Hollow Core

In early 2024, a deeply consequential legislative amendment quietly passed through Türkiye’s corridors of power, granting the Savings Deposit Insurance Fund (TMSF) the unprecedented authority to seize private enterprises without the need for judicial oversight. The justification — as so often in the past decade — was framed in the familiar language of national security and counterterrorism. But in essence, this decree signals a profound departure from the foundational tenets of the rule of law, and the formalisation of a new stage in the consolidation of executive economic hegemony.

This development cannot be viewed in isolation. It is part of a broader architecture, meticulously constructed over two decades, in which state resources are systematically diverted to partisan networks under the guise of developmentalism, religious legitimacy, and national unity. At its heart lies not ideological conviction but a theology of perpetual incumbency, sustained through nepotism, extraction, and institutional patronage.

Municipal administrations, once envisioned as laboratories of local democracy, have been reconstituted as subsidiary treasuries for political perpetuation. Major urban and provincial municipalities function not merely as service providers, but as instruments of political financing and social control. Public contracts, zoning privileges, philanthropic disbursements, and urban regeneration schemes are routinely allocated to entities aligned by kinship, loyalty, or discreet allegiance. The allocation of resources — from hiring practices to welfare programs — follows not principles of fairness or need, but a logic of networked loyalty and elite reproduction. If I were to tell you that Istanbul’s 2025 municipal spending budget stands at nearly $15 billion, you might begin to understand the intensity of Erdoğan’s determination to reclaim it from the main opposition party The Republican People’s Party (CHP) and its jailed mayor.

At the apex of this structure stand a cluster of conglomerates — widely known in the public imagination yet often unnamed in official scrutiny — which have repeatedly been awarded the state’s most lucrative infrastructure and development contracts. According to a 2023 World Bank report, these Turkish firms now rank among the top ten global recipients of government infrastructure contracts — a remarkable distinction, not for its competitive merit, but for what it reveals about the fusion of state and capital in contemporary Türkiye.

Complementing this, a parliamentary report by CHP underscores the consolidation of this ecosystem: over a five-year period, the government awarded over 330 billion liras in large-scale tenders, with half of the total volume flowing to just twenty firms. Of that, nearly one-quarter was channeled to a handful of privileged entities, often characterised by personal proximity to senior officials. Tax records offer further illumination. As reported in 2023 by investigative journalists, several of these leading beneficiaries paid no corporate tax, despite receiving multi-billion dollar state contracts. This is not economic policy; it is institutionalised privilege.

Compounding this is the extensive use of the “21/b” emergency procurement regulation, ostensibly designed for situations of war or natural disaster. Today, however, it accounts for over three-quarters of all major public tenders — utilised not out of necessity, but to bypass transparency and shield patronage from public scrutiny.

Over the course of the The Justice and Development Party’s (AKP) two-decade rule, the consolidated scale of this system of privileged contracting, new model of oligarchy and wealth transfer must not be underestimated. It is no longer a matter of billions in total — it is measured in trillions of dollars, reflecting Türkiye’s stature as one of the top 20 economies in the world. What we are witnessing is not an occasional impropriety, but a wholesale repurposing of a national economy for the benefit of an entrenched political-commercial elite.

The recent detention of several business leaders linked to TÜSİAD, Türkiye’s most influential industrial and business association, is not an aberration — it is a manifestation of the very system described here. Among those detained is an individual widely recognized as the chief representative of Qatari capital in Türkiye, a symbolic warning that even foreign-aligned capital is no longer immune if not fully aligned with the domestic nexus of loyalty and submission. This episode is not about law enforcement — it is about signaling control, disciplining deviation, and reminding the wider business community that economic success is permitted only by political consent. It is not the corruption of the market; it is the substitution of the market with favour-based hierarchy.

Despite its self-branding as a movement rooted in political Islam, the ruling party has long since abandoned any coherent theological or ideological framework. The sacred is invoked; but it is not revered. Sermons echo in parliament; but decisions are made in boardrooms. What animates the current leadership is not faith, but a deep, relentless pursuit of power as an end in itself. Alliances are ephemeral, principles are negotiable, and policy is subservient to the rhythms of perpetual incumbency. The architecture of governance in today’s Türkiye is non-ideological in substance, even if it remains rhetorical in form.

This has real geopolitical consequence. Türkiye does not participate in the ideological fault lines of the Middle East in any meaningful or consistent fashion. It is neither an anchor of Sunni orthodoxy nor a revolutionary force. It is, rather, a chameleon: capable of aligning with whomever ensures continuity, funds prestige, and preserves the façade of grandeur.

One cannot fully understand this transformation without confronting the deep failure of Türkiye’s secular elite and old money families. For years, they stood aloof — socially insulated, intellectually complacent, and chronically dismissive of those unlike themselves. They indulged in the mythology of their own cultural superiority, mistaking dinner party rhetoric for national stewardship.

They never truly believed the storm would come — because they never believed that anyone outside their narrow world could seize the helm. They confused the republic with their lifestyle, and patriotism with nostalgic conversation over cocktails, never grasping that real patriotism requires vigilance, sacrifice, and inclusion. And when power shifted, they were unprepared. They underestimated the organizational genius and true hard work of their adversaries and overestimated the resilience of a republic they had long taken for granted. Their legacy is not resistance, but silence.

For years, this reality was obscured through a calculated choreography of religious rhetoric and regional political tensions. External enemies were invoked, moral crusades staged, and identity politics manipulated to create a sense of siege and divine purpose. But this theatre no longer holds the same audience.

A younger generation, born into crisis and connected by algorithm, sees through the pageantry. It does not inherit the reverence of its parents, nor the fear of questioning sacred narratives. Instead, it interrogates religion, authority, and power in real-time, drawing from a global stream of information that transcends state-controlled media and official dogma. These young citizens are not ideologues — they are analysts, decoding geopolitics on TikTok, studying economic models on YouTube, and exposing hypocrisy on Instagram. They do not see in the call to prayer a promise of justice; they see in the luxury convoys of public servants a betrayal of sacred values. The symbols of power no longer inspire reverence — they provoke satire.

The TMSF’s new powers, the hollowing out of municipal autonomy, the entrenchment of elite networks, the detention of dissenting business leaders, and the abandonment of all ideological consistency reveal a Turkish regime that no longer pretends to govern by principle. Its sole pursuit is perpetuation — of itself, its networks, and its new dynasties.

What began in the early 2000s as an experiment in conservative democracy has devolved into a model of executive neopatrimonialism, cloaked in religious symbolism but devoid of spiritual or political essence. In this system, there are no citizens — only clients. No ideology — only inheritance. No justice — only favour.

Türkiye today does not threaten the international order or Israel by its belief. It does so by its belief in nothing, and its mastery of performance. It is not theocracy. It is theatre. And behind the curtain stands a state, quietly repurposed for its own survival — ruled not by the righteous, but by the Republic of Nephews, watched now by a generation that is no longer clapping.