Tweet
The Economist
March 19, 2005
U.S. Edition
Which Turkey?
Not everyone sees the country with the same eyes
EUROPEANS' perceptions of Turkey are often shaped by the Turks they
know. In Germany, these tend to be the Gastarbeiter (guest workers)
who moved there in the 1960s to take up low-grade jobs that the
booming post-war economy could no longer fill from the domestic
labour market. Over 2m Turks came, and they were mostly honest,
hard-working and religious people. But they were economic refugees,
poor villagers from the east, not model citizens of Ataturk's
republic.
Many of their children, though, have moved on, to become anything
from prominent European parliamentarians to star European
footballers. One of them even married one of the sons of Helmut Kohl,
a former German chancellor. It is just the sort of transformation
that Ataturk would have wished for his countrymen.
Yet experience of the Gastarbeiter has left Germans in two minds
about Turkish entry into the EU. Their main worry is about a massive
further inflow of economic migrants. The Social Democrat-led
government of Chancellor Gerhard Schröder is generally supportive,
but the opposition Christian Democrats, led by Angela Merkel, have
vowed to do everything possible to wreck Turkey's application. A
federal election is due next year, with the outcome still wide open.
Even Mr Kohl, the Christian Democrat chancellor who was voted out in
1998, has spoken against Turkish membership, saying that he is
"convinced that Turkey will not fulfil the Copenhagen criteria".
These are the basic conditions for joining the EU, which lay down
that "membership requires that the candidate country has achieved
stability of institutions guaranteeing democracy, the rule of law,
human rights and respect for and protection of minorities."
France's perspective is very different. Many of Turkey's 19th-century
reforms, the tanzimat, were based on French laws, and Turkey's early
republican elite was educated in the French language in French
schools. As with Iran, disaffected members of that elite, including
members of the Armenian and Jewish minorities, headed first for
Paris. It is no coincidence that France is the only European country
other than Greece (which is particularly hostile to its eastern
neighbour) to have officially recognised the slaughter of Armenians
in the first world war as genocide. In 1998, the French National
Assembly decreed as much - a judgment the Turks maintain can be made
only by the International Court of Justice in The Hague.
Britain's relationship with Turkey is less burdened by history and
complexity. The British mostly meet bright young Turks who come to
their country to study, or chirpy hotel staff on their holidays in
resorts such as Bodrum and Marmaris. For them, Turkey is a young
place, full of promise. They rarely see headscarves, or the darker
side of Anatolia.
Britain's government looks on Turkey's entry into the EU as an
opportunity. It sees the country as a potential role model for Muslim
democracy, much as America's does. Not surprisingly, Britain and
America have been among the staunchest supporters of Turkey's
application to join the EU. Bringing economic and political stability
to a country described by one analyst as "the most geo-strategically
important piece of real estate in the world" is a grand goal, almost
on a par with bringing democracy to Iraq. But in some parts of the EU
America's support has not gone down well. When President George Bush
last year said yet again that the EU should start talks with Turkey
at once, France's president, Jacques Chirac, told him off for
interfering in things that were not his business.
All across Europe, though, people are worried about Turkish
membership. Many feel, like Mr Giscard d'Estaing, that Turkey is an
alien place whose people's values are incompatible with Europe's.
This concern is fed by all sorts of things: from schoolboy propaganda
about the Crusades and the Ottoman siege of Vienna to the views of
the Catholic Church and of historic Protestant leaders such as Martin
Luther, who described the Turks as "the people of the wrath of God".
That unease explains why relatively few people from northern Europe
choose to spend their winters in Turkey rather than, say, in Greece
or Spain. It also accounts for the defensive behaviour that Europeans
often unpack the moment they arrive on Turkish soil. In a recent
short story by Louis de Bernières, "A Day Out for Mehmet Erbil", the
(British) author tells of a long-drawn-out haggle he witnessed in
Gallipoli between a German tourist and a Turkish café-owner over the
price of a cup of tea: "A sum", says Mr de Bernières, "that in
Germany would not have bought a second-hand piece of chewing gum."
In essence, Europeans are bothered because 99% of Turkey's population
is Muslim. Benign ignorance of the youngest of the major religions
turned to fearful ignorance after September 11th 2001. Some Europeans
assume that all Turks pray five times a day, want to introduce sharia
law (so they can chop off people's hands) and frequently violate
their women.
The reality, of course, is that the vast majority of Turks practise
their religion in much the same matter-of-fact way as do Christians
in western Europe. Many can quote from the Koran and use it as a
source of moral guidance in their everyday lives, just as many
Europeans are familiar with Biblical texts and stories. For neither
group does knowledge of the good books necessarily imply
fundamentalist convictions, though in both groups there are people
for whom it does.
Turkey is that rare thing, a democratic Muslim country, because
Ataturk decreed that it should be so. Although he separated the
church from the state, he was so suspicious of clerics of all kinds
that he brought the church firmly under the state's control. He made
the Christians' Sunday into the day of rest, and nobody has suggested
that it revert to the Muslim holy day of Friday. The democratic
republic's Directorate of Religious Affairs decides where mosques
shall be built, employs their imams and on occasion tells them what
to preach. It also lays down rules on the sort of religious education
to be given in schools.
In recent years, Turkey has seen renewed interest in religion. Since
the 1980s and early 1990s, when Turgut Ozal was prime minister and
president, Ataturk's tight controls have been relaxed. Large numbers
of new mosques have been built, and the Islamic headscarf has
reappeared on the streets. In "The Turks Today", Mr Mango argues that
this resurgence of Islam parallels the resurgence of Christianity in
Europe after industrialisation. "As in Britain after the industrial
revolution," he says, "the revival of piety is easing the pain and
discomforts of Turkey's modernisation." It is also proving to be a
test of the monocultural republic's ability to accommodate diversity.
March 19, 2005
U.S. Edition
Which Turkey?
Not everyone sees the country with the same eyes
EUROPEANS' perceptions of Turkey are often shaped by the Turks they
know. In Germany, these tend to be the Gastarbeiter (guest workers)
who moved there in the 1960s to take up low-grade jobs that the
booming post-war economy could no longer fill from the domestic
labour market. Over 2m Turks came, and they were mostly honest,
hard-working and religious people. But they were economic refugees,
poor villagers from the east, not model citizens of Ataturk's
republic.
Many of their children, though, have moved on, to become anything
from prominent European parliamentarians to star European
footballers. One of them even married one of the sons of Helmut Kohl,
a former German chancellor. It is just the sort of transformation
that Ataturk would have wished for his countrymen.
Yet experience of the Gastarbeiter has left Germans in two minds
about Turkish entry into the EU. Their main worry is about a massive
further inflow of economic migrants. The Social Democrat-led
government of Chancellor Gerhard Schröder is generally supportive,
but the opposition Christian Democrats, led by Angela Merkel, have
vowed to do everything possible to wreck Turkey's application. A
federal election is due next year, with the outcome still wide open.
Even Mr Kohl, the Christian Democrat chancellor who was voted out in
1998, has spoken against Turkish membership, saying that he is
"convinced that Turkey will not fulfil the Copenhagen criteria".
These are the basic conditions for joining the EU, which lay down
that "membership requires that the candidate country has achieved
stability of institutions guaranteeing democracy, the rule of law,
human rights and respect for and protection of minorities."
France's perspective is very different. Many of Turkey's 19th-century
reforms, the tanzimat, were based on French laws, and Turkey's early
republican elite was educated in the French language in French
schools. As with Iran, disaffected members of that elite, including
members of the Armenian and Jewish minorities, headed first for
Paris. It is no coincidence that France is the only European country
other than Greece (which is particularly hostile to its eastern
neighbour) to have officially recognised the slaughter of Armenians
in the first world war as genocide. In 1998, the French National
Assembly decreed as much - a judgment the Turks maintain can be made
only by the International Court of Justice in The Hague.
Britain's relationship with Turkey is less burdened by history and
complexity. The British mostly meet bright young Turks who come to
their country to study, or chirpy hotel staff on their holidays in
resorts such as Bodrum and Marmaris. For them, Turkey is a young
place, full of promise. They rarely see headscarves, or the darker
side of Anatolia.
Britain's government looks on Turkey's entry into the EU as an
opportunity. It sees the country as a potential role model for Muslim
democracy, much as America's does. Not surprisingly, Britain and
America have been among the staunchest supporters of Turkey's
application to join the EU. Bringing economic and political stability
to a country described by one analyst as "the most geo-strategically
important piece of real estate in the world" is a grand goal, almost
on a par with bringing democracy to Iraq. But in some parts of the EU
America's support has not gone down well. When President George Bush
last year said yet again that the EU should start talks with Turkey
at once, France's president, Jacques Chirac, told him off for
interfering in things that were not his business.
All across Europe, though, people are worried about Turkish
membership. Many feel, like Mr Giscard d'Estaing, that Turkey is an
alien place whose people's values are incompatible with Europe's.
This concern is fed by all sorts of things: from schoolboy propaganda
about the Crusades and the Ottoman siege of Vienna to the views of
the Catholic Church and of historic Protestant leaders such as Martin
Luther, who described the Turks as "the people of the wrath of God".
That unease explains why relatively few people from northern Europe
choose to spend their winters in Turkey rather than, say, in Greece
or Spain. It also accounts for the defensive behaviour that Europeans
often unpack the moment they arrive on Turkish soil. In a recent
short story by Louis de Bernières, "A Day Out for Mehmet Erbil", the
(British) author tells of a long-drawn-out haggle he witnessed in
Gallipoli between a German tourist and a Turkish café-owner over the
price of a cup of tea: "A sum", says Mr de Bernières, "that in
Germany would not have bought a second-hand piece of chewing gum."
In essence, Europeans are bothered because 99% of Turkey's population
is Muslim. Benign ignorance of the youngest of the major religions
turned to fearful ignorance after September 11th 2001. Some Europeans
assume that all Turks pray five times a day, want to introduce sharia
law (so they can chop off people's hands) and frequently violate
their women.
The reality, of course, is that the vast majority of Turks practise
their religion in much the same matter-of-fact way as do Christians
in western Europe. Many can quote from the Koran and use it as a
source of moral guidance in their everyday lives, just as many
Europeans are familiar with Biblical texts and stories. For neither
group does knowledge of the good books necessarily imply
fundamentalist convictions, though in both groups there are people
for whom it does.
Turkey is that rare thing, a democratic Muslim country, because
Ataturk decreed that it should be so. Although he separated the
church from the state, he was so suspicious of clerics of all kinds
that he brought the church firmly under the state's control. He made
the Christians' Sunday into the day of rest, and nobody has suggested
that it revert to the Muslim holy day of Friday. The democratic
republic's Directorate of Religious Affairs decides where mosques
shall be built, employs their imams and on occasion tells them what
to preach. It also lays down rules on the sort of religious education
to be given in schools.
In recent years, Turkey has seen renewed interest in religion. Since
the 1980s and early 1990s, when Turgut Ozal was prime minister and
president, Ataturk's tight controls have been relaxed. Large numbers
of new mosques have been built, and the Islamic headscarf has
reappeared on the streets. In "The Turks Today", Mr Mango argues that
this resurgence of Islam parallels the resurgence of Christianity in
Europe after industrialisation. "As in Britain after the industrial
revolution," he says, "the revival of piety is easing the pain and
discomforts of Turkey's modernisation." It is also proving to be a
test of the monocultural republic's ability to accommodate diversity.