By Nazlan Ertan
Aile (family, noun of Arabic root “awila,” meaning “to support or lean upon,”) may evoke images of warmth, reliance, and shared responsibilities. Historically, the concept of family in Turkey was as expansive as the stone konaks that housed them. The family in the Ottoman era—be it the great dynasties in towns or villages of Anatolia—was a multigenerational affair, spanning grandparents, uncles, cousins, and even distant relatives, all living under one roof.
This grand familial structure began to crumble as the urbanization tide swept through the Republic. Istanbul’s sprawling konaks gave way to compact apartments, where nuclear families—father, mother, and a pair of well-scrubbed children—became the standard. Economic shifts and the pressure for modernity condensed the “aile” into smaller units, trading communal living for individual independence. The Turkish family evolved, much like the country itself: complex, aspirational, and deeply tied to its past.
FROM PICKLES TO SORBET
Still, the large, intrusive Turkish family lived on in Yeşilçam, Turkey’s beloved golden age of cinema. Directors mined comedy gold from meddlesome mothers-in-law, overbearing uncles, and squabbling siblings, creating a genre where chaos was the glue that held families together. Films like “Neşeli Günler” (Happy Days) captured the hilarity of familial bickering - a pickle maker and her estranged husband warring over vinegar recipes while their children scheme to reunite them. On the small screen, “Kaynanalar” - chronicling the comedic struggles of the rural Kantar family as they clashed with their Westernized in-laws—set the stage for contemporary dramas like “Kızılcık Şerbeti.” The latter, a gripping tale of two families—one fiercely secular, the other devoutly Islamic—uses familial discord as a metaphor for Turkey's cultural and political divides.
“Kızılcık Şerbeti” (available with English subtitles on YouTube) offers a lens into the AKP’s vision of the family—an institution the party has elevated from a social unit to a political centerpiece. In 2011, the Turkish government replaced the Ministry of Women and Family Affairs with the Ministry of Family and Social Policies, which drew criticism from women's rights organizations. Critics argued that this change signaled a shift in focus from women's individual rights to a family-centric approach, potentially undermining efforts toward gender equality.
President Recep Tayyip Erdoğan has consistently championed the idea of a robust family structure, often repeating his now-iconic mantra: “At least three children!” However, reality has been less accommodating than rhetoric. According to the Turkish Statistical Institute, Turkey’s fertility rate has dropped below the replacement level of 2.1 children per woman—a sobering statistic for a government intent on fostering a demographically vibrant future. Could this be a wake-up call, highlighting shortcomings in its education and healthcare policies?
MORE SUBSIDIES
The AKP's response to this decline has been to double down on incentives. Erdoğan recently declared 2025 the “Year of the Family” and announced measures to bolster family formation. In his address at the Beştepe Millet Congress and Culture Center, Erdoğan unveiled a raft of perks for young couples: interest-free loans of 150,000 lira with generous repayment terms, cash incentives for childbirth—5,000 lira for a first child, monthly stipends for the second and third—and promises to make women’s work-life balance more manageable with flexible and remote working options. On paper, it’s a familial utopia. But will this top-down vision succeed in reversing trends set by economic precarity, changing gender roles, and shifting cultural values? Earlier promises - interest-free credits and loans to couples under the age of thirty and pledges of free dorms to married students - have not stopped people from marrying and having children later than they did a decade ago.
The family is not just a vessel for government intervention but also a weapon. Under Erdoğan's rule and the harsh rhetoric of the Diyanet, the hyper-powered directorate of religious affairs, the concept of family has been wielded as a bulwark against LGBTQ+ rights and single women’s independence, both portrayed as existential threats to the family. In speeches, he rails against the cultural erosion supposedly wrought by digital platforms and media content, claiming they are orchestrated to promote gender ambiguity and disrupt traditional roles. In recent years, President Erdoğan's supporters have organized events known as Grand Family Reunion in Istanbul and other cities, aiming to counter what they perceive as LGBTQ+ propaganda. These gatherings, endorsed by pro-AKP media, have been marked by slogans such as “Dursun Bu Hayasızca Akın” ("Stop This Shameless Flood") and have received support from various civil society organizations. Yet, despite the significant promotion, attendance at these events has often been underwhelming, with participation primarily limited to familiar faces within the movement.
NO HOPE, NO KIDS
Erdoğan’s grand plan for the family also masks anxiety about Turkey’s demographic future. In a world where fertility rates are declining globally, Turkey’s dwindling birth rate reflects broader societal shifts. Women, educated and empowered, are delaying or forgoing motherhood. Economic realities—rising living and education costs, housing shortages, job instability—make the dream of three children seem absurdly out of reach. Even with state-backed incentives, the question remains: Can policy override lived realities?
And then there is the irony. In a country where divorce rates are rising and generational divides are widening, the notion of family is far more fluid than policymakers might admit. As 2025 dawns as the “Year of the Family,” Erdoğan’s initiative offers a rare reflection on what “aile” truly means in modern Turkey.
