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    Turkey’s Timely Elections: Erdoğanism Without Erdoğan Now?

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      Erdoğan’s Attempt to Woo Assad Could Go Horribly Wrong

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      The Fair Observer website uses digital cookies so it can collect statistics on how many visitors come to the site, what content is viewed and for how long, and the general location of the computer network of the visitor. These statistics are collected and processed using the Google Analytics service. Fair Observer uses these aggregate statistics from website visits to help improve the content of the website and to provide regular reports to our current and future donors and funding organizations. The type of digital cookie information collected during your visit and any derived data cannot be used or combined with other information to personally identify you. Fair Observer does not use personal data collected from its website for advertising purposes or to market to you.As a convenience to you, Fair Observer provides buttons that link to popular social media sites, called social sharing buttons, to help you share Fair Observer content and your comments and opinions about it on these social media sites. These social sharing buttons are provided by and are part of these social media sites. They may collect and use personal data as described in their respective policies. Fair Observer does not receive personal data from your use of these social sharing buttons. It is not necessary that you use these buttons to read Fair Observer content or to share on social media. More

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      The War on Terror Was Never Turkey’s Fight

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      Do you know where you were on August 14, 2001? Perhaps not, since it isn’t a defining day in world history in quite the same way as September 11, 2001, or 9/11, as it’s become known. Yet in the Turkish political landscape, August 14, 2001, can now be seen as something of a watershed moment.

      It was on this day that the Justice and Development Party (AKP) was founded. One of its founding members was a man named Recep Tayyip Erdogan. It was the latest in a long list of parties catering to a religiously devout and socially conservative constituency in Turkey. All the previous ones had been banned.

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      What makes August 14, 2001, so significant is the simple fact that the AKP was never banned. Despite the party’s daring to tread on secularist principles that few others had dared, this time, the country, with strong European Union support, had no appetite for military-backed bans.

      Turkey Says No

      Just as September 11 didn’t really come out of a clear blue sky for anyone observing the tide of Islamist militancy, so too the success of the AKP in Turkey did not come unannounced. It was a long time in the making, but its assumption of power, so soon after 9/11, has been defining for the country.

      By 2003, when George W. Bush’s war on terror was swinging into action in Iraq, the AKP took control of Turkey‘s government. Despite repeated attempts to shutter the party and even a failed 2016 coup, the AKP remains in power. As perhaps the most successful Islamist party in the Middle East, its relationship to both the events of 9/11 and the ensuing war on terror has always been a strained one. The Turkey of the 20th century would have been an unquestioning supporter of US policy. The new Turkey was not.

      Embed from Getty Images

      I was in Turkey on 9/11 and I saw the immediate reaction of ordinary people to the attacks on the World Trade Center and the Pentagon. In the hours after the towers fell, there were wild, yet in retrospect on-the-mark rumors that the US was about to bomb Afghanistan. The mood among ordinary Turks was not one of support.

      Visceral anger and anti-American sentiment were clearly palpable. While not outright cheering al-Qaeda, it was obvious that most people wouldn’t take the US side in a fight. This mood was reflected when Washington eventually went to war with Iraq and hoped to use the airbase at Incirlik in southeastern Turkey.

      The parliamentary vote that vetoed the use of the base for flights into Iraq was a pivotal one. It was the first strong sign of demonstrable national action in reflection of a national mood. In the post-Cold War world, Turkey’s Islamist government was ready to plow its own furrow.

      Who Defines Terrorism?

      The years that have followed have seen an ambiguous and often highly contorted relationship with the war on terror. Sometimes, Turkey has used the anti-terrorism concept to its own ends, as have many other US allies. At other times, it has turned a blind eye to activity that surely fell under the banner of terrorism.

      The Arab Spring of 2010 offered Islamists across the Middle East their big moment. Secular autocrats, long propped up by the West, tottered. Turkey’s Islamist government was one of the most vocal and active in attempting to ride this wave that they hoped would bring Islamist governments to a swathe of countries.

      Initially, the signs were good. The Muslim Brotherhood won the first free and fair elections in Egypt. Meanwhile, in neighboring Syria, the long-suppressed Islamist movement threatened to overwhelm the dictatorship of Bashar al-Assad. For a time, Turkey became a beacon of hope and a model for how the rest of the Middle East might evolve.

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      Turkish flags were being waved by demonstrators in Syria, and President Erdogan became the most popular leader in the region, loved by people far beyond his own nation. Then the Egyptian coup destroyed the Brotherhood, and Russia and Iran stepped in to save Assad’s regime in Syria. The mood soured for Turkey.

      In an attempt to rescue something in the Syrian conflict and in response to the collapse of domestic peace talks between the government and the Kurdistan Workers’ Party, Turkey’s border became a very porous route for jihadists entering into Syria. In time, these jihadists named themselves the Islamic State and declared a caliphate. This audacious move severely upped the stakes on al-Qaeda’s attempts of 2001, with an even more brutal brand of terrorism. Turkey’s ambiguous attitude to these developments was hardly a war on terror.

      Yet by this stage, the concept behind the war on terror had become so nebulous and the AKP’s relations to the US so strained by Washington’s support for the Kurds in Syria, that it was a case of realpolitik all the way. To any accusation of soft-handedness toward terrorists, Turkey pointed to US attitudes vis-à-vis Kurdish militants.

      Embed from Getty Images

      President Erdogan has, over time, began to carve a space for himself as an anti-Western champion, a leader of some kind of latter-day non-aligned movement, a spokesman for Muslim rights worldwide. This political and cultural position has made Turkey’s place in a liberal, democratic world order highly questionable.

      What seems clear in retrospect is that both 9/11 and the subsequent war on terror were never Turkey’s fights. Due to the longstanding Turkish alliance with the US and NATO, these have been constantly recurring themes in Turkish politics. But the events that have been so central to US policymaking for the past two decades have generally been used to advance Ankara’s own strategic goals in light of the assumption of power and entrenched hegemony of the Islamist movement in Turkey’s contemporary politics.

      The views expressed in this article are the author’s own and do not necessarily reflect Fair Observer’s editorial policy. More

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      Why Headscarves Matter So Much to Turkey

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      Many news outlets carried stories in mid-July of the Turkish government’s condemnation of a ruling by the European Court of Justice (ECJ) upholding a ban on headscarves in certain circumstances, in which an employer wishes to convey a “neutral image.” In doing so, it is weighing into the culture wars over religious symbolism that Europeans will all be well aware of. Many European countries, in particular France, have seen high-profile clashes over the issue of religious symbols in state institutions.

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      Many readers would see Turkey’s condemnation as a simple case of an Islamist regime railing against Western suppression of Islam. Indeed, the government’s statement was full of accusations of Islamophobia in Europe. Yet such statements, coming out of Turkey, are not as simple as that.

      Those same readers might be surprised to discover that Turkey itself had banned headscarves in state institutions until very recently. This might make a governmental condemnation of a ban in Europe seem nonsensical. The reality helps to give context to the Turkish reaction.

      Wear Western Hats

      Condemnations of headscarf bans might ordinarily be expected to emanate from regimes such as the Iranian theocracy or the Saudi conservative monarchy. Coming out of the secular republic of Turkey, they might appear more curious, if it wasn’t for President Recep Tayyip Erdogan’s global image as a religious conservative.

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      His government’s sensitivity to headscarf bans is very personal indeed. In 2006, his own and other politicians’ wives were not invited to an official event by the then-Turkish president, Ahmet Necdet Sezer, due to their wearing of headscarves. In 2007, there was an attempt by the military — a traditional guardian of Turkey’s ruling secular elite — to deny the presidency to Abdullah Gul of the ruling Justice and Development Party (AKP) because his wife wore a headscarf.

      Such attitudes, which might appear highly intolerant in countries such as the United Kingdom, make more sense in places like France where the separation of church and state is a foundation of the republic. When modern Turkey was created in 1920, France became the model for how to build a modern state. A key element in the imitation of the French was the desire of Turkey’s first military rulers to suppress Islam.

      The Ottoman Empire, of which Turkey was the successor state, was an Islamic empire. Indeed, it was ruled by a caliph, the Islamic equivalent of the pope in Rome. The caliph was the leader of the Muslim world. Turning Turkey into a modern secular republic was akin to removing the pope from the Vatican and banning the wearing of the Christian cross in Catholic Europe. Needless to say, it has created cultural fault lines in Turkey that persist to this day.

      To drive home his cultural revolution in the 1920s and 1930s, modern Turkey’s founder, Mustafa Kemal Ataturk, instituted a ban on the fez — that most famously Turkish of hats — and the turban. He insisted on men wearing the Western brimmed hat, traditionally rejected since it doesn’t allow the wearer to bow their head to the floor in Muslim prayer whilst wearing it.

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      The veil and headscarf were also discouraged, though the state’s ability to enforce changes in female clothing was slower to be realized than with men’s. The persistence of female cultural clothing as opposed to male could be the subject of an entire essay of its own.

      Alongside many other measures, such as the banning of the Sufi Muslim brotherhoods, the closure of mosques, a ban on the call to prayer in Arabic and the removal of the Arabic script, the Turkish authorities attempted to forcibly Westernize Turks.

      The Illiberal 1980s

      Yet it was not until the military coup d’état of 1980 that Turkey finally outlawed the headscarf officially. It was then that it was banned across all state institutions, including schools, universities, the judiciary, the police and the military. In effect, this meant that girls from religious backgrounds had to choose either to remove their headscarves or not get an education. Only with the rise of the AKP to power in the 2000s did official attitudes begin to shift.

      In 2010, Turkish universities finally admitted women who wore headscarves. This was followed a few years later by state bureaucratic institutions, except the judiciary, military and police. In 2016, policewomen were allowed to wear headscarves beneath their caps, and finally in 2017, the military was the last institution to lift the ban.

      This is the backdrop against which the Turkish government condemns a headscarf ban — in certain circumstances — decreed by the ECJ. It is a backdrop in which the religiously conservative in Turkey read a narrative of European coercion running back to the founding of the modern state and even earlier.

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      The ideas that inspired the military officers who won the Turkish War of Independence — the war with Allied powers that followed the conclusion of the First World War — were imported from Western Europe. Having carved out an almost entirely religiously homogenous Muslim state, they set out to utterly secularize it.

      The banning of the headscarf is therefore seen by religiously conservative Turks as an idea imported from Europe and, in some sense, an idea dictated to Muslims by secularized Christian nations. Given the last century of experience in Turkey, it is clear how this view is generated.

      Ultimately, the question is one of whether people who like the use of headscarves should tolerate those who don’t wear them, and whether those who dislike the use of headscarves should tolerate those who do wear them. Examples of intolerance abound on either side. A lack of understanding will bring no peace to Turkey or to countries across Europe and the world.

      The views expressed in this article are the author’s own and do not necessarily reflect Fair Observer’s editorial policy. More

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      in World Politics

      The Role Turkey Can Play in Afghanistan

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      Turkish President Recep Tayyip Erdogan caused waves at the NATO summit in June, announcing that Turkey would continue to protect Kabul airport following the complete NATO withdrawal from Afghanistan. Kabul airport is Afghanistan’s principal air connection to the outside world, and it is vital for the security of diplomats and aid workers in the country.

      The proposal needs to be seen in the context of the broad militarization of Turkish foreign policy. In recent years, Ankara has deployed armed forces for geopolitical leverage in Syria, Somalia, Libya, the Eastern Mediterranean and Azerbaijan. The associated costs have remained very low, further emboldening Turkish policymakers. In Somalia and Syria, the Turkish military also gained experience operating in theaters where armed militants pose significant security challenges.

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      The main factor behind the airport proposal, however, is Turkish-American relations. Ankara hopes to regain favor with Washington after a string of diplomatic crises. The Turkish side knows its hand is weakened by issues such as its acquisition of the Russian S400 air defense system and Washington’s responses, including CAATSA sanctions and removing Turkish manufacturers from the supply chain for the new F35 warplane. The Countering America’s Adversaries Through Sanctions Act, known as CAATSA, is a law passed by the US Congress in 2017 that intended to penalize Russia. In December 2020, Turkey was added to the sanctions list for its purchase of the S400. The proposal to help out in Afghanistan emerged as an obvious way to improve bilateral relations with the US.

      A Good Reputation

      As the only Muslim-majority member of NATO, Turkey played important roles in Afghanistan. Former Turkish Foreign Minister Hikmet Cetin served as NATO’s first senior civilian representative in Afghanistan and Turkish officers twice commanded the International Security Assistance Force (ISAF). There are currently 500 Turkish soldiers serving with the NATO mission. Turkey never deployed a combat force, however. The Taliban, in turn, avoided targeting Turkish forces; there has only been one attack on a Turkish unit.

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      Additionally, Turkish state institutions and NGOs conduct a broad range of cultural and educational activities and supply extensive humanitarian aid. Reports confirm the ability of Turkish officials and volunteers to engage with Afghan society on equal terms. Shared religious and cultural elements certainly help. Although the Taliban accuses of Ankara being too pro-Uzbek, Turkey is viewed very positively across Afghan society. This, together with its ability to talk with all sides and its non-combat role in ISAF, places Turkey in a unique position.

      However, protecting Kabul airport would change the nature of Turkey’s involvement. While the Afghan government welcomed the idea, the Taliban have repeatedly declared that they will not tolerate even a residual foreign force. That implies that the Taliban would target Turkish troops, risking drastic consequences for Turkey. To avoid this, Turkey’s extended stay requires prior agreement with all Afghan parties, and Ankara will use its diplomatic capacity to seek such an agreement. Moreover, rather than focusing solely on leaving a residual force, Turkey could use its diplomatic and humanitarian leverage to pursue a more comprehensive approach to the Afghan problem.

      Intra-Afghan Agreement Needed

      The current peace agreement involves only the United States and the Taliban. There is as yet no peace agreement between the Afghan government and the Taliban. As the withdrawal of NATO forces accelerates, the conflict is now between the Taliban and Afghan government forces. Despite NATO’s decades of investment, the Afghan army is no match for the Taliban. In fact, a major Taliban offensive is already underway. Kabul may not fall immediately, but time is on the side of the insurgents. But if the Taliban overplays its hand and tries to dominate the entire country, there will be a backlash, particularly from the non-Pashtun ethnic communities.

      In that case, Afghanistan is likely to descend back into civil war. Under such circumstances, a Turkish military presence would be too risky and unsustainable, even with agreements with the government and the Taliban. Rather than focusing only on protecting Kabul airport, Turkey should place its diplomatic weight behind a peaceful settlement between the Taliban and the government before violence spirals out of control. The first step toward a broader agreement between the Afghan parties themselves would be for Ankara to reach an agreement with each of them. This road is arguably a stony one, but it offers much greater rewards. Turkey would certainly need the support of other countries to overcome the obstacles involved.

      The first challenge is to bring the Taliban to the negotiating table with the Afghan government, which Turkey and the international community have so far failed to achieve. Here, Turkey can benefit from its exceptionally good relations with Pakistan and Qatar. Qatar is home to the Taliban’s only external office and relations are cordial. Pakistan, where many senior Taliban leaders reside, has the greatest leverage. Even though large segments of Afghan society frown on Pakistan’s involvement in their country, its influence over the Taliban would be crucial for reaching a negotiated settlement.

      Europe should be more active and support Turkey’s efforts diplomatically and economically. As well as that being the morally right thing to do, Europe has a tangible interest too. A resurgence of fighting in Afghanistan would trigger a wave of migration. Afghans are already the second-largest migrant community in Turkey after the 3.6 million Syrian refugees. They also formed the second-largest group of new asylum applications in Germany in 2020. Given Iran’s open-door policy, it would be realistic to expect waves of Afghan migration to Turkey and on to Europe. The specter of a new refugee crisis looms.

      *[This article was originally published by the German Institute for International and Security Affairs (SWP), which advises the German government and Bundestag on all questions relating to foreign and security policy.]

      The views expressed in this article are the author’s own and do not necessarily reflect Fair Observer’s editorial policy. More

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      To Embrace Biden’s Democracy Agenda, Start With Turkey

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      European Union leaders are getting ready to discuss Turkey once again. The timing of the European Council meeting on June 24-25 is crucial, taking place just after the G7, NATO and EU-US summits. Following four years of discontent between Brussels and Washington, this has been an exercise in reassurance, looking to reinvent multilateralism for the 21st century.

      At the summits, the allies discussed rules for various policy areas, including economy, trade, climate, security and defense, while seeking a common stance against autocracies, particularly Russia and China. If US President Joe Biden and his European allies are serious about standing up to undemocratic regimes, the place to start is Turkey, which the European Council should shift its focus to right away.

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      Turkey’s relations with its Western allies have been deteriorating for years. European decision-makers blame this on Ankara’s democratic backsliding and its unilateral foreign policy, which increasingly runs counter to European interests. Developments in Syria, Libya, the Eastern Mediterranean and Nagorno-Karabakh, however, have shifted almost the entire focus to foreign policy.

      The EU’s desire to reduce tensions in its neighborhood has eclipsed questions of democracy and rule of law. That is what is behind its proposal for a “positive agenda” with Turkey that is “progressive, proportional and reversible.” It is thus conditional on Turkey’s external actions — good regional relations in line with international law — but not clearly linked to the state of democracy. While the European Parliament flagged this in its recent report, a firm stance by the European Council is missing.

      Commitment to Democracy, Everywhere

      In March, concerns mounted in the EU when President Recep Tayyip Erdogan withdrew Turkey from the Council of Europe’s Istanbul Convention on preventing violence against women. This was clearly the continuation of a long-term trend limiting basic rights and freedoms. The new presidential system in Turkey has eliminated most of the checks and balances. Civil society is under immense pressure. Democratically elected representatives have been removed and prosecuted. Last but not least, the state prosecutor has applied to the constitutional court to ban the opposition Peoples’ Democratic Party (HDP). According to Freedom House, Turkey is “not free,” just like Russia and China.

      This situation threatens the credibility of the transatlantic allies’ commitment to democracy, rule of law, and basic rights and freedoms. According to the summit’s communiqué, the G7 is committed to upholding a rules-based international system and defending values. That is also the promise of NATO and the transatlantic allies.

      Embed from Getty Images

      Selective application would undermine that commitment: The rules apply to a rising China challenging Western economies, but not if you can get a bargain with Turkey in the Eastern Mediterranean. Those who prioritize geopolitics over principles might argue that Turkey receives less criticism as a NATO ally and strategically important accession candidate on the EU’s doorstep. Yet even if the European Union dropped the entire democratic conditionality framework, it would still risk being affected negatively by democratic backsliding and erosion of rule of law. Recent examples include Turkey’s unlawful detention of EU and US citizens and arbitrary decisions to move refugees to its borders with Greece in 2020. Not to speak of the future risks to European investments.

      European leaders may think that criticizing domestic repression in Turkey would put positive foreign policy developments at risk. There are no guarantees, however, that advances in the Eastern Mediterranean or relations with Greece, Cyprus or other member states will not be suddenly reversed, for example, to rally nationalists behind the current government.

      EU leaders must know that there can be no guarantees for the union as long as instability prevails in Turkey. The situation in the country has been exacerbated by deficits in democracy and rule of law. If European leaders choose to settle for a fragile status quo rather than promoting core values, they may still end up at odds with Turkey, while undermining the values they keep vowing to defend.

      Serious About Democracy? Time to Speak Up

      European leaders will try to buy time again, as they did at the European Council meetings in October and December 2020 and March 2021. But there is a window of opportunity. Ankara is on a charm offensive with its Western allies, needing an economic boost and trying to avoid European and American sanctions. While the government is determined to stay in charge, power struggles are emerging within the state apparatus. This is definitely the right time to set the tone, one that focuses on democracy.

      Action on Turkey is also needed to show the broader world that the G7, European Union and NATO mean what they said at the recent summits. Democracy will be an important component of external action. If the European Union cannot apply this principle to such a close neighbor, ally and EU accession candidate, what does that say about the democracy agenda?

      *[This article was originally published by the German Institute for International and Security Affairs (SWP), which advises the German government and Bundestag on all questions related to foreign and security policy.]

      The views expressed in this article are the author’s own and do not necessarily reflect Fair Observer’s editorial policy. More

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      The Good Old Days: Nostalgia’s Political Appeal

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      Donald Trump is gone, yet his specter continues to haunt American politics. The UK is no longer part of the European Union, yet Brexit continues to provoke emotions on both sides of the Channel. Both Trump’s victory in the 2016 presidential election and the outcome of the Brexit referendum of 2016 were driven by a range of widespread and profound emotions. One of the most prominent was nostalgia.

      Nostalgia has been around for ages. The first one to recognize its significance was a Swiss doctor, Johannes Hofer. In 1688, Hofer coined the word — a compound derived from the Greek nostro, meaning “home,” and algos, meaning “pain” — to describe what he considered to be a medical malaise he detected among Swiss mercenary soldiers, expressed as a profound yearning for their home (what in German is called Heimweh — homesickness).

      Hofer might have drawn inspiration from Homer’s Odyssey. Its hero, after spending seven years in the company of the sea nymph Calypso, felt compelled to return home. The longing to see his home was so overwhelming that he rejected Calypso’s offer to make him immortal if he stayed.

      The Meaning of Nostalgia

      Since Hofer’s times, the meaning of nostalgia has both substantially changed and significantly broadened. It is no longer associated with homesickness. Instead, in today’s parlance, nostalgia stands for “a sentimental longing for one’s past.” More specifically, nostalgia stands for a yearning for an idealized, lost past, a past more often than not seen through rose-tinted glasses. For a long time, nostalgia was seen as a pathology, reflecting the refusal to confront an unpleasant present and an even worse future.

      In this view, the yearning for “an irretrievable past becomes a narcissistic illusion,” a “deflection from current unpleasant circumstances.” More recently, however, nostalgia is predominantly seen as a positive emotion, an effective coping mechanism in times of turmoil and crisis. In this case, nostalgia serves as “an important resource that helps people find meaning in life and regulate meaning-related distress.” In the face of tectonic demographic, technological and geopolitical changes, seeking comfort in a past where life was arguably simpler and easier to navigate is human, all too human. As Edoardo Campanella and Marta Dassu have put it, nostalgia “offers relief from socio-economic angst. Yesterday is associated with progress; tomorrow with stasis or regression.”  

      This type of nostalgia — because nostalgia comes in different guises — reflects “an affective yearning for a community with a collective memory, a longing for continuity in a fragmented world.” In this context, as Matthias Stephan has recently suggested, nostalgia represents “both a look back to an idealized past (whether real or imagined) and a hope that the romanticized past will become our future.”

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      Here, nostalgia “inevitably reappears as a defense mechanism in a time of accelerated rhythms of life and historical upheavals.” The author of these lines, Svetlana Boym, characterized this iteration as “restorative nostalgia.” Against this, Boym sets what she called “reflective nostalgia.” Reflective nostalgia accepts the fact that the past is past, that it cannot be retrieved. As Hal McDonald has put it, “This acknowledgment of the irretrievability of our autobiographical past provides an aesthetic distance that allows us to enjoy a memory in the same way that we enjoy a movie or a good book.”

      At the same time, it engenders a realistic, and perhaps even critical, view of the past. It is this constellation that makes nostalgia extremely political. In fact, because of its inherently binary nature, nostalgia is ideally suited to inform both progressive and reactionary politics.

      Today, nostalgia is primarily evoked on the nationalist right. More often than not, this is a type of nostalgia that depends on the “disparagement of the present,” which Christopher Lasch once considered the “hallmark of the nostalgic attitude.” Feeling discombobulated by and disenchanted with the present, as well as uneasy about the future, a growing number of people feel tempted to go down the memory lane and retreat to the past where, as the German expression goes, the world was presumably still in order.

      When the World Was in Order

      On the nationalist right, it is particularly radical right-wing populist parties and actors that have drawn the greatest political benefit from the appeal to nostalgia. Donald’s Trump is a prominent case in point. His campaign slogan “Make America Great Again” implies that there was a time when the United States was still great, that today it no longer is, but that tomorrow it will be great again — as long as the people follow The Donald.

      The promoters of Brexit played a similar tune. Nigel Farage, the former leader of the UK Independence Party (UKIP), holding up his new non-EU passport and triumphantly exclaiming, “We got our passports back!,” evoked a time when Great Britain still maintained the pretense to be a great power rather than one among 28 EU member states where it was not even primus inter pares. Once freed from the shackles of the EU, a once again completely sovereign Great Britain would regain its lost glory. Or, as Britain’s Secretary of Defense Gavin Williamson claimed in late 2018, once Britain was out of the European Union, it would become a “true global player,” establishing new military bases all over the world. As an article in the Financial Times from early 2016 put it, “Brexiters are Nostalgics in Search of a Lost Empire.”

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      Public opinion polls conducted a few months prior to the referendum provided ample evidence of the extent to which the British public glorified the country’s past. In early 2016, a YouGov poll found more than 40% of British respondents expressing pride in Britain’s colonial history; about the same number thought the British Empire had been a good thing. Only a fifth of respondents had a negative view. In a similar survey, two years earlier, around 50% of respondents thought that Britain’s former colonies were better off today because they had been part of the British Empire, while a third thought that it would be a good thing if Britain still had an empire. At the same, there were strong sentiments that Britain was in decline. In fact, some 80% of “leavers” shared that view in 2016.

      Hardly surprising that, in the wake of the referendum, one of Britain’s leading tabloids, The Daily Star, called on its readers to “Make Britain Great Again!” Nostalgia, paired with mass delusion and a portion of righteous resentment, obviously paid handsome political dividends — at least for Nigel Farage, Boris Johnson and their comrades in arms.

      Similarly in the United States, Trump’s main slogan “Make America Great Again” appealed to widespread nostalgia, particularly among the country’s white majority. In September 2016, for instance, half of the respondents in the annual American Values Survey agreed with the statement that their country’s best days were “behind us.” A few months earlier, a Pew survey found more than 45% of respondents agreeing with the statement that compared to 50 years earlier, life for people like them had gotten worse.

      Among Trump supporters, three out of four agreed with that statement. In a similar vein, one year earlier, around half of US respondents in a representative poll thought that “America’s best days” were in the past. At the same time, in 2016, more than 60% of Americans believed their children would be worse off than they were. This is also reflected in surveys that seek to gauge what Americans think about, for instance, the American dream — the notion that hard work will allow them to get ahead.

      Most notably, these sentiments were particularly pronounced among America’s white population, far more than among African Americans, Hispanics and other minorities. Donald Trump, ever so tuned in to the grievances of white America, stoked the fire of white resentment, charging, at a town hall meeting in the fall of 2015, that “the American dream is in trouble,” only to add the promise that with him in the White House, “we will get it back.” To be sure, this was hardly original. Four years earlier, the Republican Platform already committed to “Restoring the American Dream.”

      The Good Old Days

      Conjuring up idealized images of the good old days is a crucial tool in the ideational repertoire of nativist and national-populist parties and actors. And for good reasons. For one, the evocation of nostalgic fantasies creates a sense of collective identity, community and a common purpose, all of them of central concern on the radical populist right. At the same time, in the hands of radical right-wing populists, nostalgia serves as an indirect indictment of the present, linked to an appeal to the notion that the best of the past could somehow replace the current situation.

      Here, nostalgia represents what S. D. Chrostowska has called a “malaise of dissatisfaction with the present and the direction that present” has taken. The more profound and widespread collective disenchantment with the present happens to be, the more pronounced is the appeal of the past. An exemplary case in point is a sociological study from 2016 in Poland, whose authors explored the extent to which nostalgia for the communist period was prevalent among current-day Poles. The results were striking. They showed that people who felt they had been better off during that period than at present were much more nostalgic and had a significantly better opinion about the communist government than other respondents.

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      Poland is hardly unique. The arguably best-known case of post-communist nostalgia is what in German is known as Ostalgie. Ostalgie entails a revaluation of the German Democratic Republic (GDR) — former East Germany — on the part of a substantial part of its population following reunification. To a large extent, this was in response to “the perceived threat of a West German depreciation of their life experiences.” Substantial numbers of citizens in the east had the feeling that they and their past were treated with condescension, if not outright disdain. Even 30 years after the fall of the Berlin Wall, the sentiment that easterners are second-class citizens finds widespread resonance in what once was the GDR. Ostalgie is all about a demand for recognition, dignity and respect rather than crude material interests. As sociologist Cecilia Ridgeway has noted, we tend to forget “how much people care about public acknowledgement of their worth.”

      Yet they tend to “care about status quite as intensely as they do [about] money and power.” They want “to be someone.” Ostalgie is also informed by the sentiment that in the GDR, ordinary workers were valued — they were someone. Not for nothing, the GDR prided itself on being an Arbeiter und Bauernstaat — the state of workers and farmers.

      Nostalgia in post-communist societies might be somewhat puzzling to outside observers, yet politically it is of no consequences. There is no craving for a return of what in German was known as Realsozialismus — loosely translated as “actually existing socialism.” A regime that imprisoned its citizens behind walls, barbed wires and minefields in order to prevent them from fleeing the country has nothing in common with the radical humanist spirit of socialism, reflected, for instance, in Karl Marx’s “Economic and Philosophic Manuscripts of 1844” and the writings of leading exponents of the Frankfurt School.

      Radical Reconstruction

      Matters are entirely different when populist leaders use nostalgia for the dismantling and radical (from the roots) reconstitution of a society’s collective identity. This is what has happened with two of the most important contemporary populist regimes: Recep Tayyip Erdogan’s Turkey and Narendra Modi’s India. At first sight, the two cases could not be more different. Here, a representative of political Islam, there, of political Hinduism. Yet below the surface, the similarities are quite striking.

      These similarities are seen, in particular, in the place nostalgia — and the appeal to nostalgia — has in the rhetoric of both leaders. In the Turkish case, nostalgia is reflected in what Turkish observers have called neo-Ottomanism. Erdogan, as Hakan Yavuz has argued, has been seeking “to remold Turkey in the form of an imagined, ahistorical conceptualization of the former Ottoman Empire.” The ultimate objective is “to resurrect a powerful Muslim state in the ancestral mold of the former Ottoman Empire.”

      At the same time, Erdogan’s political project represents a frontal assault on and complete disavowal of Mustafa Kemal Atatürk’s foundation of the modern “Kemalist” Turkish state. This project was based on a progressive, secular vision of equality adopted from the French Revolution. Here, citizenship and identity derive from a common adherence to civic principles; in the case of Erdogan’s project, citizenship and identity derive from adherence to a common ethno-religious community, which bodes ill for Turkey’s minorities such as Kurds and Armenians.

      In the Indian case, Modi’s Bharatiya Janata Party (Indian People’s Party, BJP), has never made a secret of the fact that it seeks to eradicate the legacy of Nehruvian secularism and replace it with Hindutva. Long before Modi became prime minister, the BJP mobilized against what it called Nehru’s “pseudo-secularism.” In reality, the BJP charged, secularism discriminated against Hindus while according concessions to India’s sizeable Muslim minority. In fact, in 2018, Sonia Gandhi admitted that the BJP had managed to convince a sizeable portion of the Indian public that the Indian National Congress was a pro-Muslim and, implicitly, anti-Hindu party.

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      Central to the BJP’s ideology is the myth of the Vedic golden age, exemplified, in particular, by the reign of the mythical Ram, largely seen as the epitome of India’s golden age. This golden age came to an abrupt end with the Muslim invasion and conquest, which ushered in what Modi has characterized as “1,200 years of slavery.” This is the central trope of Hindu nationalist historiography and victimology — the juxtaposition of “a glorious Hindu golden age followed by an era of Muslim oppression.”

      In order to bolster their case of that golden age, Hindu nationalists have gone to great lengths, in some cases transcending into the ridiculous. A case in point is the various claims that in ancient times, India already achieved stunning scientific and technological accomplishments, from advanced reproductive technologies to stem cell research, “spacecraft, the internet, and nuclear weapons — long before Western science come on the scene.” More often than not, these claims were advanced not by crackpots but by respected scientists fallen under the sway of Hindu nationalist nostalgia.

      In both cases, the combination of nostalgia and populism serves to mobilize the “true” people against a Westernized elite, from — but not of — the people. At the same time, it serves as a means to eradicate national humiliations: in the case of India, centuries of being subjugated to Islamic rulers; in the Turkish case, the dismantling of the Ottoman Empire following World War I, symbolized by the Treaty of Sèvres which, had it ever been implemented, would have left only a small area around Ankara under Turkish rule.  

      Erdogan’s recent decision to reclassify the Hagia Sophia — once the “ultimate icon of Christian civilization” — as a mosque, constitutes a reversal of Kemalist “secularist suppression.” Similarly, laying the foundations of a Ram temple on the site of an ancient mosque, known as Babri Masjid, in the city of Ayodhya in northern India, serves as highly visible expressions of the will to reverse — and perhaps even avenge — the past.

      Resurrecting Grievances

      The arguably most successful populist resort to this combination of grievance-based nostalgia and the exploitation of national humiliation is epitomized by Hungary’s Victor Orban. To be sure, Hungarians have good reasons for historically-grounded grief — the bloody suppression of the Hungarian people’s 1956 uprising against the communist regime and the Soviets is a prominent case in point. The most important episode, however, which continues to haunt Hungarian collective national consciousness until today, dates back to 1920, when the victorious powers imposed on Hungary the Trianon Treaty. The treaty deprived Hungary of two-thirds of its prewar territory and three-fifths of its prewar population, which turned Hungary into what Stanley Payne has called “the most nationally aggrieved state in all of Europe.”

      Victor Orban has been particularly adroit not only in manipulating diffuse sentiments of humiliation and resentment but also in evoking nostalgia for Hungary’s golden age. This was the period spanning from the formation of the dual monarchy following Vienna’s defeat in the Austro-Prussian war of 1866, which put the Hungarians on par with the Austrians until the end of the First World War — a period which saw all ethnic Hungarians united in the same state. Together, these two ideational elements constitute the core of Orban’s national-populist project, which over the past decade or so has progressively gained cultural hegemony in Hungary.

      Orban, Modi and Erdogan are prominent examples of how nationalist-populist actors have weaponized nostalgia for political gain the same way they have weaponized other emotions such as anxiety, anger and empathy. As Yale professor Paul Bloom has recently pointed out in his indictment of emotional empathy, “unscrupulous politicians use our empathy for victims of certain crimes to motivate anger and hatred toward other, marginalized, groups.” Emblematic of this strategy is Donald Trump’s exploitation of “our empathic feelings toward victims of rape and assault to build hatred toward undocumented immigrants.”

      Here, Trump instinctively exploited a central characteristic of this emotion, namely its intrinsic in-group bias. Neuropsychological studies suggest that more often than not, empathy extends significantly more to those we feel close to rather than out-groups, “potentially making them likely targets for prejudice and discrimination.”

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      The same is true for nostalgia. Experiments in social psychology have shown that collective nostalgia — the type of nostalgia routinely evoked by national populist actors — tends to confer “sociability benefits,” such as support and loyalty, to the in-group while tending to evoke exclusionary sentiments toward out-groups. Constantine Sedikides and Tim Wildschut have argued that “Collective nostalgia’s sociality is amenable to exploitation and can have controversial ramifications.” A recent empirical study on the effect of national nostalgia on out-group perceptions in the context of the 2016 US presidential election shows that national nostalgia “significantly predicted racial prejudice and this relationship was mediated by perceived outgroup threat.”

      This also holds true for Europe. A Bertelsmann study on nostalgia from 2018 found that more than three-quarters of European respondents classified as nostalgics (two-thirds of the sample) agreed with the statement that recent immigrants did not want to integrate into the host society; more than half thought they were taking jobs away from the natives. Under the circumstances, it is hardly surprising that radical right-wing populist parties have found fertile ground for their nativist politics of exclusion.

      A case in point is the adoption of the concept of the folkhemmet by the Sweden Democrats, the country’s radical populist right. The folkhemmet (people’s home) stands for the heydays of Sweden’s Social Democratic welfare state, a golden age that spanned four decades, from the 1930s to the 1970s. This was a time of ethnocultural homogeneity, civic egalitarianism and social solidarity. The Sweden Democrats’ adoption of the sentimental notion of the folkhemmet appeals to nostalgic sentiments while, at the same time, serving as a justification for the exclusion of non-ethnic minorities such as refugees from social benefits.

      The Sweden Democrats’ manipulation of nostalgia in the service of their politics of welfare chauvinism is exemplary of the flexible and polyvalent possibilities of applying this emotion. It is for this reason that nostalgia lends itself ideally to national populist mobilization. One of the central ideational tropes informing populism is the notion of the united people, a unity derived from a shared past and a common destiny, confronting a common adversary, if not an enemy. The evocation of a glorious past is a great way to make people feel good about themselves at a time when there is little to be cheerful or optimistic about.

      These days, the glorious past is not far away, not more than two years, the time before social distancing, lockdowns and vaccination jitters. Under the circumstances, nostalgia is likely to persist, ready to be exploited by populist entrepreneurs for political gain. Those who still think that the pandemic will substantially weaken support for the radical populist right might take a look at Spain. There, Vox, whose rhetoric is replete with nostalgia, is the only party that has substantially increased its support base over the past several months.

      *[Fair Observer is a media partner of the Centre for Analysis of the Radical Right.]

      The views expressed in this article are the author’s own and do not necessarily reflect Fair Observer’s editorial policy. More

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      What the UAE-Turkey Rivalry Means for Europe’s Energy Security

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      In recent months, the United Arab Emirates has adopted a number of stances inimical to Turkish ambitions in the Mediterranean. This has taken the form of closer relations between the UAE, Greece and Greek Cyprus, more joint military exercises, and increased energy collaboration with Israel via the Abraham Accords. But with President Joe Biden in the Oval Office, the UAE has toned down its overt military posturing and complemented its strategy with economic means. The shift relies on hydrocarbon pipeline proposals that exclude Turkey with the aim to diminish its geopolitical importance to Europe.

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      The UAE views Turkey as a threat for two reasons. First, Ankara supports the Muslim Brotherhood, which the Emiratis have designated as a terrorist organization. Second, Turkey has been active both militarily and economically in North Africa, Syria and the Horn of Africa. In 2019 and 2020, competition between Abu Dhabi and Ankara flared, with both powers directly funneling mercenaries and money to Libya, stepping up competition in Somalia and castigating each other in diplomatic statements. The UAE also aligned with Greek Cyprus, Greece, France and Egypt against Turkey while providing financial and possibly military support in the form of mercenaries to anti-Turkish actors in the region.

      Energy Games

      During Biden’s first months in office, however, the UAE has undertaken two major actions that indicate a softer approach toward Ankara. First, on January 29, Abu Dhabi declared that it was ready to work closely with the UN on Libya. Second, the UAE began dismantling its base in Assab, in Eritrea. Although this move comes largely in an attempt to extricate itself from the war in Yemen, it also means losing a critical power-projection site that has acted as a counterbalance to Turkey’s and Qatar’s presence in Suakin, in Sudan. This does not mean that Abu Dhabi considers Turkey to be any less of a threat. On the contrary, recent UAE actions portend a refocusing on investment in pipelines and infrastructure in the eastern Mediterranean to blunt Ankara’s energy ambitions, especially concerning Turkey’s role in Europe’s energy security.

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      Moscow’s influence on Europe’s energy markets has emerged as a concern for the European Union and the US, with Russian supplies accounting for 40% of European gas consumption. Turkey is commonly floated as a solution because it can connect alternative pipelines from the Caspian and Central Asia. Turkey becoming an important energy transportation hub would give it leverage over the EU and allow it to better play the US, Western Europe and Russia against each other.

      However, the UAE’s attempts to lock Turkey out of the eastern Mediterranean energy pipelines threaten Ankara’s goals of becoming a larger player in the EU’s energy market. The UAE is attempting to do this by joining the Eastern Mediterranean Gas Forum (EMGF) — comprised of Cyprus, Egypt, Greece, Israel, Jordan and Palestine — as an observer. Although the EMGF claims to be open to anyone, its ostensible purpose is to lock Turkey out of the Mediterranean hydrocarbons market, especially with the EastMed pipeline project. This pipeline would transfer gas from Cyprus and Israel to Greece and then further on to Europe; it is a major reason for Turkey’s involvement in Libya. The EastMed faces certain financial and political struggles, and the UAE’s endorsement of the project could galvanize initiative and create a breakthrough in rallying a coalition to circumvent Turkey on the energy market.

      Moreover, Abu Dhabi’s improving relations with Israel provide it more alternatives in convening an anti-Turkish coalition. The Abraham Accords also augment the UAE’s ability to constrain Turkey by allowing Abu Dhabi to collaborate with Israel on joint pipeline projects. If the UAE manages to connect itself to the EastMed, or any other, pipeline, Turkey’s status as an energy alternative to Russia would diminish in the eyes of Europe and the US. It appears as if the UAE has already taken initiative in this regard: On October 22, 2020, Israeli state-owned Europe Asia Pipeline Company signed a binding memorandum of understanding with MED-RED Land Bridge, a company that has both Israeli and Emirati owners, to transport oil from the UAE to Europe.

      The joint venture would rely on the Eilat-Asheklon pipeline, built by Israel and Iran in the 1960s, that would send Emirati hydrocarbons from Eilat, on Israel’s Red Sea coast, to Ashkelon, on the Mediterranean. Though this is an oil pipeline, this portends future initiatives that could see Emirati gas transported through Israel to Greece, via a connection to the EastMed. Furthermore, Emirati oil tankers disembarking in Eilat would come with an increased security presence in the area. Though not a military base, the venture could make up for the power projection loss from the now defunct base at Assab.  

      Economic Foothold

      An Emirati bid to manage an Israeli port at Haifa represents another Emirati attempt to cement an economic foothold in the eastern Mediterranean. The port at Haifa is also close in proximity to Lebanon and Israel’s disputed oil blocs, some of whose drilling licenses have been awarded to France’s Total. As noted by Amos Hochstein, the former coordinator for international energy affairs at the US State Department, the UAE could adopt a larger role in resolving this dispute, which would free up more gas reserves that could be exported around Turkey. UAE mediation would also draw it economically closer to France, which has, for the most part, confronted Turkey in the eastern Mediterranean. If Total receives new oil blocs, a French economic dimension could also align against Turkey in the region, bolstering the UAE’s initiatives.

      The Emirati bid for Haifa’s port comes after DP World, Abu Dhabi’s shipping and operations company, completed the Port of Limassol in Cyprus in 2018. Both actions represent the UAE’s push to bolster its infrastructure in the region, which would complement future pipeline initiatives. The UAE then signed a military cooperation agreement with Cyprus on January 12, which signified a deepening of this relationship. It followed an Emirati-Greek military partnership and a trilateral meeting between the UAE, Greece and Greek Cyprus, evidencing that Abu Dhabi is trying to complement military measures with diplomatic coalitions.

      Cyprus proves critical to the UAE’s energy ambitions. Not only is the island a vital connecting point for the EastMed pipeline, but it also recently discovered gas, both of which provide Europe with an alternative to Turkey’s energy supply. This gas will flow to Cairo via a pipeline agreed upon in 2018, where it will be liquified and exported to Europe. These pipelines may not decisively change Turkey’s role in Europe’s energy security, but they nevertheless threaten Ankara’s energy ambitions and indicate that the UAE is undertaking a multifaceted strategy to undermine its rival.

      Though both Turkey and the UAE would prefer to see each other’s geopolitical significance diminished in the eyes of Western Europe and the US, it would be best for Europe if the two actors worked together. Europe would face a crisis if a jingoistic Russia cuts off the gas deliveries to the continent. Moscow has already threatened Ukraine’s energy supply. As many have argued, Emirati-Turkish competition erupted because of a power vacuum left by incremental US withdrawal from the region. However, if the US and other disinterested states could attempt to broker a détente following the lifting of the blockade on Qatar, collaboration between Ankara and Abu Dhabi could prove a viable supplement for Europe’s energy security.

      *[Fair Observer is a media partner of Gulf State Analytics.]

      The views expressed in this article are the author’s own and do not necessarily reflect Fair Observer’s editorial policy. More

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      What Lies Behind Turkey’s Withdrawal From the Istanbul Convention?

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      Turkish President Recep Tayyip Erdogan issued a decree in the early hours of March 20 withdrawing Turkey from the Council of Europe treaty — dubbed the Istanbul Convention — on preventing and combating violence against women and domestic violence. The convention sets comprehensive standards for protecting women against all forms of violence.

      The withdrawal prompted widespread protests from women’s groups and an uproar on social media, criticizing that it signals a huge setback for women’s rights in a country with high rates of gender-based violence and femicides. Just in 2020, at least 300 women were murdered in Turkey.

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      Following the public outrage over the withdrawal, government representatives unconvincingly responded that women’s rights are guaranteed in national laws and that there is no need for international laws. The Directorate of Communications defended the decision with the claim that the convention was “hijacked by a group of people attempting to normalize homosexuality,” and that this is incompatible with the country’s social and family values.

      Turkey was the first state to ratify the Istanbul Convention and became the first to pull out. What lies behind the withdrawal?

      Erdogan’s Rationale: To Remain in Power at All Costs

      In August 2020, officials in the Justice and Development Party (AKP) signaled that Turkey was considering withdrawing from the Istanbul Convention after religious conservatives began an intense lobbying effort against the convention, lambasting it for damaging “traditional Turkish family values.” Although they claimed that the treaty destroys families and promotes homosexuality, conservative women’s groups supporting the AKP defended it. The row even reached Erdogan’s own family, with two of his children becoming involved in groups on either side of the debate. Due to these internal tensions within the AKP and the symbolic achievement with the reconversion of the Hagia Sophia into a mosque in 2020, the debate was postponed.

      Although opinion polls had shown that 84% of Turks opposed withdrawing from the Istanbul Convention and a majority of conservative women were in favor of it, Erdogan decided to pull out of the treaty, thereby disregarding not only the international law anchored in the constitution, but also the legislative power of parliament. This move comes amid significantly eroding support for the president and his informal alliance with the ultra-nationalist Nationalist Action Party (MHP). The withdrawal from the convention gives Erdogan three political advantages that will help him retain power.

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      First, Erdogan and his AKP aim to reenergize their conservative voter base, which has been dissatisfied with the economic downturn — a reality that has only been exacerbated by the coronavirus pandemic. The ruling AKP government cannot curb the high level of inflation, and unemployment and poverty rates remain high. Leaving the convention is a symbolic gesture to his base, but it will bring short-term relief, as did the reconversion of the Hagia Sophia.

      Second, with a potential electoral defeat in mind, Erdogan is looking for new allies. He thus made an overture in January to the Islamist Felicity Party (SP), which is in an oppositional alliance with secularist, nationalist and conservative parties. With its 2.5% of the vote in the 2018 parliamentary elections, the SP shares the same Islamist roots as the AKP and is popular among ultraconservative voters, who enthusiastically back the withdrawal from the Istanbul Convention.

      In his meeting with the SP, Erdogan used the withdrawal as a bargaining chip for a possible electoral alliance in the future. He is not only aiming to strengthen his own voting bloc, but also to break the oppositional alliance, which has increasingly gained confidence since its success in the 2019 local elections and been effective in challenging Erdogan’s increasingly authoritarian rule.

      Third, to bolster his image as a willful leader, the Turkish president has intensified the level of repression by suppressing democratic civil society organizations that dare to challenge his rule. This time, he has targeted women’s rights advocates, who frequently criticize the government for not strictly implementing the protective measures of the Istanbul Convention.

      Political Conditionality as a Necessary European Reaction

      While increasing the level of repression in domestic politics, Turkey intensified its diplomatic charm offensive to reset Turkish relations with the European Union. Against this background, Brussels should not only condemn the decision, but also revise its EU-Turkey agenda by imposing political conditions regarding human rights and the rule of law, which have once again been breached with Ankara’s withdrawal from the convention.

      This approach is necessary for two reasons. First, the EU can send a motivating message to democratic segments of civil society and the opposition by underlining that the Istanbul Convention is an issue of human rights and that its sole purpose is protecting women from violence rather than undermining Turkey’s national values and traditions. Second, calling Ankara out is also in Europe’s own interest. The withdrawal can have spillover effects on other member states of the Council of Europe.

      Considering the latest attempts by the Polish government to replace the Istanbul Convention with an alternative “family-based” treaty that also finds support in other Central European governments, the backlash against women’s rights in Europe is not a myth, but rather a reality.

      *[This article was originally published by the German Institute for International and Security Affairs (SWP), which advises the German government and Bundestag on all questions related to foreign and security policy.]

      The views expressed in this article are the author’s own and do not necessarily reflect Fair Observer’s editorial policy. More