Analysis
Smart, independent reporting on Turkey's politics, economy and foreign affairs.
As you drive from Yerevan to the Turkish border, which takes approximately 50 minutes, the stunning view of Mount Ararat becomes clearer. It goes without saying that if Mount Ararat were a human being, its face would be looking toward Armenia while its back would be toward Turkey.
The word of the week is “ihtiyatlı iyimserlik,” literally, “cautious optimism.” A staple of diplomatic jargon, the phrase allows diplomats, speechwriters, and strategists to sound hopeful without making any actual commitment. Last week alone, the term was trotted out as a reaction to the latest Damascus-SDF agreement, the ever-elusive prospect of a Ukraine-Russia ceasefire, and Syrian interim President Ahmad al-Sharaa’s pledge to establish an independent commission to bring those responsible for civilian killings in Latakia and Tartus to justice. And, yes, we are also cautiously optimistic about PKK leader Abdullah Öcalan’s calls to dissolve PKK and lay down arms, too.
The leaders of Turkey and Azerbaijan reiterated the good relations between the two countries in front of the cameras on March 5 in Ankara, while opening a new pipeline connecting Turkey to Azerbaijan’s Nakhchivan Autonomous Republic. Yet, while the two do indeed enjoy good relations, they do not see eye-to-eye in their visions for regional peace in the Caucasus.
My grand-aunt never used the word 'zorba' to describe a bully, though it would be the first term to come to mind for many Turkish speakers. Instead, when one of the boys in the family became too combative, she would say, 'What are you, a small 'Ali Kıran Başkesen'?' The phrase, which translates literally as 'Ali who crashes things and cuts heads,' is a Turkish term for an authoritarian bully. It derives from the proverb 'Dalı kıran, baş keser' ('Whoever cuts a branch cuts a head'), originally a cautionary ecological metaphor that somehow evolved into the ultimate descriptor for an overbearing strongman.
A university diploma is more than just a piece of paper. It’s a ticket to professional success and social prestige. But in Turkey in recent years, it has also become an object of national obsession, political ammunition, and judicial entanglement. Take, for instance, the latest storm swirling around Istanbul Mayor Ekrem İmamoğlu. In February 2025, he found himself under investigation for allegedly forging his university diploma—a charge that could have significant political consequences. The Istanbul Chief Public Prosecutor’s Office launched the probe following a report from the Council of Higher Education (YÖK) questioning the legitimacy of his academic credentials.
We are living in bizarre times. Not just strange or odd, but truly bizarre. Politics is being tested like in a diploma exam. The diploma of Istanbul Mayor and the CHP’s almost certain presidential candidate, Ekrem İmamoğlu, has become nearly the only topic of discussion these days. The diploma debate is not new in Turkish politics either. This is a country where, perhaps since his election, there has been an ongoing debate over whether President Tayyip Erdoğan has a diploma or not. However, this time, the roles have reversed: those who once said, "Erdoğan does not have a diploma; his presidency is invalid," are now facing off against those who argue, "İmamoğlu’s diploma is null and void; he cannot run for the presidency." The debate is revolving around the question of "who actually has a diploma."
More countries regard Turkey as an ally, according to the Munich Security Report 2025, released ahead of the titular conference which will take place from Feb. 14 to Feb. 16. The rate of people viewing Turkey as an ally, not a “threat,” increased in all of the 11 countries where the survey was held, except France.
When Syria’s new foreign minister chose to go to Saudi Arabia and Qatar for his first international visits before coming to Turkey, the main opposition party criticized the government, asking why Asaad al-Shaibani did not choose to reciprocate the visits of the Turkish foreign minister who went to Damascus two weeks after the fall of the Assad regime. For experts, this was only natural since Syria is first and foremost an Arab country and prioritizing relations with Turkey would have caused irritation among Arab capitals. In addition, while Turkey is struggling with its own economic hardships, Syria’s new rulers need Gulf money to get the country on its feet.
The phrase of the moment in Turkey is “abesle iştigal,” the very expression that the country’s word-savvy Foreign Minister Hakan Fidan used to dismiss U.S. President Donald Trump’s plan to "take over Gaza" and transform it into the “Riviera of the Middle East.” In the colorful mosaic of Turkish, “abesle iştigal” conveys the sheer futility of engaging in pointless endeavors. The expression is even featured in Lûgat365, a project dedicated to preserving beautiful but near-forgotten words in Turkish.
When a Canadian camera was found in a downed Turkish drone in the war in Nagorno Karabakh, the Canadian government canceled the product’s export permit in April 2021. “The use of technology in this way is inconsistent with Canada’s foreign policy and Turkey’s end-user commitments,” said the country’s then-foreign minister.
Turkey, a major fossil fuel importer, will walk a fine line as Donald Trump’s return to the presidency sees the U.S. reviving its “energy dominance” policy—a policy widely anticipated to disrupt global energy dynamics. Characterized by ramping up fossil fuel production and expanding energy exports, the restored agenda, now under the new Energy Secretary Chris Wright, a prominent figure in the petroleum industry, will double down on fossil fuels, reversing the Biden administration’s renewable energy priorities.
In the rich tapestry of Turkish names, few are as paradoxical as 'Satılmış.' Literally translating to 'sold' or 'sell-out,' this name carries a weighty connotation that intertwines cultural beliefs, societal perceptions and individual destinies. In Anatolian traditions, giving newborns names like 'Satılmış' or the female version “Satı” is a protective measure. The name was traditionally bestowed upon children with the underlying belief that by symbolically 'selling' the child, parents could deceive malevolent spirits or fate, thereby safeguarding the child from harm or premature death. This practice reflects an interplay between language, belief systems, and cultural practices in Anatolian societies.