- Oct 3, 2018
- 3,316
The old Ottoman mansion that once belonged to a shipping magnate overlooked the Bosphorus with quiet dignity. Its ochre façade was partially shrouded by wisteria vines, and the sounds of the city and the dull hum of ferry horns, the murmur of distant prayer, seemed to recede the moment one stepped past the iron gate. It had become a private residence for former dignitaries, and tonight, it was silent but not empty.
Ayşe Çiller arrived without a security detail. A lone Range Rover pulled up along the cobblestone driveway and left without lingering. She wore a cream-colored trench coat and a navy headscarf loosely draped. In her hand, she carried nothing but a small handbag as she looked around to make sure no government agents followed her back here.
A discreet aide opened the door. Inside, the grand salon was softly lit, its tall windows open to the sea air. A fire crackled in the marble hearth despite the mildness of the spring night. There, seated by the fire with a book open on his lap, was Abdullah Gül. He wore a simple wool cardigan over a white shirt.
He rose to greet her. “Hoş geldiniz, Ayşe Hanım,” he said. “It’s been too long.”
“Too long, indeed,” she replied, allowing him to take her coat. “Thank you for meeting with me. I know we need to be careful now more than ever.”
He gestured to the armchairs near the fire. “It is always a pleasure to see you.” He said, walking her to the armchairs. Yes, the risks are great, but that is the life of statesmen.”
They sat down as a tray with two glasses of steaming çay placed before them. Ayşe sat on the edge of the weathered armchair, a glass of tea cradled in her hands.
"You know what the numbers are, better than I do," he said quietly, not looking at her. "The lira is in freefall. The shelves are empty in Mersin, and the Ministry blames the bourgeoisie instead of admitting we’ve got a structural collapse on our hands."
Ayşe said nothing for a moment. Her eyes were fixed on the chipped rim of her glass as she responded, "The regime has no answers, just slogans and scapegoats. That was always going to be the case."
Abdullah turned to face her. “It’s not just that they’re incompetent. It’s that they’re ideological to the point of cruelty. They’d rather watch the economy burn than admit their model failed.”
Ayşe looked up, her lips perched. “You’re not wrong.”
Abdullah leaned back in his chair as he continued, “And yet, somehow, the civil service and central bank governors have begun to finally push back. These are bureaucrats who’ve been silent for years. But they’re stirring now. And don’t think for a moment that it happened in a vacuum.”
She frowned slightly, but he went on, his tone softening. “Ayşe, you’ve given the pro-democracy camp a pulse again. Without that, the Kızılay would still be hiding behind protocol, pretending neutrality. You made resistance seem not just moral, but possible.”
Her gaze dropped as she set the glass down and leaned forward, elbows on her knees. “You give me too much credit.”
“No,” he replied flatly. “I don’t give you enough.”
She offered a weary smile. “If the movement is breathing, it’s because of what we have all built together. You and Recep held it through the worst years, when everyone else either defected or fled. Don’t pretend you were some bystander in all this.”
He looked at her for a long moment, something unresolved flickering in his eyes. With a nod, he conceded, “Yes,” he said. “We fought when all others became either complicit or complacent, but we could never mobilize such a social resistance. Ayşe, you managed to light it again.
Ayşe looked at him for a long moment before speaking. “I want your advice, Beyefendi. And more than that, I want your help.”
Abdullah did not react, not at first. He merely waited.
“I was approached several weeks ago by the military. To be transparent with you, Beyefendi, there is a plan taking shape, a coup d’état, against the communist regime.”
At that, Abdullah’s brow furrowed slightly, but he said nothing.
“They assure me they do not wish to rule. They promise to transfer power to a technocratic and civilian government, followed by general elections. I believe them. Or…I want to believe them.”
Abdullah inhaled slowly. “You know my history with the military. They once told us we were a threat to the Republic. That Islam in politics was a virus.”
“I know,” Ayşe said quietly. “But this is different. The communists have dismantled the judiciary, imprisoned thousands, including honorable men like Erdoğan. They’ve targeted imams and generals, and now poets and teachers. No society can breathe under that.”
“I am not defending them,” Abdullah replied, his voice measured. “But neither am I quick to endorse the return of tanks to the streets. Once they come, they rarely leave without taking something.”
He turned, slowly. “Tell me how placing our future in the hands of a fragmented officer corps, driven by ideology, ambition, and old grudges, is fair to the people who march for democracy in Konya,, who’ve buried their dead in Sivas, who still send their children to banned islamic schools hoping they’ll grow up free.”
Ayşe looked at Abdullah and could only give a weak nod. “And if we don’t accept the military’s role, what alternative do you propose? The communists still control the state security forces. The GMK is purging what’s left of the civil service that’s loyal to the Republic. The army and their faction people, whatever else they are, understand that we don’t have the luxury of waiting for ideal conditions.”
“It looks like you have already decided,” Abdullah said almost in defeat.
“No.” Ayşe said, “I’ve come to ask your advice Beyefendi.”
He was quiet for a moment. “I have never seen a military willingly give back power. I do not think that the military can solve all of our problems, and I fear they will open new ones for this country.”
“I won’t lie to you. Some of them have not changed.” Ayşe sai,d acknowledging Abdullah’s points. “But they are guided by a love for this country and they recognize that this current regime is poisoing our beloved nation.”
Abdullah’s eyes darkened slightly. “You know what they say, that Türkiye is a military with a state, not a state with a military. The temptation never really dies for the military to make the state subservient to them. I do not condone this regime, but the one successful thing they did is make the military subservient to the state.”
“I’m not asking you to trust them.” Ayşe said looking at Abdullah, “I’m asking you to help us create a country where they no longer hold the temptation. A republic that embraces the love we are taught from our faith, that embellishes its rich national history, and is guided by reason and the philosophy that Turks are destined for greatness.”
He looked at her, the firelight catching in his eyes. “Do you think it can be done without tanks? Without violence? The communists won with mass protest, with worker strikes, with martyrs. Why can’t we do the same?”
“I don’t know,” she admitted. “But I know that if the people are given something to believe in, then we can shake the core of this regime. Yet, history shows that authoritarian regimes, when facing the threat of revolution, have never willingly left power.”
A moment passed. Then another.
“The reason why I have come, Abdullah Bey. If this revolution is to end, if we are to move beyond what we’ve suffered, we must do it differently. We must not use their collapse to dominate the government. We need true compassion. Not revenge. Not hegemony.”
Abdullah looked at her. “And what is it you’re asking of me?”
“I want you to consider running for President. A national unity figure. Someone who has a vision for a just and fair Türkiye. Someone who advocates for a democratic Türkiye. Someone who can bring people together.”
“You give me too much credit.” Abdullah said with a chuckle.
“No,” Ayşe said definitely. “You were a voice of reason when others clamored for purity. Your early work in the Refah Party on reform, democratization, and outreach was an inspiration. You believed that Islam and democracy could coexist, not because you were forced to say it, but because you believed it. That voice is missing today.”
Abdullah exhaled. “Ayşe Hanım, I have watched from the sidelines while you have transformed the CHP, against every expectation, became the conscience of this broken land. You stood for principles when others sought only power. Believe me, your courage did not go unnoticed.”
There was a long silence. Only the fire cracked, and the distant call to prayer floated across the water.
“Beyefendi, I am asking you because I truly believe that this country needs is not someone guided by power but by love and conviction.” She said plainly. “Türkiye needs a man whom it can rely on, and I can think of no better person.”
Abdullah shook his head. “I can not take a position which the people have not elected me for… especially if it is being handed to me by the military.”
Ayşe realized that her words may have been misinterpreted and immediately corrected herself. “Beyefendi, please, I would never insulate that.” She said, placing her tea down on the tray. “I am asking you to run after we transition into free and fair elections.” She said, looking at him. “I believe that whatever happens will be the litmus test for whether we succeed or fail as a country.”
“I need to ask,” Abdullah continued. “If I run, what does this mean for the Refah Party? I appreciate you coming to me, but I doubt the CHP will accept you giving us the ability to run uncontested. I also hope you aren’t asking us to end our ambitions for parliament?
“No,” Ayşe replied. “You would run independently. If the CHP wins the parliamentary election,s it is not my intention to dominate all levels and services of government. When we have the chance, we will propose a constitutional convention and invite all the parties to participate before placing it for a referendum.”
Abdullah nodded thoughtfully. “A Second Republic, of sorts.”
“Yes.” Ayşe said, thinking about it.”
“If the Refah Party wins,” Abdullah began with, “Please know that irrespective of this conversation, we would’ve extended the same courtesy to you. If there is one thing I’ve learned, it is that domination only breeds extremism and resentment. Our political history is smeared with men who believe the path to salvation is absolutism.” He placed down his teacup. “However, the political fabric of this country should be a reminder that it can not be stretched to contain absolutism.”
“I appreciate your willingness to speak Abdullah Bey.” Ayşe said with a smile.
“Not at all Ayşe begum,” Abdullah responded with a smile. “I wish not all our conversations required a reason.” He let out a chuckle.
“I pray that soon enough we will have that freedom,” Ayşe said, checking her watch realizing it was late into the evening. “Forgive me for taking you away from your evening prayers and for taking all of your time.”
“Not at all my dear,” Abdullah said standing up to lead her out.”
Ayşe stood. “Thank you, Beyefendi. We should speak again soon.” She said waiting by the door.”
“Of course.” Abdullah said. “I’ll be speaking in Konya later this week, I think it’d be a good opportunity for us to do a joint rally.”
“I appreciate that…let’s get something in the works for sure.” Ayşe said with a smile before giving a wave as she left through the doors of Abdullah’s house. She got into her Range Rover and drove away into the Ankara streets at night.
