The ADgenda: this week's most offensive advert

Captain Morgan rum.

While it's easy to huff and puff over countless ads that portray woman as nothing more than a pretty, smiling shell hell-bent on her next Botox fix, we should spare a thought for man – who is routinely subjected to advertising stereotypes so Neanderthal that it's a wonder the menfolk of this world don't up sticks and shamble into the wilderness on all fours.

The sharp branding brains behind the rum brand Captain Morgan had a good old think about their latest ad, drawing inspiration from such modern visual masterpieces as WKD's "Missus Alert" (the gist: women are the enemy, go to ridiculous lengths to deceive them), and have come up with a particularly muddled little number.

So worn thin is this man v woman territory that the exec brainstorming session clearly got a little confused. As a result, we're left with an advert that is suffering from a massive identity crisis, the lad equivalent of bringing your best female friend down the pub on a Friday night.

A group of men are standing in a bar, smiling and congratulating each other. What could they have done? Found a cure for cancer? The brand's need to explain exactly what they're drinking by printing it in big letters on the glass – "Captain Morgan and cola" – suggests that these guys aren't concerning themselves with the knottier conundrums in life. No, they've successfully managed to slip out from under their girlfriends' watchful gazes for the evening, eluded the ol' ball and chains. So far, so predictable.

But here's where it gets a little muddy. The camera cuts to "the girlfriends", one of whom is in a bikini carrying a tray of cocktails back to a hot tub only to find that her man has gone; the next is about to cheekily slip into the shower to join her guy for soapsud frolics; finally, the last girlfriend is watching in a concerned fashion out of the window as what she presumes to be her boyfriend (but is actually a straw replica) goes round and round the garden on one of those sit-on lawnmowers, only to receive an almost heart-attack-inducing shock when "he" falls off and is mown to smithereens. As far as I can tell, all these women are beautiful, attentive and fun – yawn, get off my back with your delicious cocktails and constant desire to have sex with me.

Perhaps the message is that even if you're in an idyllic relationship, Captain Morgan will always tempt you away back into the arms of your brotherhood. It's "bros v hos" and these guys are definitely winning, the ad is telling us. So as the camera switches back to the men in their brightly lit, cheap and sterile surroundings, grinning inanely as they drink a toast – a drink so teeth-achingly sugary that it stays suspiciously still when the glasses are clinked – it's with an affectionate smile that we say to ourselves: "Ah, the male ideal." Men of this world, tune out.

A still from the Captain Morgan advert
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Erdogan’s purge was too big and too organised to be a mere reaction to the failed coup

There is a specific word for the melancholy of Istanbul. The city is suffering a mighty bout of something like hüzün at the moment. 

Even at the worst of times Istanbul is a beautiful city, and the Bosphorus is a remarkable stretch of sea. Turks get very irritated if you call it a river. They are right. The Bosphorus has a life and energy that a river could never equal. Spend five minutes watching the Bosphorus and you can understand why Orhan Pamuk, Turkey’s Nobel laureate for literature, became fixated by it as he grew up, tracking the movements of the ocean-going vessels, the warships and the freighters as they steamed between Asia and Europe.

I went to an Ottoman palace on the Asian side of the Bosphorus, waiting to interview the former prime minister Ahmet Davu­toglu. He was pushed out of office two months ago by President Recep Tayyip Erdogan when he appeared to be too wedded to the clauses in the Turkish constitution which say that the prime minister is the head of government and the president is a ceremonial head of state. Erdogan was happy with that when he was prime minister. But now he’s president, he wants to change the constitution. If Erdogan can win the vote in parliament he will, in effect, be rubber-stamping the reality he has created since he became president. In the days since the attempted coup, no one has had any doubt about who is the power in the land.

 

City of melancholy

The view from the Ottoman palace was magnificent. Beneath a luscious, pine-shaded garden an oil tanker plied its way towards the Black Sea. Small ferries dodged across the sea lanes. It was not, I hasten to add, Davutoglu’s private residence. It had just been borrowed, for the backdrop. But it reminded a Turkish friend of something she had heard once from the AKP, Erdogan’s ruling party: that they would not rest until they were living in the apartments with balconies and gardens overlooking the Bosphorus that had always been the preserve of the secular elite they wanted to replace.

Pamuk also writes about hüzün, the melancholy that afflicts the citizens of Istanbul. It comes, he says, from the city’s history and its decline, the foghorns on the Bosphorus, from tumbledown walls that have been ruins since the fall of the Byzantine empire, unemployed men in tea houses, covered women waiting for buses that never come, pelting rain and dark evenings: the city’s whole fabric and all the lives within it. “My starting point,” Pamuk wrote, “was the emotion that a child might feel while looking through a steamy window.”

Istanbul is suffering a mighty bout of something like hüzün at the moment. In Pamuk’s work the citizens of Istanbul take a perverse pride in hüzün. No one in Istanbul, or elsewhere in Turkey, can draw comfort from what is happening now. Erdogan’s opponents wonder what kind of future they can have in his Turkey. I think I sensed it, too, in the triumphalist crowds of Erdogan supporters that have been gathering day after day since the coup was defeated.

 

Down with the generals

Erdogan’s opponents are not downcast because the coup failed; a big reason why it did was that it had no public support. Turks know way too much about the authoritarian ways of military rule to want it back. The melancholy is because Erdogan is using the coup to entrench himself even more deeply in power. The purge looks too far-reaching, too organised and too big to have been a quick reaction to the attempt on his power. Instead it seems to be a plan that was waiting to be used.

Turkey is a deeply unhappy country. It is hard to imagine now, but when the Arab uprisings happened in 2011 it seemed to be a model for the Middle East. It had elections and an economy that worked and grew. When I asked Davutoglu around that time whether there would be a new Ottoman sphere of influence for the 21st century, he smiled modestly, denied any such ambition and went on to explain that the 2011 uprisings were the true succession to the Ottoman empire. A century of European, and then American, domination was ending. It had been a false start in Middle Eastern history. Now it was back on track. The people of the region were deciding their futures, and perhaps Turkey would have a role, almost like a big brother.

Turkey’s position – straddling east and west, facing Europe and Asia – is the key to its history and its future. It could be, should be, a rock of stability in a desperately un­stable part of the world. But it isn’t, and that is a problem for all of us.

 

Contagion of war

The coup did not come out of a clear sky. Turkey was in deep crisis before the attempt was made. Part of the problem has come from Erdogan’s divisive policies. He has led the AKP to successive election victories since it first won in 2002. But the policies of his governments have not been inclusive. As long as his supporters are happy, the president seems unconcerned about the resentment and opposition he is generating on the other side of politics.

Perhaps that was inevitable. His mission, as a political Islamist, was to change the country, to end the power of secular elites, including the army, which had been dominant since Mustafa Kemal Atatürk created modern Turkey after the collapse of the Ottoman empire. And there is also the influence of chaos and war in the Middle East. Turkey has borders with Iraq and Syria, and is deeply involved in their wars. The borders do not stop the contagion of violence. Hundreds of people have died in the past year in bomb attacks in Turkish cities, some carried out by the jihadists of so-called Islamic State, and some sent by Kurdish separatists working under the PKK.

It is a horrible mix. Erdogan might be able to deal with it better if he had used the attempted coup to try to unite Turkey. All the parliamentary parties condemned it. But instead, he has turned the power of the state against his opponents. More rough times lie ahead.

Jeremy Bowen is the BBC’s Middle East editor. He tweets @bowenbbc

This article first appeared in the 28 July 2016 issue of the New Statesman, Summer Double Issue