Turkish musicians, from guitar players to violin virtuosos,
are putting down their instruments as a wave of political censorship sweeps the
industry.
Dozens of concerts and music festivals have been
canceled in recent months by loyalists of the ruling Justice and Development
Party (AKP). Consistent with President Recep Tayyip Erdogan’s agenda, the cancellations
are part of a larger trend aimed at shaping a cultural narrative to the
president’s liking.
But music always has a way of finding an audience.
Bans will only increase the appeal.
It is not hard to see these cancellations as
politically motivated. In June, the Kazdagi ecofest, organized annually by the
Mount Ida Association for the Preservation of Natural and Cultural Resources,
was stopped by Balikesir’s governor, who claimed that it might lead to forest
fires. Festival organizers protested, calling the decision “immoral”.
In July, the 20th Munzur Culture and Nature Festival
was called off after the governor’s office in Tunceli banned two prominent
activist artists from performing.
Then in August, political roadblocks halted the
Million Fest in Fethiye, one of the biggest music festivals in Turkey. The
region’s governor said the festival would cause an ecological imbalance, an
outlandish claim given the government’s track record of destroying the
environment.
Most cities where festivals have been canceled are
not under the jurisdiction of the ruling AKP. Instead, they are run by the
opposition. That is why it has been the valilik, or governorship, that issued
cancellation orders. Valilik’s are appointed by the president and are
representatives of the state.
What angers Turks most is the double standard
applied to canceling events. Nature festivals and folk concerts are too risky,
Turks are told. But in July 2020, an estimated 350,000 people attended the
opening of the Hagia Sophia mosque in Istanbul. That event was deemed safe,
despite the fact that it occurred during pandemic restrictions, and Erdogan
himself attended.
In Turkey, where polarization has reached an all-time high, a song is not just a song, a concert is not just a concert. The musical tug of war between the opposition and AKP is about how art and culture reaffirms, or challenges, political agendas.
Some non-profit organizations, mostly with religious
affiliations, have been fanning the flames of the cancellation craze. In the city
of Sanliurfa, the Dini Gorevliler Birligi, a confederation of religious
employees, rallied for the cancellation of a concert by Turkish rock group
Zakkum because, according to the Quran, a Zaqqum is a tree that “springs out of
the bottom of hell”.
Similarly, the Corum branch of Diyanet-Sen, a union
for the workers of the Turkish directorate of religious affairs, called for the
cancellation of a concert of pop singer Aleyna Tilki because she’s an advocate
for the LGBTQ+ community.
The inclusion of non-governmental voices in the
conversation has raised questions about the level of public support for the
government’s moves.
The AKP has a history of enforcing its conservative
values, and the recent arrest of Gulsen, a chart-topping Turkish singer, is a
case in point. After making a snide comment about graduates of Imam Hatip
religious schools, Gulsen was arrested and is being kept under house arrest as
she awaits trial. Prosecutors are seeking a three-year sentence.
The most alarming aspect, however, is how the
enforcement of conservative beliefs empowers the country’s religious
extremists. After the cancellation of the Million Fest — the 14th festival to
be called off this year — a member of the Defense of Islam movement, alleged
that organizations like his were shaping public opinion and saving people from
immorality.
Similar claims were made after the government called
off a planned concert in Ankara with K-pop group Mirae, a show that was
originally scheduled by the Ministry of Culture and Tourism.
It is not clear if AKP is caving to pressure from
religious groups like Defense of Islam, but even the perception of doing so is
risky. The last time the government openly supported groups with a religious
agenda in the shape of the Gulen movement, it ended in an attempted coup.
The group’s leader Fethullah Gulen and his followers
were once the government’s allies, but today the movement is classified as a
terrorist organization.
Music is a force that binds people together. It can
also form the backbone of anti-government opposition. On September 9, nearly
two million fans traveled to Izmir to hear megastar Tarkan perform in
celebration of the city’s centennial. Not only is Izmir an opposition
stronghold, Tarkan’s support for local issues that challenge AKP interests has
positioned the singer as a voice of the opposition.
None of this sits well with the ruling party or its
supporters. Tarkan’s song, “Geccek” (It’ll Pass), which debuted in February and
has been viewed more than 67 million times on YouTube, has been dubbed an
anthem for the opposition — “Everything has an end, and this suffering will
end…. Beautiful days are coming.”
It has also made him a target of death threats.
In Turkey, where polarization has reached an
all-time high, a song is not just a song, a concert is not just a concert. The
musical tug of war between the opposition and AKP is about how art and culture
reaffirms, or challenges, political agendas.
But targeting music and banning public gatherings,
while designed to drive a wedge between Turkish voters, could have the opposite
effect. As anyone who has ever swayed in unison with strangers at a concert
knows, music has a power that unites more often than it divides.
Alexandra de Cramer is a journalist based in
Istanbul. She reported on the Arab Spring from Beirut as a Middle East
correspondent for Milliyet newspaper. Her work ranges from current affairs to
culture, and has been featured in Monocle, Courier Magazine, Maison Francaise,
and Istanbul Art News. Syndication Bureau.
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