In recent years, a growing number of Turkish intellectuals, scholars,
journalists, and human rights activists have taken bold positions on
the Armenian Genocide, in opposition to their government’s denials.
Although their number is small and their influence on President Erdogan
negligible, the fight for truth and justice has to be carried on two
fronts: within and outside Turkey. Hopefully, over time, the ranks of
such liberal Turks will grow, forcing their government to implement
reforms on a variety of issues, including the Armenian Genocide.
These progressive Turks, however, should not be viewed as activists
for the Armenian Cause. Their primary goal is to live in a democratic
society that respects the rights of all citizens and acknowledges the
dark pages of its past.
One such righteous Turk is Cengiz Aktar, a senior scholar at the
Istanbul Policy Center, who has championed for many years recognition of
the Armenian Genocide by the Turkish government.
Earlier this year, Aktar wrote two compelling columns, challenging
Turkish denials of the genocide. The first, published on April 21 in
“Today’s Zaman,” was titled “The 99th Anniversary.” The second column,
posted on the “Al Jazeera English” website on April 24, was titled
“Armenian Genocide: Turkey Has Lost the Battle of Truth,” and subtitled
“An empowered Turkish society is now challenging the state’s denialist
paradigm on the tragic events of 1915.”
In his first article, Aktar described April 24 as “a symbolic day for
Armenians who were forcibly dispersed all around the world. This
collective disaster is still not recognized in Turkey. Even the fact
that Anatolian Armenians were completely wiped out from their homeland
is not enough for people and the state to recognize it.”
Aktar went on to ridicule Prime Minister Davutoglu’s call for a
“joint historical commission,” because it would be “composed of
‘genocide experts’ on the one side and of denialist professors on the
other who cannot even convene, let alone arrive at a decision.”
Ending his column on an optimistic note, Aktar observed, “Unlike the
state, Turkish society is today questioning the past and searching for
appropriate answers. This is the soundest and most lasting way to face
the truth. Peace will not come to these lands without confronting the
past. 2015 will be the year when the quest for truth and memory will
deepen, even if the government does not like it.”
In the Al Jazeera article, the Turkish scholar divided his
government’s denialist campaign on the Armenian Genocide into three
categories: lobbying efforts jointly with Azerbaijan, especially in the
United States; hiring scholars to give Turkey’s “vulgar denialism” a
scientific veneer; and diverting attention away from the Armenian
Genocide Centennial by focusing on other events, such as “the
Dardanelles battle victory” and “the military debacle of Sarikamis.”
Despite vigorous denialist propaganda, Aktar maintained that “Turkey
has long lost the battle of truth. The destruction of the Armenian
population on its ancestral land is a sheer fact, whatever else you
might call it.”
Aktar proceeded to describe April 24, 1915 as “the dark day when the
decision to erase Armenians from Anatolia began to be implemented by the
Ottoman government of Young Turks or the Ittihadists. The rationale
behind it was to engineer a homogeneous population composed of Muslims
designated to form the backbone of the yet to be invented Turkish
nation. Thus, there was no place for Christian populations despite their
historic presence on those lands.”
The Turkish scholar then referred to a “report commissioned in May
1919 by the Ottoman government that came to power in 1918 after the
demise of the Young Turks,” which stated that 800,000 Armenians had lost
their lives by that date. Aktar also quoted from a book published in
1928 by the Turkish General Staff, which reported that “800,000
Armenians and 200,000 Greeks died as a result of massacres, forced
relocations, and forced labor.” Aktar concluded that “when one adds
those who died after 1918 in the Caucasus region due to hunger, illness,
and massacres, the figure surpasses one million. The cleansing work of
Ittihadists was completed by Kemalists by obliging those throughout
Anatolia whose lives were spared to take shelter in Istanbul and
simultaneously by suppressing their places of worship and schools
throughout Anatolia.”
The audacious Turkish intellectual ends his powerful article with a
note of sober realism: “The genie is out of the bottle. When and how it
will affect state policy is difficult to predict.”
ISTANBUL
— At a glittering dinner on an island in the Bosporus here last week,
Ali Gureli, the chairman of Contemporary Istanbul, the city’s annual art
fair, told hundreds of international collectors, gallery owners and
artists that Istanbul had secured its place as a global art capital.
This metropolis, pulsing with energy, money and self-confidence, seems to prove him right. Galleries abound. The Istanbul Design Biennial
is in full swing. Three new private art museums are in the works,
including one designed by the London-based star architect Zaha Hadid.
The rock and jazz scenes are thriving. A Turkish film, “Winter Sleep,” took the top prize at the Cannes International Film Festival this year.
But
beneath the surface, a different picture emerges. Artists say they are
increasingly subject to state pressure or intervention, or withdrawal of
funding by the government, which is led by the party founded by
President Recep Tayyip Erdogan, whose no-holds-barred capitalism has
helped fuel the creative boom but whose conservative Muslim sensibility
has shifted the national tone after decades in which a secular elite ran
the country.
Censorship
is nothing new in Turkey, where past governments jailed critics, pulped
books and suppressed the cultures of ethnic minorities, including
Kurds. But today — after the June 2013 protests
in Gezi Park revealed the depth of public anger at the government’s
increasingly top-down exercise of power — cultural figures describe a
climate of anxiety and self-censorship because the government’s
standards for what it considers offensive keep shifting.
“There are these invisible boundaries,” said the artist Iz Oztat, 33, who was asked to remove a mention of the Armenian genocide of 1915
in a booklet she wrote for an exhibition in Madrid last year that
received Turkish government funding. “You don’t know they’re there until
you cross them.” She added: “That’s what’s so oppressive. There are no
rules.”
For
his part, Omer Celik, the minister of culture and tourism and a close
confidant of Mr. Erdogan’s, has downplayed concerns. “On the contrary,
there is censorship within the established circles of culture and arts,”
he told a Turkish newspaper this month, referring to the secular elites
who dominated state-run cultural institutions in the past. “They
socially oppress those who are not from a certain ideology.” (Mr. Celik
did not reply to requests for comment for this article.)
Today,
as part of the government’s family values push, officials at state
theaters say that they must now send plot synopses for government
approval, and that gay characters rarely appear onstage anymore.
Hemlines have been lowered on ballet costumes. The Presidential Symphony
Orchestra of Turkey last month dropped compositions by the classical
pianist Fazil Say,
who had been charged with insulting religion after he reposted on
Twitter a message that mocked an imam. A cartoonist who made fun of Mr.
Erdogan in a cartoon was tried on defamation and other charges but later acquitted in a case that resonated as a warning to would-be critics.
Last
month, several jurors of the Antalya international film festival, which
received private and public funding, quit in protest after festival
officials canceled a film about the Gezi Park uprising. (They later
reinstated it.) CNN Turk, a private broadcaster, recently pixilated the
private parts in Rubens’s 17th-century painting “The Three Graces” in a
program about conventions of beauty, to avoid the risk of fines for
indecency. Public-school teachers have been investigated for teaching
books by John Steinbeck and Amin Maalouf after parents complained that they were inappropriate.
“The
governing party has introduced a climate in Turkey in which the pious
person is a more acceptable citizen,” said Baris Uluocak, the director
of an Istanbul branch of a teachers’ union, some of whose members have
been punished for criticizing the government on social media.
The novelist Elif Shafak
was tried in 2006 and later acquitted of criminal charges of “insulting
Turkishness” for a novel, “The Bastard of Istanbul,” that explored the
killings of Ottoman Armenians by Turks in 1915, which Turkey does not
recognize as genocide. “Every writer, journalist or poet in Turkey knows
deep within that words can get you in trouble,” Ms. Shafak said. The
Turkish Nobel laureate novelist Orhan Pamuk has also been tried and acquitted on the same charges.
“This
was always the case in Turkey but it has become worse,” Ms. Shafak
added. “Critical thought is clearly unwelcome. Media diversity and media
freedom have visibly shrunk. As a result, there is a lot of
self-censorship.”
Last
year, the government proposed a new law that would create an 11-person
council appointed directly by the cabinet to fund the arts, project by
project. Now, the government allocates money to cultural institutions
that are free to use it as they wish. Although the law is still in draft
form, cultural figures are concerned that the new council would be
driven more by politics than by art.
After
the Turkish republic was established in 1923, its founder and first
president, Mustafa Kemal Ataturk, looked to the West for cultural
references, and age-old Turkish traditions were repressed. In 1999, Mr.
Erdogan was jailed
for reciting a poem with the line “our minarets are our bayonets”
during the time when he was mayor of Istanbul. Since coming to national
power in 2002, Mr. Erdogan’s Justice and Development Party has cast
itself as the defender of observant Muslims and Turkey’s rural heartland
and has recently been depicting state-sponsored theater, ballet and
opera as vestiges of the secular past. After consolidating power in
consecutive elections, Mr. Erdogan has begun transforming state
institutions. In a speech in 2012, he criticized the secular elites for
their previous hold on culture.
“Is
theater in this country your monopoly?” he said. “Are you the only
people allowed to speak about arts in this country? Those days are
over.”
He
also said: “With privatization, go ahead and stage your theater as you
desire. If funding is needed, we, as the government, will sponsor and
support the plays we want.”
But
government influence could be felt even earlier. Lemi Bilgin, 58, who
was ousted as director of state theaters in 2013 after he openly
criticized the government’s plans to change how arts funding is
allocated, said the pressure has grown since 2002.
“First,
they started asking which plays we planned to include in our
repertoire,” he said. “Then they began suggesting plays by conservative
playwrights,” including Necip Fazil Kisakurek, a 20th-century writer who
was sympathetic to the anti-Semitic forgery “The Protocols of the
Elders of Zion” and whose work Mr. Erdogan often quotes in speeches.
Last
year, the government sold two leading theaters in Ankara, which
together drew audiences of more than half a million people a year, to a
private business group. The fate of these sites remains unclear. “In
theater, you can always be subject to pressure and censorship, but you
find a way to get around it,” Mr. Bilgin said. “But if you rip apart the
institutions and take away the venues for the artist to perform, it
leaves you no room to struggle, and that is the most dangerous form of
oppression.”
Many
in the Turkish film world say festivals have begun avoiding potentially
risky movies for fear of losing government money. There is also
widespread concern after the Culture Ministry last year changed the
ground rules to require filmmakers to give back state financing if the
ministry ended up giving the film in question an 18-and-over rating.
The
landscape is complex. There has never been a strong tradition of free
speech in Turkey, in the modern sense. Beyond direct crackdowns on
artists, cultural figures say that Mr. Erdogan has set a tone in which
his conservative constituents feel emboldened to defend their values and
suppress others.
The
creative class is anxious about where the government’s culture policy
is headed. “We haven’t seen this play out yet,” said Banu Karaca, a
founder of Siyah Bant, an organization that monitors arts censorship in Turkey.
Yet
civil society has evolved. The Gezi Park demonstrations emboldened
young people whose parents lived through military dictatorships and
tended to avoid protest. Under Mr. Erdogan, ethnic minorities have been
acknowledged, if not entirely empowered. In 2008, the Turkish state
broadcaster added a Kurdish TV channel and Kurdish radio station, as
well as those for Arabic and other regional languages.
“It’s easier to talk about the past now,” said the novelist Kaya Genc, “but it’s still problematic to talk about the present.”