Erdogan's New Turkey

Resurgence of anti-western ressentiment and revanchism

This is the fifth and concluding part of the series on Turkey, where we look into the resurgent anti-western ressentiment and revanchism in Erdogan’s “new Turkey”.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

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Erdogan’s “new Turkey,” emblematic of the later phase of his rule, represents a rejection of Atatürk’s Europeanization project – the pseudomorphosis imposed from above and safeguarded for decades by the Turkish military. Atatürk’s sweeping Westernizing reforms, while transformative, were never fully embraced by the majority of Turkish society. Beneath the surface, a simmering resentment and disdain for this imposed secular, Westernized identity festered for much of the modern republic’s history. Erdogan’s rule, in essence, represents the embodiment of these long-suppressed frustrations, acting as their release valve.

The clearest manifestation of this defiance against the West and Atatürk’s Westernizing reforms under Erdogan’s rule came in July 2020, when Hagia Sophia was reclassified as a mosque. This was a deeply symbolic act. After the Ottoman conquest of Constantinople in 1453, the Greek Orthodox Cathedral was turned into a mosque. But during Atatürk’s rule it was turned into a museum in 1934, in a way symbolizing Turkey’s reconciliation with the West and its newly imposed “European” identity. For decades, its status as a museum was indeed a thorn in the eye for many Turks seething with hatred against the West. Its re-conversion into a mosque under Erdogan therefore unequivocally symbolizes Turkey’s return to its true self and going its own way, shedding, in the process, its artificial “Europeanness”. And this “own way” is increasingly accompanied by anti-Western ressentiment.

In this regard, Erdogan’s era bears a lot of parallels with both the Bolshevik Revolution and Vladimir Putin’s rule in Russia. Each case represents a backlash against an artificially imposed Europeanization – a superimposed cultural framework that clashed with the deeply rooted identity of a populace alien to European norms. What makes this parallel even more striking is the temporal overlap: Erdogan and Putin have ruled their respective countries during roughly the same period, their reigns shaping the trajectories of Turkey and Russia in analogous ways.

One interesting dimension of Erdogan’s “new Turkey” is its evolving relationship with the memory and legacy of Atatürk. While Erdogan and the AKP initially sought to diminish Atatürk’s veneration, they ultimately failed to erode his standing in Turkish society. Atatürk remains widely respected, with his portraits often appearing alongside Erdogan’s in public spaces. However, his legacy has been subtly reinterpreted.

Historically, the veneration of Atatürk centered on two contrasting aspects of his persona. He was celebrated as both (i) a modernizer and Westernizer who sought to align Turkey with European norms, and (ii) a leader who fought against and triumphed over Western powers during the Turkish War of Independence. For much of Turkey’s republican history, the first interpretation – as a Westernizer – dominated public education and historiography. But in Erdogan’s “new Turkey”, the emphasis has shifted decisively toward the second interpretation. Atatürk is increasingly portrayed as an anti-Western, anti-colonial figure, akin to leaders like Muhammad Ali Jinnah of Pakistan or Jawaharlal Nehru of India.

This reframing comes with its share of historical distortions. Turkey’s so-called “War of Independence”, contrary to how it is frequently depicted, was not a struggle against colonial rule but rather an effort to reclaim lost Ottoman territories – lands belonging to other peoples. In other words, instead of being anti-colonial, one can argue that it was precisely the opposite – a war of imperialist resurgence. The narrative of Atatürk as an anti-colonial liberator conveniently glosses over Turkey’s own imperial history, its legacy of genocide, and its brutal suppression of other peoples. These uncomfortable truths are swept under the rug, as historical narratives are bent to fit the needs of the present.

It is noteworthy that the reinterpretation of Atatürk’s role in Turkey closely mirrors how Peter the Great’s legacy has been reimagined in Putin’s Russia. Like Atatürk, Peter held a dual meaning in Russian history. He was seen as both (i) a Europeanizer who “opened a window to Europe” and modernized Russia to match Western powers, and (ii) a conqueror who triumphed over Europeans and solidified Russia’s strength. For much of Russian history, the first interpretation was predominant – Peter as a visionary who brought European culture and advancements to Russia. Yet, under Putin, the second interpretation has gained prominence, especially in the context of Russia’s aggressive foreign policy and the invasion of Ukraine.

Putin has increasingly cast Peter as a figure who “reclaimed ancient Rus’ territories” and strengthened Russia against Western adversaries. In fact, Putin likely thinks of himself as the next “Peter I”, obviously in the second interpretation. His framing of Peter as a defender and restorer of Russian greatness, as opposed to merely a Europeanizer, echoes Erdogan’s efforts to reshape Atatürk’s image as an anti-Western nationalist rather than a pro-Western reformer.

Another crucial aspect of the rejection of pseudomorphosis – one evident in historical parallels – is the hostility and desire for vengeance directed at the civilization whose cultural framework was imposed. In Turkey’s case, this means an animosity toward Western civilization. Erdogan’s Turkey, like Putin’s Russia, embodies this resentment in its rhetoric and policies.

Even before Erdogan, Turkish society had been deeply skeptical of the West. Anti-Western sentiment ran high, and, in line with this, there was a persistent, if understated, sympathy toward Russia. Throughout the 20th century, Turkey, despite its NATO membership, was often the alliance’s outlier, maintaining the friendliest relations with the Soviet Union. This made Turkey particularly susceptible to Soviet propaganda, which, in part, fueled the ideological riots and student clashes that rocked the country in the 1970s. These upheavals eventually led to the military coup of 1980. At the very least, the average Turk has long regarded Russia as the “lesser evil” compared to the United States and, by extension, the West.

Furthermore, while Atatürk’s Turkey sought to break from its Ottoman past, imperialist ressentiment has always simmered beneath the surface, glorifying the Ottoman Empire’s conquests and its wars against European peoples. Turkish schoolchildren, for instance, were often taught a very distorted version of Ottoman history, especially concerning the 19th-century independence movements of Greeks, Serbs, and other subject peoples. The prevailing narrative portrayed them as “ungrateful” for seeking independence from Ottoman rule, framing their aspirations as betrayals of the supposed benevolence and tolerance of the Empire. It is a perspective that closely mirrors Russian attitudes toward former Soviet republics and Eastern European nations. Just as Russians deride Baltic peoples, Ukrainians, and others as “Nazis” or “Russophobic” for their independence and opposition to Russian domination, Turks often dismiss Greeks, Armenians, and southern Slavs as “Turkophobic” or “ungrateful” for correctly viewing Ottoman rule as oppressive and genocidal.

Under Erdogan, these latent sentiments have erupted into the open, exacerbated and legitimized by the state. Much like in Putin’s Russia, where the masses now hold sway in shaping the political and cultural ethos (yes, this is indeed the case, as opposed to the rosy picture of Russia that Russian “liberals” paint to the naïve and unsuspecting Western audiences), Erdogan’s Turkey reflects the deepest longings and true character of its society. These are not aberrations but rather the unfiltered expression of long-standing attitudes. Over two decades of Erdogan’s rule, Turkey – while formally maintaining its NATO membership – has grown increasingly explicit in its anti-Western rhetoric. The contradiction of a country with such overt hostility to the West remaining a member of NATO is striking and difficult to reconcile. Yet, this paradox has persisted, even as Turkey’s foreign policy and rhetoric have become more openly antagonistic to the West.

One of the most visible manifestations of this anti-Western sentiment is Turkey’s hostility toward Israel. For Erdogan, anti-Israel rhetoric has become a hallmark of his populist appeal, aligning Turkey with the broader Third Worldist, anti-Western stance prevalent in the global South and the political Left in the West. While the specifics of Israel’s identity and its relationship to Western civilization are open to debate and are beyond the scope of this article, what matters is how it is perceived by Third Worldists: Israel is seen as a white colonial state, an extension of Western “imperialism” oppressing non-Western, non-white people. In Turkey, much like in the rest of the Third World, this framing subsumes anti-Israel sentiment into the broader anti-Western sentiment, tying the two together in a narrative of defiance against the hated West.

In one of his most striking recent statements, Erdogan lashed out at Israel following its military response to the October 7, 2023, terror attacks. Speaking with characteristic fervor, he accused the West of harboring an enduring "Crusader mentality" and claimed that Israel’s actions were rooted in this supposed mindset. The irony of the statement was lost on him: apparently, he is not aware that Israelis follow an entirely different religion than the one professed by the Crusaders, and that Jews and Crusaders had, to put it very mildly, a “complicated” relationship at the time.

However, Erdogan’s rhetoric makes more sense when viewed through the perspective of Turkish historical discourse. In Turkey, and arguably across all of the Muslim Middle East, the term “Crusader” has evolved into a euphemism for “Westerner” or “European”. It is a loaded word that evokes centuries of enmity with the West, far beyond its original medieval context. This is not unlike Soviet-era Russia’s use of “Capitalist” as a euphemism for “Westerner” or the modern Russian tendency to use “gays” as shorthand for alleged Western decadence. Therefore, for Erdogan, conflating Israel with Crusaders is less about historical accuracy and more about framing Israel as a Western, white, colonial state oppressing non-whites – an image that resonates deeply within the anti-Western sentiment prevalent in Turkish society.

In line with this, Erdogan’s rhetoric has become increasingly explicit over the years, reflecting a broader ideological shift. In a recent speech, he declared that the “decadent West is declining” and that the “sun of the East” is rising once again. He asserted that the East, bolstered by its righteousness and moral superiority, would ultimately prevail over the sinful and evil West. This rhetoric is eerily similar to the language of Russian public figures, including Putin, who have frequently labeled the West as “satanic” and “degenerate” while framing Russia’s invasion of Ukraine as a civilizational struggle against the West. Erdogan has even adopted similarly defiant slogans, once proclaiming that while the U.S. “has its dollar, we have God.”

Erdogan’s imperialist ambitions have also become increasingly overt, paralleling those of Putin. In a particularly alarming speech at the annual national science awards, Erdogan declared that Turkey’s borders are “larger than the official borders” of the Republic of Turkey. “As a nation,” he said, “we cannot limit our horizon to the 782.000 square kilometers” of Turkey’s current territory. He spoke of Turkey’s “destiny” to extend its influence over Africa, the Middle East, and possibly the Balkans and the Caucasus, framing this as a historical mission. “As a nation, we must think and act in accordance with this mission that history has bestowed upon us,” Erdogan continued. Dismissing critics who question Turkey’s involvement in places like Libya, Syria, and Somalia, he argued that such skeptics fail to grasp this grand vision and the mission that Turkey is meant to fulfill.

This rhetoric is nothing short of a bold declaration of imperialist ambition, and it bears an eerie resemblance to Putin’s own speeches, particularly those justifying Russia’s territorial aggression. Erdogan’s remarks were underscored by his son Bilal Erdogan, who organized a rally that took place on January 1, 2025, in support of Palestine, using a provocative slogan: “Yesterday Hagia Sophia, today Umayyad Mosque [in Damascus], and tomorrow Jerusalem.” Such language draws a direct line between Erdogan’s neo-Ottoman vision and his aggressive anti-Western posture, hinting at aspirations far beyond Turkey’s current borders.

In addition to its neo-Ottoman ambitions, which center on establishing Turkey as the dominant force in the Middle East and positioning itself as the protector of Muslims, Erdogan’s Turkey has increasingly turned toward another avenue for expanding its influence: pan-Turkism. While this idea is not new, its resurgence under Erdogan reflects the growing prominence of nationalism in his later years of rule.

Pan-Turkism once emerged strongly in Turkey in the early 1990s, when the collapse of the Soviet Union led to the independence of several Turkic-speaking republics in Central Asia and the Caucasus. At the time, there was a wave of enthusiasm in Turkey for uniting the so-called Turkic world, with some politicians proclaiming that the 21st century would be “the century of the Turkic people” (which due to specifics of the Turkish language translates as “Turkish people”, erasing any distinction between “Turkic” and “Turkish”). However, this initial fervor quickly fizzled out, overshadowed by the realities of limited resources, geopolitical challenges, and competing priorities.

Under Erdogan, however, pan-Turkism has been revitalized, particularly in the later part of his reign, as nationalism with time has become more prominent in Turkish society and, as a result, has taken center stage in Turkish politics. Erdogan’s government has actively sought to rekindle cultural, political, and economic ties with Turkic-speaking nations such as Azerbaijan, Kazakhstan, Uzbekistan, Kyrgyzstan, and Turkmenistan. Turkey has also played a prominent role in promoting pan-Turkic institutions, such as the Organization of Turkic States, to foster closer cooperation among these nations.

This renewed emphasis on pan-Turkism brings to mind the pan-Slavist aspirations of 19th-century Russia. Like pan-Turkism, pan-Slavism proclaimed the unity of a broader cultural and linguistic group – in this case, the Slavic peoples. However, both movements came with an implicit assertion of dominance: just as Russia sought to position itself as the leader of the Slavic world, Turkey now claims the leadership of the Turkic world. It is noteworthy however that in both cases the supposed champion of these pan-nationalist visions is a nation/ethnicity which shares the least genetic heritage with the larger group it claims to champion, and which has questionable credentials to be considered part of that group in the first place.

Among Slavic nations, Russians are clearly the least “Slavic” in terms of genetic heritage and cultural traditions, reflecting a significant blend of Finno-Ugric, Turkic, and Mongol influences. It might even be argued that calling Russians “Slavic” is an overstretch. Similarly, among the Turkic-speaking peoples, modern Turks have the least genetic connection to their Central Asian origins. Over centuries of conquest, migration, and conversion of local populations (forceful or voluntary) to Islam, the population of Anatolia has become a mishmash of ethnicities – including people with roots in the Balkans, Caucasus, Middle East, together with Turkic people and descendants of ancient autochthonous populations – making their ties to Turkic ancestry far less significant than those of their Central Asian counterparts.

This dissonance is not just an academic curiosity – it has practical implications. Russia’s pan-Slavist forays were rejected by other Slavic nations, such as Poles, Czechs, and Slovaks, and even Ukrainians and Belarusians, who resisted being subsumed in a grand unifying realm under clear Russian dominance. In a similar vein, Turkey’s neo-Ottoman ambitions and its attempts to position itself as the leader of the Muslim world have met with resistance, particularly from the Arab states, many of whom view Turkey’s overtures with suspicion or outright hostility.

The question now is how Turkey’s pan-Turkist aspirations will be received by other Turkic-speaking nations. Will they embrace Ankara’s vision of cultural and political solidarity, or will they, like the Arab states with neo-Ottomanism, see Turkey’s ambitions as self-serving and overreaching? Much will depend on Turkey’s ability to balance its nationalist rhetoric with a genuine willingness to engage as an equal partner, rather than as a hegemonic force. If history is any guide, however, Turkey’s pan-Turkist agenda may face the same challenges and resistance that doomed the grandiose pan-Slavist visions of imperial Russia.

Moreover, Turkey’s renewed imperialist aspirations, embodied in both pan-Islamism and pan-Turkism, are deeply imbued with an anti-Western ressentiment. Importantly, these forays to position itself as a champion of broader cultural or religious blocs often seem less about genuine solidarity and more about finding a larger group to align with in defiance of the West. This attitude is similar to Russia’s attempts to court China and various Third World countries, such as India, as part of its strategy to counterbalance its confrontation with the West. For both Turkey and Russia, the idea of belonging to a wider coalition offers a psychological cushion – a way to make their self-initiated struggles against the West feel less isolating and more justifiable.

In the context of pan-Turkism, this anti-Western orientation appears especially bizarre. Counterintuitively, Turkey’s pan-Turkic overtures are not primarily directed against Russia, despite the fact that Russia has always been the main abuser of Turkic peoples, and they have suffered centuries of oppression under Russian rule. Even today, many Turkic peoples, such as Tatars, Bashkirs, Yakuts, remain subjugated within the Russian Federation, and face increasing threat of losing their language and identity under enforced Russification. Independence activists from these peoples often look to Turkey with hope, seeing it as a potential ally in their struggle for self-determination. However, their hopes are tragically misplaced.

From the outside, it might seem natural to view Turkey as a defender of Turkic peoples against Russian yoke. But such an assumption overlooks the deeper realities of Turkish society. Just as Western observers frequently fail to understand the complexities of Russia or Ukraine, and as Ukrainians or pro-Ukrainian Russian speakers struggle to fully grasp the intricacies of Western societies, so too do Tatars, Bashkirs, and other Turkic and Muslim peoples within Russia misunderstand what really moves Turkey.

The harsh truth is that Turkey is largely indifferent to the plight of Tatars, Bashkirs, or other Turkic peoples under Russian rule. Its pan-Turkic rhetoric is less about fostering solidarity with these captive peoples and more about advancing its anti-Western agenda. If Turkey were consistent in its pan-Turkic aspirations, then it would have declared Russia as the enemy number one and would antagonize Russia strongly. One would expect Erdogan, instead of lashing out against the West in his speeches, to lash out against Russia.

However, none of this is happening. Turkey continues to be on good terms with Russia even after its invasion of Ukraine. The reality is that Russia, for all its historical and ongoing abuses against Turkic and Muslim peoples, is often viewed in Turkey as a “lesser evil” compared to the hated West. Some even go as far as viewing Russia as an ally instead of an enemy. This is because Turkey’s attitude and self-perception are aligned with broader Third Worldist sentiments, which clearly see Russia as an ally against the hated West. Therefore, rather than confronting Russia for its oppression of Turkic peoples, Turkey’s energy is directed toward antagonizing the West.

The same indifference applies to China’s ongoing genocide of the Uyghurs, a Turkic Muslim people. Despite the horrifying scale of repression in Xinjiang, Turkey has largely sidestepped this issue, offering little more than symbolic gestures. One can reliably conclude that Turkey’s supposed brotherhood with Turkic peoples is subordinated to its anti-Western ressentiment, and in a way distorted by it. Confronting Russia or China would require a consistency and sincerity that Turkey has not really demonstrated in its pan-Turkic rhetoric. Instead, Turkey’s actions are focused on “sticking it” to the West, the perennial target of its ire.

Ironically, the real hope for captive Turkic peoples within Russia lies not with Turkey but with the nations of Eastern Europe. These countries, having suffered under Russian yoke themselves, have a far clearer understanding of the brutality of Russian occupation. Their firsthand experience of Russian rule and their historical resistance to Russian expansionism make them natural allies for Turkic and Muslim peoples seeking freedom from Russia. In contrast, Turkey’s pathological fixatedness on the West blinds it to the opportunities – and moral imperatives – of addressing the plight of Turkic and Muslim peoples under Russian and Chinese rule.

There are, however, also important distinctions between the Russian pseudomorphosis and its subsequent repudiation, with concomitant revanchism, and the Turkish experience. The Europeanization of Turkey under Atatürk, though far-reaching, was milder in its implementation than Russia’s pseudomorphosis under Peter the Great, and the reaction to it was correspondingly less severe.

Peter I’s reforms in Russia were notoriously brutal, enforced through violence and massacres that could rival the scale and cruelty of what would later occur during the Red Terror and Stalin’s rule. Even before Peter’s reign, during the Nikonian reforms in the 17th century – which aimed to align Muscovite Christianity more closely with Greek Orthodox practices –the Old Believers, who clung to traditional Muscovite Christian practices, were brutally suppressed and massacred. Thus, Russian pseudomorphosis was born in blood, imposed with uncompromising ferocity.

Given the brutality of Russia’s artificial Europeanization, it is not surprising that its rejection during the Bolshevik Revolution, the Red Terror, and Stalin’s reign of terror was equally, if not more, violent. The repudiation of European culture in Russia was also marked by the physical extermination of those who had implemented and embodied the Europeanization project. This included the descendants of European settlers (primarily Germans) who had played a central role in creating what came to be known as "Russian culture", as well as exceptional ethnic Russians who had internalized European norms and contributed meaningfully to Russian intellectual and cultural life. In essence, the Bolshevik Revolution and Stalin’s reign of terror were profoundly dysgenic, systematically erasing the very gene pool that had fostered the cultural achievements that had emerged out of Russia in the 19^th century.

In contrast, while Atatürk’s reforms faced significant resistance in Turkey – resistance that was also met with force – it did not reach the scale of violence and devastation seen in Russia’s experience. The process of Europeanization in Turkey, though contested, was less brutal, and its subsequent repudiation under Erdogan has been similarly restrained in comparison to the Russian experience. Turkey did not become an Islamic theocracy like Iran or Afghanistan, for example. Instead, it remains a kind of hybrid society: (still) secular and outwardly Westernized to some degree, yet increasingly shaped by a more prominent role for Islam in public life. Atatürk’s legacy, while challenged and reinterpreted, has not been wholly discarded. He is still widely venerated as the founder of modern Turkey, even if the narrative around his role has shifted (as discussed earlier).

Moreover, the preservation of a small, albeit critical, amount of European gene pool within Turkey – the descendants of Albanians, Greeks and southern Slavs who adopted Islam and took Turkish names – may have been a decisive factor, preventing the country from fully embracing Islamism and outright rejection of Atatürk’s “Westernizing” legacy. This critical component within the Turkish population, differentiating it from other Middle Eastern societies, likely helped it avoid a complete repudiation of Atatürk’s reforms and allowed the country to maintain a degree of secularism and outward modernization, even as Erdogan’s regime pushed it in a more nationalist and Islamist direction.

Also, as previously discussed, Turkish society, unlike Russian society, has been deeply subdued by a long history of defeats. This enduring legacy has diminished its passionarity – its collective drive for ambitious or radical action. By contrast, Russia’s pseudomorphosis occurred at what Oswald Spengler would call its pre-cultural stage, with its repudiation taking place during the nascent phase of its own unique world-feeling – i.e., the springtime of a civilization's lifecycle. For Turkey, however, this phase passed long ago. It exists now in what Spengler would describe as a post-civilizational stage, with its people embodying the characteristics of Fellaheen – a subdued, survival-oriented populace focused on practicalities rather than grand ambitions. This fundamental difference in cultural stages likely accounts for the contrasting intensities with which alien cultural impositions, and their repudiation have been experienced in the two societies. Early-stage civilizations, still brimming with vitality, likely react to imposed cultural overlays with far more fervor than late-stage civilizations, where such reactions tend to be more muted.

This is vividly apparent in the contrast between Putin’s Russia and Erdogan’s Turkey. While Erdogan’s ambitions for an assertive, neo-imperialist Turkey have garnered support among some of the politically active segment of the population, the level of societal enthusiasm has never reached the fever pitch seen in Russia. Throughout the 2010s and into the present, Turkish society has consistently held Erdogan back from fully realizing his grandiose vision of an expansionist Turkey. Unlike in Russia, where the substantial majority of the population rallies behind Putin’s revanchist agenda, Turkish society, while also resentful of the West and nostalgic about its imperial past, has been, until now, far more reluctant to embrace international adventurism.

Indeed, Erdogan would probably have loved to be like Putin – to command the total control over Turkish society just like Putin commands over Russian society, and to emulate his aggressive international posture. But Turkish society, one should say to its credit, has proven a tempering force. Despite Erdogan’s best efforts – especially in the latter half of the 2010s – his ambitions have been constrained by a populace far less willing to support risky interventions abroad.

One key factor underlying this restraint is the importance of economic prosperity to modern Turks. Apparently, for Turkish society, material well-being plays a far more decisive role than it does for Russians. Turkey is essentially a nation of “petty merchants” – a term that can be viewed either dismissively or as an acknowledgment of a pragmatic society which prioritizes trade and economic self-interest. This psychological characteristic of Turks has profound implications for Erdogan’s capacity to pursue international aggression.

A striking comparison can be drawn to Western assumptions about Russia in the wake of its invasion of Ukraine. Many Western policymakers believed that deteriorating economic conditions and mounting battlefield losses would eventually force Russian society to give in. As the saying goes in Russia, “the refrigerator would prevail over the television”, implying that the realities of daily life would outweigh the influence of propaganda. Yet this expectation failed to materialize, as many Russians continued to support or tolerate the war despite its heavy toll.

In Turkey, however, the equation is different. If Erdogan were to launch a full-scale interventionist adventure abroad and the situation were to go awry, his ability to rally public support would be far more tenuous. For Turkish society, the “refrigerator” is far more likely to prevail over the “television”. In other words, the practical concerns of economic stability and day-to-day well-being hold greater sway over the Turkish people than ideological narratives or grandiose visions of national greatness. This pragmatic streak within Turkish society has acted as a critical check on Erdogan’s ambitions, preventing him from fully following the path of his Russian counterpart.

Moreover, Turkey’s future trajectory under Erdogan, much like Russia’s under Putin, will heavily depend on the firmness and resolve of the West. Weakness or timidity in Western responses – similar to what has often characterized dealings with Russia – could embolden Turkey to pursue a more aggressive foreign policy, even in the face of a hesitant domestic populace. History repeatedly demonstrates that action is shaped by reaction. If the potential for a robust counterreaction is perceived as weak or non-existent, even relatively restrained ambitions can escalate unchecked.

However, Turkey’s position vis-à-vis the West differs significantly from Russia’s in one crucial aspect: Turkey lacks the deep reservoir of goodwill – or, at the very least, tolerance – that Russia has managed to cultivate in certain segments of the Western public. While Russia has successfully infiltrated Western discourse with its propaganda and manipulative narratives, securing a surprising degree of sympathy among groups such as the populist Right, Turkey does not enjoy such an advantage. On the contrary, many of the same Western factions that parrot pro-Russian narratives harbor a strong antipathy toward Turkey.

Russia’s success in spreading its asinine narratives is a remarkable phenomenon unmatched by anyone. It has managed to convince a sizable portion of the Western public of its outlandish claims: that NATO threatens Russia, that Ukraine is overrun by “Nazis,” that Ukrainian forces bombed the Donbas, and so on. These narratives fly in the face of obvious truths, yet Russians deliver them with such conviction that they gain traction. This numbness to glaring distinctions between obvious falsehood and truth, which enables them to claim any lie with a straight face – akin to asserting that 1+1=4356 – and as a result to successfully convince others is a peculiar character trait unique to Russians that deserves a separate study. While Turks certainly can also be crafty, they lack this extraordinary (and deeply troubling) ability to blur the line between falsehood and truth to such an extent.

In conclusion, the cases of Turkey and Russia offer invaluable insights into each other, illuminating patterns and trajectories that can inform our understanding of both countries. While the future is inherently unpredictable and subject to countless variables, identifying recurring historical patterns and performing comparative analyses can significantly enhance our ability to anticipate what lies ahead.

Turkey and Russia provide a fascinating case for comparative historical analysis. By examining Turkey’s evolution, we can gain a better grasp of Russia’s present and future, and vice versa. Such understanding is not merely an academic exercise but a practical necessity. The ability to predict the future – even if somewhat imperfectly – is critical for making informed decisions that shape our real lives and prepare us for the challenges ahead.

Ultimately, the study of history, when undertaken rigorously and methodically, holds predictive power akin to the natural sciences. Its purpose is not only to satisfy intellectual curiosity but also to arm us with the tools to navigate an uncertain future. By understanding history’s patterns, we can better anticipate the shape of things to come and act accordingly. In this sense, history is not just a record of the past – it is a guide to the future.

This article was originally published by the author at Radical Dose.

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