Analysis
Smart, independent reporting on Turkey's politics, economy and foreign affairs.
“It has been assessed that the life raft, having exited its housing, came into contact with the left tail-fuselage section of the aircraft, causing damage to the aircraft’s horizontal and vertical stabilizers, which may have led to the aircraft’s crash,” a Defense Ministry official said on the C-130 military aircraft that crashed on the Georgia-Azerbaijan border on Nov. 11, 2025.
Foreign policy has always liked theater, costumes and masks. Peace conferences, state visits, summit handshakes, seating plans, flags, solemn declarations. All belong to the choreography of international life.
Power cuts during a winter cold snap have disrupted life in Hatay, a province still recovering from the twin earthquakes of February 2023.
In Turkish, rüzgâr begins as a simple meteorological fact: the wind that sweeps across the Bosphorus, bends Aegean olive trees and makes wildfires spread uncontrollably. Etymologically, it probably blows in from Persian, once meaning “time, fate, weather,” before narrowing into “wind.” But its real life is in metaphor: the wind that shifts fortune, tests patience, topples governments. In a language where song lyricists routinely confide in the breeze, it was only a matter of time before politicians started doing the same.
We’ve borrowed the headline from a famous Turkish pop song of the 1970s, “Çilli Bom Bom.” One verse goes: “Don’t leave today’s work for tomorrow / Seize the moment, don’t hesitate / The world turns fast, life is short / Tomorrow won’t do—it has to be now.” Ekrem İmamoğlu could be said to be “impatient.” Like in the song, he’s in a hurry. But to explain this as a mere character trait would be insufficient. Some attribute his impatience to being from Trabzon — in other words, a typical Black Sea temperament — but geography alone cannot explain it either.
Religious Affairs Directorate head Ali Erbaş’s term has come to an end. He held the post for eight years. In other words, during the last eight years of the ruling party’s 23-year tenure, Turkey’s religious life was under Erbaş’s administration. Heads of the directorate, known as the Diyanet in Turkish, have always been subjects of debate, but Erbaş has been at the very peak of this controversy.
The corruption probe into Istanbul and other CHP-run municipalities has taken a new turn, extending beyond politicians, lawyers, mobsters, and journalists to include a hitman. The alleged hitman is said to have acted on the instructions of Selahattin Yılmaz, a figure backed by MHP Chair Devlet Bahçeli. The latest detentions targeted several lawyers and legal experts, whose ultra-luxurious offices and lavish lifestyles raised questions, with images suggesting close links to the government.
In Turkish, çocuk simply means “child” — a small, willful person who believes the world should bend to their will. But in political life, çocuk is more than a noun: it is a litmus test. Unlike evlat, the solemn, Arabic-rooted term for “offspring,” çocuk suggests an individual, complete in themselves, not just a branch on a family tree. No surprise, then, that the AKP prefers evlat — a word that keeps people firmly tethered to family, lineage, and duty.
In contrast to Finance Minister Mehmet Şimşek’s positive messages following the EU - Turkey High-Level Economic Dialogue, the meeting, which took place after a six-year hiatus, ended without a substantial road map to revive relations. As developments in transatlantic relations appeared to be raising Turkey’s value as a geostrategic asset, Ankara hoped to seize the opportunity to improve relations with the EU. Yet, European enthusiasm towards Turkey’s military strength remained limited, while the arrest of Istanbul's Mayor Ekrem İmamoğlu has made life difficult for those favoring a speedier rapprochement.
Silkelemek, or its shorthand version silkmek (shake-up, verb), carries energy, vigor, and occasionally a political punch. From its Ottoman roots to its modern interpretations, silkelemek has evolved into a word that shakes not only rugs and wrestlers but also bureaucracies, political rivals, and even dreams. At its core, silkelemek is a practical term. It conjures up vivid images of traditional housewives shaking rugs over balconies to rid them of dust. In Turkish dream interpretations, shaking a rug suggests a tranquil and orderly life, free of disruptions. It can also signify divine favor or answered prayers. Shake a rug off a balcony, and it symbolizes the achievement of long-pursued goals. Shake a dusty rug? Bid farewell to financial troubles. And if someone else shakes it for you? Expect wise decisions and peace of mind.
On Oct.4, a 19-year-old man, Semih Çelik, carried out a horrifying double murder in Istanbul, brutally killing two young women within half an hour before ending his own life. Çelik’s body plummeted from the city’s historic ramparts shortly after the severed head of his second victim, İkbal Uzuner—a former classmate he had been obsessed with—hit the pavement below.