Analysis
Smart, independent reporting on Turkey's politics, economy and foreign affairs.
The 'two-camp' character of Turkey's media — a divide that long predated the AKP but sharpened under its rule — is shifting after the 'absolute nullity' ruling that is changing the dynamics of Turkish politics.
Is cooperation among nationalist parties possible? What are the prospects and obstacles? Turkish politics has been polarized into two main blocs since the transition to the presidential system: the AKP on one side and the CHP on the other. While the AKP kept parties like the MHP, BBP, and HÜDA-Par in its orbit, the CHP advanced by forging open or tacit alliances with the DEM Party and İYİ Party. But this opposition front collapsed after the defeat in the 2023 elections.
A wedding portrayed the complexity and the changing dynamics of political relations in Turkish politics. Veteran politician Mehmet Sevigen, who was expelled from the CHP in 2021 and appears on TV screens as a sharp commentator against the CHP under Özgür Özel, managed to unite a range of opponents at his son’s wedding.
During a party debate, veteran AKP politician Bülent Arınç once distinguished himself from his comrades by declaring, “I have a certain weight of my own.” Though Arınç’s own weight has faded over the past decade, if one were to search for true “political weight” in today’s Turkey, one name stands out above all: Devlet Bahçeli. Having led the MHP for 28 years, Bahçeli has always been a force shaping Turkish politics—but in recent years, as part of the ruling People’s Alliance, he has become almost the determining factor in many critical decisions.
Bülent Arınç. Most recently, he stirred controversy with his criticism of the cancellation of Ekrem İmamoğlu’s diploma and his detention. “Neighborhood” has become a widely used concept that reflects the deep polarization in Turkish politics. There’s an “AKP neighborhood,” we say, and there’s an “opposition neighborhood.” But with his remarks, which carried a tone of self-criticism, Arınç managed to draw a backlash from both his own neighborhood and its direct opposite. For those who know him, Arınç’s remarks came as no surprise. Throughout the AKP’s 23 years in power, he has been one of the few — perhaps the only — figures to voice such open dissent from within. Why? He puts it this way: “I have a certain weight of my own. I’m not like the others.”
In Turkish politics, few words are as loaded—or as likely to provoke presidential rage—as “cunta.” From its etymological roots in the Spanish resistance to Napoleonic rule (junta, meaning a council), cunta has acquired a sinister sheen along the way. Today, it conjures images not of patriotic committees, but of tanks on boulevards, generals behind microphones, and constitutions suspended by decree (Bet you’ve heard that last one before). So when CHP Chair Özgür Özel recently accused the ruling bloc of staging a “civilian coup”—sivil darbe—and likened the government's tightening grip to a junta mentality, it landed like a Molotov cocktail in Turkey’s ever-combustible political arena.
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."
“When Turkish politics become too repetitive, I turn to the country’s art scene,” a European diplomat told me three years ago. “There is certainly more variety and more originality.” This year’s tension-wrought political rentrée, where debates revolved around “did they rise or did they not, for the president,” somehow made me follow her advice: When politics go wrong, seek consolation in art and culture.