Analysis
Smart, independent reporting on Turkey's politics, economy and foreign affairs.
Among the many challenges Turkey will face in Syria three stand out. The first stems from the Arab countries. The “Arab streets” are happy to see the end of the suffering of Syrian Arabs at the hands of a dictator. Yet this joy is hardly shared by their rulers. The survival of the Assad regime symbolized the failure of the Arab uprisings of 2011 as Arab leaders feared the movement of political Islam could hit home to challenge their rule.
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.
Throughout the Syrian drama, NATO never had a common vision or the resolve to push for a tangible solution to Syria’s descent into the abyss. The Arab Spring confused NATO, as it failed to determine whether it was a threat to the alliance or not. In Libya, NATO got fully engaged, but the outcome was further disintegration of that country. In Syria, a much more complex country, NATO was just reluctant, due to polarized views of member nations. NATO’s prudent planning for intervention came up with a prohibitive cost, which no one wanted to assume.
In Turkish, ağır abi, literally “heavy-weight bro”—is not your run-of-the-mill elder sibling. He is a stoic, charismatic figure who commands respect with the mere arch of an eyebrow. He doesn’t talk much; he doesn’t need to. His presence alone does the heavy lifting. And if anyone currently embodies the essence of an ağır abi, it’s Hakan Fidan, Turkey’s inscrutable foreign minister. Fidan, poker-faced and perpetually unruffled, has become the leading man in Turkey’s diplomatic theater, even overshadowing the usual stars, such as President Erdoğan and the minister of defense. He seized center stage after the fall of Bashar al-Assad’s regime in Syria, stepping up to the podium in Doha with all the composure of a man placing bets in a high-stakes poker game. His words called for an inclusive transition in Syria: “The new administration must be established in an orderly manner. There must never be a desire for revenge. It is time to unite and reconstruct the country.”
The turn of events in Syria is related to three evolving issues: the war in Ukraine, the war in the Middle East, and the upcoming Trump 2.0. Bashar al-Assad survived the civil war thanks to his powerful allies, Russia, Iran, and Lebanese Hezbollah, which have all been weakened.
Hats off to Yusuf Tekin, Turkey’s controversial education minister, for cramming all of Turkey’s thorny subjects into a single speech and creating a debate that drew in political party leaders, actresses, and laymen. It was a performance to steal the limelight from Trump, let alone Erdoğan himself. The Erzurum-born minister, who launched a controversial new curriculum last year, traveled from Baku to Batman, where he presents his education strategy to a large audience. On Nov. 17, he attended COP29 in Baku, where he explained how environmental awareness was now part of the Turkish education system. His critics would say he referred to the controversial project called CEDES, an acronym for “I protect my environment and claim my values.” The project does have an environmental focus, but it also has a “religious values” component under which local imams and preachers are assigned to each school in the project to provide spiritual guidance for students.
Maarif (Education, noun) is derived from the basal root Arf in Arabic, meaning knowledge. In the Ottoman Empire and early years of the Turkish Republic, the Education Ministry was called “Maarif Vekaleti.” In 1946, Maarif Vekaleti was rebaptized as “Milli Eğitim Bakanlığı,” using the modern Turkish word for both education and ministry and adding the term “national.”
As the world anticipates the outcome of the COP29 summit, which will end this week in Baku, Turkish audiences expect to hear the results of the COP31 bids. Turkey has announced its bid to host the 31st session of the climate summit in 2026. Yet the path to securing the event remains challenging, with its competitor, Australia, currently viewed as the frontrunner. At COP29 in Baku, Turkish officials are making an effort to capitalize on the familiar environment to secure a favorable decision on hosting COP31. While it remains unclear whether the host of COP31 will be decided at this summit, Ankara is actively lobbying for its candidacy, leveraging its proximity to Azerbaijan to strengthen its bid.
Azerbaijan has lost an important opportunity to promote its image on the international stage by delaying a peace deal with Armenia ahead of the COP29 summit in Baku. While experts familiar with the negotiations believe important progress has been made, Baku’s request for changes to the Armenian constitution has become a new obstacle before a final deal.
The tragic story of five young children who perished in a house fire on Nov. 11 underlines the brutal toll of systemic poverty and neglect on society's most vulnerable. Left alone while their mother was out collecting scrap metal to survive, these children died after the electric heater, the only means to heat their makeshift home, went up in flames. Their short lives were tragically cut short not just by fire but by layers of systemic poverty and inadequate social support. The news of their death in Izmir came at a time when many - but not all - world leaders were at Baku for the COP29, making promises of inclusivity, pledging to 'leave no one behind' in addressing climate change, and vowing to secure sustainable development and environmental/social justice. The principle of leaving no one behind, fundamental to the UN’s Sustainable Development Goals, resonates with promises of justice, equality, and access to basic needs for all. Yet, the Izmir fire reveals that these are slogans on a page while the situation on the ground shows many without adequate housing, safety nets, and opportunities to escape poverty.
When Hakan Fidan addressed the 14th conference of the ambassadors in August 2023, two months after he was appointed as foreign minister, the message was clear to those present in the hall. Having led the Turkish Intelligence Agency for 13 years, it became clear from Fidan’s address that foreign policy would be shaped and implemented from a security perspective. While this might not present an abnormality as the world is becoming highly insecure, Fidan took office at a time when Turkey was seeking to normalize its relations with many of its neighbors.
Kayyum or Kayyım (trustee, noun) often crops up on the Turkish agenda like an unwelcome ex-chief at a political celebration. The English-language media has translated it as trustee, as in “Turkey sacked three mayors in the Kurdish-majority southeast on alleged 'terrorism' charges and replaced them with trustees.” But as with most things, context is key. The word is actually an exalted name in Islamic theology, describing an attribute of God: the eternal, self-sustaining one, who maintains all existence. The term implies omniscience and omnipotence—qualities far removed from the bureaucratic function of trustee appointments. In more everyday language, it’s also a term for a mosque custodian. But lately, Turkey’s government has repurposed the term, applying it to officials appointed to oversee (or seize) the operations of private companies, foundations, and -mostly- municipalities suspected of wrongdoing. It should not be confused with a guardian (vasi), whose role implies that the person they care for is legally incapable of managing their own affairs. Tanıl Bora, master of Turkish political terms, explains: “A guardian is appointed to a person, a kayyum to property.”