In journalism, even if it is no longer practiced widely in Turkey, one principle remains indispensable: following the story.
Some stories demand years of persistence. They require following every development, every court hearing, every document, and every new revelation. The Reza Zarrab and Halkbank investigation has been one of those stories for me. For the past thirteen years, I have followed this case closely, covering virtually every major development. Today, once again, I was the only Turkish journalist in the courtroom.
I first watched Reza Zarrab appear before Judge Richard Berman in this very courtroom on April 27, 2016. I wrote about my observations then. He wore a faded navy-blue prison uniform, shackles around his ankles, and looked nothing like the wealthy businessman the public had known. Because it also reminded readers of his then-wife, Turkish singer Ebru GündeÅŸ, I titled my article, “Nothing Remains of His Former Self.”
A great deal has happened since then.
Today, on July 14, 2026, Zarrab returned to the same courtroom as a defendant once again—but this time under entirely different circumstances. He appeared relaxed and confident, dressed in a dark business suit and wearing glasses. He sat comfortably among an expensive team of defense attorneys, occasionally chatting with prosecutors, and warmly greeted relatives who had traveled from Turkey.
The final chapter of one of the most consequential legal cases affecting Turkish politics, economics, and foreign policy over the past decade had finally come to an end.
Judge Richard Berman delivered his decision. Reza Zarrab received no additional prison sentence. In essence, the court concluded that the 22 months and 10 days he had already spent behind bars were sufficient punishment. Relief and satisfaction were clearly visible on his face. The American justice system, which he had entered in handcuffs a decade earlier, had now completely closed its chapter on him.
As I left the courtroom, one question occupied my mind:
Who truly won, and who truly lost, in this case?
The most remarkable aspect of the Zarrab case was that the existence of the crime itself was never seriously disputed.
Reza Zarrab admitted his guilt before an American court. He described in detail how the sanctions against Iran had been circumvented. He acknowledged distributing bribes. He testified against Halkbank Deputy General Manager Mehmet Hakan Atilla. He cooperated extensively with federal prosecutors.
Every one of these admissions became part of the official court record.
Throughout the proceedings, I documented each stage through TR724’s YouTube channel and website. I even located Zarrab in Miami under his new identity and revealed his new life to the public.
There was never any real question of whether a crime had occurred.
The crime existed.
The confession existed.
The court records existed.
So what was the outcome?
The man who admitted committing the crime walks free today.
He continues his life in the United States.
The criminal case against Halkbank, after years of legal and political negotiations, concluded without any financial penalty.
Meanwhile, in Turkey, politicians accused of receiving bribes were never subjected to an effective judicial process.
Looking back, it becomes clear that those who paid the highest price were neither those who paid the bribes, nor those who built the sanctions-evasion scheme, nor the political decision-makers.
The highest price was paid by the police officers and prosecutors who investigated the case.
Some received life sentences.
Some remain imprisoned.
Others have spent years living in exile.
That is why what closed today was not merely a criminal case.
It was also the closing chapter of a historic example of how the relationship between justice and politics can fundamentally change.
Political philosopher Hannah Arendt offered a powerful warning in her essay Truth and Politics. She argued that politics often cannot eliminate factual truth—but it can dramatically alter the political consequences of that truth.
The Zarrab case illustrates precisely this point.
No one now claims that sanctions against Iran were never violated.
No one denies that the financial transfers took place.
No one disputes that Zarrab admitted his crimes.
The facts have not changed.
What changed were the political and legal consequences attached to those facts.
Walking down the steps of the Southern District courthouse, I found myself thinking of one of my favorite writers, George Orwell:
“Who controls the past controls the future. Who controls the present controls the past.”
That is exactly what happened in Turkey following the December 17–25 corruption investigations.
Initially, public debate centered on allegations of corruption.
Then the subject changed.
People no longer discussed the bribery allegations but instead focused on the police officers who conducted the investigations.
The conversation shifted away from the cash-filled shoeboxes and toward the identities of the prosecutors.
The truth of the allegations became secondary; what mattered was the perceived affiliations of those investigating them.
The central question of the entire case was deliberately replaced.
The crime itself did not disappear.
Only the public agenda changed.
The entire episode reminds me of one of the oldest paradoxes in legal history:
“There is a crime, but no criminal.”
Yet today’s reality goes even further.
Now, not only is the crime undeniable, but the criminal is known.
There is a confession.
There is a judicial ruling.
Yet the distribution of punishment bears little resemblance to justice.
The individual who admitted his crimes is free.
The institution continues its operations.
No meaningful political accountability has ever emerged.
Yet the investigators remain imprisoned.
Others remain in exile.
Many families continue to suffer.
People often say that the scales of justice never fail.
Perhaps that is true.
But deciding which files are ever placed on those scales is often determined not by law, but by politics.
That is why the Zarrab case has become far more than a corruption investigation.
It has become a case study in how power and law can become intertwined.
It demonstrates how national interests can, at times, override the pursuit of justice.
It exposes, in stark terms, the enduring tension between the rule of law and raison d’état in international politics.
Perhaps that is why, as I left the courthouse today, only one image remained in my mind.
On one side stood Reza Zarrab, smiling as he walked out of the courthouse a free man.
On the other stood the police officers, prosecutors, and families whose lives have been shattered because of this very same case—some still behind bars, others living in exile.
That image left me with one simple conclusion:
Justice is not merely about punishing the guilty. Justice is about ensuring that the burden of guilt falls upon the right people.
The case may now be officially closed.
The crimes have not disappeared.
The confessions remain.
The court records remain.
But history may ultimately record something else:
In this case, legal truth and political consequence arrived at different destinations. The crime remained established, but it was not the law that determined who would ultimately bear its cost—it was the balance of power.
As I left the courtroom, I wrote one final note in my notebook:
The Zarrab case may be closed, but its story will remain with us for many years to come.
