The Atlantic and Its Enemies

Germany and had been a colleague of Demirel’s; if he got anywhere, it was because his hands were clean. Ecevit took up an alliance with him, both sides anxious to repel the military, in 1973. Demirel could to some extent rely on another small party, the Nationalists, whose real power came partly from inflation. In an inflationary period, small suppliers, not paid on time by large receivers, suffered. A visit from Nationalist bully-boys would cause debts to be repaid faster than if the business had gone through the courts, and in populous, unsavoury areas the Nationalists did tolerably well. The Nationalists also tended to do well in districts close to areas of Kurdish or Alevi migration, such as Gaziosmanpasa or Sutluce in Istanbul. It was a dismal period, each party throwing money at voters (Ecevit even paid twelve of Demirel’s men cash, to desert their party and join his, as ministers for this or that: one suggestion was ‘weather-reporting’), and inflation got under way. The oil shock meant that the economy, almost entirely dependent upon imported energy, ran down; it survived only by contracting debts, which went up from $2bn in 1970 to $20bn in 1980. Between 1975 and 1980 there was also an eightfold rise in prices, as the government’s deficits became uncontrollable, covered only by paper.

Matters were made worse because relations with the United States turned sour. This had to do with Greece and Cyprus. That island had become independent in 1960, and the position of the Turkish minority — one fifth of the population — was supposedly guaranteed under the constitution, which reserved certain rights. Great Britain, Turkey and Greece were supposed to guarantee the constitution, with a right to military intervention where required. Quite soon after independence, Greek Cypriot nationalists started to persecute the Turks. This was not wise. Left alone, a third of them would have become Greeks, a third would have emigrated, and a third would have remained as picturesque folklore, cooking kebabs and dancing in a masculine line as evidence of the great tolerance towards minorities displayed by Greek civilization. Instead, there was stupid and nasty persecution, beginning at Christmas 1963 with the killing of a wedding party. A United Nations force arrived to hold a ‘Green Line’ supposedly separating the two sides. This meant, as such ‘peacekeeping’ ventures generally did, that excuses were found for the stronger side, which then pushed the Turks into small enclaves, mostly dependent for survival on foreign charity, itself sometimes diverted by Greek Cypriot officials. Potatoes rolled around the floor of the customs shed at Famagusta, because the sacks were slit open. Matters then became pointlessly complicated, in the manner of the Levant. There was a military coup in Greece in 1967, and in 1974 there was a coup within the coup, which led to crypto-Fascists taking power. They tried to overthrow the government of Greek Cyprus, assuming that its leader, Archbishop Makarios, was playing up to the Soviet Union, given that Cyprus stood on the edge of a Middle East which was, just then, boiling. A civil war on Cyprus resulted, a number of Greeks disappearing. The local Turks, held together by a remarkable figure, Rauf Denktas, could justly fear a return of persecution, expulsion, but Ecevit and Erbakan, with their unlikely coalition, were presented with an opportunity. The Turkish army went in, and, given the paralysis of America, through Watergate, and England, through money, was not resisted. In the outcome, the Turks occupied nearly one third of the island, and resisted international condemnation. The Turks of Cyprus remained poor and isolated, but they survived. Denktas said, quite rightly, that they had avoided the fate of the Gaza Strip Palestinians. Nevertheless, the simple solution — recognition of Turkish Cyprus’s independence — evaded international bureaucrats, and a good part of the Turkish Cypriot population simply ended up in London.

In Turkey, Ecevit became hugely popular. He decided to exploit this, with an immediate election, which would let him dispense with his odd-bedfellow Islamic ally. But parliament would not allow early elections, and fell into paralysis; when they were held, six months later, Ecevit narrowly lost. Demirel and the smaller parties put forward a ‘National Front’ government, with a majority of four seats, early in 1975. In the provinces, and some of the ministries, the smaller parties, Nationalists and Islamists, used their power disproportionately for changes of personnel; and besides, their strength was such that an institution designed to train clergymen (Imam-hat?p) was opened for ordinary schoolchildren, segregated between boys and girls, and subjected to solid religious education, including koranic Arabic, which Turks simply repeated syllabically, without understanding; prizes went to the hafiz, who knew the lot off by heart. They had been started (in effect) in 1951, and grew from seven to over one hundred in 1975, and 383 by 1988; in 1971 they were functioning at middle-school level as well, and were teaching 300,000 pupils. Half of the curriculum was religious, and the secularists grumbled. Under Demirel’s National Front governments (1975-7 and after the June election, 1977-8) the desecularization of modern Turkey, in a sense, got under way. In some universities, during Ramazan, the canteens closed; there was tension between observers and non-observers since the observers got up early to have something to eat before sun-up, and woke up the non-observers by their talk about football and so forth, while non-observers’ smoking after lunch similarly irritated observers; there were fights and, on occasion, ambulances. The call to prayer was now heard, loudly amplified, in the very centre of great cities, and in Ankara there was a big row when the mayor put up a statue of one of the secularists’ symbols, the stag of the Hittites (Indo-Europeans, not Arabs), and the religious-minded interior minister stopped construction again and again until the courts ruled otherwise. On one level, no doubt desperately childish, but on another deeply serious, and to do with the nature of the country and the upbringing of children, especially daughters. At any rate it divided the country very deeply. Perhaps Demirel and Ecevit themselves would have preferred to co-operate, as the great industrialists (Vehbi Koc and Nejat F. Eczac?bas?) wanted them to do. But each was prisoner of his supporters, in no mood to compromise. When Ecevit visited an Alevi centre in Cappadocia (Hac? Bektas) his cortege was fired on by the orthodox Sunni in Nevsehir; in the mixed town of Maras a regular battle developed between Alevis and Sunnis, and a hundred people were killed. The police lacked training and equipment, as only seventeen of sixty-seven provincial sections even had a camera; and the prisons were in chaos, some of them unable to pay their telephone bills because prisoners abused their rights to long-distance telephone calls (in a country where in any event talking on the telephone is a national curse). In 1979 a Fascist murderer, Mehmet Al? Agca, was able to slip out from Ankara prison, where he had been tried for the murder of a famous newspaper editor, Abd? Ipekci (from an old donme family, a stout secularist, and descendant of Jews who had converted). Ecevit sought a way through the mess with a combination of nationalism and restated left-wing orthodoxies. He approached the Soviet Union (in vain) for oil; he toured Yugoslavia and irritated the army chiefs by praising its supposedly non-professional and voluntary territorial defence system. In 1978 he made a considerable blunder, of refusing to apply for membership of the European Economic Community at precisely the same moment as Greece did apply. His government fell apart, and Demirel returned, with a minority government.

Demirel could at least bring back the Americans. There had been a revolution in Iran, hitherto America’s ally. Turkey was needed again, even more so when the Soviet invasion of Afghanistan happened, and support was offered. However, this would mean new men. Demirel therefore had, as under-secretary for planning, a very clever one, Turgut Ozal, who had worked in the World Bank and knew America very well indeed. His title was lowly; in that way, he would not appear to be a political threat to better-known people. However, the under-secretary for planning had the right to countersign anything; Ozal became the centre of the regime. On 24 January 1980, as the Guardian correspondent struggled up through the snows towards Cankaya, Turgut Ozal produced his set of economic measures. But to put them through was very difficult: Demirel’s was a minority government, and parliament was by now so paralysed that in 1980 the deputies would not agree on a new president: in farcical repeats, they voted more than one hundred times without result.

The financial position was terrible — a debt of $20bn, with low exports and high inflation. And by now the ‘Friedmanite’ medicine was proposed, the businessmen’s association, TUSIAD, being in sympathy. Ecevit in effect lost the Americans’ confidence that summer (oddly enough he never gained the Russians’ — they preferred to deal with Demirel, as they did not want a ‘Finlandized’ Turkey, which would be too unstable). American backing meant an end to giveaway finances, strict austerity over credit, a wage freeze. Erik Zurcher, a considerable commentator on Turkey, who wishes it were Holland, mutters about the ‘Pinochet solution’, and that is right. The army was preparing to restore order. In fact its chiefs conducted meetings, in theory to head off civil war, in reality to take power. In December there was a formal meeting at the old Selimiye Barracks in Istanbul, where Florence Nightingale had once nursed. Then, it was decided simply to let the politicians make such a mess that no-one could conceivably object to a coup, which is more or less what then happened. Demirel and Ecevit would not agree on a coalition of ‘repair’, Ecevit denouncing the Ozal proposals of 24 January. He remained incorrigible — even secretly approaching Erbakan for informal alliance, and refusing a deal with Demirel.

The army could obviously have moved in at this moment, and already had the martial-law powers to do so. However, it had blundered over earlier coups that had proved to be pointless: you took power, your general opined on television at 3 a.m. to the national anthem, professors of political science wrote you a constitution and then, after a short while, you got Demirel back again: burasi Turkiye, i.e. that was Turkey for you. The army therefore bided its time, heeding the Leninist lesson of ‘the worse, the better’. In 1977 already, 230