It has been 27 years since the Republic of Türkiye was rocked once again with a coup in its brief history. The “Postmodern coup,” as it was called, did not end up with the hangings of political leaders or youth as it did in the past coup. But the memories of this dark chapter are still fresh for millions, especially those whose lives took a sharp turn. Among them are women expelled from schools for wearing headscarves and men deemed “too conservative” to hold public sector jobs and fired. Others suffered threats and lengthy legal processes.
The path to the coup seemingly started after the Welfare Party (RP) formed a coalition government with the True Path Party (DYP) in 1996. It was the first time RP, overwhelmingly endorsed by conservative voters, took the reins in the country, something that irritated the secular elite accustomed to steering the governments based on their interests. The Turkish army, then still adhering to a tradition of self-claimed “tutelage” of Türkiye’s secular values, joined forces with the judiciary organs of the country in vehement opposition to what they called “reactionary forces” in power.
Actions of RP supporters and Prime Minister Necmettin Erbakan exacerbated the situation, such as an event in support of Palestine organized by an RP mayor and a regulation Erbakan planned to implement for freedom of wearing headscarves at universities. These actions were among “reactionary” activities for secular extremists, which perpetuated a witch hunt against conservative Muslims through media outlets. On the road to the coup, the intimidation escalated, such as a parade of tanks on the streets of Ankara's Sincan, where the pro-Palestine event was held and the suspension of the mayor on the same day. President Süleyman Demirel further escalated political tensions with thinly veiled barbs at the Erbakan-led government. Though Erbakan tried to de-escalate tensions with his statements, the all-too-powerful National Security Council (MGK) dominated by military brass was determined to oust the government.
On Feb. 28, 1997, the MGK held a lengthy meeting, which was also attended by Erbakan and Deputy Prime Minister Tansu Çiller, along with top names of the judiciary. An ensuing MGK declaration highlighted what it called “attempts by anti-regime elements trying to weaken the state.” It was later revealed that the military brass asked the government to implement a 20-article list, from the conversion of imam-hatip schools that also offers religious curriculum to blocking employment of soldiers expelled from the army for their ”reactionary background.” Erbakan did not sign the declaration, while Çiller tried to convince him not to draw the ire of the military. Ultimately, Erbakan stepped down from the post months later. When he resigned, RP was already facing a lawsuit for its closure by the Chief Prosecutor of the Supreme Court. Nevertheless, his resignation and formation of a new government without RP did not end the coup process. Erbakan and other RP politicians faced political bans while more people were removed from their public posts.
Yet the coup did not last “a thousand years,” as its proponents claimed. Only five years later, incumbent President Recep Tayyip Erdoğan, a protege of Erbakan, led the ruling Justice and Development Party (AK Party) to power and reverted the state’s policies toward the conservative people. Most famously, the AK Party lifted a headscarf ban in the public sector and schools.
The coup’s perpetrators faced a trial during AK Party rule, but Yasin Şamlı, head of Istanbul’s Second Bar Association, says putschists should be tried under a special “coup” law, not on charges of “attempting to overthrow the constitutional order.” Şamlı, who served as a lawyer for victims of the Feb. 28 coup, from headscarf-wearing students to civil servants, told Anadolu Agency (AA) ahead of the coup’s anniversary that the Turkish Penal Code should be amended for a harsher sentence for putschists. He noted that current laws mean putschists can be sentenced “like members of an ordinary armed gang,” but defining their status conclusively as putschists would aggravate the sentences and would eliminate the statute of limitations, that some putschists benefited from in their trials.
Engin Şahin is among the “indirect” victims of the coup process. The 44-year-old Şahin was attending an imam-hatip school before changes in the scoring system for university admission of graduates of those schools disrupted his future plans. Şahin, who lives in the eastern city of Erzurum, was forced to leave the school when his future prospects dimmed due to the new system that aimed to curb attendance at imam-hatip schools. Şahin, who graduated from the music department of Atatürk University in Erzurum, worked as a singer at public broadcaster TRT but always dreamed of working as a “muezzin,” a person who recites the Muslim call to prayer at mosques. When the state offered a chance to those who did not attend imam-hatip or higher institutions to become muezzins in 2012, he applied and finally achieved his dream. Şahin, who now serves at a mosque in Erzurum, said he wanted to forget “those days.”
He said he vividly remembers how news on TV portrayed children attending Quran classes at mosques as doing something bad “complete with background music straight out of horror films.” He said that dropping out of imam-hatip school took a toll on his mental health, but he always believed that he would do what he loved to be one day.
Sibel Açıkgöz, a science teacher expelled from her job for wearing a headscarf, remembers “bad memories” as she resumed her career a decade after the coup and eight years after she was fired. “I was just married back then. Fines were almost ‘raining down’ on me. They issued warnings, suspension of duty and all other sanctions. Finally, in 1999, they handed me an envelope. Inside was a notice saying that I had been fired. On a legal basis, it had nothing to do with what I wore. But I was already facing harassment. The (Ministry of Education) constantly sent inspectors to our school and I was facing investigation after investigation,” Açıkgöz told AA. The process drove her to depression, but Açıkgöz did not abandon her faith. “But some of my colleagues were forced to remove their headscarf and some were forced to wear a wig (to cover their head in line with religious duty). People kept telling me to ditch the headscarf so I could keep my job, but I refused,” she recalled.
Açıkgöz said her superiors scaled her because of her headscarf and could not forget a ministry inspector who almost “beamed” when he told her that her end “was near.” “You will be fired,” he told me,” she recounted.
