru 2007). Starting in the 1960s, rapid urbanisation challenged the ideals of the modernisation project (Erman 2012:  293). Whilst the number of people migrating into cities was still low, they could integrate into urban life, but this ceased to be the case after the early 1970s, when this number increased drastically. The populist politics of the political parties began to target the increasing number of immigrants in urban areas. Moreover, they were prone to other competing ideologies, notably political Islam (Poulton 1997). Necmettin Erbakan, the most powerful figure in Turkish political Islam (Çalmuk 2005), initiated the Islamist movement in Turkish politics in the early 1970s with the formation of the National Outlook (Milli Görüş) movement, which was based on anti-globalisation and an anti-Western attitude (Kuru 2005).11 Two political parties Erbakan founded in the 1970s, the National Order Party (MNP) and the National Salvation Party (MSP), were positioned as the parties of the low-income urban and middle-income rural populations with strong religious feelings and conservative values.12 Export of labour from Turkey to European countries was one of the socioeconomically important trends in the 1960s and 1970s. It helped the

34

Historical Context Turkish economy both by decreasing the unemployment rate and by providing a flow of foreign currency into the country (Feroz Ahmad 2004). Also, political Islam in Turkey benefited from the financial support of guest workers in Europe. Turkish guest workers were originally from rural areas of Turkey and traditionally religious. Their integration problems and need for affiliation in a foreign culture turned them into a target for Turkish religious and ideological groups such as the Süleymanlı community (see Yavuz 2003, Yükleyen 2010) and the National Outlook movement (see Jenkins 2012). The rapid politicisation and polarisation of society around left- and right-wing ideologies in the 1960s reached its peak in the 1970s and was reflected in bodily practices, for example clothing, hair and moustache styles all becoming markers of one’s political views and religious persuasion (Olson 1985, Yumul 2010). Black baggy trousers distinguished the new political group, Islamists. Parkas, especially khaki coloured, and the bushy chevron moustache, called ‘communist’ or ‘Stalin’, covering the upper lip, were emblematic of the leftists. The horseshoe moustache symbolised the nationalist movement. These moustache styles still hold the same connotations. The military took over political power on 12 September 1980, claiming that they wanted to end the socio-political strife between rightists and leftists and to make the state organs, which had stopped functioning, start working properly again (Zürcher 2004:  278). The 12 September military regime (1980–1983), unlike previous ones, attempted to reconstruct the relationship between the secular state and religious society and control religious activities.13 Its promotion of Islam as a social cement strengthened Turkish society’s shift towards ‘more conservative values and identity’ (Jenkins 2012: 134). This replaced the right/left division with a new one: the secularist/Islamist division.

The 1980s and 1990s: Economic Liberalisation and its Socioeconomic Impacts The austerity measures known as the 24 January 1980 Decisions included a devaluation of the Turkish Lira and the designation of a new economic 35

Faith and Fashion in Turkey plan, introduced by Turgut Özal, the principal economic adviser to the prime minister, which focused on the export rather than the home market (Feroz Ahmad 1993: 178). This programme aimed to ‘curb inflation, to fill in the foreign financing gap, and to attain a more outward-oriented and market-based economic system’ (Central Bank of the Republic of Turkey 2002: 5) and resulted in a shift to a free market economy. Özal founded the Motherland Party (ANAP), which gained a vast majority of the votes in the 1983 and 1987 general elections and governed the country between 1983 and 1991. The ANAP government sustained the 24 January 1980 Decisions with measures including liberalisation (Feroz Ahmad 2004), and implemented accelerated reform and adjustment processes in all sectors of the economic system (Güler 2005). Moreover, overturning import prohibitions in the 1980s and joining the European Union Customs Union in 1995 resulted in a flow of foreign goods into the country. Local producers improved quality, increased variety, attempted to keep costs low and used effective marketing techniques to compete with foreign producers both at home and abroad (Ger 1992). With the rapid growth of the private sector, the number of products and producers increased. With decreased prices and increased variety, goods became accessible to greater segments of the Turkish population (Eser et al. 2007). Moreover, it was the late 1980s when the tesettürwear sector began to take shape (see the section on veiling practices in this chapter). Starting in the 1990s a new elite of the Islamic bourgeoisie emerged (Başkan 2010), in particular as a result of the rise of private enterprises in Istanbul and several Anatolian cities, such as Denizli, Bursa and Gaziantep (Cizre-Sakallıoğlu and Yeldan 2000, Demir et  al. 2004). To unite small and medium scale employers, some pious entrepreneurs founded the Association of Independent Industrialists and Businessmen (MÜSİAD) in 1990 (Buğra 1998). This was followed by the establishment of several other religiously-conservative trade and business associations in the 1990s and 2000s, such as the Gülen’s İŞHAD (the Association for Solidarity in Business Life, established in 1993)  and TUSKON (the Confederation of Turkish Businessmen and Industrialists, founded in 2005), and the Menzil’s TÜMSİAD (All Industrialists’ and Businessmen’s Association, founded in 2005). 36

Historical Context Thus, the economic liberalisation policies of the 1980s and early 1990s created ‘opportunity spaces’, i.e. socioeconomic arenas and mediums, for previously excluded segments of society including Islamic/Islamist individuals and groups such as faith-inspired communities (Yavuz 2004c). Facilitating interaction among individuals and groups, these opportunity spaces, such as newspapers, TV stations, financial institutions and private schools, have created new possibilities for producing and delivering their ideas and ideologies (for example, Islamism and a particular interpretation of Islam) and thereby resulted in emancipation from secular, state-formed structures and organisations (ibid.). All these have consequently contributed to the progress and proliferation of Islamic/Islamist groups. As this book argues, the Gülen, Süleymanlı and Menzil are among those that have benefited from the opportunity spaces which have enabled these communities to enter into new fields and interact with the players and institutions they encounter there (for example, the economic and journalistic fields, see Chapter Three). In this way, they have gained numerous advantages including the growth, diffusion and maintenance of the communities, the creation and proliferation of community identities, the accumulation of wealth, the recruitment of new members, and the dissemination of their religious and political ideologies. In the 1980s and 1990s the Islamist leader Necmettin Erbakan founded and led two political parties: the Welfare Party (RP, 1983–1998) and the Virtue Party (FP, 1998–2001). The Islamist parties of the 1970s based on Erbakan’s ‘Just Order’ (Adil Düzen), which based itself on a platform of social and economic equality, opposed both the West and the Communist East and appealed to religious feelings and pious individuals, including farmers and provincial small business owners, artisans and craftsmen (Tuğal 2016, Yavuz 2009). The RP, on the other hand, embraced the growing pious business class and ‘assigned a central role to moral, collective communities as regulators of the market’ (Tuğal 2016: 70). The role of the state still remained important in the distribution of resources for social and economic equity (Yavuz 2009). The RP won 7, 17 and 21 per cent of the votes in the general elections of 1987, 1991 and 1995 respectively. The concerns of secularists regarding the growing support for the Islamist parties prompted them to redouble their efforts to protect the ‘secular state’. 37

Faith and Fashion in Turkey This created a polarised Islamist/secular politics and led to the 28 February military intervention. On 28 February 1997, the military-dominated National Security Council (MGK) issued a list of measures to the government that aimed to cleanse (political) Islam from the public sphere and restore the secularist character of the state and society. Some of the far-reaching implications of the 28 February military intervention included the restructuring of primary and secondary education (see Chapter Three), strict implementation of the ban on veiling in public spaces as well as stigmatisation of the veil (see the last section in this chapter), and the closure of the RP, a member of the three-party coalition government (28 June 1996  – 20 June 1997). The FP, the successor of the RP, put even more emphasis on liberal policies such as privatisation as the way to accomplish economic equality, and de-emphasised the role of the state (Yavuz 2009: 73). However, the FP was also closed due to the perceived risk of (political) Islam and Islamisation of the state and the society. Nonetheless, starting in the 1990s, the gradual but constant shift of Turkish Islamism from the priorities of ‘Just Order’ (economic and social equality) towards liberal economic policies set the stage for the creation of the Islamic consumption space and associated practices in Turkey.

AKP Rule: From 2002 to the Present After 2001, the members of the National Outlook were divided into two groups:  the elders, led by Necmettin Erbakan, and the younger generation, led by Recep Tayyip Erdoğan. The younger generation, with the support of the Islamic bourgeoisie, formed the AKP (Justice and Development Party) in 2001 (Aydınlı 2012, Yavuz 2009). It won the general elections of 2002, 2007, 2011 and 2015. AKP policies have been based on conservative democracy (Özbudun 2006), although since 2010 the party has arguably gone in the direction of taking a ‘more markedly conservative and majoritarian line’ (Özbudun 2014: 157, Çınar and Sayın 2014). Due to its lack of educated/professional cadres, the AKP developed good relations with the Gülen community, which had previously supported centre-right parties and avoided Islamist parties. It is argued that 38

Historical Context the AKP preferred the pious individuals (Sunni Muslims), even if they did not come from the Islamist (i.e. National Outlook) background, such as Gülenists, rather than individuals from different ideological standpoints (for example, leftists and Kemalists) or different faiths (such as Alevis). As will be explained below, the Gülen community has long placed great importance on education and raised its own cadres since the 1970s. Thus, starting in 2002, the AKP and the Gülen community developed close relations and mutual support in several arenas such as the economic and bureaucratic. Numerous Gülen members and affiliates have been employed in state institutions and also elected as MPs. Another faith-inspired community that has gained significant power in the economic, political and bureaucratic arenas under the AKP has been the Menzil community. In the following sections, I discuss the AKP era in detail, introduce the three communities, and explain both veiling practices and the headscarf ban and its abolition.

The Communities The Gülen Community The Gülen community is probably the most influential and widely diffused faction of the Nur movement, which began to spread throughout the country in the 1950s.14 The founder of the Gülen community, Fethullah Gülen, was born in 1938 (or 1941) in the village of Korucuk, Erzurum, a city in eastern Turkey. Gülen learnt to recite the Qur’an at an early age and took lessons from religious personalities in Erzurum and around. Gülen became acquainted with the works of Said Nursî in the late 1950s, but never met him in person (Çakır 1990, Yavuz 2004b). He was appointed as a vaiz (preacher) to Edirne in 1958 by the Directorate of Religious Affairs.15 In 1966, Gülen was transferred to Izmir. In the following years, Gülen became famous for his sermons and formed a group of followers. In the 1970s and 1980s, he continued working as a preacher in western Turkey, and became well-known in this role throughout the country. As his sermons and talks drew intense interest and huge demand in Istanbul, he began to deliver sermons there in 1989 and continued until 1992 (Ergil 2010). 39

Faith and Fashion in Turkey Arguably, the main objective of Gülen has been to form altın nesil (the golden generation) and therefore education has become the main activity of the community (Çobanoğlu 2012). Throughout the 1970s, Gülen and his followers established student houses, called ışık evleri (lighthouses), and also organised summer camps for students from towns and rural areas. In these houses and camps (later also in student dormitories), students received Islamic education based upon the works of Said Nursî and the teachings of Gülen. Until the late 1990s, the community followed rigid gender segregation and placed importance on the (secular and Gülenist) education of men whilst the number of women who received secular and Gülenist education was limited. Although this gender regime in education and community activities significantly changed in the following decades, those who have had higher positions within the community structure are still men (Yavuz 2003). The Gülen is a highly institutionalised community. Its pyramid organisational structure consists of several hierarchical levels and allows members to know only the members and issues involved at their own hierarchical level, and probably those below (Hendrick 2013). Within the community structure, there is a superior for each group of affiliated people, for instance small shop owners in the same neighbourhood and students staying in the same community house. These superiors are referred as abla or abi, colloquial terms for older sister and older brother in Turkish. While ablas are responsible for female affiliates, abis deal with males. The duties of ablas and abis vary with respect to their position. For instance, the duties of ablas and abis in a student house include ‘managing the affairs of the students, monitoring study habits, recommending reading material, organising reading groups, administering tutoring sessions for visiting high school students, and functioning as liaisons between the house’ and the larger Gülen community network (ibid.: 108). Each abla or abi is connected to and regularly meets with her or his abla or abi. Within this hierarchical structure, every six individuals in the bottom line of the pyramid have an abi or abla who is linked to their neighbourhood abi. Neighbourhood abis are connected to their district abi who, together with other district abis, are linked to their city abi, and so forth. Consequently, each geographical area and country are divided into hierarchical subgroups (ibid.). Members 40

Historical Context are expected to obey the rules of the community and directives of their superiors. Consequently, it can be said that the Gülen community is built upon order and trust. Those observing the rules become reliable ones and make progress towards upper levels in the community (ibid., Karataş and Sandıkçı 2013). Fethullah Gülen and his community greatly benefited from the opportunities that emanated from the implementation of liberal economic policies starting in the early 1980s, as well as the state policies of spreading Turkish Islam (Turkish nationalist conservatism) and trying to prevent communism and radical Islam and Islamism. Thus, the community began to spread through the sociocultural, economic, political and bureaucratic (such as military) arenas of the country. Starting in the 1990s, the community rapidly expanded through institutions (for example private schools, trade unions, ‘interfaith dialogue’ societies and relief organisations) established in Turkey and abroad, such as in Germany, Kyrgyzstan and the United States (Andrews 2011, Balci 2003, Hendrick 2013). With the collapse of the socialist bloc and with the support of the Turkish state, it expanded to Central Asia and the Balkans in an attempt to cultivate Turkist and Ottomanist ideologies as well as the Gülenist ideology and agenda(s) through the establishment of Gülenist institutions and the recruitment of new members (Balci 2003, Turam 2007). Consequently, as will be demonstrated in Chapter Three, the Gülen community became ‘a truly corporatized network’ with ‘a 25 billion-dollar (US) business’, comprising of a global network of private schools and ‘a media empire including newspapers, book publishing, and TV stations’ (Wood and Keskin 2013: 129). Following the 28 February 1997 military memorandum, which was promulgated in response to the perceived threat to the secular characteristic of the Republic and introduced a list of measures to fortify the secularity of the state and prevent the Islamisation of society, Fethullah Gülen left the country in 1999 for the United States. Since then he has led the community from a multi-house compound in Pennsylvania. The economic and social benefits gained in Turkey and abroad allowed the Gülen community to seek more political power within the Turkish political system in the 2000s (Wood and Keskin 2013). The community gained significant power in various arenas during the period of AKP rule until late 2013. 41

Faith and Fashion in Turkey The relations between the Gülen community and the AKP government began to deteriorate towards the end of 2013. For commentators, the tacit alliance between the government and the Gülen community began to break down from 2012 due to the government’s disapproval of the community’s escalating power in state institutions through its own (Gülenist) cadres and because of its demands to gain (more) political power (Özbudun 2014). The power struggle between the government and the Gülen community became evident with Erdoğan’s announcement in mid-November 2013 of the closing down of dershanes (private courses for college entry exam preparation), which were a major source of financial revenue and important for recruiting new members for the Gülen community which enjoyed an overwhelming presence in the sector for decades. After the 17 December operation in 2013 (allegedly, the Gülenorchestrated police raids found $4.5 million stacked in shoeboxes in the house of the general director of the state-owned Halkbank, and located millions of US dollars and euros in the houses of the sons of the two ministers), several allegations of corruption and bribery were made about the governing party and its leading politicians (Park 2014). This was followed by dozens of voice recordings, purportedly of Erdoğan and his inner circle, leaked on YouTube and Twitter, leading up to the local elections on 30 March 2014. Erdoğan dismissed the allegations as being ‘fabricated’ and as the Gülen community’s retaliation, prepared and put into operation by Gülenists in the police and judiciary. In July 2014, the police corruption investigation began and tens of (allegedly Gülen-affiliated) police officers were arrested on suspicion of spying and wire-tapping. One of them, Hayati Başdağ, raised his handcuffs above his head while being led away and announced, ‘I haven’t got any haram lokma [ill-gotten gains]’. As the images showing his protest spread through both traditional and social media, Başdağ became the symbol of these arrests. Following this, the Gülenists on social media used these images as their profile photos. As a protest against the arrests, Gülenists also wore t-shirts with the illustrations of Başdağ‘s renowned image, produced by various Gülen sympathiser/member print shop owners, and posted their photos posing with these t-shirts, their hands raised in the air on social media.16 42

Historical Context The police arrests were followed by several operations and legal actions against the cadres of the Gülen community in the judiciary, the police and the universities. These steps, as Erdoğan repeatedly declared, were taken by the government to strike a blow against the Gülen community with the purpose of bringing it to an end. This worried Gülen members, especially public employees and business owners, since the government was decisive in sorting out Gülen affiliated profit and non-profit organisations (see Chapter Three) and took legal action against the affiliated individuals. On the evening of 15 July 2016, some military members, who are allegedly Gülen members and supervised by Gülen abis (most of whom, seemingly, are not military members), attempted to seize power. This attempt was repelled, mainly by civilians, and was followed by arrests of those who were involved in the coup attempt and by several reforms related to the military (such as the military education and military judicial system).17 On 20 July 2016, President Erdoğan declared a state of emergency for three months.18 Following this, thousands of Gülen-affiliated individuals, including civil servants, business owners, and also the community’s personnel (for example, ablas and abis) were detained or arrested. In addition, by the end of September, the number of civil servants dismissed from a wide range of various government institutions (such as public universities, the military, the Ministry of Finance and the Directorate of Religious Affairs) due to their (alleged) Gülen affiliation had risen to nearly 60,000.19 Hundreds of Gülen-affiliated institutions, including for-profit and non-profit organisations (such as businesses, elementary and secondary schools, universities and voluntary associations) have been appointed a trustee or closed down (see Chapter Three). As of the end of August 2017, the trials of military and civil individuals, who it is alleged are linked to the Gülen community and the 15 July 2016 coup attempt, were still ongoing and Turkey’s request for the extradition of Fethullah Gülen remained unanswered by the US authorities.

The Süleymanlı Community The Süleymanlı community is widespread in Turkey and Europe. It is named after the Islamic scholar and the founder/spiritual leader of the 43

Faith and Fashion in Turkey community, Süleyman Hilmi Tunahan (1888–1959). Tunahan was a member of the late Ottoman ulema. After receiving his first education from his father, a professor at a medrese (Islamic higher education institution training teachers and scholars of Islam) in Silistre (today in Bulgaria), Tunahan moved to Istanbul to continue higher education. In 1918, he obtained degrees in Islamic law and theology, and became a professor; in the following year he began to teach at Fatih and Süleymaniye medreses in Istanbul. Following the closure of medreses with the Law of Unification of Education in 1924, Tunahan ended his teaching career at state-controlled education institutions, and began to teach the Qur’an (reading it in Arabic and interpreting) privately (Akgündüz 1997, Aydın 2004, Öngören 2013). Until 1951 Tunahan held Qur’an lessons secretly in the houses of his sympathisers or Qur’an students. After 1952, when the ban on teaching the Qur’an by private institutions was lifted, Tunahan continued teaching on legally authorised Qur’an community courses. Despite his higher education degrees, Tunahan did not produce any scholarly work except a pamphlet for teaching the Arabic alphabet and recitation of the Qur’an. He devoted his life to teaching the Qur’an and this has subsequently become the core activity of the Süleymanlı community (Emre 2013). Tunahan himself was a member of the Naqshbandi (Nakshi) tarikat (Öngören 2013), one of the most influential Sufi orders in Turkey. However, it is claimed that he did not wish to become a tarikat leader or develop a faith-inspired community, but focused solely on teaching of the Qur’an; therefore, Tunahan did not appoint anyone as a successor (Yükleyen 2010). Nevertheless, after Tunahan’s death in 1959, his son-in-law, Kemal Kaçar, became the leader of his followers and students, and Tunahan continues to be regarded as the spiritual leader of the community. Kaçar’s death in 2000 was followed by rivalry between Tunahan’s grandsons over the leadership of the community. From 2002 until his death in 2016, Arif Ahmet Denizolgun, the older grandson of Süleyman Hilmi Tunahan, led the community. Since September 2016, Alihan Kuriş, the nephew of Denizolgun and the great-grandson of Tunahan, has been the Süleymanlı leader.20 The Süleymanlı community is a hierarchical organisation with its own internal structure. The community employs its own jargon, such as üstad, hocaefendi (or hocabey)/hocahanım, ihvan, muhibban and ağabey/ 44

Historical Context abi. ‘Üstad’ means master in Turkish, but in this community it refers specifically to Süleyman Hilmi Tunahan. The Süleymanlı members who have received the community’s education (see Chapter Three) are referred to as ağabey. The leader of the community (Kemal Kaçar, 1959–2000, Arif Ahmet Denizolgun, 2002–2016 and Alihan Kuriş, 2016–) has the highest rank among ağabeys. The other two common Turkish words, hocabey and hocahanım, meaning male/female teacher respectively, refer to the personnel undertaking education activities in the community.21 The active members of the community are called ‘ihvan’, which means friends; and the sympathisers of the community are referred to as ‘muhibban’ (Aydın 2004:  315). Another Süleymanlı term, ‘teberru’, means collecting money from sympathisers and members (Çakmak 2013). Teberru is run by Süleymanlı personnel who are individuals in the service of the community and are chosen from those who have received the Süleymanlı education. Although some Süleymanlı members may assert otherwise, the Süleymanlı community has been involved in politics and supported some right-wing political parties, which have positioned themselves as opponents of the strictly secular CHP, and promised religious and communal freedom as well as welfare to their voters, such as the DP (in the 1950s), the Justice Party (AP, a moderate right-wing party, in the 1960s and 1970s) and the ANAP (in the 1980s). Even though Tunahan himself was not directly involved in politics, he served a term in prison for two months in 1957 due to the claim that he had ordered his community to support the Republican Nation Party (CMP, 1954–1958) in the general elections against the governing DP (Akgündüz 1997). However, Kaçar, the leader of the community (between 1959 and 2000) after Tunahan’s death, was active in politics. He was elected as a member of parliament from the Nation Party (MP, a nationalistic party) in 1965 and from the AP in 1969, and he stood for parliament as an AP candidate in the 1973 general election. The community also allied with the centre- and far-right parties, such as the RP, and Arif Ahmet Denizolgun served as an RP MP in the twentieth parliament (1996–1999) and as Minister of Transport (1998–1999).22 It is claimed that in the 2014 local elections and the 2015 general election, the community ordered its members to vote for either the CHP or the National Movement 45

Faith and Fashion in Turkey Party (MHP, a nationalistic right-wing party), which could beat the AKP in their voting districts.

The Menzil Community The Menzil community derives its name from Menzil village in the town of Kâhta in Adıyaman in southeast Turkey. Seyyid Abdülhakim Hüseyni (1902–1972), a Naqshbandi (Nakshi) tarikat leader from Siirt (a city in southeast Turkey), moved to Menzil village in the late 1960s and acquired a large amount of land there. Hüseyni mostly focused on ‘the salvation of faith’ and had a small circle of followers. People seeking cures for their bad habits, such as alcoholism and gambling, began to visit him in Menzil. After his death in 1972, his son, Muhammed Raşid Erol (also spelled Mehmet Reşit Erol, 1930–1993), took over the leadership. During his leadership, the ‘cure’ trips to Menzil continued, and the Menzil community began to spread throughout the country, significantly increasing its membership (Çakır 1990). Following the death of Muhammed Raşid Erol in 1993, there was a conflict between his brother, Abdülbâki Erol, and his son, Fevzettin Erol, over the leadership. Now the Menzil has two leaders: Abdülbâki Erol lives in Menzil, Fevzettin Erol is based in his private farmhouse in western Turkey, in the city of Afyon. The location of this farmhouse together with surrounding buildings was called Bilvanis until 2009, when it acquired the status of village and was renamed Buhara due to the increase in its population (Hasan 2011). Both Buhara and Menzil villages are tourist destinations and part of the community consumption sphere, contributing to the community economy. Menzil members refer to Menzil village as a sacred space and narrate legends about supernatural and spiritual experiences there. The Menzil community has also been involved in politics. In the 1970s and 1980s the community was known to support the MHP, though Muhammed Raşid Erol, the then leader of the community, never stated this explicitly. Among members and sympathisers of the Menzil, there were Turkish nationalist individuals and members of a Turkish nationalist youth organisation, called the Idealist Associations (Ülkü Ocakları). Moreover, seeking the support of the community in the 1987 general 46

Historical Context election, Necmettin Erbakan, the leader of the RP (Islamist), and Hasan Celâl Güzel, a politician from the ANAP (centre-right neoliberal), visited Muhammed Raşid Erol in Menzil. However, whether or not the Menzil community supported these parties, and the impact of the community on the election results remain unknown (Çakır 1990). In subsequent general elections, the Menzil community has supported some right-wing and/or pro-Islamist parties, including the ANAP, the Great Union Party (BBP) and the AKP (Şengün Taşçı 2011). Several politicians from right-wing parties, including the BBP and the AKP, have been members of the Menzil community.

Veiling Practices and the Headscarf Ban in Turkey Veiling is another important issue related to the AKP era and relevant to this book. This has long been a controversial issue in Turkey, for instance in terms of whether it is modern or non-modern, contemporary or backward, traditional or political, and Islamic or Islamist. In this section, I  briefly introduce several veiling practices and review the headscarf ban. Girls in Turkey traditionally may begin wearing a headscarf at puberty. Unmarried women may wear their scarves loosely tied and with some hair exposed, while married women may cover their heads and necks completely with one or more scarves (Breu and Marchese 2000). In both cases, the veil serves as a social marker denoting the passage from childhood through adolescence to adulthood, and from single (‘being taken care of ’) to married (‘taking care of ’, in other words, ‘becoming a full adult’) status (ibid., Delaney, 1994). Nonetheless, as I explain below, following the introduction of new veiling styles starting in the 1960s and their spread throughout the country from the 1980s onwards, traditional forms of veiling have been limited to rural areas or to informal contexts and private spaces in urban areas, and differences between married and unmarried women’s veiling have diminished, as now an increasing number of urban and rural women prefer to wear the ‘modern’ forms and ‘fashionable’ styles of veiling which are now widely accessible and affordable (see Chapter Five). In Turkey, the Islamic rules of dress and modesty are linked mainly to women, and the term tesettür is used most frequently in reference to 47

Faith and Fashion in Turkey women’s clothing and veiling. Moreover, women’s veiling practices can be regarded and perceived differently by different actors and at different times (see Breu and Marchese 2000). Nonetheless, generally, both in academic research and socio-political discussions, two broad terms have been widely employed while referring to the veil in Turkey:  başörtüsü and türban. Başörtüsü (literally meaning headscarf), according to several scholars and Islamic writers, refers to a specific, traditional form of veiling that covers the head and sometimes half of the shoulders with a small scarf which is tied under the chin with or without some hair seen on the forehead (Barbarosoğlu 2006). Türban refers to the new forms of veiling that began to spread in urban areas in the late 1970s (Göle 1991). However, it is important to note that the use of the term ‘türban’ is highly political (see Aksoy 2005, Olson 1985). While referring to women’s veil from the 1980s onwards, the secular public has usually employed the term ‘türban’ whereas the pious and Islamist public have preferred the term ‘başörtüsü’. In addition, veiled women find the term ‘türban’ offensive and stigmatising since, according to them, it was coined and has been used by non-wearers (such as politicians, academics, newspaper commentators [including certain male Islamic/Islamist columnists, for example Ünal 2005] and the secular public) in order to classify the veil as a political/ideological symbol and highlight the original meaning of the word, which is a headgear based on wrapping a piece of cloth around the head, and is usually worn by men (i.e. turban) (see Sever 2006, Şişman 2009). Islamic/Islamist media usually employ the term ‘başörtüsü’ rather than ‘türban’ (Efe 2011). While reviewing the literature on the headscarf ban and veiling practices in Turkey in this section, I employ both terms as well as the division between ‘başörtüsü’ and ‘türban’. However, in the rest of the book, I do not use these Turkish terms and this division. Instead, I employ the terms veil, veiling and headscarf interchangeably. In the early years of the Turkish republic (1923–1946) there was an attempt to discourage women from wearing the veil, or at least to replace the çarşaf, a loose garment that covers the body from head to toe and is usually worn with a face veil (peçe), with the başörtüsü, a headscarf.23 Thus, the state initially approved of and promoted the başörtüsü as a modern form of veiling (Aktaş 2006). It was usually combined with skirts, dresses or overcoats 48

Historical Context of which the length would change in line with western fashions, and range from mid-calf to just above the knees. The başörtüsü became widespread among urban women in particular, whereas rural women mostly donned traditional headscarves and garments, which differ depending on region as well as several characteristics of the wearer (e.g. marital status) within the same geographical area (see Breu and Marchese 2000). Towards the end of the 1960s, a new form of headscarf was introduced by a newspaper columnist, Şule Yüksel Şenler. Şenler began to wear the veil in 1965 under the influence of Bediüzzaman Said Nursî’s works and of the meetings of the Nur movement. She was inspired by Audrey Hepburn’s way of wearing the scarf in the film Roman Holiday, whereby it covered her neck and half of her hair and was tied at the back. This new headscarf style differentiated Şenler from rural, uneducated, elderly and lower-class women, and presented her as a young, educated, middle-class, modern and urban woman (Altinay 2013). Şenler combined her headscarves, (pejoratively) labelled as the Şulebaş (Şulehead) by the media, with matching-coloured jackets, overcoats, dresses, and skirts of different lengths.24 Şenler’s headscarf and clothing styles began to spread, especially among young urban women, making her one of the first Islamic style icons and her covering style an early form of urban Islamic fashion in Turkey. Her covering style possibly attracted more young women to the veil (ibid.). For instance, when Emine Erdoğan, wife of Recep Tayyip Erdoğan (prime minister, 2002–2014, and president, 2014-), met Şenler in 1970, she was impressed by her ‘modern’ and ‘sophisticated’ veiling style; consequently, she decided to cover her hair and adopted the Şulebaş style (Özcan 2007).25 In the late 1960s, the state began to consider the başörtüsü a problem and an object of threat (Aktaş 2006). In November 1967, a dispute occurred between a female student and a professor at the Faculty of Theology of Ankara University and quickly became a public issue. The student, Hatice Babacan, who would cover her hair in a traditional way with the başörtüsü and wear overcoats, skirts or dresses just below her knees which, as mentioned above, had been promoted by the state as a modern, acceptable way to dress modestly, attended a course with a headscarf and refused her professor’s order to de-veil.26 This was followed by her expulsion from the university and resulted in the faculty’s 50-odd female students boycotting the 49

Faith and Fashion in Turkey faculty and going on hunger strike. All these incidents were widely covered by Turkish media, thus attracting public attention and initiating debates about the headscarf in the public sphere that lasted over four decades. In the late 1970s, the emergence of Islamist politics as well as of Islamist social organisations (such as faith-inspired communities) and literature, which served as a medium to disseminate political Islam, resulted in the practice of veiling spreading to a larger population, especially in gecekondu (slum) areas, and thereby becoming more visible in the public sphere (Çayır 2007). Following the 12 September 1980 military takeover and the subsequent 1982 constitution, the headscarf increasingly became a ‘public’ matter, particularly when some universities in the 1980s prohibited the wearing of the veil even though the law did not explicitly prohibit it.27 In the 1980s, urban women, especially university students, began to develop a new clothing and veiling style that largely owed a great deal to the development of the Turkish textile and clothing sector. This new style, called türban, consisted of a combination of large scarves and long overcoats up to the ankles, and became popular among young and educated women (Aktaş 2006, Barbarasoğlu 2006, Göle 1991, Secor 2002). As an alternative to traditional forms of veiling, türban gave the message that its wearers were more knowledgeable about religion than women with other veiling styles such as başörtüsü (Göle 1991). The wearers of türban viewed başörtüsü as a sign of low status and rural origin (İlyasoğlu 1998, Okutan 2013). They tended to create a new lifestyle in contrast to the dominant western one and to differentiate themselves as they began to become involved in public life (Göle 1991, Sandıkçı and Ger 2001). Thus, they were both modern and Muslim, becoming more and more visible in the public sphere, the space of opportunities opened up to modern Turkish women by Kemalism (Göle 1991). The türban was therefore not just a religious practice but also a positioning and expression of oneself in contrast to the West, and in adherence to an Islamic lifestyle (Aksoy 2005, Navaro-Yashin 2002). Consequently, with the türban, the meaning of veiling is re-conceptualised while remaining outside the dominant description of Western modernity (Kılıçbay and Binark 2002, Navaro-Yashin 2002). Although türban became common as a modern form of veiling (Özdalga 1998), it soon began to be perceived as a symbol of radical or 50

Historical Context political Islam (Aksoy 2005, Kılıçbay and Binark 2002, Sandıkçı and Ger 2007), especially in the wake of the headscarf ban and the 28 February 1997 military memorandum (İşıker 2011). As a result, türban has been revised and reconstructed by its wearers in order not to be viewed as ugly, backward or threatening (Navaro-Yashin 2002, Sandıkçı and Ger 2001, 2007). The combination of large scarves and long coats went out of fashion in the 1990s. Instead, ‘colorful, stylized pants and long jackets, skirts and blazers, long vests, above-the-knee coats, and smaller more tightly tied scarves placed inside the jacket’ became fashionable (Sandıkçı and Ger 2001: 148) and were later followed by new trends. Denim clothes, which were not approved of, especially by fundamentalists and Islamists before the 1980s, became fashionable items, and, as ‘modern garments’, altered the status of the veiled women.28 Consequently, personalisation and aestheticisation of veiling led to the practice becoming a fashion (Sandıkçı and Ger 2010). The economic and social changes which occurred in Turkey from the 1980s affected the clothing styles and consumption patterns of veiled women (Barbarosoğlu 2006). These changes included the flourishing of private enterprises, increasing imports and exports, migration from rural to urban areas, the greater participation of women in the workforce, women making demands for more access to the public domain, and an increase in both the quantity and importance of consumption (Navaro-Yashin 2002, Sandıkçı and Ger 2001, 2002, 2007).29 Ready-to-wear companies owned by pious producers began to offer an increasing number and variety of clothing styles and scarves. These products and brands are called ‘tesettürwear’ and are widely associated with political Islam and the Islamic bourgeoisie.30 Tesettürwear created its own fashions and met the needs of veiled women, who began to become more involved in social life and demanded more space in the public domain (Göle 1991), in particular those from different backgrounds, such as young people with a high level of education (Gökarıksel and Secor 2009). Thus, since the 1990s, a new consumer category – ‘conservative in values but avant-garde in consumption practices’ – has developed, and religiously-related consumer culture has proliferated (Sandıkçı and Ger 2001: 147).31 Türban became similar to its alternative, the dominant Western modernity. The apparel and consumption patterns of women wearing türban became similar to the disapproved of ‘Western’ 51

Faith and Fashion in Turkey or ‘non-Muslim’ consumption practices, but the products they consumed were those of tesettürwear companies (Barbarosoğlu 2006, Sandıkçı and Ger 2001) which adopted ‘Western’ or ‘non-Muslim’ practices such as offering a wide range of products which changed each season, used assorted marketing tools to communicate to consumers, and created signifiers via their products (Kılıçbay and Binark 2002). Thanks to their string of victories in general and local elections held since 2002, the AKP have increasingly gained control over public institutions which were ‘instrumental in controlling the visibility of the headscarf in the public sphere’ (Baban 2014: 645). For instance, when Abdullah Gül (Minister of Foreign Affairs in the AKP government 2003–2007) was elected president (2007–2014), his wife, Hayrünisa Gül, became the first veiled ‘first lady’ of the state. Moreover, the headscarf ban at universities was lifted in 2010. The lifting of the ban in schools from the fifth grade onwards allows girls as young as 10 to cover their hair. In October 2013, the ban on veiling for public employees was removed for most sectors including teachers, nurses and even MPs, but not members of the military and police officers. Following an amendment in August 2016, police officers can also now wear the veil.32 The military was the final state institution to see the veiling ban removed. With the announcement of the decision by the Defence Ministry in February 2017, female officers working in the general staff and command headquarters and its branches, as well as female students at military schools, can now wear the headscarf underneath their cap or beret as long as it is plain, the same colour as their uniform, and does not cover their face.33

Conclusion This chapter outlined various aspects of the historical background of the study, including the political, economic and social context. The top-down reforms of the single-party regime aiming to secularise and modernise (westernise) society strictly controlled and even terminated religious practices such as education and worship, therefore negatively affecting pious individuals. With the shift from the single-party to a multi-party political system in 1946, religious sentiments increasingly diffused into politics. 52

Historical Context The Turkish form of political Islam began to emerge in the 1970s with the National Outlook and its political parties. Following the 12 September 1980 military coup d’état, the state adopted an Islamic agenda by accentuating and proliferating ‘Turkish Islam’. In addition, religious (Islamic) communities and Islamist movements, such as the Gülen, Süleymanlı and Menzil communities, benefited from the political and socioeconomic developments of the post-1980s. The adoption of neoliberal policies starting in the 1980s has resulted in a rapid development and expansion of consumer goods and service sectors in Turkey. These economic developments also affected the textile and clothing sector so that numerous clothing companies and fashion brands have emerged, including numerous ready-to-wear companies owned by pious individuals. These began to cater to veiled women, creating tesettürwear brands which offered a wide variety of veiling and clothing styles. In addition, the long-debated ban on veiling, which began in the late 1960s, was gradually shifted in the 2010s, first for university students and then for public employees. The Gülen, Süleymanlı and Menzil have been among the Islamic/ Islamist individuals and groups that have become important players and gained power  – or, in Bourdieuan terms, have obtained diverse forms of capital (especially economic and social) in numerous fields  – during the AKP rule (2002–). However, conflict between the government and the Gülen broke out publicly in late 2013. After 15 July 2016, the leader of the Gülen community was blamed for the failed coup and his followers have been accused of implementing or supporting it. As I undertake the final revisions to this book in late August 2017, their trials are still ongoing.

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2 Fields and Habitus: The Religious Field of Sunni Islam and the Community Fields

Islam, as Asad explains, is a tradition that comprises of discourses that are essential to all Islamic practices and that guide practitioners on ‘the correct form and purpose’ of practices (2009: 20–21). The discursive traditions of Islam are ‘conceptions of the Islamic past and future, with reference to a particular Islamic practice in the present’ (ibid.:  20; original emphasis). A practice is ‘Islamic because it is authorized by the discursive traditions of Islam, and is so taught to Muslims’ – whether by an Islamic scholar, an imam (prayer leader), a tarikat (Sufi order) leader, or an untutored parent (ibid.: 21). However, Islamic practices include not only explicitly ‘taught’ dispositions but also those experientially acquired, and consciously or unconsciously obtained (for instance through observations). These all stem from the discursive traditions of Islam, form practices, and pave the way for a Muslim agent to act in certain ways, such as performing daily prayers, fearing and obeying God, and avoiding contact with the opposite sex. Therefore, the discursive traditions of Islam form the structured and structuring structures, i.e. Muslim habitus, of the religious field of Islam. As Asad notes, ‘there clearly is not, nor can there be, such a thing as a universally acceptable account of a living tradition’ (2009:  24). There are multiple interpretations and practices of Islam, and so there exist

55

Faith and Fashion in Turkey different Islamic traditions that are contestable on the grounds of the ‘power and knowledges’ not only of individual agents but also of institutions and groups of individuals, such as societies and faith-inspired communities. As I  discuss in this book, these individuals, groups and institutions in play in the religious field of Islam (may) support, oppose or remain neutral towards certain Islamic traditions (ibid.). In this chapter, I explore ‘Islamic traditions’ in the religious field of Sunni Islam in Turkey and within the Gülen, Süleymanlı and Menzil fields. In particular, I  examine my informants’ practices of clothing, veiling and grooming. Before this, I define the religious field of Sunni Islam and locate the community fields within it.

The Religious Field of Islam in Turkey: The Structure and Structural Openings The overwhelming majority of the population of modern Turkey, 99.2 per cent, is Muslim (Diyanet İşleri Başkanlığı 2014). Therefore, nearly the entire field of religion in this country comprises Muslim players with a Muslim habitus, which refers to the internalised and naturalised thoughts and behaviours that order choices and structure the practices of a (pious) Muslim (Verter 2003: 154). Universally, the religious field of Islam comprises of Sunni and Shi’i Islam (Lapidus 2014). In Turkey, the religious field of Islam is mostly composed of Sunni and Alevi, a syncretistic interpretation of Islam, combining Sufi mysticism, elements of shamanism, and several concepts of Shi’i Islam (Tee 2014: 25). However, it is predominantly occupied by Sunni Islam, with Sunni Muslims constituting 80 to 95 per cent of the population (Çarkoğlu and Toprak 2007, Dressler 2013, Shankland 2003).1 Players in the religious field of Islam include private (Sunni and Alevi) authorities, institutions and persons, such as Nakshbendi lodge, faith-inspired communities, Qur’an courses, and Alevi ritual leaders, in addition to the state organisation, i.e. the Directorate of Religious Affairs and its institutions and officers, such as mosques and imams. Thus, the religious field of Islam in Turkey is multi-level and multifaceted, including diverse forms and interpretations of Islam. Since the faith-inspired communities under investigation in this study belong to 56

Fields and Habitus Sunni Islam, I focus solely on one section of it, the religious field of Sunni Islam.2 Islam does not have a centralised institution comprising of religious professionals with a hierarchical structure. But this does not mean that there is no authority over interpretations and practices of Islam. For instance, in all Muslim-majority countries the state is involved with the field of religion, such as the constitution of Islamic agents (Tuğal 2009b:  425, see also Karpat 2001). As Lapidus (2014) notes, in the Ottoman Empire, the religious field of Islam was predominantly Sunni, meaning that the majority of the Ottoman Muslim population as well as the state belonged to Sunni Islam. The Ottoman religious field of Sunni Islam consisted of two state institutions, namely the caliphate and the ulema, and of numerous agents and private institutions of Islam, such as tarikats and Sufi leaders. The caliphate, which was held by the Ottoman sultans from 1517 until 1924, is an institution that was formed following the death of the Prophet in 632 AD. It is a form of Islamic ruling by a person, caliph, who is considered a political and religious leader of the entire Sunni Muslim community. The caliphate ‘integrated the state and the community, the realms of politics and religion, into an inseparable whole’ (ibid.:  828). The Ottoman caliphs were not the sources of Islamic beliefs and the interpreters of the Islamic texts, including the Qur’an and Hadith, but the executors of them. The other state institution of the Ottoman religious field of Sunni Islam was the ulema, which refers to teachers and scholars of Islam. As Lapidus explains, the Ottoman Empire organised a bureaucracy of ulema that was ‘totally committed to the authority of the sultan and stressed the legacy of religious attitudes that legitimized the state’ (2014: 494). A member of the ulema was at the top of this bureaucratic system, serving as the Şeyh-ül İslâm, the head of the Ottoman legal administration (including müftüs and judges). The Şeyh-ül İslâm would issue legal decrees and provide advice to the sultan and also intervene in political matters by giving or issuing legal opinions related to the state’s policies (ibid.) With modernising reforms in the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, the Ottoman state experienced a rapid transformation of high culture, or the bureaucratic elite, as it was divided into ‘the more 57

Faith and Fashion in Turkey secular culture of bureaucrats and the Islamic culture of the ulema’ (Mardin 1989:  9, original emphasis). The successor state, the Turkish Republic (founded in 1923), aimed at modernisation, which, for the early Republican regime (1923–1946), relied heavily on the secularisation not only of the state institutions but also of the society. Therefore, the state introduced several reforms in an attempt to transform the religious field of Islam and to eliminate traditional and religious elements from everyday lives. These reforms, as explained in the previous chapter, included the abolition of the Caliphate in 1924, and the closure of medreses, tekkes and zaviyes, and the ban on tarikat activities in 1925. Whilst the reforms initially expanded the state authority over religion and religious training, in the 1930s and 1940s the state increasingly controlled and even banned religious activities, such as teaching of Islam at schools, reciting the Qur’an, wearing religiously-related garments and headgear (for example sarık and cübbe), and even carrying an Islamic book. All this created dissatisfaction with the regime, and led to fears among observant individuals and religious scholars regarding the loss of the faith and Islamic knowledge. In the early years of the Turkish Republic, the religious scholars (ulema) as well as the leaders/founders of tarikats and faith-inspired communities were those who had been educated in the Ottoman religious education institutions, particularly medreses (which, in the Ottoman context, refer to Islamic higher education institutions that train the ulema). With the closure of medreses in 1924, 29 İmam-Hatip (Prayer Leader and Preacher [vocational secondary]) schools were opened in order to train prayer leaders and preachers. In the following years, the number of İmam-Hatip schools gradually decreased, and İmam-Hatip education was terminated in 1931. In 1933, the Faculty of Theology, founded in 1924 at Istanbul University, was closed. Religious education in all elementary and secondary schools was also banned in 1929. Consequently, no Muslim clerics were trained in the country from 1931 until 1950, and no religious education was ‘legally’ delivered at any level between 1929 and 1946, except the very elementary religious education offered mostly in metropolitan mosques under the supervision of the Directorate of Religious Affairs and as part of routine training in the military (Reed 1955: 152). This resulted in 58

Fields and Habitus the development of illegally run private institutions teaching reading the Qur’an (in Arabic and interpreting it) and religion in secret. For example, Süleyman Hilmi Tunahan began to teach the Qur’an in that era, and from this the Süleymanlı community was later formed. Discontent created by the modernising and secularising efforts of the single party regime, further combined with the impacts of the Cold War environment, industrialisation, urbanisation, migration, individualisation and economic liberalisation in the following decades paved the way for new ideological, socioeconomic and cultural endeavours. In the religious field of Sunni Islam in Turkey, all these events and processes led to structural openings, or, in other words, created possibilities for the development of new agents and institutions, as well as demand for different religious authorities in society (see Mardin 1989). New religious agents and institutions have emerged at different times under the influence of socio-political events and processes throughout the history of the republic and have competed for authority over religious knowledge and practice. As Yavuz notes, these agents and institutions ‘developed contradictory agendas: the conservation of religious tradition and the establishment of new traditions based on communitarian principles’ (2003:  145). An illustration for this is the Nur movement, which builds upon the tafsir (an exegesis of the Qur’an) of the theologian Bediüzzaman Said Nursî (1878–1960), and forms the basis of the Gülen community (Mardin 1989, Yavuz 2003, 2004a, 2004b). Moreover, in the eastern part of Turkey, the secularist reforms and the strict state control over religion were not experienced as heavily as in other parts of the country. Therefore, religious scholars, lodges, and tarikat leaders operated with relatively more freedom and, because of having less state control, continued their activities illegally (Yalman 1969). For example, Bediüzzaman Said Nursî was originally from the eastern part of Turkey. Likewise, this is where the Menzil community was formed and Fethullah Gülen, the founder-leader of the Gülen community, was educated. In addition, the Menzil continued delivering traditional medrese education in Menzil village.3 To sum up, the religious field of Sunni Islam in Turkey has different agents and institutions with different levels of power and authority throughout the country and across time. As this book demonstrates, 59

Faith and Fashion in Turkey each one of the Gülen, Süleymanlı and Menzil communities has its own structure, players, power relations, habitus, forms of capital and so on. Within each community there may be similarities and differences among local/regional structures. Both the overall structure of a faith-inspired community and its local/regional structures change over time. Consequently, I  define these faith-inspired communities as subfields of the Sunni Islam field of the country and refer to them as the Gülen, Menzil and Süleymanlı fields. This enables me to explore each community’s structure independently, examine the interaction among three community fields, compare them with each other, and also see the community fields’ position within the structure of, and in relation to, the religious field of Sunni Islam as well as other related fields (such as economic and journalistic) in Turkey. As will be explained in this chapter and the following chapters, each one of the Gülen, Süleymanlı and Menzil has community-specific capital which can be embodied through bodily and spatial practices, such as community-specific terms for members and worship, women’s veiling style, men’s facial hair, and particular ways of positioning the hands during prayers. Although community capital may seem ‘not class-bound’, the class structure of the society is also reflected in the community fields through embodied and spatial practices, such as clothing styles adapted and fashion brands consumed. Thus, capital specific to a faith-inspired community’s field has a complex structure as a result of the Turkish context:  in particular the socioeconomic class structure of this society and rapid changes within it, as well as the variety of ways in which community capital can be accumulated, such as community education (cultural capital) and donations to the community (social capital – as it generates and strengthens one’s affiliation to a community). In addition, a community’s capital can be converted into economic capital with the same ease or financial reward as cultural and social capital. In the following sections and Chapter Three, I focus on the community fields by exploring agents, habitus, competitions of power, and species of capital and by examining the relations among Sunni Islam leaders or authorities, which refer to the individuals or institutions with ‘the capacity to shape the beliefs and practices of believers’ (Peter 2006: 709). 60

Fields and Habitus

Islamic Rules of Dressing and Modesty: The Informants’ References and Negotiations As discussed above, all three faith-inspired communities belong to the Sunni sect of Islam, inhabiting the religious field of Sunni Islam in Turkey. Hence the interpretations of the Islamic rules and the uses of Islamic terms in this book follow the Sunni schools of law. The Islamic terms and rules covered in this section are widespread in Turkey and reflect the interpretations of the Sunni schools of law. The findings of my fieldwork demonstrate that Islamic rules on avret, mahrem and tesettür are involved in the construction and negotiation of ‘proper’ Muslim femininities in different spaces. Though, as I discuss, religious regulations related to the body and bodily practices are ‘sometimes consciously followed qua religious commands, and sometimes internalized over generations to become unconscious features of local custom and attire’ (Schick 2011: 25, original emphasis). The removal of body hair is usually considered to be a cultural practice, but in the religious field of Islam it is also a religious practice. Bromberger argues that, ‘feminine smoothness and masculine roughness … make up the paradigm of beauty and normality in the history of Mediterranean societies’ (2008:  387). However, he adds that body hair has been treated differently in Christian and Muslim societies. In Christianity, body hair is regarded as natural, and hiding the hair in the shameful parts of the body is valued and considered a virtue. Historically, the removal of body hair has appeared, disappeared and reappeared at different times and among different social strata in Christian societies. For instance, in France, from the Middle Ages to the sixteenth century wealthy women depilated, but this practice later vanished, reappearing at the beginning of the twentieth century (ibid.). In Muslim societies, on the other hand, ‘the removal of pubic and underarm hair is standard for both sexes, as hair retains secretions (blood, urine, sweat, faeces) regarded as impure’ (ibid.: 388). Consequently, unlike Christians, most observant Muslims consider the removal of pubic and underarm hair to be a religious requirement for both men and women. In Turkey, body depilation is a widespread practice deeply embedded in the culture, associated both with cleanliness and hygiene and with

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Faith and Fashion in Turkey being well-groomed. There are many beauty and hair salons offering facial and body waxing. Seçil, a 34-year-old high school graduate, is an owner of one of those salons. She joined the Menzil community a year before the interview. She is divorced and lives with her two children in an Aegean town. At the interview, held in September 2013, Seçil pointed to the notion of avret among women. Some customers, who are members of a variety of faith-inspired communities including the Gülen, Menzil and Süleymanlı, ask her to give them genital area and upper leg waxes. According to Seçil, her customers presumably know that, according to the Sunni interpretations of the Islamic sources regarding avret, these areas (upper legs and genital area) should be kept covered even from the female gaze. However, as they find waxing these areas difficult and painful, they prefer that the waxing be done by someone else. Seçil consulted the müftüs (scholars) at the Directorate of Religious Affairs regarding this issue. She said that, according to them, this practice could diminish one’s faith. Consequently, young, less religious girls (whose feelings about doing this are unknown to me) working in her salon, are mostly responsible for these sorts of waxes. Seçil only does the waxing herself when specially requested by one of her loyal customers. In this respect, she considers waxing to be her professional duty and a case of necessity for her clients, and states that it is just like a medical doctor doing his/her job. Therefore, she attempts to rationalise the waxing practice by comparing it with medical care in order to find a reasonable explanation. However, she said that in future she hopes to stop waxing completely, and added: ‘Well, time will tell. Because I need to get my customers accustomed to this [me not doing genital waxing], I cannot stop this suddenly.’ Takva can be described as the ‘consciousness’ that provides a person with ‘the right tools to discern between right and wrong’ (Siddiqui 1997: 424). Seçil mentioned several times that takva is important for her and other Menzil members, who tend to stay away from things that might diminish their faith, and try to fulfil the Sunnah. Other Menzil informants also referred to takva while talking about their clothing practices. İsa is a 36-year-old civil engineer. He is married with two children. I interviewed him together with his wife, Berna, a 36-year-old, nurse. Both İsa and Berna are Menzil members, living in a town in western Turkey. İsa was wearing 62

Fields and Habitus a long-sleeved shirt on the day of the interview, when the temperature was around 35 degrees Celsius. When I  asked him whether he wears shortsleeved shirts, he replied that, since he performs salat regularly, he tries to don the clothes of takva. He added that although a man could perform salat with a short-sleeved shirt as well, wearing a long-sleeved shirt would be proper and in line with takva. Fatma is a 42-year-old Menzil informant living in an Aegean town. She is married with two children. She is an elementary school graduate and homemaker. Fatma said that non-veiled individuals cover their hair while attending hatme meetings (a Menzil worship) where everyone else is veiled. She calls this practice edep, which refers to ‘morals, manners and human conduct’ (Siddiqui 1997: 429). Edep is related to Islamic ethics and can be translated into English as ‘good manners’ (see Lapidus 1984). Whilst there are non-veiled Menzil members, but no Menzil personnel, a woman being non-veiled (even as a member) is unacceptable in the Süleymanlı community; thus, all female Süleymanlı members and personnel are veiled. As I  will discuss in Chapter Three, starting in the late 1990s, there have been significant changes in the bodily appearances of the Gülen community. Some women, particularly those in contact with the public and at certain levels of the community hierarchy who had strategic roles, de-veiled. Nonetheless, while most Gülen member women wear the veil, non-veiled or de-veiled women are not alienated from the community. According to interpretations of the Islamic sources, practices of sartorial differentiation from the opposite sex as well as from non-Muslims are required (Çakan 2005). Most of the female informants from the Süleymanlı community referred to one of the Hadith: ‘God has cursed the men who make themselves look like women, and the women who make themselves look like men’ (Al-Bukhari 1997). They said that wearing trousers, ‘a piece of men’s clothing’, makes women resemble men and thus violates this Hadith. Unlike the female informants from the Gülen and Menzil communities, the female informants from the Süleymanlı community do not wear trousers. They reported that if a Süleymanlı woman wears trousers, she is advised not to wear them again by hocahanıms (female teachers) or by other members, especially those who are senior to her in terms of age, length of community membership, etc. On the other hand, another 63

Faith and Fashion in Turkey Süleymanlı informant, Sümbül, said that loose trousers could be worn under long overcoats. Sümbül is 48 years old and married with two children. She lives in a town in western Turkey. According to Sümbül, while trousers can be worn, this should never be without an overcoat. She also added that trousers should be in a form that would allow the wearer to perform salat. This means that the crotch of the trousers should be at the knee line or even lower. Therefore, when the wearer bows down, there should be no space between her upper legs. Another informant, Hürrem, is a Süleymanlı hocahanım, organising and leading community meetings in an Aegean town where she lives. She is 49 years old and married with two children. Hürrem said that at home, especially while doing chores, she wears a şalvar, a pair of traditional, baggy, drop-crotch trousers, which come in several styles depending on region and occasion. Outside her home, Hürrem never wears a şalvar or trousers in public, even at women-only meetings. As Sümbül explained, for the Süleymanlı, trousers do not comply with the rules of modesty, especially while performing salat. On the other hand, şalvar is perfectly suitable for tesettür, but Hürrem prefers şalvar for chores, not for praying or social gatherings, because it is a traditional type of garment with negative class connotations, such as rural, uneducated and non-modern (see Apaydin 2005, Gökarıksel and Secor 2013). Thus, in addition to religious doctrine, individuals and society contribute to the formation of Muslim women’s body and bodily practices. As in the modern West, women in Turkey wear trousers, a commonplace sight since the 1970s. Nisa is a 38-year-old, self-employed, Gülenist. She is married with one child. She holds a BA degree, and lives and works in Istanbul. Like the other female informants from the Menzil and Gülen communities, Nisa wears trousers both at home and outside, while she may prefer skirts and dresses for special occasions, such as wedding ceremonies. Nisa argued that even if she wears trousers, she does not look like a man because of her headscarf. Nisa’s argument, as well as the fact (unlike the Süleymanlı) that many other Gülen and Menzil women wear trousers, points to inter-community differences and changes in how they interpret Islamic rules and in embodied practices. I don’t look like a man because I’m wearing a ferace [a long and loose, ankle-length outerwear with a front closing from neck

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Fields and Habitus to hem] and headscarf. But, what they say is true. When you see someone outside, a man with a ponytail, a woman wearing jeans, I mean, until you get ahead of him/her, you don’t understand whether [that person is] a woman or a man … But this is not the case for me … I already wear my headscarf, my ferace … I feel more comfortable with trousers to get into/out of the car. You don’t see a part of my legs … But with skirts, if you wear a pencil skirt, you have to have a vent, if you wear a circle skirt, you have to gather it.

Several sources mention Islamically appropriate colours for men’s clothing, such as white, green and red (Meriç 2005). Although the male informants from the Süleymanlı community, especially teachers (hocabeys), prefer specific colours, all other informants, including men and women, choose colours in accordance with their personal tastes, fashion trends, and also at the suggestion of their spouses. In addition, according to the Islamic rules, men are banned from wearing silk garments and gold accessories (ibid.). All male informants liked silver rings and wore them on their right hands, usually on their ring fingers (though, as I will explain later in this chapter, some Menzil men wear rings on their right ring fingers or little fingers). In Turkey, for men, wearing a ring on the right hand, especially a (silver) wedding ring, signifies piety. The male informants said that they prefer to wear a ring on their right ring finger because the Prophet wore his signet ring on his right hand. They also explained that this is recommended by a Hadith – when one ‘goes to the privy he should not touch his private organ with his right hand and he should not do the washing (of the private part) with his right hand’ (Al-Bukhari 1997: 184). Moreover, as will be discussed in detail later in this chapter, certain forms of facial hair, particularly a specific moustache type, mark the bearer as an observant person in Turkey. Some male informants talked about the Sunnah and Hadith relating to men’s facial hair. A Süleymanlı hocabey, Ali, stated that what matters is not the growing of a beard or moustache in itself, but rather their proper trimming and upkeeping, as commanded by the Prophet: … It [growing a beard] is a Sunnah, isn’t it? Yes, it is. But our prophet’s Sunnah has to be respected. Well, a man grows a

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Faith and Fashion in Turkey beard but also smokes so that all around his mouth turns yellow. When someone who has been developing positive attitudes towards Islam sees that he/she says ‘if this is Islam, I don’t accept it, I don’t convert’.

Ali is a manager of a Süleymanlı male-student dormitory in a town in western Turkey. He is a married, 32-year-old high school graduate. Like some other observant Muslims, Ali criticised a particular form of women’s veiling:  a high and voluminous shape created on the back of the head by using bulky hair clips and special bonnets with fillings. This shape is considered a sin in some contemporary Muslim discourses in Turkey and elsewhere because it appears to accord with the ‘camel hump’ referred to in Islamic texts. … there is a certain style [of tesettür] in Islam. It [women’s tesettür] is determined by Sunnah, it is certain. What should women do? … they should tie [their headscarves] accordingly. What does our prophet command in the Hadith? He commands that ‘your women should not tie [their headscarves] like a camel hump, if they do, God’s curse shall be upon them.

As will be discussed in the following chapter, some Süleymanlı informants linked the religious arguments about this ‘camel hump’ shape to the veiling discourses of the Turkish military. Furthermore, when asked about Islamic rules of modesty, all male informants talked mostly about female tesettür and stated that the regular (secular) male apparel is already in line with male tesettür, and thus that there is nothing to talk about regarding observant men’s clothing. Therefore, in line with widespread discourses of modernity and patriarchy, whether expressed clearly or only implied, the masculine renunciation of fashion and consumption as feminine, and the myth of masculinity as premised on men’s control over the female body and on the abandonment of what are seen as feminine frivolities (Nava 1997, Roberts 1998), are inherent in my male informants’ narratives. Focusing on gender in Islam and Turkey, Chapter Four examines these gendered experiences and expressions within the community fields. Before that, I explore the community-specific practices, i.e. the communities’ meetings and worship, and discuss their contribution to the construction and dissemination of the communities’ habitus. 66

Fields and Habitus

Acquisition of Muslim and Community Habitus: The Community Meetings and Worship The Gülen, Süleymanlı and Menzil communities organise social and religious meetings on a regular basis. These meetings are gender segregated and usually held in community spaces or participants’ houses. The Gülen community’s meetings are referred to as sohbet. They typically consist of seven to ten members, led by a local leader (abla or abi) who delivers a speech and prays (Jassal 2014, Hendrick 2013, Sunier and Şahin 2015). All of my informants from the Gülen community regularly attend sohbet meetings, held twice a week. Ahmet and Tayyibe, a Gülenist couple who I interviewed in September 2013 in their house, told me about their maleand female-only sohbet meetings. Ahmet is 27 years old and self-employed. Tayyibe is 26 years old and a homemaker. They are both high school graduates. They have a son and live in an Aegean town. Their sohbets are usually held in houses of the sohbet participants. Ahmet said that if none of the participants invites the others to his house, they instead gather in a community space, such as a student dormitory or school. Tayyibe added that a tea garden or a restaurant could also be an option, especially for women who are tired of children and chores. Tayyibe talked about Gülenist women’s clothing at sohbet meetings. Although sohbets are gender-segregated, participants dress in accordance with tesettür since they involve religious practices, salat and the recitation of the Qur’an. She added that if participants are not properly dressed for sohbet (for instance a short-sleeved shirt worn underneath a jacket on a hot summer day), they bring proper outfits with them. Her husband, Ahmet, said that in men’s sohbet groups, there is no tendency to dress to impress or to show off. Moreover, due to the Islamic rules related to male tesettür, men have much more freedom. Ahmet mentioned some sohbet participants’ wearing capri pants and sandals. A sohbet usually gathers Gülenists from the same neighbourhood or the same business activity; therefore, most sohbet groups consist of individuals from similar socioeconomic levels. When I asked Ahmet and Tayyibe whether they pay attention to their looks and talk about issues related to fashion, brands and consumption at their sohbet meetings, they said that, in accordance with their own request and that of their fellow participants,

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Faith and Fashion in Turkey their sohbet meetings are arranged as heterogeneous groups consisting of individuals from different neighbourhoods and socioeconomic levels. Tayyibe said that forming heterogeneous sohbet groups is rare in the Gülen community and added that this prevents participants from talking about brands and fashions and showing off, and this enables them to concentrate on sohbet topics and gain spiritual depth. However, this does not mean that sohbet participants do not pay attention to their appearance. Tayyibe’s explanation indicates that there are conversations about and competitions over looking fashionable despite the fact that members from different socioeconomic backgrounds attend: Tayyibe: For example, one dresses from a bazaar, but is superior to those who appear in branded fashions. I should put it this way. Everyone is dressed within her budget. Nazlı: Showing off ? Tayyibe: There are not many [women] that show off. Ahmet: There is no showing off in our men’s [sohbet] groups. Tayyibe: There is in ours. Some informants studied at community-affiliated day or boarding schools where they acquired certain community habitus and also became acquainted with consumer culture and modest fashion. In Turkey, it is not uncommon for students to live away for a better, distinguished education, and/or for social mobility and status.4 Faith-inspired communities have a great number of boarding schools, for instance Yamanlar Koleji of the Gülen, and day schools, such as Biltek Okulları of the Menzil.5 Students studying at day-schools may stay in their families’ houses or be accommodated in community student houses/flats or dormitories, especially if their families do not live in the same location. Students at community-affiliated boarding schools socialise and develop relationships with students from similar socioeconomic situations, and more importantly community-affiliated or community-sympathiser families. In addition, since scientific education in the classroom is combined with the extracurricular activities in dormitories, students of communityaffiliated schools acquire and perform their community habitus (Turam 2007, Vicini 2013). 68

Fields and Habitus Three Gülen informants, Leyla (female, 26), Didem (female, 29)  and Ahmet (male, 27) all studied at Gülen-affiliated secondary schools located in the city centres of Izmir and Bursa. All of them stayed in the community’s student dormitories, as their families were not living in those cities, but around 200 kilometres away, in towns located in western Turkey. Ahmet, while talking about his brand choices, mentioned that it was in high school that, for the first time in his life, he heard about fashion brands that inferred status among other students. Ahmet had then adopted his new social environment by buying from those status brands and had thus experienced conspicuous consumption practices. This demonstrates the presence of diverse tastes and taste regimes that align with the composition of individuals’ economic and cultural capital within a faith-inspired community. When I moved to Bursa for high school, I didn’t know what brand obsession was. Umm, believe me, I heard about some [fashion] brands when I was a high school student in Bursa. I mean, Lacoste, or, Armani, Gucci. I heard about these brands in Bursa. Until then I had never had brand obsession. I don’t know, whether I had [brand obsession] at that time [at high school], not much I guess, only a couple of times I asked for [branded products]. For example, back then, while my parents were visiting, they bought me a jumper from Tommy [Hilfiger], and I also got a t-shirt from Lacoste as a student. Those were the branded belongings of mine. (Ahmet, male, 27, Gülen)

Basically, there are two groups of individuals within the Gülen, Süleymanlı and Menzil communities. The first group consists of those employed by or involved with organising community activities (for instance, fund raising, leading community worship and diffusing community interpretations of Islam as well as its agendas). These individuals occupy different positions within a hierarchical structure, and include hocahanıms/hocabeys or ablas/abis or tövbekâr elçileri. This book refers to these people as ‘community personnel’, or, simply ‘personnel’, i.e. people holding paid posts or posts with monetary benefits. However, it is important to note that there are also non-members employed in community-affiliated organisations and businesses of the Gülen, Süleymanlı and Menzil (but, those 69

Faith and Fashion in Turkey are the ones open to the public and other faith-inspired communities), for instance, as teachers in Süleymanlı nursery schools. The second group within the Gülen, Süleymanlı and Menzil communities consists of members who, for example, attend community worship and make donations for community activities (Hendrick 2013, Yavuz 2013). Among members of these three communities, there is no hierarchical structure or levels of membership known to the public. Nevertheless, the narratives of my Gülen informants demonstrate that the socioeconomic levels of Gülen members lead to commonalities and divergences in apparel and fashion consumption practices among them. This creates intra-community differences. Members from higher socioeconomic levels tend to be more fashion-conscious and participate more in consumer culture. As illustrated by the quote from Ahmet above, they are unlikely to comply with publicly known and distinguishable appearances (clothing, veiling and facial hair) as Gülen members (see the following sections of this chapter) and even as observant Muslims. They do not shop solely from Gülenaffiliated brands or local brands that are known as ‘tesettürwear’. Rather, they follow mainstream trends and shop from a wide range of local and foreign mainstream brands.6 Moreover, the narratives of Leyla, Didem and Ahmet demonstrate the contribution of community spaces, particularly private elementary and secondary-level schools, where individuals from similar socioeconomic backgrounds pick up the development and diffusion of different taste regimes. Two Menzil members, Pembe (female, 31)  and Necati (male, 29), were interviewed in September 2013 in their house in a town in western Turkey. They are married with two children. Both of them are high-school graduates. Pembe is a homemaker and Necati is self-employed. They talked about the process of joining the Menzil community. A person willing to become a Menzil member contacts a ‘messenger for the repentant’ (tövbekâr elçisi) of the community in order to perform a ritual, which is believed to eliminate a person’s sins, an act referred to as ‘to take repentance’ (tövbe almak) within the community.7 These messengers, available 24/7, give instructions on how to perform this ritual. Female messengers serve women while male messengers assist men. Pembe and Necati explained this ritual: 70

Fields and Habitus Pembe: You perform ghusl [the full body washing ablution], you repent. It [the ritual] has a salat, you perform the salat. [After that] you lie on your right, facing the Kaaba. But between the salat and sleeping you don’t speak to or communicate with anyone. You sleep alone. Necati: If you are married, you sleep separately. Pembe: You sleep without your spouse, alone. nazli: These messengers for the repentant you mentioned tell you to do this and that? Necati: Ha ha, yes. Pembe: There are female messengers for women. Women for women, men for men. … I had a repentance for my mother at half past midnight. My mother had to leave the next day because of her animals. We telephoned the abla. Be my guest, dear Pembe, she said. We went to her house 15 minutes later. It was quarter to 1 am, we took repentance. Necati: Messengers are in service 24/7. The main act of worship practised by the Menzil community is called ‘hatme’. At a hatme meeting, a different number of tokens is distributed to each participant who, for each token, performs zikir, a repeated recitation of short phrases or prayers from the Qur’an. Once zikir has been performed for all tokens distributed, the hatme ends. After this a sohbet is held. Necati said that sohbets can be on topics covered in Semerkand and Mostar, monthly magazines of the Menzil community (see Chapter Three). In addition to hatme and sohbet, there are two other forms of worship in the community, rabıta and tespih: Pembe: Hatme is our worship … It’s a zikir worship. It is called ‘Hatme-i Hâcegân’. Necati: Tokens are distributed, a zikir is performed [according to the number of tokens]. Ihlas [a short chapter of the Qur’an] is recited. Ihlas are recited 100 times, three sets [of 100 Ihlas] are called hatmez. It [hatmez] is worth good deeds equal to 333 hatim [a complete reading of the Qur’an] … Hatme is [performed] after the maghrib [evening] salat. Pembe: Rabıta.

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Faith and Fashion in Turkey Necati: You close your eyes, perform rabıta for your şeyh [Menzil leader]. I mean you think of him and the zikir. You learn the names of sadats [male descendants of the Prophet] by heart. You recite Fatiha [a short prayer from the Qur’an] for each one of them and for the prophet. It increases every 3–4 months Pembe: It [Menzil worship] also includes a tespih [prayer beads] prayer. The female informants from all three communities said that tesettür and related issues are among the topics covered at community meetings. Therefore, these meetings enable women to learn the appropriate way of veiling and dressing in Islam. They added that the organisers of meeting groups are more careful in their clothing and veiling practices because they set an example for the participants. For instance, Seçil explained that (female) organisers of women’s hatmes, whom she referred to as ‘ablas’, always tie their scarves in a way that covers their shoulders and their hair and neck. Another Menzil informant, Pembe, talked about her friend who no longer wears trousers as she has become an organiser of a hatme group. According to Pembe, such a transformation can occur, not through force, but with a person’s own willing participation: They can’t compel one [to dress in a certain way] under pressure … What I mean by under pressure is … a friend of mine has a sohbet group. That friend, for example, in our casual meetings, she wouldn’t wear slippers. [She would wear] stylish shoes, stylish skirts, even mini-skirts [for home visits]. She would strictly follow tesettür rules outside. Later, as she’s become a leader of a sohbet group, she stopped wearing trousers, threw all of them away. She had to throw [them] away because the education that she received [made her behave] in this way.

Although the wearing of trousers by women is not considered sinful or inappropriate in the Menzil community, women organisers of hatmes tend to comply with all religious rules as much as possible. In doing this, they represent their community and serve as role models, not only for Menzil members but also for potential members and other people in society more broadly (see also the following section). The female informants from the Menzil community said that they wear either loose or stretch trousers

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Fields and Habitus depending on their personal circumstances or environment. Pembe, for instance, prefers slim fit trousers because they enable her to move more freely and safely with her young children. Similarly, for those living in cities and using public transport, functionality tends to be the most sought-after characteristics for their clothes. Süleymanlı members congregate for ‘hatim’ meetings, led by a hoca of the community. A  hatim meeting includes reading some parts from the Qur’an and rabıta, the meditation to Süleyman Hilmi Tunahan, and serves as ‘the central activity for the production and transmission of mystical Islam’ (Yükleyen 2010: 276). These meetings are usually held twice a week, mostly in the community facilities, such as dormitories, or the members’ places, such as offices or houses. Similar to the Gülen and Menzil, in the Süleymanlı community, Islamic rules related to veiling and clothing (as interpreted by the schools of law of Sunni Islam and by their own community) are learned during community meetings for worship as well as through social interactions. However, unlike Gülen and Menzil members, Süleymanlı members are expected to dress in accordance with these rules. For example, the wearing of trousers by Süleymanlı women is not approved of in the community. Hürrem, a Süleymanlı hocahanım, said that some new or young members might wear trousers unknowingly, or because they are emulating the trends and people, apparently non-members, around them. In this case, she added, female teachers of the community ‘kindly remind’ these newly joined or young members to be more careful in their veiling and clothing choices, and to dress in accordance with tesettür. Muharrem also talked about how embodied forms of Süleymanlı habitus and Süleymanlı-approved bodily practices are acquired through observation. Muharrem is a Süleymanlı hocabey (male teacher), appointed by the community as a deputy headmaster of a Süleymanlı nursery and elementary school in a town in western Turkey. He is 33 years old and married with two children. At the time of the interview, he was also pursuing his BA degree in Sociology (distance learning). Muharrem said that in the Süleymanlı community, members or newcomers, and also non-members working at Süleymanlı institutions, such as elementary schools, are not told to dress in a particular way, or to adopt or avoid certain bodily practices, such as nail polish. However, as they observe Süleymanlıs, especially 73

Faith and Fashion in Turkey hocahanıms and hocabeys (community personnel) and long-term members in community spaces, they adjust their bodily practices accordingly. In Muharrem’s words: … a newcomer is not told [what to wear], but, umm, if you belong to a community, for example, there is a hatim twice a week, you go to the dormitory. What this community expects is out there … For example, nobody smokes, of course bad habits such as smoking are warned against [in the community]. But in terms of clothing styles, you somehow adjust yourself to the norms there. For example, we have non-veiled employees [at the nursery and elementary school], but, for instance, in working hours, even if we don’t request it, nobody wears nail polish. Or, I don’t know, has long nails.

So far, I have demonstrated that the Muslim and community habitus within the Gülen, Süleymanlı and Menzil fields are formed in line with the Islamic rules and terms related to the body and embodied practices. In addition, these are diffused and acquired through personnel and members, at meetings, and in the spaces of the communities. In order to further explore the Gülen, Süleymanlı and Menzil habitus, I concentrate on the communities’ personnel in the following section.

Being Raised with Community Habitus, Becoming One of the Community Personnel As Pembe’s example shows (i.e. her friend becoming an organiser of a hatme meeting and thus not wearing trousers anymore), the influence of the communities on individuals can be clearly observed if they are community personnel. Such influence is more powerful and apparent in the Süleymanlı community because their personnel consists of individuals who, right after completing the then 5-year compulsory education at the ages of 11–12, embarked upon the residential Qur’an courses (colloquially called ‘Süleymanlı dormitories’) of the Süleymanlı community and successfully completed the three-phase Süleymanlı education, which consists of Qur’anic teachings and the recitation and interpretation of the Qur’an in Arabic (see Chapter Three). Therefore, they were raised acquiring and 74

Fields and Habitus internalising the Süleymanlı habitus. Among my Süleymanlı informants, there are three hocabeys (Muharrem, Ali and Osman) and one hocahanım (Hürrem). Three female informants (Reyhan, Burcu and Sümbül) also received some phases of the Süleymanlı education. Osman (male, 28) is a married university graduate, and Ali a high school graduate. Both Ali and Osman are hocabeys and thus Süleymanlı personnel. They are the directors of male student dormitories of the Süleymanlı community in neighbouring towns in western Turkey. They both also work as imams in the community, for instance they organise hatims and lead prayers in the private sphere, such as in community spaces. Muharrem is another hocabey of the Süleymanlı who lives and works in the same town where Ali lives and works. These three Süleymanlı hocabeys, Ali, Osman and Muharrem, as well as Sümbül (female, 48) and Burcu (female, 35), pointed to the importance of having received Süleymanlı education and having lived in Süleymanlı dormitories in the development of habits and tastes, and in the formation of appropriate lifestyles. As the narratives of these informants demonstrate, the Süleymanlı habitus that they have acquired from an early age has shaped their perceptions and evaluations of certain lifestyles, thus making them adopt a particular one which is distinguished in the Süleymanlı field. … we [Süleymanlıs] are raised within this system with this education. I mean … a Hadith, for example, there is a Hadith on how to shape a moustache. We are raised learning [and] reading this, in other words, we are raised in this way, umm, you accept this … Of course, you shape your lifestyle accordingly. (Muharrem) As you receive [Süleymanlı] education, you are brought up with the manners there [in the Süleymanlı Qur’an courses and dormitories] … you get the discipline. (Sümbül)

Süleymanlı spaces, such as residential Qur’an courses, are the arenas where the Süleymanlı habitus is constructed, performed, and transmitted. The narratives of Muharrem, Ali, Osman, Hürrem, Burcu, and Sümbül illustrate that, as they moved to Süleymanlı spaces at early ages for living and studying, their viewpoints and lifestyles have been shaped in accordance with 75

Faith and Fashion in Turkey the Süleymanlı habitus. Thus, embodied forms of the Süleymanlı habitus, such as moustache style, as well as the Muslim habitus, such as tesettür, are acquired, internalised and regularly practised in community spaces. My informants’ narratives also illustrated the presence and influence of inherited capital on bodily practices. Hürrem (female, 49)  mentioned that her father had been an imam, a public employee appointed by the Directorate of Religious Affairs. However, he had studied on Süleymanlı Qur’an courses and never severed his connection with the Süleymanlı community. Therefore, not only in Süleymanlı spaces but also in her family home, Hürrem observed, acquired and performed the embodied form of the Süleymanlı habitus. She did this in her family home, and long before the other Süleymanlı informants. As Hürrem came from a more observant family, in which short-sleeved shirts or t-shirts were not worn, she, unlike my other female informants from the Süleymanlı community, still does not wear these items at home. Male members of the Süleymanlı community, unlike female members, are not expected to follow a specific clothing style determined by the community. However, the Süleymanlı hocabeys follow the community norms of clothing and also grooming. My hocabey informants, like other Süleymanlı hocabeys, wear navy-blue suits or formal trousers and white or light blue shirts with a tie, and use matching accessories, such as shoes and belts. Men wearing these standardised clothing items, which can be regarded as the uniform of the Süleymanlı hocabeys, can be distinguished in the public sphere by those possessing this information. The community expects hocabeys to adopt this standardised look, consisting of Western clothing items, so that they conform to the ideal looks for ‘modern’ men and thereby do not confront the security and secularity concerns of the (secular) public and the state. Their outfits also set an example for male members of the community. Consequently, hocabeys greatly contribute to the construction of Süleymanlı men’s appearances and the presentation of the community as a non-marginal and moderate religious institution. As my hocabey informants explained: Ali: We shouldn’t have undesirable looks in public. This is very important. That’s why we accentuate simplicity. … In the contemporary era, one cannot dress in a different [peculiar] way. This can alienate people.

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Fields and Habitus Osman: In addition, clothing should not be considered like, ‘the community members dress in this way’, ‘the personnel are forced to dress in this way’. It shouldn’t be regarded as such. Well, let’s say you go to an A-101 (a supermarket chain), all employees are wearing a particular tshirt. This means, in order to work there, you need to wear that t-shirt. This is not found odd. So, we are the people working in the dormitories as directors, managers, teachers, etc. We need to have a certain way to present ourselves to the public … I mean, we are making a presentation, we are in a dialogue with people certainly, we are representing an institution. So to speak, we are business owners in a way. Nazlı: What about those who do not represent the business, who are not the personnel? Osman: … they emulate their abis, their hocabeys; so, they wear shirts and trousers. If we are the managerial staff … If this is what we saw from our older staff, we need to follow their footsteps and set examples for those who are below us. Because this is, umm, a standard. A BIM [a supermarket chain] employee is the same in Istanbul, in the east, everywhere. This is a standard we have … for the [Süleymanlı] personnel I  mean. But, as member comes and goes, he dresses [as he desires]. There is no standard for him … We [the male personnel] have a standard, what is it? Well, a shirt, a tie. A shirt has to be white or light blue. I mean it doesn’t need to be a plain blue, it can be a striped … But a standard is set. [Trousers] must be classic, formal. A casual, sports jacket can be worn, but, strictly it cannot be denim. Too tight [clothing] is not allowed. Slim-fit cuts are not allowed. (Muharrem)

For several reasons, such as health concerns or ideological views, some observant Muslims in Turkey regard wearing jeans and other garments made of denim fabric as inappropriate. According to Meriç (2005), for example, these products belong to the western world.8 Veiled women wearing jeans should therefore decide to ‘which world’ they belong (p. 38).9 All male informants from the Süleymanlı community, Ali, Osman, Muharrem, Suat (who is 56 years old, married with one child, and self-employed) and

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Faith and Fashion in Turkey Fadıl (who is 42 years old, married with two children, and self-employed) mentioned that wearing jeans and other denim products is not allowed for men in the Süleymanlı community. Süleymanlı women, like Süleymanlı men, do not wear jeans. However, unlike Süleymanlı men, they (for example, my 48-year-old informant, Sümbül) wear other denim clothes, such as overcoats and feraces (see Chapter Five). According to Ali and Osman, the reasons behind this include jeans being Western clothing items, and unhealthy, particularly for men. Moreover, although Muharrem and Hürrem said that Süleymanlı members are not told to dress in a certain way or not to wear particular clothing items (such as şals, a plain or patterned rectangular piece of cloth used for covering the head), Osman and Ali mentioned that Süleymanlı men are told not to wear jeans: Osman: For example, we tell people not to wear jeans. In our community [wearing] jeans is prohibited. Nazlı: Why jeans? Osman: … This is, umm, firstly, for medical reasons, we explain why they are prohibited. You know for sure, how they are invented. … Pardon my language, herdsmen, cowboys would wear jeans as they would not be worn out quickly. Later, in our country, they made us believe those are a modern clothing item. Well, whatever comes from the West, we adopt it without a second thought. Nazlı: But if you think in this way, also trousers are a Western item, also shirts are a Western item. Osman: But, health … In terms of health, trousers do not cause much harm. But jeans, seriously, they cause, pardon my language, male infertility in 90 per cent of cases, after wearing them for a long time. Ali: They are harmful in terms of health. This has been told all the time… I have worn [jeans] three times in my life. As Süleymanlı hocabeys, Ali and Osman don loose-fit trousers and shirts regardless of the changing fashions. On the other hand, when they are not in the service of the community, for instance on a seaside vacation, they wear short-sleeved shirts and capri trousers. Otherwise, they always dress in a way that is approved of and expected. 78

Fields and Habitus Ali: … we have both t-shirts and short sleeve shirts … Nazlı: But … let’s say you go downtown, to speak with shop owners. Ali: No … I mean, during our services [hizmet], we don’t get a chance to wear [t-shirts and short sleeve shirts]. Why? As we said, people … they have an expectation from us. … Let me put it this way, I’m an imam, let’s say I’m holding a cigarette and tea, as an imam. If you see me downtown, strolling like this, what would you think? You would say, ‘ah, he’s supposed to be a hocabey’. Nazlı: A casual shirt for weekends, could that be a slim-fit? Muharrem: It can be. But if there is a sohbet, a hatim that day, if you will go to the dormitory, you definitely dress normal [as you are expected to do so]. This means no jeans, ever. … A community has its rules. … If you want to enter [a community space], I’m talking about the personnel, you meet the standards. As I will discuss in Chapter Three, as part of the Süleymanlı community’s public presentation strategy, some hocabeys, for example Muharrem, working in Süleymanlı-affiliated institutions that are open to the public, wear slim-fit shirts. But in general it is not approved of in the community for hocabeys to wear slim-fit shirts. Instead, they wear classic-cut shirts. The difference between these practices, as Muharrem explained, results from hocabeys’ workplaces. Ali and Osman work as managers of Süleymanlı male-student dormitories where Süleymanlı members and children of Süleymanlı members stay. Muharrem, on the other hand, works as a director of a Süleymanlı nursery and elementary school, which is an education institution that accepts the children of both Süleymanlı members and nonmembers. Thus, Muharrem has been wearing slim-fit shirts for the last three years since he, in his words, is ‘a little bit more “in contact with the outer world” ’. This demonstrates that there are different groups and group-specific practices among the Süleymanlı personnel. For instance, having been educated in Süleymanlı spaces and observed his elders, Muharrem would always part his hair to one side, until he later saw a senior abi centre-parting his hair: ‘I couldn’t centre part my hair. Later, I noticed our abi, who is now the leader of our community, centre parts his hair’. However, according to 79

Faith and Fashion in Turkey Muharrem, such ‘progressive’ (yenilikçi) practices in the community are limited to a very small group of hocas (teachers), probably 1 per cent of the personnel. Furthermore, as noted above, the narratives of Ali, Osman and Muharrem illustrate different public presentations of the Süleymanlı community in different fields, such as the Süleymanlı field and the field of education. Therefore, the community’s public presentations vary with respect to the characteristics of the field, such as religious and secular, and the agents and institutions involved (see Chapter Three). Nevertheless, all personnel conform to the Süleymanlı habitus and do not cross the boundaries set by the community. Nazlı: … if you were a hocabey in a dormitory, you would never wear a slim-fit [shirt]. Muharrem: No, I  wouldn’t. I  mean, very rarely. It would be more appropriate if I said I wouldn’t. Nazlı: What if one wears [a slim-fit shirt]? Muharrem: Nothing. Nazlı: Will he be put on notice? Muharrem: Such a thing has never happened … He will not [be put on notice] … I mean he will draw attention. I mean, whether he wants or not, he cannot do that … For example, we have never sworn in our lives, I have never … I’m saying that if you shout, use bad language in the dormitory, you will be alienated … You will detach yourself [from the others]. I mean … you’ll bring your own end. For the Süleymanlı personnel, the Süleymanlı habitus is both structuring and structured, and is acquired and performed by each agent, starting from their earliest upbringing (Bourdieu 1977:  81). Therefore, the Süleymanlı habitus shapes the perceptual structures and embodied dispositions of the community personnel, and determines how they see the social world and act in it (King 2000: 423). Muharrem’s comments above on ‘using bad language’ demonstrate that the Süleymanlı habitus governs bodily practices and social relations in community spaces, even though there are no written rules or prior experiences. In this respect, the Süleymanlı habitus operates as a regulatory guideline embedded in social relations. It determines and informs the legitimacy of Süleymanlıs’ actions. Consequently, Süleymanlıs, 80

Fields and Habitus at least when in the presence of another Süleymanlı or Süleymanlıs, cannot ‘invent a purely individualistic and asocial act  – unless they are actually insane’ (ibid.: 421). However, as Chapters Three and Four will show, some Süleymanlıs can make slight changes in their verbal and bodily presentations to the degree that this is allowed by their community. The following sections look at members of these communities and explore the creation of collective identities.

Visual Clues to Community Identities Different bodily practices are expected from men and women as members of a certain community, though both men and women perform some of the same practices. An illustration of this is the way Süleymanlıs position  their hands while praying. In the religious field of Sunni Islam in Turkey, the  common way to position hands for prayers among Muslims is to hold open empty hands with palms slightly facing the body and with or without a space between the hands. The Süleymanlı way differs from it since they cross their little fingers and this signifies that the person is a member of the Süleymanlı. This is visible to non-Süleymanlıs in the public sphere, for instance at cemeteries and in mosques where Muslims from different subfields of the religious field of Sunni Islam gather, and is distinguishable to those possessing this information. Süleymanlı members’ positioning their hands in a specific way during prayer shows ‘the performative nature of the habitus and the way in which otherwise intangible qualities of fields are reproduced through embodiment’ (Entwistle and Rocamora 2006: 747). Therefore, this particular bodily performance comprises part of the Süleymanlı habitus and makes it visible. Süleymanlı women are distinguished in public by their way of tying their scarves, which is well known and colloquially called the ‘Süleymancı’ style by observant Muslims in the country. Süleymanlı members usually use a medium size (90cmx90cm) scarf and tie it loosely and puffily under their chins (Figure 2.1). This style does not cover the chest. However, since Süleymanlı women always wear overcoats outside houses, this is not considered a problem. Sümbül has been a member since 1977 when, at the age of 12, she started pursuing Süleymanlı education in a Süleymanlı residential 81

Faith and Fashion in Turkey Qur’an course of the community in western Turkey and started covering her hair. She noted that there has been no change in the way she ties her scarf since then. This distinctive style of scarf tying, according to Sümbül, was the one preferred by the daughters of Süleyman Hilmi Tunahan, the founder and spiritual leader of the community. My Süleymanlı informants noted that they could easily recognise Süleymanlı women in public from the way they tie their scarves. Most of the Gülen and Menzil informants could also spot Süleymanlı women. Sümbül explained that, in their community, women are told that as they tie their scarves in this way so they can recognise each other in the public sphere. For instance, while visiting her daughter, who had recently moved to Istanbul, Sümbül met a Süleymanlı woman in a supermarket. This member did not live in the same neighbourhood to Sümbül’s daughter and she, therefore, did not attend the Süleymanlı meetings there. However, that member put Sümbül in contact with a Süleymanlı member in this neighbourhood. Consequently, when Sümbül goes to Istanbul to visit her daughter, she meets other Süleymanlı women there and attends community meetings.

Figure 2.1 Süleymanlı women. Source: Paul Prescott / Alamy Stock Photo. 

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Fields and Habitus Having heard from Sümbül that Süleymanlı women are expected to tie their scarves in this particular style, I asked a Süleymanlı hocahanım, Hürrem, to gather more information about this community convention and its proliferation among Süleymanlı women. Hürrem said that they do not brief to newcomers on this style or explicitly tell them to adopt it. However, she added, as newcomers observe hocahanıms and (long-time) members, they learn what to do and ‘what is right and wrong’. Thus, the habitus of the newcomer is not structured, but as she attends Süleymanlı meetings, she becomes a player of the Süleymanlı field and acts in line with its rules, acquiring the Süleymanlı habitus. The Gülen and Menzil informants also said that newcomers or members in their communities are not told to dress or veil in a certain way, but, as explained before, they learn about the Islamic rules of veiling and clothing at their community meetings by listening to talks on tesettür and observing other members. All female informants from the Süleymanlı stated that they wear anklelength overcoats throughout the year. Nonetheless, Hürrem mentioned that young single members sometimes prefer shorter overcoats, which fall at various lengths between the knee and ankles, yet are approved of by the community. On the other hand, most of the female informants from the Gülen and Menzil communities do not wear overcoats. Wearing overcoats is more closely linked to the level of piety among the Menzil; in the Gülen community women from lower socioeconomic levels wear overcoats. One of my Menzil informants, Pembe, regarded overcoats as the proper form of tesettür in the Menzil community. She pointed to the discrepancy between the ‘proper form of tesettür’ and her own tesettür practices. Pembe links this discrepancy to her background: being raised in a non-observant family and having dressed in a secular, non-tesettür way up until she got married to Necati, who comes from a pious family in which both parents had been Menzil members for over three decades. All Menzil informants stated that their community does not oblige its members to dress in accordance with tesettür, nor does it demand that they adopt a certain way of clothing, veiling or grooming. However, this does not mean that tesettür issues are not significant to this community. Members accumulate knowledge about tesettür from religious publications (such as Menzil publications, see Chapter Three) and the community’s 83

Faith and Fashion in Turkey meetings. Nonetheless, whether to adapt tesettür and the degree to which it is adopted rests with the member. For instance, Pembe, as mentioned above, does not wear long overcoats as her fellow Menzil members do since she does not feel ready for this. Ahenk (female, 33)  is the only non-veiled informant and covers her hair for Menzil meetings. She is married with one child. She is a middle school graduate and is self-employed. She lives in an Aegean town and works in the domestic appliances store owned by her family. She said that non-veiled Menzil members are not alienated from the community or forced to cover their hair. However, she added, her fellow members express their wishes and also pray for her (and other non-veiled Menzil members) to wear the veil, which would signify ‘completion of her faith’. As mentioned before, personal enlightenment and salvation stories abound in the Menzil community. In order to illustrate the insignificance of vernacular meanings attached to bodily appearances in the Menzil, Ahenk narrated a story of a ‘marginal-looking’ Menzil member:10 Ahenk: … as I say, there is no image, no regulation related to appearance. There is nothing like ‘one has to be like this’. … Let me give you an example. Someone came to Menzil [village], my husband told me. Well, in our community we count beads, after you have exceeded 20,000 you ask the Menzil [authorities] how many to count. For example, sometimes they might decrease it from 20,000. This is related to your inner soul, your condition. Sometimes they say, for example, count 25,000, 26,000. So, the number of times one says Allah, well, this is our zikir [repetition of short phrases]. And then my husband says, the huge [place where this event took place] was full [of people], well, there were people who witnessed this, someone came with earrings, tattoos. Nazlı: A man? Ahenk: A man. A  marginal-looking man with earrings and tattoos arrives, and then tells Gavs hazretleri [the Menzil leader located in Menzil]:  ‘I count 100,000, how many would you command [me to count]?’. Saying 100,000, saying Allah 100,000 times a day takes hours for a person. In addition, for most people, even if they say ‘I’ll count 100,000 a day’, they cannot. Exceeding 100,000 means that the eyes of

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Fields and Habitus your heart have been opened. For us, it means you have trained your soul, proved this to God. So, [the man with the earrings and tattoos] is an evliya [holy person] because he can read all hearts there. Who knows what those other people that were present there had in their hearts for this person because he has earrings and tattoos. Then he [Gavs, perceiving what the crowd will assume about this man] said ‘I don’t understand’. [The man with the earrings and tattoos] said ‘I count 100,000, how many would you command [me to count]?’. [Gavs] said ‘I don’t understand’. This made him [the man with the earrings and tattoos] raise his voice and shout [his question] repeatedly. So, there, [Gavs] reflected on the fact that one should not judge one by his/her looks. So, there must be so many people talking about his earrings; that’s why [Gavs] tried to prevent this. Nazlı: I see. You say there are also such people. Ahenk: There are… There are all kinds of people. Despite being a tradition in some parts of Anatolia, especially in eastern and south-eastern regions and among some ethnic and/or religious groups (e.g. Arabs, Kurds and Alevis; see Taşğın and Mollica 2017), tattoos are widely regarded as Islamically disallowed in the Turkish context, since tattooing is an alteration of the body, i.e. God’s creation, which according to Islamic law is forbidden or haram.11 In addition, a man wearing earrings can be perceived as effeminate (see Gökarıksel and Secor 2017) and/or as an atheist or non-observant Muslim because it is considered to be incompatible with a man’s ‘fıtrat’ (nature or the natural order) in Turkey. Just as with the man with tattoos and earrings whom she mentioned, Ahenk performs Menzil prayers in addition to her obligatory prayers. This illustrates that some Muslims may choose not to externalise their acquired Islamic dispositions, and thus they do not adopt widely-accepted Muslim looks which are typical of the context which they inhabit. To put it differently, inward ethical formations do not always result in or need to be externalised as ‘outward’ bodily formations (cf. Mahmood 2005). This points to differences in understandings as well as to the construction of (acceptable) Muslim subjectivities in different contexts; in other words, at different macro (e.g. society) and micro (e.g. individual and community) levels.

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Strategic Changes and Different Levels within the Communities From the 1990s through to the early 2010s, Gülen-affiliated dershanes were very popular, since their students scored considerably higher on the nation-wide entrance exams for secondary schools and universities. Whilst ultra-secularist parents would not consider sending their children to Gülenaffiliated dershanes, I attended one between 1995 and 1997 for universityentrance exams, as was then common amongst other secular, non-Gülenist individuals. I had both male and female teachers. All female teachers would wear long overcoats and large scarves even in the classrooms, and most male teachers would don loose trousers and shirts with no ties, and have well-trimmed moustaches. Most of my Menzil and Süleymanlı informants recalled these details and said that in the past they could have identified Gülen members in public from their distinctive looks. However, towards the end of the 1990s, especially following the 28 February 1997 military memorandum, there have been enormous changes in the clothing, veiling and grooming practices of Gülenists, who now tend to create and express diverse individual identities rather than collective, publicly-distinguishable, community identities. For instance, one Menzil informant, Pembe, talked about a specific way of tying a square scarf – ‘at the nape of the neck’, and called it ‘Gülenist’ style. For this style, a square (90 cm x 90 cm) scarf is folded in half, forming a triangle, and wrapped around the head with the folded strip going across the forehead. Two sides of the scarf are pinned under the chin and the loose ends are wrapped in opposite directions around the back of the head and tied at the nape of the neck. This style initially spread among Gülenist women; thus it came to be known as ‘Gülenist’ style. However, none of the Gülenist female informants called this style ‘Gülenist’. Moreover, while describing the veiling styles that they prefer, Hülya (35, Gülen), Berna (36, Menzil), Leyla (26, Gülen), and Havva (17, Gülen) referred to it as a basic, common way to tie a square scarf. There are three factors that may have been influential on this shift in meaning. Firstly, as this style became popular and proliferated among observant women in the early 2000s, not only Gülenist women but also other veiled, non-Gülenist women adopted it. Therefore, it is no longer linked to one particular group. A second reason

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Fields and Habitus for this shift is the socio-political environment following the 28 February 1997 military memorandum when the military blacklisted several faithinspired communities and Islamist political parties including the Gülen community and the FP. Consequently, Gülen members attempted to avoid similar, publicly distinguishable looks. In addition, the infamous declaration of the Gülen leader, Fethullah Gülen, in 1995 has influenced the views on veiling as well as veiling practices in the community. For Gülen, veiling is a secondary matter (füruat), meaning that veiling is not among the five pillars of Islam which, for Muslims, are the primary conditions to meet.12 Thus, women do not necessarily need to wear the veil. Following this declaration, some Gülen women de-veiled whilst others have adopted different veiling styles in line with changing fashions and/or personal tastes. As Karataş and Sandıkçı (2013) note, in order to be accepted and to succeed in the community, one needs to adopt ‘typical community appearances’. However, as my ethnography shows, typical community appearances are not the same for everyone within the community. Thus, depending on one’s type of affiliation (such as personnel, member or sympathiser), level within the Gülen hierarchy, and socioeconomic level in Turkish society, bodily appearances differ. For instance, Asude (female, 31, Gülen) wears long overcoats. At the Friday meeting that I attended in November 2013, the Gülenist sohbet leader was wearing a long overcoat and a square-scarf. As Seçil reports, it is often difficult to distinguish the Gülenist and Menzil women from their veils alone. As a hairdresser owning a hair and beauty salon for ladies, Seçil has numerous customers from several faith-inspired communities including the Gülen, Süleymanlı and Menzil. Although she has been familiar with all these communities for years and had been a Menzil member for over a year at the time of the interview, Seçil cannot identify who is from which community: … for example, theirs [Süleymanlıs’ veiling style] is more distinguishable. For example, sometimes I cannot distinguish between Gülenists and Nahşibendis [Menzil members]. Because they look a lot alike … They [Gülenists] wear scarves too; but sometimes also wear şals. I mean, I think, in terms of clothing, they resemble each other a lot … For example, they [Gülenists] pin [headscarves]. They usually pin. Süleymancıs usually do not use

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Faith and Fashion in Turkey pins. They just tie it here [under the chin]. Also, Nahşibendis use headscarves … The most important thing for them is to cover the shoulders. I mean, they pin one end of the scarf here [on one shoulder], leave the other end hanging. This is what Nahşibendis usually do. When Gülenists use a headscarf … they tie headscarves behind the neck … Nahşibendis are umm, let’s say, more strict. Their clothing style is, for example, they usually wear an overcoat or a ferace, a headscarf. The shoulders are always covered [with the headscarf]. … Gülenists used to wear overcoats. And I think, at that time [in the 1990s], the way they tied their headscarves was different … more strict, larger scarves. … For example, as I know, Özel X [a private secondary school in her town] is a Gülenist [school]. For example, among my clients, there are teachers from there wearing their scarves in a Süleymancı style.

The way of tying a headscarf that she described as a common style among Menzil women is also preferred by some Gülen women. For instance, Asude usually wears scarves in this way since it ‘covers her chest’. This illustrates that there are different groupings, different perceptions and interpretations, and thereby different practices within the Gülen and Menzil communities. Thus, Gülen and Menzil women chose among multiple headscarf/şal styles among which are some that can be categorised as veiling styles which are distinguishable as belonging to a specific community, such as the ‘Gülenist’ style. Süleymanlı women, on the other hand, tie their scarves in a particular way as explained previously. As quoted above, some of Seçil’s clients who are teachers from a Gülenist secondary school in her town, tie their scarves in the ‘Süleymancı‘ style. Considering the strong meanings linked to this veiling style, these clients are probably Süleymanlı members working in a Gülenist secondary school. This illustrates the permeability of the boundaries between the community fields.

Publicly Distinguishable Clues to Piety and Community Membership of Men My ethnography shows that there are some bodily practices and material objects that indicate a man’s Menzil membership. For example, a 88

Fields and Habitus man’s wearing of a ring, particularly one with nationalist, neo-Ottomanist decoration(s), such as the tuğra (a calligraphic signature of an Ottoman sultan), on the little finger of the right hand marks him as a Menzil member.13 Having seen one of my Menzil informants, Rahmi (male, 47), wearing a silver ring on his right little finger on the interview day, I asked him about accessories in general and about his ring: Nazlı: … [There are] tuğras [a calligraphic signature of an Ottoman sultan] on its sides. Rahmi: Yes, [rings are] usually with tuğras. Or, sometimes we wear rings with our own logo, with Semerkand logo. So, usually different [rings]. … Nazlı: Do you usually wear [rings] on your right hand? … Rahmi: Yes, my right [hand] and little finger. … [Rings] can be worn on the ring finger too, but I prefer the little finger. I mean, [rings] can be worn on both [ring and little fingers]. This is what we prefer because it’s a Sunnah, it is said that our prophet, umm, wore [rings] on this [right] hand and these [ring and little] fingers. That’s why we prefer these [fingers].’ Rahmi is married to another Menzil informant, Candan (who is a 42-yearold homemaker, with an elementary school degree), with three children. He has a high-school diploma and works as a labourer in a coalmine in a town in western Turkey. I interviewed Rahmi and Candan in their home in September 2013. Even though Rahmi explains his choice of wearing a ring on his little finger as a personal one, this is a common bodily practice among Menzil men. This signals Menzil community membership in public and can be recognised by those possessing this information. Moreover, they wear rings and badges with the logo of the Semerkand Holding (a Menzil-affiliated corporation, see Figure 2.2 and also Chapter Three). The Semerkand logo has become the symbol of the Menzil community. Thus, men’s wearing of Semerkand rings on their little fingers, and the use of badges with the Semerkand logo by both men and women indicates their Menzil membership. The quotes from my Menzil informant, Aylin, below demonstrate how the Semerkand logo enables Menzil members to recognise each other in the public sphere. Aylin is a 22-year-old, university 89

Faith and Fashion in Turkey

Figure 2.2 Semtia advertisement in Mostar magazine, August 2012. 

student. She is single and lives with her parents in Istanbul. Aylin wears a Semerkand badge on her overcoats and notices Menzil men wearing rings and badges with the Semerkand logo. … For example, I was going to Uza, but didn’t know that area well. I  saw an old lady wearing a [Semerkand] badge on her

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Fields and Habitus collar, said ‘Selamün Aleyküm [peace be upon you], I am going to a foundation in Uza, do you know where it is?’ She said ‘yes’, and gave me directions. We even walked to the main street together, she showed me the way. Men wear rings. Those working in the private sector, if they wear suits, use badges. If they work in public offices, they cannot wear them [badges] I guess. Also, they wear a ring on their little fingers.

For those who possess related information, there are tiny but unmistakeable clues to pious male identities in the public sphere in Turkey. The thin and well-trimmed moustache that ends either at the sides of the mouth or extends slightly along the sides is the most visible indication of observant male identities from different socioeconomic backgrounds and religious/ ideological viewpoints, such as political Islam and faith-inspired communities. For instance, Recep Tayyip Erdoğan (prime minister [2002–2014] and president [2014–]), and Fethullah Gülen, the leader of the Gülen community, wear thin and well-trimmed moustaches. The Islamic rules related to facial hair derive from the Hadith. Accordingly, Muslim men should grow a moustache and/or beard, which are among a man’s ‘fıtrat’ (nature or the natural order), in order to distinguish themselves from women as well as from non-Muslim men (see Al-Bukhari 1997). However, similar to the Islamic rules of dress and modesty, interpretations and practices of these rules may vary depending on numerous factors, such as tradition, geographical region, and individual tastes and preferences.14 Therefore, there is no single form of Islamically appropriate moustache and beard, meaning that facial hair practices and their meanings among Muslims can differ. However, since the thin and well-trimmed moustache is considered to be the one in line with the Sunnah, it is a common moustache type among observant men and a symbol of observant Muslim male identity in Turkey. This generic style, the well-trimmed moustache, is the one common among male Süleymanlı members and personnel. Nonetheless, even though well-trimmed moustaches may all seem the same to ‘the untrained eye’, there are different forms of it, varying across time and with respect to personal and

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Faith and Fashion in Turkey community preferences. Süleymanlı men’s moustaches usually extend along the sides of the mouth, but the amount of space left between the moustache and the upper lip varies. Thus, the moustaches of Süleymanlı men mark them as Süleymanlı members, and this is visible to Süleymanlı members (both men and women) and also non-members who hold this information. One of my Süleymanlı informants, Suat (male, 56)  talked about the Islamic rules related to facial hair and the facial hair practices of the Süleymanlı community. According to him, a beard is also a Sunnah, but it is less important than a moustache. In their community, Suat noted, growing a moustache is a norm for men ‘due to its degree of importance’ in Islam, while the decision whether or not to have a beard remains a personal one. Suat added that beards are not common in their community unless a man becomes old and wants to grow a beard. Moustaches and beards are not common among Menzil and Gülen men. None of the male informants from these two communities had beards. One Gülenist man, Hayri, who is 43 years old, self-employed and married with two children, had a moustache, which was thin and well-trimmed, and did not extend past the sides of his mouth. Rahmi had a moustache that was trimmed and cut slightly above his upper lip line. Its vertical extensions grew 1 to 1.5 centimetres down the sides of his mouth, towards his jawline. Thus, Rahmi’s moustache was a hybrid form of the ‘Islamic’, well-trimmed, and ‘Turkish nationalist’, horse-shoe moustaches. Moreover, for my Menzil and Gülen informants, having a moustache or beard is a personal choice, rather than a community norm. For example, two female informants, Nisa (38, Gülen) and Fatma (42, Menzil), noted that since they do not like moustaches or beards, their husbands do not have facial hair. My Gülen, Süleymanlı and Menzil informants said that they could recognise Süleymanlı men in the public sphere from their moustaches in the public sphere. When I reminded them that this moustache style does not come in one form and is not specific to the Süleymanlı community, my informants said that a man’s well-trimmed moustache combined with his overall looks, including apparel, especially suit trousers and classic-cut shirts, can confirm his Süleymanlı membership. This points to the fact that my informants, both Süleymanlıs and non-Süleymanlıs, are knowledgeable about the Süleymanlı norms in men’s clothing. 92

Fields and Habitus

Figure  2.3 The ‘navy’ colour of a takke (prayer cap) indicates the wearer’s Süleymanlı membership. Source:  urvetekstil.com/urun/10/fawori-takke.html [Accessed 28 August 2017]. 

Süleymanlı men, like Süleymanlı women, are advised by the community in several aspects of mundane lives, such as clothing, which according to the community convention should be clean and neat. However, Süleymanlı men, unlike Süleymanlı women, do not have distinctive norms and clues to their community membership. Nonetheless, as noted before, similar to the Süleymanlı male personnel, male Süleymanlı members avoid wearing jeans and other denim products. Though navy-blue takkes (prayer caps, Figure 2.3), worn by male members and personnel, can be a clue to Süleymanlı male identity in ‘public’ religious spaces, i.e. mosques. Therefore, publicly recognisable bodily marks of Süleymanlı male identity are limited and are not as visible as those of Süleymanlı women in the public sphere. Nonetheless, despite materials and bodily practices indicating Süleymanlı identity, Suat claimed that the Süleymanlı community ‘does not have any symbol … there is no specific clothing that indicates [a member’s] level.’15

Conclusion To sum up, the religious field in Turkey consists of Sunni and Alevi, although it is largely occupied by Sunni Islam with multiple agents and 93

Faith and Fashion in Turkey institutions, for example the state, faith-inspired communities, Qur’an courses, imams and tarikat leaders. Thus, the religious field includes manifold forms and interpretations of Sunni Islam. The Turkish Republic has constructed the state form of Sunni Islam, particularly through the establishment of the Directorate of Religious Affairs in 1924, and expanded state control over religion through banning the activities of private agents and closing down private institutions. The strictly secular policies of the single-party era (1923–1946) combined with other socio-political events in the following decades (e.g. the Cold War environment and migration to urban areas) created possibilities and demand for, and facilitated the development and proliferation of, new religious agents and institutions. The Gülen, Süleymanlı and Menzil communities are amongst them. This chapter identified each community as a separate subfield of the religious field of Islam and examined its agents and institutions accordingly. The multiplicity of religious authorities leads to diverse understandings and practices in everyday Islam. This chapter examined how religious rules and community norms are interpreted, adopted and adapted in everyday Islam and illustrated that there are intra- and inter-community differences in clothing, veiling and grooming practices, as well as in understandings and practices of Islamic rules relating to the body. Moreover, the narratives of my informants demonstrated how the Islamic concepts (e.g. edep, takva, avret and mahrem) and Hadith that are related to the body and modesty (e.g. grooming, clothing and accessories) contribute to the formation of pious Muslim subjectivities. For instance, edep and takva, which imply ‘consciousness’ of what is ‘right’ (e.g. thoughts and practices) in Islam, are among the inward dispositions that a Muslim should possess. As the quotes from Seçil, Fatma and İsa indicate, acting in accordance with these dispositions is important for ‘the achievement of piety’ (Mahmood 2005: 155). Therefore, as pious Muslims, they synchronise their bodily practices with their inward dispositions which, in turn, help them maintain and also strengthen these dispositions. Furthermore, as discussed in this chapter, there is no single form of Muslim habitus in the religious field of Sunni Islam in Turkey. In addition, each one of the Gülen, Süleymanlı and Menzil communities has a set of dispositions constituting their own community’s habitus which constructs 94

Fields and Habitus and presents their community identities. A  community’s habitus is usually acquired at community meetings and in community spaces by observing worship leaders and also other, especially long-term, members. For instance, by observing other member women at the gender-segregated community meetings, a newcomer in the Süleymanlı learns the community’s distinctive style of tying headscarves, which can be recognised by other members (and also non-members with this particular knowledge) in public spaces. Consequently, in the Gülen, Süleymanlı and Menzil communities, there are similarities and divergences in experiences of Islam at intra- and intercommunity levels. These similarities and divergences arise from many factors, such as personal and family values, interpretations of Islamic rules by different agencies and institutions, community norms and traditions. Moreover, the acquisition of a Muslim and community habitus at different ages and in different ways (i.e. willingly or unwillingly and consciously or unconsciously), and how this distinctly shapes embodied practices, leads to convergences or divergences among expectations and experiences. Community rules, in addition to understandings and practices of the Islamic rules, may change or may be followed more or less strictly over time. An individual’s position (i.e. type of affiliation and level) within the Gülen community determines the norms of clothing, veiling/non-veiling and grooming (e.g. men’s facial hair) expected from them, and their conformity with these norms secures their position and facilitates their upward mobility within the community. In general, the Süleymanlı community has more norms regulating clothing, veiling and grooming practices than the other two communities. In all three communities, there are basically two groups:  members and personnel. Within each group there are also subgroups formed in accordance with numerous factors such as positions occupied in the community structure and socioeconomic background. Within these diverse groups and sub-groups, individuals’ bodily practices vary. In addition, as shown in this chapter (and to be further elaborated in Chapter Four), both male and female bodies are subject to religious rules and community norms, but to different degrees. The following chapter, on the other hand, concentrates on the community fields and their relations with other fields. 95

3 Power and Politics: Interactions between Fields

Interactions between fields occur because individuals belonging to multiple fields (Verter 2003), and groups involved in similar field positions, can form strategic bonds (Swartz 1997). Fields can also overlap because of a ‘parallel logic of practice’, for example in the cases of psychologists and priests, both of whom ‘share therapeutic techniques and offer similar goods’, and therefore use ‘a very similar species of capital’ (Verter 2003: 156). Focusing on the communities’ activities within the religious field of Sunni Islam, and the bureaucratic, educational and economic fields, this chapter demonstrates the interactions and intersections as well as the conflicts which occur among agents and institutions, including those of the state and the communities, all of which are active within these fields. In order to thoroughly explain the communities’ activities within the economic field and analyse the relations between the community and the economic fields (e.g. the accumulation and transfer of diverse forms of capital), the second part of this chapter concentrates on the community marketplaces. Religion greatly contributes to the construction, regulation, presentation and control of bodies (McGuire 1990). In addition to clothing, veiling and grooming practices, consumption of or refraining from certain food and drink contributes greatly to the formation and presentation of Muslim

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Faith and Fashion in Turkey bodies. As will be covered in the marketplaces part of this chapter, there are different institutions (e.g. state and public) which regulate the halalness of food and beverages in Turkey and elsewhere. Thus, the production and certification of halal food and drink have become marketplace opportunities for pious individuals and religious groups. In addition, halal certification may turn into an arena for conflict due to ideological differences (both political and religious). Before moving on to this discussion, I  will first investigate the interactions and intersections between the community field and the education and bureaucratic fields in the following sections.

Conflict and Conformity: Fields and Players As stated before, the Directorate of Religious Affairs is an authority regulating and controlling Sunni-Muslim practices and education in the country. Some civil servants at the Directorate of Religious Affairs also belong to a tarikat or a faith-inspired community. For example, the father of my Süleymanlı informant Hürrem (female, 49)  was a Süleymanlı member and also an imam employed by the Directorate. Another informant, Seçil (female, 34, Menzil), talked about asking the advice of their Menzil hocas on certain religious issues, especially the ones working as civil servants (such as imams and müftüs) at the Directorate. Some observant individuals and several tarikats and faith-inspired communities disavow some, if not all, of the services of the Directorate. Nonetheless, rather than a binary opposition between the state and the Directorate on one side and the civil society (including individual persons and leaders of tarikats and faithinspired communities) and homogenous groupings on the other, there is a shifting constellation of powers and influence within the religious field of Sunni Islam and also within each community field. My ethnography demonstrates that the state and Menzil institutions at play in the religious field of Sunni Islam interact and overlap. For instance, two Menzil informants, Seçil and Ahenk (female, 33), consult both the Menzil community and müftüs (scholars) at the Directorate of Religious Affairs about religious issues. As covered in the previous chapter, Seçil had consulted the Directorate of Religious Affairs regarding ‘avret’. Ahenk had inquired as to whether salat could be performed while wearing makeup. 98

Power and Politics The müftü of Izmir had told Ahenk that salat while wearing makeup is permissible if the makeup is put on after performing ablution, but one cannot perform ablution with makeup on. These two examples show that, rather than only consulting their community authorities, both Seçil and Ahenk sought answers from the state institution, the Directorate of Religious Affairs, which is not always regarded as trustworthy by all observant individuals and faith-inspired communities within the religious field of Sunni Islam. Seçil and Ahenk, like their community, the Menzil, considered the Directorate of Religious Affairs to be a reliable source. This illustrates that the state (the Directorate) and the private (for example, the Menzil) forms of Islam are not necessarily opponents of one another. The religious field of Sunni Islam in Turkey is discursively shaped and reshaped through interactions between the state and private agents and institutions. Thus, the state and private forms of Sunni Islam simultaneously encounter one another, concur, dissociate from one another and intermingle. This also demonstrates that individuals exercise agency in selectively moving between the state and private sources of authority. Religious education (including textbooks) and prayer times are two areas that came to prominence in my fieldwork, illustrating the interaction and negotiation within the religious field of Sunni Islam. Before that, I review religious education in Turkey, and introduce the İmam-Hatip schools.

Religious Education and İmam-Hatip Schools As explained in Chapter One, in the early years of the Turkish Republic (1923–1946), the state designed and strictly controlled (even banned) religious education. Following the shift to the multi-party political system in 1946, the main opposition party, the DP, which placed great emphasis on religion and religious feelings in its political agenda, began to gain popularity. This led the CHP government to moderate its secularist practices. In 1946 the state gave permission for private Qur’an courses to be established. Anyone who completed the five years of compulsory education could attend these schools (Ayhan 2014). In 1949, the Faculty of Theology at Ankara University was founded, and religious education, abolished in 1929, was reintroduced to the curricula of elementary schools (Özenç 2005). 99

Faith and Fashion in Turkey İmam-Hatip (Prayer Leader and Preacher) education, which had been introduced following the closure of medreses in 1924 and terminated in 1931, was reintroduced in 1951 by the DP government (Reed 1955). The number of İmam-Hatip (vocational secondary schools) grew rapidly in the following decades and reached 604 in 1997, with over half a million students (Yavuz 2003). Following the 28 February 1997 military memorandum, the education reform bill, called the eight-year compulsory continuous education reform, was introduced in 1997. This reform combined the five-year primary education and the first three years of the six-year secondary education by closing the middle school section (grades 6–8) of all secondary schools (such as İmam-Hatip schools), and extended the length of compulsory education from five to eight years. In 2012, the AKP government extended compulsory education to 12 years and introduced a new education system, called 4+4+4, consisting of four-year primary, four-year middle and four-year high school education. Therefore, while the previous eight-year compulsory education system prevented students from entering vocational (specifically İmam-Hatip) schools at early ages, the 4+4+4 system enables students to study at İmam-Hatip and other vocational schools after completing the first four years of compulsory education. Following the introduction of this system, the number of İmam-Hatip schools increased enormously – from 537 high schools in the 2011–2012 education year to 1807 (1099 middle and 708 high schools) in 2012–2013, and 4185 (2777 middle and 1408 high schools) in 2016–2017.1 The İmam-Hatip curriculum covers both secular and religious education. The secular education consists of courses (for instance, literature, history, geography, chemistry and biology) offered at all other secondary schools in Turkey (Ozgur 2012). Religious education includes several courses, such as Arabic language, tefsir (exegesis of the Qur’an), fıkıh (Islamic jurisprudence) and kelâm (Islamic scholastic theology). According to Ozgur (2012), ‘… the state-directed curriculum [of İmamHatip schools] is designed to emphasize a historical rather than contemporary form of Islam and transmit information and learning that adheres to the secular values of the Republic’ (p. 69, original emphasis). The Turkish state also controls the preparation and production of education materials, for instance textbooks. The Ministry of Education chooses the textbooks 100

Power and Politics for each course at İmam-Hatip schools, as it does for all elementary and secondary schools in the country. Therefore, the interpretation and knowledge of Islam to be delivered is carefully designated, legitimised and distributed through religious education at the İmam-Hatip schools and also at other primary and secondary schools in Turkey. This allows the state to produce and distribute a certain form of the religion, ‘state Islam’, and religious knowledge. Thus, by employing its state power and authority (in other words, statist capital that consists of different species of capital and is accumulated in the bureaucratic field), the state generates and performs power and authority, thereby different species of capital, also in the religious field of Sunni Islam. The İmam-Hatip schools have been a highly political and controversial topic in the country. According to secularists, İmam-Hatip schools contravene the law concerning ‘the unity of education’ (which came into force in 1924). They view İmam-Hatip schools and their graduates as a threat to the secular and democratic regime. Moreover, for secularists, girls studying at İmam-Hatip schools are those who veil, ‘thereby undermining their own freedom and emancipation’ (Özdalga 1999: 428). Nonetheless, for many, if not all, observant Muslims, İmam Hatip schools are a ‘contribution to the building of a civil society’ and ‘way to earn an education, perhaps even a profession’ (ibid.). İmam-Hatip schools have accepted female students since 1976 and this increased the secondary schooling rates of girls from observant families, for whom these schools are safe places where children from families with the same values interact (see Pak 2004).2 The stringent state control over religious education and religious practices, such as the ban on veiling, have been criticised by observant Muslims, for whom ‘it is not the business of government to teach Islam’ (Howe 2000: 7). Some observant Muslims disagree with the state’s interpretation of Islam and ‘wish to develop practices and lifestyles’ that are, in their opinion, ‘more in accord with the will of God’ (Shively 2008: 688). In this case, participating in ‘underground’ courses and organisations (ibid.) such as tarikats (for example, the Naqshbandi) and faith-inspired communities (for instance, the Süleymanlı and Menzil) is an alternative to the state Islam. On the other hand, for other observant Muslims, tarikats and faithinspired communities are conservative organisations imposing fanatical 101

Faith and Fashion in Turkey and narrow-minded interpretations of Islam whereas İmam-Hatip students are ‘models of [exemplary Islamic morality]’ (Akpınar 2007: 166). To sum up, in Turkey, primary and secondary level religious education is delivered at three different institutions: ‘schools providing basic education as part of the normal curriculum’, İmam-Hatip schools, and Qur’an courses (Özdalga 1999: 422). As will be explained in the following section, the Süleymanlı community offers its own religious education programme. There are also primary and secondary schools affiliated to the Süleymanlı and Menzil communities, and, as will be discussed in greater detail later in this chapter, before the 15 July coup attempt, Gülen-affiliated primary and secondary schools operated all over the country. These schools, as with all other state and private schools at these levels, deliver the curricula developed by the Ministry of Education. In addition to this, they may deliver extra-curricular religious and community-specific knowledge, either at schools or in student dormitories and houses, and expect students to comply with religious and community-specific requirements, such as performing daily prayers and attending community meetings (Çobanoğlu 2012, Karataş and Sandıkçı 2013, Tee 2016, Vicini 2013).

Struggle over Authority and Activity within the Religious Field of Sunni Islam in Turkey In a nutshell, the state dominates the religious field of Sunni Islam through the Directorate of Religious Affairs and also through religious education. However, as Süleymanlı education activities demonstrate, the state cannot totally exclude private agents and institutions, or prevent their entrance into or activities within the religious field of Sunni Islam. Nevertheless, it can limit them, confining and reducing their power and authority  – in Bourdieuan terms, the forms of capital that they can acquire and use. Moreover, depending on the benefits sought by each party, there may be agreements as well as disagreements between the state and private agents/ institutions in the religious field of Sunni Islam and related fields, such as the field of education and the bureaucratic field. For instance, until 1965, individuals educated in private Qur’an courses, such as Süleymanlı courses, could be employed by the Directorate of Religious Affairs as 102

Power and Politics Muslim clerics (civil servants), taking on roles as imams and müezzins. However, as I explain below, the law introduced in 1965 adversely affected the Süleymanlı community in this and other respects. With the shift of the ban on the teaching of the Qur’an after 1946, anyone qualified could teach Qur’an lessons (Özdalga 1999). The law passed in 1952 allowed individuals and organisations to open their own Qur’an courses with the permission of the Directorate of Religious Affairs. This was when the first legal Süleymanlı Qur’an course was opened (the nonauthorised one was opened in 1951, Aydın 2004:  311). Following this legislation, the number of Süleymanlı Qur’an courses, which was 9 and 37 in the school years 1932–1933 and 1942–1943 respectively, reached 137 in 1952–1953 (Duman 1999). The Qur’an course associations of the Süleymanlı community that were founded after the year 1950 have created a structure and systematically organised the community’s activities in this respect. In 1960, there were more than 1,000 Qur’an courses in the country. Although in 1960 and 1961 community activities were interrupted due to the military junta, the number of Qur’an courses in 1966 reached 3,000 (Çakmak 2013). The legislation enacted in 1965 had the aim of increasing the quality of state education and diminishing the power of and the demand for the private Qur’an courses. Its effect was to devalue private education qualifications by changing the requirement (a university degree from a Faculty of Theology or an İmam-Hatip school diploma) for jobs with the Directorate of Religious Affairs. Consequently, only the (male) graduates of İmamHatip schools had the right to be appointed prayer leaders and preachers (who are public employees), whereas up until that point those educated under the Süleymanlı education system had been qualified to serve in these positions. In the Süleymanlı community, this legislation caused dissatisfaction, led to several disagreements with the interpretations and practices of the Directorate of Religious Affairs, and resulted in a fundamental change in the community. In order to avoid the negative impacts of this legislation, in 1966 the Süleymanlı community founded ‘Kuran Kursları Kurma, Koruma ve İdame Ettirme Dernekleri Federasyonu’ (the Federation of Qur’an Courses Foundation, Protection and Maintenance Associations) that united all Süleymanlı Qur’an course associations. This federation 103

Faith and Fashion in Turkey operated with the permission (and under the control) of the Directorate of Religious Affairs until April 1980 when it was transformed into ‘Kurs ve Okul Talebelerine Yardım Dernekleri Federasyonu’ (the Federation of Aid Associations for Course and School Students) and became subject to the Ministry of Education (Sitembölükbaşı 2013). Recently the conflict between the religious institutions of the state and the Süleymanlı community has lessened. There are students from İmam-Hatip schools and theology faculties staying in the Süleymanlı dormitories. Nonetheless, the Süleymanlı still disagree with several interpretations and practices of the Directorate of Religious Affairs. Süleymanlı members, for example my informant Sümbül (female, 48), consider the Islamic education offered by their community to be superior to the religious education offered by the state at İmam-Hatip schools and in university theology faculties. Sümbül has been involved with the community since the age of twelve, when she moved to a residential Süleymanlı Qur’an course and completed the first two stages (i.e. ibtida and tekâmülaltı) of the three-stage Süleymanlı education. In order to demonstrate the superiority of Süleymanlı education, Sümbül explained the materials and methods used by the Süleymanlı community for teaching the recitation and interpretation of the Qur’an (in Arabic), and compared them with the methods and materials used at İmam-Hatip schools. As Aydın (2004) notes, the Süleymanlı community overlooks the interplay and influence of the (changing) political structure and dynamics and the involvement of different state institutions in the religious field of Sunni Islam. Therefore, Süleymanlıs tend to link all state activities related to the religion, such as religious education at secondary schools, to the Directorate of Religious Affairs. This is evident in the narratives of Sümbül who regards İmamHatip schools as the ‘Diyanet’ (Directorate) or ‘Diyanet’s schools’. However, these schools are actually under the control of the Ministry of Education. Our books have been available for a long time, for instance the Diyanet [Directorate of Religious Affairs] do not use the same text books. They don’t use the textbooks we use. Ours are those from the Ottoman era. The ones they are studying are Arabic [language] books. … I saw the Arabic books that are used by the Diyanet. For example, the youngest sister of my husband

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Power and Politics studied there, she is an İmam-Hatip school graduate. Umm, how can I say, for example, if you look at her Arabic book, she learned things like chair, table, coffee table. It [the book] shows the Arabic equivalents of those words. This is how their [teaching of] Arabic is. But ours is not like this.

The Süleymanlı Qur’an courses do not use the textbooks that are used at İmam-Hatip schools. Instead, they use grammar books, called Emsile, Bina and Maksud, which were among the books used for centuries in medreses to teach classical Arabic. The writers of these three books remain unknown. Emsile is the basic grammar book, explaining verb conjugations and noun declensions with examples. Bina delivers the 35 rules of the system of derivation in classical Arabic. In the past, because of the weak teaching methodologies of these schools, medrese students would spend years studying the Bina in order to learn these rules. Maksud introduces verb conjugation rules (Temel 2014: 76–77). Consequently, the Süleymanlı opinion regarding the superiority of Süleymanlı education is ideological, rather than pedagogical. The Süleymanlı community also disagrees with the Directorate of Religious Affairs on the content of informative materials giving prayer times. The Directorate has omitted periods of temkin (caution) in its prayer-time schedules since 1983. Therefore, temkin periods are no longer included in calendars and other informative materials, such as imsakiyes (one-month calendars for Ramadan showing the prayer times), published by the Directorate and other publishers that use these schedules. Although Fazilet calendars excluded temkin periods in the 1983 and 1984, they began to list prayer times with temkin periods again in 1985, as all Islamic calendars and imsakiyes in Turkey had done before 1983. The reason for this is stated on the website of Fazilet calendars as ‘in order not to confuse people’.3 The inclusion of temkin periods, as I discuss later in this chapter, has differentiated Fazilet calendars in the Turkish marketplace. In addition, whereas imsakiyes are common in Turkey and numerous businesses distribute them as promotional materials, as Sümbül noted, there are no imsakiyes produced and distributed by Süleymanlıs. She also added that at community meetings, members are told to use Fazilet calendars: 105

Faith and Fashion in Turkey … those who don’t know [about ‘temkin’], most of them use [the prayer-time schedules calculated by the Directorate of Religious Affairs]. Then, what happens? When you omit the temkin … then, the imsak time is over, but you are still eating [during Ramadan] … What our prophet said is to avoid suspicious stuff … what is regarded as ‘temkin’ is the suspicious time. … That’s why we [Süleymanlıs] avoid that suspicious time … At hatim meetings, we try to inform people. We tell them to stop eating [in Ramadan] at least 15 minutes before [the imsak time].

Thus, as the cases of the Süleymanlı education and calendars illustrate, not only the differences in the interpretation and practice of Islam but also socio-political events can lead to both divergences and competition over authority between state and private institutions within the religious field of Sunni Islam in Turkey. Below, I concentrate on Turkish socio-political events from the 1990s onwards which involve Islamic agents and institutions, and explore the interactions of the communities with the bureaucratic field and their presence within it.

Field Relations: The Bureaucratic Field and Community Fields The Gülen, Süleymanlı and Menzil fields are not autonomous, since agents and institutions of these communities are also players in other fields (such as the economic and political fields), and are thereby involved in power relations with agents and institutions in those fields. These communities rationally (and even strategically) make use of (contingent) opportunities and advantages provided by the political structure, especially by the state. According to Bourdieu, in the bureaucratic field, there exists a certain form of capital, called ‘statist capital’, which is the concentration of different species of capital, including capital of physical force (such as the police and military), economic capital (such as the fiscal system), informational capital (such as surveys and ‘cultural capital’, which is one of the dimensions of informational capital, for instance, the school system), and symbolic capital (such as institutionalised forms of patriarchy and gender segregation) 106

Power and Politics (1994: 4–8). This section demonstrates that both the state and the Gülen, Süleymanlı and Menzil communities are at play in the bureaucratic field and the religious field of Sunni Islam, accumulate different species of capital and transform them from one field to another. As explained before, during the AKP period of rule (2002-onwards), Islamic agents and institutions have gained increasing access to, and have obtained power (i.e. diverse species of capital) in, numerous fields, especially those that they previously had limited access to, such as the bureaucratic field (Çakır and Sakallı 2015, Tuğal 2014). These Islamic agents and institutions have reconstructed the state, particularly those state institutions that came to be defined as (strictly) ‘secular’ and ‘protective’ of the Republic (such as the judiciary and military), and they have reshaped state practices and attitudes towards Islamic agents, institutions and practices (Tuğal 2014, Turam 2007). Consequently, since the ban on veiling in public spaces has been lifted and the veil does not hold as many negative connotations as it used to, there have been significant changes in the lives of the observant, especially those of veiled women, as my female informants reported. Before these socio-political transformations, and even before the AKP’s period in power, the Gülen community had begun to follow a unique strategy in the public sphere, particularly following the 28 February 1997 military intervention. The community deliberately and carefully chose individuals and assigned them to a specific duty in the public sphere, such as public events and the business world. For example, to maintain the community’s ‘secular-looking’ appearance, non-veiled women were often involved in public events or the public sites of the Gülen community (for example, as an employee in a community-affiliated school or business association) (Turam 2007). Turam (2007) refers to these ‘public’ activities, which could be accessed by anyone, as the Gülen community’s window sites, which were built in an attempt to conciliate the state, which has long considered Islamic/Islamist agents and institutions as ‘risky’ to the secular regime. Furthermore, collaboration with, and recruitment of, influential individuals from different fields, such as academics and journalists, enabled the Gülen community to achieve a variety of goals: to increase people’s awareness and knowledge of the community; to develop positive attitudes 107

Faith and Fashion in Turkey towards it; to spread the community agendas; to gain new members or sympathisers (especially through celebrity members such as the footballer Hakan Şükür); and to benefit from those influential individuals’ presence and power in different fields. The Gülen community planned and executed different performances in the presence of a public audience (i.e. non-members/sympathisers), or, in Goffmanesque terms, in ‘front stage’. According to Goffman (1959), individuals in front stage plan and execute different performances. As in the case of the Gülen community, they adjust their behaviours as a strategy to shape, manipulate, and/or control others’ understandings and impressions of them. Therefore, they engage in ‘impression management’ in front stages (Tseëlon 1992). Goffman (1959) also identifies ‘back stage’ where individuals do not interact with the audience. Thus, as they are not involved in impression management, they can relax and drop their front in back stage (ibid.:  112). The access to the back stage of the Gülen community, such as sohbet meetings in followers’ houses, has been limited to insiders and acquaintances, and the ‘power of suggestion (but not force) and the hold of the pious community’ have strong roles in the back stage (Turam 2007: 60). Moreover, both front and back stages have different levels, and each level has different duties and expectations that need to be met, such as bodily appearances and practices of veiling and de-veiling (ibid.). Thus, there is considerable heterogeneity of agents (such as personnel, members and sympathisers) and practices (such as clothing and [community] worship) in front and back stages and among different levels within each stage. However, as the marketplaces section of this chapter will illustrate, the different species of capital that have been accumulated in the Gülen or related fields, such as economic and social capital in the field of education and the journalistic field, are at play in both front and back stages, and are transferable from one field to another. As mentioned in Chapter Two, in 1995 the leader of the Gülen community, Fethullah Gülen, claimed that the veil was a secondary matter in Islam. As Turam notes, through this declaration Gülen ‘popularized the idea that the headscarf was not the primary requirement of religion, and thus not mandatory in Islam’, ‘rather than seeing veiling as a cultural right or an avenue for women’s action or mobility’ (2007: 127–128). However, 108

Power and Politics whilst the extent to which this declaration is concerned with individual rights and freedom, i.e. women’s own ideas on and decisions to veil or de-veil, has been neglected, it has been widely discussed from religious and political/ideological points of view. Some religious scholars have referred to Islamic jurisprudence and agreed that veiling is a secondary matter. Other religious scholars and Islamic/Islamist individuals (such as politicians) have employed Gülen’s declaration in their anti-Gülen and anti-Gülenist arguments, and viewed it as a strategy to accommodate the military and the secular regime, and to publicly present the community as a modern, secular and unthreatening social movement (ibid.). One of my Süleymanlı informants, Suat (male, 56), referred to this and stated that, unlike the Gülen community, Süleymanlıs, even in the terms of the military coups (of the 1960, 1971, 1980 and also the 1997 military intervention), have never terminated their community activities and never altered their public presentations: We never changed [our clothing, veiling or grooming practices] with any military intervention. We didn’t change our hizmet [the community services]. We even tried to do our best and continued to run all our services in a private manner. Well, Fethullah Gülen in his book, I’m not sure if it was page 115, he says, until you reach the point you expect to get to, you can sacrifice some things. He says, for example, you don’t need to dress in a modest way … you can consume alcohol. For example, one aims to become chief of the General Staff. He says that if the performance of daily prayers is an obstacle for this, you can stop performing daily prayers. He says, if consuming alcohol, if dancing with ladies will help, do it. For example, the highest [military] rank that our fellow members reached is colonel. Because up until to the colonel rank, one would not be recognised [as a practising Muslim or a Süleymanlı member], but after the colonel rank, one who doesn’t dance with ladies, who doesn’t consume alcohol, couldn’t get into the higher ranks. We do not capitulate in order to reach higher ranks, to become a general officer, to become an admiral. We quit our jobs. We do what we need to do. But we don’t move upward … [What Gülenists do] is written in his [Gülen’s] book. … Obviously,

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Faith and Fashion in Turkey reaching that [high] rank seems more important [for the Gülen community] than the religion.

Islamic/Islamist agents and institutions, such as scholars, tarikats, faithinspired communities and political parties, have long been perceived as a threat by the secular public and state institutions, particularly by the military.4 The Turkish military has defined itself as the custodian of the ‘secular’ regime and Kemalist ideology, and has equated secularity to security. From the 1980s through to the early 2010s, the military rigorously implemented secular dress codes at its facilities and developed discourses that constructed ‘proper’ and ‘risky’ religious identities, especially through women’s bodies, in response to the rise and spread of political Islam in the country.5 From the military point of view, there is one ‘proper’ form of veiling: a square scarf (90cm x 90cm) is folded in a triangular shape and tied under the chin with a simple knot. It is not worn over a bonnet and not pinned. The military considered all other forms of veiling ‘risky’ and categorised them as ‘Islamist’ (Arik 2016: 6). For the military, the veiling form, specifically pinning or not pinning, signified different meanings and marked a socio-political division (ibid., Gökarıksel and Secor 2012). In military discourses, the ‘proper’ style was also labelled as the ‘authentic’, ‘Anatolian’ veiling style and was described as the way ‘our mothers and grandmothers used to veil’ (Gurbuz 2009), despite the fact that historically there have been different forms of veiling among different ethnic groups and in different locations in Anatolia (see Breu and Marchese 2000, Tezcan 1995). The military imposed and inculcated this categorisation, based on territorial and historical grounds, in an endeavour to monopolise Islamic practices and observant identities. In the late 1990s, both secular and observant individuals who did not support political Islam quickly adopted this discourse and regarded the ‘tied under the chin with a simple knot’ style as the ‘proper’ and ‘authentic’ one (Gurbuz 2009). Consequently, through the construction of this category, the military exercised a secularist monopoly and state power over ‘(visibly) observant Muslim women’ and the public sphere. This gained symbolic profit for the military, strengthening its authority and status as the protector of the state.

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Power and Politics According to my Süleymanlı hocabey informants, Ali (male, 32)  and Osman (male, 28), the way that Süleymanlı women tie their scarves is the style that existed in the Ottoman era and the same as the one that is considered ‘proper’ by the Turkish military. They both regarded the stigmatisation of the veil and the ban on veiling in the public sphere as ‘divine justice’, punishment of observant individuals who did not practise the religion in accordance with Islamic rules (for instance, the voluminous shape created at the back of the veil, commonly referred to as the ‘camel hump’ in Muslim societies). The military was misrepresented to us [in Islamic/Islamist discourses]. Even the military does not let women with camel hump hijab in [to military facilities and ceremonies]. … Apparently, that camel hump hijab, which was not accepted by our prophet either, has arrived up to the present as a political symbol. (Osman)

By claiming that the Süleymanlı veiling style is the one that complies with the military’s description of the proper veil, Ali and Osman participate in the monopolisation of veiling practices and in related discourses in an attempt to justify and legitimate their community and its practices, and to differentiate themselves from ‘radical’ and ‘threatening’ Islamic/Islamist agents and institutions. This shows the involvement of private agents and institutions in the continuation and proliferation of the ‘common forms and categories of perception and appreciation’ that are established and inculcated by the state (Bourdieu 1994:  13). It also points to the community’s endeavour to position itself in the religious field of Sunni Islam, which is dominated by the state, and to benefit from the bureaucratic field and diverse species of statist capital. On the other hand, one might find such attempts interesting, especially regarding the period when secularly oriented state institutions, the military in particular, have significantly lost their power over the state and public. The legal and institutional reforms undertaken under AKP rule (2002 onwards), as ‘both a requisite of the European Union (EU) accession process and also to consolidate its own political power’, have limited the role of the military in the political and sociocultural spheres (Akça and

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Faith and Fashion in Turkey Balta-Paker 2013: 77). In addition, the investigations of the alleged plans of the military to seize the government (i.e. the Ergenekon and Sledgehammer trials) and the 15 July 2016 coup attempt have further weakened the extensive power of the military over the political and bureaucratic fields (Çakır and Sakallı 2015).6 Moreover, the public visibility of ‘pinned’ headscarves worn over ‘bonnets’ has increased under the AKP because of the example set by the wives of some politicians and civil servants who occupy high positions in the political and bureaucratic fields, for instance Emine Erdoğan and Hayrünisa Gül. In addition, with the shift of the ban on veiling for university students and civil servants, there are now veiled MPs and ministers in parliament. Thus, in the last ten years, especially since the beginning of Abdullah Gül’s term as president (2007–2014), the meanings attached to different forms of veiling have shifted. Pinning headscarves and wearing bonnets underneath them are no longer viewed as political symbols or a threat to the secular state, nor are they employed in related discourses. Instead, as Chapter Five will show, headscarf pins and bonnets have become crucial elements in the styling of veils, which reflects changing fashions as well as the wearer’s personal tastes and social status, thereby becoming commodities. As stated previously, Sümbül had completed the tekâmülaltı programme and been granted the right to continue her education on the tekâmül programme just before the 1980 military coup d’état that terminated the religious education programmes of the Süleymanlı community until 1984, as well as the religious activities of other faith-inspired communities. Consequently, she could not attend her tekâmül programme, and become a Süleymanlı personnel. Thus, Sümbül considers the 1980 military intervention as harmful for the community’s activities. Several sources also outline the legal difficulties that the Süleymanlı have experienced (Çakır 1990). However, Suat thinks otherwise. According to him, since the Süleymanlı community is not extremist (aşırıcı), they did not suffer badly from the military coups: Since our community has discipline and we are not extremists, we don’t come to much harm from the military coups. We don’t exaggerate; our ladies have never covered their faces. We have never worn niqab [face veil]. We have never worn it because we

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Power and Politics knew one day we would need to remove it. We knew we would have a problem. … Because we think that even if it becomes free, they say ‘you can wear it’, a few days later, three years, five years later, we could be asked ‘why did you wear it?’, or told ‘it cannot be worn’ … We avoid things [acts and materials] that draw attention.

Nonetheless, the Süleymanlı community has been regarded as a ‘detrimental’ movement by the state, particularly by the military (Aydın 2004). As noted before, starting in the late 1990s, Gülenists began to dress in various styles and not just in the specific style that had come to be publicly known as ‘Gülenist’, such as loose trousers and eyeglasses with photochromic lenses, but in various styles. Acculturation into new (life)styles has provided social mobility for the Gülenists and enabled them to transform different species of capital accumulated in the Gülen field into different fields, such as the bureaucratic field.7 However, as I discuss in the following section, the Süleymanlı community also underwent a process of transformation in the 2000s.

The Community Fields: Mobility and Permeability The Süleymanlı was initially an urban community, formed in Istanbul. However, from the 1950s onwards, due mostly to increasing migration into urban areas, the majority of members have come from rural backgrounds and from lower socioeconomic levels. In addition, members have consisted of those who ended secular education at an early age, beginning Süleymanlı education after completing their compulsory education (which was five years until 1997, then eight years, and in 2012 prolonged to twelve years). In the Gülen community, on the other hand, (potential) members continue their secular education along with the community’s (religious) education delivered in community spaces, such as student houses and dormitories. Consequently, the Gülen community and its members occupy various positions in a range of fields in Turkey and abroad, such as education, journalism and art (see Hendrick 2014, Vicini 2013, 2015). The early termination of secular education in the Süleymanlı community makes social mobility to higher ranks within the Süleymanlı field and also 113

Faith and Fashion in Turkey to other fields difficult. As a result of this, the Süleymanlı community has become a faith-inspired community that consists of members from low socioeconomic and cultural levels. Its power is largely restricted to the religious field of Sunni Islam, and the community has limited power in a narrow number of fields, such as that of education. Muharrem (male, 33), a Süleymanlı hocabey, talked about his own experiences in the Süleymanlı community in the 1990s as a student in a residential Süleymanlı Qur’an course, located in an industrial city in western Turkey. Muharrem: Umm, well, in terms of education, we [Süleymanlı and Gülen communities] went separate ways. For example, I  passed the entrance exam for the science high schools [prestigious secondary schools in Turkey], but didn’t attend. Well, I said to myself ‘let’s become a hoca, let’s stay in a [Süleymanlı] dormitory’. I decided to continue to the [normal] high school, to stay in the dormitory since I had already started. I wasn’t instructed in a serious manner back then in 1994. I finished the high school, was accepted by a very good [university] department, well, I didn’t go to the university. Nazlı: Actually, you could attend the science high school and stay in a [Süleymanlı] dormitory there [where the high school is located]. Muharrem: That would be very good… They didn’t allow that, so I didn’t go. I mean we were kids, we didn’t have our own opinions, we didn’t know anything. … Our [Süleymanlı] education is focused on religion. We know [classical] Arabic very well. The level of [classical] Arabic knowledge of a professor from Al-Azhar [University] is the same as any graduate of ours [Süleymanlı]. Note this, it’s the same Arabic. We study everything, from logic to exegesis, to Hadith, to science of discourse. It [Süleymanlı education] is focused on religion. They [the Gülen community] don’t have this. And the rules of our dormitories are very tough. Salat [obligatory prayers performed five times each day] have to be performed all together. There was no TV until five or ten years ago in [Süleymanlı] dormitories. With these [rules], of course, many students don’t stay … Daily newspapers were not allowed [in Süleymanlı dormitories]. There used to be Akit, but later it was found too radical, so it was banned. 114

Power and Politics In order to explain how the community inhabits not only the religious field of Sunni Islam and the field of education but also several other fields, such as the economic field and the bureaucratic field, Muharrem mentioned a ‘high-level’ Süleymanlı member, who had been a parliamentary member and a minister, though he did not want to disclose the name of that person. However, it is not difficult to discover that the high-level Süleymanlı member is Arif Ahmet Denizolgun, who was the leader of the community from 2002 to 2016. Muharem also stated that there are other high-level public employees at different state institutions and pointed to the immense changes experienced in the Süleymanlı community in the 2000s, ‘especially in the last ten years’ (2003–2013). Now, he said, students staying in Süleymanlı dormitories and receiving Süleymanlı education also continue their scientific/secular education at secondary schools and universities: In the last ten years, it [the Süleymanlı community] has changed a lot … Now the community has elementary, secondary schools, even hospitals … If it [tekâmül] has 4,000 graduates this year, 500 of them are university graduates. I mean there is also an enormous change [in the community]. I shouldn’t mention their names, but [now] there are at least five to six governors [Süleymanlı members]. I mean, ten years ago we wouldn’t hear [such things]. [There are] chief police officers, numerous high level [public officers], such as the Supreme Board of Judges and Prosecutors ….

Like other Islamic/Islamist agents and institutions, the Süleymanlı now benefit from the Turkish economic and socio-political environment. The community has community-affiliated nursery, primary, and secondary schools, which, like other private schools in the country, follow the Turkish national curriculum and are authorised and monitored by the Ministry of Education. The schools are generally founded with the donations from the members, i.e. teberru. Administrative officers of Süleymanlı schools are usually Süleymanlı personnel who have successfully completed the tekâmül, the Süleymanlı higher education programme. There are Süleymanlı members as well as non-members among the teachers at these schools. As Muharrem explained in the quote above, the community has altered its system, and now most of the young Süleymanlı-member teachers 115

Faith and Fashion in Turkey also follow the community’s religious education in the Süleymanlı dormitories, while studying at secondary schools and universities at the same time. He also claimed that the quality of education at Süleymanlı schools is incomparable with that at public schools, and is far superior to the private schools of other faith-inspired communities such as the Gülen. Muharrem said that, in addition to the state curriculum, the Süleymanlı schools offer Islamic education at all levels, from nursery to secondary schools, and this is one of the main reasons that families prefer these schools: For example, the child of the principal of Özel X [a Gülenaffiliated school] is enrolled in our school. We charge 350 liras [per month]. That school is 200 liras for them, but he brings his child here to us [the Süleymanlı nursery and elementary school, where the interview was held] … We have an education style. Because we offer a serious religious education, certain background … for instance, the structure, which we call ‘traditionalist’, is our feature which we hold to strictly … He [the principal of ‘Özel X’] knows this well… There are hafızlık [memorisation of the Qur’an] students here … One starts memorising the Qur’an at the age of five or six. He/she does not finish [memorising the Qur’an], but advances considerably, recites [it] fluently.

The Süleymanlı community, like the Gülen, constructs different window sites in private (Süleymanlı) and secular public spaces. As explained previously, Süleymanlı hocahanıms and hocabeys are more careful in their personal appearance and are expected to strictly follow the norms set by the community since, in Muharrem’s words, they are ‘the ‘vitrin’ [vitrine, window] of the community’. This points to how, in order to avoid potential stigmatisation and alienation by the public, Süleymanlı personnel working in Süleymanlı-affiliated organisations that serve both Süleymanlıs and non-Süleymanlıs (such as secondary schools) navigate different social contexts and move between different identities, such as personal, community and public, in interactions with different audiences. As he notes below, Muharrem forms a ‘public’ identity by employing certain ‘proper’ verbal and visual marks. Therefore, he engages in impression management (Goffman 1959) and attempts to control markers of Süleymanlı and/or observant Muslim identity. 116

Power and Politics For example, in our town, there are more than 60 personnel, but none of them, except me, wears a slim-fit [shirt]. Why do I wear it? Because I work in a nursery school … There are doctors, teachers, military officers, and police officers among the parents; so our audience is different, not like those in the [Süleymanlı] dormitory. Here I am not representing the community – I’m not a Süleymanlı primarily. I’m a [school] director here. What I needed to do to adapt was this … I mean, as I go into [a place], I never say ‘Selamün Aleyküm’ [peace be upon you], I don’t talk about religious stuff too much with any of the parents. [I say] ‘hello, welcome, how are you?’, [to] either a man or a woman … I mean, like at a normal nursery … even though religious education is delivered [here], even though everyone knows it’s a community school. This certainly changes me. I mean I need to borrow from both and integrate them.

Since Süleymanlı-affiliated schools teach the recitation of the Qur’an (in Arabic) and the (basic) teachings of Islam, parents sending their children to them are undoubtedly observant (practising) Muslims and/or those who would like to raise their children within the Islamic faith. Nevertheless, in his interactions with parents, Muharrem tries to minimise religiously-related speech, such as using Arabic words and discussing Islamic topics. This points to a form of identity management, which, as Goffman (1963, 1986) suggests, depends substantially on the nature of interaction and the context that frames the given encounter. In his workplace, Muharrem moves between his community and (secular) public identities. Even though he would prefer to salute someone who he knows using the Islamic greeting ‘Selamün Aleyküm’ (peace be upon you), he does not salute anyone who enters the school building or his office in this way. This shows that Süleymanlıs do not avoid contact with non-Süleymanlıs, but selectively employ different habitus (secular, Muslim and Süleymanlı) depending on the context and audience. Thus, due to stigma-related tensions, Muharrem attempts to distance himself from his Süleymanlı identity when in contact with non-Süleymanlıs at his workplace and to balance his observant Muslim/Süleymanlı and secular public identities. Nevertheless, the impression management strategies of the Süleymanlı community mostly involve male personnel, whereas female personnel working at Süleymanlı-affiliated organisations keep their 117

Faith and Fashion in Turkey publicly distinguishable Süleymanlı appearances. On the other hand, there are non-Süleymanlı female employees who are non-veiled or veiled in nonSüleymanlı ways, for instance wearers of şals. Therefore, it can be implied that in Süleymanlı-affiliated spaces non-member women, without the veil or with different veiling styles, present diverse identities and contribute to the construction of the Süleymanlı ‘vitrin’ (window). This is similar to the strategy employed by the Gülen community (Turam 2007). Furthermore, Süleymanlı members who serve as public servants are exempt from the community convention of growing a well-trimmed moustache, in order not to reveal their Süleymanlı and/or observant Muslim identity, since Islamic/Islamist expressions were long regarded as radical or obscurant, and thereby as a threat to the secular state. Two Süleymanlı informants, Muharrem (male, 33)  and Suat, informed me that there are Süleymanlı members who work as public servants in high positions within several state institutions, such as a university rector and a governor of a province. Even though they regularly attend the Süleymanlı meetings (hatim), Muharrem and Suat reported that those higher-level public servants do not have a moustache or any other significant bodily practice that can be discerned as ‘Süleymanlı‘. On the other hand, Suat claimed that Süleymanlıs have ‘never changed [their clothing, veiling and grooming practices] with any military intervention’. So in fact Süleymanlı men who are employed as ‘public servants’ have presented ‘secular’ looks by not growing facial hair, especially the stigmatised ‘well-trimmed moustache’, and by complying with other dress regulations, such as wearing suits with a tie. Thus, this Süleymanlı strategy, which is limited to ‘public servants’, is similar to the Gülen community’s strategy for many of its members and personnel: Süleymanlı members who serve in the public sector conceal their community identities.

Faith in the Marketplace: The Gülen, Süleymanlı and Menzil Communities As explained in Chapter One, the liberalising economic reforms that began in the 1980s led to the emergence of ‘opportunity spaces’, i.e. socioeconomic arenas and mediums (see Yavuz 2004c). The Gülen, Süleymanlı and Menzil communities are among religious groups that have benefited 118

Power and Politics from opportunity spaces of the post-1980s period. As the following sections demonstrate, all three communities are involved in a range of activities that include school, university and college preparation courses, student dormitories and student houses, publications (books, newspapers, magazines, etc.), food and beverages, supermarkets, travel agencies, hospitals, and business associations and charity organisations. All these goods and services offered in the communities’ marketplaces contribute to the growth, diffusion and maintenance of the communities, and to the creation and proliferation of community identities. The following sections mostly include publicly known, large-scale, for-profit product and service businesses, as well as non-profit organisations (such as humanitarian aid and business associations) of the Gülen, Süleymanlı and Menzil communities. It is important to note that the market practices of these three communities are extensive and spread throughout Turkey and also abroad. For instance, there are nearly 1,000 Gülen-affiliated secondary schools across the world (Mandaville 2011: 16). Consequently, this book does not present all marketplace practices of the communities, but limits itself to a selection. It covers some of the communities’ agents and institutions at play in key related fields: the economic field, the field of education, the journalistic field, the academic field and the (modest) fashion field.

The Gülen Marketplace Dursun is one of my Gülen informants. He is 45  years old and married with two children. He is self-employed and holds a middle school degree. During the interview, which was held in his optics store in an Aegean town in September 2013, Dursun talked about Safa Grup Optik, one of the trade associations formed by Gülen-owned small local businesses in certain sectors. He explained that Safa Grup Optik, formed in 2012 by Gülenist opticians, caters for the mid-level customer segments, in order to gain business advantages, for example by increasing their bargaining power with wholesalers: It’s a corporation formed by optical shops that have certain criteria and that are owned by like-minded, Islamic people.

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Faith and Fashion in Turkey It’s new, very new. … I mean, a couple of years, not more. Our headquarters are in Istanbul. … We now have 70 stores in all around Turkey.

This illustrates the transformation of one form of community capital, in this case social capital, into economic capital within the Gülen field. Since his store, like other Gülen-affiliated stores in this corporation, serves the general public as well as Gülenists, the capital transformation also occurs from one field to another. In addition, part of the economic capital gained by Gülenists such as Dursun returns to the Gülen community via himmets (donations to the community). This, in turn, enables Gülenists to acquire status and respect within the community, in other words some forms of community capital such as social capital. This demonstrates the overall structure of a community field, whereby social and economic capital such as that accumulated in the Gülen field can be and is converted into economic capital in the Turkish marketplace and vice versa. There have been significant changes in the Gülen field since November 2013 when, as stated in Chapter One, the power struggle between the AKP government and the Gülen community became evident to the public. This was followed by opposing accusations (such as the Gülen community’s accusations of AKP corruption), and the arrest and detention of numerous (alleged) Gülen members, including civil servants (for example police officers and prosecutors) and business people. In addition, several Gülenaffiliated for-profit and non-profit organisations were appointed a trustee or closed down altogether. Below, I  review some publicly known Gülen organisations and their situation in the aftermath of the power struggle with the government and the 15 July 2016 coup attempt. The investments of the Gülen community began in the field of education in the 1980s. The community established private boarding schools and dershanes (preparation courses for secondary-school and college entrance exams) in addition to the student accommodation services that had been introduced in the late 1960s (Başkan-Canyaş and Canyaş 2016). These education activities, mostly financed by wealthy business people, members’ donations to the community (himmets), and student fees, have enabled the community to recruit new members (students and/or students’ families)

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Power and Politics and to disseminate the community’s ideology. Until July 2016, the community operated a great number of nursery, primary and secondary schools, such as Yamanlar High School in Izmir and Coşkun Koleji in Istanbul, and dershanes (for instance, Körfez Dershanesi in Izmir and in some other towns and cities in western Turkey; FEM Dershanesi in Istanbul, Maltepe Dershanesi in Ankara, and Sur Dershanesi in Diyarbakır). In many successive years, many of the students with the highest scores in the university entrance exams and in entry exams for secondary schools were from Gülen-affiliated educational institutions, in particular several dershanes. This attracted a growing number of students to these institutions. In addition to these success stories, the well-equipped buildings and well-educated teachers of Gülen-affiliated elementary and secondary schools appealed to both Gülenist and non-Gülenist families. Consequently, these educational institutions represented a counter-image to the common accounts of the Gülen community being a radical group who threatened the secular state. They also served to increase the community’s interaction with the general public and increased its public presence as a modern, progressive, faithinspired community (Turam 2007). The first ‘Gülen-affiliated’ university, Fatih University, was established in 1996. This was followed by 14 others, all of which were founded between 2007 and 2013, such as Gediz University in Izmir (established in 2008) and Bursa Orhangazi University in Bursa (established in 2011). Starting from the 1970s, the Gülen community provided accommodation to students at various levels, such as high school and university, and owned numerous student houses and residences, called ‘ışık evleri’ (houses of light). Gülen-affiliated student houses and residences, similar to Süleymanlı dormitories, were open not only to students from Gülenaffiliated education institutions, but to all students from public/private secondary schools and universities. Together with the Gülen-affiliated education institutions, i.e. nursery, primary and secondary schools (total of 934), and 15 universities, 109 student residences were closed down on 23 July 2016 (Resmî Gazete 29779).8 The Gülen community offered financial support and social networks for university students, especially for those coming from Gülenaffiliated secondary schools and dershanes. It also provided employment 121

Faith and Fashion in Turkey opportunities for university graduates at Gülen-affiliated schools and businesses all around the world (Bacik and Kurt 2011, Hendrick 2013, Karataş and Sandıkçı 2013). In addition, the community provided financial support and networking opportunities for Gülen member/sympathiser students for their postgraduate studies in Turkey and abroad. These Gülen members/ sympathisers have been employed at universities in many countries in academic positions. They have organised academic meetings focused on the Gülen community, produced scholarly works and opinion pieces, mostly for Gülen-affiliated media outlets (such as Zaman newspaper), gone on television, and used social media to debate current events and to promote the Gülen community and its current agendas and activities. Moreover, the foundation of Gülen-affiliated universities, particularly in Turkey, has helped the community to employ Gülen member/sympathiser academics, to maintain its relations with student/academic Gülen members/sympathisers, and also to recruit new ones. Consequently, community activities in the field of education have enabled the community to further its interests in this field and to enter new fields, notably the academic, economic, journalistic and intellectual fields, and to thereby accumulate and exchange economic, social and cultural capital in these fields. The Gülen community has also been active in the intellectual field and different religious fields. It organises ‘interfaith dialogue’ meetings in Turkey and abroad that gather representatives from different religions and religious groups (Walton 2014). In addition, a Gülen-affiliated foundation, the Journalists and Writers Foundation (Gazeteciler ve Yazarlar Vakfı, 1994), organised annual meetings, called the Abant Platform, with participants from diverse areas and professions, including journalists, academics, politicians and representatives of NGOs. Due to its affiliation with the Gülen community and its members’ alleged role in the 15 July 2016 coup attempt, this foundation was closed down in July 2016 (Resmî Gazete 29779). With himmets (donations to the community) collected from members and sympathisers, the Gülen community established a financial institution, Asya Finans Kurumu Anonim Şirketi (Asya Finance Incorporated Company, colloquially known as Asya Finans) in 1996. They changed this into Asya Katılım Bankası Anonim Şirketi (Asya Participation Bank Inc., colloquially 122

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Figure 3.1 Asya Card advertisement (by Bank Asya), Aksiyon 951 (25 February – 3 March 2013). 

referred to as Bank Asya, see Figure  3.1) in 2005. The banking watchdog of Turkey, the Savings Deposit Insurance Fund (TMSF), impounded 63 per cent of the bank’s preferred shares in February 2015 and seized all its operations in May 2015. On 17 July 2016 Bank Asya was shut down. 123

Faith and Fashion in Turkey The Gülen community also built an extensive media network including the publishing houses of Feza (established in 1986) and Nil (established in 1987 and operated under Kaynak Holding, a Gülen-affiliated conglomerate), a national daily newspaper, Zaman (founded 1986), and magazines such as Sızıntı (a monthly publication addressing literature and science, 1979) and Yeni Ümit (a quarterly Islam and culture magazine, founded in 1988).9 These were followed by Aksiyon (weekly news magazine, 1994) and Yağmur (bimonthly publication focusing on language, culture and literature, 1998) in the 1990s. The community introduced new titles after the turn of the century, including Cihan Dergi (bimonthly media news, 2003), Turkish Review (bimonthly on politics and international relations, 2010), Yeni Bahar (a weekly current affairs and culture magazine, 2011), and Püff (weekly humour magazine, 2015). In addition, in 2007 the community introduced Today’s Zaman, an English-language daily based in Turkey.10 Founded as a publishing house, Feza became a media group in the 2000s and owned Zaman and Today’s Zaman newspapers, Aksiyon, Cihan Dergi, Turkish Review, Yeni Bahar and Püff magazines, Irmak TV (founded 2012), Radio Cihan (2011), Zaman Kitap (publishing house, 2001), Cihan News Agency (1994) and küre.tv (2014). Feza Media Group was appointed a trustee on 4 March 2016 and closed down in July 2016. Other Gülen-affiliated national newspapers included Millet (founded 2014)  and Özgür Düşünce (founded November 2015), both founded by a Gülen-affiliated conglomerate, Koza İpek Holding, and Meydan (launched in 2015 by Feza Media Group). Millet was seized in October 2015 and closed down in February 2016. Özgür Düşünce and Meydan were closed down in July 2016.11 The community established Samanyolu TV in 1993 and Cihan News Agency (owned by Feza Media Group) in 1994. Several Gülen-affiliated media companies, for instance Samanyolu Publications, Samanyolu TV, Samanyolu News and Dünya Radio, were conglomerated under Samanyolu Yayın Holding in 2007. Thus, before the closure of its affiliated media companies in July 2016, such as Samanyolu TV (seized in April 2016)  and Cihan News Agency (seized in March 2016)  (Resmî Gazete 29783. İkinci Mükerrer), the Gülen community was also an important player in the journalistic field in Turkey. This provided manifold benefits 124

Power and Politics to the community. The content produced and transmitted by Gülen-affiliated media reflected the community’s agendas and its relations with other fields, particularly  the bureaucratic field (see Tuğal 2014, Yavuz 2013). Moreover, these media outlets also brought monetary and social benefits to the community. For instance, Zaman was a prominent, high-circulation newspaper, thanks to its enormous number of subscribers, among whom were Gülen members and sympathisers, and families of students studying at Gülenist schools and dershanes. This community-affiliated newspaper, like other for-profit businesses and non-profit organisations in the Gülen marketplace, provided employment opportunities for Gülen members and sympathisers. Moreover, Gülen-affiliated for-profit businesses advertised in Zaman newspaper and in other Gülen-affiliated media outlets, and sponsored some radio and TV programmes (see Figure 3.1). There are many product and service businesses directly owned by the Gülen community or by individuals or groups affiliated with the community. However, in the case of many institutions it is difficult to distinguish the owner:  whether it is the community itself or community-affiliated persons or groups. Included in the number of companies widely known to the general public as being ‘owned by Gülenists’ are: Orkide, the leading vegetable oil producer in Turkey (appointed a board of trustees in October 2016), Şifa Hospital (founded in 2010 in Izmir and closed down in July 2016, see Resmî Gazete 29779) and conglomerates of Koza İpek and Kaynak. These conglomerates, along with other Gülen-affiliated for-profit businesses and non-profit organisations, were all closed down in July 2016. Below I briefly explain the business areas of Koza İpek and Kaynak in order to demonstrate the diffusion and influence of the Gülen community in the economic field. Koza İpek Holding, founded in 1948, was a conglomerate operating in various sectors, such as insurance, mining (for example, Koza Gold Corporation), construction and media (for example, İpek Media Group owned national broadcasting channels Bugün TV [2009–2016], Kanaltürk [2008–2016] and Kanaltürk radio [2009–2016]). A board of trustees was appointed to Koza İpek Holding in October 2015, and the group was assigned to the TMSF in September 2016.12 In addition, Kaynak Holding (a conglomerate established in 1973) operated many companies in numerous 125

Faith and Fashion in Turkey sectors including clothing and accessories (Aker [a modest fashion brand for women, see Chapter Five]), publishing (such as Kaynak Kültür Yayın Grubu [which published Sızıntı and Yeni Ümit magazines] and Zambak Okul Yayın Grubu), retailing (NT book stores), media (Kaynak Medya), information technology (Sürat Teknoloji), tourism (Nüanstur and Sürattur), cargo (Sürat Kargo) and catering (Bereket Yemek). A  board of trustees was appointed to Kaynak Holding in November 2015, and in September 2016 the conglomerate was assigned to the TMSF. Another company publicly known as Gülen-affiliated was the Aydınlı Group, founded in 1965 in Fatih, Istanbul.13 The Aydınlı Group is a major ready-to-wear producer and retailer, with one of the largest distribution networks in the country (Yavuz 2004c). It signed licensing agreements with Pierre Cardin in 1993, Cacharel in 1995, and U.S. Polo Assn. in 1997, whereby it manages the production and retail of numerous collections (such as womenswear, menswear, footwear, underwear and home textiles) for Pierre Cardin and U.S. Polo Assn. brands in several countries, including Turkey (Pierre Cardin in seven countries and U.S. Polo Assn. in 50 countries), and the Cacharel brand in 30 countries. In 2008, Aker acquired the licence to produce and distribute headscarves for the Cacharel and Pierre Cardin brands (see Figure 3.2) in Turkey and the Middle East (Lewis

Figure 3.2 Cacharel Eşarp web page [Accessed 2 September 2015]. 

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Power and Politics 2015a). Pierre Cardin is among the brands preferred for headscarves by many of my informants and also by many veiled women around them (see Chapter Five). In January 2017, a board of trustees was appointed to the Aydınlı group.14 Moreover, there are a great number and variety of Gülen-affiliated nonprofit and non-governmental organisations, such as charities (for example, Kimse Yok Mu [founded in 2004 and closed down in July 2016, see Resmî Gazete  29779]), and small- and medium-sized unions (such as women’s aid societies in their neighbourhoods). TUSKON (the Confederation of Turkish Businessmen and Industrialists, 2005), previously İŞHAD (the Business Life Cooperation Association, 1993), was among 196 Gülenaffiliated business associations that were raided by police and closed down following the 15 July 2016 coup attempt.15 After the failed coup, numerous Gülen-affiliated for-profit and nonprofit organisations have been seized and/or closed down whilst individuals linked to those organisations have been detained and/or arrested. However, there are many small-scale, local for-profit and non-profit organisations owned or operated by Gülen members (for example, the corporation formed by Gülenist opticians and a solidarity association formed by Gülenist women living in the same neighbourhood of Ankara, mentioned by my Gülenist informants, Dursun and Asude) that have been unaffected by the state policies so far. As of the end of August 2017, the future of these small-scale organisations and whether they will remain intact or are convicted or punished by the state remains to be seen. However, many locals stopped patronising Gülen-affiliated shops or businesses, and their owners have been stigmatised.

The Süleymanlı Marketplace The number and variety of products and services in the Süleymanlı marketplace is far fewer than that in the Gülen and Menzil marketplaces. Unlike the Gülen community, the other two communities have not developed a circle of intellectuals or any publication which identifies as a Süleymanlı or Menzil newspaper.16 Consequently, the members of the Süleymanlı and Menzil read various right-wing/Islamic/Islamist newspapers, such 127

Faith and Fashion in Turkey as Sabah, Yeni Şafak, Yeni Akit and Türkiye, but not necessarily one particular newspaper. For instance, while talking about Süleymanlı dormitories, Muharrem, a reader of Türkiye at the time of the interview, stated that: ‘Daily newspapers were not allowed [in Süleymanlı dormitories]. … There used to be Akit, but later it was found to be too radical, so it was banned.’17 One of the most developed and widespread Süleymanlı-affiliated forprofit businesses is the publishing house Fazilet Neşriyat (founded in 1969). Fazilet Neşriyat has two subsidiary companies, Çamlıca Kitap and Osmanlı Yayınevi. Çamlıca Kitap, founded in 2005, covers a wide range of books on numerous topics, such as Islam, current affairs, history and cooking, targeted at diverse groups. Osmanlı Yayınevi, on the other hand, mostly publishes books on Islamic issues, such as ablution, historical and contemporary works on Islam, and influential Muslim personalities, such as lives of the prophets referenced in the Qur’an. The Süleymanlı community has recently launched two monthly magazines, Yedikıta (history and culture, launched in 2008) and İnsan ve Hayat (current affairs, launched in 2010), published and distributed by Fazilet Neşriyat. Fazilet Neşriyat produces custom-printed promotional materials (for instance, catalogues, brochures and day planners), mostly for Süleymanlı-affiliated organisations and businesses, and also publishes and distributes the Fazilet Takvimi (calendar). The Fazilet Calendar, as explained earlier, includes ‘temkin’ (caution) periods, whereas since 1983 the Directorate of Religious Affairs has omitted temkin periods in prayer times, and thus calendars and other materials using these schedules (for example, the Semerkand calendar by the Semerkand Group of the Menzil, covered in the following section) do not show temkin periods. The Fazilet calendar comes in print, online and mobile application formats. However, the print calendars are still widespread because custom printed Fazilet calendars are sold as donations for Süleymanlı-affiliated non-profit organisations such as mosques and Qur’an courses, and are distributed as promotional materials by Süleymanlıaffiliated for-profit businesses. The print Fazilet calendar comes in wall calendar and desk calendar formats and can also be bought from Fazilet Neşriyat distributors that are located in several cities in Turkey and 50 other countries.18 Fazilet Neşriyat also sells material for sarık, an item of 128

Power and Politics Islamic headgear for men, consisting of a long piece of cloth wrapped around a brimless cylindrical cap. I will discuss Süleymanlı men’s wearing of a sarık in Chapter Four. Other Süleymanlı-affiliated for-profit businesses include Arslan Nakliyat (national and international transport), Şahlan Transmarine Shipping, Tarsan (tourism, agriculture, industry and construction), Tuna (ro-ro shipping and trade), Anso (deep freezing facilities) and Güneş (tanker shipping) all of which, according to Turan (1997), were founded with members’ donations to the community. The community also has two hospitals, Sur Hospital and Hisar Intercontinental Hospital, in Istanbul. Muharrem outlined the sociocultural changes in the Süleymanlı community and talked about the community’s advancements and expansion in the education and health sectors. He stated that Sur Hospital mostly takes care of community personnel who, according to him, constitute approximately 90 per cent of its patients. Hisar, Muharrem said, is the largest hospital in Turkey. Although it is expensive, he added, it offers a special discount for Süleymanlı personnel. These changes and the increasing profit-gaining activities of the Süleymanlı community all point to the community’s expansion in diverse fields, such as education and health, and the acquisition and transformation of different species of capital among them: It [the Süleymanlı community] has changed enormously in the last ten years. … We are opening a high school [in the town where he lives]. For example, there is the largest hospital of Turkey, Hisar Intercontinental. … Hisar is the largest hospital of Turkey. … Sur [hospital] mainly deals with the [Süleymanlı] personnel. … Hisar is costly, but there is a discount for the [Süleymanlı] personnel, 40 per cent, a substantial discount. Of course, it’s too expensive, if surgery costs 5,000 [Turkish Liras], 40 per cent is 3,000 [Turkish Liras for the Süleymanlı personnel [sic]]. Today if you go to Ege University [hospital], it’s the same price. But [if you go to Hisar] you’ll be in a more competent, more comfortable, elite hospital. (Muharrem)

One of my Süleymanlı informants, Suat, is a regular consumer of meat products from two Süleymanlı-affiliated companies, Akdeniz Toros and Hisar (a local producer). According to Suat, he does this because their 129

Faith and Fashion in Turkey processes of feeding and slaughtering the animals, as well as their preparation of meat products, are completely in line with Islamic requirements. He gave as an example the fact that most poultry firms in Turkey use wet pluck, in which the slaughtered animals, together with all internal organs, are dipped into hot water (called ‘scalding’) to make the defeathering process easier. This process causes the meat to absorb blood and excrement. This method, Suat added, is mekruh (a disliked or offensive act, which is not haram, but from which abstinence is encouraged). Thus, since these two Süleymanlı-affiliated brands employ dry pluck, Suat prefers their products. In addition, he sometimes keeps chickens in his backyard: Suat: For example, I  never consume chicken products [when eating] out. Whether for lunch or for dinner, wherever I go, if there is chicken in soup or rice, I don’t eat it. I don’t eat sausages. I don’t eat those [sausages] that are not prepared by us or by our own firm. If I order rice, or a sandwich, I don’t get any [sausages or chicken] in it. … in order to consume halal, the first-degree halal. Nazlı: What sausage brand do you prefer? Suat: We prefer our own products. … In Istanbul there is our firm, called Toros. Hisar… we buy from Hisar company. Or we make [sausages] or get them made. We eat chickens if they are from there. Now I keep chickens…. Nazlı: Don’t you consume chickens (from any producer/brand) because of slaughtering? Suat: … Slaughtering and feeding. Primarily slaughtering. I  mean, according to Hanefi mezhep [a Sunni school of thought within Islamic jurisprudence, prevalent in Turkey], it is mekruh to dip them before removing the internal organs. And mekruh is close to haram. That’s why we don’t eat [this]. … I am also careful with red meat. I usually don’t shop from butchers. If I have no meat, I get a sheep slaughtered, or as a friend and I  did last year, we get calf slaughtered. We jointly get an animal slaughtered. We keep some in a deep freezer, get some made into sausages, get some in small pieces, and pack it properly and stock. If it’s not enough for the year, in the middle of the year, we [again] do such things together. 130

Power and Politics As explained in the Introduction, halal encompasses many aspects of Muslim life, such as food, clothing, business, occupations and financial investment. Yet, halal standards are not global. There are various interpretations of halal due to different Islamic sects, national and cultural differences, and so on (Bergeaud-Blackler 2007). Halal dietary concerns have been regulated and institutionalised among Muslims in Europe, North America and Southeast Asia for decades. However, the issue has only recently gained attention among observant consumers in Turkey, mostly as a result of the developments in the marketplace and the introduction of a halal certificate institution, GİMDES (the Association for the Inspection and Certification of Food and Supplies) in 2005. GİMDES is a non-profit organisation, originating from Southeast Asia – Indonesia, Malaysia and Singapore. Since 2005, GİMDES has issued halal certificates in Turkey for food, cosmetics, cleaning supplies, medicine and other health products. Another halal certification body is the state organisation, TSE (the Turkish Standards Institute). Since 2011, the TSE has issued halal certificates in collaboration with the Directorate of Religious Affairs. In addition to GİMDES and TSE, some other agents and institutions, including individual consumers, religious scholars and intellectuals, and faith-inspired communities have been active in debates over halal and halal certification in Turkey. One of these is the Süleymanlı community. Akdeniz Toros is a Süleymanlı-affiliated meat products company founded in 1997. It has two brands, Toros (red-meat products) and Aktoros (white-meat products). Toros and Aktoros products can be bought in Süleymanlı spaces, such as at Qur’an courses, in student dormitories, and at Süleymanlı-affiliated grocery shops and supermarkets. Both the Toros and Aktoros brands have had no halal certification from the state institution, TSE. However, Akdeniz Toros obtained GİMDES halal certificates for its white-meat products for the year starting in March 2012, and for its red-meat products from March 2012 to August 2013. However, it has not renewed these certificates. Instead, Akdeniz Toros now explains their halal production process on their webpage and criticises the halal certification bodies which, according to them, have turned into commercial enterprises and renounced some halal requirements for 131

Faith and Fashion in Turkey the benefit of meat producers.19 In order to support this argument, the company quotes Hüseyin Kamil Büyüközer, the head of GİMDES, saying that mass producers cannot achieve their production capacities unless they employ certain practices, such as electronarcosis and scalding, that are widely deemed unacceptable in halal slaughtering. The presence of different halal certificating institutions in the Turkish marketplace indicates the complexity and disputability of halal and halalness. Moreover, as discussed previously, the Süleymanlı community has contradicted some state practices and institutions (particularly the Directorate of Religious Affairs) in the religious field of Sunni Islam. In this respect it can be inferred that the Süleymanlı community preferred the halal certification of GİMDES rather than the halal certification service offered by the state institution, TSE. As Izberk-Bilgin (2013) demonstrates, GİMDES is also critical of the interpretations and practices of the Directorate of Religious Affairs. This indicates that with different halal certification bodies in the Turkish marketplace, ‘halal’ dietary requirements are now not only a religious but also a political/ideological issue. Different interpretations of Islam and diverse political/ideological views shape the market that develops ‘halal’ products/services and creates consumer needs/demands for them. For instance, although olive oil is not haram in Islam, some olive oil brands promote their products as ‘halal’ with certificates from different institutions. This market practice may lead some observant Muslims to question the ‘halalness’ of other brands of olive oil that do not have halal certificates, thus they form a new Islamic product category. Consequently, halal is not solely a religious concept but also a business opportunity and a marketing strategy. For faith-inspired communities, halal is a business practice that widens market opportunities for community-affiliated businesses and increases their profits. It also constructs community identity and thus a sense of belonging for community-affiliated consumers. For instance, the Süleymanlı-affiliated company, Akdeniz Toros, now uses the community’s reputation (i.e. capital accumulated in the community and religious fields of Sunni Islam) to guarantee their products’ halalness. However, this is more likely to be considered trustworthy by those affiliated to the Süleymanlı community. Thus, halal as a business practice enables 132

Power and Politics agents and institutions of the community fields to obtain economic and social benefits. Put in Bourdieuan terms, it allows them to obtain and transform social and economic capital in the economic and community fields. Nonetheless, among 34 informants from three faith-inspired communities, Suat (male, 56, Süleymanlı) was the only one emphasising the consumption of halal products. The other informants stated that they could consume food products from either community-affiliated or mainstream brands. But they do not necessarily seek products with halal qualifications, such as those with halal certificates. For instance, Necati (male, 29, Menzil) consumes the poultry products of a mainstream brand, Banvit, which has TSE halal certificates for its white and red meat products: For example, from Kardeşler supermarket [in his neighbourhood], I buy Banvit [products]. It says on [their package] ‘hand slaughtered, halal slaughter’. If it’s not, it’s their problem. I mean it’s written there, saying ‘halal slaughter’. All right. I consume it as halal.

My Süleymanlı informant Suat is also careful about where he shops: small, independent retail stores that are owned by Süleymanlı members, and most of whom he knows in person. Suat explains this practice by linking it to nationalist feelings – he consumes products and services offered by Turkish/local firms and businesspeople. In addition, these transactions enable him to develop and maintain better relationships with these retailers and, when needed, he can ask these retailers for financial support, either for himself or for the community. When I asked him if he shops from BIM, which is a retail chain, widespread around the country, and famous because of its (alleged) Islamic/Islamist owners, and since it is avoided by some secularists, Suat said that he does not shop from chain stores since they are frequently passed into other hands. On the other hand, another Süleymanlı informant Muharrem shops from any brand, whether mainstream (such as Vakko) or Gülen-affiliated (such as Pierre Cardin and Cacharel), and also mentions other Süleymanlı personnel doing so: 133

Faith and Fashion in Turkey I, personally, umm, have brand obsession. Brands like Sarar, Pierre Cardin… these are not found here [where he lives], so I usually shop in Izmir, in big shopping malls. We don’t shop often, we don’t do anything excessive [consumption], but since we don’t have any bad habits [e.g. smoking, gambling], many people from the [Süleymanlı] community have got a bit of brand obsession. I mean, umm, we don’t smoke, we don’t have any bad habits. You see, our social life is not vivid … So, for us clothing is a little bit like a luxury, especially for the personnel. Because we have 17–18 employees in our mosque, I observe all of them:  Armine, Aker, Pierre Cardin, Vakko, Cacharel… all those popular brands among veiled women.

Consequently, my ethnography points to intra-community differences in consumption practices in the Süleymanlı community. Whilst some Süleymanlıs, such as Suat, prefer to consume from Süleymanlı-affiliated local or national businesses, others consume from any brand or store regardless of its affiliation (for example, mainstream/secular and Gülenist) and show hedonistic consumption tendencies. Moreover, my findings also indicate personal differences among observant Muslims, particularly in food consumption. All my informants, except for Suat, regard food products and the produce offered in the mainstream and community marketplaces in Turkey (a Muslim-majority country) as ‘halal’. However, considering the short history of halal certification and halal certification bodies (GİMDES was launched in 2005 and TSE introduced its Halal Standards Body in 2011), one may expect this. Therefore, it will be fruitful to visit these marketplaces and their consumers in future in order to see whether there are developments in the influence of halal certification bodies on their attitudes and behaviour.

The Menzil Marketplace The Menzil marketplace is less sophisticated than the Gülen one, but more developed than the Süleymanlı marketplace. Unlike Gülen-affiliated products and services, Menzil-affiliated products and services can be distinguished by community members and also by outsiders who possess information about Menzil institutions and logos, such as ‘Semerkand’ 134

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Figure 3.3 A bookmark with Semerkand logo and font. August 2017. Photo: Nazlı Alimen. 

(Figure  3.3). Menzil-affiliated non-profit institutions include Menzil Derneği (Association), TÜMSİAD (All Industrialists’ and Businessmen’s Association, founded in 2005), Beşir Derneği (International Humanitarian Aid Association, accredited in 2013), UKBA (International Brotherhood, Peace and Ethics Association, founded in 2011)  and TÜBİAD (All Scientists and Academics Association, founded in 2011). In March 2015, the community announced plans to establish a university, Semerkand Bilim ve Medeniyet Üniversitesi, which will be located in Istanbul, though its location in the city and planned opening date remain unknown. Menzil-affiliated for-profit institutions offer various goods and services to Menzil members and sympathisers in Turkey and abroad, including Canada and the United States. The majority of the branded goods and services affiliated to the Menzil community belong to a conglomerate, called Semerkand Group. The group, founded in 1997, has a turquoisecoloured logo (Figure 3.3), often found on its products. This logo enables 135

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Figure 3.4 The entrance of an apartment building in Üsküdar, Istanbul. Note the Semerkand logo on the upper-left of the poster. October 2015. Photo: Nazlı Alimen. 

Menzil members to recognise each other in public. Some Menzil members use this logo as an avatar or background photo on their social media profiles, or put a Semerkand logo sticker on vehicles and in shop windows and residential buildings (Figure 3.4). In addition, both men and women use Semerkand logo badges, which come in two different colour combinations (black-gold and turquoise gold), on their coats and jackets. For instance, at the interview one of my Menzil informants, Aylin (female, 22), had a Semerkand badge attached to her ferace’s sleeve. When I asked her about the badge, Aylin said she likes the logo and always wears it on her overcoats. 136

Power and Politics The Semerkand Group owns a great number and variety of product and service companies:  Semtia, Semerkand logo products (such as hats, rings, mugs and badges); Edu, educational toys; Himnet, the internet service provider; Serhaber, news agency; Semerkand TV channel; Semerkand radio station; and online retailers, Semerkand Pazarlama, İdeal Nokta, and Semerkand Online. In several cities in Turkey, such as Istanbul and Ankara, the Semerkand Group has opened a Semerkand Kültür Merkezi (Cultural Centre), a building consisting of areas for various activities including community social meetings, prayers, and shopping. The Semerkand Group also owns Semerkand Publications, a conglomerate that publishes books, magazines and other print materials under ten different sub-brands:  Semerkand, Mostar, Eşik, Hâcegân, Şadırvan, Haşemi, Semerkand Çocuk, Mavi Uçurtma, Fidan and Genç Okur. Six of them, Semerkand, Mostar, Eşik, Hâcegân, Şadırvan and Haşemi, publish books on Islamic issues (such as the concept of life after death in Islam), historical and contemporary works on Islam (such as the Divan of Mevlana Halidi Bağdadi), influential Muslim personalities (such as prophet Mohammed and Rumi), and numerous topics related to everyday life (for instance marriage and child rearing). The other four, Semerkand Çocuk, Mavi Uçurtma, Fidan and Genç Okur, publish books on literature and religious topics for children and teenagers. Semerkand Publications also publishes monthly magazines, Semerkand (on tasavvuf [Sufism], launched in 1999), Mostar (current affairs and culture, launched in 2005), Semerkand Aile (family, launched in 2005), Semerkand Çocuk (children, Semerkand magazine supplement) and Semerkand Genç Okur (youth, launched in 2013). These magazines can be subscribed to or bought in the offices of the Semerkand Group or Beşir Derneği, which are widespread in Turkey, and in the Semerkand Group offices in Zurich and Sarajevo. At the interview that I conducted with Rahmi (male, 47, Menzil) and Candan (female, 42, Menzil), a married couple, Rahmi said that, after his work shifts, he usually goes to his local Beşir Derneği office where Semerkand Publication’s books and monthly magazines, and also other Menzil-affiliated products such as Semtia şapkes and rings are sold. Having seen him wearing a silver ring, which had tuğras [tuğra  – a calligraphic 137

Faith and Fashion in Turkey signature of an Ottoman sultan] on its sides, on his right little finger, I probed about accessories in general and about his ring in particular: Rahmi: Yes, [rings are] usually with tuğras. Or, sometimes we wear rings with our own logo, with the Semerkand logo. So, usually different [rings]. … Nazlı: You said that you have rings with Semerkand logos, maybe if you see them, you can recognise each other. Is there anything else except this? Candan: Badges. Rahmi: You see, these [products with Semerkand logos] in fact are not for us to distinguish each other, but, I mean, that logo, after Semerkand was founded, everything after the foundation gets a logo, that’s what it is. I mean this belongs to our institution. … Except this, there is no discrimination. Candan: There is nothing like, ‘we don’t meet [people not belonging to Menzil], we don’t read their books’. Rahmi: Exactly. It shouldn’t be misunderstood; I mean it [the Semerkand logo] is just a symbol. We have liked it since it was launched. … This kind of stuff is also related to marketing; what do they do? Put it [the Semerkand logo] on … Candan: But one [a Menzil member] doesn’t have to buy [those products with the Semerkand logo]. Nazlı: Those [Semerkand] badges, are they sold? Candan: Of course. Rahmi: It helps [the Menzil community], contributes to the [Menzil] foundation. These [profits] are used there [the foundation]. So, in fact, the form [Semerkand logo] doesn’t matter. Nazlı: I see. But, I mean, is there such a thing like, for example … I am wearing a [Semerkand] badge, and someone else there wearing it too. [We say] ‘Hey, how are you doing?’ … I mean, in this way, I can make friends. Candan: I think it is helpful. Rahmi: Well… It does help, of course. It’s an identifier to distinguish each other. Candan: For example, we ladies went to Caprice [conservative hotel with gender-segregated areas, such as beach and pool] for a vacation. We had 138

Power and Politics plastic bags, Semerkand plastic bags. We saw a lady with a Semerkand plastic bag. She put it on the table. We saluted her. ‘We are affiliated to Semerkand.’ ‘Where are you from?’ ‘We are from …’ Right away that afternoon we gathered for tea. But there were hundreds of other people; of course, we didn’t invite every one of them. But, as you said, with this logo, we can easily start a conversation. It’s an intermediary. Wearing rings with Semerkand logos is common among Menzil men and, as the quote above illustrates, it expresses the wearer’s Menzil membership in the public sphere. Previously, these rings came in various designs, each of which was named after a historical/nationalistic figure or term, such as Selçuk, Şehzade (sultan’s son), Hünkar (sultan) and Yeniçeri (Janissary) (see Figure 2.2). In 2015, for instance, new designs were launched under two main lines, called Hünkar and Şehzade, with different colour options. Because of their affordable price range, between 55 and 115 Turkish Liras (around £13 and £27 in February 2016), and accessibility, sold online (e.g. İdeal Nokta and Semerkand Pazarlama) and in-store (e.g. Beşir Derneği and the Semerkand Group offices), and paid for with interest-free monthly instalments on credit cards, these rings are not one-off, luxury items. Therefore, designs change seasonally and Menzil members can buy as many rings as they like. I asked two Menzil informants, Rahmi (male, 47) and İsa (male, 36), whether these rings are new to the community and whether they are bought by men themselves or given to them as gifts. They both stated that men usually buy these rings for themselves, and that they have not heard anyone having received or bought a Semerkand logo ring as a gift. These rings, however, are relatively new in the community. Other Menzil-affiliated product and service businesses include Biltek Okulları (private nursery, primary and secondary schools located in Istanbul and Ankara), Nakşin Clothing (clothing for men, women and children, and home textiles, opened its first store in September 2014 in Sultanbeyli, Istanbul), Emsey Hospital (opened in 2012 in Istanbul), Semerşah (travel agency, founded in 1993), Hâşemî Turizm (coach company), Hâşemî Dinlenme Tesisleri (stopover restaurants, which are similar to service stations in the UK), Nakış Gıda (multi-brand food and beverages wholesaler, founded in 1995), Fark Sepeti (multi-brand food and beverages 139

Faith and Fashion in Turkey e-retailer) and Sofaş Gıda (founded in 1998, producer of Sofaş-branded dairy and meat products). Menzil-affiliated brands, such as Semtia and Biltek Okulları, often advertise in Menzil-affiliated publications, particularly in Semerkand and Menzil magazines. The advertisements of Semerşah tourism agency, for instance, can be found in almost every issue of Mostar magazine. Figure 3.5 is a Semerşah advertisement for their umrah tours for the 2015 semester break. These tours could be paid for by credit card with interest-free, nine-month instalments. In Menzil community spaces, i.e. Menzil Derneği (association) houses, or simply Menzil houses, community members gather for worship and socialisation, and commercial activities also take place. For example, some of these houses have tailor’s shops, offering bespoke items at affordable prices and with favourable payment options. Most of my female informants from the Menzil community said that, while younger members (such as Pembe [female, 31] and Ahenk [female, 33]) have praying dresses sewn for them in community tailoring shops, middle-aged women usually have their outer garments (jackets, skirts, vests, etc.) sewn for them because it is difficult for them to find garments that are suitable for tesettür in plus sizes. One exception is Pembe, who also has several outer garments, such as a tunic, sewn in the community tailor shop. Some goods sold in Menzil houses, such as thyme and mint, are regarded as ‘dualı’ (blessed) by Menzil members since these goods are (said to be) grown in their ‘spiritual’ land, Menzil village. In addition, some products, mostly food, from Menzil-affiliated brands are sold in the Menzil community’s houses. For instance, a Menzil-affiliated brand, Galip tea (by Nakış Gıda), is sold in Menzil-affiliated retail stores and wholesalers (such as Nakış Gıda), online (such as Fark Sepeti), and also in the community spaces. One of my Menzil informants, Necati, sometimes buys Galip tea from his local Menzil house: Necati: For example, I buy tea there. Our place [Menzil house] carries the tea, called Galip tea. I buy the tea there. Nazlı: Do you consume any other tea? Or do you always consume this Galip tea? Necati: No, of course I consume [other teas]. I mean I don’t have such an obsession. 140

Figure  3.5 Umrah tours for the 2015 semester break. Source:  Mostar magazine, January 2015. 

Faith and Fashion in Turkey Tea in Turkey is a traditional drink, consumed at any time during the day. Tea drinking practices and materials develop particular relationships among individuals and with space-time. Like many people in Turkey and like members of other faith-inspired communities, Menzil members consume tea in large amounts (see Figure 3.4). In addition, the Menzil community is known as a community of chain smokers. Because it is harmful to the body, smoking is, in Turkey, regarded by many observant Muslims mekruh (not haram [forbidden], but better to avoid) or Islamically unsuitable, and it is considered inappropriate behaviour, and even banned by most faith-inspired communities, including the Gülen and Süleymanlı. However, for the Menzil community, smoking is an appropriate and common habit. Necati, who had quit smoking a couple of years before the interview, and his wife Pembe, a non-smoker, talked about excessive tea and cigarette consumption in the community: Necati: In our community, the leaders smoke too. Nazlı: I also heard that tea is consumed extensively … Necati: It is said that tea is a sofi’s [Menzil member’s] fuel. … For example, on the upper floor [of the Menzil community house] we gather for charity meetings, and non-stop tea and cigarettes. You need to enter with a respirator. Pembe: I understand if he [Necati] has been there [the Menzil house]. I ask [him], ‘Were you there again?’ Nazlı: Are there many smokers among [Menzil] ladies too? Pembe: Yes, there are. As shown in Chapter Two and this chapter, Menzil members have (relatively) more freedom in their personal lives, such as clothing, grooming and smoking preferences. They consume from both Menzil-affiliated and mainstream companies and brands. Moreover, Menzil-affiliated businesses are active in the digital sphere, especially in social media, including Facebook and Twitter. This, unlike the Gülen and Süleymanlı marketplaces, makes the Menzil marketplace visible and discernible to the public, particularly to those holding related information about it, such as the Semerkand logo. 142

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Conclusion This chapter has examined relations among the Gülen, Süleymanlı and Menzil fields, the religious field of Sunni Islam, the bureaucratic field and the field of education, and examined the struggles over power and authority among agents and institutions of these fields. The Süleymanlı and Menzil communities continue the ‘medrese’ education system in their community spaces, and provide and control some (traditional) religious practices, such as zikir and rabıta. Thus, similar to Tuğal’s (2011) definition of tarikats and medreses, the Gülen, Süleymanlı and Menzil communities are secondary players in the religious field of Sunni Islam in Turkey as they respond to the structural openings in the field and create an alternative to state Islam. For Tuğal, tarikats and medreses have ‘united ideologically against official Islam by their “traditionalism”:  rejection of modernization and Western influence in Turkey, and abstention from formal politics’ (ibid.: 93). However, as discussed in this chapter, the Süleymanlı and Menzil communities do not always stand against the state form of Islam and state practices in the religious field of Sunni Islam. Instead, they support some, if not all, practices and discourses of official Islam and even collaborate with state institutions. Furthermore, the boundaries between the community fields are permeable. Although now a Menzil member, Candan, after finishing elementary school, studied in a residential ‘medrese’ of the İsmailağa community.20 Two other Menzil informants, İsa and Berna, send their daughter to a Gülen-affiliated private school. Moreover, as explained in this chapter, community members can achieve upward mobility within their community and in society. Therefore, members can move within and between the community fields as well as related fields. This chapter has also explored the marketplaces of the Gülen, Süleymanlı and Menzil communities. These are involved with a wide range of activities and operate in numerous sectors: education, healthcare, finance and banking, media and publication, retail, food and beverages, travel and tourism, and transport and shipping. However, none of these communities has unified their marketplace activities within a common organisational structure. Whilst there are some conglomerates active in more than one sector, such as the Semerkand Group of the Menzil, most business activities within the

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Faith and Fashion in Turkey Gülen, Süleymanlı and Menzil marketplaces rely upon personal community ties and ‘coordination among a vast network of members’ and sympathisers (Mandaville 2011: 17). This indicates the importance and function of the community-specific capital, especially social capital, accumulated in a community field, and its transfer into different fields. As the findings presented in this chapter show, in addition to the religious field of Sunni Islam, these three communities are players in the country’s economic field and other related fields, such as the educational, academic and journalistic fields. Benefits of the communities’ marketplace activities include transmitting the (religious and political) ideologies of the communities, tools generating money for the communities, employment and business opportunities for community members and sympathisers, recruiting new members, and transforming one form of community capital into another and also into different forms of capital in other fields. The marketplaces of the communities, similar to community spaces, enable the transmission of community values and social interactions among members that create, diffuse and sustain community identities. As noted previously, for-profit businesses and non-profit organisations in the Gülen, Süleymanlı and Menzil marketplaces are not limited to those I  have discussed. There are many other community-affiliated for-profit businesses and non-profit organisations on local, national and international scales. For instance, Hendrick notes that, as of November 2012, there were approximately 136 Gülen-affiliated charter schools located in 26 US states, and the majority of administrative staff and a significant number of teachers at these schools were Gülen members and sympathisers (2013:  217). Another example is the Süleymanlı organisation Stichting Islamitisch Centrum Nederland (the Netherlands Islamic Centre Foundation) that administers 48 mosques in the Netherlands (Yükleyen 2009: 304–305) and offers Islamic services, such as summer-term Qur’an courses for children and imam training programmes. However, there is a need to explore the Süleymanlı and Menzil marketplaces in other countries, since research on their for-profit and non-profit activities abroad remains limited.21 Consequently, none of the Gülen, Süleymanlı and Menzil communities is a marketplace community (e.g. brand community and consumer tribe), but each one of these communities has its own community marketplace. 144

Power and Politics Moreover, even though all these communities have different marketplaces filled with products and services, the boundaries of these marketplaces are permeable. The producers and consumers of one community are not only active in their marketplace but also in the other communities’ marketplaces. For instance, a Gülen-affiliated company, NT bookstores, before being appointed a board of trustees in November 2015, carried both Gülenist publications and books published by the Süleymanlı community’s Fazilet Neşriyat and Çamlıca Yayınları and the Menzil community’s Semerkand Yayıncılık.22 Similarly, Gülen, Süleymanlı and Menzil members consume both from their own community’s marketplace and from other communities’ marketplaces, and from Turkey’s mainstream consumption space. Thus, the marketplace and consumption practices of each one of these communities are not positioned against the secular or another faithinspired community’s marketplaces and consumption practices. Members of one community do not avoid consuming goods and services affiliated with the other two faith-inspired communities. However, when I  asked whether they would prefer any product or service over the one offered by a company affiliated with their own community, my informants said that they would prefer the latter. Nevertheless, there are discrepancies between individuals’ narratives and practices, a well-known phenomenon in qualitative research and consumption studies (Levy 2006). Therefore, it may be fruitful to explore further their consumption narratives and practices, and triangulate the primary and secondary data such as consumer reports and market revenues. Consumers’ evaluation of functional and symbolic features of community-affiliated brands and companies (e.g. local grocery stores) can provide information on identity formation within these faithinspired communities and revenue generation of community-affiliated businesses. Some company and brand names in the community marketplaces reflect the communities’ doctrines as well as religious, nationalist and neoOttomanist ideologies. For instance, Fethullah Gülen often underlines in his speeches and writings that one should be an ‘aksiyon insanı‘ (a person of action), one who accumulates both religious and modern scientific knowledge, who plays an engaged role in society, and who transforms the world accordingly (Hendrick 2014:  135). Thus, ‘aksiyon’ (action) can be 145

Faith and Fashion in Turkey understood as ‘purposeful activities’ and ‘transformative practice(s)’: transferring the community’s messages and agendas into practice and thereby enriching the community (Hendrick 2014, Yavuz 2013). A  communityaffiliated weekly news magazine, Aksiyon, was named after this community ideal and thus signifies its Gülen affiliation. The community marketplaces, particularly those of the Süleymanlı and Menzil, are filled with company and brand names with neo-Ottomanist connotations, for example, the ‘Osmanlı‘ (Ottoman) publication house of the Süleymanlı and the Mostar magazine of the Menzil. Mostar, a city in Bosnia and Herzegovina, has been described, especially since the Bosnian War (1992–1995), as a symbol of European/Western discontent with the Ottoman/Muslim presence in Europe (see Göle 2011) and has become an important element in Islamist and neo-Ottomanist discourses in Turkey. Another Süleymanlı-affiliated company, Fazilet Neşriyat, connotes both religious and neo-Ottomanist ideologies. ‘Fazilet’ (virtue) has Islamic connotations while ‘neşriyat’ is an Ottoman-Turkish word which is rarely if ever used in modern Turkish – its use in everyday language is mostly limited to Islamic/Islamist individuals. Furthermore, the brand names ‘Sofaş‘ and ‘Hâşemî‘ indicate their Menzil-affiliation. Sofaş is the abbreviated word for Sofiler Anonim Şirketi (Sofis [Menzil members] S.A.). Hâşemî is a Sufi term referring to a person who is amenable (hâşem), a servant [of God]. For instance, Menzil leaders are usually regarded as Hâşemî within the community. As Atay (2015) reports, there are rumours regarding the name of the Menzilaffiliated hospital, Emsey, that it is the abbreviation for ‘Emret Seydam’ (As your command, my seyda).23 Another Menzil-affiliated brand name, ‘Semerkand’, has religious and nationalist connotations. Semerkand, spelled Samarqand or Samarkand in English, is a city in Central Asia, now in Uzbekistan. Under the rule of a Turkic leader, Ulugh Beg (r. 1404–1449), Samarkand became one of the most prominent architectural, philosophical and scientific centres in the history of Islam (Lapidus 2014). In addition, the turquoise brand colour of the Semerkand Group indicates the community’s nationalist inclinations. It is believed that this colour is named after Turks because the greenish-blue-coloured stone was first brought to Europe by them. Thus, the word ‘turquoise’ accentuates Turkishness and 146

Power and Politics also symbolises the colour of the tiled-domes of the Islamic architecture of Samarkand. Consequently, the ‘Semerkand’ brand name and use of ‘turquoise’ as the brand colour carry both religious and Turkish-nationalist connotations (though it is important to note that all leaders of this community are Kurdish-origin Turkish citizens).24

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4 The Body and Space: Gendered Understandings and Practices

Space is ‘fundamental in any exercise of power’ (Foucault 1984: 252), and, as Chidester and Linenthal note, the most significant aspects of sacred spaces are ‘hierarchical power relations of domination’ (1995:  17). As explained before, mosques, i.e. official sacred spaces of Islam, are highly gendered spaces where ‘men typically officiate and have control and access to exclusive sites of power (and ‘the sacred’) within a religious building’ (Morin and Guelke 2007: xix). However, the primary arena of a Muslim woman for religious practices, as in the religious field of Sunni Islam in Turkey, has traditionally come to be defined as the domestic space, ‘her house’ (see Bhimji 2009, Karacabey 2000, Morin and Guelke 2007). As the primary player of the religious field of Sunni Islam in Turkey, the state plays an inevitable role in the construction, diffusion and continuation of (gendered) power relations. Foucault’s (1982) remarks on power could equally apply to the Directorate of Religious Affairs, namely that, in the form of this state institution, power relations in the religious field of Sunni Islam ‘have been progressively governmentalized, that is to say, elaborated, rationalized, and centralized’ (p. 793). For instance, mosques are administered by the Directorate of Religious Affairs and its authority in this regard extends to the education and assignment of religious officials,

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Faith and Fashion in Turkey including müftüs, imams, müezzins, preachers, and Qur’an course teachers, and the preparation of hutbes (sermons) for Friday prayers. In mosques, only men serve as imams and müezzins; therefore, only men deliver hutbes, perform calls to prayer, and lead congregational prayers. This gendered division of religious labour exists within not only the official (i.e. the Directorate of Religious Affairs) but also private institutions and spaces, such as organisation structures, i.e. male founder/leaders and male-centred hierarchical structures, and male- or female-only student dormitories of faith-inspired communities. In addition to community spaces, other spatial organisations of the Gülen, Süleymanlı and Menzil (such as community meetings and the layouts of charity sales) are gender segregated. However, as will be explained in this chapter, bodily practices, particularly clothing and veiling (as well as de-veiling) practices of women, within these spaces may differ. As I will discuss in this chapter, gendered organisation of spaces and gendered spatial practices contribute to the formation and maintenance of gender hierarchies and power differentials within the Gülen, Süleymanlı and Menzil communities. In addition, these gender-segregated spaces and gendered spatial practices originate in and also contribute to different expectations and experiences of religious observance and performance from men and women, and therefore, greatly influence the construction and performance of ‘gendered’ Muslim and community identities.

Community Spaces and Spatial Practices All Gülen, Süleymanlı and Menzil communities have their own community spaces, where members gather for different reasons, such as worship and socialising. As mentioned previously, community meetings are gender-segregated and held in spaces belonging to the communities or members of the communities, such as community houses and student dormitories, or offices and private houses. During my fieldwork, I  visited a nursery and elementary school and a dormitory of the Süleymanlı community as well as a Menzil community house. My access to these spaces was granted by my informants, Sümbül (female, 48, Süleymanlı) and Seçil (female, 33, Menzil). 150

The Body and Space The Süleymanlı community has a vast number of student dormitories in towns and city centres throughout the country, where students of the Süleymanlı elementary and secondary schools, as well as students from the state and private elementary and secondary schools and university students, can stay. Residents of the dormitories include children of Süleymanlı members or sympathisers, and students from impoverished families. I visited a Süleymanlı female-student dormitory in August 2013 when there were a few university students in residence, attending the summer schools of their universities. Sümbül, who granted access to this dormitory, said that during education terms the dormitory is full of university and high school students, most of whom come from disadvantaged families and/or from rural areas. Muharrem (male, 33) passed the external exams of a distance learning high school and, at the time of the interview, was studying for his undergraduate degree in Sociology at the Open University. After completing this, he said that his plan was to go abroad to study for a Master’s degree, probably to London, where the Süleymanlı community has facilities, including a mosque and dormitory. He mentioned that he had talked about his plans to study abroad (and to be in the service of the community abroad) with his superiors in the community and that they supported this. When asked about holidays and travels, Muharrem said that, like other Süleymanlı members, he prefers to stay at community dormitories when he travels: Let’s say that I am going to İzmir. For business, travel, or a private matter. We try not to stay in a hotel, if it is possible for us to stay in a [Süleymanlı] dormitory and pay money for our stay. So, why there? The purpose is not to use the facilities; I mean it can open new doors to you if you go there for business purposes. So do our members do this … An engineer from Ankara, who was appointed to work at the windmill farm [in the town where Muharrem lives], stayed at the [Süleymanlı] dormitory for a month while the government was reimbursing his expenses to him. He was here to oversee it for a month … So he is subsidised… the government has given him [a budget]. He has a budget and everything, but his aim was not to be away from that thing, that [Süleymanlı] environment. After all, hotel culture is different. But when he is there [in the Süleymanlı

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Faith and Fashion in Turkey dormitory] he will pray, attend to hatim meetings, maybe be around to help a student. So he does not want to stay away from that environment… I would not stay in a hotel either. If I were to visit England, I would get in contact with the dormitory first, not a hotel. This is not for financial reasons, not because I think ‘this is more lucrative for me, this is an advantage’. In fact, everybody pays more. So the aim is not to stay away from that [environment] …

Staying in Süleymanlı dormitories located in Turkey or abroad enables Süleymanlıs to meet other Süleymanlı personnel and members, thereby offering both personal and professional networking opportunities. Other benefits include serving the community, such as tutoring students, and continuing spiritual development, for instance attending ‘hatim’ meetings. Moreover, Süleymanlı dormitories in foreign lands, such as the United Kingdom and Germany, are mostly managed and populated by Turkish nationals. Therefore, when traveling abroad, Süleymanlı dormitories turn into spaces where there is no need to speak a foreign language. These dormitories also keep the community members from undesirable experiences in a non-Muslim environment, for instance consumption of pork. In Süleymanlı dormitories, members are free from concerns about whether their food consists of pork, or whether their food is prepared/cooked in the same place as pork, or whether the same utensils that are used for pork are also used for their food. In Süleymanlı dormitories located in Turkey or abroad, members avoid experiences of secular space. Unlike hotels and pensions, in Süleymanlı dormitories residents and visitors take their shoes of at the main entrance (see Figure  4.1). This keeps dormitory floors and carpets clean and thus ready for prayer without a need for prior cleaning. In addition, religious practices and requests to perform these practices in secular spaces can lead to stigmatisation, whereas observant individuals in Süleymanlı dormitories do not experience disapproval of their religious practices. Süleymanlı dormitories also attract students and their families searching for safe places where residents can practise and learn (more) about the religion, or those in need of low-cost accommodation. All this enables the community to recruit new members. Moreover, Süleymanlı dormitories, similar to community 152

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Figure 4.1 The entrance of the Süleymanlı nursery and elementary school where Muharrem (male, 33, Süleymanlı) works. September 2013. Photo: Nazlı Alimen. 

meetings, serve as a domain where the Süleymanlı habitus is constructed, maintained, enacted and disseminated. Newcomers, including many young individuals, learn and internalise the Süleymanlı habitus – ‘reasonable’ and ‘common-sense’ behaviours (Bourdieu 1990: 55) – and thus they can fulfil the demands and expectations of the community. The Süleymanlı habitus they acquire in Süleymanlı dormitories, as Muharrem noted, includes embodied practices as well as discursive norms and practices: … we have never sworn in our lives, I have never … I’m saying that if you shout, use bad language in the dormitory, you will be alienated. … You will detach yourself [from the others].

Furthermore, one of the things that I observed anecdotally was that it was not uncommon for Süleymanlıs to invest effort to create religious/spiritual connections in their environment. An illustration of this is paying extra 153

Faith and Fashion in Turkey to have a car registration number with auspicious links to the birth year of Süleyman Hilmi Tunahan. In addition, they seemed to express a higher level of comfort when there were continuities in their environment. For instance, Muharrem showed me the tea glasses in his workplace and added that the same style tea glasses are used in all Süleymanlı spaces, such as schools and dormitories, not only those in Turkey but also those in foreign countries. On the other hand, I did not hear comparable examples from my Gülen and Menzil informants. The Gülen community also has a vast number of community spaces, such as student dormitories and charity organisations, throughout Turkey and in numerous countries around the world. These community spaces are used for accommodation and community meetings such as sohbets, as well as for the social and economic activities of the community. Moreover, some community spaces, especially non-profit organisations and education institutions (such as the London Centre for Social Studies), are open to the public.1 An illustration of this is the Dialogue Society in the United Kingdom. Offices of the Dialogue Society can be found in several cities, including, but not limited to, London, Brighton, Oxford, Durham and Northampton.2 The society organises public social activities, such as discussion panels on current political issues and lectures for doctoral students, which enable the community to gain sympathisers and recruit members. In July 2013, I attended a book launch at the Dialogue Society in London, where most of the staff and volunteers were Gülenists, originally from Turkey. There was also a student from (Gülen-affiliated) Fatih University in Istanbul present, who was doing his summer internship at the Dialogue Society’s London branch. I took the photo of a plastic pitcher (Figure 4.2) in the women’s toilet of the Dialogue Society’s London branch. As explained before, cleanliness of the body and of space is crucial in Islam. In this respect, community spaces abroad not only offer spatial cleanliness but also enable bodily cleanliness, particularly through toilet facilities for taharet (for cleaning traces of urine, faeces and blood).3 Therefore, for the patrons of the Dialogue Society in London, the pitchers, as odd they may seem for non-Turkish people (and to some Turkish people, including myself), turn this place into a familiar space where cultural and Islamic practices can be performed. 154

The Body and Space

Figure 4.2 A plastic pitcher for ‘taharet’ at the Dialogue Society centre in London. July 2013. Photo: Nazlı Alimen. 

As stated previously, for Muslim women, a woman’s avret is between the navel and the knees. Therefore, at women-only meetings and in gender-segregated or private spaces, such as student dormitories and members’ own houses, veiled women can stay unveiled. However, two Süleymanlı members, Burcu (female, 35)  and Sümbül, said that they do not cover their hair when they are with close friends from the Süleymanlı community in their houses. But when in the company of other Süleymanlı women, they are veiled, even if they are in private spaces and even if it is a casual meeting rather than a hatim (community) meeting. According to Burcu and Sümbül, other Süleymanlı women would criticise them if they did not follow these practices, since both Burcu and Sümbül had received Süleymanlı education, though had not become hocahanıms. Therefore, they added, they are expected to comply with the Süleymanlı habitus and set an example for the others. In addition, both of them have significantly 155

Faith and Fashion in Turkey higher income levels, especially Sümbül, than most of the other Süleymanlı women in their town, and have occupied supervisory positions in the community, such as being organisers of the community’s charity bazaars. They therefore hold diverse species of capital at stake in the Süleymanlı field, most notably cultural capital. Consequently, they fear that Süleymanlı women may perceive their unveiled appearance negatively, such as seeing it as flaunting, and so distance themselves from Burcu and Sümbül. This, in turn, could diminish the value and amount of capital Burcu and Sümbül hold in the Süleymanlı field. Moreover, their narratives point to the hyperbolic extension of religious rules and community norms regarding clothing and veiling. As Goldman Carrel (1999) illustrates, women may find new ways, which may or may not be required by religious law, to experience and express their piety. For instance, in order to prevent even one hair from being revealed, some Hasidic women completely shave their heads or closely crop their hair. Just as ‘Hasidic women believe that great reward will be bestowed upon those who adhere the highest level of modesty’ (ibid.: 167), Burcu and Sümbül believe that by meeting the expectations of other Süleymanlı women, they prevent these women from having negative thoughts about them. This helps to keep both parties free from ‘sin’. Thus, both Burcu and Sümbül express their superiority in terms of the holding of the Süleymanlı and Muslim habitus: they know about Islamic and Süleymanlı rules and regulations related to both the ‘inner’ and ‘outer’ body. In Burcu’s words, ‘… they [those women] cannot understand this. This kind of person cannot understand this’. Here is an excerpt from the interview with Burcu: Burcu: When we are with our close friends, even those from the community, but not with just anyone, we can be free [stay unveiled]. Because people can interpret this differently. We [close friends] understand each other; to be veiled or unveiled is not a big deal for us … However, some find it odd. One cannot be unveiled with those who find it odd, for example, a woman who has never been unveiled in her life. We cannot wear short-sleeved shirts when we are with her. This might make her think ‘they [Burcu and her close friends] pretend they are veiled [observant], they have superior positions in the community, but at the same time

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The Body and Space they do this [they are unveiled, wearing short-sleeved shirts, etc.]’ Don’t you think it’s important for a person not to make others think wrongly? In fact, our intention is pretty innocent, it’s just that we consider it [a female meeting space] to be like our house. There is no intimacy [mahremiyet] among women. But they cannot understand this. This kind of person cannot understand this. Nazlı: For example, you can be unveiled in a student dormitory. But only a girls’ dormitory. Burcu: No, one cannot stay there [unveiled]. Because it is a place of worship … But in the accommodation section they [students] can be [unveiled]. In the accommodation section kids [students] probably always sleep unveiled. Anyway, this is how one sleeps. In pyjamas, capri pants, etc. In the classroom [of the dormitory] one cannot be unveiled because the Qur’an is read there. Because it is a mescit [a small mosque] … Whatever is required in a mosque, it is the same in the mescit. According to Göle, ‘when spatial separation reinforcing gender-based segregation is removed or rejected, women are forced to be modest in their public visibility’ (1998:  55). However, as the quote above demonstrates, even in gender-segregated spaces, women may be expected to comply with the Islamic rules of modesty, like the Süleymanlı women in their community’s female-student dormitories. Moreover, in many Muslim contexts, women are expected to cover their hair while performing prayers, reciting the Qur’an or listening to someone reciting it, even if they are in a private space and so are away from a public or stranger-male gaze. Except in these instances in a private space, it remains a personal choice whether to wear the veil or not. Nonetheless, Burcu’s statement above, ‘because it is a place of worship’, underlines the temporal and spatial extension of Islamic rules. Spaces and spatialisations possess significations that are meaningful to particular groups, such as ‘desirable and undesirable’, and ‘sanctioned or forbidden’ (Lefebvre 1991: 288). Lived practices in Süleymanlı dormitories turn these spaces into familiar as well as sacred spaces for those who favour these practices. As Bourdieu states, habitus is ‘both a system of schemes of production and a system of perception and appreciation of practices’ (1989:  19). Thus, individuals with the Süleymanlı habitus are those who

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Faith and Fashion in Turkey expect and appreciate certain practices in Süleymanlı spaces and act accordingly. Consequently, in spaces, either community (such as dormitories) or private (members’ houses), populated by Süleymanlı members, there are different regulatory gazes in effect. As the narratives of my Süleymanlı female informants reveal, Süleymanlı women are aware of the regulation and surveillance of different audiences in the front (public, mixgender) and back (private, female-only) stages. In the quote above, Burcu and Sümbül’s fear of being criticised and alienated by Süleymanlı women also indicate the women-to-women surveillance and regulation of bodily practices. This illustrates that not only men but also women are involved in policing the ‘veiled’ (or ‘pious’) body. The gendered spatial practices of the Süleymanlı community shape Süleymanlı women’s clothing practices. For instance, wearing feraces (long and loose, ankle-length outerwear with a front closing from neck to hem) indoors when having male guests over is a common practice among some veiled women in Turkey.4 However, Süleymanlı women do not wear feraces or overcoats indoors because when Süleymanlıs gather, for either a community or casual meeting, and either in a community or private space, they meet in gender-segregated groups. For example, Sümbül wears feraces outside and finds them very comfortable, but she does not wear them indoors since spaces and spatial practices of the Süleymanlı are gender segregated: Sümbül: We don’t gather [men and women together], we don’t have such a thing. That’s why we don’t need to wear a ferace indoors. … Some of the great abis come over for a sohbet sometimes. The salon that I just showed you… Nazlı: Yes, the one with the whiteboard upstairs. You said it is the mescit [of the female-student dormitory]. Sümbül: Yes. We [Süleymanlı women] gather in the mescit and listen to him through the loudspeakers. Nazlı: I see, he doesn’t come upstairs. Sümbül: So, we don’t need to wear overcoats … I mean we don’t have meetings with men. It’s always outside [if we encounter men]. We already wear [overcoats] outside. 158

The Body and Space The Süleymanlı habitus related to spatial practices are performed in private spaces too, especially in the mixed-gender meetings of Süleymanlı members. Sümbül explained that when she has a group of Süleymanlı male and female guests, men and women gather in separate rooms. However, she added, she does not wear a ferace or an overcoat, but a long and loose waistcoat. In addition, instead of entering the ‘men’s’ (meeting) room for service, she prepares all food and beverages in the kitchen and calls her husband to serve them to their male guests. Sassatelli (1999) identifies the changing rooms of a gym as a transitional space where agents move from the everyday life to the frame of the workout. This transition for a certain practice is similar to the hatme experiences of my non-veiled informant, Ahenk (female, 33, Menzil). Ahenk changes her clothes and covers her hair for hatme meetings, which can be held in a community house, a house of a hatme participant, or in a house of the hatme leader (a Menzil hocahanım).5 Therefore, there is no designated, permanent space for hatmes. In addition, there is no permanent space arranged as a changing room, a transitional space, in spaces where hatme meetings are held. Nonetheless, despite its temporality, a hatme space facilitates shifting within its boundaries, both inwards – into the Menzil worship, and outwards – back to different external realities. This shows that a hatme space is a remarkably complex space which is primarily shaped by the agents present and the practices performed, rather than by its stability and physical characteristics. My female informants’ narratives point to the fluidity of space that emanates from the Islamic rules related to ‘avret’, covering of the body in the presence of the opposite gender, as well as to the characteristics of space, such as private/public and sacred/mundane. Many of my veiled informants, such as Burcu and Sümbül, mentioned that behind the entrance door of their houses they keep a jacket and scarf to be worn if a man who is not among their ‘mahrem’ arrives. On the other hand, such practices vary depending on their personal interpretations as well as on their family’s interpretations of the religious rules. In addition, having received religious education and observed religious practices of the family while being brought up, influences these practices. For instance, Hürrem (female, 49), who, as noted in Chapter Two, was brought up in an observant family and 159

Faith and Fashion in Turkey received religious education starting from a very early age. Hürrem said that she does not go out onto the balcony of her house without a scarf on or with a shirt with short sleeves since she views the balcony of her house as a public space. Therefore, although physically a part of a private space, a balcony can be regarded as a public space since it is open to the public gaze. Similar to Hürrem, the other female informants, such as Seçil and Hülya (35, Gülen), who were raised in observant families and received religious education, either from their families or in state/community institutions, mentioned that they dress modestly and cover their hair on the balconies of their houses. However, there are differences and inconsistencies between rules and practices among women at intra- and inter-community levels. An illustration of this is Pembe (female, 31, Menzil), whose family are not observant Muslims, thus she was not raised in an Islamic environment and did not receive religious education. Pembe acknowledges that a balcony is open to the public gaze; however, she does not find it necessary to cover her hair there. Pembe also stated that, although she learns about Islamic rules regarding clothing and modesty (tesettür) at Menzil meetings, she does not follow these rules, since it is not what she is accustomed to or was brought up with. Therefore, as people, starting from an early age, observe others practising religion in their social environment, in particular their family, and as they receive religious education, they acquire and internalise the Muslim habitus which form their bodily practices.

Being Veiled/Non-Veiled, Becoming Veiled: Women’s Experiences My veiled informants began wearing the veil at different stages of their lives and therefore interpret and experience veiling and related practices differently. Women who began wearing the veil later in life have experienced difficulties in becoming accustomed to veiling and dressing in an Islamically appropriate way and also in a stylish way. Hürrem, Sümbül, Burcu and Meltem, who began wearing the veil at early ages, did not cite difficulties in finding proper outfits and matching them with their accessories, such as scarves, shoes or bags. Sümbül, Burcu and Hürrem, all Süleymanlı women, have been veiled for most of their lives. They would have covered their hair 160

The Body and Space occasionally at very early ages of childhood, and since they finished elementary school (at the ages of 11–12) they have worn the veil regularly. All three reported that they had begun to wear the veil regularly of their own accord. When I met Sümbül and Burcu in Sümbül’s house in September 2013, they were both wearing patterned cotton scarves, although there were no one else there except us three women. I asked them whether they could choose not to wear the veil when they are together with female relatives and friends. The following quotation illustrates not only their acquisition of an embodied form of Muslim habitus, veiling from an early age but also points to a contradiction, that although they claim ‘covering their hair or not makes no difference for them’, they do not find being unveiled comfortable: Nazlı: But you don’t take off your veil when you [female friends] gather. Sümbül: No, we don’t really. Burcu: I don’t know, almost never … You know, we are veiled, I mean, this is internalised. We never say something like ‘I feel suffocated today, then I should remove my veil’. We’ve never done this. … Sümbül: This is acceptance. We have accepted it. We don’t think we’ll be comfortable if we are unveiled. … Nazlı: You know, some ask whether they [veiled women] do not swelter … or they can hear, and so on. Burcu: No. We don’t even see the difference between wearing a veil or not. This is it, I mean, we got accustomed to [it]. Mahmood argues that women obtain and internalise Islamic dispositions such as modesty through repeated bodily practices, particularly wearing the veil regularly, and therefore they ‘behave according to established standards of conduct’ (2005:  157). The quote from Burcu and Sümbül above illustrates the role of the body in the making of the self and supports Mahmood’s argument that repetitive practices of veiling not only express but also form the ‘inner’ self, e.g. modesty (pp. 159–161). Due to the ‘mutually constitutive relationship’ between the inner self and repetitive bodily practices, a woman who regularly wears the veil will feel uncomfortable 161

Faith and Fashion in Turkey if she does not veil herself (ibid.: 157–158). For my informant Sümbül, in contrast to expectations of non-wearers of the veil (e.g., non-Muslims and secular Muslim women), removing the veil does not bring comfort (such as disposing of the extra, unnatural layer). Meltem is a 43-year-old Gülenist, an elementary school graduate, who is married with three children, two daughters and one son. She began to cover her hair in puberty under pressure from her father. During the interview, she talked about her unwillingness to start wearing the veil and her father’s coercion. Her father had caught her removing her veil on her way to school and had beaten her several times. Her disclosure about being forced to wear the veil departs from usual narratives on veiling and veiled women, especially in Muslim contexts.6 Meltem’s narrative resonates with feminist claims on veiling as an inherently oppressive practice that regulates the female body and subjugates women on the grounds of religious patriarchy (Ahmed 2011, Scott 2007). Since the definition of ‘authentic’ veiling has come to comprise both a woman’s ‘right to choose to veil’ and not feeling compelled and/or not being forced to veil (Lewis 2015a: 170), Meltem’s veiling is ‘inauthentic’, as it is imposed. Moreover, how Meltem feels about the veil remains unknown to me since she did not make the connection during the interview and it was not possible to ask this directly at the time. However, I wonder whether these minor, but constant, infractions are connected to her starting to cover her head or if there was any other influence. One of Meltem’s daughters, whom I  interviewed for this research, is Havva, a 17-year-old university student. Havva had begun wearing the veil on her own accord two years before the interview. Meltem’s older daughter, on the other hand, does not wear the veil, but performs daily prayers occasionally. Havva regularly attends Gülen sohbets and stays in a Gülen student house in Istanbul. While at home with their family members, both Havva and Meltem are not veiled. Meltem said that, unlike herself, Havva is much more careful about tesettür. For instance, if a doorbell rings, Meltem sometimes opens the door without knowing who is at the door (whether a family member, a female friend or a male stranger) or dressing properly (for instance, covering her hair and wearing appropriate clothes in case the person in front of the door is a male stranger and she is wearing 162

The Body and Space short-sleeved tops or short trousers). However, unlike her mother, Havva puts a scarf on, and, if necessary, also a jacket. This difference, according to Meltem, derives from the fact that Havva started to wear the veil on her own accord whereas Meltem’s father forced Meltem to wear the veil. This demonstrates that there is a causal connection between a woman’s route to veiling and the degree of her observance and the care she takes over veiling practices. Thus, in order for repetitive bodily practices to be internalised, and therefore produce the inner self or Muslim virtues (e.g. modesty and shyness), and for the inner self to be synchronised with outward behaviours (see Mahmood 2005), these practices need to be performed by means of inner desire and freewill rather than coercion. Asude, Nisa and Pembe talked about their veiling decisions and their experiences of switching to a veiled identity. Asude is a 31-year-old Gülenist, and holds a BA degree. She is a homemaker, married with two children and lives in Ankara. Asude began wearing the veil at the age of 20 in 2002. Another Gülen informant, Nisa (female, 38), at the time of the interview in November 2013, had been wearing the veil for 13 years. Pembe began to wear the veil in 2004 at the age of 22, shortly after getting married to Necati (male, 29, Menzil). All three informants, Asude, Nisa and Pembe, mentioned that when they began to wear the veil, in the first few years they had difficulties in finding and choosing ‘proper’ clothing for tesettür, and combining items with each other and with a scarf. While Asude is now confident about choosing and donning proper outfits, Nisa and Pembe still struggle with selecting clothing that is in line with tesettür. Nisa usually goes shopping with her husband because, she said, as a man her husband can easily detect details that are not in line with tesettür, but which escape her notice. This underlines the male control over the female body and sexuality. Based upon the assumption of male superiority inherent in patriarchal traditions and interpretations of religion in Turkey and elsewhere, Nisa’s husband is involved in the regulation and monitoring of her body and bodily practices. Thus, the ‘veiled’ (or ‘pious’) body is more open to the policing of men (Gökarıksel 2009) and, as explained in the previous section, also women. In addition to clothing and veiling, Pembe also found communicating with new ‘observant’ people difficult since she was not raised Islamically, in an observant family. According to her, this is 163

Faith and Fashion in Turkey also the reason why she does not conform completely to the tesettür rules of her community: Before getting married, I would go out with halter neck, spaghetti strap dresses on. I would wear flip-flops. I mean it’s a very different position. I should say I am in a very different position. … At the beginning, I found it very difficult, especially in terms of clothing. And I had difficulties in communicating in the environments I was introduced to.

One veiling tradition, common in Turkey, is that when a woman gets married, she begins covering her hair for several reasons, such as her husband’s or his family’s wishes, or concerns about the larger social environment. Veiling upon marriage may signify a woman’s married status, as well as piety, morality, and the dominant and protecting role of the husband (and also his family), thereby granting social status to him in his family and social circles. This veiling tradition is similar to the OrthodoxJewish practice of women covering their hair when married, symbolising her belonging to a man, the sight of her hair being reserved for her husband, and therefore a signifier of the couple’s intimacy (Seigelshifer and Hartman 2011).7 However, unlike in Orthodox Judaism, this is not a religious rule or a community convention, but a tradition that can be observed throughout the country among different ethnic groups and across different socioeconomic levels. One of the interviews referred to this tradition. In November 2013, I attended a Friday meeting of the Gülen community (led by a female teacher from the community who recited some passages from the Qur’an and said prayers) in a clothing workshop/showroom owned by my Gülen informant Nisa’s family, in Fatih, Istanbul. There were 11 women, three of whom did not wear the veil, but covered their hair for the meeting, and the female teacher. After the sohbet, Nisa and I went to the neighbouring workshop/showroom of another sohbet participant (whom I call Emine here) for coffee. Emine is not veiled and, although she is not a Gülenist, she sometimes attends their Friday meetings when they are held in neighbouring stores. Here Nisa explained that, before her, no woman in her family was veiled (Nisa’s mother began to wear the veil in 2008), 164

The Body and Space whereas most women from her husband’s family are veiled. She told Emine and me about her decision to wear the veil: Nisa: … when we went shopping for the engagement bundle [consisting of clothes and accessories exchanged between two parties], my sister-inlaw said, ‘We have to buy a scarf, too’. My mother says, ‘My daughter is not veiled, why are you buying a scarf?’ Emine: No dear, it’s a custom in Thrace, brides [whether they are veiled or not] get scarves. Nisa: Right, that’s exactly what she said. Nazlı: Are you from Thrace? Nisa: No, I’m not. I’m a Laz [an ethnic group from the coastal regions of north-eastern Turkey], from Artvin [a city in north-eastern Turkey], but my husband is from Thrace. Naturally, they [her husband’s family] want everything in the bundle, but my mother says no, you cannot. And when we came back home she went crazy. She told me things like ‘They will make you cover your hair, how can you accept this and marry him?’ Nazlı: But, you decided to wear the veil as your husband wished. Nisa: No, I  didn’t start veiling because my husband wished so. On the contrary, he thought that since I  wasn’t conscious [about veiling] I would soon get bored and unveil. I started veiling by standing against him. Well, he said, ‘if you start wearing the veil, I won’t let you unveil’. ‘Everybody knows and accepts you as you are [non-veiled]’. But, when I got pregnant, I said, no, I’ll wear the veil. Because, umm, I wanted my child to be on this side, not the other one. Because, for me, the other side was the wrong one. That’s why I decided to wear the veil. Ahenk finds ‘modest’ clothing styles distasteful. She said that since she cannot find any modest clothing and veiling style that is modern and reflects her identity, she does not wear the veil. Thus, she criticises the veiling practice on the basis of individual freedom; however, this is not freedom from (religious) patriarchy, it is rather freedom in aesthetic and stylistic choices. Seçil, a close friend of Ahenk, criticised Ahenk’s motivation for not wearing the veil. According to Seçil, one does not wear the veil to be fashionable or to look adorable, but to conform to Islamic teachings to fulfil God’s commands (Allah rızası). Seçil was also not veiled for most 165

Faith and Fashion in Turkey of her life – at the time of the interview she had only been wearing the veil for just over a year. After graduating from elementary school (around the age of 12–13), Seçil received religious education for a year and a half to memorise the Qur’an (in Arabic), and began wearing the veil. After completing her religious studies, she began to work in a hair salon and to attend an evening art school to receive a certificate in hairdressing. Back when she was a student, veiling was banned at schools but not in her workplace. However, as it was not comfortable for her to work in the veil, she also took it off in the workplace, even among male colleagues. Therefore, she decided to de-veil because she thought staying unveiled among men in the workplace and covering her hair outside would be insincere. Seçil mentioned that she had considered quitting her job because she thought that not covering her hair would weaken her faith (spirituality). However, she said, in order to acquire a profession and thereby become independent, she, in her own words, ‘had resigned herself to this’. Thus, as the narratives of my informants reveal, there are different understandings and experiences of veiling, non-veiling, unveiling, de-veiling and re-veiling. These narratives illustrate that Islamic dress, including clothing and veiling, means different things to different women. In addition, the meanings and practices of Islamic dress change over the course of women’s lives. Therefore, as Lewis notes, ‘pragmatic options for achieving social or geographical mobility’ and changes in women’s lifecycles, such as having children, aging and getting a new job, can be influential in their veiling, non-veiling, de-veiling or re-veiling choices (2013: 3).

Masculinities and Femininities: In the Turkish Muslim Context and in the Faith-Inspired Communities Religious and political debates about gender in Islam, both in Muslim and non-Muslim contexts, have largely concentrated on women and women’s issues, such as veiling and (the lack of) women’s rights. However, as Leila Ahmed (1992) has demonstrated, the oppressive practices towards women that have come to be identified with Islam are, in fact, the patriarchal interpretations of Islam. Patriarchy and Islam are intertwined and deeply 166

The Body and Space rooted in everyday lives in Turkey. An illustration of this is male circumcision.8 This is an Islamic practice which is not obligatory but highly recommended (i.e. regarded as a Sunnah) while nevertheless not being specific to religious families. Instead, it is a widespread cultural generic which signifies the promotion from childhood to manhood. All male Muslim children are circumcised, generally at a point between birth and adolescence, regardless of their family’s level of devotion, and this surgical procedure is usually celebrated with relatives and friends as a day or a two-day party.9 Circumcision is commonly understood as a ‘condition’ of manliness, therefore, it is never questioned, and questioning it equals challenging manliness, which can imperil the superior position of masculinity. Thus, not only pious Muslims but also non-practising Muslims and even atheists perform this religious practice. In addition to patriarchal interpretations of Islam, traditional family structure and gendered division of labour and space (for example, man as the breadwinner in the public and women as the homemaker and child carer in the private), one important institution involved in the construction, reconstruction, dissemination and maintenance of the patriarchal order in Turkey is the state in terms of its policies and discourses (see Kandiyoti 2016). For example, the motivation of the early republican era’s modernisation reforms related to women’s rights was mainly to create a modern image of the state and society rather than to challenge the patriarchal structure and prioritise the emancipation of women (Arat 1994). An illustration for this is women’s suffrage. Whilst the regime restrained women’s movements and closed down women’s organisations, such as the Kadınlar Halk Fırkası (People’s Party of Women), which was founded in 1923 for the political and social rights of women, the first political party of the Turkish Republic (see Zihnioğlu 2003), it granted suffrage to women in 1934 through a constitutional amendment. Despite its great emphasis on the secularity of the state and the secularisation of society, the Kemalist modernisation project selectively employed religious values and discourses, and defined the military and conscription as sacred (Kemerli 2015). The military has probably become the secular regime’s most prominent institution to be identified with popular Islamic veneration (and, ironically, with the protection of the secular 167

Faith and Fashion in Turkey regime). This veneration includes the honorific religious idioms, such as gazi (a warrior who has fought for Islam) and şehit (religious martyr), and colloquial names given to conscription, i.e. vatan borcu (the debt to the country) and to the Turkish military, e.g. peygamber ocağı (the home of the prophet [Mohammed]).10 Since 1927 military service has been obligatory for all male Turkish citizens and ‘codified in the Turkish constitution as both a right and duty of citizenship’ (ibid.: 284). Conscription serves as proof of heterosexuality, health and maturity, and positions men with these characteristics as superior to others who are exempt from conscription, such as women, children, homosexuals, the handicapped or over/ underweight people. Studies on masculinities in Turkey largely focus on conscription and emphasise the military as a powerful institution that creates and maintains hegemonic masculinity (see Biricik 2008, Sancar 2009, Selek 2010). In different cultures, masculinity is constructed and experienced differently. In addition, there exist different forms of masculinity within the same culture. The framework of hegemonic masculinity emphasises and helps analyse the plurality and hierarchy of masculinities. Accordingly, only a minority of men can enact hegemonic masculinity while all other men position themselves in relation to this minority group of men who embody ‘the currently most honoured way of being a man’ (Connell and Messerschmidt 2005:  832). Hegemonic masculinity dominates not only women but also three other alternative masculinities, which are subordinated, complicit and marginalised (Carrigan et  al. 1985, Connell 2005). Subordinated masculinities include gay and other masculine forms, which are judged ‘in negative or feminine-like’ ways, such as mother’s boy, jellyfish and four-eyes, and are expelled from the legitimate area (Connell 2005: 79). Complicit masculinity refers to men who neither accommodate nor challenge hegemonic masculinity. Marginalised masculinities derive from ‘the interplay of gender with other structures such as class and race’ (ibid.: 80). It is important to note that hegemonic masculinity is not the only form of masculinity that benefits from patriarchy. In fact, all forms of masculinities have a patriarchal dividend, though to different degrees. Hegemonic masculinity is the variety with the highest level of patriarchal power (ibid.). 168

The Body and Space In the early years of the Turkish Republic (1923–1946), the features of hegemonic masculinity reflected the characteristics of its elite class that favoured the modernisation and secularisation of the state through numerous reforms, such as the hat law. These included having served in the army, wearing western clothes and hats, attending social activities such as concerts and balls with women, and asking women to dance (for European dances, such as the waltz, of course; Göle 1991, 1997b). The aim of the new state was to westernise all male citizens with European styles and behaviours. Such ‘desired’ looks were disseminated through media images in order to encourage voluntary adoption (for instance, through Ülkü, a weekly). In addition, the state-sponsored ‘People’s Houses’, which were established throughout the country and offered several branches of activity, such as language and literature, fine arts, sports and adult education, were the places to acquire such characteristics. This example demonstrates how, in the development and maintenance of masculinities, both discourses and practices are employed. The prevalent form of hegemonic masculinity in Turkey has significantly altered under AKP governance (2002 to the present). Prior to 2002, displaying one’s religious identity, for example by wearing a suit without a tie or by performing religious practices, particularly those within working hours, such as going to a Friday prayer during the lunch break, were considered backward and a threat to the secular regime. As a result, pious individuals tended to moderate or hide such religious practices. However, under AKP governance, individuals with pious identities have increasingly gained access to state power and become visible in the ‘secular’ public spaces. Consequently, religious appearances and practices have quietly lost their threatening and stigmatising meanings, and become much more widely accepted (though, as I  discussed in Chapter Three, this statement needs qualification), and have been imitated more and more by individuals who aspire to belong to this dominant group of men. This is an example of the dynamic nature of hegemonic masculinity, which changes over time and is contingent on broader historical processes. Though, in order to thoroughly understand men and masculinities within a specific culture, we need to explore the role and presence of women in this context (Brod 1994), and consider men’s responses to changes in women’s lives (Segal 1990). 169

Faith and Fashion in Turkey Islamic views of women in Turkey differ among different Islamic agents such as Alevis, Sunnis, Islamists and Islamic feminists. However, the common roles attached to women by most Sunni Muslims include motherhood and being caretakers of the family, and the house is regarded as the woman’s place. The common belief is that male and female fıtrats are different, and therefore men and women cannot be equal and cannot serve the same functions (Kandiyoti 2015). The rationale behind this, in addition to fıtrat, is concern about a decrease in marriage and birth rates (Bayındır 2012). Even though there are some observant Muslims and also Islamists who approve of women’s paid employment outside the home (Ayata and Tütüncü 2008), unwaged work through women’s active involvement in charitable organisations and volunteer work, and participation in cultural activities such as embroidery classes, are common among observant Muslims and Islamists. Some scholarly works on women in Islamic/Islamist movements in Turkey view these movements as opportunity spaces for social and political mobilisation and for empowerment of women (Göle 2000, 2003, White 2002). According to Göle, these movements can be regarded as struggles for control of cultural models and, arguably, can contribute to the emancipation of observant women by means of creating social spaces where these women can ‘participate in public life, organise meetings, publish articles, establish associations and abandon the private domestic sphere and its traditionally defined roles’ (2000:  99). Consequently, women’s activities within Islamic/Islamist movements, in addition to the veil, enable them to enter public life and challenge patriarchal traditions (Arat 2005, Göle 1991, White 2002). For instance, Islamist women’s activities, including face-toface propaganda through home visits and ladies’ meetings, allow women to leave their homes and neighbourhoods, and to socialise (Arat 2005, Tuğal 2009b, 2009c). Other works have revealed the presence and (re)production of traditional gender roles within these movements (Turam 2007). Women’s mobility and public participation remain at the local and horizontal levels, and their activities hardly or never provide any economic benefits to them (ibid.: 130, Arat 2005, Tuğal 2009a). Turam shows that many female members of the Gülen community are often isolated in the private sphere 170

The Body and Space and are mostly involved in housekeeping and child rearing. Some Gülenist women participate in the public sphere. However, they do this through forms of unpaid work, badly paid and voluntary work, or activities that are characterised as being within the traditional female spheres of nurturing, caring and supporting, for instance teaching in community-affiliated schools, and educational advising and moral supervision in the community’s student houses (2007: 120). Women who are actively involved in public life are not Gülen members, but are outsiders, who are deliberately brought together by the community to shape public opinion, and to thereby dilute hostilities and overcome the bias of both secular and other Islamic/Islamist agents and institutions (ibid.: 116). Consequently, in the Gülen community, ‘women reproduce, nurture and mother, while men deal with worldly matters and earn money’ (ibid.: 125). Moreover, studies on Islamic/Islamist movements in Turkey demonstrate that, while some women challenge the patriarchal structure of the family, society and their religious movements, most of them, like the men in those movements, believe that women should occupy roles as wives and mother and remain in the private sphere (Aldıkaçtı-Marshall 2005, Turam 2007). The findings of my fieldwork illustrate that the traditional gender division of labour and women’s unpaid employment, intrinsic to Turkish society, resonate in the community fields. In all three communities, those who (can) occupy managerial positions (such as leadership of a certain geographical division of the community) and those who provide financial support for community activities (for instance, donating products to be sold at charity sales of the communities and arranging a place, such as a storage room) are mostly men. Women are often involved with activities that are traditionally defined as ‘feminine’, such as cooking and sewing, and which are not financially beneficial and, therefore, do not generate economic capital. Men’s activities, however, empower them both socially and financially, and allow them to acquire and transform different species of capital in the community fields. The profiles of my female informants have much in common with broader gender trends in employment in Turkey, in which women’s employment rates remain much lower than men’s.11 In addition, their activities within their communities reflect the arguments of the works referred to 171

Faith and Fashion in Turkey above. Among 21 female informants, five work outside home: Berna (36, Menzil) is a nurse, and four other women are self-employed. Seçil (34, Menzil) is a hair-dresser and owns her own hair salon, while three other women, Kadriye (30, Süleymanlı), Ahenk (33, Menzil) and Nisa (38, Gülen) work in their family businesses. Two other informants, Aylin (22, Menzil) and Havva (17, Gülen), are university students. The other 14 informants are homemakers and, as I explain below, some of them take active roles in their communities. The Menzil community has ‘community houses’ all over the country, which are used for the community’s social and religious meetings. Some Menzil houses have tailoring shops where Menzil women work voluntarily. One of my Menzil informants, Fatma (female, 42), works in the tailor shop of a Menzil house located in a town in western Turkey. Fatma said that, since she does not know how to sew well, she only does ironing. The shop serves community members and non-members, and generates money for the community. Pembe (female, 31, Menzil) had tops and skirts made to measure by this workshop, and Ahenk bought two long dresses to wear for daily prayers. At the time of the interview, Sümbül was the head of her community’s charity sales organisation in her town. I visited a Süleymanlı female-student dormitory with her in August 2013. In the kitchen of the dormitory, there was a group of Süleymanlı women making mantı (dumplings). Sümbül explained to me that Süleymanlı women gather to prepare some food a few days a week. They prepare foods such as tomato paste, marmalade, tarhana (traditional instant soup) and erişte (noodles). These products are sold in community dormitories and at charity sales to generate money for the Süleymanlı. I met Sümbül again in September 2014 at a workshop where a group of Süleymanlı women were making preparations for a Süleymanlı charity sale (Figure 4.3). The place was originally a store, located at the entrance of an apartment building. Sümbül said that the owner of the place, a Süleymanlı businessman, had offered it for the community’s use for free. She added that almost all the machines, tools and materials (such as sewing machines, iron, ironing board, fabrics and threads) in the workshop as well as products stocked to sell at a charity sale (such as shoes and bags) were donated by Süleymanlı businessmen and shopkeepers. On the other hand, Süleymanlı women mostly contributed to the community through their manual labour. At the time of my 172

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Figure  4.3 A Süleymanlı woman preparing for a Süleymanlı charity sale. September 2014. Photo: Nazlı Alimen. 

visit, there were three other Süleymanlı women in addition to Sümbül sewing and embroidering bedding sets for new-borns. In November 2014, I visited a Süleymanlı charity sale in the yard of a mosque in Izmir, built with the donations of a Süleymanlı member. The mosque, like most if not all mosques in the country, is administered by the Directorate of Religious Affairs. Next to the mosque, there is a building serving as the venue for a Süleymanlı Qur’an course and a dormitory for male students. The local Süleymanlı community organises a charity sale twice a year in the yard of this mosque. Like other Süleymanlı spaces, the layout of the charity sale was gender segregated. Across the entrance, there was a small tent which was the ‘women’s area’, where Süleymanlı women were selling hand-made or hand-embroidered scarves and home textiles, such as towels, prayer mats and tablecloths (Figure 4.4), and homemade food, such as tarhana and marmalade. Most of these homemade and handmade goods were produced by Süleymanlı women, while the materials, such as fabrics and flour, were donated by Süleymanlı men – shopkeepers and businessmen. Thus, as these examples show, women’s labour in the community fields is viewed as an extension of women’s ‘regular’, ‘daily’ tasks, including chores and ‘feminine’ activities, such as crocheting, and thereby considered insignificant. 173

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Figure  4.4 A Süleymanlı charity sale held in November 2014 in the yard of a mosque. Photo: Nazlı Alimen. 

Visibilities and Invisibilities of ‘Muslim’ Women and Men: In the Turkish Context and Community Fields Whether locally or globally, Muslim women are portrayed as those who veil, whether with a chador, burqa, or a scarf, and are represented in political and media discourses as if they are in need of saving (AbuLughod 2013, Razack 2005). The veil, in this respect, ‘functions like a race, a marker of essential difference’, and veiled Muslim identity is prone to stereotyping and biased readings (cooke 2007:  140). cooke argues that the collective identification of Muslim women has resulted in the formation of a new identity, the ‘Muslimwoman’, which intertwines gender and religion. The Muslimwoman refers to an ‘imposed identification the individual may or may not choose for herself ’ (ibid.:  140). In addition, the Muslimwoman identity includes visibly Muslim women and even extends to non-veiled Muslim women (ibid.:  140). According to cooke (2007), Muslim women are labelled as such by outside forces including nonMuslims and Islamist men. As I  argue below, not only Islamist men, in other words, Muslim male proponents of political Islam, but also Muslim men in general tend to employ this categorisation, thereby reifying and 174

The Body and Space alienating Muslim women, and constructing and controlling the ‘ideal’ Muslim female identity. With the global spread of Islamic revivalism, starting in the 1970s, veiling has become a symbol of (observant) female Muslim identity, whereas, unlike in the period prior to the 1980s, non-veiled Muslim women have come to be referred to as secular or as less observant or as inadequately so (Ahmed 2011). In Turkey, some pious Muslims, especially men, hold this belief, and therefore the veiled Muslim woman is the one who must be ‘compliant (with authorities in family and society)’ (Badran 2008: 101) and protected by and from men (or, to be precise, the male gaze). Nonetheless, ‘not all Muslim women veil, devout as they may consider themselves to be’ (Fawzia Ahmad 2008:  100). For instance, Ahenk, one of my female informants from the Menzil community, does not veil. However, since the veil has become the primary identity of Muslim women, non-veiled Muslim women have become outsiders from within, and how they ‘negotiate their faith, lives, and real-life duties’ has been largely unheard (ibid.). Moreover, some veiled women also employ the categorisation, ‘Muslim women as the veiled women’. For example, my Süleymanlı informant Burcu said that it would be difficult to take tights off and put them on for performing ablution, especially when outside (such as visiting friends). She added that one would feel cold as she takes her tights off. Therefore, according to her, tights would be proper for ‘non-veiled’ women whom she implies are ‘non-practising’ or ‘non-observant’ because they are ‘not wearing the veil’: Usually it is more practical to wear leggings and pull them up to the knees [for ablution]. With tights, how can I say, you need to be non-veiled, I mean. You will wear them; your legs will be naked. I mean, it’s winter.

Consequently, the creation of an essentialist category of Muslim women as those who wear the veil is a threat to all Muslim women. Therefore, veiled or non-veiled, Muslim women need to open up this categorisation (as well as the stigmatisation of veiling or non-veiling) into a discussion and deconstruct it. Moreover, as I underline in this book, there is a need to extend the scholarship on Muslim men and Islamic masculinities. In order 175

Faith and Fashion in Turkey to critically explore the construction and presentation of male Muslim identities at individual and community levels, I concentrate on discourses and practices regarding men’s clothing, headwear and facial hair in Turkey, and analyse my informants’ narratives regarding these issues. Some Hadith associate Muslim men’s headwear with both mundane and divine meanings, such as leadership and eternity, and regard a Muslim man wearing headgear as superior (Chico 2000). Historically in Muslim societies, men have worn brimless headwear that allows their forehead to touch the ground in the course of praying, thus ensuring that they do not need to take it off for prayer (Baker 1986). In the Ottoman era, the colour, shape and embroidery of a man’s accessories (such as a belt and his headgear) could signal his membership of a certain tarikat (Sufi order) in public. For instance, the Arabic letter, aliph (‫)ا‬, or a similar form embellished on a sarık signified the Naqshbandi tarikat, while members of the Kadiriyye tarikat donned belts decorated with a certain number of little metal hoops and wore sarıks that had embroidery in the shape of an oil-lamp (Atasoy 2005). Such embodied practices, therefore, both created in-group identities within a tarikat and differentiated members of the tarikat from those of other tarikats as well as those not belonging to tarikats. The hat law and the dress reform (introduced in 1925 and 1934, respectively) largely eliminated the wearing of religious clothes and headwear, and limited it to religious officers employed by the Directorate of Religious Affairs (as a uniform worn on duty). In the following decades, as a result of socio-political changes involving religion and religious practices, these religiously related garments and accessories, like women’s veils, have become stigmatised in the social sphere. Consequently, men’s publicly visible clothing and headgear are limited to fundamentalist religious groups, such as the İsmailağa community. In the Süleymanlı and Menzil communities, men wear ‘religiouslyrelated’ clothing and headgear only in the private sphere, including homes and community spaces. Two Menzil informants, İsa (male, 36) and Necati (male, 29), underlined the importance of performing salat with a takke, and stated that they wear takkes while praying, either at home or in mosques. Necati also mentioned that at the hatme meetings of the Menzil 176

The Body and Space community, men have to wear a takke. He added that takkes are distributed at hatme meetings to those who have recently joined the circle or who forgot to bring one from home, and they are reminded to bring their own for future meetings. Unlike Süleymanlı men (who use navy-coloured takkes), Menzil members use takkes in any colour because the colour does not have any particular meaning in their community. However, in order not to be considered a Süleymanlı, they avoid wearing navy-coloured takkes in public spaces, such as mosques. What constitutes Muslim identity is the interaction and blend of the personal and societal, of the religious tradition and socio-political context (Yavuz 2003). According to Necati, wearing a sarık and cübbe (a long and loose robe) would be in line with takva; however, they would be alienating in the social sphere, especially for a tradesman like himself. Therefore, Necati said, he accommodates himself to social clothing codes in order not to be alienated by his (potential) customers. Similarly, a Süleymanlı informant, Suat (male, 56), referred to cübbe and sarık as ‘religiously proper’ outfits for men, and çarşaf for women. However, Suat added that Süleymanlı men (just as Süleymanlı women do not wear çarşaf, a stigmatised outfit; see Chapter Two) do not wear cübbe and sarık because these outfits stand out in the public space and symbolise radical Islam in Turkey; hence the wearers are considered threatening and dangerous. Suat concluded that by wearing socially acceptable and ordinary outfits such as shirts and trousers, members of the Süleymanlı community do not attract attention. According to Suat, this is the reason that the military coups did not harm their community. Nonetheless, like two Süleymanlı hocabeys, Ali (male, 32)  and Osman (male, 28), Suat wears a sarık and cübbe while performing salats in the ‘private sphere’ – at home and in Süleymanlı spaces, such as dormitories. All three noted that wearing a sarık is not a practice that is specific to their community, but is a Sunnah, and explained the reason for them doing this only in the private sphere: Ali: We wear a sarık while performing salat, we wear it at home. We can wear it both at home and at the dormitory. That’s because it is a Sunnah. Osman: But we don’t declare ‘[wearing a] sarık is a Sunnah’. Umm, it has no political [Islamist] connotations. 177

Faith and Fashion in Turkey Ali: It has no connection to the community, because it is a Sunnah … It’s a Sunnah, so, of course, we wear it at home. I mean while performing salat at home, at the dormitory. If we stroll around with a sarık, people will perceive us differently, perceive Islam differently. This era cannot bear it I mean. Nazlı: I see. Because it is not in accord with our times. Ali: It is said that ‘the ones who don’t know science and politics of their era cannot serve Islam’. So, that’s why, this attitude is important. I try to perform all the salats that I perform at home with a sarık and cübbe. … Because pyjamas and such stuff are worn at home, it covers pyjamas. I  mean it’s a good thing. Because you wear a cübbe, you don’t need to dress in a presentable way. … Because there is a difference of degree between a salat performed with a sarık and one performed without a sarık. In order to achieve that difference of degree, we use the sarık as an extra. As there is a difference of 27 degrees between a salat performed with a cemaat [a prayer group/congregation], the degree increases [with a sarık], in order to increase the degree. … But it’s not a symbol of the community. (Suat) The Menzil-affiliated corporation, Semerkand, offers special headwear for men, called şapke, which is a combination of the first syllable of the word ‘şapka’ (which refers to a Western-style headwear in Turkish) and the last syllable of ‘takke’ (prayer cap). As its name shows, ‘şapke’ is a hybrid product that resembles both a brimless baseball cap and a takke (see Figure 2.2). However, none of my Menzil male informants had a şapke. During my fieldwork, I visited several Menzil spaces, both individual and community, in different towns and cities, but I came across only one şapke wearer, who was strolling in a shopping mall in Izmir in September 2013. In addition, most male members of the community, including my informants, do not wear these or other religiously related garments, in the private and public sphere, except takkes (prayer caps) during prayers. Moreover, İsa told me that, in addition to Menzil leaders, those studying at the community medrese in Menzil town wear sarıks and other traditional or religiously related garments, such as şalvar and cübbe. However, he added, while going to ‘high-security’ areas such as airports, the community leader in Menzil 178

The Body and Space town, Abdülbâki Erol, does not wear a sarık, but a takke or another brimless headwear: İsa: Those who come from the family lineage of our prophet, those who always live in this [devout] way … umm, those who are studying at the medrese … those who accumulate Islamic knowledge, the students there [in Menzil], [they] wear it [sarık]. If they want, they can wear a şalvar, a cübbe … Nazlı: When outside? İsa: When outside, there are no rules … For example, those studying to become Islamic scholars, what they do is, they wear a suit, or normal … Nazlı: A tie? İsa: They do not wear a tie, I  mean, usually not … Or, there are abis [senior/superior members] who are responsible for the magazines [of the community], working in offices and similar places, they wear ties. I mean, there is no problem for them, they can wear a tie. Nazlı: … those [Menzil men], except the personnel, they can dress as they want, I mean, there is no constraint? İsa: No, there is not. For example, our leader [in Menzil], while going to an airport, or travelling abroad, he does not wear a sarık. He wears a takke, or he has hats, so he wears a hat. What I mean by hat is not something like a fedora [or any other Western-style hat]. … Nazlı: Perhaps, it is for covering his head … in order not to be bareheaded … İsa: Most probably, yes. I don’t know what he thinks about this matter, but he does not wear a sarık, for example, while going to an airport. Wearing western attire (such as suits or classic jackets and trousers with or without a tie) is a widespread practice in Turkey among men from a variety of different backgrounds, whether Islamic or secular, right-winger or left-winger. However, a man’s thin and well-trimmed moustache as well as loose trousers can indicate his religious and political stance as a right-winger/Islamist and observant Muslim. On the other hand, as more and more Islamic/Islamist men from younger generations, especially those in their early 20s to late 30s (except those from the Süleymanlı community), follow men’s fashion trends, their bodily appearances have 179

Faith and Fashion in Turkey become both diversified and also different from those of older generations. Younger Islamic/Islamist men don western attire as their elders do. However, rather than classic forms, they follow men’s fashions, such as skinny and cropped trousers matched with loafers without socks, and dress accordingly. Some of them also grow a moustache, although this is not the thin and well-trimmed one adopted by Islamic/Islamist men in Turkey. Instead, they prefer fashionable styles, such as the bushy moustache, which covers the upper lip and descends approximately two to three centimetres on both sides of the mouth, worn by the actor Burak Özçivit (see Alimen 2018). This shows that there might be differences in the appearance of Muslims at the same time period among different generations. But the intergenerational differences among Islamic/Islamist women may not be as significant as those among men due to the visibility of the veil, irrespective of what the rest of their outfit looks like, in the public sphere. A full beard, which is another common signifier of the pious identity and is grown traditionally by older men in Turkey, has become fashionable and widespread among some young Islamic/Islamist men in the 2010s, especially with the ‘hipster’ trend (Alimen 2018). This illustrates that there might also be similarities in the appearance of Muslims at the same time period among different generations. However, ‘trendy’ beard styles worn by younger men would not be read as an indicator of a pious identity. The appearances of Islamic/Islamist men from younger and older generations, even though they both wear western attire and grow a beard, reflect different identities. Whereas older men with beards and loose trousers belong to the Islamic category, younger men’s appearance, with such items as skinny shirts and trousers, do not reflect an ideological standpoint or religious piety, but indicate that they are fashion conscious individuals. The most sensitive topic during the interviews was the question about facial hair, specifically moustaches, that I addressed to my male informants. Many of them did not welcome these questions and were uncomfortable or displeased. These reactions can be explained in two ways. First, as a woman, I crossed the invisible line and entered the male territory. The facial hair issue, more particularly the moustache, was probably not one to 180

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Figure 4.5 An anti-Erdoğan poster right after the Gezi protests, in Beşiktaş Çarşı, Istanbul. On the right side of the drawing, it reads ‘Moustache moustache, dreary moustache, moustache moustache’. August 2013. Photo: Nazlı Alimen. 

be discussed with a woman. The second point was related to the negative connotations associated with a moustache in general, such as non-modern and rural, but more importantly, a specific moustache style  – the ‘welltrimmed moustache’, which is stigmatised as Islamic/Islamist. This moustache style and also its wearer are pejoratively called badem bıyık (almond moustache), and men wearing thin and well-trimmed moustaches are labelled as backward and bigoted and/or wanting to overthrow the secular regime and declare an Islamic state ruled by shariah (Islamic law). Thus, as noted by Bromberger, ‘the practices relating to hair are indeed used as distinctive signs to emphasize the gap between neighbouring associations or groups, or as an essential element to identify oneself or to caricature others’ (2008: 386; see Figure 4.5). In addition to the veiling ban in the public sphere, men’s facial hair was regulated with the introduction of a ‘Dress and Appearance Regulation’ in 1982 by the military regime. This regulation prohibited civil servants (including MPs), while on duty in public agencies, offices and institutions, and university students, while on the premises of universities, from wearing certain clothes or displaying certain bodily styles. Women were not allowed to wear headscarves, mini-skirts, or low-necked dresses. Men were banned from wearing beards and sideburns, or having long hair. The ban on the beard ‘elicited a reaction from among left-wing intellectuals’, but it was not considered ‘a secularist measure against a mark of Islam’ (Çınar 2005: 186). 181

Faith and Fashion in Turkey Moreover, the regulation specified the ‘acceptable’ moustache type and listed its details, which are similar to those of the ‘well-trimmed’ moustache: Men must shave every day and not grow a beard. A moustache can be grown, but it must not cover the upper lip. The hair on the top of the moustache must not be trimmed. The sides must be in line with the corners of the mouth and the ends must be trimmed by the lip line. (Dress and Appearance Regulation, Article 5)12

Following the shift away from the headscarf ban for public employees in October 2013, the country’s first ‘veiled’ judge was appointed in November 2015.13 This initiated a new phase in the debate on ‘the veil in public spaces’ among some secularists who regarded her veil as a religious symbol that would diminish the ‘objectivity’ of the judicial institution and trial process.14 However, as stated previously, men also display some clues to their political and religious identities, such as their moustache and rings. Nonetheless, a male judge’s bushy ‘communist’ moustache or a thin, well-trimmed moustache, or ring with the symbols of Turkish nationalism (such as the crescent and star, the grey wolf, and the coat of arms of the Ottoman Empire) would never raise such concerns. Consequently, while woman’s tesettür and tesettür practices are questioned by men and women, secularists and Islamists, non-practising and observant Muslims, in terms of political, social, religious and aesthetic concerns, man’s tesettür is overlooked and the appearance of observant Muslim men is never challenged. In terms of prohibition and stigmatisation, a man’s full beard has been equal to the veil in how it was understood as symbolising radical Islam or Islamism and indicating uncivilised, non-modern identities. Thus, until the ban was lifted in 2011, men with beards and women wearing the veil were denied entry to or had limited access to the military and higher education premises. Therefore, for the state, there existed both a ‘proper’ Muslim female and a ‘proper’ Muslim male identity. However, whilst my Süleymanlı informants Ali and Osman argued against the ban on veiling (see Chapter Three), they neglected the ban on beards in the public sphere. In addition, although the Turkish military also regulated observant male 182

The Body and Space Muslim identities through the description and control of ‘proper’ grooming, Ali and Osman, like most scholarship and public discussions on the Turkish state’s secular regulation of the body and bodily practices, did not mention this. Thus, Islamic/Islamist agents and institutions have defined their positions in the social world and developed arguments through veiling and veiled women. By voluntarily adopting the stigma symbol of the veil, veiled women deconstructed and reconstructed the definition and content of ‘modern’ and claimed their individual rights in the public sphere (Göle 2003, Sandıkçı and Ger 2010). However, observant men have avoided stigma symbols and, rather than challenging and resisting opinions and institutions, conformed to them as much as they could. For instance, in the late 1990s, as thin and well-trimmed moustaches began to be viewed as a symbol of Islamic/Islamist identity and therefore ridiculed, many observant men, including Gülenists, shaved off their moustaches. Moreover, as mentioned before, in the 2010s trendy facial hairstyles have spread among young observant men. Consequently, men enjoy more freedom to choose, and thereby usually prefer bodily appearances that do not reveal their observant Muslim and/or community identity. This, as explained in Chapter Three, allows them to enter and become players in different fields, such as the economic and bureaucratic fields, the religious field of (Sunni) Islam, and the field of education. As mentioned previously, Gülen’s declaration, ‘veiling is a secondary matter’, is regarded as a compromise that weakened veiled women’s resistance to the ban on veiling in the public sphere (Akbulut 2015, Turam 2007). Considering Gülen, Süleymanlı and Menzil men’s adjustment of their clothing and grooming practices in public, limiting the wearing of Islamic garments and headwear to private spaces, one can argue that they also debilitated veiled women’s resistance, probably not discursively, but through their practices. Overall, in order for men not to be alienated and stigmatised in the public sphere, the Islamic rules and community norms related to the male body and embodied practices are more easily adapted to current circumstances and embraced in the Gülen, Süleymanlı and Menzil communities. 183

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Conclusion In Islam, there is not a certain and steady distinction between sacred and mundane spaces, and the making of this distinction is not limited to (official) authorities of religion. Rather, individuals or faith-inspired communities can turn a mundane space into a sacred one permanently or temporarily, and attach sacred meanings to it. Moreover, the spaces of the Gülen, Süleymanlı and Menzil communities facilitate the formation of community identities through the dissemination and internalisation of a community habitus. Community spaces also construct and maintain territorial and social boundaries between community members and the others, thereby creating and sustaining community identities. Thus, as Holloway notes, ‘the sanctity of a space is corporeally enacted and physically enacted as sacred’ (2003: 1965; original emphasis). My ethnography has demonstrated that characteristics of a space are not always constant, but fluid, temporal and personal. For example, a veiled Muslim woman in her home can stay unveiled; however, as a stranger man enters, this ‘private’ space becomes a ‘public’ one and she is therefore expected to follow the relevant Islamic rules. This illustrates the instability of the distinction between public and private spaces. However, there are inconsistencies between rules and practices among members as regards their understandings of the characteristics of a space and related Islamic rules. For example, Pembe considers her home’s balcony as a ‘private’ space whereas Hürrem regards it as a ‘public’ space, and dresses there in line with tesettür. So, there are personal, inter-community and intra-community differences in women’s experiences of the veil and veiling practices. Moreover, as noted in Chapter Three, male family members exercise power over women to make them wear the veil. As shown in this chapter, those who were forced to wear the veil from an early age or those who were not raised in observant families and only began to cover their hair in adulthood are the least ‘contentious’ among my female informants about observing tesettür rules. This also shows that a family’s lifestyle and relationship with religion and religious practices can influence an individual throughout his/her life. Furthermore, Muslim women are not always ‘veiled’ women; there are also non-veiled and de-veiled religious women. For example, my non-veiled

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The Body and Space informant, Ahenk, in addition to performing obligatory worship, performs additional, mostly community-specific (such as hatme) prayers. Women’s tesettür is considerably more scrutinised than that of men within the religious field of Sunni Islam in Turkey. Within the Gülen, Süleymanlı and Menzil fields, religiously related clothing of men, such as the sarık, is mostly limited to the private sphere, including homes and community spaces. In addition, through diversified bodily practices and presentations, Gülen, Süleymanlı and Menzil members and personnel (can) eliminate marks that indicate observant and/or community-specific identities and thereby operate in different fields, such as the field of education. Nonetheless, it is mostly men who (are allowed to) perform such practices and presentations. Consequently, they can accumulate and transform different species of capital in different fields, and also avoid prejudgments and alienation from the public. This owes greatly to patriarchal traditions, deeply embedded in religion and society, depicting men as providers, breadwinners and protectors, and women as mothers, nurturers and creators of the home. As explained in this chapter, these traditions, that men and women are responsible for duties that are regarded as proper for their social and religious (i.e. fıtrat) positions, are deeply embedded in the community structures of the Gülen, Süleymanlı and Menzil. Thus, men undoubtedly accept and internalise their superior positions and different disciplinary measures of tesettür apply to men and women in society and within these communities. According to Foucault, ‘in any society, there are manifold relations of power which permeate, characterise and constitute the social body, and these relations of power cannot themselves be established, consolidated nor implemented without the production, accumulation, circulation and functioning of a discourse’ (1980: 93). Together with Chapter Three, this chapter revealed that by employing different discourses that are based on religious sources or are produced by religious/secularist agents and institutions, men imply their power over women and involve themselves in the regulation and surveillance of the female body and embodied practices, most notably tesettür. My ethnography has also revealed the women-towomen regulation and surveillance of the ‘proper’ female Muslim and community identities. 185

5 Fashion and Consumption

As I have illustrated in the previous chapters, not only religious rules and community norms but also members’ personal understandings of these rules as well as their everyday lives (e.g. jobs and having children) influence their practices related to the body. Individual differences at intra- and inter-community levels become more evident thanks to fashion and consumption. As Islamic/Islamist individuals and groups have become powerful and visible in the political and socioeconomic arenas in the 2000s, there has been an increase in the number and variety of goods and services targeted at them. This has enabled them to create different identities, adopt distinct lifestyles (Sandıkçı and Ger 2010), and experience and express the ‘good life’ through consumption. For instance, my Süleymanlı informant, Muharrem (male, 33) referred to shopping as a pastime and recreational activity for the Süleymanlı personnel: … we don’t smoke, we don’t have any bad habits. You see, our social life is not vivid … So, for us clothing is a little bit like a luxury, especially for the personnel. … Armine, Aker, Pierre Cardin, Vakko, Cacharel… all those popular brands among veiled women.

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Faith and Fashion in Turkey This chapter focuses on the bourgeoning modest fashion arena of Turkey by examining its relationship with the mainstream (secular) fashion arena and investigating the narratives of informants regarding fashion and consumption practices and the mainstream and modest fashion arenas. As I will argue, members of a certain faith-inspired community do not construct and present a single form of identity, but experience and express their collective identity differently through their affinity to particular fashion and consumption practices.

Religiously-Related Apparel Religiously-related commodities are not new to marketplaces of Muslim societies. Historically, the Turkish marketplace has offered numerous Islamic goods, such as prayer beads and mats, natural perfume oils and incenses, and copies of the Qur’an and other religious books. These goods have been shaped in accordance with the understandings and practices of Islam, which vary between different geographies and also between Sunni and Shi’i Islam. These understandings and practices, in turn, affect both individual needs and market offerings. An illustration of this is mests, special booties (Figure 5.1) for masah (which means running wet hands over

Figure 5.1 A traditional mest made of leather. Source: arslan-mest.blogspot.com.tr [Accessed 24 August 2017]. 

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Fashion and Consumption the head or feet during ablution). Mests are waterproof; therefore, they enable the wearer to perform masah, which is an alternative to feet washing, several times a day during ablution, especially in winter, without getting the feet wet. Mests have been found in the Turkish marketplace and used by both men and women for centuries (see Özdemir and Çelik 2013). However, while masah of the feet over mest is permissible in Sunni Islam, it is impermissible in Shi’i Islam and also in Alevism (see Korkmaz 2011). Therefore, the mest is a product that complies with a certain form of Islam, i.e. Sunni Islam, and that belongs to the religious field of Sunni Islam in Turkey. However, they are different from headscarves in two aspects. First, mests are worn not only by women but also by men. The traditional mest style (Figure 5.1) does not differ with respect to gender. Second, unlike headscarves, mests are worn for reasons of practicality, rather than to comply with the Islamic rules related to covering the ‘avret’. Mests keep the wearer’s feet warm, and provide for prayer readiness because they enable the wearer to perform ablution and daily prayers without a need to remove them. Mests are traditionally made of leather, either made-to-measure or mass-produced, and worn in private spaces as well as ‘clean’ public spaces where people remove shoes, such as mosques. While going outside the home or going to ‘dirty’, ‘polluted’ public spaces such as streets and stores, special overshoes are worn over mests. These shoes need to be in a larger size than the wearer’s actual shoe size since mests are thick. These overshoes can be made of leather, though, with the introduction of nylon and such manmade materials, plastic over shoes that serve as economical alternatives to the leather ones have become widespread (Figure 5.2). Therefore, overshoes offered in the marketplace are usually made of plastic. The use of these overshoes is limited to lower socioeconomic levels, and mostly elderly individuals. Plastic overshoes for mests are not fashionable or desirable items, particularly for individuals from higher socioeconomic levels, and so they wear mests only in private spaces, mostly in their homes, or with loose shoes/boots instead of plastic overshoes. Consequently, more people wear mests than overshoes. Similar to overshoes, mests made of synthetic leather are offered as cheaper alternatives. Recently, several firms in the Turkish marketplace 189

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Figure  5.2 A plastic overshoe. Source:  www.selkapar.net [Accessed 24 August 2017]. 

have developed high-tech mests, for instance, Fersah and Meshel.1 Hightech mests are waterproof and dry easily, and, unlike the traditional ones, are as thin as ordinary socks and so can be worn with any shoes. In providing for ease of use and comfort, they are similar to other high-tech ‘Islamic’ clothes and accessories. An illustration of this is Capsters. These are items of headwear made from stretchy polyester fabric; they meet Muslim women’s criteria of modesty, conform to the safety standards and material requirements of various sports activities, and possess a ‘modern’, trendy image (Tarlo 2010). On the other hand, mests differ from these high-tech ‘Islamic’ clothes and accessories with respect to place of use and purpose: mests are worn to keep the feet warm and for ease in performing religious duties, i.e. ablution and prayers, not to comply with Islamic rules related to covering the body parts. Thus, regardless of the presence or absence of another person or people, they can be worn both in private spaces such as the wearer’s house, and in ‘clean’ public spaces such as mosques. Two Süleymanlı informants, Suat (male, 56)  and Hürrem (female, 49), stated that they sometimes wear traditional mests, especially in winter; though, none of my informants wears high-tech mests. Technological developments lead not only to alterations and advancements in traditional market offerings but also to the emergence of new religiously-related commodities, such as ablution socks and tights for women. There are several brands, such as NBB, Blitz, Gülistan, Monsette 190

Fashion and Consumption and Dore. They have an opening on the front part of the feet, so that the wearer can pull them up. Two female informants from the Süleymanlı community, Sümbül and Burcu, talked about having tried ablution tights. However, neither found them practical and comfortable because of the closure on the sole. Instead, like all other female Süleymanlı informants, while going out they wear knee-high socks that are thick enough not to show the skin, and in winter combine socks with leggings. For Süleymanlı women, who always wear socks regardless of the weather, the socks-and-leggings combination in winter is a functional choice enabling warmth and practicality for ablution outside home as they need to remove only socks but not leggings. Another religiously-related clothing product in Turkey is haşema. This is a generic trademark referring to tesettür swimwear and includes swimming shorts for men that fall below the knee and swimming suits for women that come in two broad categories: one for mixed-gender environments, covering the whole body except the face, hands and feet, and another, for women-only environments, covering the body from the armpits to the knees.2 The choice of a haşema style is influenced by both the wearer’s personal taste and preferences, and his/her community’s interpretations of tesettür. The first haşema producer was a company called Haşema – an abbreviation (ha-şe-ma) of ‘hakiki şeriat mayosu’, meaning the real shariah swimwear. In addition to Haşema, there are other local companies producing modest swimwear with different brand names, such as İhvan, Tesmay and Adasea. Haşemas are fashionable swimwear with changing designs and colours every season. In addition, there are haşemas that allow the body to tan through the special high-tech fabric which absorbs up to 80 per cent of the ultraviolet light. Most of my female informants wear haşemas. None of them seek out haşemas with high-tech features or follow haşema fashion. However, while shopping for haşemas, they do pick colours and styles that they like. For my informants, haşema refers to a full tesettür swimsuit that covers the whole body except the face, hands and feet, rather than those which cover the body from the armpits to the knees. Therefore, haşema is a functional garment either for swimming or for socialising with family members and 191

Faith and Fashion in Turkey friends around mixed-gender pools or on mixed-gender beaches. Some, such as Didem (female, 29, Gülen), wear bikinis while visiting ladies-only beaches and pools. Another informant, Candan (female, 37, Menzil), wore a combination of a swimsuit with capri pants around the female-only pool and on the gender-segregated beach of Caprice (Islamic) Hotel since, in her words, ‘there is no problem among women as you cover [the area] between the armpits and the knees’. There are also men’s haşemas – swimming shorts below the knee, covering the avret for men. Since similar shorts are offered in the marketplace not only by haşema producers but also by mainstream brands, the male informants do not necessarily look or shop for haşemas. For instance, the last time İsa bought swimming shorts they were Nike. As this example illustrates, observant Muslim men are more likely to find ‘Islamically-proper’ outfits, unless they are looking for ‘Islamic’ clothes such as cübbe and sarık, in the mainstream market. This is why not only in Turkey but also in other Muslim majority and minority contexts religiously-related apparel products and fashions are mostly for (observant) Muslim women.

From Tesettürwear to the Modest Fashion Field Tesettürwear is a widely known phenomenon in Turkey, consisting of women’s wear only, such as overcoats, dresses, trousers and scarves, and therefore standing for ‘visibly Muslim women’s wear’. The tesettürwear sector began to form in the late 1980s and grew rapidly in the 1990s, with an increasing number of manufacturers and retailers. The sector evolved and expanded with the adoption of modern marketing and advertising strategies in addition to the shifting socio-political contexts and meanings attached to the veil and veiled women (Gökarıksel and Secor 2009, Kılıçbay and Binark 2002, Navaro-Yashin 2002). The political changes and technological developments occurring since the mid-2000s have enormously changed the tesettürwear arena as manifold players including designers, trendsetters and opinion leaders, fashion editors and commentators, photographers, print and online media, online retailers, and even fashion models have become involved with visibly-Muslim women’s apparel. Consequently, the sector that once consisted solely of manufacturers, 192

Fashion and Consumption retailers and consumers has now become a distinctive fashion field alongside the mainstream fashion field in Turkey, with its own agents and institutions competing over power and positions, and (re)constructing and diffusing taste regimes, within this field. I refer to this particular field as the ‘modest fashion’ field. I consider it to be a separate fashion field, distinct from the mainstream fashion field, because, due to the stigmatisation of the veil and tesettürwear in Turkey, fashion companies and mainstream brands have long avoided this segment of consumers. The modest fashion field in Turkey has emerged as an alternative for veiled women, whose needs and wants remained unnoticed in the mainstream market. Nonetheless, as I show in this section, the modest fashion field is not an autonomous one, because it exists in relation with other fields (Bourdieu 2005). In particular, it interacts and intersects with Turkey’s mainstream fashion field, and, on a global scale, with both mainstream and modest fashion fields (see Lewis 2015a). Moreover, most of the players in the modest fashion field, similar to tesettürwear manufacturers and retailers, have knowledge of ‘tesettür’ and familiarity with ‘tesettürwear’ since they possess the Muslim habitus:  they come from observant families and/or have received (either state or private) religious education (see Okur 2015). In addition, most of the women among them wear the veil (see Kavakçı 2013, Kolat 2012). All this points to a specific form of capital, i.e. ‘modest fashion’, that empowers those in possession of it. Before starting to explore the modest fashion field, there is a need to clarify the terminology used in this chapter: I have labelled with ‘tesettürwear’ those brands and companies that promote themselves as ‘tesettürwear’ and/or are widely known as ‘tesettürwear’ in the country, for instance Tekbir. I referred to the others (companies, brands, designers, magazines, and so on) as ‘modest fashion’ instead of ‘Muslim’ fashion – because Turkey is a predominantly Muslim country the mainstream market is, in fact, a ‘Muslim’ market with ‘Muslim’ players (whether visible or invisible, practising or non-practising). I have not used the terms ‘Islamic’ or ‘religiouslyrelated’ fashion because it is a matter of controversy in Turkey, as elsewhere (see Jones 2010a), whether the clothes and accessories offered and the way they are presented and represented are in line with religious rules. Thus, as women interpret and practise tesettür differently, and as their everyday 193

Faith and Fashion in Turkey life practices vary, commodities and their (re)presentations in the modest fashion field reflect these multiplicities (see Lewis 2016). As Gökarıksel and Secor (2010a, 2010b, 2015) report, there are hundreds of tesettürwear brands and companies in Turkey. My female informants are highly knowledgeable about tesettürwear brands and modest fashion trends. They mentioned several tesettürwear brands, including Kayra, Tekbir, Zühre, Alvina, Setrms and Armine. However, the male informants, except for Muharrem, did not possess (or did not want to disclose having) information about tesettürwear brands or modest fashion trends, designers and print/social media. One of my Gülen informants, Nisa, decided to wear the veil in 2000 when she was pregnant with her son. She said that she and her veiled friends usually shop from tesettürwear brands and shops because they offer garments with matching accessories, particularly headscarves: Nisa: We usually prefer tesettür stores because, er, it’s difficult to both combine and match others. Because while shopping for a garment, you need to think about a scarf, you need to think about shoes, you need to think about a bag. I mean someone not wearing a veil can buy a short … a black dress, and wear it with red shoes. But you cannot combine it with red shoes. Perhaps you can use that red-colour detail in the heels, outsoles; but you cannot go out wearing it with red shoes. Nazlı: Well, there are some who do so. Nisa: Of course there are. But what I’m saying is while non-veiled ladies consider one detail, you have to consider four details. The scarf, shoes, and bag … While shopping, if you can find these three by yourself, even if you like a dress a lot, if you cannot find a matching scarf, you don’t prefer [it]. Fatih, a district of Istanbul, is populated by Islamic/Islamist individuals and also the centre of tesettürwear, with many producers and retailers. Kadriye, a 30-year-old female high school graduate informant from the Süleymanlı community, lives and works in a town in western Turkey. She is self-employed, working in her family’s homeware store. She often travels to Istanbul for business, in order to buy products for their store, where she also shops for clothes and accessories for herself in Fatih. Here, she said, 194

Fashion and Consumption she can find all she needs. Another informant, Nisa, said that although she works and lives in Fatih (which she referred as the centre of tesettürwear), she does not confine her (window) shopping to that district alone because tesettürwear stores in different districts stock different items or more varieties. While these two informants prefer tesettürwear brands, most of my female informants were critical of them. According to Asude (female, 31, Gülen), Leyla (female, 26, Gülen) and Didem (female, 29, Gülen), the styles available in these brands are tasteless and extravagant, and their prices, according to Asude, are unreasonably high. Therefore, they prefer ‘whatever the secularists wear’ (Sandıkçı and Ger 2001:  149). Rather than tesettürwear brands, many informants usually shop from mainstream brands, which are either local, such as İpekyol and Park Bravo, or foreign, such as Zara, Lacoste and Tommy Hilfiger.3 Didem mentioned that some local high-street fashion brands, for instance İpekyol, ‘are now producing garments for veiled women too’. Yet it is important to note that these brands do not have a different product line for ‘veiled customers’, but offer various clothing items, such as long-sleeved shirts and tunics, in their lines. Moreover, some local/foreign high-street fashion brands carry more items for veiled customers in certain stores, for instance those located in ‘Islamic’ neighbourhoods (such as İpekyol in Fatih) and those patronised by Turkish and foreign veiled women. For example, in August 2013, I  visited İpekyol store in İstinye Park, a highend shopping mall in İstinye, Istanbul, and briefly talked with two shop assistants. They said that since there are many Muslim Arab tourists in addition to veiled Turkish women among their customers, the store carries more clothing items for ‘veiled customers’. The shop assistants as well as my informant Didem noted that since these items are quickly sold out, when shopping from high-street fashion brands, veiled women tend not to wait for the sales season but pay the full price if they like a ‘modest’ item. As mentioned before, under the AKP government (2002 onwards), Turkey has witnessed remarkable sociocultural changes. Arguably, the most significant of these is the increased visibility and acceptability of observant Muslims who display visible clues to their religious identities, such as men with well-trimmed and thin moustaches, and veiled women, in various public spaces, particularly in ‘secular’ neighbourhoods and 195

Faith and Fashion in Turkey commercial areas such as Nişantaşı and İstinye Park mall. Until the late 2000s veiled women were marginalised and excluded from not only the secular public sector but also from Islamic circles. They either remained unemployed or usually took lower-grade jobs, mostly in back offices, out of public gaze, at companies owned by observant Muslims or Islamists (Sever 2006, Yılmaz 2010). The prevalence of young women working as sales personnel in tesettürwear shops is evidence for how the modest fashion field in Turkey has provided business and employment opportunities for women from observant families, especially veiled women (Lewis 2015a). Similarly, the number of modest fashion designers, most of whom are veiled women, has enormously increased over the last decade. In addition, the economic and socio-cultural structures of Turkish society during the AKP era have changed significantly, particularly in favour of AKP supporting Islamic/ Islamist individuals and groups, such as several faith-inspired communities (for example, the Gülen and Menzil), resulting in a growing number of Islamic/Islamist capital owners and increasing wealth among Islamic/ Islamist individuals. Consequently, as they have more disposable income and attempt to demonstrate their economic, political and sociocultural power, they participate in consumer culture more and more. As Lewis notes, their ‘consumption practices come to demarcate ever more finely defined forms of distinction. For women, and for men, dress, behaviour, and the spaces of their consumption simultaneously differentiate them’ from both secular society and other observant Muslims in the country and abroad (2015a: 108). Moreover, whereas previously the promotion of tesettürwear brands was limited to Islamic publications such as newspapers and magazines (Kılıçbay and Binark 2002), and ‘Islamic’ neighbourhoods such as Fatih in Istanbul, tesettürwear brands now advertise also in mainstream media and outlets. Figure 5.3, showing the Armine billboard at an arrivals hall of Istanbul Ataturk Airport’s domestic terminal, illustrates this. The development and diffusion of the internet and social media have also greatly influenced the modest fashion scene and contributed to the development of the modest fashion field in Turkey. Most modest fashion designers, such as Kuaybe Gider and Gönül Kolat, began their careers by means of the internet and social media – writing personal blogs on fashion and shopping, and sharing their own photos (taken by other people 196

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Figure  5.3 Armine billboard at an arrivals hall of Istanbul Ataturk Airport’s domestic terminal. September 2014. Photo: Nazlı Alimen. 

or themselves) that show their outfit combinations (including their own designs as well as items from tesettürwear and local/foreign high-street brands) and different veiling styles. As their personal veiling and clothing styles became popular among veiled women and their following increased, they began to consider turning this into business, and were even encouraged in doing so by their followers. In addition to fashion designers, trendsetters, opinion leaders, ‘style icons’, and style editors and ‘experts’ such as Esra Seziş Kiğılı and Safiye Ekiz, have emerged in the modest fashion field. Moreover, even though modest fashion designers and brands have not presented their collections at Istanbul Fashion Week (IFW, held twice a year, where mainstream fashion designers and brands present their lines), agents of the modest fashion field closely follow IFWs, and some of them attend IFW fashion shows. Some designers and brands in the modest fashion field have collaborated for special collections and social projects. For instance, in order to support young, leading modest fashion designers and help them reach a wider audience, Aker brand (widely known as a Gülen-affiliated business, see Chapter Three) launched a project called ‘Designer Corner’ in March 2014, and planned to carry products of a different designer in its selected stores each month. As part of this project, designs by two modest fashion 197

Faith and Fashion in Turkey designers were sold: Kuaybe Gider in March 2014 in Aker’s Bağdat Street store (in Istanbul), and Gönül Kolat in April 2014 in Aker stores in Akasya Shopping Mall and Ümraniye Canpark Shopping Mall (in Istanbul).4 Furthermore, several modest fashion brands, retailer and designers sponsor TV shows, particularly those that have become major cultural phenomena in Turkey and abroad. Editors and opinion leaders from the modest fashion field consult for TV series that narrate an Islamic story or convey Islamic lives/lifestyles, such as those that have observant Muslim (female) characters. For instance, Esra Seziş Kiğılı, former editor of Âlâ magazine, was a wardrobe stylist for the character Şükran in Huzur Sokağı, a TV series adapted from Şule Yüksel Şenler’s famous Islamic novel of the same name, first published in 1970, and aired between September 2012 and April 2014.5 In addition, numerous tesettürwear brands, such as Tekbir, Kayra, İpekevi and Şalevi, sponsored this TV series by providing clothes and accessories.6 The veiled characters and their styles in Huzur Sokağı became widespread images in the media, showing the latest modest fashion trends and promoting modest fashion brands and designers. These became popular, especially among young veiled women. However, all this was also criticised by those who regarded them as a commodification and trivialisation of religion and religious practices.7

The Intersected and Intertwined: The Mainstream and the Modest Fashion Fields The country’s socio-political environment in the 2000s has also influenced the marketplace in that mainstream local brands began to target veiled women, who previously had been stigmatised in the country’s sociopolitical context and who had been overlooked by companies that did not want to be regarded as ‘non-modern’ or backward or that did not want to be associated with Islamism. An illustration of this is Silk&Cashmere, founded in 1992, a Turkish premium brand that produces and retails silk and cashmere clothes and accessories for men and women, such as cardigans, coats, scarves and neckties. Silk&Cashmere, popular among secular professional and higher-income men and women in their 30s and above, organised a meeting with modest fashion designers and bloggers, such as 198

Fashion and Consumption designer Aybikestil and blogger Nurjan’la Moda, in May 2012 in order to gain insights into (potential) veiled consumers.8 Moreover, Hayyat, a modest fashion magazine, distributed a Silk&Cashmere Spring/Summer 2014 catalogue together with its May 2014 issue.9 Vakko is another high-end fashion company. It is owned by a Turkish Jewish Hakko family, and is a member of the ‘secular’ business association, TÜSİAD. Vitali Hakko, the founder of Vakko, began the business in 1934 with the establishment of a hat store called Şen Şapka, in Sultanhamam, Istanbul, and benefited from the hat law which came into force in 1925. This law created an enormous and sudden demand for Western style hats. In 1938, Hakko began producing women’s scarves in addition to hats and sold them under a new brand name, Vakko. In 1955, Vakko launched its womenswear line, which was followed by the menswear collection. It has become one of the most prestigious fashion brands of the country, particularly prior to the 1980s, when imports were limited and the Turkish textile and clothing sector was underdeveloped. Vakko produces and sells luxury textiles, leather goods and accessories. Although it offers several lines including womenswear, menswear and homeware, its leather accessories, particularly its Vakko-logo bags, have been particularly popular among veiled and non-veiled women. Vakko silk scarves have long been a status symbol among veiled women (Genel and Karaosmanoğlu 2006, Gökarıksel and Secor 2014, Sandıkçı and Ger 2005b, p. 19), although Vakko has never used a veiled model in its advertisements or presented its products, especially the scarves, as modest fashion items. On the other hand, in the 2010s Vakko products are advertised in modest fashion magazines and covered in their style features (Figure 5.4). Although some veiled women criticise other veiled women’s conspicuous use of branded scarves (Gökarıksel and Secor 2012) and also boycott the Vakko brand due to its Jewish owners and the rumours that the company financially supports the Israeli state, none of my informants held negative attitudes towards Vakko or avoided buying from it.10 Instead, for instance, Sümbül (female, 48, Süleymanlı) said, ‘everybody knows about my scarf [choices], they say, for example, “you don’t use any other, but Vakko” ’. A female Gülen informant, Leyla, who is a 26-year-old married homemaker with a BA degree, said that previously she had often shopped 199

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Figure  5.4 A Vakko bag (left) and a Vakko scarf (right) in Hayyat magazine, June 2015. 

for Vakko bags, but now she does not prefer the brand because she is bored by its repetitive, similar designs. Another informant, Veli, a 53-year-old Gülenist man (high-school graduate, self-employed, and married with two children), criticised the high prices of Vakko, and the low quality and high prices of its sub-brand W Collection. Some womenswear brands, widely regarded as ‘tesettürwear’, for instance, Kayra, include both veiled and non-veiled models in their catalogues and other advertising materials (Figure 5.5). Some others which are popularly recognised as ‘tesettürwear’ brands present their clothing lines and accessories collections, such as scarves and şals, in a way similar to mainstream fashion brands that appeal to veiled women, such as Vakko and Silk&Cashmere. This is illustrated in Aker’s catalogues and other promotional materials (Figure 5.6). Lewis also points to Aker catalogues where scarves do not cover models’ hair in an Islamic way, but they are presented ‘as accessory or as non-functional hijab’, such as the scarf draped over one shoulder or folded as a cravat (2015a: 92). Lewis adds that Aker 200

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Figure 5.5 Kayra Spring/Summer 2015. 

brand staffers ‘presumed their Islamic clientele knew that the product was intended for tesettür’ (ibid.). However, the comments of Esra Keskin Demir, a fashion commentator for Zaman (a Gülenist newspaper), contradict the presumption regarding Aker brand staffers. In March 2013, Keskin Demir reviewed the Spring/Summer 2013 collections of several brands including Kayra, Setrms, Tekbir and Aker. Using a visual from the Spring/Summer 2013 collection of Aker (Figure 5.6), she pointed out that the models in Aker’s visuals do not wear scarves, ‘although the brand mainly appeals to veiled women’ (Keskin Demir 2013, p. 4). Her comment also indicates the diverse opinions which exist within the Gülen field regarding products and 201

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Figure 5.6 Aker Spring/Summer 2013. 

services in the mainstream and Gülen marketplaces, ‘… although the brand mainly appeals to veiled women, it does not include veiled women in its visuals. Scarves are used either as a headband or as an accessory on bags.’

Head Coverings: Habitus and Taste Regimes Veiled women learn from their own experiences and therefore choose what to wear and how to combine them for different occasions and contexts (such as a mixed-gender wedding party and a female-only meeting), and in terms of their personal or community’s interpretations of Islamic rules related to women’s tesettür. All female informants reported that finding appropriate clothes and combining them with matching accessories has become easier as they have practised veiling and dressing in an Islamic way, and as the number and variety, as well as the price range, of Islamically proper clothes and modest fashion brands has increased. In Bourdieuan terms, they accumulated habitus related to ‘Islamic clothing and veiling’. As explained previously, habitus requires ‘competence and know-how’, it entails flexibility and strategy, not just the repetition of learnt behaviour 202

Fashion and Consumption patterns (Crossley 2013:  139). Thus, possessing the habitus related to ‘Islamic clothing and veiling’ helps veiled women to adjust and alter their Islamic clothing and veiling practices in different contexts and across different times. This ‘modest fashion’ habitus enables constant interpretations (indicated in different ways, such as trends, personal tastes and community choices) of Islamic clothing and veiling practices; it facilitates the expression and differentiation of female observant Muslim and certain community identities. Veiled women in Turkey may seem like a homogenous group, however there are manifold ways to dress Islamically (such as çarşaf and long overcoats with scarves) and numerous trends and styles (such as tying scarves). In a similar way to that in which a habitus related to a particular faithinspired community is accumulated and utilised by its members, modest fashion habitus creates a feeling of belonging and also distinction, of sharing the same tastes with other veiled women, as I  discuss below, which can result in a sense of belonging to a group of veiled women with distinct cultures. It creates, in Bourdieuan terms, ‘distinction’ in that ‘clusters of individuals in social space each develop cultural peculiarities which mark them out from one another’ (Crossley 2008:  96). Taste, accordingly, is a manifestation of distinction and habitus. According to Bourdieu, ‘the tastes actually realized depend on the state of the system of the goods offered’ (1984: 231). With the advances in the Turkish marketplace starting in the 1980s, the development of tesettürwear and later the modest fashion field, and the proliferation of consumer culture and the internet in Turkey, veiled women actualise their tastes through consumption. Particularly among ‘new generation’ (young and educated) veiled women, processes of distinction work in several complex ways. An illustration of this is the use of şals as an alternative to scarves. Şals are plain or patterned rectangular pieces of cloth (usually 70×200 cm), made of various materials, such as silk, cotton, modal, and viscose, with plain, laser-cut, or tassel edges.11 They are used for covering hair and also neck (Figure 5.7). Şals began to spread in the early 2000s (such as the rectangular-scarf fashion that began with the Asmalı Konak TV series in which one of the leading characters wore rectangular scarves, see Sandıkçı and Ger 2005a) and became widespread, trendy fashion items by the end of the decade. 203

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Figure 5.7 Different styles of şals in 2012–2013. Source: Sefamerve [Accessed 30 March 2016]. 

The interviews point to inter-community differences in the use of şals emanating from a faith-inspired community’s norms and interpretations of Islam. Whilst an increasing number of veiled women have been using şals, the Süleymanlı community does not approve of this trend. Hürrem explained that women using şals in the Süleymanlı community are ignored if they are young and single; if they are older and/or married, they are advised to veil ‘properly’. Şals have been a controversial issue in public and have also been discussed in media. Some Islamic/ Islamist men and women have criticised şals in that women wearing şals practise tesettür inappropriately; they regard şals as ‘improper’ forms of the veil and call the wearers of şals (and also modest fashions) ‘veiled 204

Fashion and Consumption nudes’ (see Karagöz 2011, p. 8, Kılıçarslan 2013). On the other hand, şals are widespread among Menzil and Gülen women. Nonetheless, Hülya expressed her concerns related to the popularity of şals. She is a 35year-old, middle school graduate Gülen informant. She is a homemaker and married with two children. Hülya also adopted the şal trend, and, for her, şals are very comfortable and modern looking, and they can be matched effortlessly with casual and trendy outfits. However, the easyto-use and attractive looks of şals, according to Hülya, has turned veiling into a trend, and girls and young women, who lack a full understanding of the Islamic meaning and requirements of veiling, emulate their elders wearing şals and begin to veil by wearing şals. Hülya fears that once the şal trend starts declining, those young women will soon find şals unattractive and not cover their hair anymore. This, according to her, will potentially damage the Islamic notion of veiling and the image of veiled women. My ethnography shows that, in the Menzil and Gülen communities, personal tastes and choices as well as individual views of religion are more important factors in deciding whether or not to wear the veil, whether to cover hair with a scarf or a şal, and how to tie the scarf or the şal. The female Gülen informants do not have a particular style of tying a scarf (a square piece, usually 90×90 cm) or a şal. Most of them use şals, and even though some informants had begun to use square scarves occasionally, due to the widespread use of şals they said they cannot totally switch to using scarves since using şals is much easier and more comfortable. While there is a need to pin scarves to secure them, most of the informants using şals stated that they do not use pins. This, according to them, is the most important reason behind the popularity and widespread use of şals. Initially, şals were adopted by fashion-conscious and young women (under 30) from higher socioeconomic levels in urban areas. Thus, wearing scarves came to denote people who were ‘old’, old-fashioned, rural, and/or from lower socioeconomic levels. However, the ubiquitous nature of şal has led trendsetters and early-adopters of modest fashions to begin wearing scarves in addition to şals. One of my Gülen informants, Leyla, said that when şals began to spread as a fashionable form of veiling, she was among the first women who started using them in her circles. She 205

Faith and Fashion in Turkey added that, although other veiled women found şals odd at the beginning, later they began wearing them too. At the interview in September 2013, she told me that she has been using şals for around four years and, seeing many women using şals around, she began to use scarves again. However, she added that she is used to the styling of şals, either pinning or tying, so that she began wearing headscarves in the same way as she was wearing şals. Nevertheless, she still matches şals with sportswear, for instance, while going jogging with her husband on Sundays. Consequently, many veiled women from the Menzil and Gülen now use both şals and scarves, which do not carry much significance anymore, in different styles, rather than a certain, community-linked one. Moreover, in addition to trying new styles and following veiling fashions (such as şals), Menzil and Gülen women (can) create their own veiling styles. For instance, Didem said that she used to wear headscarves in a way similar to the styling of şals now. For this, instead of folding the scarf, which was a common styling form at that time, she would use its edge, and pin or tie the scarf around her head. Thus, as women wear the veil, in other words, practise tying, wrapping and pinning headscarves and şals made of various materials (such as cotton and silk) and fabric types (such as satin and twill), they accumulate knowledge and develop preferences and habits. Their preferences for certain veiling styles, such as tying or pinning under the chin or behind the neck, can be community-specific, such as the Süleymanlı veiling style introduced in Chapter Two, or personal choice, such as taste and functionality. For instance, Havva (female, 17, Gülen) ties her şal behind her neck for doing sports and also during the windy weather. In addition, the materials and weaving techniques of şals and headscarves influence women’s preferences. While doing sports, Havva prefers a cotton şal because of its material and shape – absorbent, easy-care and casual. Many women prefer twill silk scarves as they are easily styled. However, Nisa (38, Gülen) doesn’t use twill scarves because: … [twill scarves] are too thick, I  cannot hear. … As [twill scarves] stay decent, [other veiled women] can style them more easily, so they prefer them. But as I  have a problem with my ears, I like finer, lighter silk scarves more.

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Fashion and Consumption My informants like numerous headscarf and şal brands:  Aker, Pierre Cardin, Vakko, Burberry, Chanel, Valentino and İpekevi. They shop for headscarves and şals from various retailers and e-retailers. For instance, two informants, Leyla and Asude, prefer stores selling only scarves and şals in Bursa (such as Çağrı İpek) and Ankara, respectively. Many informants shop for scarves and şals from tesettürwear boutiques that sell various religiously-related fashion products and brands. Didem, for example, often visits tesettürwear boutiques in her neighbourhood, Başakşehir, a newly developing Islamic district in Istanbul with gated communities. Moreover, Meltem (43, Gülen) and Havva (17, Gülen), mother and daughter, shop for their headscarves as well as their garments from tesettürwear stores located in Kestane Pazarı, which is a part of the historical bazaar, Kemeraltı, in Izmir. Many informants, Havva, Meltem, Reyhan (42, Süleymanlı), and Tayyibe (26, Gülen) stated that they buy scarves, şals, and garments from both stores and district bazaars. Moreover, although some Turkish tesettürwear and headscarf/şal brands (such as Zühre, Alvina and Armine), tesettürwear retailers (such as Sefamerve and Modanisa) and modest fashion magazines (such as Âlâ) have tutorials on YouTube that show how to tie headscarves and şals in different styles and provide some style hints, none of my informants followed these tutorials.12 Many veiled women use bonnets, which are usually made of cotton jersey or viscose with Lycra, in order to hold the hair together and cover the hairline (Gökarıksel and Secor 2012). In addition, as Sandıkçı and Ger note, bonnets provide ‘a base upon which the scarf can be pinned down’ and they thus prevent the scarves from slipping down and losing their shape (2005a: 73). Before the introduction of bonnets to the market in the mid-1990s, women would wear plain tülbents (cotton muslin kerchiefs) or nothing underneath their scarves. Initially scarf brands such as Aker included bonnets as giveaways with their scarves. Later, bonnet producing companies emerged, thus bonnets began to be sold under specific brand names, such as Firdevs, Mervin, Ecardin, Miray and Bonecci. These brands now constitute a part of modest fashion in Turkey, and they offer bonnets in various colours and styles, and with features such as ‘clima fit’ (a bonnet with a piece of transparent fabric on the back side) and bonnets with a zip, lacings, neck-collar or satin front-piece (Figure 5.8). However, 207

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Figure  5.8 Examples of bonnet styles available in the market. Source:  www. sefamerve.com/basortusu/bone.html [Accessed 24 August 2017]. 

unlike other clothing items (such as shirts, overcoats and scarves), bonnets are not visible in public (except a part of front pieces sometimes), and are usually taken off together with scarves/şals in private spaces and at femaleonly gatherings. Consequently, bonnet fashions are visible mostly to veiled women, particularly (modest) fashion conscious women, and those who work in the modest fashion field. As Sandıkçı and Ger state, in order to ‘make the head and the face appear beautiful’ and the scarf fold in a shapely and smooth manner, many veiled women have preferred to elevate the back side of their heads by putting their hair in a bun or by using some materials; a piece of X-ray film or cardboard can be placed over the back of the head, or a piece of padding or sponge can be stitched to a cloth band or tülbent (2005a: 74). These preferences are now recognised in the market. There is an increasing variety of bonnets and hair accessories that give volume on the back of the head. As shown in Figure 5.8, some bonnets have an extra layer, such as frills or have extra room for those with long hair. Alternatively, there are also elastic clips, called ‘eşarp topuzu tokası‘ (‘clip for headscarf bun’) or simply ‘topuz tokası‘ (clip for bun), offered in the market (as can 208

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Figure  5.9 Scarf pins with the Arabic letter, wāw (left), and a smiley (right).13 Source: www.aker.com.tr [Accessed 25 October 2015]. 

be seen underneath the bonnet on the far left in Figure 5.8). These clips hold hair and create volume for styling a scarf or şal. There are also ‘scarf pins’ offered by modest clothing, scarf/şal and scarf-pin brands. These come in different styles and with different closings, such as a pin or magnet (Figure 5.9). During the interviews, I  asked my female informants whether they wear bonnets under their scarves and şals and whether they match the colour of bonnets with their scarves or use bonnets in basic colours, such as black, white and navy blue, which they could match with many scarves and şals in different colours. All informants stated that they use bonnets, and most of them prefer cotton jersey bonnets in basic colours. However, there are some informants who reported using cotton jersey bonnets with a satin front piece and who match the colour of their bonnets with their scarves, such as a dark green bonnet for a plain dark green scarf or a patterned scarf with dark green details. For instance, on the interview day Candan was wearing a satin, dark-brown bonnet under her scarf. However, according to Leyla, satin bonnets were no longer in fashion: Leyla: I used to wear bonnets with satin [front pieces], but they are almost out of fashion for us. Nazlı: What you mean by ‘us’? Is ‘us’ your friend group? Leyla: I have a group of veiled women around… those I follow, I see on the internet. I mean, I didn’t find [bonnets with satin front pieces] practical, those satin pieces would slip over my head. Now I use cotton jersey [bonnets]. 209

Faith and Fashion in Turkey Individuals who are ‘proximate in social space are more likely to live and socialize in the same places’ (Crossley 2008: 93). They are also more likely to ‘develop similar lifestyles, outlooks, dispositions and a tacit sense of their place in the world or “class unconsciousness”; that is, class habitus’ (ibid., original emphasis). Today, as a result of technological advances, especially with the proliferation of the internet and related digital technologies such as e-retailing and social media, social space includes not only physical but also digital space. Individuals who visit the same webpages, read the same bloggers, and also follow each other on social media such as Instagram and Twitter also ‘live and socialise’ in the same places. Therefore, ‘online connectivity extends the social capital of who you know to include potentially those that you [know] online’ (Lewis 2015b: 247). As quoted above, Leyla feels an interpersonal proximity, a sense of belonging with particular individuals whom she encounters in physical/digital social spaces since those individuals, who are also veiled women, share similar characteristics (for instance, education and socioeconomic level), or, in Bourdieuan terms, possess similar volume and composition of economic, social and cultural capital. Hence, she refers to those individuals as ‘her group’, which is identified and also differentiated from other clusters of individuals through its taste regime, in other words, through the sharing of stylistic traits and consumption choices. As veiled women, Leyla and her group wear bonnets underneath their scarves or şals and so they register to and are aware of bonnet fashions. The quote above also demonstrates that the tastes of Leyla and her group, which operate as forms of distinction, are not static, but change over time.

Trends and Trendsetters of the Modest Fashion Field Women’s personal tastes as well as their understandings of Islamic rules influence their veiling and clothing practices. For instance, Leyla does not like cotton şals because they are not shiny. On the other hand, Asude does not like shiny, ostentatious garments and accessories because of her personal tastes and also her understanding of tesettür. Like the female informants from the Süleymanlı community, Asude wears an overcoat. 210

Fashion and Consumption She mentioned that although she does not follow (modest) fashion, she does not go to sohbet meetings with the same outfit. In addition, unlike many veiled women who use (original and/or counterfeit) scarves from international luxury brands (such as Burberry and Fendi), Asude does not favour them. Nevertheless, she is aware of the brands popular among veiled women and is knowledgeable about the features of Burberry scarves, which are among the favourites of many veiled women because their silk fabric is heavier than that of most other brands (a feature that makes the process of the headscarf styling, i.e. pinning and/or tying, easier and holds the style for longer). Moreover, Havva stated that her clothing choices are influenced by religious duties, not by fashions. While going out, Havva wears garments that allow her to perform salat. Some informants design their own clothes. For instance, Didem designed an evening dress for her brother’s wedding party and got it sewn by a tailor. A Süleymanlı informant, Reyhan, alters the products she buys from stores or bazaars. Reyhan is 42  years old, married with two children, aged 7 and 2.  After finishing elementary school, she began studying in a Süleymanlı Qur’an course in her town in western Turkey. Since she only reached the first two stages of the Süleymanlı education (see Chapter Three), she is not a community personnel:  she is not employed as a hocahanım (female teacher) by the Süleymanlı community. However, as a graduate of the tekâmülaltı programme, she is a knowledgeable person in Arabic language and in reciting the Qur’an. Therefore, she taught Qur’an recitation (in Arabic) at home and also in community spaces, such as female student dormitories, until she had her first child. When I visited her at her home for an interview in September 2013, Reyhan showed me some of her clothes that she had altered (Figure 5.10). She explained that even though they are in line with the Islamic rules, some Süleymanlı members find them too colourful and thereby inappropriate. Didem and Asude argued that, because products offered in the market reflect current fashions, whether they like it or not, they consume these (modest) fashions. Nonetheless, many informants follow and adapt (modest) fashion trends. For instance, Didem and Leyla follow mainstream and modest fashion magazines, such as Âlâ and Elle, and the social media accounts of modest fashion bloggers and designers, such as Kuaybe Gider 211

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Figure 5.10 Reyhan, a Süleymanlı informant, showing the alterations (the ribbon around the cuffs and the belt) she made on her summer overcoat. September 2013. Photo: Nazlı Alimen. 

and Gönül Kolat, emulating their designs as well as their clothing and accessories combinations. Hülya (female, 35, Gülen) and Halide (female, 33, Gülen) follow the Instagram and Facebook pages of some modest fashion designers, such as Tuay Karaca and Aybike Stil. However, Halide explained that she follows these designers not in order to shop from them, but to get ideas from them, because she finds their products too highpriced. In addition, Halide would regularly read the fashion column in Zaman, a Gülenist daily. My female informants, unlike my male informants, follow print fashion media, fashion bloggers and social media. They use online shopping to purchase items, usually during an offer or sales period, that they had previously tried on in-store. Moreover, the informants living in the city centres, Didem, Asude, Leyla, Nisa and Aylin, are more likely to wait for sales seasons. However, Didem, Nisa and Leyla stated that if they really liked a garment or an accessory, they usually do not wait for sales. Leyla, Asude, and Didem are the informants who were born and bred in small towns, and after getting married, they moved to city centres, Bursa, Istanbul, and Ankara. Leyla and Didem said that when they started living in city centres (Bursa and Istanbul) they became acquainted with more fashion brands 212

Fashion and Consumption through strolling in shopping malls and window shopping on high streets as a social activity. For instance, Didem did not know about the brand Valentino before moving to Istanbul, but now it is among her favourite brands for scarves. In addition, Asude mentioned that since she lives in a city centre, now, unlike before, she waits for sales seasons. On the other hand, most of the male and female informants living in towns usually shop from malls located in city centres close to their towns. Since they do not have the chance to visit shopping malls as frequently as those inhabiting in city centres, they usually do not wait for sales but buy the products they like when they see them. Hülya (female, 35, Gülen) and Halide follow not only the styles of modest fashion bloggers and designers but also celebrity persons in the modest fashion field, such as Emine Erdoğan. Emine Erdoğan has long been a style icon for some veiled women in Turkey. For instance, the flower brooch she used at the meeting with Laura Bush in Istanbul in 2004 was widely imitated. Emine Erdoğan’s style has also been influential on collections of tesettürwear brands. For example, Tekbir for its Spring/Summer 2003 collection reproduced a jacket and an overcoat of hers (Aktaş 2002). In addition, the brands and styles that she prefers have become popular among some veiled women, and they consume the same products, either from original brands or from counterfeit ones. When I interviewed a veiled woman (a 23-year-old university graduate and homemaker married with one child) in Florya, Istanbul, in August 2009, she talked about the luxury consumption of veiled women and described the diffusion of modest fashion trends from higher to lower socioeconomic groups in society, which is widely known as ‘trickle-down’ theory (Simmel 1957).14 This whole desire for luxury is caused by the Islamic higher class. It goes from the top to the bottom. People with lower income prefer imitations of luxury goods, as certain [expensive] brands are in fashion, such as Burberry. When I said it goes from the top, I mean people like Emine Erdoğan. She always uses Gucci, Burberry.

Emine Erdoğan’s clothing style and luxury shopping has been a controversial issue in the country in that some observant and secular individuals 213

Faith and Fashion in Turkey find her tasteless and ostentatious, particularly her luxury brand clothing items with distinctive patterns or tags, such as Burberry scarves (see Özvarış 2013). However, others like her style and consider it as a good example for a veiled lady. Nonetheless, Emine Erdoğan’s style is not static, but changes over time. Her double-sided scarves, called ‘Emine Erdoğan eşarbı‘ (scarf), became fashionable in early 2013.15 These scarves are sold by various producers and retailers, and have quickly become an alternative for special occasions. On the interview day, Hülya showed me her Emine Erdoğan style emerald and black scarf, which she would wear with her long, emerald taffeta dress for her brother’s wedding ceremony. The women who I  interviewed in July and August 2009 emphasised that they matched either the brand or the colour of their clothes and accessories.16 All used matching accessories including scarves, belts, shoes, bags and watches, all in the same colour and pattern. The combination of their clothes and accessories was usually based on two main colours, one of which was the colour of their accessories, such as a scarf, bag and shoes, the other was the colour of their clothes. For instance, an outfit worn by one of the informants on the interview day consisted of mainly fuchsia and white colours: a plain shirt, belt, skirt and a watch, all of which were white, and a fuchsia cardigan, fuchsia shoes and a fuchsia bag, combined with a fuchsiawhite dominated floral-patterned scarf. Moreover, it was also in vogue to use the matching accessories from the same brand, such as a scarf, bag and belt, especially for those brands with distinguishable patterns or logos Therefore, they usually preferred brands that offer matching products, i.e. the same colour, pattern and texture. One of the informants, who was a 23year-old, university graduate, homemaker, married with one child, whom I interviewed in August 2009 said: … this scarf and bag [she was wearing on the interview day] are Coach and they match. Also, Burberry has matching products, which is why I prefer [it]… I usually like combining products of the same brand. For example, if I like a bag, I just wonder if it has a matching scarf. If it does, I can’t help but buy them. I saw this Coach bag and scarf on a website and liked it because they match. I would probably not buy this bag if it were just the bag. I liked it because it has a matching product.

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Fashion and Consumption Similarly, another informant, Leyla, said that back then, when it was fashionable to use matching accessories, she often bought scarves, shoes and bags from Guess: Leyla: I used to do that, I would get my [matching] shoes and bag, or bag and scarf from Guess. I used to shop from Guess a lot. I would use a matching bag and scarf. Nazli: Now… Don’t you shop from Guess anymore? Leyla: No… It used to be in vogue… For example, one wears a scarf with white polka dots on a green background, and … let’s say she wears a white tunic and white trousers. She has a bag in the same green. Green shoes, a green belt. … That used to be fashionable, but it’s over. In the 2010s, feraces were introduced to the modest fashion field and they have quickly become trendy items, spreading throughout the country. The word ‘ferace’ is used in modern Turkish to refer to long outerwear without lining. Historically, the word ferace refers to a long, loose, front-opening, ankle length item of outerwear, which was produced in different forms for women and men and worn by both Muslims and nonMuslims in the Ottoman era (Sarıtaş et al. 2007, Tezcan 1995). The use of feraces became common in the late-sixteenth century. Their use in urban areas came to an end in the nineteenth century, as they were banned in 1889. They were replaced by the çarşaf (Tezcan 1995), which, despite the state’s efforts to end its use, especially in the 1930s and 1940s, is still worn by fundamentalist Muslims in both rural and urban areas, for instance female members of the İsmailağa, a fundamentalist religious group. Feraces remained popular outerwear in rural areas until the 1930s, when the modernising reforms of the new state decreased the number of ferace wearers. Consequently, in our era, a limited number of women (mostly elderly) in rural areas wear ‘traditional’ feraces (Sarıtaş et al. 2007). With the revival of ferace in the 2010s, the number of ferace wearers has greatly increased. Initially, in the late 2000s, women in ‘Islamic’ neighbourhoods, such as Fatih and Eyüp in Istanbul, began to wear feraces in their homes as practical garments. These were either sewn by the women themselves or by tailors in their neighbourhoods. Nisa talked about the initial use of feraces: 215

Faith and Fashion in Turkey At the beginning ferace was this: when you have male guests, of course you serve them [drinks, etc.], but since you cannot walk around with an overcoat, you would wear a ferace at home. It was your tesettür at home. But in the last few years, I mean, five years, this [wearing ferace] came onto streets. Also because of the temperature of the weather, I guess, overcoats are uncomfortable. You can wear anything you want underneath [feraces]. You can also wear an overcoat, but a ferace completely covers you, up to your heels, and it has no opening part in the front

Numerous Turkish clothing producers now offer ferace designs in a wide range of styles, colours and prices.17 Many female informants, including Leyla (26, Gülen), Didem (29, Gülen), Seçil (34, Menzil), Sümbül (48, Süleymanlı), Aylin (22, Menzil), Nisa (38, Gülen), and Candan (37, Menzil) wear feraces. The most popular ferace brands are NCL, Setrms and Ferraceci among my informants, whilst the colours preferred are black, anthracite and beige. As quoted below, its practicality makes the ferace an alternative to long overcoats. The ferace is a functional and trendy garment, worn over swimming suits at segregated pools and beaches of Islamic resorts in Turkey. The ferace is also a practical choice for the hajj and umrah visits. … feraces are very comfortable. Since I started wearing feraces, I  stopped wearing overcoats. When everyone said ‘the winter has arrived’, my husband even mocked me, saying ‘let’s buy a winter ferace’. I replied ‘there is no winter ferace’. But the other day, I went to have a look at some feraces, and seriously, winter feraces were brought out. (Nisa) In summer, a ferace is such a blessing for us. We were already wearing it, but now it’s fashionable. I mean, underneath I wear a t-shirt or a short-sleeve top, and a floaty skirt. It keeps me very cool. … For example, if I  need to go to a grocery store or a supermarket in the morning, I just put my ferace over my pyjamas…’ (Aylin)

In addition to feraces, abayas (traditional women’s outerwear in the Arabian Peninsula) have become a trendy option. An abaya is originally a black, wide and loose overgarment with sleeves and an opening in the front with 216

Fashion and Consumption or without fastenings. It is worn by Muslim women in the Gulf region. As a result of rapid changes such as globalisation and consumer culture, it is no longer a ‘static, unchanging’ outfit, but ‘a fashionable and stylish’ clothing item (Sobh et al. 2012: 357). Thus, the colour, design, material and embellishment of the abaya is now subject to fashion, and it is possible to find form-fitting abayas, front-opening ones, or ones that close with fastenings, as well as abayas with bright, colourful embroidery (Al-Qasimi 2010, Sobh et al. 2012). Turkish women visiting Saudi Arabia for umrah or hajj shop for abayas for themselves and for their close relatives or friends. For instance, Sümbül, on her latest umrah visit, which was a year before the interview date, bought an abaya. She said that it was very comfortable and easy to take care of, so she wore it regularly as outerwear during the summer. Since abayas, like feraces, do not have a lining, they can be worn over any outfit or can be worn as a dress, thus providing the wearer with different options. Black abayas with gold, silver or colourful embroidery, combined with matching rectangular scarves (shaylas), bought during the hajj and umrah visits, are worn as both a dress for home visits and as outerwear by affluent Turkish women in city centres, mostly in Istanbul. Contemporary feraces are significantly different to the Ottoman feraces in terms of fabrics, colours, styles and other materials used for stitching and embroidering due to numerous factors, such as sociocultural changes and technological advancements.18 This is beyond the scope of this book, however it is intriguing that the term ferace in contemporary Turkey is disconnected from its past, and reconstructed and represented as a new type of garment by its designers, producers, sellers and wearers. Furthermore, although contemporary feraces have more in common with abayas than with historical/Ottoman feraces (for instance, design, material and embellishment, such as set-in-sleeves), the terms ferace and abaya are not used interchangeably, and the word ferace is preferred to abaya. In general, ferace refers to a Turkish-made overgarment while the word abaya denotes a black overgarment, imported or brought over from the Gulf States or Saudi Arabia. The use of two different terms for identical garments points to the political and sociocultural discourses constructed in the late Ottoman and the Republican eras. First, the use of the word ‘ferace’ and 217

Faith and Fashion in Turkey the contemporary ferace trend reflect the sociocultural changes witnessed in the country under AKP rule (2002 onwards). In this era, new Islamic/ Islamist identities have emerged, and these identities, like the discourses and politics of the AKP government (Eligür 2010, Ongur 2015), are built extensively upon neo-Ottomanism (Ottoman revival/Ottoman nostalgia). The formulation of neo-Ottomanist discourses began in the Özal era (1983–1991) with several socio-political transformations and economic developments in Turkey and abroad, such as economic liberalisation and the collapse of the Soviet Union (Yavuz 1998). Especially in the Özal era, neo-Ottomanism usually referred to the government’s attempts to position Turkey as the leading state with the ability to reunite those parts of the Muslim world that had previously been part of the Ottoman Empire, such as the Muslim Balkan nations, as well as Turkic people in Asia (Onar 2009, Ongur 2015, Yavuz 1998). In the AKP era, policies of neo-Ottomanism are no longer confined to foreign policy, but are widely diffused into everyday life through public policies, political discourses and popular culture, such as historical-drama television series (Maessen 2014, Ongur 2015). Moreover, although in the past neo-Ottomanism had pan-Turkist and panIslamist undertones, it has become more Islamised in the AKP era (Onar 2009). Consequently, aesthetics and practices rooted in neo-Ottomanism, and market commodities that are shaped accordingly, such as contemporary feraces, help the formation and presentation of new Islamic identities and their taste regimes. Second, preference for the term ferace over the word abaya to refer to similar garments can be linked to the negative portrayal of Arabs as well as sectarian differences that have been underlined in the political, religious and other sociocultural discourses in addition to the historiography of the late Ottoman Empire and Turkish republic (Akturk 2010, Eldem 2010, Karpat 2001). Despite being ‘a target and an object of Orientalism’, the Ottomans and the Republican Turks accommodated Orientalism as a part of their Westernisation programmes (Eldem 2010: 27). This was accomplished through the (re)construction and (re)interpretation of the superiority of Turks in numerous fields, such as politics, aesthetics and architecture (Akturk 2010, Ersoy 2007, Jung 2005). It served to exert power over particular ethnic and religious groups (Deringil 2003, Makdisi 2002, Szurek 218

Fashion and Consumption 2015), to create social patterns and classes within the society, such as White vs. Black Turks (Altan-Olcay and Balta 2015, Arat-Koç 2007), and, more importantly, to deflect Western Orientalism – the infamous and inferior image of the Turk in Western eyes (Eldem 2010). Hence, in the Ottoman and Turkish Orientalist accounts, Arabs came to be depicted negatively – as inferior, uncivilised and irrational (Akturk 2010, Jung 2005). These accounts also underline sectarian differences in Islam. Wahhabi Islam, founded by Muhammad ibn ‘Abd al-Wahhab (1703–1792), was condemned in the late Ottoman and the Turkish Republic for its fanatical and intolerant interpretation of Islam, hostility towards other forms/ interpretations of Islam, particularly Sufism, and its ignorance of and hostility towards the political, social, cultural and technological developments occurring in the rest of the world (Evered 2012, Karpat 2001, Lapidus 2014, Rogan 2009). Furthermore, the Wahhabi movement’s revolt against the Ottoman Empire and collaboration with the Western powers in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries was considered as evidence for their role in ‘the dissolution of the Islamic community’ and in undermining the authority of the Ottoman state, the Caliphate (Evered 2012:  632). Consequently, Wahhabi Islam has contributed to, and arguably strengthened, the negative image of the ‘Arab’ in late Ottoman and Republican Turkish discourses, which paint Arabs as primitive, archaic, backward, ‘desert’ people, and that see Arabs as traitors (see Akturk 2010, Küçükcan 2010). The image of the ‘Arab’ is perceived as a threat, not only to the nation-state and Turkish identity but also to the religion, both Sunni and Alevi forms. Thus, the Arab image is undesirable in several discourses, including secular Kemalist ones and observant Sunni/Alevi ones.19 In this regard, the use of two different terms for two similar types of overgarments can be viewed as an attempt to maintain Turkish (Islamic) identity and to detach both the ferace and its wearer from the infamous ‘Arab’, i.e. Arabness and Arabic Islam. Nonetheless, for some agents in the modest fashion field (for instance, Merve Akaydın, the co-owner of Studio Nish, a high-end ‘modest’ boutique in Nişantaşı, Istanbul, who I interviewed in November 2013 in her boutique), the word ferace is the Turkish equivalent of the Arabic word abaya. This, on the other hand, reflects another aspect and result of 219

Faith and Fashion in Turkey neo-Ottomanism: the idea of pan-Islamism, in other words, the unity of ummah (all Muslims) under one state. Therefore, the spread of trends and styles originating from other Muslim states can be associated not only with globalisation and technological advances but also with neo-Ottomanist ideologies concentrating on pan-Islamism. Moreover, there is also the indigenisation and the hybridisation of different design elements from the West and the East. An illustration of this is the brand ‘Ottoman Abaya’ with its brand logo stylised in a ‘tuğra’ (an Ottoman sultan’s signature) form and its ‘feraces’ with details (e.g. trimmings at the bottom of sleeves and slit/flap pockets) identical to Burberry’s famous ‘check’ pattern which, although copyrighted, is extensively imitated all around the world.

Conclusion This chapter has examined the religiously-related commodities in the Turkish consumption space and demonstrated how they have been historically shaped in line with both official (i.e. related to Sunni and Shi’i Islam) and personal interpretations, by gendered experiences of religious practices, and by developments in technology and the marketplace. The advances in the internet and related information technologies in the 2000s (such as e-commerce, brand websites and social media) have reduced the costs of production, advertising and retailing, and have enabled new fashions to proliferate throughout the world (e.g. via YouTube fashion tutorials and fashion blogs, Lewis 2013, 2015a). This has facilitated the emergence of new fashion designers and the development of new fashion brands in many Muslim contexts. This chapter has demonstrated that these developments, along with the political and socioeconomic changes in Turkey (such as AKP rule and increasing GDP levels), have transformed the tesettürwear sector. Initially, this sector was oriented towards the manufacture and retail of goods, but the effect of these changes has been the creation of a ‘modest fashion’ field that consists of agents and institutions generating, acquiring and struggling over field-specific capital, and also creating and diffusing taste regimes. New styles in modest fashion in different Muslim contexts are created through the influence and blending of traditions of local dress with the 220

Fashion and Consumption traditional dress of other Muslim societies as well as global mainstream and modest fashion trends (Lewis 2016, Moors 2007, Tarlo 2010). This chapter has examined the interactions and intersections between the mainstream and modest fashion fields in Turkey. An increasing number of mainstream fashion brands now also target veiled women, produce clothes and accessories that meet their needs (such as long-sleeved shirts and dresses for summer), and collaborate with agents and institutions (e.g. bloggers) in the modest fashion field. Some brands that are popularly known as tesettürwear are now using the same marketing and advertising strategies and channels as the mainstream fashion brands. For example, Armine is visible in the mainstream consumption spaces and Aker is attempting to reposition itself as a mainstream brand targeting mainstream consumers. There is therefore a blurring of boundaries occurring between the mainstream and modest fashion fields and between the ‘secular’ and ‘Islamic’/’religiously-related’ urban and consumption spaces. Moreover, this chapter has critically evaluated the interactions and influences between the modest fashion fields of Turkey and the Arabian Peninsula. Observant Muslim women hold and utilise dispositions specific to the modest fashion field: the modest fashion habitus. This enables observant women to recognise the structuring influences in the modest fashion field and therefore to choose what to consume and wear (Entwistle 2000). For instance, their ability to see changing bonnet fashions and their awareness of the current stage of the şal fashion’s life cycle indicates their possession of the modest fashion habitus. Thus, modest fashion enables them to construct and present identities and perceive, signal and assess tastes – hierarchical classifications of preferences organised through habitus. Such abilities prove an observant woman’s possession of the knowledge and competence (i.e. cultural capital) that is specific to the modest fashion field. This chapter has identified the steady development of omnivorous taste patterns. Numerous factors, such as personal characteristics, social environment (in online and physical spaces), norms of faith-inspired communities, and marketplace offers influence the formation, diffusion and assessment of tastes. Observant Muslims can now, if they want, create and express their personal and community identities through the offers of diverse marketplaces (local and foreign, mainstream and modest). Consequently, 221

Faith and Fashion in Turkey different tastes and taste regimes have developed among them, particularly among those from middle and higher socioeconomic levels. As their aesthetic and cultural preferences extend beyond physical spaces and the boundaries of faith-inspired communities, it becomes increasingly difficult to distinguish a member of a specific community, especially the Gülen and Menzil. Moreover, despite the Süleymanlı community’s clothing and veiling norms and the ‘looks’ expected from members of this community and its personnel, Süleymanlı women can differentiate themselves from each other through brands and other features of their clothes and accessories. The fashion consumption practices and brand preferences of Gülen, Süleymanlı and Menzil members are not shaped around religious or community ideologies, such as avoiding a brand due to its owners or business activities. For instance, my informants do not avoid shopping from Vakko, owned by a Turkish-Jewish family. In addition, luxury consumption is not criticised or despised, but celebrated and emulated by consuming either the original or the counterfeit. For example, Sümbül’s exclusive use of Vakko scarves is famous in her social circles. On the other hand, some modest fashion-conscious informants, such as Leyla and Didem, no longer shop for Vakko scarves and bags; instead, they prefer scarves from international luxury brands such as Valentino and Burberry. This demonstrates the embodiment of the modest fashion habitus and cultural capital specific to the modest fashion field, as well as different taste regimes and classifications among observant Muslim women. Many Süleymanlı and Menzil informants, for example, İsa (male, 36, Menzil), Seçil and Burcu (female, 35, Süleymanlı), stated that Gülen members of their social circles prefer branded clothes and accessories and have conspicuous consumption tendencies. They place more emphasis on their appearances and spend more money on clothing. The clothing consumption practices of my Gülen informants, both men and women from middle- and high-income levels, are in line with these comments. They are knowledgeable and also regular customers of high street clothing brands, such as Tommy Hilfiger and Lacoste. It is also important to note that, in general, in the Gülen community the number of individuals with middle- and high-income levels is higher than those in the Menzil and Süleymanlı communities.20 However, there are also Gülen members 222

Fashion and Consumption from lower income levels. The shopping tendencies and clothing practices of these individuals differ from Gülenists with higher income levels. For example, Asude had no knowledge of modest fashion magazines, or of high street brands such as Zara, which are popular among veiled women and favourites of two other female Gülen informants, Didem and Leyla. Moreover, the appearance of my female Gülen informants from lower socioeconomic levels tended to be more in line with the publicly recognised ‘Islamist’ women (e.g. long and loose overcoats). On the other hand, the Gülenist women from middle and higher socioeconomic levels that I  interviewed rarely or never wear overcoats. There are also intracommunity differences resulting from the ‘gendered’ norms and practices of a given community. For example, whilst the Süleymanlı community orders Süleymanlı men not to wear jeans and denim products due to ‘health concerns’ (mainly infertility, see Chapter Two), Süleymanlı women are exempt from this community norm; therefore, they wear denim products, such as denim skirts and feraces. Thus, the findings of my fieldwork indicate both inter- and intracommunity differences. The increased availability of clothing and accessories, with a growing number of local and foreign high street and luxury brands available in the country, the development of the modest fashion field, and local mainstream brands’ targeting of ‘visibly Muslim’ consumers, have all made socioeconomic distinctions much more apparent. Consequently, observant Muslims (can) create new forms of identities through consumption and to differentiate themselves from observant Muslims from other socioeconomic levels, faith-inspired communities/tarikats, political affiliations and so on (see Lewis 2015a, Sandıkçı and Ger 2007). Moreover, by means of consumption, some observant Muslims, mostly those from higher socioeconomic levels, emulate some secular individuals from similar levels while differentiating themselves from other secular individuals. As mentioned in the Introduction, Nişantaşı and Teşvikiye in Istanbul have long been known as ‘secular’ neighbourhoods, home to local and foreign upscale fashion brands (e.g. Vakko, Beymen, Louis Vuitton, Armani) and high-end cafes and restaurants (Turam 2013). However, in addition to the increasing presence of visibly Muslim customers in those spaces, players in the modest fashion field, such as boutiques selling modest clothes and accessories 223

Faith and Fashion in Turkey and modest designer fashion houses (e.g. Nur Yamankaradeniz), are now expanding to these neighbourhoods. As shown in Chapter Three, all three communities are players in the economic field with investments in several business areas. However, they do not have much presence in the mainstream and modest fashion fields of Turkey. A  clothing company affiliated with the Menzil (launched in 2014), Nakşin, offers three lines:  newborn, children and modest womenswear. It has one store in Sultanbeyli, Istanbul, and sells all three lines online via its website. Nakşin builds its business activities and reputation largely upon its Menzil affiliation rather than on design and other product features. On the other hand, its womenswear collection is now sold by some well-known national and international online retailers (e.g. n11. com and Modanisa).21 Only a few Gülen-affiliated clothing and accessories companies and brands, such as the Aker brand of the Aydınlı Group are prominent in the Turkish textile and clothing sector. On the other hand, the Aydınlı Group repositioned its Aker brand, as well as Pierre Cardin and Cacharel accessories, particularly scarves, with the aim of appealing to all customers (secular and Islamic, veiled and non-veiled women) in the mainstream market of the country.22 It thereby attempted to alter the brand images of Aker, Pierre Cardin and Cacharel, all of which are widely known in Turkey as tesettürwear brands or apparel for veiled women. So, while the Turkish textile and clothing sector has grown rapidly (especially from the late 1980s onwards) and, more importantly, the market share of modest fashion in Turkey and abroad has grown, the Gülen, Süleymanlı and Menzil communities do not have a significant presence in this sector. This can be linked to the stigmatisation of the veil and modest clothing in Turkey as being closely associated with Islamism and negatively perceived as a symbol of Muslim groups, i.e. tarikats and faith-inspired communities. Moreover, in addition to popular and religious debates over ‘tesettür’ issues, such as what is ‘proper’ or ‘right’, ‘modest’ fashion is in itself a controversial issue in Turkey. Not only observant Muslims but also seculars question whether ‘modest’ or ‘Islam(ic)’ and ‘fashion’ go together. Therefore, these communities and their members may have chosen

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Fashion and Consumption strategically not to enter the textile and clothing sector or to become or remain players in the modest fashion field, such as the Aker brand. This may be a means of ensuring that they do not get embroiled in debates over tesettür and modest fashion, and thus of avoiding potential detrimental impacts of such debates and public attention on their communities.

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Conclusion

This book has advanced elements of different understandings and practices of Islam in a Muslim-majority context by examining the Gülen, Süleymanlı and Menzil communities and their members between 2012 and 2016 through ethnographic interviews, observations, and visual and textual data. I have included both male and female informants from these three communities, and compared and discussed the gendered practices and narratives of observant Muslims. By putting observant Muslim women and men from three faith-inspired communities in comparative perspective, I  have attempted to draw attention to Muslim men and their masculinities and to argue for the diversity of expressions and experiences of religion among observant men and women. In this respect, this book has contributed to the study of religious groups and of everyday lived religion (see, e.g., Dessing et al. (eds) 2013, Fader 2009). Applying the Bourdieuan framework of field, I  have defined the religious field in Turkey and critically explored the Gülen, Süleymanlı and Menzil fields (subfields of the religious field of Sunni Islam). The Bourdieuan framework facilitated the investigation of each community field and their relation to other fields (e.g. the economic and educational fields) by helping me to examine different species of capital and diverse

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Faith and Fashion in Turkey habitus and manifestations of power and conflict between agents and institutions within a community field and between different fields. Moreover, in order to focus on the everyday lives of women and men from the Gülen, Süleymanlı and Menzil communities and to analyse different experiences and expressions of religion by paying attention to the social environment and socially embedded patterns and practices of religion acquired through family, state institutions and faith-inspired communities, I have integrated the Bourdieuan framework of field with the lived religion approach. This has enabled me to examine embodied, spatial and material aspects of lived Islam and to scrutinise and compare personal, state and community understandings and practices of Islam. In particular, I have attempted to demonstrate that gendered experiences of Islam are present on inter- and intra-community levels. Muslim habitus consists of moral dispositions, such as thoughts and feelings, about what is halal and haram, good and bad, right and wrong, permissible and taboo, and sacred and profane, which structure and regulate the bodily and spatial practices of Muslim men and women (Winchester 2008: 1761). As I argued in Chapters Two and Four, these dispositions are subjective: for example, there may be inconsistency between individuals’ understandings of the rules and their practices. In addition, these dispositions change over time and across different communities. Consequently, Muslim habitus does not contain a single and durable set of dispositions; instead, there are multiple and variable sets of dispositions. Varieties in Muslim habitus are best observed in everyday lives, among different Muslim groups, and in different contexts, as identified within and among three faith-inspired communities in this research. For instance, as discussed in Chapter Three, there are different understandings and descriptions of the halalness of food and beverages among Muslims. Some may prefer certain producers and brands, which are accredited by a ‘particular’ halal certification body, whereas others may find this unimportant or unnecessary, especially in Muslim-majority contexts. Another illustration of the variety of Muslim habitus is the way Süleymanlı women tie their scarves, which demonstrates a form of Muslim habitus specific to the Süleymanlı field. Therefore, as everyday religion scholars (Ammerman 2007, 2014, McGuire 2008) suggest, the investigation of the lived religion 228

Conclusion enables us to identify diverse religious practices and experiences and to analyse identity and agency. The examination of the clothing, veiling, grooming and fashion consumption practices of men and women has illustrated the multiplicity and variability of Muslim identities at intra- and inter-community levels at a certain period of time and across times. As my informants live in both the Muslim and the secular habitus of the Turkish Muslim context, Muslim men and women can both alter their identities and circumstances. They do this through the use of both religious and secular sources and through different practices (e.g. performing daily prayers with makeup on) in different contexts (e.g. a Süleymanlı member employed as a public servant). Thus, as this book demonstrates, moving between different authorities and sources of Islam, Muslims can and do negotiate their positions, create alternatives and choose among them, and thus develop agency. However, the Islamic rules of clothing and modesty for women and men are interpreted, understood, contested and practised in different ways. As covered in Chapters Two and Four, different bodily practices indicate observant Muslim and community identities within the Gülen, Süleymanlı and Menzil. Most of these bodily practices are gendered, and women’s are certainly more easily recognisable and decodable in the public sphere. By contrast, in order not to be identified and thus run the risk of alienation and stigmatisation as members of a particular faith-inspired community and/or as an observant Muslim in the public sphere, Gülen, Süleymanlı and Menzil men intentionally and strategically construct and reconstruct their identities through their embodied practices. Thus, religious rules and community norms for men (i.e. dressing and grooming) are not regulated to the same extent as those for women (i.e. clothing and veiling), since men’s can be easily transformed and adjusted to the current socio-political context, and these changes are often disregarded or trivialised. This indicates that one-way observant identities and practices have come to be defined and negotiated mostly through the female body in Muslim societies. Agency is subject to temporality, the heterogeneity of contexts, and the reflexivity of individuals (Emirbayer and Mische 1998). As I have attempted to demonstrate in this book, the formation of agency is contingent on 229

Faith and Fashion in Turkey cultural, religious and socio-political contexts and an individual’s positions within these contexts. Muslim agency is performed and expressed differently at inter- and intra-community levels (even within the same Muslim context). In the Menzil community, members can critically engage with the state and community interpretations of Islam, and choose to comply with certain or all Islamic rules and community norms. For instance, it is up to Menzil member men to grow a moustache/beard, and Menzil member women can wear either a şal or a scarf, or not wear the veil. On the other hand, Süleymanlıs, especially female members and male and female personnel, have little room for agency, particularly in terms of their personal appearance (Chapter Two). However, they still have the capacity to form and differentiate their Muslim/Süleymanlı subjectivities. In this regard, the mainstream and modest fashion fields provide Süleymanlı female members and male and female personnel options, such as different brands and fabric/scarf patterns. Moreover, the modest fashion field is a source of pious female agency not only for Süleymanlı women but also for observant veiled/non-veiled women, since, as discussed in Chapter Five, it offers diverse options and forms to choose from, such as square scarves, rectangular şals, and overcoats in various colours and lengths, and can create and present different identities. Therefore, consumption and (modest) consumer culture play an important role in the construction and presentation of male and female Muslim subjectivities. Muslim agency has constructive and (self-)transformative potentialities, especially ‘when faced with contradictory or otherwise problematic situations’ (Emirbayer and Mische 1998: 1012). As discussed in Chapter Three, the Gülen community’s hierarchical organisational structure and socio-political agenda tends to shape subjectivities, which can be regarded as limiting individual rights and liberties, as it demands certain practices and performances from members at different levels of the community. However, for a Gülen member, de-veiling or shaving the moustache may not be viewed as a practice limiting his/her individual rights and liberties, but a bodily act that constructs him/her as a ‘Gülenist’. In a similar vein, whilst the Süleymanlı norms related to the body and bodily practices can be read as restriction and oppression, it is through these norms that Süleymanlı subjectivities are constructed. Therefore, norms have the 230

Conclusion power to form subjectivities and thus do not always/necessarily restrict the formation of agency (see Mahmood 2005). As Christman notes, the conditions of autonomy are not about the content or structure of preferences, but ‘essentially bear on the formation of preferences’ (1991: 346, original emphasis). It is ‘always the origin of desires that matters in liberal judgments about autonomy’ (ibid.:  359, original emphasis). In this respect, gender plays a crucial role in the formation of preferences and agency for Muslim subjectivities. As I discussed in Chapters Two to Four, Muslim women exercise and express agency differently. Some Muslim women do not critically evaluate and/or (cannot) freely choose, but seek to comply with ascribed roles and traditions. However, for many others, piety can be a source of agency and they can thus manifest critical agency (Rinaldo 2014: 825, Asad 1993, Mahmood 2005). As Mahmood (2005) notes, and indeed as my informants Burcu and Sümbül stated (see Chapter Four), removing the veil does not make women who are accustomed to regularly wearing the veil feel comfortable. In that case, what are the feelings of those Gülen and Süleymanlı men who, in order to construct their community ‘vitrin’ (window), have replaced their Islamic bodily practices with ‘secular’, ‘non-religious’ ones, such as wearing slim-fit shirts and growing ‘trendy’ moustaches and beard styles? To what extent are their inner motives affected by alteration of their pious bodily practices? As explained in the Introduction, due to the socio-political events which occurred during my fieldwork, my contact with members of the three communities was terminated unexpectedly; therefore, I  could not discuss these issues in detail with my male informants. On the other hand, as discussed in Chapters Two to Four, it was through the female body and women’s bodily practices that they argued for Muslim identities and virtues, particularly modesty. Moreover, not only my male informants but (observant) Muslim men in general have long criticised (observant) Muslim women’s veiling as well as non-veiling practices. Nevertheless, ‘men’s tesettür’, including how they dress themselves and groom their facial hair, has received greater attention in the 2010s, in particular from the Islamic/Islamist public, some Islamic/Islamist journalists, theologians of Islam, and Islamic/Islamist TV personalities in secular and religious media outlets.1 However, this still remains largely disregarded not only by 231

Faith and Fashion in Turkey (observant) men but also by (observant) women. Consequently, the investigation of Muslim male subjectivities and analysis of the formation of the Muslim ‘male’ inner self and its relation to outward behaviours in different contexts (and with regards to women) will provide us with different comparative perspectives and contribute greatly to the scholarship on religion, gender and feminism. This book has demonstrated that men and women, as well as state and private institutions, are involved in the regulation of the female body. Male family members, especially fathers and husbands, may command or force women to cover their hair and wear clothes that they consider proper (Chapters Two and Four). Compared to the communities, families have more influence on and power over decisions and practices related to veiling and dressing in accordance with tesettür. The age at and the way in which women start to wear the veil – willingly or unwillingly, pleasantly or unpleasantly – affect their understandings and practices of clothing, veiling and modesty, and greatly contribute to the construction of their Muslim and community identities. Moreover, some faith-inspired communities, such as the Süleymanlı community, may set certain veiling and clothing forms and norms for women, and request that their female members comply with them. Through surveillance and discourses, both male and female members take part in the proliferation and implementation of these community norms and tesettür of women (see Chapters Two to Four). Furthermore, as discussed in Chapter Four, the state has exercised power over both the male and female bodies in an attempt to create desired citizens and keep Islam out of the public sphere through its secular institutions (most notably the Turkish military), its secular laws and modernising reforms. However, observant Muslims do not always oppose the secularist policies, practices and institutions of the state. Instead, as presented in Chapter Three, they may strategically choose some secularist discourses and practices to support or comply with. As explained in Chapters Two and Three, the Süleymanlı and Menzil communities perform some religious practices (such as rabıta and zikir) and deliver medrese education which are not included in the state form of Islam. However, contrary to Tuğal’s claim, the Gülen, Süleymanlı and Menzil communities, which are secondary players in the religious field of 232

Conclusion Sunni Islam, have not refrained from politics and have not always had any or many ‘recognized religious credentials’ (2011: 93). For example, some community members and even two community leaders, Fethullah Gülen and Süleyman Hilmi Tunahan, have occupied positions at the Directorate of Religious Affairs, as the state has validated their religious knowledge. However, as state practices have diminished the power and authority of these communities from time to time (e.g. the secularisation reforms in the single-party era and the military coups), communities have developed new strategies and, when necessary, reorganised their activities. In addition, faith-inspired communities in Turkey do not always stand against the state form of Islam (cf. Tuğal 2011). Instead, they support some practices and discourses of official Islam and, in some instances, even collaborate with state institutions. In this respect, the Bourdieuan framework of field helps us to determine and define diverse agents and institutions and to analyse information in the public domain in a new, more complex way. An illustration of this is the collaboration between a state institution, the Ministry of National Education, and a religious foundation, Hayrat Vakfı, in the field of education: as a result of a protocol signed in April 2012, Hayrat Vakfı (established in 1974 by Hüsrev Altınbaşak, a follower of Bediüzzaman Said Nursî) offers free training courses in Ottoman Turkish at around 380 public education centres throughout the country as part of the lifelong learning scheme of the Ministry of National Education.2 Examples such as this demonstrate the validity of Bourdieuan concepts of field, habitus and capital in Muslim contexts. For Bourdieu, the ultimate aim of human motivation in developing moral dispositions is not only to act morally but also to maximise material and symbolic profits: acquiring different species of capital and thereby power and distinction in the social world (Bourdieu 1991). As discussed in Chapters Two to Four, possessing and enacting a community’s habitus allows community members to accumulate different forms of capital in their community field. The capital acquired in their own community field can be converted into other forms of capital within the same field or in different fields, such as the journalistic, educational and academic fields. This, as explained in Chapter Three, provides community members numerous benefits, such as upward social mobility. Thus, community-specific social 233

Faith and Fashion in Turkey capital shapes ‘intellectual production’ (e.g. books and magazines), the proliferation and diffusion of a community’s ideas, agendas, and patterns of behaviour and lifestyles (e.g. community meetings and communityaffiliated secondary schools), and facilitates the development of new organisations or collaborations with other (external) agents and institutions (e.g. supporting a political party in general elections) to further a faith-inspired community’s interests (Diani 1997: 140). The Gülen, Süleymanlı and Menzil communities have benefited immensely from the opportunity spaces which emerged as a result of the economic liberalisation policies of the 1980s and early 1990s (Yavuz 2004c) and have greatly contributed to the development and spread of the communities. Investigating these three communities’ marketplaces, this book has presented the activities and sectors that the communities and their members are involved in, and has argued for the benefits of these at individual and community levels. As demonstrated in Chapter Three, economic capital accumulated within a faith-inspired community, as well as in other fields through community-affiliated business activities, is transformed into community capital, particularly economic and social capital, within the community field through donations to the community. For instance, Gülenist business people have benefited from business associations that they have formed in terms of the accumulation and transformation of diverse forms of capital between the community and economic fields. The study of the Gülen, Süleymanlı and Menzil marketplaces has shown that community-affiliated enterprises are not solely and necessarily based on the integration of religious rules into business activities. In addition, most community-affiliated enterprises offer goods and services that are already easily available in the country’s marketplace, such as interestfree banking and halal meat products. Instead, they create alternatives for their community members and thereby gain benefits. Therefore, these enterprises, like any other commercial enterprise, are primarily aimed at making profits. This indicates that community-affiliated enterprises are unlikely to be more oriented towards broader social concerns than commercial enterprises in general (cf. Klein et al. 2017). Thus, this book expands our understanding of business organisations and the marketplaces of religious groups (see, e.g., Karataş and Sandıkçı 2013, La Barbera 1992). 234

Conclusion It also offers a guideline for future research: to what extent are communityaffiliated enterprises developed and dependent upon community-specific capital? How and to what extent is their community affiliation influential for their business growth and performance? In other words, is community affiliation beneficial for commercial enterprises, and if so to what extent? As experienced in the aftermath of the Gülen-AKP conflict that began in late 2013 (see Chapters One and Three), the community affiliation of an enterprise can easily and strikingly turn from a competitive advantage into a disadvantage. Therefore, there is a need to further explore community marketplaces, and to consider whether an enterprise can hide its community affiliation and/or disassociate itself from the community, and, if possible, in what ways and to what degree. In a nutshell, it will be fruitful to find out whether and how community affiliation is sustainable for a commercial enterprise. Neoliberalism and political Islam in post-1980s Turkey have fuelled the development and proliferation of religiously-related NGOs (Göçmen 2014). These include Kimse Yok Mu (Gülen-affiliated) and Beşir Derneği (Menzil-affiliated) solidarity associations that, like the Süleymanlı Qur’an courses, have collected religiously-related voluntary (i.e. sadaka [almsgiving]) and obligatory donations, including zekât (a systematic giving of a proportion of one’s wealth every year to benefit the poor) and livestock or monetary donations for Eid al-Adha (the Feast of Sacrifice). Thus, the study of religious groups’ charity activities, such as exploring the social organisations of faith-inspired communities (such as the collection and use of monetary and other donations  – e.g. a building or livestock) and examining macro- and micro-level interactions (e.g. collaboration and competition) between solidarity/humanitarian aid organisations of the state (e.g. Kızılay [the Turkish Red Crescent] and the social aid programmes of municipalities) and of faith-inspired communities (e.g. Beşir Derneği of the Menzil community) in Turkey and abroad, can extend the scholarship on faithbased humanitarian organisations and voluntary activities as well as pious neoliberalism and socioeconomic development (see e.g. Atia 2013, Clarke and Jennings (eds) 2008). Moreover, the investigation of trade associations affiliated to faith-inspired communities could extend our knowledge of Islamic/Islamist capital owners, businesses and business associations as 235

Faith and Fashion in Turkey well as the Islamic bourgeoisie and middle class, and expand the scholarship on the relationship between business practices, markets, politics, Islam and communities’ marketplaces.3 This book has also explored both private spaces and the Gülen, Süleymanlı and Menzil communities’ spaces (e.g. student dormitories). Thus, it has examined the acquisition, practice and proliferation of community-specific habitus and capital in these spaces (Chapter Four). Moreover, I  have discussed how different categories of space (i.e. sacred and profane, secular and religious, and private and public) are produced and perceived differently at different levels (i.e. individual, community and societal). By doing so, I have shown that in Muslim contexts spaces are not constant and static but as fluid as their characteristics and the expected practices in them, which are in turn shaped in line with Islamic rules and traditions, and change depending mostly on the gender and kinship of the individuals concerned. Thus, both characteristics of and expected practices in a space are temporal. Nonetheless, understandings of the characteristics of a space and conformation to expected practices remain personal. Consequently, space and spatiality contribute to the construction of gendered bodily practices and thereby to Muslim male and female identities. As in other Islamic groups and Muslim contexts (see e.g. Shannahan 2014, Wadud 2006, Wieringa 2015), heteronormativity is predominant in these three communities, especially in their spaces and spatial practices. Further investigation of community spaces and spatial practices, particularly student houses and dormitories, might shed light on gender regimes, such as homosocialisation and thoughts about and relations with the opposite sex, and could expand our knowledge of individual experiences not only in these communities but also among Muslims in general. In addition, this could provide thorough analysis of heteronormative regulations and religious patriarchy in Muslim contexts and religious groups, and therefore contribute to previous works on gender and religion. What remains unknown about these faith-inspired communities is whether members and/or personnel can choose to leave a faith-inspired community, and, if they can, how and to what extent members and/or personnel can disaffiliate themselves from their former communities and social environments. Whilst numerous works have analysed individuals’ 236

Conclusion experiences of disaffiliation from religious groups of several other faiths (e.g. Judaism and Christianity) and their post-disaffiliation lives (see e.g. Davidman 2011, 2015, McAlexander et al. 2014); the scholarship on Muslims’ experiences of attachment to and disassociation from Islamic groups and their post-disaffiliation lives remains limited, and mostly covers radical movements and militant groups, e.g. Salafism (see Muhanna-Matar 2017). In this respect, exploring personnel and members’ experiences, including their decisions to join, stories about attachment and belonging, mobility of affiliations as well as disaffiliation, reasons to leave, and their lives after leaving, could extend our knowledge of religious groups in Islam. Points of interest might include issues of commitment and conformity, and identities and lifestyles after leaving.4 This could also provide a comparative analysis of bodily and spatial practices from the perspective of current versus former members of a particular faith-inspired community. Religion is an important element in Turkish society: it is influential at societal and institutional levels, including the state, and religious power and authority can be converted into many fields to obtain a wide range of benefits, such as votes in elections or monetary gains. Therefore, as this research has illustrated, there are continuous struggles between the Gülen, Süleymanlı and Menzil communities, and between these communities and the state, for power and authority and for control over resources. These struggles are not limited to the religious field, but extend to numerous other fields (e.g. the bureaucratic field). This book thus provides further support for Tuğal’s argument that religious hegemony involves the power to transform everyday lives and the state (Tuğal 2009b: 447; 2009a), and demonstrates the utilisation of religious power and authority in several other fields. Under the AKP, religious capital has increasingly become easily convertible into other fields, most notably into the political, bureaucratic and economic fields. Agents and institutions in the religious field of Sunni Islam, most notably the Gülen community and its members, have gained great power and authority, and their access to resources in numerous fields has increased.5 Nonetheless, as explained in Chapters One and Three, the conflict between the government and the Gülen community became public in late 2013, and the state declared the Gülen community a terrorist 237

Faith and Fashion in Turkey organisation in early 2015. Beginning in 2014 and continuing in 2015 and 2016, the state investigated and seized Gülen-affiliated organisations, and interrogated and arrested some Gülen members and sympathisers, all with the aim of eliminating the community’s power in state institutions and society and of diminishing its financial power. As a result, the financial revenues of the Gülen community significantly decreased, and Gülenists sought the support of other faith-inspired communities. Some Gülen-affiliated political commentators and news outlets (such as Zaman) claimed that after targeting the Gülen community, the Turkish state would carry out investigations into other faith-inspired communities, including the Süleymanlı and Menzil. These speculations quickly spread among members of faith-inspired communities (although the National Security Council, MGK, denied them).6 For instance, when I  visited my Menzil informant Seçil in June 2015 at her hair and beauty salon, I noticed a donation box for Kimse Yok Mu (a Gülen-affiliated solidarity association) on the reception desk. Following the 15 July 2016 coup attempt, the state investigations and seizures of Gülen-affiliated for-profit and non-profit organisations accelerated, and the number of Gülen-affiliated individuals who were detained or arrested escalated. Some questions related to personal experiences of the 15 July 2016 coup attempt and its aftermath may include:  what will happen to those who had been employed by or studied at Gülen-affiliated institutions, and to those Gülen-affiliated businesses and business people? Whether and for how long will they continue facing alienation and stigmatisation in public? Will they remain unemployed or boycotted? In addition, it will be interesting to explore whether and to what degree the conflict between the Gülen community and the AKP government, and the 15 July 2016 coup attempt and its aftermath, have influenced Turkish society’s perception and attitudes towards the Gülen and other faith-inspired communities. As explained in Chapters One and Three, in the 2010s the AKP government lifted the headscarf ban and enormously increased the number of İmam-Hatip schools. It will be fruitful to investigate how these policies have affected Islamic lives and faith-inspired communities, for example whether the demand for Süleymanlı education will decrease now that 238

Conclusion girls continuing in state education can wear the veil, starting from the fifth grade (age 10–11). Moreover, several other state policies and legislative actions of the AKP have endeavoured to monitor and regulate individual rights and liberties (such as limiting access to alcohol and attempting to ban co-ed dormitories for university students) and have increasingly cast women as objects of ‘protection’ (Değirmencioğlu 2012, Kandiyoti 2015). The AKP government and President Erdoğan (2014 onwards) have frequently employed religion and religious concepts to justify and legalise women’s conduct and propriety in their populist discourses, such as restricted access to abortion and the discouragement of caesarean section births (Kandiyoti 2015, Unal 2015). In addition, masculinist discourses and practices developed on Islam, militarism, Turkish nationalism and neo-Ottomanism have been continuously reproduced, disseminated and favoured in the political, social and cultural arenas (Dönmez 2015). It will be interesting to see how observant Muslim men and women as well as secular (or non-practising, atheist) and non-Muslim men and women perceive and experience all these religious and patriarchal discourses and practices. This can also extend the knowledge on the construction, presentation, and representation of (Islamic/Islamist) femininities and masculinities in a Muslim-majority context. Faith-inspired communities and membership of these communities are personally, socially and politically sensitive issues in Turkey. It is therefore difficult to define (one’s) membership of the Gülen, Süleymanlı and Menzil communities, and determine their population census. As I  explained in the Introduction, the timing of this research was challenging and sociopolitical events have made it more difficult than I  initially imagined it would be. In the near future, access to faith-inspired communities, especially their activities and members in Turkey, may not be possible at all.7

239

Appendix Pseudonyms

Community Gender Age

Education

Occupation

Socioeconomic status

Marital status

Ahenk

Menzil

F

33

Middle

Self-employed

Middle

Ahmet (Tayyibe’s husband) Ali

Gülen

M

27

High school

Self-employed

Upper-middle

Süleymanlı

M

32

High school

Asude

Gülen

F

31

BA

Hocabey + manager of Middle a Süleymanlı malestudent dormitory Homemaker Middle

Married with one child Married with one child Married

Aylin Berna (İsa’s wife)

Menzil Menzil

F F

22 36

Burcu (Fadıl’s wife)

Süleymanlı

F

35

BA student Two-year associate degree* Elementary

Candan (Rahmi’s wife) Didem

Menzil

F

37

Gülen

F

Dursun

Gülen

Fadıl (Burcu’s husband)

Süleymanlı

Married with two children Single Married with two children

Student Nurse

Middle Middle Middle

Married with two children

Elementary

Homemaker (but active in the community) Homemaker

Lower-middle

29

BA

Homemaker

Upper-middle

M

45

Middle

Self-employed

Middle

M

42

BA

Self-employed

Middle

Married with three children Married with one child Married with two children Married with two children

Pseudonyms

Community Gender Age

Education

Occupation

Socioeconomic status

Marital status

Fatma

Menzil

F

42

Elementary

Homemaker

Lower-middle

Halide

Gülen

F

33

BA

Homemaker

Upper-middle

Havva Hayri (Hülya’s husband)

Gülen Gülen

F M

17 43

Student Self-employed

Lower-middle Upper-middle

Hülya (Hayri’s wife) Hürrem

Gülen

F

35

BA student Two-year associate degree* Middle

Married with two children Married with two children Single Married with two children

Homemaker

Upper-middle

Süleymanlı

F

49

Elementary

Homemaker (but teaching the Qur'an and called ‘teacher’ in community) Civil engineer

Lower-middle

Self-employed (but active in the community) Homemaker Homemaker

Middle

Manager of a Süleymanlı nursery school Self-employed

Middle

İsa (Berna’s husband) Kadriye

Menzil

M

36

BA

Süleymanlı

F

30

High school

Leyla Meltem

Gülen Gülen

F F

26 43

BA Elementary

Muharrem

Süleymanlı

M

33

BA student

Necati (Pembe’s husband)

Menzil

M

29

High school

Middle

Middle Lower-middle

Lower-middle

Married with two children Married with two children Married with two children Single Married Married with three children Married with two children Married with two children

Pseudonyms

Community Gender Age

Education

Occupation

Socioeconomic status

Marital status

Nisa

Gülen

F

38

BA

Self-employed

Middle

Osman

Süleymanlı

M

28

BA

Pembe (Necati’s wife)

Menzil

F

31

High school

Hocabey + manager of Middle a Süleymanlı malestudent dormitory Homemaker Lower-middle

Married with one child Married

Rahmi (Candan’s husband) Reyhan

Menzil

M

47

High school

Labourer

Lower-middle

Süleymanlı

F

42

Elementary

Homemaker

Middle

Seçil

Menzil

F

34

High school

Hair dresser

Middle

Selçuk

Gülen

M

45

Elementary

Self-employed

Middle

Suat

Süleymanlı

M

56

High school

Self-employed

Middle

Sümbül

Süleymanlı

F

48

Elementary

Upper-middle

Tayyibe (Ahmet’s wife) Veli

Gülen

F

26

High school

Homemaker (but active in the community) Homemaker

Gülen

M

53

High school

Self-employed

Middle

Upper-middle

Married with two children Married with three children Married with two children Divorced with two children Married with three children Married with one child Married with two children Married with one child Married with two children

* A two-year associate degree is a higher degree awarded by universities and offered mainly in technical and vocational fields for entry into the workforce.

Notes Preface 1. For instance, the number of Gülen-affiliated universities founded between 2002 and 2016 was fourteen:  İzmir (2007), Turgut Özal (2008), Melikşah (2008), Gediz (2008), Mevlana (2009), Zirve (2010), Süleyman Şah (2010), Şifa (2010), İpek (2011), Bursa Orhangazi (2011), Canik Başarı (2012), Murat Hüdavendigar (2012), Selahaddin Eyyubi (2013) and Kanuni (2013). These universities, together with Fatih University (another Gülen-affiliated university, founded in 1996), were closed down following the 15 July 2016 coup attempt (see Resmî Gazete 29779). For more information on the shifting relationship between the AKP government and the Gülen community, see Taş 2017. 2. See Chapters One and Three, and also Altınordu (2017) and Yavuz and Koç (2016), for more information on the 15 July 2016 coup attempt and its aftermath.

Introduction 1. Islam is not a ‘monolith’, but has a ‘plethora of meanings and experiences’ (Wadud 2006: 5). The traditions of numerous religions and cultures have been ‘blended inextricably and absorbed’ into Islamic interpretations and practices throughout the history of Islam (Ahmed 1992: 238). 2. See, for example, Haddad 2007, Read and Bartkowski 2000, Zine 2006. In addition, numerous scholarly works have examined the ban and debates on the headscarf in Turkey (see, for example, Saktanber and Çorbacıoğlu 2008) as well as veiled women’s clothing and veiling practices (see, for example, Gökarıksel and Secor 2012, Sandıkçı and Ger 2005a, 2007, 2010). 3. According to the study by Çarkoğlu and Toprak (2007), over 60 per cent of women in Turkey wear the veil. 4. In this book, ‘unveil’ refers to the removal of the veil in a particular space and for a certain period of time. For instance, a veiled woman takes her scarf off as she arrives home. On the other hand, ‘de-veil’ refers to a veiled woman’s decision to no longer wear the veil (or at least not to do so for an unknown period

245

Notes to Pages 2–6

5.

6.

7.

8.

9.

10.

of time). Thus, she becomes ‘non-veiled’ as she de-veils, and if she decides to wear the veil regularly again, she re-veils. It is important to clarify the meanings and uses of the terms ‘Islamic’ and ‘Islamist’ while referring to individuals in this book: ‘Islamist’ refers to supporters of political Islam, whereas ‘Islamic’ stands for observant Muslims: individuals practising Islam on a regular basis. Since I do not examine political Islam in Turkey, but investigate everyday Islam, whether my informants are actively involved in or support political Islam remains unknown to me. However, as individuals belonging to three faith-inspired communities, my informants are consciously observant Muslims. Therefore, throughout the book, I use the terms ‘observant Muslim’ and ‘Islamic’ interchangeably. These three communities, like many other faith-inspired communities and Sufi orders in Turkey, have not built their own political party. However, as I  note in Chapter One, they have supported several centre-right, centre-left and Islamist parties. Moreover, the Menzil community that I investigate in this book should not be confused with the ‘Menzil’ group which is a Shi’i organisation belonging to Kurdish Hizbullah in Turkey (see Kurt 2017). The Süleymanlı community and its members are widely known and referred to as Süleymancı in Turkey, especially by non-members. However, the community members find this term pejorative. According to Ak (1986), the term Süleymancı was coined and used for the first time in 1967 or 1968 due to the polarisation that resulted from the conflicts with the state’s religious institutions, i.e. the Directorate of Religious Affairs and İmam-Hatip schools (see Chapter Three). Instead, the members refer to their community as the ‘Süleyman Efendi’ or ‘Süleymanlı‘, and call themselves ‘Süleymanlı‘. Thus, in this book, I refer to this community and its members as ‘Süleymanlı‘. Moreover, Menzil members in colloquial language are called ‘Menzilci’, but they also refer to themselves as ‘Nahşibendi’ or ‘Sofi’. Understandings and uses of the concept of ‘community’ have been politicised, contested and changed over time in different political and social contexts. Thus, as elsewhere, the concept of ‘community’ is contentious in this Turkish and Muslim context. In this book, community means a group of people who are bound together around ‘a set of practices that constitute belonging’ (Delanty 2003: 130). Most sources on the Süleymanlı and Menzil communities are non-scholarly works, produced by journalists (see Çakır 1990) or members/sympathisers of these two communities (see Akgündüz 1997, Emre 2013). In addition, limited scholarship focuses on activities of the Süleymanlı in Europe (see Sunier and Landman 2015, Yükleyen 2009, 2010). Borrowing Latour’s notion of ‘instaur’, Mellor and Shilling (2014) employ the terms ‘instaur’ and ‘instauration’ to describe reflexive and constant construction and reconstruction of religious habitus. Accordingly, ‘instauring a

246

Notes to Pages 6–29

11.

12. 13.

14. 15.

16.

17. 18.

religious habitus can be understood as crafting a mode of being that locates human action, feeling and thought at the embodied intersection of worldly and other-worldly realities with the aim of imparting a particular directionality to life. This directionality can, of course, have highly variable relations with broader social contexts: worldly elements and other-worldly traditions can reshape each other, while different repertoires encoded within contrasting religious ‘traditions’ signal variable degrees of potential for interacting creatively with broader social and cultural opportunities and challenges.’ (ibid.: 282). Social movements can generally be referred to as collective ventures that are formed by people who share common purposes and utilise networks and resources in different fields (Crossley 2002). The New Social Movements theory emanated from the attempts to explore movements (such as animal rights, environmentalism and second-wave feminism) and concepts (for example, post-secularisation) which emerged in Western European societies starting in the 1960s and have restructured everyday lives (ibid.). It focuses on cultural analysis and places ‘the transformation of the identities’ at the centre (Tuğal 2009b: 423). See Gökarıksel and Secor (2009), Sandıkçı and Ger (2007), Secor (2002). This is similar to kosher issues and debates resulting from Jewish migration to the New World in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries (see Campbell et al. 2011). Though, as noted by Campbell et al. (2011), knowledge on the global history of food audit, such as kosher and halal, is limited. In this book, the word ‘mainstream’ (as in ‘mainstream media’ and ‘mainstream fashion’) refers to having a wider presence and catering to a wide array of customers rather than being the opposite of ‘trendy’. However, it is important to note that I used my social media accounts under my own name and did not participate in, but solely followed posts of and conversations among, other users that were open to the general public on social media portals. See the Appendix. For example, exploration of (divorced) men’s experiences, actions and feelings in divorce (see Arendell 1997).

Chapter One: Historical Context: Politics, Religion, Society and the Communities 1. All Turkish citizens adopted and registered hereditary surnames with the Surname Law introduced in 1934.

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Notes to Pages 29–34 2. The single-party era includes two unsuccessful attempts to establish multiparty regime, with the Progressive Republican Party (17 November 1924 – 5 June 1925) and the Free Republic Party (12 August – 17 November 1930) (see Feroz Ahmad 1993, Emrence 2009). 3. Kemalism, an ideology developed in the very early years of the Turkish Republic and formalised as the official ideology in 1935, does not pertain to the single party era. Instead, it has evolved in the following decades:  it has been embraced and implemented by various actors and institutions, such as the Military and the National Security Council (MGK), and even integrated with different ideologies, such as socialism (see Altun 2010, Cizre-Sakallıoğlu and Çınar 2003). 4. It is important to note that in Turkey there may be some differences among generations in terms of the impact of Kemalism, secularism and images of the ‘modern’ individual (with Western or European/American looks and lifestyles). While Kemalism and secularism were strictly in force in some periods, such as the 1930s and 1990s, they were loosely implemented in other periods, for instance in the first half of the 2010s. Moreover, images of the ideal or ‘modern’ individual have reflected not only state policies such as Kemalism but also social trends, and have therefore changed throughout the history of the republic. 5. This law was strictly enforced until the 1950s, and the estimated number of people who were punished for violations was over 850:  808 people were arrested and 57 were executed (Nereid 2011). 6. Traditionally, brimless headwear (such as the fez and sarık) was worn on an everyday basis in Turkey, not only in the private but also in the public sphere, and had both religious and cultural meanings, denoting things like ethnic group and social status. 7. In order to implement the adoption of modern (i.e. western) clothing and life styles, and to propagate the Kemalist principles, particularly nationalism, secularism and populism, throughout the country, the single-party regime founded the People’s Houses (Halkevleri) in 1932. There were also publications as official propaganda organs of Kemalism, such as Ülkü, a weekly magazine (see Aydın 2003, Erdal 2011). 8. The Directorate of Religious Affairs:  www.diyanet.gov.tr/en/home [Accessed 20 July 2017]. 9. By 1950, the number of People’s Houses was 478. People’s Rooms, opened in villages after 1940, reached 4,322 by 1950 (Karpat 2004). 10. Starting in the late 1950s in Turkey, as elsewhere, the number of men wearing hats began to decrease sharply, and since the 1980s hardly no man wore Western-style, brimmed hats regularly, even though the law remained in force until 2014. 11. Accordingly, nationalism and modernisation, on which Kemalism is based, is an imitation of the West. Thus, the National Outlook rejects nationalism

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Notes to Pages 34–45

12.

13.

14.

15.

16. 17. 18.

19. 20. 21. 22.

and asserts the superiority of Islamic values over Western materialistic values (Gülalp 1997). Until the 2000s Recep Tayyip Erdoğan and some prominent names of the AKP were among the cadres of the the National Outlook and its political parties (see Yavuz 2003). The MNP, founded in 1970, was closed down following the 12 March 1971 military coup. A  new party, the MSP, was established in October 1972 and formed coalition governments in the 1970s. It was closed down following the 12 September 1980 coup. According to Ayata (1993), there were three reasons for this. Firstly, throughout the 1970s the political and economic relations with Islamic countries were growing significantly whereas relations with Western countries were deteriorating. For instance, Turkey attempted to establish close relationships with neighbouring states in the Middle East in order to overcome economic difficulties arising from the oil crises of the 1970s. Secondly, the military regime realised the power of religion as a legitimising force for their policies. Lastly, Islam served as an important instrument in the struggle against communism (p. 64). The Nur movement builds upon the tafsir (exegesis of the Qur’an) called Risalei Nur (Epistles of Light) of the theologian Bediüzzaman Said Nursî (1878– 1960). Factions of the Nur movement include the Yeni Asyacılar, Yazıcılar and Okuyucular (for more information on the Nur movement and Bediüzzaman Said Nursî, see Mardin 1989, Yavuz 2003, 2004a, 2004b). Until 1965, individuals who obtained an elementary-school degree and received Qur’anic education in private institutions could be employed by the Directorate of Religious Affairs as Muslim clerics (civil servants, see also Chapters Two and Three). www.manisadabugun.com/ gundem/ haram- lokma- yemedim- tisortlerimanisadan-h6869.html [Accessed 17 July 2017]. For more information on the 15 July 2016 coup attempt and aftermath, see Gurcan and Gisclon 2016, Özyürek 2016. The state of emergency was extended for another three months four times – on 3 October 2016, 3 January 2017, 17 April 2017 and 17 July 2017, in effect from 19 October 2016, 19 January 2017, 19 April 2017, and 19 July 2017 respectively. See Resmî Gazete. No: 29818, Mükerrer. www.milliyet.com.tr/ - suleymancilar- in- yeni- lideri- gundem- 2315994/ [Accessed 20 July 2017]. For more information about the duties of hocabeys and hocahanıms, see Çakmak 2013. His elder brother, Mehmet Beyazıt Denizolgun, has also been in politics as one of the founders of the AKP and served as an MP in the 22nd and 23rd Parliaments (2002–2011). However, Mehmet Beyazıt Denizolgun is believed

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Notes to Pages 45–56

23. 24.

25. 26.

27.

28. 29.

30. 31. 32.

33.

to have a tiny sect of supporters among Süleymanlıs, whilst most Süleymanlıs recognised the community leadership of Arif Ahmet Denizolgun and supported the political parties he endorsed, such as the Democrat Party in the 2007 general elections (Erbil 2007). Peçe was mostly worn by urban women from the late nineteenth century onwards (see Tezcan 1995). As Altinay notes, even though this style was called Şulebaş, signifying one particular style of headscarf, it was versatile and was worn with variations in the materials, colours, patterns and ways of tying the scarf. For contemporary veiling and clothing of Emine Erdoğan, see Chapter Five. She is the aunt of the politician, Ali Babacan (MP from the AKP [2002–], Minister of Economy [2002–2007], Minister of Foreign Affairs [2007–2009], and Deputy Prime Minister [2009–2015]). Despite the military regime’s adoption of Turkish-Islamic ideology as the new state ideology, veiling was considered ‘a practice not only of ‘dark and distant lands’ but also of the ‘dark and distant (Ottoman) past’ (Gökarıksel and Mitchell 2005: 148), and was therefore judged unsuitable for the (desired) Turkish identity. Although Süleymanlı women wear denim garments, the Süleymanlı community does not allow men to wear jeans and other denim products (see Chapter Two). However, as I discuss in Chapter Four, women’s participation in the workforce in Turkey, which is the lowest in the OECD, still remains much lower than men’s; see www.oecdbetterlifeindex.org/countries/turkey/ [Accessed 17 July 2017]. See Gökarıksel and Secor (2009, 2010a), Kılıçbay and Binark (2002), NavaroYashin (2002), Sandıkçı and Ger (2005a). See also Genel and Karaosmanoğlu (2006), Göle (2000), Kılıçbay and Binark (2002), Sandıkçı and Ger (2002, 2005a, 2010). Despite the expanding freedom and rights of veiled women in the public sphere, other AKP policies on gender have relied upon and even entrenched and extended the patriarchal structure of society and its patriarchal norms, such as restricting access to abortions, discouraging C-sections, and condemning co-ed dormitories (see Kandiyoti 2015, 2016). www.hurriyet.com.tr/tskda-basortusu-yasagi-kalkti-40373902 [Accessed 17 July 2017].

Chapter Two: Fields and Habitus: The Religious Field of Sunni Islam and the Community Fields 1. Although censuses are regularly conducted in Turkey, and the state’s statistical institute, TÜİK (Turkish Statistical Institute), collects and analyses the

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Notes to Pages 56–68 population and sample data related to numerous issues (such as employment, income and leisure time activities), information on religious sects (such as Sunni and Alevi) and ethnic origins (such as Kurdish, Circassian, and Pomak) is either not collected or not made public. In 2014, the Directorate of Religious Affairs and TÜİK conducted research into religious beliefs (entitled Türkiye’de Dini Hayat [Religious Life in Turkey], see Diyanet İşleri Başkanlığı 2014); however, this only included the Sunni and Shi’i sects and their orthodox sub-sects whilst excluding Alevism. According to this research, 99.2 per cent of the population is Muslim while 0.4 per cent belongs to other religions. 89 per cent of the Muslim population is Sunni (77.5 per cent Hanefi, 11.1 per cent Shafi, 0.1 per cent Hanbeli, and 0.03 per cent Maliki) and 1 per cent is Shi’a (Jaffari). The percentages of those who do not belong to any sect or sub-sect, and those who do not know their sect and sub-sect are 6.3 per cent and 2.4 per cent, respectively. 2. Although in the 2000s the Gülen community, with the aim of penetrating the religious field of Alevism, collaborated with some right-wing Alevi associations (for example the CEM) for a mosque-cemevi (a religious space of Alevism) project (see Tee 2016) and also founded several Alevi associations, such as Istanbul Anadolu Alevi Bektaşi Federasyonu and Izmir Semah Alevi Bektaşi Eğitim ve Kültür Derneği, which were among the Gülen-affiliated organisations that were closed down following the 15 July 2016 coup attempt (see Resmî Gazete 29779, www.hurriyetdailynews.com/project-to-build-mosque-and-cemevi-insame-place-draws-contrasting-reactions.aspx?pageID=238&nid=54276, and www.reuters.com/article/us-turkey-protests-alevis-idUSBRE98G08020130917 [Accessed 17 July 2017]). 3. In 2011 the community began the construction of a grand ‘külliye’, a complex of buildings including a medrese, library, cafeteria, residences and sports centre. The Menzil has a smaller külliye, in Tuzla, Istanbul. It is also called Tepeören Semerkand Kültür Merkezi and is known as the centre of the community in Istanbul. 4. In Turkey, there are basically two types of primary- and secondary-level boarding schools: public and private. Public boarding schools accept students with countrywide exams, and include schools specialising in diverse fields (such as sciences, arts, military and nursing) and schools for students living in remote rural areas, or students from impoverished families. Private boarding schools can be divided into three groups: 1) private schools established by foreign states and missionary organisations in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, such as Robert College of Istanbul; 2) private schools founded by independent bodies, such as individuals and associations (for instance, Işık Okulları and TED Kolejleri); 3)  private schools founded with donations of members/ sympathisers of a faith-inspired community, such as Yamanlar High School of the Gülen community.

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Notes to Pages 68–93 5. Though, as will be explained in Chapter Three, Gülen-affiliated schools were closed down following the 15 July 2016 coup attempt (Resmî Gazete 29779). 6. In this book, the word ‘mainstream’ (as in ‘mainstream media’ and ‘mainstream fashion’) refers to having a wider presence and catering to a wide arrayof customers rather than being the opposite of ‘trendy’. 7. There is no literal translation in English for ‘tövbekâr elçisi’ that does not sound strange, but this original term also sounds strange for Turkish speakers. 8. Ümit Meriç is professor emerita who worked in Istanbul University’s Sociology department for over three decades until 2000, when she decided to wear the veil, and left her position because of the veiling ban in public spaces, which was lifted in 2013. 9. Nevertheless, many observant Muslims in Turkey do not understand jeans and other garments made of denim fabric in this way, and they readily consume such products. Denim products have become especially popular among veiled women as, starting in the late 1980s, tesettürwear companies began to offer denim items, such as jackets, overcoats and skirts for veiled women. 10. Ahenk described this young, male Menzil member by using the expression ‘entel görünümlü‘, which literally means ‘intellectual looking’ and is translated as ‘marginal-looking’. 11. www.milliyet.com.tr/ diyanet- isleri- baskanligi- ndan- gundem- 1995742/ [Accessed 17 July 2017]. 12. The five pillars of Islam include declaring belief in the oneness of God and the acceptance of Muhammad as God’s prophet, praying, fasting during Ramadan, giving alms and pilgrimage. 13. Widely known to the public as ‘Menzil members’ (see Atay 2015), two AKP politicians, Taner Yıldız (MP [2002–2015] and Minister of Energy and Natural Resources [2009–2015]) and Recep Akdağ (MP [2002–] and Minister of Health [2002–2013, 2016–]), also wear silver rings on their right little fingers. 14. See Alimen (2018) for Alevi and Sunni facial hair practices and their connotations in modern Turkey. 15. Suat stated that as a young Süleymanlı member living in Fatih, Istanbul, he would see female students from the İsmailağa community (a fundamentalist religious group) in the neighbourhood wearing çarşafs in different colours, such as green, navy and burgundy. Those girls said that there was a different coloured çarşaf for different levels. In November 2013, when I met a hocahanım and a manager of a residential ‘medrese’ for girls of the İsmailağa community in Çarşamba, Istanbul, I asked her about this. She told me that there used to be a colour-hierarchy demonstrating the level of the student at an İsmailağa medrese. But she added that this was for a short period of time, and İsmailağa women have for a long time now been wearing only black çarşaf.

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Notes to Pages 100–124

Chapter Three: Power and Politics: Interactions between Fields 1. Milli Eğitim İstatistikleri Örgün Eğitim, 2011–2012:  sgb.meb.gov.tr/meb_iys_ dosyalar/2012_12/06021046_meb_istatistikleri_orgun_egitim_2011_2012.pdf, Milli Eğitim İstatistikleri Örgün Eğitim, 2012–2013:  sgb.meb.gov.tr/istatistik/ meb_istatistikleri_orgun_egitim_2012_2013.pdf, Milli Eğitim İstatistikleri Örgün Eğitim (1. Dönem), 2016–2017: sgb.meb.gov.tr/meb_iys_dosyalar/2017_ 03/31152628_meb_istatistikleri_orgun_egitim_2016_2017_1.pdf [Accessed 17 July 2017]. 2. For instance, in the fırst semester of the 2016–2017 school year, girls made up 54 per cent of İmam-Hatip students (53 per cent of the middle school students and 56 per cent of the high school students), Milli Eğitim İstatistikleri Örgün Eğitim (1. Dönem), 2016–2017:  sgb.meb.gov.tr/meb_iys_dosyalar/2017_03/ 31152628_meb_istatistikleri_orgun_egitim_2016_2017_1.pdf [Accessed 17 July 2017]). 3. Fazilet calendar  – ‘Regarding prayer and pre-dawn meal times’:  www.fazilettakvimi.com/tr/muhim_aciklamalar/6.html [Accessed 17 July 2017]. 4. See Gurbuz (2009) and Mardin (1989). 5. Ironically, the 12 September military regime supported and legitimated the Turkish-Islamic Synthesis (Türk-İslâm Sentezi) ideology and this fuelled Islamic/Islamist practices and politics (see Kaplan 2002, Yavuz 1997). 6. Later events indicated that these coup plans had been staged by the Gülen community and executed by Gülen-affiliated public prosecutors (Gürsoy 2015). 7. The conflict between the government and the Gülen community and, more importantly, the 15 July 2016 coup attempt revealed the existence of Gülenaffiliated cadres in the bureaucratic field, including the military and the judiciary (see Bâli 2016). 8. The community still operates numerous for-profit and non-profit organisations abroad, such as elementary and secondary schools, hospitals and newspapers, in the US, Central Asia and Africa (Balci 2003, Dohrn 2014, Hendrick 2013). After November 2013, and especially following the 15 July 2016 coup attempt, the Turkish government requested that the governments of the countries where the Gülen community operates ban all its activities. As of September 2016, some countries, including Azerbaijan, Jordan and Somalia, ended the activities of the Gülen in their territory, and brought prosecutions against affiliated individuals or requested that they leave their countries (see Kasapoğlu 2016). 9. Using the pen name M.  Abdülfettah Şahin, Fethullah Gülen wrote opinion pieces in this magazine.

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Notes to Pages 124–128 10. The community also founded Zaman USA (published in Turkish as a weekly from 1994 to 2004 and as a daily from 2004 to 2011), Zaman Weekly (previously Zaman USA, published in English as a weekly 2011–2012, and since 2012 online), Zaman Avrupa (European edition of Zaman, published in Turkish as a weekly 1994–2004, and as a daily since 2004), and different editions of Zaman newspapers in several countries, such as Azerbaijan, Austria and Bulgaria, published in the local language. Following the start of the conflict between the government and the Gülen, and especially the 15 July 2016 coup attempt, the editions published in Azerbaijan, Romania, Bulgaria and the Netherlands were closed down. 11. Resmî Gazete 29783. İkinci Mükerrer. 12. Resmî Gazete 29818. İkinci Mükerrer. 13. Ömer Faruk Kavurmacı, the Aydınlı Group chairman of the board, is the sonin-law of Kadir Topbaş, the AKP mayor of Istanbul Metropolitan Municipality. Kavurmacı, due to his alleged affiliation with the Gülen community (and also his TUSKON membership), was detained in August and arrested in September 2016 along with 25 other businessmen. See www.hurriyet.com. tr/27-businessmen-arrested-in-coup-attempt-probe-40220361 [Accessed 17 July 2017]. 14. www.hurriyetdailynews.com/ turkish- state- appoints- trustees- to- aydinligroup-baklava-chain-faruk-gulluoglu.aspx?pageID=238&nID=109023&New sCatID=345 [Accessed 17 July 2017]. 15. 1,125 Gülen-affiliated non-profit and non-governmental organisations, such as charity organisations and business associations, were closed down in July 2016 (see Resmî Gazete 29779). 16. In the case of the Süleymanlı community, this is because, as mentioned before, the Süleymanlı are not an urban(ised) community and its members do not have higher (secular) education levels, thus it has limited activities and as a result weaker influence in the media (Aydın 2004). However, as will be discussed in the following section, the Menzil community entered the media sphere with the launch of the Semerkand radio station in 2003 and TV channel in 2010. 17. Unlike some conservative religious groups, such as ultra-Orthodox Jewish communities (Deutsch 2009, Livio and Weinblatt 2007), within the Gülen, Süleymanlı and Menzil communities there is no gender-based distinction in media consumption, and use of the Internet and other digital technology (for instance mobile phones). Nonetheless, as quoted from Muharrem, the consumption and readership of the mainstream and other communities’ media can be restricted in community spaces or by devout members of the communities. 18. Fazilet Takvimi: www.fazilettakvimi.com/tr/ [Accessed 17 July 2017].

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Notes to Pages 132–162 19. akdeniztoros.com.tr/helal-tavugun-uretim-surecleri/ [Accessed 17 July 2017]. 20. The İsmailağa community is a fundamentalist Sunni community, led by Mahmut Ustaosmanoğlu and linked to the Naqshbandi (Nakshi) tarikat. The community derives its name from the İsmailağa mosque in the Çarşamba neighbourhood of Istanbul’s Fatih district. While Çarşamba is the centre of the community, members can be found throughout the country. The community members are easily distinguishable in the public sphere since male members wear cübbe or loose jackets that end below the knee with very loose trousers and sarık, whilst female members wear black çarşaf that cover their faces except for the eyes. 21. For instance, Sunier and Landman (2015) explore the Süleymanlı in Europe in one chapter of their book. 22. NT was owned by Kaynak Holding, which was assigned to the TMSF in September 2016. 23. Seyda (or Sayyid, Seyid) is an honorific title, referring to a man who is (believed to be) a descendant of the prophet Mohammad. 24. Çakır (1990) notes that Muhammed Raşid Erol, the leader of the Menzil from 1972 to 1993, ‘would need an interpreter to communicate with journalists’ in Turkish (p. 70).

Chapter Four: The Body and Space: Gendered Understandings and Practices 1. www.socialstudies.org.uk [Accessed 17 July 2017]. 2. www.dialoguesociety.org [Accessed17 July 2017]. 3. Taharet is not only a religious but also a cultural practice in Turkey. This means that many Turks find a way to access clean water in the toilet when travelling to countries with no such tradition. 4. See Chapter Five for more information on feraces. 5. However, this temporary situational practice is not unique to Ahenk or nonveiled Menzil women. In general, non-veiled Muslim women cover their hair for religious activities and contexts, such as for prayers and entering a mosque. Moreover, the temporary situational practice is akin to spatialised ‘veiling regimes’ described by Secor. Accordingly, different veiling (or non-veiling) regimes exist in different districts of Istanbul. As they travel among these districts, migrant women reinterpret their veiling or non-veiling, and choose whether to moderate their appearances ‘to accommodate these different regimes or to violate them’ (2002: 8). 6. For instance, some Orthodox Jewish women discuss hair covering in critical terms: although it is obligatory for them as married women in their Orthodox communities, they find it oppressive (Seigelshifer and Hartman 2011).

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Notes to Pages 164–182 7. Another similarity is the celebratory gatherings of female relatives and friends for the covering of the hair of a woman. These celebrations, called Tichel parties among Orthodox Jews, are similar to western bachelorette parties, involving food, music, presents and blessings, ‘embracing the social, emotional, and sometimes sexual aspects of the post-matrimonial period’ (Seigelshifer and Hartman 2011: 349). In the 2010s a new trend began to spread among higher socioeconomic levels in city centres in Turkey:  parties for the veiling of a woman (either at puberty or in adult life). These female-only parties are called ‘baş örtme töreni’ (veiling ceremonies). They are held in ballrooms of hotels or in reception venues. A typical veiling ceremony includes the recitations of some parts of the Qur’an, religious talks based on the Hadith and the lives of the Prophet and his early followers, blessings of the newly-veiled woman, music, food, beverages and exchange of gifts (Barbarasoğlu 2014). 8. Female circumcision, which is common among some Muslims and ethnic groups in Africa, the Middle East and Southeast Asia, is not practised in Turkey. 9. These celebratory parties are called ‘circumcision ceremonies’. It is a tradition for boys to wear special costumes and accessories at circumcision ceremonies. Circumcision ceremonies and related materials and rituals play a significant role in the creation, maintenance, presentation and representation of masculinities in Turkey. However, as they go beyond the scope of this research and need their own study, they are not covered in this book. For more information on materials and rituals related to circumcision ceremonies in Turkey, see Alimen and Askegaard (2016). 10. Popular culture is also involved in the depiction of the military and conscription as sacred. For instance, conscription is represented as a sacred and patriotic/nationalist mission and the state is portrayed as being in need of protection by brave, warrior men in films such as ‘Nefes: Vatan Sağolsun’ (Breath: Long Live the Homeland, 2009) and in TV series, for example ‘Kurtlar Vadisi’ (Valley of the Wolves, 2003 onwards). 11. In the years 2013 to 2016, women’s employment rates were 30.8 per cent, 26.7 per cent, 31.5 per cent and 32.5 per cent, respectively (by contrast, men’s employment rates were 71.5 per cent, 64.8 per cent, 71.6 per cent and 72 per cent, respectively). TÜİK (Turkish Statistical Institute):  www.tuik.gov.tr [Accessed 14 April 2017]. 12. Kamu Kurum ve Kuruluşlarında Çalışan Personelin Kılık ve Kıyafetine dair Yönetmelik:  www.mevzuat.gov.tr/MevzuatMetin/3.5.85105.pdf [Accessed 17 July 2017]. 13. english.alarabiya.net/ en/ News/ middle- east/ 2015/ 11/ 04/ First- headscarfwearing-judge-conducts-trial-in-Turkey.html [Accessed 17 July 2017]. 14. odatv.com/secimden-sonra-ilk-turbanli-hakim-0311151200.html [Accessed 17 July 2017].

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Notes to Pages 190–207

Chapter Five: Fashion and Consumption 1. See www.fersahmest.com and www.eshel-corapmest.com [Accessed 17 July 2017]. 2. See www.hasema.com and www.adasea.com.tr [Accessed 17 July 2017]. 3. All my informants, both men and women, shop from the brand LC Waikiki (the owners of which are observant Muslims). LC Waikiki, founded in 1985 in France and acquired by Turkish businesspeople in 1997, is a famously inexpensive mainstream fashion brand with eight lines (women, men, newborn, kids, teens, footwear, accessories and home), operating over 600 stores in Turkey and abroad (over thirty countries, mostly in the Middle East, the Balkans and Asia). LC Waikiki targets both secular and pious consumers, and offers a great number of items for different individuals. It did not have a different product line for ‘pious’ or ‘veiled’ customers until mid-2016, when it introduced the line ‘Muhafazakâr Şıklık’ (Conservative Elegance) for women. The products in this line are modelled by both veiled and non-veiled models, though most of them are not veiled. My informants from lower income levels shop at LC Waikiki for everyday occasions, items worn in private and public spaces, whilst those from higher income levels prefer their brands for lounge/ nightwear. 4. www.tesetturgiyim.com/aker-designer-corner-projesinin-ikincisi-tasarimcigonul-kolat-ile-gerceklesti.html, www.tesetturgiyim.com/aker-designers-corner-projesi-ile-kuaybe-gider-2014-koleksiyon-lansmani.html [Accessed 17 July 2017]. 5. www.atv.com.tr/klasik-diziler/huzur-sokagi/hakkinda [Accessed 17 July 2017]. For Islamic literature in Turkey, see Çayır 2007. 6. www.yesiltopuklar.com/tesettur-giyim-firmalari-huzur-sokagi-icin-yarisiyor. html [Accessed 17 July  2017], www.yesiltopuklar.com/kayra-ipek-sallar-rengarenk.html [Accessed 17 July 2017]. 7. www.sabah.com.tr/ cumartesi/ 2013/ 01/ 12/ gencler- sukran- gibi- giyiniyor [Accessed 17 July 2017]. 8. www.instagram.com/aybikestil/?hl=en [Accessed 17 July 2017]. 9. Most images in this catalogue were of the products, while one image included a non-veiled model who wore a scarf as an accessory around her neck. 10. www.risaleforum.com/ tesettur/ 12921- heey- vakko- esarpli- bacim.html [Accessed 17 July 2017]. 11. For the latest trends and market offers of şals see, for example, the web page and Instagram account of the brand İpekevi:  www.ipekevi.com and www.instagram.com/ipekevi/ [Accessed 17 July 2017]. 12. See the tutorials by Modanisa, www.youtube.com/watch?v=15JjfenfGr0 and Âlâ, www.youtube.com/watch?v=5Q2U9iNP4JM [Accessed 17 July 2017].

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Notes to Pages 209–238 13. The letter wāw [‫ ]و‬represents birth, universe and infinity in Sufism. This letter is widely used in contemporary Islamic designs and commercial items, such as clothing, jewellery and home accessories, in Turkey. 14. For a research paper on veiled women’s luxury fashion consumption that I wrote as part of my graduate studies, I interviewed nine women from Istanbul in July and August 2009. They were from middle and higher socioeconomic levels and aged 19–34. 15. See also www.sozcu.com.tr/2013/gundem/emine-erdogan-esarbi-geldi298501/ [Accessed 17 July 2017]. 16. See endnote 14. 17. See www.sefamerve.com/dis-giyim/ferace.html, www.modanisa.com/ferace. htm, and www.diesre.com/TR/ferace [Accessed 17 July 2017]. 18. See, for example, www.sefamerve.com/dis-giyim/ferace.html [Accessed 5 September 2017]. 19. Though Turkish Islamists have long been associated with [Wahhabi] Arabism and Saudi financial support (see Köni 2012, Savran 2015). 20. However, the number of Menzil members from higher income levels may increase in the near future, or may even have increased since I completed my ethnography in late 2013, especially considering the community’s close ties with the AKP and presence in the political and bureaucratic fields. In addition, the number of Gülen members, from higher as well as lower income levels, may decrease, particularly after the 15 July 2016 coup attempt. 21. www.naksin.com.tr [Accessed 17 July 2017]. 22. In January 2017, a board of trustees was appointed to the Aydınlı group.

Conclusion 1. See, for example, Kılıçarslan (2013), Noyan (2013) and Yıldız (2014). 2. www.osmanlicaegitim.com/protokoller/#lightbox[group-2159]/9/ [Accessed 17 July 2017]. 3. Previous works on these topics include Başkan (2010), Buğra and Savaşkan (2014), Demir et  al. (2004), Öncü and Balkan (2016), Ramadani et  al. (eds) (2017), Savran (2015). 4. See, for example, Davidman’s (2011, 2015) research on ex-Hassidic Jews and the study by McAlexander et al. (2014) of ex-Mormons, and Coates (2016) for commitment and conformity in cult movements. 5. The Menzil is among these Sunni Muslim agents and institutions (see Atay 2015 and also endnote 20 in Chapter Five). 6. www.youtube.com/watch?v=VycQYgayC4E and www.ahaber.com.tr/gundem/ 2014/12/04/mgkdan-cemaat-yalanlamasi [Accessed 17 July 2017].

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Notes to Page 239 7. Nonetheless, it may be possible to explore the activities and influences of these communities in different contexts (e.g. the Gülen community in the United States and Iraqi Kurdistan), and examine embodied and spatial practices of members and sympathisers of the Gülen, Süleymanlı and Menzil communities abroad by using the lived religion approach and examining individual experiences in these faith-inspired communities.

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283

Index abaya 216–20 abi 40, 43–5, 67, 69, 77, 79, 158, 179 abla 40, 43, 67, 69, 71–2 ablution 18, 71, 99, 175, 189–90 socks and tights 190–1 ağabey 44–5 agency 8, 27, 99, 230–1 Aker (brand) 126, 134, 187, 197–8, 200–1, 207, 221, 224–5 AKP (Justice and Development Party) 15, 38–9, 100, 111, 169, 195–6, 218, 220 faith-inspired communities and 22, 53, 237–9 Gülen 38–9, 41–3, 53, 120, 235, 238 Menzil 39, 47, 53 Süleymanlı 46, 53 veiling and 47, 52, 107, 112 Âlâ (magazine) 19, 211, 218, 227 Alevi/Alevism 39, 56, 93, 170, 189, 219 ANAP (Motherland Party) 36, 45, 47 Arabs 195, 218–19 Armine (brand) 134, 187, 194, 196, 207, 221 Asad, Talal 55 avret 10, 61–2, 94, 98, 155, 159, 189, 192 Aysha (magazine) 19

badges, Semerkand 90, 136, 138 başörtüsü 48–50 beard 65, 91–2, 180–2, 230–1; see also hair: men’s: facial bonnet 66, 110, 112, 207–10, 221 Bourdieu, Pierre on capital 4–5 on field 4 bureaucratic 106 on habitus 5–6, 157 on moral dispositions 233 on taste 7, 203 brands 67–9, 132–4, 228 community-affiliated 19, 133, 224–5 Gülen-affiliated 70, 126–7, 134, 224; see also Aker; Cacharel; Pierre Cardin Menzil-affiliated 135, 137, 139–40, 142, 146–7, 224; see also Semerkand Süleymanlı-affiliated 130–1, 146 fashion 53, 69 high-street 195, 197 luxury 211, 214, 222–3 mainstream 70, 133, 142, 193, 195, 197, 200, 221, 223 status 69 tesettürwear 19, 53, 194–6, 198, 213, 224

285

Index business associations 3, 36, 119, 127, 234–5 Gülen-affiliated 36, 127, 234 İŞHAD 36, 127 TUSKON 36, 127 Menzil-affiliated 36, 135 TÜMSİAD 36, 135 MÜSİAD 36 TÜSİAD 34, 199 Cacharel (brand) 126, 133, 224 camel hump 66, 111 capital community 60, 120, 144, 171, 233–6 Gülen 113, 120, 122, 237 Süleymanlı 76, 129, 132–3, 156 definition 4–5, 7 inherited 76 modest fashion 193, 220–2 religious 237 species 4–5, 101, 106, 108, 129, 156, 185, 210, 227 communities and 24–5, 53, 60, 97, 102, 113, 120, 122, 129, 133, 144, 171, 233–4 cultural 60, 69, 122, 156 economic 69, 122, 133, 234 and men 171, 185 social 60, 120, 122, 133, 144, 233–4 and women 171 cultural 221–2 statist 101, 106, 111 çarşaf 48, 177, 215 cemaat 3; see also community charity activities 235 bazaars 156

meetings 142 organisations 119, 154 sales 19–20, 150, 171–3 organisation 172 CHP (Republican People’s Party) 29, 32–3, 45, 99 Christianity 9, 61, 237 circumcision 167 clothing communities and 25, 72–3, 87–8, 94, 150, 223–5, 229, 232 Gülen 70, 86, 95, 126, 222–4 Menzil 62, 83, 139, 142, 224 Süleymanlı 77–8, 95, 109, 118, 134, 187, 222 community meetings 83 norms 76, 95, 156, 222, 232 identities and 10–11, 229 items for ‘veiled customers’ 195 men’s 63, 66, 176, 229 Gülen 183, 185 Menzil 176–7, 183, 185 Süleymanlı 76, 78, 92–3, 183, 185 modest 165, 209, 224 religion and 1–2, 10 Christianity 10 Islam 97 Islamic rules 9–10, 83, 229 Judaism 10 religiously-related clothing 178, 185, 191 accessories 12, 26, 176 headgear 58 see also specific items of clothing sector (in Turkey) 50, 53, 199, 224–5 styles 49–51, 53, 60, 74, 76, 88, 165, 197, 213

286

Index clothing and veiling differences 160 inconsistencies 160 clothing, veiling and grooming changes commonalities 25, 94 differences 25, 94 experiences of Islam divergences 95 gendered 228 similarities 95 individual differences 187 Muslim agency 229 identities 229 understandings and practices of Islamic rules differences 94, 160 inconsistencies 160 veiling differences 184, 204 intra-community 95, 228–30 clothing changes 64 differences 64, 223 clothing and veiling differences 160 inconsistencies 160 clothing, veiling and grooming commonalities 25, 94 differences 25, 94, 223 consumption practices differences 70, 134 experiences of Islam divergences 95 gendered 228 similarities 95 individual differences 187

western 76, 78, 179–80; see also denim women’s 1–2, 48, 150, 163–6, 195, 229, 232 Gülen 67 Menzil 72, 160 Süleymanlı 156, 158, 222, 232 coercion 162–3 colours coloured items matching-coloured 49 parkas 35 takkes 177 communities Gülen Menzil 177 rings 139 Semerkand 135–6, 146–7 Süleymanlı 65, 177 haşema 191 Islamically appropriate 65 military uniform and headscarf 52 Ottoman men’s accessories 176 turquoise 135, 146–7 veiled women’s clothing and accessories 214, 230 abayas 217 bonnets 207, 209 dress and shoes 194 feraces 216 scarves and şals 209 community hierarchies 63 Gülen 87 inter-community clothing changes 64 differences 64, 223

287

Index community (cont.) Muslim agency 229 identities 229 understandings and practices of Islamic rules differences 94, 160 inconsistencies 160 veiling differences 184 İsmailağa 93n15, 143n20, 176, 215 leaders 178, 233 meetings 64, 72–3, 95, 102, 105, 150, 154; see also hatim; hatme; sohbet newcomers 73, 83, 95, 153 norms 76, 92, 94–5 politics and 45–7 rituals see hatim; hatme; rabıta; sohbet; tespih; tövbe almak; zikir rules 95 type of affiliation 87 member female 76, 170, 215, 230, 232 male 23, 76, 93, 178 male and female 19, 27, 232 personnel 69, 74, 95, 185, 236–7 Gülen 43, 87 Menzil 63, 74, 179 Süleymanlı 45, 74, 79–80, 115–18, 129, 133–4, 152, 187 men 75, 77, 79, 91, 93, 117, 230 women 63, 112, 117, 211, 222, 230 see also abi; abla; ağabey; hocabeys; hocahanıms; tövbekâr elçileri

sympathiser 23, 68, 144 Gülen 3, 42, 108, 122, 125, 144, 154, 238 Menzil 46, 135 Süleymanlı 44–5, 151 conscription 167–8 consumption communities 14, 27, 145, 187, 222 Gülen 67, 69–70, 134 Menzil 134, 142 Süleymanlı 187 conspicuous 69, 222 fashion 26–7, 70, 188, 222, 229 food 134 gender and 27, 66 hedonistic 134 identities collective 10 Muslim 223, 229 religious 10, 12 luxury 213, 222 Muslims and 27, 97, 134, 223 halal 98, 133 subjectivities 230 tastes and 203, 210 veiled women and 51–2, 134, 213 coups d’états (1960, 1971 and 1980) 32–3, 52–3, 112 cübbe 30, 58, 177–9, 192 denim 51, 77–9, 93, 223; see also jeans Denizolgun, Arif Ahmet 44–5, 115 dershanes (preparation courses for secondary-school and college entrance exams) 42, 86, 120–1, 125 Dialogue Society 21, 154 Directorate of Religious Affairs

288

Index communities and 31, 98 Gülen 43 Fethullah Gülen 39, 233 Menzil 62, 98–9 Süleymanlı community and 76, 103–5, 128, 132, 173 Süleyman Hilmi Tunahan 233 gender and 150 halal certification and 131–2 mosques 31, 172 personnel 30–1, 76, 176 prayer times and 105–6, 128 religious education and 58, 102–4 religious field of (Sunni) Islam and 30, 56, 94, 98, 149, 233 disposition 4, 210, 233 community 18, 80, 94 embodied 80 Islamic 55, 85, 94, 161, 228 modest fashion 221 DP (Democrat Party) 32–3, 45, 99–100 dress 211, 214, 217, 220–1 Islamic rules 47 reform 30, 176 see also clothing

field of 102, 119, 233 communities and 97, 143–4, 185 Gülen 108, 122, 183 Süleymanlı 80, 102, 115 Islamic 31, 40, 104, 116 Law of Unification of 44, 101 Ministry of (National) 100, 102, 104, 115, 233 primary/secondary 25, 38, 100 private 103 religious 25, 58, 99–102, 104, 116–17, 159–60, 166, 193 Ottoman religious 58 secular 100, 113, 115 state 103, 239 see also medrese; Qur’an courses; schools employment 26, 121, 125, 144 women’s 170–1, 196 Erdoğan, Emine 49, 112, 213–14 Erdoğan, Recep Tayyip 31, 38, 42–3, 91, 239 Erol, Abdülbâki 46, 179 Erol, Fevzettin 46 Erol, Muhammed Raşid 46–7

edep 63, 94 education 27, 51, 98, 149, 151 communities and 102, 119, 143–4, 238 Gülen 39–40, 114, 121, 144 Menzil 59, 72, 101 Süleymanlı 25, 44–5, 74–5, 81, 101–6, 112–16, 129, 144, 151, 155, 211, 238 community 60, 68 compulsory 74, 99–100, 113

faith-inspired community see community family 160, 164–5, 170, 175, 179, 222, 228 businesses 172, 199 holdings 34 home 76 husband’s 164–5 lifestyle 184 members 13, 16, 162, 184, 191, 232 observant 76, 159, 163

289

Index family (cont.) owned 32 pious 83 relationship with religion 167, 184 religious practices 159–60, 184 store 84, 194 structure 167, 171 values 95 fashion 14, 19, 26–7, 51, 70, 180, 187, 192, 209 consciousness 180, 222 fashionable styles 47, 51, 68, 165, 180, 189, 191, 205, 214–17 field 119, 193, 230 gender and 66, 179 Islamic 49, 193 magazines see media mainstream 70n6 designers 20, 197 field 26, 193, 221, 224, 230 trends 70, 221 modest 7, 68, 188, 193, 194, 204–5, 207, 224 bloggers 198–9, 210–12, 213 brands 20, 126, 197–8, 202, 220 capital 193 designers 196–8, 211–13, 220, 224 field 26, 119, 193–4, 196–8, 203, 208, 213, 215, 219–25, 230 habitus 202–3, 221–2 items 199 products 20 styles 220 trends 27, 194, 198, 211, 213, 220–1 trendsetters 27, 192, 197, 205

trendy styles 180, 183, 203, 205, 215–16 Muslim 193 social media and 212, 220 trends 27, 51, 65, 73, 203–5, 211, 218, 221 men’s 179 trendy styles 190 men’s 180, 231 veiling see fashion: modest Fazilet (publisher) calendars 105, 128 Neşriyat 128, 145–6 femininities 18, 61, 239 ferace 136, 158–9, 215–20, 223 fields academic 119, 122, 144, 152, 233 Bourdieuan concept 233 framework 5, 7–9, 227–8 theory 4 bureaucratic 101–2, 112, 183 communities and 25, 97–8, 106–7, 143, 183 Gülen 113, 125, 237 Süleymanlı 111, 115 communities and 37, 53, 107, 129, 183 community 18, 25, 56, 66, 95, 171, 227, 233–4 boundaries between 88, 143 gender and 173 Gülen 60, 74, 106, 113, 120, 143, 185, 201, 227 interactions and intersections 98, 133, 143–4 Menzil 60, 74, 106, 143, 185, 227 structure 120

290

Index Süleymanlı 60, 74–5, 80, 83, 106, 113, 143, 156, 185, 227–8 economic communities and 97, 119, 133, 144, 224, 234 Gülen 122, 125, 234 Süleymanlı 115 fashion mainstream 26, 193, 221, 224, 230 modest 26, 119, 193–4, 196–8, 203, 208, 213, 215, 219–25, 230 gender and 183 intellectual 122 interactions 97 journalistic 108, 119, 122, 124, 144, 152, 233 political 112 religion and 237 religious 7, 93–4, 122, 183, 237 Islam 55–6, 61, 94, 183 Sunni 24–5, 61, 81, 93–4 communities and 56, 60–1, 97–8, 107, 143–4, 227, 232–3 Gülen 237 Menzil 98–9, 143 Süleymanlı 25, 81, 102, 104, 106, 111, 114–15, 132, 143 gender and 185 mests 189 Ottoman 57 religious education and 99 structural openings 24, 59 (Turkish) state and 25, 101–2, 106, 132, 143, 149

fıtrat 85, 91, 170, 185 Foucault, Michel 149, 185 FP (Virtue Party) 37–8, 87 freedom 45, 59, 67, 109, 142, 165, 183 füruat (secondary matter) 87, 108–9, 183 gender fieldwork and 22–4 hierarchies 17, 150 mests and 189 mixed 159 spaces 191–2 Muslim subjectivities and 231 Muslim women 174 power differentials and 150 regimes 236 religion and 17, 174, 232, 236 in Islam 26, 66, 159, 166, 236 roles 170 segregated areas 17, 138 beach 192 community meetings 67, 95, 150, 155, 159 spaces 18, 150, 158 spatial practices 158 groups 158 spaces 17, 155, 157 segregation 40, 157 trends in employment 171 gendered community spaces 173 divisions of activities 26 labour 26, 167, 171

291

Index gendered (cont.) religious 150 spaces 167 experiences 66, 220, 228 expressions 66 Muslim and community identities 150 narratives 227 norms 223 observant and community identities 27 power relations 149 practices 223, 227 bodily 26, 229 spaces and 236 of Islam 17 spatial 150, 158 spaces 149 organisation of 150 sacred organisation of 17 Goffman, Erving 108, 116–17 grooming 2, 25, 56, 94, 97, 229 and communities 76, 83, 86, 94–5, 109, 118, 142 see also beard; moustaches Gül, Abdullah 52, 112 Gül, Hayrünisa 52, 112 Gülen, Fethullah 39–43, 59, 87, 91, 108–9, 124n9, 145, 233 Gülenist anti-Gülenist arguments 109 cadres 42 daily 212; see also Zaman education 40 headscarf styling 86, 88 ideology and agendas 41

non-Gülenist families 121 individuals 86 women 86 sohbet leader 87 habitus 60, 81, 83, 117, 157, 210, 228, 233 community 68, 74, 95, 184, 233, 236 definition of 5–8 Muslim 55–56, 76, 94–5, 117, 156, 160–1, 193, 228–9 secular 229 space and 16 Süleymanlı 73, 75–6, 80–1, 83, 117, 153, 155–7, 159, 228 Hadith 1, 9, 24, 30, 57, 94, 114 dietary laws 14 gender 63 men’s facial hair 65, 75, 91 men’s headwear 176 women’s headscarves 66 hair 8, 35, 79 body 61–2 men’s 72, 79, 181 facial 9–10, 60, 65, 70, 91–2, 118, 176, 180–1, 231 women’s 156, 164 covering 47–9, 157, 160, 162, 166, 203, 205, 207 communities Gülen 160, 205 Menzil 63, 72, 84, 159–60, 205 Süleymanlı 82, 155, 160–1 families 160, 162, 165, 184, 232

292

Index fashion models 200 students 52 traditions 47, 164 see also beard; moustaches halal 14–5 certification 16, 98, 131–4, 228 GİMDES (Association for the Inspection and Certification of Food and Supplies) 131–4 TSE (Turkish Standards Institute) 131–4 food and drinks 9, 14–5, 16, 98, 130–1 products and services 15, 16, 132–4, 228, 234 haram 14–5, 85, 130, 132, 142, 228 haşema 191–2 hatim 71, 73–5, 79, 106, 118, 152, 155 hatme 71–2, 74, 185 leader/organiser 72, 159 meetings 63, 159, 176–7 hats 30, 179, 199 hat law 33, 169, 176, 199 see also headwear Hayyat (magazine) 19 headwear 10, 48, 58, 129, 176, 178–9, 183, 190 headscarves 48–50, 52, 64, 68, 88, 108, 199, 205, 207–8, 214 ban 39, 47–8, 51–2, 182, 238; see also veiling: ban on clips 208 pins 86, 110, 112, 206–9, 211 styling 47, 49–50, 81–2, 86–8, 112, 165, 203, 206–9, 211, 214 the military 50–2, 66, 110–11

tying 47–9, 51, 81–2, 86, 88, 95, 110, 112, 203, 205–6, 211 see also şal; veil hierarchies community 63 Gülen 87 gender 17, 150 masculinities 168 social 7 himmet 120, 122 hocabeys 44–5, 69 clothing 65, 77–9, 177 community norms 74, 76, 79, 116 dormitories 75, 79, 114 education 75 facial hair 65 personal appearance 116 presentation of community 76, 79, 116 Qur’an courses 114 veiling and the military 111 workplaces 74, 79–80, 116 hocahanıms 69 communities Gülen 21 Menzil 159 Süleymanlı 44–5 clothing 64 community norms and 74, 83 clothing 63, 73 education 75, 155, 211 personal appearance 116 veiling 83 workplaces 74 Hüseyni, Seyyid Abdülhakim 46

293

Index identities collective 8, 10–1, 176, 188 community 12, 37, 95, 119, 229 consumption and 27 formation 26, 145, 150, 184, 229 gender and 150, 185, 203, 229, 232 Gülen 86 marketplaces and 144, 221 spaces and 26, 144, 150, 184 Süleymanlı 93, 117–8 individual 86 ‘Muslimwoman’ 174 observant 25–6, 110, 169, 229 consumption and 27 gender and 27, 229 male 91 personal 86, 221 public 116–17 secular 117 Turkish 50n27, 182, 219 religious 110, 169, 182, 195 consumption and 12 Muslim 12, 14, 25–6, 31, 218, 229, 231 consumption and 223 female 2, 107, 110, 118, 150, 203, 232 ‘ideal’ / ‘proper’ 175, 182, 185 modest fashion and 221, 230 veiling and 175, 230, 232 clothing 165 formation 150, 187, 218, 221, 223, 230 male 27, 116, 118, 176 facial hair 91, 182 the military and 182–3 ‘proper’ 182

spaces and 150, 236 veiled 163, 174, 230 impression management 108, 116–17 ışık evleri (houses of light) 40, 121; see also spaces: community: Gülen Islamic agents and institutions 106–7, 110–11, 115, 171, 183 bourgeoisie 36, 38, 51, 236 capital owners 196, 235 dietary law 14–16; see also halal; haram discourses 111 expressions 118 greeting 117 groups 32, 37, 53, 236–7 identity 218 individuals 109, 146, 194 individuals and groups 187 lived (everyday) religion 8, 227–8 lives 21, 198, 238 masculinities 2, 18, 175 media 48 men 179–80 owners 133 people 119 products and services / goods 12, 188 public 20, 231 publications 196 rules 21, 25, 95 body and bodily practices 9, 74, 94, 190 avret 61, 159, 189 clothing practices 1 clothing and modesty 10, 160, 211, 229–30

294

Index dress and modesty 47, 91 facial hair 91–2 mahrem 23–4 modesty 12, 66, 157 tesettür 10, 12, 67, 160, 190, 202 veiling 111 veiling and clothing 73, 83, 210 communities and 64, 73–4, 83, 92, 94–5, 157, 160, 230 gender and 64–5, 67, 157, 183, 229 purity 14 space and 157, 159, 184, 236 traditions 56 veneration 167 women 180 Islamism 2, 15, 21, 33–5, 38, 41, 53, 182, 198, 224 Islamist 2n5 agents 170 agents and institutions 107, 110–11, 115, 171, 183 capital owners 196, 235 connotations 177 discourses 111 expressions 118 groups 37 identities 180, 183, 187, 218 individuals 109, 146, 194, 196 individuals and groups 187, 196 journalists 231 media 48 men 174, 179–80, 182, 204 movements 170 owners 133 pan-Islamist undertones 218

public 231 TV personalities 231 women 170, 180, 182, 196, 204, 223 pan-Islamism 220 veiling and 50–1, 110 jackets 49, 51, 67, 136, 140, 159, 163, 179 jeans 77–9, 93, 223; see also denim Jews clothing practices 10 Turkish: Vakko 199, 222 veiling practice 164 Judaism 14, 17, 164, 237 Kaçar, Kemal 44–5 Kemalism 29–30, 33, 50 Kemalist 29–31, 33, 39, 110, 167, 219 Kurds: Menzil 147 Kuriş, Alihan 44–5 leadership 6, 17, 23, 46, 171, 176 Mahmood, Saba 6, 85, 161, 231 mahrem 10, 23–4, 61, 94, 159 marketplaces 98, 108, 131, 145, 198, 220–1 communities 14, 25–7, 143–4, 234 Gülen 125, 202 Gülen and Menzil 127 Menzil 134, 142 Süleymanlı 134 Süleymanlı and Menzil 144 community 97, 134, 144–6, 235 company and brand names in 145–6 mainstream 145, 198, 202–3, 220–1

295

Index marketplaces (cont.) Muslims and 188 Turkish 188–9, 198, 203, 234 masah 188–9 masculinity/masculinities 66, 167–9 hegemonic 168–9 Islamic 2, 18, 175 media 19, 22, 169 communities and 14, 119, 143, 145–6 Gülen 41–2, 122, 124–5, 145–6, 201; see also Zaman Menzil 71, 83, 127n16, 137, 140, 142, 146 Süleymanlı 127–8 fashion and 212 modest fashion 198, 203, 220 tesettürwear 192, 194, 196, 214 social 19, 42, 122, 142, 196, 210–12 tesettür and men 231 women 48, 174, 204 see also Âlâ; Aysha; Hayyat medrese 44, 58–9, 100, 105, 143, 178–9, 232 mekruh 130, 142 mescit 17 mest 188–90 mezhep 130 sects and sub-sects 9 MGK (National Security Council) 38, 238 military, the 33, 35, 43, 52, 58, 106–7, 109–13, 167–8, 181–2, 232 coup attempt (15 July 2016) 43, 53, 112, 120, 122, 127, 238

‘Dress and Appearance Regulation’ and 181–2 faith-inspired communities and 110 Gülen 41, 43, 86–7, 109 Süleymanlı 109, 111–13, 118, 177 headscarf/veiling and 50–2, 66, 110–11 junta 103 memorandum (28 February 1997) 38, 41, 51, 86–7, 100, 107, 112 regime 35, 181 takeover 50 MNP (National Order Party) 34 modern community 121 images society 30 state 167 modernisation 29–30, 34, 52, 57–9, 143, 167, 169, 215, 232 modernity 29, 51, 66 movement 109 Muslim men 76 women 49–50 non-modern identities 182 moustaches 181 şalvar 64 veil/veiling 47, 198 veiled women 30 styles veiling 47–8, 50, 205 clothing 49, 51, 165 Turkish (language) 146, 215 modest clothing 165, 209, 224

296

Index fashion see fashion: modest swimwear (haşema) 191–2 modesty 10, 161, 163, 190, 231–2 Islamic rules 10, 12, 47, 66, 91, 157, 229 see also tesettür mosques communities and 18 Menzil 176 Süleymanlı 93, 134, 144, 151, 157, 173 Directorate of Religious Affairs and 31, 149 gender and 17, 149–50 religious education and 58 moustaches communities and Gülen 86, 91–2, 230–1 Menzil 92, 230 Süleymanlı 65, 75, 91–2, 118, 231 interviews and 180–1 Islam and 91 Islamist men 179–81 observant Muslim men 2, 65, 91, 179–81, 183, 195 politics and 35, 179–83 see also hair: facial movements ‘detrimental’ 113 Hizmet 3 Islamic 3, 8–9 Islamic/Islamist 170–1 Islamist 34, 53 National Outlook 34–5 nationalist 35 Nur 39, 49, 59 radical 237

religious 171 social 7n11 New Social Movements 7–8 Wahhabi 219 women’s 167 MSP (National Salvation Party) 34 müftü 30, 57, 62, 98–9, 150 nationalism 29, 182, 239 nationalists 46, 89, 92, 133, 139, 145–7 see also movements: nationalist non-practising 2, 167, 175, 182, 193, 239; see also observant: non-observant Nursî, ‘Bediüzzaman’ Said 39–40, 49, 59, 233 observant circles 21, 24 consumers 131 families 76, 101, 159–60, 163, 184, 196 individuals 2, 14, 33, 111, 152 inhabitants 20 men 66, 91, 183 Muslims alcohol and 15 appearances 70, 195 clothing and 77 consumption and 14, 27, 134, 196, 223 Directorate of Religious Affairs and 31 everyday lives of 1, 24 family 160 fashion and 14, 224

297

Index observant (cont.) hair and body 61 halal and 132 identities 12, 14, 25, 91, 116–18, 179, 183, 203, 221, 223, 229 İmam-Hatip schools and 101–2 men 2, 23, 26–7, 179, 182, 227, 231, 239 clothing 192 interviewing 23 practices bodily 27 spatial 27 secularity and 232 smoking and 142 state’s interpretation of Islam and 101 tesettür and 182 women 10, 26–7, 221–2, 227, 239 clothing 192 employment 170, 196 veiling and 2, 66, 110, 231 non-observant 83, 85, 175; see also non-practising persons 65 women 227 Ottoman Empire 31, 44, 57–8, 104, 111, 176, 215, 217–9 Turkish (language) 233 Ottomanism, neo-, 89, 145–6, 218, 220, 239 neo-Ottomanism 218, 220 Ottomanist and Turkist ideologies 41

overcoats başörtüsü and 48–9 communities 88 Gülen 83, 86–7, 210, 223 Menzil 83–4, 90, 136 Süleymanlı 64, 78, 81, 83, 158–9 feraces and 216 tesettürwear and 213 türban and 50 patriarchy 66, 162, 165, 167–8, 236 cultures 17 discourses and practices 239 dividend 168 (gender) order 167 interpretations of Islam 166–7 power 168 structure 52n32, 167, 171 traditions 170, 185 traditions and interpretations of religion 163 peçe 48, 112 Pierre Cardin (brand) 126–7, 207, 224 political Islam see Islamism prayers 17, 60, 71–2, 75, 81, 137, 164 daily 17, 31, 55, 102, 109, 162, 172, 189–90, 229 Friday 17, 150, 169 and gender 17, 150, 157, 176 Menzil 85; see also hatme obligatory 85, 114 and space 17–18, 152 times 99, 105–6, 125, 128; see also Fazilet calendars see also salat

298

Index public presentation strategy 79, 107–9, 118; see also vitrin publishing see media Qur’an communities and Gülen meetings 67 Menzil meetings 71–2 Süleymanlı meetings 73 Qur’anic education (residential) courses 74–6, 82, 103–5, 114, 173, 211, 235 primary and secondary schools 116–17 gender and recitation of 157 Islamic rules and 9–10 Ottoman caliphs 57 space and 157 state and courses 24, 31, 44, 56, 59, 99, 102–3 early Republican regime 58 education 59, 99, 103 rabıta 71–3, 143, 232 regulations community 84, 156, 158 and gender 163, 185, 232, 236 religious 61, 156 food and drinks 15–16 rings 2, 65, 89–91, 137–9, 182 RP (Welfare Party) 37–8, 45, 47 sadat 72 şal 88, 118, 203–10, 221, 230

salat 18, 63–4, 67, 71, 98–9, 114, 176–8, 211 şalvar 64, 178–9 şapka see hats şapke 137, 178 sarık 30, 58, 128, 143n20, 176–9, 185, 192 scarves see headwear: headscarves schools 52, 58, 86, 114–16, 151, 161–2, 166 communities and 68, 102, 107 Gülen 40–1, 43, 69–70, 88, 102, 116, 119, 121–2, 143–4; see also dershanes Menzil 139 Süleymanlı 70, 73, 79, 115–17, 150–1, 154 İmam-Hatip 58, 99–105, 119, 238 private 37, 68n4, 115–16 see also universities public 116 secular apparel 83 male 66 looks 107, 118 secularisation 58, 167, 169 secularity 41, 76, 167 Semerkand Group 128, 135, 137, 139–40, 143, 145–6, 178 logo 89, 136–9, 142 rings 89 Şenler, Şule Yüksel 49, 198 Shi’i 56, 188–9, 220; see also mezhep shirts classic-cut 79, 92

299

Index dormitories 74–5, 104, 114, 121, 128, 151–3, 157–8, 172–3 clothing and headwear 157–8, 177–8 community education and 115–6 fieldwork and 20, 150–1, 172 gender and 157–8 personnel and 77, 79–80, 117 education 143, 211 consumption 6, 220–1 Islamic 38 mainstream 145, 221 religiously-related 14 definition of 16 digital 210 dress and appearance and 76, 79, 150, 176, 181–3, 185, 195 embodied practices and 10, 17–19, 26, 74, 76, 80, 153 fluidity of 159 gender and 10, 17, 67, 149–50, 155, 157–9, 167, 170, 182–3, 185, 195, 208, 236 habitus and 6, 16, 74–6, 80, 95, 152– 3, 155, 157–60, 184, 210, 236 Islam and 10, 14, 17–18, 154, 157 mundane 18, 184 private 14, 18, 47, 155, 158–60, 177, 183–4, 189–90, 208, 236 public Gülen and 116 identities and 195 mests and 189–90 religion and 9 religious 93

shirts (cont.) colour 76 short-sleeved 63, 67, 76, 78–9, 156–7, 163 skinny 180 slim-fit 79–80, 117, 231 sohbet Gülen community 21, 67–8, 108, 154, 162, 164, 211 leader 87 Menzil community 71–2 Süleymanlı community 79, 158 spaces 61, 149 community 18–19, 26, 144, 150 cleanliness and 154 dormitories 68, 102, 113, 119, 236 fieldwork and 20, 23 gender and 18, 150, 157, 236 Gülen 154 education 113 schools 70 student accommodation 40, 69, 121, 162, 171 see also Dialogue Society habitus and 95, 153 identities and 184–5 meetings and 67 men’s clothing and headgear and 176–7 Menzil 140 education 143 hatme space 159 houses 20, 140, 142, 172 student houses 68, 102, 113, 119, 236 Süleymanlı 74, 79–80, 131, 154

300

Index secular 116, 169 Süleymanlı and 116, 177 veiling and 38, 107, 160, 182, 184 Süleymanlı 95 sacred 16–19, 46, 184 official 18, 149; see also mosques unofficial 18 secular 152, 223 veiling and 38, 47, 51, 107, 118, 150, 155, 157–9, 184, 208 see also sphere sphere community consumption 46; see also marketplaces digital 142 female 171 private 75, 170–1, 176–8, 185 public ban on veiling 24, 111, 183 clothing and 1 communities and 229 Gülen 107, 171 Menzil 89, 139 Süleymanlı 76, 81–2, 92–3 fieldwork and 22 Islamic movements 3 men and bodily marks 93 body and embodied practices 81, 183, 229 facial hair 91–2, 182 religiously related garments 76, 178 the military and 38, 110 state and 232 women 110 bodily marks 93

embodied practices 183, 229 veil and 50, 52, 82, 180–1, 183 stigmatisation of 111, 183 veiled 50 social 176–7 see also spaces stages, front/back (Goffmanesque): Gülen community 108 Süleymanlı community 158 stigma stigma-related tensions 117 stigmatisation 152, 229, 238 communities and 229 Gülen 127, 238 Süleymanlı 116–18, 152 religious appearances and practices 169, 182 veiling 38, 48, 111, 175, 193, 224 stigmatised men body and embodied practices 183 moustaches 118, 181 religiously related garments and accessories 176 Süleymanlı community and 177 veiled women 176, 198 symbols 183 strategy see public presentation strategy subjectivity/subjectivities 18, 85, 94, 230–2 Süleymancı 3n7, 87–8 Sunnah 62, 65–6, 89, 91–2, 167, 177 Sunni Islam 56n1, 188–9, 220

301

Index Sunni (cont.) forms 94, 99, 219 interpretations 62, 94 leaders/authorities 60 religious field of 24–5, 61, 81, 93–4 communities and 56, 60–1, 97–8, 107, 143–4, 227, 232–3 Gülen 237 Menzil 98–9, 143 Süleymanlı 25, 81, 102, 104, 106, 111, 114–15, 132, 143 gender and 185 mests 189 Ottoman 57 religious education and 99 structural openings 24, 59 (Turkish) state and 25, 101–2, 106, 132, 143, 149 Muslim community 57 education 98 individuals 32, 39, 56, 170 practices 98 schools of law 61, 73 sect 61 see also mezhep surveillance 158, 185, 232 t-shirts 76, 79 haram lokma 42 takke 93, 176–9 takva 62–3, 94, 177 tarikats 3, 7, 55, 101, 143, 224 apparel 176, 223 Directorate of Religious Affairs and 98

early Republican regime and 31, 58–9 leaders 59 Menzil community Muhammed Raşid Erol 46 Seyyid Abdülhakim Hüseyni 46 Süleymanlı community Süleyman Hilmi Tunahan 44 taste communities and 69–70, 75 consumption and 12, 203 definition of 7 habitus and 6, 203 modest fashion and 112, 193, 203, 210, 218, 221 patterns 221 personal 65, 87, 91, 112, 191, 203, 205, 210 regimes 7, 27, 69–70, 193, 210, 218, 220, 222 women and Muslim 27, 210 veiled 203, 210 tattoos 84–5 Tekbir (brand) 193–4, 198, 201, 213 tesettür 10 men and 9, 66–7, 182, 185, 231 swimwear 191–2 women and 12, 47, 61, 66, 182, 185, 193, 204 communities 72–3, 185, 202 meetings 67, 72, 83, 160 Menzil 83–4, 140, 164 family and 163–4, 184, 232 modest fashion and 224–5 personal 162–3, 202, 210 şalvar 64

302

Index space and 184, 216 tesettürwear 12, 26, 51, 70, 192–4, 200, 203, 221 boutiques 20, 207 brands 19, 53, 194–6, 198, 213, 224 companies 52, 194 manufacturers and retailers 193 retailers 207 sector 36, 220 shops 195–6 tespih 71–2 TMSF (Savings Deposit Insurance Fund) 123, 125–6 tövbe almak 70–1 tövbekâr elçileri 69–70 traditional clothes and accessories 26 drink 142 elements 58 family structure 167 feraces 215 forms of religion 8 veiling 47–50 garments 64, 178 headscarves and 49 gender divisions of labour 171 roles 170–1 hats 30 market offerings 190 medrese education 59 mest styles 189–90 outlook 30 religious practices 143 symbolisation of veiled women as 30 trousers 64

understandings and practices of Islam 17 traditionalism 116 traditions agency and 231 bodily hygiene 14 dress 221 local 220 embodied 10 habits and reflexivity and 6 Islam as 55 Islamic 56, 95, 236 patriarchal 163, 170, 185 religious 177 tattoos 85 veiling 47, 164 trousers men’s black baggy 35 capri 78 formal 76, 92 Gülen community 86, 113 loose 78, 86, 113, 179–80 skinny 180 Süleymanlı community 76–8, 92, 177 women’s 192, 215 Gülen community 63–5 Menzil community 63–5, 72–4 şalvar 64 Süleymanlı community 63–5, 73 tuğra 89, 137–8, 220 Tunahan, Süleyman Hilmi 44–5, 59, 73, 82, 154, 233 türban 48, 50–1 Turkists 41 pan-Turkists 218

303

Index ulema 44, 57–8 universities 118–19 Gülen-affiliated 121–2 Fatih University 154 Menzil-affiliated: Semerkand Bilim ve Medeniyet Üniversitesi 135 students 50, 53, 112, 121, 151, 162, 172, 181–2, 239 theology faculties 58, 99, 103–4 Vakko (brand) 134, 187, 199–200, 207, 222 veil 26, 47–50, 206 communities and 184 Gülen 63, 87, 108, 194, 205 Menzil 84, 205, 230 Süleymanlı 118, 204, 231 de-veil 2n4, 49, 109, 166 de-veiled 63, 87, 184 de-veiling 2, 108, 150, 166, 230 face veil (peçe) 48, 112 families and 184 fashion and 192–4 informants and 160–6 Muslim women and 1–2, 170, 174–5, 180 non-veiling 2, 95, 166, 231 non-veiled women 27, 165, 174–5, 184, 194 communities and Gülen 63, 107 Menzil 63, 84 Süleymanlı 63, 74, 118 fashion and 230 accessories 194, 199 models 200 informants 26, 84, 159, 184–5

304

re-veiling 2n4, 166 space and 157 public 30, 107, 182 stigmatisation 38, 48, 111, 182–3, 224 unveiling 2, 166 unveiled women 155–7, 161, 166, 184 veiled see also veiling body 163 civil servants 112, 182 customers 195 ‘first lady’ 52 identities 163, 174 informants 26, 160 models 200 politicians 112 women 1–2, 27, 63, 86, 107, 161, 184 bonnets and 207–10 business and employment 196 fashion designers 196–7 denim and 51 Emine Erdoğan and 213–14 fashion brands high-street / mainstream 134, 187, 195, 198–9, 221, 223–4 luxury 211 habitus and 202–3, 210 jeans and 77 luxury/conspicuous consumption and 199, 213 modest fashion and 208–9 brands 198 capital 210 designers 198

Index field 230 regulatory gazes and 158, 175 şals and 204–6 scarves and 127, 199, 206, 211 spaces and 155–7, 159, 162, 184 public 183, 195–6 tastes and 203, 209 tesettürwear and 51 boutiques and 20 brands 53, 134, 187, 200–2, 224 türban and 48 veiling 2, 12, 25, 39, 97, 166, 231 ban on 24, 38, 52–3, 101, 107, 112, 166, 181–3; see also headwear: headscarves: ban communities and 9, 25, 56, 83, 88, 94, 118, 160, 184 Gülen 70, 86–8, 95, 108–9, 118, 183, 206 identities 232 Menzil 83, 88, 206 meetings 72–3 norms 156 Süleymanlı 73, 87–8, 95, 109, 111, 118, 156, 206, 222, 232 decisions 163, 165, 232 families and 162–3, 232 fashions 51, 206

habitus 202–3 identities and 1, 175, 229, 232 inner self and 161, 163 Islamic rules 9, 73, 83, 210 life stages and 160–1, 232 the military and 109–10 politics and 47, 50, 52 spaces 38, 47, 107, 150 styles 24, 47–50, 53, 66, 110, 118, 165, 197; see also headwear: headscarves: styling communities and 60 Gülen 86–8, 206 Menzil 87–8, 206 Süleymanlı 87–8, 111, 118, 206 tastes 210 tradition 164 trend 205 vitrin 116, 118, 231; see also public presentation strategy western clothing 76, 78, 179–80; see also denim window sites 107, 116; see also vitrin Zaman (newspaper) 124–5, 201, 212; see also media: communities: Gülen zikir 71–2, 84, 143, 232

305