New Statesman contributor from Turkey threatened by pro-government media

Ece Temelkuran is targeted for having criticised Erdogan's response to the #OccupyGezi protests.

Ece Temelkuran is one of Turkey's best-known writers: a journalist, a novelist - and a contributor to the New Statesman. She has also been a long-time critic of what she sees as the increasingly authoritarian behaviour of Recep Tayyip Erdogan's government.

When the #OccupyGezi protests erupted in Istanbul on 28 May, soon spreading to the rest of the country, Temelkuran was at the forefront of voices condemning the government's heavy-handed response. Writing in the NS, she noted:

The protests that have now engulfed the country may have begun in Gezi Park in Taksim, the heart of Istanbul. It was never just about trees, but the accumulation of many incidents. With the world's highest number of imprisoned journalists, thousands of political prisoners (trade unionists, politicians, activists, students, lawyers) Turkey has been turned into an open-air prison already. Institutional checks and balances have been removed by the current AKP government's political manoeuvres and their actions go uncontrolled.

But for speaking out, Temelkuran - along with several other prominent journalists - has been subjected to a hate campaign from media loyal to the governing Justice and Development Party (AKP), and from AKP supporters. On 18 June, the conservative daily newspaper Yeni Safak published a piece headlined "Losers' Club", which singled out government critics including Temelkuran:

 

 

On 21 June, a columnist for another government-friendly newspaper, the Star Gazette, accused Temelkuran of calling for "revolution", and of having told her Twitter followers: "The UN must intervene in Turkey". Temelkuran tells me that both these claims are untrue.

Beyond this, there has been a co-ordinated campaign against Temelkuran on social media, carried out by the AKP's youth wing. Under the hashtag #SenOde ("You pay for it"), pictures of buses destroyed during the #OccupyGezi protests have been circulated next to a distorted photo of Temelkuran, implying that she is personally responsible for the costs of the damage.

 

 

A photo of Temelkuran covered with the words "Never Forget" has also been circulated.

 

 

This campaign, which appears to be co-ordinated, goes beyond the limits of acceptable debate, particularly in the current context. Turkey is ranked 154th out of 179 countries in the 2013 World Press Freedom Index compiled by Reporters Without Borders. It was named the "world's worst jailer of journalists" by the Committee to Protect Journalists, who identified 232 imprisoned journalists as of December 2012. Several prominent journalists have been assassinated in recent years, notably the writer Hrant Dink.

In the past few weeks, other journalists have experienced similar treatment to Temelkuran, including Amberin Zaman and Ceyda Karan.

 

 

We oppose the attempts to intimidate them into silence.

The author and journalist Ece Temelkuran.

Daniel Trilling is the Editor of New Humanist magazine. He was formerly an Assistant Editor at the New Statesman.

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Donald Trump's cartoon nuclear rhetoric draws on a culture of American jingoism

Senior Republicans avoided condemning Trump's incendiary speech, and some endorsed it. 

From recent headlines, it seems as though Donald Trump isn't content with his Emmy-by-proxy. The US president told the United Nations General Assembly this week: “The United States has great strength and patience, but if it is forced to defend itself or its allies, we will have no choice but to totally destroy North Korea.” Trump’s speech raised eyebrows for its bellicose tone, especially when contrasted with his predecessor’s endorsement of a war-averse approach. 

A widely circulated image of Trump's chief of staff John Kelly with his head in his hand might suggest that most listeners loathed the speech. But Trump said many outrageous things on the campaign trail and voters - at least a critical number of them - agreed. So how did his words go down at home? 

My contacts in international security were unwilling to go on the record condemning it. They were mainly Americans in their twenties, hoping for a government job one day, and fearful of saying anything that could be interpreted as "un-American".

The one person who would speak to me asked for their name to withheld. A former military analyst in the US Department of Defence, they told me that “the US has the military capability and legal responsibility to address threats to itself or allies". What Trump said, they suggested, should be seen in the context of the wider US institutions. "While Trump may have advocated for isolation in the past, the political and military forces he leads are built to enforce the adherence to international law and regional security," the former analyst said. "They provide a real counterweight to the bombast in Pyongyang.”

Trump's speech may have been colourful - his nickname for the North Korean leader Kim Jong-un, "Rocket Man", is a reference to Elton John’s mid-Cold War musical hit – but the speech should be seen as yet another reassertion of US military dominance. North Korea may boast of its Inter-Continental Ballistic Missile (ICBM) development,  but its arsenal is simply not well-equipped enough to present the same existential threat to the US that the USSR did at its peak. 

Rather than lacking comprehension, the analyst said of the speech: “Trump's rhetoric is intended to galvanise recognition that the current rules based order is threatened by North Korea's actions”.

Trump’s jingoism is not unique amongst the current American elite. Back in 1983, in his book, The Wizards of Armageddon, the liberal journalist Fred Kaplan characterised the hawkish US military strategy as simply ejaculating combative statements without a long-term plan. Kaplan quoted Herman Kahn, one of the early nuclear strategists, who called one proposal targeting the USSR a “war orgasm”. 

The US Senate recently passed a defence policy bill to increase military spending to $700bn, which includes $8.5bn for missile defence purposes. Overtly catastrophic language, meanwhile, has long been a staple of US foreign policy debates. In 2015, Trump's rival for the Republican presidential nomination, Ted Cruz, made headlines when he vowed to carpet-bomb Isis until he found out "if sand can glow in the dark". While most leading Republicans chose to stay silent after Trump's speech, a few, such as Paul Ryan and Rand Paul, publicly endorsed the message. Cruz, despite the rivalry, was among them. 

On social media, the American public are vocally divided. Some called for Trump to be denounced for his inflammatory speech, but others tweeted #MakeAmericaGreatAgain. Even some Trump sceptics agreed that the North Korea “nuclear summer” needed to be kept in check.

By contrast, overseas listeners have perceived the speech, and this administration’s foreign policy, as unnecessarily incendiary. Matt Korda, a Canadian research assistant on strategic stability at the UK-based Centre for Science and Security Studies,  told me: “Kim Jong-un perceives his nuclear weapons to be the only thing guaranteeing his regime's survival”.

“He will never give them up, no matter how much Trump threatens him," Korda added. “On the contrary: Trump's threat to ‘totally destroy’ the entire country (including millions of innocent and oppressed civilians) will only tighten Kim's grip on his nuclear weapons”.

The effects of Trump’s speech are yet to fully play out, but it is clear that his words have rallied at least a section of American society, and rankled everyone else. The Donald may seem to be mirroring the culture of nuclear recklessness his North Korean opponent helped to create, but this is also the kind of hostile and hyperbolic rhetoric which fuelled his rise to power. In reality, once Trump’s unpleasant vernacular is decoded, he can be seen to be echoing the same global view that has long pervaded the collective American consciousness. Trump's speech was not addressed at his UN doubters, but rather at his domestic fan base and his allies in the South Pacific. This is not a shift in US foreign policy - it is tradition with a spray-tan.

 

 

Anjuli R. K. Shere is a 2016/17 Wellcome Scholar and science intern at the New Statesman