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A Turkish Paradox: When Protesters Are Treated Worse Than Terrorists

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By. Natalie Putz

DOI. 10.57912/30392629

In Türkiye today, justice is upside down. On March 19, Istanbul’s Mayor Ekrem İmamoğlu, widely regarded as President Recep Tayyip Erdoğan’s most serious rival, was arrested on fabricated charges of corruption and aiding terrorism. His real offense was political: winning elections and threatening Erdoğan’s two-decade grip on power. Within days, Türkiye saw its largest protests in a decade. Instead of protecting freedom of assembly, police arrested minors, banned demonstrations, and labeled student protesters as terrorists. University campuses have become the battleground for crackdowns on basic human rights. This is not just a Turkish problem; universities worldwide must defend free speech and inquiry, whether by supporting Turkish scholars with fellowships and documenting these abuses or by ensuring their own students can speak, study, and create without fear of state censorship.


The paradox is striking. In Istanbul, peaceful youth holding banners in defense of democracy were handcuffed and charged under anti-terror laws. Yet in Şırnak, police handed out cotton candy at a rally where symbols linked to the PKK, a group the government itself labels as an extremely dangerous terrorist organization, were on full display. As Ankara’s Mayor Mansur Yavaş bitterly remarked, the police seemed to prefer “giving cotton candy in the East” over treating Istanbul’s students with dignity. This selective enforcement reveals a deeper truth: in Erdoğan’s Türkiye, protest is punished more harshly than extremism. It is a paradox that undermines democracy at home and sends shockwaves abroad.


Erdoğan’s double standard is no accident. It reflects his political priorities and the selective logic of modern authoritarianism. The government’s tolerance of rallies featuring PKK symbols shows that Ankara’s concern is less about terrorism than control. Though it despises the PKK, it polices peaceful demonstrators more harshly, revealing where Erdoğan sees the real threat. In Erdoğan’s Türkiye, dissent that challenges the ruling party is treated as existentially dangerous. Legitimacy, in this system, flows not from law or justice, but from loyalty.


The inversion of justice did not happen overnight. In 2013, the Gezi Park protests marked a turning point in Erdoğan’s crackdown on dissent. What began as a small environmental sit-in to protect Istanbul’s Gezi Park quickly grew into a nationwide uprising against authoritarianism after police violently dispersed the demonstrators. The 2016 attempted coup intensified the crackdown, leading to mass purges and widespread repression of free speech. Since then, Erdoğan has steadily chipped away at civil society and democratic norms. Universities have become a particular battleground. At Boğaziçi University, Erdoğan replaced elected deans with government trustees. Top student Pelin Gümüşdağ had her master’s admission revoked by one of these trustees after protesting the March 19 operation. Meanwhile, ordinary acts of student life, such as meeting for dinner, watching movies, and socializing, have been cited in court indictments as evidence of terrorism, the same label the PKK holds. In one case, dubbed the “Girls’ Trial,” such activities were used to convict young women. By weaponizing counterterrorism statutes against peaceful dissenters, Erdoğan has turned the law into a tool of intimidation.


The stakes are high. As a signatory to the International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights (ICCPR) and the European Convention on Human Rights (ECHR), Türkiye has pledged to protect freedom of expression and assembly. Instead, its government is violating both, hollowing out the democratic system from within. The paradox of Türkiye’s democracy has ripple effects far beyond its borders. Ankara is not an isolated player; it is a NATO ally, a key actor in Middle Eastern diplomacy, and a strategic partner in migration agreements with the EU. When Erdoğan brands students as terrorists, allies notice. Friends of Türkiye in Europe see a government that is failing to uphold the very democratic values NATO and the EU are built on. Such repression deepens longstanding European skepticism about Türkiye’s EU aspirations and raises doubts about its reliability as a partner. Foes, meanwhile, seize the hypocrisy to argue that the West selectively tolerates authoritarianism when it serves their interests. Russia, for instance, benefits when a NATO ally is consumed by internal repression. Russian propaganda exploits these failures to make Western institutions look hypocritical and weak, boosting Moscow’s influence in the region.


The United States is not immune to this paradox. In recent years, American leaders have at times flirted with labeling domestic protest movements as terrorist organizations, echoing Erdoğan’s rhetoric (e.g., Trump versus the antifa movement). At the same time, President Donald Trump has cultivated close relationships with populist leaders such as Jair Bolsonaro in Brazil and Viktor Orbán in Hungary. As authoritarian populism spreads globally, Washington’s willingness to stand by while leaders in Türkiye criminalize dissent raises an uncomfortable question: will the U.S. continue enabling allies who actively undermine democracy at home? If Türkiye continues down this path, opposition politics could be strangled entirely. Students, academics, and civil society activists will bear the brunt, while genuine extremist groups slip through the cracks of selective law enforcement. This pattern may emerge in other authoritarian-leaning or populist states, as the struggle between loyalty and law increasingly overrides democratic norms.


Yet there is still space for action. Turkish democracy, though battered, is not dead. The massive protests following İmamoğlu’s arrest demonstrate that citizens remain willing to risk their safety for their rights. The international community must stand with them, and universities have a special role to play. As guardians of free inquiry, they can build solidarity networks, offering Turkish scholars fellowships, online platforms, and opportunities to share their work free from state censorship. Law schools and human rights centers should document abuses to produce reports that can inform policymakers and international organizations. American universities, in particular, must learn from Türkiye’s example; ensuring their own policies protect peaceful protest, not suppress it.


Academic institutions must treat Türkiye as a warning. The lesson is simple but profound: when governments normalize branding protesters as terrorists, democracy quickly becomes indistinguishable from authoritarianism. Türkiye’s paradox is cotton candy for extremists, prison for students. If the international community ignores this inversion of justice, it risks legitimizing a model of governance where dissent is criminal, and loyalty to power trumps the rule of law. For the sake of Turkish students, and for democracy everywhere, silence is not an option.

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