The Crescent and the Eagle

[Jay]

Private​

To The Honorable Senators Robert Jones and Susan Anderson.

Dear Senators Jones and Anderson,

As proud Turkish-Americans and constituents who deeply value the principles of democracy, we write to you with grave concern about the deteriorating state of democratic institutions in Türkiye. The government’s increasing authoritarianism, marked by the erosion of judicial independence, suppression of opposition voices, and curtailment of media freedoms, threatens not only the future of Türkiye but also the broader struggle for democratic values worldwide.

California is home to one of the largest and most vibrant Turkish-American populations in the United States. Our community includes professionals, students, entrepreneurs, engineers, and academics who enrich the state's cultural, economic, and intellectual life. Turkish Americans in California have contributed to the advancement of technology in Silicon Valley, groundbreaking research in leading universities such as Stanford and UCLA, and a thriving small business sector. Through restaurants, festivals, and cultural institutions, we help bring the richness of Turkish heritage into California’s diverse fabric.

Our presence here reflects the deep and historic relationship between the United States and Türkiye. Diplomatic ties were first established in 1831, and Turkey has a loyal NATO ally until its dissolution in 1995, supporting US forces in Iraq, Korea, and in the defense against communism. It has remained a key player in the region for decades. The relationship has long been grounded in mutual interests, shared strategic goals, and people-to-people connections. from educational exchange programs to robust economic ties.

Türkiye was once seen as a hopeful example of secular democracy in the Muslim world. Today, however, it is slipping dangerously toward one-party rule under a regime that continues to silence dissent, arrest journalists, and manipulate elections. This political trajectory is undermining the will of the Turkish people and poses serious consequences for regional stability.

We urge you to raise this issue publicly and persistently. The United States must not remain silent. Our country has long stood as a beacon of liberty, and that moral leadership is more critical now than ever. If we do not champion democratic values abroad, especially in nations with which we have strong historical and strategic ties, we risk ceding that leadership to authoritarian models being advanced in various parts of the world.

It is deeply troubling to see governments like those in Türkiye embrace increasingly centralized control while disregarding democratic norms. If the U.S. fails to stand firm, we may lose our voice to other global powers and ideologies that offer a far less free and open vision of the future.

If America, the arsenal of democracy and the leader of the free world, cedes ground to a rising, Thai-led socialist order, it risks forfeiting the very foundation upon which global freedom and stability rest. In the absence of U.S. leadership, authoritarian ideologies will fill the vacuum, threatening individual liberty, economic openness, and regional peace. As President Ronald Reagan once said, "Freedom is never more than one generation away from extinction. It must be fought for, protected, and handed on." If we retreat from that responsibility now, we may find ourselves in a world where neither freedom nor peace can endure.

We respectfully request that you:

• Speak out against the suppression of democracy in Türkiye in the Senate and in public forums.
• Speak with the President to formulate a plan to support the pro-democracy movement and restore democratic norms to Türkiye
• Support legislative efforts that support economic development programs for Türkiye while tying U.S. foreign aid and arms sales to the protection of democratic standards and human rights.
• Advocate for stronger diplomatic pressure on the Turkish government to restore political freedoms, including the release of political prisoners and free, fair elections.

Thank you for your attention to this urgent matter. We remain hopeful that with your leadership, the United States will continue to inspire and support those who strive for freedom and democratic governance around the world.

Sincerely,
Turkish American National Steering Committee (TASC), Atatürk Society of America (ASA), National Coalition of Turkish American Women Political Action Committee (NC-TAW PAC), American Turkish Political Action Committee (ATPAC)

Odinson

 

[Odinson]

Public​

Both senators Robert Jones and Susan Anderson were relatively new Democratic senators from the State of California who were trying to make names for themselves and become permanent figures in American politics. Because they were both United States Senators and from America's most populace state, they did have a large platform to speak from. Both senators spoke on the floor of the Senate about the state of Turkey. Senator Jones took the more hardline approach of saying that the United States should have never allowed a communist government to arise in Turkey after all of the effort that the allies went through the liberate Turkey from its former dictatorship in the early 2000s. Senator Anderson more directly stated that the United States should now be making efforts to directly help push forward the moderate, democratic, secular supporters in Turkey who could make the country a modern, functioning, republic that could be more friendly to the West and, therefore, the United States.

Senator Anderson took a more nuanced approach to the topic because, in part, she was on the United States Senate Committee on Foreign Relations. This was one of the most coveted committees in the Senate and held significant power in congress when it came to shaping American foreign policy. For example, she was not only part of a Senate committee that could call on witnesses to testify before congress, but she was also read in on classified briefings from American security agencies when it came to global events. She had a more intimate knowledge of what was going on in Turkey than Senator Jones. For a week, Senator Anderson continued to push the situation in Turkey in the Senate and the press. This started to get the attention of other members of congress as well as the mainstream media who began running stories on the situation in Turkey domestically. Slowly, the American public started to become more informed on what was happening in Turkey.

Secret​

Senator Anderson was able to steal fifteen minutes with President Sinclair when he was visiting the Capitol Building in Washington D.C. It wasn't a secret that President Sinclair preferred to focus on matters at home and that the international community was taking a backseat to his domestic agenda, but Sinclair was still protective of the Gore Administration's legacy and democratic principles. Not long after that meeting, President Sinclair directed the Secretary of State to make a public statement condemning the communist Turkish government's statements about a collegiate debate in Poland over current events in Turkey. He also directed the National Security Council to properly brief him on the current state of events in Turkey and what the United States could do to support the democratic elements there.

Jay

 

[Odinson]

Secret​

It did not take long before the FBI and the CIA became aware of the message that had been sent to Senator Susan Anderson. By federal law, the CIA was forbidden from conducting operations within the borders of the United States unless it was assisting another federal agency or if it was working on conjunction with another federal agency. The FBI and the CIA, in a rare feat of cooperation, decided to work together domestically since they were working on completing a mission directly ordered by the President. The FBI and the CIA very carefully set up a meeting with representatives of the Atatürk Society of America (ASA). In this meeting, the two American individuals (one of whom was an undercover FBI agent and the other who was a CIA operative) presented themselves as members of a front political action committee that was registered as, "Democracy First USA," AKA, DF-USA. They would explain that they had a reasonable amount of influence on members of the Foreign Relations Committee in the Senate.

As the meeting would go on, if it did happen in the first place, they would ask ASA if they could set up an encrypted discussion between high-ranking secular-democratic representatives from Turkey and high-ranking American diplomatic officials. It was implied that DF-USA could bring in some big players from the State Department to the discussion if ASA could bring in some heavy hitters from the secular-democratic leadership in Turkey.

Jay

 

[Jay]

Secret​

It was a heavy August afternoon in the capital of the United States. The air lay thick after the early morning showers. The trees along Massachusetts Avenue brushed against the wind, swaying back and forth, flanking the suburban houses around it. The red brick home that housed the Atatürk Society of America. Inside, behind a desk littered with newspapers and a tablet, sat Nurgul Kalyoncu Balimtas. Her eyes are fixed on the screen. A news headline read: “Kılıçdaroğlu’ya Veda mı?” (“A Farewell to Kılıçdaroğlu?”)

Nurgul exhales as she keeps the phone close to her ear. “So it’s confirmed?” She asked. The voice on the phone responded. “Yes...It looks like it. He’ll announce it in a few days. They’re just finalizing the statement. He says it’s time.”

Nurgul laughed in disbelief. “Time? The old bastard led us into this mess by joining those zealots. Now he’s walking away while the house still burns?”

The voice on the other end responded. “It wasn’t all his fault. But you know how this party eats its own when things go bad.”

Nurgul shook her head. “He should never have put himself in bed with the communists. This is a move in the right direction, the party must evolve if we are ever to reclaim democracy back home.” Nurgul said with a sigh as there was a soft knock at the door. Nurgul looked up and said, “Mehmet, thanks for the call. Let’s talk again later.” She said, closing the phone as she looked at the door. “Come in,” Nurgul said. Her secretary, Elifsu, stepped in with a clipboard.

Elifsu brushed her golden hair away from her face as she looked at her boss. “Hanımefendi, the representatives from Democracy First USA,. Mr. Walsh and a Ms. DeWitt are here.”

Nurgul nodded. “Teşekkür ederim, Elifsu. Please, bring them to the guest room.” She said, picking up the phone and ending the call. Nurgul straightened her jacket and stood up, brushing her pants before walking to the guest room. There she saw the two Americans sitting in the room with Elifsu.

Nurgul walked into the room smiling, her heels giving soft thumps against the carpeted wooden floor. “Hello Mr. Walsh and Ms. Dewitt,” Nurgul said, extending her hand. “I’m Nurgul Kalyoncu Balimtas. It’s good to finally meet you both.

Thank you for having us, Miss Balimtas” Edward said in his American accent. Lucie then spoke, “It is an honor, Miss Balitmas, thank you for making the time.”

“Oh please, call me Nurgul,” Nurgul said as she looked at Elifsu. “Please bring us some tea and water for our guests.” Edward and Lucie could see the lady who had brought them in nod before she left the room.

Nurgul gestured to the two Americans to be comfortable as she opened her notepad engraved with the six arrows of Kemalism.

“I had a look at your Democracy First page. I must admit, for such a young and modestly sized group, I was surprised by the influence you seem to command, and the reach you claim.” She spoke with a gentle smile, leaning back slightly in her chair, the fabric creaking softly beneath her.

A moment later, Elifsu returned to the room, her footsteps quiet against the polished wooden floor. She carried a silver tray, the porcelain teacups on it clinking lightly with each step. She placed the cups before each of them, the delicate floral patterns catching the light. Then came the sweets, glossy lokum dusted with powdered sugar, nestled beside golden-brown baklava glistening with syrup. She arranged them neatly on a ceramic platter at the center of the table, the aroma of rosewater and honey mingling with the faint scent of cardamom in the air.

Finally, Elifsu lifted the brass teapot and began to pour. The dark amber stream of Turkish tea flowed smoothly into the cups, steam curling upwards. The rich, earthy scent filled the room.

Edward, with his blond hair and broad-shouldered smiled as he picked up the cup before him. "We appreciate your time Nurgul. We know you're very engaged with the community. That’s why we’re here." He said, looking at Lucie.

The woman beside him, dark-haired and quieter, offered a gentle smile. "Democracy First USA is building bridges. Between communities, between values. We believe the Turkish-American voice has a place in the broader conversation."

Nurgul sipped her tea slowly. “We are glad to hear. The Atatürk Society of America was founded the objective of promoting the ideals of Atatürk’s political legacy. That political philosophy reflects that sovereignty belongs to the people, that the people alone administer the people, public sovereignty cannot be shared with any other authority, secular education ensures public sovereignty and rationality in politics, for progress, science and reason must supersede superstition and dogma, contemporary civilization is the common heritage of humankind, peace at home and peace in the world assures the universality of civilization. With these objectives in mind, the ASA organizes scholarly lectures, provides research fellowships, develops a resource and reference center, and makes presentations regarding the importance of Atatürk’s political philosophy for international prosperity and peace.

Edward nodded. “President Atatürk, once said, 'Happy is he who can call himself a Turk' Well, I can say that I understand that sentiment,” Edward said with a smile. “President Reagan said that ‘Happy is the American President who can welcome the Turkish President.’ We at Democracy First recognize that Türkiye and the United States have the strongest historical bonds. In Korea, Turks and Americans shed blood together on the battlefield in defense of freedom and democracy.” Edward said, looking at Nurgul.

Lucie followed up. “Americans have admired the way that Türkiye and the Turkish people pulled themselves back to democracy when challenged by the violent forces of anarchy. It is a shame that the people who had devotion to the ideals of Atatürk.”

Nurgul set down her cup with the faintest tap. "Where do I sign you guys up?” Nurgul laughed. “Now, tell me what can I do for you?”

Lucie leaned forward slightly. "We’re speaking with leaders on Capitol Hill who have the White House’s ear. We’d...like to lay the groundwork for helping long-term Turkish-American relations and to bring back some of those things that make Türkiye the great nation it once was. Accountability. Liberty. Respect for the rule of law. We think those are ideals Atatürk himself would recognize."

At that, Nurgul’s gaze turned thoughtful, listening to Lucie continue. Lucie continued, “We’ve watched what’s happening back in Türkiye with growing alarm. The arrests. The closing of papers. The detentions of teachers, of lawyers...ordinary men and women. All in the name of socialism.’” She paused, then added, “There’s nothing unifying about fear.”

Nurgul’s face remained composed, but something tightened at the corners of her mouth. “It is worse than fear,” she said. “It is the silence after fear, when even whispers no longer dare take root.”

Edward looked at Nurgul. “My wife’s parents are from Iran, and I can tell you that the silence after is the most painful part. So believe me when I said I know how you feel.”

Nurgul nodded once, slowly. “They call it equality, but it is not the republic Atatürk built. He fought to pull us from darkness into reason. What do they do now? It is not reason. It is rot, beneath banners and slogans. They have replaced our elected leaders with a commissar and dare to call it progress.”

“We don’t pretend we understand everything. But we know what repression looks like. We’ve seen it across continents. We’ve fought it, in ways open, and in ways that never make the papers.” Lucie said, looking at Nurgul. “It’s not just geopolitics. It’s human decency. And what’s happening in Türkiye, it’s abhorrent. We feel it. Deeply.”

Nurgul gave a weak smile. “I am a Kemalist,” she said. “And I will die one. I believe the CHP has lost its moral compass. It’s clear that new blood is needed, and I expect we’ll see some changes that could transform the party into a true opposition force. I’d be happy to connect you with the emerging leaders expected to replace Kemal Kılıçdaroğlu.”

Edward and Lucie smiled. “That would be great. Thank you, we appreciate your time and willingness to speak with us. We’ll be in touch soon.” The two got up and shook hands with Nurgul before leaving the building to their car. Nurgul looked down at her empty cup, then out the window toward the maple trees rustling faintly in the D.C. fall skies. She watched as the two Americans got into their car and drove away.

The black Lexus eased around the bend of Massachusetts Avenue, slipping into the steady stream of traffic. Sunlight streamed through the trees, filtering through the tinted windows, casting shifting patterns across the dashboard.

Emma Stuart reached up and pulled at the edge of her dark bobbed wig. With a soft sigh, she peeled it off, revealing the auburn hair beneath, damp with sweat. Alex Brown did the same beside her, removing his blond toupee and running a hand through his close-cropped brown hair.

“God,” Emma muttered, tossing the wig onto the floor mat. “That tea room was like a sauna.”

Alex smirked, loosening the button at his collar. “At least the Arabs have air conditioners everywhere." They drove in silence for a moment, the city falling away behind them as they headed west, toward Langley.

Emma checked her phone briefly, then locked the screen. “So. She’s in. It seems”

Alex nodded. “I can get where she is coming from. I just hope she gives us a lead and not a dud like that time with Liberia. ”

Emma leaned back in the seat, thoughtful. “How come you never introduced me to your Iranian in-laws?” She said with a laugh.

Alex tapped the steering wheel absently, his eyes on the road. “Haha…it was a good pivot, no?” He said with a curt smile.

Emma turned to him. “What do you think about it all…the Turks and how they are. You worked the Ankara desk back in the 90s right?”

Alex shrugged. “The military and intel guys are hard-working. The civil servants… depends on who you get. If I had to put my money on anything, I’d say that the military would have the best chance of running that country. They are easier to deal with when our interests align.” They drove for another beat. The sun glinted off the Potomac to their left as they crossed the bridge.

Emma spoke again, her voice quieter now. “Yeah, but that is not what the big boss wants.” She said, looking at the White House.

Alex looked over briefly. “You think she’s for real?”

Emma didn’t hesitate. “Oh, she’s for real. I say that at least. I’ve met a few Turks. They’re like the Iranians, very passionate and prideful people.

The car slowed before the familiar gate. A uniformed guard stepped out. Alex handed over a badge. The guard glanced down, then waved them through. The car continued forward into the compound, disappearing beneath the canopy of pines. Later that evening, the following report would be submitted to the CIA Director.

---

TOP SECRET​

CIA PROFILE: Ayşe Çiller​

Subject Classification: Tier II Political Actor
Affiliation: Republican People's Party (CHP) – Reformist Wing
DOB: August 16 1970, Born in Istanbul, Türkiye
Place of Origin: Istanbul, Türkiye

Education:

• B.A. Economics, Robert College Yüksek (Boğaziçi University)
• M.A. Economics, Harvard University (with spouse Kıvanç Tatlıtuğ)
• Postdoctoral Studies, Yale University
• Juris Doctor, Columbia Law School
  Languages: Turkish (native), English (fluent), German (proficient), French (proficient)
  Current Location: Istanbul, Türkiye

BACKGROUND & FAMILY

Ayşe Çiller is the fourth child of Necati Çiller, a respected journalist and former provincial governor of Bilecik during the 1950s. Her father, while not overtly political, was a firm supporter of the Republican People’s Party (CHP) and a believer in the military’s role as guardian of the secular republic. He belonged to the generation that saw the military not as a threat, but as a stabilizing force preserving the Kemalist vision of modernization and national unity. Moreover, her father represented the party during the right-wing era of the CHP.

Her mother, Muazzez Çiller, came from a Rumelian Turk family forcibly displaced from Thessaloniki during the population exchanges and subsequent ethnic tensions that followed the collapse of the Ottoman Empire and the rise of the Greek nation-state. The Çiller family story reflects a larger, often silenced trauma in modern Turkish identity that of the Turkish Muslim communities expelled from Greece, Cyprus, and Bulgaria in the 20th century. These expulsions, sometimes framed as strategic relocations or "exchanges," were in fact deeply disruptive acts of ethnic cleansing, leaving lasting emotional and psychological scars on those who experienced or inherited their memory.

This legacy shaped Ayşe Çiller’s early worldview. Her childhood in Istanbul was firmly secular and pro-Western, reflecting her father's alignment with republican values, but also marked by an intimate awareness of historical injustice and cultural displacement. The duality of her background, western-facing education, and reformist ideals on one hand, and ancestral memory of exile and marginalization on the other, created a personal narrative that emphasizes national dignity without chauvinism, secularism without cultural amnesia, and modernization rooted in social justice.

Educated at the American College for Girls and later at Robert College, Çiller was immersed in Western liberal arts values from an early age. However, family discussions often returned to the stories of her maternal grandparents’ forced departure from Thessaloniki, the hardship of rebuilding in a new homeland, and the sense of historical betrayal that accompanied the broader regional expulsions of Turkish communities. These stories did not turn her away from European ideals but instead fueled a lifelong commitment to democratic pluralism, minority rights, and the moral accountability of states.

Today, this background serves as a powerful underpinning to her reformist politics. Çiller’s grassroots appeal lies in her ability to connect elite discourse with lived historical memory, bringing together professional urban voters with communities carrying generational traumas from the Balkans, Aegean, and the Eastern provinces. As such, her politics straddle both the forward-looking agenda of economic and democratic reform and a deep respect for the unspoken wounds in Türkiye’s national history.

ACADEMIC & PROFESSIONAL CAREER

Ayşe Çiller is a highly accomplished economist and legal scholar, distinguished not only by her academic pedigree but also by the intellectual clarity with which she articulates a progressive economic vision for Türkiye. After completing her secondary education at the American College for Girls in Istanbul an institution known for producing internationally minded Turkish women leaders, Çiller pursued undergraduate studies in economics at Boğaziçi University, one of Türkiye’s most elite and liberal institutions of higher learning.

Her academic trajectory then took her to the United States, where she undertook graduate studies in economics at Harvard University, followed by postdoctoral research at Yale, focusing on international economic policy and behavioral decision-making. This transatlantic academic path is exceptionally rare among Turkish political figures, even within the secular, Western-educated elite. It has given her fluency in both global economic discourse and domestic Turkish realities, an advantage she has leveraged in her political career.

In the late 1990s, Çiller pivoted to law, earning a Juris Doctor from Columbia Law School, specializing in international trade law and regulatory governance. While at Columbia, she completed internships at the World Trade Organization (WTO) and Türkiye’s Ministry of Trade, giving her early exposure to the mechanics of multilateral trade negotiations and the legal complexities of global economic integration. She briefly held a teaching post in economics at the University of Pennsylvania, further solidifying her profile as a scholar-practitioner.

Her doctoral thesis, written during her postdoctoral period and later revised at Columbia, focused on the intersection of behavioral economics and trade policy, analyzing how cognitive biases, institutional cultures, and political incentives shape trade outcomes in emerging markets. This work remains highly relevant to Türkiye’s economic trajectory, especially as the country grapples with trade deficits, currency volatility, and institutional drift.

Çiller advocates for a state that is engaged but not domineering in the economy. Her economic philosophy blends market pragmatism with social protection. She supports the creation of independent regulatory bodies that are insulated from political interference, particularly in sectors like banking, telecommunications, and energy, and champions monetary discipline, seeing inflation as both a technical challenge and a social injustice that disproportionately harms working-class families.

At the same time, she is a proponent of a robust social safety net, arguing that economic modernization must be matched by inclusive policies that protect vulnerable populations from the shocks of liberalization and automation. Her proposals include conditional cash transfer programs, targeted subsidies for education and child care, and green investment initiatives aimed at linking environmental policy with job creation.

As a trade law specialist, Çiller has positioned herself as one of the few opposition figures with a realistic and globally literate economic program, an alternative to both the crony-capitalist tendencies of the current regime and the overly statist reflexes of some in the old Kemalist guard. Her credibility in both Washington and Brussels has grown in recent years, with Western policymakers viewing her as a serious reformist voice capable of steering Türkiye toward rules-based economic governance without sacrificing national development goals.

POLITICAL ACTIVITY AND OPPOSITION BUILDING

​

Çiller began her public life through local-level involvement with the Republican People's Party (CHP), where she quickly earned recognition within the party’s more modern circles. Her early political work focused on capacity-building in the women’s and youth wings, where she emphasized leadership development, civic education, and inclusive policy formation.

Though she could have leveraged her elite academic background for a faster rise through the party hierarchy, Çiller deliberately chose a slower, more organic path, focusing on coalition-building, institutional reform, and developing trust within the party base. This approach helped her cultivate a broad network of activists, municipal leaders, and policy professionals who view her not as a technocrat parachuted into politics, but as a genuine movement builder.

From 2001 to 2003, during a time of significant internal turmoil and electoral volatility for the CHP, Çiller played a critical behind-the-scenes role in shaping the party’s municipal strategies in Istanbul and Izmir. She was instrumental in candidate recruitment, often identifying younger, reform-minded professionals and supporting their campaigns with policy and messaging guidance. Her work during this period quietly modernized the party's urban appeal and helped lay the groundwork for later electoral gains.

While she avoided the media spotlight, Çiller developed a reputation within party ranks as a strategic thinker with the ideological dogma and organizational disfunction that plagued the CHP. Her focus on transparency, internal democracy, and modernization of the party’s structures positioned her as a leading figure within the CHP’s reformist faction. She has led the bloc which increasingly critical of the party’s historical rigidity and its failure to adapt to the changing political landscape of 21st-century Türkiye. In many ways she could be described as a leader in Turkish Third-Way politics.

Çiller has prioritized building a sustainable opposition infrastructure over short-term political visibility. Her network now includes a wide range of local officials, civil society actors, legal scholars, and young political operatives, many of whom credit her mentorship with their entry into public service. The current regime has worked to break up this network targeting independent lawyers, curtailing the free press, and breaking up student associations.

Today, as the CHP confronts a generational and ideological crossroads following the decline of Kemal Kılıçdaroğlu’s leadership, Çiller stands out not simply as a capable candidate for national leadership, but as the architect of a credible, democratic opposition movement. Her emphasis on grassroots mobilization, evidence-based policymaking, and democratic renewal positions her as a serious contender to reshape both the CHP and the broader Turkish opposition in the post-authoritarian era.

This emerging faction within the CHP is characterized by its pro-Western orientation, commitment to market-based economic development, and democratic institutional reform. Unlike earlier iterations of the party, which have been criticized for authoritarian tendencies and exclusionary secularism, Çiller’s bloc openly acknowledges the CHP’s historical role in undermining democracy and social equality. She advocates for a more inclusive, rights-based, and globally integrated approach to governance.

SECURITY ASSESSMENT​

• Risk to U.S. Interests: Low – pro-Western, pro-democracy, reform-oriented
• Watchlist Status: Monitored; no indications of subversive activity or ties to militant groups
• Assets: Extensive Western education and networks, owns a house by the ocean in New Hampshire.

Odinson

 

[Odinson]

Secret​

The information above was presented to the Director of Central Intelligence, Lucy Marsh, at Langly. The decision was made to keep this information from the President and any other members of the cabinet, so that they would have plausible deniability for the time being. Director Marsh did not have much to consider. Either the current communist government would hold onto power and Turkey would continue to be some modern version of the "Sick man of Europe" or a radical Islamist government would take control that would be unable to work with the United States. Neither of those options were acceptable. While the Sinclair Administration did not have a strong focus on meddling in international affairs, an easy win in getting a new democratic nation to join the Free World was within the realm of something that Director Marsh could possibly accomplish in her young career. The final decision was made to make some kind of contact with Ayşe Çiller and gauge her interest in a democratic Turkey.

The decision was made to invite Çiller to speak at a meeting of the Harvard Club of Turkey, which was meeting in Istanbul. A young American, about her age, would run into her at a cafe. He, who was a CIA operative, would pretend to recognize her at random and ask if she studied economics at Harvard. After a brief discussion of professors at Harvard and, later, the CHP, the young American man would ask her to speak at the Harvard Club in Istanbul later that week. If she agreed, then the plan would be laid.

She would, of course, be invited to actually speak to the Harvard Club. She would be permitted to speak on the topic of economics in Turkey as well as current events (though of course there would be special considerations for the current laws and sensitives in communist Turkey). Regardless, after her presentation and after an after-party, the young American would invite her to a more intimate setting at a local gathering hole. If she agreed, he would take her into a private backroom where a private conversation could be held. Inside of the room was the aforementioned young man, several other CIA operatives, and Aiden Hawkins who had just removed a disguise. Silas was the former United States Ambassador to Turkey. There was no doubt that Çiller would know who he was.

Silas would introduce himself and explain that some of his colleagues from DF-USA had mentioned her name and that he wanted to set up a meeting. He apologized for the cloak and dagger tactics, but that he didn't want to expose her to an uncomfortable situation. If she was still willing to talk at this point, he would give his honest opinion that the communist government in Turkey was teetering on the edge of collapse and he wanted to know if she thought there was chance of a secular, republican government succeeding in Turkey. He would go on to ask if she would be willing to be a part of that movement, if she thought it would be successful.

Jay

 

[Jay]

A week ago,

The scent of roasted coffee beans and burnt sugar hung in the air as Ayşe stirred her tea slowly, the delicate clink of the spoon against porcelain the only sound she dared to make in the moment. The coffeehouse, nestled in a quiet quarter of Ankara’s Söğütözü district, was modest, almost old-fashioned, with faded wood paneling, framed calligraphy, and a radio murmuring a nostalgic folk song beneath the low hum of conversation. It was the kind of place where the revolution could be whispered in safety. Or so it once was.

Across the table, a woman in her fifties, her face lined by years of labor and cautious silence, glanced warily toward a man pretending to read a newspaper. Two younger men, university students judging by their lean frames and threadbare satchels, spoke only in low tones, eyes flicking toward the entrance each time it opened.

“They’re everywhere now,” one of them muttered. “Even here. Especially here.”

“The moment you speak, someone is listening,” said the older woman. “My neighbor’s son was taken last week for distributing flyers. He was quoting Atatürk.”

Ayşe leaned forward, resting her hand on the table. “You feel like you’re being watched because you are,” she said softly, but clearly. “But that fear, that learned silence, is exactly what they want.”

Her voice carried the quiet authority of someone who had stared into the machinery of the state and refused to be ground beneath it. “A canary, if born in a cage and raised there, will never learn to fly. It will believe that the bars are the sky. The Turkish people are not canaries.”

There was a silence, a loaded one. She let it hang in the air.

“We are the children of martyrs and reformers, poets and soldiers. We were not made to be ruled by shadows. Not by thugs in trench coats pretending to be patriots. If we allow them to cage our minds, they’ve already won.”

The words didn’t explode like a speech, they seeped, settled, left something in the listener. One of the students, eyes bright despite the fear, nodded. The woman looked down, her fingers trembling slightly, then clenched the edge of the table.

“They say the regime is too strong,” she whispered.

Ayşe offered her a half-smile. “No regime that spies on its own people is ever strong. It is only afraid. Atatürk said a nation which makes the final sacrifice for life and freedom does not get beaten. And we Turks are never beaten.”

She stood up gracefully, thanking them with a hand placed briefly on the older woman’s shoulder. She moved across the café to another table where three men in their sixties, farmers by the look of their calloused hands and sun-worn skin, were sipping bitter coffee and speaking of rising fertilizer costs. One of them had a hat with the words Karaburun on it. Another looked up in surprise.

“Are you...” One wanted to say, recognizing her face from the newspapers

“I am,” Ayşe said warmly, extending her hand. “And I used to come to a walnut farm near your village, in Karaburun. My uncle had a small estate there.”

They blinked. One man leaned back, chuckling with disbelief. “You? Near Karaburun?”

“I even climbed the big fig tree by the stone wall. The one where that crazy old man with the fez lived. Scraped my knee,” she said with a faint smile. “Still have the scar.”

Their laughter came, surprised and genuine she had to be telling the truth if she remembered old man Osman Pasha. One reached for her hand and kissed it out of habit, the way rural elders greeted those they respected. The others offered their tea. She declined politely, saying that she needed to buy something before they kicked her out, jokingly.

At the counter, she placed her order and turned, momentarily distracted by the warm aroma and the hiss of steaming milk. A man behind her hesitated, then stepped forward.

“Excuse me… I...I'm sorry, but… did you study behavioral economics at Harvard?”

She froze for a second, turning around.

Her eyes narrowed, searching his face, clean-shaven, brown hair, no accent in his English. He wore a down jacket and jeans, too casual for a GMT operative, but she had learned not to be fooled by appearances. Still, she played along, cautiously.

“Yes… under Professor Matthew Rabin,” she said, testing him.

He grinned. “I knew it! You sat in front of me during that impossible development economics seminar. I never forgot how you eviscerated that poor visiting lecturer on sovereign debt restructuring in our global development class.”

Ayşe relaxed, just a fraction. “David Green?” She said, half asking.

“Exactly! I’m Tom. Tom Abernathy. I was working on political economy, took a year off to work with USAID in Tunisia.”

She laughed, genuinely this time. “I remember now. You spilled coffee on the whiteboard on your first day.”

He mock-grimaced. “A legendary start to a stellar academic career.”

They shook hands, the air less guarded now. Still, her eyes drifted to the mirror behind the counter. The GMT officer was still seated by the window, pretending to check his phone.

“You’re visiting Ankara?” she asked lightly.

“I’m here for a few weeks. I’ve actually been helping organize some talks at the Harvard Club. We’re doing one on the state of the global economy…very informal, mostly alumni and guests. You should come. Speak, actually.”

Ayşe tilted her head. “That’s quite the short notice.”

“We’d be honored. And I think people here would benefit from hearing someone who’s… living it.”

She hesitated, but in the end she nodded. “Send me the details.”

They exchanged numbers, and she accepted her chai with a quiet teşekkürler. As she returned to her table, the GMT man watched her, but this time, she didn’t bother to look away as she took a sip.

The Present,

The morning sunlight filtered in through gauzy linen curtains, casting its rays across the breakfast table. A soft breeze stirred the olive branches just beyond the terrace, and the sound of birdsong mingled with the faint clink of silverware. In the living room, the television murmured in the background, its soft glow casting flickering shadows over the low white walls.

Ayşe Çiller sat at the head of the table, her posture straight, her expression drawn. She wore a loose cashmere cardigan over her nightclothes, and her hair, still unbrushed, was pulled hastily into a high messy bun. Across from her, her husband Kıvanç reached for the cezve, pouring dark Turkish coffee into two small porcelain cups adorned with blue tulips.

They ate quietly, side by side. Between them lay the remains of a modest breakfast: sliced cucumbers, white cheese, spiced sujuk, and simit still warm from the bakery downstairs.

From the television came a gravelly voice, in accented Polish, overlaid with Turkish subtitles.

“On today’s episode of Treasures of the Commonwealth, we find ourselves inside Chojnik Castle, where a small team of archaeologists have uncovered something extraordinary that we did not think possible…”

The screen showed a crumbling stone keep veiled in mist. A man in a beige field jacket stood beside a group of young archaeologists, hard hats slightly askew, faces streaked with soil, as they sifted through centuries of forgotten earth. In his hand gleamed a sapphire, irregular and stunning, its hue impossibly rich.

Kıvanç glanced toward the screen and smiled faintly.

“Still obsessed with their lost crown,” he said quietly.

Ayşe didn’t look up. Her fingers moved idly along the rim of her teacup, eyes lingering somewhere between thought and memory.

“They’ve made an entire national myth out of the search,” she murmured, taking a bite of her sujuk and eggs.”

Kıvanç reached for her hand, pressing his thumb lightly into her palm. “And what is your myth, my love?”

She gave a low laugh, tinged with self-awareness. “That we can run away to a little island in the Aegean and be alone again…away from all of this.”

From the television, the archaeologist’s voice continued.

“Discovered recently among a collection of artifacts unearthed by these intrepid explorers is this simple sapphire. While entirely uncommon within Poland itself, it is not unrelated to why we are here today…”

Ayşe looked over at Kıvanç then, really looked. She noticed the dark crescent beneath his eyes, the deepening lines around his mouth, the silver creeping into his temples.

Kıvanç exhaled slowly, his eyes lingering on hers, not quite smiling.

“My shop was visited again last week,” he said finally. “GMT officers. The same two, always pretending to be inspectors. They ask questions about permits, taxes, but...it’s not about that. You can feel it.”

Ayşe tensed, her gaze flickering toward the window, though the curtains were drawn.

“They watched the delivery boy for half an hour. And you remember Ömer? From the building next door?”

“Of course.”

“He’s stopped talking to me. Walks the other way when we pass. It’s like I’ve become contagious.”

Ayşe was silent. Her fingers tightened slightly in his hand.

“You never tell me these things,” she said after a beat.

“I didn’t want to worry you,” Kıvanç said, exhaling slowly.

Ayşe looked at him, pulling his face back down to hers, “You worry me more by staying quiet,” she said softly.

Before he could respond she blurted out, “I’m sorry…for all of this. For dragging you into this mess with me. I know it’s been hard. On your friends. On you.”

Kıvanç leaned back in his chair, brushing a crumb from his lap. “You didn’t drag me. I walked beside you. And I would again. Together till the end,” He said as he teasingly rubbed the ring on his finger.

His voice softened as he met her eyes. “Our children will live in a better Türkiye because of you. Not a perfect one, but one where they can speak without whispering. One where no one has to choose between silence and safety.”

Ayşe blinked away the threat of tears, smiling faintly. “I hope so.”

The screen behind them cuts to another wide shot, a crumbling corridor of Chojnik Castle, dust motes drifting in the morning sun. Just then, Emir, their youngest, could be seen running across the living room, throwing pillows around, probably lost in his own imagination.

“Emir says you promised to come to his recital,” Kıvanç said, glancing at her.

Ayşe looked up sharply. “His recital? But I thought…wasn’t it Elif’s?” She said rather confused.

Kıvanç gave a small smile. “You meant Elif’s last month. The one you missed because of Kemal’s resigning. But you told Emir you’d come to his. It’s this Friday.”

She rubbed her temples, a groan escaping her lips. “God, I…I honestly thought it was the same one. I thought they were both playing piano.”

“They were. Last year,” Kıvanç said gently. “Elif switched to violin in the autumn, remember? We talked about it one night, after dinner. She had that whole tantrum because she couldn’t hold the bow properly and said she wanted to quit music entirely.”

Ayşe blinked, struggling to recall. The details floated like half-formed memories. “Wait, so she is not with Mrs. Aslan?”

“Emir’s with Mrs. Aslan now. The one who gives out gold stars for ‘respectful listening,’” Kıvanç said with mock solemnity. “And Elif is with Mr. Özgür.”

“I think I confused him with Mr. Gür…”

“He’s the janitor,” Kıvanç said, trying not to smile.

Ayşe pressed her fingers to her eyes. “God, I’m a stranger in my own house.”

“Don’t say that,” he said quietly, gripping her hand softly.

“But it’s true. They’re growing, changing, and I’m…what? A voice on the phone? A photograph on the hallway wall? I don’t even know what they’re learning in school, or who their friends are. I haven’t packed their lunch in months.”

Kıvanç didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he leaned forward and took her hand again, gently but giving it a firm squeeze.

“They still race to the door when they hear your keys,” he said. “Elif draws pictures of you at the parliament with little speech bubbles saying ‘Justice!’...although she spells it wrong, by the way. And Emir doesn’t stop talking about how awesome you are. He shouts to everyone whenever your face is on the screen, look, it's my mom.”

Ayşe gave a weak laugh, her eyes glistening. “That’s hardly a comfort.”

“It should be,” Kıvanç replied. “Because for all the things you think you’ve missed, they see you standing up for something. You’re trying to make this country safer, kinder, maybe even fairer. And they’re proud. Even if they don’t understand that yet.”

She sat still for a long moment, watching the steam rise from her untouched tea. Then, without quite looking at him, she whispered, “But are you?”

His answer came without hesitation.

“I’m proud every time I see you walk into a room and refuse to be small.”

He reached up to adjust the collar of her cardigan, his touch steady. “But I’d also like you to remember that Elif prefers grape juice to orange now. And Emir’s scared of the dark again. So maybe write that down somewhere, next to your committee notes.”

A faint, tearful smile crept across her face. “I will.”

The screen behind them cut to another wide shot, the crumbling corridor of Chojnik Castle from earlier, dust motes drifting in the morning sun.

“With buttons that were popular with Prussian military uniforms and clay jugs of now ruined wine, we found this peculiar sapphire that has no good reason to be here except this castle is on a suspected route the Prussians took in returning the loot stolen from Wawel Royal Castle in 1796…”

She rose gently from her chair, pressing her lips to Kıvanç’s. It was a quiet kiss. Then she moved toward the bedroom, her footsteps soft against the wooden floor.

Kıvanç remained at the table, watching the light shift across the rug. The host on the screen gestured toward an ancient map of Poland, traced with red and blue ink, showing the suspected path of long-lost treasures.

“…and that’s where we are off to next.”

Inside the bedroom, Ayşe stood before the full-length mirror. She dressed slowly, putting on her a Silk Tie Neck Ivory Blouse tucked into a grey skirt, a soft jacket falling neatly over her shoulders. She fastened a pair of sapphire earrings and placed on her bracelets.

She spoke her lines aloud, rehearsing as she unpinned her hair, letting it fall down to her back.

Then Kıvanç walked in, brushing her shoulder, and playing around with her blouse, pulling at the creases, as though he was trying to flatten them. She fell silent for a moment, looking at her reflection, then turning to her husband. “Can you listen to my speech?” She asked, seeing him nod in the reflection of the mirror.

“We’ve been told for decades that the greatest threat is inflation,” she said, more to herself than him. “But Thatcherism taught us something uglier. That when you chain a society to market certainties, when you abandon your people to austerity and tell them it's for their own good, you don’t just lose your economy. You lose your society.”

Kıvanç crossed to the dresser and opened the small wooden box where she kept her brooches. Without a word, he selected the small enamel tulip and fastened it to her lapel.

“I don’t know how to say all of that without sounding like I’m reading from a manifesto,” she muttered, trying again to catch her reflection as she recited. “My name is Ayşe Çiller, and I…”

“You sound like you’re about to announce the weather,” Kıvanç said with a teasing smile. “Try again, but this time like you’re telling the kids a bedtime story.”

She gave him a mock glare, then stood taller.

“We were raised to fear disorder. To believe that inflation would undo us. But now we live in fear of something far worse: a government that cannot hear its own people.”

Kıvanç nodded, more seriously now.

“Better. Now say it like you mean it.” Ayşe practiced a few more times before the muezzin’s call to prayer began to rise from a nearby mosque. She turned from the mirror and stepped back into the living room. The briefcase waited where she’d left it, beside the armrest of the sofa. Kıvanç rose, brushing a fleck of lint from her sleeve.

“You’ll be fine,” he said, his voice low. “Speak plainly.”

She paused. Her eyes met his. He kissed her brow. “Then let them hear the woman I know.”

She smiled, “I love you.”

He smiled back, walking her to the door, “I love you too.”

Her heels clicked faintly against the floor as Kıvanç closed the door behind her. The Range Rover idled on the curb, its windows tinted dark against the weak Ankara sun. She settled into the driver’s seat and exhaled slowly, glancing into the rear-view mirror, not at herself, but at the grey sedan across the street. It had been there for weeks now, swapping drivers every few days but always the same make, always the same dull paint. GMT men didn’t try to hide anymore. That was the point.

She turned the key. The vehicle growled to life.

Through the winding streets of Çankaya, she kept her distance measured, pausing a second longer at intersections to see if the sedan would follow. It always did. In the mirror, she could make out the blur of the lifeless stare of a man whose job was to watch her. In this city, surveillance had become a form of architecture built into the scaffolding of life. It lingered like smog, imperceptible to those who had grown up with it, but suffocating to anyone who remembered a freer time.

As she approached Ankara International Airport, Ayşe felt the familiar tightening in her chest. The road widened, and the buildings fell away into concrete expanses lined with security fencing. Giant portraits of workers stared down from electronic billboards, their slogans rotating with militant serenity. “Together in Common Struggle.” “Kemalism stands with the Petite Bourgeoisie not the workers. Resist it!” Another one read with a worker armed with a hammer smashing the six stars of Kemalism.

The inside of the airport was clinically sterile, with bright lights, quiet halls, and too many uniforms. Even the food kiosks felt politicized, each menu bracketed by “local solidarity” stamps. The atmosphere resembled something more commissarial than commercial. Ticketing kiosks bore posters of agricultural cooperatives and slogans about worker productivity. A traveler could almost forget this was once a Western nation, not a soviet satellite state.

Her ID was inspected twice. Her luggage once. A polite, expressionless official asked her if she had any foreign currency to declare. She didn’t flinch when he lingered too long on the stamp from the Hague.

The flight to Istanbul was uneventful, if tense. No one spoke. A pamphlet on “Revolutionary Hospitality” tucked into the seatback offered tips on domestic tourism without leaving the country. She folded it, unopened.

At Sabiha Gökçen, a black government car awaited her. She opened the back door and slid in. The driver, a clean-cut man in a grey jacket and no party pin, nodded once and pulled into traffic.

Only after they’d merged onto the coastal highway did he speak. “You’re being followed.” He said, looking into the mirror.

Ayşe stared out the window, trying to gauge who the man was. “I know.”

“They’re two cars back.”

She turned to him. “You’re not MİT.” She asked, trying to tease who he was.

“No,” he replied, eyes on the road. She could make out the same clean shave that most army officers had.

“Army intelligence?” She asked, trying to see if he would react.

He didn’t answer, but his silence was sufficient confirmation.

The car hummed along the Bosphorus, the waters dark and quiet beside them. From a distance, the domes and minarets of Istanbul clustered closer.

“We’ve been tracking your tails since the Izmir rally,” he continued. “They’re less careful now. Sloppy.” He said as Ayşe remembered the energetic cries from the city that had the local communist officials scared.

“Yes, I remember the warnings when I met with your colleagues at the Izmir office.” She said, recalling her meeting with the AIAB, who managed to sneak into her hotel room while she was in Izmir. “The officer said the Army was getting ready to move, and you were expecting the major unions to launch strikes this week…what happened?”

“The union,” he hesitated, “the union leadership pulled back on the strikes. That will buy the regime time. We need mass disruption before moving i.n”

Ayşe’s jaw tightened. “Why did they cancel?”

“The Thais,” he said. “They are mending the cracks between the Union and the leadership. We had hoped that orchestrating the Madrid meeting would give Eda a taste of power and send her mad in a power frenzy…which was working till the Thais showed up.”

The Prime Minister arrested Erdoğan, accused him of sedition, then turned on the clerics. Mosques raided, sermons screened, imams dragged out in the middle of the night.

Ayşe’s brow furrowed. “And Arslan let this happen?”

“She doesn't even know about the scale of things apparently,” he said bitterly. “She’s in the dark in Madrid from what our agents are telling us. Eda is keeping it that way while she cleans up shop domestically.”

Ayşe exhaled sharply. “And the PM?”

“Moving fast. Erdoğan was taken to the prison camp yesterday, she’s dismissed several high ranking officers from the 1st Army, the Chief of the General Staff is under house arrest, the Gendarmerie Chief was dismissed, and the MİT Director is being summoned to the Beştepe tomorrow for what we think is essentially a pretext to get rid of him.”
Ayşe didn’t say anything, allowing the officer to continue.

“We thought she was going to seize power from Arslan before she came back from Madrid, however, it seems the Thais cooled her temper, and she’s relaxed some of her decisions.”

“What is the President doing in Madrid?” Ayşe asked.

“She is meeting with the Spanish Government, trying to build relations with regional partners.” He said, handing her a document. “The Government is meeting with Egyptian and French officials next. All are eager to keep the current regime in power here. They’ll keep recognizing her government as lawful. We even heard that the Thais offered support for ‘internal stability to the Prime Minister during their meeting.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Offered her what?”

He looked at her. “Our SIGNIT officers at the Government Complex said they offered weapons, money, and manpower.”

A long silence passed between them before she spoke again.

“Dear God…” She said, not realizing how involved the Thais were with this whole situation.”

“That is not all.” The driver said, reaching for the envelope at his side, and handed it to her. “Last week, a border position reported a clash inside Northeast Syria. The victims were Turks. They recovered the bodies, and the survivors said it was the YPG”

Ayşe opened the envelope slowly. Photographs…bodies in a valley, all killed with brutality. Her throat tightened. Her hands trembled faintly before she forced them still.

She didn’t speak.

“There is no record of the clash….Why? Because the regime is riddled with PKK officers. They blocked the reports, reclassified them. Now it’s buried in the Interior Ministry’s archives. Arslan knows. She’s covering for them.”

Ayşe’s face turned pale. “And the public?”

“Who is going to ask any questions? With Erdoğan’s arrest. The Mosque raids. Manufactured leaks about corruption among the exiled opposition. Everyone feels hopeless.

Her voice was hollow. “This isn’t politics anymore.”

“No,” The driver said. “This is occupation, Ms. Çiller. Our sovereignty has been gutted from within, and Arslan’s handed the knife to foreign hands.”

She closed the envelope slowly, laying it under the seat in front of her.

“We need disruption,” he said. “Mass demonstrations. Millions in Istanbul, Ankara, İzmir. Let the world see that the people don’t stand with the communists. We can’t move until the nation itself rises and until the international community sees that this is no longer ‘internal political discontent.’ It’s a hijacking of the Republic.”

“And if the people don’t rise?” she asked.

“Then they’ll never get the chance. The Thais reminded us of that three weeks ago. Their statement to the General Staff was clear, if we intervene, they’ll send in the cavalry and it’ll be a civil war.” He paused. “Believe it or not Ms. Çiller, we want to avoid bloodshed.”

Ayşe exhaled softly, trying to think. “And the Army…what are you guys doing?”

“We’re still preparing,” he said, lowering his voice. “But we’re running out of windows. Our communications are being monitored more aggressively, and the Director is on the run. Our officers are getting burned and taken in by the GMT.”

She nodded slowly. “Then we have to be more careful now….”

“That’s why you’re here,” he said, casting her a glance. “You're doing good work. Your rallies are scaring the Prime Minister, and people are getting agitated.”

Ayşe’s gaze drifted again, trying not to answer as she felt like a puppet to the army at times to the city beyond the window. The Harvard Club appeared ahead, a refurbished Ottoman mansion guarded by discreet security and manicured hedges. The car slowed as it approached the gates.

“Don’t forget Ms. Çiller…we’re counting on you to provide us the space to act. If you want to save this republic, you need to act before it's suffocated.”

Ayse got out of the car and walked to the front door of the club, where she was greeted by the President of the Harvard Club. She could make out the two black sedans that followed her parking in the lot in front of the building, as she followed President Tangün inside.

Inside, the club’s opulence was softened by its warm lights that cast off the dark wood interiors, velvet armchairs,and bookshelves with curated collections in several languages. Oil portraits of American and Turkish alumni lined the walls. The smell of cologne and pipe tobacco mixed with aged paper reeked as Ayşe walked through the corridor.

“Madam Çiller,” greeted a portly man in a navy suit, shaking her hand. “Welcome back. Always an honor.”

She returned the smile with practiced ease. “It’s good to be among old friends.”

A knot of alumni gathered near the fireplace, former diplomats, economists, a few writers whose work was banned in print but read in translation abroad. They rose as she approached.

“We hear you’ll be addressing the room tonight,” one said, a silver-haired academic with a French accent.

Ayşe gave a modest nod. “Just a few words..”

The others chuckled knowingly. A waiter offered her a glass of tea. She declined, lifting her chin slightly. Many tried to tease information out of her, not about her talk, but about the political situation and how things were. Ayşe kept things respectful but tried her best not to divulge too much.

As the last murmurs of small talk drifted across the room, Ayşe excused herself from a knot of professors near the window, one of whom was pressing a business card into her hand with cautious optimism. She smiled politely, tucked the card into her notebook, and made her way back to her seat near the front row. Her eyes were scanning the room to see the crowd that had gathered…a lot more than just alumni she thought. She adjusted her blazer, crossed one leg over the other, and exhaled quietly just as the lights dimmed slightly and Ömer Tangün, President of the Club, stepped up to the podium. The room fell into an expectant hush.

“Distinguished guests, esteemed colleagues, friends of Harvard, good evening. On behalf of the Harvard Club of Türkiye, I welcome you to tonight’s annual forum, where our commitment to academic excellence remains fervent and the future, though uncertain, is a project we all share responsibility for.”

Ömer paused, glancing at Ayşe Çiller seated near the front. “It is both a personal and institutional honor to introduce this evening’s keynote speaker, a woman whose academic pedigree, political resilience, and moral clarity stand as rare qualities in a time of rhetorical inflation and institutional fatigue. Dr. Ayşe Çiller is, first and foremost, one of us. A Harvard-trained economist. A Columbia-educated legal scholar. A Yale postdoctoral fellow. But unlike so many whose careers remain suspended in elite theory, Dr. Çiller returned to Türkiye, not to lecture, but to lead. Not to manage, but to mend. Indeed, her return could not have happened at a better time as we see the massive economic, social, and political challenges we face.”

“Dr. Çiller is the product of both privilege and profound historical trauma. Her story, like so many in this room, is Turkish in the deepest sense: cosmopolitan but wounded, western-facing but rooted, modern but not forgetful.”

“As an economist, she has championed market realism. As a legal scholar, she has confronted the broken promises of globalization. And as the current leader of the Republican People’s Party, she is a central figure in what some are now calling the democratic reconstruction of Türkiye. “Her political vision rejects the binaries that have paralyzed this country for too long. She speaks neither in the slogans of cold market liberalism nor in the romantic illusions of state socialism. She argues, instead, for a refah toplumu, a welfare society, not as charity, but as democratic infrastructure. Not as a hand-out based society, but as an investment in the collective wellbeing of all.”

He paused, looking out at the audience. “In a nation where family businesses are shuttering, where savings vanish under inflation’s cruelty, and where ideological rigidity trumps civic sanity, Dr. Çiller reminds us that the only economy worth defending is the one that defends its people.” He then gestured towards Ayşe.

“Please join me in welcoming our keynote speaker this evening, a scholar of law, an architect of reform, and perhaps one of the few remaining political figures who still believes that progress requires both truth and tenderness, Dr. Ayşe Çiller.”

There was loud applause as Ayşe walked up and shook Ömer’s hands, and thanked him. She adjusted the microphones and looked up at the crowd, her instincts kicking in.

“Esteemed colleagues, scholars, and friends, thank you. It is a profound honor to speak not merely among peers but among those I believe still carry the burden and privilege of shaping the conscience of our republic.” She paused, looking around the room.

“Today, I speak not only as an academic or the leader of the political opposition, but as a daughter of this country, deeply concerned by the ideological crossfire consuming our nation. Let us be clear. What Türkiye faces today is not the naïve enthusiasm of idealism, it is an economic dogmatism veiled in revolutionary rhetoric. Call it what you will, whether centralized redistribution, worker cooperatives, or the new ‘people’s economy.’ But it is not social justice. It is not democracy. And it is certainly not prosperity.”

There are murmurs of agreement. Çiller continued.

“We were promised equity. Instead, we are witnessing the collapse of our family businesses, the very backbone of Anatolian resilience. Lifetime savings are vanishing overnight. Generations of quiet middle-class dignity, extinguished. And who benefits? A new bureaucratic elite. Nepotism not in corporate boardrooms but in commissariats. This is not progress. This is regression dressed in revolutionary garb.”

She takes a breath. “But let me be clear, I do not stand here to demand a return to the crony capitalism of the 1990s, nor to whitewash the failures of market fundamentalism. We do not need neoliberalism with a human face. What we need, what Türkiye needs, is a social democracy worthy of the name. A refah toplumu. A welfare society, not a welfare state as charity, but a state that ensures dignity.”

“In Scandinavian democracies, in Germany’s post-war economy, even in Roosevelt’s America, we have seen how a humanized capitalism, tempered by justice, lifted nations from poverty not with slogans, but with schools, with healthcare, with a moral minimum. It was not the market or the state that triumphed, it was the citizen.”

She scans the room. Eyes locked. Minds turning. “The AKP used to speak of refah, of prosperity. I stand up and join them in this call for refah to guide our economic thought. Today, our political leaders, instead of speaking of human dignity, speak of discipline and obedience. But I ask you what is prosperity if it does not protect the small trader in Izmir? What is the economy if it forgets the elderly woman in Gaziantep whose pension now buys her only a slice of bread?”

She steps away from the podium “My friends, it is time to reclaim the middle path not as a compromise, but as courage. To resist the twin illusions of state control and market anarchy. To demand a new Turkish model, not in theory, but in service of people. Because in the end, whether in Harvard or Hakkâri, the only economy worth defending is one that defends us.”

There was a loud applause. Çiller nodded politely, before waving and returned to her seat as a few professors approached her. One, Dr. Murat Kayali, a Harvard-trained political economist, extended his hand.

“Dr. Çiller, that was... incisive. May I say, rare to hear such clarity from someone with one foot in politics.” He said with a laugh.

Ayşe smiled slightly “I never quite managed to take my foot out of academia, Murat Bey.”

They were quickly joined by Dr. Emine Sönmez, who originally worked with the communists before resigning in protest, and a few younger Harvard alumni from Ankara and İzmir chapters.

Emine spoke first. “If you’re serious about building that ‘Turkish model,’ we should talk. I have a policy paper on cooperative welfare insurance models that might interest you.”

Ayşe nodded slightly as she leaned in. “I’d like that. I think it was awful how the government weaponized your original thoughts to push down a half-baked measure on labor welfare through monetary tokenization.

Ayşe Çiller stood near a high table, a small circle of academics and policy professionals clustered around her. The room was suffused with low amber light and murmured theory.

Mustafa Akyol in a tailored charcoal suit, his lapel marked by a discreet AKP pin, stepped closer. He was polite as he spoke to Ayşe, walking with her to a table where she could take sips of water to soften her throat.

"Ayşe Hanım, I know we stand on different sides of the aisle. But tonight, what you said about refah... it wasn’t political. It was spiritual. It reminded me of Surah Al-Baqarah: ‘And give the relative his right, and the poor, and the traveler, and do not spend wastefully.’ Welfare is not socialism. It’s righteousness."

Çiller looked at him, her expression softening. "You honor me.” Mustafa Bey.” Ayşe said before continuing. “Perhaps there’s more common ground than we dare admit, when religion gives way to principles that can bring together this nation. I was deeply disgusted to hear that Recep was arrested and put in jail for reading poetry. Utterly disgusted. I pray for his quick release." She said giving him a warm handshake as Nazlı Demirkan from the Central Bank approached her.

"I wanted to say thank you. We’ve been trying, you know. At the TCMB. To hold the line. But policy without autonomy is just decoration.” Nazlı said, shaking her head. “Political engineering has tied our hands. We’re firefighting with paper fans."

Çiller tilted her head sympathetically. "You don’t need to explain. I’ve been watching the way they’ve used the economic emergency to justify what is essentially monetary policy. The whole Lira-Token dual currency is an attempt to take monetary policy back into the hands of the executive.”

The woman gave a rueful smile and quietly moved on. Then a voice, the same one who had invited her to the club echoing from behind her. She turned and smiled.

Tom smiled back and waved to her. “Dr. Çiller, if you’re not yet completely exhausted by the crowd, there’s a quieter place just around the corner. A few of us are gathering. Nothing formal. Just a conversation. I’d be honored if you’d join.”

Ayşe laughed “As long as it’s not another panel."

Tom smiled and walked with her to the private room where his team and the Ambassador were waiting. The crowd had thinned slightly as the two walked away behind the kitchen and up the stairs into the private residences that littered the top floors of the institution. The room was dimly lit, walls lined with dusty books and framed etchings of old Istanbul, as Çiller stepped in behind Tom, seeing the others in the room.

When Ambassador Silas stepped forward, Çiller blinked once. Recognition came like a quiet bell, as she extended her hand. “Ambassador Silas, it is a pleasure.” She said with a smile. When she looked back at Tom, she noticed him take off his disguise. She said nothing, just stood, unreadable. She didn’t speak right away. Didn’t give him the satisfaction of surprise. But inside, she bristled at the duplicity. She wasn’t naïve…but the theater of trust made her feel rather betrayed again. In light of all the spycraft she had experienced the past few months from Turkish intelligence services feeding her information, the state security services watching her, and now what felt like American intelligence services trying to recruit her, she was growing tired of the idea of not trusting anyone.”

Nevertheless, she sat down, smiling at the Ambassador before taking a seat and hearing him out. She nodded as He apologized for the cloak and dagger tactics before listening to his honest opinion that the communist government in Turkey was teetering on the edge of collapse.

“Thank you Ambassador Silas for the extra precaution taken.” Ayşe said as she crossed her fingers. “I appreciate your candid views on the current state of affairs here in Türkiye and it is one I do indeed share.” She paused, crossing her legs as she thought of what to say next. “I have been speaking with different leaders across our political spectrum and across our key institutions who all agree that the current status quo is untenable and that our Republic, the one we inherited from Atatürk, is slipping away into a coma. A secular and democratic republic.

The solution, I will be frank, I do not know Ambassador…but what I do know is that Atatürk said we, the sons and daughters, the future of Turkiye, even under such circumstances and conditions, your duty is to save the Turkish independence and the Republic, you will find the power you need in the noble blood in your veins. I do not believe the Turkish people have given up that oath or that they have given up the fight.” Ayşe said looking at the Ambassador to see if those words would reassure him of the Turkish people’s commitment to fighting back against this oppression.

Odinson