Necip F. Bahadir
When Istanbul Mayor Ekrem İmamoğlu appeared before the court recently, he made a serious accusation. He described being transported in handcuffs inside a cramped prison vehicle, driven nearly 75 miles (120 kilometers) for no apparent reason, only to be turned around and brought back. Standing before the judge, he called it what he believed it was:
“This was deliberate psychological torture.”
Whether one supports İmamoğlu politically is beside the point. The more troubling question is why such treatment has generated so little public outrage.
According to İmamoğlu, he was taken from prison early in the morning for a court hearing. He was placed in a narrow, poorly ventilated transport vehicle commonly referred to by inmates as a “coffin on wheels.” After traveling roughly 60 kilometers toward the courthouse, the vehicle suddenly stopped and reversed course. Officials reportedly cited a mechanical malfunction. Few found the explanation convincing.
The issue is not merely the inconvenience of an interrupted trip. Anyone familiar with Turkish prison transport vehicles understands how physically and psychologically exhausting they can be. Being confined for hours in such conditions, handcuffed and unable to move freely, raises serious concerns about the treatment of detainees.
What is perhaps most striking is not the incident itself but the public reaction—or lack of one.
Turkey has become increasingly accustomed to stories that once would have triggered widespread debate. Practices that should provoke public scrutiny often pass with little notice. What would have dominated headlines years ago now disappears within a single news cycle.
The contrast with an earlier era is difficult to ignore.
President Recep Tayyip Erdoğan himself served a prison sentence in 1999 after being convicted for reciting a poem that authorities claimed incited religious hatred. At the time, many conservatives viewed him as a victim of an authoritarian secular establishment. His imprisonment became a symbol of political injustice.
Yet even many of Erdoğan’s critics acknowledge that the treatment he received during that period bears little resemblance to what prominent opposition figures face today. Erdoğan’s imprisonment was controversial, but reports of humiliating treatment, family intimidation, or systematic pressure on his broader circle were largely absent.
The comparison matters because it raises a broader question: Has Turkey become more democratic and humane over the past quarter century, or less?
Supporters of the government often argue that today’s investigations are legal matters rather than political ones. Critics argue the opposite—that the judicial system has increasingly become a tool for suppressing political challengers. Whatever one’s position, basic principles should remain constant. Human dignity should not depend on party affiliation.
A society’s commitment to justice is tested not when it protects its friends, but when it protects its opponents.
One does not need to support the Republican People’s Party (CHP) to object to degrading treatment of a political rival. One does not need to agree with İmamoğlu’s politics to insist that detainees be treated with dignity. The issue is not whether he is innocent or guilty of any allegation. The issue is whether a modern democratic society accepts humiliation as a legitimate instrument of state power.
Perhaps the most troubling development is not the incident itself but the growing normalization of such practices. Outrage has been replaced by indifference. What once shocked the public is increasingly viewed as routine.
History rarely remembers who remained silent when their allies were targeted. It remembers who spoke when their opponents were.
The real question is not what happened to Ekrem İmamoğlu.
The real question is what our reaction to it says about us.
