For twenty years, from 1960 to 1980, the Turkish left struggled to match its remarkable militancy, and not inconsiderable support, to the realities of its country and its time. Ultimately, socialists were able to garner 3 per cent of the national vote in 1979, a disappointing figure. Today their organizations are illegal. Both the failure and the potential of the Turkish left were symbolized by a massive gathering at Taksim, the big square of Istanbul, on May Day 1977. The celebration was called by the Revolutionary Confederation of Workers Unions (disk)—the more radical of two such associations in Turkey—and 200,000 socialists responded. They gathered behind a welter of different, often competing banners. Devrimci Yol (Revolutionary Way) had 40,000 followers, Kurtuluş¸ 10,000. Both were independent groups with origins in the guerrilla struggles of the 1960s. All three of Turkey’s pro-Soviet groups were present. There were many student and professional associations, as well as the workers of the unions themselves. The historic disaster which awaited them was prefigured by the brutal conclusion to the gathering. As a Maoist group attempted to force its way into the meeting to denounce its ‘social-fascist’ character, some of its cadres fired into the air. Immediately, another volley from the rooftops was aimed at the crowd. Panic ensued. Thirty-nine were left dead, most crushed in the stampede. Henceforth, the left would be caught in a violent struggle with the far right, an enemy which was not only numerous and unified but which was also closer to various branches of the state, as symbolized by the strategic emplacement of the gunmen. For three years fighting escalated. The military prevented an outright fascist victory, and in national terms the real conflict for state power was between these forces on the right. In the process, however, the left through its political immaturity contributed to its own defeat.

The problem has not been one of fragmentation and sectarianism alone, although the inability of the left groups to unite against the fascists has been the most graphic demonstration of their collective immaturity. Before the recent military coup the spectrum of competing groups on the Turkish left was quite staggering. First there was the largest organization, Devrimci-Yol, which was also very loose, almost a federation. Secondly, the Maoists possessed a paper, Aydinlik, which may have been the largest circulation pro-Chinese daily in the world outside of Chinese communities. Thirdly, in the factories and in some trade unions the traditional Communist Party (tkp) exercised considerable influence. Yet each of these three general currents—the independent, the pro-Maoist (or pro-Chinese) and the pro-Soviet—were in turn split between relatively strong contending factions. It must be noted, of course, that the variegated divisions of the Turkish left found a parallel in the traditional instability of parliamentary alliances and succession of governments in Ankara: division is a general feature of Turkish society. Equally important is what all the left groups shared in common at the level of their political practice and conduct of mass work. Across the various divides that separated them, it is evident that all sectors of the Turkish left tended to alienate the masses in the name of the masses. Many Istanbul workers, for example, have to commute across the Bosphorus. The boats are crowded, the journey is especially tiring after work. Imagine their feelings as they crowd off the boat onto the landing and search for their bus for the next stage of their journey, when they are met by newspaper-sellers who cry, ‘power grows out of the barrel of a gun!’ Nor does only the ‘ultra-left’ have a monopoly of such counter-productive political activity. The manipulative entrism of ‘realistic’ tacticians who spurn anything that smacks of ‘adventurism’ can be just as demoralizing, both because of its superficial cynicism and because it deliberately disarms, rather than ‘over-arms’ the necessary combativity of the masses.

A similar criticism might also be levelled at the ‘social-democratic’ leader of the Republican Peoples’ Party (rpp), Bulent Ecevit, who managed to gain a slender parliamentary majority in 1977. He failed to consolidate his popular base and, instead of calling upon the working class to assist him in the struggle against fascism, he presented himself as the personification of the state. The rpp’s Ataturkist origins, its tradition of étatism and rule from above,footnote1 triumphed over the enthusiasm from below which had brought it back to power. De Gaulle in his moment of deepest crisis was able to go on television and appeal to the people, ‘aidez moi.’ Such boldness was beyond Ecevit’s reach. When workers went on strike against a fascist terrorist outrage, he scolded them and in effect told them to mind their own business. Ecevit’s attitude encouraged the far right, demoralized the left, and, paradoxically, disappointed sections of capital as well. The latter were upset because in 1977 some big industrial concerns were willing to take a chance with Ecevit if he could deliver his promised social-democratic ‘solution’ to Turkey, integrating the working class into national politics and thereby stabilizing its exploitation.

Yet socialists outside Turkey have scarcely recognized the full dimensions of the disaster which accompanied Ecevit’s ultimate ouster from power by Demirel in 1979. Demirel’s minority government regained power only with the support of the National Salvationists, the Islamic fundamentalist party, and of the Action Party, the Turkish fascist movement whose ‘Grey Wolves’ have claimed so many lives. This much is widely known, of course. But less understood is how Ecevit’s inability to prevent such an outcome, after having had the prize of office once more in his hands, was in international terms perhaps a ‘Chile’ for social democracy in the Third World. My aim in this article will be to inquire into some of the causes of the Turkish left’s ‘impotent potential’. I will look at the way the left has made its presence keenly felt whenever the class struggle assumes more violent forms, yet has been quite unable to integrate itself into the daily life of the oppressed, who are badly in need of help and self-organization. This is not a matter of contrasting the parliamentary and the insurrectionary roads to socialism, but of critically examining the ‘militaristic’ virtues of a left which is almost crippled by the demands of peaceful work or co-operation, despite its collectivist ideology. The brief, chronological survey which follows does not pretend to be a history of Turkish socialism, nor an account of the class struggle in the Turkish formation. It is an initial inquiry into the strategic disorientation and the associated ‘structure of feeling’ which has kept the Turkish left in its fateful grip.

The first Turkish Communist Party was founded, under the leadership of Mustapha Suphi, in June 1920, inside the Soviet Union. The proximity of the Russian revolution thus led to a Leninist organization before most other countries. Despite this, the Third International had little direct effect on Turkish political life, or indeed on the traditions of the Turkish left: in terms of international comparison the greatest influence of the tkp was its absence from the scene. The reason was not primarily the subordination of the Party’s interests to the state concerns of the fledgling ussr. That happened, but it was the context in which it occurred which was decisive. Turkish Communism was stifled at birth by the prior success of Kemal Ataturk’s independence movement.