GERMAN AND KOREAN SURGE IN POPULARITY ACROSS TURKEY'S LANGUAGE SCHOOLS
Turkey's language learning landscape is undergoing a sharp transformation, with German and Korean emerging as the two most sought-after languages in the country, Sözcü reported.
Analysis
In-Depth Analysis
Smart, independent reporting on Turkey's politics, economy and foreign affairs.
AFTER PERSEPOLIS, WHO WILL DRAW US?
Marjane Satrapi's family said she died of sadness brought on by a profound sense of loss. It is difficult to think of Satrapi without the vocabulary of loss. What she drew, again and again, was loss, the loss of childhood, country, language and return. In the end, according to those closest to her, another loss, the love of her life, silenced her.
TEKİN
In Old Turkic, tegin was the stuff of inscriptions and dynasties, carved into the 8th-century Orkhon Inscriptions beside names like Kül Tegin. It meant prince, heir, royal son. However, Mahmud al-Kaşgarî, the first lexicographer of the Turkish language, reminds us that these gilded offspring referred to themselves as “kul,” or servant, when addressing their father in a ritual display of humility, claiming that “tekin” meant “humble servant.”
FÜZE / MISSILE
Few Turkish words arrive with less subtlety than füze. Borrowed from the French fusée, it sounds clipped, metallic and modern. It is a word that pierces a sentence rather than softly enters it, except when used in slang. In the mid-20th century, füze was slang for breasts that projected upward; the opposite of pide, or flat, breasts. It is a small linguistic reminder of how the male gaze has long blended the language of warfare with that of desire.
RUSSIAN AND FRENCH EMBASSIES IN ANKARA SPAR ON SOCIAL MEDIA IN TURKISH
In a rare diplomatic spat in the local language, the Russian and French diplomatic missions in Ankara traded barbs on social media over the ongoing war in Ukraine amid the war’s anniversary. The dispute, which drew attention from Turkish users, shifted from geopolitical accusations to historical insults and the use of emojis.
CONCEPT OF THE YEAR: DIGITAL CONSCIENCE
Culture and Tourism Minister Mehmet Nuri Ersoy said, “digital conscience” was selected as the Word/Concept of the Year for 2025 following a public vote organized by the Turkish Language Association (TDK), despite the term not being widely used in daily language.
RÜZGAR/WIND
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.
CHEATING ALLEGATIONS MAR 2025 HIGH SCHOOL ENTRANCE EXAM
Allegations of widespread cheating in Turkey’s national High School Entrance Exam (LGS) have triggered a political storm, with opposition figures accusing the Education Ministry of negligence and a cover-up, while Minister Yusuf Tekin has forcefully rejected the claims, using inflammatory language to discredit critics. More than a month after the exam, a senior official from the ministry has been dismissed.
SATILMIŞ
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.
HALEP
Halep (Aleppo, proper name) touches Turkish hearts, minds, imagination, language and, of course, the political rhetoric in a way few cities of the Ottoman Empire do. The southern jewel of the empire, the city has been a touchstone of trade, culture, and storytelling. But, as far as your cheeky columnist is concerned, its true linguistic value lies in being the punchline in one of Turkey’s wittiest sayings: “Halep oradaysa arşın burada”—“If Aleppo is there, the yardstick is here.” This phrase is more than a geographic observation; it’s a challenge. Based on the oral tale of a man who claimed that back in his great days in Aleppo, he could leap just as high as one could imagine, it’s what you say to someone boasting about their impressive feats in far-off places. “Sure, we can no longer ask around in Aleppo,” it implies, “but let’s see how you measure up here, in the present, with evidence.” In other words, put up or shut up and do not expect us to be persuaded by tall tales.
KAYYUM
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.”