The Turkish Republic was born in the 1920s out of the remnants of an Islamic empire, which reigned over one of the widest landscapes an empire was ever known to govern. Modern Turkey emerged as a state that turned its face in its entirety to the West, striving to be included among the industrialized European nations. The founding elite (most of whom were military men) had in mind to ensure a smooth transition and dubbed this project “Westernization.” In the decades to come, the Turkish military would play a significant role in the preservation of Westernization processes that aimed directly at protecting the republic’s secular regime and the homogeneity of Turkish society as all-Muslim, all-secular, all-Turk vis-à-vis their racial/ethnic identity as a nation. This process gave way to the rise of Kemalism, an ideology that symbolizes the Turkish regime’s commitment to an intransigent form of Laicite and “Jacobin nationalism.” It involved an entrenched pride in Turkey’s “ability” to reconcile its historical Islamic heritage and secular future. In other words, the modern republic was to be a nation that was characterized by its Islamic identity but nonetheless was now ready to put that behind and move into a new construct of being based on secular Turkishness. This very transition from religious to secular was what made Turkey a normative epitome in the eyes of its Western allies.
A consensus that Turkey was a model democracy grew prevalent within the West. This entailed overlooking Turkey’s weaknesses in democratization processes, providing it with some immunity from criticism with respect to lack of transparency, absence of separation of powers, and the like. The lack of a critical eye from the international community was blatant particularly in the Western world’s countenance during periodic military interventions. The 1960 coup marked by the execution of Prime Minister Adnan Menderes, the 1971 military ultimatum, the 1980 coup, or the 1997 postmodern coup d’état were not castigated by any of the Western democracies. On the contrary, they were overlooked, if not applauded. This callousness or negligence on the part of Europe and the United States gave confidence to the Turkish Kemalists, who felt they could blow their horn as they wished without having to fear accountability. Many of the illegal activities of Ergenekon, Turks realize today, were justified by the deep state as exigencies to protect the secular republican regime. Hence they fell under the “democracy” radar for quite a long time. Ergenekon refers to a layer of a heretofore undiscovered “state within a state.” In the days following the postmodern coup d’état of 1997, then president Suleyman Demirel pointed to the Turkish military as the country’s “deep state.” Twelve years after Demirel’s concession, we know that the deep state goes beyond factors within the military and percolates into various facets of the state machinery.
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If Turks Knew Then What They Know Now
Turkey always aspired to reach the level of industrialization and democratization of the developed European countries. While this aspiration was clearly stated at the start of the republican regime, the country has endured challenges to its goal throughout the twentieth century. The elite that created modern Turkey was very much a product of military tradition. The imposed progressiveness as part of the modernization project often resulted in backlashes driving a wedge between the members of this group and the civil society. The military saw itself as entitled to speak on behalf of the latter, often arguing that it knew what was best for society. This eventually led to an uneven balance of power, favoring the military. The executive, judiciary, and legislative bodies were for the most part made up of the members of the military tradition or the bureaucratic middle class that was its byproduct for decades, aspiring to the Kemalist traditions of the statehood. Kemalism, incapable of updating itself to meet the needs of a changing Turkish society and the country’s place in a fluid international realm, turned into a parochial set of values more in line with a closed, coercive regime with jingoist aspirations that resembled a governance style looking nothing like a full-fledged democracy. The major proponent of Kemalism — the military — had its hand in civilian life, sometimes in actuality, at other times vicariously, from higher education to the judiciary, from religion to the economy. This made it a formidable actor in shaping state affairs. Furthermore, it helped preserve the privileged status of the military, which often reverberated with unaccountability and lack of transparency. As a result, the militarist elite and its outliers in civilian life shared all the pieces of the power pie, ensuring that the system remained as it was, providing them the capacity and the means to be the movers and shakers in the public sphere. Within this environment, the deep state augmented itself as a consequence of corrupted power struggles. It espoused a culture of resistance to change. Every time Turkey strived to open itself up to diversity, multiculturalism, and more transparency, or attempted to introduce change that would democratize the country, it faced the resistance of the deep state.
The current operations of the ruling Justice and Development Party (AKP) government to dismantle the deep state by tracing past calamities back to the organization are providing parts of a puzzle that Turks did not know existed until recently. The puzzle surfaced for the first time with a traffic accident that marks the beginning of the unveiling of the deep state and is known as the Susurluk affair. In a car crash near the town of Susurluk in 1996, a member of parliament who was known for his anti-PKK campaign and a member of the security forces were injured while another man lost his life. The man who died, Abdullah Catli, was a convict wanted by Interpol and an ultranationalist assassin. In the trunk of the car were ample weaponry and official documents that served as false identities for Catli. The government then in office, which was on the verge of being overthrown by the military — a coup came only a few months later — did not at first have the courage to investigate the case in depth. The accident raised questions such as, what could a wanted person be doing in a car that carried an elected representative of the people? and, who would be protecting a criminal within the security forces by providing him with a fake ID, and why? In response to demands from the public for a probe, the Turkish parliament started an investigation, but the government in office warded off curiosity by suggesting that these were wishy-washy matters.
The parliamentarian heading the investigation committee later died in a suspicious car crash while on duty. The investigation continued at times in a floundering manner. There was often little or no follow-up to crucial information garnered from the accounts of those who testified.
On another front, by the mid-1990s some information about the military wing of the deep state had leaked out, raising eyebrows. A member of parliament from the Motherland Party (ANAP) made reference to a paramilitary organization named JITEM, which stood for Gendarme Intelligence Struggle with Terrorism in the Southeast region of Turkey. JITEM was assumed to be an active participant in the war against separatist Kurds. The Turkish military (TSK) never confirmed that such an organization existed. During the Susurluk investigation, JITEM’s name was also brought up. No official follow up ensued to investigate the presence of JITEM. Its existence was recognized by a Diyarbakir criminal court that was trying a case involving murders, bombings, and racketeering in the cities of Diyarbakir, Mardin, and Batman.
Operations against the PKK intensified until the capture of Abdullah Ocalan in Kenya in 1999. Turkey ushered in the new millennium by repealing the death penalty under increasing pressure from the EU. Ultranationalist factions referred to the process as “saving Ocalan.” Yet the war continued, intermittently victimizing both civilian Turks and Kurds. We now know that some of the deaths included the murder of high-ranking Turkish military officers, village dwellers, and public servants such as local teachers — carried out by JITEM and not by the PKK.
Meanwhile, ultranationalist sentiments were on the rise, often as a result of the back-and-forth dance — the love-hate relationship — with the EU. The EU demanded Turkey embrace rapid democratization by introducing reform packages. Until the AKP government came to office in 2002, Turkey’s progress had been steady but excruciatingly slow. To the pleasant surprise of many, and to the chagrin of Kemalists who wanted to preserve the status quo, Erdogan’s government, which had Islamist roots, has made the most strides in the shortest period of time in introducing economic, social, and political reform packages, one after another. Progression in the EU accession process further agitated disgruntled deep-state powers who felt threatened under changing conditions that might prevent them from conserving their political and economic privileges.
The past thirty years have been marked by unidentified killings and 17,500 cases of missing persons, including high-profile murders of some prominent leaders of the Kemalist camp. Leftist journalists such as Abdi Ipekci and Ugur Mumcu, Kemalist academicians such as Bahriye Ucok and Ahmet Taner Kislali, and leaders in commerce such as prominent Jewish businessman Uzeyir Gari were among victims of unsolved murders. With no culprit in hand, Kemalists would immediately point fingers at the opposing religious factions in a blame game. Another area in which one noticed violence was in the lives of non-Muslim minorities, in particular, Christians and Armenians.
The murder of the priest Santaro in Trabzon and that of the Armenian journalist Hrant Dink in Istanbul were interpreted as consequences of unbridled, soaring Turkish nationalism or religious extremism. Little was it known that those were all the “works” of Ergenekon, the face of the deep state that Turks have now become cognizant of.
Two other high-profile incidents that are tainted by the intricacies of the deep state involve the murder of Ozdemir Sabanci and the assassination attempt on Pope John Paul II. The Sabanci family is one of the two most prominent business families in Turkey. Ozdemir Sabanci’s murderer, Mustafa Duyar, was captured and wanted to come clean. He said that he was ready to announce who was really behind the Sabanci murder and that this was not an ordinary killing. Before giving his testimony, Duyar was killed by two other inmates (brothers) who were assigned to do the job by members of Ergenekon. The two brothers claimed that the state had them kill Duyar. They made reference to a General Veli Kucuk, whose name would later surface as a leading figure of Ergenekon. The second case involves the pope’s attacker, Mehmet Ali Agca. Agca, who attempted to assassinate John Paul II in 1981, was a comrade of Abdullah Catli, the person wanted by Interpol and killed in the car crash at Susurluk. Both were known to be ultranationalist “contractors” for the Turkish state. Agca was also the person who murdered journalist Abdi Ipekci.
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The Civilian Wing of Ergenekon
Recruiting civilians to serve the deep state is common, the evidence suggests. A chain of bombings and killings were carried out against civilians by civilians during the past few years; one after another the evidence links the perpetrators directly to the Ergenekon establishment. One such incident was the bombing of the Cumhuriyet daily newspaper in 2006. Cumhuriyet is known for its commitment to staunch Kemalism. Hence, the incident turned eyes to Islamists and devout Muslims who could be “potential” suspects. The Turkish public realized only recently that this was a plot put into play by Ergenekon to instigate friction among opposing factions in society in order to destabilize the political realm at a time when Turkey was about to elect a new president.
What made this case intriguing was that the state ideologies of Ergenekon members and those connected to Cumhuriyet overlapped tremendously. In other words, the attacker and the attacked shared the same life philosophy and goals, yet the Ergenekon establishment countenanced risking and if necessary forfeiting the lives of people who belonged to the same camp.
Another case that involved Ergenekon was the Danistay (Council of State) murder. One of the judges of the council, Mustafa Ozbilgin, was murdered by Alparslan Aslan while on duty. Not long after, Aslan was captured. He first claimed that he carried out the crime because Danistay was instrumental in banning headscarves (religious garments) in the public realm. Ozbilgin’s funeral, similar to that of the aforementioned Kislali funeral, turned into a show of commitment for staunch secularism by Kemalists. This led to soaring tensions among the religious and secular camps. The in-depth investigation of the case concluded that the real actors behind Aslan were Ergenekon members and that Aslan was also involved in the bombing at Cumhuriyet.
Two high-profile cases that garnered considerable attention internationally were the murders of Father Santaro and Hrant Dink. The former was murdered in 2006 in his church by a juvenile. This case was later included in the Ergenekon investigation. Dink was the editor of an Armenian newspaper, Agos, and was well known for his stance in favor of freedom of expression.
Ogun Samast killed Dink in Istanbul in 2007. What was mind boggling was that after his capture, the proud Samast posed between two policemen for the cameras; behind them was a Turkish flag on which was a statement of the founding father of Turkey, Ataturk: “The soil of the motherland is sacred, it can not be left on its [own] destiny.” That is to suggest that ultranationalist factions, such as or similar to Ergenekon, were behind the Dink murder.
Yasin Hayal, another person implicated with Ergenekon, was alleged to be the instigator behind Dink’s murder. Hayal was brought to the attention of the Turkish public earlier when he bombed a McDonald’s fast food restaurant in Trabzon. Currently, eight gendarme members are also charged in the Dink murder case.
The Malatya murders also received attention across the globe. In 2007, a bookstore in Malatya known to sell books on Christianity was attacked, and a German and two Turkish citizens were brutally murdered. Four young men, nineteen and twenty years of age, were captured at the scene. The alleged culprits communicated with a police officer, a military official, and a university professor prior to the attack. Thus, there seem to be civilians who are utilized in nonviolent activities by the deep state as well, including people from a wide professional spectrum, from bureaucracy to academia.
Conclusion: What Are the Prospects?
Although news on activities of the deep state leave Turks stunned time and again — resulting in disappointment concomitant with the question, what is next? — one can argue that in the long run the process will benefit Turkey’s journey toward democratization tremendously. The current process, undertaken by a fierce and relentless AKP government, is not only teaching us what the deep state is capable of but also is helping Turkey adjust to a new set of rules for reform of its political/legal system with respect to accountability, transparency, and individual liberties. Recognition of the problem — the deep state structure — is a first step toward a solution. If one does not pinpoint what to get rid of, one cannot take necessary action. Thus, the unveiling of the deep state could be construed as a blessing in disguise, an impetus that could catapult Turkey forward in raising standards of living for its citizens to a par with standards of developed nations. The sooner Turkey can remove the infested part of the body — the illegal organization of Ergenekon and its proxies — the sooner healing will start and Turks can move on with their lives.
Today’s Turkey is not the Turkey of ten years ago. Turkey is in incessant motion. It is reevaluating its past, rethinking its future, and experiencing change from within. The people of Turkey are making substantial strides in their process of “democratization of the minds.” They are becoming betterinformed citizens, claiming their full role in the republic’s eye. As a result, we witness thousands taking the streets in Turkey to protest against Dink’s murder, chanting in one voice, “We are all Hrant!” Today we can watch hundreds of thousands convene to castigate the military’s shadow over the elected government. We hear slogans reprimanding the cozy relationship among members of the judiciary and the military. We observe a growing Turkey, albeit with growing pains. The country is walking steadily on the path toward democratization and toward a new status where accountability will be the norm, despite the political, social, or economic status of the person under investigation. The recently passed law that permits military officers to be tried before civilian courts is a step forward in opening up society. Turkey is on its way to becoming a country where transparency will be a sine qua non for any state institution, where diversity will be a strength rather than a weakness, a new place where multiculturalism will be perceived as part of the wealth of the nation rather than its challenge.
Merve Kavakci is a lecturer at the Elliott School of International Affairs at George Washington University, lecturer in international affairs at Howard University, and columnist for the daily Vakit in Turkey.
Merve Kavakçı, “Turkey’s Test with Its Deep State,” Mediterranean Quarterly 20: 4, pp. 83-97.
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