Political Islam and the Secular State in Turkey: Democracy, Reform and the Justice and Development Party 9780755608751, 9781780769233

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To I˙smail, for reading the play. And to Asiya and I˙shak, who already love books.

FOREWORD

The modern political history of Turkey has not followed a preordained path. A post-imperial nationalist revolution has come to seek admission to a pan-European union, an official secular order has brought an Islam-sensitive political party to power for over a decade, and a democratically elected government has stimulated popular rather than military opposition. At the heart of this evolving politics has been the perennial tension between the secular and religious, which this book insightfully documents. As a society with an intermittently functioning democracy, Turkey has seen a number of religious-based parties compete for power and other parties frame their positions in terms of Islam. Necmettin Erbakan became the first Islamist prime minister in 1996. Refah Partisi (the Welfare Party) regularly secured between 6 and 7 per cent of the vote in the 1980s when the very successful prime ¨ zal, advocated ways of integrating minister and president, Turgut O Islam into national life. By the early 1990s, Refah had broadened its base, securing control of key cities such as Istanbul and Ankara, and eventually entered government. Refah’s success was to prove short-lived, however. The military, self-appointed guardians of the Kemalist legacy of laicism, became increasingly nervous, and by mid-1997 Refah was closed and Erbakan resigned. In January 1998, the constitutional court proscribed the party for ‘anti-secular activities’ and prohibited Erbakan and other

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leaders from political activity for five years. The popular mayor of Istanbul, Recep Tayyip Erdog˘an, was imprisoned and banned for life from political activism. Yet the movement displayed some resilience when it re-emerged as the Virtue Party (Fazilet Partisi), and although it placed only third in the parliamentary election of April 1999, it secured slightly more than one-fifth of the seats. A new generation of pragmatists, led by Erdog˘an and Abdullah Gu¨l, emerged. The party they formed, Adalet ve Kalkınma Partisi (the Justice and Development Party or AKP), won 34 per cent of the vote in the November 2002 elections and formed a single-party government. It was re-elected by a landslide in 2007, with 47 per cent of the vote, after the military had expressed its opposition to Gu¨l’s presidential candidacy, and increased its vote in the election of 2011 to just under 50 per cent. Far from what had seemed his destiny in the late 1990s, Erdog˘an became prime minister five short years later and has since, ironically, emerged as the most dominant figure in Turkish politics since Atatu¨rk himself. Although the AKP denies that it is an Islamist party, and, as this work shows, it is not a simple second-generation version of Refah, it shares some characteristics with the latter. Both in power have followed mixed policies, combining sensitivity to conservative Muslim opinion with the pragmatism and interest-based calculations to be expected of any government. During the 18 months that it was in the ruling coalition, Refah spoke of the need for an Islamicoriented foreign policy and criticised the European Union and United Nations as Zionist organisations, yet tolerated the Turkish– Israeli security arrangement and supported NATO. It officially endorsed secularism and spoke of the values of the ‘centre’, with an emphasis on human rights and democracy. The AKP has also been a supporter of NATO and of accession to the European Union. To this end, it has embarked on legal reform that has curtailed the power of the military and guaranteed civil liberties. It has criminalised violence against women and banned discrimination and harassment in the workplace, but prohibited retail sale of alcohol between 10 p.m. and 6 a.m. and banned all alcohol advertising and promotion. In foreign policy, it has in the past, like other Turkish governments, deployed the

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army against Kurdish separatists in northern Iraq, but also established warm relations with Hamas and other Islamist groups in the Middle East, particularly since the Arab Spring. Some argue that the AKP is a ‘post-Islamist’ party. With roots in earlier political programmes, it emerged under the watchful eye of the military and in competition with other parties, but also in reaction to the rigidity and tactical mistakes of earlier Islamist parties. What has emerged in Turkey is a hybrid political entity, neither simply exclusionary of religion in public life nor theologically defined or Shari’a-governed. In the process, Turkey’s political and social order has been transformed in small but discernible ways. The headscarf is now allowed in Islamic schools and the ban in universities is not enforced, despite a constitutional court ruling in 2008 that, invoking secularism as the founding principle of the republic, threw out a proposed constitutional amendment that was meant to lift the ban in the name of guaranteeing the right to education. Secular liberals are increasingly wary, however. They are concerned about constitutional changes, especially the push for a more centralised presidential system, and resent restrictions on alcohol, abortion, the morning-after pill, public display of affection, and the rejection of a draft bill on gay rights. For them, this is inescapable evidence of Islamisation. But the protests that suddenly erupted at the end of May 2013 indicate that the primary concern has been what is perceived to be the increasing authoritarianism of a government allied with domestic and foreign capital. Although the immediate trigger for the protests were development plans for an Istanbul park – compounded by a heavy-handed police response – this project was widely seen as symptomatic of a neo-liberal agenda that has fuelled Turkey’s vast economic growth since the 1980s and has particularly benefitted the AKP. An important component of the party’s support base has been what are often called the ‘pious bourgeoisie’ – small- and medium-scale entrepreneurs who are both economically liberal and socially conservative. Their support for Erdog˘an and the AKP has paid off: there are now several billion dollars’ worth of privatisations a year, compared to several hundred millions in the period before the party came to power.

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As the Muslim middle-class dimension suggests, there is no clear overlap between class and religious attitude, but narratives have hardened. For the mainstream Republican People’s Party (CHP) and leftist groups, the AKP’s behaviour is equivalent to undermining the Kemalist foundations of the republic; they fear, for example, that removal of mosques and religious schools from the control of the Ministry of Religious Affairs would enhance the position of Muslim institutions. For the AKP, their enemies, especially since the 2013 protests, are secular ideologues identifiable with the upper middle classes – what Erdog˘an has called kaymak tabaka, the ‘cre`me de la cre`me’. Neither contention is true, and the very hybridity – the me´lange of religious and secular values and symbols – that characterises twenty-first-century Turkey propelled it into the realm of exemplar. The much-vaunted ‘Turkish model’ was thought to hold lessons for other societies in the Middle East, especially after the Arab revolts that began in 2011. Turkey’s spectacular economic success, the curbing of the power of the military and the creation of a ‘Muslim democracy’, rather than the stark alternatives of a Kemalist or Islamic state, were all widely thought to be salutary and instructive developments. The addition of a robust foreign policy, which has been supportive of the new regimes in the Arab world as well as the Palestinians, intensified its influence. Erdog˘an proclaimed: ‘I do not claim, of course, that Turkey’s experience is a model that can be implemented identically in all other Muslim societies. However, the Turkish experience does have a substance which can serve as a source of inspiration for other Muslim societies, other Muslim peoples.’ It is not surprising that, only a few months after being elected, President Mohamed Morsi went to Ankara and spoke of what Egypt had to learn from the Turkish experience. From the perspective of post-Taksim Square events, however, Turkey’s reputation looks tarnished. Its economic success is now seen to have incurred a high price – opaque, if not corrupt, crony capitalism; the political establishment seems to have generated its own form of civilian authoritarianism; ‘Islam lite’ appears a more ponderous and growing presence as the AKP years roll on; and its

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foreign policy has struck many as an imperialist neo-Ottomanism. Erdog˘an’s earlier remark, before he came to national power, seems ominous now: ‘Democracy is sometimes seen as a means and sometimes as an end [. . .]. We see it only as a means. Whatever is the system that you want to establish, it is a means to elect that system.’ In light of such overt instrumentalism, the democratic bona fides of the AKP have understandably been called into question. The picture is far from one-sided, however, and there is a danger in overstating the degree of popular dissatisfaction. Abdullah Gu¨l, now president of the republic, has voiced pragmatic and conciliatory statements, perhaps more so at times than the prime minister, and their party has long conceived of itself in the European Christian Democratic mould. It acknowledges the transformative power of globalisation, formally accepts the separation of religion and politics, and stresses – as it so happens, in line with Islamic teaching – that there should be no compulsion in matters of religion such as the wearing of the headscarf. Moreover, moves towards a resolution of the Kurdish question, which has long distorted Turkey’s democracy, may well indicate that the AKP’s commitment to pluralism and participation is more entrenched and strategic than is often assumed. In addition, the cleavage between secular and religious may be less important today after a decade of AKP rule than a left –right split. Urban youth and young professionals, CHP nationalists and a variety of leftists appear on one side, and a working majority of social conservatives, economic neo-liberals, and the ‘silent’ rural are on the other. As the Kurdish example suggests, the contemporary picture is decidedly mixed, with the AKP paradoxically moving towards the acceptance of greater minority rights while seemingly less tolerant of individual rights, such as those of journalists and protestors. This study confidently takes us through the background to the emergence of this party and Turkish politics from the beginning of the millennium. Dr Axiarlis explains, contrary to what is often assumed, both that the Kemalist state is now far from what it was, or at least was assumed to be, and that Kemalism’s overbearing relationship with the religious establishment constituted, in the author’s

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evocative phrase, a kind of ‘aggressive secularism’. What is more, attempts to enter the European Union and the curbing of military power, which are presented in all their complexity and tentativeness, may well suggest that the AKP’s espousal of democratic values is not merely tactical. What emerge clearly are the enduring power of the state and the portentous transformations of an Islam-friendly ruling authority. But, as this volume makes abundantly clear, conventional conceptions of Turkish politics need to be questioned: the supposed secular elites have been neither as secular nor as liberal as they would maintain; the supposed Islamist movement is neither as monolithically Islamic nor as illiberal as critics hold; and the course of consolidating Turkish democracy under the AKP has been neither as impossible as its critics had predicted nor as smooth as its admirers – domestic and foreign – have maintained. This work thus demonstrates that not much is as it obviously seems. In excavating the layers of negotiated identity – secular and Islamic, liberal and conservative democratic – it masterfully explains both the uniqueness of the Turkish case and its relevance to wider understandings of Muslim politics. James Piscatori Durham University

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

Firstly, to my academic mentors, Dr Muhammad Kamal and Dr Lewis Mayo, I appreciate your support and guidance during the initial research stages of this project. My conversations with Lewis helped me to revisit certain taken-for-granted assumptions regarding Republicanism in Turkey. This served to clarify my position and assist me to see things from a fresh perspective. I am permanently grateful for Muhammad’s tireless enthusiasm for my work, and the unmatched dedication and attentiveness in reading (and re-reading) the many chapter drafts. Your sympathetic, spirited attitude and your gentle encouragement was a tremendous help to me, without which the completion of this now book would surely be in doubt. To you both I would like to acknowledge my profound indebtedness. To my editor at Tauris, Azmina Siddique, thank you for all the behind-the-scenes support and for your reliably prompt responses to my never-ending queries. Your cheerful and constructive approach to this project made it not only a straightforward undertaking, but also an enjoyable one. I am forever thankful for the wise words of advice from Professor James Piscatori, who diagnosed with effortless precision areas of my work that could be developed further. His impeccable grasp of Turkish politics and his endorsement of my modest scholarly offering has been a humbling experience. Thank you for the double recommendation.

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A big thanks also to Ian McDonald for working with the manuscript and proving that a different pair of eyes is an invaluable resource in ‘tweaking’ the final product. To my devoted parents, Kostantinos and Ariadne, I recognise your many sacrifices and your ongoing love and reassurance. Quite simply, this book would have remained an impossible dream were it not for your practical and hands-on support. I cannot put into words how much your help has meant to me, nor can I ever properly repay you. Your unending selflessness and amazing energy have truly rendered this project a family affair. Finally, to my husband I˙smail who never once stopped believing in me. In what can only be described as ‘exceptional’ circumstances, we have achieved this together. My anchor and lifeline, you were forever cheering me on. I feel very fortunate that our children have such a strong role model. Asiya and I˙shak, you were babies as this book was being researched, written and published. To you both I owe the creative juices that flowed in abundance during this enterprising time; you have proven to be the greatest source of inspiration in my work. To my family, you are an indescribable blessing. This book is yours as much as it is mine. I thank you.

CHAPTER 1 INTRODUCTION

The Turkish Republic was inaugurated in 1923 by Mustafa Kemal, a former strategist and field commander in both World War I and Turkey’s War of Independence. Kemal was instated as the first president of modern Turkey and introduced a host of far-reaching social and political reforms, which sought to modernise Turkey, embrace Western ideals of secularism and democracy, and adopt European political and bureaucratic institutions. The new Turkish Republic was forged on the ruins of the Ottoman Empire, and great effort was exerted by Kemal and his cadres to completely dissociate the fledging state from its Ottoman (and Islamic) legacy. The principles espoused by Kemal and his associates would come to be known as the ideology of Kemalism. It is this ideology, and the obedience to it, that has governed the Turkish political landscape for 90 years. Kemalism, for the purposes of brevity, can roughly be translated into a manner of secularism particular to Turkey. Despite the widespread characterisation of Turkey as a secular democracy, the Turkish state may give rise to a host of problems and inconsistencies regarding classification. Geographically, Turkey sits astride two continents, Europe and Asia; the country is often considered to be the link between the East and the West, both physically and in terms of dialogue between these two entities. Nonetheless, the Turkish

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Republic fits neatly into neither the Western nor the Middle Eastern civilisational paradigm, and is, in fact, a singular and inexplicable amalgam of both. This dichotomy has fostered the polarisation of Turkish society and has led to ongoing repercussions for the problematised cultural identity of its citizens. This has, in turn, played into the hands of civil and parliamentary actors who are keen to exploit the issues surrounding Turkey’s complex and multifaceted identity politics. Officially, Turkey is a secular democratic state: one committed to the rule of law, a signatory to various international conventions and respectful of the fundamental human rights of its citizens. In recent times, however, the secular state has come under criticism for infringing the rights of Turkish Muslims and suppressing the capacity for religious expression. Muslims in Turkey make up approximately 98 per cent of the population, so it may come as no real surprise that even in a self-declared and staunchly secular democracy, pro-Islamic forces should assume a political voice. Commentators have often regarded the emergence and subsequent success of Islamist parties in Turkey as a reaction against the dominant Kemalist paradigm, which has persistently and actively sought to control religion in the country. The Kemalist project of modernising the Turkish state and its institutions is quite distinct from the Westernisation of Turkey’s society and culture. It has been suggested that the latter undertaking in particular, carried out in earnest by Turkey’s founding fathers, was an ambitious and ultimately self-defeating project. The rapid social and cultural reforms that swept through and revolutionised Turkey in the 1920s, at the behest of Mustafa Kemal and his mission of modernisation, necessitated the subjugation of religion. Religion was not only considered to be obsolete, but also an obstacle to real progress. The process of eliminating the religious element from Turkey’s political and official spheres was not a gradual one, however. It required the expulsion of religion and its ‘machinery’ from the public sphere, and the imposition of the Kemalists’ own version of religion and religious practice. This subsequently facilitated a policy of intrusion of the ‘secular’ state apparatus into the affairs of religion and the subscribers to religion.

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An Islamist or Islamic political party is one that, by virtue of its association with the religion of Islam, endeavours to defend the interests of that religion and its devotees. It may or may not also seek to implement in the political realm policies that are derived from its religious world view. Islamist or pro-Islamic parties in Turkey appear to have emerged as a response to its aggressively secular polity and the constraints on the free exercise of religious practice by Turkish citizens instituted by the Kemalist state. Turkish Islamist parties have employed a diversity of strategies and approaches in representing the needs of their constituents, and yet, invariably, they have reacted against the Kemalist regime. Islamist parties in Turkey, irrespective of their idiosyncratic policy positions and methodologies, are motivated principally by the desire to alleviate the effects of the hard-line Kemalist administration. Paradoxically, then, Islamist parties in Turkey exist because of the staunchly secular system, or, in other words, the staunchly secular system is prone to producing Islamist parties. This situation goes some way to explaining the rise of Turkey’s current ruling party. In what was a landslide victory during the 2002 Turkish elections, the Justice and Development Party (or Adalet ve Kalkınma Partisi in Turkish, henceforth referred to as the AKP) assumed the office of government on the premise that it was the first conservative democratic party in Turkish political history. Despite its undeniable Islamist origins, the current government was keen from the outset to detach itself from its Islamist identity and forge instead a new party built on a fresh ideology, that of ‘conservative democracy’. Despite the efforts of the party leader and other high-profile members of the AKP, however, the party has struggled to successfully rid itself of its ‘Islamist’ legacy. Notwithstanding the fact that the party has embraced the concept of democracy, and even submits to and endorses the principle of secularism, it has continued to encounter criticism and suspicion from Turkey’s secular political institutions. Many secular officials have alleged that the AKP is still an Islamist party, intent on introducing Islamic policies with the ultimate view of establishing Shari’a (Islamic law) in the secular state of Turkey. In a defining moment, on 14 March 2008, Abdurrahman Yalc
ınkaya,

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Turkey’s chief public prosecutor, applied to the country’s constitutional court to have the AKP banned on the grounds that it was attempting to subvert the principle of secularism enshrined in Turkey’s constitution. The eponymous court, charged with protecting Turkey’s secular constitution, accepted the application and subsequently launched a campaign to have the democratically-elected AKP party closed down and outlawed from politics. The AKP managed to evade the challenge, unlike its predecessors the Welfare (Refah) and Virtue (Fazilet) parties, which were banned by the court, having succumbed to similar charges. Despite the repeated assurances made by government officials, the reservations about the AKP’s ‘real agenda’ held by the Kemalist elite are not entirely superficial or unwarranted. Once in government, the AKP attempted to introduce legislation that would have criminalised adultery, has acted to close down licensed venues serving alcohol during the month of Ramadan and increase taxes on alcohol, and has been responsible for segregating various Turkish beaches to allow men and women separate access in an effort to discourage mixed bathing. Perhaps the AKP’s most controversial and publicised ‘pro-Islamic’ policy is its vocal and protracted campaign to have the ban on headscarves in Turkish universities lifted. These policies, and others, are, for the Kemalist elite, resounding proof that the AKP is harbouring a covert agenda to Islamise the Turkish state and society. For the AKP, conversely, these measures are an important means to satisfy its constituency. The government asserts that these so-called ‘religious’ or ‘anti-secular’ policies actually fulfil an important democratic function, as they address the needs of members of Turkey’s conservative circles, which have historically been the subject of undemocratic restrictions. Within the matrix of the conflict between the Turkish secular state and political Islam, one needs to examine the nature of the AKP’s ‘conservative democracy’ and analyse the party’s attempts to reconcile Islamic values within the overarching secular system through its adoption of this ideology. One may ask: to what extent can the AKP, a party rooted in Islamist thought, reinforce democracy in Turkey? Through its ‘conservative democracy’ ideology, the AKP seeks to

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accommodate two seemingly irreconcilable aims and philosophical world views, those of secularism and of Islam. The primary vehicle for the reconciliation of Islamic identity within the staunchly secular Turkish state is the AKP’s dedication to the democratic ideal; through it, the party is liable to serve both secular and Islamic principles. By committing itself to democratic practices and policies, the AKP government does not undermine the secular establishment, and, despite numerous obstacles and a recent slump in its reform programme, has the potential to further consolidate Turkey’s democratic project. Throughout its decade in power, when considered as a totality, many of the AKP’s policies have assumed more of a liberalist than an Islamist hue. This is despite an unmistakable and increasing tendency towards authoritarianism on the part of the dominant party, which is largely the result of its electoral calculations and the petty politicking surrounding domestically divisive issues rather than being indicative of a covert Islamist plot, as claimed by its detractors. It is wrong, therefore, to label the AKP an Islamist party. Its espousal of an ostensibly more ‘liberal’, as opposed to ‘Islamic’, agenda goes a long way towards the resolution of the decades-old conflict between the Turkish secular state and political Islam. One of the most perilous aspects associated with a study of this nature is the problem of classification. Subjectively defined terms, which may emerge in the field of political commentary and analysis, are often taken for granted without due consideration, and can lead to inaccurate conclusions. For instance, the terms Islamist and Islamic, when describing political parties and actors, are often used interchangeably. For the purposes of the present work, however, a clear distinction needs to be made between the two. The Islamist individual or party aims to achieve what are fundamentally political, as opposed to religious or ideological, objectives. To this end, the Islamist will employ ostensibly religious and/or ideological rhetoric. The Islamist therefore politicises Islam. Islamism is the ideology whereby the sacred (the religion of Islam) enters the secular public realm and becomes political. By promoting an Islamic identity and advocating unequivocally Islamic ideals (to the exclusion of all

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others), the Islamist perennially threatens to hijack the religion of Islam in order to serve what are essentially non-religious, secular or political aims. Islamists are therefore more susceptible to the adoption of a subversive political agenda, a radicalised public discourse and revolutionary ideals. The Islamist party tends to naturally undermine the secular status quo, as it agitates for change through the use of provocative language and policies. An Islamic party, by contrast, possesses an intrinsic affinity for the religion of Islam. Its members themselves may be devout Muslims and their policies will, in a general sense, not contradict the fundamental principles of the Islamic faith. An Islamic party is therefore fundamentally pro-Islamic, in that it empathises and identifies with the religion. Its policies and rhetoric, however, may not necessarily be explicitly Islamic, or even based on religious principles. In this way, an Islamic party distinguishes between the public and private spheres. Unlike Islamist parties, Islamic parties do not seek to introduce the sacred into the secular public sphere, or establish Islamic policies on an official level; they are content to retire Islam to the private realm of individual experience. An Islamic party does not of necessity undermine the secular order, and as a consequence of its not employing religious language in politics is almost secular in its approach. Secularism is a term that denotes the absence of the sacred in the public sphere. Specifically, secularism is the institutionalised paradigm that ensures religious elements are proscribed from informing or influencing the affairs of state or governmental policy. There are various manifestations of secularism in different states around the world, and a general distinction may be made between the twin poles of passive and aggressive secularism – with every other version falling somewhere along this continuum. Passive secularism accepts that the political institutions of a state are not founded upon, or in any way subject to, religion. The State, for its part, will not interfere in the affairs of religion. That is, the State is consigned to a position of a passive and neutral bystander with respect to religion, its appendages and its devotees. Passive secularism hence promotes the separation of the public and private spheres. Aggressive secularism,

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contrariwise, is characterised by the interventionist nature of the State vis-a`-vis religion and religious practice. An aggressively secular state imposes secularism on citizens by limiting the scope for religious observance or enforcing its own alternative to religion. An aggressively secular state controls religion and makes it subject to the State’s whims. Aggressive secularism therefore dissolves the boundary between the public and private spheres. Turkey’s preponderant Kemalist ideology disguises an aggressive form of secularism. Kemalism is the cardinal ideology of the Turkish state, and it is based on the principles of the republic’s founder, Mustafa Kemal. The Kemalist doctrine is based on six ‘arrows’ or ‘foundations’. These are: Republicanism (Cumhuriyetc
ilik), Nationalism (Milliyetc
ilik), Populism (Halkc
ılık), Statism (Devletc
ilik), Laicism (Laiklik), and Revolutionism/Reformism (Devrimcilik). A simplistic rendering of Kemalism depicts it as purely a secularist ideology. Although Kemalism does encompass notions of secularism and the strict monitoring and even containment of religion, it does not seek to do away with religion altogether. In fact, the Kemalist ideology is an awkward fusion of secularist principles, Turkish nationalism and elements of Sunni Islam, which has been promulgated chiefly by the Turkish armed forces. Notwithstanding its unconventional political role, the Turkish military has long been regarded as a vehicle for progress, and the preserver of the status quo. It defends its political role by citing the need to safeguard the reforms undertaken by Mustafa Kemal, if necessary by force. It routinely equates modernisation and Westernisation with its aggressive brand of secularism, and has not, to date, permitted a discussion of an alternative interpretation of the term in the republic. The AKP government has challenged the strict version of secularism promoted by the military. The competing definitions of secularism in the Republic of Turkey have become a flashpoint of conflict between the government and the armed forces. In challenging the military establishment, the AKP government has attached itself to a sympathetic benefactor, the European Union (EU). With the view of harmonisation of the Turkish system with European standards and the ultimate adoption of the EU acquis

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communaitaire, the AKP government has implemented far-reaching reforms based on the Copenhagen criteria, which spell out the necessary preconditions for any aspiring member. The road to the EU has not been easy or straightforward, nor has it followed a consistent pattern. The AKP has encountered numerous setbacks in its bid for EU membership, and this has led to periods in which it has downplayed its EU obligations. This is not to say, however, that the party has abandoned the goal of eventual membership entirely; the government appears to attach more importance to the ongoing process of the EU accession negotiations than to eventual membership itself. Its appropriation of the EU enterprise and its affirmation of liberal democracy are not typical of Islamist parties. The trend against the promotion of an explicitly Islamic agenda, as was customary practice for previous Islamist parties in Turkey, places the pro-Islamic AKP in potentially uncharted waters. The present situation, which sees the Islam-friendly AKP government operating within a staunchly secular Turkish establishment, raises the question of how political Islam can challenge (or even threaten) the secular status quo. In this case, rather, the reverse is true. The AKP has made what many regard as compulsory revisions to its policy and agenda in order to remain politically viable. Unlike previous Islamist parties that preceded the present government, the AKP is not, in practice or in rhetoric, opposed to the secular system, nor does it seek to usurp or in any way undermine the principle of secularism, which it considers to be a mainstay of the Turkish state. The AKP has adapted in order to conform to this secular system. The concessions made by it in terms of downplaying, or even neglecting, its Islamic policy agenda render it a more successful actor in secular Turkish politics. Despite the recent acknowledged slowdown of the AKP’s reforms, the party’s apparent victory over the old regime, and the continuing retreat of the Kemalist establishment from Turkey’s political life has, by and large, resulted in the gradual civilianisation of the Turkish polity. The AKP’s increasingly visible supremacy over the Kemalist state symbolises the consolidation of democratic forces in the republic, and the triumph of a civilian government over an elite

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statist regime. The greatest challenges for the party in government will be how it manages its growing political dominance and, more importantly, how it treats legitimate opponents and critical voices. Will it remain the humble elected representative of the Turkish people, respectful of diversity and dissent, or will it employ a heavy hand to silence and eliminate any critique of its policies? Lately, the AKP has countered claims accusing it of adopting an increasingly authoritarian discourse. The power transfer has altered the status quo and brought the traditionally invincible custodians of the Kemalist ideology to heel. The real test for democracy in the Turkish Republic revolves around the issue of whether or not the AKP government, whose remarkable success and popularity among Turkish voters has helped it to single-handedly transform the atmosphere of the republic, can resist the temptation towards authoritarianism as it consolidates it political influence.

CHAPTER 2 A GENERAL CRITIQUE OF TURKISH SECULARISM

A Brief History of the Republic Turkey has long been regarded as a bastion of secular democracy in the Middle East, a dependable Western ally, a bulwark against Islamic extremism and a role model for other Muslim-majority states. In the West, the classic image of Turkey has long been misleading: a secular country, a democracy, an unshakeable friend of [the West], a nation whose strategic outlook conforms with [Western] interests in the region [. . .] a model to all Muslims. During the past 50 years, most of these descriptions have not corresponded to reality, presenting mainly a comforting but unexamined myth (Fuller 2004; 51). The basis of the West’s endorsement of predominantly Muslim Turkey is the latter’s perceived commitment to the principle of secularism and to a democratic model of governance. The narrowly defined and strictly enforced form of secularism in Turkey is largely unchallenged in the West, and the circumstances surrounding its introduction at the Republic’s inception and its interpretation and application in the modern day have, to date, not been questioned by most Western statesmen, policy makers or scholars – until very recently.

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Since the fall of the defunct Ottoman Empire, the West has been content to appease the Kemalist Turkish state, and ignore fundamental questions of democracy and human rights, so long as Ankara continued to serve the West’s geopolitical and strategic interests in the region. In order to understand why this is the case, one needs to travel back into history and consider the circumstances surrounding the 1923 Treaty of Lausanne, in which the newly-established Republic of Turkey was granted international recognition. The peace conference held at Lausanne in Switzerland commenced in November 1922 and culminated in the ratification of the peace treaty by the new Turkish Republic on 23 August 1923, followed soon after by Greece, Italy, Japan and, in 1924, by Great Britain. The Treaty of Lausanne replaced the earlier Treaty of Sevres, which was imposed by the Allies and signed by Sultan Mehmed Vahdettin, but subsequently rejected by Mustafa Kemal’s rival Turkish National Movement. The nationalist victory over the Greeks and the expulsion of the sultan during Turkey’s War of Independence placed Kemal’s government in a stronger position to request a renegotiation of the previous Treaty of Sevres with the Allied powers. The Lausanne Peace Conference, attended by all previous signatories to the Sevres Treaty, including the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics – which had been previously excluded – produced a peace treaty agreed to all by all parties in 1923 that was formally ratified the following year. The parties reached this stage after lengthy negotiations. The Treaty of Lausanne effectively ended the state of war that had existed since 1914 between Turkey (or, more accurately, the Ottoman Empire) on the one hand and the British Empire, France, Italy, Greece, Japan, Romania and the Serb–Croatian–Slovene State on the other. Turkey, the new republic, renounced all existing claims to the remainder of the Ottoman Empire, and the Allies henceforth recognised Turkey’s sovereignty and territorial integrity within its new borders, which were delimited by the Lausanne agreement. The treaty also stipulated that by ceding all rights to its former territories, no reparations were to be exacted from Turkey, and that within its newly demarcated lands, there were no limitations placed upon the Turkish military establishment. That is, the new Turkish

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state was guaranteed its sovereignty. In return, the Turkish Republic promised to protect the rights of its minorities. However, the Lausanne Treaty, unlike its predecessor, the 1920 Treaty of Sevres, did not provide for the independence of Turkey’s large Kurdish minority or the autonomy of the Armenian or Hejaz peoples (Article 64 of the Sevres Treaty, signed by the Constantinople government, envisaged independence for the Kurds within a year). Kerim Yıldız gives a background to the events surrounding the implementation of the Lausanne agreement: With the exception of Greece, the Treaty of Sevres was not ratified by the signatory countries and the provision for Kurdish autonomy was thus never implemented. Sevres had been seen as a humiliation by Turkey and was repudiated by the new republic. The aftermath of the Turkish War of Independence saw Sevres superseded by a new accord in 1923, the Treaty of Lausanne, which largely established the current borders of Turkey. This new instrument ignored Kurdish claims to self-determination and recognised only religious minorities in need of protection [. . .] Turkish sovereignty was restored over the Kurdish-dominated area accorded independence under the Treaty of Sevres (2005; 7). As a result, the new republic was not compelled or legally bound to ensure that the rights of its minorities were protected. Conversely, based on the logic of ethnic nationalism, Mustafa Kemal and his cadres believed that any concession to the Kurds or Armenians would compromise the unitary structure of the Turkish state; the issue was regarded as fundamental to national security and cohesion. Since that time, Western countries have tended to ‘turn a blind eye’ to the Kemalist state’s poor human rights record, primarily because in the new Republic of Turkey the West had found a useful ally. The socalled ‘red peril’, or the imminent threat of communist expansion posed by the Soviet Union, created an atmosphere conducive to cooperation; faced with a common enemy, mutual interests were advanced. Put simply, the Allies were satisfied with Kemal’s

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leadership, and ignored the oppressive policies he and his successor I˙smet I˙no¨nu¨ implemented to ensure the sovereignty and territorial integrity of the newly-created state, in return for Turkey’s promise that it would block the influence of communism. Thus, the ratification of the Treaty of Lausanne is a significant event in that it formally establishes the independence of the newly-forged Turkish Republic, as the successor state of the now-redundant former Ottoman Empire, and, concurrently, sets the foundational basis for the Turkish state’s future engagement with the West. For many decades, therefore, Western states unconditionally accepted that the Republic of Turkey was a secular democratic state, based on the rule of law. This was, after all, the Kemalist regime’s long-term self-depicting narrative. Recent domestic developments, Ankara’s relationship with the EU and with the US, and a popularly elected government that has challenged the conventional wisdom regarding Turkey’s actual and essential character, make it increasingly difficult for Western observers to continue to ignore political reality regarding the Turkish Republic. Moreover, Turkey’s growing self-confidence on the world stage, its vocal participation in several global forums, and an increasingly independent foreign policy has compelled the West to re-examine the traditional assumptions regarding the Turkish state and polity. The AKP government is committed to maintaining close ties with the West, and has forged new relationships with many states. Generally, the AKP is held in high regard in the Western world, and its popularity has enabled it to reach out and secure new sources of legitimacy and support. By indirectly challenging the Kemalist state, it has highlighted how undemocratic Turkey’s state institutions are, and has, as a consequence, turned the West’s attention to this situation. The basis of the AKP’s claim that the Kemalist state is undemocratic and authoritarian is the latter’s rigid interpretation of secularism. The AKP has challenged the Kemalist regime’s application of secularism. This has led to many onlookers questioning the extent to which Turkey is really secular, if at all. Turkey’s unique brand of institutionalised secularism is highly suspect in terms of its inability to manifest or correspond to any of the generally

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accepted definitions of secularism circulating in the literature today. Nor does the Turkish model of secularism bear any resemblance to the practice of secularism in most contemporary Western states, with the noteworthy exception of France, as will be discussed below. According to Cemal Karakas¸, the problematic Turkish interpretation of secularism (the author uses the term ‘laicism’, fittingly in line with the French laı¨cite´ ) cannot be reconciled with the democratic theorem of secularism of the twenty-first century (2007). To put it differently, Turkish secularism is not truly democratic. In fact, Turkish secularism has been consolidated at the expense of democracy. The assertion that the Republic of Turkey is a genuine secular democracy, which is the widely held and often unchallenged Western view, needs to be revisited. Indeed, several characteristics of the Turkish Republic, and many Kemalist policies regarding religion, have rendered the Turkish State distinctly unsecular. In any case, the term ‘secular’ is one that the Turkish state ascribes to itself. The degree to which this characterisation of the Turkish state is accurate needs to be objectively assessed. The depiction of Turkey as a ‘secular state’ refers to the structural foundations of the republic. Secularism in this sense is not only a permanent aspect of the Turkish political landscape but the fundamental and definitive form of governance of the Turkish Republic, static, unchanging and above party politics. The political (and politicised) principle of secularism is a fluid concept, however, liable to shifting adaptations and interpretations by differing groups that may emerge on the political and ideological spectrum in Turkey. Secularism is no longer merely a political principle in Turkey. Secularism has been consolidated and is the dominant state ideology. It is the defining characteristic of the Turkish Republic. According to Yael Navaro-Yashin, In Turkey, a study of secularism cannot be dissociated from a study of the state, for secularism is the state’s preferred self-representation or selected idea about itself. Secularism is not a neutral paradigm, but a state ideology as well as a hegemonic public discourse in contemporary Turkey [. . .]

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A study of the culture of secularism in Turkey is also, necessarily, a study of militarism, authoritarianism, and the culture of the state. Statism (or reverence for the state) in Turkey’s public life is often represented in the garb and language of secularism (Navaro-Yashin 2002; 6). That is, secularism, rather than being an objective conceptual model, has been appropriated by the Turkish state and is heavily politicised. Indeed, the Kemalist state derives much of its power and legitimacy from its appropriation of secularism. Secularism in the Turkish case will henceforth be referred to not as a political principle, but a mature and immovable ideological construct: the secularist ideology.

Defining Secularism The state may, but individuals cannot be secular (Prime Minister Recep Tayyip Erdog˘an quoted in Yeni S¸afak, 26 January 2008). For Erdog˘an and the AKP, political administrations should be secular of necessity, however, individual citizens are not required to be so, nor does it benefit the ‘secular’ state if they adopt a strictly secular personal worldview. The AKP’s understanding of secularism, which is illustrated by the prime minister’s quote above, is in sharp contrast to that of many Kemalists including the former president of the Turkish Republic, Ahmet Necdet Sezer. Sezer, known for his staunchly secular credentials, once said, ‘secularism is a way of life which should be adopted by an individual. A “secular individual” should confine religion in the sacred place of his conscience and disallow his belief to affect this world’ (quoted in Today’s Zaman, 17 July 2008). Sezer’s definition of secularism is based on the belief that the State’s ideology is unchallengeable and superior. This is an absolutist position and it encourages the State to encroach on the private realm of individual citizens.

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The conflicting interpretations of secularism held by Erdog˘an and Sezer reflect a broader social rupture. In any case, many competing interpretations and definitions of ‘secularism’ exist in the contemporary discourse. According to Karakas¸, ‘Not many words produce associations as diverging as does the term “secularism” [. . .]. The concepts are very heterogenous with regard to the degree of separation between state and religion in Europe’ (2007; 6). By providing a summary of the differing manifestations of secularism on the European continent, in countries including Germany, the Netherlands, Great Britain and France, Karakas¸ demonstrates that it is nearly impossible to put forward a universal and exclusive definition of the term. Secularism is a very nuanced and multifaceted notion, and it is susceptible to being adopted and adjusted to suit the needs and individual landscapes of various states. However, the concept is broadly characterised by the gradual decline of aristocratic and clerical authority, which was born out of the processes of the Enlightenment. The desacralisation of the public sphere went handin-hand with a new form of legitimate political power, whereby popular sovereignty replaced that of the Church. According to Steven McKnight, the term ‘secularisation’ refers to the ‘wide range of intellectual, social, and political developments that undermined the ecclesiastical, theological, and political power of the Church’ (1989; 2). In his seminal work, The Legitimacy of the Modern Age, Hans Blumenberg described the process of secularisation as the ‘self-emancipation’ of man (1983). The word ‘secular’ is derived from the Latin term saeculum, meaning ‘generation’ or ‘age’. In contrast to the ‘Dark Ages’ of Christianity, the saeculum (or the here and now) revolves around matters pertaining to this life and has been expressed as a ‘renewal of man’s confidence in himself and in his capacities for finding meaning, purpose, and enjoyment’ in the world (McKnight 1989; 2). ‘Secularism’ is therefore associated with the worldly, and is the hallmark of modernity in that it heralds a clear break with the sacralised past and focuses instead on the present and tangible world and the possibility of human and social perfectibility therein. In politics, secularism is also considered to be a prerequisite condition

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for a functioning liberal democracy. By breaking the antiquated theological shackles that once bound it, humankind is liberated to pursue happiness and fulfilment through rational and scientific means. In the process, it overcomes the ignorance and the dogmatic prejudice that was inculcated by the Church in previous centuries, when its unchallenged religious and political authority was in the ascendancy. Religion was not disbanded or expelled altogether, however. The sacred was gradually rendered profane through the loss of prestige and traditional authority suffered by the Church, and ultimate legitimacy and power was transferred, seemingly irrevocably, to the newly-established secular state. A secular state is usually defined as ‘one which has no official ties to any religious movement or position at all’ (Robertson 1985; 299). Countries such as Britain and those of Scandinavia cannot, therefore, technically be considered secular because these states have officially established churches (the Church of England and the Lutheran, respectively). In contrast, the USA’s constitution explicitly prohibits the creation of an established church, and as such the nation is considered secular despite the enduring relevance of religion in American social and political life and the personal religiosity of many high-profile politicians, including recent presidents, who regularly proclaim ‘God Bless America’. Practically, therefore, we see that states in contemporary times are considered secular according to the degree that the government is independent of religious affiliation (Robertson 1985; 299). According to the Encyclopedia of Politics and Religion, the term ‘secularisation’ refers to ‘a decline or marginalisation of religion in public life [. . .]. The secularisation of a society (society considered as a structure, not as a population) is best thought of as structural differentiation’ (1998). What may be inferred from this is that secularism is the institutionalised separation of Church and State, and hence the promotion of the public– private divide whereby the public realm (the affairs of state, government policies and political institutions) are areligious, or not informed or influenced by religious elements, and individual citizens may practise their own religion freely in the private sphere. The underlying premise of this rendering

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of secularism is that although it is necessary for the State to be secular (or areligious), such is not the case with private individuals. An individual may be religious, devout, atheist, agnostic, sceptic, antireligious or unreligious but not secular, because secularism is a term that denotes a specific and concrete principle which is applied in politics by states and administrations; it is not a personal persuasion, preference or belief system, but a tangible model of governance. The differentiation is therefore made between the secularisation of a society (the political institutions and appendages of the State) and the secularisation of a population (the decline in personal piety amongst the citizenry of a given state). The secularisation of a society is analogous to official state-sponsored secularism, whereas the secularisation of a population refers to the same process at the grassroots or community level. On the basis of such a definition, one can critique the validity of Turkish secularism. Secularism as applied in Turkey has presupposed the decline of personal devoutness of its citizens, or has deliberately fostered it in any case, by way of the Kemalist state’s intervention into the affairs of religious citizens and organisations. At the founding of the Turkish Republic in 1923, Mustafa Kemal, who came to be known as Atatu¨rk, or ‘father of the Turks’, adopted the French model of laicism, which emphasised state control of religious expression and religious institutions. The unique combination of Turkish nationalism, Sunni Islam and European laicism came to be known as Kemalism (Hurd 2008). Kemalists believed that progress and modernity was defined as the management and subordination of local and indigenous Islamic culture. Some examples of the Kemalist regime’s forays into religion have been summarised by Elizabeth Shakman Hurd: Atatu¨rk’s reforms were codified in a new Turkish Civil Code enacted in 1926 (a translation of the Swiss Code civile), which legalized state attempts to regulate religion. This included a ban on Sufi tarikats (religious brotherhoods) and state suppression of Sufi activities. The national capital was moved from Istanbul to Ankara to sever ties with the Byzantine and

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Ottoman past. The caliphate and the religious courts were abolished in 1924, the calendar changed from the Islamic [lunar] to the Gregorian, and Arabic script replaced with the Latin alphabet. The Turkish language was ‘purified’ of all words with Arabic roots; and ‘within three months all books, newspapers, street signs, school papers, and public documents had to be written using the new letters’. Clocks were set to European time, rather than Muslim time in which the date changed at sunset. Women were discouraged from wearing traditional dresses and, in at least one instance, were forbidden from entering prominent public places in Ankara in traditional attire. Tekkes (lodges) and tu¨rbes (shrines of saints) were ordered closed by the state (Hurd 2008; 66). This is a rundown of the comprehensive and radical social revolution that was engineered by Mustafa Kemal. The sheer extent and the speed of this upheaval, which was in stark contrast to the Ottoman-Turkish society into which the reforms were introduced, constitutes the imposition of the then novel, French-inspired secular ideology on the new republic. The sweeping reforms and the restructuring of Turkish society was enforced, just as the secularist ideology was enforced, then and in subsequent decades. The nascent Republic’s project of secularisation did not unfold gently and progressively as it had done on the European continent. Secularism in Europe was born out of the processes of the Enlightenment during the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, whereby the traditional authority of the Church was rejected and replaced. According to James Crimmins, an amalgamation of factors including the advancement of the natural sciences, the spread of education and other social improvements, and political reforms combined to put religion on the defensive. He says, ‘in the latter part of the eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries, religion was forced to account for itself and to justify its existence, both as a social institution and as a collection of fundamental articles of belief about the world and its operations’ (1989; 1). Even if religion was indeed ‘put on the defensive’, or challenged and actively undermined, it retained independence in the execution

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of its own affairs. It was proscribed, however, from entering the secular–political realm. During the establishment of the Turkish Republic, religion was not merely checked. It was, in much the same way as it was during the centuries of the Ottoman Caliphate, absorbed into the State machinery. All religious affairs were to be coordinated, supervised and approved by the Kemalist state. Thus the Turkish rendering of secularism has no qualitative precedent in the West. European countries, for instance, have adopted a more tolerant approach towards religion, espousing a ‘live and let live’ mentality, whereas in Turkey the State seeks to control religion exclusively. In fact, as Karakas¸ points out, ‘laicist Turkey paradoxically has usurped more religious authority than the Sultans of the Ottoman Empire ever possessed’ (2007; 19). Moreover, the traditional Turkish notion of secularism undermines democratic principles, and is therefore essentially incompatible with the concept of secularism as it is understood and practised in the West. It is not Turkish secularism per se that is problematic; the real issue is, rather, the Kemalist interpretation and application of the principle. Although it is often convenient to use the terms ‘secularism’ and ‘Kemalism’ interchangeably, there are subtle differences between the two that warrant further explanation. Kemalism is an ideology that absorbs several principles, one of which is secularism (or laicism). Mustafa Kemal formulated the doctrine based on six ‘arrows’ or ‘foundations’, which have been outlined above. Kemalism is an ideology, therefore, that encompasses – theoretically at least – more than just secularism. However, of all its principles, or ‘arrows’, none are so contentious and disputed as the term ‘laicism/secularism’; none are so predisposed to being manipulated and defined in various ways by different interest groups and actors. The other constituent principles, that is, republicanism, nationalism, populism, statism and reformism, have to a greater or lesser extent been absorbed by the Turkish polity, and in their interpretation and general application possess a characteristic neutrality. Consequently, one may suggest that the other component principles have been fundamentally assimilated and appropriated by most Turks; they are not as divisive as the term laicism/secularism, and are generally taken-for-granted

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assumptions regarding the nature of the Turkish state and what elements underpin it. To subscribe to the ideology of Kemalism, however, means to adhere to all of its constituent principles, including laicism/ secularism. In the Turkish context, therefore, Kemalism has become synonymous with secularism, and a Kemalist is, essentially, committed to Turkey’s aggressive brand of secularism. This model of secularism is authoritarian, undemocratic and discriminatory. Thus, the idiosyncratic ideology of Kemalism, not the general political principle of secularism, is questionable and problematic. In a similar vein, the AKP government opposes the Kemalist interpretation and application of secularism, but not secularism itself. The basis of the government’s ongoing critique is the ramifications of the inverse relationship between secularism and democracy in Turkey.

Secularism at the Expense of Democracy In the Turkish Republic, the strength of secularism has come at the expense of democracy. One could say that secularism in Turkey is proportionally as strong as democracy is weak. M. S. Michael has argued that the ‘painfully slow evolution’ of Turkey’s Kemalist democratic reform has come to resemble more the East Asian, as opposed to the Western, type of modernity and, further, that the ‘attempt of a centralised state to homogenise Turkish society has over several decades resulted in the build-up of tensions that now threaten to explode’ (2008; 72). The tensions alluded to here are the issue of political Islam and the ethnic Kurdish problem. The indoctrination of Kemalism in Turkey renders it a secular country, but not necessarily a democratic one; Turkey’s secularist ideology is illiberal. Founded on modernist precepts, Atatu¨rk’s reforms set out to negate traditionalism and Ottoman religiosity by constructing a modern nation-state in the European nationalist mould. However, as Kemalism became Turkey’s prevailing state ideology, it began to exhibit signs of rigid authoritarianism and dogmatism. Throughout its tenure the Kemalist state’s fragile

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synthesis with democracy mitigated the evolution of Western liberalism. When interfaced with ethnic and religious identity politics, difference, diversity and ‘otherness’ were perceived by the Kemalist establishment as fragmentation that threatened Turkey’s national security (Michael 2008; 78). Kemalism was, from the outset, severe in its treatment of religion and its various manifestations. The use of force, often with the culmination of violence, is a distinguishing feature of Turkey’s brand of secularism. Force is wielded by the Turkish military, the bastion of Turkish secularism, to uphold the nation’s secularist doctrine at all costs, and enforce it where necessary. The correlation between statism, the secularist paradigm and the military is further extrapolated by Navaro-Yashin: In Turkey, the army is the most persistent secularist institution, much more so than political parties or governments, which strategically shuffle their relations with religious constituencies. This army, which uses the terms of ‘secularism’, ‘democracy’, ‘modernity’, ‘rationality’, ‘stability’, and ‘order’ under the rubric of ‘Atatu¨rk’ to counter the Islamist movement, is the same army that employs violence in its war against the Kurds in southeastern Turkey and against Cypriots in Cyprus. Thus the discourse of secularism is coeval with violence. Secularism in Turkey is the discourse of state power employed by the army. It would be a mistake to evaluate secularism, then, without studying its politics as practiced in the context of a statist culture of violence (Navaro-Yashin, 2002; 202). The problem surrounding secularism in Turkey does not simply revolve around its definition, that is, what is secularism, so much as it centers on who defines and has a monopoly of the term. The Turkish military’s ownership of the term since the founding of the republic has rendered secularism in the country distorted and equivalent to violence and repression. Under the banner of ‘secularism’, the military has empowered itself to behave in an undemocratic and

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authoritarian manner, and the concept has become a tool for eliminating potential political opponents. The military’s definition of the term, and the obstinate enforcement thereof, especially in the civilian sphere of politics, does not seek to merely preserve Turkey’s secular character. In fact, it would be naive to think that the Turkish military possesses an intrinsic and dedicated attachment to Western notions of liberal democracy solely because it champions, or enforces, ‘secularism’ so resolutely. In any case, secularism that is inflicted in an undemocratic manner is philosophically barren and meaningless. The military’s rigid version of secularism is self-serving and, as a primary appendage of the Kemalist state, the military’s interpretation of secularism also upholds and reaffirms that state’s own narrow interests. The vested interests of the Kemalist state elite are not necessarily concomitant with those of the general population. Although statism as a concept remains relatively unchallenged in Turkey, secularism remains a politically-charged term. It is not a neutral ideology, and it reinforces the dominant Kemalist status quo. Kemalism, the then new republican ideology, justified the active victimisation and, in many cases, eradication of many religious organisations at the time of the Republic’s inception. Muslim leaders who were persistent and outspoken critics of the new administration were executed. Kemalism has, as a result, often been labelled antireligious. This is not, however, an accurate categorisation. Kemalism is not, in theory or in practice, an anti-religious ideology, for it has absorbed and applied a specific understanding of Islam in Turkey by means of various distinctly unsecular state policies, which are discussed below. As a result, it is Kemalism’s secularist component (as opposed to its Islamic one) that deserves our attention here. The model of secularism enforced by Turkey’s Kemalist elite is dubious.

Is Turkey Really Secular? The Turkish state’s subordination of religion in many ways echoes the dominance over religion exercised by the sultanate during the Ottoman Empire. The Turkish Republic has continued the Ottoman legacy of organising and directing religious affairs. The former

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chairman of the National Salvation Party, Mehmed S¸evket Eygi, in a leading Turkish newspaper listed several policies that demonstrate how the Turkish state contravenes its own ideal of secularism. These policies are that the Turkish state: first, through the Directorate of Religious Affairs (Diyanet I˙¸sleri Bas¸kanlıg˘ı) employs and regulates over 100,000 imams, mu¨ezzins, mu¨ftis and vaiz (those who provide religious services in mosques, conduct religious ceremonies, and offer religious consulting in the provinces); second, reserves the right to confiscate any property belonging to Islamic foundations, and may decide single-handedly to sell or rent this property; third, oversees the affairs of over a thousand religious vocational (I˙mam Hatip) schools and regulates their curriculum and teaching directly, without delegating this authority to the Directorate of Religious Affairs; fourth, interferes in the daily practices of the believers, for example, in the matter of Islamic dress and especially the veiling of Muslim students and civil servants, intervening directly in the matter of Muslims’ clothing, such as cu¨ppe and tesettu¨r (observant Muslim male and female clothing, respectively); fifth, not only organises pilgrimages to Mecca, but also prevents pilgrimages through any other means, despite constitutional guarantees on the freedom of travel; sixth, adopts an official policy that opposes Muslim Iran, and instead, collaborates with ‘Zionist’ Israel; seventh, gives permission to protesters in the streets who often shout ‘damn Shari’a and Islamic rule’; eighth, continues to monopolise the collection of the skins of sacrificed animals (for religious rituals); and, lastly, while allowing non-Muslim minorities – Armenians, Greeks, Jews, and Assyrians – to choose their chief priest and rabbis, prevents Muslims from electing their religious leaders (cited in Tepe 2008; 192). The argument that Turkey is not in practice a secular state is rendered considerably more credible in light of the aforementioned list of policies. The AKP government has sought to emphasise the shortcomings of Turkey’s unique brand of secularism instead of promoting an Islamic agenda itself. Given the scope of control wielded by the Turkish state vis-a`-vis religion, it seems that the AKP may be justified in its claim that the term ‘secularism’ in Turkey has been hijacked. The State reserves the right to employ religious

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symbolism when it considers it expedient to do so. During the Cold War, the Turkish state actively sponsored Islam as the antidote to the perceived tide of rampant leftism and the encroaching threat of Soviet expansionism. Feroz Ahmad has argued that Turkey’s generals and their advisors ‘saw Islam as a factor of unity which, if manipulated properly, could overcome, or at least paper over, the many divisions in Turkish society. They therefore made a serious effort to promote religion’ (1993; 220). The AKP’s remedy for the manipulation and subordination of religion, however, is not political Islam; it does not use Islamic references to highlight the apparent contradictions in Turkey’s secular establishment, or offer political Islam, or even religion generally, as an alternative to the current situation. The only salve for the wounds inflicted by the secularist establishment is the recovery of an authentic secular democratic order in Turkey, the underlying premise of which would be the redistribution and diminution of the State’s power over religion. The AKP, argues Sultan Tepe, instead of employing explicit religious terms in its discourse has modified and moderated its approach by attaching increased ‘importance [to] freedom of speech and the real meaning of secularism, [which is] state disinvolvement in religious affairs’ (Tepe 2008; 220). Secularism in its pristine interpretation is manifested and understood as the mutual non-interference and non-involvement in the affairs of state and religion by each respective entity. Thus, the AKP does not oppose the principle of secularism; indeed, it claims to support genuine secularism. In Turkey, however, religion and its appendages are not independent of state interference, as is required by this very principle. AKP officials challenge the doctrine of secularism that is imposed on Turkish citizens, a doctrine that routinely sponsors the subjugation of people wishing to observe tenets of Islamic faith. As has been noted already, religion has not been absolutely proscribed in Turkey, however. Instead, the religion of Islam is made an instrument of the State. The Turkish state, contrary to the principle of secularism, seeks to actively control religion. According to Andrew Davison, the Kemalist reforms undertaken at the Republic’s inception saw the State being freed

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from religion, but the reverse is not true. He says, ‘On what we may call the “control account” of Turkey’s laiklik [laicist] politics, the relevant terms to describe laiklik are “control” and “supervision and subordination” not “separation” [of religion from the public– political sphere]’ (1998; 134). There is, perhaps, another aspect to consider when accounting for why the Kemalist state promotes a distinct form of Islam, namely popular legitimacy. It is important to remember that after the republic was proclaimed, religion was never truly banished from Turkey’s state and society. Karakas¸ explains in the following way: The creation of the Turkish nation under the aegis of Islam forced the Kemalists to be considerate of religious sentiment – after all, [Sunni] Islam had been the foundation of the Ottoman Empire’s social and cultural order for almost 1000 years. In order to secure religious support while at the same time imparting republican ideas, the Kemalists developed an impetus that propagated – in differentiating itself from the ‘regressive’ popular Islam preached by the religious orders and brotherhoods – a modern, pro-laicist state Islam. The Kemalist state had thus created for itself a monopoly of interpretation, i.e., sole exegetical authority for Sunni Islam and in doing so committed itself to supporting it (Karakas¸ 2007; 10). The claim made by supporters of the Kemalist state that Turkey is a genuinely secular country is therefore highly problematic. The Kemalist state has not eliminated religion, nor necessarily consigned it to the private realm of individual conscience. It has been compelled to accommodate the comparatively high levels of personal piety of its citizens. The Kemalist state has appropriated all legitimate, and legal, forms of religious interpretation and expression and sponsors a specific type of modernist Sunni Islam. It does this with a view to strengthening Turkey’s territorial integrity, as a homogenous religious identity is regarded by the Kemalist state as a form of ‘glue’ that binds the Turkish nation-state together, while preserving

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its own narrowly defined interests and upholding the status quo. In practice, therefore, secularism in Turkey is a one-way street.

Assertive Secularism: A French Inspiration The origins of the Turkish term laiklik, which is generally defined as secularism, are traced back to laı¨cite´, or the French model of secularism. In the Western world, France stands out for its distinct, assertive interpretation of secularism. The pioneers of the Turkish Republic during the 1920s deliberately engineered a model of secularism that closely resembled that of the French Republic. Indeed, Turkish secularism emulates its French counterpart in several ways. The AKP has emphasised repeatedly that it endorses the flexible (read: tolerant or liberal) American or British interpretations of secularism, as opposed to the more aggressive French style of secularism upon which laiklik is based. Mehmet Cengiz Uzun has distinguished between the concepts of secularism and laicism by suggesting that laicism is inherently more restrictive of religion than secularism is. He writes, Unlike secularism which essentially focuses on issues concerning the status of clergy and church and the religious indifference of the state institution, the Turkish perspective [laicism], similar to its French origins, concentrates on the withdrawal of the religious sphere’s influence from political and public life; and its foremost exclusion from the educational and instructional spheres. Yet, during its historical development in Turkish legal practice, it has also differed to a large extent from its French origins, achieving its very own particular conception. This sui generis conception of laicism was primarily due to the necessity of the newly independent state to modernise in revolutionary haste (Uzun 2010; 392). Turkish laicism, argues Uzun, deviates somewhat from its French origins in that it affords a regulatory role to the State over religious affairs. This is not so in the French context, where laicism generally

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implies the rigorous separation of religion and the institutions of state. This departure from what is already considered a rigid application of secularism (French laicism) renders Turkish laicism one of the most assertive forms of secularism anywhere in the world today. Unlike the United States, which is known for its passive secularism, the French Republic has often been defined as an assertive or militantly secular state. French political scientist and author on secularism, Maurice Barbier, explains that the differences between both states’ models of secularism are fundamentally contextual: French secularism emerged in a particular historical context, marked by the strong influence of the Catholic Church, which was deemed hostile to the Republic. It was mainly constructed against this Church and retains traces of this struggle in the laws secularising schools and in the 1905 law of separation. It is for this reason that French secularism is rather different from American secularism, which emerged a century earlier in a different historical context with no particular strife (Barbier 2005; 21). Uzun, too, contextualises Turkish laicism by employing the interpretation of the principle by the Turkish Constitutional Court, which highlights the unique historical situation surrounding the demise of the Ottoman Caliphate and the transition to a modern republic. He states, When Turkey abandoned the theocratic imperial model of state, and adopted through revolutionary reforms democratic republicanism, it interpreted the meaning of laicism ‘somewhat different [sic.] from that of the Western world’. The influence of the concrete conditions of the Country has transformed the principle into an essential deterrent against a ‘worldview that might prevent any endeavour for the development of the society and its attainment of the standards of modern civilisation’. Thus, its application presents a greater importance for Turkey

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when compared with some western states that do not seem to be under any concrete risk of regressive movements, threatening on the long run the State’s political regime (Uzun 2010; 401). Indeed, Kemalists will argue that aggressive laiklik (laicism) is necessary in the Turkish context for safeguarding the revolutionary reforms because of the intrinsic regressive and totalitarian characteristics of the Islamic religion. The Turkish state justifies its strict application of laicism ‘in order to comb out any risk of political regression towards the Empire’ (Uzun 2010; 394). According to this rationale, the differences between Islam and Christianity produce different conditions in respective states, and this in turn necessitates a modified adoption of the principle of laicism, according to the specific (Islamic) characteristics of the Turkish Republic. From a historical standpoint, the principle of laicism, as described by the constitutional court, has been a ‘tool of transition to democracy’, and thus carrying an existential significance, the principle of laicism is the primary symbol of Turkey’s revolution from empire to nation (cited in Uzun 2010; 400). Laicism therefore carries an important moral mission and a distinct social dimension. The Turkish revolutionaries, like their French counterparts, were motivated by the desire to alter the nation’s culture and morality itself by implementing a ‘radical secularism’. According to Ertan Aydın, the purpose of their reforms was nothing less than a comprehensive transformation of Turkish values and ideals (2008; 14). Moreover, Turkey’s contemporary secularist elite continues to refer to the ideals of the founding revolutionaries, and derives much of its social legitimacy and ongoing relevance in Turkey’s political and cultural life by championing the early republican revolutionary spirit. Aydın claims, The secularist elite define their idea of modernism on the basis of early revolutionary notions shaped by the Jacobin idea of laicism and the authoritarian understanding of republic that were current in the 1930s. On this understanding, democracy and modernity could only flourish in a secular system. That is,

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unless a society converts to secular or revolutionary morality, democracy is not possible. This idea underscored a kind of radical secularism that postulated secular ethics as the prerequisite of a modern democratic way of life (Aydın 2008; 12). Democracy, modernisation and progress were thought to be contingent on a strictly secular political system. Consequently, secularism was hastily enforced, as it was believed that without a strong secular foundation, the republic could not sustain democracy. The ideology of secularism in Turkey is closely linked to the nationbuilding process, and it is at the heart of the republican state entity. In theory and in practice, therefore, the Turkish conception of laicism is differentiated from its Western origins. Nevertheless, Turkey’s assertive rendering of laicism in many ways echoes its original French inspiration. The Turkish state thus justifies its aggressive brand of secularism by emphasising the ‘conditions peculiar to Turkey’, or the ‘regressive’ characteristics of Islam, and the political situation of modern-day Turkey. Barbier, in his explanation of the assertive French model of secularism, frames the debate in philosophical terms by reflecting on what actually constitutes the essential qualities of secularism. He argues, for example, that freedom of conscience and worship is not in fact an integral part of secularism, even if there is a link between the two. This interpretation, to be sure, bolsters the Kemalists’ argument. The ‘cardinal principle’ of secularism, Barbier affirms, is the independence of the political authorities and the different spiritual or religious persuasions. Of course, this is where the Kemalist interpretation of secularism falters, however, given the palpable intrusion of Turkey’s political authorities into the affairs of the religious domain. There is a growing tendency, argues Barbier, to expand the definition of secularism, thereby rendering it a ‘positive’ notion, to include ideas that are connected to it in some way but are unquestionably different from it, such as the freedom of conscience and religion, tolerance, pluralism, equality, reason, democracy and so

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on. Secularism has thus been given a positive content and a concrete image, and it has in the process, according to Barbier, been misinterpreted. There is some merit in Barbier’s argument, and the difficulty of accurately defining secularism has led to some very broad extensions of the term; various subjective, politically-charged interpretations; and the tendency to ascribe to the term superfluous characteristics. If secularism is rigorously defined in a narrow, negative way, with a focus on its negative character, or on the State’s neutrality in religious matters and the separation of state and religion, it does not essentially ensure the freedom of religion and conscience, nor does it guarantee the freedom of worship. In fact, Barbier argues that even the ‘secularism-as-neutrality’ and ‘secularism-as-separation’ theses are inadequate to account for the French model and that French secularism ought to be defined as a purely negative notion: ‘According to the 1905 law, secularism consists in the absence of recognition and subvention of forms of worship and, according to the Constitution, it involves the exclusion of religion from the public sphere of the State’ (Barbier 2005; 8). This assertive, strict definition of secularism, which is hostile to religion and observed to some degree in both the French and Turkish Republics (the latter, however, sponsors, funds and directs all legitimate forms of religion), becomes problematic when faced with public expressions of personal devoutness, and especially the phenomenon of students’ wearing of hijab (the Islamic veil) in state schools. Ironically, this has also become an issue in the Western Republic of France. Such an interpretation of secularism effectively presupposes the primacy of the State and its authority to intercede in the private matters of its citizens’ lives, including personal dress and appearance. In the Turkish context, the State is able to ‘intervene and restrict the effective enjoyment of rights and freedoms to the extent that they contradict with the principle of laicism’ (Uzun 2010; 398). The hijab, according to this line of reasoning, is a religious symbol, a personal choice on behalf of the individual, which is inappropriate in the secular public sphere and ought to be removed.

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Assertive French and Kemalist interpretations of secularism, therefore, take for granted that the hijab, and other forms of religious expression, are negotiable and can be abandoned when necessary – in the rather broadly defined ‘public sphere’, for example. By enforcing such an interpretation of secularism, there is a danger that the State will become authoritarian and undemocratic by suppressing the ability of its citizens to practise their religion freely. Arguably, this is what has occurred in the Republics of France and Turkey, respectively. It must be said that religious injunctions, including those regarding dress code, prayer and other rituals, are, for the pious observer, fundamental and absolute. Moreover, religious (sacred or divine) principles are considered to be universal and unquestionable, whereas political (worldly) principles are finite and fluctuating. Therefore, for devout citizens certain practices required by their faith cannot automatically be compromised for the sake of political pragmatism or the State’s commitment to a certain ideological doctrine. Ultimately, then, there is a discernible tension between the aims of secularism and democracy. In this context, the principles of secularism and democracy are manifestly inclined towards divergent goals. The term ‘secular democracy’, in the Turkish case especially, is fraught with inherent conflict and inconsistency; it is almost a contradiction in terms. Democracy, in the basic sense of the word, is concerned with the rights of citizens, or the ‘power of the people’, whereas Turkish (Kemalist) secularism is the state-sponsored ideological doctrine that serves the State’s interests. Arguably, preserving secularism is more important to the Kemalist state than promoting democracy, especially because it considers the development of democracy in Turkey as a direct threat to the secularist ideology. The battleground between the principles of secularism and democracy culminates and is felt most keenly in the institution of the Kemalist military. There is a noteworthy tension in the stated aims of the Turkish military. This is because the military is the self-avowed guardian of Mustafa Kemal’s secularist legacy, and it has, in addition, traditionally sponsored the idea that it is the champion of democracy and modernisation.

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Central to any analysis of Turkish secularism is the discussion of the Turkish military’s role in preserving the ideology. Understanding the political role of the Turkish military and its status as the selfstated custodian of Turkish secularism is critical in developing a deeper understanding of the complexities and paradoxes inherent in the Turkish model of secularism. Protected under the guardianship of the Turkish military, the founding principles of the republic included secularism and democracy. This commitment to the preservation of the secular, democratic order makes the Turkish military different from other such bodies around the world. In fact, the Turkish military enforces secularism by intervening in the democratic political process, and so is essentially working against the healthy development of democracy in the republic. The political autonomy of the Kemalist military is an impediment to the evolution of democracy in Turkey. Its very presence in the political arena, which is said to be the realm of democratically-elected civilians, and its ongoing influence on state policy is undemocratic. Moreover, the guardianship role is a characteristic unique to Turkey’s military, and from its privileged status as the custodian of secularism stems an entrenched culture of immunity. The military’s absolute ownership of the secularist ideology, its central role in the Kemalist state-building project and its traditional reputation for being the most trustworthy institution in Turkey have combined to ensure that the military’s social prestige has been unquestioned, until recent times. The Kemalist cultural revolution had as its goal the Westernisation of Turkish society, and this was essentially tantamount to the secularisation of society. This radical social restructuring was greatly assisted, in fact would have been next to impossible, without the might of the armed forces to oversee and propel it. The Turkish military has been the central actor in the republic’s modernisation project, and has thus exceeded its traditional role of defence and security. The unconventional role of the military includes a venture into constitution building: the military rewrote the constitution in 1982. The legitimacy of the modified constitution is questionable, because the self-professed guardians of Kemalism are not a

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democratically elected body, and therefore not a legitimate representative of the Turkish people. The altering of a state’s constitution by its generals is not consistent with the principle of democracy; it is symptomatic of a state under martial law. Turkey’s constitution has been subjected to military interference, and is deficient in terms of providing a solid definition for a term (secularism) that it trumpets ad nauseum. The several military coups d’e´tat and their ramifications, including the rewriting of the constitution in 1982, undermined prospects for the impartial application of secularism. Moreover, Turkey’s essentially martial constitution highlights the deficient application of democratic principles in the country.

CHAPTER 3 THE CHALLENGE TO KEMALISM

The AKP Reinterprets Secularism Despite what it considers to be the misapplication of the secularist ideology in Turkey, the AKP has and continues to espouse its acquiescence to the principle of secularism. This acceptance is evident in its rhetoric, official discourses and the speeches of its personnel, and appears in the AKP’s party programme. The party does not dispute or reject the principle of secularism per se. It does, however, hold serious reservations regarding the way in which the principle of secularism is understood and applied in Turkey. While the AKP endorses the general principle of secularism, it contends strongly that Turkey’s unique form of it is fundamentally flawed. In a speech at the American Enterprise Institute on 29 January 2004, Prime Minister Recep Tayyip Erdog˘an conceded that while his party attaches ‘importance to religion as a social value, we do not think it right to conduct politics through religion, to attempt to transform government ideology by using religion, or to resort to organisational activities based on religious symbols. To make religion an instrument of politics and to adopt exclusive approaches to politics in the name of religion harms not only political pluralism but also religion itself.’ O¨mer C¸elik, who was formerly the AKP’s deputy chairman in charge of foreign relations and who was subsequently appointed as culture and tourism minister in early 2013, had previously discussed the dangers of Islamism, and the potential for authoritarian policies

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and repression in an Islamic state. He has been quoted as saying, ‘where the necessity to live together with others is abolished, the others are abolished. A model that fashions a society based on Islamic principles may result in oppression and cruelty, not only for others but also for Muslims’ (cited in Karakas 2007; 35). Using religion as a political tool, therefore, is not only undemocratic but, according to the AKP’s ideologues, it is also ‘unislamic’ and potentially harmful to the Islamic faith and the faithful. The present-day political reality and structural, ideological and economic considerations have rendered the goal of an Islamic state all but obsolete. This attitude symbolises the evolution of Turkey’s Islamist movement, much of which has come to regard the implementation of Islamic law in the public– political sphere not only as impossible but also as undesirable, and likely to be detrimental to the cause of religion itself. The acceptance of secularism by the Islam-friendly AKP ultimately reflects the dominant view of mainstream Turkish society. Turks, who are widely regarded as being committed republicans, have, in due course, thoroughly absorbed the principle of secularism. The secularisation of Turkish society has been further expounded by Karakas: State, politics, and society in Turkey are largely secularised and have accepted the subordination of Islam to politics. The process of secularisation that was launched by the Ottoman leadership in the first half of the 19th century took place under Islamic auspices and was an endogenous—and not an exogenous—one, which was a key factor in making the reforms acceptable to the Turkish population. These reforms made it easier for Turkey’s founder Atatu¨rk to transform the Ottoman monarchy into a nation-state modeled on the European example (Karakas 2007; i). What is interesting to note here is that the secularisation of Turkish society was activated originally by internal actors – namely, the sultans and their officials; Turkey’s modernisation-cum-Westernisation project was, paradoxically, instigated by the Ottomans themselves. Exemplifying an ‘if-you-can’t-beat-them-join-them’ attitude, the

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caliphate, having entered a period of irreversible decline, recognised that it needed to extend a proverbial olive branch to Europe and engage positively with the West if it were to have any chance of survival or prosperity. The secularisation of Turkish society is also demonstrated by the significantly low percentage of citizens who support the establishment of an Islamic state and the reintroduction of Shari’a law in Turkey. For most Turks, the principles of secularism and democracy in government are as essential as Islam is in terms of cultural–religious identity. In the view of Ali Bulac (2001), the secularisation of Islam from within has already passed the point of no return, and democracy has been embraced by Islamic political actors. Secularism has indeed grown deep roots in the Republic of Turkey. In a similar way, the notion that secularism is not native to or typical in the domain of Islam does not necessarily apply to the Turkish case. This is because the Republic of Turkey, unlike most of its Muslim-majority Middle Eastern neighbours, has relatively stable, albeit imperfect, democratic foundations, and is, for all intents and purposes, comparatively more ‘Western’ than other Muslim countries. The AKP experience, therefore, is not an entirely remarkable case in this context. Contrary to the claims made by the Kemalist establishment that the government is working towards the introduction of Islamic law in politics, the latter is sincere in its claims that it has embraced secular democracy as the ideal model of state governance. In the process of articulating its own interpretation and support of secularism, the AKP has challenged the existing model of the ‘controlled secularity’ of the Turkish Republic: As for secularism, we [the AKP] define this as an institutional attitude and method which ensures that the State remains impartial and equidistant to all religions and thoughts; a principle which aims to ensure peaceful social co-existence between different creeds, sects and schools of thought. We believe that secularism needs to be crowned with democracy in order for fundamental rights and freedoms to be accorded constitutional guarantees. This allows secularism to function like an institution of arbitration and provide an environment of

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compromise (Erdog˘an’s speech at the American Enterprise Institute, 29 January 2004). Erdog˘an has suggested that secularism, manifested in its authentic form, would in fact be beneficial to religion and that the major problem with secularism in Turkey today is that it does not safeguard religion and religious freedom as it ideally should. The AKP claims that secularism ought to guarantee the autonomy of religion, and that by facilitating and institutionalising this autonomy secularism is, in its ideal sense, healthy for religion. The AKP has thus ascribed positive characteristics to its definition of secularism, including democracy, equality and freedom of religion and worship. According to Tepe, the AKP has avoided an antisystemic approach and, therefore, a confrontation with Kemalism, and has opted instead for an ‘adaptive incremental transformative process’ (Tepe 2008; 205). By adopting such an approach, the AKP has reaffirmed that it considers secularism to be a prerequisite of democracy that guarantees the freedom of religion and conscience, and instead adapts and questions Kemalism on its own terms. It is this approach that is novel and particular to the AKP when compared to the pro-Islamic parties that have preceded it. These parties had launched an active critique of Turkey’s aggressive brand of secularism and, often, the Kemalist system as a whole. This approach may have been in keeping with the parties’ Islamic tradition, but it also rendered them more susceptible to Kemalist opposition, and this, ultimately, culminated in their political demise. Although the present government remains committed to the secular status quo, it has frequently claimed that the ideology of Kemalism, or Turkey’s aggressive brand of secularism, is incompatible with liberal democracy. It is this reference to liberal democracy that is especially interesting about the pro-Islamic AKP. It has embraced the concept of ‘liberal democracy’, rhetorically at least. The AKP ‘through its conservative democracy, turns to Western political traditions to present its ideas’ (Tepe 2008; 212). In doing so, the AKP presents itself as being more liberal and democratic than the Kemalist establishment. Its critique of

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Kemalism is subtle and is not based on the assertion that Kemalism is unequivocally Westernist and anti-Islamic; it does not tend to employ the provocative language characteristic of other Islamist political parties. Rather, it claims that the enforcement of secularism and the subsequent victimisation of the adherents of Islam is an illiberal and undemocratic practice. According to the AKP, to ‘achieve a real democracy, the state’s role must be confined to redistributive and regulatory policies and its secularism should be understood not as active neutralisation, but as “passive nonintervention” in public expressions of Islam’ (in Tepe 2008; 207). The depiction of the State as a passive administrator lies at the heart of the principle of secularism as it is applied in the United States and elsewhere, and it is the interpretation advanced by the AKP. The AKP has used the example of passive US secularism to consolidate and legitimise its own interpretation of the principle. This has led to fears in the Kemalist state establishment, and its supporters in the secular segments of society, that the AKP is engaging in takiye (translated, this means deception or dissimulation). They have claimed that the AKP government is merely hiding behind a so-called democratic veneer and tactically employing a liberal discourse in order to cement its power and assume control of all the major bureaucratic offices and judicial organs, with the ultimate view of deposing the Kemalist regime. The ruling party, according to this line of reasoning, is simply biding its time and pretending to be committed to democracy, only to emerge as an authoritarian Islamist party when it is strong enough to do so. Turkey’s Kemalists have also voiced concerns over the attempts by conservative/Islamic parties, including the AKP, to reconfigure the parameters of the secularism debate. The Kemalist state is extremely uncomfortable with the prospect of secularism’s redefinition as articulated by the AKP, and has continued to stress that the issue of secularism is not up for debate or discussion; it guards it jealously. This is plainly demonstrated by the statement made by former president, Necdet Sezer, who, in his 19 May Holiday message in 2004, said, ‘The problem of Turkey is [pro-Islamic groups’ inappropriate] desire to interpret the principle of secularism differently’ (available on the

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official website for the Turkish presidency). For Turkey’s Kemalists, secularism is a non-negotiable, unchangeable and unchallengeable principle, which is fundamental to the Turkish Republic, and modifying it in any way is tantamount to undermining the essential character of modern republican Turkey. As a result, only the Kemalist interpretation of secularism is legitimised, and any attempt to redefine it has effectively been outlawed by the state establishment. This hyperdefensive protection of secularism by the Kemalist state, and the incapacity of political parties to effectively discuss and dissect it in a public forum, has implications for freedom of speech and for the effective functioning of democracy.

Statism and the Emergence of Civil Society In a speech entitled ‘The Need for Reform in the Islamic World and the Role of Civil Society’, which was given to the International Conference of Islamic Civil Society Organisations held in Istanbul on 1 May 2005, then deputy prime minister and minister of foreign affairs, Abdullah Gu¨l (now president of the Turkish Republic) discussed the significance of Islam in terms of its contribution to universal values and principles. He noted that these values and principles, which include justice, a sense of helping and sharing, compassion, moderation, equality, struggle against injustice and corruption and respect for diversity, are inseparable parts of Islamic belief. The religion of Islam, he affirmed, has contributed to the development of universal values and a collective wisdom throughout the centuries that has promoted and preserved human well-being. According to Gu¨l, it is clear that ‘the reform that is needed here pertains to the governance of Muslim societies, not to [the religion of] Islam itself. Islam does not, of course, need to be reformed. The need is for governments to respond to the demands of change. In this sense, one should not fear the phenomenon of change.’ Although Gu¨l did not concentrate on the question of secularism in Turkey explicitly, during his speech he did infer that civil society needs to be nurtured in the country. This process need not come at the expense of

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secularism or the secular state. Gu¨l does not overtly associate religious society with civil society; however, it is apparent that this is the case in Turkey, as civil society in the Turkish context is often associated with various religious groups. The emergence of a revived and healthy civil society is strongly supported by the AKP government. This revived civil society would check and balance the power of the authoritarian and secularist state establishment. Thus, Gu¨l does not call for an overhaul or Islamisation of Turkey’s political system; he states, rather, that the calls for transparency and accountability that are related to the promotion of civil society are essential for the health of Turkish democracy as a whole. One gets a strong feeling, and this is implicit in the ideas and opinions of these Muslim leaders, that the Turkish state is too powerful, and based on a ‘secularism’ that was advocated and implemented by Mustafa Kemal as its dominant ideology. The most effective way of countering this dogmatic, secularist ideology and the uncompromising way it is implemented by the state is to encourage the development of civil society. This could insulate against the more authoritarian manifestations of Turkish secularism. The AKP has emphasised the division between the secular Turkish state and civil society, the latter composed of various actors, including Islamic groups. Gu¨l continues, Obviously, the growing role of civil society organisations in political life is a relatively new phenomenon. Accordingly, the ‘state’ that is increasingly confronted by these new actors in its traditional domains of sovereignty, shows certain reflexes against them. At times, civil society organisations, in their capacity as the advocate of individual and societal rights, criticise the state. This is an important function, and, in the final analysis, contributes to improving the administration of societies. This is a subtle critique of the way secularism is applied in Turkey. It is also an effective method of highlighting that the (mis)application of secularist principles in Turkey necessarily involves the desertion of

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other principles, most notably those of human rights. In Turkey, a staunchly secularist establishment has come at the price of civil freedoms, and especially religious freedom. Turkey’s authoritarian statism, argue Larabee and Lesser, is typical of postrevolutionary societies across Europe and Asia. For 90 years the Turkish state has carried out a ubiquitous, and largely unrivalled, function in most aspects of Turkish political and social life. The authors claim, Turkey is an example of a ‘strong state’, that is, a society in which the state is at the center of public policymaking and the notion of state sovereignty is highly developed and unalloyed. The idea of the strong state does not necessarily imply a powerful or capable state in practical terms (although, overall, the Turkish state has played this role in some areas) but rather a pervasive, doctrinal attachment to the primacy of the state (Larabee and Lesser 2003; 21). A combination of the externally led processes of globalisation, the transnational nature of economic capitalism and domestic sociopolitical dynamics are gradually undermining the dominion of the Kemalist state. Moreover, at the national level, the initiatives of the AKP government have greatly contributed to the gradual retreat of the Turkish state. The AKP’s insistence on a redefinition of secularism in Turkey to one that is more accommodating of religion – a ‘passive’ form of secularism – has simultaneously called into question the traditional role of the state. By challenging the interpretation of secularism in Kemalist Turkey, the AKP government is effectively calling for a diminution of the mighty state, which has conventionally derived much of its power through its unchallenged appropriation and sponsorship of the Kemalist secularist ideology. Turkey’s secular state is also being challenged by new civil actors that are interested in advancing the cause of Turkish citizens’ claim to human rights and liberty from the State’s interference. This lies at the heart of the ideology of liberalism. The Turkish state, a self-declared

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secular democracy, does not have the liberal spirit. Liberalism advocates the maximum enjoyment of one’s individual civil rights, and freedom from state intervention. As such, it sponsors the idea of a small state and encourages non-state actors, such as civil-society organisations, to check and balance the power of the all-encroaching state. Granting civil-society organisations (often Islamic in orientation) with unprecedented political opportunities need not mean that secularism itself is in any way undermined. It is, rather, made considerably more equitable and democratic. In dealing with this problem, AKP officials have repeated that secularism is a political ‘principle’ that the party seeks to advance, and that its policies are not Islamist, or motivated by the ideals of political Islam. Despite what may be considered a mandatory compliance with the prevailing secular system, and the AKP’s endorsement of the principle of secularism, it is doubtful to what extent the AKP can actually tolerate the ideological doctrine of secularism as it is implemented in Turkey without seeking to refashion it, through legislative action and constitutional change, into something it considers more just and equitable. That is, the AKP will never be an essentially ‘secular’ party. Although the AKP may be reluctant to concede this, its policies are, at a fundamental level, ‘Islam-friendly’ because they do not contradict Islamic principles. Nor does the AKP seek to weaken or marginalise religious (Islamic) elements. Instead, it endeavours to strengthen and consolidate these religious elements and ensure an increased level of self-determination for Muslim actors that have for so long been marginalised by a staunchly secularist establishment. The AKP’s often relentless campaigning on behalf of female university students for the right to wear the hijab is testament to this. Nevertheless, the party is mindful of the constitutional and societal restraints upon its policies and the continuing suspicions of the Kemalist elite regarding its ‘real’ political agenda. More importantly, perhaps, the AKP is careful not to alienate the significant number of ‘non-religious’ voters that have supported it at the ballot box. The government is also aware of the near-universal acceptance of the principle of secularism by the Turkish public.

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The Turkish Constitution Secularism is formally enshrined in the Turkish constitution. This document is, therefore, at the heart of Turkish secularism and one must duly evaluate it in order to suitably discuss the nature of Turkey’s brand of secularism. The Preamble of the Constitution of the Republic of Turkey pays tribute to the ‘immortal leader and unrivalled hero’ of Turkey, Atatu¨rk (Mustafa Kemal), who revolutionised and modernised the Turkish state. It says, as required by the principle of secularism, there shall be no interference whatsoever by sacred religious feelings in state affairs and politics; the acknowledgment that it is the birthright of every Turkish citizen to lead an honorable life and to develop his or her material and spiritual assets under the aegis of national culture, civilization and the rule of law, through the exercise of the fundamental rights and freedoms set forth in this Constitution in conformity with the requirements of equality and social justice (amended on 17 October, 2001). There is no mention here, or anywhere else in the constitution, of the independence of these so-called ‘sacred religious feelings’ from the State’s interference. Article 2 of the Constitution of the Republic of Turkey provides that the Republic of Turkey is a democratic, secular and social state governed by the rule of law; bearing in mind the concepts of public peace, national solidarity and justice; respecting human rights; loyal to the nationalism of Atatu¨rk, and based on the fundamental tenets set forth in the Preamble. From this, one might consider that Kemal’s founding principles are synonymous with secularism. Secularism remains a disputed concept, however, because the Turkish constitution is deficient in terms of providing a viable and explicit definition of it. It also begs the following question: how exactly does a nation state (Turkey) remain

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‘loyal’ to the ideology of its modern-day ‘father’, Atatu¨rk? Is it problematic that a democratic nation state entrusts its military to safeguard and perpetuate the secular ideology that was imposed nine decades ago? The lionising, hypermasculine characterisation of Mustafa Kemal as the ‘immortal leader’ and the ‘unrivalled hero’ of Turkey spelt out in the constitution’s preamble is an effective and potent appeal to patriotism. Such poignant language simultaneously glorifies and legitimises Kemal’s ‘modern’ reforms and, perhaps more importantly, renders it unTurkish to stand in opposition to these reforms and the principles that underpin them. Put simply, to be a good citizen, and a ‘loyal Turk’, one must necessarily embrace the Kemalist interpretation of nationalism and secularism. Indeed, one of the most significant results of the Kemalist revolution was its ability to fuse the concepts of nationalism and secularism and to imbue the principle of secularism with an almost sacrosanct quality. A prominent Turkish journalist, Cengiz C¸andar, has said that ‘Kemalism is now a kind of state religion in its own right’ (2000; 95). By taking ownership of the principles of nationalism and secularism, and enshrining them in the constitution, which according to Article 11 of the same has ultimate ‘supremacy and binding force’, the Kemalist establishment aims to render any competing definitions or interpretations of the respective terms not only impossible but potentially illegal. Nevertheless, the term ‘Atatu¨rk’s nationalism’ is a vague supposition, and one that is liable to being interpreted in several ways. Article 2 of Turkey’s constitution is implicit with the understanding that Turkish nationalism equates to secularism. Admittedly, this is not altogether unique given the historical connection between secularism and nationalism in Europe. Moreover, it was on the French model of secularism that Mustafa Kemal originally based the Turkish equivalent, as was discussed earlier. The French Revolution, which led to the institutionalisation of secularism was, fundamentally, a nationalist movement. In a similar way, the demise of the Ottoman Empire empowered Kemal to harness and redirect the former feelings of defeat and humiliation

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into a nationalist expression. Kemal’s famous maxim, ‘Ne Mutlu Tu¨rku¨m Diyene’, or ‘How fortunate is he who can say I am a Turk’, summarises well his nationalistic creed and demonstrates clearly how significant it was for the founder of the republic to inculcate this sense of ‘Turkishness’ at its inception. The constitution is replete with references to nationalism and secularism; these two terms are used almost interchangeably. However, the document relies on broad, generalised terms and neglects to furnish the reader with an adequate explanation of these terms. This can become problematic, because ultimately it is left up to the individual reader to deduce what the meanings of nationalism, loyalty and secularism are, respectively; these terms can be highly subjective. ‘Secularism’ in the constitution is understood exclusively as the strict non-interference of religion in affairs of state, and the control and supervision of religion by the State. The Turkish state, moreover – according to Article 2 of the constitution – seeks to respect human rights, but it fails to outline what the term ‘human rights’ actually encompasses. One may then ask: what and whose rights are respected and, by extension, constitutionally protected? To what extent does the constitution merely pay lip service to the ideal of democracy? The phrase ‘principles of secularism’ also appears frequently in the Turkish constitution, and without qualification. Article 136 stipulates that the Department of Religious Affairs, ‘which is within the general administration, shall exercise its duties prescribed in its particular law, in accordance with the principles of secularism, removed from all political views and ideas, and aiming at national solidarity and integrity’. The secular Turkish state does not necessarily prohibit the observance and practice of religion; it has, rather, harnessed the social institution of religion and incorporated it into its public and political sphere of influence. On this point, Karakas has elaborated, The Turkish state’s model of laicism is aimed at co-opting Sunni Islam, the religion of more than three quarters of the Turkish population. Turkey has pledged itself to finance and

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administer this faith exclusively – which means that Sunni Islam has de facto been nationalised. In doing so, the state has abandoned not only its obligation of religious neutrality but also created for itself a monopoly of interpretation of and control over this faith. The result has been a politicisation of Islam ‘from above’, i.e., by the state, with the goal of secularising the entire Turkish society, homogenising the different religious communities (especially in an effort to ‘Sunnify’ Alevi Islam), and marginalising Kurdish identity, thus securing the country’s territorial unity against Kurdish nationalists. To this end, the state propagates a republican, laicist, and ethno-nationalist (i.e. ‘Turkifying’) state Islam (Karakas 2007; i). The ‘secular’ Turkish state, therefore, has exclusive control over the affairs of religion, and regulates the policy and practice of all official and ‘legitimate’ Islamic leaders and organisations. In Turkey, Islamic actors that are not sponsored and employed by the state are considered renegade activists that are suspected and therefore monitored closely; all formal and legal Islamic organisations must have the endorsement of the Turkish state. The Turkish state exercises bureaucratic control over religion through the institutions of the Directorate-General [or Presidency] of Religious Affairs and the Directorate-General of Pious Foundations (Evkaf ), which were founded by Turkey’s Grand National Assembly following the abolition of the sultanate. Religious endowments, mosque maintenance and cleric remuneration are some of the functions carried out by these state offices. Indeed, the DirectorateGeneral of Religious Affairs, whose role is spelt out in Article 136 of the constitution, is Turkey’s supreme religious authority, having replaced the caliphate’s Sheikh-ul Islam. Its role in Turkish politics remains a contentious one. Howard Reed discussed the continuing vitality of Islam in republican Turkey, suggesting that religious power was simply transferred from the fallen caliphate to the newlycreated Directorate-General of Religious Afffairs:

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Its [the Directorate-General of Religious Affairs] head was to be ‘appointed by the President [. . .] on the recommendation of the Prime Minister,’ to whose office it was to be attached (Article 4). Its function was the ‘dispatch of all cases concerning the Exalted Islamic Faith which relate to beliefs (itikadat) and rituals (ibadat).’ These included the ‘administration of all mosques [. . .] and of dervish houses within the boundaries of the territories of the Republic of Turkey as well as [. . .] the appointment and dismissal of all imams, hatips (orators), vaizs (preachers), seyhs (leaders of dervish houses), mu¨ezzins (callers to prayer), kayyıms (sextons), and all other employees of a religious character’ (Article 5). The law [no. 429, under which the Directorate of Religious Affairs was created] also stipulated that the ‘DirectorateGeneral of Religious Affairs is the proper place of legal recourse’ for the jurisconsults (mu¨ftu¨lu¨k) of Islamic law (Article 5). This entailed responsibility for distributing ‘model’ sermons (hu¨tbe), and ‘translating, editing, and publishing authentic [emphasis not in the original text] religious works for the public’ (Reed 1980; 323). The upkeep of places of worship may be considered a ‘housekeeping’ matter, and the routine hiring and firing of religious vocational personnel an exercise in human-resource management; both could be thought of as administrative issues. What is most striking about the Directorate’s role, however, is its apparent transgression of the boundaries of bureaucracy by concerning itself explicitly with religious matters. The fact that the Directorate, which is an office of the state, is vested with the authority to draft and distribute religious sermons that are uniformly transmitted by all Turkish mosques during the Friday congregational prayer warrants further explanation. Even more troubling than the standardised Friday sermon issued by the Directorate is its monopoly over all ‘authentic’ religious texts, and its ability to rewrite and circulate such religious works.

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The purpose and function of the Directorate-General of Religious Affairs renders Article 136 of Turkey’s constitution impracticable. Religious leaders, who are employees of the Directorate, and therefore employees of the State are – according to this article – analogous to any other public servants carrying out a specific ‘bureaucratic’ role. These employees ideally are apolitical and ‘removed from all political views and ideas’. However, given that their duties must inevitably ‘aim at national solidarity and integrity’, these duties, and the policy objectives that precede them, must not oppose the State’s secularist ideology, which is in itself a politically loaded concept. Employees of the Directorate-General of Religious Affairs are constrained in terms of their (in)ability to initiate or implement any policies concerning ‘the Exalted Islamic Faith’ that run counter to the Turkish secular order; their autonomy is stifled by the Kemalist state. As a result, the Directorate-General of Religious Affairs is a political instrument of the State, serving what is, ultimately, a political purpose – that of perpetuating the dominant political ideology of Turkey: Kemalist secularism. Turkish religious authorities and Muslim leaders are akin to bureaucrats in their function; they are to toe the line of the establishment, and serve the secular state. The advent of the republic saw religious officials, or the ‘personnel of Islam’, become the ‘paid employees of the state’ (Toprak 1994; 94). The religion of Islam hence became a commodity in the Turkish Republic. A secular, democratic state has a duty to preserve the individual rights of citizens, including their freedom of religion and worship. Clause 1 of Article 24 of the constitution, ‘Freedom of Religion and Conscience’, states, ‘Everyone has the right to freedom of conscience, religious belief and conviction’. In many other secular and liberal democracies around the world, this entitlement would be a relatively straightforward and uncontested expectation, an immutable right that is essentially taken for granted. In the Republic of Turkey, however, this inalienable right (freedom of religion) is widely disputed and extremely controversial, meaning different

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things to different people. Thus, ‘freedom of conscience, religious belief and conviction’ cannot be guaranteed. Furthermore, in order to prevent the possibility of any forms of independent religious expression emerging, the Turkish constitution contains an inbuilt safety mechanism. Although in theory all Turkish citizens are free to practise their religion, in reality there are constraints on this freedom at a legal – constitutional level. To offset, and undermine, the ‘freedom’ afforded to Turkish citizens in Clause 1, Clause 2 of Article 24 states, ‘Acts of worship, religious services, and ceremonies shall be conducted freely, provided that they do not violate the provisions of Article 14’ (author’s emphasis). Clause 1 of Article 14, entitled the ‘Prohibition of Abuse of Fundamental Rights and Freedoms’, effectively serves as a warning to would-be Islamic actors and ordinary Muslims alike that None of the rights and freedoms embodied in the Constitution shall be exercised with the aim of violating the indivisible integrity of the state with its territory and nation, and endangering the existence of the democratic and secular order of the Turkish Republic based upon human rights. Clause 3 of the same article fails to precisely spell out the punishment for such ‘offences’, stating merely that ‘the sanctions to be applied against those who perpetrate these activities in conflict with these provisions shall be determined by law’. One may have to speculate as to what ‘these activities’ actually entail as they remain an ambiguous concept, and one that is liable to being subjectively applied by the Kemalist state. The arbitrary nature of ‘these activities’ and the sanctions that they are likely to attract extend the power of the Kemalist state immensely. As there is no specific definition of what acts constitute a violation of the ‘indivisible integrity of the state’ or an ‘endanger[ment] of the democratic and secular order of the Turkish Republic’, it naturally follows that it is ultimately the Kemalist state, and its appendages, that will unilaterally decide this. Consequently, the first clause of the 24th article, which states that ‘Everyone has the right to freedom of

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conscience, religious belief and conviction’, appears as just a token symbol of Turkey’s modern, democratic character, and other articles (namely, Article 14) appearing in the constitution effectively cancel it out. The freedom of religion enshrined in Article 24 may, at any time, be usurped by the earlier provision, Article 14, at the State’s discretion. In reality, therefore, the interests of the Kemalist state supersede the rights of individual Turkish citizens. Article 24, which was introduced by the military regime in 1982 after the coup that occurred two years earlier, also stipulates that ‘education and instruction in religion and ethics shall be conducted under state supervision and control’, and further that ‘Instruction in religious culture and moral education shall be compulsory in the curricula of primary and secondary schools’ (author’s emphasis). Curiously, Islam is not referred to here; instead, the ambiguous terms ‘religious culture’ and ‘moral education’ are used. By excluding any reference to Islam, emphasis is drawn away from the religion as a universalist and spiritual system, or a traditional ‘Muslim’ way of life. ‘Religious culture’ is tied to national culture, and ‘moral education’ reflects the modern, secular emphasis on both morality, as opposed to organised religion, and the premium placed upon formal secular education. In effect, state-serving ideals including nationalism and secularism are fostered through the qualified promotion of religion by the Kemalist state. Conducting religious instruction under state ‘supervision and control’ is hardly conducive to the liberty of religious thought and enquiry. Moreover, the concepts of ‘religion’ and ‘ethics’ are not necessarily compatible, or even similar. That education in such an abstract, subjective and arbitrary subject be made ‘compulsory in the curricula of primary and secondary schools’ is somewhat worrying. Enforced state-sponsored religious education is a practice not consistent with the ideal of ‘Freedom of Religion and Conscience’, and it is certainly not in harmony with the principle of secularism. Clause 5 of Article 24 states that no one shall be allowed to exploit or abuse religion or religious feelings, or things held sacred by religion, in any manner

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whatsoever, for the purpose of personal or political influence, or for even partially basing the fundamental, social, economic, political, and legal order of the state on religious tenets. The preamble does confirm that ‘there shall be no interference whatsoever by sacred religious feelings in state affairs and politics’, and yet there is also the ‘acknowledgement that it is the birthright of every Turkish citizen to lead an honourable life and to develop his or her material and spiritual assets under the aegis of national culture, civilization and the rule of law’. Once more, Islam is not explicitly referred to; however, mention of the cultivation of the Turkish population’s ‘spiritual assets’ undoubtedly alludes to the Islamic faith, which is shared by most of the country’s citizens. These two objectives – that is, the suppression of religious elements on the one hand, and the need to inculcate a spiritual development in its citizens on the other – are self-evidently contradictory aims that cannot be logically reconciled. What this suggests is that religion is tolerable, and seemingly even beneficial, but only if it is sponsored by the State and complements the national culture. However, neither in the remainder of the preamble nor in the constitution as a whole is any meaning afforded to the abstract concept of ‘national culture’. Turkey’s national culture, one can infer from the constitution, is predisposed to ‘sacred’ and ‘spiritual’ elements that are derived from the Islamic faith – this would explain why the ‘secular’ Turkish state imposes mandatory religious education in schools. The Turkish state, according to the constitution, recognises this, and considers it vital to direct the religious inclination of many of its citizens ‘under the aegis of national culture’ or under the ‘supervision and control’ of the State. As mentioned above, Article 24, paradoxically entitled ‘Freedom of Religion and Conscience’, stipulates that ‘education and instruction in religion and ethics will be conducted under state supervision and control’ and that ‘Instruction in religious culture and moral education shall be compulsory in the curricula of primary and secondary schools’. The latter provision in particular is a curious and anomalous inclusion in the constitution of what is a self-professed

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and staunchly secular state, an establishment that is both suspicious of and antagonistic towards religion (Islam).

Secularism or Secularisation? From this analysis, we arrive at two points: first, there is a discernible religiosity among citizens, and the State is thereby compelled to accommodate it (conceivably, by imposing religious education in schools); second, that the Turkish state has a vested interest in maintaining control over the way in which religion is taught, understood and practised (principally through the Directorate-General of Religious Affairs). It is important to highlight here that the secularist revolution of the 1920s, which was a radical top-down feat of social engineering, was not triggered by a general decay or desertion of personal religiosity among the Turkish population, as was experienced in many corresponding European states. Indeed, the majority of Turkish citizens today identify themselves as ‘Muslim’, and many of them continue to observe various Islamic rituals in their everyday lives; Islam remains a very important and visible marker of Turkish identity. Moreover, there is a widely held understanding that secularisation is not the same as secularism. ‘Secularisation’ refers to a dynamic and organic societal process, a grassroots transformation of a community’s world view and philosophical orientation, whereas secularism is a closed, limited and ideologically-driven political project. That is, secularism aims to secularise. Aydın has expounded this further: In the Turkish context it is more accurate to talk about secularism rather than secularisation. Secularisation relates essentially to a process of decline in religious activities, beliefs, ways of thinking and institutions that occurs primarily in association with, or as an unconscious or unintended consequence of, other processes of structural change within a society. On the other hand, secularism is an ideology that ‘aims to denounce all forms of supernaturalism and agencies devoted to it, and advocate nonreligious, antireligious, or anti-clerical

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principles as the basis for personal morality and social organisation’ (Aydın 2008; 12). One would be mistaken, however, in labelling Turkey’s Kemalists as simply anti-religious, given the Turkish establishment’s excessive preoccupation with controlling – and even promoting – particular manifestations of Islam. It is more accurate to describe Turkey’s secular establishment as anticlerical. The ‘anticlerical’ Kemalists abolished formal, institutionalised religious offices, which were seen as undermining the state. A potent and independent Islamic clergy, though it is not necessarily antithetical to the principle of secularism, was not only viewed by the founders of the republic as an anachronistic remnant of the obsolete Ottoman Empire, it was also considered to pose a direct threat to the sovereignty of the newlyforged Turkish Republic. The Kemalists wanted to make this important social institution (the religion of Islam) dependent on the state by controlling and effectively appropriating the institution of the Islamic clergy. The institution of the ulema (Islamic clerics, scholars and leaders) was comprehensively dismantled almost overnight, and in its wake were installed state-run bodies such as the aforementioned Directorate-General of Religious Affairs and Directorate-General of Pious Foundations. These institutions were to preside over, with an unmitigated monopoly, all religious affairs in the state of Turkey. The founders of the Turkish Republic sensed that the extermination of the Islamic faith would constitute an insurmountable task. Having recognised that the burgeoning Republic’s official adoption of a secularist programme (the ideology of secularism) could not guarantee a decline in the personal religiosity of its citizens (societal secularisation), Mustafa Kemal and his cadres set upon a path of institutionalising the denial of Turkey’s Islamic past, and in many cases, actively demonising the religion and its proponents. The issue of cultural authenticity is therefore relevant in the Turkish case, given that secularism is essentially a foreign (or Western) construct. Kevin Robins has criticised Western discourses and the project of Westernisation as a whole in Turkey: ‘as much as it has been shaped by

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the assimilation of Western culture, modern Turkish identity is also the product of various negations: Turkish society became practiced in the art of repression’ (1996; 68). The author also discussed the ‘psychic repression’ and loss of culture and identity experienced by Turks. In a critique of so-called ‘Westernised Turks’, and with reference to Islamic actors specifically, he poignantly remarked, ‘Of course, the real people could never be banished’ (1996; 71). One may construe Robins’ argument as a general nativist critique of modernity, and one that may apply equally to disenfranchised local peoples worldwide consumed by the rampant global homogenisation born of the political and economic hegemony of the West. Mustafa Kemal’s secularist legacy is therefore one of repression and the denial of self. The AKP’s ‘conservative democracy’ ideology, through its recognition of the cultural and spiritual significance of Islam, attempts to right the wrongs perpetrated by Turkey’s Kemalist forefathers. Even though the degree to which the founders of the Republic actually sought to divest citizens of their religion is still debatable, it is undeniable that their objective was to destroy the creative lifeblood of Islamic actors at the time, deprive them of the capacity for selfdetermination and in turn wrest religious authority from them by introducing ‘Islamic’ institutions of their own. Paradoxically, the ‘staunchly secular’ Turkish establishment preserves its dominant ideology primarily by preserving the religion of Islam; in many respects, the Turkish state imposes religion just as it imposes secularism. In any case, Kemalism is a phenomenon unique to Turkey and it does not simply embody secularism. In addition to (Western) secularism, Kemalism is an ideology that has incorporated and is forged upon elements of Islam. As mentioned earlier, Kemalism as a political ideology is manifest as the uncomfortable fusion of what is widely regarded as two contradictory, and potentially mutually exclusive, guiding principles: strict or aggressive secularism and Sunni Islam. Both principles are enforced and regulated by the Kemalist state through its ideology of laiklik, or laicism. According to the dominant paradigm, secularism must accommodate religion, not dictate it. The Turkish state is not

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genuinely secular, as Islam has been politicised within it ‘from above’. It endorses and propagates a certain brand of Islam, albeit one that is complementary and subservient to the undefined notion of ‘national culture’ (read: the state’s interests). Davison has argued that the abolition of the caliphate and the birth of the republic were followed by the ‘establishment of other religious institutions that were thought to be more compatible with the Turkish national project [. . .] These institutions were linked with the government to control religion within the state’ (1998; 139). He has also suggested that ‘the structures and intention exist to use religion in politics (in what elites believe is the interest of the state) as well as to disengage it (for the same reason)’ (1998; 187). The religion of Islam in Turkey has become commodified, and has subsequently been manipulated by the Kemalist state. If secularism is understood as the retreat of religion into the private sphere, the practices of Turkey’s military – bureaucratic establishment render Turkey’s brand of secularism open to debate and criticism. The compulsory instruction in religion imposed on students attending public primary and secondary schools, the establishment of state-run religious schools for would-be religious leaders (who are otherwise ineligible for such religious community service) and a host of other state policies are more consistent with the policies of a theocratic regime than a secular democracy. Kemalism, according to Elizabeth Hurd (2008), actually lies on the spectrum of theological politics. In any event, religion was never truly cleansed from Turkey’s public realm during the founding of the modern republic in 1923; Kemalism has not completely eliminated Islam from Turkey’s public life. Davison has suggested that the Turkish state ‘never made religion or Islam an entirely separate (and thus private) matter [. . .]. The separation of religion from its previous position of influence constituted a shift in Islam’s institutional and legitimation position, not its formal, full elimination [. . .]. Islam was not disestablished, it was differently established’ (Davison 2003; 341). Hurd agrees, arguing that Kemalism was a ‘new and different establishment of Ottoman and Islamic tradition that also brought in elements of French laicist tradition’ (2008; 66).

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Critics of the AKP often overlook the fact that Kemalism is actually infused with Islamic symbolism, and many Kemalists themselves downplay the significance of religion in the Turkish state’s ideological doctrine. For many such critics, the discussion is clear-cut: Kemalism is tantamount to modernity and Westernisation, and Islam is archaic and synonymous with oppression. Turkey’s assertive brand of secularism, however, is deficient and has notable shortcomings. In the first place, secularism in Turkey has been manipulated to mean that while the politics of the State are completely independent of any ‘sacred-religious feelings’, the State has absolute authority over religion. At the same time, Turkey’s constitution, as outlined above, does not contain a definitive explanation of secularism. In this situation, the critique of Turkish secularism also becomes a critique of Turkey’s constitution. The AKP has tackled two central issues during its tenure on the road to democratic consolidation and liberal reform. One is the interventionist and political role of the Turkish military and the other is legislating to amend the Turkish constitution, which it argues is not a civilian charter. The AKP government has challenged the legitimacy of the constitution currently in force, which was amended by Turkey’s generals following a military coup. It has also initiated a public debate on the essential meaning of secularism, and this has attracted the wrath of secular-minded Kemalists. The latter’s ongoing suspicions regarding the government’s alleged Islamist agenda culminated in the 2008 constitutional court closure case brought against the AKP.

The Judicial Interpretation of Secularism and the Headscarf Issue On 17 March 2008, prompted by the objections of the major opposition party, the Republican Peoples’ Party (or Cumhuriyet Halk Partisi in Turkish, henceforth referred to as the CHP), the Chief Public Prosecutor’s Office (Yargıtay Cumhuriyet Bassavcılıg˘ı) filed an indictment with the Turkish Constitutional Court (Anayasa Mahkemesi) against the ruling AKP. The court’s self-evident and

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primary function is to preserve the constitution’s essential character and to resolve constitution-related disputes, including those concerning the ‘unconstitutionality’ of certain acts. The main allegation on this occasion was that certain actions and policies of the government were considered to be violating the constitutionallyprotected principle of secularism; that is, the AKP government was charged with undermining Turkey’s secular order. In particular, it was alleged that the adoption on 9 February 2008 of Law No. 5,735, which was a constitutional amendment proposed by the government and also supported by the rightist Nationalist Action Party (Milliyetci Hareket Partisi, or MHP), constituted primary evidence of the AKP’s anti-secular, and therefore unconstitutional, policies. Amid intense political debate surrounding the existing prohibition of the headscarf, Law No. 5,735 was adopted by a significant parliamentary majority (411/518 affirmative votes). Referred to in public discourse as the Tu¨rban Amendment, the legislation foresaw the amendment of the constitution in order to abolish the restriction on the use of the Islamic headscarf by female students in places of higher education (Uzun 2010; 387). The constitutional court overturned Law No. 5,735 on 5 June 2008 for violating, first and foremost, the principle of laicism that is enshrined in the constitution (Judgment of 5 June 2008, Anayasa Mahkemesi. This is available on the official website of the Constitutional Court of the Republic). Moreover, the court found that the proposed amendment was a breach of the court’s long-standing jurisprudence, as it has previously struck down several similar attempts prior to the present government’s latest initiative to end the decades-long sociopolitical conflict over the issue. The much-publicised ‘headscarf issue’ has become the battleground and token symbol for the competing definitions of secularism in Turkey. The public debate involves diverse interest groups including the main political parties, the military, civil-society organisations, liberal activists, academics and the media. It is an emotionally charged subject for both the supporters and the opponents of the headscarf ban, and one that has become highly politicised. The sociopolitical debate on whether the Islamic headscarf constitutes as a threat to secularism has spilled into the legal domain in Turkey several times. There is no

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explicit ban on the Islamic veil contained within the constitution. However, in overturning the proposed amendment put forth by the AKP the constitutional court cited its landmark judgment of 1989, in which it declared the use of the Islamic veil in higher education irreconcilable with the principle of laicism that is enshrined in the constitution (Uzun 2010; 387). Since that time, this decision has been the main point of reference for higher-education establishments willing to take measures against female students wearing the headscarf on university campuses. The 1989 decision followed a decade of conflict regarding the headscarf, and a previous decision that was made by the Turkish Council of State (Danıstay) to uphold the Council of Higher Education’s (Yu¨kseko¨g˘retim Kurulu) expulsion of several female students who wore the headscarf on campus. Below is a section of the Council of State’s ruling on 13 December 1984: Some of our daughters who are not sufficiently educated wear headscarves under the influence of their social environments, customs and traditions- without giving any special thought to it. Yet it is known that some of our daughters and women who are educated enough to resist their social environments and customs wear headscarves just to oppose the principles of the secular Republic, showing that they adopt the ideal of a religious state. For those people, the headscarf is no longer an innocent habit, but a symbol of a world view that opposes women’s liberty and the fundamental principles of our Republic [. . .]. Therefore, the decision to expel the plaintiff from the university does not contradict the laws since she is so against the principles of the secular state that she resists removing her headscarf even when she comes to university for higher education (cited in Kuru 2006; 18). The condescending and paternalistic tone adopted by the Council of State in this decision, and which is reflected by the Turkish judiciary as a whole, demonstrates the illiberal and undemocratic nature of the State’s interpretation of secularism, especially with

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regard to the headscarf. An alternative to the debate is seemingly inconceivable: women who choose to adorn their heads with a cloth covering have effectively been categorised as either ignorant or Islamist. The latter characterisation is particularly hurtful because the term ‘Islamist’ is often linked to militancy, violence and extremism. What is more, this judgment can be considered inflammatory and an insult to pious women who believe that it is their religious duty to wear a headscarf, the latter identifying with neither the ‘uneducated’ nor the ‘Islamist’ labels expressed in the judgement. The implementation of such a narrow-minded interpretation of secularism, and the unwillingness of the judiciary to tolerate any form of religious expression in the public sphere (in fact, the ban on headscarves extended to private schools as well) is damaging to the principle of democracy and the freedoms it entails. The rigid approach to the headscarf issue in particular, and the question of secularism generally, demonstrates the weakness of democracy in relation to secularism in Turkey. Traditionally, political parties who sought to overturn the ban on the headscarf framed the debate in terms of the need to ensure ‘freedom of religion and conscience’ – that is, the right of all citizens to practise their religion freely and unencumbered from the State (specifically, the right for female students to wear the Islamic veil at universities). When the court rejected this claim, the argument was then reconfigured as the right of all citizens, including those who chose to cover their heads for religious reasons, to access education and training. Education is a public service that is available to all citizens, and Article 42 of the constitution, entitled ‘Right and Duty of Training and Education’, states that ‘no one shall be deprived of the right of learning and education’. In other words, the right to an education is a constitutionally protected principle. According to the parties that are opposed to the ban – civil libertarians, and a large segment of Turkish society – both the freedom of religion and the right to an education are democratic principles that ought to be upheld by the state without question. In its legal justification for its decisions, the court has emphasised concepts of gender equality, the protection of the rights and freedoms

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of others, and the need to safeguard public order and neutrality. First, citing gender equality as a reason for upholding the ban is both condescending and dismissive, given that it is the choice of the female students to wear the Islamic veil. Moreover, it reproduces patriarchy by assuming to ‘know what is best’ for womankind and imposing a particular form of (Westernised) dress and appearance on Turkish women. Second, the third-party rights argument, which contends that those who do not adhere to the beliefs of the majority should not be subject to ‘abusive proselytism’ by female students that are wearing the veil, and that universities should not be restricted in their ability to terminate the enrolment of certain students, rests on the assumption that the Islamic headscarf is not an innocent religious act, but rather a symbol and a tool of political Islam. This is both highly controversial and demeaning to devout students. It also affirms that the rights of non-religious students, or those who wish not to wear the scarf, supersede the rights of devout students who do. Third, the claim that permitting students to wear the headscarf would hurt state neutrality palpably demonstrates the court’s sweeping interpretation of the principle of laicism. It is analogous to suggesting that revoking the headscarf ban is tantamount to changing the characteristics of the Turkish state. The rationale underpinning these assumptions, and the very broad interpretation of secularism that is exercised by the court, is that laicism is more important than the other principles upon which republican Turkey was founded, including democracy and freedom of the individual. What is most problematic about the court’s sweeping definition of secularism is that it has fused the concepts of secularism, the political ideology, and secularisation, which refers to the societal process. Ahmet Kuru has elaborated on this point: Secularism is a constitutional regime that determines the political boundaries between state and religion. Secularisation, on the other hand, is a social process, which is claimed to result in three things: a) the decline of religion, in terms of belief, affiliation, and practice, b) individualisation and privatisation of religion, with the erosion of its public role, and c) differentiation

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of [the] religious sphere from others, such as political, economic, and legal domains. The Court combines these two separate phenomena in its definition of secularism. In short, it takes secularism as a comprehensive official doctrine, an overarching principle over and prior to all rights and freedoms, and a social engineering project to secularise society. To the Court, secularism is beyond a political regime, it is ‘Turkey’s way of life’ (Kuru 2006; 15). According to the court, the need to preserve secularism at all costs may warrant the abandonment of other Western and modern principles. The constitution contains an inbuilt mechanism for selfpreservation, which is known in legal circles as the ‘protection against indirect amendments’ regime. This well-designed safeguard has been construed by the court, and has assisted effectively to ‘structure a conception of the Constitution which affords to the principle of laicism a de facto functional hierarchy over most other provisions’ (Uzun 2010; 400). The superiority of the laicist principle, which is considered the fundamental characteristic of the Turkish Republic, means that any direct legislative amendment to the text of the constitution or a reinterpretation of laicism is unlikely to succeed. The AKP’s Tu¨rban Amendment was considered an attempt to bypass the court’s jurisprudence, and hence was annulled. In the judgement of 5 June 2008 against the AKP, the constitutional court affirmed, ‘the validity of the legislative organ’s acts are bound by the constitutional limitations foreseen by the primary constitutive power’. Effectively, therefore, the constitution is superior to the parliament. ‘Combined with the Court’s activism, this extensive jurisdiction naturally resulted [in] the annulment of numerous constitutional amendments, limiting the legislature’s attempts to adapt the text to its own policies’ (Uzun 2010; 416). The court’s political activism, and its monopoly on the interpretation of secularism, have undermined the legislative process as a whole. Significantly, however, the court in its 5 June 2008 decision, which was handed down against the AKP, based its verdict on the

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process of the law’s adoption rather than its specific content. The court did in fact ‘acknowledge that the legislation had the prospect of resolving the deprivation of the right to higher education of some students, but noted that criticisms brought against the method of the legislation’s adoption had to be also taken into consideration’ (Uzun 2010; 419). What is referred to as the ‘democratic deficiency argument’ centres on the claim that the AKP ratified the law in haste, without allowing for sufficient debate and public discussion or providing offers of assurance to secular-minded segments of society. This followed a long year of political tension surrounding the election of former AKP member, and Turkish foreign minister, Abdullah Gu¨l as the president of the Republic. According to international observer Sabrina Tavernise, ‘the way [the prime minister’s] party proposed [the amendment] – abruptly, with little public discussion – angered the secular old guard and disappointed liberals, who support the changes, but want them to be accompanied by changes that strengthen other rights, like free speech’ (in New York Times, 6 June 2008). The AKP’s rushed, and almost aggressive, approach to the implementation of the proposed amendment did not efface the ‘fears in society’ or answer ‘to the demands for guarantees’ from Turkey’s secular-minded community. According to the court, this ‘exclude[d] democratic conciliation methods’ and ‘embrace[d] defiance or imposition as a method’ (see June 5 2008 Judgment on the official website of The Constitutional Court of the Republic of Turkey). From the AKP’s perspective, however, it is difficult to envision exactly how the government would have gone about making these assurances to the secular community. Is it really the responsibility of the elected government of the day to console its secularist detractors because the latter are faced with the prospect of having to ‘tolerate’ a visible manifestation of religion – the Islamic headscarf – which they clearly find very distasteful? The notion that women who wear the veil are ‘abusively proselytising’, or intimidating women who do not wear the veil, is, in any case, very problematic. In fact, this is an interpersonal and highly subjective phenomenon, and it is incongruous that the ruling party has been compelled to effectively mollycoddle the opponents of the veil and

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referee between individuals with alternative lifestyles. The presence of the Islamic veil in Turkish society, unpalatable though it may be for the Kemalists and their sympathisers, is an issue of unfolding social dynamics and not for official governmental policy. According to the court, the ruling AKP – by proposing and ratifying the Tu¨rban Amendment – had violated the constitutionallyprotected principle of laicism and was thus liable for punishment. On 30 July 2008, the court delivered its final judgement: it found that the AKP had in effect become the centre of unconstitutional acts, contrary to the principle of laicism. However, while ten out of the 11 sitting judges determined that the AKP had become the centre for unconstitutional acts, the court was unable to reach the necessary qualified majority of votes and was thus obliged to ‘rule on the next adverse measure foreseen by law’ (Uzun 2010; 386). Importantly, only six judges voted for the dissolution of the AKP. Lacking the one additional vote needed, the next most adverse measure against the ruling party was the deprivation of state financial aid. The AKP had barely survived. The attempt by Kemalist forces to close down the elected ruling party, which was dubbed ‘Turkey’s judicial coup d’e´tat’ by many international observers, clearly highlights how fragile democracy in Turkey really is. The proceedings in the constitutional court are generally thought to be based on a political and ideological, rather than a juridical, rationale and amount to ‘an extreme example of ¨ zbudun 2012; 161). The constitutional court, similar juristocracy’ (O to other courts in the Turkish system, is essentially a self-serving entity. Its primary function prior to the constitutional amendments ratified by the government in September 2010, was to perpetuate the dominant status quo, and to uphold the interests of the Kemalist ¨ zbudun, ‘the Turkish Constitutional elite. According to Ergun O Court has been acting in the direction of the expectations of the secularist state elites who created the court in the first place’ (2012; 161). The 2008 closure case against the AKP government also reflects the continuing arrogance of the Kemalist state, and its incapacity to tolerate any competing ideological or political perspectives, even if they are the product of a broad societal consensus, and/or a

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democratically elected civilian administration. The Kemalist regime refuses to accept alternative political models, or even a discussion of the potential evolution of the founding (Kemalist) ideology. According to ¨ mit Cizre, the ‘players of the secular bloc had failed to learn the U lesson of the “grand paradox”: that political dynamics do not necessarily obey the establishment’s logic or will’, and that banning political parties will ‘invariably lead to the rise of renewed and more robust successors, equally unpalatable to the establishment, thus defeating its attempt to divert electoral support to more favourable platforms’ (2012; 127). Ultimately, therefore, the closure of political parties by the constitutional court is a self-defeating enterprise. In a previous televised address to the Turkish nation, while referring to the 1982 Constitutional Charter drawn up by Turkey’s generals at a time when their power was unchallenged, Prime Minister Recep Tayyip Erdog˘an said, ‘Turkey cannot continue on its path with a constitution that was written at a time when democracy was suspended’ (cited in the Washington Post, 31 July 2011). The government’s plan to amend the constitution, and further institutionalise civilian authority over the military, is thus communicated. The ideological basis for the AKP’s political agenda is ‘conservative democracy’, which is explored in greater detail in the following chapter. Chapter 4 discusses how the AKP’s adoption of ‘conservative democracy’, its distancing itself from traditional Islamist politics despite its undeniable affinity to the religion of Islam, and its noted commitment to the principles of secularism and democracy form the basis of its capacity to resolve the enduring conflict between the secular Turkish state and political Islam.

CHAPTER 4 THE AKP'S CONSERVATIVE DEMOCRACY

The Rejection of Islamism By adopting the platform of conservative democracy (Muhafazakar Demokrasi), the AKP has deliberately sought to distance itself from Islamism as a political project. As has been discussed, Islamism, or ‘political Islam’ as it is often referred to, is essentially the manipulation of religion for political motives. That is, an Islamist actor or political party harnesses and conveys Islamist–religious rhetoric to mobilise support in order to further ostensibly political (that is, pragmatic, economic or strategic) interests. Islamists can also be driven by the desire to establish a state based on Islamic law (Shari’a). From its inception, the AKP government has vigorously denied possessing an Islamic agenda, and it rejects the notion of Islam as a political project. Indeed, inherent in its ideology of ‘conservative democracy’ is the belief that the use of religion as a political instrument not only threatens the secular democratic order, but also harms religion itself. Arguably, the basis for such a rationale is that there are no two identical interpretations of correct religious practice, or a universally applicable Islamic model that can be implemented objectively in the political domain of any given state. The many and diverse interpretations of Islam also reflect the multiplicity of individual Islamic groups, cults, branches,

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brotherhoods and sects. That is, religion is subjective, heterogeneous and private. It cannot, therefore, be supervised, restricted, instrumentalised or enforced by the state. The AKP has highlighted the importance of the public– private divide, whereby politics in the public domain is carried out in an objective, scientific and democratic manner based on social consensus, equality and the rule of law. The private realm of individuals should, according to the AKP, be characterised by freedom from state interference and respect for citizens’ personal autonomy, and, by extension, personal lifestyle preferences. Ultimately, this separation between the public sphere of politics and government administration on the one hand and the private citizens’ realm of individual conscience, including the expression of personal belief systems, on the other is the basis of a truly liberal democratic state, as envisioned by the AKP government. ‘Conservative democracy’, therefore, is the AKP’s proffered remedy for both the authoritarian Kemalist ideology and the Islamist response thereto, which is also known to manifest the hallmarks of an authoritarian ideology. In understanding the AKP’s behaviour, it is important that ‘conservative democracy’ is unpacked in order to explore the basic premises upon which the government’s ideology is founded. In the Turkish context, ‘conservative democracy’ is a unique blend of reformism and conservatism and a synthesis of liberalism, cultural (as opposed to political) Islam and pluralism. By espousing a conservative democratic political agenda, the AKP simultaneously demonstrates its commitment to the principles of the modern liberal democratic state and its culturally conservative and religious personal world view. The party maintains that there is a qualitative distinction between the practice of working towards the establishment of an Islamic state on the one hand, and cultivating the expansion of civil liberties and promoting respect for religion on the other. As Haldun Gu¨lalp has noted, ‘although often conflated, there is a difference between Islamism as a political project and Muslims’ demand for the recognition of their cultural rights’ (2010; 1). Despite its Islamic pedigree, the AKP has refuted claims that it is an Islamic political party, or that it carries an Islamist agenda. It has

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refused to employ Islamist language in its policy discourses, and although its leaders are devout Muslims the party itself does not espouse Islamic rhetoric or terminology. There is no explicit reference to Islam made by AKP officials, nor does it appear in the party’s programme or manifesto. Having denied the label ‘Islamist’, the AKP leaders have claimed that they try to forge a new understanding of politics free from the politicisation of religion, populism and corruption [. . .]. The new politics, in this respect, is a search for a new social contract between different sectors of the Turkish society. In this sense, it is indeed largely based on the synthesis between liberal desires for reform and conservative (religious) cultural sensitivities (C¸ınar and Duran 2008; 82). Menderes C¸ınar and Burhanettin Duran have suggested that the AKP has blended liberal ideals with (conservative) religious principles. The AKP insists that it is a conservative democratic party, the first of its kind in Turkish political history. The AKP coined the term ‘conservative democracy’, and this ideology is a novelty – at least in the Turkish political landscape. To what extent, however, the AKP actually crafted an original political ideology needs to be clarified and brought into perspective. ¨ nis, the AKP is a ‘broad based political According to Ziya O movement with a pragmatic ideology’ (2006; 15). The AKP has purposefully attempted to carve out and convey its own unique identity in politics by proclaiming its ‘original’ political ideology, that of ‘conservative democracy’. When compared to the Islamist tradition from which the AKP is said to originate (Turkey’s Milli Go¨ru¨s Hareketi or National Outlook Movement, henceforth referred to as NOM), the AKP government espouses a markedly transformed political ideology. This shift in the party’s ideology is the result of two significant factors: the AKP’s populist desire to manifest the will of the majority of Turkish citizens who reject the notion of an Islamic state and/or an Islamist government, and the perpetual

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anxiety over the prospect of the Kemalist state’s intervention and forcible closure of the government. The AKP has adopted the ideology of ‘conservative democracy’ in order to secure a niche in Turkish politics, and to distance and differentiate itself from its predecessors, Islamist parties such as the Welfare (Refah) and Virtue (Fazilet) parties that, after having been accused of anti-secular activities, were both closed down by acts of Turkey’s constitutional court. The legal action taken against the Welfare and Virtue parties served as a lesson to the fledging AKP; it was a warning that a party built on an Islamic platform promoting Islamic policies would face inevitable closure by Turkey’s Kemalist establishment. The founders of the AKP recognised immediately that in order to avoid the fate of the aforementioned banned parties, and to remain politically viable generally, the new party would need to shed its Islamic veneer, abandon any Islamist rhetoric and embrace a new ideology. Murat Somer has summarised the AKP’s transition: The AKP’s program and discourse reflect differences from its predecessors in five crucial areas. First, the AKP’s founders came to the conviction that they should minimise frictions with secularist state institutions such as the military and the judiciary. Second, ‘the use’ of religion and religious discourse in politics should be minimised. Third, civil society development rather than the transformation of the state may be a better means to advance the cause of Political Islam. Fourth, individual liberties and rule of law, rather than elections, may be the most important aspects of democracy. Fifth, integration with global market economies and with transnational political institutions such as the EU may be desirable for Turkey’s economic and political development, and for Political Islam’s long-term interests. In a nutshell, the February 28 period led Islamists to reevaluate their ideological positions, embrace a more ‘global outlook’, and become more appreciative of ‘western democracy and political liberties’ (Somer 2007; 11).

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The need to avoid the hostility and the suspicion of the Kemalist state is one of the factors behind the transformation of the AKP’s political ideology. Although this explanation of the shift in the party’s policy is intelligible when taken as a stand-alone reason, it is somewhat oversimplistic. Of course, the AKP at its inception did not want to be outlawed by the Kemalist state, and took great pains in developing an ideology that would help to prevent this; however, this was not simply a political tactic or a strategic manoeuvre. It has been suggested that the AKP would not have ‘stayed Islamic’ even if this legal obstacle – transgressing the boundaries of the secular constitution and attracting penalty or closure – had not been a factor, as there are significant social trends that the party must also consider. To put it differently, there is another issue that underlies the AKP’s transformed ideology. A fundamental ingredient of electoral success is the ability to properly gauge the people’s agenda and complement this with the adoption of relevant policies that will satisfy and represent the needs of a party’s constituency. Taking this into account, it is clear that the AKP is not only bound by constitutional restraints in terms of its inability to execute a given ‘Islamist’ agenda, but it also has to take into account electoral considerations. The second factor behind the AKP’s transformed ideology is the recognition of the consensus among the majority of Turkish citizens that the prospect of an Islamic state, or an Islamist government, is unacceptable. The AKP acknowledges that the Turkish voting public is generally antithetical to a staunchly Islamist doctrine, or indeed to any political party that is said to be espousing such an anti-secular position. Indeed, secularism has been embraced by most Turks and has been successfully integrated into the social fabric; secularism is an entrenched value in Turkey. It has been noted that Turks are committed to republicanism, and that secular democracy has become the norm in terms of the country’s political structure; the goal of returning to the days of the caliphate enjoys only very marginal political support among society at large. That is, support is low among the Turkish population for a state based on Shari’a (C¸arkog˘lu and Toprak 2007). According to Somer, the AKP, which was founded

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by a young and pragmatic generation of Islamist reformers (yenilikciler) who deliberately adopted a radically more liberal and pro-West programme and discourse, and ‘drew on emerging values [liberal, democratic, pro-West] within the Islamic – conservative constituencies over the legitimacy and desirability of these policies, rather than reflecting purely strategic responses to political incentives’ (2007; 4). Indeed, the political success of the AKP cannot be attributed to any discernible and general rise in the religiosity of Turkish citizens, or to the growth of the Islamist movement specifically. Conversely, as Seyman Atasoy has found, the AKP’s electoral success has actually been consolidated by its clear rejection of traditional Islamist rhetoric, and its popular support depends on it not espousing Islamist policies: In contradistinction to authoritarian secularists, most liberal secularists are convinced that the AKP is evolving into an Islamic version of the European Christian Democratic parties and that support for it assures better governance and stable economic growth. Should the taqiyyah [Islamic deception] thesis be confirmed in the future and the AKP turn to authoritarian Islamism, its electoral support will shrink drastically, along with its capacity to govern (Atasoy 2011; 94). Similarly, while summarising his findings of a study conducted to determine the reasons behind the AKP’s dramatic 2007 national electoral victory, Ersin Kalaycıog˘lu has argued that Turkish voters ‘are not moved primarily by primordial factors, cultural conditioning, or a new sense of religious awakening to the extent that they operated with economic cost-benefit calculations along pragmatic and rational concerns in the 2007 general elections’ and that the voters chose to support the AKP ‘not only as a reward for its past economic performance but also to prolong the AKP’s economic program, that is, expected economic stability from the AKP’ (Kalaycıogˇlu 2011; 41). The AKP’s pragmatic economic policy is one indication of the Islamist movement’s transition and democratic evolution. Another is its absorption of the principle of secularism.

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As mentioned, the AKP supports secularism, and this mirrors the widespread social acceptance of the secularist paradigm in Turkey. The first section of Chapter 2 of the AKP’s party programme, ‘Fundamental Rights and Freedoms’, explicitly states that the AKP refuses to exploit sacred religious values for political purposes. Further, it considers the attitudes and practices that disturb pious people, discriminating against them due to their religious lives and preferences, as fundamentally undemocratic. Moreover, according to the programme, this discrimination is in contradiction to human rights and inalienable freedoms. However, the AKP also maintains that it is unacceptable to make use of religion for political, economic or other interests, or to put pressure on non-religious citizens. Below is an extract from the AKP’s party progamme: Our party considers religion as one of the most important institutions of humanity, and secularism as a pre-requisite of democracy, and an assurance of the freedom of religion and conscience. It also rejects the interpretation and distortion of secularism as enmity against religion. Basically, secularism is a principle which allows people of all religions, and beliefs to comfortably practice their religions, to be able to express their religious convictions and live accordingly, but which also allows people without beliefs to organize their lives along these lines. From this point of view, secularism is a principle of freedom and social peace (Chapter 2, Article 1 of AKP Party Programme). The AKP believes that the political orientation of much of the Turkish population is not anti-Islamic as much as it is pro-secular. This is an important distinction. The AKP advocates secularism as a fundamental safeguard of democracy, but does not, as has been previously discussed, support the model of aggressive secularism implemented by the Kemalist state. Considering the two driving factors that underpin the shift in the AKP’s ideological doctrine, it becomes apparent that the transformation was both a social necessity, as it reflects the citizenry’s agenda, and a legal requirement, as it conforms to the overarching

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secular order, as outlined in the constitution. In this respect, the AKP’s political transformation was inevitable.

An Ideological Transformation There is much debate and discussion surrounding the ideological transformation of the AKP. It is important to note here, however, that this ideological transformation simply represents a clear break from the established Islamist movement in Turkey, and notably from the traditional advocate of Islamism (NOM). In reality, therefore, it is not a fundamental transformation in and of the AKP itself. The latter, from its inception, was established as a party built on a platform of ‘conservative democracy’, entertaining notions of liberal politics and supportive of the principle of secularism. Moreover, the AKP has certainly not emerged within a vacuum, and so needs to be contextualised. When considered from the perspective of the Turkish political climate as a whole, the AKP’s emergence and subsequent success could almost have been predicted. The time was ripe for a genuine democratic opening, and the AKP serendipitously capitalised on both domestic and international conditions to ascend to the office of government. The burgeoning project of democracy in Turkey, combined with the long-time disenchantment of the Turkish people with the Kemalist state, has bolstered the party’s legitimacy and assisted the AKP in coming to and maintaining its power. And although the party has toiled to stabilise Turkish democracy, the Republic’s democratic development has roots older than the current government, as Atasoy suggests: Democratisation gradually empowered the formerly marginal religious conservatives in Turkey. The AKP turned out to be the leading force for deeper democratisation and liberalisation through legitimate use of democratic politics. Patient electoral support for reform has demonstrated that democratisation had a solid base in society. Top-down modernisation inevitably

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clashed, at least partially, with bottom-up democracy (Atasoy 2011; 95). From the outset, the AKP recognised that employing Islamist rhetoric, or even entertaining a moderate Islamic agenda, would be counterproductive. In this way the ideological transformation comprises a shift of the AKP away from the Islamist movement under the auspices of which it was conceived, but the AKP itself has not essentially changed because it was never an Islamic party. It is more accurate, therefore, to consider the ideological transformation as a maturing and evolution of the Islamist movement in Turkey as a whole. It is not the AKP itself that has changed. Rather, the general political climate in Turkey has been altered. The emergence and success of the AKP is simply a manifestation of the evolvement of Turkey’s Islamist movement. The shift and subsequent adoption of a new ideology could have been forecast from the beginning, as the AKP was not established as an Islamist party. In justifying the ideological transformation of the Islamist ¨ nis has discussed the dramatic impact that the processes movement, O of globalisation and the prospect of EU membership have had on the AKP’s behaviour and policy. He also discusses how the ‘learning process’ that was embarked upon by Turkey’s Islamists has enriched the project of democracy in the country, suggesting that democratisation in Turkey is a reciprocal phenomenon. Having been punished for its political oversight and insensitivity to the Kemalist regime, the Islamist movement has learnt its lessons in democracy. The latter soon recognised that it could greatly further its own cause by genuinely embracing democracy. O¨nis thus accounts for the change in optimistic terms: Islamist political actors [in Turkey] have experienced [an] often painful learning experience, which increasingly altered their basic perception of what was permissible in a democratic environment given the domestic and external constraints. What is interesting is that this learning process helped to instigate a virtuous cycle, whereby the Islamists learned not

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simply how to respond to democratisation in a reactive fashion but how to become a pro-active force contributing to the process of further democratic deepening [. . .]. Indeed, a kind of virtuous cycle appears to have emerged in Turkey in recent years with the democratisation of the political regime leading to the democratisation of Islamists themselves, and then the Islamists, in turn, ironically taking up a key role in the further democratisation and Europeanisation of the Turkish political system (O¨nis 2006; 4, 24). One must point out that the abandonment of an explicit Islamic political agenda on the part of the AKP does not mean that Islamic principles are rejected completely, however. Nor does the adoption of conservative democracy as the party ideology denote a marked shift away from the significance of Islam as a cultural and spiritual point of reference. Indeed, conservatism is comparable to, and perhaps replaces or substitutes for, political Islam. This is because conservatism as it is understood and applied by the AKP is underpinned by what are generally considered to be conservative values and the social and cultural traditions of the Turkish people, which are ultimately derived from Islamic precepts. It is more accurate, therefore, to describe the AKP’s conservative democracy as a fresh take on an existing political ideology, democratic liberalism, that corresponds to the specific features of the Turkish system – namely, the cultural conservatism of much of the Turkish population and the Kemalist state’s institutionalised imposition of secularism. The AKP’s ‘conservative democracy’ is therefore essentially a reinterpretation of democratic liberalism, and it highlights the need for a reinvigorated and active civil society to act as a safety mechanism, or check and balance, on the power of the Kemalist state. The government’s policies are essentially liberal because their objective is to circumscribe the state’s authority by way of awarding increased civil and democratic freedom to citizens. The AKP has also pursued liberal economic policies. The AKP sponsors economic rationalism in its approach to fiscal policy. Turkey’s economy, under the administration of the AKP, has been opened up to market forces,

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a phenomenon that is typical of many Western liberal democracies. This has, to a large degree, been necessitated by Ankara’s prolonged bid to join the EU, the desire to integrate into global markets and the need to improve Turkey’s economic competitiveness on the world stage. Unlike the government’s commitment to liberal democracy, the authenticity of which many doubt, there is near universal agreement on the party’s liberal economic agenda in government. Moreover, its track record on handling the economy and leading Turkey from stagnation to growth speaks to voters and to international onlookers alike.

A Blend of Conservatism and Reformism There are two facets to the AKP’s ideology of ‘conservative democracy’. First, conservatism has many similarities to religious or traditional Islamic values, and second, the reference to conservatism is a symbolic guarantee to the Kemalist elite that the party does not harbour a revolutionary programme, and that the AKP is dedicated to upholding, or conserving, the secular status quo. According to ¨ zbudun, the AKP’s conservatism ‘can best William Hale and Ergun O be described as an attitude in favour of natural and evolutionary change, and a posture against social engineering’ (2010; 17). The AKP’s politics are not revolutionary in the strict sense of the term. The party proposes incremental, or piecemeal, change. However, the AKP’s attempt to redefine secularism may be construed as an antiestablishment policy. In this way, the AKP’s philosophy fuses conservatism with reformism. Hale has argued that there are intriguing similarities between the AKP and the Christian Democrat parties of Western Europe, including their stance on moral, cultural and educational issues; international attitudes; and support structures. The most striking contrast, however, is that while the European Christian Democrats are, by convention, politically as well as culturally conservative, the AKP appears to be distinctly reformist. He has claimed,

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While the Christian Democrat movement in Western Europe generally developed in a conservative, pro-status quo direction, the AKP, while culturally conservative, also projects itself as an anti-establishment force in Turkish politics, opposing the state-centered authoritarian secularists who have, it is argued, become Turkey’s new conservatives. Tayyip Erdog˘an is taken as a fitting symbol of this resurgence – as a ‘man of the people’ who moved up from a humble position in society, suffered imprisonment for his political principles, and then successfully challenged the old state establishment (Hale 2006; 165). Ideologically, another parallel between the AKP’s policies and those of its European Christian Democrat counterparts is that ‘they both championed liberal democratic values, and the rights of the individual rather than the strength of the state’ (Hale 2006; 160). According to this reading, conservative democracy is rendered analogous to liberal democracy because the former as applied by the AKP challenges the authoritarian systemic forces, embodied by the Kemalist state, that enforce secularism. Liberalism conventionally promotes a small, or smaller, role for the state and limited intervention in the lives of citizens. Enforced secularism and the routine intrusion into the private lives of religious citizens is an infringement on their civic rights vis-a`-vis the expression of their religious identity. This is a core issue for the AKP, as it was for its predecessors. In essence, the AKP’s conservative democracy is an ideology that both resembles liberal democracy and has links to conservative Islamic values. It is not, then, a wholly new or original concept. What is novel about the AKP’s ideology, however, is its approach compared to the Islamic parties that came before it. According to Somer, the AKP ‘institutionally, discursively and in terms of its policies, represents a clear break with the previous representatives of Political Islam in Turkey. Another crucial difference between the AKP and its predecessors is its electoral base, which is significantly broader than any of its predecessors’ (2004; 19). The AKP’s broad constituency has been described as a ‘cross-class coalition’. The

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government represents a wide spectrum of social, political and economic interests. The diverse community interests ‘juggled’ by the AKP have been incorporated into its pragmatic political agenda. The AKP has thus shed its Islamic veneer; its politicians are no longer ideologues, instead they have been moulded into political pragmatists and economic rationalists by external conditions. Central to the AKP’s success is its ability to effectively combine reformism (the need to change), with conservatism (respect for the established political order). O¨nis has elaborated thus: Representing a unique synthesis of reformism and conservatism, it [the AKP] has been able to consolidate its power and popularity, both in the domestic and international circles, even further by displaying a mixture of pragmatism in terms of implementing fiscal discipline and neo-liberal economic reforms and radicalism, by implementing EUrelated political reforms. The result has been a mixture of economic recovery and a further opening of the political space ¨ nis 2006; 17). for democratic participation in Turkey (O The AKP’s reformism, therefore, is essentially a pragmatic response to a host of domestic and global factors. Its political pragmatism can also explain the government’s subdued approach to sensitive identity-based issues, including that of religious expression. Not only does the AKP downplay religious issues, it has also emphasised individual rights over collective rights. Instead of campaigning unequivocally for religious rights, the AKP prefers to operate by employing the broader term, ‘human rights’. Since religious freedom is a fundamental human right, it follows that the AKP can still pursue the recognition of religious rights in the public sphere under the guise of democratic and liberal reforms. Although the principles of liberalism and secularism are, more often than not, complementary, a genuine liberal democracy – in contrast to, for example, ‘secular’ democratic Turkey – would be more accommodating and tolerant of religious diversity and expression, according to conventional wisdom. In this way, the AKP’s new

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ideology still represents and serves its Islamic constituency while supporting the principle of secularism. As has been noted, the Kemalist establishment is secular but essentially illiberal. The Kemalist regime, through the state machinery, has traditionally stifled the capacity for the expression and self-determination of Muslim actors. Gu¨lalp (2010) has suggested that the Islamist project in Turkey was a natural progression and a consequence of the Turkish secular elite’s suppression of a cultural identity and the imposition of internalised Eurocentric assumptions of modernisation. In addition to the Kemalist founders’ desire to embrace ‘European’ modernism, the collapse of the Ottoman Empire made conditions ripe for Turkish nationalism to flourish, and the Kemalist movement was, among other things, a manifestation of Turkish ultranationalism. Gu¨lalp has argued that although Islamism as a politics of identity is potentially an authoritarian movement, democracy cannot, nevertheless, thrive without the incorporation of the people into a participatory political system. He also stated that ‘the key to the democratic role of a political movement based on Islam lies in that movement’s transformation from an exclusionary politics of identity into an inclusionary liberal movement that recognises and encourages cultural diversity’ (Gu¨lalp 1997; 2).

Moderation and Democratisation To further expound the point made above, the AKP’s policy is conservative in two ways. The AKP’s agenda is politically, or structurally, conservative, as it has demonstrated no interest in usurping or modifying the secular status quo and it does not have a radical programme. The party has stressed on numerous occasions that it respects Turkey’s secular and democratic institutions, and that its policies in fact complement this secular system. Second, the AKP is also socially, or culturally, conservative. Despite its compliance with Turkey’s secularist establishment, the AKP is not a secular party; it has a strong religious dimension. To reiterate, the AKP’s brand of conservatism has often been associated with Islamic or religious

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principles. According to many Muslims, religious law inherently tends to be both comparatively static and universally relevant and applicable. Islamic law, or divine law, is sometimes characterised as immutable, having been established during the advent of Islam approximately 1,400 years ago. Religious principles can, therefore, be rendered as conservative or indisposed to disputation or amendment. They are said to be conservative on account of their supposed immutability; the fact that these principles are divine in origin, according to conventional wisdom, naturally renders them ageless and unchanging, and therefore essentially conservative. In addition to espousing conservatism, the AKP affirms its commitment to democratic principles. Somer has discussed the process whereby political Islamic movements adapt in order to align themselves with the overarching democratic paradigm: From the point of view of western democracy, political moderation refers to political-Islamic movements’ embracing the rules of the democratic system, for example by accepting the results of competitive and repetitive elections, political freedoms, and abandoning the goal of establishing an Islamic state through revolution. Various theorists are right in arguing that political participation creates significant incentives for political moderation. Some argue that political participation has already produced a moderate and democratic type of Islamist political actors [sic.], calling them ‘Muslim Democrats’ (Somer 2007; 1). The process of the political moderation of Islamic political actors is equivalent to the democratisation of these parties. By allowing Islamic actors to participate in the political process, the state is building bridges. Incorporating legitimate Islamic parties into the fold of democracy provides these parties with incentives to not only respect and adhere to the secular democratic order, but also to work towards contributing to and protecting it. The genuine political moderation of Islamic political actors, therefore, stimulates and reinforces the ongoing democratisation process as a whole.

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The AKP has emphasised two distinct versions, or aspects, of democracy in the formulation of its policies and party rhetoric. On the one hand, it has aligned itself with the notion of democracy as opposed to theocracy, which is conventionally regarded as a political system founded upon the principles of an organised religion (the theocratic regime in Iran is a case in point). Despite ongoing Kemalist suspicions that the AKP harbours a covert Islamist programme, the party asserts that it completely rejects the idea of an Islamic state. Furthermore, it has stressed that Turkey is not, and must never be, an Islamic state. The AKP’s conservative democracy is, nevertheless, founded upon an acknowledgement that Turkey is essentially a Muslim country. One must then draw a distinction between an Islamic state and a Muslim country. The term ‘Islamic state’ refers to the official regime characteristics of a country. It is a theocratic regime that is organised by religious principles whereby its social, political and legal institutions have been Islamicised. Democratic process in the administration of the Islamic state is normally rejected, and totalitarianism and authoritarianism are governing features of the political landscape. The phrase a ‘Muslim country’, on the other hand, refers to the cultural characteristics of a society or the demographic details of a country’s population – notably, religious affiliation. Democratic political institutions are therefore not intrinsically incompatible with the concept of a ‘Muslim country’, as is shown by the Turkish Republic. AKP officials have asseverated that the establishment of an Islamic or Islamist administration in the state of Turkey could hold dire consequences for the principles of liberty and democracy. The party maintains that secularism is a fundamental safeguard of democracy. Through its conservative democracy, the AKP has acknowledged that an unmistakable majority of the Turkish population is Muslim and that Turkey is, irrefutably, a Muslim country. Although an Islamic state is not desirable, the government of the day should, in any case, be mindful of this demographic reality, and its policies should faithfully reflect the ethnographic and religious character of its people. This is what the AKP has promised by promoting a

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conservative democratic political agenda. For the AKP, the cultural and political recognition that should be afforded to Turkey’s Muslims does not detract from the need to ensure and uphold the secular institutions that comprise Turkey’s political system as a whole.

A Critique of the AKP’s Conservatism The exact nature of this new ideology – conservative democracy – has, however, been subject to ongoing discussion in Turkey. The term ‘conservative democracy’ is in itself a contradiction, as the concept of democracy is not entirely consistent with the aims of classical conservatism. Democracy, according to the traditional understanding, seeks to empower the people, and the legitimate political authority must have, in this case, a mandate from the society it seeks to govern. Power, then, is directly derived from the people. Popular sentiment is disposed to change and fluctuation, and the will of the people is not static. It is likely to oscillate according to external factors and conditions, and, therefore, a democracy is a political system that has structural mechanisms in place to accommodate (and indeed, promote) the changeover of political power. Democracy is essentially dynamic. Conservatism, in contrast, is generally supportive of the status quo. Conservatives, moreover, are ill-disposed to accommodating change in the political system generally, or in the administration of office specifically. Ardent conservatives, unlike their democratic counterparts, regard such change as dangerous and threatening to the well-being of the State and society. Once a society is functioning and comfortable with an established axis of power, it is in the general interest of the state’s political institutions to safeguard, preserve or conserve this order. According to the philosophy of conservatism, only when a State’s political machinery operates in a well-established and developed condition, or, in other words, when a society experiences a sense of certainty in its political institutions and a degree of permanency, can it truly progress. Conservatives may consider the social or political upheaval that is intrinsically associated with democratic processes as revolutionary and, consequently, potentially

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harmful. The principles of conservatism and democracy cannot, therefore, be easily reconciled. Furthermore, certain elements of the AKP’s conservativeness have attracted criticism, even from those who sympathise with the government’s attempt to redefine secularism. The redefinition of secularism is tantamount to calling for a reduction of the state’s power. Arguably, the AKP has laboured to circumscribe the State’s power in certain areas, yet there is a seeming contradiction in its simultaneous desire to maintain firm control over the Directorate of Religious Affairs (known also as the Diyanet), which is attached to the Kemalist state. The AKP’s political conservatism is demonstrated by its statist view on religion. It appears that the government has a vested interest in maintaining the control and dissemination of religion through the Directorate of Religious Affairs. In fact, as Murat Akan points out, the role of the Diyanet is growing steadily, rather than decreasing, and it has an increasingly swollen budget that is close to 2.5 billion Turkish liras – greater than the amount allocated for social-policy institutions and more, even, than some ministries (Akan 2011; 13). For some onlookers this is hypocritical, calling on the one hand for a reduction in the State’s interference in religion by redefining secularism and allowing greater public visibility of religion, and on the other hand stringently upholding the Directorate’s powers, thereby propagating a specific form of statesponsored Islam. These politicians [from the AKP] have claimed that the state’s coordination of religious services through the Diyanet has been necessary to maintain Islamic services efficiently and to avoid anarchy in Islamic communities. An example of this statist stand is the response of Mehmet Aydın from the AKP to the criticisms of Diyanet’s hiring of 15,000 new imams. Aydın, the Minister of State in Charge of Religious Affairs, said that of 75, 941 mosques in Turkey 22,344 lacked an imam from the Diyanet. In these ‘empty’ mosques, improper people might teach religion inappropriately. He added that proper religious services were a duty of the state. Another issue, on which the

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AKP diverges from the ideal type of passive secularism, tending instead to statism, is the debate on the obligatory religious courses in schools. In February 2005, the European Council issued a report that criticises these courses. Several politicians simply rejected the criticism saying that those courses were not on Islam, but on ‘general information on religions and knowledge of ethics’. The AKP’s divergence from passive secularism toward a more statist approach has been criticised even by its supporters in the media (Kuru 2006; 13). What is most problematic about the AKP’s response is that, like the Kemalist regime it challenges, the government assumes to have all the answers regarding religion. Its approach merely reinforces the State’s monopoly over religion. The party’s attempt, once in power, to deter ‘improper people’ from teaching ‘religion inappropriately’ can be considered patronising, and it reflects the belief that only the government’s interpretation of religion is legitimate, or even safe. Not only does the government uphold Turkey’s statist view on religion by maintaining the Diyanet’s regulatory role, it also discourages a healthy discussion and meeting of ideas about Islam in Turkey. In addition to the paradox latent in the notion of conservative democracy, the AKP’s so-called ‘original’ ideology has also been critiqued on the grounds that it is not in fact original at all. The AKP’s ‘conservative democrats’ may just as easily be classified as ‘Muslim democrats’, given the conspicuous resemblance of their conservative values to Islamic values. Some authors have even suggested that the AKP employs the term conservative democracy simply because its members cannot label themselves ‘Muslim Democrats’ (Mahcupyan cited in Akdog˘an 2006; 58). Sceptics of the AKP’s commitment to the liberal democratic reform process have also argued that the party has deliberately misconstrued and taken advantage of its considerable electoral support. In doing so, it has effectively extended its own mandate to govern by placing Islamoriented issues at the forefront of its policy agenda. According to Kalaycıog˘lu’s research findings, for example, the AKP’s success at the

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ballot box is not due to the triumph of political Islam, nor to a renewed religious fervour in the Turkish electorate. It is, rather, more simply explained as the enduring predominance of the right-ofcentre tradition in Turkish politics. According to Kalaycıog˘lu (2011), the AKP government is unwilling to realistically account for its support base, which extends far beyond its religious constituency. By prioritising so-called ‘Islamic’ policies, the AKP assumes that a general and pervasive cultural conservatism exists in the Turkish polity. In so doing, the government not only runs the real risk of alienating key segments of its support base but it also, more broadly, jeopardises democratic consolidation and harms the notion of representative democracy. Kalaycıog˘lu writes, They [the AKP leadership] seemed to have moved to precipitate new crises over such polarising issues as the tu¨rban (headscarf styles for women) and increased their attacks on the political opposition and the media, which had become increasingly abrasive and visceral by the 2009 local elections. Consequently, Turkey seems to have reached a point at which voters who support the AKP are much more moderate than the party leadership, which seems to be squandering its chances of moderating its stance on polarising issues and of seeking a national compromise over a new constitution and buttressing tolerance of different lifestyles in the country. It may indeed be the case that by ignoring the changing mood of the voters the AKP may be set on the road to joining a long list of right-wing parties that failed to contribute to the consolidation of democracy in the country (Kalaycıog˘lu 2011; 42). In contrast to the comparatively negative assessment of the ruling party mentioned above, prominent AKP advisor Yalcın Akdog˘an has offered a broad explanation of the government’s ideology in an attempt to expound the basic parameters of the conservative democratic political identity. The political arena ought to be established firmly in the culture of reconciliation and negotiation, according to Akdog˘an and his counterparts in the AKP. Diverse

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social and cultural groups should be empowered to participate in politics. The process of democratic pluralism may foster an environment of tolerance in a forum of mutual understanding. Ideally, conservative democracy also promotes a limited and defined form of political power, and this is conducive to the aims of participatory democracy. Akdog˘an continues, It [conservative democracy] does not accept authoritarian or totalitarian practices that would lead to a repressive state [. . .]. Conservative democracy considers political legitimacy to be based on popular sovereignty and the rule of law, which, in turn, is based on constitutionality and universally accepted norms. These elements are the main bases of political power, and political leaders achieve legitimacy by accepting the will of the nation. Political legitimacy is thus based on the common acceptance of a national identity that expresses itself in commonly held norms regarding action, rules, and collective worth (Akdog˘an 2006; 50). The AKP’s ideology of conservative democracy thus counteracts the effects of Kemalism, which is essentially elitist. Indeed, statism – or reverence for the state – is one of the fundamental principles upon which Mustafa Kemal established the Turkish Republic. Conservative democracy, in contrast, offers the opportunity for a measure of ‘people power’, and aims to promote the peoples’ interests. One may break down and reconstruct the ideology of ‘conservative democracy’, and determine that conservatism, as applied by the AKP, is based on the collective traditions and cultural identity of the Turkish people. It draws its inspiration from time-honoured, conservative principles and religious mores. Conservatism is, then, a political manifestation of the character and the will of the conservative Turkish nation. In fact, the AKP government seems to take the conservativeness of the Turkish people for granted. For instance, the Financial Times quoted Prime Minister Erdog˘an as saying in 2004,

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Let me be quite open and clear in stating a fact – we don’t find it appropriate to mix religion and politics [. . .]. We are not Muslim democrats, we are conservative democrats. Some in the West portray us as [Muslim democrats] but our notion of conservative democracy is to attach ourselves to the customs and the traditions and the values of our society, which is based on family. This is a democratic issue, not a religious one (cited in Go¨zaydın 2008; 173). As a conservative democratic party, the AKP has emphasised the importance of traditional family values and its support for a higher birth rate. In fact, the party espouses a pronatalist policy at the highest level; Prime Minister Erdog˘an has repeated his call for Turkish couples to have at least three children, in order to boost the economy and offset the effects of an ageing population. Speaking at the International Family and Social Policies Summit, held in Ankara on 2 January 2013, Erdog˘an stated, ‘There are abstract values that make a household a family. And it is extremely dangerous if that family loses those values. Therefore we are working on developing new projects to protect family values’ (quoted in Hu¨rriyet, 3 January 2013). In 2012 the AKP’s anti-abortion agenda received widespread condemnation from women’s organisations and human rights groups in Turkey and around the world. If implemented, the proposed legislation would have made abortion past the sixth week of pregnancy illegal, a reduction from the current limit of ten weeks gestation, which is already considered a narrow window. The controversial legislation, which would have effectively banned abortion in the country, was later scrapped by the ruling party amidst fierce criticism, including from the EU. The AKP has also pledged to investigate the inordinately high rate of caesarean-section deliveries in Turkey, and promote natural birth for women with uncomplicated pregnancies. In 2012, Turkey became the first country to make elective caesareans punishable by law, threatening to issue fines to doctors that encouraged women with healthy pregnancies to undergo the surgical procedure. Aside from the economic gain of many

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obstetricians who perform caesareans, Erdog˘an has declared the practice of caesarean delivery a ‘secret plot’ to lower Turkey’s population, as there is a noticeably lower birth rate among women who have had a previous caesarean. According to Atıl Yu¨ksel, a professor of obstetrics at the Istanbul Medical Faculty, Turkey’s high level of caesarean births has ironically coincided with the privatisation of the country’s health sector, which is a governmentled initiative (cited in Hu¨rriyet, 21 July 2012). The AKP government has been responsible for much of the commercialisation of the healthcare industry and the establishment of private hospitals since it came to office in 2002. According to the AKP, its espousal of conservatism responds to the needs of the Turkish nation. The government’s mission is, in fact, even more ambitious. By adopting conservatism as one of its main platforms, the AKP is shouldering the responsibility of ensuring that the conservative values and traditions of the Turkish people are recognised, legitimated and upheld. The AKP’s paternalistic attitude is potentially inappropriate, however. Its politics thereby assume a moral quality that transcends the boundaries of pragmatic policy making and administration. This is problematic, as the AKP’s rhetoric fuses the political principle of democracy, the premium placed on family and tradition, and cultural conservatism. According to Nur Bilge Criss, ‘the terms are confusing because a conservative stance about family values is a personal as well as a political choice, especially in a patriarchal society like Turkey’ (2011; 44). Democracy is perhaps more obviously associated with the people, for a democratic state is one that derives ultimate power from the people. The AKP seems to suggest that a genuine Turkish democracy requires, and indeed is synonymous with, culturally conservative politics. The AKP endorses a typical application of the term ‘democracy’, in that it has campaigned for the rights and wishes of the majority of the Turkish people to be recognised. This is referred to as majoritarian democracy, as opposed to a consensual democracy – which emphasises a more inclusive political system, representative government and rule by multiple and diverse groups – or a liberal democracy, which promotes the idea of a small state.

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Critics of the AKP claim that the government has become increasingly insensitive to the wishes of the electorate as a whole, addressing only issues that suit its culturally conservative agenda. Although this ‘majority rule’ approach to politics has been criticised for essentially being undemocratic, in neglecting the wishes of certain segments of the community, the need to balance all competing social interests in a given democratic setting has always posed problems for governments. That is, reconciling the diverse and multifaceted needs of the citizenry without compromising a party’s own political identity and agenda is one of the greatest challenges of any representative democracy. In this way, it may be more appropriate to speak of Turkey as an electoral or procedural democracy. Nevertheless, according to critical commentators, the AKP has adopted a populist and chauvinistic approach to its politics, effectively projecting its own values onto society and enforcing its own brand of cultural conservatism. Bilge Criss has argued, [The AKP] employs a majoritarian discourse by dwelling on the will of the majority of the Turkish people (in the 2007 national elections, the AKP won [with] 46 percent of the votes, although this number receded to 36 percent in the local elections of 2009). Either way, the majority in the AKP’s sense of the term ignores the 53 percent who did not vote for them. Secondly, contemporary democracies are consensual, not majoritarian. The AKP’s position is rather peculiar for a party that claims to want European Union (EU) membership for Turkey [. . .]. Populist approaches to foreign relations further raise questions about Turkey’s international identity (Criss 2011; 44). In order to be a successful and durable government, the AKP needs to maintain the equilibrium between rival sociopolitical interests and genuinely represent the needs of competing political actors – be they secular, religious, nationalist, socialist, republican or otherwise – lest it risk becoming authoritarian. Moreover, it would be hazardous to speak of a consensual or dominant conservative Turkish ethos that is universally subscribed to by all Turks. By promoting a diminution of

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the State’s role while simultaneously facilitating the growth of civilsociety organisations, the AKP can make a genuine and lasting contribution to the consolidation of democracy in Turkey. It is because of these initiatives that the AKP has been heralded as one of the most liberal political parties to emerge in the history of the Turkish Republic.

The AKP and its Ideology [The core values of the AKP’s conservative democracy] limited government, the rule of law, the centrality of the individual, free market economy, strong civil society, universal human rights, the importance of dialogue and toleration [. . .] suggest ¨ zbudun more a liberal than a conservative ideology (Hale and O 2010; 14). The AKP’s conservative democratic ideology is essentially a synthesis of three assumptions that will be discussed in the following three subsections. The AKP and Liberalism First, its conservative democracy incorporates elements of liberalism because it supports the notion of a small, or in this case, smaller state. The AKP has argued for the withdrawal of the latter from Turkey’s civil society. The party’s claim for a smaller Turkish state is principally in respect of that State’s interference into its citizens’ personal lives. As Gu¨lalp has argued, The document [the AKP’s manifesto, Conservative Democracy ] underlines the significance of the Muslim cultural identity within Turkey as a building block of tradition-based democracy, as opposed to radical revolutionary models of modernisation imposed from above. In an extended discussion of the meaning of ‘conservative democracy’, the manifesto basically elaborates the principles of liberal political theory.

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In fact, [the] AKP’s normative conception of ‘secularism’, as elaborated in this manifesto, is directly parallel to the principles and precepts of liberalism (Gu¨lalp 2010; 14). The AKP has persistently highlighted the excessive intrusion of the authoritarian Kemalist state into the private affairs of religious citizens, which it claims is an infringement of their fundamental human rights. In perpetuating Turkey’s doctrinal attachment to the primacy of the State – a dogmatic statism – and the austere Kemalist ideology that proceeds from it – which is an amalgam of strict secularism and nationalism – the state establishment has come to be regarded as authoritarian and illiberal. This sets the stage for a confrontation between the illiberal Kemalist state and the ‘liberal’ democrat, anti-statist AKP government. The paradox is that the Kemalist state was identified initially as the champion of modernisation and democracy in Turkey, whereas Islam (the AKP having an affinity with the religion) is conventionally seen as hostile to modernity and as undemocratic. Atasoy has commented on this contradiction: Thus, reformists and status quo actors have changed places. In the past, Kemalists were the Westernising reformists, and religious conservatives resisted change. Now, the religious democrats are reforming politics along the lines of European norms, while Kemalists resist change. This happened spontaneously as the Islamists learned through experience that their best escape route from the pressure of the state was through democratisation, human rights and EU integration. They seem to have gradually internalised what they learned. The Kemalists’ automatic reaction against suspected Islamism boxed them into an awkward position opposing contemporary political and economic currents (Atasoy 2011; 92). Turkey’s Islamist movement has gradually come to adopt a liberalist platform, a process triggered by the hostility it has encountered from the Kemalist state. It has learnt that in order to further its interests in

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the political realm it needs to internalise a modern democratic discourse and present its ideas through the standard of liberalism. Thus, the irony is that Islamic actors in Turkey, by implementing this new modus operandi, are at the same time championing the ideology of liberalism, which prioritises the rights of the individual and the limitations placed upon the state. The contemporary Islamic movement in Turkey thus does not highlight Islamic values explicitly; rather, it emphasises the doctrine of human rights, which it argues is violated by the Kemalist regime, and thus challenges the State on its own terms. It puts the spotlight on the Kemalist state’s glaring contradictions in order to legitimise its own position. According to Ertan Aydın, the restriction of the public visibility of Islam by the Kemalist elite was precipitated by the latter’s redefinition of the idea of modernism on the basis of early republican notions that were shaped during the period of ‘singleparty Jacobin secularism’ (2008; 18). The Kemalist regime willingly compromised Turkish democracy, and justified this by citing the need to preserve secularism against the alleged threat of religious reactionism (known in Turkish as irtica). The stifling of Islamic actors led to a search for new options. Aydın has argued, The only way for the Islamic groups to do politics was to highlight liberal democratic concepts and values against the Kemalist notion of democracy and secularism. This new political style of the conservatives was accused of being trickery. Although religiously oriented groups failed to promote a political attitude towards cultural pluralism in the 1990s, they now seem to have learned more about co-existence strategies in a liberal democratic system. The political consequences and legacy of the early Republic and radical secularist practices shaped the historical development of state-Islam interaction, and led, paradoxically, to secular democrats in Turkey supporting military intervention, and Islamists advocating an Anglo-Saxon model of liberal secularism (Aydın 2008; 18).

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Within the AKP government there has been a transformation from Islamism to liberalism, with an open endorsement of Muslim identity (Gu¨lalp 2010). Significantly, as Gu¨lalp has noted, the AKP’s ‘policy of combining liberal democracy with a cultural identity offers an alternative both to the Kemalist policy of state-led secularisation and to the Islamist reaction to it, and more closely represents the democratic aspiration of the majority of the Turkish people’ (2010; 6). In this way, conservative democracy is an ideology with a twofold objective; it can alleviate the effects of the interventionist Kemalist administration on the one hand, and on the other it can nullify the radical Islamist sentiment still prevalent in an admittedly small segment of Turkish society. The AKP’s ideology is therefore a common middle ground between two conflicting ideologies, that of Kemalism and Islamism. AKP leaders correctly diagnosed this project [of establishing an Islamic state] as a mere replication of the statist model whereby, previously, secularism was imposed from above. By contrast to both [Kemalism and Islamism], the AKP defined itself as a new political movement, endorsing liberal, conservative, and democratic principles. This shift in Islamist thinking took place more or less in response to the 28 February 1997 (indirect) military intervention that overthrew the Welfare Party-led coalition government and resulted in that party’s closure. Prominent Islamists soon thereafter began to denounce in public meetings their erstwhile project of capturing state power in order to impose an Islamic order from above. That project, they admitted, merely mirrored the way politics is done in Turkey, as was the case in their removal from power under military pressure. It remained within the terms of the anti-democratic and absolutist mode of their opponents (Gu¨lalp 2010; 8). Conservative democracy thus offers an antidote to and a substitute for both Kemalism and Islamism. The ideologies of Kemalism and Islamism can both be considered undemocratic and illiberal, in their

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respective ways. Kemalism, or the secularist project in Turkey generally, has historically ‘been the source of, or at least an ideological cover for, non-democratic practices and frequent military interventions’ and Islamism has been accused of being authoritarian, antiliberal, anti-individualist, dogmatic and even totalitarian (Gu¨lalp 2010; 5). Initially rendered as an alternative to the authoritarian state ideology, Islamism, in challenging Kemalism, ultimately developed into an ideology that was as heavily steeped as its adversary in the authoritarian tradition. The AKP’s ideology is, in principle at least, a remedy for both authoritarian ideologies by promoting a reinvigorated civil society. During the AKP’s tenure, there has been an ‘opening up’ of Turkey, and many observers have commented on the development and strengthening of Turkish democracy at the grassroots level. The deepening of democracy in the republic has concomitantly undercut the dominion of the Kemalist state, which has, by tradition, enjoyed a largely unchallenged supremacy and has been considered above reproach. Atasoy describes this phenomenon as ‘democratisation from below’. He says, The deepening of democracy during the 2000s undermined the traditional dominance of the state bureaucracy over elected governments and caused a sharp political polarisation. Increased freedom of expression and opposition, decentralisation and diversification of the media, and new information and communication technologies combined to create unprecedented transparency. A dynamic and globalising economy empowered new political actors, while increasing transparency repeatedly exposed traditional ideological/political tutelage and associated transgressions of the rule of law (Atasoy 2011; 90). The AKP, as already noted, has sponsored the development of a revitalised civil society. The development of civil society in Turkey both reflects and contributes to the steady democratisation process that is unfolding in the republic, and its evolution signifies that the democratic values of tolerance and the recognition of

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alternative identities are gradually beginning to take root. The term ‘civil society’, however, is a multifaceted one, and one that is heavily dependent on context. Kerim Yıldız has defined it in the following way: Civil society is a relatively elastic concept but broadly refers to the ‘third sector’, beyond the spheres of government or business. It provides space for the operation of the third sector, and allows for collective action centered on shared interests and values outside the public arena. It thus gives a voice to the various sections of society and enriches public participation in democracies. A developed civil society is an integral element of democratic pluralism, and an indication of democratic maturity and a political system sufficiently comfortable with itself to countenance peaceful dissent (Yıldız 2005; 54). This last point especially is highly relevant in the contemporary Turkish case. Is Turkey comfortable and confident enough in itself to discuss religion frankly in the public arena? The degree to which the government is genuinely committed to protecting and respecting difference, plurality and the tolerance of otherness is a matter up for debate. Admittedly, the AKP has been less enthusiastic about promoting the rights of non-Sunni devotees than those of its own constituents, and slower to act to protect the freedoms of different minority groups including Turkey’s significant Alevi population. In this way, the government’s behaviour corresponds to that of a conservative/centre-right party, upholding the dominant paradigm. Conventionally, the Turkish state has been very wary of civilsociety groups, and has monitored and restricted their activity. The interests advocated by civil-society organisations were for a long time deemed contrary to the republic’s national interest, and the advancement of the human rights agenda was considered to be threatening to domestic security. This situation is gradually changing. For its part, the AKP has reiterated that no injury is incurred by the Kemalist state, nor is it delegitimised in any way, by the founding of a robust and effectual civil society. Once more, it

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should be noted here that the AKP’s conception of ‘civil society’ essentially refers to religious organisations. The AKP appears to, at best, overlook non-religious civil-society actors, and focuses on religious– conservative interest groups. This is not to say that the government’s policy of promoting civil society does not challenge the traditional power of the Kemalist regime. In any case, there is a clear division between the sovereign Kemalist state establishment and civil society, which may operate at the communal or societal level. Ideally, neither entity should interfere with the affairs of the other. In this way, civil society should be allowed to blossom because it would complement the overarching secular regime. The reference to a small state and limited government is made only in that the state should not intrude into the private lives of its citizens – that is, it should be restricted from doing so. Liberalism promotes the rights of the individual and freedom from state interference. Its advancement of the private rights of the individual citizen is not, however, secured at the expense of the sovereignty of the State. Liberalism and secularism need not merely coexist in Turkey – these two objectives are, potentially, mutually advantageous. Indeed, one could argue that a genuinely secular state is inherently liberal. In a speech to the International Conference of Islamic Civil Society Organizations, Abdullah Gu¨l spoke of the great potential possessed by civil-society organisations to overcome the problems afflicting the countries in the Islamic world. He said, In order to be practicable and sustainable, the process of change should be responsive to the expectations of our societies and must be owned by them. Civil society will play an indispensable role in successfully pursuing this endeavour. Adaptation of societies to the realities of our age while preserving their own identity will be possible only with the active involvement of civil society. Acting as a bridge between governments and the people, civil society organisations carry great potential to facilitate the reform process (published in Today’s Zaman, 6 May 2005).

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These new civil actors serve as a check and balance on the staunchly secular state while providing a legitimate outlet for the growing Islamic voice in Turkey. The increasing visibility of public expressions of Islam has coincided with the burgeoning of the country’s civil sector. The gradual liberalisation of Turkey’s domestic environment has facilitated the increasing manifestation of religion by Islamic-oriented political and civil actors. According to Mustafa Sen, the association of Turkish Islamism with neo-liberalism is very significant in the domestic context. Sen claims that there has been a synchronous rise of neo-liberalism and conservatism, and that the religious communities that were suppressed during the early republican period have developed into modern civil-society organisations. According to him, the Turkish state has gradually withdrawn from economic and public life. He says, Since the late 1980s, along with private firms, religious communities have enthusiastically attempted to fill the vacuum, created by the withdrawal of the state, in some sectors of public services, especially in education and health. Now, almost all religious communities run private educational establishments and health centers in order to broaden their social and financial bases. In short, they have not only legitimised but also become a key for marketisation of public services, until recently seen as the state’s main responsibilities. In this context, the AKP government’s constant attempts [at] the marketisation of public services should be highlighted (Sen 2011; 73). From Sen’s analysis, we may make the following important observations. First, Turkish civil-society organisations are, by and large, equivalent to religious groups. Second, the increasing withdrawal of the State has opened up new spaces for civil actors/religious groups to participate in public life. Third, the AKP government strongly defends the idea of limiting the State’s role by not regarding either the provision of healthcare services or education as the main responsibilities of the State, and by encouraging the private sector to open new health and educational establishments.

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And fourth, there is a relationship between economic liberalism and cultural conservatism in Turkey. The parallel rise of liberalism and conservatism in the Turkish context is intriguing, and particularly important in terms of the AKP’s ascendency and political success. Arguably, one of the reasons behind the AKP’s popularity and legitimacy is the unlikely marriage between the conservative ‘Islamic’ government and the Turkish liberal intelligentsia. According to Halil Karaveli (2010), a defining feature of Turkish politics during the past decade has been the alliance between liberals and Islamic conservatives. He writes, Liberal intellectuals have played an important, indeed a vital, role as promoters of the Justice and Development Party. The benediction bestowed by the liberals was crucial in constructing the image of the ‘post-Islamist’ AKP as a party of liberal and democratic reform. The alliance that was formed between the Islamic conservative movement and liberal intellectuals at the beginning of the decade proved instrumental in legitimising the former movement in the eyes not only of a significant part of the secular middle class in Turkey but equally, and no less importantly, in the eyes of liberal opinion-makers in the West, particularly in Europe. As one European editor said, ‘I see no reason not to believe that the AKP is a liberalising force, as liberal Turkish intellectuals have assured me on this account’. While legitimising Islamic conservatism, the liberals have concomitantly delegitimised Kemalism (Karaveli 2010; 84). What the Islamic conservatives and the liberals have in common is a rejection of the Kemalist ideology and the authoritarian state that perpetuates it through the subordination of its subject citizens. Implicit in their critique is the belief that Kemalism has well and truly expired, that it is an anachronistic and distorted version of the early republican philosophy. Kemalism’s ‘backwardness’ is encapsulated by Atilla Yayla’s assertion that ‘contemporary civilisation is defined by liberal democracy, market economy, human rights,

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limited government. But for whatever reason, these are all things that Kemalists are generally uncomfortable with’ (2008; 51). The relationship between the AKP government and its one-time liberal supporters appears to be showing certain signs of strain, however. Even former AKP sympathisers are beginning to voice concerns over the recent trajectory of the government’s policy, suggesting that the AKP’s approach is becoming less consensual and that it employs ‘liberalist’ rhetoric merely to secure its own political interests. The AKP’s latest behaviour is also attracting criticism for becoming increasingly authoritarian under the pretext of its conservative policy. According to Joost Lagendijk, the ‘uncomfortable coalition between the AKP and the liberals broke down the moment the latter got the impression that in the end the AKP was interested only in making gains for its own electorate’ (2012; 175). The author claims that the AKP’s decision in January 2008 to strike a deal with the MHP in the Turkish parliament to secure a majority in order to lift the ban on headscarves at universities was one of the AKP’s ‘major strategic and tactical mistakes’ (2012; 175). This is not because the liberal camp does not support removing the ban on headscarves (and there is, moreover, broad societal support for permitting female students to wear a headscarf at universities). However, liberal support for the removal of the headscarf ban was conditional upon it being a part of a package of wider reforms that would also improve the situation of other social groups (Lagendijk 2012; 175). That is, the AKP government appears to be acting disingenuously by prioritising the democratic rights of pious Muslims, to the neglect of other equally oppressed groups in the republic. As Nora Fisher Onar points out, the fragile alliance between the liberals and the moderate Islamists ‘completely collapses, for example, when it comes to issues which are not sanctioned by the Islamic canon such as gay rights or post-sexual revolution sexuality’ (2009; 14). Thus the liberals’ support of the AKP government is not unqualified or absolute, and their ad hoc partnership has unmistakably stagnated in recent years. Nevertheless, there is still room for hope. According to Fisher Onar, ‘the liberal/moderate Islamist alliance is not entirely moribund. It is discernible in the

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correspondence (if not convergence) of views regarding “confronting the past”, and the foreign policy implications of such an undertaking’ (2009; 4). Islam as a Cultural Marker of Identity The second assumption inherent in the AKP’s conservative democratic ideology is the notion of Islam as a cultural marker. The AKP promotes a liberal agenda – a smaller state, and less intervention from the state apparatus into the affairs of private citizens – because it considers this to be ultimately conducive to a climate of tolerance, equality and freedom, in which personal expressions of religion are unregulated. The first assumption of liberalism is thus associated with the second assumption – that is, the recognition of Islam as a cultural marker. The prevailing Western reading of Turkey suffers from a blind spot, of a refusal to fully acknowledge that the confrontation over secularism is a conflict of identities, not just a power struggle between ‘Muslim democrats’ and ‘authoritarian secularists’ (Cornell and Karaveli 2008; 13). The authors Cornell and Karaveli correctly suggest that the tension between secularism and Islam in Turkey transcends political boundaries and is symptomatic of an underlying societal identity crisis. Quite distinct from Islamism or political Islam, which seeks to implement an Islamic political agenda in order to Islamise society, the AKP’s conservative democracy refers to the religion of Islam in its capacity as a timeless symbol of Turkish identity. However, this is not to say that the AKP romanticises or idealises Islam; its goal is not to restore an imagined golden age of Islamic glory. Nor does the AKP’s conservative democracy hark back to an impossible ideal that was vanquished by the onslaught of militant secularism under the guise of modernisation and ‘progress’. The AKP, through its conservative democratic ideology, strives to reclaim an authentic collective identity for its people. This authentic collective identity pays homage to Turkey’s ancestral links and is

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consistent with the country’s religious (Islamic) character. Genuine progress can be made when one recognises and is in harmony with the cultural legacy imbued by, and passed down through, successive generations. Kemalism is ultimately rendered a self-defeating ideology, the fundamental premise of which runs counter to the innate sociocultural disposition of the Turkish people. Kemalism deliberately sought to erase the Ottoman– Islamic identity and establish in its stead a new Turkish nationalist identity. Kemalism tries to forge this new identity – which is ostensibly modern, progressive and even Western – on false assumptions, and then imposes it onto its citizens in a top-down manner through the authoritarian, secular state apparatus. Kemalism crafts a new identity for its citizens by severing ties with the Ottoman– Islamic tradition and renouncing Turkey’s past. The complete divorce of modern, republican Turkey from its Ottoman past was facilitated by Mustafa Kemal’s modernising reforms, including the replacement of the Arabic script of the caliphate with Europe’s Latin alphabet. Books written in the Arabic script were, at the time of the Republic’s inception, destroyed en masse and it was only several months before all literature, including official state documents, published in Turkey was produced in the new Latin script. Islamic dress was officially proscribed; this included a ban on the fez, or Turkish cap, while Western clothing was enforced. The Islamic Hijri calendar was abandoned for the Gregorian calendar. These and other policies portended the denial of Turkey’s Islamic past. The new identity that the Kemalist founding fathers constructed and imposed on the Turkish people was not genuine or authentic, and so Kemalism has been criticised for being merely the blind imitation of Western Europe. Conventionally, secularism is thought to be associated with enlightenment (and the Enlightenment) and the freedom of thought. It is also often considered to be the result of a people’s will and consensus, a societal shift in values resulting in the overthrow of the clergy’s yoke. In the traditional sense, therefore, secularism is a phenomenon that can be triggered by

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grassroots activism, and can, subsequently, be considered an exercise in democracy. Secular democratic states are founded on the premise that power ought to be divested from the elite clergy and vested in the lay populace. This is the passive, or non-interventionist, form of secularism, typified historically by the conditions in European society. Here, secularism was not divorced from democratic principles. Often associated with the rationalist thinkers of the eighteenth century, the Enlightenment’s core ideals included secularism, progress, reason, science, knowledge and freedom, and its motto – ‘Sapere Aude!’, or ‘Have the courage to use your own understanding’ – resonates in contemporary political values such as secularism and democracy (Reiss 1989). The European Enlightenment resulted in the decentralisation of the hitherto ultimate political authority, the Church. Knowledge was decentralised, rationalised and made profane and accessible to all; it no longer remained the exclusive domain of an elite few clergymen. If secularism is rendered as the decentralising of an authority, instead of its replacement by another (non-religious) authority, it is essentially democratic because it results in the endowment of citizens with political power. In Turkey, however, this is not the case as ‘it [secularisation] is imposed from above and protected in an authoritarian manner by state institutions, primarily including the military’ (Gu¨lalp 2010; 6). It is for this reason that the AKP asserts that its policies are fundamentally more democratic than the assertively secular state system to which it must subscribe. The party argues that religious freedom is a fundamental democratic right of citizens, not least of which because, as the AKP maintains, Islam is a prominent feature of the Turkish social fabric and an indispensable element of daily life for a large portion of the Turkish population. In contrast to French society – the Republic of France being an assertively secular state, and arguably the secularist inspiration for the founding fathers of modern Turkey – Turkish society is highly religious. Kuru has emphasised this point by providing a comparison of religious observance between the French and Turkish

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populations. Two reputable national surveys found that 60 per cent of French respondents said that they believed in God, whereas 97 per cent of Turkish respondents answered in the same way. A total of 55 per cent of French respondents said that they were affiliated with a formal religion; again, 97 per cent of Turkish respondents answered in the affirmative for this question. Lastly, 10 per cent of French respondents claimed that they attended a place of worship on a weekly basis, whereas 70 per cent of Turkish respondents answered the same on the issue of weekly religious participation (cited in Kuru 2006; 21). Kuru has also discussed the headscarf ban as a case in point, arguing that Turkey’s aggressive interpretation of secularism is essentially incompatible with the relatively high level of observance of the Turkish population, wherein, according to a survey, ‘about 64 percent of women wear some sort of headscarf in Turkey’. He writes, Exclusion of religious symbols from public schools is understandable and even desirable in less religious French society. Turkish society, on the contrary, is highly religious. It is very difficult to confine religion to the private sphere and let a purely secular worldview dominate the public sphere in such a religious society. In sum, there is a relative compatibility between the lower religiosity of French society and assertive secularist state policies, whereas [the] high religiosity of Turkish society contradicts with these policies that try to exclude religion from the public sphere (Kuru 2006; 21). In addition, a study conducted and published by a leading Turkish daily newspaper not long after the AKP was elected to government revealed that 75 per cent of the Turkish people believe that the headscarf ban should be lifted (cited in Kuru 2006). With widespread societal support for the lifting of the ban, the AKP has been criticised by some observers for ‘not doing enough’ with regard to the headscarf issue. For these commentators, the AKP’s relative inaction and ensuing neglect of the matter is tantamount to legitimating and perpetuating the Kemalist state’s authoritarian

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prohibition. By sidelining the headscarf issue, which is considered by many in the party’s conservative core to be crucial, the AKP has been accused of abandoning a fundamental political responsibility. Merve Kavakcı Islam, a former Virtue Party deputy elected to parliament and expelled after the official oath during her swearingin ceremony because she wears a headscarf, has been disapproving of the AKP’s negligent policy efforts regarding the headscarf issue. She states, Under pressure from the Kemalists, the AKP chose to ignore the matter. The fact that the AKP was putting a concerted effort into not speaking about the ban contributed to the rise of new dimensions of the ban. Such a conformist stance was the corroboration of a system that justified ‘its social order, legitimating a given elite’s right to rule.’ With this attitude, [the] AKP contributed to new introductions of the ban and the entrenchment thereof. The fact that under Sezer’s presidency the presidential residence was not open to baso¨rtu¨lu¨ kadınlar [headscarf-adorned women] was a direct consequence of AKP’s stance. The AKP’s calculating attitude to avoid tension clearly legitimised the closure of the presidential premises to baso¨rtu¨lu¨ kadınlar starting in 2002. During the period when the presidential election of 2007 was looming, the AKP, by contributing to the entrenchment of the new definition of public sphere, happened to help the political fortunes of its political nemesis (Kavakcı Islam 2010; 138). Ultimately, Islam remains a significant and pervasive symbol of Turkish social and cultural life. The conservative and pro-Islam AKP government is attempting to create new social spaces for an internal dialogue about the place of religion in the staunchly Kemalist state, effectively by reconciling an Islamic cultural identity with a modern secular democratic system. In a discussion about the Kemalist revolution in Turkey, prominent Turkish sociologist Serif Mardin has said that Islam provided patterns for Turkish Muslims to follow in

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cultural, religious and social spheres, and so was (and is) extremely important for them. He has claimed, Kemalist secular culture left these pockets of Turkish culture empty in the sense that it consisted only of general injunctions to take the West as an example. It provided no equivalent for the widely used Islamic idiom, it did not understand the degree to which existing space-time configurations were rooted and it had no strategies of the quotidian to offer the masses. A law such as the one passed in Turkey in 1986, which gave stronger control to the police in controlling public morals, may be seen as having originated from a diffuse popular demand for the reestablishment of social control – an aspect of the revival of religion that secularists will always underline (Mardin 1994; 164). Equitable and legitimate political solutions are possible only when Turkey ‘stops pretending’ that it does not have an Islamic heritage, stops victimising religion and embraces its own Islamic identity. This necessitates a full and frank discussion of the Kemalist ideology and the circumstances surrounding the birth of the modern Turkish Republic. According to Cornell and Karaveli, ‘revaluating Ottoman imperialism is tantamount to devaluing the republic. It has indeed become an article of faith for those who want to settle accounts with the Kemalist legacy that the republic deprived the Turkish people of its natural zone of influence in the Muslim world’ (2008; 56). Righting the wrongs of the past is essential in terms of Turkey moving forward. The authoritarian Kemalist project has inflicted a deep psychological trauma on Turkish society by imposing ¨ lke Arıbog˘an has claimed secularism. Political scientist Deniz U that the republic is ‘depressed’, and that Turkey has never been allowed to properly mourn the loss of its empire (cited in Ku¨cu¨kkaya 2008; 205). Graham Fuller suggests that with the abandonment of this Kemalist model a ‘psychological and cultural healing process’ can be ushered in, whereby religion can be accommodated (2008; 17).

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Fuller proposes that the AKP’s ‘conservatism’ is synonymous with Islamic principles, and says, In describing itself as a ‘conservative’ party, the AKP is in fact responding to a broad desire among many Turkish believers that Islam and Turkey’s Ottoman heritage be acknowledged and honoured rather than suppressed. While not a formal part of the AKP platform, this desire is widely implicit in the actions and words of a large number of the party’s supporters (Fuller 2008; 53). The AKP has made obvious its desire to initiate this healing process and to remedy the lasting social wounds perpetrated by the Turkish state on its people, by redefining secularism and renegotiating the State’s role. While discussing Turkey’s strategic position and foreign policy, Cornell and Karaveli argue that the country’s role as a regional force depends largely on the extent to which it can overcome its ‘existential divide’ – the issue of religion. ‘Only a Turkey at peace with itself is likely to assume the role of a regional power which the West, most prominently the United States, has been encouraging it to do’ (Cornell and Karaveli 2008; vii). By rejecting the label ‘Islamist’, the AKP distinguishes between Islamism as a political ideology and being Muslim, which is, above all, a personal and spiritual orientation. Islamic scholar, academic and AKP State Minister for Religious Affairs Mehmet Aydın asserts that the party does not consider itself to be ‘moderate Islamist’, but rather sees itself as a party comprised of ‘moderate Muslims’ (cited in Fuller 2008; 52). He and other members of the party speak of a new concept, ‘Muslimhood’ (Mu¨slu¨mancılık), which is embraced by many members of the AKP. According to Jenny B. White, the AKP members who have adopted the concept of ‘Muslimhood’ possess ‘religious ethics [that] inspire their public service as individuals but cannot be construed as part of their identities as political actors’ (2005; 87). More importantly, while agreeing that religion is essentially a private matter, the AKP has stressed that ‘[religion] can

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be incorporated into the public and political spheres without compromising the secular state system’ (White 2002; 114). Kemalism’s mistake is that it ignores, or rejects, one of the essential characteristics of Turkish culture. To this end, the AKP does not discount the significance of the recognition of Islam as integral in the ‘healing process’. The institutionalised denial of Turkey’s Islamic heritage by the Kemalist elite has not precipitated the rejection of religion by Turks themselves. According to C. H. Dodd, although the ‘political life in Turkey has been secularised, there has been a groundswell of religious feeling among the populace, as a “legacy” from the Ottoman past’ (1979; 61). One feels, however, that the renewed interest in the Ottoman past and Islam generally cannot be attributed to, or justified solely by, the growth of religious sentiment in Turkey, or to an increase in piety of the Turkish people. It appears, rather, to be more a question of authenticity and identity. The general current in Turkey promotes a social movement that strives to reconnect with and reclaim a genuine Turkish identity. Rediscovering the country’s Ottoman legacy, which had hitherto been obscured and censored by the Kemalist establishment, is a source of pride for many Turks. It is, moreover, an exercise in reconciliation with one’s heritage and, therefore with one’s self. This phenomenon is not unique to Turkey. Political and Cultural Pluralism The recognition and restoration of Islamic identity essentially presupposes a pluralistic and democratic society. The third assumption inherent in the AKP’s ideology of conservative democracy is pluralism. Alongside the need to reposition and legitimise Islam, or perhaps as a result of it, the AKP has emerged as a sponsor of pluralism. Pluralism is regarded by the AKP government as an antidote to the Kemalist state’s imposition of a monocultural, homogeneous and secular national identity. Certain AKP policies are evidence of its ongoing campaign on behalf of Turkey’s various ethnic and cultural groups for the capacity for selfdetermination. A pluralist system is conventionally held to mean a system that has several centres of authority, or multiple foci of

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legitimate power. In Turkey, the state has traditionally been the sole controller of government and the affairs of its people. As the AKP is generally supportive of the statist establishment, it does not emphatically promote the notion of political pluralism in the strict sense of the term. Indeed, the AKP government’s established centreright credentials essentially prevent it from espousing a brazen anti-state position. The term ‘cultural pluralism’ incorporates notions of cultural diversity and highlights the multiplicity of social and ethnic cleavages in society. It may also refer to competing interest and pressure groups. The AKP sponsors a brand of cultural pluralism that takes into account the diverse religious and ethnic groups of Turkey, and recognises Turkey’s heterogeneous character, at least in terms of religious affiliation. After using the expression ‘nobody can be free unless everybody is free’, the [AKP’s] programme commits the party to protecting the rights of the believers from various religions, as well as the rights of the non-believers (inancsızlar). The programme also denounces ethnic and religious politics, which it describes as ‘the misuse of ethnic and religious sentiments for politics’ (Somer 2004; 24). By respecting and promoting cultural pluralism, the AKP further aligns itself with the democratic model favoured by many Western and European states. William Hale has outlined the similarities and the differences between the AKP and the Christian Democrat parties of Western Europe. According to many onlookers, the AKP resembles European Christian democracy in several significant ways, as mentioned earlier. While Hale agrees that the AKP is committed to upholding the unitary structure of the republican state, the party has nevertheless adopted a conciliatory, and flexible, approach to internal ethnic disputes, including the Kurdish question. This also reflects the government’s commitment to its international obligations and to the processes of regional dialogue and cooperation. Hale writes,

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A final policy on which there is clear correspondence between the AKP and Christian democracy is its rejection of statecentered nationalism, and its commitment to international cooperation – most notably, the European Union. Breaking with the anti-European, pro-Islamist views of Necmettin Erbakan, the party claims that it sees Turkish membership of the EU as a ‘natural result of our modernisation process,’ and attacks those who oppose this by adhering to ideological approaches emphasising ‘national sovereignty, national security, national interest [and] national and indigenous culture’. The party demonstrated its opposition to hard-line nationalism by its policy on the Cyprus question, giving full support for the Annan Plan for a settlement of the problem, even though this was in the event rejected by the Greek Cypriots. As a corollary of this, the party embraces the concept of multiculturalism within Turkey. In a section on the ‘East and Southeast’ (which it admits may be referred to as the ‘Kurdish question’), the party programme committed itself to maintaining the unitary structure of the Turkish Republic, and keeping Turkish as the official language of the state and education. It admits, however, that the problems of the southeast are not just those of economic underdevelopment, and that policies ‘recognising cultural differences within the principle of a democratic state’ are essential (Hale 2006; 163). Thus, the AKP acknowledges the existence of a plurality of ethnic and religious groups comprising the Turkish polity, unlike the Kemalist regime, which regarded it as uniformly ‘Turkish’ and Sunni Muslim. By refusing to adopt the hard-line nationalist rhetoric sponsored by the State, the AKP’s policies have assumed a distinctly ‘multicultural’ hue and have paved the way for the increased cultural recognition, political autonomy and participation of the diverse ethnic and religious groups living in Turkey today. Tolerance of diversity and the recognition of minority rights are prerequisites for any functioning liberal democracy, and the AKP’s pluralism is the

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antithesis of the staunchly nationalist and insular ideology characteristic of the Kemalist regime. Kemalism, conversely, despite the constitutional guarantees of the inviolability of human rights, does not acknowledge the diversity of Turkish society and aims, in any event, to standardise and homogenise it. According to the AKP’s party programme, in addition to recognition of the significant Kurdish minority, the party’s pluralism provides for the self-determination of religious Turkish citizens – including non-Muslims – to practise their religion and the freedom of non-believers not to believe. It also allows for multiple and varied interpretations of Islam, and hence caters for a range of Islamic groups who, the government argues, should be able to express themselves in a more autonomous fashion than hitherto. In truth, Turkish society is – culturally speaking – a pluralistic society, and one composed of many levels of religious affiliation and many ethnic communities. By assuming that Turkish society is homogenously secular, or unreligious, the Kemalist state would be justified in enforcing its idiosyncratic brand of aggressive secularism. The AKP has responded to Kemalism by advancing the principle of pluralism in its political discourse. The party hopes that this will offset the authoritarian nature of Turkish secularism by providing some respite and legitimate political representation to the various ethnic and religious groups that have, to date, been marginalised in Turkey. Additionally, the AKP has highlighted the relationship between democracy and freedom, arguing that freedom is the fundamental requirement and precursor of a fully functioning and just democratic regime. According to the opening section of the second chapter of the AKP’s programme, ‘Fundamental Rights and Freedoms’, freedoms constitute the foundation of democracy. Furthermore, No structure can bring freedom to individuals or peace to society, unless it is based on the free will of the people [. . .]. No individual or institutional oppression is acceptable. The most significant element of trust in a society is the belief of individuals living in the society that their rights and freedoms are respected. This belief is the basic strength, which puts all

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the social and economic dynamics in motion. Furthermore, respect for the rights and freedoms of individuals, is the basic condition for the establishment of social peace and stability, and for the acceptance of a democratic political regime by the people (AKP Party Programme; 2.1). *** An equitable democratic political regime that is underpinned by the genuine freedom of its citizens acknowledges ethnic and cultural diversity, and is therefore considered to be a sign of a pluralistic society. There is a natural affinity between the three assumptions of liberalism, Islam as a cultural marker and pluralism, and the synthesis of these assumptions is the foundation of the AKP’s conservative democracy ideology. The AKP has fused the concepts of a smaller state and freedom from state intervention (liberalism), the revival of an authentic cultural identity (Islam) and the recognition of social and cultural diversity (pluralism) to form its party ideology, that of conservative democracy.

Conservatism and Democracy: A Successful Marriage? The AKP’s account of democracy is faithful to its original and basic rendition; kratia, or rule/government ought to be derived from the demos, or the people. Democracy then, according to the AKP, can only function properly when the Turkish demos is absorbed into the political process and is guaranteed self-determination, or, at the very least, genuine political representation. Several scholars have reflected on the legitimacy of ‘conservative democracy’, how successful the government is in addressing the authoritarian Turkish state and whether or not its policies may in fact ameliorate the worst of the effects of enforced Kemalism. In an account of the AKP’s policies, ¨ zel remained at once speculative and cautiously commentator Soli O optimistic. He argued, If the communitarian-liberal synthesis works and Turkey’s decent secular principles can be rescued from their essentially

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extrinsic yet historically stubborn entanglement with authoritarianism, if Turkey’s Islamic movement reconciles itself to a secularism grounded not only in worry about the dangers of politicised religion but also in an honest desire to protect religion’s own integrity and dignity, if the military can at last be brought to see that it is time to let its inordinate political involvements ‘go gentle into that good night,’ then the Turkish political system will have managed to remodel itself along democratic lines. Finally, the success of [the] AKP will also and at last make of Turkey what the country had always sought to be: a modern, democratic, secular model for the rest of the Muslim world. The ingredients are there for the ¨ zel 2003; 93). experiment to succeed (O ¨ zel. The There are two significant variables, according to O consolidation of democracy in Turkey is dependent on the sincerity of the government’s commitment to the principle of secularism, and the willingness of the military to retreat from politics. The AKP’s espousal of conservative democracy is the product of the Islamic movement’s internalisation of the principle of secularism; it is an intercessor between religious cultural heritage and a modern, secular political identity. Therein lies the promise of the AKP to resolve the tension between Islam and the secular state. The AKP’s ‘conservative democracy’ cannot be reduced to a simple amalgamation of conservatism and democracy, however. The party’s conservatism is complex and carries several meanings. It incorporates notions of traditional values and Islamic culture. These cultural values have been, according to the government, inherited from past generations and comprise a fundamental aspect of the Turkish psyche. The AKP considers Turkey’s national character, not the least aspect of which is its Muslim identity, as firmly established and immutable; to deny Turkey’s Islamic character is to deny and reject Turkey’s essential identity. The AKP’s conservatism naturally absorbs traditional and ‘conservative’ values, such as an emphasis on the institution of the family and on religious practice. The AKP is politically as well as

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culturally conservative, however, because it has surrendered to Turkey’s secular system; the AKP’s policies purportedly aim to conserve and uphold Turkey’s secular order, as has been discussed in preceding sections. The characterisation of the AKP as politically conservative, merely to discriminate between itself and past parties (including those of the NOM that were considered revolutionary and anti-establishment) can be construed as strategic, a political tactic to ensure success. Moreover, it may pave the way for a critique of the AKP on the grounds that the party is not genuinely attached to political conservatism, that it is simply biding its time until it consolidates its power within the state machinery and then mounts a direct challenge to overthrow the Kemalist regime, as has been suggested by many of its Kemalist critics. Speculation has increased regarding the precise objective of the AKP apropos its ‘conservative democratic’ ideology. To what extent is it likely that the AKP would have adopted conservatism as a main platform if it was not attempting to deliberately circumvent state intervention and legal action leading to possible closure? Indeed, the espousal of a politically-conservative agenda by the AKP is, to some extent, a result of the party’s lingering fear of being banned by the constitutional court. Arguably, the AKP has yielded to Kemalist pressures and was obliged to adopt a ‘conservative’ political identity. This submission to the Kemalist state on the part of the AKP may be interpreted as a capitulation and desertion of the AKP’s native ‘Islamic’ programme and the assumption of a ‘foreign’ political ideology. For example, as O¨nis has pointed out, the AKP government has, previously, ‘sidelined contentious issues like the wearing of headscarves by women in public places, so as to prevent an increase in tension and avoid serious conflict’ (2006; 18). In any case, the AKP’s ideology of conservative democracy is liable to being dismissed as specious and unoriginal. The basis for the criticism of the AKP in respect of this ‘new’ ideology is the party’s ‘Islamic roots’ and the apparent contradiction between the AKP government’s Islamist pedigree and any form of democracy, conservative or

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otherwise. The extent to which Islam and democracy are compatible is outside the scope of the present work. Historically, however, the dominant perspective is that Islam and democracy are mutually exclusive concepts. The success of the AKP government has precipitated an interest in this area, and several authors have suggested that this is not necessarily the case. Gu¨lalp, for example, has argued, [The term] ‘Conservative democrat’ appears to express a deliberate attempt to combine a specific cultural identity with a universal political regime. In so far as ‘conservative’ implies the preservation of Muslim cultural identity, the aim of combining it with ‘democracy’ expresses the claim that the two are not incompatible. It further expresses the claim that Islam does not prescribe a particular political model, and therefore does not need to be shed in order to achieve democracy. Indeed, numerous times Erdog˘an and other leaders of the party have stated that they are out to disprove Huntington’s theory of the ‘clash of civilisations’ (Gu¨lalp 2010; 13). The AKP government, through its conservative democracy, is thus out to confront its critics and demonstrate that Islam and democracy are neither monoliths, nor inherently incompatible. What is more, it is possible for political actors to subscribe to modern democratic principles in the public sphere of politics and policy making while exercising the civil and democratic right to express one’s religion freely in the private sphere of individual conscience. Each sphere, that is the public and private realms, ought to be strictly independent from one another. In other words, one can be a Muslim in a cultural sense and a democrat in a political sense. The AKP is often described as a ‘Muslim Democratic’ party. And although the label is a seeming contradiction in terms, the argument that the AKP has managed to successfully reconcile two ostensibly irreconcilable attributes is gaining currency. There is a general sense of optimism that the AKP’s politics are leading Turkey in a genuinely liberal democratic direction, and away from the authoritar-

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ianism of the Kemalist regime that once typified the Turkish political landscape. In the event of the AKP’s continuing electoral success and leadership of the republic, the government will be poised to consolidate Turkish democracy. The irony that it is a pro-Islamic, conservative party carrying the banner of liberal democracy in Turkey is not lost on the governing AKP. Despite the fact that the party has embraced the principles of secularism and democracy and does not call itself an Islamic party, it is undeniably Islam-friendly, many of its leaders and officials are practising Muslims, and it stems from an established tradition of Islamic parties. The AKP is a pro-Islamic party that has adopted ‘conservative democracy’ as its ideological platform. In doing so, it has synthesised three distinct concepts, namely, liberalism, cultural – as opposed to political – Islam and democratic pluralism in the advancement of its philosophy. The AKP’s ideology combines reformism and conservatism. Conservative democracy is not an original ideology, however. Moreover, its emergence seems to have been facilitated or prompted by a repressive state-sponsored doctrine – Kemalism – and it bears some resemblance to another ideology that has undergone some transformation, that of Islamism. In its espousal of conservative democracy, the AKP has struck a tentative balance between the aims of Kemalism and Islamism, and the unlikely marriage between these two positions has found an outlet in the government’s conservative democratic policies. The fundamental premise underlying the AKP’s philosophy is that one may be a Muslim culturally and a democrat politically. In this way, the AKP has reinforced the public–private divide, and this is conducive to the fundamental goal of secularism. The AKP’s moderate and ‘modern’ religious–conservative discourse is amenable to the Western values of liberalism and democracy. This suggests that the religion of Islam and its adherents are not inherently antithetical to modern, democratic principles. The AKP’s commitment to the EU accession process is arguably the most significant indicator of the government’s espousal of a modern democratic agenda.

CHAPTER 5 THE AKP'S EUROPEAN UNION MEMBERSHIP BID

Fulfiling Mustafa Kemal’s Legacy The AKP government’s efforts towards reforming the Turkish system en route to EU accession is demonstrative of its espousal of liberal democracy, which is conventionally associated with the EU, and the West generally. Nevertheless, the AKP’s EU bid has been plagued by problems and ambiguities, and the inability of both parties, namely Ankara and Brussels, to overcome these setbacks has resulted in an often stalled relationship. Moreover, the EU accession agenda has become the site of domestic conflict and competing interpretations of what constitutes ‘Turkey’s national interest’ among rival political and social actors. Paradoxically, the Kemalist elite, assumed to be the champion of modernity and Westernisation, has lately emerged as a vocal opponent of EU membership, at least under the terms as they stand as of 2013. When Mustafa Kemal in the 1920s engineered the modernising revolution that established the modern Turkish Republic, he held as the ultimate goal Turkey’s eventual integration into the European entity. Kemal believed that Turkey was entitled to sit at the European table, and deserved to be a respectable part of the Western, ‘civilised’ world. The irony is that, after 90 years of the Kemalist republican project, an ostensibly Islamic party is spearheading Turkey’s campaign for European membership.

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According to Barry Rubin, Turkey’s acceptance as a full member of the EU signifies the recognition that the country is, totally and irrevocably, a Western state: the EU question has understandably achieved mythic proportions for Turkey far beyond any material factors. It has become no less than the symbol for the successful completion of the long-term Atatu¨rk revolution, involving the most basic and vital points of identity and orientation for Turkey (Rubin and C¸arkog˘lu 2003; 1). Similarly, for Amikam Nachmani, Turkey’s association with Europe is ‘the epitome of the country’s integration in the Western civilisation’ (2003; 55). The reasons underlying Turkey’s quest for EU membership are manifold; among them are economic and fiscal considerations, geopolitical and perhaps even military concerns. Notwithstanding these important pragmatic reasons, the ultimate realisation of Turkey’s European-cum-Westernisation project through EU membership is an important factor behind Ankara’s candidacy, which cannot be ignored. Full EU integration would, conceivably, ‘mark the fulfilment of [90] years of labour and transformation for the Turkish people and state’ (Rubin and C¸arkog˘lu 2003; 1). Given its history and geographical situation, Turkey is a country that has persistently evaded easy classification. Straddling two continents – at the same time Eastern and Western, and fusing elements of both civilisational entities – the Republic of Turkey is unique. It is undeniably a Muslim country, yet it does not fit neatly into the traditional Middle East region. It is a secular democracy, and yet, to date, the dream of European membership has eluded the Republic. What, then, makes Turkey European? Arguably, the Republic’s self-identification as European is based in part on a shared historical experience with mainland Europe, and this has been reinforced by its historically uneasy relationship with the Muslim Middle East. In an interview given to the Al Jazeera network, Turkish foreign minister Ahmet Davutog˘lu claimed that ‘we are proud of our

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religion and identity but, at the same time, we are part of European culture and European history and we are proud of that identity as well’ (The Rageh Omaar Report, 16 May 2010). The AKP presents Turkey as the symbolic and physical bridge between East and West. Importantly, it has also asserted that the EU bid is not tantamount to Turkey surrendering its cultural and religious identity or trading in its authentic civilisation to adopt another. If Turkey was to enter the EU, stress AKP officials, it would do so as a distinct civilisation of its own. Turkey’s entry into the EU is thus portrayed as an opportunity for the reconciliation of civilisations (Ko¨sebalaban 2011; 157). Erdog˘an has said, ‘[to have] a country like Turkey, where the cultures of Islam and democracy have merged together, taking part in such an institution as the EU, will bring harmony of civilisations [. . .]. We are there as a guarantee of an entente between the civilisations’ (quoted in Ko¨sebalaban 2011; 157). Thus, non-materialistic, ideological and idealistic factors help shape Turkey’s EU bid. Turkey’s EU ambition, then, is driven by reasons other than simply economics and geopolitical strategy. When analysing the AKP government’s EU bid, it is necessary to take into account the politics of identity that bear noteworthy consequences for the accession process as a whole. The culmination of Mustafa Kemal’s modernising legacy, and its most important goal, is arguably membership in the EU. Effectively, what is at stake is a complete civilisational project, with all the attendant ideological implications. According to Senem Aydın and Rusen C¸akır, ‘the role of the EU is strongly acknowledged in the progress made in the areas of democratisation and human rights. The EU is not just seen as a political entity to be joined, but largely as a “democratic model” ’ (2007; 5). In other words, there are ideological as well as practical implications attached to Ankara’s sustained EU bid, and Europe is regarded by the AKP as an ‘ideal’ to be inspired and guided by. Islamic groups in Turkey have, traditionally, been hostile both to Europeanisation and to the project of Westernisation as a whole. It is somewhat surprising, therefore, that the Islam-friendly AKP has actively adopted the campaign for accession to the EU, and

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subsequently positioned the EU process at the centre of its domestic and foreign policy. From the time when Turkey was officially granted candidate-country status by the EU in 1999, to when the accession negotiations began in earnest in 2005, Turkey’s Grand National Assembly ratified nine harmonisation packages. The result was the amendment of around one-third of the original text of the 1982 constitution and of the penal and civil codes. Yaprak Gu¨rsoy (2010) suggests that the sheer volume of amendments signals not only the reform of these legal texts, but also of the norms and practices of Turkish politics in general. By adopting these changes, the AKP has transformed the way in which politics in the Republic is conducted, and this is even more valuable than the administrative changes to Turkey’s official legal texts. Accordingly, given the amount and scope of the changes, it is possible to argue that Turkey is becoming increasingly Europeanised (Gu¨rsoy 2010; 228). The AKP espouses the many prospective benefits of Turkey’s EU integration specifically, and enmeshment in the Western world generally, and its pragmatic policies appear to be calculated towards this end. The reformist AKP government, according to Fuller, ‘is by far the most moderate, professional, and successful of [a] long series of Islami[c] parties in Turkey. Indeed, by absolute standards, it has been more skilful in managing foreign policy, the economy and reform issues than almost all other mainstream Turkish parties in recent decades’ (2008; 50). The AKP’s reformism has rendered the goal of EU membership attractive, as the latter is the embodiment of modern liberal democracy, which the party also advocates. The AKP’s ‘professionalism’ and pragmatism have, however, led to it strongly endorsing EU membership for more practical reasons, including economic ones. In a discussion on the AKP’s rhetoric about EU membership, Hakan Yavuz has emphasised the pragmatic, as opposed to ideological, rationale behind the government’s ongoing accession agenda. He has argued that the AKP does not associate membership of the EU with a process of ‘Europeanisation’ or ‘becoming European’, or with a cultural or civilisational project. The AKP, claims Yavuz (2009), speaks practically of ‘entering the EU’ and

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‘integrating into the EU’, and therefore concentrates on pragmatic economic, security and human rights issues. That is, while the AKP seeks to import the European democratic model, it does not aspire to the Europeanisation of Turkish society as a whole. Arguably, the AKP’s conservative Islamic character is an explanation for this qualified, if not reserved, attitude towards EU membership. The Kemalist dream of EU integration was based on philosophical notions pertaining to Turkey’s ostensibly modern, secular democratic identity, the rejection of Islamic cultural mores and the assumption of a supposedly Western outlook. Conversely, the AKP’s desire to join Europe appears to reflect practical economic and strategic concerns, although not exclusively. Turkey’s Islamist movement has conventionally been resistant to the idea of enmeshment with Europe; some consider the EU integration process as an extension of European imperialism, a process that would benefit Europe more than Turkey itself. Indeed, according to Necmettin Erbakan, the former leader of the NOM, the Europeanisation of Turkey is analogous to the colonisation of Turkey. Islamist groups in Turkey have historically been suspicious of European values penetrating the country’s cultural life, but this mistrust is not felt by the Islamists alone; anti-Western sentiment and Euroscepticism is a phenomenon common also to the nationalist and conservative intellectual traditions and their representatives in Turkey. According to these actors, rapprochement with the EU ought to be about ‘catching up’ with Europe’s economic, military, scientific and technological advancement while rejecting Western/European values that would compromise Turkey’s national character and culture and, therefore, its independence. The resounding argument emanating from the segments of Turkish society that oppose EU integration – be they Islamist, nationalist or conservative in orientation – is that Turkey must be modern but not Western. The modernisation project, they contend, is quite distinct from the Westernisation project, which legitimises the importation of foreign, and ultimately, dangerous values that would undermine Turkey’s cultural integrity.

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What deserves our critical attention, then, is how and why the ostensibly Islamic AKP has come to attach so much importance to membership of the EU – the latter traditionally regarded as the bastion of Westernisation, and the religion of Christianity specifically. To what degree do the aims of eventual integration into the EU complement its own conservative democratic agenda, and to what extent is the EU process merely strategic in terms of the potential it offers the AKP to realise some of its core conservative ideals? The AKP’s engagement with the EU palpably demonstrates a shift away from the anti-Westernism and Euroscepticism associated with former Islamist parties, and towards a policy of Euroenthusiasm. Despite the AKP’s commitment to securing membership of the EU, its fulfilment of many of the necessary political criteria for accession, and the many promises made by the EU, the AKP’s path towards accession has been paved with difficulty.

Historical Background Turkey’s relationship with the EU has been both lengthy and onerous. A condensed chronology of these relations is included here. In 1959, prompted by rival Greece’s successful bid to the European Economic Community (EEC), Turkey applied for associate membership, which was accepted by the EEC’s Council of Ministers. In 1963, the Ankara Agreement (an Association Agreement) aimed at securing the eventual full membership of Turkey, and was signed and implemented a year later. Since then, Turkey’s advancement towards EU membership has been protracted and punctuated by several obstacles. The most noteworthy of these was the then European Community’s (EC’s) decision in January 1982 to suspend its political relations with Ankara as a result of the military coup d’e´tat that had been staged in Turkey on 12 September 1980. A new chapter in Turkey – EC relations was begun four years later in September 1986, when dialogue between the two entities was re-established, triggering Turkey’s application for full EEC membership in April 1987. On 1 January 1996, the closest economic and political

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relationship between the EU and any non-member country was created when the customs union between Turkey and the EC, ratified a year earlier, came into effect. The customs union has provided for unprecedented economic cooperation between the two parties. Turkey faced another setback during the Luxembourg Summit in December 1997, when the European Council effectively rejected Ankara’s request for accession by excluding Turkey from the list of formal candidates. Turkey immediately reacted by partially suspending talks with the EU and threatening to annex northern Cyprus if the EU initiated accession talks with the Greek Cypriot government on the south of the island. The Helsinki Summit of 1999, however, re-established Turkey as a viable candidate for EU membership, and in 2001 the EU Council of Ministers adopted the EU – Turkey Accession Partnership Document (APD), which outlined the short- and medium-term measures that Turkey must undertake in order to fulfil the criteria for EU membership. The APD was accepted by EU leaders at the Nice Summit in 2000, after the European Council had welcomed Turkey’s progress in addressing its pre-accession strategy. The APD made explicit the course that Turkey must follow, and specified clear directions for amendments. Since then, the Turkish parliament has passed important legislation in line with the Copenhagen political criteria – an extensive package of proposed political and economic reforms, the fulfilment of which is a prerequisite for Turkey’s EU membership. Significantly, it was during the AKP’s tenure that official negotiations between Ankara and the EU commenced, on 3 October 2005. Since that time, many observers within Turkey have remarked that Brussels demonstrates more consistency, commitment and clarity in its relations with other prospective members of the union. To Turkey’s repeated frustration, the EU has embarked upon enlargement plans of the EU eastward, having incorporated other candidate countries in the process. Ankara’s exclusion has stirred up resentment in Turkey, and there are calls that the EU employs double standards in its dealings with Turkey.

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The ‘Accession Carrot’ and the EU’s Double Standards The AKP has affirmed publicly that it believes membership of the EU is a desirable outcome for the Turkish state and people. The government has embarked upon the EU accession negotiations with Brussels in earnest, and has worked diligently to fulfil its obligations to the EU. It is in the process of ‘harmonisation’ with the European entity. It must be stressed, however, that the AKP’s dedication to the accession process is not unconditional and absolute. The party’s enthusiasm for the EU negotiations is tempered by what it considers the inequitable treatment by the EU of Turkey compared to other candidate member states. It has been suggested that the EU, in seeking to extract strategic concessions from Ankara, holds out the so-called ‘accession carrot’ as a means of eliciting political compromise from Turkey. This raises two distinct issues. First, the EU’s ‘double standards’ in its dealings with Ankara are likely to tarnish the EU ‘brand’ in Turkey, and serve to undermine its widely held reputation for democracy, equality and tolerance. Second, despite this alleged bias and inconsistency from Europe, the AKP continues to sponsor the bid for EU membership, albeit with less fervour. This is because the party recognises the numerous and latent advantages afforded by Ankara’s eventual membership. Moreover, as Aydın and C¸akır have suggested, the EU’s Copenhagen political criteria ‘mirror[s] the AKP’s own strategy of political survival through the attainment of a wider democratic sphere of activity within Turkey, and hence relations with the EU have become a central theme of the party’s agenda’ (2007; 4). An AKP parliamentarian is quoted as having said the following of the AKP’s desire to join Europe: February 28 has shown us that there are some things that Turkey cannot achieve on her own. I am not talking about Turkey becoming a Shari’a state. What I am talking about is an environment where you can teach your child as much about religion as you want, where my wife can wear whatever she likes and where I will not be punished because of my religious

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beliefs. We realised that the prominence of individual rights within the EU can actually help us in decreasing the weight of the institutions in the Turkish political system and hence achieve the minimum in sustaining our lifestyles (quoted in Aydın and C¸akır 2007; 5). By attaching itself to the EU, the AKP can hope to further its own political agenda through the harmonisation process while simultaneously shielding itself from the worst of the Kemalists’ hostility. In fact, as Fuller has noted, the party’s embrace of the EU process ‘has been one of the wisest and most successful aspects of the AKP’s platform. It contributed greatly to its electoral support in the country and to its reputation abroad, although more recently this policy has begun to lose some support due to EU foot-dragging on Turkey’s membership application and the resultant souring of Turkish public opinion on the topic’ (2008; 51). In fact, the AKP has used its EU membership bid to promote its liberal democratic credentials and muster sympathy and support from even its detractors in the Kemalist establishment. O¨zlem Terzi argues that ‘the new [AKP] government relied heavily on the EU accession prospect to secure its domestic legitimacy in the eyes of a considerable number of circles, including the main opposition party CHP and the military that were sceptical of the AKP’s Western and secular affiliation’ (2010; 46). The road towards accession has not been straightforward, however. A decade ago, Harun Arıkan remarked that Turkey had been treated differently to the other applicant countries for EU membership. The EU, claimed Arıkan, had developed an alternative strategy regarding Turkey’s accession campaign. He described this as a ‘containment strategy’ that sought to ‘delay indefinitely the prospect of membership while keeping Turkey within the economic, security and political sphere of influence of the EU’ (Arıkan 2003; 1). The current stalemate between Ankara and Brussels appears to vindicate his argument, and suggests that not much has changed in this regard. The ‘accession carrot’ has been employed to extract concessions and policy reform from Turkey with the promise of increased

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engagement, with the ultimate view to securing full membership within the EU. However, the stated reasons behind Turkey’s ‘awkwardness’ as a candidate for EU membership necessarily leads one to conclude that there is something that distinguishes Turkey in the eyes of the EU from other applicant countries, including those in Central and Eastern Europe. Arguably, what sets Turkey apart is that it is a Muslim country. Rubin has argued that there is an understandable suspicion in Turkey that the basis for the EU’s hesitation in propelling Turkey’s application goes far beyond mere technical problems. Opposition to Turkey’s entry into the EU is construed as symptomatic of those in the European civilisation who ‘hate, look down on, or discriminate against Turkey’ (Rubin and C¸arkog˘lu 2003; 1). The argument is not without its merits. In any case, cultural and religious differences continue to pose a significant obstacle in Turkey’s path towards the EU. Austria, Germany and France have all voiced serious concerns regarding Turkey’s bid and publicly oppose the country’s full membership of the EU, recommending instead that Ankara should be offered a ‘privileged partnership’. The right-wing European think tanks and governments that promote this idea, however, have not clarified what such a partnership would entail in practice. To complicate the issue further, in recent times France has passed legislation to criminalise the denial of the Armenian genocide. Many historians claim that more than 1 million Armenians were massacred by the Ottoman authorities in one of the worst mass killings to occur in the twentieth century. Many parliaments around the world subscribe to this version of the tragic events of 1915, and the ‘Armenian genocide’ is alternatively known as the ‘Armenian holocaust’. Ankara continues to strongly deny that the deaths of Armenians were the result of an institutionalised and systematic policy of ‘genocide’, comparable to the Nazism of the Third Reich, and that the significant loss of life was a result of a combination of factors. The AKP, which also refutes the ‘official’ death toll, maintains the official line of all the previous republican administrations and emphasises the ‘context in which the events [of 1915] unfolded: an anarchic Anatolia wracked by inter-communal

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warfare, Armenian nationalists’ collaboration with invading Russian forces, the depredations of irregular militias, and the impact of famine and disease’ (Fisher Onar 2009; 5). The French bill to criminalise the denial of genocide (while not explicitly mentioning the Armenian massacre) angered Turkish citizens and provoked a livid response by the AKP government, who threatened to impose ‘permanent sanctions’ if the bill was passed. Turkish authorities have generally regarded the West’s campaign to criminalise the denial of the Armenian genocide as an instance of Turkophobia that dates back to the Ottoman Empire, and that it is an excuse to vilify Turkey. In any case, if the legislation succeeds then it is, potentially, a very effective way of keeping Turkey out of ‘Europe’. Opponents of the French bill suggest that apart from it being an attack on freedom of speech and a suppression of free historical investigation, the issue is a heavily politicised one. The AKP government joined French citizens of Turkish descent and other opposition voices in France to argue that former French President Nicolas Sarkozy exploited the bill for electoral gain, in order to pander to the sizeable and influential Armenian lobby in France in the period leading up to his tough battle for re-election. Turkish Foreign Minister Ahmet Davutog˘lu called the legislation ‘a black stain’ on France and said that ‘if each parliament takes decisions containing its own views of history and implements them, a new era of Inquisition will be opened in Europe’ (quoted in the New York Times, 23 January 2012). Following the news of the legislation’s successful passage through the French Senate, Erdog˘an’s government, which had already promised to ‘take steps’ in retaliation, ‘suspended military cooperation, bilateral political agreement and economic contracts with France’ (New York Times, 23 January 2012). As part of Ankara’s reprisal, Turkey also removed its country’s ambassador to France in a symbolic sign of discord. Previously, the souring of the Paris– Ankara relationship had been further underscored by Erdog˘an’s accusation of French hypocrisy. The infuriated Turkish prime minister rejoined, ‘I hope the [French] Senate will not make France a country contradicting its own values. This is a debate which is entirely against the freedom of thought. This is merely a step taken for the upcoming elections’ (quoted in

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Hu¨rriyet Daily News, 23 January 2012). In February 2012, in a move applauded by Ankara, France’s constitutional court ruled that the legislation was unconstitutional and struck down the bill, finding that it amounted to a violation of the principle of free speech. Following Sarkozy’s defeat in the presidential elections in May 2012, his Socialist successor, Francois Hollande, has signalled his intention to push through a new law to outlaw the denial of the Armenian genocide, albeit one that is consistent with the French Constitution (France 24, 7 July 2012). The Armenian question thus appears as another barrier on Turkey’s road to EU accession. As Fisher Onar highlights, even though ‘[Armenian] genocide recognition is not a formal criterion for Turkish accession to the EU, the question affects Turkey’s prospects as it will be raised by both those who sincerely believe recognition is a moral imperative, and those who oppose Turkish membership on other grounds’ (2009; 6). In addition, the fact that there is a considerable Muslim minority residing in each country renders France and Germany apprehensive about opening their borders unconditionally to a large Muslim population such as Turkey’s. The success of the Dutch extremeright politician Geert Wilders and his anti-Islam ‘Party for Freedom’ in the Netherlands, a country renowned for its tolerant and liberal attitude, reflects what many consider to be rising Islamophobia on the European continent. Doubtless, this not-sorecent phenomenon will not help Turkey’s EU cause. Wilders’ vocal opposition to Turkey’s EU membership has been endorsed by a significant percentage of the Dutch population. Whether or not it is documented formally or mentioned in Turkey’s progress reports, several EU member states are more than merely uneasy about the prospect of admitting into Europe close to 80 million Muslims. At the official level, at least, Islamophobia or cultural prejudice does not exist. There is evidence, however, to suggest that Turkey’s large Muslim population is a cause for concern for the EU. When questioned on the reasons for the slow progress of the country’s advance towards membership, one Turkish diplomat sardonically replied, ‘they [the EU] think of new reasons every year’ (cited in Rubin and C¸arkog˘lu 2003; 2).

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It appears that the EU is, at least to some extent, using the reason of Turkey’s political and economic differences as a scapegoat to conceal the fact that the real issue is Turkey’s religious and cultural demography. The ‘unmentionable factor’, namely that Turkey is a Muslim country, is not stated officially by the EU. This is in line with ‘maintaining the ostensible objectivity of [the] Copenhagen Criteria’ (McLaren and Mu¨ftu¨ler-Bac 2003; 202). However, preferential treatment of other candidate countries over Turkey in the race to EU membership has not done much to dispel the belief in Turkey that the EU is, among other things, a civilisation project, or the so-called ‘Christian Club’. In fact, there are those within Europe that state this outright; the Europe-wide Christian Democratic group declared on 4 March 1997 that ‘the European Union is a civilisation project and within this civilisation project, Turkey has no place’ (cited in Nuttall and Traynor 1997). Lauren McLaren and Meltem Mu¨ftu¨ler-Bac have highlighted Europe’s inconsistent treatment of prospective EU candidates by contrasting the experience of Turkey with that of Romania. The latter, the authors argue, had similar economic and political problems to Turkey, yet it was still granted candidacy: based on comparative measures such as the Freedom House scores, Romania and Turkey were roughly equivalent in terms of democratic development. Moreover, Romania’s GDP/capita was approximately half that of Turkey. Although Romania’s political situation improved rapidly between 1996 and 1997, from the Turkish point of view it might have seemed rather odd (and suspicious) that the country would be accepted as a candidate for full membership so quickly, even after such improvements (McLaren and Mu¨fu¨ler-Bac 2003; 202). What does set Turkey apart from, and in this case behind, Romania is that it is a predominantly Muslim country. John Redmond remarked that there often seemed to be ‘an air of unreality – not to say disbelief – in Brussels and the Community at large about the very idea of Turkish membership’ (1993; 17). Two decades later, the situation has not drastically changed.

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Preferential treatment has been given to other European candidate countries that, like Turkey, have traditionally been characterised by the presence of fragile democratic institutions, immature economic markets, unstable legal frameworks and political machinery prone to corruption. The case of Romania, for example, is noteworthy and demonstrates one of the ways in which Turkey has been discriminated against by the EU. Traditionally, the EU has also appeared to exercise a preference for Greece in its disputes with Turkey. The current Greek financial crisis has revealed years of fiscal mismanagement by successive governments in Athens, widespread corruption and a patently fragile economy. The debt crisis has also compelled the EU to seriously reassess fellow EU member state Greece’s future viability in the troubled eurozone, with Athens teetering on the verge of bankruptcy. Moreover, Greece – Turkey’s traditional foe – cannot itself boast an untainted human rights record. However, Turkey’s poor track record on human rights regularly appears as a major stumbling block in the country’s accession talks with the EU. This has triggered the growing opinion in Turkey that the EU demonstrates bias against it in its bilateral quarrels with Greece, including the conflict between the two states in the Aegean Sea, which is problematised by the issues surrounding the delimitation of the continental shelf and competing claims to territorial waters and national airspace. Turkey also considers the EU’s handling of the Cyprus issue to be a manifestation of the latter’s prejudice in this regard.

The Cyprus Stalemate Cyprus, the largest island in the Mediterranean, has had many rulers throughout the millennia. In medieval times, these included the Byzantines, the Arabs, the Franks and the Venetians, until in 1571 it was conquered by the Ottomans. Owing to the degeneration of the Ottoman Empire, it was, in 1878, placed under British administration, becoming a Crown Colony in 1925. Tensions between the island’s Greek and Turkish communities were becoming apparent when, in 1960, Cyprus was proclaimed an independent Commonwealth Republic. This was not enough to avoid a virtual civil war,

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and hostilities between the island’s two communities intensified. The situation was inflamed further when it was made known that the Greek Cypriots were engaged in guerrilla warfare, having established the EOKA movement (which stands for the Greek Ethnike¯ Organo¯sis Kupriakou Ago¯nos; in English, the National Organisation of Cypriot Struggle), which sought enosis, or union, with the ‘Motherland’ Greece. Naturally, such a proposal was unacceptable to Ankara, and in 1974 the Turkish military invaded the island on the pretext of coming to the aid of its Turkish minority. The north of the island, which is to this day occupied by Turkey’s armed forces, declared itself the Turkish Federated State of Cyprus in 1975, and then in 1983 proclaimed itself the independent Turkish Republic of Northern Cyprus (TRNC). Apart from Ankara, no international actor recognises the sovereignty of the self-declared TRNC. The island remains divided, and there are no real prospects for a timely resolution. Until the AKP took office in 2002, Ankara’s policy towards Cyprus had been rigid and inimical to compromise. The AKP is revisiting the inflexible approach of its predecessors, a reassessment that is in line with its EU aspirations. However, the party’s adoption of a more conciliatory and compromising approach to the Cyprus issue has unsettled important segments of Turkish society, especially the military. According to Semin Suvarierol, Turkish– Greek relations and the Cyprus problem following Turkey’s military invasion of the island in 1974 have been critical factors in shaping the trajectory of relations between Turkey and the EU. The fact that Greece was admitted to the union in 1981 has greatly complicated Turkey’s own EU aspirations, and has, until very recently, effectively acted as a wedge between Ankara and the EU. The author writes, From that point on [Greece’s accession to the EU], the EU could no longer keep its benevolent neutrality towards its two allies. Consequently, the road towards the amelioration of Turkish-EU relations passed via Athens and Nicosia, despite Turkey’s desire to keep the resolution of these issues separate from the question of its accession to the EU (Suvarierol 2003; 55).

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The warming of relations between Ankara and Athens under the AKP’s leadership has provided an atmosphere conducive to compromise and cooperation between the two historical rivals, and has resulted in Greek support for Turkey’s EU bid. Irrespective of this, however, it is still the case that Ankara’s quest for membership of the EU is bound inextricably to matters that are, by and large, outside its immediate control. Its relationship with its neighbour and traditional enemy, Greece, is both complicated and dynamic, and the Cyprus issue is a long-standing political quagmire. Nevertheless, Ankara has been compelled to consider the improvement of its bilateral relations with Greece as an essential precondition to European membership. The AKP has thereby been obliged to take into account the weighty issue of the so-called ‘Greek factor’ when negotiating a path towards EU accession. Suvarierol points out, however, that given the strategic importance of Cyprus to Turkey, and the fact that the Cyprus issue has strong nationalistic connotations, none of the country’s political parties have ‘dared to make far-reaching concessions on Cyprus’ (2003; 67). Another recurring thorn in the AKP’s side when it comes to formulating a coherent policy on Cyprus is the pressure from Eurosceptics in Turkey. The staunch opponents to the country’s EU membership argue cogently that the union will ‘never admit Turkey to its ranks’ anyway, and so no compromise should be made on the Cyprus issue (Suvarierol 2003: 67). Turkey’s Eurosceptics are irritated by the EU’s apparent tendency to favour the Greek side in Greco– Turkish disputes. They argue that the EU is unwilling to engage sincerely with Turkey’s candidacy programme, and has a propensity to hide behind the recurrent ‘Greek factor’ to justify its latent apprehension about Turkey as a serious candidate for accession. Furthermore, the accession to the EU by ‘Greek’ Cyprus in 2004, despite South Nicosia’s rejection of the UN-sponsored Annan Plan for the reunification of the island that was endorsed by the Turkish Cypriots, has served to further dampen Turkey’s enthusiasm. The Turks in this instance feel that they were punished even though they were the ones who voted ‘yes’ to the plan, while the Greek Cypriots were rewarded for their defiance.

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The situation has resulted in uncertainty and suspicion from both sides, and has further muddied the waters for Turkey’s EU accession hopes. According to Suvarierol (2003), the AKP has, since its election to government in 2002, been advocating policy change on the Cyprus issue. This includes, but is not limited to, the prospect of Turkey opening its ports to (and thereby recognising) the southern Republic of Cyprus and withdrawing the Turkish troops that are stationed on the island. Prior to this, Turkey’s policy with respect to Cyprus was uncompromising; Turkish officials were adamant that the Cyprus problem involved the two communities on the island and was therefore theirs alone to solve. The AKP’s more conciliatory approach to the Cyprus issue involves negotiating several complex factors, including the internal politics on the island, within the TRNC’s administration itself, and the dynamic relationship between the two communities (Greek and Turkish). Prior to the AKP’s election in November 2002, Ankara did not formally acknowledge that it was at least partially responsible for aiding the resolution of the Cyprus stalemate. Since then, the AKP government has, albeit reluctantly, conceded that international cooperation and negotiation will be needed to find a resolution on the island. This follows the ‘internationalisation’ of the dispute by both the Greek Cypriot government and its significant ally, Greece. The EU has likewise insisted that breaking the deadlock on the island is nothing short of a prerequisite for Turkey’s eventual accession to the EU. The AKP has demonstrated its commitment to resolving the Cyprus impasse and Prime Minister Erdog˘an’s public statements ‘mark a departure from the previous Turkish policy of passive support for the negotiations towards a settlement in Cyprus acknowledging that “no-solution is not a solution” ’ (Suvarierol 2003; 70). That is, Ankara nowadays accepts that it is expected to play an active role in breaking the deadlock.

The Copenhagen Criteria and Human Rights Turkey’s hard-nosed foreign policy towards Cyprus has traditionally attracted criticism from the EU. Turkey’s domestic policy, according to the EU, is another contentious issue for Brussels. As the AKP

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navigates a path towards EU accession, it is obliged to take into account the union’s recommendations for reform and address issues that it may otherwise find disagreeable. The EU’s concerns vis-a`-vis Turkey’s human rights record, for example, are both warranted and legitimate, though this remains a sensitive issue in Turkey. In attempting to address human rights issues in Turkey, the AKP has boldly dared to broach subjects that are traditionally considered taboo in the staunchly secular and nationalist republic. Sensitive topics, including the definition of secularism and the ethnic Kurdish problem, have been put on the agenda and are now a matter for public debate. Kerim Yıldız has argued that the AKP’s ‘instigation of reforms impinging upon deeply embedded historical taboos’ is largely the result of the EU accession process. Effectively, therefore, the party can push through ostensibly unpopular reforms by citing the need to harmonise with European political, economic and cultural standards, which have been explicitly spelt out in the Copenhagen criteria. Yıldız claims, The AKP government’s achievements in uniting diverse sections within Turkey under the banner of EU accession, a key factor in facilitating efforts at domestic reform, must be acknowledged. This delicate balance of interests will require great care and sensitivity to sustain, and the ability to point to external demands and conditions imposed by the EU has no doubt been instrumental in promoting sensitive reforms which may otherwise have been highly contested (Yıldız 2005; 42). Despite their controversial application in the Turkish Republic, the political and democratic reforms imposed on Turkey through the Copenhagen criteria are, in fact, universally enforceable and apply to each and every candidate country. That is, accession to the EU is contingent on the fulfilment of the criteria. The outcome of the European Council meeting held in Copenhagen in June 1993 was that ‘membership requires that the candidate country has achieved stability of institutions guaranteeing democracy, the rule of law,

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human rights and respect for and protection of minorities’ (cited in Hale 2003; 106). Subsequently, a council meeting in December 1997 held in Luxembourg determined that ‘compliance with the Copenhagen political criteria is a prerequisite for the opening of any accession negotiations’ (Hale 2003; 108). Turkey is therefore bound to implement the human rights reforms outlined in the Copenhagen criteria. The conditions of entry imposed on the country by the EU have strengthened the resolve of the governing AKP, which has sought to highlight the abuse of fundamental freedoms and the poor record on human rights that has historically hampered the consolidation of democracy in the Turkish state. Indeed, the AKP has employed the EU’s recommendations as a pretext for furthering its own policy agendas, such as full recognition of the Kurdish minority and relaxation of the strict laws related to religious observance. Both, according to the AKP, are essentially questions of human rights – that is, the recognition of cultural minority rights and the freedom of religion. The Copenhagen criteria constitute a body of recommended political reforms that revolve around the general question of human rights. As the AKP works towards satisfying these criteria, it in turn consolidates the APD that was established with the EU. The AKP can thus simultaneously achieve its own core policies, issuing from its ‘conservative democratic’ ideology, and even aim to fulfil the needs of its conservative– religious constituency, while working towards securing membership in the EU. Traditionally, both Kurdish-activist and Islamist ideas have been dealt with severely by the authoritarian Kemalist state on the basis that these sentiments, if inflamed, are liable to ‘violate the indivisible integrity of the Turkish State’ as stipulated by Article 14 of Turkey’s constitution. The constitution is the bedrock of the Turkish Kemalist state and the bastion of Mustafa Kemal’s secular democratic reforms, modelled on a European template. Nevertheless, the constitution and all corollary legislation, including sections of the Turkish Penal Code and other statutes, are considered either undemocratic or not conducive to the protection of human rights by liberal revisionists in Turkey and their European sympathisers, and are the subject of

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scrutiny generated by the Copenhagen criteria. These statutes have been employed for many years to restrict freedom of expression and association in the Turkish Republic, particularly for those espousing dissident views on the Kurdish or Islamist issues (Hale 2003). For example, Article 312 of the penal code has been used to prosecute people on the grounds that campaigning for greater political and cultural rights for the Kurds or referring to Islamic principles in politics amounts to an incitement of racial and/or religious hatred. In addition, several journalists have been prosecuted and imprisoned under Article 8 of the Law for the Struggle against Terrorism or Penal Code Article 159, and political parties have been closed down by the Political Parties Law for allegedly having supported separatism or for advancing illegal Islamist views (Hale 2003; 112). These laws demonstrate the extent of the Turkish state’s suppression of free speech and intolerance of dissenting views on important issues such as those pertaining to religious freedom and the recognition of minorities. According to some observers, the ideals of Mustafa Kemal have been misappropriated and abused by the Kemalist state establishment, under the banner of preserving secularism and national unity. According to Seyman Atasoy, Atatu¨rk did not want to leave behind a frozen ideology; he set the moving target of ‘contemporary civilisation’ (muasır medeniyet) and the European model for his followers, thus facilitating flexibility in modernisation. In the twenty-first century, Atatu¨rk’s vision for Turkey to ‘attain the level of the highest contemporary civilisation’ should form the higherorder guideline to interpret his other principles. Undoubtedly, democracy is today a sine qua non of advanced contemporary civilisation. A modern or post-modern consciousness can only flourish in a free and pluralist social environment protected by the democratic rule of law. By missing the deeper purpose and adhering to outward appearances of modernity such as clothing [namely the headscarf issue], the ‘modernising elites’ of Turkey have sparked unnecessary conflict with democratisation and the will of the nation (Atasoy 2011; 94).

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The Turkish state, by blindly enforcing the Kemalist ideology – which it promotes as an immutable and absolute philosophy of life – not only undermines democratic principles but effectively betrays the legacy of the founding father, Mustafa Kemal. That is to say, it is not Kemal’s founding principles per se that are undemocratic, rather it is their distortion by the Kemalist state elites. In addressing the Kemalist state’s democratic weaknesses, the EU has emphasised four primary areas of reform, as follows: freedom of expression and association, and of political parties; the treatment of ethnic minorities (regarding cultural rights especially); the death penalty (which was formally abolished by Bu¨lent Ecevit’s coalition government in August 2002); and the reduction of the political role of the military. In addition to this, the EU cites other important issues including the improvement of prison conditions and the rights of civil associations, the elimination of torture by the police and security forces, and the enhancement of the functioning and efficiency of the judiciary. Compelled by the EU’s recommendations, and internal calls for reforms and increased transparency, the AKP has made many inroads into the Kemalist regime and has managed to affect some notable changes. It would have been deemed highly improbable a decade ago, for instance, that the Kurdish language would be officially recognised and taught in some universities, and that an exclusively Kurdish-language state television channel would be broadcast across Turkey’s airwaves (TRT 6, which was launched in 2009). The following year saw an exclusively Arabic state channel go to air. The extent of the AKP’s initiatives in this regard should not be underestimated. Despite some important reforms in these areas, however, the road to EU harmonisation is still fraught with difficulty and the AKP has encountered many obstacles in advancing its reformist agenda. The Turkish state has a long history of human rights breaches, and a seemingly entrenched culture of ‘glossing over’ or ignoring these violations. The transition to a more liberal and democratic political culture will therefore take time to establish, and it is certainly not guaranteed. Although some laudable progress has been made,

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commentators, including Yıldız, remain sceptical of the EU’s ability to truly transform the repressive Turkish state. The author has remarked, The pro-EU reform process is far from ushering in a new era of openness and respect for human rights in Turkey. Instead, those regarded as disloyal to the state continue to suffer ill-treatment and oppression, and are excluded from social and political participation. Crucially, human rights violations are not merely occasional glitches committed by recalcitrant public authorities far from Ankara. Rather, they are systematic practices of the state designed to silence dissent, repress non-Turkish identities, intimidate those expressing views which differ from official state lines and preclude disfavoured groups from having a say in the running of the country (Yıldız 2005; 41). The AKP needs to be vigilant in steadily implementing its reformist and democratising agenda. By pursuing membership of the European bloc, which is traditionally associated with the principles of liberal democracy, the AKP can in fact consolidate the ‘conservative democratic’ values contained in its policies that have a demonstrated similarity to Islamic values.

The ‘EU Anchor’ and the AKP’s Islamic Agenda Determining the likelihood of Turkey’s eventual integration into the EU, or otherwise, is not as central as the current government’s policy towards Europe and its strategic vision on the road to (possible) EU accession. In addition, two crucial questions need to be addressed: to what extent does Turkey’s EU accession programme affect or determine the AKP’s domestic and foreign policy? And how successfully has the AKP responded to the opposition to full European integration by certain segments of Turkish society? Ankara’s rapprochement with the EU, and subsequent involvement in the union’s enlargement programme serves, for the AKP, two concurrent and yet contradictory objectives. On the one hand, the ongoing dialogue with ‘liberal democratic’ Europe is evidence that

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the AKP does not harbour a covert Islamist agenda. On the other, the AKP may in turn advance Islam-friendly policies under the guise of ‘liberal democratic’ reforms. The ‘headscarf affair’ is a notable case in point. Arguably, the party’s campaign to have the ban on headscarves at universities lifted is not a provocative, Islamist scheme, seeing as the government insists merely on headscarf wearing becoming legally permissible and does not promote the Islamic head covering. The AKP claims that it is actually an issue of human rights – a term that traditionally has great currency, and generates sympathy, in Europe. There is no consensus, however, on the AKP’s real motive behind its efforts to lift the headscarf ban and other Islam-friendly policies. It remains the subject of controversy, and several commentators have argued that it is in fact resounding proof of the government’s antisecular agenda. The AKP’s critics are also sceptical about the party’s ‘true’ reason for pursuing membership of the EU, some claiming that, paradoxically, the Islamisation of Turkey has occurred during the AKP’s incumbency under the banner of Europeanisation. The AKP’s detractors have also blamed the party for the present cooling of EU relations, arguing that its apparent neglect of the reform agenda is demonstrative of its Islamist motives, and proves that the government was never genuinely committed to the accession process. According to Seda C¸iftci, relations between Ankara and the EU stalled after Turkey officially began accession negotiations in October 2005. Since that time, The government ha[s] adopted a policy of what can legitimately be described as an unacknowledged slowdown. Its detractors saw its apparent loss of interest as confirmation that the AKP had only been motivated by a desire to use its commitment to EU accession as a means of countering accusations that it had a ‘secret Islamist agenda’ to divert Turkey away from the West. In fact, the stalling of the process was the product of domestic preoccupations on the Turkish side and growing resistance to Turkey’s accession on the European side (C¸iftci 2008; 1).

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Critical commentators suggest that the government is hiding behind the EU and using the implementation of its package of suggested reforms, and the harmonisation process generally, as leverage to undermine the Kemalist state. The argument is that the AKP is insincere in its quest for EU membership. They accuse the government of being capricious and self-seeking by exploiting the accession process for its own narrow political interests. Authors Birol Yesilada and Barry Rubin are not convinced of the AKP’s liberal democratic credentials, and have suggested that the party’s reforms have been limited and are lately showing signs of deceleration. They argue that developments since the party’s 2002 election to government demonstrate mixed and controversial results for the AKP’s policies. They claim that the government has emphasised economic reforms over political reforms: While economic reforms maintained a steady path of progress and the economy grew significantly, political reforms have regressed during the last two years, raising serious concern and warning from the European Commission. Furthermore, [the] AKP’s insistence [on] forc[ing] Islamist issues onto the political agenda, such as the tu¨rban (headscarf ) and changing the entrance requirements to universities for the graduates of religious secondary schools (I˙mam hatip okulları), further alienated secular groups in the country (Yesilada and Rubin 2011; 1). In any case, by attaching itself to the European bloc the AKP can potentially achieve so-called ‘Islamic’ policy priorities, thus satisfying its Islamic constituency. Nevertheless, according to many commentators, it is a paradox that the Islamic-rooted AKP has emerged as the political party that demonstrates the commitment to EU membership not apparent in any other political party on either the right or the left of Turkey’s political spectrum. Several other observers have commented on this seeming paradox, and Hasan Ko¨sebalaban has suggested that the AKP’s support for EU membership is effectively ‘modernisation theory upside down’ (2011; 153). Burhanettin Duran has additionally

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argued that it is ironic that the ‘hard-liner Kemalists have become pro-status quo and Euro-sceptic while the ex-Islamists have become reformist and [display] Europhilia to Europeanise the country’ (2006; 295). Terzi has claimed that the mere presence of the EU accession process in the party’s manifesto is a sure break from the tradition of past governments, be they Islamist or not. The AKP, by clarifying its commitment to the EU negotiating process from the outset, has set a precedent for Turkish political parties. Moreover, the explicit reference to the EU bid outlined in the party’s programme signifies the government’s dedication to democratic reform. She writes, The AKP’s party programme starts with a promise of change and a solution to the existing problems of the country. It mentions the Copenhagen criteria as an aspect of the democratisation programme to be initiated by the party. It also mentions the EU accession aim as the final stage of Turkey’s modernisation process and states that it should not be stalled by ideological approaches to concepts like ‘national sovereignty’, ‘national security’ and ‘national interest’ (Terzi 2010; 32). That is to say, the AKP government has actually depoliticised the goal of EU accession by declaring it an issue that transcends party politics and ideological differences between competing political actors. EU membership is for the good of all Turkish citizens and in the Republic’s interest as a whole, according to the ruling party, irrespective of the government of the day. By pursuing it, the AKP attaches itself to liberal democratic principles and demonstrates that it is possible for a pro-Islamic party to govern efficiently and implement a modernising reform agenda in the vein of developed Western democracies. The AKP deliberately sought to position itself as the continuation of the liberal tradition in Turkish politics, and the primary orientation of its foreign policy outlook became integration with Europe. This was facilitated by the gradual socioeconomic transformation of the conservative Muslim masses, which came to regard the processes of liberalisation and democratisation optimistically.

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Ko¨sebalaban has pointed out that the bureaucratic establishment and its supporters have begun to move in the opposite direction – that is, to become ardent opponents of Turkey’s ‘opening up’ and of European integration. He writes, In large demonstrations held in Istanbul and Ankara staged to block the election of [the] AKP’s founding leader Abdullah Gu¨l as president in 2007, Kemalists who appeared pro-Western in appearance carried huge banners that read ‘Neither the EU, nor the USA, fully independent Turkey!’ and ‘No to ABDullah Gu¨l’ (‘ABD’ are the Turkish initials for the United States). In other words, Turkey’s Westernisers changed sides with the Islamists, who had now become more indigenous advocates of integration with Europe and global markets (Ko¨sebalaban 2011; 148). In any case, the common perception of Turkey’s Kemalists as democratic and Western-orientated on the one hand, and Islamic actors as regressive, totalitarian and undemocratic on the other needs to be revisited in light of Turkey’s EU bid.

Rising Nationalism and Anti-EU Sentiment The transformation process signalled by the AKP’s bid for EU accession has caused a considerable amount of discomfort among the State’s elite. Moreover, rising Turkish nationalism is correlated with a considerable decrease in support for the accession process by Turkish citizens, as demonstrated by the protestors’ slogans mentioned above. Ruairi Patterson has offered an account of the situation: In recent years, far from representing a potential source of pride for Turks, accession has seemed like a far-distant prospect and the process has seemed more like one of humiliation, allowing rival conceptions of Europe as Turkey’s historic enemy to come to the fore [. . .]. The EU’s explicit insistence that accession was not a guaranteed outcome of the process intensified this,

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leading Turks to believe they were being treated differently from other accession candidates [. . .]. The handling of the accession process itself appears to be one of the drivers of rising nationalism, accounting for the popularity of a specifically Eurosceptic nationalism [. . .]. This rise in Eurosceptic nationalism has proven damaging for the reform process (Patterson 2008; 136). To further complicate matters, the AKP’s commitment to the EU accession process has stirred resentment among its detractors. The party’s opponents, including the military, have used nationalist rhetoric to drum up anti-AKP and Eurosceptic sentiment. The vast numbers of Turkish flags carried at anti-AKP demonstrations, according to Patterson, signify the strong anti-Western (anti-foreign) feeling of some of these rallies; ‘the insolubility of Kemalist secularism and nationalism and the tendency of political tensions to nationalise the political mood were demonstrated [during the protests]’ (2008; 135). The implication is that the government, by pandering to the EU’s demands, is ‘selling out’ Turkey and compromising the country’s independence and national interest. In accounting for the Kemalists’ growing resentment of the EU accession process, Ahmet I˙nsel (2003) has suggested that the defensive reaction of the laicist elite in the face of the AKP’s reformism is based on the entrenched fear of losing a hegemonic position, and this reflects a certain kind of class struggle. Yıldız agrees that the Kemalist elite, in opposing much of the AKP’s human rights agenda and the reform process overall, seeks primarily to safeguard its own power and hence preserve the status quo. He writes, Deep-seated fears, suspicion and resistance towards reform remain ingrained in key sectors of the ‘deep-state’ including in the military, civil service and judiciary, and the continued presence of these elements lurking behind Turkey’s official governing structure is a key impediment to reform. It can be assumed that for many, the demise of their previously assured positions of power within the state induces hostility towards the new order,

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while the reform process may also be regarded as a ‘betrayal of Atatu¨rk’s legacy of ethnic nationalism’ (Yıldız 2005; 42). In addition, the AKP has encountered some staunch opposition to its pro-EU stance from the populist and radical nationalist MHP. The MHP has conventionally employed a nativist critique of ‘alien’ Europe and ‘traditionally envisions itself as an organisation with a mission to protect the Turkish state in the name of the Turkish nation’ (Canefe and Bora 2003; 130). The radical nationalists have assumed spokesmanship for the ‘Turkey’s national interests versus European impositions’ debate while emphasising the need for Turkey to regain its national pride and self-sufficiency and resist ‘imperial’ incursions and dominance (2003; 130). The MHP has in turn adopted a hostile attitude towards the fulfilment of the Copenhagen criteria, based on the belief that Europe demonstrates bias against Turkey and undermines its interests. The MHP does not condone any concessions to the EU on matters considered crucial to Turkey’s national security and territorial integrity.

More Limitations of the AKP’s Accession Bid Although the AKP supports the principle of modernisation and has embraced the EU’s recommendations for reform, its identity retains a strong Islamic element. Its commitment to Turkey’s EU bid is due largely to the fact that the party feels that the ‘EU anchor’ will improve the status of marginalised Islamic actors in Turkey through the fostering of a climate of democratic tolerance and freedom that is essentially synonymous with the EU ‘brand’. Serving to dampen the AKP’s Euro-enthusiasm, however, and to produce instead a kind of Euro-fatigue is a demonstration of the government’s relative lack of success in terms of advocating greater civil and cultural rights for Muslim groups, who arguably comprise a significant portion of the AKP’s constituency. Ali Resul Usul argues that the integration process with the EU has not yet created the anticipated favourable atmosphere that provides more freedoms for Turkey’s conservative circles. The AKP’s conservative/Islamic constituency, which forms

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the backbone of the AKP both at a grassroots and a senior official level, has not, claimed the author, had its special demands met. These include the headscarf problem and the issues of the Preacher and Orator schools (I˙mam Hatip Okulları). While the EU has pressurised Turkey to provide more liberty to most of the ‘minority’ groups in Turkey, including Alevis, leftists, Kurdish nationalists and even gays and lesbians, the headscarf issue, which was deemed as one of the most serious human rights violations by conservative circles in Turkey has not even been mentioned in the progress reports, the Accession Partnership Document or other EU documents (Usul 2008; 186). This has reinforced Eurosceptic sentiment in Turkey’s conservative circles, and has frustrated the AKP. The party has succeeded in hiding its anger over several decisions that have gone against it in government. Nevertheless, the EU’s treatment of the headscarf issue is a particularly sensitive topic for the government. The AKP barely concealed its disappointment over the European Court of Human Rights’ decision on 29 June 2004 that the Turkish state had not violated the Convention for the Protection of Human Rights and Freedoms by expelling student Leyla Sahin from university because of her headscarf. Commenting on this event, an AKP parliamentarian is reported to have said, I am very sensitive on the headscarf issue. Europe is liberal about the rights of everyone, but very cruel when it comes to one of the most important issues. They do not see this as a human rights issue. This has created a serious break of morale for us and led to disappointment with the EU. We feel really alone in an essential area of cooperation. Some in Europe understand, some do not. I do not know how we can ever put the message across (quoted in Aydın and C¸akır 2007; 10). Another contentious issue for the AKP is the clause that allows for permanent derogations in the EU’s negotiating framework with

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Turkey. The AKP is often on the back foot in the accession negotiations, constantly feeling that it has something to prove to the EU, something not expected from other candidate countries. Effectively, the AKP is playing a catch-up game in its bid for EU membership, taking two steps forward and one step backwards. As one party official emphasised, The EU is saying that they need to allow for permanent derogations to ease the concerns of the public. They are also saying that it is our duty to win the hearts and minds of European citizens. Why was this argument never made for any other candidate country? I really believe that the EU is not being fair to Turkey (quoted in Aydın and C¸akır 2007; 10). In turn, the EU’s behaviour has fostered the suspicion, both within the ranks of the AKP and among much of the Turkish public, that the EU is essentially unwilling to admit a Muslim country into the ‘Christian Club’, and perpetually raises the bar higher in terms of the ‘necessary’ criteria for Turkey’s accession prospects. Another AKP official is on record as having stated, ‘the main perception in the party is one of being discriminated against by the EU because we come from a different cultural and religious background. The EU cannot be explicit about this, so instead they are trying to make us give up on the way by asking for requirements not asked from other candidates’ (quoted in Aydın and C¸akır 2007; 11). The long and troubled road to EU membership disheartened the AKP, and from 2005 onwards the government maintained a relatively low profile with regards to the accession negotiations. In 2012, relations with Europe were undermined further when Ankara broke off negotiations with the EU Presidency when the Greek Cypriot administration assumed the rotating six-month role, effective as of July of that year. The boycott, rather than severely hampering the accession talks, was symbolically important and a foreseeable outcome given that Turkey does not recognise the Greek/southern Republic of Cyprus. According to Gu¨rsoy (2010), the Europeanisation of Turkish politics has not taken place in a

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linear, upwards and forwards fashion, but has occurred in periodic ascents and descents. The EU reforms process has not been a continuous and consistent one; interest in introducing reforms has periodically risen and fallen. For example, as Gu¨rsoy has pointed out, the majority of constitutional amendments were made between 1999 and 2004. However, no major changes were implemented for over five years afterwards until, in 2009, the AKP started to refer to the Demokratik Acılım (known as the Democratic Opening or Initiative), which foresaw the introduction of more rights and freedoms to ethnic minorities (mainly, the Kurds). Several reasons have been offered as to why the AKP vacillates when it comes to aggressively implementing EU reforms. The party is caught in a political limbo, rendering it indisposed to engaging in the accession process more rigorously yet unwilling to abandon the EU dream entirely. Moreover, as Mehmet Celil C¸elebi points out, there are economic factors to consider: ‘the EU sends mixed messages to Turkey, implying that full candidature may not happen no matter what. The costs of reform are too great to suffer and its rewards uncertain, while leaving the table also brings some unnecessary costs such as giving up completely the hope of being admitted and the benefits from external aid funds’ (2012; 10). The government has weighed in on the cost – benefit analysis of eventual EU accession. One might then say that the AKP is content with the current stalemate with the EU, as it is not obliged to implement domestically unpopular reforms when it is politically inexpedient to do so, or to reject the EU process entirely. An alternative reading may shed light on the fact that it is not only the AKP government that is satisfied with the presently stalled relationship with Brussels, but that it also suits the Kemalist elite. C¸ag˘lar Keyder has suggested that both the state elite and the politicians seem satisfied with the present stand-off in relations, whereby Turkey would be seen as a perpetual supplicant for membership and the EU as a fickle and ultimately uninterested ‘object of desire’. The author has claimed, Turkey’s ambivalent status as neither in nor out of Europe suited the state elite in its preference for perpetuating a middle

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ground where political reforms could be left incomplete. The stalemate also gave them the opportunity to validate that part of the nationalist discourse which cast Europe as carrying an essentially Christian culturalist attitude, against a Turkey which would never be accepted no matter what it achieved (Keyder 2006; 77). This raises the possibility that the EU accession process has in fact become a rhetorical and politicised tool, one that is manipulated, adopted or neglected according to political expediency by the relevant actors. Moreover, it reflects the confusing and delicate nature of domestic Turkish politics. Gu¨rsoy has argued that the explanation for the AKP’s inability and unwillingness to consolidate the reform process is essentially domestic in origin. That is, domestic political factors influence the AKP’s EU agenda: Turkey is caught in a vicious cycle. The AKP does not attempt sweeping changes and does not carry out reforms one after the other because that would increase suspicions and increase resistance. Instead, the government moves ahead slowly and sometimes even reverses its prior reforms (such as those focused on minority rights) when nationalist opposition appears to gain power. The government also selects what it deems as the most urgent reforms, calculating of course how its own Islamist constituency would react (Gu¨rsoy 2010; 233). As a result, it has been argued that the AKP is biased and selectively implements the reform process according to its own political agenda. In fact, as Terzi (2010) has pointed out, the only time the EU goal was re-emphasised after years of neglect was when the AKP was faced with the closure trial, due to the claims of the government becoming a centre of anti-secular activity in the summer of 2008. Indeed, the EU bid was all but dropped from the government’s agenda following the 2006 decision of the European Council to effectively freeze negotiations by not provisionally

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closing/completing any of the negotiated chapters, pending Turkey’s implementation of the customs union to vessels from the Republic of Cyprus. By early 2010, however, the AKP had revitalised its EU campaign, seeking to speed up the reform agenda and drum up public support for the EU cause. Following several public declarations of support for the AKP, and the simultaneous condemnation by several EU officials of the constitutional court closure case brought against the government in 2008 – most notably by Olli Rehn, the former commissioner for enlargement, and Jose Manuel Barroso, the EU Commission president – the AKP government started to re-emphasise its European commitments. One cannot, therefore, discount the significance of the EU’s support for the AKP government in its hour of need, which helped to restore relations between the Union and the aspiring candidate state. Nevertheless, the accession negotiations have not followed a smooth and consistent trajectory since then. It appears that the AKP has tried to uphold the EU process by mainly blaming the Europeans for the stalemate in relations. Moreover, according to the AKP’s critics – including the opposition CHP, MHP and secular elites, and those in the judiciary and the military – the government deliberately stalls the reform process and shrewdly chooses which reforms to implement, which legislation to amend and what policies to abandon, because the true aim of the AKP is not Europeanisation or Westernisation (Gu¨rsoy 2010). Opponents often highlight the fact that the government has only revised several existing laws and has changed the constitution only to the extent that the political autonomy of the military would be reduced – which would in turn increase the ruling party’s power. That is, ‘so far, reforms that would eliminate opposition in the military and the judiciary are among the first choices of amendments’ (Gu¨rsoy 2010; 233). The AKP’s critics maintain that this is a deliberate strategy employed by the government to undermine the established principle of secularism in Turkish politics. Such a view also implies that the AKP is not genuine in its espousal of democratic principles. A more nuanced argument is that the AKP and the EU interpret the concept of democracy somewhat differently. That is, there is a

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dual conception of democracy. The AKP understands it as a system that empowers democratically-elected representatives, its conception of democracy being thus based on a majoritarian discourse. For the AKP government, democracy essentially means the removal of constraints on the peoples’ elected officials. That is, democracy is about ensuring that the peoples’ representatives are free to exercise their mandate accordingly, in order to serve the majority. The EU, on the other hand, emphasises limited government, a small state and prioritises the rights of minorities and individuals. Europe’s conception of democracy is therefore associated with liberalism, and the EU champions liberal democracy. The differing definitions of democracy held by the EU entity and the Turkish Republic should not surprise onlookers. Despite the fact that majoritarian democracy is not universally endorsed and, in practice, has many derogators, given the historical instability of Turkish politics it is perhaps to be expected that the latter’s concept of democracy is rather undeveloped by European standards. This reflects the immaturity of Turkish democracy. The AKP government is not, however, opposed to democracy in toto, even though it has evidently stalled on the implementation of ostensibly pro-democratic EU reforms, leading to widespread criticism and suspicion of the governing party. Rather, the government is at odds with the EU’s interpretation of the principle of democracy, and resists the unconditional importation thereof into the Turkish context. The AKP espouses a different focus on the democratic principle, and defines it differently from the EU. As a result, it has postponed the introduction of policies deemed offensive to its constituency, which are those likely to compromise its electoral dominance. The AKP’s response to the accusation that it is not sincere in its attachment to the democratic principle is that the increasing withdrawal of the Turkish military, triggered by the government’s legislative and constitutional reforms – that is, the process of civilianisation – is in fact the precursor to a vibrant and consolidated democracy. By ‘Europeanising’ the issue of the Turkish military’s interventionist political role, the AKP has sought sympathy and legitimacy from a powerful benefactor by highlighting the undemocratic and totalitarian nature of the Kemalist military. Put

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simply, the military is the greatest obstacle to the consolidation of Turkish democracy and the AKP has beseeched the EU for support and guidance in countering its influence in politics in order that the party might carry out its mandate as a democraticallyelected representative of the majority of the Turkish people, and push ahead with what may be considered domestically ‘unpopular’ liberal reforms.

Moving Away from Europe? The experience of having suffered several crucial setbacks during the accession negotiations has compelled the AKP to look for new horizons and to seek out new diplomatic relationships in the region. The government’s recent rapprochement with key Middle Eastern states, orchestrated largely by Foreign Minister Ahmet Davutog˘lu, has perturbed Europe and raised eyebrows within Turkey, eliciting a suspicious reaction from Kemalist circles, which argue that the engagement with the Muslim world is evidence of the AKP’s hidden Islamist agenda. It is often thought that Turkey’s EU bid is a zero-sum game. The country can be either Western/European and secular democratic, or Eastern and Muslim in orientation, but it cannot be both at the same time. Critics of the AKP’s rapprochement with the Muslim world believe that closer ties between Turkey and the Middle East automatically and inevitably undermine the former’s relationship with Europe. According to this line of reasoning, Turkey cannot effectively maintain warm relations with both the EU entity and the Muslim Middle East concurrently; Ankara is consequently compelled to choose one way or the other. The assumption is that by pursuing closer ties with the Middle East, Ankara is naturally gravitating towards the Muslim world and away from Europe and the West. By adopting a policy of keeping Turkey at arm’s length while stalling the negotiations with Ankara, the EU has stirred resentment within the AKP government, and this reflects the growing dissatisfaction with the accession process among the Turkish public. Speaking at a Helsinki conference at the end of 2012, Foreign

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Minister Davutog˘lu remarked, ‘we [Turkey] will never beg [for EU membership]. Should there be an integration, it must be fair’ (quoted in Today’s Zaman, 20 December 2012). Davutog˘lu claimed that the Greek Cypriots were effectively blocking Turkey’s entry to the EU, believing that this would hurt Turkey in the long run. He then compared the growing Turkish economy to the feeble Greek Cypriot and stagnant European economies. This seemed to say to the EU, ‘you need us as much as we need you’. One feels that Davutog˘lu’s smug assertion was a policy to generate public approval back home, as much as it was designed for the EU audience. Representing the republic, Davutog˘lu’s comments on the European platform seemed to vindicate Turkey and restore some degree of pride for ordinary Turkish citizens, who increasingly oppose EU membership. The increasing alienation from Europe and the disillusionment with the EU accession process may prove to be the catalyst for Turkey’s greater enmeshment in the Muslim Middle East. This would be an unintended consequence of the EU – Ankara stalemate, with potential ramifications for Western interests in the region. Following the AKP’s comfortable electoral win in June 2011, in which it was returned to power while increasing its share of the primary vote to almost 50 per cent, Erdog˘an made a telling victory speech that emphasised Turkey’s relationships with Middle Eastern or Muslim-majority states, and neglected to mention Europe or the West even once. Commencing his speech by saluting ‘all friendly and brotherly nations from Baghdad, Damascus, Beirut, Cairo, Sarajevo, Baku and [North/Turkish] Nicosia’, Erdog˘an ceremoniously proclaimed that ‘the hopes of the victims and the oppressed have won’, and that ‘Beirut has won as much as I˙zmir. West Bank, Gaza, Ramallah, Jerusalem have won as much as Diyarbakır. The Middle East, the Caucasus and the Balkans have won, just as Turkey has won’ (quoted in Hu¨rriyet Daily News, 13 June 2011). The symbolism of Erdog˘an’s grandiloquent post-election address should not be discounted. It is even more remarkable, according to Ayse Zarakol, when compared with Erdog˘an’s previous victory speeches, which underlined the AKP’s commitment to Turkey’s EU candidacy: ‘this surprising number of mentions of previous Ottoman territories in a

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national victory speech is certainly noteworthy. What is also interesting is the number of times Europe and the West were mentioned: exactly zero’ (Zarakol 2011; 1). By presenting himself as a Middle Eastern, as opposed to a European, leader, and by focusing on the government’s relations with its ‘brother’ Muslim neighbours, Erdog˘an and the AKP have ignited domestic and international concern that it has charted a new course away from Europe and the West. In the course of recent developments, the AKP government has also declared that it regards the Shanghai Cooperation Organization (SCO) as another alternative to the EU. When Prime Minister Erdog˘an met with the Russian president, Vladimir Putin, in July 2012, the latter jokingly remarked that the EU was no place for Turkey. Erdog˘an responded teasingly, ‘why don’t you then allow Turkey into the Shanghai Five [the former name of the SCO]? Then we would be prepared to let go of the EU’ (quoted in Today’s Zaman, 26 July 2012). The SCO, an intergovernmental security association comprising China, Russia, Kazakhstan, Kyrgyzstan, Tajikistan and Uzbekistan, has initiated large-scale projects in areas as diverse as telecommunications, energy and transportation. It has also held meetings on issues of defence and security, foreign affairs and matters pertaining to the economy. It is generally considered to be an antiAmerican bloc and was, ostensibly, established with the objective of counterbalancing the influence of NATO in the Central Asian region. Turkey is currently a dialogue partner of the SCO, along with Belarus and Sri Lanka, and Erdog˘an has strongly suggested that he finds the prospect of SCO membership attractive from a Turkish point of view. Following the AKP’s public declaration that it will seek to upgrade its status in the SCO to an observer member state, the leader of the government has signaled his desire for Turkey to join the predominantly Eurasian (or former Soviet Central Asian) energyrich group of nations, which has lately expanded its portfolio. This has generated speculation and growing concern as to whether Ankara is now seriously considering abandoning its EU vocation and pursuing membership of the SCO as a substitute, or whether the government is merely bluffing to exert pressure on the EU to rekindle

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and fast-track the negotiations. Speaking live during a television broadcast on Turkey’s Kanal 24 national channel, Erdog˘an dispelled suggestions that his government would ever voluntarily forsake the EU process, or that he wished to forget the EU agenda. He contended, rather, that it is the EU that ‘actually wants to forget us; however they are hesitating and cannot forget. We are not the ones that are undecided; the European Union is, whereas if they would just reveal their true intentions to us, we would be at ease. We could just look after our own business and go our own way. The European Union needs to stop stalling us’ (quoted in Sabah, 26 January 2013). Erdog˘an has also claimed that the SCO was more powerful and economically superior to the EU, and that Turkey and the SCO shared many of the same values. It is not clear if he made these comments in a deliberate attempt to rouse the EU, but there is speculation that his words may backfire. Conversely, the potential to ‘lose Turkey’ would also be regarded as a tactical mistake on the part of Europe. Certainly there is a lot at stake for both parties. Nevertheless, for many Western onlookers who are disturbed at these proclamations, the issue of whether or not the AKP is genuine in its flirtation with the SCO is inconsequential. For many in the West, it is disconcerting that the leader of the ruling party would even ironically suggest such a prospect (joining the SCO), given the severe democratic deficiencies and the repressive state practices of most of the bloc’s member countries. By simply comparing the EU entity with the SCO, or entertaining the idea of abandoning Ankara’s EU ambition to pursue SCO membership, the AKP is jeopardising its global reputation as a citadel for secular democracy in the Muslim world, and endangering long-time alliances with key Western and NATO partners. Furthermore, by calling the prime minister’s bluff the EU could retaliate to these comments and the unfolding outcome, officially terminating negotiations, would send Turkey irrevocably down a path it did not sincerely wish for in the first place. Emrullah Uslu argues that ‘Erdog˘an’s statement about Turkey’s values matching those of the SCO is politically treacherous. Raising the SCO debate in Turkish politics may inadvertently negatively contribute to the international debate on whether Turkey’s

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political system is indeed becoming more authoritarian’ (2013; 1). It is thought that Turkey’s enmeshment within the SCO would be damaging to democratic forces in the country, and that the Republic would be guided into a more totalitarian and despotic direction. This argument is also put forward in light of the AKP’s recent engagement with Middle Eastern, Muslim countries. According to Nur Bilge Criss, by turning its back on the EU process and publicly emphasising a warming of relations with fellow Muslim-majority states in its neighbourhood, the AKP is playing with fire and is risking Turkey’s international prestige: The AKP’s identity crisis of late, between Islamism and conservative democracy, will be remembered as a waste of time and energy for Turkey because the chances of being re-elected as a majority party are increasingly slim, and Turkey’s European vocation is becoming more questionable under the AKP government at a time when there is once again more enthusiasm among the people for membership in the European Union. A major problem with the AKP is that it is trying to be everything to everybody both domestically and internationally, resulting in loss of confidence even in circles that once had confidence in the party (Bilge Criss 2011; 54). The AKP is being pulled in many different directions: on the domestic front it has been forced to justify itself against the Kemalists’ claim that it is an Islamist party, and thus operate within a clearly demarcated, secular democratic paradigm; while at the same time it seeks to implement policies that are culturally conservative and that speak to its religious constituency. Moreover, as Fisher Onar has noted, the AKP ‘counters charges of anti-Westernism and militancy by asserting that it engages actors like Hamas for the express purpose of encouraging their moderation’ and that until Brussels can offer a reliable assurance of Turkish membership in the EU Ankara’s ‘political will is better spent on enhancing Turkey’s credentials as a regional security provider’ (2009; 14). Internationally, the government still has obligations to the EU in terms of its

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accession programme, and while making a committed effort to the reform agenda, it is constrained in its options by the need to strike a balance between, on the one hand, the internal nationalist opposition to concessions on the Cyprus issue, the dispute in the Aegean with Greece, the Armenian question (which is also a controversial issue in Europe) and the ethnic Kurdish problem, and on the other hand its EU commitments. The former are considered sensitive matters directly related to Turkey’s concept of territorial integrity, sovereignty and national security. According to important players in the Turkish polity, including the armed forces, these matters are strictly non-negotiatable. In the Middle East, Turkey has lately assumed a more proactive role, facilitating increased dialogue between its neighbour states and establishing a warmer rapport therewith. The normalisation of Turkey’s relations with certain Muslim-majority states in the region has unsettled Europe and challenged Ankara’s traditional alliance with the Middle East’s other democracy, Israel. Indeed, the severe strain of the present relationship between Ankara and Tel Aviv was punctuated by Prime Minister Erdog˘an’s storming out of the Davos World Economic Forum in January 2009 in protest at Israel’s military attack on the Gaza Strip. Things were later worsened by the flotilla-raid incident in May 2010, in which several Turkish nationals, who were demonstrating on board the Mavi Marmara ship, were killed by Israeli soldiers in international waters. These events have culminated in a downgrading of the diplomatic relationship between the two states and the suspension of joint military exercises. In March 2013 – under mounting pressure from international and domestic actors from both sides, and urged by US President Barack Obama – the leader of the Israeli state, Benjamin Netanyahu, issued a formal apology to Turkey for the Mavi Marmara incident. This landmark moment follows three years of severe tension between Ankara and Tel Aviv, and was hailed as a significant diplomatic success in Turkey. To use Bilge Criss’ terminology, the AKP is ‘trying to be everything to everybody’ and is overstretching and overcommitting itself. The party’s policy-juggling act is fuelled by its psychological

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and strategic desire, in government, to project at once two seemingly divergent identities: a Western and a Muslim one. The government maintains that Turkey is a secular democratic state, founded on modern principles with ties to Europe, the United States and the West generally. The AKP also promotes Turkey as a Muslimmajority country reclaiming its Islamic heritage by publicly affirming its Ottoman past and forging closer ties with the nations with which it has a cultural and religious affinity. The AKP government has stated that its departure from traditional foreign policy to a more conciliatory model of engagement – in Davutog˘lu’s words, a ‘zero problems with neighbours’ approach – will yield positive results for all concerned parties (including Western and European ones), by promoting stability in the Middle East and establishing Turkey as a mediator and guarantor of peace in the region. Indeed, what has been dubbed Turkey’s ‘neo-Ottoman’ ambition has been the subject of increasing discussion. According to Suat Kınıklıog˘lu, former AKP deputy chairman of external affairs and spokesman for the Foreign Affairs Committee of the Turkish Parliament, the revival of Ottomanism challenges the positivist– modernist republican narrative of Turkish history, which is based on a ‘rejection of heritage’. He has asserted, It [neo-Ottomanism] generates a significant amount of tension with the nationalist-paranoid upsurge, which is extremely suspicious and feels threatened by the impact of globalisation and Turkey’s EU drive. This tension is most visible in the foreign policy field as well as on issues such as [the] further democratisation of Turkey. While the neo-Ottoman streak favours normalisation with Arabs, Muslims and Kurds as Ottoman cosmopolitanism allows it to do, the other camp feverishly resists such a rapprochement and views it with stark sceptism (Kınıklıog˘lu in Today’s Zaman, 20 March 2007). Thus, the AKP seeks to reassure its domestic critics and sceptics in the European camp that its increasing involvement in the Middle East is not tantamount to it pursuing an Islamist agenda or one based

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on territorial ambition, nor of its having turned its back on its EU obligations. Kınıklıog˘lu also reminds European observers especially that the Kemalist– nationalist elite, who warn of the ‘dangers’ to Turkish secularism in the midst of Ankara’s warming of relations with its neighbours, has also to date opposed much of the EU accession process and the reforms implemented by the AKP to this end. While conceding the AKP’s seeming ‘neo-Ottoman aspirations’, Zarakol states that only the most simplistic analyses of recent Turkish foreign policy attribute expansionist and militaristic motives to the government: ‘judging by the track record, rather than military dominance, the AKP government seems to be pursuing economic and cultural influence, perhaps in the manner of Japanese foreign policy in East and Southeast Asia after its post-WWII economic boom’ (Zarakol 2011; 3). Ankara’s growing influence in the region is a prime example of Turkey’s ‘soft power’. The AKP’s neo-Ottomanism, thus, is not ideologically motivated, nor is it based on a latent and ambitious intent to reinstate the Islamic caliphate. Rather, it is a policy approach dictated by pragmatic and political interests. Moreover, despite several setbacks the AKP is still the most vocal EU campaigner in Turkish politics. The extent to which the present stalemate in the Ankara– Brussels relationship is a permanent rupture or a transient period of cooling off due to minor misgivings by both parties remains to be seen. What is certain is that the AKP government has always highlighted the importance of the ‘EU anchor’ and the process of accession rather than the expectation of eventual full integration in the European bloc.

The Journey is More Important than the Destination In its desire to establish itself as a moderate, centre-right party distinct from its predecessors (the Welfare and the Virtue parties), the AKP has, in government, proven to be especially enthusiastic in its campaign for EU accession. Full membership of the EU is considered to be very important if economic and democratic development in Turkey is to be consolidated. In terms of its agenda, the EU accession programme is of critical importance to the AKP. Its officials have

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consistently highlighted the convergence between Turkey’s ‘national interest’ and being a full member of the union. Increased rapprochement with Europe guarantees a beneficial degree of economic stabilisation for a country that has been dogged by decades of economic weakness and consecutive administrations noted for their fiscal mismanagement. The shift away from anti-Western and anti-EU rhetoric on the part of the pro-Islamic AKP can, in part, be explained by the party’s recognition that integration into the European entity is more advantageous for it, and for Turkey as a whole, than exclusion from it. Moreover, according to Ko¨sebalaban, the strong pro-EU stance adopted by the AKP government ‘is in harmony with [its] liberal and globalist identity’ (2011; 152). Some of the manifest benefits of Ankara’s increased rapport with Brussels are a burgeoning civil movement, increasingly transparent government, and unprecedented economic development. It is important to note, however, that the relationship between Ankara and Brussels is symbiotic and mutually advantageous; it serves Europe as much as it does Turkey. Through its relationship with Turkey, the EU can successfully elicit valuable concessions from the country that are central to its own strategic and economic interests. The EU anchor serves not only to bind Turkey to liberal democratic ideals, it also allows the EU to keep Turkey at arm’s length while maintaining a close enough proximity that it can supervise the political situation in the country. Indeed, the EU’s stance has been criticised as patronising by the opponents of Turkey’s accession campaign; the relationship between the two entities, although mutually advantageous, is potentially more beneficial to the EU itself. Critics view the disproportionate compromises made by Turkey on the road to accession as an injury to national pride. Many key promises made by the EU have not been fulfilled, accession talks have been rescheduled and entry-date deadlines have been extended. This has frustrated AKP officials and further embittered the opponents of the process. In any case, the AKP is obliged to consider the general consensus and overall national mood, even at grassroots level, in the formulation of its EU policy. Ali C¸arkog˘lu suggests that public sentiment is a driving force behind

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Turkey’s relations with the EU, and that at differing degrees of interaction – from the official diplomatic sphere to the unofficial and informal relationships between players of civil society on both sides – ‘the intensity and direction of relations are moulded by the legitimising force of the public opinion about Turkey’s bid for membership of the EU’ (2003; 171). It is important to study the AKP’s policy towards the EU, and the response to the latter’s conditions for entry, in light of the party’s obligation to serve its constituency. The AKP has adapted to conform to these recommendations, and the extent to which it has had to absorb numerous setbacks regarding its accession programme also needs to be addressed. The AKP’s ability to bounce back and persevere on the track towards EU membership following several disappointments is significant and requires further scrutiny. Many critics of the party’s pro-EU policy have argued that the AKP government’s efforts are in vain and that it is imprudent to make any concessions regarding issues such as Cyprus and the Kurdish problems, as the EU does not seriously entertain the notion of ever admitting Turkey into its ranks. Opponents of EU membership maintain that the Union uses the prospect of accession as a ‘carrot’ to extract concessions from Turkey; the EU wields the ‘accession carrot’ in order to manipulate Turkey and further its own strategic interests. Brussels has pressured Ankara and attempted to extract an admission of guilt over the massacre of Armenians, and force a retreat from the Cyprus embargo. It has been vocal in demanding that the armed forces step down permanently from civilian politics and that the plight of Turkey’s minorities, including the Kurds, is improved, affording them increased political and cultural rights (according to EU sceptics, this will dangerously fuel separatist tensions). It expects that Ankara will remain a faithful negotiator between itself and Turkey’s Middle Eastern neighbours, and reaps significant economic benefits through its close ties to the growing Turkish market. Nevertheless, it is futile to speculate on the degree to which the AKP feels that it may eventually succeed in its accession bid, if at all. It may be the case that, as Usul (2008) points out, the integration process, along with its results, is more important to the AKP

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leadership than EU membership itself. The Turkey– EU relationship is complex and reciprocal. The latter can employ the former’s bid for accession as a ‘carrot’ to extract concessions from Turkey, and the AKP government can, in turn, use its accession programme as an ‘anchor’ to attach itself to the European democratic ideals that correspond to its own ‘conservative democratic’ ideology. For the AKP’s leaders and policy makers, it may be that actual EU membership per se is inconsequential. Party officials have reiterated that, despite the various setbacks it has faced, and no matter how long and difficult the road to EU accession may prove to be, the AKP will not abandon its goal of eventual membership. It has, however, been obliged to critically reassess its EU plans, and the reforms process as a whole. C¸iftci has stated that the AKP was in fact forced to balance the requirements of the EU accession process with domestic imperatives associated with the 2007 presidential and parliamentary elections. She has stated, Parallel to his [Prime Minister Erdog˘an’s] awareness of the aversion of the increasingly nationalistic and xenophobic Turkish electorate to EU demands and the dangers of being outflanked by the opposition parties, Erdog˘an was also aware of the sensitivities of the powerful Turkish General Staff (TGS). Accordingly, he chose to pursue a course of lower gear engagement with the EU while pointedly claiming that it would not be ‘a disaster’ if Turkey were to be rejected by the EU as Turkey would ‘happily continue down its own road’ (C¸iftci 2008; 2). In calculating the political expediency of the accession process, the AKP government has, by necessity, factored in domestic, strategic and electoral conditions. The party’s EU bid, therefore, is heavily dependent on domestic conditions and the national mood. Given the volatility of Turkish politics, and the intractable nature of certain domestic problems, EU membership is far from guaranteed – even in the event of Brussels officially welcoming Turkey into the union as a member state.

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What is important, however, is that through the process of EU integration and through the forging of closer ties with Europe, Turkey may be guided on to a path of democratic and economic reform. Arguably, this is an apolitical and non-ideological objective, and one that, if realised, would benefit all Turkish citizens, supporters and opponents of EU membership alike. The AKP has instrumentalised the EU accession process, and Prime Minister Erdog˘an once declared that the ‘Copenhagen criteria would be turned into the “Ankara criteria” and implemented in Turkey whether the EU membership prospect exists or not’ (Ulusoy 2010; 82). According to Usul, the ‘anchoring’ to the EU – economic or otherwise – helps ‘the government to reduce Turkey’s two long-lasting major causes of fragility: regime crises that had resulted in military interventions several times in various forms, and economic/financial breakdowns’ (Usul 2008; 180). The AKP has thus adopted an optimistic, ‘freedom through the EU’ approach, and this is best summarised in then Foreign Minister Abdullah Gu¨l’s article, published in 2000, as follows: The state policy [. . .] concerning Turkey’s accession to the EU is today generally accepted by the majority of the society. The majority of the people, with the exception of a marginal group worrying about its gained privileges (and) even [. . .] the circles that have traditionally been against Westernisation, have started to see the EU as a more secure environment, harbouring an impulse created by the 28th February process, which diminished to a large extent fundamental freedoms and rights and conducted official discrimination against a particular section of the society without any mercy. This is because the idea that Turkey could realise a pluralist democracy, a civil regime [. . .] human rights [. . .] and individual freedoms only within the EU framework is dominant in Turkey (Gu¨l cited in Usul 2008; 179). Indeed, the EU accession process necessitates the consolidation of Turkish democracy in line with the Copenhagen criteria, ‘while

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empowering the AKP’s legitimacy in transforming the political system’ (Duran 2006; 296). The AKP’s EU bid has thus been critical in winning over ‘secularly-oriented and influential civil society organisations’, including the Turkish military (Usul 2008; 180). At the same time, Europe’s insistence on not opening negotiations without significant progress being made by the aspiring candidate in the stated areas of reform allows the AKP to address some of the more controversial aspects of state– society relations in Turkey, including the public visibility of religion, the military’s role in politics and the Kurdish question. It is hoped that through the harmonisation of Turkish foreign and domestic policy with that of the EU, important issues such as identity politics, the headscarf affair, religious education and the Kurdish language will be ‘Europeanised’ – that is, brought to the European agenda and introduced and discussed on a larger, international platform. These concerns will thus transcend the Turkish domestic agenda (Duran 2006). Such issues are, of course, highly sensitive ones for the Turkish military, and it remains to be seen how the latter may react to the AKP’s progressive transformation of Turkey’s foreign and domestic policy en route to EU harmonisation. In general, the EU’s influence on Turkey has accelerated the processes of political harmonisation and domestic democratisation, although in recent times the AKP’s accession bid has stalled. Chief among the factors that have contributed to the stalemate with Brussels are domestic electoral considerations and the AKP’s assessment of the national mood. An overall rise in nationalist sentiment has rendered the goal of membership less attractive to the population at large, with a noted decrease in support for the EU accession process attested to by recent voter polls. Two distinct, yet interrelated, factors have fuelled the nationalist backlash against the EU membership agenda. On the one hand, the EU’s insistence on Ankara’s extensive concessions on certain sensitive issues are seen to pose risks to national security and Turkey’s territorial integrity. The one-sided, numerous (and, as yet, unrewarded) concessions on Ankara’s part are, moreover, largely considered to be an injury to national pride. On the other hand, the

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EU’s explicit declaration that eventual Turkish accession to the Union cannot be guaranteed reinforces the belief that Brussels does not sincerely entertain the thought of ever admitting Turkey into the union, and yet seeks to extract further political concessions from the candidate state. That is, it appears that the declining enthusiasm for the EU process is linked to the fact that Turkey has not been promised entry to the EU and yet is expected to embark on a drastic process of alignment with European political, cultural and economic norms in the absence of any concrete agreement. In addition to the EU’s ambiguous approach to Turkey’s candidacy, the AKP appears to have been frustrated by Europe’s relative indifference to a matter that is considered vitally important by the governing party – namely religious freedom, and particularly the ongoing headscarf issue that has polarised Turkish politics. The AKP has never denied that it recognises and pursues the inherent benefits of EU membership for the objective of religious freedom in the Turkish state. Nor has the AKP government necessarily shied away from beseeching the EU for sympathy and support on controversial issues that have put it at odds with the Kemalist establishment. In fact, along with the expected economic benefits, the potential expansion of religious freedom for devout Muslims by integration with the EU is arguably the biggest reason much of the AKP’s religious– conservative constituency supports EU membership. In other words, it is no secret that the government wishes to align itself with Europe and initiate democratising reforms with a view to circumscribing the power of the authoritarian Kemalist state, and to curbing the undemocratic role of the military in particular. Undoubtedly, the retreat of the mighty Kemalist state establishment and its dominant apparatus, the military, from the political realm of elected public officials will further consolidate democracy in Turkey.

CHAPTER 6 THE AKP AND THE TURKISH MILITARY

An Ideological Battleground Throughout Turkey’s EU candidacy, Brussels has repeatedly highlighted a singular and overriding concern regarding Ankara’s prospects for eventual accession in light of the latter’s ability to fulfil the Copenhagen criteria – namely, the political role of the Turkish military. The EU has emphasised that the civilianisation of the Turkish state and society is integral to the process of ‘harmonisation’ with the European political system, and a prerequisite for Turkey’s eventual admission to the union. Leading the charge that the AKP is a closet Islamist party, harbouring the latent aspiration to overhaul the secular establishment and Islamicise Turkey, is the Turkish military. Indeed, the military has been the AKP’s most vocal detractor since the latter assumed power in 2002. This self-appointed custodian of Turkish secularism has voiced reservations about the ‘real’ nature of the party’s policy, and suspects that the AKP government’s ‘secret’ agenda is to erode the country’s secular foundation. As a result, the AKP has consistently sought to justify its position, appease the military and reassure the Turkish public that the military’s fears are unwarranted. Insofar as the military remains wary of the AKP government’s agenda, and has spearheaded the campaign to effectively demonise

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the governing party, a thorough discussion of the military’s historical role and contemporary political function is essential. Moreover, it is not possible to effectively examine the AKP’s politics in isolation. The party’s emergence and subsequent success is largely attributable to the aggressive application of secularist principles by the armed forces and the past hostility shown by the latter to prospective Islamic political actors, including the AKP government. It was in such a hostile political environment that the AKP was formed and has since flourished. In fact, much of the party’s behaviour can be understood as a reflexive reaction to the constant pressure applied by the armed forces. Not only is the military an authoritative and traditionally autonomous political actor in its own right, its presence is also a crucial determinant of AKP policy. The Turkish military has arguably been the greatest obstacle that the ruling AKP party has needed to overcome in order to push through its reformist agenda and consolidate Turkey’s democratic project. It would appear that the objectives of the popularly elected Islam-influenced government and the highly respected military, the self-styled guarantor of Turkish secularism, are diametrically opposed to one another. However, even though the ideological positions of both the AKP government and the armed forces have historically been in conflict, recent opportunities have arisen that have encouraged the two to cooperate in the face of the current political reality and growing security threat – namely, the developing Kurdish problem. When compared with previous civilian governments, it is clear that the AKP is in an unprecedented position. In many ways, it has been a pioneer of democratic policies, engineering a sweeping process of reforms aimed at limiting the power of the military. In forging ahead with these reforms, the AKP government has accentuated the fact that revisiting the issue of military’s power is done in the name of bolstering Turkey’s democracy and is in line with its (re)definition of secularism. The AKP’s desire to redefine Turkish secularism involves what many consider to be the ambitious project of reconciling Islam to the secular Turkish state, and, by extension, delineating the future role of the military in politics. Indeed, any attempts on the part of the AKP

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government to reconfigure secularism in Turkey necessarily involves a significant shake-up of the current power structures within the State, and a direct challenge to the traditional authority of the armed forces. The long-time stranglehold on domestic politics and the suppression of Islamic political actors by the military has essentially been facilitated by the latter’s ownership of Kemalist principles, including the secularist ideology, and the unchallenged claim to legitimacy it has derived from championing these principles. Given that the military’s relatively uncontested power in political affairs and its public prestige have stemmed largely from its assertion of secularism, any reassessment of that doctrine by the government – in alliance with civil-society actors – will mean a diminution of the military’s political role. We may, therefore, regard the ideological conflict between secularism and political Islam as a power struggle, the results of which will likely portend a significant disruption of the status quo. This struggle is not merely an ideological one between the competing objectives of secularism and political Islam – or an idealistic one, in the sense of determining which political paradigm promises a more just and equitable society. It is more a tangible and immediate battle between a counter-revolutionary civilian government and the traditional authority of the military, the latter standing to lose its established privilege and social prestige. This phenomenon is not new in the Turkish context, and has its roots in the historical Ottoman Empire. According to Serif Mardin, there is significant continuity in the tension between the ‘secular’ state bureaucracy and Islamic elements, which has been inherited from the nineteenthcentury caliphate environment: The history of modern Turkey is not that of a conflict between republicanism and Sultanism, nor is it a history of the strife framed by Islam and secularism. It is a complex, many-tiered encounter between ‘traditional’ forces and modernity that have interpenetrated and been transformed over time due to their propinquity. It is also a story of the constitution of new spaces where these forces have met and changed [. . .] Vague, general

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statements about the ‘modernities’ of Islam do not offer a clue as to the meaning we should draw out of the AKP’s victory. The study of the continuities, ruptures and restructuring of ‘background’ elements in Turkish history may be one small step in that direction (Mardin 2006; 18). The tension between the secular – martial forces and what Mardin describes as the ‘Islamic voice’ is essentially an ongoing contest of legitimacy and authority between rival social actors. The Turkish military has a vested interest in maintaining the status quo. As a result, it defends not only secularism but also the prevailing system that has conventionally guaranteed this privilege; its ideological commitment to secularism is bound to the concrete and material benefits it reaps by upholding such a system. The AKP’s problematic relationship with the military, therefore, is not only an ideological battleground of contested world views (secular versus religious). It is a manifestation of realpolitik, and a power struggle of competing interests. The behaviour of the governing AKP and the armed forces, and the terms in which they interact and confront one another, are best understood in this context.

A Militarised Turkish Society The tension between secularism and political Islam in Turkey assumes a concrete manifestation in the form of the problematic relationship between civil and military actors. Relations between the governing AKP and the military have been frosty from the outset, and characterised by mutual suspicion and antipathy. The AKP government espouses an Islam-friendly agenda and it is this sympathetic approach to Islamic principles that has disturbed the military, the latter being the self-avowed ‘guardian of Kemalism’ and custodian of Turkey’s ‘secular’ constitution. Perhaps nowhere else in the world is the hostility between two fundamental pillars of the state apparatus as palpable as it has been in Turkey for more than the last half century.

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It would be inaccurate to dismiss the Turkish military as simply anti-religious or strictly secular, however. Indeed, military service in the country is popularly associated with religious duty. The fact that Turkish soldiers are traditionally dubbed Mehmetcik (literally, ‘Little Mehmet’), referring to the Prophet Muhammad, and the army itself labelled Peygamber Ocag˘ı, or the Prophet’s Household, is testament to this. Tanel Demirel has pointed out that the evolution of what is known as the military’s ‘guardianship mentality’ is rooted in particular historical circumstances – that is, soldiers also occupied a privileged position in the Ottoman Empire. In fact, the author suggests that not only did the caliphate retain its initial warrior-state characteristics but that the military had been both an object and, especially in the second half of the nineteenth century, the leading advocate of the reform movement (Demirel 2004; 128). It is significant that the only institution that survived the transition from the Ottoman Empire to a modern republican state was the armed forces. Thus, Turkey’s reputation as an Asker Millet, a military nation, transcends the existence of the Turkish Republic, and is steeped in Ottoman tradition (Warhola and Bezci 2010). The role of the Turkish military in the republican years has been a continuation of the caliphate’s military heritage. The cultivation of religious symbolism by the modern military nevertheless appears as a curious anomaly in a self-declared staunchly secular institution. It also has noteworthy consequences for Turkey’s civil – military relations. The exceptional nature of the latter has been summarised by James W. Warhola and Egemen B. Bezci: The legacy of the Western-oriented Young Turks, the effective military rule during the War of Independence (1919– 1922), the legacy of Atatu¨rk’s ‘six arrows’ (of which laiklik is one), and the deep, tight, cultural fusion of military and religious symbols and expressions make for a profoundly complex tapestry in which laiklik works itself out in concrete practice. Since this overall pattern of historical dynamics shaped the evolution of the military elite, civil– military relations in Turkey are unique (Warhola and Bezci 2010; 434).

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Historically, the military has been anxious that political Islam may take hold of a key segment of Turkish society, and therefore threaten the secularist foundation of the State. In defence of Turkey’s staunch version of secularism, the military has wielded indirect power through major channels, including the presidency (aside from the incumbent, former AKP foreign minister, Abdullah Gu¨l, six out of ten Turkish presidents were once high-ranking military officers), the National Security Council (Milli Gu¨venlik Kurulu or NSC), the state security courts and, paradoxically, through the Directorate of Religious Affairs. The military has been a very influential actor in Turkey’s civil life. Its objective to monitor and restrain religious expression has been met with resentment from ordinary pious citizens, civil libertarians, religion-inclined civil actors and Islamic-oriented governments, such as that of the AKP. The antagonism between Turkey’s AKP government and the military is symptomatic of a fundamental schism in the country’s sociopolitical life and, essentially, in its identity. Traditionally, the armed forces have been the emblem of secular, modern-cum-Western Turkey on the one hand, and the AKP has symbolised Turkey’s Muslim character on the other. It would be both naive and inaccurate to dismiss the present conflict in these simplistic terms, but it may prove to be a useful starting point for analysis. Certainly, such symbolic images – seemingly diametrically opposed to one another – do resonate with a large portion of both Kemalists and Islamists in contemporary Turkey. Nation states with weak democracies often boast very powerful and influential militaries, and for many decades Turkey was no ¨ mit Kurt have exception to this oft-cited rule. Sule Toktas and U argued that the traditional role of the Turkish military in civilian politics ‘has naturally restricted Turkey’s democratic options’ (2008; 2). Democracy in Turkey is proportionally as weak as the military is powerful; it is an inverse relationship. The unchallenged authority of the Turkish military stemmed largely from the circumstances surrounding the country’s transition from ailing imperial power, at the conclusion of World War I, to a modern republic. The late Dankwart A. Rustow (1959) argued that with the removal of the

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sultanate, the newly-founded Republic’s anxiety about the political world meant that society’s deep-seated longing for a confidencebuilding and a stable guardian needed a new object, which was eventually found in the institution of the army. The rapid transformation of Turkey to republican status after the death of the Ottoman Empire exposed raw feelings of defeat, humiliation, shock and fear. The Turkish people at the time clung instinctively to what was in a sense familiar, and in the army they found important continuity with which they could relate and sympathise. Comforted by the paternal protection of the nation’s military, the Turkish people could summon their resolve and move forward as a republican nation state. Mustafa Kemal and his cadres transformed the Ottoman Empire into a modern nation state, ‘in other words, Turkey’s modernisation process was led by the military’ (Yıldırım 2010; 1). The inspiring wartime successes of Mustafa Kemal, commander and national hero in military terms, automatically transferred a sense of prestige to the armed forces whom he led, conferring upon them the trust and the respect of a newly-fledged nation seemingly indebted to their courage and proficiency. This courage and proficiency is believed to have saved the Turkish nation from complete annihilation and humiliation when the European powers were waiting eagerly at the sides to ‘carve up’ the beleaguered empire, the long-time ‘sick man of Europe’, and divide among themselves the spoils of victory. The Turkish nation’s love affair with its armed forces, and the privileged position enjoyed by the latter, is therefore deeply rooted in the historical conditions surrounding the birth of the modern Republic. According to the popular view, moreover, the military is not only the bastion of secularism in Turkey, it is also the principal vehicle of social reform and progress – and is revered as the symbol of Turkish modernity. It has enjoyed broad public support, and what Ersel Aydınlı has described as a ‘societal admiration’ and ‘a special bond’ with the Turkish masses (2009; 581). In a moment of selfreflection I˙lker Basbug˘, the former chief of staff, during his speech at the general staff handover ceremony on 28 August 2008, tellingly highlighted the military’s ‘soft power’ dimension. Basbug˘ remarked

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that ‘the Turkish military is not getting its power from its weapons but from the Turkish society’s love and trust in its armed forces’. Arguably, his statement was an allusion to the legitimacy of the military’s ongoing presence in Turkey’s political life, given its widespread endorsement by Turkish society. As the military’s power, according to this line of reasoning, stems largely from the people’s approval, the former possesses an unofficial, but ultimately justified, political function. In a discussion of the reasons for the Turkish armed forces’ popularity, Zeki Sarıgil (2009) notes that Turkish civil– military relations have traditionally rested upon a structure in which the armed forces and society enjoy a complementary and symbiotic relationship, despite the former’s numerous intrusions into the political realm. This is known as the ‘army-in-society’ structure, and it is generally characterised by broad societal support for the military. By tradition, the primacy of its armed forces in politics demonstrates the extent of Turkey’s militarisation. The military’s role has not been confined to matters of defence (security) or affairs of state (statehood). Indeed, its time-honoured authority transcended politics and has permeated the Turkish polity at a cultural and societal level. The fact that the military has a monopoly over forestry and natural resources and the heavily militarised ‘securitisation’ of children’s books are poignant examples of its omnipresence. Moreover, in contrast to the parliamentary management of the military budget in most liberal democracies, which stipulates in detail how the armed forces should spend the money allocated to them, the bloated Turkish defence budget has, argues Begu¨m Burak, never been subjected to parliamentary debate. ‘It [the Turkish defence budget] has not been discussed in the press. It has never been criticised. In brief it can be said that, unless it originates from the military, a reduction in defence expenditures and in the size of the armed forces is not likely’ (Burak 2011; 158). Turkey’s highly revered military has thus ascended to an almost untouchable status. The privileged position of the armed forces evolved into a ‘culture of immunity’, whereby the military was unaccountable and above the law. Indeed, one of the most significant changes to the law enacted by the AKP is to render military officials

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liable for prosecution in civilian courts. Previously, armed forces personnel were exempt from being tried in such a way.

The Guardians of Secularism The problems plaguing Turkey’s civil– military relations revolve around the definition of the country as a ‘secular democracy’ and around the generally accepted notions of the constituent terms, namely ‘secularism’ and ‘democracy’. Officially, Turkey is both secular and democratic, and in theory both political principles are equally valued and applied. Since the inception of the Turkish Republic, however, one principle has been prioritised over the other: secularism has been preserved (or enforced) at the expense of democracy. The Turkish military is at heart of this state of affairs. Graham Fuller has stated that the Turkish military has been the ‘zealous and jealous guardian of Atatu¨rkist ideology and has led the struggle in suppressing any form of organised religious strength or the involvement of overtly religious people in politics’ (2004; 52). The Turkish military, having ascribed to itself the mantle of guardian of secularism and the preserver of Turkey’s secular constitution, enforces secularism at all costs, and has frequently interfered in political affairs. It has justified this interference by citing the need to defend secularism against the alleged threat of so-called religious zealots wielding an Islamist agenda (often, these supposed religious zealots are democratically-elected civilian governments). The concept of military guardianship or tutelage (askeri vesayet) has been criticised on the grounds that it affirms and reproduces the military’s undemocratic political role, legitimating its penchant for authoritarianism. Seymen Atasoy contends that the critique of the military’s guardianship role stems from the argument that military officers ‘retard Turkey’s development through their constant political interventions in order to preserve their domestic influence and privileges by means of a self-styled mission to protect Atatu¨rk’s legacy’ (2011; 89). In the past 50 years, the Turkish armed forces have ousted four civilian governments; these interventions will be discussed in detail

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later in this chapter. What legitimates the military’s forays into politics, and how does it ‘get away with’ meddling in Turkey’s political affairs? According to a survey conducted by the Washington, DCbased Pew Center in 2002, the military remains Turkey’s most liked and respected institution – above the government, the parliament, the media and the mosques (cited in C¸ag˘aptay 2007). Gareth Jenkins points out that although the military has never been popular on the extreme left or the ‘radical Islamist right’ of the Turkish political spectrum, it ‘consistently ranks first in any public opinion poll of the most respected institutions of the country’ (2007; 339). Soner C¸ag˘aptay (2007) has suggested three factors to explain the armed forces’ popularity. First, as mentioned earlier, the military under the leadership of Mustafa Kemal liberated Turkey from an invincible occupation, and this ensures that Turks across the political spectrum, including many Islamists, recognise it as a national saviour. Second, the military has an inclusive conscript policy, which reaches out to all of Turkey’s social classes and ethnic groups. It functions as a social mixer and a democratising institution, and provides a rare chance for upward mobility. Third, many Turks revere the military because, unlike the country’s civil political institutions, it is not plagued by corruption. Recent revelations may cast some doubt on the integrity of the Turkish armed forces, however, and it would be interesting to see whether public support for the military may in fact be waning. The principle of guardianship of the secular Turkish Republic by the military has been largely unchallenged and rendered sacrosanct – the image of the military stoically defending secularism and faithfully serving the ideals of Turkey’s ‘founding father’ is pervasive, and assumes an almost sacred quality. At an official level, it has been written into the Turkish Armed Services Internal Service Code. Article 35 of the code states that ‘the duty of the armed forces is to protect and safeguard Turkish territory and the Turkish Republic as stipulated by the Constitution’. In doing so, the military makes poignant and sentimental appeals to Mustafa Kemal’s legacy of reform, effectively marrying the principle of secularism to those of Turkish nationalism.

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Consequently, in Turkey, being ‘unsecular’ in orientation or Islamic in a general sense, was for a long time analogous to being subversive or holding dissident views, which if disseminated could potentially compromise the unitary structure of the Republic. For the greater part of last century, the Turkish military essentially monopolised the discourse on perceived external and internal threats and manipulated policy accordingly. Along with Kurdish political activism, Islamism has been the principal domestic security concern for the Turkish armed forces. It appeared that the military could exercise limitless authority with regard to security policy, and could harness public support for its policy by readily employing scaremongering tactics to rouse fear, and so generate approval, in the Turkish people. ‘The discourse appropriated by the military that emphasises “conditions peculiar to Turkey” contributes to securitisation and militarisation’, argue Toktas and Kurt (2008; 7). These ‘conditions’ (namely, the Kurdish issue and that of political Islam) have been used to justify the military’s interference in politics.

‘Internal Enemies’ and the Military’s Irregular Role C¸ag˘aptay has explained how Turkish society’s trust in the military has led to what he calls ‘political atrophy’. Certainly, this sense of complacency among official political actors has contributed to an unhealthy climate for Turkish democracy, and, in turn, further consolidated the military’s power and willingness to intervene. ‘Secular parties and the population at large often turn to the military for “political housecleaning”, rather than taking political action themselves. The middle classes especially take comfort in the military as a secular firewall against Islamism’ (C¸agˇaptay 2007; 3). Similarly, in a discussion of the military’s manipulation of the concept of ‘internal enemies’ (religious reactionism and Kurdish nationalism), Burak has pointed out that ‘if the enemy is within, [as the military conceives it to be] than the nation is divided and weak. Hence in Turkey, it is quite usual to see a political system which is unable to combat “internal enemies” in a sense inviting the military to cope with these enemies’ (2011; 159). The Turkish military has

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traditionally been a buffer against political Islam and has implemented an unofficial mandate to ‘exorcise’ Turkey’s domestic politics of the perceived spectre of radical Islam. There is the widespread view that the military functions as the ultimate protector of the nation state – even, if necessary, against its own democraticallyelected political representatives (Aydınlı 2009). Historically, the Turkish military has prioritised internal threats over external ones in the paradoxical pursuit of protecting Turkish democracy against ‘too much democracy’. Turkey’s National Security Policy Document (MGSB), a text that was imported from the US after Turkey became a NATO member, outlines the threats and dangers posed to the republic. By law, the government is authorised to draft this document. In practice, however, the Turkish military has conventionally prepared it, and following this, as a mere formality, the government has been forced to approve it. Mu¨mtaz’er Tu¨rko¨ne has claimed that the MGSB is the primary vehicle through which the armed forces can manipulate the security agenda. He writes, this document [the MGSB] forms the framework of how the military will meddle with the civilian political sphere. The document’s ‘internal enemy’ characterisations are generally reminiscent of the ideological conflicts of the Cold War era. Thus, these enemies are the religious peoples who oppose the secular republic, and Kurdish separatists. However, the document does not stop [at] just defining these enemies. It also moves to organise the military according to these enemies. The relatively large size of the Turkish military and its deployment to even the remotest corners of the country are justified with references to these security priorities. In other words, the Turkish military provides security not against an attack from outside, but against its own country and people. The result is an army with the tools to intervene in domestic politics. Thanks to this security organisation, the military can act as a political power in the country (Today’s Zaman, 30 October 2010).

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By possessing a monopoly on the definition of security threats, the military has empowered itself to emphasise its role in guarding the republic from ‘internal enemies’ (political Islam and Kurdish activism), and to assume a distinctly political function. According to Burak (2011), the military has manipulated the concept of ‘internal enemy’ in an attempt to justify its role in politics, and by regarding political Islamism and Kurdish nationalism as internal enemies it protects the State (the Kemalist regime) from the nation (the Turkish people) behind the mask of its so-called guardianship role. Thus, the military has exceeded its regular role of defence and national security. For the Turkish military, ‘defending the country’ has conventionally meant more than just securing the nation’s borders. Its inherent mission has, rather, been defined in the static terms of preserving the achievements of the early republican revolution, and for this reason it has been concerned largely with regime security as opposed to territorial security (Harris 1965). As a result, the Turkish armed forces have emphasised ideological concerns in domestic politics, defined as threats to the secular and unitary nature of the republic, over physical security and territorial integrity, or foreign policy threats. Thus the military’s political role on the domestic front, instead of or alongside a traditional defence and national security role, is indicative of its irregular, political and politicised function. Lerna Yanik (2007) has argued that since the late 1990s the widespread popular perception was that the internal enemies of the republic were as great and as menacing as any external threat. Moreover, even though Turkey’s relations with neighbouring states, including Iran, were once frosty, Ankara is making concerted efforts towards bridging any former misunderstandings and enhancing mutual cooperation with countries once considered with disdain and/or suspicion. Turkey now enjoys a friendlier rapport with both Iran and, until recently, with Syria (the latest international events, namely the deadly civil unrest in Turkey’s south-eastern neighbour, have admittedly led to growing animosity and a serious falling-out between Ankara and Damascus). Overall, however, Turkey has

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improved its diplomatic relationship with other neighbours, including Greece, Armenia and Iraqi Kurdistan. The normalisation of Turkey’s relations with traditional rival states in the region, and its increased economic cooperation with Russia, is owed largely to the tireless efforts of ‘the professor with a vision’, AKP Foreign Minister Ahmet Davutog˘lu, who has undertaken a proactive, and indeed ‘hyperactive’, campaign to rethink Turkish foreign policy and engage European and Middle Eastern nations and non-state actors (Meral and Paris 2010). Academic-turned-diplomat Davutog˘lu has claimed that Turkey needs to have a ‘zero-conflict-with-neighbours’ policy, and envisions a Turkey that is a mediator, guarantor and stabilising force in the region (Davutog˘lu 2001). Turkey’s continuing rapprochement with surrounding countries and its ‘no enemies’ policy renders the region more stable by ensuring that Turkey does not have any active conflict with its neighbours. With negligible external threats, the military may be even more inclined to turn inwards and focus on domestic security issues – and in this respect, the Kurdish problem and political Islam will likely dominate its agenda for the foreseeable future. The military’s interventions in the political arena demonstrate its irregular, politicised role; one that serves a cultural as well as a political goal. The military, suggests Aydınlı, has essentially aimed to alter the Turkish population’s character and world view, not just its government. He writes, The military coup of 1960 stymied the Turkish democratic process. This was justified because in the eyes of the military officers the politicians had deviated for the most part from the Kemalist vision of democracy and secularism. Thus, their goal was to restructure the life of the Turkish population culturally as well as politically. These were also the basic goals motivating the military interventions in 1971 and 1980. The leaders and supporters of the coup sought ways to regulate and reorganise politics on the basis of the ‘preferences of modernity, positivism and secularism in their earlier official definitions of the early Republican cultural revolution’ (Aydınlı 2009; 17).

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Similarly, Demirel noted that the state-building process of modern Turkey is heavily based on the leadership of a group of ‘enlightened’ elites, who consider themselves to be the principal actors in creating a modern Westernised state. This ‘enlightened’ elite group includes the institution of the Turkish armed forces. In the process of modernisation, the public was alienated from the new state and civilian political actors were subordinated and given secondary roles. The Turkish Republic has thus never been an instrument for protecting the freedoms of the individual, as required by classical liberalism. Instead, the state has been rendered a metaphysical entity that has great autonomy and an intrinsic value (Demirel 2004; 31). Thus, the military’s interventions are not underpinned solely by political or strategic interests. There are ideological implications therein, and the behaviour of the armed forces reflects a selfasserting moral and ethical position of superiority. In a patronising manner, the military has assumed to ‘know what is best’ for the Turkish state and society, and thus justifies its disregard for the democratic agenda. In the past, the armed forces have adopted a condescending attitude in their relations with civilian political actors. Burak suggests that the military elites have conventionally regarded Turkey’s politicians merely as ‘interest-seekers with a high level of ignorance’, and this ultimately renders it very difficult for Turkish soldiers to fully accept the principle of civilian supremacy (2011; 145). By undermining the integrity and the competence of elected representative officials, the military legitimises its own political ventures. Cizre has written that anti-political reasoning ‘forms an instrumental link between the TAF [Turkish Armed Forces] and society’. According to her, the military presents its positions, views, and practices ‘not so much as “good,” but as “necessary”; not as “desirable,” but as “rational” and “in the national interest.” Society is thus left with no acceptable means of expressing dissatisfaction’ (Cizre 2012; 143). The Turkish military has formally intervened in the political process on four different occasions in order to affect administrative changes that are, essentially, based on its ideological principles.

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Military Interventions During the early republican era and Turkey’s long-standing singleparty rule (from 1925 to 1950), the unchallenged role of the armed forces was that of founder and guardian of the republic. This period, during which there was only one political party, was characterised by the unilateral governance of the CHP, which was established by Mustafa Kemal. The ‘party of Atatu¨rk’ had banned all political opposition and ruled the republic with an iron fist for a quarter of a century. It became synonymous with the State, in the vein of Fascist Italy and Soviet Russia. The term ‘single-party period’ is essentially a euphemism for the despotic regime; the CHP was merely the civilian embodiment (and mouthpiece) of the ruling generals (Kemal himself was the top commander, after all). In its guardianship and modernising role, the military enjoyed relatively unencumbered political authority. The CHP cultivated an intimate working relationship with the military. According to Burak, the military was used as a tool for ensuring the continuation of the single-party administration by the ruling CHP, which deployed the army against reactionary forces and ‘internal’ enemies (Burak 2011; 149). Moreover, dedicated Kemalists recognised from the outset that a strong and loyal army was essential if the fledgling Turkish nation state was to prosper (Demirel 2004). The armed forces were considered a fundamental pillar of the new regime. Effectively, therefore, the military’s political role is a result of the status bequeathed to it as unrivalled guarantor of Kemalist principles, and, by extension, of the Kemalist republic. Even though Mustafa Kemal sought to remove the military as an institution from the political arena by insisting that all officers who wished to participate in politics first resign from their post in the armed forces, the military’s role during Turkey’s single-party period was important in at least two respects. First, economic development schemes – especially during the 1930s – were influenced heavily by military interests, often at the expense of maximum economic return. Second, the armed forces constituted a source of skills and services. In times of

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emergency, military commanders occasionally assumed civilian administrative functions (Lerner and Robinson 1960). Turkey’s transition to a multi-party system, which was heralded by the first fully free elections in 1950, coincided with the military’s adoption of a pronounced distrustful attitude towards political actors and parties. After Mustafa Kemal’s death, his successor I˙smet I˙no¨nu¨, who took the helm at the ruling CHP, decided that in order for Turkey to truly adopt a modernism that was consistent with the ideals of Europe, it needed to embrace democracy, tolerate democratic competition and introduce open elections. The emergence and subsequent electoral success of the aptly named Democrat Party (DP) marked the end of Turkey’s authoritarian single-party period. The post-1950 multi-party period, however, did not produce a genuinely healthy democracy, as the several military interventions demonstrate. The Kemalist elites, represented by the CHP and the armed forces, appeared in fact to be merely paying lip service to the notions of democratic freedom and political equality. The Turkish military was uncomfortable with the prospect of allowing democracy to run its natural course. The country’s post1950 multi-party period was characterised by the military’s marked unease with the unfolding political process. The military had a tendency to interfere with this process; this in turn compromised the integrity of Turkish democracy. Atasoy has argued that the military interventions interrupted Turkey’s developing democracy and ‘gradually strengthen[ed] a system of constitutionally sanctioned bureaucratic supremacy’, in which the appointed traditionally had the upper hand over the elected (2011; 89). The appointed (or selected) military officials and commanders enjoyed a distinctly more powerful position than the elected members of parliament and other politicians. During Turkey’s multi-party period, the armed forces intervened in civilian politics four times: the military staged three ‘traditional’, or formal, interventions: the coups d’e´tat of 1960, 1971 and 1980; and effected the ‘soft coup’ of 1997, which came to be known as the ‘February 28 Process’. On each occasion, the democratically-elected government of the day was dismissed by the Turkish armed forces.

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Burak has argued that with the change in political leadership in 1950 and the assumption to power of the DP, a new era for civil– military relations had begun in Turkey. ‘The Democrat Party (DP) was very different from the CHP in terms of its grassroots support. The political tendencies of the DP were largely liberal, but in practical terms, it had a wide range of supporters who were unhappy with the long single-party rule’ (Burak 2011; 149). By the mid1950s, however, the DP’s increasingly autocratic programme, spearheaded by Prime Minister Adnan Menderes, was proving to be extremely unpopular in military, academic and bureaucratic ranks. There was a growing backlash against Menderes and his party due to the worsening economic situation, the government’s censorship of the press, and its attempts to control the university sector. During the 1950s, moreover, both the working conditions and the salaries of the officer corps deteriorated, and the DP interfered with the military’s system of appointments and promotions (traditionally, this function was administered internally by the latter). Also troubling for the military was Menderes’ sympathetic approach towards Islam, and several Islam-friendly policies adopted by his government. The DP’s loss of legitimacy and elite approval was due in part to Menderes’ inability to tolerate criticism of himself and his government. Jenkins has claimed, ‘from the outset, Menderes had pursued a populist agenda, in which policies were shaped by shortterm political advantage. The result was a rise in political instability, which was exacerbated by Menderes’s increasing authoritarianism’ (2007; 341). On 27 May 1960, amid bloody student demonstrations that paralysed university campuses and led to growing public unrest, the Menderes government was toppled in Turkey’s first coup d’e´tat. One of the main justifications used by the military was that the DP had lost its democratic legitimacy. Following the coup, 587 people were tried on charges ranging from violation of the constitution to murder and corruption. On 17 September 1961, despite pleas for amnesty from around the world, deposed Prime Minister Adnan Menderes, his Foreign Minister Fatin Ru¨stu¨ Zorlu and Finance Minister Hasan Polatkan were hanged on the island of I˙mralı. Although civilian rule was re-established in the following year, the

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1960 military coup had lasting implications for civil– military relations, and for Turkish political life generally. The 1924 constitution was rewritten by military officers. The amended constitution of 1961, according to Jenkins, Increased both the de jure prestige and the de facto autonomy of the TGS [Turkish General Staff] by making it answerable directly to the prime minister, rather than the Defence Ministry, with which it now had only to cooperate. The 1961 constitution also created a National Security Council (NSC), comprising leading members of the civilian government and the high command of the TGS, to serve as an advisory body to the Council of Ministers ( Jenkins 2007; 342). Effectively this meant that the chief of staff, the top military commander, was now ranked fourth in state protocol behind the president, the prime minister and the speaker of parliament ( Jenkins 2007). The most significant result of the 1960 intervention was that it greatly enhanced the military’s power through the redrafting of the constitution. The new, martial document sanctioned an increased political role for the armed forces through the Internal Services Act, which was ratified in 1961 under military stewardship. This act charged the Turkish Armed Forces with the duty of safeguarding the republic against internal as well as external threats, if necessary by force. The military has used this legislation to justify its subsequent interventions in politics (Atasoy 2011). On 12 March 1971, the military intervened indirectly by forcing Su¨leyman Demirel’s government to resign amid fierce political infighting between the parties represented in the Turkish parliament. This was known as the ‘coup by memorandum’, where the Turkish General Staff (TGS) manipulated the politicians in power, delivering an ultimatum to the prime minister. Demanding a new administration, the military asserted that there was an urgent need for a ‘strong and capable government’ that could satisfactorily address the anarchic situation in the country. Any refusal of this demand, it threatened, would result in the military taking over the

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administration of the country (Burak 2011; 151). The elected government was overthrown and replaced with one composed of technocrats ( Jenkins 2007). Initially, the Turkish public welcomed the 1980 coup. Brutal street fighting between rightist and leftist extremist groups had brought Turkey to the brink of civil war. The military intervention on 12 September restored order to the country almost immediately and put an end to the political violence. This came, however, at a huge cost, as Jenkins describes: Curfews were imposed and public activities forbidden. A wide range of magazines, newspapers, books, and films were banned, and the activities of virtually all professional associations and trade unions suspended. Fourteen thousand Turks were stripped of their citizenship and another 650,000 people arrested. Many were soon released, but interrogations were often brutal; 171 prisoners are reported to have died as the result of torture (Jenkins 2007: 342). On this occasion, the armed forces remained in power for three years, assuming direct control of the administration. The period of military rule from 1980 to 1983 was a dark period for the Republic, characterised by restrictions and repression. The constitution was again rewritten by the military officials in 1982, and – despite several amendments thereto – it remains in force today. The AKP government has undertaken various legislative measures to repeal and amend certain sections of this essentially martial constitution that it deems to be undemocratic, illiberal and autocratic. It has also launched a campaign to have the constitution written anew. During the interventions of 1960, 1971 and 1980, the military acted in a direct way to oust the respective government of the day. During the 1997 ‘soft coup’, however, the military worked ‘behind the scenes’ to mobilise opposition to the ruling Islamist Welfare Party (WP), which had formed a coalition with the True Path Party (Dog˘ru Yol Partisi, or TPP) led by Tansu C¸iller, in order to assume office. As Jenkins has stated, ‘the mere presence of an Islamist party in

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power was anathema to the TGS’ (2007; 345). At the close of 1996, leading Turkish commanders delivered several key speeches warning the public that secularism was being threatened. After a fateful meeting at Go¨lcu¨k Naval Base on the Marmara Sea, the TGS confirmed a plan to overthrow the ruling WP. It had decided not to seize power from the government directly, but to ‘coordinate and galvanise opposition to the WP, encouraging public protests and networking behind the scenes to try to manipulate the party from power’ ( Jenkins 2007; 345). On 3 February 1997, Bekir Yıldız, the local WP mayor of the Ankara suburb of Sincan, gave a speech supporting the adoption of Shari’a law. The military took this opportunity to flex its muscles by diverting a column of tanks through Sincan. This served as a glaring reminder to the government that a full-blown military intervention remained a possibility if it did not act in accordance with the principles of secularism spelt out in the Turkish Constitution. On 28 February 1997, at a NSC meeting, the military presented the civilian government with a list of ostensibly anti-Islamist measures that it wished to see implemented. These ranged from restrictions on the Islamist media to the closure of private Qur’anic schools and courses, and to limitations being placed on the state-run preachertraining schools, the I˙mam Hatip Okulları ( Jenkins, 2007: 345). Prime Minister Necmettin Erbakan reluctantly forwarded the list to the Council of Ministers, and on 14 March 1997 the measures were approved by parliament. Their implementation was said to have severely alienated the WP’s grassroots. In short, the ‘soft coup’ of 1997 was not carried out using guns and tanks but with the consolidated campaigns of civil-society organisations and the media, and with senior judges’ support. These have been referred to as the ‘non-military tools’ of the 1997 intervention (Burak 2011). On 22 May 1997, the public prosecutor applied to the constitutional court for the closure of the WP on the grounds that it was attempting to undermine the principle of secularism enshrined in Turkey’s Constitution. In addition, the military discreetly lobbied members of the TPP in an effort to persuade them to withdraw from the coalition government. The

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ensuing resignations chipped away at the WP– TPP parliamentary majority (Jenkins 2007). The government was rattled and destabilised. Accepting its fate, it resigned on 18 June 1997 and was replaced by a tripartite coalition. On 16 January 1998, the constitutional court officially shut down the WP and banned Erbakan from all political activity for five years. Turkey’s ‘soft coup’, known as the 28 February Process, demonstrates the military’s supremacy, its extensive powers of networking (including its behindthe-scenes influence) and its ability to adapt to the changing social times.

The Military’s Informal Channels of Influence Apart from the direct and formal interventions – the coups d’e´tat of 1960, 1971 and 1980 – the military has employed social media and technology to apply pressure on the government of the day. This has included posting digital memorandums on its website seeking civilsociety support, making public pronouncements and briefings to journalists, and pressuring politicians and bureaucrats. The ‘soft coup’ of 1997, discussed above, is a case in point. These are examples of the military’s informal channels of power and ‘behind-the-scenes influence’, according to Toktas and Kurt. The authors argue that despite all the legislative and societal changes that have taken place since the 28 February Process, ‘the military’s intervention in Turkish politics continues with new techniques and within the framework of legality. Today, the military usually opts for making recommendations and convincing civilian governments in order to implement policies in line with its main security concerns’ (2008; 4). Thus, in reality, the military still possesses informal and indirect methods of power over civilian governments, even though its authority has been restricted in theory by legislative and societal changes. In practice, the Turkish military still has the ability to intervene in the political process, although through different avenues of influence than hitherto. Regarding these high-tech, informal mechanisms of influence employed by the military, the circumstances surrounding the

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presidential elections in 2007 is noteworthy. This was a turbulent period in Turkish politics that threatened to erupt into a full-blown conflict between the military, which was prepared to intervene, and the governing AKP, which would not back down or withdraw Abdullah Gu¨l as its presidential candidate. With tensions simmering, the former chief of general staff, staunchly secular Yasar Bu¨yu¨kanıt, stated in a news conference on 12 April 2007 that the presidential elections were directly related to the military’s agenda because the president is the Commander in Chief of the Turkish Armed Forces. Bu¨yu¨kanıt also added that ‘as a citizen and as a member of the armed forces, I hope someone who is loyal to the main principles of the republic and committed to the secular, unitary structure of the state – not just in words, but in essence – will be the president’ (quoted in Milliyet, 12 April 2007). At the same time, vast numbers of people committed to Kemalist principles (many reports have estimated the number to be in the millions) gathered in the main cities of Istanbul, Ankara and Izmir to make themselves heard: the protesters wanted a secular president. With a crisis looming, on the evening of 27 April 2007 the TGS issued a hastily drafted statement and posted it on its website, warning of the danger to secularism posed by the proposal of ‘Islamist’ Gu¨l as president of the republic. The statement by the TGS was a thinly veiled threat that it would stage a coup if the AKP went ahead with Gu¨l’s appointment. Despite this, the AKP remained steadfast in supporting Gu¨l as future president, and the TGS’s implicit warning came to naught. On 28 August 2007, Abdullah Gu¨l was duly sworn in as president of the Turkish Republic, becoming the first president with an Islamic background in the republic’s 80-year history. On this occasion, the governing AKP had backed itself. Through then spokesman Cemil C¸icek, in a symbolic demonstration of victory, it declared, It is unthinkable that in a state governed by the rule of law, the TGS [military] as an institution under the Prime Minister would speak against the government. The TGS is an institution under civilian governmental command, and its duties and responsibilities are defined by the constitution. According to

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our constitution, the Chief of Staff is responsible to the Prime Minister because of the Chief of Staff’s stated duties and authorities (quoted in Warhola and Bezci 2010; 11). This incident, coupled with the AKP’s resounding mandatesecuring electoral victory several months later, was a ‘devastating blow to the military’s public prestige’. After so many years with the armed forces’ presence overshadowing the political arena, Jenkins claims, ‘the military suddenly seemed marginalised, the limitations of its ability to influence events laid embarrassingly bare’ (2009; 30). Similarly, Cornell and Karaveli have made the following observation: Developments since the Islamic conservatives came to power in 2002 have disoriented – and possibly dispirited – the military. Its powers have been curtailed as a result of Turkey’s adjustment to the norms of the EU; above all, the military, though it still remains by far the most trusted institution in society, has lost much of the ideological high ground, a fact that was born out during the crisis of 2007– 2008 when the military was subjected to heavy criticism in the media and its political interventions were challenged – and repelled – as never before (Cornell and Karaveli 2008; 33). Although it would be inaccurate to dismiss the military since 2007 as a ‘toothless tiger’, or to reckon it incapable of influencing politics in some way in the future, the culmination of the events discussed above were nevertheless a major shot in the arm for the AKP and its supporters. The ongoing abatement of the military’s power signifies a new era for Turkish politics. While it is premature to suggest that the country’s political and judicial institutions have been comprehensively purged of all Kemalist (and undemocratic) elements, the humbled Turkish military is perhaps the most important symbol of Turkey’s democratic development under the AKP’s leadership.

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The Turning of the Tide The AKP’s reforms have been so comprehensive that many commentators, including Seyman Atasoy, have distinguished between two different patterns of political development in the Turkish Republic: the pre-AKP era and the AKP era. ‘The pre-2002 model was “modernisation from above under military guardianship,” whereas the post-2002 trend is “democratisation from below through deconstruction of military guardianship” ’ (Atasoy 2011; 86). Although the AKP has avoided a direct confrontation with the armed forces, it has consistently highlighted the military’s undemocratic nature in order to counter the continuing attempts by the latter to undermine the government. The AKP has taken the military’s hostile claims in its stride, and argued that its antagonism towards the government is symptomatic of the military’s plan to discredit, and effectively marginalise, a democratically-elected civilian government. As ruling party, the AKP has claimed that the military’s behaviour is further evidence of the latter’s dictatorial nature; in a way, therefore, the military’s hostility has actually benefited the incumbent government. Rabia Polat has discussed how the party has profited from the military’s antagonistic approach: ‘Throughout the [2007] general election campaign, the AKP managed to present itself as the victim of military intervention, and as the defender of the “civilianisation” of Turkish politics. The AKP took obvious advantage of being victimised in the presidential election while also portraying itself as the champion of democracy’ (2009; 138). In this way, the AKP government has sought to differentiate itself from the authoritarian, undemocratic military establishment, and in the process publicise its own democratic credentials. In recent times there have been rumblings of change, and domestic events in the Turkish Republic are of momentous significance for civil–military relations and a likely precursor to a fundamental shift in the status quo. These political events need to be contextualised and their symbolism explored. For example, the resignations of Turkey’s top military brass in 2011 was viewed by many as an ideological win

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for Erdog˘an and the AKP – and, accordingly, for democracy in Turkey: Turkey [has] awoke[n] to a new era [. . .] one in which military generals irked by their government’s behavior don’t stage a coup or throw a tantrum – they seek early retirement (Washington Post, 31 July 2011). On 29 July 2011, Turkey’s senior military officers, including General Isık Kosaner, the chief of staff of the Turkish Armed Forces, unanimously resigned in protest at the ongoing Ergenekon and Balyoz (‘Sledgehammer’) investigations. The phrase ‘Ergenekon organisation’ refers to a clandestine secularist and ultranationalist group with alleged links to Turkey’s ‘deep state’ (or derin devlet). The existence of the ‘deep state’, or ‘state within the state’, has not been conclusively established, yet it is fodder for conspiracy theorists. It has, nevertheless, been acknowledged by top-ranking civilian officials who have claimed that the ‘deep state’ is a tradition that dates back to Ottoman times. The notion refers to the purported covert network of ‘unseen hands’, or influential and high-level elements that work surreptitiously to defend the core ideals of nationalism, corporatism and the State’s ‘real’ interests. The ‘deep state’ is said to employ destabilisation techniques and anti-democratic measures, including violence, to interrupt offical processes and undermine the recognised, legitimate apparatuses of the State. Ergenekon, the shadowy underground organisation that was spawned by the ‘deep state’, is accused of perpetrating terrorist acts to foment civil unrest with a view to overthrowing the incumbent AKP government. The Balyoz investigation was triggered by reports carried by a leading Turkish newspaper (Taraf ) that the military’s highest echelons were planning to bomb two Istanbul mosques and accuse neighbouring Greece of shooting down a Turkish jet over the Aegean in an attempt to incite domestic turmoil. This coup plan dates back to 2003, following the election to government of the AKP. If it had succeeded, the plot would have destabilised Turkey and justified another military intervention to oust the ruling party. Almost immediately following

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his resignation, Kosaner released a statement saying that the officers believed that the government-backed investigation had effectively cast the entire military institution as a ‘criminal gang’, and that because he and his colleagues ‘could no longer protect their personnel’ from the allegations, this essentially precluded them from carrying out their duties effectively. Countless officers, both currently serving and retired, have been charged with conspiring to topple the elected government and related criminal activities, and are awaiting trial. As of this writing, one in five Turkish generals is behind bars (The Economist, 2 February 2013). Those implicated in the wrongdoing include high-profile individuals – among them Turkey’s former president and leader of the bloody 1980 coup Kenan Evren, and former chief of staff during the AKP’s tenure, I˙lker Basbug˘. The government’s handling of the Ergenekon investigation, which the military claims is a politically-motivated witch-hunt exploited by the AKP to eliminate all political opponents, fuelled the angry departures of Kosaner and his colleagues, land forces commander General Erdal Ceylanog˘lu, navy Chief Admiral Esref Ug˘ur Yig˘it and air forces commander General Hasan Aksay. The remaining ¨ zel, who is known to gendarmerie commander, General Necdet O be close to Erdog˘an, was appointed chief of general staff following the resignations of his former colleagues. On this occasion, the ruling AKP party had claimed some big scalps. By abandoning their posts, it can be argued that the military high command made the ultimate expression of frustration and impotency – and this is how many observers have interpreted it. It is not all good news for the AKP, however, and the growing list of coup-plotting suspects from the military’s ranks threatens to damage the esprit de corps of the armed forces. Erdog˘an himself has recently acknowledged that there may be some unintended drawbacks to the investigations’ aggressive targeting of military figures. ‘These operations against the army are affecting morale. There are 400 serving and retired officers in jail. At this rate we will have no officers left to appoint to command positions,’ he lamented in an interview (The Economist, 2 February 2013) after the resignation in January 2013 of navy commander Admiral Nusret Gu¨ner, who had

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been expected to take over the navy’s top job when the incumbent’s tenure ended in August 2013. In any case, a weak and divided military certainly does not bode well for the overall stability of the Turkish Republic, especially considering the ongoing internal struggle against the terrorism of the Partiya Karkereˆn Kurdistan (Kurdistan Workers’ Party), or PKK, and the virtual war in neighbouring Syria, which threatens to spill into Turkey. However, one ought to bear in mind that the Ergenekon and Balyoz trials – which are regarded by many as polemical, partisan and exaggerated – are being conducted by the State’s judicial arm, and are not the formal remit of the AKP government. That is, the ruling party is not trying the military – the judiciary is. It is therefore debatable whether or not the AKP should attempt to rein in the ‘gung-ho’ attitude of the prosecutors and intervene in the snowballing investigations, or even if it is within the government’s authority to do so. Notwithstanding this, however, the controversial exodus of Turkey’s military officials was largely considered to be a harbinger to a new epoch in the country’s politics. Those events were a windfall for the ruling AKP, and have heralded the gradual maturation and consolidation of Turkish democracy. They also signify the civilianisation of the Turkish landscape, and this phenomenon has the potential to bring stability to Turkey’s domestic politics as a whole. Evangelos Liaras and Murat Somer have discussed how the military’s diminishing political role is helping to stabilise Turkish politics: In the area of domestic structures and institutions, changes in civil – military relations since 2007 have increased the autonomy of civilian politics from military supervision and the government’s ability to institute liberal reforms, to which the security-conscious and ‘defensive nationalist’ military and judiciary might object. Furthermore, ongoing and controversial legal– political campaigns have targeted and may have pacified the illegal and extra-legal elements within the security apparatuses, which are known in Turkey as the ‘deep state’ and are believed to have contributed to the derailing

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of earlier [democratic] openings. In the area of domestic politics, the government is much more stable and strong vis-a`vis political rivals than any Turkish government since the late 1980s (Liaras and Somer 2010; 156). Through legislative action and constitutional amendments, the AKP has sought to address the undemocratic privilege wielded historically by the Turkish military, with the ultimate aim of circumscribing its power and rendering it subservient to civilian authority. The ‘civilianisation’ of the Turkish political landscape, argues the AKP, befits a genuine secular democracy. It has been a painstaking task, yet it seems that the tide has gradually turned. In what is rightly considered a watershed moment for Turkish politics, the republic appears to be in an unprecedented position wherein its military’s upper echelon has given way to civilian pressure in a symbolic concession. The change has been a long time coming. In 2004, Fuller optimistically remarked that the Turkish military was gradually evolving into a more democratic institution. The ‘good news’, according to Fuller, was that the Turkish military itself, ‘a highly respected and uncorrupted institution, has evolved and broadened its democratic horizons over the years in keeping with the advances made in the civilian sphere. It has increasingly limited its previously interventionist role in politics, permitting the country to evolve toward a more genuine democracy’ (Fuller 2004; 56). Cornell and Karaveli agree, suggesting that it should not be assumed automatically that the armed forces possess an unconditional commitment to secularism, and that ‘the military has little choice but to adjust to a changing societal environment in which religious conservatism is in the ascendency’ (2008; vii). The AKP has been the driving force behind the civilianisation of Turkey’s political landscape and the resultant retreat of the military. The current president, Abdullah Gu¨l, seems to have divined the events of today when, in 2000, he remarked that ‘the military will be isolated if it tries to direct the future’ (cited in Kaplan 2000; 120).

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Throughout the AKP’s term in office, there has been a gradual but consistent retreat of the military from the political sphere and a redefinition of its role in Turkish society. The military’s renowned hawkish attitudes towards secularism, expressed through its generals and top officials, have been steadily relaxed. Its once hard-line approach to Islamic-friendly governments has evolved into a more accommodating outlook. Aydınlı suggests that the military can no longer afford to have a confrontational relationship with the country’s political leadership, and that the Turkish people appear to be reconceptualising their ‘special bond’ with the armed forces, moving from a more ‘emotional, existential one, to a practical and professional one’ that is administered by the civilian political elite. Furthermore, it appears that the military leadership is signalling its readiness to accept this paradigmatic shift (Aydınlı 2009; 582). As early as 2006, Metin Heper had suggested that, despite expectations to the contrary, the AKP and the Turkish military had managed to develop a solid working relationship. Heper concluded that the relationship between the AKP government and the armed forces has in fact evolved and come closer to resembling the ‘ideal’ liberal model of civil– military relations. This is due in large part to the growing respect for the government shown by the armed forces, which have come to realise that the political ‘buck’ stops with the former and that interfering in politics and manipulating political actors may in fact be counterproductive. Heper claimed, One reason here is that it [the Turkish military] favours democracy, provided that the civilian governments act in a responsible manner, make genuine efforts to grapple successfully with the problems the country faces, and most important of all, stay away from political Islam (as well as ethnic separatism). It may be argued that, so far, the AKP government has conducted itself in that particular manner. Another much more significant reason, which is a rather recent phenomenon, is that the military, or at least the present high command, came to the conclusion that an expanded role for the military, let alone military interventions of one type or another,

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are not panacea for the ills of democracy. At the least the present high command is of the opinion that they should start having more faith in the judgment of the people, and therefore, if necessary, Atatu¨rkism too should be reinterpreted in a more liberal direction (Heper 2006; 85). Heper’s argument rests on the belief that the military is gradually beginning to internalise a more liberal philosophy, and adopt an approach that is more flexible in granting civilians the authority to make the final decisions. As a result, the Turkish armed forces’ redefined role begins to resemble the ideal military model posited by Samuel Huntington. Huntington’s ‘professional army’ thesis argues that optimum civil– military relations can be realised only through the maximised professionalism of the armed forces and the ‘objective civilian control’ of the latter. This means that the officer corps should be wholly professionalised, and – within a clearly demarcated military sphere of influence – it should be autonomous and authoritative (Huntington 1957). In this scenario, the military is the ‘expert’ institution called in by the civilian government, whose clinical and professional assessment is to be respected and implemented by the civilian authorities in matters of defence and security. However, the ultimate decision as to whether or not to implement the military’s proposals rests completely with the government of the day. Hence, this is known as ‘objective control’ by the civilian government. This exemplifies the US style of civil– military relations, and Aydınlı has summarised it accordingly: The American paradigm, is based on professionalism, in which civilian control is unquestioned, and the military is there to be consulted or used when deemed necessary. The civilians’ control is great enough that they are the ones who determine this need. At times, the military’s experience, expertise, and vision can even be circumvented, ignored, or manipulated when it does not fit with the civilian politicians’ agendas (Aydınlı 2009; 583).

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Arguably, it has long been the AKP’s goal to create a professional military. ‘Professional’ in this sense does not refer explicitly to a certain level of competency, or measurable occupational proficiency, but rather to an ideological neutrality characteristic of all nonpolitical actors. A ‘professional army’, which is part of the state apparatus (not dissimilar to the bureaucracy), is apolitical, impartial and unbiased. As an instrument of the state, such an army is nonideological and has a neutral position towards politics. It is an expert in its field and is consulted by the civilian government when necessary. The proposed reforms to Turkey’s military conscription process are another step towards this end, further consolidating civilian authority over the armed forces. The very ability of the civilian government to legislate with regard to the military, without obstruction or pressure, reflects the changing dynamics in Turkey. The reforms also signal the gradual reconfiguration of the military’s role under the AKP government. Offering prospective draftees over the age of 30 the opportunity to ‘buy their way out of’ compulsory military service inches NATO’s second-biggest army closer to becoming a professional force. Moreover, the move away from Turkey’s traditional conscript model of obligatory service brings the country into line with European standards. Despite government ministers’ claims that the reforms have an economic logic (that is, revenue raising or boosting the public purse and contributing to financial assistance for the families of soldiers killed on active service and veterans’ charities), most analysts agree that the reforms are ideologically driven (Wall Street Journal, 24 November 2011). The AKP’s mission to modernise and democratise the Turkish military, thereby curtailing its power and bolstering civilian authority, has been facilitated by the party’s process of harmonisation with the EU.

European Union Reforms The military’s progressive shift has been precipitated, to a large extent, by the AKP’s ongoing commitment to the EU accession process and the fulfilment of the harmonisation packages that are a precondition for Turkish membership. The extent to which this is a

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voluntary ideological shift undertaken willingly by the military is, of course, still up for debate. There is another dimension to this, namely Turkey’s established relationship with the United States. The degree to which the Turkish generals have been obliged, grudgingly perhaps, to reconcile themselves with the ongoing rule of the AKP is also shaped by Turkey’s traditional alliance with the US, and the pressure exerted by Washington. At a time when Afghanistan and Iraq are proving to be massive headaches for the US, and where Iran continues to pose a threat, Turkey’s internal stability is crucial to US interests in the region (Cornell and Karaveli 2008). Add to this the turmoil in neighbouring Syria, and it is widely thought that the closure of the AKP would trigger a vacuum in Turkey’s domestic politics, wreaking havoc within the country and affecting its foreign policy towards neighbouring nations. This is an extremely unwelcome situation from a US perspective. Both the US military alliance and the EU bid, therefore, are powerful external pressures that have compelled the military to ‘tolerate’ the AKP’s governance. At the same time, these external factors have sheltered the AKP from the military’s antagonism and empowered the government to make considerable headway in advancing its reformist agenda. It is not surprising that most of the reforms undertaken in the area of civil – military relations have been ushered in by the AKP government under the banner of Europeanisation. Tuba U¨nlu¨ Bilgic has explained, As early as 1997, Agenda 2000, the action plan preparing the European Union for future enlargement, differentiated Turkey from other aspiring countries by emphasising the military’s role in Turkish politics. Parliament has been more vociferous than the European Commission. They claimed that the Turkish military is the ‘deep state’, which had been de facto ruling the country, and stated that the military’s political role could not be accepted in a state governed by the rule of law. With such considerations, the EU required Turkey to amend legislation that provided the TAF [Turkish Armed Forces] political autonomy (Bilgic 2009; 804).

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The EU has repeatedly asserted that the political role of its military is one of the greatest obstacles to Turkey’s membership bid. The privileged position of the Turkish armed forces is unacceptable to Europe, where the traditional paradigm of civil– military relations is based on the total separation, unquestioned subordination and systematic exclusion of the military from civilian politics (Born et al 2006). The Turkish armed forces’ political authority is therefore the antithesis of the military’s role in the European model. This situation has necessitated a dramatic overhaul of the military’s traditional guardianship role, and a diminution of its political power, for Turkey to be even considered as a legitimate candidate for European membership. Since assuming the office of government the AKP – espousing the rhetoric of Europeanisation, democratisation and civilianisation – has clipped the military’s wings to a large extent through institutional and legislative reforms. Indeed, the EU accession process, based on the requirement to fulfil the Copenhagen criteria and bring Turkey into line with Europe through the harmonisation packages, has been the guiding factor behind the AKP’s domestic policy programme as a whole. The AKP government in July 2003 implemented five fundamental changes to the structure and operation of the NSC, according to the seventh EU Harmonisation Law. First, the council was transformed from an executive decisionmaking board to an advisory board, hence abrogating the institutionalised implementation of any recommendation made by the NSC at the policy-making level. Second, the NSC would no longer have unlimited access to any civilian agency; there is no longer a representative of the military in the Supervision Board of Cinema, Video and Music or in the Higher Education Authority (YO¨K). Third, the post of Secretary General of the NSC will henceforth not be reserved exclusively for a military person. Fourth, the transparency of defence expenditures will be enhanced. Fifth, and finally, the regular meetings of the NSC will be held bimonthly instead of on a monthly basis (listed in Burak 2011; 162). The seventh reform package thus aimed to restructure the NSC, which, since the 1980 military coup, had been the principal

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vehicle through which the Turkish military exercised control of the political agenda. Even though the AKP suffered a crucial setback in December 2004, when the EU highlighted the fact that there was no guarantee of the negotiations’ outcome and, therefore, no promise of eventual membership, the party has remained steadfast in its pursuit of the EU accession dream. Despite the military’s initial excitement about the accession process, and the prospect of fulfilling Mustafa Kemal’s legacy through integration with the West, subsequent developments in Turkey – EU relations have perturbed the armed forces and prompted a defensive reaction by the high command. At the heart of the military’s growing distrust of the EU is what seems to be an ever-expanding list of preconditions for membership, and an accession process that is becoming increasingly lengthy and drawn-out. Concessions on sensitive and complicated issues such as the Cyprus stalemate, Kurdish minority rights and the Armenian genocide are more than unpalatable for the military – they are, effectively, political suicide. According to the armed forces, any compromise on these matters is contrary to the national strategic policy, and directly threatens Turkey’s security interests. The qualified nature of the military’s support for the EU accession process was ¨ zko¨k’s comment in best highlighted by former chief of staff Hilmi O 2005 that ‘we [the TAF] prefer membership to be attained not at any cost, but without giving any concessions and protecting our national interests’ (quoted in Birlik; vol. 160). His successor, Yasar Bu¨yu¨kanıt, went further, and in a speech given on 2 October 2006 at the commencement of the academic year at the Turkish Military Academy accused the EU of harbouring secret agendas, including the dissolution of the Turkish state through its institutional support of PKK terrorism behind the discourse of freedoms and human rights. The military remains wary of Europe and has, along with other political actors, argued that the EU has imposed additional criteria on Turkey that were not required of other membership candidates, as discussed in the previous chapter. Europe’s double standards in its dealings with Turkey have generated resentment within the military establishment.

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The military thus finds itself in an awkward position and has been obliged to re-evaluate its core principles. The stand-off with the EU has prompted an exercise in self-reflection and poses a challenge to the military’s professed commitment to the ideals of freedom, modernisation and democracy – the characteristics upon which Mustafa Kemal is said to have established the Republic. It is a paradox: the military’s anti-EU stance contradicts its recognised role as progressive, Western-oriented social reformer. The Kurdish issue in particular is the litmus test for the military’s loyalty to its progressive image. The sincerity of the military’s claim that it is the champion of modern and Western values has lately been challenged as a result of what the EU considers to be a hard-nosed Kurdish policy.

The Kurdish Problem The Kurdish nationalist/separatist movement is the issue that features most prominently on the internal agenda of the Turkish military and, arguably, it is the armed forces’ principal security issue at present. Traditionally, the military has adopted a hard-line approach to the ethnic conflict as manifested between Turkish soldiers stationed in the country’s south-east and Kurdish rebel fighters. There is no better evidence of this uncompromising attitude than the virtual martial law that has prevailed in the region for decades, which ostensibly aims to stem the flow of PKK terrorism. Europe’s insistence on paving the way for increased autonomy and self-determination for the Kurds, by far Turkey’s largest minority, has touched a raw nerve and has aggravated the military. The latter’s selfprofessed function is to preserve Turkey’s secular and unitary character. The Kurdish problem poses the biggest threat to this unitary, but ultimately not homogeneous, order. The military has generally responded by saying that while it does not oppose the expansion of Kurdish cultural rights, it vehemently rejects the notion that increased liberty in the cultural sphere should translate to political rights, as this would damage the unitary structure of the state. The military’s priorities have thus been

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clarified. ‘Given the TAF’s preferences, it is undeniably more significant that they protect the state against perceived dangers, rather than protecting only their own progressive image. In other words, the role of guardianship is more critical than that of vanguard [of modernisation]’ (Bilgic 2009; 817). The Turkish military will not advance the principles of modernisation, freedom and democracy at the expense of the Republic’s cohesion and integrity. One may recall Abraham Maslow’s (1954) ‘hierarchy of needs’, expressed as a pyramid structure wherein the largest and most fundamental, base needs (the physiological) are on the bottom and on top are the higherorder ‘nobler’ desires including morality, lack of prejudice and respect for others. Without physical security ensuring fundamental survival, idealist objectives and spiritual progress are rendered not just irrelevant but impossible. The armed forces may justify their apparent forsaking of one of Mustafa Kemal’s founding ideals by citing the need to protect the State’s physical frontiers; for the military, the physical security of the Turkish nation and its territorial integrity trumps ideology and any philosophical commitment to freedom and its corollaries. Nevertheless, on the outstanding Kurdish problem the EU has been especially critical of Turkey during the negotiation process. The former considers the Kurdish issue essentially as one concerning the violation of human rights. Repeated EU Commission reports have urged Ankara to be genuinely proactive in resolving its internal conflict with the significant Kurdish minority, as an important precondition of EU membership. In addition, the reports have tended to highlight the EU’s discontent with Turkey on the relatively slow progress of reforms in the area of civil– military relations. In light of this, there is a residual pessimism resonating from much of the literature with regards to the military’s ability to genuinely transform into a more democratic institution, leading to the consolidation of democracy in Turkey. Burak has suggested that even though the EU process has led to a marked improvement in civil– military relations, the latter party still exercises authority through informal channels. He writes,

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Despite [. . .] the empowerment of the civilians, the military in Turkey still seems strong enough to have a right to talk about non-military issues. Seeing itself as the ultimate guarantor and the guardian of Turkey, the military still does not abstain from getting involved in political issues or exercising power through informal channels such as declarations or warnings via its web site or via its announcements to the press (Burak 2011; 164). The entrenched system of privilege afforded to the military has not been overturned completely, and the armed forces retain a sense of self-importance and of an entitlement to enter into the political debate. In relation to the military’s politicised function, the EU and the AKP government have thus emphasised two different concerns: the former tends to underline the ethnic Kurdish problem, whereas the latter draws more attention to the question of Islam. Indeed, the AKP, as discussed earlier, believes that the EU has deliberately neglected the government’s ongoing concerns regarding the issue of Islam in the Republic and the inferior status of religious-minded individuals, who cannot exercise basic human rights. That is, the EU appears to express more sympathy towards the Kurdish minority problem and prioritises it over the religious-freedom issue.

Islam: A Threat to the Secular State or a Vehicle to National Unity? The Turkish armed forces have historically been antagonistic towards Islamic political actors, and the suppression of Islam has been justified by citing the need to preserve secularism as stipulated in the Turkish Constitution. It is commonplace, therefore, to regard the Turkish military as an anti-religious institution. This assumption needs to be challenged. As Karen Barkey maintains, ‘in the context of early republican Turkey and still in contemporary Turkey, religion is also “a cement of society,” but in national terms. It served and continues to serve a state-directed national project of furthering the Turkish nation as defined by the state’ (2012; 27). One needs only to

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consider the military’s active promotion of Islam as an antidote to communism during the Soviet threat of the Cold War period to realise that the armed forces may in fact have a vested interest in cultivating religious ideals, at least under certain circumstances. Such circumstances may include the current Kurdish separatist problem. South-eastern Turkey, where the vast majority of Turkey’s Kurds live, is generally marked by higher levels of personal devoutness than other regions of the country; that is, the ethnic population in the Kurdish provinces are known to be more adherent to Islam than the mainstream Turkish population (exceptions, of course, apply). Islam, therefore, may prove to be the social ‘glue’ that unites the Turks and the ethnic Kurds, as ‘brothers and sisters in Islam’. According to Cornell and Karaveli (2008), not only was the relation between Turkishness and Islam never completely severed, the republican enterprise itself continued to exploit the powerful sense of Muslim solidarity. From the nationalist perspective espoused by the military, Islam can either be understood as ‘a threat or as a promise’. The authors contend, The Islamicisation of society implies a retreat from Turkish identity; that may be emotionally difficult to accept for those who remain attached to the traditional definition of what it means to be a Turkish citizen. On the other hand, it may eventually prove that the integrity of the state can only be maintained by elevating the Muslim identity of Turkey at the expense of Turkishness. An Islamic conservatism that declares its loyalty to Turkish nationalism while simultaneously managing to remain attractive to the Kurdish population evidently fulfils a critically important mission (Cornell and Karaveli 2008; 44). Admittedly, the religion factor is no panacea for Turkey’s present troubles – least of all because in terms of religious affiliation and observance (even within the dominant Sunni orthodox branch), there are differences and disputes. Moreover, it remains to be seen to what extent an understanding of Islamic practice as adopted by the ethnic Kurds will still remain attractive for mainstream Turkish society.

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What is certain is that there is no quick fix to the Kurdish problem, and whatever strategies have been offered to date have been nothing but superficial, band-aid measures. Regarding this problem, the AKP government has been judicious and has acted conservatively, ever sensitive to the military’s anxiety about the ongoing separatist threat. Progressive government policy or programmes aimed at Kurdish reconciliation have generally been resisted by the military. An example came when Erdog˘an launched what was known as the ‘Kurdish initiative’. This included introducing the concept of Tu¨rkiyeli (those from Turkey) as opposed to Tu¨rk. At first glance, this may seem to be a trite distinction or a petty, semantic matter. However, in the Turkish case the differentiation has significant consequences, and each term is imbued with a fixed, essential and mutually exclusive character. Ideally, Erdog˘an’s proposal would have paved the way for the recognition of the Kurds as an ethnic minority, distinct from the Turkish majority. The military vehemently rejected this suggestion, arguing that such a policy effectively undermined the unitary nature of the Turkish state, and would be tantamount to opening a Pandora’s box. According to the military, everyone who resides in Turkey, and claims citizenship thereof, is a ‘Turk’. The designation of cultural labels is a sensitive issue in Turkey. The AKP’s Kurdish policy, however – although somewhat constrained by the military’s influence – has been progressive, inclusive and amenable to reconciliation. By and large, the AKP has acted tactfully, being careful to avoid stepping on the toes of the military with regards to the agenda it seeks to implement vis-a`-vis both the Kurdish and Islam issues. It has emphasised the common ground between itself and the armed forces and has consistently asserted its commitment to preserving the unitary character of the Turkish Republic. It has extended the proverbial olive branch to the military, adopting a conciliatory tone in its dealings with it. Moreover, there is a discernible nationalist flavour to the AKP’s communique´s, which corresponds to the Islamic movement’s assumption of a progressively more nationalistic outlook. The power of the Kemalist state ideology to influence the behaviour and preferences of political parties in Turkey is thus

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apparent. According to Mehmet Celil C¸elebi (2012), the hegemonic success of Kemalism lies in this ability to shape all later political movements, as well as most of the ones – including the Islamist movement – that have posited themselves against the Kemalist ideology. In other words, the AKP government has, willingly or otherwise, been moulded to a greater or lesser extent by the Kemalist regime, and its policies reflect the overarching foundational principles of the state establishment including, most importantly, secularism and nationalism. In the view of C¸elebi, this ‘Kemalist discourse’ is a Set of ideas that set the boundaries of the intelligible and the imaginable. Indeed, the image of a national, western, secular state has shaped the political imagination of several generations; while this image has been interpreted in different ways. This is made possible by the fact that Kemalism has never been a coherent doctrine, even in its original form: it was a project to design a Turkish identity which rests on a number of tensions [. . .] Indeed, all political actors operate within this context and each interprets current issues in a way that reproduce[s] these tensions (C¸elebi 2012; 16). The AKP government has therefore absorbed a ‘Kemalist mentality’, and subscribes to the state ideology. Although it has reinterpreted Kemalism’s basic principles according to its own political world view, it does not seek to engineer a new state regime or replace Kemalism. Ironically, the AKP is just as ‘Kemalist –nationalist’ as many other political parties that are more conspicuously attached to Kemalist rhetoric. Current President Gu¨l’s previous declaration that ‘we [referring to the AKP] are religious and nationalist’ reflects the government’s espousal of arguably the most significant of Mustafa Kemal’s founding tenets (quote cited in Kaplan 2000; 119). This may serve to placate and reassure the military of the AKP’s nationalist credentials. The argument that Islam does not detract from the Turkish national identity but, rather, that it reinforces it continues to gain

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currency. The ‘Turkish Islam’ thesis, which is predicated on a synthesis of religion and nationalism, may endear itself to those in the military ranks who seek to harness the unifying potential of Islam. The Fethullah Gu¨len movement, an omnipresent Islamic brotherhood led by the banished, US-based cleric of the same name, has effectively married religion and Turkish nationalism by advancing the ‘Turkish Islam’ thesis. It would appear that the Kemalist project, established 90 years ago, has strongly influenced the trajectory of Islamic thought in the country; Islam in Turkey has invariably been moulded by the Kemalist enterprise. That is, the Kemalist state has pressured Islamic actors to conform by proving their loyalty to the republican nation state, or risk excommunication or being made redundant. Consequently, the present day sees a distinctly Turkish-flavoured Islamic world view in the ascendancy. This is not to say, however, that the AKP is insincere in its nationalist claim, or is strategically adopting a more nationalistic tone in its discourse simply to appease the military and mollify the Kemalist institutions. As a populist party it is, nevertheless, obliged to represent the needs of its vast constituency. Here it should be stressed that Turks, including many of those who consider themselves religious, have proven themselves to be committed republicans and, above all, citizens devoted to the sovereign nation state. Nationalism is, therefore, as deeply rooted in the Islamic segments of society as it is in the traditionally secular community. Heper has summarised the secularisation of Turkey’s Islamic community thus: The cognitive revolution that the founders of the Turkish Republic tried to make has been quite successful, and, as a result, (1) the Turkish people, the pious as well as the nonreligious, have come to have loyalty to the secular republic; (2) on the whole the pious are secularised and voluntarily separate religion and politics; and, consequently, (3) the loyalties of the pious to the secular state do not contradict their religiosity (Heper 2009; 414).

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According to this view, Turkey’s pious citizens are no less nationalistic or, necessarily, less secular than their non-religious counterparts. This argument suggests that the religious community generally embraces a secular political world view, and that there is no inherent contradiction between being a religious Muslim and, at the same time, having loyalty to the secular Turkish state. Undoubtedly, this common national identity can provide an atmosphere of reconciliation and a constructive platform upon which the AKP can negotiate with the military, further reinforcing the convergence of political interests between the government and the armed forces. The increased cooperation between the military and the government will doubtless be a boon for Turkish democracy, further consolidating the country’s democratic project. By curbing the military’s traditional political role, the AKP government will ensure that civilian actors can come to the fore and enrich the public debate with unprecedented confidence and authenticity. Moreover, the democratically-elected AKP government may thereby assume power and exercise the people’s mandate with greater flexibility and autonomy. Another noteworthy result of the civilianisation process is the promise that Turkey’s domestic politics as a whole will become more stable and predictable, removing the spectre of the military’s incursion into politics and, consequently, its destabilising potential. In the era of unchallenged military authority, Turkish politics was a volatile and hostile environment for civilian governments. The AKP has been cautious not to push the military aside and has, in fact, made concerted efforts to establish a working relationship with the armed forces. At the same time, however, in the fulfilment of the Copenhagen criteria, which is in line with its EU vocation, the government has systematically made inroads into the authority of the military, thus undermining the latter’s previously unchallenged political autonomy. Moreover, the ongoing Ergenekon and Balyoz investigations have unearthed criminality on the part of senior military officials, who have allegedly conspired to overthrow the democratically-elected AKP from office. These revelations have served to damage the social prestige that has been traditionally

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enjoyed by the armed forces. The military’s political role has thus been curbed considerably, and its capacity to interfere with the political process is no longer guaranteed. This is not to say, however, that it will not continue to exert an authoritative presence in the arena of civilian politics; the military is close to the hearts of millions of Turks, and is an institution that is both the product and the reflection of a militarised Turkish society. Cizre argues that even though the era of direct military interventions may be over, ‘clearly the old questions about the military institution’s role and prerogatives in politics and society are still valid – especially in a context like Turkey, where the specter of a democratically elected Islam-sensitive government presents an unprecedented challenge to a strongly secular military’ (2012; 142). By attempting to project a ‘modernist’ mentality onto the Turkish public and enforcing the Kemalist ideology, the military has become at one and the same time the representative and the guardian of the Turkish state; its excessive role in politics had assisted in perpetuating the dominance of the ‘mighty state’. This, in turn, has rendered the military an illiberal institution – despite its ostensible Western orientation – and one that compromises the liberty of individual citizens. Its meddling in politics, moreover, has hampered the development of democracy in the Turkish Republic. The AKP, nonetheless, hopes that the increasing civilianisation of Turkish politics will bolster the processes of democracy in Turkey and, simultaneously, strengthen the government’s pro-Islamic agenda. The gradual withdrawal of the military from the political sphere will have positive ramifications for the consolidation of liberal principles in the republic, leading to an increasing self-confidence from Islamic actors and, ultimately, a greater sense of autonomy and self-determination for religious-minded individuals in the community.

CHAPTER 7 A SLOWDOWN OF REFORMS

The Uludere Massacre and the Politicisation of Family Planning In contrast to the AKP’s first stint in office, its second and third terms have been characterised by a marked slowdown in the reform process. Observers have offered various explanations for the party’s ‘reform fatigue’, especially following its third major electoral victory on 12 June 2011. Complacency, increasing authoritarianism, Prime Minister Erdog˘an’s presidential aspirations and his often confrontational leadership style, the lack of credible political opponents, the apparent triumph over the Kemalist state institutions (illustrated by the retreat of the military and the shake-up of the judiciary), the increasing Islamicisation of the Turkish polity and political corruption have all been suggested as reasons for the AKP’s stalled reform programme. Certainly, the 2008 closure case brought against the ruling party in Turkey’s Constitutional Court also served to interrupt the reform process, as the government was, not surprisingly, compelled to focus exclusively on its own survival during that period. Whatever the explanation, there is a consensus that the ruling party has lost much of its reformist zeal. The AKP administration nowadays resembles more a conservative, centre-right government whose policies aim to preserve its own power and appeal to its voter base. As a result, the party’s once-robust reform programme has decelerated significantly. Broadly speaking,

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there appears to be a correlation between the consolidation of the AKP’s power (over Kemalist institutions and in terms of its dominance in elections) and a noticeable winding back of its reformist agenda. The oft-cited argument is that the AKP, having essentially established its supremacy over the traditionally hostile Kemalist regime – that is, the military and the judicial apparatus – and having proved to be extremely popular among domestic voters, has lost much of the incentive to carry out further sweeping changes en route to democratisation because this may jeopardise its hold on political power. Murat Somer concedes that even though the AKP government, in coming to office, carefully established a strong network of communication with its grassroots supporters, and managed to develop a more democratic and egalitarian intra-party system, it did somewhat revert to authoritarianism after assuming power. He suggests that ‘the AKP may also be suffering from “power malaise,” which may explain some allegations of corruption against the party members and why it insisted on electing its own candidate for president [Abdullah Gu¨l, in 2007] rather than seeking a compromise with the opposition’ (2007; 1,285). Not surprisingly, the AKP government’s sluggish performance in critical areas of promised reform has alienated many of its traditional sympathisers. One-time supporters – including those in certain liberal circles, important media groups, and even members of the AKP’s conservative religious constituency – have become increasingly sceptical about the government’s agenda. It is difficult to pinpoint exactly when the AKP’s reform programme began to lose some of its momentum, but the Uludere massacre was a crucial turning point. On the night of 28 December 2011, two Turkish F-16 fighter jets targeted and fired on a group of smugglers, after allegedly being tipped off by US intelligence that high-ranking PKK terrorists were crossing the border into Turkey. The airstrike took place in the Uludere district of Turkey’s Sırnak province, near the Turkish– Iraqi border, and according to the official toll claimed the lives of 34 civilians. The Kurdish villagers, who were known to security forces at the border, were carrying diesel fuel and everyday items, including tea and sugar, on their mules. The tragedy, a horrible mistake

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according to Ankara, enraged ethnic Kurds and prompted conspiracy theories suggesting that the bombing of civilians was a ploy by Turkey’s deep-state organisation to derail the fledgling peace talks with Turkey’s significant Kurdish minority. Many unanswered questions, not least of which centre on who gave the final order to strike, still reverberate. The public’s outrage and confusion has been inflamed by the government’s relative secrecy and inaction, and its refusal to apologise over the incident. Despite being the party most committed to resolving the Kurdish conflict, being more proactive than its predecessors and making several important contributions towards a lasting rapprochement, the Uludere air strike has tarnished the AKP’s reputation and hurt its relationship with Turkey’s Kurds. The AKP government’s handling of this incident aroused comparisons with former authoritarian governments and their punitive policies towards the Kurds. According to Orhan Kemal Cengiz, the Kurds ‘have witnessed a government which demonstrated all the classical reflexes of the old state [. . .] [the AKP] displayed the deeply rooted denial attitude of the state’ (Today’s Zaman, 27 December 2012). The aftermath of the Uludere massacre is emblematic of the AKP’s increasing authoritarianism and its newfound tendency to pander to the State’s interests and reproduce the official state line, especially with regard to deeply divisive issues such as the Kurdish problem. Several months after the attack at Uludere, after mounting criticism of his government, Erdog˘an changed tack, and abortion suddenly appeared on his party’s agenda. Abortion in Turkey has been legal since 1983, and has, until the AKP’s recent initiative, never been a part of the domestic political debate. In what is widely regarded as a plan to divert attention from the repercussions of the Uludere massacre, the prime minister declared, ‘I see abortion as murder’. Speaking at one of the AKP’s women’s branches in Ankara on 26 May 2012, Erdog˘an then called upon the members of the media who opposed his comments: ‘You live and breathe Uludere. I say every abortion is an Uludere’ (Today’s Zaman, 29 May 2012). His impromptu remarks baffled domestic and international observers, and infuriated Turkish feminists. While conceding that there is no

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EU acquis on abortion, that the procedure is banned in some (European) countries and that it is up to Turkey to decide on the issue, a senior EU diplomat regarded Erdog˘an’s comments likening abortion to the Uludere incident as ‘annoying’ (quoted in Hu¨rriyet Daily News, 2 June 2012). The opposition to abortion and childbirth via caesarean-section delivery, and the promotion of large families are policies consistent with the AKP’s conservative and Islamic orientation. However, Erdog˘an’s politicisation of abortion, and even his repeated call to Turkish families to have at least three children to save the Turkish nation, should not be construed as the ruling party’s exclusive desire to advance an Islamist or conservative agenda. The government’s conservative– religious rhetoric is aimed at securing the conservative vote and appealing to its religious constituency. Thus, the AKP’s ostensibly Islamist policies are underpinned by a political or pragmatic imperative, and are not solely the result of any claim by ¨ lke Arıbog˘an has suggested the party to a moral mandate. Deniz U that the government used the controversial anti-abortion proposal to counterbalance the high birth rate in the Kurdish provinces. In reference to the PKK, she also noted, ‘ethnic reproduction is used by some organisations as a political tool’, and that the eastern (Kurdish) provinces have, as a result, seen a rapid rise in population numbers. This is in contrast to the western regions of Turkey, where population growth has virtually stopped (cited in the Huffington Post, 3 June 2012). This demographic reality is a source of anxiety for Turkey’s nationalists, and the AKP is apparently beginning to factor in the population and birth-rate disparity between ethnic Kurds and the Turkish majority in the formulation of the government’s policy. It was for these concrete political reasons, Arıbog˘an concludes, rather than out of any religious or moral concern that the party decided to sponsor the anti-abortion proposal. This confirms the widely held belief that the AKP’s ideologues have transformed into pragmatic politicians who have come to pursue a hard-headed political agenda. When the ruling AKP does espouse conservative– religious rhetoric it tends to be politically, as opposed to ideologically or religiously, motivated. It can be said, therefore, that the AKP has effectively

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broken with the Islamist policies of the past by separating its religious private world view from the secular affairs of state and administration. There are several other indications that the AKP is nowadays more concerned with consolidating its political power than with advancing a given ideological or religious position. Arguably, this is the result of the party’s entrenchment in the Turkish political system for more than a decade. Moreover, the AKP government can lay claim to a legitimate mandate that it has secured from consecutive successful election results. The issue of its electoral mandate, how the AKP manipulates it and how it is validated by it, is essential in terms of analysing the AKP’s recent policies and behaviour. Despite losing seats at both elections following the 2002 landslide victory, in which the AKP won over two-thirds of parliamentary seats, the party has won a greater percentage of the popular vote in both the successive 2007 and 2011 general elections. The irony of fewer seats despite more votes is due to Turkey’s inordinately high electoral threshold of 10 per cent before a party can enter parliament. Turkey has been strongly criticised – not least by the EU – for not having relaxed this threshold, which is the highest of its kind in the world. The AKP has missed several opportunities to legislate on reducing the threshold, which is seen as a serious impediment to democracy. Given the high percentage of the general vote required at elections, a significant portion of the electorate is deprived of parliamentary representation – and the parties that are elected often gain a percentage of parliamentary seats greater than their percentage of garnered votes (this is what occurred in 2002, when the AKP won one-third of the national vote but gained two-thirds of the seats in parliament). In this regard, the AKP in government has basically maintained the line of the Kemalist old guard, alleging that the high electoral threshold is in place to ensure political stability and prevent radical, frivolous or transient political movements from destabilising the parliamentary system. A more critical reading of the high threshold suggests that it serves to deny small parties a political voice, and further establishes Turkey as a majoritarian, as opposed to a liberal, democracy. It is important to recall that the AKP directly benefited

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from the 10 per cent threshold in the 2002 general election, when the other established parties, including the coalition between the DSP (Demokratik Sol Parti or Democratic Left Party), MHP and ANAP (Anavatan Partisi or Motherland Party) led by Bu¨lent Ecevit were virtually decimated at the polls. This allowed the AKP to form a majority government in a sweeping victory as a result of the low percentage of the vote won by its opponents, who were not able to pass the 10 per cent threshold. Despite only winning 34.3 per cent of the popular vote, the AKP was able to dominate the parliament, claiming 360 out of 550 parliamentary seats. For a republic previously wracked by unstable coalition governments, the most significant result of the 2002 election was that for the first time since the late 1980s a single-party government, unencumbered and unrivalled, ruled the country. The AKP secured 47 per cent of the popular vote during the 2007 election and increased that to 49.8 per cent in 2011, thus cementing its political domination. The AKP’s legitimacy is derived largely from its significant electoral support, so it can – and does – use its popular mandate as a justification for its political agenda. In fact, Prime Minister Erdog˘an, arguably the Republic’s most successful and admired leader since its founder Mustafa Kemal, is widely regarded as a populist prime minister. When Erdog˘an claimed, during a parliamentary address in February 2012, that his government wanted to ‘raise a religious youth’, fierce speculation mounted on all sides of the political divide, and Ankara once more became consumed by the debate on religion. The Turkish premier addressed his political opponents, namely the CHP, effectively goading its leader with the words ‘do you expect the conservative democrat AK Party to raise atheist generations? This may be your business and objective but not ours. We will raise a generation that is conservative and democratic and embraces the values and historical principles of its nation’ (quoted in Hu¨rriyet Daily News, 2 February 2012). Opposition leader Kemal Kılıcdarog˘lu rejoined, ‘It is a sin to garner votes over religion. You are not religious but a religion-monger’ (Hu¨rriyet Daily News, 2 February 2012). Kılıcdarog˘lu’s assertion was not entirely baseless, and admittedly Erdog˘an needs to exercise more restraint and be cautious

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not to further alienate the AKP’s liberal–secular backers with such an approach. Still, it is paradoxical that the leader of a staunchly secular party, one that is considered to be hostile to religion, took the moral high ground by accusing the government of being ‘sinful’. More importantly, it demonstrated the degree to which religion has been politicised in the Turkish Republic. The contested and controversial nature of religion in Turkey has played into the hands of politicians of all stripes, and has polarised Turkish society.

Erdog˘an’s Presidential Aspirations Fragmentation in the Turkish polity on key issues including the public visibility of religion, Kurdish activism, the role of the Turkish military, the EU accession bid and the constitutional amendment process has created an unpredictable and adverse environment for negotiation and consensus. Political actors vying with each other for prestige and legitimacy, and the routine spitefulness of partisan politics, renders the aim of reaching a compromise on these important issues ever more elusive. A constitutionally sanctioned increase in the president’s powers, leading to the institutionalisation of an enhanced role for the head of state of the Republic, could, according to Erdog˘an and the AKP, generate some much-needed stability in domestic politics. The prime minister has, moreover, clearly voiced his own presidential aspirations. The AKP’s by-laws prevent its members from being elected to parliament for more than three consecutive terms, and Erdog˘an is currently serving his third and final term, which is set to end in 2015. Given that he is ineligible to contest the premiership again after that, Erdog˘an plans to stand down from the position and contest the 2014 presidential elections in earnest. From his public declaration that he wishes to take up residence at C¸ankaya Ko¨sku¨ (Villa), the presidential palace, it is clear that Erdog˘an, embodying the antithesis of the shy-and-retiring type, does not intend to stand down permanently, or walk away from politics. In the lead up to the 2014 presidential elections and the next parliamentary elections, scheduled in 2015, Erdog˘an and the AKP have shied away from introducing potentially controversial and unpopular, albeit

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important, reform proposals so as to not undermine the AKP’s campaign prospects. Currently, the office of president is a largely ceremonial role. Erdog˘an has proposed establishing a system based on the French and US models, wherein the president, as the head of state, has a greater authority and involvement in politics than in a parliamentary system, carrying out an executive function. Erdog˘an envisages a partisan, as opposed to an independent or apolitical, presidential office, whereby the incumbent effectively assumes the prime minister’s role as the head of the government. Under the AKP’s proposal, which necessitates the rewriting of the constitution, the president would have the power to dissolve parliament, appoint government ministers and senior bureaucrats, and select jurists without requiring significant parliamentary approval. The president would also be authorised to return the legislature’s draft laws and request amendments, and to call for a referendum or new general or presidential elections at his or her discretion. Unlike the US presidential system, which Erdog˘an has criticised as being ‘too slow’, Turkey should establish its own style of executive presidency: ‘The U.S. president cannot appoint an ambassador, he cannot even solely decide on the sale of a helicopter [. . .]. That’s why we should create a Turkish-style presidential system’ (Erdog˘an quoted in Hu¨rriyet Daily News, 29 November 2012). Emphasising the need to streamline and simplify the system, the prime minister stated that he preferred a single-body system, and suggested that having two bodies (or parliamentary houses) would impede the legislative process. According to Erdog˘an, having one chamber is adequate to control the president. ‘Parliament does the supervision job, having too many supervisors makes the system clumsy [. . .] We should be practical and get results quickly,’ he stated (Hu¨rriyet Daily News, 29 November 2012). In order to ensure the swift passage of legislation, under the proposed system, parliamentary mechanisms – including confidence votes and censure motions – would be abolished. In responding to claims that the AKP’s version of an executive presidency will centralise power, leading to possible abuses, the party confirmed that while the president will have the authority

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to dissolve the legislative assembly, the parliament, in turn, will also be able to dismiss the president. The plan to replace Turkey’s current parliamentary system with an executive presidency is an ambitious political enterprise, and has been met with vocal resistance. Erdog˘an’s proposal has alarmed many onlookers and engendered fierce criticism from his political rivals, the media and liberal commentators, who regard this scheme as a blatant power-grab and a way for Erdog˘an to further consolidate his control of politics. It should not be assumed, however, that Erdog˘an would encounter no obstacles along the way, and his moving into C¸ankaya Villa as president is far from guaranteed. The incumbent, and his long-time confidant, Abdullah Gu¨l, enjoys widespread approval and is a very popular president. When questioned, Gu¨l has remained philosophical, not confirming whether he will contest the election. The results of a recent survey, conducted by Turkish pollster MetroPOLL, has indicated that Erdog˘an could face some public resistance to his presidency campaign, and that many Turks in fact prefer Gu¨l in the post (Hu¨rriyet Daily News, 26 September 2012). This is something that Erdog˘an, in calculating his next move, will have to consider. According to its critics, by endeavouring to concentrate all political power in the hands of a single person, Erdog˘an’s proposed executive presidency aims to circumvent the legislative process and effectively rule by decree. The prime minister has also been accused of not respecting the democratic principle of the separation of powers. In reply, the AKP has highlighted the need for strong and decisive leadership to put an end to petty political squabbles and to bring stability and consistency to the political domain. According to former AKP parliamentarian, Suat Kınıklıog˘lu, ‘it is clear that Erdog˘an wants to become a powerful president who can determine the future of this country. For this to happen, he needs to push through constitutional amendments that would make him a powerful president’ (Today’s Zaman, 18 July 2012). Aside from extending his own powers and promising to stabilise Turkish politics, there is another, albeit less mentioned, reason that Erdog˘an is working towards the creation of an executive presidency:

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the prime minister wants to secure his enduring political legacy. In any case, it is to be expected that Erdog˘an possesses a significant, and even sentimental, attachment to the party that he helped found. Friends and foe alike can testify to his bold and charismatic leadership, and alongside Mustafa Kemal, Erdog˘an is the most powerful politician that the Turkish Republic has seen. There is also some scepticism surrounding whether or not the AKP would continue to prosper without him at the helm. While it would be wrong to suggest that the party is a one-man show, Erdog˘an’s political acumen, combined with his enigmatic personality and his inherent appeal to the masses, has been integral to the AKP’s auspicious political fortunes. It is likely that Erdog˘an’s departure from politics would create a vacuum in the party. It would be very difficult, if not impossible, to replace Erdog˘an, who has come to be emblematic of the ruling AKP.

The ‘Cooling’ of the AKP’s EU Bid As has been discussed earlier, the AKP’s reform programme is closely linked to Ankara’s EU accession bid, and often these two terms (EU reform and democratic reforms) are used interchangeably. For this reason, a deceleration in the AKP’s EU drive has resulted in a marked slowdown of the reform process as a whole, and vice versa. Several commentators suggest that the AKP displays less interest in EU accession today than it did in the past. According to Sami Faltas, ‘now that accession negotiations are blocked, Turkey is getting used to the idea that it may never be a member of the Union’ (2012; 136). There is a tendency for some critics to regard the AKP’s ‘reform fatigue’ and its apparent drift away from the EU as proof of the ruling party’s ‘secret agenda’ to Islamise the Turkish polity. According to this line of reasoning, the AKP government is not sincerely or unconditionally attached to the principle of democracy and does not regard democracy as an end in itself, but rather as a means to an end (that of securing its own narrow, political interests). One may argue that the AKP has been selective and strategic about the ostensibly reformist policies that it has proposed and

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implemented, and is cautious not to alienate its core supporters or introduce policies that it considers unpopular. That is, as a political party, the ruling AKP has to factor in public opinion and the interests of its own electorate when formulating its policy. For example, as Somer has highlighted, the strength of the AKP’s commitment to secularism is challenged by the competing claims of secularists and of disadvantaged social groups – including the ethnic Kurds, women and the Alevi minority – who demand the same rights and privileges as the Sunni Muslim majority (2007; 1,282). However, these examples do not categorically mean that the AKP’s commitment to democracy or its Western orientation is insincere, and the ruling party’s ideology ought to be thought of as evolutionary, and an ongoing project. ‘The party’s constituency includes Islamic – conservative, and, partially, secular – liberal business groups and middle classes, who stand to gain from economic integration with the world, which is made possible by a democratic system [. . .] If Turkey’s democratisation can be sustained, the AKP’s moderation can also be sustained,’ argues Somer (2007; 1,282). The figurative depiction of the AKP as the Islamist wolf in democratic sheep’s clothing may appeal to some; however, it is more likely that the AKP is simply a centre-right political party seeking to extend its own power by avoiding contentious reforms. Thus practical and political calculations, and not a distinct Islamist agenda, have resulted in a clear loss of momentum in initiating further reforms. Moreover, domestic disagreement over the EU bid sets Turkey apart from other EU candidate countries. One would expect to find relative consensus on such a crucial issue – one so central to the State’s general interest. Membership in the EU can rightly be considered an apolitical goal, an objective that transcends party politics and has the potential to benefit all Turks regardless of demographic differences, political affiliation or social status. The squabbling between parliamentary parties and the political point scoring by approval-seeking politicians, however, has rendered the EU accession debate heavily politicised and deeply subjective in Turkey. The AKP has struggled to navigate the mire of domestic opposition to its EU policy, which has at different

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times been branded as either languid, too accommodating or too defiant, depending on the source of the criticism. The ruling AKP has been criticised for conceding too much to Brussels and, alternatively, for not doing enough. In the face of this struggle, the government has found it difficult to devise a consistent and coherent policy of EU-inspired democratic reform. According to Joost Lagendijk, the AKP purposefully ‘opted for electoral opportunism and [the] consolidation of [its] parliamentary majority, instead of sticking to a clear and visible pro-reform policy [. . .] the AKP shied away from further reforms as they became afraid that movement on such sensitive issues as freedom of speech or the rights of religious and ethnic minorities would be used by the nationalist opposition to lure voters away’ (2012; 170). It is unfortunate that the acrimonious politicking surrounding such an important issue has compromised true democratic consolidation, with players on the domestic front choosing short-term political gain over what is arguably in the long-term best interest of the Turkish Republic. Prime Minister Erdog˘an – who, according to Lagendijk, has never really been a ‘convinced EU supporter’ – made the electoral calculation in 2003 and 2004 that the EU reforms would pay off, but in 2007 took a step back from the negotiation process and it seemed that he had turned his back on the EU, possibly for good (Lagendijk 2012; 186). It should also be remembered that the EU has sent Turkey mixed signals regarding its accession prospects, and has never offered any concrete assurance of the eventual absorption of Turkey into the entity. As Kıvanc Ulusoy points out, the messages coming from inside the EU are ‘rather ineffective in directing, leading and stimulating the process of democratisation in Turkey [. . .] The EU’s non-conclusive strategy seriously hampers Turkey’s transformation’ (2010; 87). That is to say, the EU’s often lukewarm relations with Ankara, and its prolonged non-committal attitude, have been internalised by the AKP leadership to the extent that the latter now mirrors the EU’s standoffish approach. More recently, however, there have been more optimistic signs regarding the restoring of relations between Ankara and the EU. A full-time chief EU negotiator (Egemen Bag˘ıs) has been appointed,

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the number of civil servants working on the EU accession bid has increased, and a plan to implement EU regulations has been adopted (Lagendijk 2012; 186). Erdog˘an seems to have recognised that ‘there are limits to [his] policy of indefinite postponement of necessary reforms [. . .] In the course of 2009, the government started several initiatives that, if successful, would silence the sceptics in Turkey and abroad who claim that the AKP has given up on reforms and on EU accession’ (Lagendijk 2012; 186).

The Litmus Test of Turkey’s Democratisation The plight of Turkey’s Kurds is the litmus test of the ruling party’s commitment to the principle of egalitarian democracy. Moreover, Turkey’s treatment of its sizeable Kurdish minority, estimated to be in the order of 20 million, is the yardstick by which all other democratic reforms are to be assessed by the international community. The AKP government’s Kurdish policy has yielded mixed results to date. Its efforts towards Kurdish rapprochement have often met with resistance from opposition parties, and scepticism from Kurdish groups themselves. It is difficult to arrive at a policy approach that satisfies all the relevant actors, and, by tradition, this has been a highly charged issue. In what was hailed as a much-needed rejuvenation of the government’s reform schedule, the AKP launched its Demokratik Acılım Su¨reci (Democratic Opening Process) in 2009, which was coordinated by the former interior minister, Besir Atalay. Conditions were then ripe for the ruling party to embark upon a more pronounced and robust policy of reconciliation with the nation’s Kurds, whose very existence is constitutionally denied by the Kemalist state. The AKP had recently lost some key eastern and south-eastern municipalities to Kurdish candidates in the local elections of March 2009. At this juncture, the government’s prior strategy of integrating the Kurds by using ‘religious roots’ (the idea, referred to earlier, of Islam as a social ‘glue’) and economic incentives was rendered obsolete, and it dawned on the AKP that in this new climate it needed to seriously address Kurdish demands for freedom

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of expression, cultural rights and self-determination (Ulusoy 2010; 84). In order to satisfy the claims made by the often restive Kurdish community, the AKP will need to embark upon a process of rewriting the constitution and respond in a considerate way to basic questions surrounding ethnic identity and cultural authenticity. This is a tall order, especially given the nationalist opposition that the AKP government will continue to face on an issue that is widely regarded as fundamental to the sovereignty of the republic and its indivisible integrity, as outlined in the constitution and promoted in Kemalist circles. In fact, the biggest obstacle facing any lasting and genuine rapprochement is the institutionalised and constitutional denial of the Kurds’ existence. The AKP’s sincere and continuing efforts towards endorsing a distinct Kurdish identity will, by extension, compel the Turkish people to duly reflect upon the meaning of ‘Turkishness’. It is hoped that this will foster a dialogue that publicly condemns the past attitude endorsing, for example, the use of the insulting term ‘mountain Turk’ as a characterisation of ethnic Kurds. Identity politics are thus a salient feature of the Turkish landscape, and the AKP’s electoral losses in the Kurdish provinces in 2009 proved to be a strong impetus propelling the government to adopt a more explicit policy targeting the resolution of the Kurdish issue. What needs to be clarified here is that one of the biggest obstacles facing the AKP in its quest to resolve the Kurdish problem is the party’s electoral and political calculations, rather than the Kurds themselves. The process of reconciliation was complicated from the outset; the ever-sensitive issue carries strong nationalistic connotations. The AKP has had to balance its desire to establish a genuine process of appeasement with the Kurds against the need to weigh up public opinion and the opposition’s resistance to its policy. Indeed, in the absence of such political and electoral factors impinging on the peace process, resolving Turkey’s Kurdish problem would be a considerably more straightforward undertaking. As it stands, however, the government has made limited real progress on the issue, despite being the one party in the history of Turkish politics that stands out for its commitment to solving the Kurdish problem.

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According to Ulusoy, the experience of the government’s democratic opening has confirmed that ‘the democratisation processes are rather fragile and could easily be sabotaged. The sabotage could come from inside the regime as well as from opposition and terrorist organisations’ (2010; 84). Moreover, the AKP’s non-conclusive Kurdish policy undermines the struggle against PKK terrorism (Ulusoy 2010). The ambiguity and lassitude of the party in government on this issue has essentially precluded the development of any concrete incentives for Kurdish guerrillas to lay down their arms. The mere existence of Kurdish militancy during the AKP’s tenure may be regarded as a failure of the government’s strategy and its inability to reach out to or appease Turkey’s Kurds in a sustained and genuine manner. The PKK’s intermittent acts of terrorism serve to cripple the Democratic Opening Process and perpetuate a vicious cycle. This was demonstrated palpably by the events of December 2009. On 7 December, seven Turkish soldiers were killed during a shooting ambush on a Turkish patrol unit in the central Anatolian province of Tokat. Three days later, the PKK claimed responsibility for the attack. The timing of the incident was critical, and suggests that it was a ploy to throw the Kurdish peace talks off course. Prime Minister Erdog˘an was in Washington, DC to meet with President Barack Obama at the time, while the constitutional court was in the middle of deliberating on the fate of the then largest pro-Kurdish party, the Democratic Society Party (DTP). The aftermath of the shooting attack saw an angry national response, widespread condemnation, and the fomenting of dangerous levels of inter-ethnic hostility. The government publicly suggested that the terrorist attack was an open provocation to disrupt its policy initiative. Ultimately, the constitutional court did rule to close down the DTP, handing down a unanimous verdict on 11 December 2009, finding the latter’s activities to be in conflict with the ‘independence of the state [and its] its indivisible integrity within its territory and nation’ and that the party was ‘becoming focused on terrorist activities’. In other words, the DTP was shut down by the court for allegedly sponsoring the Kurdish separatist movement and having

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links with the terrorist PKK organisation. Its closure is considered to have deeply harmed the peace process and was decried by many international observers, who regard the banning of a democraticallyelected party as a denial of the legitimate political representation of the Kurds. The consequence was that the Kurdish community felt increasingly marginalised and victimised. The closure of the DTP, which was a democratic political mouthpiece, rendered the assumption of violent means to attain political goals a more attractive option. The closure, and the fact that the AKP government (which was almost simultaneously defending itself against a similar charge by the constitutional court) was relatively silent during the process, exacerbated the inter-communal tension. Activists and intellectuals claimed that as long as the establishment was suppressing moderate Kurdish voices, Kurdish militants would not find it difficult to attract sympathy or new recruits with which to bolster their insurgency. The AKP government’s inability to bring about a tangible political solution, or establish consensus among its rivals, on this issue demonstrates the antagonistic and polarised nature of Turkey’s domestic environment as much as it highlights the government’s failure to rise above party politics and liberate itself from the fear of electoral backlash. Insofar as the AKP’s Kurdish policy is determined and restricted by these factors, it will be difficult for the party to forge ahead in government with any genuine and lasting reform. Overcoming this problem essentially involves convincing ‘hearts and minds’ that solving the Kurdish problem is in Turkey’s best interest as a whole. The stakes are high, and, as Ulusoy has remarked, ‘if the latest democratic initiative in Turkey fails, it would mean a victory for the radicals among the Kurds and the Turks vis-a`-vis the moderates’ (2010; 87). Managing the nationalist opposition to any compromise over the Kurdish issue has, to date, proven difficult, not least because of the nationalist voices emanating from the AKP’s own constituency. In fact, the AKP has been criticised for adopting increasingly nationalist rhetoric itself.

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The ‘Nationalist AKP’ The rhetoric behind much of the AKP’s recent public discourse combines nationalism and populism, and these characteristics are typical of Turkey’s predominant centre-right political parties. In seeking to consolidate and expand its own power, the AKP has adopted a more pronounced nationalist position and nowadays employs populist language in an effort to undermine its opposition in the political arena. The party’s stalled policy on critical and promised areas of reform – including the Cyprus impasse, the Armenian issue and the ethnic Kurdish problem – reflects, in part, its desire to outmanoeuvre its rival, the ultranationalist MHP. By espousing a more explicitly nationalistic (or uncompromising) attitude, the AKP hopes to appeal to the MHP’s staunchly nationalist constituency. Domestically, the above-mentioned issues are very sensitive and directly related to the concept of Turkey’s ‘national interest’. The government’s inability, or unwillingness, to seriously engage in further reform on these divisive matters reflects its calculated response to overarching electoral conditions. According to Carol Migdalovitz, ‘reaching accommodations with Armenia and Cyprus are goals with limited domestic appeal and might prove counterproductive to the AKP’s power drive. Compromises would provide ammunition for the MHP’ (2011; 43). By flexing its nationalist muscle on these seemingly ‘non-negotiable’ issues, the AKP hopes to lure votes away from the MHP, thereby guaranteeing its continued electoral dominance. The AKP also champions a robust form of nationalism in its foreign policy, and this has significantly contributed to its domestic popularity and electoral success. As Migdalovitz has pointed out, ‘it is often remarked that Turks are a proud, strongly nationalist people. AKP officials play to this sense of pride with an attitude proclaiming that their government and country are superior to others’ (2011; 42). Turkey’s growing self-confidence on the world stage and its selfappointed role as a regional mediator during the AKP’s tenure have boosted its credibility at home. In government, the party has

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cultivated a reputation for ‘defending Turkey’s honour’ in the international arena and, at the same time, elevating its global status. Another issue that has served to highlight the AKP government’s propensity for nationalist sentiment is that of the circumstances surrounding the proposed amendments to Article 301 of the Turkish Penal Code. The notorious Article 301 criminalises the ‘denigration of Turkishness’, and has been widely condemned by international observers and defenders of human rights as an attack on the principle of freedom of expression and, subsequently, a breach of Turkey’s international obligations. Nationalist lawyers and prosecutors have exploited the imprecise and arbitrary nature of the term ‘Turkishness’ to charge writers, journalists and publishers – including Nobel Prize-winning novelist Orhan Pamuk, the late Turkish-Armenian editor Hrant Dink, and the acclaimed Turkish novelist Elif Safak – with insulting Turkishness. The aforementioned had all published statements about Ottoman Turkey’s Armenian genocide in 1915, which is a nationalist issue par excellence. Denigrating Turkishness, if the charge is proven, is an imprisonable offence, and formerly carried jail sentences of up to three years. Once in government, the AKP’s initial dawdling over the issue and its vague approach to amending Article 301 drew criticism. Arguably, this foot-dragging over the proposed amendment to the article reflected the ruling party’s acute awareness of widespread nationalist feeling, and the need to respect the sensibilities of nationalist-inclined voters. Any compromise on the Armenian question could be, according to chief advisors and policy makers in the party, political suicide. Finally, however, on 29 April 2008 – after years of equivocation – the government legislated to replace the phrase ‘denigrating Turkishness’ with ‘denigrating the Turkish nation’ amid mounting pressure from the EU. The AKP-dominated parliament also voted in favour of reducing the jail sentences for those found guilty of breaching Article 301 from three to two years, and prescribing leniency towards first-time offenders. Another important amendment was that all new cases launched by prosecutors on the basis of Article 301 would henceforth require the authorisation of the minister of justice. As a result, only a few cases have since been filed.

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Turkish and international human rights activists regard the changes as superficial, however, and believe that the article should be struck out altogether. Many other sceptical onlookers, in Europe and elsewhere, likewise consider the amendment to be insufficient and have called for Article 301 to be permanently deleted in its entirety. Despite the lukewarm reception to the AKP’s amendment of Article 301, Lagendijk argues that the good thing about the change was that it removed the very vague term ‘Turkishness’. Moreover, the idea of the substitute term incorporating the word ‘nation’ is ‘copied from the penal codes of several EU member states. For that reason, it is difficult for the EU to criticise the new formulation’ (Lagendijk 2012; 176). In assessing how the AKP government has managed the issue of Article 301, we see that it has demonstrated many of the nationalistic reflexes that typify Turkey’s traditional right-wing parties. The official Turkish version of the events of 1915 was jealously protected by the Kemalist regime, and the AKP has basically reinforced this understanding. Concessions on the Armenian question, among others, are sensitive and controversial. Nevertheless, it is important to note here that the ruling AKP has, more than any of its predecessors in government, demonstrated a strong commitment to revisiting the official historical record regarding the Armenian issue. Conversely, the opposition CHP was generally supportive of retaining Article 301, which has frequently been invoked to suppress alternative readings of the Armenian tragedy. Moreover, prominent figures of the CHP, including former Deputy Chairman ¨ ymen, defended the article and argued that it ‘protected the Onur O Turkish people from “slander” on the part of liberal agents of Turkeyhating elements abroad’ (cited in Fisher Onar 2009; 7). Nora Fisher Onar has pointed out that, in contrast, Prime Minister Erdog˘an went out of his way to congratulate Elif Safak when she was acquitted of the charges against her. The prime minister’s personal act of goodwill is symbolic of the AKP’s stated policy of liberal revisionism on the Armenian question.

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Incitement to Violence or Expression of Peaceful Dissent? Turkey’s Anti-terror Laws There will always be strong political opposition in Turkey to any attempts to challenge the State’s prevailing orthodoxy or rewrite its historical narrative. Aside from the obvious nationalist dimension, or perhaps as a consequence of it, the repercussions surrounding the introduction, amendment, or possible elimination of Article 301 of the Turkish Penal Code have vital implications for the security of the Turkish state and nation. To qualify, however, it should be acknowledged that this point is also a contested view. The conventional claim that Turkey’s internal stability and the integrity of the Turkish nation state are threatened by permitting dissident or unofficial views is a counterargument to the promotion of genuine democratic reform. The right to free speech and to voice non-violent, dissenting opinions is a basic democratic right. The AKP’s treatment of this matter is, therefore, directly linked to Turkey’s ongoing democratisation process. Additionally, it is an important benchmark by which the EU ascertains Turkey’s improved track record on human rights. The AKP, in order to truly align Turkey with the precepts of modern, liberal, democratic governance, will need to be steadfast and fearless in defending the right to free speech, and in eradicating the institutionalised practice of repressing peaceful dissent. The politics surrounding Article 301 render it difficult for the party to formulate a decisive policy that formalises the protection of freedom of speech. Clearly, in terms of it being at liberty to legislate on further democratising reforms, the AKP government is constrained by domestic and electoral conditions, including the apparent need to pander to the nationalist vote. Another controversial issue that the AKP has pledged to review is Turkey’s heavy-handed Law No. 3,713, also known as the Anti-terror Law, which has been used to punish non-violent offences – including the publication of pro-Kurdish works, which is regarded by the Turkish state as the dissemination of separatist propaganda. Turkey has been criticised by the international community for the inordinately lengthy pretrial detentions that have placed hundreds

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of academics, journalists, politicians and lawyers in jail on charges of terrorism. Currently, Turkey has the dubious honour of being the world’s biggest jailer of journalists, followed by Iran and China, according to the Committee to Protect Journalists (cited in Hu¨rriyet Daily News, 17 December 2012). Even peaceful dissent by Kurdish activists has been stifled, with critical reporters charged with ‘terrorism’ and crimes against the State, including subversion and treason, under the draconian laws. The Anti-terror Law thus has significant implications for freedom of speech and the freedom of the press. On 15 December 2012, deputy prime minister and government spokesman Bu¨lent Arınc affirmed that the AKP would reinterpret Turkey’s Anti-terror Law in order to secure press freedom (quoted in Hu¨rriyet Daily News, 17 December 2012). He also said that the government agreed on ‘making more up-to-date interpretations of propaganda in articles 6 and 7 [of the Anti-terror Law, which declares printing announcements of, or making propaganda on behalf of, a terrorist organisation a crime]. We think an article, a report or a speech may not constitute a crime as long as it does not provoke violence or arming’ (quoted in Hu¨rriyet Daily News, 17 December 2012). The amendments thus seek to redress the broad interpretation of ‘terrorism’ that has in the past been easily exploited to prosecute individuals for having said or written something that challenged the official State ideology, which is – as is known – heavily steeped in nationalist sentiment. Specifically, the objective of the recent proposals is to amend the law so as to clearly distinguish between incitement to violence and the expression of non-violent ideas. This belated legislation is also linked to Turkey’s EU negotiations, and is an outstanding issue that needs to be resolved. The AKP cannot continue to claim to be a democratically inspired or reformist government while presiding over such despotic anti-terror laws – laws that have been used to effectively gag Kurdish activists who promote an alternative orthodoxy to the mainstream Kemalist line, or to link them to militant Kurdish rebels. Understandably, Brussels will be keenly monitoring the developments in Turkey on this matter. According to a recent newspaper article, two-thirds of all cases in which the

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European Court of Human Rights (ECHR) has ruled against Turkey to date are related to freedom of expression, and the number of ECHR cases pending involving the Turkish state on the same issue is 450 (Today’s Zaman, 7 March 2013). As a result of the ambiguity surrounding the nebulously-defined term ‘terrorism’ contained in the Turkish Penal Code, and its subsequent abuse – which has resulted in specious charges being laid, or in the detention of Kurdish advocates – the Turkish state is regularly placed top of the list of countries who violate the European Convention on Human Rights. Justice Minister Sadullah Ergin in an earlier statement said, ‘we [the AKP government] will change this image [of Turkey at the ECHR]’ (quoted in Today’s Zaman, 7 March 2013). In March 2013, the AKP tabled its fourth judicial reform package, which ‘heralds a highly anticipated breakthrough in restoring Turkey’s standing with respect to violations in the Strasbourg-based European Court of Human Rights (ECHR), most specifically with regard to shortcomings on the right to freedom of expression’ (Hu¨rriyet Daily News, 7 March 2013). Cynics, nevertheless, may regard the party’s latest initiative with a degree of suspicion, given the timing of its introduction into parliament. The latest reform package coincided with the talks launched by the AKP at the end of ¨ calan, the leader of the PKK, who is currently 2012 with Abdullah O incarcerated on the island of I˙mralı near Istanbul. One would be forgiven for suggesting that the AKP’s attempt to improve freedom of expression by drafting changes to the penal code may be a politicised stunt. Nevertheless, by narrowing the definition of the term ‘terrorist propaganda’, the AKP government is taking an important step towards the consolidation of free speech in Turkey, in line with European and international standards. As an extra incentive, admittedly, the AKP’s plans to soften Turkey’s anti-terror legislation will likely place Ankara in a stronger position in its newly-established dialogue with the PKK; the AKP government’s proposed amendments can only strengthen the burgeoning peace process. It should also be mentioned that the AKP’s previous talks with the PKK were held in secret; however, this time the AKP government

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has openly acknowledged the dialogue that is unfolding. This indicates a bold departure by the government from its previous position on the Kurdish issue, and its sincerity and commitment in forging a road map for peace between Turkey’s two major ethnic groups. Turkey’s long-standing ethnic conflict, a three-decade war with the PKK, has killed over 40,000 people and is the major impediment facing the country’s continuing political and economic development. The AKP needs to be both sensitive and courageous in addressing the genuine and legitimate demands of the Kurds, while shunning both extreme nationalist positions, be they Turkish or Kurdish. A delicate balance needs to be struck and maintained by the AKP government if it is to be successful in its latest initiative for lasting peace. The ruling party also has to be prepared to make gestures of goodwill to assure the Kurdish community that it is not using the resolution of the ethnic conflict simply as a means to garner votes, and thereby reinforce its electoral dominance. The AKP will, in addition, need to weather the storm of opposition that will likely surface from the staunchly nationalist MHP, and persuade Turkish nationalists as a collective that Kurdish rapprochement is not tantamount to an unqualified concession of Turkish sovereign interests, and furthermore that a durable peace is for the betterment of the republic and all of its citizens. Turkey’s internal politics will never stabilise, nor can its economy truly boom, while the country is engaged in a virtual civil war. Serving to highlight the difficulties facing the government in this respect is the fact that the pro-Kurdish Peace and Democracy Party (BDP) has reacted strongly against the AKP’s recent initiative, with BDP Deputy Hasip Kaplan claiming that the latest and muchpublicised reform package is in fact void. Addressing the AKP government, he rejoined, ‘don’t try to deceive the public that you are introducing freedom of speech [with this package]’ (Today’s Zaman, 7 March 2013). It is evident that the AKP has a long road ahead of it in reaching its objective of securing an enduring truce with the Kurdish community and bringing Turkey closer to the Council of Europe’s standards on freedom of speech.

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The Rights of Other Minorities The government’s powerlessness, or reluctance, to resolve outstanding issues surrounding minority rights reflects its automatic nationalist response. The opening of the Greek Orthodox seminary on the island of Heybeliada (Halki in Greek), which is located in the Sea of Marmara near Istanbul, has featured on the Greek– Turkish agenda for many years, and is an issue that has repeatedly arisen during joint talks between the neighbouring states, who share, as is known, a long history of antagonism. Halki Seminary, the main Greek Orthodox training college in Turkey, is the theological seminary of the Ecumenical Patriarchate of Constantinople. It has been closed since 1971, when tensions between Greece and Turkey over Cyprus were escalating, and amidst the growing social unrest that provoked a heavy-handed response by the Turkish state toward all religious schools (including Muslim ones). The campaign to reopen the college to educate Greek Orthodox clergy has been vocally championed by the Greek side and human rights activists. In a recent conference organised by the International and Intercultural Dialogue Institute and held in Berlin, Deputy Prime Minister Bu¨lent Arınc told the gathering that the opening of the Halki Seminary was a humanitarian right, and that Turkey’s minorities, including the Greek Orthodox community, ‘have the same rights as us’ (Hu¨rriyet Daily News, 7 March 2013). It is, according to Arınc, the right thing to do, and not simply a ‘favour’ bestowed out of discretionary kindness by the Turkish state. Despite the high-profile and official support by Arınc, which signifies the AKP’s approval, in theory, of opening the seminary, the government has, to date, not formalised a policy towards this end, and the college remains closed. The AKP government’s rhetoric suggesting that it will reopen the seminary was a feature of its Democratic Initiative, which was launched in 2009, as part of the objective to improve the conditions of Turkey’s minority communities. Previously, in an assurance that the AKP government was working towards fulfilling the Istanbul-based Greek Orthodox Patriarchate’s demand for the reopening of the Halki Seminary, government spokesman Arınc in 2011 confirmed that the

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legal barriers would eventually be overcome in order to reopen the institution (Today’s Zaman, 4 January 2011). This constructive attitude is reflective of the government’s broader mission to consolidate democracy and enhance human rights in Turkey. Significantly, although the reopening of the Halki Seminary is not an official precondition for Turkey’s EU membership, it has nevertheless featured in Turkey’s EU progress reports. A positive development on this issue would almost certainly boost Turkey’s eventual accession prospects by assuring sceptical onlookers in Europe of the government’s democratic credentials. However, the AKP’s hitherto contradictory stance has baffled observers. Despite the political goodwill and the party’s public support for reopening the theological school, it is evident that the government dithers over officially repealing the policy that brought about the enforced closure of the Halki Seminary, and hence over reinstating its former status. This would require changes to the private education law, and likely fuel nationalist rhetoric by opposition parties that could, in turn, trigger a voter backlash that would be capitalised on by the AKP’s rivals, including Islamist and nationalist parties – and even the CHP. It would, however, be unfair to completely dismiss the concrete results achieved by the AKP government en route to democratisation. In fact, there is an important legacy in the form of the government’s amendment of the Law on Foundations regarding the issue of minority rights in general, and the Halki Seminary in particular. In August 2011, the AKP was finally able to pass Law No. 5,737, a liberal overhaul of the Law on Foundations that sought to supersede the 1935 law and to address the confiscation of property belonging to members of non-Muslim, and in particular Christian, minorities. The amended law makes it possible for foundations owned by nonMuslim communities to possess property and receive financial assistance. This was not a straightforward process, and the AKP encountered staunch resistance from various actors along the way. In 2006, the party’s attempt to reform the law passed the AKPdominated parliament only to be vetoed by former president Ahmet Necdet Sezer, an established hard-line secularist, on a series of technicalities. Not to be deterred, in 2008 the government

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reintroduced the bill, after making some minor revisions, and it was once again passed by parliament. This time, the opposition CHP lodged a similar complaint with the constitutional court, which ultimately fell on deaf ears, the court dismissing the CHP’s claim in June 2010. By ‘positively’ overturning the CHP’s application, the court gave the government a chance to ‘meet the valid demands of minorities’ (Bu¨lent Arınc quoted in Today’s Zaman, 4 January 2011). Ultimately, the AKP’s successful legislative initiative on the Law on Foundations is a testament to its resolve, and further establishes its liberal credentials. Despite several outstanding ambiguities, the passage of this legislation is symbolic in recognising the principle of freedom of religion and the rights of Turkey’s non-Muslim minorities, and this will have ongoing practical ramifications. Haldun Gu¨lalp claims that the AKP’s sustained legislative revisions and its ‘affirmative action leading to agreements of friendly settlement, improved the atmosphere for non-Muslim communities’ in Turkey (2013; 129). He does concede that although some problems remain, the AKP government’s ‘efforts are widely appreciated by non-Muslim communities’ (Gu¨lalp 2013; 129). Following this, at the beginning of 2013, Turkey’s Council of Foundations returned 190 hectares of forest to the Halki Seminary. This was a promised and long-awaited result of Law No. 5,737, the liberal revamp of the outdated Law on Foundations. As part of the government’s legislation to return all confiscated immovable property belonging to minority foundations, the woodlands will be given back to the owner of the seminary, the Agia Triada Monastery Foundation. This is a very positive, if long overdue, development and is ‘the biggest property return to a minority group in the history of Turkey’ (Today’s Zaman, 10 January 2013). The successful amendment of the Law on Foundations, and the subsequent return of land to the seminary’s owner, is more than a token symbol or a oneoff favour or kind gesture. Significantly, it bodes well for the continuing evolution of the AKP’s programme of democratic consolidation. Although a belated result, it does go some way to reconfirming the AKP government’s liberal and democratic outlook. The AKP had to fend off stiff nationalist opposition to succeed, with

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Devlet Bahceli, the MHP chairman, once describing the Law on Foundations bill as a ‘law of betrayal’ (quoted in Hu¨rriyet Daily News, 20 February 2008) and the leaders of both the MHP and the CHP publicly denouncing the AKP’s deputies as traitors to the Turkish nation. The heated debate surrounding the amendment of the Law on Foundations highlights the challenges facing the AKP in implementing unpopular, but much needed, democratic policies.

Populism, Erdog˘an’s Celebrity and the AKP’s Increasing Authoritarianism Aside from nationalist sentiment, which has been very potent since the Republic’s inception, Prime Minister Erdog˘an frequently champions ostensibly ‘Muslim causes’, including that of the plight of the Palestinians at the hands of the Israeli state. This has further entrenched his ‘rock star’ image and ensured a cult-like following, both domestically and in neighbouring Muslim-majority states. This ‘muscular nationalism’ is manifest in Erdog˘an’s penchant for identifying himself with his country in a way that implies that the leader of the government is the Republic’s quintessential representative and symbol. ‘When he feels personally insulted in an international setting, he then suggests that his country has been insulted and that it is his duty to defend it [. . .] he [Erdog˘an] described his overreaction to the 2009 Davos incident as required for the defense of Turkey. This played well politically at home’ (Migdalovitz 2011; 43). This indicates that there are significant domestic determinants that drive both the AKP’s official foreign policy and its informal conduct on the world stage. Increasingly, the AKP is judged, and subsequently rewarded or punished by the electorate, according to its performance in the international arena, and these domestic priorities help shape the government’s foreign policy outlook. In turn, the AKP’s preoccupation with its image abroad, and how this is received at home, has the capacity to detract from the government’s domestic reform agenda. To quote Migdalovitz’s precise observation, ‘it is axiomatic that the goal of political parties is to win elections and then to stay in power’ and the

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AKP government has, perhaps not surprisingly, astutely exploited an assertive foreign policy in a way that has ‘enabled the party to consolidate power at home’ (Migdalovitz 2011; 38). The AKP’s increasing authoritarianism is due, in large part, to the fact that it lays claim to an overriding monopoly on the legitimate processes of democratisation in the country; it regards itself as the only genuine vehicle for democratic progress and reform in the Turkish Republic. According to Menderes C¸ınar, the AKP government has lately espoused an ‘ill-defined and unsubstantiated promise of “advanced democracy”, [and] also a populist political language, while claiming to be the one and only democratic and democratising political force, inevitably degrad[ing] the rest as unviable and unreliable political forces, deserving to be excluded from a possible constitutive politics’ (2011; 110). The AKP’s apparent self-righteousness in this regard is, in actuality, an undemocratic belief or attitude, and has the potential to spoil the government’s initiative towards the deepening of democracy in the Turkish state. By unilaterally assuming the role of democratic reformer, to the exclusion of all other political actors, the ruling party effectively precludes cross-party negotiation, consensus and deliberation, which are rightly considered the cornerstones of a functioning liberal democracy. In contrast, the AKP’s ownership of the processes of democratisation runs counter to the essence of democracy as a ‘collective good’ and has, as a result, produced rather ‘paradoxical counter-democratic manifestations’ (C¸ınar 2011; 118). C¸ınar has suggested that even though the AKP government pledged to seek consensus on the rewriting of the constitution, it has, in reality, adopted a ‘go-it-alone’ policy, and has basically rejected the other political parties as potential partners in the constitution-building process. This clearly reflects the AKP’s latent distrust of other political actors. Ultimately, however, democratisation is not an issue that should be delegated to a single political party – despite, in this case, the fact that the AKP’s track record, and its having won an increasing share of the votes in recent elections, appears to genuinely reflect the trust and confidence it has established in the Turkish electorate (C¸ınar 2011; 118).

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In addition, the prime minister’s inability to tolerate criticism of himself or his government and his censuring of the press is not conducive to a healthy democratic debate – as observed, for instance, in Western liberal democracies, where candid political commentary, free and investigative journalism, and criticism of parliamentary dialogue and governmental policy are all features that are entrenched in the prevailing political culture. The high-profile clash between Prime Minister Erdog˘an and the founder of Dog˘an Holding, Aydın Dog˘an, a Turkish billionaire media tycoon, is a notable case in point. When outlets connected to the Dog˘an Media Group (DMG), one of Turkey’s largest conglomerates, circulated a news story implicating AKP officials in a corruption scandal, the prime minister urged his party’s members and ordinary Turks to boycott DMG’s high-circulation daily newspapers, including Hu¨rriyet and Milliyet, which are composed of ‘liberal’ and secular voices. After auditing the accounts of DMG businesses, the taxation authorities issued the group’s print and broadcast empire with a fine for tax evasion to the tune of $2.5 billion. Together with a subsequent fine of $600 million for alleged improper business dealings, the financial penalty imposed upon DMG was $3.1 billion dollars, which is larger than Dog˘an’s total personal worth. The tycoon has insisted that the fine was both exorbitant and politically motivated. Erdog˘an’s personal exhortation to his supporters to keep Dog˘an newspapers out of their homes is questionable and very problematic, and has perturbed many of the AKP’s liberal allies. It has been argued that the fine imposed on DMG was an attempt by the government to muzzle critical media, and subsequently suppress freedom of speech. It has been interpreted as an attack on the independent media, challenging the AKP’s commitment to pluralism. The prime minister’s intolerance of dissent, which was arguably revealed by the AKP’s levying of the $3 billion tax fine on the DMG corporation, at the same time reflects and reproduces a fundamental characteristic of traditional Turkish political culture – namely, the persistent display of personal bravado by the country’s top officials. Erdog˘an personifies the image of the fearless and enigmatic leader, and this image is close to the hearts of everyday Turkish citizens.

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When he refers to himself as the ‘Kasımpasa man’, Erdog˘an alludes to the macho code of honour for which the eponymous working-class Istanbul neighbourhood is renowned. ‘Kasımpasa men are notoriously quick to anger, painfully proud and blunt in word; they’re often called local cowboys. Erdog˘an’s blustery Kasımpasa bravado accounts for much of his popularity among Turkey’s conservative, male-dominated society’ (Time, 30 January 2009). The prime minister was imprisoned in 1999, indicted on charges of subversion for reciting a poem during a 1997 political rally in his current electorate district of Siirt that allegedly breached the Turkish Penal Code. The offending verses, originally by Ziya Go¨kalp (who, ironically, has been described as the father of Turkish nationalism), read: ‘the mosques are our barracks, the domes our helmets, the minarets our bayonets and the faithful our soldiers,’ and was regarded as an incitement to commit an offence and incitement to religious or racial hatred. Erdog˘an received a ten-month prison sentence, of which he served four. A political ban was imposed, and he was forced to step down from the Istanbul mayoralty. Erdog˘an has worn this conviction like a political badge of honour. Furthermore, in a country whose unrivalled national sport and favourite pastime is football, Erdog˘an’s former days as a semi-professional player has further endeared him to ordinary Turks. Not surprisingly, then, the AKP government has greatly benefited from Erdog˘an’s celebrated political machismo and his uncanny ability of relating to the masses. In fact, it is often remarked that a vote for the AKP really equates to a vote for Erdog˘an. The prime minister’s ‘personality cult’ – or, at the very least, his remarkable domestic popularity – has facilitated his increasingly dictatorial, and arrogant, personal leadership style. Often it is ‘Erdog˘an’s way’ or no way, and his recent domineering behaviour has led to observers suggesting that the prime minister is falling victim to his own unprecedented success. C¸ınar has claimed that the AKP’s emphasis on promoting its ‘political brand’ has relegated all its members and candidates ‘to a status of personnel of a highly coordinated and coherent party organisation built around the personal charisma of its leader Recep Tayyip Erdog˘an and run practically by him’.

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Furthermore, all AKP candidates – including prominent figures, such as ministers and the founders of the party – are nowadays treated as merely staff ‘at the service of the party, owing their positions to the party, liable to non-nomination or removal from their traditional electoral districts and lacking any autonomous sphere of political self-realisation’ (C¸ınar 2011; 108). Similarly, Metin Heper concluded that in such a political culture, ‘leaders are seen as heroes defending their parties against adversaries and the primary preoccupation is with “politics” rather than policy’ (2002; 141). For its part, the AKP government has maintained that a powerful leader, with widespread approval from society, is an important asset ¨ zgu¨r Asık, in implementing its reform programme. According to O dynamic leaders (such as Erdog˘an) ‘have the ability to introduce and frame a paradigm, influencing the population to change the dominant system of thought’. He continues, ‘no doubt, Turkey is experiencing such [a] change of paradigms, under Prime Minister Recep Tayyip Erdog˘an’s leadership’ (2012; 147). The ruling AKP has reiterated that strong leadership and a coordinated and centralised policy agenda is needed to ensure that the democratisation process stays on track and is not undermined further by partisan disputes and political infighting.

Which Democracy? It may not yet be appropriate to compare Turkish democracy as a whole with the phenomenon of liberal democracy as experienced in most Western countries. Put simply, Turkey’s democratic project is being consolidated and is far from complete. It would therefore prove futile to judge the AKP’s efforts against more mature democratic regimes established in Western nations, even though the party has, of its own accord, identified itself with various Western democratic organisations, including European Christian Democrat parties. At a very basic level, the AKP government has a mandate to govern as it deems suitable, given that it has received a significant portion of the votes in Turkey’s recent elections. It claims to represent the majority of the Turkish constituency, which has, in turn, demonstrated its

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support for the ruling party at the ballot box. Although some of the AKP’s recent policy agenda has been branded authoritarian or hostile to democracy, and specifically the definition of democracy as liberal democracy, these policies do not necessarily represent the AKP’s broader mission – to consolidate Turkish democracy in toto – and they may in fact resonate with the prevalent understanding of Turkish democracy as majoritarian. Perhaps therein lies the crucial issue: the competing definitions of democracy. Turkey’s democratic deepening is dependent to a large extent on the ability of law makers and politicians, in concert with civil society, to reformulate the concept of Turkey as simply a procedural democracy. The Turkish Republic possesses all the hallmarks of a procedural democracy, including free and fair elections, an operational multiparty system, and relatively free political association. In practice, however, what is often labelled as illiberal, majoritarian or procedural democracy is qualitatively very different to the existence of a functioning liberal democracy. The latter is characterised by its capacity to tolerate, and indeed be enriched by, dissent and critical debate, and also has formal mechanisms to manage and incorporate the divergent interests of a pluralistic society. These are the features of an advanced democracy. Despite the AKP government’s latest assertion that it strives towards the realisation of an ‘advanced democracy’, it has been suggested that it is not genuinely committed to this goal. To what extent does the ruling party really support the notion of liberal democratic governance? Asık has alleged that there are important ‘inconsistencies between normative acts [or legislative modifications] and legal practice’ in Turkey, and a notable gap between ‘the reformist ambitions of the AKP government and the harsh reality of the practices [in] the field’ (2012; 148). It is claimed that the AKP has merely paid lip service to the ideal of ‘advanced democracy’ and has abandoned, or at least neglected, the democratic reform agenda in lieu of the pursuit of its own political power. Its maltreatment of Kurdish activists and the indefinite detainment of critical journalists, for example, are arguably practices that are opposed to the goal of advanced democracy.

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The ruling party generally responds to this claim by highlighting the fact that the self-empowerment of a civilian government is in fact a necessary precondition for any attempt to consolidate a fullyfledged democracy in the Turkish Republic. That is, the reduction of the State’s role, and the retreat of the Kemalist establishment, is essential in order for the country to truly experience a deepening of democracy. As a result, the AKP has conventionally emphasised what it regards as the unchallengeable primacy of the national will and consensus, and this is epitomised by the result of the popular vote. The party’s conception of democracy thus revolves around a constitutionally-elected civilian government retaining its unquestioned autonomy from the non-elected (and therefore nonaccountable and non-representative) Kemalist regime. In other words, true and lasting democratic consolidation is not really possible without the permanent withdrawal of the Kemalist state apparatus from the affairs of civilian politics. The closure case that was brought against the ruling party in the constitutional court in 2008 and the impervious political role exercised traditionally by the Turkish military have been condemned by the AKP government for being, above all, undemocratic and disrespectful of the electorate’s wishes, and for jeopardising Turkey’s democratic project. Moreover, the AKP government has used the Kemalists’ hostility to its presence in politics as a justification for its tenacious quest to topple the dictatorial statist regime – and this strategy has hitherto proven to be successful. It is ironic that the Kemalists’ antagonism towards an elected government has well and truly backfired. It has been used by the ruling party to prove the undemocratic nature of the existing regime, and the need for an overhaul of the Kemalist establishment by civilian politicians, who are the legitimate representatives of the Turkish people. Moreover, the taming of the Kemalist regime has facilitated the development of new opportunities for consensus building and negotiation in the political arena. C¸ınar has claimed, with the transformation of the Kemalist establishment into an ineffective network, the whole political structure built on its anticipated power has started to crumble and created a space for

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the emergence of potential partners to constitutive politics, in which such perennial problems as the Kurdish issue could finally be resolved in a collaborative and democratic manner (C¸inar 2011; 110). Turkey’s ancien re´gime has been considerably weakened, if not deposed altogether, and this has created hope for a paradigmatic shift in the way politics is conducted in the Turkish Republic. With the Kemalist establishment effectively restrained by the incumbent government through various constitutional and bureaucratic means, an environment favourable to the strengthening of democratic forces has been produced. Turkey’s ‘old politics’, characterised by the supremacy of the Kemalist state and its appendages, was an impediment to the burgeoning democratic project. However, AKPled initiatives and the government’s democratising reforms have fasttracked the course of Turkey’s democratic deepening. What has precipitated the present-day depreciation of the Kemalist state? How has the AKP consolidated power over the Kemalist regime? The ruling party’s decade in office will likely be regarded, retrospectively, as a watershed moment for Turkey, and exemplifies the triumph of a civilian government, with a significant people’s mandate, over the statist and authoritarian regime. By extension, this may be viewed as a victory for democracy in the Turkish Republic. The government’s reforms have brought the military to heel, and have produced a significant reshuffle of the judiciary; both are one-time Kemalist strongholds, and therefore the symbolism of these changes cannot be underestimated – nor can the practical ramifications thereof.

The Constitutional Amendments Much of the reform process is indebted to the successful outcome of the referendum on the constitutional amendments package, which was held on 12 September 2010. The positive result meant that the governing AKP could push ahead with further democratising reforms. It was, in addition, an unofficial renewal of its electoral

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mandate. The adoption of the amendment law (Law No. 5,982), by Turkey’s Grand National Assembly, took place on 7 May 2010, ‘with a majority between the three-fifths and the two-thirds of the full membership of the assembly, in accordance with article 175 of the constitution’ and was then submitted to a mandatory referendum ¨ zbudun 2012; 161). The Turkish people went to the polls and (O decided; voters passed the amendment package with a 58 per cent majority, despite a successful boycott of the referendum in key Kurdish provinces organised by the pro-Kurdish BDP. This result ensured that the constitution underwent radical surgery, with the amendment or abolishment of 24 articles and the insertion of two provisional articles. The constitutional referendum was not without other controversy, however, and the opposition CHP, among other fierce critics, voiced vocal opposition to the process at various stages. It was claimed that the AKP government was manipulating the reform process, and the amendment of the constitution specifically, to implement its so-called Islamist programme. Critics of the government and those opposed to the amendment of the militarydrafted constitution repeated the oft-cited claim that the AKP was not genuinely committed to the democratisation of the Turkish Republic, and had ulterior motives – namely, to Islamise the Turkish polity. They argued that the AKP government has pursued a discriminatory strategy towards the reform process, favouring the implementation of institutional changes that will enhance and prolong its own political power. In any case, the disagreement between the parties on the amendment of the constitution threatened to undermine, if not entirely cripple, the advance towards democratic consolidation in the Turkish Republic. Furthermore, it may strike neutral observers as peculiar, or unimaginable, that the proposed constitutional amendments attracted the wrath of a vociferous and resistant group, the Kemalist old guard, whereas in most other contexts the amendments package would have been dealt with as a matter of course, considered long overdue and hence warmly received. A case in point is demonstrated by the amendments to the constitution that make it more difficult for the constitutional court to dissolve political

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parties. Many observers, including those in Europe who were evaluating the quality of Turkish democracy, had in the past strongly recommended that a constitutional amendment be implemented in order to make this more difficult, and hence less likely to occur. As Ahmet Kuru and Alfred Stepan point out, since its establishment in 1963, Turkey’s Constitutional Court has ‘closed twenty-five parties while the rest of the long-standing democracies in Europe have closed four parties – one Nazi (1952) and one Communist party (1956) in Germany, a racist/xenophobic party in Belgium (2004), and one party linked to Basque Homeland and Liberty (ETA) in Spain (2003)’ (2012; 9). This incongruity clearly demonstrates the traditional supremacy of the judiciary over the democraticallyelected representatives of the Turkish people, and the indiscriminate and overzealous application of Kemalist principles by the constitutional court to punish political movements that did not share or espouse the ideology of the Kemalist elite. Many Western onlookers find the situation astonishing, and rightly consider the court’s ‘trigger happy’ attitude towards the shutting down of legitimate political parties to be an insult to democracy. Following the amendments, however, the closure of a political party by the court will require the approval of two-thirds of court members, instead of the three-fifths voting that was needed previously. It is hoped that this modification will help reduce the number of outlawed Turkish parties in future. The amendment was not unconditionally welcomed on the domestic front, however, and the AKP’s critics, who allege that the government exploited the process, have claimed that this is another example of its attempts to stay in power. The irony here is that they may be correct; the AKP did push through with this amendment in order to ensure its own political existence, and that of other foreseeable competitors. It took necessary steps to prevent the possibility of the constitutional court abusing its power to veto a democratically-elected party – in accordance with widely accepted norms regarding the role of the judiciary and the separation of powers within a democratic society. The fact that such a fundamental and much-needed amendment was controversial and not unanimously supported also highlights that there is no consensus on

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the rewriting of the constitution, given that Turkey’s Kemalist elements regarded the amendments as politically motivated. The process of constitution building in Turkey, if it is to truly succeed, will require the non-partisan input of the respective political actors in the arena of deliberation and consensus, and in collaboration with community and business groups and civil-society organisations. The Kemalist opposition to the constitutional-amendment enterprise has been a major obstacle on Turkey’s path to genuine democratic consolidation. Furthermore, as Aslı Bali has stated, in most other countries around the world the 26 proposed constitutional amendments would have been interpreted as liberalising improvements to a flawed constitution. Among the changes heralded by the successful outcome of the 2010 constitutional referendum were the facts that civilian courts were empowered, while the jurisdiction of the military courts was circumscribed; gender equality was reinforced and protections for children, the elderly, veterans and the disabled were enhanced; privacy rights were improved and access to government records was simplified; collective-bargaining rights were expanded; standing was afforded to individuals to bring challenges to the constitution; and the long-standing military immunity was removed, especially for those responsible for the 1980 military coup (Bali 2010). Although much of the constitutional-amendment package was hotly contested on the domestic front, it is widely regarded as the compulsory forerunner to genuine democratic consolidation. What is more, it is the vital foundation upon which the ruling party can launch a reinvigorated agenda of reform. It should be noted here that the most controversial and divisive constitutional amendments were generally related to the shake-up of the judicial arm of the state. Other changes were less contentious, and enjoyed relatively unanimous support across the political spectrum – among them the establishment of the Ombudsman’s Office (Mehmet Nihat O¨merog˘lu was sworn in as Turkey’s first ombudsman in December 2012); and the provisions upholding fundamental human rights, including affirmative action, or positive discrimination, in favour of women, children, senior citizens, the handicapped, and war

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veterans and their families. In particular, it was claimed by the AKP’s detractors that by changing the composition and the selection process for the constitutional court and the High Council of Judges and Public Prosecutors (HSYK), the ruling party was shifting the balance of power in a deliberate effort to augment its own political dominance. Under the new arrangement ratified by the AKP government, the number of judges in the constitutional court is raised from 11 to 17. The president of the republic retains his strong role in selecting, either directly or indirectly, 14 out of these 17 members of the court. Despite the opposition having denounced ¨ zbudun, a professor of law these adjustments, according to Ergun O and a leading constitutional expert, ‘these changes were intended to limit the tutelary role of the Constitutional Court in line with widely accepted European standards’ (2012; 162). The number of members of the HSYK has also increased, from seven to 22 seats. In this case, the president’s direct role in the appointment of these members coming from the judiciary is eliminated; however, he is still entitled to select four regular members from among law professors and practising lawyers. Importantly, the minister of justice and the undersecretary of the Ministry of Justice remain as ex officio members, and the justice minister is still the president of the council. This lastnamed role, however, will be limited to a mainly symbolic one. ¨ zbudun has clarified, ‘the change was intended to break Again, as O the monopolistic domination of the two high courts [the Court of Cassation (Yargıtay) and the Council of State (Danıstay)] over the council, and to make it more representative of the judiciary as a whole by allowing the judges and public prosecutors of the lowerlevel courts to be strongly represented in the council’ (2012; 163). The AKP’s legislation on the HSYK – which makes it more representative by including members of the first-instance courts, the justice academy, law faculties and lawyers – is an important move towards democratising the judiciary. Turkey’s 2011 EU Progress Report stated that ‘the adoption of legislation on the High Council of Judges and Prosecutors and on the Constitutional Court is a step in the right direction in terms of the independence and impartiality of the judiciary. Steps have also been taken to increase

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the efficiency of the judiciary’ (Turkey 2011 Progress Report, Chapter 23, p. 89). Both the 2011 and the 2012 EU progress reports, however, claim that further efforts are required by Turkey with regards to the impartiality, independence and the efficiency of its judiciary.

Stacking for Survival? It has been suggested that the AKP government has sought to politicise the judiciary by installing AKP-friendly judges in important positions. After enjoying a relatively privileged position due to the effects of the 1982 military-drafted constitution, whereby the judiciary ‘acted ideologically in order to limit the power of elected governments’, Asık claims that ‘the judiciary has lost its independence in another way, having become subject to the executive branch. It is argued that military tutelage is being replaced by civilian tutelage with the complacency of some prosecutors and judges’ (2012; 146). The alleged ‘stacking’ of AKP members in key judicial and bureaucratic roles is evidence, according to its critics, of the government’s covert plan to progressively dismantle Turkey’s secular institutions and implement Islamic law. Several commentators also claim that the relationships between the executive, legislative and judicial apparatuses are becoming increasingly blurred, and that this is demonstrated by recent legislation that has altered the selection process of the high judicial organs (Asık 2012; 147). There are two sides to the ongoing discussion, and the AKP has countered this claim and defended its actions by insisting that the overhaul of the established system of tutelage is necessary in order for Turkey to truly align itself with European and democratic standards. What becomes apparent is that the polarised nature of Turkish politics has predisposed it to the entrenchment of nepotism on all sides of the debate, almost as a quasi-political virtue, in the designation of bureaucratic and judicial appointments. In this seeming battle of wills, with the respective parties possessing what appear to be diametrically opposed objectives (and these objectives

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are, in any case, heavily politicised), one must then ask: who has the final say-so, the overriding authority and the ultimate clearance to make these appointments? Is it, as it was for many decades before the advent of the present AKP government, a case of ‘might makes right’, in which the Kemalist regime merely reinforced the old system of tutelage and thereby its own interests? The once-dominant establishment never, until recently, questioned the process of bureaucratic selection when it comprised ‘one-way traffic’ and all of the important state positions were held by individuals with proven, if not staunch, Kemalist credentials. According to Christopher Houston, the perception of ‘militant laic actors’ that the AKP is radically Islamist is unfounded, and merely reflects the fears and the emotions of the Kemalists themselves. The author states that, ‘it may be that in the present a threatened social privilege, a loss of cultural capital and a waning political dominance, all experienced as a thwarting of social efficacy, constitute the historic affective mood of laic actors’ (Houston 2013; 3). In addition, it is important to recognise that kadrolasma (from the French/English cadre) – that is, the public sector’s recruitment policies that appear to favour individuals who possess conservative or Islamic credentials – is not a new phenomenon, or one unique to the present government. Somer (2007) asserts that there are no objective data to verify the charge that the AKP employs this practice, and for its part the government has categorically denied claims accusing it of kadrolasma. Moreover, as the author has pointed out, ‘favouritism had been a pastime for past Turkish governments of a more secular kind also. However, with the AKP, kadrolasma generates more reaction because of suspicions of gradual Islamisation’ (Somer 2007; 1,278). Rather than denoting an alleged clandestine Islamist agenda, the AKP’s apparent tendency to appoint friendly personnel to bureaucratic roles reflects its desire to protect itself and ensure its own political survival. It becomes clear that by surrounding itself with public servants who are more sympathetic towards the ruling party, the AKP government’s goal is actually to ward off hostile Kemalist opposition rather than to implement an Islamist agenda. Somer also has suggested that these fears are largely unwarranted, and

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that there is little hard evidence to support the claim that the AKP is ‘stacking’ the State’s institutions with its own people. Aside from the changes made in the judiciary, approximately 800 civil servants were transferred to the Ministry of Education from the Directorate of Religious Affairs, and in the university sector the government promoted the selection of rectors who, like the ruling party, were opposed to secularist restrictions, including the ban on the headscarf. It has also been argued that there has been a steady Islamisation of primary- and secondary-school textbooks, including the replacement of evolutionary theory with versions of creationism and the tacit endorsement of Islamic conservatism in everyday life, the promotion of ritual prayer and the distribution of religious reading material. To reiterate, however, it has not been determined with any given certainty whether or not these, and other ostensibly Islam-friendly developments, are the direct or indirect result of the AKP’s rule, and, as Somer has pointed out, ‘knowing the government’s Islamist roots, bureaucrats and civilians may feel that it is now more acceptable to promote religious values’ (2007; 1,279). Consequently, it may be the case that instead of the government implementing an Islamist political doctrine, the outward rise in observable forms of religiosity is essentially an organic process that reflects the times and the current social reality. Nonetheless, proponents of the view that the AKP is introducing a religious agenda by stealth tend to rely upon the apparent rising social conservatism of the Turkish electorate, and to their claim that the government is responsible for promoting increased religiosity in the Turkish polity. It stands to reason that sociological and anthropological studies would be better placed to critically examine this assertion (that Turkish society is becoming increasingly religious), and to engage in an appropriate manner with the methodological implications thereof. Political science is arguably not a suitable lens through which to conduct an assessment of a fundamentally subjective phenomenon – namely, the personal (and personalised) experience of confessional faith, and many of the attendant prescribed religious rituals. Biased and politicallymotivated commentary often skews reality, and in this instance

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neglects the observable fact that Turks are, of their own volition, largely secularised. In highlighting the relative bankruptcy of political science accounts, Houston has argued that they attempt to use contradictory and methodologically very problematic quantitative surveys of Turkish voters’ attitudes as evidence of the AKP’s responsibility for apparent rising social conservatism, ignoring as a cause the increasingly chauvinistic or xenophobic nationalism of militant laicism itself. In fact, many of these surveys show no change or even a significant decrease in support for shariah law since the AKP came to government (Houston 2013; 12). If, however, it were the case that Turkish society was becoming observably more ‘religious’, would it then be within the ruling party’s authority or mandate as an elected and representative government, enjoying widespread popular approval, to govern according to religious precepts? This is a crude, and ultimately counter-intuitive, proposition – especially given that the AKP has shown ‘no sign of abolishing the mandate or of changing the existing system of representative democracy’, and has ‘since coming to office in 2002 [. . .] not passed a single “Islamic” law’ (Houston 2013; 9). Similarly, Somer suggests that the major complaints expressed by secularists about the AKP ‘all regard piecemeal administrative decisions and the government’s social influence, not major legal – political changes’ (2007; 1,278). That is, the government’s policies promote a form of ‘everyday Islam’, as opposed to a distinct statecentred political project or ideological goal. The AKP ‘encourages the development of Islamic lifestyles, values and teachings more at home with modern ways of life, especially for less modernised segments of society. This is good for the world for it helps Muslims to reconcile with modernity’ (Somer 2007; 1,278). The AKP’s emphasis on the social and cultural manifestations of Islam is in keeping with the government’s self-description as a conservative democrat party. Critics of the government cite the recent deceleration of the AKP’s reformist agenda as evidence of the party’s hidden programme

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to Islamise the Turkish polity. They contend that the ruling party was, until recently, simply biding its time and deceiving the Turkish public by enacting ostensibly democratic legislative reforms. AKP detractors have thus questioned the government’s sincerity in implementing its democratising agenda, claiming that it was, more than anything else, a self-serving attempt to portray itself as a genuine democratic party. Now that the ruling party is placed in a relatively comfortable position vis-a`-vis the once-hostile Kemalist state, the argument goes, it has strategically taken the foot off the accelerator and appears content to put further reforms on the back-burner. Two important issues arise from the analysis of the ruling party’s reform slowdown. First, the AKP’s apparent neglect of the EU accession bid has resulted in a loss of momentum for further democratic reforms, which were, by and large, generated by Ankara’s European vocation. The observable fact of the reform slowdown, which coincides with the government’s alleged recent lack of enthusiasm for the EU bid, in turn validates the ‘EU anchor’ thesis – that is, that Turkey’s EU candidacy guaranteed the ongoing process of democratisation in the Republic. Second, the slowdown of reforms is both indicative of and commensurate with the AKP government’s increasingly authoritarian outlook. This rising authoritarianism is not due to any ‘secret’ plot to Islamise Turkey, but rather is a result of the party’s entrenchment in the Turkish political system for over a decade, and its desire to perpetuate its political dominance.

CHAPTER 8 CONCLUSIONS

The Justice and Development Party (Adalet ve Kalkınma Partisi, or AKP) won the 2002 Turkish general elections in a landslide victory amidst a climate of voter disillusionment with the major established political parties of the time. Turkish citizens’ anger fuelled an electoral backlash against their corrupt and incompetent political representatives, and in punishing these representatives a large portion of the Turkish public voted for the relatively ‘new and untested’ – and, importantly – ‘untainted’ AKP. Symbolically, ak means ‘white’ in Turkish. This period was also characterised by an economic recession and marked economic uncertainty. The gloom of Turkey’s pre-2002 era was offset by the accession to government of a party promising economic reforms, a concentrated effort to clean up political corruption, and a pledge to address issues of social justice. A vote for the fledgling AKP was, in essence, a vote for hope, and the party’s bold reformist agenda encompassed the citizenry’s earnest desire for sweeping changes. The platform of optimism upon which the AKP was voted into government reflected the lofty ideals that it espoused. A decade has now passed since the inauguration, and the party’s years in office have facilitated an unprecedented social, political and economic transformation in the Republic of Turkey. The AKP’s success at the ballot box is consistent with a party that has striven to fulfil its electoral promises, and which has been rewarded by its constituency.

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The AKP government’s repeated strong performance at the ballot box may in itself be rendered an indicator of success. The atmosphere in Turkey today is a manifestly different proposition to the situation inherited by the AKP on its election to government in 2002. The AKP’s policies have borne fruit in many areas, and the effects of the implementation of its party programme have been comprehensive. The government has opened new vistas of opportunity in the economic, social and political realms. Economic consolidation, a crackdown on political corruption, democratic reforms and EU harmonisation, constitutional amendments, Kurdish rapprochement, a proactive ‘zero conflict’ foreign policy and the gradual civilianisation of the Turkish polity are all key AKP initiatives. Despite its professed commitment to democratic principles and a patently ‘modern’, or market-based, approach to economics, the AKP has encountered resistance and suspicion from the Kemalist elites during its time in office. Turkish Kemalists – notably the military, the judiciary and the leading opposition Republican People’s Party (CHP) – are wary of the AKP’s ‘hidden’ political objective. They have argued that the proverbial leopard cannot change its spots, and that the ‘conservative democrat’ AKP, whose roots are in political Islam, is in fact a stealth Islamist party bent on imposing a religious world view in the realm of politics, and overthrowing Turkey’s established secularism. It would be a mistake to simply dismiss such opposition sentiments as baseless, or to brush off the AKP’s critics as conspiracy mongers. Questioning the AKP’s recent policy trajectory and orientation is a legitimate, and necessary, exercise in democracy. Moreover, and given the current climate, there are genuine grievances that need to be better addressed by the AKP government in the face of its increasing alienation from an important segment of Turkish society. The Kemalist establishment has never felt at ease with the AKP’s rule, and has consistently sought to undermine it in government through various means. The seemingly intractable conflict between the Islam-friendly AKP and the secularist hardliners in the state establishment has not entirely abated, although the frontiers of the debate have changed somewhat.

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What began as a peaceful sit-in staged in a pocket of Istanbul’s famed Taksim Square by a small group of environmentalists on 31 May 2013, in order to save Gezi Park from redevelopment, soon snowballed into a nationwide uprising against the AKP. The park is one of the rare green spaces in the sprawling city and eco-activists were protesting against what they regard as the rampant urbanisation and ‘cementisation’ of Istanbul. When police used heavy-handed tactics – allegedly including tear gas, rubber bullets and water cannon – to disperse the crowd, droves of protestors, many of whom were no longer so well behaved, returned, igniting a show of solidarity and demonstrations in other Turkish cities, many of which soon spiralled out of control. The anti-government protests that swept through Turkey during June 2013 demonstrated palpably that the question of lifestyle preferences is still a sensitive and divisive issue. This issue often leads to the exploitation of the ‘secular versus pious’ dichotomy by actors from all sides seeking to capitalise on Turkey’s unremitting politics of identity. In any case, the recent civil unrest shows that the Turkish Republic is far from feeling comfortable in its own skin. In analysing this ongoing tension it has been necessary to provide an overview of the general terms ‘secularism’ and ‘political Islam’, and to furnish the reader with a definition of each. The nature of Turkish secularism, often referred to as laiklik (laicism), has also been explored. Turkey’s assertive form of secularism, which resembles the French model, is not a genuine form of the doctrine. The Kemalist state has traditionally interfered in the private lives of its religious citizens, to the extent that it has monopolised legitimate forms of religious expression and promoted a certain brand of Islam. The objective of Islamic political actors is bound inextricably to the staunch version of secularism that is enforced in Turkey, and is a reaction to this version. The emergence of political Islam in Turkey, which predates the AKP government and is exclusive of it, is a response by those in the community who have felt disenfranchised, marginalised and disempowered by the Kemalist state’s rigid approach to religion and its affiliates. Political Islam is not to be understood as existing in a vacuum. Rather, the domestic experience of political Islam has been created by the conditions peculiar to

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Turkey, and specifically, as an antidote to laiklik, the State’s assertive form of secularism. Political Islam exists in Turkey because of the way in which secularism has historically been defined and applied. Despite the Kemalists’ accusations, the AKP is neither an Islamist party nor a political Islamic party. The party’s programme and policy priorities are derived from the ideology of conservative democracy, the AKP government’s self-styled political model. On unpacking the government’s ideology, one finds that this model is essentially a synthesis of three inherent assumptions, or principles: liberalism, Islam as a cultural marker of identity, and pluralism. By promoting a small state and private citizens’ freedom from state interference, the AKP has adopted a liberal agenda. Moreover, its insistence that the state’s role should be limited to an administrative function and precluded from intervening in the personal affairs of individuals (including in matters pertaining to religion) reinforces the public– private divide. The AKP maintains that this is conducive to its interpretation of secularism. Secularism ought to safeguard religious freedom, according to the AKP, and a genuinely secular Turkish state must be tolerant towards Islamic actors and refrain from meddling with matters related to sacred– religious feelings in the private domain. Islam is not considered a threat to the Kemalist establishment, rather it is a defining cultural marker of the Turkish people. In this way, the AKP has emphasised the cultural, as opposed to the political, role of religion. It thus seeks to reclaim an authentic cultural identity, which is based on the recognition of the faith of many Turks who identify with the religion of Islam in their day-to-day lives. The restoration of an Islamic cultural identity presupposes that Turkish society is inherently pluralistic. The AKP’s agenda is also based on pluralism, acknowledging the diversity of ethnic and religious cleavages in Turkish society. That is, the AKP rejects the Kemalist assertion that Turkey is a homogeneous mass, or a uniformly secular, ‘Turkish’ national society. By fusing the three assumptions of liberalism, cultural Islam and pluralism, the AKP has formed and articulated its party ideology, that of conservative democracy.

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This ideology is an alternative to both the Kemalist philosophy and the Islamist response thereto. However, conservative democracy does not reject the principles of Kemalism in toto. The AKP does, nevertheless, believe that the ‘political understanding in Turkey must be completely revised’. To this end, the AKP government has called not for the abandonment of the principle of secularism, but for a redefinition of it. Its policies, particularly in its first two terms in office, were imbued with a reformist spirit. Certainly, its neo-liberal economic policies also attest to this. Conservative democracy thus blends conservatism with reformism. Indeed, the AKP has set itself apart from previous Islamist political actors in Turkey, including the National Outlook Movement (NOM), by engaging in a liberal democratic reform agenda – albeit one that has stagnated somewhat in recent times. Even so, the AKP can still be considered an ‘Islam-friendly’ party, owing in part to the religious identity of many of its core members (including the Prime Minister Recep Tayyip Erdog˘an; former AKP politician and current president, Abdullah Gu¨l; Deputy Prime Minister Bu¨lent Arınc
; and Foreign Affairs Minister Ahmet Davutog˘lu). Islam is tied to the AKP’s politics inherently, and although the AKP government lacks a specific ‘Islamist’ political agenda, it conveys a deep-seated reverence for the religion of Islam on the grounds that it serves an indispensable purpose as an identifying and unifying factor for many Turks and has a hitherto underestimated cultural and psychological significance. Many of the AKP’s policies are culturally conservative, and in this there is a palpable affinity with Islam. When one reflects upon the hostile conditions faced for decades by ordinary pious Turks at the hands of the Kemalist state, it may be considered a remarkable reversal of political fortunes that the Islamleaning AKP government has been able to stand up for religious citizens. Complacency often follows power, however, and it is ironic that nowadays it is Prime Minister Erdog˘an and his administration that is being accused of interfering in the private lives of Turkish citizens, with policies including the implementation of curfews on alcohol consumption and restrictions placed on its sale and

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advertising, as well as the so-called ‘policing of morality’ and the prohibition of kissing on state-owned public transport. For its part, the government has cited growing health concerns and public welfare for these and other policies, and, in the case of the alcohol restrictions, refers to comparable legislation in several Western states. These policies have earned the government a very harsh rebuke by Turkey’s secular-minded citizens, and the attacks on Erdog˘an in particular – including in the social media – have been notably scathing. Whether or not the implementation of these policies constitutes an infringement of civil liberties or, conversely, whether it is in the public interest is conditional upon who is judging. It remains a very divisive issue domestically. Erdog˘an, an outspoken and often condescending leader, will need to better explain himself and justify his policies instead of simply complaining that he is being wrongly vilified. Increasingly, the prime minister has been accused of acting like a latter-day sultan by imposing his own religious world view indiscriminately on all Turks through his conservative policies, and by making inappropriate pronouncements relating to everyday matters and personal life. The widespread demonstrations that occurred recently were to a large degree directed against the persona and authoritarian style of Erdog˘an, who the protesters allege abuses his office with unbridled arrogance and disrespect for their ‘modern’ lifestyles. In response, the prime minister initially did himself a great disservice by essentially dismissing the demonstrators as simply a bunch of ‘looters’ or ‘extremists’. This only exacerbated the tensions and fanned the flames of the nationwide demonstrations. It is time, one feels, for the AKP to acknowledge that the fact that it is irrefutably an Islam-friendly government continues to unsettle a considerable segment of Turkish society: those who did not vote for the party, and who have never trusted it or been comfortable under its governance. Calm heads are required, and the government needs to commit itself to making concrete assurances to Turkey’s urban, secular middle classes that their lifestyles will be protected. It will be a delicate balancing act.

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The AKP’s increasingly authoritarian manner, which one would be forgiven for believing is due solely to overconfidence, undermines the pro-Islamic party’s democratic credentials, which it had, in government, previously confirmed through various legislative and constitutional reforms. It has also established its commitment to ‘modern’ market-based capitalism by way of liberal economic policies. In fact, even staunch AKP opponents would struggle to find much fault with the government’s handling of the economy over the past decade – Turkey is now the world’s 17th largest economy, having weathered the global financial crisis comparatively well under Erdog˘an’s leadership. It is important, therefore, not to lose sight of the ‘bigger picture’ when assessing the success of the incumbent party. The AKP government rightly ought to be credited with many improvements to the Republic, and for genuinely ‘opening up’ Turkey. Central to the discussion of the AKP’s politics is the degree to which the Islam-friendly party is also genuinely democratic. To what extent is the party’s ideology of ‘conservative democracy’ a successful and sincere marriage? In analysing the AKP’s democratic credentials, many onlookers have been obliged to consider the common, and often controversial, question of whether Islam as a religion is compatible with modernity at all. Broadly, there is a tendency to write off Islam as a monolithic entity and to view it and modernity as mutually exclusive. Conventional wisdom may state that the pro-Islamic AKP struggles to manifest a genuine liberal democratic outlook, or that in adopting such a ‘modernist’ discourse it must surely have ulterior motives; an ‘Islamic’ party can never truly be modern or democratic, after all. What has rendered the AKP such a worthy and interesting subject for research is its ability to reconcile an Islamic cultural identity within a modern, liberal democratic political framework in Turkey. The AKP’s period in office has demonstrated that it is possible, albeit awkward, for a pro-Islamic government to rule a secular state. The recent civil unrest in the country highlights how fragile the situation is in the Republic. Turkey’s capacity as a paradigm to be emulated is still pertinent, however. Notwithstanding the country’s recent domestic turmoil, neighbouring Muslim-majority nations may still

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take the AKP government as a general example of how to effectively embrace one’s cultural and religious heritage and still evolve politically, economically and socially by attaching oneself to modern democratic principles of government and administration. There is some evidence to suggest that the AKP has in fact inspired similar movements in nearby Middle Eastern countries. In a broad sense, there is an affinity between the decade-old AKP phenomenon in Turkey and the more recent development of the Arab Spring that emerged in Muslim-majority countries including, but not limited to, Tunisia, Egypt, Libya and Yemen at the end of 2010. Although the circumstances surrounding each particular movement are comparatively different, they do share a revolutionary spirit that helped mobilise democratic (popular or civilian) forces to challenge well-established local regimes. The groundswell of feeling and mass support for equality and human rights by what amounted to millions of citizen protestors in these Muslim countries was widely appreciated by Western onlookers. The realisation dawned that Muslims were not intrinsically opposed to ‘Western’ values, including democracy and justice, and that freedom and fairness have universal import and appeal. It became clear that the tyrannical ‘Muslim’ dictators were not legitimate representatives of the Islamic faith or its teachings, which had been abused. Many of these oppressive regimes had also, incongruously, been backed by Western administrations. The fact that the recent social unrest and uprisings against the AKP government were labelled by some commentators as the ‘Turkish Spring’ proved to be not only inaccurate in an epistemological sense, but also highly paradoxical. The Turkish prime minister has since played to the sense of irony implicated in the suggestion, saying that if the ‘Turkish Spring’ did in fact transpire, it was on 3 November 2002 when the AKP took power. Thus, the ostensibly Muslim AKP government can be considered modern and democratic as well. By attempting to redefine secularism, the AKP government has negotiated its Islamic identity within the overarching secularist system in Turkey. The government has reiterated its commitment to secularism, albeit in its revised ‘passive’ version. Many have found this state of affairs to be peculiar,

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given the Turkish Islamist movement’s traditional hostility towards Europe and Westernisation, as expressed through the NOM. In a switching of roles, however, the secular military elites, which are conventionally regarded as the modernising and Westernising reformers who turned Turkey’s face towards Europe in a process launched at the Republic’s inception, are nowadays very sceptical of Europe’s designs on Turkey, and express increasingly vocal antiEuropean sentiment. The AKP’s commitment to the EU accession process demonstrates its dedication to liberal democratic principles. No other Turkish government has pursued membership in the EU, and demonstrated such a commitment to the reform process, as the present AKP administration has done. Much of the AKP’s reformist policy programme has been based on the EU’s stipulated accession criteria; the party’s relationship with Europe is the driving force behind its reformist agenda. Despite an often difficult relationship, the so-called ‘EU anchor’ ties Ankara to a course of liberal democratic reforms, with the ultimate aim of ‘harmonisation’ with the European politico-economic entity. The Ankara– Brussels relationship has been severely stretched once more, however, following the EU’s condemnation of the Turkish authorities’ handling of the Gezi Park protests and the AKP’s defiant and dismissive response thereto. Led by German Chancellor Angela Merkel (a vocal opponent of Turkish EU membership), several EU member states have criticised what they regard as the oppressive stifling of peaceful dissent by Turkey, and a fundamental breach of the basic democratic right of assembly. AKP officials angrily retorted, suggesting that besides meddling in Turkey’s internal affairs, European delegates, and in particular the German leader, were exploiting the foreign situation for domestic political gain, citing the upcoming elections in that country. The EU’s strongly-worded reprimand of Turkey’s crackdown on demonstrators also resulted in a formal delay to Turkey’s entry talks. Practically, therefore, the ramifications of the June 2013 protests have transcended the Republic and have negatively affected Ankara’s EU vocation. Prior to this, the EU’s greatest concern in terms of Turkey’s membership application was the armed forces’ dominant political

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role in the country. The AKP government has challenged the traditional role of the Turkish military, its tendency to intervene in the political process, and its self-stated function as ‘defender of the Republic’. Europe has been highly critical of the military’s excessive political autonomy, maintaining that this situation needs to be redressed if Turkey is to be considered a genuine candidate for eventual accession. The AKP government has made inroads into the military’s authority and has worked to curb the latter’s political power, primarily by de-emphasising the once dominant National Security Council – relegating it to the status of an advisory body – and bringing even high-ranking members of the top brass to justice through newly-empowered civilian courts. The Turkish polity is thus becoming increasingly civilianised, while the traditional authority of the military is being challenged and curtailed as never before. The long-standing ‘untouchable’ military, which was beyond reproach and seemingly above the law, has been held to account by the AKP’s ongoing investigations into alleged criminality on the part of military officials. The armed forces find themselves increasingly isolated and marginalised. Their unqualified surrender to the democratic political process heralds the end of Turkey’s ancien re´gime and the Kemalist monopoly on the discourse on freedom and modernity. Outwardly, the showdown between the military and the AKP was a conflict between secularism, which is defended uncompromisingly by the former, and Islam, represented by the conservative government. Superficially, Turkey’s domestic tensions hinge on the awkward dynamics between the country’s assertive brand of secularism and what appears to be rising religious sentiment. Undoubtedly, the symbolism of these competing world views continues to be an important source of personal identification for many Turks, secular or religious. Moreover, the palpable way in which this personal identification (as secular or religious) at the community level appears to predispose citizens to a particular political persuasion is noteworthy and cannot be ignored. Certainly, Turkish political parties of all stripes manipulate these personal voter preferences and biases – be they Islamic-oriented, conservative,

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leftist– socialist, nationalist or Kemalist. However, the conflict between secularism and political Islam is merely figurative. The philosophical tension between secularism and political Islam barely conceals a concrete power struggle that has unfolded between the traditionally powerful military – an elite institution that has conventionally enjoyed unrivalled social prestige – and the civilian, democratically-elected AKP government that has sought to reduce the former’s hitherto unchecked power. The AKP government came to power against a backdrop of secularist opposition. Often, it has undertaken legislative reforms in the face of stinging political critique, and many of its policies have been controversial and divisive. Apart from demonstrating the ongoing conflict between secularism and political Islam in Turkey, the divergence between the AKP and its detractors in the state apparatus reflects also the separateness of (and the tension between) the institutions of state and government in Turkey. Traditionally, the Kemalist state institutions, including the military and the judiciary, were the primary, static and impermeable elements of the Turkish political landscape – or at least their ideology was. These institutions were considered to be a bulwark against the political corruption and incompetency of transient civilian governments. Highly revered and seemingly impenetrable, the Kemalist institutions embodied the ‘true’ Turkish nation state and safeguarded its secular and unitary nature from the influence of what was often considered to be degenerate partisan politics. The Kemalist state’s adoption of the attitude that ‘democracy can’t really be trusted’ is exemplified by the military’s ousting of four elected civilian governments, and its ongoing presence in Turkish political life. In redefining Turkish secularism and delineating and reducing the political role of the military, the ruling AKP party has attempted to bolster democracy, and endeavoured to implement checks and balances on the power of the State. The AKP has challenged and reconfigured the great divide between state and government actors. In doing so, the party has essentially advocated a smaller state, which is one of the basic tenets of liberalism. Statism, on the other hand, was a founding principle of Mustafa Kemal’s Republic, and not

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surprisingly the Kemalist state institutions have been reluctant to concede any political ground to the government. In the final analysis, the AKP government has furthered the cause of Islam and religious freedom in Turkey. Indeed, one needs to be reminded that the party’s quest for democratisation was linked originally to the desire to redress the repressive and undemocratic restrictions experienced by devout Turks, such as the ban on female students wearing a religious head covering at Turkish universities. Many onlookers, and secularists especially, have been genuinely surprised (the latter have certainly been angered) by the fervour with which the AKP has sought to address the headscarf issue in particular, by directly challenging the State. When seriously threatened with closure in the face of the mounting storm surrounding the so-called ‘headscarf affair’, the AKP withdrew its efforts to overturn the ban and later de-emphasised the issue publicly, while working in a more indirect way to overcome the stalemate. The success of the AKP is correlated directly with the maturation of the Islamist movement in Turkey, which has pursued a political reform process through gradual evolution rather than revolution. Having absorbed the bitter lessons from the mistakes of its predecessors, the learning process undertaken by the AKP government has been a key factor in its ongoing electoral success, and a significant reason it has attracted so many non-religious voters. Having evolved into a more democratic party, the AKP was able to garner votes from a broad base of the public, drawing support from various segments of the Turkish community; the AKP’s constituency extends beyond the religiously conservative core. Indeed, the Islamist movement in Turkey has matured and transformed, perhaps out of necessity. The AKP government is ‘playing by the democratic game’, and has, in fact, greatly benefited from the processes of democracy (namely, elections). Nevertheless, it is a paradox that only by espousing its dedication to the principle of democracy, and a more liberal approach to its policy agenda, could the AKP successfully navigate an onslaught of secularist opposition in advancing what is essentially a pro-religious position. Having survived a trial by the constitutional court in 2008 for ‘undermining

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the principle of secularism enshrined in the Turkish constitution’, which threatened to close it down; alleged coup plots by senior opposition and military figures to overthrow the government, which are presently being investigated; ongoing criticism by influential media sources; and a deep-seated resentment by figures in the highest echelons of the military and judiciary and most ‘secular-minded’ Turks, the AKP has forged a distinct political identity. ‘Conservative democrat’, ‘Muslim democrat’, ‘Islamic’, ‘Islamist’, ‘civilian’, ‘anti-establishment’, ‘anti-revolutionary’ and ‘reformist’ are all labels that have been used to describe the AKP government throughout its term; some it accepts and others it rejects vehemently. The AKP has gone where no previous Turkish government has dared to venture, opening a Pandora’s box of social and political issues. It has initiated a public discussion on the role of Islam in the lives of Turkish citizens, once a taboo topic in the staunchly secular Republic. It has challenged the authority of the sacrosanct Turkish military, and through the Balyoz and Ergenekon investigations has instigated a coordinated campaign against both serving and retired officials suspected of plotting against the government. It has questioned the nature of secularism in Turkey, arguing for a redefinition of the principle, and has, as a consequence, confronted the mighty Kemalist state. As is known, this last-named undertaking in particular is controversial and has ignited anger against the government generally, and a backlash against Erdog˘an specifically, with calls that recent ‘conservative’ legislation amounts to a challenge to Turkey’s secular order and the very democratic freedoms that the government ostensibly upholds. Recently, the AKP government has also committed itself to resolving Turkey’s long-standing Kurdish problem, which is also a highly politicised issue – and one that has proven to be fraught with various setbacks. In spite of these obstacles, which are, perhaps, symptomatic of any government, the AKP experience is exceptional in the Muslim world as a democratically-elected party ascending to power and forming an effective and progressive administration, consolidating itself within the established state apparatus, undertaking sweeping reforms and stimulating impressive economic growth with unprecedented

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success. Broadly speaking, the AKP experiment has also proven that it is possible for a pro-Islamic party to govern successfully, to maintain a conservative religious philosophy while adhering to the tenets of modern liberal democratic governance, the latter universally considered to be the most just and desirable form of administration. The present-day political reality and the many challenges now facing the AKP cannot diminish its many achievements in various spheres; however, one feels that the AKP is now at a crossroads. It has fallen into the trap of previous right-wing governments of overconfidence and complacency. Given its dominance of parliament and the fact it now wields considerable political clout over institutions including the judiciary and the armed forces, which are former Kemalist strongholds, the AKP government is no longer obliged to seek consensus and deliberation on critical issues. This situation has the potential to lead to a ‘tyranny of the majority’, and the lack of a credible and effective political opposition to the AKP will be a serious test for Turkish democracy in the coming years. In the Turkish case, the issues of ‘government’ and ‘democracy’ are of paramount significance. From these debatable and loaded concepts stem two interrelated questions: how can the AKP effectively and equitably govern a populace with manifestly deep divisions, and how can the AKP transform Turkey into a more consensual model of democracy as opposed to the largely majoritarian democracy it presides over currently? Specifically, how can the AKP legislate on matters regarding ‘everyday’ or informal Islam (which, as a conservative government with a popular mandate, it has the right to do) without trampling on the sensibilities of Turkey’s secular urban class? Indeed, the claim that the ruling party is encroaching on the secularists’ individual liberties can be interpreted as a manifestation of the ongoing Kemalist backlash against, and distaste for, the AKP government. To be sure, secular Turks continue to regard the very presence of an Islam-friendly party in government as an anathema. Therefore, any ostensibly conservative policy introduced by the ruling party is automatically suspected as being an attempt at social engineering by the government. Any policy deemed to be strengthening religious freedom is likely to be regarded

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as an infringement on secular lifestyles, and thus engenders a hostile response from the Kemalists irrespective of its potential social, economic, cultural or legal value. The AKP must expect some resistance to the content of its policies and legitimate opposition from certain segments in society. But the manner in which it manages (and respects) this opposition is critical for the genuine consolidation of Turkish democracy in the years to come. Prime Minister Erdog˘an frequently makes mention of the AKP’s decisive electoral victories and shows of popular support (which encompasses approximately 50 per cent of the Turkish voting electorate), but his opponents have charged him with disregarding the other 50 per cent of voters who did not support the AKP at the elections. What is clear is that by turning a blind eye to the growing societal dissatisfaction with the AKP, the government may miss a golden opportunity to truly strengthen democratic forces in the Republic, and, in the process bolster its own liberal credentials. Ignoring the unmistakable message emanating from the June 2013 protests – which were marred by violence, hooliganism and police brutality – would be a grave error on the part of the government. The Gezi Park protests were never just about ‘12 trees’, but were rather the culmination of deep-seated resentment over what is considered to be the AKP’s increasingly autocratic approach to policy making, and a revolt against what his detractors claim is the prime minister’s arrogant and condescending personality. The unprecedented show of anger directed at the government marked a critical turning point in the AKP’s tenure; the mass anti-government demonstrations represented one of the most serious trials for the ruling AKP. It would be sheer folly to paper over or make light of its opponents’ ardent, and now well-documented, defiance of its aims and methods, or to dismiss the protests as ‘a storm in a teacup’ that will soon blow over. Erdog˘an, a leader widely celebrated for wearing his heart on his sleeve, has also developed into a fox of a politician, whose finger rests firmly on the pulse of the nation. For the sake of diplomacy, and as a singular and credible token of democracy, can he, notwithstanding his widespread popularity, humbly accept that he is not universally liked? One of the greatest tests for the Republic in the

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near future will be how the Turkish premier can moderate his stance without compromising the integrity of his party. In this respect, it is useful to contextualise the AKP’s recent complacency. The AKP government’s apparent adoption of a ‘might makes right’ approach is the result of Turkey’s domestic political reality. The party is no longer the political underdog, and there is no pressing incentive for the government to consult or compromise in the policy-making process. It has no credible political opponents, nor does Erdog˘an have any legitimate rivals for the leadership position. The three-week-long demonstrations at Taksim Square proved to be more an anti-Erdog˘an than an anti-government movement. The disenfranchised youth, who were well represented during the Gezi Park protests, feel alienated and marginalised in their own country. The challenge for Erdog˘an and the AKP will be how effectively they can extend an olive branch to these disaffected groups – and this will be particularly important as there are no real alternatives or serious contenders for the office of government, save for weak, fragmented and largely discredited parties who have done little to dispel their reputation for incompetence. The AKP has taken great advantage of this situation. Despite his trademark bluster and combativeness, the prime minister will need to rein in any inflammatory remarks and embrace a more conciliatory tone in order not to provoke further anger, which would jeopardise his party’s upcoming election hopes. The AKP’s continued success thus depends largely on the future behaviour of its leader. Whether the government continues productively on its path of democratisation and reform, or whether it becomes a victim to its own success remains to be seen. By challenging the taken-for-granted assumptions and venturing into unchartered waters, the government has attempted something novel, and yet as a political party it is no more immune to the pitfalls of partisan politics and a myriad of other internal and external factors than any other political movement; its ascendancy and commitment to the reform process cannot be guaranteed. Consequently, it would be ill-advised to be overly optimistic about the trajectory of the AKP’s policy, especially considering the stalling of the government’s reformist agenda in

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recent times. The AKP’s postponement of important democratising legislation, although not denoting any furtive Islamist agenda, highlights the limitations of the ruling party in bowing to external pressures; its ongoing dedication to and resourcefulness in implementing much-needed further reforms is conditional upon the AKP government’s electoral calculations and the need to outmanoeuvre its political rivals on the domestic front. The party’s Achilles heel is nationalist sentiment, which continues to hold sway in a considerable segment of Turkish society. The AKP has proven, however, to be quite enterprising and resilient to date, and the Republic of Turkey has, under its leadership in the twenty-first century, crossed a significant threshold.

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INDEX

28 February Process, 184– 185 Accession Partnership Document (APD), 122, 134 Akdog˘an, Yalc
ın, 85 – 86 AKP (Adalet ve Kalkınma Partisi), 3, 251 Aksay, Hasan, 190 ANAP (Motherland Party), 213 Ankara Agreement, 121 Annan Plan, 131 ‘Arab Spring’, 258 Arınc
, Bu¨lent, 228, 231– 232, 233 Article 301 (of the Turkish Penal Code), 225– 226, 227 Atalay, Bes
ir, 220 Aydın, Mehmet, 106 Bag˘ıs
, Egemen, 219 Bahc
eli, Devlet, 234 Balyoz investigation, 189, 191, 206 Barroso, Jose Manuel, 148 Bas
bug˘, I˙lker, 170, 190 BDP (Peace and Democracy Party), 230, 242 Bu¨yu¨kanıt, Yas
ar, 186, 198 C¸ankaya Ko¨
ku s ¨ (Presidential palace), 214, 216

C¸elik, O¨mer, 35 – 36 Ceylanog˘lu, Erdal, 190 CHP (Cumhuriyet Halk Partisi), 57, 148, 179, 180, 213, 226, 233, 242 C¸ic
ek, Cemil, 186 C¸iller, Tansu, 183 Cold War, 25, 202 Copenhagen Criteria, 122, 123, 133, 134, 143, 161, 197, 206 Cyprus, 129–132, 145, 148, 159 Davos World Economic Forum, 155 Davutog˘lu, Ahmet, 117– 118, 126, 150, 151, 156, 177 Demirel, Su¨leyman, 182 Democrat Party (DP), 180, 181 Demokratik Ac
ılım Su¨reci (Democratic Opening Process), 146, 220, 222, 231 Dink, Hrant, 225 Directorate-General of Religious Affairs (Diyanet I˙
leri s Bas
kanlıg˘ı), 47 –49, 53, 54, 83, 169, 248 Dog˘an, Aydın, 236 Dog˘an Media Group (DMG), 236 DSP (Democratic Left Party), 213 DTP (Democratic Society Party), 222–223

INDEX Ecevit, Bu¨lent, 136, 213 Ecumenical Patriarchate of Constantinople, 231 Enlightenment (the), 16, 19, 101, 102 EOKA movement, 130 Erbakan, Necmettin, 120, 184, 185 Erdog˘an, Recep Tayyip, 15, 35, 65, 86 – 87, 88, 118, 126, 151– 152, 153, 161, 190, 203, 210, 213– 214, 215, 216– 217, 226, 234, 236– 237, 256, 265 Ergenekon investigation, 189, 191, 206 Ergin, Sadullah, 229 European Court of Human Rights (ECHR), 144, 229 Evren, Kenan, 190 Eygi, Mehmed S
evket, 24 Gaza Strip, 155 Gezi Park protests, 253, 256, 259, 265– 266 Go¨kalp, Ziya, 237 Go¨lcu¨k Naval Base, 184 Greece, 11, 129, 131, 155, 189, 231 Gu¨l, Abdullah, 40 – 41, 96, 161, 186, 192, 204, 216 Gu¨len, Fethullah, 205 Gu¨ner, Nusret, 190– 191 Halki Seminary, 231–232, 233 Helsinki Summit, 122 Hollande, Franc
ois, 127 HSYK (High Council of Judges and Public Prosecutors), 245 I˙mam Hatip Okulları (Preacher and Orator schools), 144 I˙mralı, 181, 229 I˙no¨nu¨, I˙smet, 13, 180 Iran, 176 Islam, Merve Kavakc
i, 104 Islamophobia, 127 Israel, 155

281

Kaplan, Hasip, 230 Kasımpas
a (Istanbul neighbourhood), 237 Kemal, Mustafa, 1, 44, 45 – 46, 116, 135–136, 170, 179 Kemalism, 7, 20 – 21, 23, 101 Kılıc
darog˘lu, Kemal, 213 Kınıklıog˘lu, Suat, 156, 157, 216 Kos
aner, Is
ık, 189, 190 Law No. 3713 (Anti-terror Law), 227–228 Law No. 5737, 232, 233 Law No. 5982 (Constitutional amendment law), 242– 245, Law on Foundations, 232– 234 Luxembourg Summit, 122 Mardin, S
erif, 104– 105, 166– 167 Maslow, Abraham, 200 Mavi Marmara incident, 155 Menderes, Adnan, 181 Merkel, Angela, 259 MHP (Milliyetc
i Hareket Partisi), 58, 99, 143, 148, 213, 224, 230 Mu¨slu¨mancılık (‘Muslimhood’), 106 NATO, 152, 153, 195 Netanyahu, Benjamin, 155 Nice Summit, 122 NOM (National Outlook Movement), 68, 73, 113 NSC (National Security Council), 169, 184, 197 Obama, Barack, 155, 222 O¨calan, Abdullah, 229 O¨merog˘lu, Mehmet Nihat, 244 O¨ymen, Onur, 226 O¨zel, Necdet, 190 O¨zko¨k, Hilmi, 198 Pamuk, Orhan, 225 PKK (Kurdistan Workers’ Party), 191, 198, 199, 209, 211, 222, 223, 229–230

282 POLITICAL ISLAM AND THE SECULAR STATE Polatkan, Hasan, 181 Putin, Vladimir, 152 Rehn, Olli, 148 Russia, 177 S
afak, Elif, 225, 226 S
ahin, Leyla, 144 Sarkozy, Nicolas, 126 SCO (Shanghai Cooperation Organization), 152– 154 Sezer, Ahmet Necdet, 15, 39, 232 Siirt (district of ), 237 Sincan, 184 S
ırnak (province of ), 209 Soviet Union (threat of ), 12, 25, 202 Syria, 176, 191, 196 Taksim Square, 253, 266 Taraf newspaper, 189 TGS (Turkish General Staff ), 182, 184, 186 Tokat (province of ), 222 TPP (True Path Party), 183, 184 Treaty of Lausanne, 11 – 12, 13 Treaty of Sevres, 11, 12 TRNC (Turkish Republic of Northern Cyprus), 130, 132

IN

TURKEY

TRT 6 Channel, 136 Tu¨rban Amendment (Law No. 5735), 58, 62, 64 Turkey’s Grand National Assembly, 47, 119, 242 Turkey’s National Security Policy Document (MGSB), 175 Turkish Armed Services Internal Service Code (Internal Services Act), 173, 182 Uludere (district of ), 209, 210 United States, 28, 39, 156, 196 Virtue Party (Fazilet Partisi), 69 Welfare Party (Refah Partisi), 69, 183, 184 Wilders, Geert, 127 Yalc
ınkaya, Abdurrahman, 3 – 4 Yig˘it, Es
ref Ug˘ur, 190 Yıldız, Bekir, 184 Yu¨ksel, Atıl, 88 Zorlu, Fatin Ru¨s
tu¨, 181