When I wrote about Turkey’s slow boil to authoritarianism a few weeks ago for Prospect, I didn’t imagine the regime would dare ratchet things up to the level of Russia and Belarus in a matter of days.
Surely, there were signs: Istanbul’s mayor Ekrem Imamoğlu has been subjected to protracted “lawfare” since his landmark 2019 victory, which was initially annulled—only for him to return with an even larger margin a few months later. After the annullment, İmamoğlu called Turkey’s Supreme Electoral Council “fools” and was later sentenced in 2022 to over two years in prison. He was handed a political ban for insulting the council, pending appeal. By 2021, the Interior Ministry had launched a sweeping investigation, alleging that around 500 municipal hires had ties to terrorist organisations. The claims were vague, the evidence thinner.
Since autumn last year, a wave of smears began circulating. The usual pro-government apparatchiks began spinning mendacious stories that Imamoğlu is corrupt to his core stealing the money of Istanbulites, that he’s not above the law and that the heroic chief prosecutor of Istanbul will make him pay. Earlier this month, a wide range of people linked to Imamoğlu—campaign staff, advertising firms—found themselves banned from leaving the country. Some also had their assets seized.
Then came the cancellation, this month, of his 35-year-old university diploma, which would disqualify Imamoğlu from a presidential run. Days later, he was detained alongside 106 individuals tied to the Istanbul Municipality, all accused of participating in or leading an “organised crime ring.” There is a second, simultaneous investigation claiming that İmamoğlu aided the Kurdish Workers’ Party, or PKK, which is proscribed in Turkey as a terrorist organisation.
All this came right after the Republican People’s Party (CHP), the main opposition party, announced a membership-wide vote—like an unofficial primary—to formally endorse Imamoğlu as its sole presidential candidate. That vote still went ahead last Sunday—despite his arrest—and some 15m people showed up across the country. Not because it was mandatory or because it has any official bearing (political parties in Turkey aren’t required to hold primaries), but because it would display an objection to grave bouts of democratic backsliding.
Since the inception of a multiparty system in Turkey in 1946, electoral turnout has stayed at around 80 per cent. Here, voters were redefining their political participation, transforming a symbolic party ballot into a massive act of contention. It added a new entry to the repertoire of social movements: symbolic elections with real mass turnout.
Imamoğlu’s 121-page interrogation file is a travesty of justice. It has no credible evidence, just gossip recycled by anonymous witnesses. There is no corruption report, no forensic evidence of financial crime. What’s terrifying is its sheer arbitrariness and unseriousness, the fact that hearsay is enough to detain a politician who won re-election in 2024 with 4.5m votes—51.21 per cent of the Istanbul electorate.
It's a terrifying moment, yes, but the barrier that once silenced the streets is starting to give way. Since Imamoğlu’s detention, hundreds of thousands have gathered outside the Istanbul Municipality. Marches have spread to two-thirds of Turkey’s cities. It’s the biggest wave of protest since 2013, when plans to develop Istanbul’s Taksim Gezi park met with great resistance. Turkey is arguably what political scientists might call a “high-capacity undemocratic state”. Able to govern perfectly even though civil rights are limited, Turkey uses militarised repression when confronted with protests. It is no surprise that the police are in full gear making liberal use of water cannons, tear gas and plastic bullets.
So, what’s Erdoğan’s endgame? Did he miscalculate? No, he didn’t. He imprisoned his chief rival because he’s afraid that İmamoğlu poses a credible threat. And he no longer bothers with the pretence of democracy or the optics of legitimacy. He would rather be perceived as the forceful, uncompromising ruler of a highly consequential state in a world where moral superiority flatlined in the final episode of the last season.
Today, only a handful of western officials have voiced dismay—and even that has been sotto voce. A week has passed, and there’s still silence from the UK’s prime minister. Ten years ago, the US State Department wouldn’t have dared say, as it has done now, that “it’s Turkey’s internal legal matter,” and then vanish. Today, the US has a president who admires Erdoğan and mimics his playbook by demonising opponents, politicising the judiciary and repressing dissent.
And there are, of course, more urgent issues. A war in Europe, where Turkey might play a role in its aftermath by sending troops or joining Europe’s new security framework or mass-producing weapons. It has the capacity and the manpower. And Benjamin Netanyahu, who just broke yet another ceasefire and resumed bombing civilians—even a cancer hospital—while also taking steps domestically to cement his authoritarianism is still not a political pariah. An apogee of impunity.
Netanyahu kills and kills. Trump dismantles the very institutions designed to constrain him. Europe, paralysed by cowardice, oscillates between appeasing Putin and placating Trump. Erdoğan, meanwhile, is preoccupied with “stabilising” Syria—a country whose displaced people unsettle western governments for the simple reason that they may once again come seeking refuge, and with it, a claim to dignity. As he expands his footprint in Syria and navigates concurrent threats from Israel and Iran, Erdoğan is also positioning himself at the nexus of Russia, Europe and the US. Occasionally, he exploits the strategic incoherence among them.
It is this global context that made Erdoğan’s move to jail his main rival easier than it would have been a year ago. That’s why he dared antagonise a public already seething over an economic collapse that wiped out the middle class. His calculation is callous and plain: I can jail my main opponent. If they put forward another, I’ll jail that one too. I’ll crush street protests with brute force—Sisi-style. And no one can say anything.
But hubris is a treacherous companion. If the people’s anger is sustained and organised, the results may surprise even Erdoğan. It will take work—a strenuous effort to sustain mobilisation, to diversify methods of protest and to hold momentum until a snap election is forced—or until 2028, when an election is due.
I’m afraid, worse days lie ahead before any meaningful resolution emerges. Still, we shouldn’t underestimate the agency of a public whose most sacred democratic act—elections—has been hijacked in broad daylight.
