Necip F. Bahadir
After his statement, “It’s just Putin and me left!”, came another bold remark:
“If you want to know who’s a dictator, look at the prison images coming from Syria…”
And it doesn’t stop there:
“Anyone who really wants to understand what a dictator is should take a look at the Ba’ath regime’s gallery of sins…”
It’s not hard to guess who said these words. The “It’s just Putin and me left!” line wasn’t read from a prepared text. It was an off-the-cuff remark during a conversation. The other one, however, came during a speech read from a teleprompter.
Did he go off-script? Maybe. Speechwriters are often cautious about including such statements, knowing critics might retort with, “Turn and look at yourself first…”
Politicians are easily tempted by the allure of a striking phrase, often forgetting to pause and think before speaking. If their inner circle encourages them with, “The public loves your natural, unscripted style. Keep going!”, there’s little to hold them back from making missteps or clumsy remarks—so long as they appear “natural.” But even naturalness has its limits. It’s not all about improvisation; sometimes, preparation matters (yes, I mean the teleprompter).
The teleprompter debate:
Devlet Bahçeli used to harshly criticize Erdoğan for using a teleprompter, saying things like, “Don’t speak from the screen, speak from the heart!” In contrast, Bahçeli himself used to rely on handwritten notes for speeches and would recycle the same content, only swapping out the city’s name. But eventually, even he moved from handwritten notes to teleprompters. Is there anything he hasn’t backtracked on?
Now, back to Erdoğan: Did he read that dictator remark from a script, or was it improvised? I lack the time and resources to watch his speeches in full. I can only rely on the text shared by the media. I can’t definitively determine whether the statement was from the heart or the teleprompter. Either possibility remains plausible, and the uncertainty here is on me.
Dictators and their prisons:
Still, as the statement carries his name, we can comfortably say, “These words belong to Erdoğan.” Hours have passed, and since there’s been no retraction, it’s clear the comment wasn’t a slip of the tongue or an overreach. Although the context was Syria, “If you want to see a dictator, look at the prisons…” is a highly apt and accurate observation. My astonishment lies in the fact that such words came from Erdoğan himself.
By Erdoğan’s definition, the measure of a dictator is their prisons.
Just as sheep tell the poet of the passing years, prisons tell the story of whether a government is dictatorial or authoritarian. A quick look at the state of the prisons in a country often reveals the nature of its governance, and such an analysis rarely leads to error.
Dictators send their opponents to prisons without hesitation to silence and suppress dissent. Over time, those prisons begin to speak for themselves, echoing the tales of oppression. The voices of the prisoners first reverberate off the prison walls and eventually spread across the country, finding their way into pages of history. Prisons have a language of their own, as piercing as the screams heard in Damascus.
Every tyrant leaves behind two legacies: magnificent palaces and oppressive prisons. Is it a surprise that Bashar al-Assad’s regime left behind prisons that narrate its years of tyranny? Hardly unexpected. I’ve read countless accounts about Syria’s prisons.
In Syria, a morning visit from the police often began with the promise, “We’ll just take you to the station for ten minutes.” If you were fortunate, you might return home years later. Or, you might perish under torture within those dark prison walls. Since Assad’s fall, the media has been filled with “heart-wrenching tales” from former prisoners.
“If Aleppo is over there, then measure it here!”
Listening to the stories of female prisoners alone is enough to bring tears to your eyes and a lump to your throat. But we shouldn’t turn away; we must hear these stories to remain sensitive and aware when faced with similar atrocities.
Just as we examine Damascus, shouldn’t we also look at Silivri, Sincan, and other prisons in Turkey used as torture centers? Should we only shed tears for neighbors, ignoring injustices inflicted on our own people?
Would Assad imprison someone like Melek İpek?
After reading Erdoğan’s remark, a question keeps circulating in my mind: Would Assad have sent 79-year-old Melek İpek—who has done nothing but charity work all her life and suffers from numerous age-related illnesses—to prison? Would his regime have filled its prisons with babies and children?
I don’t have an answer; I’m just asking. What kind of ruler would see a 79-year-old woman as a threat to their power or authority? Pharaohs didn’t, even sparing women from harm.
Take a look at Turkey’s prisons under Erdoğan. Aren’t they filled with innocent and wronged people? In a normal country, would there be 3,835 children—including 162 girls—behind bars? Beyond children, newborns and breastfeeding infants share the cold prison walls with their mothers. Dozens of postpartum women were arrested along with their infants, taken straight from hospital doors to jail cells.
If Assad’s prisons are in Damascus and Aleppo, then Turkey’s are here in Silivri and Sincan.
The disgrace of strip searches—did that happen in Syria?
Human rights defender Ömer Faruk Gergerlioğlu gave impassioned speeches in Parliament about the disgrace of strip searches in Turkish prisons, turning to the AKP benches and asking, “Aren’t you ashamed?”
They are not. Nor do they fear God. If they did, would these scenes continue to occur?
As I write this, a court hearing is underway for 14-15-year-old girls accused of terrorism. Even Nacho Sanchez Amor, Turkey’s rapporteur at the European Parliament, protested against this trial. Referring to an AKP member present at the meeting, he said, “You’re prosecuting 14-year-old girls for terrorism, Ismail. Judges are asking these girls, ‘Why did you go to your neighbor to study?’”
Unfortunately, the issue goes beyond just studying. Judges emboldened by the AKP have asked in courtrooms, “Does anyone in your household teach the Quran?” While focusing on Damascus, are we not going to address the questions asked here in Turkey?
Erdoğan’s “prison criterion” is, indeed, very accurate. If only someone in politics had told him, “Look at yourself first.” If Damascus and Aleppo are over there, then here are Silivri and Sincan. Turkey’s prison galleries, filled with babies, sick individuals, and the elderly, also tell a story.
And one day, Erdoğan’s prisons will speak, just as Assad’s did. That day will inevitably come. And when it does, the world will hear everything—loud and clear.
Oh AKP faithful! Will you not heed Erdoğan’s advice? Will you not look at the prisons? If your eyes can see Damascus, will they not see Istanbul and Anatolia as well?
