Marriage Guidance

The debate on same sex marriage has so far been dominated by its opponents.

More than half a million people have now signed the Coalition For Marriage's petition against the government's proposal to permit same-sex marriage.  For a campaign that didn't even exist a few months ago, it's an extraordinary achievement.  A rival petition supporting the equalisation of the marriage laws has attracted barely a tenth the number of signatures.

There have been signs in recent days that the campaign to prevent what had seemed a fait accompli is beginning to scent victory, at least in the battle for public opinion. The government remains committed to the reform, but in the wake of the coalition parties' poor showing in the local elections there has been a notable lack of enthusiasm for it, especially on the Tory benches.  Nadine Dorries spoke for more of her colleagues than usual the other day when she described same sex marriage the other day as a policy "pursued by the metro elite gay activists" that needs to be "put into the same bin" as Lords reform. "Gay marriage" has become a symbol of everything that the Conservative right hates about the coalition and about David Cameron's modernising agenda.  

There is, in fact, a persuasive logic to Cameron's conservative case for same-sex marriage.  With its history and moral weight, the word "marriage" has a magic that the newly invented status of civil partnership lacks.  To invite gay couples to participate in the institution is not only to offer them full acceptance (the "progressive" part).  It is also to ask them to embrace the traditional, and conservative, moral obligations of marriage.  At the same time, opening marriage to same-sex couples might give it new appeal to younger, liberal-minded heterosexuals currently suspicious of its historic baggage.

But the case has not been well made.  It doesn't help that the proposals themselves are illogical and badly thought-through, and would raise more anomalies than they solve.  By closing down options, for example refusing to countenance allowing heterosexual couples to enter civil partnerships, the March consultation document missed an opportunity for a genuine national debate on the nature of marriage and the state's role in registering it.  Declaring the policy already decided also generated a predictable backlash.  The impression of arrogance was not helped by Lynne Featherstone, the Lib Dem minister responsible, offering a "cast-iron guarantee" that the change would be introduced before the next election (a promise she repeated yesterday).  

Instead, opponents of changing the law have dominated the discussion.  Their greatest success has been in portraying the government's proposals as involving a fundamental redefinition of marriage.  Concentrating on the word rather than the substance presents the change as more radical than it actually is (from a practical point of view, the introduction of civil partnerships represented a much greater advance in the state's acceptance of same-sex relationships).  It also leads to some fairly reactionary arguments.  The Coalition For Marriage  states, for example, that marriage "reflects the complementary natures of men and women" -- a position not far removed from a demand that men go out to work while women stay at home looking after the kids.  The same suggestion was made in a letter from the Roman Catholic archbishops that was controversially circulated to Catholic schools.

Ironically, such an argument is itself an attempt to redefine marriage, or at least to return to an older definition.  Even understood as a relationship between one man and one woman, marriage has changed profoundly during the centuries, from being an institution based on the exchange of property and securing the legitimacy of children to one based on the mutual relationship of the spouses.  US Vice President Joe Biden encapsulated it well when he came out in support of same sex marriage at the weekend.   It was, he said, "a simple proposition -- who do you love?  And will you be loyal to the person you love? That's what all marriages at root are about."  This hasn't always been the case.

Rooting marriage in the difference between the sexes rather than their equality, as the Campaign for Marriage does, looks like an attempt to set the clock back.  This is why the issue of same sex marriage should not merely be of concern to gay people.   Opening marriage to homosexual couples isn't just a recognition that they are now a full part of society.  It's also a logical expression of the modern understanding of marriage as a partnership between equals.  

 

Same-sex statues on top of a wedding cake. Photograph: Getty Images
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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