There is a peculiar irony in Turkish politics these days, an irony so rich it feels scripted by history itself. President Recep Tayyip Erdogan, who once stood as the defiant mayor of Istanbul battling a system that tried to silence him, now presides over that same system as it seeks to imprison his political rival, Istanbul’s current mayor, Ekrem Imamoglu. The circle has closed. What Erdogan once endured, he now enforces.
Turkish prosecutors are demanding a 2,000-year jail sentence for Imamoglu, accusing him of leading a criminal organization. On paper, it sounds absurd a number so theatrical it could belong in a dystopian novel rather than a modern courtroom. But in today’s Turkey, where political trials often serve as theater for power rather than justice, it is not shocking.
Imamoglu’s alleged crimes? Political influence, leadership within supposed criminal networks, and the usual collection of catch-all charges designed to strip legitimacy from a rival who has become a real threat to Erdogan’s long reign. It’s the same old song of authoritarian politics: label your opponent corrupt, dangerous, and criminal, then declare yourself the nation’s saviour.
And yet, the irony cannot be overstated. Erdogan’s own ascent began in the same city, Istanbul, and in much the same way. In 1998, he was convicted and jailed for reciting a poem, one that authorities at the time claimed incited hatred. That short imprisonment turned Erdogan into a political martyr, a symbol of resistance against Turkey’s secular establishment. It propelled him to national prominence and eventually to the presidency.
Now, nearly three decades later, the roles are reversed. Imamoglu, too, is the mayor of Istanbul, charismatic, populist, and widely seen as the strongest opposition figure capable of challenging Erdogan’s grip on power. And like Erdogan before him, he faces a judiciary bent to the will of the powerful.
It’s as if Erdogan has become the very system he once fought against. The persecuted has become the persecutor. The man who once claimed to speak for the silenced now uses the full force of the state to silence others.
Imamoglu’s story is not merely a political rivalry it’s a reflection of Turkey’s deeper crisis. The erosion of democracy in the country is not a slow decline anymore; it’s a free fall. Each year brings another headline that feels like a warning flung from the past. Once upon a time, the Turkish judiciary was weaponized by secular elites to suppress religious conservatives. Now, it is weaponized by religious conservatives to suppress secular democrats. The pendulum swings, but the principle remains the same: power above justice.
When Erdogan first ran for office, he promised a Turkey that would never again jail people for their beliefs, a nation where political competition could thrive freely. That promise has long faded into the rhetoric of strongman politics nationalism wrapped in faith, loyalty demanded over liberty. In such an environment, someone like Imamoglu moderate, modern, and with a knack for connecting with ordinary Turks, is not just an opponent; he’s a threat to the mythology of Erdoganism.
What makes Imamoglu dangerous is not his alleged crimes but his popularity. In 2019, he defeated Erdogan’s party in the Istanbul mayoral election, not once but twice, after the government annulled the first result and forced a re-run, hoping to reverse the loss. The rerun only widened Imamoglu’s margin of victory. That moment cracked the illusion of Erdogan’s invincibility, proving that even in a tilted political system, the people could still push back.
So now, instead of trying to beat Imamoglu at the ballot box, the government seems determined to beat him in court. A 2,000-year sentence isn’t a legal demand, it’s a message. It says: Challenge me, and I will bury you in paperwork, trials, and humiliation. It’s a show of intimidation disguised as due process.
Yet, such tactics often backfire. Erdogan’s own life should remind him of that. Every time a leader tries to crush dissent through spectacle, they risk creating a new symbol of resistance. Imamoglu, whether behind bars or on the campaign trail, may yet become the rallying figure Turkey’s fragmented opposition has been searching for.
The situation also raises an uncomfortable truth for Erdogan himself: history remembers both the oppressor and the oppressed, but never in the same light. Erdogan’s legacy could have been that of a reformer who lifted Turkey to democratic maturity. Instead, he risks being remembered as a ruler who completed the transformation from reformist to autocrat, a man who looked into the mirror of power and chose to resemble his former enemies.
Turkey, a nation straddling two continents and two identities, deserves better than this endless cycle of political revenge. The battle between Erdogan and Imamoglu is not just a personal rivalry, it’s a struggle over what kind of future Turkey will have. A future where power is preserved through fear, or one where dissent is allowed to breathe.
As things stand, Erdogan is replaying his own history in reverse. The courtroom that once made him a hero may now create his successor. The script has already been written, only the actors have changed.
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