Violent response: a woman demonstrating against the Soma mining disaster flees riot police tear gas, 22 May. Photo: Getty
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When safety gets privatised: Soma marks a new low for the Turkish government

Despite Erdogan’s claims that the disaster was on a par with any other international mining accident in the world since 1862, Turkey’s rate of mining deaths is shocking. 

Much of the anger that has enveloped Turkey since the Soma mining disaster has been directed at the government. “Prime minister, resign!” shout the crowds of protesters marching all over the country. In Istanbul, the day after the blast, I saw a young woman with a coal-smeared face holding a placard that read: “So it seems coal isn’t free.”

Here was a cynical message that got to the heart of Turks’ anger. It referred to something deeper and more serious than the spectacularly botched PR job of the prime minister’s visit to Soma, his insensitive cataloguing of 19th-century European mining disasters, his alleged slapping of a Soma local, the use of force by riot police on mourning relatives and the absence of apologies, resignations or explanations.

“Coal isn’t free” is a darkly significant statement in today’s Turkey. Recep Tayyip Erdogan’s government has made itself popular over its 11 years in power by declaring itself the champion of the masses and giving out bread, macaroni and coal to poor families – often in the run-up to elections.

At the same time, Erdogan’s Justice and Development Party (AKP) has thrown itself into an accelerating programme of privatisation. While government spokesmen boast of the billions of lira generated by these sales, the party’s critics accuse it of selling assets cheaply and strategically to sole
bidders and failing to check on workers’ standards afterwards. A statement from the four main Turkish unions shortly after the blast accused the government of complicity, for even privatising “the safety supervision in the workplace”.

The Soma mine was sold off in 2005 and Soma Holding now pays royalties to the government in the form of 15 per cent of its coal production. The mine still technically belongs to the state, which guarantees it will buy all the coal it produces, giving every incentive to ramp up output while cutting costs. In 2012, the owner of Soma Holding, Alp Gürkan, reportedly boasted that he had reduced the cost of extracting coal from £77 per tonne to £14. This was achieved through measures such as making electric transformers on site rather than importing them. Miners also say that the company employed cheap technical specialists who were not union members and failed to replace outdated equipment. When asked why the mine did not have a refuge chamber, Gürkan replied that it was not required by law.

Two weeks before the blast, the AKP majority rejected the opposition’s parliamentary proposal to look into safety standards at Soma, saying that the mine was perfectly satisfactory: “God willing, nothing will happen – not even a nosebleed.” The energy minister, Taner Yildiz, visited the Soma mine nine months ago and branded it “an example for other mines in Turkey”.

Despite Erdogan’s claims that the disaster was on a par with almost any other international mining accident in the world since 1862, Turkey’s rate of mining deaths is shocking: seven lives per million tonnes of coal, compared to China’s one life per million tonnes. In terms of general workplace deaths, Turkey is the third worst in the world.

The Soma disaster has been compounded by Erdogan’s clumsy response to public anger and the AKP’s zero-tolerance approach to criticism. A Turkish lawyer, who asked not to be named, said: “What has Turkey become? It feels like living in a central Asian dictatorship. It feels like Borat.”

Alev Scott is the author of “Turkish Awakening” (Faber & Faber, £14.99)

This article first appeared in the 21 May 2014 issue of the New Statesman, Peak Ukip

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The World Cup you’ve never heard of, where the teams have no state

At the Conifa world cup – this year hosted by the Autonomous Republic of Abkhazia – ethnic groups, diaspora communities and disputed territories will battle for footballing glory.

Football's European Championship and the Olympics are set to dominate the back pages over the next few months. How will Team GB fare in Rio? Will the zika virus stop the tournament even going ahead? Will the WAGS prove to be a distraction for the Three Lions? And can Roy Hodgson guide England to a long-awaited trophy?

But before the sprinters are in their blocks or a ball has been kicked, there's a world cup taking place.

Only this world cup is, well, a bit different. There's no Brazil, no damaged metatarsals to speak of, and no Germany to break hearts in a penalty shootout.  There’s been no sign of football’s rotten underbelly rearing its head at this world cup either. No murmurs of the ugly corruption which has plagued Fifa in recent years. Nor any suggestion that handbags have been exchanged for hosting rights.

This biennial, unsung world cup is not being overseen by Fifa however, but rather by Conifa (Confederation of Independent Football Associations), the governing body for those nations discredited by Fifa. Among its member nations are ethnic groups, diaspora communities or disputed territories with varying degrees of autonomy. Due to their contested status, many of the nations are unable to gain recognition from Fifa. As a consequence they cannot compete in tournaments sanctioned by the best-known footballing governing body, and that’s where Conifa provides a raison d’être.

“We give a voice to the unheard”, says Conifa’s General Secretary, Sascha Düerkop, whose world cup kicks off in the Autonomous Republic of Abkhazia at the end of this week.

“We are proud to give our members a forum where they can put themselves on the map.

“From that we hope to give back in the long run and invest in the football infrastructure in our member nations to help them grow.”

The two week footballing celebration starts with an opening ceremony before Kurdistan and Székely Land kick off the tournament. It follows on from 2014’s maiden competition which saw The County of Nice avenging a group stage defeat to Ellan Vannin from the Isle of Man, to take the spoils in the final via a penalty shoot-out.  There were some blowout scores of note however, with South Ossetia smashing Darfur 20-0 and Kurdistan beating the Tamils 9-0 at the event which took place in Östersund, Sweden. Neither of the finalists will be returning to the tournament – throwing down the gauntlet to another twelve teams. 

This, the second Conifa world cup, is testament to the ever-expanding global footprint of the tournament. Abkhazia will welcome sides from four continents – including Western Armenia, the Chagos Islands, United Koreans in Japan and Somaliland.

Despite the “minor” status of the countries taking part, a smattering of professional talent lends credibility to the event. Panjab can call on the experience of ex-Accrington Stanley man Rikki Bains at the heart of their defence, and the coaching savoir-faire of former Tranmere star Reuben Hazell from the dugout. Morten Gamst Pedersen, who turned out for Blackburn Rovers over 300 times and was once a Norwegian international, will lead the Sapmi people. The hosts complete the list of teams to aiming to get their hands on silverware along with Padania, Northern Cyprus, and Raetia.

A quick glance down said list, and it’s hard to ignore the fact that most of the nations competing have strong political associations – be that through war, genocide, displacement or discrimination. The Chagos Islands is one such example. An archipelago in the Indian Ocean, Chagos’ indigenous population was uprooted by the British government in the 1960s to make way for one of the United States' most strategically important military bases – Diego Garcia.

Ever since, they've been campaigning for the right to return. Their side, based in Crawley, has crowdfunded the trip to the tournament. Yet most of its members have never stepped foot on the islands they call home, and which they will now represent. Kurdistan’s efforts to establish an independent state have been well-highlighted, even more so given the last few years of conflict in the Middle East. The hosts too, broke away from Georgia in the 1990s and depend on the financial clout of Russia to prop up their government.

Despite that, Düerkop insists that the event is one which focuses on action on the pitch rather than off it. 

“Many of the nations are politically interested, but we are non-political,” he says. 

“Some of our members are less well-known in the modern world. They have been forgotten, excluded from the global community or simply are ‘unpopular’ for their political positions.

“We are humanitarians and the sides play football to show their existence – nothing more, nothing less.”

The unknown and almost novel status of the tournament flatters to deceive as Conifa’s world cup boasts a broadcast deal, two large stadiums and a plush opening ceremony. Its aim in the long run, however, is to develop into a global competition, and one which is content to sit below Fifa.

“We are happy to be the second biggest football organisation,” admits Düerkop.

“In the future we hope to have women’s and youth tournaments as well as futsal and beach soccer.”

“Our aim is to advertise the beauty and uniqueness of each nation.”

“But the most important purpose is to give those nations that are not members of the global football community a home.”

George Weah, the first African winner of Fifa World Player of the Year award remarked how “football gives a suffering people joy”.

And after speaking to Düerkop there’s certainly a feeling that for those on the game’s periphery, Conifa’s world cup has an allure which offers a shared sense of belonging.

It certainly seems light years away from the glitz and glamour of WAGs and corruption scandals. And that's because it is.

But maybe in a small way, this little-known tournament might restore some of beauty lost by the once “beautiful game”.