Turkish Journal of Politics Vol. 4 No. 1

Vol. 4 No. 1 Summer 2013

Turkish Journal of Politics TJP

Ebru Altınoğlu Committed Democrats versus Individuals with Hybrid Regime Orienta-tions: An Individual-level Analysis on Turkey Özgüç Orhan The Paradox of Turkish Secu-larism Toni Alaranta The Presuppositions of Contemporary Kemalism Dogan Koc Hiz-met Movement’s Effects on PKK Recruitment and Attacks Muzaffer Ercan Yılmaz The Organization of the Islamic Conference as a Conflict Manager in the Arab Spring Olusanya Faboyede Indigenous Political System in the Pre-colonial Akokoland: A Re-appraisal dur-ing Colonial Rule Solmaz Filiz Karabağ and Bezen Balamir Coşkun I Click, Therefore I am: The Internet and the Political Participation of Young People in Turkey Mehmet Kılıç Chapulling ‘Turkish Spring’: Strike of an Unpredictable Synchronization

Editor Ihsan Yilmaz Fatih University, Turkey

Turkish Journal of Politics

Editorial BoardAhmet Kuru, San Diego State University, USA

Ahmet Arabaci, Fatih University, TurkeyAsim Jusic, American University in Bosnia and Herzegovina

Bekir Cinar, Epoka University, AlbaniaBerdal Aral, Fatih University, Turkey

Bezen Balamir Coskun, Zirve University, TurkeyBirol Akgün, Selcuk University, Turkey

Bulent Gokay, Keele University, UKCharles Allen Scarboro, Fatih University,Turkey

Ebru Altinoglu, Fatih University, TurkeyEiji Oyamada, Doshisha University, JapanEren Tatari, Rollins College, Florida,USAErtan Efegil, Sakarya University, Turkey

Greg Barton, Monash University, Australia Hanne Petersen, Copenhagen University, Denmark

Hisae Nakanishi, Doshisha University, JapanIhsan Dagi, Middle East Technical University,Turkey

John L. Esposito, Georgetown University, Washington, USAKlas Grinell, Museum of World Culture, Sweden

M. Lutfullah Karaman, İstanbul Medeniyet University , TurkeyMax Farrar, Leeds Metropolitan University, UK

Michael Butler, Clark University, USAMohamed Bakari, Fatih University,Turkey

Nejima Susumu, Toyo University, JapanNuri Yurdusev, Middle East Technical University,Turkey

Omer Caha, Yıldız Technical University,TurkeyOnder Cetin, Fatih University , Turkey

Ozlem Demirtas Bagdonas, Fatih University, TurkeyPaul Weller, University of Derby, UK

Philip Bruckmayr, University of Vienna, AustriaRavi Perry, Clark University, USA

Saban Calis, Selcuk University, TurkeySadik Unay, Yıldız Technical University, Turkey

Sammas Salur, Fatih University, TurkeySimon Robinson, Leeds Metropolitan University, UK

Srinavasan Stimaran, Clark University, USASteve Wright, Leeds Metropolitan University, UK

Tayyar Ari, Uludag University, TurkeyTalip Kucukcan, Marmara University, Turkey

Turan Kayaoglu, University of Washington, USAUmit Kurt, Clark University, USA

Vahram Ter-Matevosyan, Yerevan State University, Armenia

Turkish Journal of Politics (ISSN:2146-1988) is an international peer-reviewed journal of political science produced under the editorial sponsorship of the Social Sciences Institute at Fatih University, Istanbul.

Editorial Assistant Mai Lan Thanh Nguyen Fatih University, Turkey


TJPVol. 4 No. 1 Summer 2013

Fatih University2013

Social Sciences Institute


Contents

TJPVol. 4 No. 1 Summer 2013

The Presuppositions of Contemporary KemalismToni Alaranta

Hizmet Movement’s Effects on PKK Recruitment and AttacksDogan Koc

The Organization of the Islamic Conference as a Conflict Manager in the Arab SpringMuzaffer Ercan Yılmaz

Committed Democrats versus Individuals with Hybrid Regime Orientations: An Individual-level Analysis on TurkeyEbru Altınoğlu

05

27

49

65

85Indigenous Political System in the Pre-colonial Akokoland: A Re-appraisal during Colonial RuleOlusanya Faboyede

I Click, Therefore I am: The Internet and the Political Participation of Young People in TurkeySolmaz Filiz Karabağ and Bezen Balamir Coşkun

Chapulling ‘Turkish Spring’: Strike of an Unpredictable SynchronizationMehmet Kılıç

97

111

131

The Paradox of Turkish SecularismÖzgüç Orhan

5

TJP Turkish Journal of Politics Vol. 4 No. 1 Summer 2013

Ebru AltınoğluFatih University, [email protected]

Committed Democrats versus Individuals with Hybrid Regime Orientations:An Individual-level Analysis on Turkey

Abstract

This paper is built on a puzzling observation that a sizable proportion of the population in some countries, while purporting support for democracy as the preferred form of government, at the same time supports inherently nondemocratic political regimes—specifically, the army rule or the rule of an unchecked executive. While individual-level regime orientations are generally for-mulated along a linear scale of ‘support for democracy’ or ‘democrat vs. non-democrat’ dichotomy, this article offers a typology so as to embrace hybrid regime orientations—specifically support for diminished subtypes of democracy—as well. Five categories are generated: Committed democrats, supporters of unconstrained democracy, supporters of guarded democracy, lip-servicing ‘demo-crats’ and non-democrats. Additionally, with a focus on Turkey, the author attempts to understand the nature of individuals in those categories by testing a model built, to a great extent, on Almond and Verba’s conceptualization of the democratic citizen. Five categories of regime orientations were run on this model by using logistic regression analysis. The data come from the World Values Survey conducted in Turkey during 1996/97, 2001 and 2007. The analyses reveal that committed democrats in Turkey adhere to the ‘active’ side of the ‘democratic citizen’ formulation. Support for unconstrained democracy is related to economic concerns under economic crisis environment. Sup-port for guarded democracy, however, appears to be shaped by case-specific factors.

Keywords

Political Culture, Turkey, Democratic Support, Hybrid Regimes, Democratic Citizen, Civic Culture.

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Introduction

Democracy, according to the minimal procedural definition, is a ruling system where ‘governmental offices are filled as a consequence of contested elections’ (Prze-worski and Limongi 1997, 178). That is, by definition, a democratic system rules out the government of the ‘unelected’. Accord-ingly, one would expect that those who sup-port democracy would categorically reject the rule of or the reserved domains for the unelected. Yet the reality is not so straight-forward.

According to the World Values Survey (WVS) 1996–2007 pooled data—covering 75 countries—public support for democra-cy is strikingly high even in non-democra-cies (Table 1). However, the same data also reveal that around 40 percent of those who say ‘democracy is a good/fairly good way of governing the country’ (Item E117 in WVS

Integrated Questionnaire v.20060423) at the same time support either ‘the army rule’ or the rule of ‘a strong leader who does not have to bother with parliament or elections,’ (Items E114 and E116) or both (Table 2). In other words, a sizable proportion of the pop-ulation in some countries, while purporting support for democracy as the preferred form of government, at the same time support in-herently non-democratic political regimes.

Against the background of this puzzling reality, in the present study, first I offer a conceptual refinement of individual-level regime orientations so as to reflect simulta-neous support for incongruous political re-gimes. Relaying on the method of creating diminished sub-types, I offer the following categorization of regime preferences: com-mitted (real) democrats, supporters of un-constrained democracy, supporters of guard-ed democracy, lip-servicing ‘democrats’, and non-democrats.

Table 1. Aggregated results of popular support for Democracy, the Rule of a Strong Lead-er, and the Army Rule based on the WVS pooled data of 75 countries over 1996-2007. (Clas-sified by the level of Political Freedom)

The Freedom House, Political Rights Rating

The Freedom House, Political Rights Status

Number of Observations* for 1972-2008

Mean Support for DEMOCRATIC SYST.

Mean Support for STRONG LEADER

Mean Support for THE ARMY RULE

1.0 Free 33 88(6.4)** 23(6.6) 6(3.1)

1.1—2.5 Free 28 83(9.0) 33(13.5) 16(13.8)

2.6 –3.5 Partly Free 28 82(8.6) 42(15.6) 21(13.6)

TURKEY (3.2) Partly Free 3 85(1.2) 49(15.6) 26(1.8)

3.6 –4.5 Partly Free 46 79(8.0) 36(15.8) 17(13.0)

4.6 –5.5 Partly Free 53 83(11.0) 36(15.6) 29(23.0)

5.6 –7.0 Not Free 35 81(10.8) 33(23.4) 26(24.5)

Total / Mean 223 83(9.0) 34(15.1) 19(15.2)

*Includes multiple observations for the same country (maximum three).

**In parentheses are the standard deviations.

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The second aim of the study is an endeav-our to understand the factors that differen-tiate committed democrats from supporters of diminished subtypes of democracy and non-democracy. In that regard, with a focus on the case of Turkey and by using three waves (1996/7, 2001 and 2007) of WVS sur-vey, I test the elements of Almond and Ver-ba’s ‘democratic citizen’ formulation along with the possible confounders such as per-ception of regime performance, religiosity,

and socio-economic status.

The importance of understanding the nature regime orientations hinges on the role of attitudes and beliefs of ordinary cit-izens in democratic survival and consolida-tion processes. Democratic consolidation, as Özbudun notes, can be conceptualized within the frameworks of both minimalist and maximalist understandings of democ-ratization (1996, 124). While the minimal-

Table 2. A typology of individual-level orientations toward various political regimes in the world and in Turkey. (Based on 3rd-5th waves of the WVS.)

Democratic Political System is Very/Fairly Good

82% (172,426) in the pooled data

85% in Turkey

Strong Leader w/ No Parliament or Elections is Very/Fairly Bad (0)

Strong Leader w/ No Parliament or Elections is Very/Fairly Good (1)

Arm

y R

ule

is

Very

/Fai

rly

Bad

(0) Committed (Real)

DemocratsSupporters of

Unconstrained Democracy

42%* (87,864) 18% (37,131)

1996/7 45% (850) 2001 19% (659)2007 25% (332)

19% (375) 40% (1369) 24% (312)

Arm

y R

ule

is

Very

/Fai

rly

Goo

d (

1) Supporters ofGuarded Democracy

Lip-servicing‘Democrats’

7% (13,954) 9% (19,310)

1996/7 8% (146) 2001 4% (125)2007 5% (73)

9% (165) 18% (606) 17% (227)

The numbers in the first line of each category are based on the pooled data (75 countries), and the following lines on Turkey. (*)Percent in Total; The percentages do not add up to 100 due to miss-ing values in either of the variables.

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ist view stresses uninterrupted presence of democratic procedures—i.e. free, fair and competitive elections (Diamond 1999, 65; Przeworski 1991, 26), the maximalist view emphasizes the embrace of democratic val-ues by most citizens after a long socializa-tion process (Özbudun 1996, 131). In that regard, institutional changes manoeuvred by the elite are only beginning of the democ-ratization process. As noted by many schol-ars, the survival and consolidation of de-mocracy, however, depend on cultivation of a strong democratic culture among ordinary citizens that provides adequate emotional and cognitive support for adhering to dem-ocratic procedures (Dahl 1997, 34; Inglehart 1990, 96; Linz and Stepan 1996, 16). Dem-ocratic consolidation is, thus, argued to be complete when, even in the midst of major economic and political problems and deep dissatisfaction with the performance of in-cumbents, a majority of people believes in the legitimacy and appropriateness of dem-ocratic procedures and institutions to gov-ern collective life and generate any further political change (Linz and Stephan 1996a, 5; Linz and Stephan 1996b, 16; Diamond 1999, 65). In that regard, understanding the factors contributing to (or precluding) democratic commitment among ordinary citizens would enhance our understanding of democratic consolidation process.

The study is divided into two parts. In the first part I discuss how we can achieve con-ceptual differentiation on individual regime preferences so as to reflect the observed si-multaneous support for incongruent politi-cal regimes. In the second part, I first pres-ent a brief overview of Turkey’s experience with democracy. This section is intended to provide not only a historical background for systemic factors that are likely to affect individuals’ regime preferences, but also a ground for cross-country comparisons. Fi-nally, I proceed to the analysis section.

(Re)Conceptualization and Categorization of Regime Orientations

Simultaneous support for democracy and non-democratic regimes might not be a surprising finding; since, as it has already been noted by Inglehart (the principal coor-dinator of the WVS), ‘although overt lip-ser-vice to democracy is almost universal today, it is not necessarily an accurate indicator of how deeply democracy has taken root in a given country’ (2003, 51). In a similar vein, Esmer (the coordinator of the WVS in Tur-key) notes that many people may express a preference for democratic political forms at the same time that they hold attitudes and values that are inconsistent with a demo-cratic political culture (1999, 79). This point has also been made in studies of the new de-mocratizes in Eastern Europe and elsewhere (Rose et al. 1998, 98). But how are we to read this picture? Should we conclude that such individuals simply do not know what democ-racy is, and that they are in fact disguised non-democrats? Or, should we say that they are ‘less’ democrat—without knowing ex-actly what we really mean by ‘less’? In fact, this simple finding warns us that conceptual differentiation is a necessity not only for po-litical regimes at the macro level, but also for individual regime preferences.

As noted by Collier and Levinstky, many scholars have pointed to the need to move beyond a dichotomous conceptualization of authoritarianism and democracy and to recognize the ‘hybrid’ or ‘mixed’ character of many post-authoritarian regimes (1997, 441). One such method is creating ‘dimin-ished subtypes,’ which are less than com-plete instances of a root definition of a con-cept—because they lack one or more of its defining attributes (Collier and Levinstky 1997, 441).

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To achieve conceptual differentiation on individual-level regime orientations, I rely on two criteria Larry Diamond highlights in his definition of ‘liberal democracy’:

In addition to the elements of elec-toral democracy … [liberal democ-racy] requires, first, the absence of reserved domains of power for the military or other actors not account-able to the electorates, directly or indirectly. … Second, in addition to the vertical accountability of rulers to the ruled (secured mainly through elections), it requires the horizontal accountability of office holders to one another; this constrains executive power and so helps protect constitu-tionalism, legality, and the delibera-tive process (Diamond 1999, 10).

I define the root concept—committed democrat—thus by focusing on attitudes to-ward vertical and horizontal accountability of the office holders.1 A committed democrat accepts contested elections as ‘the only game in town’ (Przeworksi 1991, 26) to fill gov-ernmental offices. She, accordingly, rejects the presence of reserved domains for the unelected. At the same time, she demands constraints on the elected executive power. Hence, once the root concept—committed democrat—is defined as embracement of accountability-related attributes of liberal democracy, its diminished sub-types can be conceptualized depending on the missing attribute(s).

Where the missing attribute is vertical accountability (i.e. there exists reserved domains of power for the military or other

1 While Diamond mentions a third dimen-sion of liberal democracy, which relates to political and civil pluralism, this dimension is left out of the scope of this study in order to preserve conceptual consisten-cy.

actors not accountable to the electorates, directly or indirectly) the regime is may be called ‘protected/guarded’ or ‘tutelary’ de-mocracy (Loveman 1994, 108-11; Przewor-ski 1988, 60-1 cited in Collier and Levitsky 1997, 441). Accordingly, those individuals who do support democracy but do not reject direct or indirect political involvement of the army can be conceptualized as supporters of guarded democracy.

Another diminished-subtype of democ-racy can be called ‘unconstrained democra-cy’, where the missing attribute is effective horizontal accountability of office holders to one another. This term is adopted from the concept of ‘unconstrained presidential-ism,’ which has arisen from a concern with the authoritarian tendencies of the elected presidents in Latin America and in former communist countries where the elected president at times ‘make extensive use of degree power, circumvent democratic insti-tutions such as the legislature and political parties, and govern in a plebiscitarian man-ner that is seen as having strong authoritari-an undercurrents’ Collier and Levitsky 1997, 444). Accordingly, those individuals who do support democracy, yet desire, at the same time, the rule of a strong leader who is not checked or constrained by the legislature or opposition parties, can be called as support-ers of unconstrained democracy.

Finally, regimes that meet the minimum requirements of democracy (free, fair and regular competitive multiparty elections with universal suffrage, whereby the mem-bers of parliament and executive are elected) are called electoral democracies (Diamond 1999, 10). In such regimes, however, neither vertical nor horizontal (inter-institutional) accountability is de jure and/or de facto guar-anteed. Therefore, those individuals who say they support democracy, but at the same time welcome the military’s political inter-

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vention and also desire an elected but unchecked executive can simply be called lip-servicing ‘democrats’. Table 3 summarizes the (re)conceptualization process discussed here.

In the present study, the above listed cat-egories constitute the dependent variables of the subsequent analysis. They are measured by combining the following three items from the WVS.

I’m going to describe various types of po-litical systems and ask what you think about each as a way of governing this country. For each one, would you say it is a very good, fairly good, fairly bad or very bad way of gov-erning this country? 1-Very good, 2-Fairly good, 3-Fairly bad, 4-Very bad.

e117–Having a democratic political sys-tem.

e114–Having a strong leader who does not have to bother with parliament and elec-tions;

e116–Having the army rule (WVS Inte-grated Questionnaire).

The resulting typology, along with the percentage of the population falling into each category, is presented in Table 2. Ac-cordingly, Committed Democrats are those who support a democratic system and reject both the government of a strong leader who does not have to bother with parliament and elections and the army rule. Supporters of Unconstrained Democracy are those who simultaneously support a democratic sys-tem and the government of a strong leader who does not have to bother with parlia-ment and elections, but reject the army rule. Supporters of Guarded Democracy are those who simultaneously support a democrat-ic system and the army rule, but reject the government of a dictator-like strong leader. Lip-servicing Democrats are those who sup-port a democratic system, the rule of a dicta-tor-like strong leader and the army rule, all at the same time. Non-democrats are those who reject a democratic system.

Table 3. Classification of Diminished Sub-types of Democracy and Democratic Attitudes

Root Concepts

Attribute Macro Level Individual-level

Elements of Electoral Democracy + Vertical & Horizontal Accountability

Liberal democracy Committed Democrat

Missing Attributes Diminished Sub-types

Vertical accountability (i.e. reserved domains of power for the military or other actors not accountable to the electorates, directly or indirectly.)

Guarded DemocracySupporters of Guarded Democracy

Horizontal accountability of office holders to one another (i.e. checks on the executive power)

Unconstrained Democracy

Supporters of Unconstrained Democracy

Both vertical and horizontal account-ability

Electoral Democracy Lip-servicing “Democrats”

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If seen through the lenses of the maxi-malist understanding of democratic consol-idation, Turkey would still be considered far from democratic consolidation. Diamond suggests that in consolidated democracies ‘no more than 15 percent of the public ac-tively prefers an authoritarian form of gov-ernment’ (Diamond 1999, 69). In Turkey, however, the percentages are way beyond this threshold. As can be calculated based on Table 2, on average, only 28 percent of the population can be categorized as committed democrats. The rest, however, either have hybrid regime orientations or reject democ-racy in the first place.

Before getting into the analysis of the nature and determinants of regime orienta-tions, a brief historical summary of Turkey’s experience with democracy may shed light upon the historical and systemic factors that might not be accounted for by the individu-al-level model, and also might open up the possibilities for cross-country comparative research.

Turkey’s Experience with Democracy2

In 1923 the Republic of Turkey estab-lished itself as a constitutional parliamen-tary system. Until 1946 the country was run as a single-party regime by the Repub-lican People’s Party (RPP) (Özbudun 1987, 337), which had been established by Ke-mal Ataturk and the former military cad-re of the Turkish revolution. In 1946 the first multi-party elections were held, and the RPP won the elections. Four years lat-er, the government changed hands and the

2 This section draws on a former publication of the author co-authored with Mark Tessler, ‘Political Culture in Turkey,’ 22-24.

centre-right Democratic Party (DP) defeat-ed the Republican Party, hence effectively ended the one-party regime. The DP ruled the country for ten-years, yet the nascent democratic process was interrupted by a military coup in May 27, 1960. Electoral pol-itics resumed the following year with a new constitution and one of its most important provisions was the establishment of a Na-tional Security Council (NSC). Composed of senior military leaders, as well as top gov-ernment officials, NSC is not accountable to elected policy-makers. The NSC has been an effective extra-political institution, and es-sentially an instrument, through which the military could exert political influence or even intervene in the political process when it judges government actions to be injurious to the Republic’s interest (Heper and Güney 2000, 637). Only recently, starting with the second period of the Justice and Develop-ment Party (JDP) government (2007), the political effectiveness of the military has been reduced.

Another novelty of the 1961 constitu-tion was a new election law that introduced proportional representation. Until 2002, when of the JDP of Tayyip Erdogan took over the government, as Esmer notes, “co-alition governments have been the rule and one-party governments the exception” (Es-mer 2002, 2).

In the 1970s, following a military ulti-matum in 1971, the political landscape be-gan to change with the emergence of two new parties: the pro-Islamic National Order Party (NOP) and the ultra-nationalist Na-tional Action Party (NAP).

In 1980, the military again intervened, claiming that coalition instability and po-litical unrest required it to act in order to safeguard democracy. The military ruled until 1983, at which time it permitted new

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legislative elections. It also modified the electoral code issuing 10 percent national threshold as a pre-condition for legislative representation. The centre-right Mother-land Party (MP) of Turgut Ozal captured an absolute majority of the seats in parliament in the 1983 elections, but fragmentation and polarized multi-partyism re-emerged in the elections of 1987. In the elections of 1991 and 1995, support for centrist parties diminished as voters increasingly displayed a preference for either the pro-Islamic Wel-fare Party (WP), a descendant of the NOP and later reformed as the Virtue Party, or the highly nationalistic NAP. Indeed, the WP became the dominant party after the 1995 elections and established a coalition with the center-right True Path Party (TPP) of Tansu Çiller.

Once again, however, the military con-cluded that there was a threat to democracy, this time in the form of the WP’s pro-Islamic policies. In February 1997, demands by the NSC forced the resignation of WP leader and then-Prime Minister Necmettin Erbakan, after which a new coalition government was formed under NSC supervision. In 1998, in response to an ultimatum from military leaders, the cabinet adopted measures de-signed to limit the influence of Islamic par-ties and movements. As a result, in the fol-lowing elections, the centre-left Democratic Left Party and the extreme right (national-ist) NAP became the dominant members of the government coalition, which also includ-ed the centre-right Motherland Party.

In 2001 the country was hit by a finan-cial economic crisis. The early elections in the following year marked a rupture in Turkish political history. Two centre-right parties and other members of the coalition faced a dramatic loss in their vote share and dropped under 10% national threshold. Consequently, only two parties gained voice

in the parliament. While JDP of R. Tayy-ip Erdogan obtained 34% of the votes and gained the right to form the government, Republican People’s Party (RPP) of Deniz Baykal became the second party, and was entitled to form the opposition. Secondly, the victory of JDP –which was formed by a group who brook up with the Virtue Party, yet who continuously rejected being labelled as Islamist, but preferred to call themselves Conservative Democrat– was interpreted as the redefinition of centre in Turkish political spectrum. Erdogan’s JDP won the 2007 and 2011 elections as well with increasing vote shares—which is regarded by some scholars ‘as signs of the emergence of a dominant party system in Turkey’ (Çarkoğlu 2011). Good economic performance, promises for democratic progress—at least for the 2007 elections—and more active foreign policy have been the main factors behind their suc-cess.

Explaining Individuals’ Regime Orientations

In this part of the study, relying mostly on Almond and Verba’s ‘civic culture’ concep-tualization, and intend to understand which of the attributes of civil culture differentiate committed democrats from individuals with hybrid regime orientations.

Almond and Verba identify three types of individual political culture: (1) parochial, someone with little awareness of the broad-er polity; (2) subject, someone with aware-ness but who expects to obey the dictates of those in power, (3) citizen, a person who has a detailed awareness of politics and re-spect for the system, yet understands that he is empowered and competent to influ-ence events (1963, 17-20). While they claim that only ‘participant cultures’ can provide a psychological basis for democratization

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(Almond and Verba 1963, 17-20), they also argue that too much participation may pro-duce too many political demands, hence democratic overload. Accordingly, Almond and Verba argue that the democratic citizen should not give up their roles of subjects and parochial. The democratic citizen, they say ‘pursues contradictory goals: he is active, yet passive; involved, but not too involved; in-fluential, yet deferential’ (Almond and Verba 1963, 479).

The two seemingly contradictory ‘active’ and ‘passive’ attitudes of the democratic citizen rest on (1) trust in fellow citizens, and their own capacity to influence events, and (2) trust in political actors and institutions, respective-ly. The absence of general social attitudes of (interpersonal) trust, they argue, inhibits the ability of citizens to cooperate with each other with respect to the government. They are unable to aggregate interests, leading people to divide into hostile camps (Almond and Verba 1963, 481). However, they also claim that the democratic citizen is not con-stantly involved in politics. While the poten-tial to act is always there, he does not active-ly oversee the behaviour of decision makers (Almond and Verba 1963, 481). This last attitude requires a certain degree of trust in political actors and institutions, and it corre-sponds to the passive side of the democratic citizen. While many scholars agree upon the same traits some of them add that moderate ideological orientations and tolerance toward out-groups (or diversity) are also conducive to pro-democratic attitudes.

Against this background, I hypothesize that individuals who (1) trust democratic polit-ical institutions, but (2) are not blindly submis-sive to the political authority, who are (3) politi-cally attentive, (4) trust his/her fellows and (5) their own capacity to influence events, (5) polit-ically active, (7) ideologically moderate, and (8) tolerant toward out-groups are more likely to be

committed democrats rather than supporters of hybrid regimes.

The relationship between some of the above mentioned attitudes/behaviours and individual-level regime orientations might be confounded by some other causal factors. Respect for the system (or trust in demo-cratic political institutions) can result either from a categorical approval of democracy or be crafted through the legitimacy created by a good (democratic) regime performance. Regime performance can be defined as ‘the political outcomes and the character of the regime, as well as the material conditions it generates (or for which it is seen to be responsible)’ (Diamond 1999, 77). While political outcomes denote perception of in-creased freedom and responsiveness, feeling of having a say in how the policy was decid-ed, and open and clean governance (Dia-mond 1999, 88-9; Mattes and Bratton 2001; Mishler and Rose 2002; Chu et al. 2008; Huang et al. 2008), material conditions refer to the perceived effect of economic policies on individual welfare (Diamond 1999, 80). As Diamond notes, the effect of economic performance upon popular support for de-mocracy is indirect, and mediated by trust in political institutions (Diamond 1999, 204), by creating a feeling that democracy can work for them (Diamond 1999, 88). Accord-ingly, in the present study, regime (govern-ment) performance is treated as a possible confounder for trust in democratic political institutions, and added to the model.

Empirical researches, especially, in new democracies document supportive evidence for both economic and political performance arguments. While some researchers find that in times of economic crises support for the new regime, i.e. democracy, declines Dalton 1994; Mishler and Rose 2001; Catterberg and Moreno 2005), others conclude that po-litical performance is more important than

14


economic performance in accounting for support for democracy (Bratton and Mat-ters 2001; Mishler and Rose 2002). Thus, I hypothesize that those individuals who are content with the political and/or economic per-formance of the democratically elected incum-bent are more likely to be committed democrats.

From another perspective, some schol-ars claim that certain cultures cannot give birth to pro-democratic values and atti-tudes. More specifically, whereas democracy requires pluralism and tolerance of diver-sity, and a certain degree of critical stance against the political authority, it is claimed that Islam and Asian religious traditions encourage intellectual conformity and an uncritical acceptance of authority (Lipset 1994, 3; Huntington 1984, 208; Kedourie 1994, 5-6; Lewis 1994, 54-5), and generate a political culture inhospitable for democracy. In this line of argument religion is treated as an antecedent factor to the current political culture of societies. Others hold that Islam is inherently anti-democratic because all laws and regulations governing an Islam-ic community are expected to conform the divine law expressed in the Qur’an. Against this background of arguments Islamic piety is treated as a possible confounder variable in the present study. Individual-level empir-ical studies analyzing the relationship be-tween Islamic piety and support for democ-racy document conflicting results (Tessler 2002; Tessler and Altinoglu 2004; Çarkoğlu and Toprak 2007; Çiftçi 2010). Hence, the expectation about the impact of religious at-tachments is mixed.

Other possible antecedent confounders controlled in the model are personal attri-butes—like gender, age, and education—that are likely to affect the constituent elements of democratic political culture—inter-personal trust, tolerance, moderation, etc.

Data, Variables, and Measures

The present study uses three data sets obtained from the World Values Survey conducted in Turkey during in 12/1996-01/1997 (3rd wave), 12/2000-01/2001 (4th wave) and 2007 (5th wave). The surveys, which are based on national random sam-ples of 1907, 3401 and 1360 respondents, respectively, were carried out under the co-ordination of Yılmaz Esmer.

As explained before, the various cat-egories of regime orientations—committed democrats, supporters of unconstrained de-mocracy, supporters of guarded democracy, lip-servicing democrats, non-democrats—constitute the binary dependent variables of the present study.

Independent variables

The main independent variables deal with the elements of democratic political culture. The first five items relate to the ‘active’ side of a democratic citizen, as conceptualized by Almond and Verba. It includes political at-tentiveness in everyday life, interpersonal trust, feeling of control over one’s life, lesser importance attached to obedience, and po-litical participation. One item measures the ‘passive’ side of democratic citizens: trust in institutions of democracy (parliament and political parties). Tolerance towards out groups (those from a different religion and race) and ideological orientations (extreme right being the base category) are also in the model to measure the other components of democratic political culture.

The items relating to political perfor-mance of the regime are not asked in all waves of the WVS. Hence, a general item measuring ‘confidence in the current gov-ernment’ is included to assess general per-formance of the government. Four items are

15


employed to measure how the economic per-formance is perceived. Three of these items deal with macroeconomic issues: whether the respondent thinks ‘fighting with ris-ing prices,’ ‘a stable economy,’ or ‘economic growth’ is a major goal/issue (as opposed to others) for the country. And one item is used to measure personal financial satisfaction of the respondent.

To measure personal piety two items are used: (1) whether the respondent thinks ‘religious faith’ is an important quality that

children can be encouraged to learn at home, and (2) the extent of the importance of reli-gion in respondent’s life.

Education, income, gender and age vari-ables are also included in the model. The measurement of all the independent varia-bles is presented in the Appendix. Although some variables seem to measure similar concepts, factor analysis and correlation statistics confirm that they measure distinct dimensions.

Analysis and Findings

The missing values in the data sets, including the dependent variable, were imputed by ‘multiple chain imputation method’ in STATA 12.3 Each category of regime orientations was

3 For the inclusion of the dependent variable in the imputation model see http://www.ssc.wisc.edu/sscc/pubs/stata_mi_impute.htm, and Rebekah Young and David R. Johnson, Imputing the Missing Y’s: Imp-lications for Survey Producers and Survey Users http://www.amstat.org/sections/srms/proceedings/y2010/Files/400142.pdf

Table 4. The Model

Regime Orientations

Democratic Culture Active Aspect β0 + β1(Political Attentiveness) + β2(Interpersonal Trust)+ β3(Influence Capacity) + β4(Less Obedience) + β5(Political Participation)

Passive Aspect + β6(Confidence in Institutions of Democracy)

Other Aspects + β7(Tolerance toward Out-groups) + β8-11(i.Ideological Orientations)

Control Variables + β12(Religiosity)

+ β13(Confidence in Government) + β14(Fighting Rising Prices Important) + β15(Stable Economy Important) + β16(Economic Growth Important) + β17(Financial satisfaction)

+ β18(Income) + β19-21 (i.Education) + β22(Gender) + β23(Age)

16


regressed (logistic regression analysis) on the same model by using three data sets. The re-sults are presented in Table 5.

Table 5. Logistic regression results with multiple-imputed data. (10 imputations; robust standard errors in parentheses; *p<0.5, **p<0.01, ***p<0.001.)

Committed Democrats

1997 2001 2007

Political Culture

Confidence in Dem. Pol. Inst. 0.07 (0.23) 0.11 (0.20) -0.54 (0.33)

Less Obedience -0.01 (0.11) **0.25 (0.10) -0.13 (0.14)

Political Attentiveness ***0.55 (0.19) 0.11 (0.16) *0.50 (0.24)

Interpersonal Trust -0.02 (0.22) *0.21 (0.11) 0.12 (0.31)

Belief in Influence 0.27 (0.15) *-0.32 (0.14) 0.30 (0.27)

Political Participation ***0.66 (0.23) ***0.90 (0.19) *0.57 (0.26)

Social Tolerance ***0.45 (0.14) 0.07 (0.14) ***0.77 (0.19)

Extreme Left -0.27 (0.23) 0.27 (0.18) -0.12 (0.26)

Moderate Left 0.35 (0.21) *0.41 (0.18) 0.04 (0.27)

Centre 0.04 (0.17) *0.29 (0.15) -0.27 (0.26)

Moderate Right 0.15 (0.16) **0.38 (0.15) 0.13 (0.19)

Control Variables

Religiosity -0.14 (0.20) **-0.44 (0.17) 0.38 (0.25)

Confidence in Govt. -0.21 (0.19) **-0.59 (0.16) 0.19 (0.27)

Financial Satisfaction -0.31 (0.23) -0.02 (0.19) 0.19 (0.32)

Fighting Prices Important -0.16 (0.14) -0.03 (0.11) -0.36 (0.20)

Econ. Growth Important ***0.40 (0.12) 0.01 (0.10) *0.36 (0.15)

Stable Economy Important *0.23 (0.11) -0.01 (0.10) *0.35(0.14)

Income 0.31 (0.25) 0.28 (0.31) *-0.68 (0.30)

Secondary Educ. -0.04 (0.17) -0.11 (0.16) -0.11 (0.24)

High School Educ. 0.10 (0.15) 0.24 (0.13) -0.13 (0.19)

University Educ. ***0.66 (0.19) **0.42 (0.17) *0.53 (0.24)

Age 0.50 (0.28) 0.21 (0.26) 0.23 (0.36)

Gender (Women) -0.16 (0.11) **-0.23 (0.09) 0.14 (0.14)

Constant ***-1.37 (0.33) ***-1.67 (0.27) ***-2.38 (0.46)

N 1907 3401 1346

17


Table 5 (continued). Logistic regression results with multiple-imputed data. (10 imputations; robust standard errors in parentheses; *p<0.5, **p<0.01, ***p<0.001.)

Non-Democrats Lip-servicing Democrats

1997 2001 2007 1997 2001 2007

Political Culture

Confidence in Dem. Pol. Inst. ***-1.13 (0.39) **-0.72 (0.29) -1.19 (0.64) **0.94 (0.38) ***0.64 (0.19) -0.29 (0.35)

Less Obedience 0.21 (0.19) *-0.32 (0.14) -0.08 (0.24) 0.18 (0.18) -0.10 (0.10) 0.14 (0.15)

Political Attentiveness *-0.65 (0.33) 0.25 (0.25) 0.00 (0.41) **-0.79 (0.30) -0.27 (0.17) 0.39 (0.25)

Interpersonal Trust 0.07 (0.48) -0.29 (0.19) -0.25 (0.62) 0.10 (0.40) -0.12 (0.13) 0.29 (0.31)

Belief in Influence 0.07 (0.26) 0.11 (0.19) -0.26 (0.43) -0.46 (0.25) 0.14 (0.14) -0.27 (0.28)

Political Participation *-1.19 (0.54) **-0.86 (0.31) **-1.33 (0.52) -0.41 (0.43) *-0.53 (0.22) **-0.94(0.34)

Social Tolerance **-0.69 (0.26) **-0.44 (0.17) -0.56 (0.31) -0.22 (0.23) -0.13 (0.12) ***-0.70 (0.20)

Extreme Left -0.25 (0.38) -0.41 (0.28) 0.12 (0.42) 0.05 (0.37) 0.15 (0.19) 0.04 (0.30)

Moderate Left *-1.41 (0.59) -0.23 (0.27) -0.76 (0.51) *-1.07 (0.47) 0.17 (0.19) 0.12 (0.28)

Centre -0.23 (0.25) -0.24 (0.18) -0.23 (0.40) 0.00 (0.23) 0.15 (0.14) -0.03 (0.26)

Moderate Right *-0.59 (0.25) *-0.48 (0.21) -0.31 (0.33) -0.27 (0.24) -0.09 (0.15) -0.17 (0.22)

Control Variables

Religiosity 0.15 (0.37) 0.20 (0.26) 0.38 (0.44) -0.27 (0.33) ***0.53 (0.18) -0.20 (0.29)

Confidence in Govt. 0.27 (0.32) 0.35 (0.24) -0.52 (0.50) -0.04 (0.32) ***0.54 (0.17) 0.32 (0.29)

Financial Satisfaction 0.03 (0.44) -0.37 (0.30) *-1.12 (0.52) *0.71 (0.34) 0.18 (0.19) 0.52 (0.33)

Fighting Prices Important -0.02 (0.23) -0.12 (0.16) 0.21 (0.31) *0.39 (0.19) -0.03 (0.11) 0.23 (0.20)

Econ. Growth Important -0.22 (0.20) -0.25 (0.15) 0.00 (0.27) *-0.34 (0.18) *-0.22 (0.10) *-0.34 (0.16)

Stable Economy Important -0.21 (0.21) *-0.34 (0.15) -0.39 (0.24) -0.23 (0.18) -0.15 (0.10) -0.10 (0.15)

Income -0.20 (0.39) 0.56 (0.48) 0.12 (0.55) *-0.79 (0.36) -0.48 (0.36) -0.34 (0.36)

Secondary Educ. -0.26 (0.30) -0.17 (0.21) **0.87 (0.34) -0.17 (0.28) -0.02 (0.14) -0.06 (0.26)

High School Educ. **-0.77 (0.29) -0.13 (0.19) 0.38 (0.31) -0.07 (0.23) -0.24 (0.14) 0.04 (0.20)

University Educ. *-1.39 (0.63) -0.45 (0.28) 0.45 (0.45) *-0.97 (0.43) **-0.61 (0.23) -0.10 (0.309

Age *-1.32 (0.54) **-1.02 (0.39) -0.95 (0.62) -0.55 (0.44) -0.17 (0.27) -0.16 (0.35)

Gender (Women) -0.05 (0.19) -0.25 (0.14) -0.20 (0.22) -0.17 (0.18) 0.18 (0.10) *0.32 (0.15)

Constant -0.10 (0.54) -0.80 (0.39) -0.14 (0.69) -0.87 (0.48) ***-1.59 (0.27) -0.61 (0.45)

N 1907 3401 1346 1907 3401 1346

18


Table 5 (continued). Logistic regression results with multiple-imputed data. (10 imputations; robust standard errors in parentheses; *p<0.5, **p<0.01, ***p<0.001.)

Supporters of Unconstrained Democracy Supporters of Guarded Democracy

1997 2001 2007 1997 2001 2007

Political Culture

Confidence in Dem. Pol. Inst. -0.02 (0.27) -0.18 (0.16) ***1.35 (0.31) -0.07 (0.38) -0.22 (0.38) -0.44 (0.55)

Less Obedience -0.13 (0.139 0.07 (0.08) 0.09 (0.14) -0.13 (0.18) -0.30 (0.18) -0.09 (0.25)

Political Attentiveness 0.22 (0.229 0.15 (0.13) ***-0.66 (0.25) -0.42 (0.30) -0.70 (0.38) -0.60 (0.44)

Interpersonal Trust -0.01 (0.26) 0.05 (0.10) -0.26 (0.35) -0.03 (0.44) -0.25 (0.25) -0.39 (0.60)

Belief in Influence -0.05 (0.19) 0.05 (0.11) 0.38 (0.27) -0.21 (0.28) 0.09 (0.25) *-0.91 (0.43)

Political Participation -0.46 (0.279 -0.14 (0.17) 0.39 (0.25) -0.04 (0.46) -0.17 (0.43) 0.40 (0.45)

Social Tolerance 0.12 (0.17) **0.28 (0.10) 0.02 (0.18) -0.34 (0.23) -0.17 (0.23) 0.22 (0.31)

Extreme Left 0.45 (0.25) -0.09 (0.15) -0.04 (0.26) -0.28 (0.51) -0.47 (0.43) 0.40 (0.50)

Moderate Left 0.04 (0.24) -0.17 (0.15) 0.21 (0.27) 0.58 (0.35) *-0.91 (0.45) -0.43 (0.59)

Center 0.00 (0.19) -0.16 (0.11) 0.40 (0.25) 0.26 (0.29) -0.05 (0.26) -0.07 (0.43)

Moderate Right -0.06 (0.19) 0.06 (0.12) 0.11 (0.19) **0.66 (0.26) -0.22 (0.28) 0.08 (0.33)

Control Variables

Religiosity 0.25 (0.23) 0.03 (0.14) **-0.64 (0.26) 0.24 (0.35) *-0.77 (0.34) 0.79 (0.49)

Confidence in Govt. -0.19 (0.22) *-0.30 (0.13) -0.38 (0.27) 0.60 (0.34) *0.76 (0.32) 0.37 (0.47)

Financial Satisfaction 0.04 (0.26) -0.16 (0.15) -0.29 (0.32) -0.27 (0.42) *0.77 (0.37) 0.26 (0.58)

Fighting Prices Important -0.01 (0.17) 0.09 (0.09) 0.25 (0.20) -0.10 (0.23) -0.05 (0.21) -0.64 (0.40)

Econ. Growth Important 0.00 (0.13) ***0.29 (0.08) 0.07 (0.14) -0.30 (0.19) -0.27 (0.19) -0.37 (0.26)

Stable Economy Important 0.12 (0.13) ***0.24 (0.08) -0.12 (0.14) -0.34 (0.20) -0.16 (0.20) -0.12 (0.27)

Income 0.06 (0.29) -0.07 (0.26) ***1.09 (0.30) 0.29 (0.41) 0.30 (0.70) -0.92 (0.62)

Secondary Educ. *0.40 (0.20) 0.08 (0.13) 0.19 (0.23) -0.21 (0.28) 0.40 (0.26) **-1.91 (0.77)

High School Educ. **0.46 (0.17) 0.09 (0.11) 0.12 (0.19) -0.52 (0.28) -0.14 (0.28) -0.37 (0.29)

University Educ. 0.03 (0.23) 0.12 (0.15) -0.41 (0.27) *-1.03 (0.42) *-1.19 (0.58) -0.77 (0.49)

Age 0.02 (0.31) 0.14 (0.21) 0.44 (0.36) 0.33 (0.45) 0.45 (0.51) -0.84 (0.58)

Gender (Women) -0.09 (0.12) 0.09 (0.08) -0.22 (0.16) ***0.70 (0.19) -0.09 (0.19) -0.42 (0.27)

Constant ***-1.58 (0.40) ***-0.64 (0.21) ***-1.33 (0.45) ***-2.42 (0.53) ***-2.21 (0.52) -1.31(0.70)

N 1907 3401 1346 1907 3401 1346

Commitment to Democracy

As noted before, commitment to democracy is measured in this analysis as simultaneous support for democracy and rejection of non-democratic re-gimes (the army rule and the rule of a dictator-like

strong leader). The analyses reveal that the ‘active’ side of Almond and Verba’s ‘democratic citizen’ for-mulation characterizes committed democrats in Turkey. As expected, controlling for possible con-founders, commitment to democracy is more likely among politically attentive and participant individu-

19


als (according to 1997 and 2007 samples). According to the 2001 sample, those who do not value obedience, and trust other people are also likely to be committed democrats. Although the extent of generalizability is questionable for the last two items, the re-sults are in line with the expectations.

The unexpected part of the results re-lates to confidence in democratic political insti-tutions (parliament and political parties)—which corresponds to the ‘passive’ side of Almond and Verba’s democratic citizen conceptualization. Although a positive rela-tionship between confidence in democratic political institutions and pro-democratic at-titudes is expected, the logistic regression results show that this variable has no effect on the dependent variable in any sample. Even a step by step inclusion of the main and control variables into the model4 yields no relation between these two variables. Hence, it is possible to argue that by itself confidence in political institutions is not sufficient to produce pro-democratic orien-tations.

Variables relating to the perceptions about macro-economic conditions were in-cluded in the model with the assumption that confidence in democratic institutions might be affected by regime performance. They appear to have direct influence on re-gime orientations. Under good (at least non-crisis) economic conditions (1996/97 and 2007 samples), those who believe that ‘economic growth’ and/or ‘a stable economy’ is the most important aim of the country are more likely to be committed democrats. In 2001 however, when the country was hit by financial economic crisis, those concerned with the same macro-economic indicators tend to support unconstrained democracy. It seems that under the conditions of good (at

4 Not presented here due to space limits.

least non-crisis) economic circumstances, individuals associate economic stability and growth with (or expect it to be better provid-ed by) a democratic political environment. When the economic conditions change, however, they are ready to compromise on horizontal accountability in search for a unconstrained executive—a saviour. These findings support the empirical findings else-where that in times of economic crises sup-port for democracy declines.

Among other variables relating to po-litical culture, social tolerance towards out-groups is positively related to commitment to democracy to a statistically significant de-gree in both 1996 and 2007 analyses. Mod-erate ideological orientations (as opposed to extreme right-wing), however, are positively related to democratic commitment only in the 2001 sample.

The other control variable, religiosity, also deserves some attention. While some scholars argue that pro-democratic orienta-tions will be higher among individuals who are less religious, the results indicate that religiosity is negatively related to the de-pendent variable only in 2001. We observe no statistically significant relationship be-tween these two variables in the other sam-ples. Still, it should be noted that when the 1996-97 and 2007 surveys were conducted pro-Islamic Welfare Party (RP)—as the sen-ior partner of a coalition government with the centre-right True Path Party—and the conservative (Muslim) democrat Justice and Development Party (AKP) were in power, respectively. While this may raise the ques-tion of conditionality that limits the gener-alizability of the findings, at the same time, it signals that, at least among religious in-dividuals, pro-democratic attitudes can be crafted by a direct experience with political power/office.

Finally, university-level education emerges

20


as a strong indicator of commitment to de-mocracy in all samples.

Non-democrats

In the context of the present study, non-democrats are those who believe that de-mocracy is a bad way of governing the coun-try. The nature and determinants of being a non-democrat are like a mirror image of those of committed democrats. Accordingly, those who have less confidence in institutions of democracy (parliament and political par-ties), who are less participant and not tolerant toward out-groups are more likely to be non-democrats. These findings confirm that non-democrats are not just those individuals who reject democracy as an abstract concept—in a reactive way; they, in fact, do not adhere to the cultural and attitudinal aspects of de-mocracy, either. Additionally, individuals in this category are more likely to belong to the younger segments of the society.

An important finding surfaces when this category is compared to other catego-ries with non-democratic tendencies with respect to confidence in institutions of democracy. Since only non-democrats are characterized by lower levels of confidence in those institutions, it is possible to argue that confidence in democratic political insti-tutions is a necessary condition for not being a non-democrat.

Lip-servicing ‘Democrats’

Lip-servicing democrats are those indi-viduals who support democracy, but at the same time endorse the army rule and the rule of a strong leader. In that regard, we might think that they are disguised non-demo-crats. However, a very important character-istic differentiates lip-servicing democrats from non-democrats: greater confidence in democratic political institutions (1997, 2001).

Individuals in this category are also more likely to be female (2001, 2007), less well educated (non-university) (1997, 2001), less participant (2001, 2007), not concerned about macro-economic conditions (econom-ic growth), and financially satisfied (in 1997, and at .10 level in 2007).

This profile suggests that lip-servicing democrats, being content with their finan-cial situation, little interest in and willing-ness to get involved in public affairs, and greater confidence in political institutions correspond to the ‘subject’ category in Al-mond and Verba’s typology—an individual ‘who expects to obey the dictates of those in power’ (1963, 17-20).

Supporters of Unconstrained and Guarded Democracy

The model tested in this study is based on nomothetic hypotheses. However, it turns out to be very weak in accounting for the variation in support for unconstrained and guarded democracy variables. It is prob-ably because there are conditionalities re-sulting from the nature of Turkish case and the systemic factors that are not accounted for in the model. Still, some of the results deserve attention.

Supporters of unconstrained democracy are those individuals who, while supporting democracy and rejecting the army rule, en-dorse the rule of an unchecked executive/leader. The results reveal that this catego-ry is closely linked with macro-economic concerns under economic crisis conditions. However, no consistent pattern of cultural values and attitudes is observed. It is very likely that under different political and eco-nomic settings different segments of the soci-ety desire a dictator-like strong leader. Un-der the coalition government and economic crisis environment of 2001, for example,

21


those individuals who are not content with the government and who believe that ‘eco-nomic growth’ and/or ‘a stable economy’ is the most important aim of the country tend to support unconstrained democ-racy—obliviously in search for a saviour. Under the stable economic and political conditions of the single-party government of the conservative (Muslim) JDP, however, individuals who are wealthy, less religious, politically less attentive, but who trust po-litical institutions support unconstrained democracy.

Supporters of guarded democracy are those individuals who, while supporting democracy and rejecting the rule of a dic-tator-like strong leader, purport that “the army rule is a good way of governing the country”. It is generally argued that trust in and respect for the military is an intrin-sic characteristic of the Turkish population due to the role the army played in estab-lishing the Turkish Republic, and that the

military is regarded by the Turkish public as the guardian of the Republic (Altinay 2004). Descriptive statistics in fact indicate that pro-army orientation is not a contextual but an inherent character of a segment of the Turkish population. For as can be seen in Table 6, regardless of the political or eco-nomic context or survey sample, on average 26 percent of the Turkish population (with only 1.8 standard deviation) welcome the army rule. When it comes to the nature and determinants of this orientation, however, the model, which is based on nomothetic hypotheses, is not sufficient to account for it in a generalizable pattern, except less well education (non-university). Lack of a con-sistent pattern to define the nature of sup-porters of guarded democracy—taken to-gether with the context-free support for the army—suggests that pro-army orientation is not related to lack of democratic values and attitudes, but an orientation shaped by some conditionalities attached with Turk-ish case as noted above.

1 WVS: Having a democratic political system is a very/fairly good way of governing this country. 2 WVS: Having the army rule is a very/fairly good way of governing this country. Çarkoğlu & Toprak (2007) Turkey’s problems can be solved not by elected governments but a military regime.KONDA: Under certain conditions not the elected politicians but the army should solve the country’s problems.3 WVS: Having a a strong leader who does not have to bother with parliament and elections is a very/fairly good way of governing this country. KONDA: More authority or a dictator is necessary.

Table 6. Regime Orientations in Turkey. Comparison of various survey results (percent) between 1996-2008.

WWS EVS WWS Çarkoğlu & Toprak WWS KONDA EVS Toplam

1996 1999/2000 2001 2006 2007 2007 2008 1990/

2008

(1,907) (1,206) (3,401) (1492) (1,346) (2,384) (10,244)

DEMOCRATIC SYST.1 85 82 85 83 74 82

THE ARMY RULE2 24 23 27 26 27 23 26 26STRONG LEADER/DICTATOR3 34 59 66 48 44 51 53

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Conclusion

This paper is built on a puzzling observa-tion that a sizable proportion of the popula-tion in some countries, while displaying sup-port for democracy as the preferred form of government, at the same time endorses in-herently non-democratic political regimes—specifically, the army rule or the rule of an unchecked executive. Turkey, as one of such countries, is the focus of the present study.

The study is divided into two parts. I the first part, I have engaged in an attempt to a re-conceptualize individual-level regime ori-entations. Different from previous studies analyzing determinants of individual regime orientations on a continuous scale of low-high support for democracy, I have created a typology to reflect simultaneous support for incongruent regimes, along with commit-ment to and rejection of democracy. The (re)conceptualization is based on the method of diminished sub-types. L. Diamond’s defini-tion of liberal democracy, which underlines vertical and horizontal accountability of office holders, in addition to requirements of electoral democracy, is used as the root concept. Overall five categories have been generated: Committed democrats, support-ers of unconstrained democracy, supporters of guarded democracy, lip-servicing ‘demo-crats’ and non-democrats depending on the missing attribute—vertical or horizontal ac-countability.

Against this background of Turkey’s un-consolidated democracy, where only 28 per-cent of the population can be categorized as committed democrats, my aim in the present paper has been to understand the factors that differentiate the nature of com-mitted democrats, supporters of diminished subtypes of democracy, and non-democrats. In that regard, I have built a model relying to a great extent on the traits emphasized by

Almond and Verba’s conceptualization of tha democratic citizen, who, they claim, must be active, yet passive; involved, yet not too in-volved. The model also comprises two other variables argued to characterize democratic citizen: tolerance toward out-groups and moderate ideological orientations. As pos-sible confounders the variables relating to religiosity and perception of economic and political performance of the government and also socio-economic status variables are also included in the model. Five catego-ries of regime orientations were run on this model by using logistic regression analysis. The data come from the World Values Sur-vey conducted in Turkey during 1996-1997, 2001 and 2007.

The analyses reveal that committed demo-crats in Turkey adhere to the ‘active’ side of Almond and Verba’s ‘democratic citizen’ formulation—as they are politically atten-tive and participant, do not value obedience, and trust other people. Confidence in demo-cratic political institutions (parliament and political parties), which I used to reflect the ‘passive’ side of democratic citizen (in ac-cordance with Almond and Verba’s concep-tualization) is an attitudes that deserves particular attention. On the one hand, it is not related to being a committed democrat to a statistically significant degree. On the other hand, while non-democrats are charac-terized by lower levels of confidence in polit-ical parties and the parliament, individuals in the ‘lip-servicing democrat’ display great-er confidence in the same institutions. It is possible to argue, then, that confidence in institutions of democracy (parliament and political parties) is a necessary condition for not being a non-democrat. On its own, how-ever, it is not sufficient to produces a pro-democratic orientation. Interaction models are needed to asses which other values and/or attitudes must accompany confidence in political institutions to generate pro-demo-

23


cratic attitudes.

Non-democrats are characterized by absence of the main attitudinal traits that define committed democrats: they are po-litically less participants, not tolerant to-ward out-groups, and as noted above, have less confidence in institutions of democ-racy (parliament and political parties). Lip-servicing ‘democrats’ also display the same characteristics as non-democrats, except that they have greater confidence in parlia-ment and political parties. The results sug-gest that individuals in this category adhere to the ‘subject’ political culture as defined by Almond and Verba.

In evaluating support for unconstrained democracy, systemic conditionalities should be taken into consideration. The results re-veal that this category is closely linked with macro-economic concerns under economic crisis conditions—which confirms previous findings that democratic support is brittle under economic crisis. At the same time, it point out to the unconsolidated nature of democracy in Turkey—if seen from a maxi-malist perspective.

Lack of a consistent pattern to define the nature of supporters of guarded de-mocracy—taken together with the steady support for the army by around 26 percent of the population regardless of the politi-cal and economic context—suggests that pro-army orientation is not related to lack of democratic values and attitudes, but an orientation shaped by some conditionalities attached with Turkish case—such as the role the army played in establishing the Turkish Republic, the sacredness attributed to the military duty, or the perception that the army is the guardian of the secular Republic.

Overall, the results indicate that the nomothetic hypotheses concerning the na-ture of the democratic citizen (hence of the

non-democrat) are to a great extent sup-ported by the Turkish case. In a similar way, Almond and Verba’s subject political culture category also finds embodiment in what I call lip-servicing democrats. The nature and determinants of support for hybrid regimes, however, seem to be context bound. Further comparative studies focusing on both indi-vidual-level within-case variation and also cross-country systemic factors are needed to account for those contextual factors.

APPENDIX

Measurement of the Independent Variables

All variable are coded on ‘0-1’ scale. Higher values indicate the direction implied by the title of each variable.

Political Culture Variables

Confidence in Political Actors and Institutions: Has a great deal/quite a lot/not very much/none at all in Parlia-ment (E069_07), in the Political Parties (E069_12); Cronbach’s Alpha= .70, .74, .70. Order reversed

Political Attentiveness: Politics is very/rather/not very/not at all important (A004) in his/her life: Very/somewhat/not very/not at all interested in politics (E023); Cron-bach’s Alpha= .70, .72, .75. Order reversed.

Less Obedience: Did not mention ‘obedi-ence’ as an important quality that children can be encouraged to learn at home— 68%, 62%, 55% (A042)

Trust in their fellow citizens / inter-personal trust: Says that most people can be trusted—5.5%, 19%, 12.2%, 5% (A165).

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Feeling of Efficacy (Control over events): The extent of feeling of free choice and control over one’s life. On 10-1 scale, 10: a great deal, 1: none at all (A173).

Participatory orientations: Have done/Might do/Would never sign a petition (E025), join in boycotts (E026), attend law-ful/peaceful demonstrations (E027); Cron-bach’s Alpha= .82, .84, .89. Order reversed.

Social Tolerance: Did not mention the following groups as unwanted (undesir-able) neighbours: people of a different race (A124_02; 1996, 2001, 2007), people of a different religion (A124_12; 2001, 2007); Christians (A124_24; 1996). Cronbach’s Al-pha= .77, .76,

Positioning on the ideological spec-trum: E033: 1-2: Extreme Left (10.1%), 3-4: Moderate Left (11.6%); 5: Centre (27.7%), 6-8: Moderate Right (25.4%), 9-10: Extreme Right (17.7%).

Control Variables

Religiosity: Religion is very/rather/not very/not at all important in his/her life (A006); Mentioned ‘religious faith’ as an im-portant quality that children can be encour-aged to learn at home (A040); Cronbach’s Alpha= .52, .48,

Confidence in the Government: Has a great deal/quite a lot/not very much/none at all confidence in the Government (E069_11).

Financial satisfaction: Satisfied with the financial situation of her/his household (C006).

Inflation: Says “Fighting rising prices” is most important (18%, 28%, 16%), (as op-posed to “Maintaining order in the nation; Give people more say; Protecting freedom of

speech—E003).

Economic Stability: Says “A stable econo-my” is most important (43%, 41%, 55%) (as opposed to “Progress toward a less imper-sonal and more humane society; Ideas count more than money; The fight against crime E005).

Economic Growth: Says “A high level of economic growth” is most important (61%, 64%, 62%) (as opposed to “Strong defense forces; People have more say about how things are done; Trying to make our cities and countryside more beautiful— E001)

Level of Education: Highest educational level attained (X025): 1-2: Primary Educa-tion (48%), 3-4: Secondary Education (12%); 5-6: High School (24%), 7-8: University Ed-ucation (15%).

Income (x047), Age (x003), Gender (x001)

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Özgüç Orhan Fatih University, [email protected]

The Paradox of Turkish Secularism

Abstract

This article argues that Turkish secularism known as laiklik presents a paradox due to several practices that contradicts the principle of separation of religion and state. Turkish secularism has been implemented as the state control of religion, and, therefore, has resulted effectively in a pecu-liar blend of state and religion. Much of the secular paradox of Turkey is explainable by the state control of religion. However, this factor alone does not account for the full nature of the paradox. Laiklik must be framed within the context of a larger project, namely, the construction of Turkish national identity to be made sense of. This article maintains that the paradox of Turkish secular-ism can be better understood if it is viewed as an outcome of this historical process.

Keywords

Secularism, Laicism, Kemalism, National Identity, Religion, Islam.

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Introduction

The issue of laiklik (laicism) or secularism is often taken to be the key to the under-standing of Turkish politics (Jung 2008).1 Until recently the image of Turkey as a sec-ular state since its foundation in 1923 was almost uncontested and firmly established at both academic and popular levels. Turk-ish politics, both domestic and foreign, has often been interpreted in light of this long-standing secular image. It is common-ly held that the Turkish Republic diverged from the rest of the Islamic world and as-sumed a Western identity due to its secular character. References to Turkey as a “secular state” in the academic literature are legion.2 The received view is that with the disestab-lishment of Islam in the foundational years of the Republic Turkey became “legally and constitutionally, a lay state, secular and modern in her constitution, her laws, and her aspirations” (Lewis 1968, 276).

Domestic politics has usually been inter-preted through this lens as well. The politi-cal panorama of the last decade is typically framed as a struggle between the “Islamist” and the “secularist” (laik) segments of Turk-ish society over its secular identity. Only three years ago, the NY Times columnist Thomas Friedman, for instance, observed that there was an on-going internal strug-gle “between those who would like to see Turkey more aligned with the Islamic world and values and those who want it to remain

1 I use the terms “Turkish secularism” and “laiklik” interchangeably without necessarily assuming their conceptual identity; see Davison (2008) for his argument that “secularism” and “laicism” are concep-tually different.

2 For the academic literature characterizing

Turkey unequivocally as a secular state, see Davison

(1998, 182-83).

more secular, Western and pluralistic.”3 The dualist reading of the developments of the last two decades of Turkish politics, as Friedman does, presupposes that Turkey is unequivocally a secular state. This narrative only shows that Turkish secularism, laiklik, which is the central tenet of Turkey’s official ideology, is still not sufficiently understood.

This received view of Turkish secularism has increasingly come under scrutiny within the last decade. As one scholar puts it, the classic Western image of Turkey as a secular state has long been “a comforting but unex-amined myth” (Fuller 2004, 51). The task of this article is to contribute to the question-ing of this “myth,” and shed further light on the peculiar model of Turkish secularism known as laiklik. I shall do so by approaching the issue through its paradoxical aspects. Some scholars of Turkish and Middle East politics have often identified a paradox or a series of contradiction(s) concerning the Turkish system of laiklik. Various scholars understand the lack of complete separa-tion of state and Islam in Turkish political system as a “contradiction,” which is due to the regime’s goal to “control and manipulate the role of Islam in public policy and poli-tics” (An-Na’im 2008, 219). This control is necessarily paradoxical because it cannot be achieved “without violating human rights.” The Turkish model of secularism, defended and legitimized by its proponents as an in-dispensable prerequisite of democracy and civilization, “necessarily undermines consti-tutionalism and human rights in the name of upholding these principles” (ibid.).

The questioning of Turkish secularism is not merely of academic interest as the official discourse of laiklik has played a Fou-

3 Thomas L. Friedman, “Letter From Istan-

bul, Part 2,” New York Times, June 19, 2010.

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caldian disciplinary role in Turkish politics. It has been systematically used to de-legit-imize and criminalize actors, practices, and institutions of Turkish politics that do not fit into the official discourse. These illiberal policies have all been followed in the name of safeguarding Turkish secularism and democracy from irtica (religious reaction), which is portrayed from within this discur-sive frame as the principal threat to Turkish democracy and modernity (E. Aydın 2007; Bilgin 2008; Cizre and Çınar 2003).4 This article argues that the paradoxical nature of laiklik can be better understood if consid-ered in relation to the question of Turkish national identity (Göle 2010, 44-6; Yavuz 2009, 26-7; Haynes 2010). The peculiarities of laiklik or its contradictions can be made sense of by the exigencies of this “identity” problem. The first section of the article dis-cusses the nature and extent of what I call “the paradox of Turkish secularism.” The second section examines the Kemalist roots of this paradox, and the third section looks at the Diyanet institution as the keystone of this paradox. The last section maintains that the question of national identity must be taken into account to account for the par-adox of Turkish secularism.

The Secular Paradox of Turkey

Turkey’s secular identity has come under increasing scrutiny in recent years. Astute observers of Turkish politics have pointed out the peculiar character of Turkish model of secularism. Seyla Benhabib, for instance, points out that certain state policies and

4 The 1960 coup and the most recent 1997 military intervention were justified on this basis; see, for instance, Stephen Kinzer, “In Defense of Secular-ism, Turkish Army Warns Rulers,” New York Times, 2 March, 1997.

practices in Turkey conflict with secularism understood as the separation of religion and state. In particular, the state role in the edu-cation and employment of Muslim religious officials as well as the informal restrictions on non-Muslim Turkish citizens barring them from governmental posts stand out (2009, 25-8). These and many other similar controversial practices indicate a consid-erable level of governmental involvement in religious affairs. The Religion and State (RAS) Project Dataset measures the extent of this involvement (for the year 2002) with a score of 47.21 out of 100 (Fox 2008, 219). This is quite a high score for a state known as secular. To put it into perspective, the scores of Western European countries such as the US, the UK, Germany, and France are 0.00, 27.67, 19.88, and 22.92, respectively. Turkey’s score is even higher than that of Greece, 33.31, which is the highest score among Western/European democracies, and this is primarily because of the recognition of Orthodox Christianity as official religion (ibid., 108).

Extensive governmental involvement in religious affairs clearly put Turkish secular-ism at odds with the so-called Anglo-Amer-ican model of “secularism” based on the principle of separation of religion and state. This principle, best epitomized in the First Amendment of the American Constitution (“Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof . . .”), embodies three components: (1) freedom of religion, (2) state impartiality toward different religions, and (3) state neutrality toward the question of (ir)religion (Audi 2000). The former part (the “Non-establishment Clause”) of the First Amendment meets the second and ar-guably the third requirement, while the lat-ter clause (the “Free Exercise Clause”) aims at the protection of the freedom of religion.

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The compliance of Turkish secularism with any of these three fundamental re-quirements is a mixed bag. Numerous irreg-ularities have occurred in the past and still do occur with respect to religious freedom and state neutrality. When these irregulari-ties are viewed altogether, we encounter a paradoxical situation. We find, on the one hand, certain restrictions on both minority religions (such as the missionary activities of Christians or the denial of official status to the Alevite “cem evi” as a house of wor-ship) and the majority religion Sunni Islam, and, on the other hand, certain practices and decisions that can easily be interpreted as state favoritism toward Sunni Islam.

The contradictions of Turkish secularism in this regard are so conspicuous that some scholars have actually raised doubts about the “secular” character of the Turkish state: “it is unclear if such countries should be called secular” (Keddie 2005, 2194). Anoth-er scholar even goes further to declare that what Turkey never had “genuine secularism” (Fuller 2004, 52). Even Binnaz Toprak char-acterized the Turkish regime in her seminal work as “semi-secular” (Toprak 1981, 47).5

How can we explain the peculiar brand of Turkish secularism, which conflicts with the separation doctrine so much so that for some scholars it does not even exist? The contradiction in a paradoxical situation can be resolved by a plausible explanation. Re-cent scholarship on secularism emphasizes that there is no single model of secularism in the world but rather different patterns or versions of secularism that have emerged under specific historical circumstances to regulate the relationship between religion and state. Scholars who take this relativist

5 See also Murat Belge, “2010 sonunda din

ve laiklik,” [Religion and secularism at the end of

2010], Taraf, 14 November 2010.

or pluralist approach classify states accord-ing to their varying degrees of state and reli-gion dynamics.

Such comparisons typically come down to two main types of secularism: the French laicisim and the Anglo-American secular-ism.6 Turkish laiklik comes out in these comparisons as quite similar to the former and dissimilar to the latter (Kosmin 2007, 3).7 But laiklik actually goes even beyond French laicism in its more extensive involve-ment in religious affairs (Parla and Davison 2004, 118; Stepan 2000, 51-2). Whereas the French laïcité is faithful to the principle of separation, laiklik in Turkey is implemented as the state control of religion and gives rise to a peculiar blend of state and religion. Hence, laiklik is characterized as “a lim-ited, inconsistent, and ambivalent form of [French] laicism” (Davison 2003, 333, 339).

The empirical multiplicity of secular-ist models is often used in explaining the secular paradox in Turkey. It is emphasized that laiklik is comparable to or modeled after the French tradition of laicism due to their common anti-clerical stance toward religion (Kuru 2006; 2007). But such explanations do not discuss the responsible factors behind its persistence in later periods of the republic. Kuru, for instance, explains the emergence of Turkish secularism as resulting from the ideological struggle between Kemalists and

6 Recent scholarship has also drawn attention to the variations in Western secularism. Variations in the implementation of the separation of religion and state can result in different models of sec-ularism. An absolute separation of religion and state is hardly the case anywhere in the world (Madeley & Enyedi 2003; Bader 2007, 49-62; Fox 2008; Jakobsen and Pellegrini, 2008; Monsma & Soper 2009).

7 As we shall see later, a version of this “rela-tivist” argument is defended by Kemalist intellectuals, who argue that the distinctive model of Turkish secu-larism had been necessitated by the unique historical conditions of Turkey.

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Islamists during the state-building period of the Turkish Republic (from 1923 to 1937), which concluded with the former group’s victory (2007, 589).8 Even though this may be a plausible account of the origins of Turk-ish secularism, an adequate account of Turk-ish secularism must go beyond its ideologi-cal and historical origins and shed light also on its later history. For it is not obvious that the paradoxical aspects of Turkish secular-ism were all determined by the ideological struggle in the early years of the republic. True, ideological struggle continued even after the initial Kemalist “victory” but the outcomes of this ideological struggle in later decades of the republic were by no means decided solely by the agency of the Kemalist actors.

A sound understanding of Turkish secu-larism needs to consider its contextual fac-tors during the formative years of the repub-lic as well as those that are responsible for its later trajectory. The original conditions of laiklik are not the only relevant factors behind the secular paradox. As students of “historical institutionalism” point out, new functions or reasons can be invented for so-cial and political institutions or practices as contextual circumstances change: “changes in the socioeconomic context or political balance of power can produce a situation in which old institutions are put in the service of different ends, as new actors come into play who pursue their (new) goals though existing institutions” (Thelen and Steinmo 1992, 16).9 Even if the initial ideological

8 Kuru contrasts the “assertive” type of Turkish secularism with the more “passive” secularism of the American model. “Assertive secularism” is iden-tified through its hostility to the presence of religion in the public sphere and “passive secularism” through its main concern with “state neutrality toward various religions” (2007, 571).

9 For a brief overview of this compara-tive-historical approach, see Steinmo (2008).

struggle may have been won by the Kemalist cadre, as Kuru asserts, the institutions and practices that they instituted have not been deployed simply for the project of moderni-zation. The turn of events in later decades (from the 1950s to the present) is to be ex-pected as “institutional outcomes need not reflect the goals of any particular group; they may be the unintended outcome of con-flict among groups or the result of ‘ambigu-ous compromises’ among actors who can co-ordinate on institutional means even if they differ on substantive goals” (Mahoney and Thelen 2009, 8). The argument of this article is that such an “ambiguous compromise” has indeed developed with respect to the insti-tutions and practices of Turkish secularism.

The paradox of Turkish secularism is multi-faceted. First, Turkish secularism con-tradicts the separation principle of Western secularism due to various practices that re-quire state involvement in the conduct of re-ligious affairs. Most scholars (except the die-hard Kemalists) would concede this much. The second dimension of the paradox, which is primarily the courtesy of the Kemalist narrative, is determined by the voluntaristic claim that Turkey has a unique homegrown brand of secularism, namely, laiklik. Those who firmly believe in the uniqueness of Tur-key’s model of secularism deny the allega-tion of contradiction, asserting that the so-called “contradictions” are either transient or tolerable but more importantly are neces-sary aberrations from the separation norm. These two dimensions shall be elaborated in the next two sections.

Finally, the third dimension of the par-adox is owing to a series of historical con-junctures that have influenced the making of Turkish national identity (Azak 2010, 66-7, 155). As mentioned earlier, there is the Kemalist/republican project of nation-state in the first few decades of the republic.

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A crucial turning point was the deployment of this project against the leftist threat in the Cold War era during which it acquired overtones of religious nationalism. By “reli-gious nationalism,” I mean the blending of ethnic (Turkish) and religious (Sunni Islam) sentiments giving rise to a distinct sense of “Turkishness,” as well as the develop-ment of Turkish citizenship in relation to this religio-national identity. As we shall see later, religio-nationalist themes in Turkish political discourse have been at work even in the early republican era but they became increasingly influential during the Cold War era and made its public debut only in the 1980s after the 1980 military coup under the name of “Turk-Islam Synthesis” with the consent of the Turkish state and army (at least until the early 1990s).10 I shall discuss this dimension in the last section.

The Kemalist Origins of the Paradox

An example to this strategy from recent history is the mass demonstrations staged against the nomination of Abdullah Gul to the office of the President of the Republic in 2007, which were portrayed in the inter-national media as public protests defending secularism and sparked by the rising Isla-mist threat, that is, the ruling Justice and Development Party (hereafter JDP) govern-ment.11 A casual outside observer exposed to this coverage would be led to sympathize with the protesters believing that the ero-

10 Turkish nationalism is not unique in this respect as the blend of religion and nationalism can be seen in most countries and ideologies where eth-no-nationalism prevails. See Hastings (1997), Safran (2003), and Barker (2009) on the role of religion in the construction of nationhood.

11 See the BBC coverage of the street demon-strations in 2007: “Secular rally targets Turkish PM,” BBC News, April 14, 2007; “Turks step up pro-secular protest,” BBC News, May 5, 2007.

sion of Western-style secularism is at stake. However, Western type of secularism is more consistently defended by center-right politi-cal actors in Turkish politics (Kuru 2006; see also Cizre 2008). The Kemalist intellectuals on the other hand de-legitimize the sup-port of Western-style secularism in Turkey by arguing that it is merely a disguised Is-lamism, a ploy of religious reactionaries to continue their activities in freedom (Berkes 1964, 479-80). In accordance with this log-ic, the Chief Prosecutor’s indictment, in the 2008 Constitutional Court lawsuit brought against JDP, refers to the public statements of its leading party members in support of Western secularism as an evidence of the party’s anti-laik stance.12

Despite the ambiguities in the Kemalist defense of laiklik, it is not completely amiss to interpret Turkish laiklik as different from the separationist type of secularism. Laik-lik was indeed intended to serve different purposes. The primary Kemalist goal was not the securing of religious freedom but to achieve state’s independence from Islam (but not vice versa) for the sake of moderni-zation and secularization. In the republican parlance this goal was expressed as attain-ing the contemporary level of civilization (Jäschke [1951] 1972, 19-37). For Kemalists then and now, religion must be subordinat-ed to state to reach this goal (L. Köker 1990, 166-69; Toprak 1981, 2).

Modernization was practiced in the early republican era as the adoption of Western culture and civilization in toto for which the cultural grip of Islam on society had to be broken (Toprak 1981, 38-40; see also Lan-dau 1984; Zürcher 2004, 186-95; L. Köker 1990, 161-66). As Shaw notes, the Turkish

12 See the Turkish Constitutional Court Decision, Case Number: 2008/1, Resolution Number: 2008/2, Date of Ruling: July 30, 2008.

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model of secularism “involved not just sep-aration of the state from the institutions of Islam but also liberation of the individual mind from the restraints imposed by the traditional Islamic concepts and practices, and modernization of all aspects of state and society that had been molded by Islamic traditions and ways” (1977, 384). The Ke-malist justification of this project is built on a narrative of enlightenment: “The Turkish intelligentsia led by Atatürk sought secular-ism as a modernizing principle as well as a progressive idea covering not only the polit-ical and governmental life but a whole social and cultural milieu which was, in its very nature, dominated by superstitions, dogmas and ignorance” (Daver 1988, 29).

To modernize and secularize the society, a series of reforms were enacted in the state structure, law, culture, social life, and ad-ministration using authoritarian means (see T. Köker 2010). Among others, we can men-tion the abolition of the Caliphate (1924), the Unification of Education (1924), and the adoption of a number of western practices (the Latin alphabet, the Gregorian calendar, dress code, civil law). Toprak identifies four aspects of the Kemalist project of seculariza-tion (symbolic, institutional, functional, and legal) and points out that all of them were “designed to minimize the role of Islam in institutional and cultural life” (1981, 40).

This top-down approach to social and cultur-al change has been characterized by schol-ars as “secularization from above” (Delibaş 2006; Ergil 1975; Pace 1998).

The main obstacle to modernization was perceived as religion (i.e., Islam) and/or tra-dition: “The Kemalist attack on Islam basically stemmed from an understanding that reli-gion had played a conservative role in the sociopolitical structure of the Ottoman Em-pire, conservatism being defined by the Ke-malist elite as anti-Westernization” (Toprak

1981, 38). The Kemalist suspicion or fear of Islam stemmed from their acceptance of the interpretation of Islam as inherently a po-litical religion (Toprak 1981, 39). According to this view, Islam is politically “dangerous” (i.e., if Islam is left alone it will invade the public sphere) and needs constant super-vision so as not to undermine laiklik or the revolutionary project of modernization.

Hence, the official understanding of the laiklik principle of the constitution is ada-mant that the living of Islam in Turkey must be kept strictly as a private affair, which is made clear in a decisive Constitutional Court ruling from 1971: (1) Religion should neither influence nor dominate the state af-fairs; (2) With respect to the part of the re-ligious faith pertaining to the spiritual life of the individuals, religions are protected by constitutional guarantees giving them un-limited freedom without any discrimination; (3) With respect to the part of the religious faith pertaining to the actions and behavior of the individual affecting social life beyond the spiritual life, restrictions can be made to protect public order, security, and interest; and the abuse and exploitation of religion is prohibited; (4) As the guardian of public order and rights, the state has supervisory authority over religious rights and liber-ties.13 This official interpretation of laiklik has resurfaced in Turkish politics on numer-ous occasions, prominently in the lawsuits brought against the ruling parties Welfare Party in 1997 and the Justice Development Party in 2008 with the allegation that their activities violated the constitutional princi-ple of laiklik (Hale and Özbudun 2010, 22; S. Yıldırım 2010).

13 Turkish Constitutional Court Decision, Case Number: 1970/53, Resolution Number: 1971/76, Date of Ruling: October 21, 1971.

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The State Control of Religion

There are only a handful of officially “secular” states in the world one of which is Turkey (Safran 2003, 4). Interestingly, the official stamp of secularity in Article 2 of the current 1982 constitution did not exist in the early years of the republic. The 1924 con-stitution stated instead that “the religion of the Turkish State is Islam.” This clause of Article 2 was excised with an amendment in 1928, and a further amendment of the same article in 1937 proclaimed “laiklik” as one of the six principles of the Turkish Republic, all of which were adapted from the party pro-gram of the Republican People’s Party (RPP hereafter) (Weiker 1973, 219-57). The later 1961 and 1982 constitutions preserved this laiklik principle.

The 1928 and 1937 constitutional amendments were reinforced by the afore-mentioned secularizing reforms in social and political life. As the republican cadres believed that modernization and secular-ization could only be achieved by a policy of “control” towards Islam rather than its complete institutional separation from the state, they needed instruments of control. Of strategic importance was the Presidency of Religious Affairs (Diyanet İşleri Başkan-lığı; hereafter Diyanet) founded in 1924 as an agency of public service attached to the office of the Prime Minister for the explicit purpose of coordinating and regulating the religious needs of the citizens (Berkes 1964, 484-85; Jäschke [1951] 1972, 57-68). The official mission of Diyanet is stated in its law as follows: to “execute matters related to Islam’s beliefs, prayers and morals, educate society about religion and administer prayer locations” (Karaman 2008, 285).

The implicit and perhaps more import-ant mission of Diyanet, however, was to pro-mote secularization by propagating modern

values regarding social issues, to struggle against the “backward” or “reactionary” ten-dencies in society, and thereby to secure the secular character of the state. Diyanet’s in-formal role in this sense is “to educate and socialize new ‘Turks’ according to the needs of the Republic” (Yavuz 2003, 49-50). To this purpose, it has effectively functioned as an agent of control especially vis-à-vis the Sunni Islam (Gözaydın 2009, 216-17; Kara 2008, 98; Tank 2005).14 The hope of the Ke-malist republican cadre was that “reaction-ary” Islam would wither away if people were exposed to true Islam, a religion without hurafe (superstition) (see Öncü 2006). Iron-ically, the Kemalist project of secularization has resulted in the recognition of a semi-of-ficial religion in an avowedly secular state (Yılmaz 2005, 386-90).

The intent of control is evident not only in the establishment of Diyanet, but also in the opening of state schools to train re-ligious officials in 1940s, a policy which was initially adopted by the RPP government in the late 1940s and embraced and expand-ed by the subsequent center-right govern-ments (Reed 1955; Çakır, et al. 2004). Due to its political usefulness, Diyanet has been vulnerable to politicization either by the state elites or the competing groups in soci-ety (Gözaydın 2009, 221-24). The Kemalist motive in maintaining the policy of control was to propagate the true interpretation of Islam and counteract the rival religious groups. The state employment of imams (re-ligious leaders) as civil servants would be in-strumental in this battle for the hearts and minds of people. Later developments in do-mestic and international politics would en-

14 For the controversy over Diyanet, see Çakır and Bozan, “Sivil, Şeffaf ve Demokratik,” 106-119; and the special issue of The Muslim World Vol. 98.2/3 (2008) on the Presidency of Religious Affairs, and especially İştar Gözaydın’s piece “Diyanet and Politics” in this volume.

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hance and transform this “ideological” mis-sion. The increasing emphasis on preserving the national and spiritual values of the na-tion, which combines the motifs of Turkish nationalism and Islam, must be viewed in terms of the ideological services demanded by the varying political aspirations and con-junctures (Landman 1997, 223-24).

The ideological role of Diyanet has been most obvious in its contribution to ques-tionable attitudes and policies toward the Alevis that range from clear hostility to condescending misunderstanding (Bozkurt 1998; Hamrin-Dahl 2006; Massicard 2006; Özdalga 2008). The resentment felt toward such discriminatory attitudes and practices as well as the compulsory religion courses in secondary education brought by the 1982 Constitution underlies the Alevi criticism of Diyanet and staunch defense of laiklik (Ko-can and Öncü 2004, 476-79).15 On the other hand, the Alevi stance on laiklik and Diyanet is not without paradox. Most Alevi groups in Turkey are impassioned supporters of laiklik and Kemalism at the same time. The following statement issued against the JDP government is typical of Alevis’ position on laiklik: “Laiklik, which means the separa-tion of religion and state as well as the state neutrality to faiths and the communities of faith, and is the foundation of the Turkish Republic, will not be opened to debate in the execution of state policies.”16 Leaving aside the ignorance of the control account

15 The 1971 Constitutional Court ruling cited above was made in response to a lawsuit brought by a pro-Alevi political party concerning the state employ-ment of religious officials.

16 This statement takes place in the Final Declaration of a conference organized by a leading Alevi NGO (Cem Foundation) in response to the newly re-elected JDP’s plans for a new constitution. See “Freedom of Faith and Assessment of the Constitu-tion,” October 28, 2007, http://www.cemvakfi.org/basindan_detay.asp?ID=88.

of laiklik in this statement, the Alevi criti-cism of Diyanet contradicts their alliance with Kemalists given the latter’s explicit jus-tification for Diyanet’s status and mission (Gözaydın 2009, 275-78). The Alevi struggle for recognition also comes into conflict with the Kemalist nation-state project, which is aimed at creating a homogeneous identi-ty without ethnic or religious differences (Dressler 2008, 289; Kocan and Öncü 2004; Özdalga 2008, 194-95).

The institutional status of Diyanet and its ideological mission has been a contro-versial political issue throughout the histo-ry of the republic (Gözaydın 2009, 284-87). Two years after the aforementioned 1928 constitutional amendment that dropped the reference to state’s religion, Halide Edip criticized the contradiction that she saw in a secular state’s involvement in religious af-fairs (1930, 229-32; 1935, 119-20). Ali Fuad Başgil, a prominent intellectual and poli-tician in the 1950s, similarly warned that Turkey could not be considered truly laik given the official status of Diyanet (1954, 219-22). Başgil believed that laiklik was a necessary element of modern state and soci-ety but state intervention in religion cannot be sanctioned in the name of laiklik. Başgil proposed autonomy for Diyanet to protect religion against the corrupting influence of politics.17 More recently, mavericks such as Ali Bardakoğlu, the former director of Diya-net, and Mehmet Aydın, who held the cabi-net position responsible for Diyanet in the JDP government between 2003 and 2007, defended institutional autonomy for Di-

17 Similar views have been presented in the Turk-ish media especially after the onset of the multi-party era in 1946. See, for instance, Sedat Oksal, “Laiklik Prensipleri ve Inkilap” [Principles of Secularism and Revolution], Milliyet, May 11, 1950; İsmail H. Danis-mend, “Laiklik Meselesi” [The Problem of Secularism], Milliyet, October 20, 1950.

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yanet: “Turkey needs to gradually progress from the model in which Diyanet functions as a state institution to a model in which it operates as a fully autonomous institution” (M. Aydın 2008, 172).18

On the other hand, there is not much to object in Diyanet’s status given the offi-cial understanding of laiklik. As Berkes sees it, Diyanet is a legitimate institution that serves laiklik (1964, 484-85). In the same manner, the aforementioned Constitutional Court ruling from 1971 also concludes that the status of Diyanet does not contradict laiklik:

That an unlimited, unchecked re-ligious freedom and the idea of an independent religious organization pose serious danger to our country has been understood from historical experiences . . . For this reason, the framers of the constitution did not consider unlimited religious free-dom—as autonomy of the temple or the men of religion outside state control—being compatible with the regime of laiklik and the principles affirmed by the constitution.19

A former official of Diyanet expresses his agreement with this “security” perspective: “Leaving religious services to their own de-vices or to sects and cults . . . could result in polarization and disrupt national Turkish unity and solidarity” (Karaman 2008, 209). As we shall see in the next section, the refer-ence to “national Turkish unity and solidar-ity” is of crucial importance to understand

18 Ahmet İnsel, “Diyanet özerklik istiyor” [Diyanet wants autonomy], Radikal, October 23, 2010; Nuriye Akman, “Diyanet’e kısmî otonomi verilmeli başkanı da ilahiyatçılar seçmeli” [Limited autonomy must be granted to Diyanet and its head must be elect-ed by theologians], Zaman, November 24, 2002.19 See footnote 12 above.

the nature of the secular paradox of Turkey. To protect Diyanet’s role, the current Politi-cal Parties Law stipulates that political par-ties must not oppose the institutional status of Diyanet. Defiance of this law constitutes a legal ground for party closure (Çakır and Bozan 2005, 113-14; Koçak 2010, 259-60).

The Question of National Identity and the Secular Paradox of Turkey

The Kemalist project of “secularization from above” discussed above (with its sub-ordination of religion to state and the Ke-malist intellectuals’ rationalization of this relation) accounts for part of Turkey’s sec-ular paradox. There is also relatively a ne-glected dimension of the paradox concern-ing the question of Turkish national identity and citizenship. The question of “who is a Turk?” or how the category of “Turkishness” (Türklük) should be defined has been an im-portant consideration for the state elites throughout the republican era (Çağaptay 2006; Eissenstat 2005; İçduygu, et al. 1999; Kadıoğlu 1996; Kirişci 2008; Tachau 1963). The answers formulated in response to this question have had implications for the per-ception and implementation of laiklik. Many of the past and present practices in Turkey conflicting with the separationist secularism can be explained by a modus vivendi reached on this question.20 To make sense of this pe-culiar situation, laiklik must be understood in relation to other aspects of the dominant

20 One such practice is the mandatory iden-tity cards, which contain a box for religion. Recently, a Turkish citizen of Alevi religious identity applied to the European Court of Human Rights for appeal after the Turkish Courts’ rejection of his request to replace the word “Islam” with “Alevi” on his identity card. The ECHR found the plaintiff right and the Turkish state “in breach of the State’s duty of neutrality and impar-tiality in such matters.” See the European Court of Hu-man Rights, Case of Sinan Isik v. Turkey, 02/02/2010.

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ideology in Turkey, most importantly, na-tionalism that is widely shared by both sec-ularists and their conservative rivals (Azak 2010; Karabaşoğlu 2009; Parla and Davison 2004, 100-25).

The third dimension of the secular par-adox has been shaped by the persistent and critical role of Islam in the re-production of Turkish national identity and citizenship. The political view of Islam as a “bond” or an element of national identity has its origins in the late Ottoman era. Islam’s political use began with the Ottoman sultan Abdul-hamid II (r. 1876-1908), whose Pan-Islamist policy was aimed at saving the empire from disintegration, and continued in an am-biguous way with his political nemesis, the Young Turks, and their political organiza-tion, the Committee of Union and Progress (CPU) (r. 1908-1918), which, for reasons of state, “maintained the Islamic identity of the regime, yet endorsed secularism [and] espoused Turkism” (Hanioğlu 2006, 130, 202; see also Karpat 2001; Kayalı 1997, 211; Yavuz 2003, 43-5). Despite their strong an-tireligious attitudes, “viewing religion as the greatest obstacle to human progress,” the CPU did not refrain from using Islam for po-litical purposes: “first, as a protonationalist device to agitate the Muslim masses against the sultan; second, to attack European im-perialism; and third, to delegitimize the sul-tan’s position from an Islamic point of view” (Hanioğlu 2001, 306).

The political use of Islam for national unity continued in the republican era in an inconsistent and ambivalent way. The bond of religion was perceived as instrumental to the making of a single Turkish nation whose slogan has hitherto been “unity and togetherness” (birlik ve beraberlik). It is well known that Mustafa Kemal during the years of Independence War (1919-22) resorted to the symbolic power of Islam for legitimation

purposes (Parla and Davison 2004, 109-111; Yavuz 2003, 45). With the abolition of the Caliphate in 1924, these references receded from the public sphere for the most part. One would think that religion would have no place in the first few decades of the re-public before the onset of the multi-party democracy in 1950 given the nature of the Kemalist project of secularization. Indeed, the scholarly consensus in this regard is that “with the establishment of the Republic, Turkish nationalism de-emphasized Islam as part of the Turkish identity” (Çınar and Duran 2008, 21).

This view is partially correct as Islam continued to be a hidden parameter in the construction of national identity and citi-zenship even during the RPP years (1923-1950); though its influence was subtle, in-direct, and ambivalent (İçduygu, et al. 1999, 195). As Shankland points out, “while the Republic was founded upon the premise that ‘Turkishness’ would be a suitable and suffi-cient channel through which national iden-tity may be formed, it has gradually permit-ted Islam to play a greater role in the public life of the country. Today, these sentiments together, and not just ‘Turkishness’ consti-tute an intertwined but dominant concep-tion of what it means to be a citizen of the Republic” (2003, 15). There have been two competing versions of nationalism shaping the question of national identity through-out the history of the Turkish Republic: secular ethno-linguistic and religious-com-munal (Yavuz 2003, 47, 52). The former led by Mustafa Kemal and the like-minded members of the republican cadre exclud-ed any reference to religion (İçduygu, et al. 1999, 194-95), while the latter championed by communitarian-minded republicans and later by the conservative critics of laiklik as they saw Islam as an indispensable element of national identity (Azak 2010, 175).

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The boundaries of the Turkish nation-al identity have been determined by the convergence and divergence of these two nationalisms. Mustafa Kemal’s preference was clearly for the secular type (Bali 2006, 43). But his preference alone did not settle this issue once and for all as there were oth-er notable figures of the republican cadre such as Hamdullah Suphi, Ahmet Ağaoğlu, Şemseddin Günaltay, and Fevzi Çakmak, who were not willing to forsake Islam (Kara 2008, 252-53; Shissler 2002, 171-84). There were also those who subscribed to extreme ethno-nationalism (e.g., Mahmut Esat Boz-kurt), who harbored deep suspicion toward non-Muslims (Kieser 2006; Parla and Davi-son 2004).21 As Yavuz points out, “even for the secular intellectuals, there always has been an ironic ambivalence surrounding the Islamic component of Turkish identity” (Yavuz 2003, 47; see also Bali 2006, 48-9; Kirişci 2008, 179).

The Association of Turkish Hearths (Türk Ocakları) (1912-1932), whose co-founder was Hamdullah Suphi, promoted a Turco-Is-lamic identity and emphasized historical roots with the Islamic past as well as with the “outside” Turks (Weiker 1973, 169-71; Yavuz 2003, 54).22 In this sense, they agreed with Ziya Gökalp’s cultural-cum-communi-

21 It is often noted that Mustafa Kemal’s nationalism (known in Turkey as “Ataturk national-ism”) is of civic type of nationalism, which is inclusive toward people of different ethnic backgrounds. But as Parla and Davison note, there were “two faces of Turkish nationalism: one that posits membership in the nation as a membership that transcends particular ethnic or religious identities, and one that posits it as an ethnic, or even racial, trait” (2004, 71).

22 The Turkish Hearths, founded in 1912, were a civil society organization with close ties to state authorities. It had multiple chapters across the country, and its purpose was to develop and dissem-inate the Turkish national culture through cultural activities. It was shut down in 1931 and its belongings were transferred to the Republican People’s Party; it was reopened in 1949.

tarian vision of “nation” as a group “com-posed of individuals who share a common language, religion, morality and aesthetics” ([1920] 1968, 15). Hence, for Gökalp, as for the aforementioned political and intel-lectual leaders of the republic, the Turkish nation was effectively “the totality of Turk-ish-speaking Muslims” (Heyd 1950, 99-101).

Many foreign scholars recognized the ambivalence in the formation of Turkish national identity. Hodgson remarked that in the republican period “being a Turk was still defined more by religion than by language” as Islam continued to be influential “in de-termining basic cultural allegiance, within a local context” (1974, 262, 263). Bernard Lewis agreed with this view: “One may speak of Christian Arabs—but a Christian Turk is an absurdity and a contradiction in terms” ([1961] 2002, 15; see also 354-57). Lewis further noted that things were not so different in later years: “Even today, after thirty-five years of the secular Republic, a non-Muslim in Turkey may be called a Turk-ish citizen, but never a Turk” (ibid., 15).

The connection between religious affil-iation and national identity was inscribed in the Lausanne Treaty (1923), the peace treaty between Turkey on the one side and Greece and the other Allied Powers of World War I on the other. One of the most conten-tious issues during the diplomatic negoti-ations was the status of minorities within the borders of Turkey (Aktar 2009, 35-8). The Turkish position was to deny the exis-tence of any minority group, and if this were not possible then to keep the percentage of legally recognized minorities to a min-imum. After hard bargaining, the Turkish side grudgingly agreed to confer the status of “minority” only to non-Muslims (gay-ri-Müslim) (Yıldırım 2006, 63, 110-13). The agreed solution was in a way the continua-

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tion of the Ottoman millet system, which or-ganized the people along confessional lines. The immediate effects of this compromise were felt in the ensuing compulsory popu-lation exchange between Greece and Turkey (1923-33) as stipulated by the treaty.23

This decisive moment entailed the ironic acknowledgment of religion as a criterion of common identity for the majority group, and had critical repercussions for the self-under-standing of both the majority group and the remaining non-Muslims minorities in Turkey (Greeks, Armenians, Assyrians, and Jews) (Alexandris 2003; Birtek 2005, 40-41; Eissenstat 2005, 245-53). The insecure civic status of the non-Muslim minorities with re-spect to identity and citizenship originates from this “foundational” moment. During the negotiation of the 1924 Constitution in the National Assembly, heated debates took place over the legal status of the non-Mus-lims (Çağaptay 2006, 14-5; İçduygu, et al. 1999, 196; Kirişci and Winrow, 1997, 96). The compromise solution recognized them as Turks by law or citizenship but not na-tionality. This understanding informs the continuing tension between national identi-ty and citizenship and the ambivalence felt toward the non-Muslims (Çağaptay 2006, 14-5).

The official recognition of non-Muslims in the Lausanne Treaty provided them ini-tially with some legal protection, but this did not last long as they were soon forced by the state authorities to renounce the rights granted by the treaty, and numerous incidents of persecution or discriminatory legislation targeting them ensued in later years (Aktar 2009; Bali 2006; see also Lew-is [1961] 2002, 357). Among others, we can mention the following: the 1926 “Civil

23 For a discussion of the population ex-change and its consequences, see Yıldırım (2006).

Servant Law,” the 1934 Settlement Law con-cerning the Jews of Thrace, the 1942 Wealth Tax, and the 1955 pogroms of September 6-7 (Aktar 2009; Özkırımlı and Sofos 2008, 165-70). All these cases were due to the ethno-religious difference of non-Muslims. Whether the ultimate motivation was reli-gious or economic, they all contradicted the logic of secularism that calls for state neu-trality with respect to the religious affilia-tion of its citizens.

As the preceding discussion shows, Turkish national identity and citizenship has been imbued with an ethno-religious sense of “Turkishness” that excludes the non-Muslims but includes the ethnically non-Turkic Muslim minorities (Kurds and other Muslim groups such as Laz or Cerkez) as well as Alevis, who are ethnically either Turkic or Kurdish but religiously differ from Sunni Muslims in rituals (Baer 2010). The republican strategy of the 1930s, similar to the policies of the Young Turks, was to use “nominal Islam (the Muslim identity and culture shared by these groups) as the glue that bonded them [the Muslim minorities] to the Turkish nation” (Çağaptay 2006, 123). So “even under staunch secularism” Is-lam was an indispensable instrument of the nationalist project of Turkifying the Muslim minorities (Çağaptay 2006, 123; İçduygu et al. 1999, 195-97).

The seeds sown in the first few decades of the republic were harvested in later decades by more conservative-minded governments beginning with the Democratic Party of the 1950s and continuing with its successor center-right political parties. Emphasis on religion as an element of national identity has increased with the changing dynamics of international politics. The international context of the Cold War justified the increas-ing visibility of religion in domestic politics as an antidote to the threat of communism

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(Pelt 2008, 95-6). The center-right political parties have inherited the state’s involve-ment in religious affairs and built on this foundation. In the end, laiklik’s “original state-centered and control-oriented defini-tion was maintained by all Islamic groups, political actors, and the state” (Çınar and Duran 2008, 28). This ironic development has been a constant source of complaint among Kemalists who wanted to maintain the state involvement in religion as a means of repressing religious reaction. These com-plaints fail to understand the logic of de-mocracy, which allows for changing leader-ship and policy in state affairs.

The common view on the convergence of Turkish nationalism and Islam in the after-math of the 1980 military coup, crystallized in the “Turkish-Islamic Synthesis,” is that it represents a radical departure from Kemalist secularism (Eligur 2010, 85, 95). This view is not completely wrong but it does not show us the full picture. The “Turkish-Islamic Synthesis” supported by the coup leaders as well as the center-right political elite of the 1980s, who repeatedly declared their alle-giance to the principles of Ataturk, is indeed different from the indifference or hostility to religion (depending on one’s perspective on the reforms instituted in this era) in the RPP years. However, to see the decisions of the military and state in this period as the betrayal of true Kemalism overlooks the highly flexible and pragmatic character of Kemalism, due to which it has been adapt-able to the changing circumstances.24

It is more realistic to interpret the “Turk-

24 The non-doctrinaire view of Mustafa Kemal is enthusiastically accepted by most non-leftist Kemal-ists even though it is a contested issue in the academic scholarship. For Mustafa Kemal’s pragmatism and famous negative response to the question about the need for doctrinization, see Aydemir (1965, 473-74, 502-03), Belge (2001, 36-9), and Weiker 1973 (221).

ish-Islamic Synthesis” as an outcome of the political conjuncture at a time which, in the minds of the generals, necessitated the use of religion for national unity, especially to fight against the leftist tendencies as well as to stem the rising tide of political Islam (cf. Hale and Özbudun 2010, 10). As Yavuz points out, the Turkish-Islamic synthesis “was meant to co-opt socially powerful Is-lamic movements, whose emergence prior to the 1980 military take-over was evident, and to use them against what in hindsight was a much-exaggerated leftist ‘threat’” (2003, 38). Contrary to what the leftist sec-ularists tend to believe today, this policy was not intended as concession to Islamism even if it might have had a catalyzing effect on their resurgence. It was rather another case of the instrumental use of Islam for politi-cal purposes (Kaplan 2002; Zürcher 2010; see also Parla and Davison 2004, 91). Oth-erwise, one would have to explain how the Turkish army known for its staunch defense of laiklik turned to become sympathizers of political Islam overnight. The truth of the matter is that they remained loyal to the spirit of laiklik by contradicting secularism in the Western sense.

Conclusion

This article has discussed the paradoxical nature of Turkish secularism: Is there or is there not secularism in Turkey? As we saw above, some scholars think that there is; ac-cording to others, however, there is not. I have tried to argue that one source of this paradox is the project of “secularization from above.” Laiklik was not established in Turkey merely to separate religion and state as in the American case of secularism. It was rather an attempt at divesting the “world” affairs of the influence of Islam in the sense that it was intended and implemented as a project of secularization, which in turn was

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equated with modernization. Hence, the eight-decade long historical trajectory of Turkish secularism has turned out to be quite problematic because the socio-political resistance to this project of secularization from above has been perceived and pro-jected by its advocates (be it within the state bureaucracy or among the intelligentsia) as resistance to the constitutional principle of secularism. Since religion is a diffuse social institution, the project of “secularization from above” depended upon the continual exercise of state power for its enforcement and maintenance.

The above description of Turkish secu-larism has actually become familiar terri-tory by now for most students of Turkish politics. However, the Kemalist project of “secularization from above” or what some scholars alternatively call “authoritarian” or “assertive” secularism alone is not suffi-cient to account for the whole paradox. The contribution of this article to contemporary discussions of Turkish secularism is to point out that the paradoxical aspect of Turkish secularism is not caused by the Kemalist project of secularization alone. As the schol-ars of “historical institutionalism” point out, new functions or reasons can be invented for socio-political institutions or practices as contextual circumstances or dynamics change. I have attempted to illustrate this “fluid” nature of socio-political institutions in relation to Turkish secularism.

The foremost among these institutions is, of course, Diyanet. Numerous examples can be given to various types of paradoxi-cal practices such as the mandatory identity cards, which notoriously contain a box for religion. This particular example is indica-tive of the role of Islam and thereby the key to the paradoxical nature of Turkish secular-ism. The whole complex of state intuitions and practices has evolved beyond its Kemal-

ist project of secularization into an “ambigu-ous compromise” of the Turkish political system.

In sum, the crux of the paradox lies in the fact that Islam has been used or seen as an element of national identity in the his-tory of Turkish politics; a policy that first emerged in the late period of the Ottoman state, continued in the early years of the Republic, and has been happily embraced by the center-right political actors of Turk-ish politics since the 1950s. Today, there is much complaint from all quarters of soci-ety about the way laiklik is put into practice but it is important to acknowledge that the paradox of Turkish secularism has not been plotted by a single political actor, ideology, or institution. It has rather evolved as an ambiguous political compromise of Turkish politics.

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Toni Alaranta Middle East Technical University, [email protected]

The Presuppositions of Contemporary Kemalism

Abstract

Especially during the last decade Kemalist ideology has been vehemently criticized both in Tur-key and abroad. As the proponents of the governing Justice and Development Party have been described as reformists and liberals, the Kemalists have been simultaneously labeled as supporters of authoritarianism, elitism, and status quo. This study is based on the premise that in order to reach beyond such simplistic accounts, it is necessary to analyze the presuppositions of contempo-rary Kemalism, that is, its underlying philosophy of history, and its idea of the human nature. The study demonstrates that any account of contemporary Kemalism which fails to recognize these presuppositions goes astray from the very beginning, ending up repeating the above mentioned prejudices.

Keywords

Turkey, Kemalism, Philosophy of History, Human Nature, Social Democracy.

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Introduction

The core mission of Kemalism – the offi-cial modernizing ideology of the Republic of Turkey – has been “to reach the level of con-temporary civilization.” At the core of this modernizing project there has always been the principle of secularization, understood as the precondition of modern Turkey. Dur-ing the last decade especially, the Kemalist ideology has been vehemently criticized by an influential coalition composed of liberal intellectuals and the conservatives of the governing Justice and Development Party (Adalet ve Kalkınma Partisi, AKP). The pro-ponents of the AKP have claimed the vocab-ulary of democratization, reformism as well as Europeanization for themselves, labe-ling the Kemalists as authoritarian, elitist, and undemocratic. One can argue that this AKP’s self-portrait has also won the hearts of majority of scholars working on Turkish politics and history. Thus, by following this evaluation, many scholars have either de-clared Kemalism as outdated and irrelevant, or concentrated to demonstrate its faults and inconsistencies.

However, Kemalism does not fade away by wishing its silent death, and there is no serious reason why a social science analysis should be grounded on such premises. This article attempts to go beyond this “interpre-tative straitjacket” and analyze the presup-positions of contemporary Kemalist ideol-ogy. It is especially important to reject the current fashion of defining the Kemalists as “authoritarian secularists.” In order to reach beyond such simplistic accounts, it is necessary to analyze the presuppositions of contemporary Kemalism, that is, its under-lying philosophy of history, and its idea of the human nature. The study demonstrates that any account of contemporary Kemalism which fails to recognize these presupposi-tions goes astray from the very beginning,

ending up repeating the above mentioned prejudices.

The contemporary Kemalist ideology is analyzed here by reading the texts produced by Kemalist intellectuals during the last two decades. The writers included in the study are Ahmet Taner Kışlalı, Erol Manisalı, Yek-ta Güngör Özden, Vural Savaş, and Metin Aydoğan. The main analytical concept of this study is political ideology, understood here as a relatively coherent set of empirical and normative beliefs and thought, focusing on the problems of human nature, the process of history, and socio-political arrangements (Eatwell 1999, 17). It is crucial that politi-cal ideology should not be seen as some kind of “false consciousness”, but, as for example van Dijk has asserted, as a belief system that is socially shared by the members of a collec-tivity of social actors. Ideologies consist of social representations that define the social identity of a group, that is, its shared beliefs about its fundamental conditions and ways of existence and reproduction. Moreover, ideologies should be seen as fundamental in that they control and organize other socially shared beliefs, and they thus specify what general cultural values are relevant for the group (van Dijk 2006, 116–117).

Further, even though ideologies are in-deed socially shared, not all members of groups are equally well aware of these ide-ologies. That is, “members are able to speak or act on the basis of the acquired ideology, but are not always able to formulate its be-liefs explicitly. On the other hand, there are experts, teachers, leaders, and other ‘ideo-logues’ who teach, explain, inculcate and ex-plicitly reproduce the group ideologies” (van Dijk 2006, 119). This assertion, then, serves to justify my decision to analyze contem-porary Kemalism by reading the texts pro-duced by the Kemalist intellectuals during the last two decades.

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The Kemalist Liberal Philosophy of History

It is currently widely claimed that Ke-malism represents a particular version of corporatist-oriented nationalist ideology. This is put most forcefully by Parla and Davi-son, who argue that “Kemalism’s ideological character is best understood not in terms of liberalism or socialism, but in terms of cor-poratism. Kemalism is best seen as an early variant of rightist, Third Way… political ide-ologies that pursue capitalist modernity and societal transformation but reject both an individualist vision of liberalism and a class-based vision of society and social transfor-mation of socialism” (Parla and Davison 2004, 7). This interpretation, then, implies that as a corporatist and nationalist ideol-ogy, Kemalism has been, and still remains, in contradiction with liberal democracy. Fur-ther, the current transformation – which in-cludes neoliberalism in economics, globali-zation, and the ongoing polemics concerning the consolidation of democracy in Turkey – carries with it accounts according to which Turkey is in the process of liberating itself from the Kemalist “tutelary democracy.” An example of these interpretations is provided by Hakan Yeşilova who argues that,

Starting from 1980s Turkish history has recorded a tremendous transformation in the political culture with a new discourse of a nationwide awareness and social re-vival. While this awareness is perceived by the supports of Kemalism as a threat to the regime, for those who are part of this new trend it is a rediscovery of their true cultural identity which liberates them from the con-fines of an isolated nation and helps them engage with the global society. Turkish peo-ple did not want to remain isolated from the world, and their willingness for liberation could no longer tolerate a regime which by no means could respond to the needs of an

individual or a society in the twenty-first century (Yeşilova 2010, 38).

This interpretation is problematic in several ways. Firstly, it suggests that there is, for the majority of citizens, some kind of naturally given “true cultural identity” that can be rediscovered. Framing the issue this way, it ignores that this allegedly “true” identity is in no sense objectively “true” but rather a result of constant and intentional ideological indoctrination conducted by the conservative politicians and ideologues, es-pecially since the 1980s. Secondly, it speaks about the Kemalist regime as an all-encom-passing explanatory category, without any definition concerning its meaning. At least it should make clear that the Kemalist po-litical parties have not ruled the country for many decades. Thirdly, it implicitly claims that whatever is wrong in Turkey is because of some sort of monolithic Kemalism. In any case, the main accusation in these kinds of interpretations is that Kemalism is an au-thoritarian ideology that obstructs liberal freedoms in Turkey. This accusation also claims that Kemalism is elitist and more or less forced worldview, seen either irrelevant or even harmful to the Turkish nation. As a corporatist and nationalist ideology, this evaluation seems to suggest, Kemalism does not provide the basic liberal philosophy to induce the emergence of liberal freedoms. One is tempting to ask is this the whole sto-ry? Before trying to answer this question, it is necessary to scrutinize what have been the characteristics of liberalism in its histor-ical development, and then proceed to un-cover is it really the case that Kemalism is in contradiction with it. In other words, does the evaluation of Kemalism as an elitist and authoritarian corporatist-nationalist ideolo-gy make it unconditionally contradictory to liberalism?

The main issue we need to tackle is the

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claim concerning Kemalism’s elitism. If “elitist” makes Kemalism non-liberal, then liberalism should be its opposite, that is, non-elitist, democratic, and crucially “ema-nating from the people.” However, it would be a mistake to hastily make such a claim. As John Crowley puts it “…the people can govern itself badly. From Tocqueville to Mill and Schumpeter, the distrust of popular sovereignty runs through liberal thought.” He continues by noting, firstly, that “liber-al diffidence reflects…worries or fears about the relation between the characteristic met-anarrative of progress and the core liberal value of freedom,” describing then how the fear of uncontrolled and uneducated mass-es was present in John Stuart Mill: “As the squalid realities of industrial society and mass politics became unavoidable, the clas-sic problem of the ‘mob’ became central to liberal thinking. In Mill, fear and confidence are still compatible. The problem is defined as keeping liberal institutions safe until education has transformed the mob into virtuous democratic political community. The snobbery and humanism are held to-gether, somewhat uneasily, by the belief in progress” (Crowley 2000, 52–56). Similarly, Macridis notes that “despite their insistence on representation and elections, the liber-als hedged and hemmed at the power of the legislature and the right of the majority to decide. They did not have enough confidence in the people” (Macridis 1992, 37).

At this point, liberalism’s wrongly pre-sumed “non-elitist” character must be brought together with the “philosophy of history” written inside historical liberalism. Crowley notes that “from the mid-eigh-teenth century the questioning of religious doctrine itself, by applying to it forms of rea-soning and standards of proof derived from natural science, changed the character and consequences of toleration. Instead of being merely politic, it was increasingly seen as

intellectually necessary. No truth was ever definitive, and no view, even the most eccen-tric, unworthy of opportunity to challenge received wisdom. This did not lead to relativ-ism, however, because of the unquestioned assumption of progress and of the univer-sal application of experimental method.” Crowley also explains that after liberalism had come into conflict with religion, God could no longer set the purpose and limits of government. Thus there emerged the lib-eral “philosophy of history” in which histo-ry is the development of human potential, and since, in the eyes of classical liberals, the highest standard of human excellence is essentially unchanged since antiquity, development can only mean the broaden-ing and deepening of human development. Thus, Crowley concludes, liberals necessarily became pragmatic elitists, not because any-one is by nature better than anyone else, but because some have not yet fully developed (Crowley 2000, 52–53).

These observations concerning liberals as pragmatic elitists, on the one hand, and liberalism’s secular philosophy of history, on the other hand, are crucial in any account of Kemalist ideology. One can argue that, sim-ilar to liberals, Kemalists are also pragmatic elitists, not in the sense that conservatives have been elitists. In conservative ideolo-gy, people are by nature seen as unequal, as traditional elite groups are pictured to pos-sess necessary qualities to guide, lead, and command others, that is, those incapable to comprehend the general good of the com-munity. With its radical revolutionary effort to change the basis of legitimate political authority, by transforming the omnipotent sultan’s subjects into equal citizens of the Republic, Kemalist state-elite has not con-ceived itself by nature better than anyone else, but as an educated elite obliged to se-cure the education of the whole population, irrespective of gender, ethnicity, language or

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lineage. Vural Savaş tackles this issue by not-ing that various “pseudo intellectuals” have accused him of being a “Jacobin,” that is, elit-ist, authoritarian, and dogmatic. Savaş asks is Jacobinism that awful, and then quotes Taner Timur:

Jacobins were the forefathers of democ-ratization, and by rejecting the distinction between active and passive citizens, they saw to it that the population at large inter-nalized the principle of universal suffrage… In a peasant society where the Enlighten-ment thought had not surpassed the tiny elite class, the Jacobins introduced the ideas of freedom and equality to the whole of pop-ulation (Quoted in Savaş 2001, 62).

It is here, then, that the liberal presup-positions of Kemalist philosophy of history start to unravel. In this respect, the con-temporary Kemalist stance is pronounced most explicitly by Ahmet Taner Kışlalı, who notes that the Kemalist Turkish revolution is, more than anything else, an enlighten-ment revolution, executed in a backward society in order to change people’s mental structures, to create a new human being, a more rational individual. Further according to Kışlalı, the French Revolution is the best example of those revolutions that have been forced to occur as a consequence of major transformations of social realities. In the case of the French Revolution, social reali-ties and the power balance between various social groups had already changed, but the political system had not changed according-ly. On the other hand, revolution takes a dif-ferent form in societies that have not expe-rienced any major social transformations. In these cases, revolution occurs when men in-tentionally, by using an ideology, try to take advantage of particular historical events in order to execute those social transforma-tions that have not yet occurred. Because of this, ideology plays a crucial role in those

revolutions which are executed in underde-veloped societies. Ideology must generate those forces of change that have not come to existence through the gradual transfor-mation process. The two most important goals of the Kemalist revolutionary ideol-ogy were independence and modernization (Kışlalı 2000, 59–63). Kemalist revolution as a cultural revolution and the Enlighten-ment project is defined by Kışlalı in the fol-lowing words:

In the words of Immanuel Kant, this is about ‘rescuing the man from the intellectu-al immaturity that he has set himself into.’ It is about affirming those unconditional rights that man is born with. In short, it is about rescuing man from the darkness of the Middle Ages in order to reach the en-lightenment (Kışlalı 2000, 62).

Very similar kind of definition of Kemal-ism as the execution of the Enlightenment project in Turkey can be found in all major Kemalist intellectuals’ texts. Here we can quote Metin Aydoğan, who asserts that,

At the core of the Kemalist ideology there are the principles of rationalism, ob-jectivism, and positivism. Its method is to proceed on the path of science and reason, to rise against old dogmas, to confront life and social realities in a rational way. Especially in terms of religion, Kemalism takes the indi-vidual as the sole unit of reference. Further, an obvious result of these principles is that in Kemalism social life is defined according to secular principles (Aydoğan 2004, 400).

This is further emphasized by Aydoğan when he notes that “At the core of Mustafa Kemal Atatürk’s intellectual toolkit there lies the three hundred years long tradition of the French Enlightenment” (Aydoğan 2004, 392). It is claimed, by Taha Parla for example, that this Kemalists’ recurrent ar-gument cannot be considered justifiable.

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According to Parla, enlightenment thought is characterized most of all by its continuing tendency to question itself, to remain con-stantly open to challenging propositions, whereas Kemalism is stamped by the un-willingness to engage in dialogue with other intellectual or political discourses, aiming to define all other perspectives as harmful, even a betrayal (Parla 2002, 314). But this is hardly a fair way of setting this question. An intellectual movement and a political ideol-ogy cannot be compared this way. As Moya Lloyd puts it, “Because society is not a total-ity, the function of ideology is to attempt to impose closure upon it, that is, it is to try to offer a way of making sense of the social world and treat it as if it is bounded and knowable, when it isn’t” (Lloyd 2003, 234). This must be seen as a common trait of all modern political ideologies, including those which have been in an attempt to transfer the Enlightenment’s ideals into practice, that is, liberalism, socialism, and Kemalism. For example, even though liberalism came to see “no view as unworthy of opportunity to challenge received wisdom,” the liberal theory could not question the presupposi-tions according to which man is rational, scientific truths are universal, and progress is the ultimate telos of history.

Now, it can be claimed that it is this un-questionable idea of universal history of progress acquired through ever deepening human knowledge that works as a perma-nent component in Kemalist ideology. Like it is the case with liberalism, so does Kemal-ism loses its reason for existence if the idea of human emancipation through education is abandoned. Thus, neither of these ideolo-gies can afford to question the concept of history as a story of human development. Both liberalism and Kemalism are grounded on the idea of progress, which can only be achieved through the enlargement of the sphere of human rationality.

Before going any further, it should be noted that arguing for the importance of recognizing the liberal philosophy of history presupposed by Kemalism, does not intend to claim it being necessarily compatible with contemporary liberal democratic practice as it is understood in the West. It is gener-ally claimed in postcolonial theory that the Western historical experience and its con-comitant theories of modernization, secu-larism, democracy and so forth should not be used in accounting the social realities of non-Western societies (Kapoor 2002, 647–664). This position often leads to an obser-vation according to which Kemalism and similar Western-inspired transformation projects are unjustified. This way of think-ing, I firmly believe, has not been taken far enough, however. The emancipatory tone written inside postcolonial theory should also realize that condemning Kemalists as elitist and arrogant Westernizers aiming to establish foreign and harmful social-political projects on their own society betrays post-colonial theory’s own ethical foundations. In other words, postcolonial theory seems un-able to recognize that Kemalists have devel-oped their own version of Western-inspired modernization which presupposes the uni-versality of Western historical experience of modernization and progress, but which cannot be reduced, after initial phase, to Western experience: Kemalism represents the universalization not of “the West” but of that process of intellectual transformation which has generated modernity. Contempo-rary Kemalist intellectuals state this quite explicitly. Metin Aydoğan notes that “De-spite the anti-imperialist stance taken by the state, those Western methods in science, technology, and culture that carry universal civilizational value, have been utilized to a great extent. This is because Kemalism is not about Westernizing, but a civilizing current of thought” (Aydoğan 2004, 426–427). The

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same idea is expressed by Vural Savaş who notes that “Atatürk was most of all a na-tionalist and an anti-imperialist. He never trusted the Western states, and never aimed to form a political integration with them. His goal was to catch the modern world, and then go beyond it” (Savaş 2003, 109).

On the other hand, Ahmet Taner Kışlalı argues against Kemalism’s alleged elitism or “from top to down” bureaucratic practice, defining these accusations as “intellectual nonsense.” His argument proceeds from the fact that in Turkey during the 1920s and 1930s, the only social class Mustafa Kemal could turn to in order to form a revolution-ist cadre was the military and civil bureau-cracy. Expecting a popular mass movement to launch the social and political transfor-mation was nothing else than an essentially conservative attitude, since that would have meant postponing the reform movement for many generations (Kışlalı 2007, 64–65). As these assertions reveal us, Kemalists have never even tried to deny the fact that the Kemalist modernization project has been established and executed by the military and civil bureaucracy. As there was no strong middle class or national bourgeoisie (unlike in France where the revolutionary move-ment emanated from these groups), this role was taken by the bureaucratic state-elite in the Turkish Revolution. The Kemalists were also very much aware that in order to make the new socio-political order permanent, they had to create a middle class willing to defend the revolutionary principles. This is exactly what was meant to be achieved with the Kemalist principle of statism (devletçi-lik).

However, on this issue the contempo-rary Kemalist intellectuals are taking a more defensive position if compared to the more explicitly socialist-oriented left-wing Kemal-ists of the 1960s and 1970s. The major left-

wing Kemalists at that time admitted that the Kemalist state was authoritarian by na-ture. However, even they asserted that this was unavoidable, as there was no other so-cial group to whom the Kemalist revolution-ary leaders could turn to (Avcıoğlu 2003, 507; Ecevit 1973, 43–44). In this sense the contemporary Kemalists are reproducing the previous mode of argumentation in a slightly modified way. Whereas the anti-im-perialist message offered by Doğan Avcıoğlu is reproduced by contemporary Kemalist intellectuals with an astonishing similarity, the more defensive position towards the ac-cusation of bureaucratic elitism has much to do with the fact that unlike during the 1960s, today the Kemalist ideology is put under severe criticism not only by Kemal-ism’s internal opponents, but also interna-tionally. More than ever before, the Kemal-ists feel like being pushed against the wall.

Of course, to accept the Kemalists’ own assertion that the Kemalist revolution aimed to establish the Enlightenment pro-ject in Turkey is one thing; to assert that it has accomplished this task, is quite another. However, making the judgment that Kemal-ism has never been nothing else than an ide-ology to secure the social status and politi-cal leadership of the military-bureaucratic state-elite stems from the inability (or, in many cases, intentional unwillingness), first, to recognize the liberal philosophy of history written inside Kemalism, and sec-ondly, from ignoring the influence Kemalist transformation project has had in produc-ing popular acceptance for various princi-ples that work as a necessary precondition of popular sovereignty: secularism, equality before the law, public universal education, and the national political community.

It becomes obvious that the Enlighten-ment idea of human emancipation through science and rational thinking – the philoso-

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phy of history also written inside liberalism – thoroughly expresses itself in Kemalist ideology. At this stage, nothing is said about the other characters of Kemalist ideology or resulting Kemalist political practice, how-ever. What is claimed here, is that the sup-posed “elitism” within Kemalism is nothing else than the idea, also manifest in liberal-ism, that as long as the whole society has not been educated and guided to rational re-publican citizens, the state-elite has an ob-ligation to firmly secure common scientific education as well as republican institutions. Thus, the accusation that Kemalism has re-stricted various liberal freedoms in Turkey cannot be based on the preceding assump-tion that the Kemalist ideology lacks the philosophical foundations of such freedoms.

The Kemalist Idea of the Human Nature

After demonstrating the liberal philoso-phy of history implied by contemporary Ke-malism, we can proceed to uncover its idea concerning the human nature. As there are no explicit statements, it is necessary to look at more implicit ones expressed in the discussions of various different issues. One can argue that the idea of “forever deepening the human intellectual potential” implied by both liberalism and Kemalism is equal to the Kemalist understanding of revolutionism (devrimcilik), one of the six core principles of Kemalism. According to Ahmet Taner Kışlalı – whose writings must be seen as founda-tional to the whole contemporary Kemal-ist discourse – Kemalist devrimcilik stands for permanent revolution in the sense that transforming the society in order to reach the most progressed stage demands that even those institutions and practices con-sidered as the most advanced today, shall in time become petrified. Continuing revolu-tionism equals for being always in search of

progress (Kışlalı 2007, 75). In this sense the Kemalist understanding of secularism, re-ferred to above, must be seen as an internal-ly coherent formulation. Kışlalı notes that, like most revolutions in history, Kemalism is not against religion as such, but against the effort to conserve the traditional order in the name of religion (Kışlalı 2007, 38). Now, obviously, established religion’s main pur-pose is to conserve the core message of the revelation, and at least maintain its author-ity in terms of moral and ethical truth. This is hardly compatible with the Kemalist idea of always searching for a more advanced and rational modes to organize human society.

After these observations, the concepts “elitist,” “authoritarian,” and “tutelary de-mocracy” attached to Kemalist ideology are justifiable only if they try to describe how well or badly supporters of Kemalism have been able to enhance the primary values im-plied not by modern-day liberal democracy but the “liberal philosophy of history” – for-ever development of human knowledge and rationality. This, however, has rarely been the case as the critiques of Kemalism, who use aforementioned terms in their critique, do not share the same philosophy of history, or are unable to recognize it as the crucial element of Kemalism. This interpretation, in order to be coherent, needs to be further de-veloped by accounting the idea of Kemalism as an historical synthesis between liberalism and socialism. The denial of liberalism inher-ent in Kemalism is not of the same kind as in fascist or communist ideologies. The de-nial is only partial, and concentrates, firstly, on liberalism’s excessive individualism, and, much more importantly, on economic lib-eralism’s economic inequality. According to Kışlalı, the Kemalist synthesis of liberalism and socialism can be called democratic so-cialism, or social democracy. Out of the six main principles of Kemalism, republicanism (cumhuriyetçilik), secularism (laiklik), and

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nationalism (ulusçuluk) emanate from lib-eralism, whereas statism (devletçilik), com-mon peopleness (halkçılık), and revolution-ism (devrimcilik) emanate from socialism. In short, according to Kışlalı, Kemalism does not have liberal democracy as its goal, but in-stead social democracy (Kışlalı 2007, 82–86).

Now, of course it is a legitimate question to ask, in what sense is social democracy different from liberal democratic regime? Kışlalı’s answer is that liberal democra-cies are based on thoroughly liberal view in which political freedoms have been over em-phasized at the expense of economic equal-ity. He continues by asserting that those benefits which were secured in the West by social democrat parties after centuries of political struggle were executed in Turkey with the Kemalist regime (Kışlalı 2007, 82–86). However, by itself, this is not sufficient to explain why Kemalism is different from liberal democracy, since especially in Scandi-navian countries liberal democratic regimes have been thoroughly stamped by social democratic ideals. Thus, we have to look fur-ther on Kemalist argumentation to see why Turkey, according to Kemalists, must main-tain its unique form of social democracy. The initial answer can be found in İlhan Selçuk’s column, published originally on March 6, 2002 in Cumhuriyet:

In no European country is the secu-lar regime threatened by religion; in these states a religious regime was abandoned centuries ago…In no European country are religious reactionaries raiding homes with guns, burning people alive…No European country have fundamentalist sharia-states next to their borders…No European country has been forced to sacrifice thirty thousand of its citizens for a decades-long ethnic war that is encouraged from outside…In no Eu-ropean country is democracy handicapped; it is institutionalized….No European coun-

try lives under the hostility of Armenian and Greek diaspora…No European country is surrounded by enemy-like neighbor states (Greece, Armenia, Syria, Southern Cyprus, Iraq, Iran)…No European country is a Mus-lim-majority society. The form of regime in Turkey, the only secular state in the Muslim world, is a model for other Muslims, sharia is the danger…(Quoted in Savaş 2003, 51).

So, according to contemporary Kemalist intellectuals, Turkey’s secular democracy is constantly threatened by religious funda-mentalists aiming to establish a sharia state in Turkey; it is constantly threatened by an ethnic separatist movement aiming to de-stroy the Turkish nation-state; and it is also constantly threatened by hostile neighbors in all directions. This evaluation leads to the conclusion according to which Turkey must fight for the survival of its democratic re-gime under totally different circumstances compared to European democracies. Fur-ther, contemporary Kemalist ideology is stamped by the idea that during the last 50 years, Turkey has witnessed a “counter-revolution” (karşı-devrim). This concept is given different contents by different Kemal-ist intellectuals, but the common factor is the observation that since the beginning of the multi-party regime (1945–50), the Ke-malist principles have been abandoned one by one. Here we must exclude the highly im-portant issue of surrendering the political and economic independence of Turkey, and concentrate to the idea according to which the aforementioned “counter-revolution” is most of all about gradual weakening of the principle of secularism, and this way a be-trayal of Kemal Atatürk’s foremost vision to “reach the level of contemporary civiliza-tion” – that is, the modern civilization char-acterized by science and rational thinking.

Thus, after these observations, we can read the above quotation from İlhan Selçuk

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in a new light: the West, after securing secu-lar regime ages ago, may have the luxury to flirt with postmodern relativism, but in Turkey, where the secular regime was a con-ceptual and intellectual non-existent before the establishment of the Republic in 1923, the temptation to organize political commu-nity around the all-encompassing and “con-forming” religious moral order always lurks around the corner. This is put explicitly by Yekta Güngör Özden by noting that “the Christian faith is not related to the affairs of this world. For this reason, the approach in those countries is different from Mus-lim nations, especially Turkey. The Islamic faith is preoccupied with the affairs of this world; it perceives itself legitimate to define the rules of government.” He continues by noting that “secularism does no harm to anyone…there is no obstruct whatsoever for going to mosque, for praying, for fasting, for making a pilgrimage to Mecca, for studying the Quran. The principles and criteria of the state come before anyone’s personal choices. In our state, there is a rule of law” (Özden 2011, 388–390).

This position, obviously, reflects the widely recognized idea of “privatization” of religion. This very idea, on the other hand, is at core of the whole confrontation between secularists and Islamic conservatives in Tur-key. The idea of “Muslim democracy,” often expressed in Western politicians’ discus-sions of Turkey’s significant potentiality to work as a model for other Muslim-majority societies is, from the Kemalist perspective, based on a conceptual confusion: If there ex-ists a particularly Muslim version of democ-racy, then this implies that there should also exist “Christian” or “Buddhist” democracies. However, as these formulations clearly re-veal, the idea of a religiously defined democ-racy refutes the whole idea of democracy as a non-confessing neutral order based on fun-damental equality. In other words, what are

the rights of non-Muslims in a particularly “Muslim democracy”? Similar kind of con-ceptual confusion is observable in discus-sions of “multiple modernities” or “Muslim modernity.” The Kemalist ideology presup-poses that if the concept of “modernity” has any relevancy beyond the simple account that, unlike traditional ones, modern soci-eties are characterized by those economic and socio-political transformations brought by industrial and political revolutions since the eighteenth century, the concept of mo-dernity needs to be seen as carrying with it its own ethos and self-understanding, and this is the Weberian “disenchantment of the world”, that is, secularization.

The Kemalist philosophy of history is grounded on the idea that since the Enlight-enment era, human rationality has been freed from the chains of religious dogma, and that the current Islamic conservatives’ expressed desire to reformulate the princi-ple of secularism as it currently stands in Turkey’s constitution, is nothing else than the final and most threatening effort to set in motion all those forces which try to im-pose a religious truth upon the society. In Kemalism, this is interpreted not only as an intellectual surrender, but also as a road to weak, backward, and poor Turkey that is soon easily put under the hegemony of Western developed states. The above quo-tation from Özden suggests that the often made accusation, according to which the Ke-malist regime has repressed pious Muslims and limited the religious freedoms, does not correspond to reality. At least we can say that the Republican People’s Party (Cum-huriyet Halk Partisi, CHP) – commonly de-fined as the Kemalist party – “has been tol-erant of religious belief and observance, and the party has made no statement against the wearing of headscarves in non-official pub-lic places” (Ayata and Ayata 2007, 218). One can indeed ask, together with Özden, what

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harm is caused to people’s religious beliefs or their religious observance by the principle of secularism as it has been applied in Tur-key. Thus we can observe that the accusation is justified only if we accept the view, often expressed both by the critics and defenders of Islamic tradition, that Islam should not be seen as a purely individual faith, but a more general way of organizing the social and po-litical sphere. It is obvious that the Kemalist secularism is indeed vehemently against the latter option.

After these observations it becomes pos-sible to analyze what is the Kemalist idea of human nature. This analysis, however, also necessitates first taking a look at how major modern political ideologies understand it. Liberalism, which was formed as a political ideology during the eighteenth century, can be seen as the Enlightenment’s first-born child. Its conception of the human nature is thus based on the Enlightenment’s general optimism concerning the human experi-ence. Major liberal thinkers perceived hu-mans as essentially rational beings who act in their own self-interest by seeking pleas-ure and avoiding pain. Whereas classical liberals argued that the state should inter-vene only if someone’s actions limited other people’s freedoms, later liberals have often espoused that human beings are instinctive-ly emphatic, and therefore the state should help the poor so that they too could fulfill their inborn human potential (Heywood 2003, 22–27).

This position is taken further by social-ist tradition which is a more communitarian variant of liberalism’s optimistic view on human nature. According to socialism, hu-mans are rational, and also crucially shaped by their social circumstances. In this sense socialism argues that the only constant fea-ture of the human nature is its changeabil-ity. Thus, the socialist idea concerning the

human nature argues that what makes us distinctly human is our ability, not only to change as our circumstances change, but to create new and different social relations and then adapt to them (Wright 1996, 15–27).

The third major modern ideological tra-dition, conservatism, is based on altogether different premises. In conservatism, man is essentially evil. This idea was founded upon the religious concept of original sin, that man had fallen from a state of grace and was an impure being prone to tempta-tion and wickedness. Many of those who attempted to define the basis of conserva-tism had a strong personal Christian belief which shaped their ideas, whilst those who accepted the evolutionary origins of human-ity started from the position that man had descended from the beasts, and civilization was but a veneer overlaid on the law of the jungle. According to this view, there has been no noticeable change in human nature since the dawn of civilization (Heywood 2003, 60–61).

We have already noted that according to Kemalist intellectuals, Kemalist ideol-ogy represents a major cultural revolution, even an effort to create “a new human be-ing.” We have also noted that the Kemalist philosophy of history is, similar to liberal-ism, characterized by the belief in progress acquired through the enlargement of the sphere of human rationality. It would be hard, after these observations, to conclude that the Kemalist ideology conceives the human nature as thoroughly stamped by ir-rational instincts, or that the human nature has remained unchanged since prehistory. The aspired Cultural Revolution implies an optimistic view of human nature, that is, in Kemalism humans are perceived as rational beings capable to adapt into the new circum-stances created by the Kemalist revolution.

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Thus, the Kemalist idea of human nature is definitely different from conservatism. It was hinted above that even though Kemal-ism implies the liberal philosophy of history, this does not in itself make it compatible with liberal democracy. On the other hand, we also observed Kemalist intellectuals as-serting that liberal democracy is not the de-sired goal at all; it is social democracy. From this perspective it is possible to claim that the Kemalist idea of human nature is based on the idea of humans as rational and capa-ble for change, and that the Kemalist idea of “constant revolution” presupposes that change is also constant. Further, the defi-nition of the territorial nation-state as the “utopia materialized,” (that is, the Turkish nation-state as the particular spatial foun-dation of the universal telos of history), implies a communitarian view of human nature, one in which individuals are pro-foundly shaped by the social circumstances provided by the national community. To conclude, it feels fair to assert that the Ke-malist ideology presupposes an idea of the human nature according to which humans are 1) essentially rational beings; 2) capable of constant development; and 3) thoroughly defined by their social circumstances.

The synthesis of the liberal philosophy of history and the optimistic and communitar-ian view of human nature implied by the Ke-malist ideology is not an internal contradic-tion. As a matter of fact, one can argue that similar kind of synthesis ultimately char-acterizes liberalism. Mark Haugaard notes that, at first sight, liberalism is preoccupied with community as a constraint upon free-dom, while the nationalist considers com-munity a condition of self-realization. How-ever, even though the “unencumbered” self of liberalism is inherently rational, it has to be created through socialization. The world of interchangeable individuals presupposes that they are relatively similar. Hence, in the

liberal state a common educational system functions as a form of mass state-controlled socialization (Haugaard 2006, 346–349). Haugaard further argues that the founders of modern sociology (Marx, Durkheim and Weber) shared the common Enlightenment misconception that modernity was a move from Gemeinschaft to Gesellschaft, from tra-ditional communities to societies governed by abstract reason. Haugaard, on the con-trary, argues that in the transition to mo-dernity Gemeinschaft does not disappear, or is not overcome, but becomes transformed, “even if it appears counter-intuitive that the disenchanted, individualistic and de-essen-tialized modern world could be fertile soil for a nationalist Gemeinschaft” (Haugaard 2006, 350).

So it seems that even in terms of such a core liberal value as freedom, the idea of “unproblematic” liberalism implied by the contemporary academic studies on Kemal-ism does not correspond to historical real-ity. The “centrality of community” found in communitarian ideologies must also be seen as an integral part of the liberal ideology. As the idea of “positive freedom” developed within liberal ideology presupposes that the fulfillment of individual liberty can only be secured in relation to some specific commu-nity, the liberal tradition cannot be said to be purely individualistic and atomized. This kind of idea of “positive freedom,” that is, an idea that the individual human being can, in the end, only fulfill his/her inner potential-ity within a community that encourages this inner potentiality to be expressed, lies at the heart of the Kemalist ideology. This is also explicitly stated by Ahmet Taner Kışlalı:

Atatürk, who tolerated severe opposi-tion even within his own party, defended the idea of democracy where freedoms were the foundational value. His concept of free-dom, on the other hand, was not only nega-

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tive freedom (individual’s freedom to act as one pleases as long as one does not harm other’s legitimate freedoms), but a modern concept of freedom as individual’s ability to develop his potentials. It is noteworthy that Atatürk defended this kind of modern idea of freedom already during the 1930s (Kışlalı 2000, 66).

If the Kemalist presuppositions are tak-en into account, the contemporary fashion of criticizing Kemalism as an authoritarian, elitist, and illiberal ideology reveals its su-perficial character. On the very basic level, neither the Kemalist philosophy of history nor its concept of the human nature points towards authoritarianism or elitism. Again, as it was the case with the Kemalist philoso-phy of history, the accusation that Kemal-ism has restricted various liberal freedoms in Turkey cannot be based on the preceding assumption that the Kemalist ideology lacks the liberal and optimistic idea of the human nature as a necessary foundation of such freedoms.

Conclusions

Where does the above analysis bring us? I believe the most important thing is that we should not explain Kemalist views on various individual issues by postulat-ing to it an essentially conservative, elitist, or authoritarian foundation. Whenever a Kemalist commentator takes a seemingly illiberal or authoritarian position on some individual issue, this should be seen within a specific socio-political context, as an an-swer to a specific question, more often than not based on unquestioned presuppositions that guide, but do not determine, opinions. To highlight this issue, I believe the follow-ing quotation from Erol Manisalı is helpful:

Liberal politics in Turkey transform into

the iron rule of Islamist politician’s oligar-chy… In this context liberal economy and liberal democracy result in the following forms: Islamist politics are able to dissolve all its opposing forces, that is, the army, the Republic, the law, the state, and Atatürk. All national institutions are replaced by for-eign rule in the name of liberalization and privatization; as the national forces become weak, anti-national and religious forces are becoming more and more powerful. Further, Islamist politics gather around the principle according to which religion is above every-thing else, claiming that we can secure our social coherence only with umma structure. The nation-state, Atatürk’s nationalism, Republican philosophy, social state, and genuine democracy are replaced by efforts to transform Turkey into a community held under the sovereignty of a religious order. The one-sided relationships established with the EU and the USA open the gate for a foreign-led action of destroying the Re-public, the nation-state, democracy and the Lausanne Treaty. This is because the Islam-ist forces and the foreign forces share the common goal (Manisalı 2006, 14–15).

Now, the observer convinced already from the start that the Kemalist ideology is authoritarian, illiberal, and keen to suppress religious freedoms interprets this paragraph and probably states something like: “a typi-cal Kemalist espousing his authoritarian ideology.” However, after we have analyzed the liberal, emancipating philosophy of his-tory, and the optimistic and communitarian idea of human nature presupposed by Ke-malist ideology, these Manisalı’s words can be read in a very different light. They become understood as an argument for defending Mustafa Kemal Atatürk’s original emanci-pating movement at the time when liber-alism, the Enlightenment’s first pedigree, has found its hegemonic expression in neo-liberalism. Together with the fashionable

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postmodern political philosophy, neoliberal-ism turns into a purely individualistic creed that has abandoned all the emancipating goals of the Enlightenment. When this is at-tached to the contemporary phase of global capitalism, which is run mostly by Western-originated giant corporations, the anti-im-perialist position turning into vehemently anti-Western attitude in contemporary Kemalist intellectuals’ writings becomes much more understandable. If the neolib-eral capitalist world-order, together with postmodern philosophy that cherishes the religious and ethnic particularisms, seems to threaten the very foundations of Turkey’s modernization, the Kemalists obviously try to resist it. This resistance, however, can hardly be explained as a result of their ide-ology’s essential authoritarianism, elitism, or illiberalism. Rather, the resistance stems from their fundamentally liberal philosophy of history, and their optimistic and commu-nitarian idea of the human nature, which perceives the modern nation-state as the necessary context for individual’s ability to develop his/her inner potentials.

Any account which fails to recognize the Kemalist presuppositions, that is, its liberal philosophy of history and its optimistic and communitarian view of the human nature, also fails to explain the endurance of this ideology, and its ability to find response among millions of members of Turkey’s sec-ular middle classes. Most importantly, that kind of failure ends up in seeing the Kemal-ists, in a thoroughly prejudiced manner, as supporters of authoritarianism and milita-rism.

Acknowledgements

This study has been supported by the Kone Foundation.

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Dogan KocGulen Institute at the University of Houston, [email protected]

Hizmet Movement’s Effects on PKK Recruitment and Attacks

Abstract

Strategies and the effects of civil society in conflict resolution are understudied. State agencies, governments or security forces, are seen as major actors, and researches pay more attention to their efforts. This is the case for Turkey’s Kurdish problem as well.

This paper looks at the strategies and efforts of Turkey’s largest social movement, Hizmet Movement (aka Gulen Movement), in predominantly Kurdish populated areas of Turkey; and measures its effects on PKK recruitment and attacks. In order to measure movement’s effects it develops an Ordinary Least Squares (OLS) model to test its hypotheses. Findings of the regression analyses show that the activities of the Hizmet Movement, especially its educational activities, decrease both the number of recruitments and attacks of the PKK. Keywords

Hizmet Movement, Gulen Movement, PKK, Turkey, Conflict Resolution.

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Turkey has spent more than 300 billion dollars in its struggle with the Kurdistan Workers’ Party (Partiya Karkerên Kurdistan (PKK)) (Econorm 2009). More than 40 thou-sand people died, thousands were wounded, and millions left their homes (Kirk 2008). Turkish military forces killed 32 thousand PKK militants and captured 14 thousand between 1984 and 2008. 5, 560 civilian died and 6, 482 Turkish soldiers were killed dur-ing the same period (Hurriyet 2008). Since 1984, the Turkish army has launched 25 cross-border operations in different scales to PKK training camps mainly in Northern Iraq.

In intrastate conflicts, usually the state actors’ efforts are considered essential in conflict resolution processes. Turkey and its Kurdish conflict is also not an exception. Main actors in the conflict have been the PKK, the Turkish Military, and the Turkish elected government[s]. It has been these ac-tors’ strategies that drawn the most atten-tion. However, recent studies suggest that civil society groups also contribute a great deal to resolving conflicts.

This paper focuses on one of Turkey’s most influential social movements, the Hizmet Movement’s- also known as the Gülen Movement- and its involvement in the resolution of conflict in Turkey’s Kurd-ish issue. Especially its educational activities in Kurdish populated region of Turkey have contributed to resolution of the conflict. The Hizmet Movement, one of the largest social movements in Turkey, has mobilized thousands of people to open private schools, and tutoring centers throughout the region. While these educational institutions bring education to thousands of Kurdish students, they also decrease their involvement in PKK activities.

First section briefly looks at the role of

civil society in conflict resolution in general; following section defines the Hizmet Move-ment and presents data related to its activi-ties in the Kurdish region, and then, analyz-es its effects on the PKK’s terrorist activities.

Role of Civil Society in Conflict Resolution

The role of non-state actors in conflict resolution is an understudied topic (Rupes-inghe and Anderlini 1998, Orjuela 2003). Recent research suggests that civil society is more effective in providing peace than state actors, because civilian groups are less vis-ible, less expensive and more flexible (Ross and Rothman 1999). Van Tongeren (1998) states that civil society groups are success-ful due to being less constrained by narrow mandates, and being able to talk to several parties without losing credibility. Thus, they can deal directly with the grassroots popula-tion better than state actors.

Especially in ethno-political conflicts, informal interactive conflict resolution is extensively used as an important strategy. Interactive conflict resolution is an organ-ized process of structured communica-tion between the parties of the conflict. This process aims to help resolve conflicts by transforming and improving relations, and increasing understanding between the groups (Fisher 1997). It assumes that only “authentic, open, constructive, cooperative, and effective face-to-face communication among participants themselves can lead to its defined goals of understanding, mutual recognition, respect and generally improved relations between the sides” (Fisher 1997). According to this model, causes of conflicts can be economic, political, and psychologi-cal; in any case, communication is impor-tant for conflict resolution (Ellis and Maoz 2003). With some other theories, Allport’s

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(1954) social psychological contact theory forms the foundation of interactive conflict resolution strategy. According to Allport, a contact can be effective in improving inter-group relations and especially in reducing mutual prejudice.

Ross (2000) situates interactive conflict resolution strategies into two major theories of practice of conflict resolution. According to Ross, first, conflict transformation the-ory assumes causes of conflict as real prob-lems of injustice and inequality expressed through socially and culturally constructed meanings. Thus, interactive conflict resolu-tion strategies try to transform relations by producing justice, forgiveness, and reconcili-ation through moral growth. Second, Ross applies the theory of community relations. Community relations theory assumes the conflict to be an ongoing polarization, hos-tility, and distrust between parties which aggravate existing tensions. Interactive con-flict resolution methods try to improve com-munication and understanding. Especially in ethnic conflicts, these methods aim to promote tolerance, acceptance of diversity, and encourage structures that protect the rights of all (Ross 2000).

Scholars and policy makers suggest that this communication is not only be estab-lished between leaders of the groups but also between and within every aspect of communities at large, both formal and in-formal, and at the individual and collective levels (Ellis and Maoz 2003).

The existing research suggests that for conflict resolution to take place states and other actors should address necessary social, political and economic issues. For a sustain-able peace, and a complete resolution of the conflict, it is also necessary for the socie-ties to engage in communication. In other words, in a successful, complete conflict

resolution, there are works to be done by governments, communities, and individual citizens (Goldring 2004).

The Hizmet Movement and Its Activities in Southeast Turkey

Involvement of civil society groups in eastern and southeastern regions of Tur-key has increased in the recent years. As the largest and most influential social move-ment in Turkey (Yavuz 2003), the Hizmet Movement’s activities are especially worth studying. Due to its size and influence, the Hizmet Movement has become an actor not only in the Kurdish conflict, but in any social and political matter in today’s Turkey. It has engaged in every level of social life in Turk-ish society.

The Hizmet Movement is a civic social movement rooted in moderate Islam. It is one of the largest and most influential so-cial movements not only in Turkey, but most probably in the Muslim countries in general (Ebaugh 2011). Mr. Gülen himself has be-come a role model for millions of Turkish youth (Ahmed 2007). The movement is com-mitted to education, dialogue, peace, social justice, and social harmony, and has estab-lished thousands of education and dialogue institutions throughout the world (Cetin 2010, Ebaugh 2011).

The movement is also very active in the Kurdish populated region. While its ac-tivities directly affect the resolution of the Kurdish problem, they also indirectly affect the PKK recruitment and activities.

Although people in the movement state that they do not specifically target the PKK and its activities, their work decreases sup-port and sympathy for the PKK in the re-gion. The PKK leadership is also concerned

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with the Hizmet Movement activities. Some of the PKK leaders have stated that due to educational activities of the movement, the number of PKK’s new recruits has dropped dramatically (Member1 2010, BILGESAM 2010).

In general, the Kurdish population of Turkey has been one of the most conserva-tive and traditionalist groups in Turkey (Ates 2010). Due to the Hizmet Move-ment’s success in combining modernity and tradition, the movement has been welcomed and embraced by at large part of the Kurd-ish population. In return, the movement’s pacifist teachings and acceptance of state authority have decreased sympathy towards violent groups (including the PKK and Turk-ish Hizbullah1).

Recent police reports and private or-ganization reports show that in the regions where the Hizmet Movement operates schools and tutoring centers, crime rates, and the PKK activities had dropped dra-matically (Chief 2010). Students who attend these educational institutions tend to avoid violent actions and protests (Chief 2010). Many of the interviewees stated that after becoming involved with the Hizmet Move-ment they had become less sympathetic to-wards the PKK2.

1 Turkish Hizbullah is a different radical Is-lamist terrorist organization which operates in Kurdish regions of Turkey, and unrelated to the well-known Shia Hezbollah in Lebanon.

2 During the summer of 2010, I traveled all over the region, visiting 8 major southeastern cities, and conducted interviews with more than a hundred people. A business man in Siirt said that his brother joined the PKK and got killed. He was about to join when he was in high school, but after he met with the people from the movement, he changed his mind. With the help of HM courses, he went to a university in the western part of Turkey. After graduating from the university he came back to his home town, and established his own business. Now, he is part of HM, and works to find scholarships for students. He said that his story is very common in the region.

The Hizmet Movement’s educational ac-tivities also increase cultural exchanges and integration between the ethnically Kurdish and the Turkish people. Most of the better universities are located in the western or central part of Turkey. Due to the success of the Hizmet Movement’s educational efforts, almost half of the students from the move-ment schools continue their studies at those universities (Director 2010).

Although the movement has generally kept a low profile, the PKK did not shun from targeting the movement affiliated edu-cational institutions. However, the PKK is careful when dealing with the movement due the movement’s popularity with the Kurdish people. Most of the Kurdish people I have interviewed in the region stated that people there are very grateful to the move-ment and would not let the PKK harm its activities.

In a recent statement, Abdullah Ocalan, the PKK chief in prison, also recognized the importance and the influence of the Hizmet Movement for the democratization of Tur-key and suggested that the PKK should engage with the movement (Ocalan, Final decision will come in June 2010). Leading figures in the movement immediately re-fused any engagement with the PKK. One of Turkey’s experts on the Kurdish issue, Dogu Ergil, who published one of the very first re-port on the issue, stated that Öcalan’s call for engagement ‘stems from the worry that the movement is a serious political rival and can work on the PKK’s grass roots to cut off a large number of youths from the organiza-tion. Additionally, Öcalan has come to real-ize that the movement has gained enough support and popularity both in southeast-ern Turkey and the Kurdish part of Iraq. This popularity is based on providing schooling and training courses to enter universities’ (Ergil 2010).

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With regards to the PKK, Mr. Gülen him-self clearly condemns any form of violence and terrorism. He strongly argues that there is no place for terrorism in Islam. He preach-es and writes against violence, anarchy and terror since the late 1970s (Cetin 2008). Gülen does not target the PKK specifically, but terrorism and terrorist organizations in general.

In Gülen’s philosophy, the means of any desired good should also be good. In other words, in order to bring a good, all the ways and methods used should also be legitimate and good. Therefore, terror and terrorism cannot be justified in any case (Gundem 2005).

According to Gülen, while economic and cultural grievances are part of the problem, the perception of the Kurdish people that they have been abandoned by the state is also an important element. In the resolution, he suggests that the state should embrace its citizens regardless of their background. The state should attend its citizens’ needs and desires whether they are economic or cultur-al. Representatives of the state, such as se-curity forces and bureaucrats should respect the values of their citizens (Gulen 2007).

Gülen states that the power of the state might have blinded its reasoning and the state might have used force to overcome the problem by pressure. While this could solve the issue for a short time, in the long term it would create bigger problems. Gülen also suggests that while security forces should deal with criminal activities, they should be very careful in distinguishing innocent people from criminals and terrorists. A state should not oppress its people (Gulen 2007).

On the other hand, Gülen does not ex-pect a resolution only from the government or the state. He suggests that the people of Turkey should embrace the people of the

region. People living in the other parts of the country should also feel a responsibility and engage in the conflict resolution. In this matter, for Gülen, education, interaction be-tween people, and dealing with the poverty are the main remedies for the problems of the southeast (Gulen 2007).

Educational Activities

Educational activities of the Hizmet Movement in the eastern and the southeast region can be analyzed in three categories: university preparation centers, schools, and tutoring centers. People in the movement have established these institutions in remote areas, where often no person had continued in school beyond age fifteen. Now, hundreds of students from these villages have been accepted for university studies in medicine, engineering, genetics, and business (Avci 2009). For instance, people inspired by Mr. Gülen operate the only private high school and the only university preparation centers and tutoring centers in the town of Nusay-bin with a population of around 100,000 at the Syrian border. Hundreds of students at-tend these institutions (Kalyoncu 2008).

University Preparation Centers (Dersane)

In the Turkish educational system, all high school graduates take a nationwide state-managed university entrance exam. Students are placed into the universities ac-cording to their scores on this exam. Each year around 1.5 million students take this exam,. In order to get a high score and be placed in a good university, it is very com-mon for students to attend university prepa-ration centers along with high school. While students attend regular high school classes during the week days, they take courses at a

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university preparation center during week-ends. These privately owned preparation centers have become a big part of secondary education. Due to the competitive structure of the system, almost every student attends these centers.

In Turkey, the Hizmet Movement is known more for its university preparation centers than its schools or other education-al institutions. There are hundreds of such centers operated all over Turkey. Almost all of the most successful centers in the country are affiliated with the movement.

The movement operates university prep-aration centers in the Kurdish regions, too. In fact, the movement’s first educational institutions were university preparation centers in the region. The first university preparation center opened in Diyarbakir and Sanliurfa in 1988 (Member2 2010). These centers were the first of their kind in these cities, as were other Hizmet Movement af-filiated educational institutions.

Initially, these centers started with 40 to 50 students. When the students who at-tended these centers succeeded to get admit-ted to the major universities, they became popular, and the number of their students increased dramatically.

While the number of these centers did not increase rapidly in the first few years, starting in 1991 new centers and branches began to open in different cities. Between 1993 and 1995 the number of these centers increased dramatically. Now, there are uni-versity preparation centers not only in the cities but also in towns and large villages. There are more than a hundred movement-affiliated university preparation centers with more than 90 thousand students3 (Di-

3 This data covers 16 eastern and southeast-ern provinces that are mainly Kurdish populated. These

rector 2010). In some towns, these centers are the only educational institutions besides the public schools (Kalyoncu 2008).

One teacher explained the interest to these centers and the movement in general as follows:

These people want their children to go to university and save their lives. Education is the only hope for most of these people. The region has been abandoned, and they did not have good schools for a long time. When we came here and opened these cent-ers and help their kids to go to uni-versity, it was like we saved their lives. Countless times, I was thanked by parents of our students with high gratitude. People of the region are tired of violence and terror. They want good education, good life and peace. Students also would like to get [an] education and go to university. But they have not been given any chances. If you come to our centers in the middle of the night, say at 9 or 10 pm, you would see our classrooms full of students. There are two reasons for this: first, they really want to go to university and thus [are] working hard; second, their homes are over-crowded, each family has seven-eight children, and these students do not have suitable study-environment, therefore, they stay at our centers until 10-11 pm (Teacher1 2010).

In addition to these university prepa-ration courses, there are also private high school preparation centers operated by the HM. In Turkey’s educational system, there is also a nationwide state-managed exam

provinces are: Adiyaman, Agri, Batman, Bingol, Bitlis, Diyarbakir, Elazig, Hakkari, Gaziantep, Mardin, Mus, Sanliurfa, Siirt, Sirnak, Tunceli, and Van.

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for entry to selected public and private high schools. Students are placed to better high schools according to their test scores.

Private Schools

Private schools that are affiliated with the movement are also very active in the region. These schools provide high quality education for students from kindergarten through grade 12. These schools are not as numerous as the preparation centers, but there are schools in every city, and also in every major town. These schools charge tui-tion, but almost 20-25% of students receive full scholarships (Director 2010).

In some cities, these schools are the only private schools. Most of the schools are the best schools in the region. They follow state curriculum with additional international curriculum. The language of instruction is English. School facilities and the technology they have are above the public school stand-ards.

In addition to tuition, these schools are financially supported by local businessmen. While some of these schools were built by western businessmen, most of them were built by the wealthy families of the Kurdish region (Member1 2010).

Children of the wealthy families of the region, and the upper-class scale state bu-reaucrats mostly attend these schools along with the financially supported successful students of the low income families. By themselves, these schools provide an envi-ronment of integration for both ethnic and class differences.

There are also more than ten similar schools in the Kurdish region of northern Iraq inspired by the Hizmet Movement, in-cluding a university in Erbil (Akşam 2008).

Tutoring Centers

The movement’s latest initiative in edu-cation is tutoring centers (or reading centers for an accurate Turkish translation-okuma salonlari in Turkish). Although, there are tutoring centers all over Turkey, they are mostly concentrated in the eastern and southeastern regions.

These centers are smaller than the prepa-ration centers with 200 to 300 students per center. Since these centers are for low in-come students, they are mainly located in low income neighborhoods and suburbs.

Unlike the schools and preparation cent-ers, these tutoring centers are free of charge, and are run specifically to help low income students. These centers are operated by non-profit organizations that are affiliated by the Hizmet Movement. Only students whose families are below minimum wage level are admitted to these centers. Students’ needs, including books, test materials and even sometimes clothing are provided by these centers free of charge (Director2 2010).

The earliest of these centers opened in 2003 in Gaziantep, Sanliurfa, Diyarbakir, and Batman, the largest cities in the region. Now, there are tutoring (reading) centers in every city, town, and even some villages. Although, their number constantly changes, as of summer 2010, there are more than two hundred reading centers serving more than 50thousand low income students.

These centers apply the same curricu-lum of any other private preparation center. They are all for middle school students who are studying for the nationwide high school placement test. These schools only accept students who in at the 8th grade and would the take high school placement test. 80% of their students are placed in some sort of bet-ter high school than regular test-free state

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high schools (Director2 2010).

Besides preparing students academically for the test, these centers also provide so-cial, sportive, and cultural activities, includ-ing sport tournaments, trips to other parts of the country, and aid distribution.

The non-profit foundations that manage and operate these centers also provide mate-rial aids to the families of these students. If a student gets placed in a high school in an-other city, foundations provide scholarships and accommodations for them in the cities they go to. Each year, approximately two thousand high school students from these low income families are placed in better high schools in the western part of Turkey, and they receive full scholarships from these nonprofit movement-affiliated foundations (Director3 2010).

According to some founding members of these centers, the PKK is especially disturbed with these centers. Due to the PKK’s high activity in low income regions and suburbs, it perceives that these centers as a threat to its recruitment efforts. In fact, according to the reports of the police and government agencies, the crime level, and police ston-ing by children have dropped dramatically after these centers opened. One of the city governor stated that ‘children who used to throw stones at police, now are offering tea to patrolling officers in their neighborhood’ (Director2 2010).

In addition to these educational institu-tions, university students inspired by the Hizmet Movement also provide free tu-toring for the low income family students in their neighborhood. These students are usually referred to as abi- Turkish for elder brother4. Since, these activities are not for-

4 In Turkish language, elder people are not called by only name. Anybody who is older should be

mally organized and managed it is difficult to obtain any data. However, it is assumed that the number of students who are tu-tored by these university students is also very high especially in the larger cities which house a large university (Student 2010).

Fellowship Activities

Gülen highly values close personal rela-tions. He states that even small personal contacts can make big differences and can established cultural and social bridges be-tween people. He emphasizes that personal contact between the people in the west and the east can help to eliminate the sense of abandonment that the people of the east. For him, these personal contacts are as im-portant as educational activities and eco-nomic investments (Gulen 2007). In a video statement posted on the internet, he stated:

Even a rose that you give to your fel-low or a smile on your face towards a fellow can change things which mil-lions of dollars cannot. The people of the region feel abandoned by its state, by its country, but by reaching out and visiting them in their homes, you can show that you did not aban-don them, and you are there with them (Gulen 2007).

People in the Hizmet Movement or-ganize activities of cooperation, visits, and aid distributions throughout the east and southeastern regions. There is one national and several regional aid and solidarity foun-dation that are inspired by the movement.

The Kimse Yok mu (Anybody There? - in

called with a title. For close ages, an elder male person is called with a title “abi”, same for the women, an elder women is called with the title “abla”. There are also other titles for more age differences.

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Turkish) foundation is one of the biggest nationwide aid organizations in Turkey and is affiliated with the Hizmet Movement. The foundation gathers donations throughout Turkey and Europe and distributes these donations all over the world. In its activities in Turkey, due to economic grievances in the southeast, the foundation allocates 70% of its donations to the eastern and southeast-ern regions (Sonmez 2010).

Especially during the sacrifice feast5, the foundation organizes campaigns of aid dis-tributions in the region. In these campaigns, aid is distributed by the people of the west-ern regions who visit people of the south-eastern regions in their homes. The founda-tion not only aims to distribute aid but also to encourage interaction between the people of the west and the east. During a four day sacrifice feast campaign starting on Decem-ber 30th, 2006, 18,073 people from the west went to 35 cities in the east to person-ally meet people and share their grievances. More than 103,000 families in the east and southeast regions were visited and received gifts of food (Kirk 2008). These campaigns continue every year with increasing partici-pation (Dadas 2010).

Local aid foundations also organize similar campaigns of distribution of food, clothing, toys, and money. These founda-tions organize health screening campaigns in suburbs and rural villages. Doctors and health personnel from other parts of the country participate in these screenings. The first of these health screenings started in 2004 and over 20,000 people were screened in that year. These campaigns continue each year, and more than 50,000 people are now

5 Sacrifice feast is an Islamic holiday in which the able Muslims are required to sacrifice ani-mals and distribute their meats to needy people.

screened annually (Director3 2010).

The Effects of HM’s Educational Activities on the PKK

The Hizmet Movement opened its first educational institution in the Kurdish re-gion in 1988. This number almost doubled every year both. Both graphs show an ex-ponential increase with particularly large increases coming after 2003. In 2009, the Hizmet Movement reached 289 educational institutions with 84282 registered students in the Kurdish populated areas. The number of new students attending Hizmet Move-ment educational institutions increased at an average rate of 3,371 students per year, while the average increase in student num-ber was 1,737 before 2002, this increased to 8,544 after 2002. The number of educational institutions increased yearly at an average of 11.5, while the average increase in educa-tional institution number is 4.1 before 2002, this average increased by 30 after 2002. This increase both in student numbers and in-stitution number is mainly due to free tu-toring (reading) centers. While the Hizmet Movement was operating only preparatory centers and private schools before 2002, it started to open free tutoring centers for low income students during that year.

DataDependent Variable(s)

Activities of the PKK are measured by us-ing two variables: annual number of PKK at-tacks and annual number of PKK militants. PKK attacks are defined as armed attacks against either civilians or security forces by the PKK. PKK militants are defined as the individuals who took arms under the PKK.

Annual Number of PKK Militants: The

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number of annual PKK militants is obtained through different sources, which include Abdullah Ocalan’s statements, Turkish mili-tary sources, Turkish Police sources, media reports, academic publications, former se-curity personnel, and former PKK militants.

For earlier years (1984, 1988), Ocalan (1988) talks about the number of PKK mili-tants, and complains about why it had not reached a better number. Ozdag (2010) pro-vides data for years 1984, 1988, 1991, 1993, 1994, 1995, 2005, and 2007. Marcus (2007) states the annual number of PKK militants for the years 1991, and 1999. Ulsu (2010) gives the number of militants for 2007. Turkish military spoke persons also pro-vide numbers for certain years during press conferences. Finally, I have personally asked retired military personnel and former PKK militants who left the PKK and currently live in Europe. The number of PKK militant data might be manipulated by both the PKK and the Turkish security forces for propa-ganda purposes. These former militants and retired military personnel, compared to Turkish security forces and the PKK, have less motivation to manipulate the numbers. Although, they were not able to provide certain numbers, but approximates, their general estimates helped me to check other sources of data.

For the missing years, I assumed a linear increase between the years and calculated numbers accordingly; I interpolated the data.

Annual Number of PKK Attacks: Data for the annual number of PKK attacks is ob-tained from two main sources. One of the main sources for this data is the Office of Chief of General Staff, Office of Command of General Gendarme, and the Office of Na-tional Police. This dataset was gathered and published by the journalist Nedim Sener at

Milliyet Newspaper on June 24, 2010 (Sener 2010). The second important source for this data is set of publications from the Turk-ish Economic and Social Studies Founda-tion (TESEV) (TESEV 2006, TESEV 2008). While Sener provides data between 1994 and 2009, TESEV publications provide data between 1984 and 2007.

Independent Variables

Annual Number of HM Students: The data related to the number of students that are attending to the Hizmet Movement inspired institutions is collected through field research. This data covers 16 eastern and southeastern provinces that are mainly Kurdish populated. These provinces are for the following provinces: Adiyaman, Agri, Batman, Bingol, Bitlis, Diyarbakir, Elazig, Hakkari, Gaziantep, Mardin, Mus, Sanli-urfa, Siirt, Sirnak, Tunceli, and Van. Main sources of the data are regional directors, or superintendents of these institutions. The HM inspired educational institutions oper-ate under several foundations. Each founda-tion has many educational institutions, such as schools, preparation centers and tutoring centers. However, there are central offices for each foundation which oversee many in-stitutions. Usually, all of the educational in-stitutions in or near a province are operated under the same foundation.

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Figure 1. Number of Students Attending Hizmet Movement (HM) Institutions and Number of HM Educational Institutions in Kurdish Regions over time

010

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MIn

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tionN

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r

1985 1990 1995 2000 2005 2010Year

020

000

4000

060

000

8000

0G

Mst

uden

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1985 1990 1995 2000 2005 2010Year

Other Independent Variables

Although not analyzed in this paper, other possible effective independent var-iables are also included in the regression analyses. These variables are: percentage of public investment in Kurdish regions (in total public investment), develop-ments in Kurd’s minority rights, Kurd-

ish ethnic party’s vote (percentage in the total vote), Ocalan’s active leadership in the PKK (as a dummy), annual number of eliminated PKK militants by the Turkish security forces, annual military spend-ing, and cross-border attacks into North-ern Iraq (as a dummy).

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Data Analyses

Correlation Results

Table 1. Correlation between # HM Studentsand Annual Number of PKK Mili-tants and PKK Attacks

HM Students# of PKK

Militants

# of PKK

Attacks

HM Students 1

# of PKK Militants -0.0620 1

# of PKK Attacks -0.2312 0.4416 1

Table 2. Correlation between HM Institutions and Annual Number of PKK Mil-itants and PKK Attacks

HM

Institutions

# of PKK

Militants# of PKK

Attacks

HM Institutions 1

# of PKK Militants -0.0648 1

# of PKK Attacks -0.2146 0.4416 1

Both number of students and institutions are negatively correlated with the annual

number of PKK militants and annual num-ber of PKK attacks. The absolute value of the correlation coefficient is greater for annual number of PKK attacks (correlation coeffi-cient -0.2312) than annual number of PKK militants (correlation coefficient -0.0620).

This may suggest that the number of stu-dents attending HM educational institution is more effective on PKK recruitment than its attacks.

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Figure 2. Comparison of Number of HM Students with Annual Number of PKK Militants and Attacks over time

Regression Results

By using the annual number of PKK militants and the annual number of PKK attacks as dependent variables two different OLS regression models are tested. For the first model, the annual number of PKK militants is treated as the dependent variable while the second model uses the number of PKK attacks.

Model-A:

Where the annual number of PKK militants used as the dependent variable;

PKKMil = β0 + β1Ocalan + β2MilSpend + β3ElimPKK + β4CroBor + β5PubInv + β6MinRight + β7KurdParty + β8GMStu + ε

Model-B:

Where the annual number of PKK attacks used as the dependent variable;

PKKAttack = β0 + β1Ocalan + β2MilSpend + β3ElimPKK + β4CroBor + β5PubInv + β6MinRight + β7KurdParty + β8GMStu + ε

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Where,

PKKMil = Annual # PKK Militant

PKKAttack = Annual # PKK Attacks/ Annual # PKK Attacks-START

Ocalan = Ocalan as the Head of the PKK (1 when Ocalan was the head of PKK, 0 when he is in prison)

MilSpend = Annual Military Spending (%GNP)

ElimPKK = Annual # of Captured/killed PKK Militants

CroBor = Cross border Attack (1 if there is cross border attack, 0 if not)

PubInv = Public Investment (% of total PI)

MinRight = Minority Rights Index

KurdParty= Kurdish Ethnic Party Vote (% of total vote)

GMStu = Annual # of GM Student

Hypothesis: Number of PKK attacks and militants decrease as the number of students attending the Hizmet Movement affiliated institutions increases6.

There are six versions of each model, below tables present the results:

6 Since this paper focuses on only the effects of HM student numbers on the PKK, other hypotheses are not included in this paper.

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Table 4.5. Overall Findings in Model-A (Annual Number of PKK Militants as Dependent Variable)

(1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6)

PKK Militant Number

PKK Militant Number

PKK Militant Number

PKK Militant Number

PKK Militant Number

PKK Militant Number

L.PKK Militant Number 0.970*** 0.929*** 0.912*** 0.947*** 0.973*** 0.847***

(11.89) (12.72) (22.48) (12.33) (15.28) (62.56)

Ocalan -2012.518 -2984.791* -1023.667 -2781.127* -2678.251* -179.671

(-1.43) (-2.11) (-1.45) (-1.83) (-2.09) (-0.87)

Military Spending 310.178 326.756 247.470 107.492

(0.44) (0.53) (0.75) (0.18)

CapturedkilledPKK -0.348** -0.267** -0.428*** -0.261** -0.240** -0.008

(-2.71) (-2.37) (-6.52) (-2.14) (-2.22) (-0.34)

CrossborderAttack 1293.681 1707.926** 1375.043*** 1460.105* 1309.243* 175.133

(1.70) (2.23) (3.75) (1.92) (1.85) (1.24)

GovermentInvestment 361.390*** 390.378*** 241.691*** 385.346*** 405.634***

(5.29) (6.62) (6.94) (6.03) (6.82)

MinorityRights -64.175 -92.769 -81.945

(-0.69) (-1.13) (-0.97)

KurdishEth2 -316.542* -391.765** -65.225 -331.882* -404.649*

(-1.77) (-2.44) (-0.70) (-1.92) (-1.95)

# of GM Students -0.063 -0.040** -0.077** 0.007

(-1.65) (-2.14) (-2.17) (0.87)

L.# of GM Students -0.096** -0.086*

(-2.28) (-1.83)

L.MinorityRights -28.325 -67.422 38.515*

(-0.62) (-0.73) (1.88)

L.Military Spending 243.962 33.884

(0.37) (0.26)

L.GovermentInvestment 6.545

(0.49)

Constant 661.997 2173.120 -332.066 1884.956 1644.145 -584.178

(0.24) (0.79) (-0.23) (0.60) (0.65) (-1.03)

Observations 25 25 25 25 25 25

t statistics in parentheses * p < 0.1, ** p < 0.05, *** p < 0.01; L (lagged) one year.

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Table 4.6. Overall Findings in Model-B (Annual Number of PKK Attacks as Dependent Variable)

(1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6)

PKK Attack Number

PKK Attack Number

PKK Attack Number

PKK Attack Number

PKK Attack Number

PKK Attack Number

L.PKK Attack Number 1.084*** 1.081*** 1.132*** 1.084*** 1.041*** 1.032***

(11.79) (13.20) (13.74) (13.59) (10.83) (10.06)

Ocalan -939.938 -1440.446 -1159.323 -1537.360* -590.111 -191.859

(-1.19) (-1.73) (-1.70) (-1.92) (-0.70) (-0.31)

Military Spending -167.540 -294.937 -490.405 -369.477

(-0.48) (-0.96) (-1.66) (-1.29)

CapturedkilledPKK -0.170** -0.166** -0.167** -0.168** -0.177** -0.148*

(-2.25) (-2.38) (-2.47) (-2.47) (-2.19) (-1.76)

CrossborderAttack 629.032 849.349* 402.953 784.755* 726.079 70.875

(1.46) (1.97) (1.08) (1.97) (1.57) (0.17)

GovermentInvestment 150.667*** 146.567*** 160.400*** 151.035*** 150.460***

(3.88) (4.22) (4.65) (4.48) (3.75)

MinorityRights -105.670** -75.328* -105.839*

(-2.15) (-1.77) (-1.89)

KurdishEth2 -24.277 -67.187 17.349 -4.370 65.062

(-0.25) (-0.73) (0.21) (-0.05) (0.49)

# of GM Students -0.059** -0.051** -0.061** -0.036

(-2.73) (-2.76) (-2.61) (-1.53)

L.# of GM Students -0.063** -0.071**

(-2.64) (-2.94)

L.MinorityRights -67.591 -88.173* -99.292

(-1.55) (-1.99) (-1.59)

L.Military Spending -333.039 19.926

(-0.76) (0.05)

L.GovermentInvestment 113.902**

(2.67)

Constant 3173.719* 3208.759* 3099.029** 3807.779** 3317.467* 2052.521

(1.98) (2.00) (2.15) (2.30) (1.97) (1.19)

Observations 25 25 25 25 25 25

t statistics in parentheses * p < 0.1, ** p < 0.05, *** p < 0.01; L (lagged) one year.

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Values for both the number of schools and number of students was gathered, in regression analysis only the number of stu-dents is included due to high correlation between the two variables. Each variable reflects very similar results when included separately.

Annual number of students attending to the Hizmet Movement affiliated educa-tional institutions is statistically significant in most of the regression in both Model-A and Model-B. The lagged variable of HM stu-dents also shows similar results, and is sta-tistically significant. In all of the regression models and versions, the signs of the HM students are negative, except in the column 6 of Model-A.

In Model-A where the annual number of PKK militants used as the dependent variable, for every 100 student attending to the HM institutions, the number of PKK militants decreases by 4-7 annually. For the lagged variable, each 100 students are tied to an annual decrease of 9-10 militants.

In terms of PKK attacks, for every 100 students, the annual number of PKK attacks decreases by 5-6 attacks. In the lagged vari-able, it is 6-7 attacks annually. The lagged GM student number has a larger effect on both the militant and attack number. It means that the effect of the number of GM students on PKK size increases over time. These results indicate that the hypothesis is true. The data shows that the size of the PKK decreases as the number of students attending to Hizmet Movement affiliated educational institutions increases. The anal-yses also show that the annual number of students attending to the HM affiliated in-stitutions has a negative effect on both an-nual number of PKK militant and attacks. According to the analyses, HM’s educational activities affect the recruitment process of

the PKK more than its attacks. This may be explained by the effect of students attend-ing to the GM affiliated educational institu-tions. These children and youths stay away from the PKK or any other terrorist activi-ties, which decreases the number of PKK militants, whereas the PKK attacks may be launched strategically independent of num-ber of recruitment.

Conclusion

Although the Hizmet Movement does not directly target the PKK activities (as stated by the people in the movement) its activities indirectly decrease both the num-ber of PKK attacks and recruits.

Of course, there are some other factors that affect the PKK attack and militant num-bers other than the HM student number, but this paper’s analyses support the idea that both the attack and militant numbers of PKK decline when the number of students attending to HM educational institutions increase. This may result due to two condi-tions: (1) since the HM promotes peaceful coexistence and discourages criminal activi-ties in general, students who are involved with the HM are less likely to involve in PKK and its activities, (2) the PKK recruits espe-cially from suburban areas where students are less motivated for education, the HM provides education, with these extensive educational activities, the HM diverts the students’ attention to education. Students who are involved with extensive educa-tional activities are less likely to involve in any kind of criminal activities, including the PKK activities.

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Muzaffer Ercan YılmazBalıkesir University, [email protected]

The Organization of the Islamic Conference as a Conflict Manager in the Arab Spring

Abstract

The so-called Arab Spring has been one of the greatest challenges in the Muslim world in recent years. Particularly focusing on the violent events in Syria, the Arab Spring has to be managed somehow; otherwise, it may give rise to rather destructive consequences. Reaching a cease-fire agreement in Syria and building a durable peace in post-conflict countries, like Tunisia, Egypt, and Libya require third-party help due to the psychological components of the conflict, as well as institutional weaknesses of the post-conflict societies. In this regard, because of its legitimacy as the collective voice of Muslim countries and its past experiences, the Organization of the Islamic Conference (OIC) would be a perfect third-party. This paper aims to discuss probable constructive third-party roles of the OIC in conflict settings and in the process of peace building. The study stresses that while it cannot be expected to solve all the problems associated with the uprisings, the OIC can assume especially four types of roles in making and building peace. These include the provision of humanitarian relief to people in emergencies, the rehabilitation functions, the preven-tive function through early warning, and conflict resolution activities. Many of the problematic areas and challenges that the OIC faces, ranging from budget problems to structural weaknesses, are also addressed in concluding the study.

Keywords

OIC, Organization of Islamic Conference, Arab Spring, Conflict Management, Peace Building.

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Introduction

One of the greatest challenges in the Muslim world in recent history has been a series of protests and demonstrations across the Middle East and North Africa, known as the “Arab Spring”. With the suc-cess of the protests in Tunisia in late De-cember, 2010, a wave of unrest sparked by the Tunisian “burning man” struck Algeria, Jordan, Egypt, and Yemen, then spread to other countries. Syria has recently become the country where the most violent clashes occur between the Syrian government and rebel forces.

Particularly focusing on the violent events in Syria, the Arab Spring has to be managed somehow; otherwise, it may give rise to rather destructive consequences for the Muslim world in terms of human losses and material sources. In this respect, third-party help is particularly needed in both making and building peace due to the psy-chological components of the conflict, as well as institutional weaknesses of the post-conflict societies. As the collective voice of Muslim countries, the Organization of the Islamic Conference (OIC) would be a pow-erful third-party. Especially in areas of the provision of humanitarian relief, the reha-bilitation functions, the preventive function through early warning, and conflict resolu-tion activities, the ICO would be very help-ful. Starting with a brief overview of the OIC, this article aims to discuss constructive third-party roles of the organization in con-flict settings. Many of the problematic areas and challenges that the OIC faces are also addressed in concluding the study.

The OIC: A Brief Overview

The OIC was established in Rabat, Mo-rocco on September 25, 1969 as a respond

to an attack against Al-Aqsa Mosque on Au-gust 21, 1969. With 57 member states, 56 of which are classed by the United Nations as member states, the OIC is today the second largest organization in the world, after the United Nations. The OIC countries are main-ly those whose majority is followers of the religion of Islam. Although the OIC coun-tries represent a substantial portion of the world’s developing countries, % 21of world’s population, and possess significant human and material resources, many member coun-tries lag far behind the industrialized coun-tries, even average developing countries in terms of socio-economic development.

The primary organs of the OIC include the Islamic Summit, the Islamic Confer-ence of Foreign Ministers and the General Secretariat. The Islamic Summit is the larg-est meeting, attended by the kings and the heads of state and government of the mem-ber states. It convenes every three years. The Islamic Summit takes policy decisions and provides guidance on all issues pertain-ing to the realization of the objectives as provided for in the OIC Charter. The Islamic Conference of Foreign Ministers meets once a year to examine a progress report on the implementation of its decisions taken with-in the framework of the policy defined by the Islamic Summit. The General Secretariat is the executive organ of the Organization, entrusted with the implementation of the decisions of the two preceding bodies, and is located in Jeddah, Saudi Arabia. The cur-rent secretary general of this international organization is Ekmeleddin İhsanoğlu, from Turkey, since January 1, 2005. The Secretary General is elected by the Council of Foreign Ministers for a period of five years, renew-able once only. The Secretary General is elected from among nationals of the mem-ber states in accordance with the principles of equitable geographical distribution, rota-tion and equal opportunity for all member

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states with due consideration to compe-tence, integrity and experience. Apart from these main bodies, there are also subsidiary branches, specialized Institutions, and affili-ated institutions (İhsanoğlu 2010, 39-49).

According to its Charter, the primary aims of the OIC are to enhance and consoli-date the bonds of fraternity and solidarity among the member states; safeguard and protect the common interests of them; en-sure active participation of the member states in the global political, economic and social decision-making processes to secure their common interests; strengthen intra-Islamic economic and trade cooperation so as to achieve economic integration leading to the establishment of an Islamic common market; and protect and defend the true im-age of Islam.

The influential countries in terms of po-litical, religious, economic weight and activ-ity in the OIC are Saudi Arabia, Turkey, Iran, Pakistan, and Malaysia. Other members that have a significant influence because of their financial contributions include Kuwait, the United Arab Emirates, and Libya. The OIC budget consists of obligatory payments and voluntary contributions. Despite its size, its numerous committees and activities, the OIC is run on a tight budget.

Pressures for change have been incubat-ing for some time in the OIC. In this regard, “The OIC Ten Year Program of Action” was launched on June 19, 2006. It promises an organization that will uphold transpar-ency and accountability in governance and protect the rights of women, children, and minorities. It promises to promote sustain-able development and to assist the least de-veloped states in tackling serious diseases. It also pledges to work more closely with international agencies and with existing de-velopment initiatives and promises concrete

steps on theological issues.

Although it provides a useful forum for discussion, the OIC has lacked the means to implement its resolutions. Yet there are some indications that this is changing and also that the OIC is starting to play a more significant role on the global stage. Particu-larly, recent decisions to tackle “Islamo-phobia” have helped raise the OIC’s profile around the globe (İhsanoğlu 2010, Ahsan 1998).

The Constructive Third-Party Roles of the OIC

While it cannot be expected to solve all the problems associated with the uprisings in the events of the Arab Spring, the OIC can assume especially four types of roles in mak-ing and building peace: The provision of hu-manitarian relief to people in emergencies, the rehabilitation functions, the preventive function through early warning, and conflict resolution activities.

I. The Provision of Humanitarian Relief

The OIC has had experience in war-relat-ed contexts. Many of the branches, indeed, were formed during and immediately after serious large-scale conflicts. Therefore, the OIC often defines itself as a service agency. It is beyond doubt that providing humani-tarian aids to the needy is the first and most urgent thing to do in conflict settings. Lives have been saved through this way in Palestine, Afghanistan, Bosnia, Jammu and Kashmir, Iraq, Somalia, and many other conflict areas (İhsanoğlu 2010, 101-124).

In fact, many recipients of the OIC aid attest to the fact that the assistance kept

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their families alive under desperate circum-stances, helped them escape from imprison-ment or exile, provided the extra support needed for them to initiate a self-sustaining enterprise, or supported their pursuit of the values of intergroup harmony. Foreign as-sistance provided through the OIC has had a profound impact on the lives of many in-dividuals, has helped spawn the creation of many NGOs in the recipient countries, and has prompted the articulation of op-erational principles adopted by most donor government and United Nations agencies (İhsanoğlu 2010, 120-124).

The same can be done in the case of Arab Spring as well, helping countries suffering a civil war or large-scale conflict. The most significant point is that the OIC participat-ing in humanitarian relief operations should maintain a policy of strict neutrality in situ-ations of conflict, defining its role as provid-ers of aid to those in need without regard to political, ethnic or religious affiliation. How-ever, the potential misuse of resources is a problematic area for the OIC interventions and in spite of having indigenous partners, the OIC is not in a position to know exactly who the “right” side is in conflict settings. Yet OIC members have increasingly become aware of the necessity of being very careful in delivering aids and unwittingly not sup-porting war-prone groups.

II. The Rehabilitation Functions

Although the Arab Spring occurs in countries with varying physical and human resource endowments, it, at the same time, produces significant similarities in the na-ture of civilian institutions and local econ-omy.

It is typical that in countries emerging from a large-scale conflict, or still suffering

it, the state tends to be the dominant actor in virtually all sectors. Yet in reality, the po-litical institutions are weak and ill-suited to the needs of people. Efforts to strengthen and restructure the state apparatus so that governments can fulfill roles critical to so-cial and economic well-being are severely hampered by the political environment, characterized by a vigorous competition for power. It is also distinguished by limited le-gitimacy of political leaders, extreme polari-zation, and a lack of consensus on the direc-tion the country should follow. Civil-society institutions, which in democratic countries serve as one means of applying pressure to governments, are also usually poorly devel-oped in post-conflict societies. Those that exist are often inexperienced and highly politicized, seriously undermining their ef-fectiveness (Yılmaz 2009, 238-239; Yılmaz 2007, 26).

Prolonged civil strives have serious eco-nomic consequences too. At the macro level, economic and social infrastructures -such as the transport and communication sys-tems, health care, education, banking and financing- suffer extensive damage as a re-sult of fighting or lack of maintenance. At the same time, the share of manufacturing, construction, transport, and commerce in gross domestic product drastically declines. In time, the country’s economic capacity to re-generate substantial investments slowly diminishes (Yılmaz 2009, 239).

At the micro level, lengthy conflicts cre-ate a variety of serious issues associated with human capital, land, and the environment. Human resource shortages are especially typical in post-conflict countries as people with professional training -such as doctors, teachers, and government officials, in gen-eral,- are often targeted during the armed conflict. Additionally, educational opportu-nities decrease during wartime as schools

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are closed or students opt to participate in the conflict (Yılmaz 2009, 239).

The overall social indicators in countries that have experienced large-scale conflicts are usually very poor prior to the armed conflict, and conflict related poverty causes even further decline. Hence, most post-con-flict countries record abysmal rates of infant mortality, illiteracy, malnutrition, school enrolment, and so on.

Consequently, all of the war-torn socie-ties affected by the Arab Spring face large and complex set of issues that must be ad-dressed rapidly. Resolving the myriad of institutional, economic, social, and politi-cal problems takes on a heightened urgency as many of these issues are related to the conflict itself. Failing to respond in a timely fashion may create the conditions for a re-turn to organized violence.

Coping with such challenging tasks and building peace are not likely through the efforts of one actor only. Multi-level ef-forts must be put by several actors. In this respect, particularly important is to encour-age the participation of the OIC. Especially in strengthening the institutional capacity, international resources can be channeled through the OIC. This is usually a better op-tion comparing to channeling them through local governments, which, in this case, may result in the danger that assistance would be used to gain electoral advantage at the expense of the groups most affected by the conflict, fostering, thus, a political environ-ment inimical to reconciliation. In addition, the OIC can collaborate with representatives of civil society and with private enterprise in strengthening institutional capacity. The OIC possesses advantages to that end as it usually knows the country in which it works quite well and often has indigenous part-ners. Strengthening civil society, in turn,

can enhance opportunities for participation and foster political reconciliation in time.

In transition from serious conflicts to peace, another priority is economic recon-struction. Although the events within the Arab Spring have many different causes, the economic dimension is still important, for a state that is characterized by widespread poverty is a state where various antagonisms are likely to go on. Economic well-being, on the other hand, may contribute to a sense of security and give different ethnic groups a stake in the system. To heal economic defi-cits, the OIC can offer technical assistance to plan and implement reconstruction efforts; rehabilitate the basic infrastructure, includ-ing health and education systems, water and sanitation systems, banking system, roads, bridges, and telecommunication facilities; as well as generate employment through micro enterprise assistance.

Of course, it is not possible to address all these issues simultaneously. Neverthe-less, the peace building experiences in the post-Cold War era suggest that early action is especially needed to help rehabilitate the infrastructure that is crucial to economic revival (such as, major roads, marketplaces, power generation facilities, and so on), and stabilize both national currency and finan-cial institutions (Yılmaz 2009, 244).

III. The Preventive Function

Conflict prevention, as used here, refers to actions keeping disputes from becoming violent (violence avoidance) or limiting esca-lation of erupted violence (violence contain-ment). The OIC is often well suited to play a role in early warning and preventive action, alerting the international community to po-tential breakdowns in a distressed country’s governance or in relations among the coun-

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try’s major domestic groups. Since the OIC has deep roots in local Arab communities, its relief and development workers in the field has a unique vantage point to identify deteriorating conditions that might lead to organized violence.

In general, the OIC can, and should, use its early warning capabilities to advocate governmental policies aimed at stemming the outbreak of further violence during complex emergencies. The executive leader-ship of the OIC would serve as advocates to the United Nations and major powers of the international system, for its organizations could combine on-the-ground experience with difficult issues that give it a unique in-sight into the dimensions of complex emer-gencies. These insights can be crucial to poli-cymakers in governments in international organizations.

IV. Conflict Resolution Activities

The OIC can also play a significant role as intermediaries and mediators in conflict settings. In some cases, stopping immediate violence would be the most urgent thing to do in dealing with a serious conflict, since until violence is stopped, it is unlikely that any attempts to resolve competing inter-ests, to change negative attitudes, or to alter socio-economic circumstances giving rise to conflict will be successful. Syria is the most visible example. Yet sometimes this may not likely through the deployment of United Na-tions peacekeeping forces, for this requires a Security Council resolution. Again in the case of Syria, because of the vetoes of China and Russia, the United Nations has failed to military respond to the Syrian crisis. Hence, in situations where authoritative third-party involvement is not likely for any reason, the job should be done voluntarily and in this respect, the OIC, because of its legitimacy,

can play a very constructive third-party role in reaching a cease-fire agreement between conflicting groups.

The OIC intervening a violent conflict basically uses three modes to accomplish its purposes- communication, formulation, and manipulation, usually in that order.

When conflict has made direct contact between the parties impossible, thereby pre-venting them from talking to each other and from making concession without appearing weak or loosing face, the OIC can serve as communicator. In this situation, it simply acts as a conduit, opening contacts and car-rying messages. This role is completely pas-sive, with no substantive contribution by the mediator.

The second mode of mediation requires the OIC to enter into the substance of the negotiation. Since a conflict may not only impede communications between parties, but be so encompassing that it prevents them from conceiving ways out of the dis-pute, the parties need a mediator as formu-lator too. Once face-to-face discussions are underway, the main functions of the OIC should include:

(i) Providing ideas or possible solutions, especially when the parties are deadlocked.

(ii) Initiating proposals which originate from one or other party, but which could not be advanced for fear of revealing weakness or uncertainty.

(iii) De-committing the parties by pro-viding some formula by which they can gracefully abandon previous positions to which public acts and statements have heav-ily committed them.

(iv) Acting as a substitute source of ideas or proposals (Grieg and Diehl 2012, Poon

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2010, Sisk 2009).

The third mode requires the OIC to act as a manipulator. Here the OIC assumes the maximum degree of involvement, becoming a party to the solution. As a manipulator, the OIC should use its power to bring the parties to an agreement, pushing and pull-ing them away from conflict into resolution.

When the OIC acts as a communicator, tact, wording, mixed in equal doses with ac-curacy and confidentiality, are the necessary character traits that should be particularly exist.

The OIC as a formulator must be capable of thinking of ways to unblock the thinking of the conflicting parties and to work out imaginative ways to skirt those commit-ments that constrain the parties. Also, it must be persuasive and tenacious, for just as the conflict oftentimes prevents the parties from finding imaginative ways out, it may also prevent them seeing the value of the mediator’s suggestions at first hearing

The OIC as a manipulator needs to use “leverage”. Leverage consists of political, economic, or even personal punishments and rewards (Zartman and Spector 2003, Zartman and Touval 1996). The OIC should use them to push the parties towards solu-tion.

The Next Step: Sustaining Peace

When the conflicting parties reach a negotiated agreement, the duty of the OIC does not stop there. Ideally, the OIC should monitor the implications of the agreement and take necessary measures to sustain it so that they ensure its survival and durability.

In the final analysis, a negotiated peace agreement is an imperfect road map to the

future. It shows the direction the parties must move if they are to consolidate the peace, but it mostly does not tell them how to get there, except in general terms. New problems can emerge, which should be ac-commodated within the framework of the settlement. Also, there are frequently major unresolved issues at the time an agreement is reached. These issues remain the sub-ject of subsequent negotiations (Hampson 1996). Further, the act of signing an agree-ment does not mean that the parties neces-sarily wish to fulfill all of their commitments under the agreement. Thus, the risk of slid-ing back into confrontation is usually high in the early stages of the peace process. Even after a modicum of trust is built up between the parties, it can be undermined by per-ceived violations or failures of compliance (Yılmaz 2009, 245).

Hence, one of the key functions of the OIC is to foster trust between warring fac-tions by monitoring compliance and holding them accountable to their negotiated com-mitments. As needed, the OIC should play its traditional mediation role for continuing negotiations over intractable issues left out of the agreement as well.

The role of the OIC as a third-party in sustaining peace processes also goes beyond monitoring negotiated agreements and mediating follow-up negotiations, for the act of signing a peace agreement does not automatically create the result that fighting people immediately lay down their arms and return to civilian life. Most of the time, mu-tual hostilities among the ordinary remain unchanged in the aftermath of negotiated agreements. These undermine the accept-ance, as well as implementation, of peace at the societal level. Therefore, reaching peace between formal negotiators is not enough for a durable, larger peace. The publics in conflict, too, should be prepared to that end

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(Yılmaz 2009, 244-245).

This, indeed, constitutes the most chal-lenging area for the OIC. Making peace among a small number of official negotia-tors would be relatively easy, but making peace among thousands of people who hold hostile images and attitudes towards each other is a real problem. In transforming the relationships that harm the parties at large, multi-tracked intervention strategies should be utilized.

For example, one way to ease relational problems and build trust between hostile parties would be “track-two diplomacy”. Jo-seph V. Montville, one of the pioneers of this approach, defines track-two diplomacy as an unofficial, informal interaction between members of adversary groups or nations aiming to develop strategies, influence pub-lic opinion, and organize human and materi-al resources in ways that might help resolve their conflict (Montville 1990, 160). If they are well-organized and undertaken for a rea-sonably long time, people-to-people interac-tions, oftentimes working through problem-solving workshops, mediated or facilitated by psychologically-sensitive third-parties, may provide an opportunity for disputants to examine the root causes of their conflict and to identify obstacles to better relation-ships. What is more, by allowing face-to-face communication, they may help participants arrest dehumanization process, overcome psychological barriers, and focus on relation building (Yılmaz 2005, Davies and Kaufman, 2002). Best of all, changes at the level of in-dividuals in the form of new insights and ideas, resulting from the micro-level process of workshops, can then be fed back into the political debate and the decision making in conflicting communities, hence becoming vehicles for change at the macro level (Mc-Donald 2002, Kelman 1996).

Track-two diplomacy is an area where the OIC would play a major role as a third-party. It would arrange and facilitate prob-lem-solving workshops between adversary groups, working as intermediaries in the process as well. Although not necessary, third-party help is usually needed in organ-izing track-two diplomacy, since the parties in conflict cannot easily take unilateral ac-tions due to the concern for appearing weak, as well as intense hostile feelings towards the other side.

The possibilities for easing antagonism among rival groups would also be enhanced when these groups are brought together to work toward some common ends by the OIC specialized committees. Working on com-mon goals would enhance bonds among the participants in a number of ways. One is by reducing the salience of group boundaries. That is, people who are working toward a common goal are in some sense members of the same group, and therefore, they are not so likely to be antagonistic toward one an-other. Another is by a reinforcement mecha-nism. As people work together, each rewards the other and produces a sense of gratitude and warmth in the other. Pursuing a com-mon goal also means that each party sees itself as working on behalf of the other, a view that is likely to foster positive attitudes (Pruitt et al. 2004, 136-137).

Lastly, educational programs should be revised as well. Formal education is one way that national culture and historical enmities are transmitted from generation to genera-tion. Yet education is a tool that can also be used to foster intellectual and moral quali-ties, such as critical thinking, openness, skepticism, objectivity, and respect for cul-tural differences. Education of that sort is usually called peace education and it would be a powerful weapon in the hands of the OIC, for the whole process of child raising

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may have a critical impact on attitudes and beliefs in later life (Harris 2003). In addi-tion, if the hostile attitudes and perceptions of one generation are not passed on to the next, then the younger generation might be able to deal with inter-group problems in a more constructive atmosphere.

Some Major Challenges and Problematic Areas

While the utility of the OIC cannot be denied in the process of peacemaking and peace building in countries suffering the Arab Spring, the organization itself suffers some serious weaknesses, summarized as follows:

First of all, it seems that there is a grow-ing disparity between the personnel ca-pacity of the OIC and demands of peace in conflict settings. The OIC Charter stipulates that to assist in maintaining peace and secu-rity in the Muslim world, all member states should make available necessary facilities. Yet the OIC does not have a readily-available military force that could be utilized to stop immediate violence in violent conflicts, nor does it possess other types of specialized personnel to be used in urgency. Besides, the interpretation of the OIC Charter by the member states has been subjective and se-lective in accordance with their immediate interests. They do not want to take risk. Ac-cordingly, the member states have been re-luctant to participate in multinational peace operations.

A growing disparity also exists between expanding OIC activities and the budget-ing of the organization. Especially building peace in war-torn societies is a very expen-sive task, requiring much time and many efforts from many directions (Yılmaz 2009, 247). The OIC’s budget comes from manda-

tory payments from its members, as well as additional voluntary contributions. De-spite its size, its various committees and the scope of its stated activities, the OIC is run on a tight budget. That aside, wide-spread poverty in most Muslim countries have made them reluctant to support OIC activities, in general. This resulted in a seri-ous shortfall. Persistent shortfalls in contri-butions meant that up to the end of 2012, the OIC was about $200 million in deficit. To overcome the financial crisis that the OIC has faced, many alternative financing sourc-es have been proposed, including increasing the payments of the member countries. Yet the member states are reluctant to reform the system, fearing that they would lose po-litical leverage.

A final shortcoming of the OIC is that the efficiency of peace missions requires a consensus among member states. The end of the Cold War has resulted in a spirit of cooperation and excluded largely the former ideological clashes among Muslim countries.

Besides, the spread of Islamofobia in the Western world in the post-Cold War era increased bonds among Muslim countries. Yet no one can guarantee that this trend will continue. Indeed, the rise of the Arab Spring caused a serious split among Muslim countries as many supported the uprisings, while others opposed them. Especially, the chronic nature of the conflict in Syria has been giving rise to increasing international frustration within the Muslim world and it is uncertain how far this will go on.

Conclusion

As the above discussions and evalua-tion of the OIC suggest, in managing and resolving internal conflicts occurring within the context of the Arab Spring, the organi-

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zation could have many positive functions that cannot be denied. First of all, working as a mediator, the OIC can prevent physical violence and conflict escalation. It is beyond doubt that without controlling immediate violence and introducing a cooling-off peri-od, it is not likely to initiate a peace process in any conflict. Further, the OIC can encour-age negotiations between conflicting par-ties by providing secure meeting places, also working as intermediaries in the process. What is more, the OIC can open doors which might otherwise remain closed to efforts in peacemaking and peace building to secure lasting peace.

But on the other hand, the problems that the OIC faces today confirm that a general and uniform system of peacemaking and peace building is still not imminent. The OIC activities are patchy, ad hoc, and contingent upon the interests and cooperation of pow-erful Muslim states. Moreover, peace activi-ties of the OIC seriously suffer, as addressed above, personnel, finance, and many other structural problems. Yet in situations of in-ternal conflicts, intervention in the affairs of others is a critical business. It is not an arena for mere posturing or for being seen as “do-ing something”. It must be attempted with the best, most committed, and perseverant personnel and pursued with a relentless in-tensity. Hence, further cooperation among Muslim countries is certainly needed if the OIC is to be strengthened to be the genuine protector of peace and security in the Mus-lim world.

References

Ahsan, Abdullah. 1998. The Organization of the Islamic Conference. Herndon, VA: Inter-national Institute for Islamic Thought.

Davies, John and Kaufman, Edy. 2002.

Second Track/Citizen’s Diplomacy: Concepts and Techniques for Conflict. Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield.

Grieg, Michael J. and Diehl, Paul F. 2012. International Mediation. Cambridge, UK; Malden, MA: Polity.

Hampson, Fen Osler. 1996. “Why Or-phaned Peace Settlements are More Prone to Failure.” In Managing Global Chaos, edited by Chester A. Crocker et al., 533-550, Wash-ington, D.C.: United States Institute of Peace Press.

Harris, Ian M. 2003. Peace Education. Jef-ferson, NC: McFarland & Company Inc.

İhsanoglu, Ekmeleddin. 2010. The Islam-ic World in the New Century: The Organization of the Islamic Conference. London: Hurts and Company.

Kelman, Herbert C. 1996. “The Interac-tive Problem-Solving Approach.” In Manag-ing Global Chaos, edited by Chester A. Crock-er et al., 501-520, Washington, D.C.: United States Institute of Peace Press.

McDonald, John. 2002. Personal Inter-view. Washington, D.C., May 12.

Montville, Joseph V. 1990. “The Arrow and the Olive Branch: A Case for Track Two Diplomacy.” In The Psychodynamics of Inter-national Relationship, Vol. 2 edited by Vamik D. Volkan et al., London: Lexington Books.

Poon, Gary P. 2010. Mediation. Chicago, IL: American Bar Association.

Pruitt, Dean G., Kim, Sung H. and Ru-bin, Jeffrey Z. 2004. Social Conflict: Escala-tion, Stalemate, and Settlement. New York: McGraw-Hill.

Sisk, Timothy D. 2009. International Me-diation in Civil Wars. London and New York

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Yılmaz, Muzaffer E. 2009. Intra-State Conflicts in the Post-Cold War Era,” Interna-tional Journal on World Peace, 24(4).

______. 2009. “Peace Building in War-Torn Societies.” Peace Review, 21(2): 238-248.

______. 2007. “Intra-State Conflicts in the Post-Cold War Era.” International Journal on World Peace, 24(4): 11-34.

______. 2005. “Interactive Problem Solv-ing in Intercommunal Conflicts,” Peace Re-view, 17(4): 443-450.

Zartman, William and Spector, Bertram I. 2003. Getting It Done. Washington D.C.: United States Institute of Peace Press.

Zartman, William and Touval, Saadia. 1996. “International Mediation in the Post-Cold War Era.” In Managing Global Chaos, edited by Chester A. Crocker et al. 445-462, Washington, D.C.: United States Institute of Peace Press.

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Olusanya FaboyedeAdekunle Ajasin University, [email protected]

Indigenous Political System in the Pre-colonial Akokoland: A Re-appraisal during Colonial Rule

Abstract

The indigenous administrative system encouraged integration among communities in Akoko-land of the present Ondo-State, Nigeria. In Akoko’s past, the selection of kings was primarily based on the traditional method. Thus, such selection showcased the ethos and ideas of the Akoko people as it entailed their socio-cultural value. In view of the paramountcy of kings, the role played by them in the process of inter-group relations in the Akoko community cannot be over-empha-sised. However, with the establishment of colonial (British) rule in Akokoland, the kings no longer commanded honour. Their paraphernalia of authority was overtaken by British judicial system of administration. Thus, the paper addressed the threat posed to the place of the traditional political institutions in the Akoko society during and even beyond colonial rule.

Keywords

Indigenous, Political System, Age-groups, Pre-colonial, Akokoland, Colonial Rule.

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Introduction

Prior to the imposition of colonial (Brit-ish) rule in Akokoland, the towns and villag-es were under the control of the traditional rulers, but the high status accorded the kings became low under British rule. In 1900, the British administrators were received as the liberators of the people of Akokoland from the imperial rule of the Etsu Nupe (Akomo-lafe 1976, 37 & 56). The conquest of Nupe with the assistance of British constabulary was seen as a period that would offer in peace and tranquility; instead the British introduced indirect rule to replace Nupe hegemony in Akokoland. However, indirect rule was a system of administration based on using the existing legitimate chiefs in the region. But colonial administration altered the traditional structure of the political sys-tem and it affected the society.

On this note the paper notes that the in-clusion of the traditional rulers was laid in the Royal Niger Company’s (RNC) poverty both in men (personnel) and money (Histor-ical Flashback, 2012). The British adminis-trators unilaterally acted and disrupted the structure of indigenous political system of administration in Akokoland. At the head of administration was the king, his chiefs and elders administered from the village level up to the family level.

The paper adopts narrative historical approach. Data for the paper was obtained from primary and secondary sources. Pri-mary sources (oral evidence and archival materials) are used. It is in the light of this that oral information was collected from lo-cal historians and high chiefs, among oth-ers, detailing their experience and custom-ary practices pertaining to every aspect of governance in Akokoland. Oral testimonies are useful as supplements to the existing lit-erature (secondary sources or published ma-

terials) on the Akoko history. The thrust of the analysis is that there are enough histori-cal materials to demonstrate de-structure of the indigenous political system during colo-nial rule.

The paper examines indigenous political system in the pre-colonial period histori-cal perspective and it analyses its structure and practice during this period. On this backdrop, the paper shows the impact of colonial rule on indigenous political insti-tution in Akokoland. The British rule had overwhelmed influence on the titularship of kings in Akokoland. Nevertheless, the people of Akokoland reacted to changes wit-nessed in the internal political system and affairs of the people due to the systemic fail-ure of leadership culture during the British rule.

It is in this connection that the paper is divided into five parts. The first part intro-duces the paper and discusses the geography and peopling of the study area. The second part scrutinises the institution of monarch and the role of kings in the governance of their domains in pre-colonial period. The third part focuses on the place of indigenous political system and culture during colonial rule. The fourth part of this paper evalu-ates the influence of colonial rule on the political tradition and culture. The fifth part concludes to fill a big lacuna in understand-ing the position of the traditional rulers in Akokoland during colonial rule. On the other hand the title of the paper suggests a historization of Akokoland indigenous po-litical system. In that case, the paper’s sig-nificance lies in the fact that it contributes to the knowledge of the indigenous political administrative system in pre-colonial pe-riod and the downgrading of the kings. It is, therefore, useful in producing a work of synthesis, that it becomes possible to write more on the manipulation of colonial rule

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on the political history of Akokoland.

The Geography and Peopling of Akokoland

Considering the geography and habita-tion of Akokoland, it can be viewed from ei-ther two ways: as a geographical expression of different groups of people and language perspective. In the geographical sense, Akokoland is situated on northeast Yoruba-land. The towns and villages in Akokoland include those under Owo division, which later became Akoko division after 1935. Today, Akokoland is divided into four Local Government Areas in Ondo State such as Akoko Northeast, Akoko Southeast, Akoko Northwest and Akoko Southwest. It is made up of about 36 towns and villages. The exam-ples of the towns and villages in Akokoland are Ikare, Ugbe, Akunnu, Ikakumo, Iboropa, Ise, Auga in Akoko North East; Ipesi, Ifira, Sosan, Isua, Ipe, Epinmi in Akoko South-east; Ajowa, Oyin, Okeagbe, Gedegede, Ibar-am, Ikaram, Igasi, Ese, Afin, Irun, Iye, Ari-gidi and Ogbagi in Akoko Northwest, while Ikun, Oba, Akungba, Supare and Oka are lo-cated in Akoko Southwest (Ondo 1999, 2, 4, 6, 7). The Akoko region comprises a number of independent people loosely or sparsely linked by geographical features. The topog-raphy is about 1, 400 and 60 feet above sea level. Her landscape with undulating or rocky terrain makes human occupancy possible. While from language perspective, Akokoland is inhabited by people whose lan-guages are mutually unintelligible. The lan-guages in Akokoland constitute Yoruboid, Edoid and Akokoid and Igbo (YEAI) sub-groups of the West Benue-Congo language family (the Greenberg’s Kwa division of the Niger-Congo group) classified by Greenberg (Greenberg 1963, 1- 177; Mabogunje 1971, 22; Olumuyiwa and Oshodi, 2012).

Thus, Akokoland is established by bring-ing different sub-group of people together between 12th and 14th centuries. Akokoland has linear patterns of settlement around the hill top, which determined their political, social and cultural activities. Their cultures are meddled with their neighbours’ cultures on the borders of Ekiti in the western part, the Afenmai in southeast and the people of Kabba in the northeastern frontier zone of Yorubaland. The terrain influenced the in-tegration of the indigenous people and they moved closer to the head chief for admin-istrative convenience, apart from using the hill top and mountain to defend themselves against external invaders during inter-com-munal wars in Yorubaland (Olaniyan 2003, viii).

The Institution of Monarch in pre-colonial Akoko Society

This part discusses the institution of monarch and administration within the framework of the traditional political cul-ture and system in pre-colonial Akokoland. The kings were strengthened by the seg-ments of age in the Akoko society. Olaoba attested to the divineship of the traditional rulers in Yorubaland, including Akokoland, where checks and balances by the chiefs were built into the tradition and culture of indigenous political institution (Olaoba 2009, 1-4). The indigenous political institu-tion in Akokoland was consecrated on the tenet of good leadership. In essence, the kings were accorded utmost reverence by their subjects ever before the advent of Brit-ish colonial rule in Akokoland. The monarch was an institution of great personification of power by the central figure in different po-litical units of a multiplicity of communities, but they are still independent sub-groups (Obayemi 1983, 77).

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The common cultural traits of towns and villages in Akokoland provided insight into the existence of large number of kings, who were and are still entitled to wear beaded crowns, which originated from Ife, a place recognised by history scholars in Yoruba his-toriography as the source of their evolution. The beaded crown was a fundamental issue among communities in Akokoland, because virtually all towns and villages in Akokoland traced their origin to Ife (Haruna 2003, 1).

Consequent upon this, the paper posits that the acclaimed Ife myths of origin in Akokoland, though moribund, are not quite dead. Dissociating from the popularised Ife myths of origin and migration, it suffices to say that not all the traditional rulers in Akokoland are traditionally entitled to wear ade ileke (the beaded crown) with coronet and symbol of decorative birds. Thus, the administrative system in pre-colonial period was centre upon the culture of the people of Akokoland. For instance, the trial by ordeal was the traditional way of administering fair justice in the olden days. Obo (Sasswood) was applied in the administration of justice. The Sasswood referred to the bark of a stunted tree which had natural tendency of detect-ing taboo. The traditional court verdicts were also enforced rather than depending on the people’s opinion on pressing issues like appointment, confirmation and deposition of chiefs in Akokoland before colonial rule. On this backdrop, the organisational struc-ture of Monarch still served as a guiding rule and as a behavioural code of conduct in the Akoko region.

The traditional system of governance was monarchical in nature which centered upon the kings, his chiefs and elders in the traditional society. In the same vein, the traditional system of administration was de-signed on the titled men and untitled family heads. Be that as it may, at the family level,

there was (and still) the family head, while the village was sub-divided into quarters) headed by the quarter heads, apart from the intelligentsia, who usually supported the traditional rulers in spiritual matters. There was senior of the town and the head of house who were subordinates to the traditional rulers (Akinjogbin 1967, 16-17). Akinjog-bin referred to them collectively as family or relative in his famous family social theory. The traditional council before the advent of the colonial administration was one of the supreme organs in the traditional adminis-trative system in the Akoko society, while in the exercise of power, the titled chiefs were men and women who acted as the chief ex-ecutives and their membership was made up of high chiefs and, sometimes it might be either selected from minor chief line or war-rior family. In view of this, the separation of the tenets of indigenous political insti-tutions and government accounted for the administration of justice in Akokoland. The maintenance of law and order was wholly the duty of the high chiefs. Notwithstand-ing, in the pre-colonial period, the laws that were rested on judicial administration were protective and not repressive. Thus, Coun-cils’ decisions on many issues were final. The exceptional issues rarely deliberated upon were internal strife, inter-communal wars, maintenance of laws and order, preserva-tion of customs, appointments, discipline of errant chiefs, military and security manage-ment by the age-groups (Fajana 1968, 232-238). That typical structure of indigenous institutions among the Akoko communities revealed more about the cohesion of the people of Akokoland. It is not surprising, therefore that the people of Akokoland were administered under the patronage of well-organised political institutions at the eve of colonial (British) administration.

The Monarchs in Akokoland were in total control of their domains before they played

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into the gallery of colonial rule. Notwith-standing, in the area of landed property, the kings traditionally had right on the owner-ship of landed property. The political domi-nance of the king over land could be shown in eulogy; Oba lo ni’le (King is the owner of land) (Faboyede 2011, 77). However, it is pertinent to reiterate that no portion of land was the private property of the king; the king mainly appreciated the communal distribution of every portion of land appro-priately demanded by his subjects. Conse-quently, the principle of the existing social order guided the traditional attachment to the importance of land ownership in Akoko-land, because the word ‘communal’ could be used to describe the authority over parcel of land. No individual could own land, because the concept of land ownership stemmed from agriculture (the major occupation of the people). On the usefulness of land, land was commonly administered and owned, as it was vested on the local chiefs, the masters of land. In relative term, a man could lease a large piece of land to somebody to pay at any given price suitable to him. As a result, it is necessary to emphasise that, in pre-colonial Akoko society, land administration did not involve payment of Isakole. Isakole was a reminiscent of direct taxation or land fees introduced by British colonialists during co-lonial rule in Akokoland (Fadipe 1970, 178).

The Role of the Traditional Rulers in the Pre-colonial Akoko Society

Indigenous administration played a piv-otal function in human affairs that is meant to be a continuing exercise or practice. The indigenous political system was an integral part of the Akoko society right from its formative stage. It is an institution that is significant to the value of the society which

guides the ruling of the Akoko society. Given historical explanation, the kings were and are still conceived by their subjects as sacred and as such, the kings were recognised as “semi-divine” or next to the gods (Johnson 2001, 40; Arifalo and Okajare 2005, 3). Sim-ilarly, the kings were and still addressed as Kabiyesi, an expression which is a contracted form of the sentence ki a bi nyin ko si (there is no question of anybody queering your au-thority or action).

By 1900, British rule had gained ground in Akokoland. That claim had several last-ing effects ranging from the chieftaincy af-fairs to the social and political. Before then, the people of Akokoland, for administrative convenience appointed the king and as pre-viously pointed out, the towns and villages were structured and divided into quarters and compounds, and each contained ad hoc units known as District and Village Groups. The selection and appointment of kings in the pre-colonial period was done by the tra-ditional kingmakers. The member of king-makers varies from 5-7, depending on every town and village’s traditions. One immedi-ate effect of such arrangement was to make every subject be part of the political affairs of his town or village and, also be part of a larger organic level of his domain. This was the situation in Akokoland in the past, be-fore the kings became Yes-men to the British colonialists.

Oral traditions are not silent on the importance and sacredness of the kings because of their relevance on brotherhood and integration of the people of Akokoland. Even Johnson claimed that the traditional rulers were more dreaded than the gods in the pre-colonial period. The thesis of divine-ship of the kings was commonly used among the Yoruba traditional rulers to show their pre-eminence. Thus, in the pre-colonial pe-riod, the kings reigned supreme and held in

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high esteem by their subjects. As a result, the kings were the custodians of norms and values of their society. The kings’ para-mountcy and sacredness was honoured.

Still on the eminence of the traditional rulers in the pre-colonial period, their status and role were to lead and control their sub-jects. To provide good governance, the kings’ decision was final. However, many a time, the traditional rulers might consider the consent of their chiefs in some fundamental issues such as decision on arsonist or rapist in their domains. In that circumstance, no king ruled without taking into consideration the advice of his chiefs and elders in coun-cil. Examining such devolution of power, the chiefs at the lower chamber formulated local laws that could prevent theft and violence in the Akoko society, while criminal cases and heinous offences such as murders, arson, rape, among others were carefully handled by the kings to avoid skeptics. The admin-istration of justice is depended on the grav-ity of the offences, the kings decided on the judgement. The palace court headed by the traditional ruler served as the highest court of Appeal (Faboyede, n.d).

The Place of indigenous political system during Colonial Rule

Following the traditional role of the kings and challenges faced by them in the traditional society, their influence was still within the traditional political framework. The changed status of the kings during the colonial era revealed more on the subjuga-tion of the traditional rulers and their sub-jects by the British colonial administration. The British administrators gradually and tactically showed the sphere of influence of Britain on the political affairs of the people of Akokoland. The authority of the tradi-tional rulers was suppressed, rendered po-

litically impotent and submissive. There was no much importance attached to the king-ship institution during colonial rule.

The traditional rulers were prominent before the educated elite began to be given political appointments and occupied sensi-tive post on the civil service. No doubt, the Saro, fresh graduates from Fourah Bay Col-lege in Sierra Leone, Saint Andrew College, Oyo, among others, in Akokoland became the supporters of British rule when it began in earnest. A further illustration was wit-nessed in their new appointments in the ad-ministrative cadre. In the 1920s, the Akoko society witnessed a minor cultural renais-sance. Citing from Ajayi’s succinct descrip-tion of colonial rule, he referred to colonial-ism as “an episode in African history” (Ajayi 1969, 497). This description can be useful in appraising colonial era in Akokoland as a revolutionary period in its socio-political history. Thus, the political system and the structure of government in pre-colonial Akokoland including the processes and in-stitutions which connected with each other witnessed changes in the progress of politi-cal structuring (Johnson 1997, 41). More so, political values were disrupted, colonised and dismissively changed.

In order to clearly understand the effect of colonial rule on indigenous system and culture, the appointment and deposition of chiefs’ ordinance was inaugurated in 1930, because there were more agitations and protests for the restructuring of chieftaincy institutions in Akokoland. On this note, the appointment and deposition of kings was based upon the government of colonial rule; instead of doing selection through the tra-ditional kingmakers. The challenges posed to the relevance of the traditional kingmak-ers were not worthy to be mentioned here, because they became a master-servant sub-jected to British way of appointing loyal

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chiefs. They acted at the direction and mercy of the British officials and unfortunately, such traditional rulers became pawn in the chess game of politics with several cases of demeaning the status of the kings ranging from reduction in stipend to outright de-thronement.

Again, the colonial Edict on chieftaincy affairs, however allowed the colonial Gov-ernment to interfere in the confirmation of the selected kings (Interview Oke, 2010). British agents and supporters were some-times imposed and at that instance, the tra-ditional role of the traditional rulers contra-vened the sanctity of kingship. The effect of colonial rule on the titularship of the king was deliberately shattered and it was more felt at the middle of the twentieth century.

In addition, the British judicial adminis-tration became very crucial because British administrators established and entrenched modern judicial system of dispensing justice to replace the traditional system of provid-ing justice in Akokoland. Thus, the Akoko people began to seek redress through the modern (British) judicial system of admin-istration in the Native courts than hearing their cases and grievances in the indigenous central judicial courts at the palace. As a re-sult of this, the traditional method of dis-pensing justice was replaced with the West-ern type of judicial administration and even beyond 1960, when Nigeria got independ-ence. Unfortunately, the First Class kings such as Owa of Ogbagi, Olukare of Ikare, Zaki of Arigidi, Olusua of Isua, Olubaka of Oka and Akala of Ikaram were appointed as the President of the Akoko Appeal Courts on rotational basis. More to this the Native Courts depended heavily on British offi-cials and the people of Akokoland gradually adapted to the replacement.

Meanwhile, on the eve of colonial rule,

British officials recognised the authority of the kings in Akokoland, like in other towns and villages in Yorubaland before their par-ticipation in the British system of adminis-tration. Thus, the First Class kings simply referred to as the “trusted” chiefs by Ta-muno (Tamuno 1980, 398) were those who willingly supported the colonial officials as their agents to establish, expand and con-solidate colonial rule in Akokoland. Thus, all the First Class kings as earlier mentioned became British representatives as Chairman of the Group Council and the President of the Akoko Appeal Court on rotational basis. In the course of this alteration, the norms of the indigenous political institutions were no longer counted and the cultural value of the Monarch was no longer relied upon in administration.

From 1900 – 1918, Akoko was placed under old Kabba Division and was later integrated under Owo Division between 1919 and 1935. These years were chequered phases in Akokoland during colonial rule. The participation of the traditional rulers was perhaps on the basis that the device of British administration was to be operated on the policy of indirect rule, whereby the pre-existing socio-political order would not be essentially altered. It is sufficed to men-tion that such re-organisation was done not to favour the Akoko people, neither for Brit-ish officials to achieve their economic agen-da of exploration and exploiting the natu-ral agricultural endowments in Akokoland to service those from the insufficient ones from the landlocked land of the north (Ap-ata, 1986). Even, W. E. F.Ward argued that the intention of the British colonialists was to rule Africa through its traditional rulers, the native administration and, educate and develop the indigenous administration into efficient organ of modern local government.

However, it can be gleaned that the main

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motive was economy which defined their agenda. Again, it is important to state that the traditional rulers used their domains as a link to the northern protectorate. It served as a tributary to the British to pro-mote colonial rule and its objectives. To the ‘Lugardian economic policy in Nigeria, the habitable and economic value of land played unique role for the survival and establish-ment of indirect rule in Akokoland (Ward 1981, 392-396). According to Igbafe, the High chiefs were “mere ciphers and pupil in the Whiteman’s administration and judicial school” (Igbafe 1967, 704-705). In short, he concluded dismissively that the colonial rule was evil. His argument was that since coloni-al rule made it impossible for the ruling class to uphold the traditional method of admin-istration and their identity of sacredness to be tricked up to upper echelon, therefore made it evil upon the Akoko indigenous po-litical institutions.

Re-appraisal of the Influence of Colonial Rule on the Indigenous Political Tradition and Culture in Akokoland

Since colonial era, the traditional rulers agitated or protested for relevance in con-temporary Nigeria’s political history. On several occasions, they opted to challenge their reduced status. However, Johnson (Johnson 2001, 40) acknowledged the over-lordship of individuals, known as the king, whose positions were somewhat reversed, as a result of Western light and civilisation that sprang up and spread into the interior of Yorubaland. It is, therefore, important to attempt on the aftermaths of colonial rule in Akokoland.

Assessing the influence of colonial rule on the traditional political institutions bring into focus disoriented and grafted indige-nous political system and culture. In Akoko-land, the political tradition and culture were

affected by British intervention. The intro-duction and establishment of colonial rule in Akokoland marked the end of the direct participations of both the traditional rulers and the educated elite in the administration of their domains and the British officials strived to promote and sustain the tenets of colonial rule as a result of modifying the Akoko political culture. The aspiration of co-lonial rule can better be explained, when the position of the paramount chiefs (district heads) was created to be in charge of the Na-tive Authority system and such traditional chiefs were known as the colonial govern-ment or agents place-men (Igbafe 1967, 704-705). The British officials appointed them because they were loyal and indeed do-ing the biddings of colonial officials. Thus, the indigenous political institutions came under intensed scrutiny in the wake of co-lonial rule.

Indeed, the sound effect of colonial rule was in this regard very enduring in the area of socio-economic culture. Before the con-solidation of British control over Akokoland, British agents or forces had begun imposing drastic political and economic policies on the people of Akokoland which led to sig-nificant impact on the governance of the people of Akokoland. From historical point of view, this was done primarily through the government-owned Royal Niger Company (RNC). The company was crucial in securing the economies in Akokoland. This resulted in the severing of relationship between the paramount chiefs and ties which linked Akokoland to the British sphere of influence flourishing with trade network; in favour of imposed taxes. Thus, the people of Akoko-land were sucked into the western political and social vortex. With this came increasing social crises.

It is, therefore, desirable to emphasise that the concept of paramount chiefs in

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charge of smaller places was widely a depar-ture from the old political institutions in which the kings had surveillance over their towns and villages. In an attempt to rely on the ‘trusted’ chiefs, there was duplica-tion of functions for nominal chiefs to the exclusion of the traditional functions of the traditional rulers. In that circumstance, the practice of western cultural values charac-terised the British government. From the inception of British rule, divide and rule tactics were employed by the administration by playing groups against one another and the British exercise and control directly. The imposed chiefs by the British administrators enjoyed political and economic power out of tune with pre-colonial tradition and culture in Akokoland. However, resistance to such imposition did not succeed in the face of su-perior physical force in the hands of the co-lonial administrators. Rebellion and revolts were subdued, the kings and their chiefs were also cowed down and made to face the task of imposed British administration which initiated the payment of taxes that served as a passage of citizenship rite.

In view of the above, the methods adopt-ed by British gradually whittled down the custom, powers and privileges apportioned on the traditional political system. The tra-ditional political institutions were thereby stripped of its ancient norms and the pres-tige of the Monarchs began to decline. The rare statues of kings also suffered a consid-erable set back and diminution. The kings’ authorities were impaired, and some, could not keep the dignity of their establishments.

Igbafe (Igbafe 1967, 704-705, 708-709, 714-715) claimed that the indigenous politi-cal system was repositioned. The positions of titled-chiefs under the local political in-stitution were inconsistent. The paramount chiefs were renamed district heads and owed their status to the pleasure of the Brit-

ish administrative officers, not to the king as it were during the pre-colonial period and, subsequently looked up to the colonial offi-cials for assistance. However, during British rule, such norms and values of the Akoko so-ciety were a cheesed board within the preva-lent system of colonial system of govern-ance. Thus, the kings relatively subjected to serve the British government and could not balance within the opposing forces between the British administrators and the district heads who served as the British agents in Akokoland. The established political institu-tion by the colonial administrators did not uphold the spiritual headship of the tradi-tional rulers; instead the British adminis-tration forcefully installed untitled chiefs to preside over the institution of the Monarchs in Akokoland.

At this juncture, British (colonial) rule can simply be described as a revolutionary era, but new and very exciting to have modi-fied the indigenous political institutions in the traditional Akoko society. In effect, Brit-ish intervention in the political affairs of the Akoko people disrupted the indigenous political structure and it gave birth to a sub-stantial change in the methods of selection, appointment and confirmation of elected king during colonial rule (Ibid). While in the contemporary time, government gives staff of office for the confirmation of the status of the elected king. Consequently, the tra-ditional system of installing the traditional rulers on the throne was eroded due to the intervention of British officials in the lo-cal politics. The British colonialists did not mind the prohibitions of electing and in-stalling kings in Akokoland, and indeed in every part of Yorubaland (Adedeji, 2004).

Consequently, in the changed cultural preference, the colonial administration in-fluenced the post-colonial culture of Akoko-land. There was radical transformation in

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the appointment of chiefs at least among the elite class. Since the elite was copied by the unlettered class of people, the political culture in Akokoland, in this regard became diluted. Gradually, there was structurally po-litical change due to the imposition of colo-nial rule. Hence, the high degree of respect which the ancient position evoked from the people was thoroughly compromised.

Worst still, was the abandonment of Ifa oracle (the god of wisdom and knowledge), which were always consulted in the course of selecting traditional rulers on the vacant stool. The major change that was made by adopting the indirect rule, British govern-ment helped to transform the indigenous political system into modern politics. The electoral system of appointment was for-mally entrenched in the traditional selection and appointment mechanism. This became the final certification, which was formally subject to Ifa pronouncement. Ifa literary divination is a verbal corpus of Yoruba pris-tine wisdom, knowledge, philosophy and metaphysics (Fashina 2009, 1).

The art of dominance involved the sign-ing of deceptive treaties with false and vague promise. The British officials were able to subdue and relegated the traditional rulers. That was the nature of the British interven-tion over the indigenous political institu-tion. As a matter of fact divide and rule for-mula created confusion and rift among the royal families. Due to lack of space, few ex-amples of chieftaincy tussles are mentioned here as evidence of political instability. There were chieftaincy crises between Olukare of Ikare and Owaale of Iyometa community in Ikare, the Alale of Akungba and Alakungba of Akungba, the chieftaincy disputes on Zaki stool in Arigidi-Akoko, among others (Orojo 2008, 41-45; Faboyede 2007/2008, 175-178). Again, innocent people were put to jail at will and this situation of anarchy

and chaos, acts of political oppression forced opponents resorted to retaliation acts.

Pathetically, the theme of Akoko history in the twentieth century on the lessons and aftermaths of colonial rule was an abrupt change over to foreign (British) political system. British administrators not only brushed aside the indigenous political struc-tures (past glories), and the realities of the past (cultural heritage), but also employed the district heads and co-opted the edu-cated elite against the structures and prin-ciples of indigenous political institutions in Akokoland. The district head, which Beeley described as artificial was employed to meet administration expediency. Aside, the co-lonial administration and its collaborators only modified the political institutions that were central to the people of Akokoland (Akomolafe 1976, 249, 254-256). Indeed, the privilege given to the educated elite led to disunity and disorganisation over the structured indigenous political institutions.

Thus, the period of colonial rule was a watershed on the peoples’ indigenous cul-tural heritage. On this note, the political culture of the people of Akokoland was dete-riorated in structural arrangement. Indeed different categories of people were given leadership positions in as much as they were wealthy. Taking the risk of uncertainty, the colonial administration influenced the mod-ern functioning of the political system and political culture to draw inspirations from the traditional rulers to be oppressive and exploitative. In that instance, the kings are now clamouring for constitutional role in the governance through their representa-tives both at the lower and upper chambers in the country, Nigeria.

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Conclusion

The paper shows that the indigenous political system had been in existence long before the advent of the colonial rule and it examines various stages of its change and consequent effects of colonial rule on the traditional system of administration. Emerging from the paper is the fact that the traditional rulers were only included to participate in colonial administration, but decisions were unilaterally taking by the British officials which contributed to inac-tive advancement of indigenous system and culture in Akokoland. The traditional rulers became wary of colonial rule, particularly its alteration of the traditional judicial sys-tem, which was turned to British model of providing justice. The traditional political structures were weakened. The machinery for settling disputes before colonial rule was disorganised and gave birth to the British courts. Worst still, the First Class kings in Akokoland concertedly joined the court pro-ceedings against their Will as orally claimed by Olomola (Interview Olomola, 2011).

The paper also assessed the sacrosanct status of kings whose ideal values were al-tered. At this stage, the divineship of the kings witnessed remarkable alteration, for if nothing else, the ultimate control of British over the traditional rulers was clev-erly designed by British administration in Akokoland. However, the civil arm of Brit-ish Government was kept on the spirit of brotherhood that was retained in form of pelupelu (meetings of the traditional rulers) as an early aspect of British colonial admin-istration in Akokoland till early part of the 20th century. In addition to this, the paper, examines the disruption of the indigenous political institutions in the Akoko society within the context of the threat and chal-lenges posed by the operative mechanism of colonial rule. It is not an understatement to

conclude that during colonial rule, the socio-cultural activity in Akokoland was adulter-ated.

Finally, the paper has filled an impor-tant gap in the socio-cultural history of the Akoko communities and it is essentially useful in producing academic study on the great influence of colonial rule on the in-digenous political system of the people of Akokoland. The paper, therefore, finds out that by adopting the indirect rule, British government helped to transform the in-digenous political system and culture into modern politics. The electoral system of appointment was formally introduced and entrenched into the local system of admin-istration. Both the traditional rulers and educated elite were excluded from active and direct participation in the art of governance, which was against the tenet of culture of the people of Akokoland as an egalitarian soci-ety. In view of the above, colonial rule was a blessing in disguise on the indigenous po-litical structure, at least British colonialists realised that the colonial imperialism could not have survived without the inclusion of the traditional rulers. The paper therefore concludes that noticeable alteration and adjustment took place in the traditional po-litical system of Akokoland during colonial rule, by breaking the socio-cultural heritage. In all the paper provokes further research on the area of socio-political history of the peo-ple of Akokoland.

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Solmaz Filiz Karabağ and Bezen Balamir CoşkunLinköping University, Zirve University, (corresponding author), [email protected]

I Click, Therefore I am: The Internet and the Political Participation of Young People in Turkey

Abstract

Based on a survey that inquires the link between the Internet and young people’s political par-ticipation, this study seeks answers to the following research questions: Does the use of the Inter-net trigger young people’s political participation? Is there a connection between (1) being active in live politics and online politics, and (2) being politically informed and politically active for both on-line and offline participants? Throughout the study differences between online and offline politics are examined to provide a better understanding about changing types of political participation in an emerging country which has relatively limited experience with democracy. It also aims to extend our understanding of online participation by analyzing how this can be related to offline political participation and to the level of Internet use.

Keywords

The Internet, Online Political Participation, Offline Political Participation, Turkey.

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Introduction

It is a general belief that young peo-ple are not as much involved in politics as elder generations were. Existing studies underline this argument such as those of Mindich (2005) and Putnam (2000). Mind-ich’s analysis shows that the indifference of young generation toward political participa-tion can be explained with the changing at-titude towards politics as a result of a more individualistic, or even hedonistic, attitude (Mindich 2005, 18-33). Overall, young peo-ple only follow the outlines of politics; thus, their knowledge of politics is assumed to be limited. In a similar vein, there is a decline in the turnout of youth in elections. Over the past forty years, the participation of young people between the ages 18 of and 24 in the American presidential elections has de-creased from 50.9 per cent in 1964, to 32.3 per cent in 2000 (Mindich 2005, 22). Similar trends are also seen in Canada, Western Eu-rope, Japan and Latin America (Niemi and Weisberg 2001, Blais et al. 2004).

Scholars like Della Porta and Mosca (2005), DiMaggio et al. (2001) and Nor-ris (2002a, 2002b) argue that low politi-cal participation by young people reflects a transformation in politics. It is claimed that young people are interested in politics, but in a different way than previous generations. Rather than being getting involved in con-ventional politics, they prefer participating in single issue movements and networks. According to Norris (2002a and 2002b), disengagement from conventional forms of participation have led to the creation of new unconventional forms of participation. These new forms of political participation reflect a rise of networked individualism, a trend in which people form transitory alli-ances according to dynamic ever changing interests (Wellman et al. 2001).

Above all, since the young people spend an increasing amount of time on the Inter-net, for them, the Internet emerges as a crucial domain within which they can par-ticipate in the civic and political life of the transforming contemporary society (Bachen et al. 2008, Livingstone 2007, Loader 2007). In general, the Internet offers numerous op-portunities for acquiring social and political behaviors.

Previous studies have highlighted the role of Internet on the political participation of the young people, but most of these stud-ies focus on only certain aspects of political participation. These studies mainly focused on the developed/Western countries such as the UK, United States of America and Aus-tralia (see Calenda and Mosca 2007, Collin 2008, Davis 1999, Gibson et al 2005, Krue-ger, 2002). This paper, however, explores various forms of political participation of young people on the Internet in an emerg-ing country, Turkey. For the purpose of this research, Turkey portrays an interesting case, as she has the eleventh largest Internet use in the world; that means, over 35 million people in the country are online. Moreover, Turkish people are the third largest group on Facebook. In this article, the connection be-tween offline and online political character-istics of young people in Turkey is discussed.

This study will seek answers to the follow-ing research questions: Does the use of the Internet trigger young people’s political par-ticipation? Is there a connection between (1) being active in live politics and online poli-tics, and (2) being politically informed and politically active for both online and offline participants? Finally, differences between online and offline politics will be examined in this study. This examination will provide a better understanding about changing types and extentions of political participation in an emerging country which has relatively

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limited experience with democracy. It also aims to extend our understanding of online participation by analyzing how this can be related to offline political participation and to the level of Internet use. Lastly, we will present survey results which offer an ana-lytical approach, instrumental or psycho-logical, that explains the link between the Internet and young people’s political partici-pation most obviously.

We believe that this research will allow us to explain both online and offline politi-cal participation of university students. The first section of the article will review the literature on the Internet and political par-ticipation. This section will be followed by an overview of studies on the Internet and the political participation of young people. After the literature review section, results of the surveys conducted at Zirve University will be presented.

The Internet and Political Participation

In less than two decades, the Internet has increasingly become a common venue for political participation. Advances in computer-mediated communication have stirred debates over the political and social implications of Internet access. It is widely argued that Internet technology is having a profound effect on regular political activity by either offering new channels for partici-pation or modifying the existing ones.

The Internet has facilitated “the exten-sion of the aims of participation, broad-ening their territorial scope and enabling coordination and political influence on a transnational scale to occur with an ease which was virtually unknown until a decade ago” (Anduiza et al. 2009, 861). As a conse-quence of this phenomenon, an increase in

publications that are focused on the impact of the Internet on political activity has been observed (Boulianne 2009, Brants 2005, Bimber 2001, Castells 1997, Davis 1999, van de Donk et al. 2004, Norris 2001, 2002a, 2002b, Gibson et al. 2005, Polat 2005, Kru-ger 2006, Xenos and Moy 2007, Anduzia et al. 2007 and 2009). Even though the find-ings about the effects of the Internet on po-litical participation are often contradictory, there is also a consensus that the Internet has emerged as a powerful alternative venue for political activities which are beyond the classical political channels. The Internet also offers new participation repertoires that contain different forms and contexts of po-litical participation (Anduiza et al. 2007).

The extensive use of computer-mediat-ed communication means1 by individuals, groups, social networks, and movements has triggered an expansion in the opportunities and scope for political participation. In their review of studies on political participation and the Internet, Anduiza et al. (2007 and 2009) conclude that Internet communica-tion extends opportunities for political par-ticipation, lowers the barriers of participa-tion, improves the quality of participation, increases the level of participation among some segments of society, and provides new means for mobilization. In a similar vein, Margolis and Resnick (2000, 14) argue that “there is an extensive political life on the Net, but it is mostly an extension of politi-cal life off the Net.” This new venue for poli-tics is characterized by personal rather than collective engagement, and puts a stronger emphasis on single issues than on ideolo-gies (Bennett 1998). Online political activity

1 By the end of 2010, there were 1.97 billion Internet users worldwide, 2.9 billion e-mail addresses, 600 million Facebook users and 175 million Twit-ter account (http://ekonomi.haberturk.com/teknoloji/haber/593618-iste-2010un-internet-haritasi).

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appears as spontaneous, less dependent on traditional political institutions, and based on decentralized networking. The develop-ments in web-based forms of political par-ticipation open the door for new ways of in-volvement in the political landscape. Online politics has challenged traditional politics.

As an example of the various uses of the Internet and the web, blogs, as forms of self-expression and self-presentation (Trammell and Keshelashvili 2005), are increasingly becoming community forums (Nardi et al. 2004), political outlets (Kerbel and Bloom, 2005, Sweetser and Kaid 2008, Trammell et al. 2006), and interactive spaces within a given political website. The Pew Internet and American Life Project estimated that by the end of 2004, 8 million Americans would have created blogs and 32 million Americans would have read blogs, with a 58 percent in-crease in less than a year, (Pew Internet and American Life Project 2008). By the end of 2010, the number of blogs reached 152 mil-lion according to BlogPulse, a blog search en-gine. Regarding the blogs, Zuniga and Rojas (2009, 555) argue that “blogs may constitute themselves as an alternative source of infor-mation and political action organization, resulting in increased political engagement.”

According to Graber et al. (2002, 93-94) “...the literature on interest networks and global activism seems particularly rich in examples of how various uses of the Inter-net and the Web have transformed activism, political pressure, and public communica-tion strategies.” In her detailed study, Polat deconstructs the Internet into three facets, and then explores the links between the In-ternet and political participation. Accord-ing to this, the Internet is an information source; a communication medium; and a vir-tual socializing public sphere. Polat (2005, 437)’s study affirms that the Internet “ena-bles dissemination of a high volume of infor-

mation rapidly and cheaply. It also enables users to send information to multiple users at no extra costs.” However, Polat found out that better educated people, who have gen-eral knowledge on the issues of political af-fairs, are more able to use and interpret the specific media information. Studies show that the people who make good use of on-line political information tend to be those who are already interested in politics (Bim-ber 1999, Norris 1999). In summary, it is ar-gued that people who actively participate in online political activities are more likely to be people who are already active in political participation. According to Wellman et al.’s (2001) findings, most of the active people in online politics are already active in normal politics. Even though the comforts provided by the computer-mediated communication may lead to an increase in the amount of participation, the diversity of participation has not changed considerably because most of the participants are the usual suspects. As Dahlberg (2001) notes, online deliberation is dominated both quantitatively and quali-tatively by a few people, which is an exten-sion of the inequalities in the offline social world.

In the second facet of the Internet as a communication medium, the decentralized nature of the Internet encourages various civil society groups, particularly the issue-based ones, to communicate with both oth-er groups and their members via electronic newsletters, email lists, and web-boards (Po-lat 2005, 442). By enabling common people to set up their own websites and broadcast their political positions on certain issues, the Internet provides different kinds of expressive forms of political participation (Polat 2005, 445). In this regard, the Inter-net offers more “convenient, cheap and in-novative methods of communication” for the political participation of such segments of society as youngsters and those who are

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house-bound due to disability, illness, age or lack of social skills (Polat 2005, 443).

Polat (2005, 452) considers the third facet of the Internet as the virtual public sphere. It offers certain opportunities for issue-based groups to come together online. Thanks to the Internet, these groups have a huge potential for “capacity building, get-ting support and information from other like-minded people and encouraging them involving in further political participation.”

The research on the political implications of the Internet has so far generated impor-tant theoretical insights. While at one end of the spectrum of theoretical models are instrumental models that emphasize the relationships between the costs of commu-nication and participation; at the other end of the spectrum, there are models that adopt a psychological approach in which motives, characteristics, and social contexts of users play important roles (Bimber 2003). Within the context of the instrumental approach, scholars “expect to find direct relationships between changes in the cost and variety of information available and political engage-ment” (Xenos and Moy 2007, 705). The psychological approach, on the other hand, broadens the theoretical scope and includes more nuanced views on the effects of the In-ternet. The psychological approach focuses on interactions between the technology it-self and user characteristics (Bimber 2003).

The instrumental approach concludes that the Internet, for people who have basic access to it, dramatically reduces the costs of accessing information and communica-tion. Studies done within the context of the instrumental approach have shown that on-line political communication has generated a greater political engagement and partici-pation. Among all, Johnson and Kaye (2004) found that the Internet use is substantially

related to political engagement. Similarly, Tolbert and McNeal (2003) also found out that access to the Internet is positively as-sociated with voting and other forms of po-litical participation. In this vein, Weber et al. point out that the Internet makes it easier to obtain political information by mediating political organizations, direct government web sites, and information sharing through via email, listservs, and chat rooms (Weber et al. 2003, 39).

The psychological approach, on the other hand, argues that the political effects of the new ways of using media are contingent on individuals’ levels of sophistication, mo-tives, and social context (Bimber 2003). Scholars who apply a psychological approach in their studies argue that the effect of the Internet is contingent on media preferences and social context. In regard to political en-gagement, the level of people’s interest in politics and public affairs is one of the most important factors As indicated by Xenos and Moy, in every area of political engagement, there is a “critical difference between those who chronically pay attention to politics and public affairs, and those who attend to such information with only a passing interest” (Xenos and Moy 2007, 708).

Considering that the Internet is used widely by young people, several studies on the Internet and its effects on political par-ticipation also focus on this generation. The literature on the Internet and political par-ticipation of youth and the results of these studies will be reviewed in the next section.

The Internet and the Political Participation of Young People

It is argued that the low political partici-pation of young people reflects the existence of a transformation in politics (Della Porta and Mosca 2005, DiMaggio et al. 2001 and

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Norris 2002a, 2002b). According to these studies, young people no longer get involved in conventional politics; instead, they par-ticipate in single issue movements and net-works. Coleman and Rowe (2005), in their study on democracy and young people, find out that young people express their political stands through cause-related networks. EU-YOPART (2003-2005) research, which was conducted in 8 European countries among the young people whose ages varied between 18 and 25, concluded that the young Euro-peans do not trust traditional politics but supported the idea of participating in civil society activities.2 As pointed out by Norris (2002a), this disengagement from conven-tional political participation has caused the creation of new forms of political partici-pation. Young people tend to be active and express their opinions about specific issues in non-governmental groups (Calenda and Meijer 2009, 880).

As mentioned, the Internet offers nu-merous opportunities for adopting various social and political behaviors. Since young people spend a considerable amount of their time on the net, the Internet emerges as the main domain where their political participa-tion takes place. The flexible, hypertexual, and networked structure of the Internet appeals to young people since it fits young people’s informal, peer-oriented and anti-authority approach (Bentivegna 2002).

Iyengar and Jackman’s study proves that young Americans’ enthusiasm for digital technology provides opportunities to en-gage them in normal politics. Iyengar and Jackman argue that using digital technol-ogy “raised interest in the election and civic mindedness, neither of which can be influ-

2 SORA EUYOPART 2005 Project Reports, http://www.sora.at/en/topics/political-culture/euy-oupart-2003-2005/en-reports.html

enced by traditional canvassing methods” (2004, 11). Similarly, Kann et al.’s study shows how the use of the Internet changes the attitudes of young people towards poli-tics (2007). The pattern of their Internet use is reflected in their hobbies, social contacts, education, and online political participa-tion (Calenda and Meijer 2009, 882). Many authors discuss the fact that access to the Internet is generally concentrated among young people. Thus, some research has in-dicated that the Internet promotes young people’s political involvement even though they are considered as the least participa-tive section of society in traditional political activities (Krueger 2002, Delli Carpini and Keeter1996). Colins’ study of the Internet and the development of the young people’s political identities finds that “Internet is sig-nificant in the development of young peo-ple’s political identities” by providing a plat-form for the realization of project-oriented political identities, by helping them to get organized through online networks, and by offering opportunities for their engagement in spontaneous forms of everyday politics (Colins 2008, 539).

Studies that explore the role of the Inter-net on the political participation of young people mainly focus on certain aspects of this issue. In their study conducted in 2005 upon the online participation in the UK, Gibson et al. find evidence for a genuine mo-bilization among the young people thanks to the Internet. According to Gibson et al. “po-litical activity is actually found to be most likely among younger people and those with a high level of Internet familiarity, regard-less of socio-economic status” (Gibson et al. 2005, 562). However, there is no consen-sus on this point. For example, Shah et al. (2001) argue that young people use the In-ternet mainly for non-political purposes. On the other hand, in their analysis of how web-sites affect young adults’ political interests,

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Lupia and Philbot (2005, 1138) conclude that the Internet “can increase young adults’ interest in politics.” In this vein, the studies conducted on young people’s online political participation agree on that those who are ac-tive and/or interested in online politics are already active and/or interested in politics in general. Calenda and Mosca(2007, 39)’s findings in 2007 indicate that there are two connected relationships between offline and online politics, “people who are already en-gaged in offline social and political networks use the Internet to consolidate their par-ticipation” and “the general characteristics of offline participation among students are reproduced online.” In their research on stu-dents from Spain, the Netherlands and Italy, Calenda and Meijer (2009, 892)’s regression analysis results affirm that “more offline po-litical participation corresponds with more online political participation” and “the type of online participation mirrors the type of offline political participation.” Vromen’s studies in Australia also affirm that the In-ternet reinforces the existing political inter-ests and practices of young people, rather than mobilizing them as active political ac-tors (Vromen 2003).

For this study a survey is administered to the students at Zirve University, Gaziantep, Turkey. Considering the highly active char-acteristic of Turkish politics, particularly those in the south-eastern Anatolian region of the country, it is assumed that the university students in this re-gion have a high interest in poli-tics. The results of this survey which reveal the relationship between the Internet and po-litical participation will be de-scribed in the next section.

Methodology

It is assumed that the university stu-dents, both undergraduates and postgradu-ates, constitute the most appropriate sample group in researching the effects of the Inter-net on political participation. University stu-dents, in general, tend to follow and use the newest technologies, and they have access to technology at their university campuses. They are much better educated and also tend to be more politically active than the other young members of the society. During the survey, we explored whether these students use the Internet for political participation or not. This preliminary research was con-ducted at Zirve University, Turkey. Located in Gaziantep, southeastern Anatolia, Zirve University has 1500 students each of whom are provided personel laptops when they had enroll at the university.

For this study, four hundred surveys were distributed; 205 responses were received. However 10 of them had to be discarded as they were not useful for the analysis. 195 surveys were eventually used for the final statistical analysis. The general demographic features of the partcipants are shown in Ta-ble 1. The average age of the students is 20. The number of participants from different faculties were well-distributed among the students of all the faculties. Approximately,

Table 1. Demographic features of participants (n=195) (in %)

GenderMale Female48% %52

Age (years old)18 19 20 21 22 or more

10% 37% 31% 9% 13%

FacultyEdu. Eco Eng Voc34% 24% 23% 15%

Turkish Kurdish Arabic OthersMother tongue of students’ mother

87% 10% 2% 1%

Mother tongue of students’ father

83% 12% 3% 2%

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15 percent of the students’ parents had a mother tongue other than Turkish, such as Kurdish, a fact which reflects the ethnic di-versity of the region.

In addition to the general demographic features of the participants, their political

activities and inclinations were also asked. Their replies are shown in Table 2. As can be seen, approximately 28 percent of the stu-dents have a family member who is active in formal or informal political life and approxi-mately 12 percent of the participants them-selves are members of political parties.

Table 2. Other Features of Participants

Yes No

Having a family member who is active in the Turkish formal political life 28% 72%

Having a family member who is active in a non- profit organization 28 72%

Officially being a member of a political party 12% 88%

Officially being a member of a non-profit organization 6% 94%

Being a subscriber of a political web-side 13 87%

Having internet, where to live 74% 26%

The empirical analysis is built on a com-prehensive survey, which contains two parts. The first part of the survey aims to reveal demographic features of the partici-pants (See Table 1 and Table 2). The second part contains items determining how and where the Internet is used, offline and on-line interests of students, and the level of their political participation. These items, measured with the Likert type of scale which was developed using the existing empirical studies. For example, the types of Internet use were measured with eight items, gathered from earlier studies (see Gibson et al. 2005, Pasek et al. 2006, Quin-telier and Vissers 2008), while offline polit-ical interest level is inquired about with six items, and online political interest is tested with five items. All of these eleven items were adapted from previous emprical stud-ies (i.g. Best and Krueger 2005, Calenda and Meijer 2009, Calenda and Mosca 2007, Quintelier and Vissers 2008, Wellman et

al. 2001, Xenos and Moy 2007).

Results and Findings

A one way ANOVA is employed to com-pare the differences between females and males in terms of their online active and passive political participations. As seen in Table 3, the online political participation differs significantly between the genders. In both types of online political participa-tion, males have significantly higher mean scores than the females have.

This finding, however, is not in con-formity with the findings of the previ-ous studies. For example, Xenos and Moy (2007) and Zhang et al. (2010) find that the gender is not significant in online po-litical activity of young people, Zuniga et al. (2009), Best and Krueger’s (2005) and Gibson et al.’s (2005), Quintelier and Viss-ers’s (2008) studies show that females are

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more active in online political world than males, and Tolbert and McNeal (2003) and Calenda and Mosca (2007) report that there is no difference between genders in terms

of online politics. This study, on the other hand, indicates that gender is still a sig-nificant matter for the Turkish participants even in the online political world.

Table 3: One-way ANOVA Results for Comparison of Online Political Participation Means, by Gender

Active political participation Passive political participation

Features

Female Male Female Male

(M) SD (M) SDdf

(Within Groups)

F (M) SD (M) SDdf

(Within Groups)

F

Gender 1.81 1.11 2.14 1.43 191 3.07* 2.10 1.16 2.53 1.26 191 6.00**

***p<0.01 ; **p<0.05; p<0.10df (Between Groups)= 1 Abbreviations: M: Mean

A one way ANOVA is employed to ex-plore the differences in active and passive electronic political participation among dif-ferent ethnic groups such as Turkish, Kurd-ish, Arabic and Others (Zaza). As can be seen in Table 4, the respondents’ ethnic groups do not impose much difference upon online active or passive political participation.

Table 4 also shows that the relationship between the time spent on the Internet and the online active and passive political par-ticipation is not very significant as was also found by Best and Krueger, 2005, Calenda and Meijer 2009, Krueger 2002, Pasek et al.

2006, Quintelier and Vissers, 2008 in their respective research in different countries such as in Italy, the Netherlands, Spain and the USA.

A one way ANOVA was also used to find out whether the faculties in which the students are attending courses have any influence over their political participation (Table 5). The Tukey post-hoc comparisons conducted in these four faculties indicates that there is a significant difference between the students of the Faculty of Engineering (Mean = 2.55 95 % CI [2.20, 2.91]) and the students of the Faculty of Education (Mean

Table 4: One-way ANOVA Results for Comparison of Online Political Participation Means, by Ethnic

Active political participation Passive political participationdf (Between

Groups)df (Within

Groups)F

df (Between Groups)

df (Within Groups)

F

Mother tongue of students’ mother 3 188 0.91 3 188 0.42

Mother tongue of students’ father 3 188 0.26 3 188 0.61Average time spend on the internet in a day (in hours)

8 178 1.56 8 178 0.79

***p<0.01 ; **p<0.05; p<0.10

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= 2.11, 95% CI [1.81, 2.41]). It is observed that political participation levels of the students of the compared faculties are sig-nificantly different, but this difference, how-

ever, cannot be overestimated. This differ-ence might also be because that Engineering students have better Internet skills than the students of Education Faculty have.

Another one way ANOVA is conducted to see if online active and passive political par-ticipation of students with different demo-graphic features show different inclinations (See Table 6). According to these statistics, the students who “have family members who are active in formal political life,” are significantly more engaged in online active and passive politics than the students who do not have such family members. Howev-er, the results are more mixed for having “a family member who is active in a non-profit organization.” In this case, while F value of online passive political participation is sig-nificant (p<0.05), the F value of online ac-tive political participation is insignificant (0.898, p>0.10). In other words, students, who have family members active in non-profit organizations, are significantly com-mitted in online passive politics than the other students. Contrary to the online pas-sive political participation among the stu-dents, having such family members do not create a significant difference in online ac-tive political participation.

When “official membership in a political party” is considered, it is found that the stu-dents who are members of political parties

are significantly more active in both passive and active online politics than the others who are not official members of any political party. Similarly, the students who are official members of non-profit organizations are significantly more engaged in online passive and active politics than the students who are not members of such organizations. What is more, the students who subscribe to politi-cal websites are more active in online passive and active politics than those students who are not subscribed to any political website.

The results of the survey show that some demographic factors have influence over online political participation. For example, participants who are members of a political party and/or non-profit organisations and who subscribe to a political website, partici-pate in both active and passive online poli-tics more than the others who do not have such memberships. These results are very similar to the study conducted by Calenda and Mosca (2007) on Italian students. These findings can be interpreted to say that the students who are already active in offline po-litical life also actively participate in active and passive online political activities.

Table 5: One-way ANOVA Results for Comparison of Online Political Participation Means, by Faculty

Active Political Participation Passive Political Participation

Edu(M)

Eng (M)

Eco (M)

Voc (M)

df (Between Groups)

df (Within Groups)

F Edu(M)

Eng (M)

Eco (M)

Voc (M)

df (Between Groups)

df (Within Groups)

F

Faculty 1.72 2.36 1.84 2.20 3 188 2.74** 2.12 2.43 2.55 2.18 3 188 1.41

***p<0.01 ; **p<0.05; p<0.10Eng students are more active in the online active political participation than Edu students.Abbreviations: M: Mean, Eng: Engineering, Edu: Education, Eco: Economics, Voc: Vocational

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A conclusive one way ANOVA is carried out to test whether the use of the Internet for different purposes creates any effect upon active and passive online political par-ticipation among the respondents. As can be seen in Table 7, “using Internet for research” produces mixed results for online active and passive political participation. According to the results, while the F value of online active political participation is significant (2.967 p<0.10) for “using Internet for research,” the F value of online passive political par-ticipation is insignificant (2.142). The post-hoc comparison employing the Tukey HSD test for online active political participation indicates that the mean score of the stu-dents who “sometimes use the Internet for research” (1.57, SD= 1.03) is significantly lower than the mean score of the students who “always use the Internet for research” (2.06, SD= 1.31). However, the mean score of the respondents who “never use the In-ternet for research” (2.39, Sd= 1.56) is not

significantly different from the mean score of the respondents who “sometimes use the Internet for research” and the mean score of the respondents who “always use Internet for research”.

Significant differences in online passive and active political participation are ob-served when the respondents “use Internet for finding friends” (Table 7). The post-hoc comparison using the Tukey HSD test for “ac-tive online political participation” indicates that the mean score for students who “always use Internet for finding friends” (3.17, SD= 1.65) is significantly higher than the mean score of those who “sometimes use Internet for finding friends” (1.93; SD= 1.19) and the mean score of those who “never use Internet for finding friends” (1.85, SD= 1.20). Similar results are also obtained for online passive political participation when the respond-ents “usage of Internet for finding friends” is considered. On one hand, the post-hoc

Table 6: One-way ANOVA Results for Comparison of Online Political Participation Means, by Selected Demographic Features

Active political participation Passive political participationYes No Yes No

(M) SD (M) SDdf

(Within Groups)

F (M) SD (M) SDdf

(Within Groups)

F

Having a family member who is active in the Turkish formal political life

2.25 1.45 1.88 1.21 188 3.22* 2.75 1.31 2.15 1.16 188 9.48***

Having a family member who is active in a non- profit organization

2.12 1.41 1.93 1.23 189 0.90 2.67 1.25 2.18 1.19 189 6.31**

Being an official member of a political party

2.80 1.51 1.86 1.21 191 11.30*** 3.64 1.19 2.13 1.11 191 36.04***

Being an officially member of a non-profit organization

2.89 1.55 1.91 1.25 191 6.68** 3.78 1.05 2.22 1.18 191 20.08***

Subscription to political websites

3.11 1.28 1.78 1.18 189 26.67*** 3.99 0.86 2.04 1.05 189 77.60***

Internet access at home 1.94 1.24 2.06 1.39 191 0.31 2.29 2.37 1.14 191 0.16

***p<0.01 ; **p<0.05; p<0.10df (Between Groups)= 1

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comparison of the Tukey HSD test for the “use Internet for finding friends” suggests that the mean score of the respondents who “always use Internet to find friends” (2.28 SD= 1.45) is significantly higher than the mean score of the respondents who “never use the Internet for finding friends” (1.58, SD= 1.19) and those who “sometimes use the Internet for finding friends” (1.64, Sd= 1.13). On the other hand, the same test shows that there is not any significant dif-ference in online passive political participa-tion among the students who “sometimes use Internet for finding friends” and “never use the Internet for finding friends”. In the light of these findings, it might not be wrong to say that the students who “use the Inter-net for finding friends” are more engaged to both online active and passive politics than the other students who do not use Internet for this purpose.

The mean score of the online active po-litical participation of the students who, “use the Internet for reading e-newspapers,” is significantly higher than the mean score of others who “do not use Internet for read-ing e-newspaper” (See Table 7). The Tukey test for “using the Internet for reading e-newspapers” shows that there is an obvious difference between the mean score of the re-spondents who “always use the Internet for reading e-newspapers” (2.17, SD= 137) and the mean score of those who “sometimes use the Internet for reading e-newspapers” (1.71; SD= 1.07). However, the mean score of the students who “never use the Internet for reading e-newspaper” insignificantly dif-fers from the mean score of the respondents who “sometimes use the Internet for reading e-newspaper” and of those who “always use the Internet for reading e-newspaper” for both type of online political participations.

When the students “usage of Internet for chatting” is taken under consideration, the

following results were found. The F value of the ANOVA test results of online active po-litical participation is significant (see Table 7). The post-hoc comparison of the Tukey HSD test for the “using Internet for chat-ting” indicates that the mean score of the respondents who “always use the Internet for chatting” (2.23 SD= 1.49) is significantly different from the mean score of the stu-dents who “never use the Internet for chat-ting” (1.67 SD= 1.07). However, there is not any significant difference is observed among the students who “sometimes” or “never use Internet for chatting.” In addition to the significant F value of online active political participation, a significant F value of online passive political participation is obtained when the students “usage of Internet for chatting” is tested. According to the results of the post-hoc comparison of the Tukey HSD test for the “usage of Internet for chat-ting” the mean score of the students who “always use the Internet for chatting” is sig-nificantly higher than the mean score of the respondents who “sometimes use the Inter-net for chatting” and of those “never use the Internet for chatting.” However, there is not a significant difference between the mean scores of online passive political participa-tion of the students who “sometimes use the Internet for chatting” and those “never use the Internet for chatting.”

In addition to these, the results show that the students who “regularly write a blog” participate (both passive and active) online politics more than the students who “never write a blog” (see Table 7). The ob-servation of the post-hoc comparison of the Tukey HSD test for the active online political participation display that the mean score of the respondents who “always write a blog” (3.81 SD= 1.50) is significantly dif-ferent from the mean score of the respond-ents who “sometimes write a blog (3.16, SD= 0.89) and those who “never write a blog

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(2.02 SD= 0.97). Further significant differ-ences are also noticed between the mean score of the respondents who “write a blog “(3.16, SD= 0.89) and “never write a blog (2.02 SD= 0.97). The post-hoc comparison of the Tukey HSD test results for the pas-sive online political participation point out that the mean score of students who “always write a blog” (3.83 SD= 1.02) is significantly higher than the mean score of students who “sometimes write a blog” (3.16 SD= 1.03) and “never write a blog” (2.02 SD= 1.06).

As a summary, we can say that the stu-dents who use the Internet for research, reading e-newspapers, finding friends, chat-ting and/or writing a blog exhibit signifi-cantly higher participation in online active and/or passive politics than the others who do not use the Internet for such activities. The students who use the Internet mainly

for listening to music, communicating and playing games do not show a considerable high level of online political participation than the others who do not use the Internet for such purposes.

These findings show similarities with the studies of Quintelier and Vissers (2008), Pasek et al. (2006). What is more, in the online political life, the bloggers are much more active than the participants who do not write a blog. The findings of this study related to the bloggers are parallel to those of Zuniga et al.’s (2009) and Quintelier and Vissers (2008). Interestingly, the results show that the participants who use the In-ternet to find friends and for chatting are more active in the online political life than the others who do not use the Internet for these purposes.

In order to see whether the offline political participation of the students differs from their online political participation, paired sample tests have been carried out (See Table 8). The tests show that there is an insignificant difference between the mean score of the students’ of-fline passive (M=2.46, SD=1.28) and online passive (M=2.31, SD=1.22) political participation, where t (192) is 1.85 (p=0.065). This shows that there are not any strong differences between

Table 7: One-way ANOVA Results for Comparison of Online Political Participation Means, by Type of Internet use

Active political participation Passive political participation

Never Sometimes Always Never Sometimes Always

The frequency of internet use (M) SD (M) SD (M) SD

df (Within Groups)

F (M) SD (M) SD (M) SDdf

(Within Groups)

F

How often do you use internet for research? 2.39 1.56 1.57 1.03 2.06 1.31 189 2.97* 2.33 0.98 1.97 1.09 2.41 1.26 189 2.14

How often do you use internet for reading e-newspapers or magazines?

1.93 1.46 1.71 1.07 2.17 1.37 189 2.78* 2.15 1.25 1.96 1.01 2.58 1.29 189 5.98***

How often do you use internet for listening to music?

2.11 1.48 1.80 1.08 2.05 1.35 189 0.80 2.02 0.83 2.35 1.23 3.35 1.27 189 0.48

How often do you use internet for communication?

2.00 1.30 1.75 1.16 2.12 1.36 189 1.78 2.26 0.97 2.25 1.15 2.38 1.32 189 0.26

How often do you use internet for finding friends?

1.85 1.20 1.93 1.19 3.16 1.66 189 8.06*** 1.64 1.13 1.58 1.19 2.28 1.45 189 8.37***

How often do you use internet for playing games?

2.01 1.33 1.81 1.17 2.19 1.40 188 1.21 2.32 1.14 2.22 1.20 2.49 1.43 188 0.64

How often do you use internet for chatting?

1.67 1.07 2.01 1.26 2.23 1.49 185 2.59* 2.11 1.06 2.21 1.19 2.73 1.36 185 4.23**

Do you have a blog which you can write your comments

2.02 0.97 3.16 0.89 3.81 1.50 188 49.49*** 2.02 1.06 3.16 1.03 3.83 1.02 188 34.81***

***p<0.01 ; **p<0.05; p<0.10df (Between Groups) = 2

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these two types of political participation of the students. However, a significant differ-ence can be seen between the mean scores of offline active (M=1.45, SD=0.89) and on-line active (M=1.98, SD=1.29) political par-ticipation, where t (191) is -5.887 (p=0.000), which indicates that the students are much more actively participating in online poli-tics, than the offline-real life politics. With this test, in addition to the differences be-

tween the offline and online active political participation of the students, the differ-ences in levels of their offline and online po-litical interest were also observed. The test results point out that there is a significant difference in scores of offline political inter-est (M=3.32, SD= 1.17) and online political interest (M=2.60, SD=0.97), where t (191) is 12.99 (p<0.00).

Discussion

This study provides several interesting results about young people’s political par-ticipation levels and insights that determine their political participation levels in the online world. In overall, in its field, this re-search presents the first systematic empiri-cal study in Turkey, and it is the one of the very few non-western studies performed upon the online political participation of university students. As DiMaggio et al. (2001) and Xenos and Moy (2007) pointed out in their studies, as long as the technol-ogy continues to change, the political life will also continue to change in time. Thus,

the results of this study have a historic than scientific value and the relationship between the studied variables will presumably evolve.

The paired sample tests, which attempt to understand whether there are any differ-ences between the offline political behaviour and online political behaviour of the partici-pants, point out that the political interest of the participants is normally higher in the normal life than in the online world. Addi-tionally, the study shows that the passive political participation of the participants is also higher in the normal life than in the on-line world. The findings support our claim stating that the most of the participants

Table 8: The results of paired sample test for political interest and participation

Pair Paired differences

95% Confidence Interval of the Difference

Mean SD Lower Upper t df

Normal Political Interest-Online Political Interest

0.717 0.76 0.61 0.83 12.99*** 191

Passive normal political participation-Passive online political participation

0.15 1.13 -0.01 0.31 1.85* 192

Active normal political participation- Active online political participation

-0.51 1.22 -0.63 -0.34 -5.90*** 191

***p<0.01 ; **p<0.05; *p<0.10

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who are active in online politics are already active in normal politics. This also indicates that, although the Internet has the capacity to reduce cost of political participation and activating political interest, there is still a need for basic political motivation for the individuals to use the Internet for political purposes.

The results display that the students are significantly more active in the online word which means that they are actively writing petitions, joining boycotts or hacking. Here, it can be said that although the Internet do not increase the political interest or passive political participation, it enables the users to show their direct participation in politics. In brief, the Internet provides a venue for political activity which can be considered as an extention of the actual political life. The study shows us that the students are mostly interested, and hence participate, in the of-fline politics. However, they prefer to show their political participation more freely in online world than normal life.

One of the aim of this study was to ex-plore which of the theoretical models better explains the relation between the Internet and the political participation of the young people. According to the results of the study, the time spent on the net or having Internet access at home or at the university do not make any difference in terms of the online political participation. Therefore, this study points out a psychological approach which highlights the influence of the motives, characteristics, and social contexts of Inter-net users upon their political participation (Bimber 2003). As the results prove, politi-cal effects of the Internet is contingent on political inclinations, motives and social context of the participants. The interest in politics and public affairs is one the major motivation that gives the participants an incentive to get involved in both online and

offline politics.

Like many similar researches, this study is not immune from limitations, either, and there is still a need for further researches to be performed in this field. The current study did not focus on daily political interests and the relative political participation of the students. It would be interesting to see the online and offline political activity of the students during political elections time or during an extraordinary political environ-ment such as voting for changing the con-stitution, or discussing about taking a part in a military operation of NATO in a specific country (i.e. Iraq, Afghanistan), or discuss-ing EU membership. A second drawback is that the data for this study was gathered from the students who are mainly from the southeastern Turkey where social environ-ment is, arguably, more conservative than the western part of the country. Therefore, it would be more fruitful to observe the on-line political participation of students from several cities of Turkey such as Istanbul, Izmir and Kayseri. Lastly, political and/or ideological preferences of the students have not been taken into account in this research. This aspect of the matter could provide an-other valuable variable which would help us to define the type and the magnitude of the online political participation.

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Mehmet KılıçFatih University, [email protected]

Chapulling ‘Turkish Spring’: Strike of an Unpredictable Synchronization

Abstract

This article attempts to define what the Taksim protests are and how they can be described within a holistic view. The article argues that these protests were a surrealist integration of differ-ent groups and individuals that struck the Erdogan government especially in the June of 2013. At this point, the article claims that cyber-propaganda warfare between the Omni-Taksim and the government started. Hence, the protesters that were the incarnation of the omnipresent Taksim and the police that were the walk of the omnipotent government struggled to decide who command the ways. In conclusion, the article demonstrates that the chapulling activism metamorphosed into pacifism under the effects of the government’s strategic maneuvers.

Keywords

Omni-Taksim, chapulling, cyber-propaganda, cyber-warfare, dubbing, omnipresent, omnipo-tent, integral attitude, synchronization.

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Introduction

The Taksim protests have emerged against the environmental project which contains the rearrangement of the Tak-sim square and the Gezi Park in Istanbul. The Turkish Prime Minister Recep Tayyip Erdogan said that the Taksim project com-posed of a military barrack and shopping mall had been publicly presented with an an-imation before the general election held in 2011 (Hürriyet, 2013). However, the resist-ance against the Prime Minister’s insistence on applying the project led to emergence of popular protests spreading over all the Turk-ish cities especially in the June of 2013.

The word of ‘chapull’ which passed to English during the course of the Taksim protests came from the Turkish verb ‘çapul-culuk etmek’. This word became famous af-ter Tayyib Erdogan used it to define Taksim protesters. Actually, the subject of chapuller that is ‘çapulcu’ in Turkish has the mean-ings of ‘marauder, looter, vandal, bum and riffraff’ (Wikipedia, 2013). However, the protesters appreciated this word by redefin-ing it as seeking right. Thus, the word of the chapull became like a medal that is double faced: its negative face to the Erdogan gov-ernment and the positive face for the pro-testers. The pejorative meanings of the verb of chapull that are ‘resistance to force, de-mand justice’ and ‘seek one’s right’ became well-known in the world (Urban Diction-ary, 2013). Hence, the protesters accepted ‘chapulling’ to identify their movement. Thus, the brand of ‘chapuller’ was selected as the most effective identity to make the chapulling movement popular resistance. Taking the certified identity of chapulling by the protesters into consideration, we will in-terchangeable use ‘chapulling’ in meaning of protesting-resisting and ‘chapuller’ in mean-ing of protester.

This article will deal with the issue of what the Taksim protests were and how they can be understood. First, we will endeavor to comprehend how these protests diffused in the entire landscape of Anatolia in spite of an ‘omnipotent’ government. Here, the emergence of omnipresent Taksim against the omnipotent government will be paid at-tention to solve the issue of diffusion. The contention between the omnipresence and the omnipotence will be narrated within the perspective of the cyber-propaganda warfare. Second, we will focus on the ques-tion of how the incorporeal Omni-Taksim resisted against the force of the omnipotent government. At this precise point, we will claim that the Omni-Taksim would seek to incarnate in the corporeality of the differ-ent socio-political and religious groups and individuals. Finally, we will describe this incarnation as synchronic integrity of the mentioned groups and individuals beyond determinist perspectives.

Omni-Taksim

The Omni-Taksim was a ubiquitous in-corporeal entity which was a phenomenon of the new media and could not be incarcer-ated by the Turkish Police Forces. It could appear in every street and avenue by means of the corporeality of the members of the political parties, syndicates, sports clubs etc. Nobody could predict when and where it would appear. That is why Erdogan said that ‘this social media is the plague of societies’ (Bloomberght, 2013).

The police forces circled the Taksim square to implode the chapulling movement to prevent its diffusion at the first days of the protests. The tents of environmentalists were fired after the intervention at 05.00 am, 29 may 2013 (Duygu Doğan, 2013). This was the explosion of the Taksim square that

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diffused through the other cities of Anato-lia and emergence of absolute Taksim. The justification of absoluteness was the slo-gan of ‘Everywhere Taksim!, everywhere resistance!’ May 31, 2013 (Radikal, 2013). Ill-timed birth contains violence. The po-lice’s crackdown led to the revelation of all the substantial colors and the lines of con-trasts between the Erdogan’s government and, the opposition groups and people. The mentioned revelation was the laceration of a pregnant belly. The substantial revelations in this deepening and extending laceration initiated to associate with all the socio-po-litical and religious differentiations among people. At the end of the day, the conse-quent of the revelations was unpredictable synchronic demonstrations that were the signs of Omni-Taksim.

The phrases of ‘Do not uproot trees and do not build walls’ were the synopsis of en-vironmentalists occupied Taksim square. The synopsis was an evidence of the meta-morphosis from class conflict determined by mode of production to eco-struggle de-termined by mode of view. The translation of these phrases is ‘do not touch my view’. This is the perceptual resistance based on the demand of continuum of view. Taksim Solidarity Platform (Taksim Dayanışması Platformu) called all citizens to protest in the square against the government project to protect the Gezi Park (T24, 2013). The whispers of this call were being transmitted to silent masses to decide how the view of the Gezi Park had to be.

The most important ritual to be loyal to the call of the Omni-Taksim became play-ing saucepan and pot with spoons in every street and square of the Anatolian cities. To realize this ritual, myriads of chapull-ers have started to circuit at the trajectory of the Omni-Taksim in the cities by putting spoons on saucepans and pots for hours

(T24, 2013). The chapullers repeated the mantra of ‘everywhere Taksim!, everywhere resistance!’ as they were viewing the videos and photos of Taksim which were evidences of the multi-faced square.

‘Everywhere Taksim!, everywhere re-sistance!’ says Noam Chomsky by proclaim-ing that he was ‘a chapuller in solidarity’ (YouTube, 2013). The place where Chomsky shouted slogans was not Taksim and there was not a resistance at that place. This was the proclamation of the physically end of Taksim. We can infer from the slogans of Chomsky that we were under the illusion-ary effects of the virtual reality. That is why Chomskian solution founded on the omni-presence of the square against the physical distance. This is the indicator of the transi-tion from physical proximity of Taksim to cyber and tele-proximity of Taksim fed by the new media. The one of the most impor-tant products of these transitions is that Chomsky turned to a partisan of Omni-Tak-sim by saying that he was a chapuller.

The entire world viewed the chapull-ing protests with CNN’s BBC’s Al-Jazeera’s Euronews’, Reuters’ AP’s and AFP’ and the other channels’ live broadcasts at June 11, 2013 (Hürriyet, 2013). This means that Taksim Square converted into a worldwide cinema set broadcasted by the cameramen and dubbed by the reporters who were ‘live-witnesses’. Thus, the world both followed the live broadcasts and listened to the live-witnesses to intuit what was happening in Turkey. This situation was one aspect of the facts of how the Taksim square appeared as an omnipresent incorporeality. As a result, the mentioned transnational broadcasts were the evidences of the end of divisions between domestic and international affairs.

Three Turks who live in the USA started a campaign in the name of ‘Full Page Ad for

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Turkish Democracy in Action: OccupyGezi for the World’ in conformity with the above mentioned divisive issue. Their intention was to advertize the chapulling movement in the New York Times and Washington Post to inform the world about ‘WHAT’S HAP-PINING IN TURKEY’ with the hashtags of #GeziParki, #OccupyGezi, #DirenGeziParki (Serkan Ocak, 2013). This propaganda ad was an attempt to determine how the globe would view the uprising in Turkey as though this event was a movie. That is, the entire world was invited to watch, discuss, and dub this glocal live movie shot in Turkey.

The cyber-chapullers effectively used the social media such as Twitter, Facebook, and YouTube to diffuse the chapulling protests without censorship. For, the social media was a communitarian milieu hiding differ-ences among people. Further, the essence of the social media is to offer a form, the content of which could be arranged and pro-duced according to the users’ preferences. That is, the fake nature of social media is a suitable milieu to propagandize without let-ting the cats out of the bags. However, the old media viewers and the readers are divid-ed in accordance with the socio-political and religious differences. That is why the social media became the origin of the chapulling. Additionally, cyber-environment offered the opportunity of becoming omnipresent to the chapullers to deliver their viewpoints to all the people over the globe. Advertise-ment and social media agencies, house of publications, blog writers etc constituted a coalition to make the chapulling movement popular especially by means of the hashtag of #DirenGeziParkı. The directors and work-ers of such agencies sought to produce strik-ing slogans and placards in order to gain new members for the chapulling movement and to make the hashtag of #DirenGeziParkı trending topic (Samanyoluhaber, 2013).

The cyber-chapullers used the stimu-lus-response mechanism of cyber-environ-ment to make the mentioned live movie popular in the world. They were aware of the fact that there was no any Turkish ‘Big Brother’ in the social media. They used to report the chapulling protests with the in-stantaneous transmission of videos and photos. The numbers of twitts send during the course of the Taksim chapulling were more than those tweeted from the Tahrir Square in Cairo (Kozan Demircan, 2013). The chapullers send 22 million twitts from the beginning of the protests on May 31st to the end of the June 11th (New York Univer-sity, Social Media and Political Participation Lab, 2013). This was the info-war made by the chapullers were omnipresent on the net within the glocal scale against the govern-ment. Further, this information bombard-ment was like a perpetual blitzkrieg to bring about a swift victory. Finally, the cyber-cha-pullers gained uncountable supporters for their movement because extremely stimu-lated people under the info-bombardment could not find time to think whether they had to support the protests or not and then they were converted into chapullers.

War of Propaganda

Both the Turkish government and the chapullers knew that silent movies passed away before heaps of time. Here, the funda-mental and urgent problem was who would dub the live movie of protests of the Taksim Square when innumerable images overflew. Thus, the wars of dubbing started between the chapullers and the government and also among the supporters of both sides to legit-imize their positions. These legitimization attempts would constitute the public view in the minds of Turkish citizens and foreign-ers. At the end of the day, the dubbers of the Omni-Taksim fought against the Prime

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Minister Recep Tayyip Erdogan at the point separating truth from reality.

The commanding heights of the cha-pulling cyber-propaganda warfare were the hashtags that became trending topics all over the world. Such hashtags devoted themselves to operate the public perception about the chapulling movement (Cemal İve, 2013; Al Jazeera, 2013). However, it is important to remind that the chapulling cyber-propaganda warfare was polyphonic. This is the explanation of how cyber-cha-pullers shared almost 13.5 millions differ-ent videos, photos and interpretations by means of the hashtags during the first 14 days of the protests (Ortadoğu, 2013). It is possible to interpret the mentioned reali-ty that the intention of instantaneous and continuous content sharing by means of the social media was to extremely stimulate the users of the internet to react in favor of the chapulling movement without thinking about whether what they would do was log-ical or not.

Propaganda twitts for the Taksim cha-pulling were more than two million send in a 12 hour-time at 31 May. During the course of protests all over the Anatolia, millions of twitts, photos, interpretations, videos, re-ports etc. were sent especially in Anatolia and around the world (Wikipedia, 2013). This process shows that interpreters, cam-eramen, reporters etc. went out of fashion. Every chapuller were sending photos and videos by dubbing by themselves. They rep-resented the protests and provided feed-backs however and whenever they wanted.

The worldwide ad of the chapullers ap-peared on the New York Times as ‘join the conversation and stand with us in solidari-ty’ about ‘what’s happening in Turkey’. This ad dubs the chapulling movement as the demands of ‘an end to police brutality, free

media, open democratic dialogue’ and ‘civil rights’ (Elmaaltshift, 2013). The intention of the ad was to inform the world and to arouse their interests in what happened in Turkey during the course of the Taksim pro-tests (Serkan Ocak, 2013). The chapullers get benefit from the international commu-nity and to market their movement in op-position to the government used the worldly accepted humanitarian values that were the variations of freedom.

Celebrities also simultaneously served as dubbers by describing the police interven-tions that were disintegrating the chapull-ers as ‘crackdown, pitiless, savage, offense, and ruffianism’ and by claiming that those who were silent against this savage were not Muslims. They also announced that babies, children, women, and elders were injured (Cumhuriyet, 2013). This dubbing was to in-tent to agitate religious feelings by expecting a ‘humanitarian intervention’ from Muslism against the ‘savage’ and ‘pitiless’ enemy.

Propaganda songs and ballads also com-posed by different musical bands to gather people to protest and to support the cha-pullers. These propaganda songs are a kind of hymns for the divine chapulling and criticisms to the government. For instance, Anonymous, a band, composed a song that called people to occupy Gezi Park (Viplay, 2013). Duman, a band, advised that the cha-pullers had to endure ‘tear gases’ and ‘kicks’ (Ulusal Kanal, 2013). The intentions of such songs were to inspire endurance to the cha-pullers and to harmonize the protests with the rhythms of music.

A number of false news and fake photos were circled on the internet in order to get popular support against the government. The photo of ‘a police officer who sting tear gas a dog’, the photo of ‘a child run over with a police panzer’, the photo of ‘thousands

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of runners on the Bosphorus Bridge in the Euro-Asian Marathon’, and the news of ‘the government will be overthrown by the army with the decision of European Union in 48 hours’ are the examples of provocative at-tempts (Aktif Haber, 2013). Police started to arrest provocateurs who encouraged people by means of social media to unlawfully cha-pull against the government. For instance, police arrested 34 suspects in Izmir but the public prosecutor released 33 suspects at June 6, 2013 (Haber7, 2013). Some un-known cyber users effectively used such photos and news to deceive the internet users and to destroy anti-chapulling percep-tions. This is an old warfare tactic, namely the strategy of deception in order to agitate the users and get their supports. Moreover, these were the perceptional operations to constitute a false view about the govern-ment to empower and diffuse protests.

How Erdogan replied to the propaganda of cyber-chapullers is an important issue to understand the atmosphere. Erdogan’s style was the ‘live politics’ based on his rhetorical performances in the meetings. He proposed a plebiscite to solve the issue of Taksim proj-ect, warning that other alternatives were the undemocratic ways that brought the preparation processes of the previous coup d’états in the Turkish political history into mind. The Prime Minister Tayyip Erdogan prepared a meeting in Sincan, Ankara by calling masses to spoil ‘the big game’. He implied that the chapulling movement was an attempt to make a military coup like 27 May, 12 September, 28 February coups and 27 April e-memorandum, arguing that we all the nation resisted these juntas. The placard of ‘the world is watching the realities now’ in the meeting was the massage of the show of strength to the international TV channels such as CNN and BBC (Cumhuriyet, 2013). The goal of the counter-bombardment of

these propaganda meetings was to make ‘Taksim-Effect’ ineffective.

Within the framework of Turkish na-tional experience, Erdogan’s straightforward tactic was the usage of memory by building associations between the living protests and the social struggles at the eve of the previ-ous coup d’états. At the meeting on June 9, 2013, he pointed out that his government could be overthrown with the ballot box by emphasizing that the era of junta had fin-ished without getting back. Additionally, he strongly claimed that the Turkish Spring occurred on November 3, 2002, on which the Development and Justice Party won the general election (Cumhuriyet, 2013). In addition to the Erdogan’s effort, many counter-chapullers similarly compared the chapulling protests with those at the eve of the previous coup d’états such as 28 Feb-ruary and 27 May by means of the hashtag of #OyunaGelmeTürkiyem by warning that this was a game to overthrow the Turkish elected government (Hatice Kübra, 2013). It may be possible to conclude that Erdogan and his supporters conceived the chapulling movement as an engineered deception to destroy the spring of November 3.

It is also worthy to perceive the fact that the propaganda warfare of Erdogan was monophonic. That is why the Prime Minis-ter Tayyip Erdogan started to call masses to counter-propagandize against chapullers. The genius maneuver of Erdogan was trans-forming the chapullers into the voters of the opposition parties. Further, it may be logical to observe that he sought to divide the Turk-ish voters into two camps by saying that he started the meetings of local elections that would be held in 2014. In this respect, he invited all the people to his meetings in or-der to be respectful for national will revealed with the ballot box (Milliyet, 2013). Thus, Erdogan would gain the voters who did not

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participate into the chapulling. He found many data to support his arguments because all the opposition parties and the civil soci-ety organizations which were ideologically against the Justice and Development Par-ty. The synopsis of Erdogan’s tactic was the Justice and Development Party versus the ‘Chapulling Party’. Finally, Erdogan’s strat-egy was to call for conservative masses to gather at meetings to break the turbo-motor of chapulling by alarming the public that the hell of anarchic state was at the door. At that point, the Turkish people easily recollected the previous military coups. This was the perfect deterring massage for silent masses (T24, 2013).

Integral Attitudes and Commanding Ways

The Erdogan government could not predict the momentary appearances of the multitudes of organized and unorganized people in the streets overflowing into the Taksim square. The issue of unpredictability showed the reality that the government had not been ready and had not had experience to prevent the momentary appearances of chapullers that revealed the uncensored in-tuitions about the conservative discourse of the Erdogan government.

The question was why the government could not encompass these surrealist pro-tests. The Turkish Republic as a nation-state hierarchically structured, mechani-cally works in accordance with the physical conditions. This mechanic structure which was founded on the bureaucracy processes from top to down and vice versa. Further, the state had to behave normatively against the chapullers. On the other hand, cyber mi-lieu de-bureaucratizes connections among people by saving time. That is why and how the Erdogan government could not speed-

ily predict the ubiquitous chapulling move-ment. In brief, the government had to put the chapulling movement into the brackets to encompass it. This encompassing could be achieved by intuiting every mode of the movement. The mentioned intuition prob-lem indicates that the government came up against an unknown phenomenon, namely incarnation of the Omni-Taksim as chapull-ers.

How popular protests diffused all the Anatolian cities was the issue of the produc-tion and transmission of information at the speed of light. That’s why Turkcell, a Turkish GSM operator, has used the slogan of ‘the in-ternet at the speed of light’ (Turkcell Super-online, 2013). With this opportunity during the course of Taksim chapulling, chapullers produced uncountable info-stimuli to pro-duce a public view in the Taksim square. For, the achievement of the riot directly connected with the issue of how the event would have to be represented to find popular support. At this point, the chapullers have used cyberspace as a humor magazine. This was the liberation from the physical space of Taksim into the cyber-milieu. This libera-tion was the welcoming process of chapull-ers to the desert of liberal democracy of cyber-environment. Thus, the circle of police around the Taksim square was disqualified. The main result is that the square has turned to a media complex directed by the chapull-ers who cognitively freed and escaped from the circle. In brief, the incorporeal warriors of chapulling started to determine how the internet users and the tele-viewers would resist against the government.

The liberated chapullers of the Taksim square awakened the anti-government groups and revealed their substantial dis-course. This was the breaking point of how political parties, leftist groups and syndi-cates preferred an integral attitude to par-

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ticipate into the protests (Evrensel, 2013). We can infer the reality from this integral at-titude that Taksim riot was not synonymous but homonymous composed of diverse groups and individuals. In summary, this was the musical logic of chorus of protest-ers based on the transition from the truth of differentiations to the reality of rationaliza-tion of integrity.

The chorus of the integrated groups had to present a live performance to make this concert without a conductor popular. Their voices would be synchronic but without synonymous. That is, everybody would be against the applications of the government due to different reasons. At this point, ‘de-mocracy does not just take place at the polls, especially when the choices on the ballot are as unappealing as they have been in Turkey’ says Daron Acemoglu about the protests in his article on the New York Times (Daron Acemoglu, 2013). This is not the problem of whether ballot boxes offer right choices or not. The issue was that the new media at-tempts its interactive adjective to stick into the beginning of democracy. Direct democ-racy advances intermittently but the above mentioned chorus wanted an ‘interactive democracy’ based on the constant consul-tation between them and the government. This was the need to construct democracy on the accept-reject info-transmission be-tween citizens and the government. Here, the breaking point was the rejection of the method of ‘ballot box democracy’ in favor of the interactive democracy and to build live info-highways between citizens and the gov-ernment.

The integral attitudes of the groups were the expressionism of the anti-governmental feelings that exhibited on the ways by means of chapulling. Taksim Solidarity Platform (Taksim Dayanışma Platformu) declared the idea that the landscape of Taksim Square

which is the terminal of 1 May protests at 13th day of the chapulling (Hazal Özvarış, 2013). Specifically, Taksim is an idol space for leftist groups and that was why they could easily integrate with each other against the government.

Murat Yetkin argues that Taksim pro-tests were not a Turkish Spring by indicating that Taksim protesters could be divided into three groups: the first group who thought that their modernist and secular life styles were under a threat. The second group who could be labeled as civil society was profes-sional organizations, sports clubs etc. The last group was inferior in number but polit-ically well organized legal and illegal groups (Murat Yetkin, 2013). The fundamental rea-sons of why these groups joined and sup-ported the chapulling movement were ‘the authoritarian attitudes of the Prime Minis-ter ’, ‘unproportional usage of power by the police’, ‘violation of democratic rights’, ‘si-lence of old media’ and , ‘the trees cut’ (Türk İnternet, 2013). Varieties of demands syn-chronized diverse groups to resist against the government.

Thousands of protestors in Izmir and Ankara were flowing into the streets, av-enues and boulevards, by shouting as ‘Ev-erywhere Taksim!, Everywhere resistance!’ and ‘the government resign!’ on May 31, 2013 (Gazeteciler Online, 2013). Similarly, some protestors burned vehicles and erect-ed barricades between themselves and the police who used tear gas on 12 June, 2013 (Cumhuriyet, 2013). The Voice of Russia an-nounced that protesters fought against the police and the protests spread over different Anatolian cities by having the question of ‘Has Turkish Spring started’. For, protesters flew into ways all over the cities by shout-ing slogans against the government (Olga Haldız, 2013). These protestors challenged the omnipotent government with the om-

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nipresent Taksim square. Interestingly, they preferred to seize ways to force the govern-ment to resign. From this preference it is possible to infer the reality that the protest-ers tried to the mechanically working state to stop by occupying the ways.

The police at the Taksim Square sought to collect posters and bills in the morning of June 11, 2013. At that time, the chapull-ers took each other by the hand to circle the Gezi Park with a chain composed of men and women. ‘Some chapullers were wait-ing to charge their cell phones’ to continue cyber-propaganda at the noon of the same day (Radikal, 2013). On June 12, the police cleaned the flags, pennants and placards of illegal groups in the vicinity of Ataturk Cultural Centre (Atatürk Kültür Merkezi) and Ataturk Monument (Atatürk Anıtı) in the Taksim Square (Mustafa Gürlek, 2013). The entire ground and wall were decorated with slogans, placards and bills of diverse groups to market the chapulling movement. It is possible exaggeratedly say that this was a miniature pitched battle of Taksim. This miniature battle transformed human bodies into constructive materials to build a ram-part that was a ‘live-wall’ to prevent police intervention. In addition to this classical war scene, cyber-propagandist chapullers used to reflect a post-war stage whose logis-tics was provided by electricity, namely light. The police sought to remove the symbols of collectivity to de-harmonize and de-stimu-late the vehement resisting groups. Hence, the cyber-chapullers kept their cell phones charged to continue their synchronization of resistance on the net leaving physical space to the police control.

The decision of plebiscite could not calm the vehement chapulling and calls to protest continued. ‘Go away AKP, this is our coun-try’, ‘Hurry up with your saucepan and pot to the street’, and ‘The government Resign!’

were few of the slogans to mobilize masses against the government in the night pro-tests which would straightly start at 21.00 (Aydınlık, 2013). The Labor Party called all the people who live in Istanbul for the anti-government protests to the Taksim Square with the slogan of ‘Stand up Istanbul, Tayyip Resign! Hurry Up to Taksim’ (Ulusal Kanal, 2013). Some representatives of the Republican People’s Party also attended to the Taksim protests (Cumhuriyet, 2013). The head of the Alevi Bektashi Federation (Alevi Bektaşi Federasyonu), Selahattin Özel also said that they were supporting the Tak-sim Movement in the every part of Turkey, by feeling that this was a popular movement and expressing that they would not divide the resistance (Ulusal Kanal, 2013). Differ-ent motorized socio-political and religious masses replaced the vehicles to continue their vocalic walks in the ways. They at-tempted to command the ways to claim the right of governance on the state. It is logical to feel that commanding the ways would be resulted in commanding the state according to the perceptions the chapullers.

The government threw in the towel and decided to make an agreement with the cha-pullers after losing the control ways. Thus, the protesters in the Taksim square started to negotiate both with the governor of Is-tanbul, Mutlu and the Prime Minister, Recep Tayyib Erdogan. The government decided to hold a plebiscite to determine the des-tiny of the Gezi Park in the Taksim square (BBC, 2013; Radikal, 2013). This is end of the hierarchy between the chapullers and the government. Specifically, this process showed that the incarnation of Omni-Tak-sim brought the government to its knees.

The government called the Taksim pro-testers to finish their resistance after the de-cision of plebiscite. The groups at the Taksim Square were disintegrated by the police with

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tear gas and pressurized water at 20.55 of Black Night on June 15, 2015. The Taksim Solidarity Platform declared that myriads of people were walking to the Taksim and this walk could not be prevented. The protesters flew into the streets, avenues, boulevards and highways all over the Anatolian cities af-ter this intervention. They fought with sticks and stones against the police by pedestrian-izing all the ways (Hürriyet, 2013). They set roadblocks to control main ways and shout-ed as ‘rebellion’, ‘revolution’ and ‘freedom’. They also blocked the ways by pitching tents in Bursa and pedestrianized the Bosporus Bridge in Istanbul (Hürriyet, 2013). The cha-pullers attempted to lock all the circulation channels in the country to revolutionize the government. That is, they strongly felt that commanding ways was commanding the country. In the same respect, the chapullers blocked the way and used stones, marbles and fireworks against the police in Şişli in Is-tanbul on June 16, 2013 (Haberciniz, 2013). Trade unions, workers’ confederations and political parties flew to the streets and ave-nues towards the main squares in Bursa and Eskişehir to support the protests on June 16, 2013 (Cumhuriyet, 2013).

The chapulling protests initiated to calm after the black night intervention. The standing man was a creative avant-garde dis-covery to protest against the government. This protesting type spread all over the Ana-tolian cities by occurring popular by means of the hashtag of #duranadam among wom-en, men, old, and youths (Sinem Babul, 2013; T24, 2013). However, this popular pacifism was the achievement of Erdogan who offered a plebiscite in the entire Istan-bul or just in Beyoglu to solve the Gezi issue. Thus, the problem of legitimized ground emerged in the chapulling movement with the Erdogan’s offer. That is why turbo-cha-pulling started to transform from kinetic to static process. The chapulling decelerated by

transforming namely from turbo-activism to the standing-pacifism.

Conclusion

This article dealt with the issue of what the Taksim protests were and how they can be understood. The environmentalists start-ed an eco-struggle to protect the view of the Gezi Park against the Taksim project in the Taksim square. The eco-struggle trans-formed into a worldwide campaign. This was how the ubiquitous cyber-chapullers consti-tuted the Omni-Taksim that was a new me-dia phenomenon. Thus, the Omni-Taksim initiated cyber-propaganda warfare against the ‘omnipotent’ Erdogan government. The Taksim square turned into a worldwide me-dia complex to market the chapulling.

The uncountable protesters responded to the calls of the Omni-Taksim to chapull against the government. Actually, the prop-agandist attempts led to substantial revela-tion of the anti-government discourse of di-verse group and individual. The chapullers blocked streets, boulevards and highways, and flew towards the biggest squares of the Anatolian cities. This was incarnation of the Omni-Taksim that could not be incarcerated by the police. This incarnation processes led to the synchronization of different socio-political and religious masses. These masses sought to command ways to overthrow the government.

To disintegrate and to calm the vehe-ment chapulling, the Prime Minister Er-dogan used the tactic of association that linked the current protests with the previ-ous ones at the eve of the coup d’états in the history of Turkish democracy. To apply this tactic, he prepared the national will meet-ings by calling all the Turkish citizens to give “The game away”. Additionally, he brought

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the option of plebiscite that would be held in Istanbul to the table. The Prime Minister’s monophonic propaganda tactic transformed the turbo-activism of chapullers to the stat-ic-pacifism of the standing-men.

Acknowledgement

The idea of writing an article about ‘Gezi Protest’ belongs to my PhD supervisor, Prof Ihsan Yılmaz. I would like to thank him for his encouragements to write this article and for his insightful interpretations. Taking its writing time and holistic perspective into consideration, we can frankly say that the article cannot certainly be free from errors, all of whom belong to its writer.

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Mendelsohn, Daniel. 2010. “But Enough about Me.” New Yorker, January 25. Stolberg, Sheryl Gay, and Robert Pear. 2010. “Wary Centrists Posing Challenge in Health

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Care Vote.” New York Times, February 27. Accessed February 28, 2010. http://www.nytimes.com/2010/02/28/us/politics/28health.html. (Mendelsohn 2010, 68)(Stolberg and Pear 2010)

Book review

Kamp, David. 2006. “Deconstructing Dinner.” Review of The Omnivore’s Dilemma: A Natural History of Four Meals, by Michael Pollan. New York Times, April 23, Sunday Book Review. http://www.nytimes.com/2006/04/23/books/review/23kamp.html. (Kamp 2006)

Thesis or dissertation

Choi, Mihwa. 2008. “Contesting Imaginaires in Death Rituals during the Northern Song Dynasty.” PhD diss., University of Chicago. (Choi 2008)

Paper presented at a meeting or conference

Adelman, Rachel. 2009. “ ‘Such Stuff as Dreams Are Made On’: God’s Footstool in the Aramaic Targumim and Midrashic Tradition.” Paper presented at the annual meeting for the Society of Biblical Literature, New Orleans, Louisiana, November 21–24. (Adelman 2009)

Website

A citation to website content can often be limited to a mention in the text (“As of July 19, 2008, the McDonald’s Corporation listed on its website . . .”). If a more formal citation is desired, it may be styled as in the examples below. Because such content is subject to change, include an access date or, if available, a date that the site was last modified. In the absence of a date of publication, use the access date or last-modified date as the basis of the citation.

Google. 2009. “Google Privacy Policy.” Last modified March 11. http://www.google.com/intl/en/privacypolicy.html.

McDonald’s Corporation. 2008. “McDonald’s Happy Meal Toy Safety Facts.” Accessed July 19. http://www.mcdonalds.com/corp/about/factsheets.html. (Google 2009) (McDonald’s 2008)


TJP

Turkish Journal of Politics Vol. 4 No. 1

Documents

Transcript of Turkish Journal of Politics Vol. 4 No. 1