Why Recep Tayyip Erdoğan’s grip on power survives—and what it costs ordinary Turks.
In the summer heat of Istanbul, crowds still find their way to the squares. Some hold faded party flags; others just stand there, silent. They’ve learned that shouting can land you in jail. Yet they come. Because somewhere under the slogans and fear, a memory of democracy still flickers.
The Strongman’s Bargain
Just days after protesters filled Turkey’s streets to oppose another crackdown, Recep Tayyip Erdoğan was photographed smiling beside Donald Trump at the White House. Behind that photo was a price: orders for Boeing planes, F-16s, and a 20-year deal to buy U.S. liquefied natural gas.
That image—one leader grinning, the other calculating—captured Erdoğan’s method perfectly. He trades what the West needs most—location, soldiers, stability—for what he needs most: silence.
Europe Looked the Other Way
Back in 2016, the European Union handed Ankara €6 billion to keep millions of Syrian refugees from crossing into Europe. In return, Europe delayed a human-rights report that would have embarrassed Erdoğan. That was the lesson: if Turkey delivered on Europe’s interests, Europe would politely avert its eyes.
Since then, Turkey’s value has only grown. When Russia invaded Ukraine, Erdoğan became the only NATO leader who could still call both Moscow and Kyiv. Turkish-built drones flew over Ukrainian skies. A Turkish-engineered munitions plant opened in Texas. Even the EU’s SAFE defense initiative now includes Ankara.
The Politics of Respectability
Western politicians line up for photo opportunities—Keir Starmer in Ankara, Friedrich Merz praising “deepened partnership.” Each handshake buys Erdoğan a little more legitimacy back home, even as opposition mayors and journalists fill the prisons.
In March, Istanbul’s mayor and Erdoğan’s chief rival, Ekrem İmamoğlu, was arrested again—this time accused of “political espionage.” Ten other opposition mayors followed. Protests continued, but Erdoğan didn’t blink. He didn’t have to. His allies abroad kept calling him “indispensable.”
A Democracy on Hold
Erdoğan once rose on promises to fight corruption, reduce poverty, and expand freedoms. For a few years he even delivered; Turkey began E.U. accession talks in 2005. But two decades later, the economy is brittle, the middle class is exhausted, and dissent costs careers—or worse.
Yet Europe and America keep doing business. They justify it as “strategic necessity.” In practice, it’s moral outsourcing: let Turks pay the democratic price while the West secures its borders and energy routes.
The Human Cost
For ordinary Turks, the bargain feels cruelly simple. Prices climb, freedoms shrink, and the same faces rule. Young engineers emigrate to Germany. Shopkeepers in Konya whisper that “politics is dangerous again.” Mothers hide their sons’ social-media posts.
The West may see Erdoğan as a stabilizing partner. Turks see a man who made the world’s approval his armor.
At its core, this is not only Erdoğan’s story—it’s Europe’s and America’s too.
When democracies excuse authoritarianism for convenience, they don’t just lose moral ground abroad. They train their own citizens to believe that principles are negotiable.
Somewhere in Istanbul, a protester still holds a flag in the dark. It’s not the noise of defiance that matters anymore. It’s the persistent.
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