Turkey reforms fail to deliver

It was a queer, sultry summer, the summer they killed people on the streets, and I didn’t know what I was doing in Istanbul ...” There was something about Turkey’s Taksim Square protests that often made me think of the opening line in Sylvia Plath’s The Bell Jar. The same gloom was in the air; heavy with pepper spray and tear gas. Autumn brings new hope. The long-awaited ‘democratisation package’ was announced on September 30; its name gave the impression that it would have something for every religious, ethnic and political group. Thus, like eager children, all 76 million of us gathered around the presents, expecting something.

Writers and journalists wanted freedom of expression. The Alevi minority wanted equal rights and the recognition of their cemevi as houses of worship. Students and academics wanted universities to be places where science and free thought flourish, as well as the right to peaceful demonstration.

And the Kurds? They wanted serious steps to be taken now that they have invested so much in the peace process. Abdullah Ocalan, the imprisoned head of the PKK, was watching the press conference live from his prison cell.

But when the presents were opened, many of Turkey’s children were disappointed. A hullabaloo followed, with critics accused of being ungrateful by those in favour of what the government offered. That some Turks think in these terms about politics is evidence of the sad fact that we still see the state as a father and ourselves as its children.

The package had both positive and negative aspects. It returned Mor Gabriel, a 1,700-year-old monastery in Mardin, to the Christian Syriac community. A decision long overdue, since the state had no right to confiscate it in the first place. At the same time, there was no mention of the Greek Orthodox seminary in Heybeliada. Why is it that the Syriacs have been returned their monastery and the Greek Orthodox have been left out? Nobody understands.

The ridiculous ban on the three Kurdish letters — w, q, and x — which don’t exist in the Turkish alphabet was lifted. You will no longer be in trouble if you give your child a name containing any of these letters. Names of locations will now be returned to their former spelling. Kurdish language can be taught, should students opt for it.

An important step was the lifting of the ban on headscarves being worn by those in public services. Similarly there are signs that the electoral threshold will be lowered. New regulations will be made regarding hate speech. However, this, too, is conditional. Hatred against an ethnic minority is a crime, but what about hatred against a sexual minority? Personally, I am relieved that the student oath that we repeated every day has been abolished. “I am a Turk, I am correct, I am diligent... May my existence be a gift to you,” it reads, drumming into us that we were not individuals but part of an undifferentiated mass. That mentality is changing. We are individuals. We owe this cultural shift to the young protesters of Taksim Square.

The problem with the democratisation package is that it is not enough, not any more. Society has changed: Turkey’s people are changing faster than its politicians. These reforms do not embrace the whole of society, giving the impression that some citizens are being favoured and others forgotten. The Alevis, who were not even mentioned in the prime minister’s speech, are massively disappointed — and rightly so.

Turkey is more polarised than ever. People who believe we should debate both the positive and the negative are being pushed to the margins. Both government and opposition demand “Are you one of us, or one of them?” Those who refuse this artificial duality are fast becoming Turkey’s new minority, and it is no big surprise that they won’t get any presents from anyone.

— Guardian News & Media Ltd

Elif Shafak’s latest novel is Honour.