Institut d'Etudes Politiques de Paris

Programme Doctorale de CEVIPOF

Doctorat de Sociologie Politique

Local Participatory Democracy

The Local Agenda 21 Project in Turkish Cities

S. Ulas BAYRAKTAR

Thèse dirigée par Mme Nonna MAYER, Directrice de recherche au CNRS-CEVIPOF

Soutenue le 15 Décembre 2006

Jury :

M. Sencer AYATA (Professeur, Universite Technique de Moyen Orient)

M. Vincent HOFFMANN-MARTINOT (Directeur de Recherche au CNRS)

M. Patrick LE GALES (Directeur de recherche CNRS au CEVIPOF)

M. Yves SINTOMER (Professeur de sociologie, l’Université de Paris 8)

2

Acknowledgements

Towards the end of our MA program at the Institut d’Etudes Politiques de Paris, Mr. Richard Balme had organised a meeting of orientation about the French PhD system and the problems, difficulties and to a lesser extent the opportunities that we should keep in mind when deciding to pursue or not our graduate studies. I had had the impression that he was actually trying to dissuade those who were somehow eager to do so. I remember him still very well warning us –for numerous times- against the solitude that was waiting for us if we were to –despite all his cautions- undertake a PhD research. During these last four years of my PhD research, I recalled for innumerable times his emphasis on the chronicle solitude of the French PhD system. And I permit myself hereby to confirm Mr. Balme: Yes, a PhD research in France corresponds to troublesome years of solitude and to periodical crisis caused by the impression of being totally lost. Consequently, the “acknowledgements” part of a French PhD thesis consists indeed of ‘thanks’ addressed to the oasis that the candidate somehow encountered all along the PhD desert.

But before thanking to my PhD oasis, I would like to express my gratitude to some mirages that I came across during my research, to those whom I had the impression of capable of contributing or facilitating my research by providing certain kinds of data or information, by giving their opinions, critics and suggestions or at least by only listening but who also declined to do so on various pretexts or simply without any expressed reason. Thanks to them, I know henceforth perfectly how not to behave towards young scholars unless I seek discouraging them.

Fortunately, I had the privilege of having Ms Nonna Mayer as my supervisor. I would like to express thus my sincere appreciation and gratitude for her kind help, guidance, support and most importantly encouragement throughout my study without which the study would be never completed.

I would like to also thank to all those who accepted to answer my questions and thus provided the essential elements of the study. In a sense, I have the impression of being merely a translator of their remarks into a foreign language in a scientific manner. I would prefer to cite nominally their names in this section, but it would take too long for a simple acknowledgement part. Yet, I can not resist evoking some names that have more kindly and generously contributed to my fieldworks. As a matter of fact, without the help of Mrs. Sema Madras, Mr. Tahsin Bulut, Mr. Hasan Ozaydin, Mr. Mirza Turgut1 and Mr. Abdullah Ayan, I might not be able to reach all my interviewees.

I would like to express my gratitude for Mr. Fikret Toksoz and Mr. Sadun Emrealp for not only providing me very precious documents and contacts on LA21 but also accepting to meet with me for several occasions to answer my endless questions about the process. Mr. Yves Sintomer, Mr. Chris Pickvance, Ms Jeanne Hersant and Ms Elise Massicard read some parts and early versions of the study and and let me benefit from their very useful remarks and suggestions. Mr. Sencer Ayata and Mr. Atila Gokturk have very kindly shared their related work with me. Mr. Birol Caymaz let us use a set of ‘data fortune’ on the Turkish associative life. I thank them for their precious contributions.

Ms Tara Hopkins and Mrs Ozgecan Kocak went through different parts of the text to correct my innumerable grammar mistakes. I sincerely appreciate their patience in doing such a painful task. Thank you ‘Fross’ and thank you Ozgecan. Nil Ozcaglar-Toulouse went through the French summary of the research. Thank you Mrs ‘Ethic consumer’…Ayse Yilmaz and Zeynep Atademir transcribed quite a number of interviews. Thank you Ayse and Zeynep.

I would like to thank Mr. Dervis Comez for permitting me to use his aerial photos and VTR Production company for letting me consult to the interviews they realised when filming a documentary on LA21.

The present research is financially supported by the French government (2001-2002 Bourse d’excellence) and of the Turkish government (2002-2006, PhD scholarship) and by Sciences-Po (2003-Crédit de Terrain and 2005-Fonds de Mondialisation). I would like to thank to all the administrative staff concerned with the bureaucratic procedures of these fundings; with their attention, I did not experience any significant

1 I owe a particular acknowledgement for Mr. Turgut for giving me the manuscript of his book on Mersin that would be published later on.

3

problem during all these years. Yet, I would like to thank especially to Ms Marie Rose Pereira, Ms Nadine Dada, Mrs Deniz Ozcalici and Mr Emin Dogruoz for their sincere efforts and help.

I would like to express my particular gratitude and respect in the memory of Mr. Tayfur Ozsen who supported my research with all means and competences that he had as the Doyen of the Faculty and president of the Department of Public Administration at the University of Mersin where I shall pursue my academic career. We lost him very suddenly early in summer 2006 exactly at a time when I was to start working with him and realising some of his projects he had been dreaming for long time.

The research has also witnessed the foundation and the early activities of two different scientific groups. First, GERIT (Groupe d’Etudes et de Recherches Interdisciplinaires sur la Turquie) was founded in 2002-2003 by PhD candidates working on Turkey. Second, JUNIUS (Junior Network of International Urban Studies) was launched in summer 2005 to facilitate the interaction and cooperation among junior researchers who are interested in urban issues. I am grateful to the members of both groups for our fruitful and motivating discussions and activities. I would like to thank especially to Enes, Hakan, Lea and Tommaso among the members of these groups.

Apart from the discussions within these groups, I profited a lot from the feedback and remarks that I received in a number of scientific meetings. Indeed, I had the chance of discussing the earlier versions of the present study at the International Session of Studies on Local Powers and Territories in Contemporary Turkey in June 2004; at the International Sociological Association Research Committee 21 International Conference and the Xth EUROLOC Summer University on Leadership and Local Democracy in July 2005; at the First Bi-annual EURA (European Urban Research Association) Conference: “Cities in city Regions” and the Second Congress on Local Politics in Europe in May 2006 and at the First ECPR Graduate Conference in September 2006. I would like to thank to all those who contributed to my research by remarks, suggestions or simply questions.

And of course, all those friends without whom I would have been totally lost and depressed. Anne-Sophie and Sebastien, Asli and Emre, Aylin and Murat, Caglar, Chantale et Alain, Didem and Kaan, Menent, Nicolas B., Nil, Ozgur A., Ozgur M., Senem and Murat, Serife and Ugur, Umit, Yelda and Akin; I am grateful to you for periodically reminding me that a life still exists beyond the doctoral framework and for abiding patiently all my depressions and caprices. Thank you folks! Thank you for standing by me…

Another group of persons who suffered most from the mental ‘up and downs’ of this study is actually my family who despite all continued to encourage and support not only this research but all what I have done until now with all means they had. Their presence has been the most important privilege that I had. Please let me express my gratitude for my mother Nigar Bayraktar to whom I owe everything I have and know, in a way that she could also read and understand: Teşekkürler Anneciğim, sensiz değil bu tezi, şimdiye kadar başarabildiğim hiçbir şeyi gerçekleştiremezdim. Seni çok seviyorum. I would like to thank very earnestly to the other members of my family, to Serife and Ugur Bayraktar, Zayide, Deniz and Osman Yilmaz, Emine and Nihat Seckiner who have never deprived me from their backing.

A small word to our precious ‘island’ who joined our family and grew up faster than the progress of this research. Thank you Ada, thank you for showing that a single and simple word may easily worth more than hundreds of pages of scientific statements. I hope I have been a better father than I have been a researcher.

And Bediz, my love, wife, friend, colleague… It will be actually ridiculous to thank her. I have the impression of thanking to the co-author of this study. There is not one single line that is not marked by her suggestions, corrections, oppositions and reflections or by the discussions we had together. Apart from contributing so actively to the development of the study, she has been the main victim of my depressions and caprices although she has been also passing through a similar PhD desert until last year; so:

“Thank you, girl. Thank you, girl I’ll love you till the end of the world

with your eyes black as coal and your long, dark curls2”

2 Nick Cave, (I’ll Love You) Till the End of the World, Trans Glide Music BMI.

4

Table of contents

Acknowledgements............................................................................................................................................................2

Table of contents..................................................................................................................................................................4

Lists of Tables, Figures and Charts...............................................................................................................................8

List of abbreviations...........................................................................................................................................................9

INTRODUCTION.........................................................................................................................................................10 1) The starting point.................................................................................................................................................13 2) Conceptual framework and the main problematic of the study..................................................................15 3) The main hypotheses..........................................................................................................................................17

Hypothesis 1. Local political leadership................................................................................... 17 Hypothesis 2. Social capital..................................................................................................... 18 Hypothesis 3. Social structure.................................................................................................. 19

4) Research methodology......................................................................................................................................20 5) Choice of sites......................................................................................................................................................21 6) The fieldwork: The making of the empirical research..................................................................................23 7) The internal structure of the study.....................................................................................................................25

First Part - Theory, scene and the case..................................................................... 28

I - Participatory democracy: Theoretical, ideological and empirical winds of a political change.............29

A - From ‘general will’ to ‘public spheres’: a theoretical overview......................................................................32

1) Republican conceptualisation: Rousseau and Arendt on participatory democracy.................................32 2) Bridging participation to deliberation: Barber’s strong democracy............................................................36 3) The deliberative turn: Habermas’s public spheres.........................................................................................39

B - From Elitist to Participatory democracy: A political overview.......................................................................44

1) Initial reluctances of liberalism towards participatory democracy..............................................................44 2) Participatory democracy: a neo-liberal wolf in the guise of a democratic grand-mother?......................48 3) From revolution to empowerment: Participatory democracy seen by socialists......................................55

C - An empirical overview..........................................................................................................................................63

1) Return of the local...............................................................................................................................................64 2) New participatory mechanisms........................................................................................................................67 3) Democratic impact of participatory methods.................................................................................................74

a) Challenges of inclusiveness: Who participates?.................................................................... 75 b) Problem of scale: Where to participate?............................................................................... 76 c) Operational problems: Participate but how? ......................................................................... 76 d) Power at stake: Why participate?......................................................................................... 78

II - Turkish context..........................................................................................................................................................83

A - Ottoman Legacy.....................................................................................................................................................83

1) The origins of the Turkish local governmental system.................................................................................83 2) From Sultan’s absolutism to Party’s authoritarianism..................................................................................87

B - Early republican years: Turkish municipalism determined by populism and statism................................90

1) An exceptional period of democratic populism.............................................................................................90 2) Municipal organisation in a centralist conjuncture........................................................................................92

5

3) Towards the multi-partite regime: The political weakening of Kemalist regime.....................................95

C - A political culture identified by the mono-partite regime.................................................................................96

1) Formal transition to multi-partitism..................................................................................................................96 2) The relative status quo at the local level despite the transition to multi-partitisme....................................98 3) Clientelism as the main political instrument in a dualist society................................................................100 4) A mono-partite political culture in a multi-partite system...........................................................................102

D - Hopes, hatreds and deceptions: 1960-1980.....................................................................................................104

1) Persisting municipal weakness despite a liberal constitution.....................................................................104 2) From pluralisation to polarisation: Ideological politics in the sixties.........................................................106 3) The army back in the political scene..............................................................................................................107 4) The new municipalism of the seventies........................................................................................................110

E - 1980s: Years of rapid socioeconomic transformation....................................................................................111

1) Efforts in the name of a “depoliticised democracy”....................................................................................111 2) From centre-periphery to centres of the periphery: Strengthening of local governments by the neo-liberal wave.............................................................................................................................................................114 3) ANAP governments: patronage and populism...........................................................................................118

F - 90s: Another period of instable coalition governments...................................................................................120

1) Old names, young faces… same story.........................................................................................................120 2) Political islam in power....................................................................................................................................121 3) From a surrealist car accident to a post-modern coup.................................................................................123

G - Turkey at present..................................................................................................................................................125

1) European integration and economic liberalisation.......................................................................................125 2) State of municipal legislation in the contemporary Turkey........................................................................127

III - Participatory mechanisms in Turkey: Original scheme and dissimilar impacts...............................130

A - Local Agenda 21: Civic Participation for sustainable development............................................................131

1) Agenda 21: a new global vision on sustainable development...................................................................133 2) LA21 in Turkey................................................................................................................................................136 3) Turkish LA21 for real......................................................................................................................................139

a) City Councils .................................................................................................................... 141 b) District Organisations........................................................................................................ 142 c) Thematic working groups.................................................................................................. 144

4) The impact of Turkish local agenda 21s on the national scale: a global-down-up democratisation...146 B - Different facets of the Turkish LA21 experience............................................................................................151

1) Bursa: An exemplary model...........................................................................................................................151 2) Mersin: Contentious politics in a participatory framework........................................................................173

6

II. Second Part: A tale of two cities: leaders, societies and coalitions .................... 185

I - Does Leadership Matter?.......................................................................................................................................186

A - Who is a leader, what is a leadership ?..............................................................................................................187

B - A comparative analysis of mayors’ leadership styles in Bursa and Mersin................................................192

1) Leadership as habitus:......................................................................................................................................192 a) Personal backgrounds........................................................................................................ 194 b) Personal characteristics ..................................................................................................... 199

2) Political career....................................................................................................................................................205 a) A good leader but a bad politician...................................................................................... 208 b) Patronal leadership............................................................................................................ 211

3) International contacts:.......................................................................................................................................220 a) Glocal innovators .............................................................................................................. 221 b) Glocal brokers................................................................................................................... 225

C - Leading by policies or politics............................................................................................................................228

II - Social capital as a key to local democratisation in fragmented contexts..................................................233

A - Theoretical assumptions and conceptual weaknesses of social capitalist approach..................................235

1) Trust as “The Chicken Soup of Social Life” ?.............................................................................................239 2) Social Networks: Supervisors and Schools of Democracy.......................................................................243

B - Social capital in Bursa and Mersin.....................................................................................................................247

1) Associative lives in Bursa and Mersin...........................................................................................................247 2) Beyond numbers: qualitative analysis of associative life in Mersin and Bursa.......................................256

a) An over-politicised civil society: Associative life in Mersin ............................................... 256 b) Bursa: The city of cooperative civil tradition ..................................................................... 259

C - What enhances and hinders social capital?.......................................................................................................264

1) Social fragmentation as a determinant of social capital?.............................................................................267 a) Muhacirsin Bursa: Turks in Bulgaria, Bulgarians in Turkey ............................................... 267 b) Social fragmentation in Mersin: Kurdish immigrants ......................................................... 274

2) Social capital in fragmented societies.............................................................................................................280 a) Muhacirs as a domestic diaspora........................................................................................ 282 b) From non-integration to political conflict: Kurds in Mersin................................................ 286

D - Social capital: a determinant or an indicator of democracy?.........................................................................293

III - Urban coalitions in Bursa and Mersin............................................................................................................298

A - Community power structures: Political economy versus pluralism............................................................299

1) Systemic power: A new reading of local politics........................................................................................301 2) Urban Regime Theory.....................................................................................................................................304

B - From silk to automobiles: Bursa as a city of economic vitality.....................................................................310

1) An important commercial crossroad of the Ottoman era...........................................................................311 2) Early republican years: A local economy under Ankara’s patronage......................................................315 3) The progressive recurrence of a local business class...................................................................................319 4) Bursa’s local industrial empires: Sonmez and Caglar.................................................................................323 5) Ecological consequences of the rapid industrial development..................................................................327 6) Towards the 1990s: an urban coalition?........................................................................................................330

C - Mersin: Economic rise and fall of a city............................................................................................................338

7

1) From a fishers’ town to an economic centre: Mersin in the Empire.........................................................339 2) Mersin’s facile adaptation to the republican economy................................................................................342 3) The golden era 1960-1990..............................................................................................................................346 4) “Death of a salesman” and that of his natural beauty: The emergence of an “urban crime” coalition351 5) Mersin in the new millennium: desperate for a development coalition...................................................359

D - Participatory democracy and urban coalitions.................................................................................................364

Conclusion: Recapitulation and ‘re-searching’.....................................................................................................367

1) Participatory democracy as a classical music concert.................................................................................367 2) Three factors on three dimensions..................................................................................................................369 3) Epilogue: Now what?......................................................................................................................................374 4) A new problematic in guise of conclusion....................................................................................................376

Bibliography....................................................................................................................................................................378

Annexes.............................................................................................................................................................................403

Annex 1- UNCED Summit 1992 - Agenda 21 Chapter 28...............................................................................403

Annex 2- List of interviews.......................................................................................................................................406

Index..................................................................................................................................................................................411

8

Lists of Tables Table 1. De jure composition of and actual attendance to the City Council of Bursa 154

Table 2. Issues deliberated in the council 156

Table 3. GEM rankings of Turkey in comparison with some other countries 162

Table 4. Composition of the City Council of Mersin 173

Table 5. Categorical distribution of member civil organisations of the City Council of Mersin 174

Table 6. Categorical distribution of associations in Bursa and Mersin (‘unknowns’ ignored) 253

Table 7. Change in number of houses between 1984 and 2000 358

Table 8. Recapitulation of the influence of different factors on different stages of a participatory process 373

List of Figures

Figure 1. Hourglass formed plan of the study 26

Figure 2. Arnstein’s (1967) ‘Ladder of participation’ 79

Figure 3. Burns, Hambleton and Hoggett’s (1994) ‘ladder of citizen empowerment’ 80

Figure 4. Partner cities of Turkish LA21 projetct 137

Figure 5. Working Groups of Bursa 161

Figure 6. Burn’s approach to leadership 189

List of Charts

Chart 1. Associability in comparative perspective 248

Chart 2. Historical development of associations 249

Chart 3.Associative growth per habitant 250

Chart 4. The number of uncategorised associations 251

Chart 5. Percentage of persons born in East or Southeast Anatolia, in the overall population of Mersin 275

Chart 6. Population growth in Bursa 328

Chart 7. Population growth in Mersin 352

9

List of abbreviations

AKP : Party of Justice and Development (Adalet ve Kalkinma Partisi)

ANAP : Motherland Party (Anavatan Partisi)

BAL-GOC: Association of the Migrants of the Balkans (Balkan Göçmenleri Derneği)

BAOB: Union of Academic Chambers of Bursa (Bursa Akademik Odalar Birligi)

BCCI : Bursa Chamber of Commerce and Industry (Bursa Sanayi ve Ticaret Odasi)

BUSIAD: Association of Industrialists and Businessmen of Bursa (Bursa Sanayici ve Isadamlari Dernegi)

CHP : Republican People’s Party (Cumhuriyet Halk Partisi)

DIE : State Institute of Statistics (Devlet Istatistik Enstitusu)

DP: Democratic Party (Demokrat Parti)

DSP: Democratic Left Party (Demokratik Sol Parti)

GOC-DER: Association for Social Solidarity and Culture of Immigrants (Göçedenler Yardimlasma ve Dayanisma Dernegi)

GUMCET : Associations of the Protection of Natural and Cultural Environment of Southern Marmara (Guney Marmara Dogal ve Kulturel Cevreyi Koruma Dernegi)

ICLEI : International Council for Local Environmental Initiatives

IULA-EMME : International Union of Local Authorities- Section for the Eastern Mediterranean and Middle East Area

JP : Justice Party (Adalet Partisi)

LA21 : Local Agenda 21 (Yerel Gündem 21)

MCC : Mersin City Council

MESIAD: Association of Industrialists and Businessmen of Mersin (Mersin Sanayici ve Isadamlari Dernegi)

MHP : Nationalist Movement Party (Milliyetçi Hareket Partisi)

MMB : Metropolitan Municipality of Bursa

MTSO: Mersin Chamber of Commerce and Industry (Mersin Ticaret ve Sanayi Odasi)

NSC: National Security Council (Milli Guvenlik Kurulu)

OIZ : Organized Industry Zone (Organize Sanayi Bolgesi)

PKK : Workers’ Party of Kurdistan (Partiya Karkeran Kurdistan)

PUP : Party of Union and Progress (Ittihat ve Terrakki Firkasi)

SDPP : Social Democrat Populist Party (Sosyal Demokrat Halkci Parti)

TMMOB : Union of Turkish Chambers of Engineers and Architects, -Türk Mühendis ve Mimar Odalar Birliği

TPP : True Path Party (Dogru Yol Partisi)

UNDP : United Nations Development Program

WP : Welfare Party (Refah Partisi)

WSR/C: Ward Service Rooms/Committees (Mahalle Hizmet Odalari/Kurullari)

YTP: Party of New Turkey (Yeni Türkiye Partisi)

10

INTRODUCTION

“Even if you have a well-defined plan initially, the road has always its own version for you.

That is what transforms roads to voyages, passengers to voyagers… This is the mystery of voyages; you can not find your way,

if you do not get lost.” Ece Temelkuran, Biz Burada Devrim Yapiyoruz Sinyorita

This study was supposed to be a research on Turkish democracy just like the one that

Robert Putnam (with Leonardi and Nanetti, 1993) undertook on Italy in their book Making

democracy work. The varying democratic effectiveness of the new participatory

mechanisms introduced in the framework of the Local Agenda 21 project that was

launched in 1997, appeared to provide an adequate empirical source to undertake a similar

research. Departing from the regional differences regarding to the democratic functioning

of the new political institutions, we had planned to explore the background of some of the

democratic deficiencies of the Turkish political system. The idea was thus to reach to

national and perhaps theoretical conclusions based on local observations. In short, the

research would aim at finding out how to make Turkish democracy work.

Such a political inquiry would be also in harmony with the Turkish political science

tradition that prioritises primarily macro analysis on national questions and issues. The

main objective of the political research of this tradition is thus to find adequate answers

and solutions to nationwide problems or just “to save the State” as summed up by a very

popular expression used since the Ottoman period3. The tradition has thus a normative

character by trying to find out what is good and bad for the country or how the present

problems should be solved.

Consequently, when we initiated our research, we felt confident since our scientific

roadmap was on the one hand founded on a contemporary and very popular theoretical

approach, namely on the social capital theory and on the other hand in harmony with the

3 The motto of the Faculty of Political Sciences of the University of Ankara, known shortly as Mülkiye, which is Turkey’s first and one of the most reputed political science departments is “First Mülkiye, then Türkiye » implying that the students of the department are expected to serve for the country as soon as they graduate.

11

Turkish political science tradition. By applying the social capital approach to the Turkish

case through the dissimilarities observed within the national Local Agenda 21 project, we

would perhaps contribute to the eventual resolution of some of the problems of Turkish

democracy.

In fact, just as Temelkuran’s poetical statements suggest, the actual road of our

scientific inquiry would eventually be quite different than the initial plan that we had

confidently determined. As a matter of fact, the research that is introduced hereby, evolved

in a totally different direction. First of all, the social capital approach is no longer the main

theoretical guideline of the present research although it remains one of its main hypotheses.

Secondly, the problems of Turkish democracy and the reasons of such deficiencies are no

longer the main problematic of the study since we are rather convinced that Turkey is too

large and too heterogeneous to let researchers reach aggregate conclusions deduced from a

limited number of local observations. That is perhaps why local studies in Turkish political

science literature appear to be relatively rare. For those who aim at primarily ‘saving the

State,’ it is thus normal that the local level does not represent an adequate scientific field.

Yet, we find this indifference to micro-analyses on the local context quite

problematical since it deprives the argumented assumptions of a scientific research from

having strong empirical bases. As a result, what is defended remains rather normative as

long as it is not supported by concrete analytical elements; it is either based on national

macro-analysis disregarding the probable dissimilarities that may be encountered within

the country or related to foreign experiences as reported in the literature or simply

developed as a pure logical and abstract argumentation. They are not thus interested in the

possible variations within the country or what actually takes place after the macro-

decision4. In other words, the normative orientation of Turkish political studies is due to

this lack of empirical justification of the defended academic posture.

However, local studies on Turkish cities dispose a potential of scientific value per se

simply because they may serve to illustrate and explain what really takes place in the field,

how the policies are implemented and which outcomes are produced. In this sense, they

represent a very rich resource of empirical elements that can be used for evaluating public

4 That is exactly why policy studies have been also quasi absent in the Turkish political science literature.

12

policies and political developments. But shadowed by traditional macro political analysis,

the local interactions, structure and culture of Turkish cities have been either totally

ignored or considered as identical throughout the country. For instance, the hegemonic

influence of the centre-periphery approach in the Turkish political science literature

brought about the regrouping of the local under a generic label of ‘periphery’ that has been

mainly identified with resistance to modernisation efforts of the centre5. Yet, it is hard to

state that the local has been adequately examined even in this very popular centre-

periphery dichotomy since the actual focus of the approach has been mainly on the centre

and its initiatives of modernisation.

This status of the local in Turkish political science reminds actually the first phase of

French local studies as proposed by Albert Mabileau (1993). According to the author, in

this first phase, le local escamoté, the local level, was, to a great extent, avoided or ignored

through Marxist or Weberian approaches; the focus of the studies was often on the national

scale. Later on, with the decentralisation reforms and the popularisation of civic culture

studies, the local appeared to be more present in French literature but as rather the

background than the main motif (le local en filigrane). Finally, in the third phase, the

delegation of some of the social functions of the State to local governments and the

accentuation of democratic discussions in a Tocquevillian perspective brought about the

multiplication of studies on the local dimension (le local reconsidéré). Referring to

Mabileau’s periodisation of local studies in the French literature, we can easily state that

the local is still circumvented in the Turkish political science literature. Yet, as we shall

discuss in the related sections, national (de-concentration, decentralisation, delegation

reforms etc.) and international (globalisation, enhancement of direct cooperation between

cities and regions as well as them and international organisations etc.) developments

significantly affect the Turkish localities hence the need for undertaking micro analyses

with the objective of following the transformation in different parts of the country.

As a matter of fact, in the last years, we observe a slightly growing interest in micro

analysis on Turkish localities. A number of local researches have been concluded on

5 Serif Mardin’s (1972) extremely influential article, “Centre-periphery relations: A key to Turkish politics” represents indeed the origin of this hegemonic centre-periphery approach in the Turkish political science. After more than three decades, Mardin’s conclusions remain to a great extent unquestioned.

13

various parts of the country6, Istanbul obviously privileged. These studies have three

common features that attract our attention. First of all, city does seem to represent a

popular scale of research since most of these studies adopt districts of metropolitan areas

(Umraniye, Sultanbeyli, Tarlabasi, 1 Mayis, Gazi are all metropolitan districts) as the

empirical field. The methodological and practical difficulties may be the reasons for this

preference in almost country-sized cities such as Istanbul. Yet, middle sized provincial

cities do not attract the attention of urban researchers, neither7. Secondly, instead of

providing detailed monographic data on these localities, most of these researches focus to

rather specific aspects of urban life (poverty, squatter areas, social movements, political

elite etc.). Consequently, as in the second phase of Mabileau’s periodisation, the city

becomes a more or less discrete background instead of being a research object per se.

Finally, neither of these researches has adopted a comparative methodology that would

better illustrate the similarities and variations between Turkish localities.

1) The starting point

Due to this relative intactness of the comparative urban studies domain in the

Turkish political science literature, we decided to keep our initial methodology that was

based on analysing the regional differences within a national project that aimed at

introducing new participatory mechanisms at the local level. The project entitled as Local

Agenda 21 Project has actually the objective of developing sustainable development plans

at the local level. However, since the principle of sustainability necessitates the adoption of

participatory techniques during the preparation of plans, the involvement of citizens

appeared as one of the main aspect of the process. Yet, as we shall discuss in the related

section, the Turkish local governmental system was not specifically designed for

facilitating civic participation in decision making thus necessitating the introduction of

new mechanisms and practices. Consequently, the project has brought about a local

6 Sema Erder (1996) on Umraniye; Oguz Isik and Melih Pinarcioglu (2000) on Sultanbeyli; Ayca Kurtoglu (2001) on Keçioren; Sukru Aslan (2004) on 1 Mayis, Bediz Yilmaz (2006) on Tarlabasi; Hakan Yucel (2006) on Gazi. 7 Sivas may be considered as an exception as two monographic studies have been conducted on the city in the last decade (Coskun, 1995, Massicard, 2001). Adana may be another exception with the very recent publication of an edited book on the city (Celik, 2006). Yet, in the book, the socio-political articles are accompanied by more literal and personal essays.

14

democratisation dynamism through the introduction of new participatory mechanisms such

as city councils, working groups and district organisations.

The project was so closely identified with this participatory dynamism that its

original environmentalist aspect was significantly shadowed. Nevertheless, it is impossible

to state that the democratic outcomes of the project have been similar in all of partner

cities. Whereas some of the local practices of the project have been appreciated by even

international organisations due to their important democratic impact, in some other cities

the introduced mechanisms did not manage to bring about any significant political change

if ever they could have been practically implemented. In other words, a very significant

dissimilarity regarding to the democratic impact of the project has been observed

throughout the country. As a matter of fact, this dissimilarity between some of the partner

cities of the project is the point of departure of our research. In other words, instead of

developing a research scheme that would ultimately aim at reflecting upon the macro

democratic deficiencies of Turkey, we decided rather to focus on regional dissimilarities

within a narrower framework of participatory practices.

By founding our research scheme on such a comparative case study, we would also

be able to avoid restricting our analysis to a normative perspective. We do not nevertheless

claim absolute neutrality throughout the research. As Tarrow (2006) has recently noted,

there is a net difference between being neutral and objective. Even if we shall do our best

to reflect the objective reality that we have observed during our fieldworks, we do not

consider ourselves neither personally nor politically neutral vis-à-vis the objects of the

study8. Following Bourdieu’s famous definition of sociology as a fighting sport, we also

believe in the political connotations of political studies and thus assume the political

position we adopt through the study. So to say, the present research is not quite a real

betrayal to the Turkish political tradition due to the fact that –perhaps not saving but- the

democratic development of the country is still an implicit concern.

8 In this sense, we seem to adopt what Zizek calls an ‘awry look’ that enable us to see the ‘reality’ at the blind point of an objective regard by approaching to the object from a specific personalised angle (Argin, 2005: 291-292).

15

2) Conceptual framework and the main problematic of the study

The stated departure of our study has naturally led us to contemporary researches on

participatory democracy. Actually, the multiplication of participatory experiences all

around the world in the last decade has naturally had its reflections in the political science

literature. Studies on such practices have thus become one of the most popular issues of the

scholars of our discipline.

These works can be regrouped roughly in three categories. A first group of

researches adopts a critical stance arguing that the introduction of participatory

experiences does not bring about any significant change in political regimes, if not

accentuate the existing political inequalities among specific groups and actors. A second

group concentrates mainly on the description of such experiences providing detailed

empirical data on their constitution, composition and functioning. Finally, the last group of

studies presents these experiences in a prescriptive manner in an effort to illustrate how

they represent an adequate instrument to overcome the contemporary crisis of

representative democracy as well as its structural deficiencies. According to this last group

of studies, the higher the practice climbs up on the ladder of participation (Arnstein, 1967)

or of empowerment (Burns, Hambleton and Hogget: 1994), the more democratic impact it

brings about.

However, we could not avoid considering this rapid development of the literature on

the stated three main lines incomplete since the socioeconomic and political factors that

determine the positive or negative impact of such participatory practices seem to be

disregarded by most of researchers. Those who adopt a critical stance towards these

institutional innovations directly condemn them without considering the possibility of

having varying impact on different contexts whereas the prescriptors (such as Pateman,

1970; Barber, 1984; Nylen, 2003 albeit with some cautions; Fung, 2004) defend vigorously

the democratisation capacity of participatory practices. The descriptors (Abers, 2000;

Bacqué, Rey and Sintomer (eds.), 2005) focus only on the structure and the functioning of

the participatory mechanism, thus ignoring the impact of the socioeconomic and political

16

environment on the process9. Yet, the same type of participatory mechanism or practice

may bring about different democratic impacts depending on the contextual characteristics.

Indeed, due to the general negligence of this context dependency of participatory

mechanisms, efforts for better associating citizens to the decision-making processes mainly

represent a general mimesis of certain forms of participatory practices. Yet, the actual

impact of such democratisation initiatives based merely on ‘importation’ of particular

mechanisms has not been alike in most of the cases. Differences in the actual outcomes of

the introduced participatory mechanisms may even be observed within national systems. A

perfect illustration of this argument would be the Turkish Local Agenda 21 Project in

which, as we have stated above, similar mechanisms led to varying political outcomes.

Therefore, we ought to acknowledge the context dependency of the eventual democratic

impact of participatory mechanisms.

As a matter of fact, the insufficiency of a merely institutional approach has already

been underlined by certain authors. For instance, based on the researches conducted by the

United Nations, Stiefel and Wolfe (1994) argue that there is no one best way of

participatory democracy. Therefore, the introduction of this or that participatory

mechanism does not necessarily lead to a significant democratisation of the political

system. Similarly, Fung and Wright (2005) state that the success of participatory processes

is independent from a simple institutional engineering and therefore must be associated to

other factors. Yet, none of these authors propose any clarification on these factors that

influence the actual outcome of the participatory mechanisms. In fact, stating the context

dependency of these new institutions does not actually take us too far since ‘context’ is a

too broad term to mean anything; everything can be put under these contextual factors.

Therefore, we ought to identify more precisely the socioeconomic, cultural or

political factors that facilitate or impede the democratic impact of such mechanisms.

Indeed, to find out which and how local factors determine the actual outcome of new

participatory mechanisms is the main problematic of this study. In other words, the

9 In fact, it would be unjust to consider these authors as mere descriptors since while describing the participatory processes, they do not remain wholly indifferent to the problems or the weaknesses related to such mechanisms. However, they appear to focus to the internal (i.e. related to engineering issues) dimensions of the participatory efforts.

17

objective of the study is to go beyond the purely institutional perspective that focuses only

on the characteristics and functioning of local participatory mechanisms and thus to

associate their eventual democratic effectiveness to local socio-political environments.

3) The main hypotheses

Due to such a problematisation of our research and in spite of our reluctances stated

above, one can nevertheless find it very similar to Putnam’s approach since our aim is also

to identify the determinants of democratic effectiveness. Instead of reflecting upon

representative democracy, we rather deal with the success of participatory processes. Yet,

there is nonetheless a major difference between the approach that we adopt and that of the

author of Making Democracy Work. Unlike Putnam who founds his research on a unique

theoretical perspective, we aim at developing a multi-dimensional regard on our

problematic. Indeed, Portes (1998: 19-20) criticises Putnam’s methodology based on a

single prime determinant on the bases of causing eventually either truism or circularity of

arguments.

With the objective of avoiding this methodological trap, we shall thus develop our

study on a number of different theoretical perspectives. In other words, there will be no

unique major theory that will cover the whole study and to which all arguments and

observations are associated. As a result of this methodological preference, the study is not

actually founded on a principal hypothesis. Instead, we propose three equally major paths

that will be developed in different sections of the present study. Nevertheless, when

concluding the research, we shall combine the outcomes of these different paths in order to

propose a cohesive response to our initial problematic.

Hypothesis 1. Local political leadership

The role of political leadership in participatory democracy can not be disregarded

since, in most of the cases, the introduction of new participatory mechanisms and practices

is initiated by political leaders. This leadership paving the way to better association of

citizens to political circles can be displayed either by individual political actors (e.g. local

executives, grassroots leaders etc.) or by institutional bodies (e.g. political parties, public

institutions etc.). In either case, it is the political orientation, the vision and the

methodology adopted by these leading figures that determine the actual progress of the

participatory process. Depending on the attitudes of political leaders, the experience may

18

never take place or can be simply spoiled for other ends than a democratic change.

Therefore, when analysing a particular participatory experience, we ought to examine, in

the first place, the role played by the political leaders involved in the process.

As a matter of fact, we recently observe a growing literature on local leadership (e.

g. Berg and Rao, 2005; Haus, Heinelt and Stewart, 2005; Getimis, Heinelt and Sweeting ,

2006 etc.) due to the fact that local politics has been undergoing a significant change under

the influences of globalisation, public management tendencies as well as democratic

requirements. We have particularly benefited from Hambleton’s (2002 and 2005) ‘New

City Management’ approach that emphasises the role of local leaders in the public service

effectiveness as well as -and perhaps more importantly for us- democratic renewal.

For our particular case, since our main focus is on the experiences taking place at the

city level, we argue that the attitudes as well as the personal characteristics of the most

prominent political figure, namely the mayor, must have been determining on the actual

impact of the initiated participatory experience. Hence, our first hypothesis suggests that

the political leadership displayed by the mayors of the examined localities represents

an essential factor regarding to the democratic effectiveness of the introduced

participatory processes.

Hypothesis 2. Social capital

Independent from how or by whom introduced, a participatory experience would

represent nothing if the local community is not concerned with and involved in the process.

However, citizens’ interest in such bodies can not be taken for granted in all circumstances

and the degree of such involvement varies among different societal environments.

Furthermore, even in cases where a general tendency of civic involvement is observed, the

success of participatory experiences can not be taken for granted because citizens’ massive

presence in such practices may not bring about significant democratic impact unless it is

accompanied by a culture of collective consciousness and associative engagement.

Otherwise, i.e. if participants are motivated by particularistic and egoistic objectives rather

than collective interests and concerns, participatory mechanisms may actually provoke the

multiplication and accentuation of social conflicts. Consequently, the degree of civic

activities and the vitality of associative lives have to be taken into consideration while

studying the democratic effectiveness of participatory experiences.

19

Actually, this dimension is largely based upon Robert Putnam’s (1993, 1995, 2000)

social capital approach that emphasises the importance of socio-cultural environment

regarding the effective functioning of democratic institutions. Yet, unlike him, we will

focus on new participatory mechanisms rather than institutions of representative

democracy and try to see whether or not the social capital approach may be useful in

explaining the dissimilarities in the democratic outcomes of new participatory mechanisms

introduced within the LA21 project. Therefore, in our second hypothesis we shall argue

that the nature of the societal environment molded by the local political culture of

civic involvement and collective mobilisation determines the actual democratic

impact of new participatory mechanisms.

Hypothesis 3. Social structure

It would be too naïve to argue that the presence of an eager leader and an active civic

community could suffice in establishing a well-functioning participatory mechanism since

political changes can not be understood without considering the impact of the social

structure on the process10. In other words, we ought to indetify the other dominant

elements of a social system determining the nature of the process. Particularly, the nature

of social relationships among local actors and groups affected by socioeconomic

developments may significantly influence such political endeavours.

As a matter of fact, the introduction of a participatory mechanism and more

importantly its effective function would potentially bring about a significant change in the

political power relations. Therefore, it would be unrealistic to expect the actual power-

holders to remain indifferent to the process as their political influence would probably be

affected. Therefore, we need to examine the power relations among formal actors,

influential interest groups and citizens in order to evaluate how they constrain or enable the

introduction and the functioning of a participatory mechanism. For this purpose, we shall

more particularly examine how business circles and other private interest organisations

influence the democratic effectiveness of new participatory mechanisms.

10 Social structure is a notion that is differently interpreted by various social scientists. Therefore, there is no general and consensul definition of the term. Nevertheless, in our research, we adopt Mannheim’s understanding of the term as “the tissue of interacted social forces from which divers modes of observation and thought are issued” (cited by Boudon and Bourricaud, 2000: 585).

20

Such a problematisation of our hypothesis would naturally orient us towards the

literature on community power studies that aim at identifying the actual holders of political

power in local contexts (e.g. Hunter, 1953; Worms, 1966; Dahl, 1971; Logan and Molotch,

1987 etc.). Developed through different methodologies (formal actor, reputational and

decisional analyses) and approaches (political economy, pluralist), the community power

studies reached presently to somewhat a synthesis with the urban regime theory mainly

identified by Clarence Stone’s (1989, 2001, 2005) works in which local political power is

conceptualised as an output of urban coalitions within local population.

Therefore, inspired mainly by Stone’s urban regime, our third hypothesis suggests

that the fate of participatory experiences is also determined by whether or not the

actual social structure enables the emergence of urban coalitions favouring the

participatory process.

4) Research methodology

The present research adopts a comparative methodology in order to test the

suggested hypotheses. As Tarrow (1977: 6) indicates, there could be three different

techniques of comparison that could be applied in such a study. First, we could have focus

on single cases within a framework of a general theory and thus examined separately a

number of particular cases in the form of thorough monographs in order to understand the

factors that have led to the failure or the success of LA21 project in these contexts. Yet, as

we have already underlined there is no unique general theory that covers our discussion

that would let us apply this first comparison technique.

Second, the research could have been founded on broad comparisons across a variety

of systems. In this way we could have included various independent variables in our study

and traced the difference in the observed outcomes. If this technique of comparison were

our main methodology, we would have needed to include similar participatory experiences

from different countries with varied political regimes. Yet, our research scheme was based

on focusing only on the Turkish context and thus did not envisage expanding to other

foreign cases.

In fact, the third technique of comparison that Tarrow indicates appears to be the

most appropriate model for our research due to the fact that it consists of paired

21

comparisons within a particular type of political system that limits the variations in the

intervening variables and that lets us better trace the sources of theoretically interesting

differences in outcomes. As we have already indicated above, our empirical field indeed

preceded the (re-)determination of our main problematic because our point of departure

was the observed dissimilarity of democratic outcomes of the new participatory

mechanisms introduced by the Local Agenda 21 Project. Being situated within not only a

unique national system but also a common framework of particular objectives and

practices this last technique of paired comparisons. our case-studies best.

5) Choice of sites

At the beginning of the research, our objective was to include at least seven cases in

order to found our research on an equal distribution of regional settings within Turkey.

Yet, very rapidly this initial project proved to be extremely ambitious if not practically

unfeasible for one that pursues his research away from the actual field of the study. As a

result, we decided to reduce the scope of the research to a more realistic framework by

focusing only two cities participating to the LA21 project.

When determining the cities to be examined, we sought to find two sites in which the

actual evolution and impact of the LA21 process is meaningfully dissimilar enough to let

us have a significant contrast facilitating the comparison of outcomes. In other words, our

cities were to be situated at the extreme poles of a presumed scale of democratic impact

associated to the participatory mechanisms introduced by the LA21 project. Thus, on the

one hand, we ought to designate a city where the new institutions have brought about a

significant democratic change in the local political life and on the other hand, we sought to

choose a site where the process has been relatively troublesome. Indeed, the cities that we

decided to focus on namely Bursa and Mersin, appeared to satisfy this principal criteria of

determination.

With a population of 2.1 million, Bursa is Turkey’s fifth largest city, representing a

great richness in terms of historical heritage, industrial capacity and agricultural

production. Being one of the early capitals of the Ottoman Empire, the city is characterised

by a predominant Ottoman heritage, which renders the city very attractive for the tourists.

Moreover, various industrial plants (particularly automotive and textile industry)

implemented along the very fertile lands of the Plain of Bursa, provides the city with a

22

significant economic richness. Moreover, being the pioneer of Local Agenda 21 initiatives

in Turkey, the Metropolitan Municipality of Bursa (MMB) has been considered for some

time as an ideal model for the implementation of Local Agenda 21s in Turkey. This

reputation related to her success in introducing the new participatory mechanisms in the

local context encouraged us to take it as the ‘successful’ example of the Turkish Local

Agenda 21 experience.

On the other hand, Mersin, a city of 1.6 million inhabitants at the Mediterranean

coast of the country, can be considered as the anti-thesis of Bursa not only with her very

short historical past – in 1840 it was only a little coastal village- but also in terms of

socioeconomic development. In a total contrast with her past, identified by very rapid and

impressive socioeconomic development in 1970s, the city has been passing through a

troublesome period for the last two decades. However, our principal motif when

juxtaposing Mersin with Bursa is actually her failed attempts of introducing new

participatory mechanisms and practices of the LA21 project which the city initiated in

1999. In spite of the formal launching of the project and the introduction of new

participatory organs, their actual democratic impact has been quasi negligible, if ever even

present.

Apart from being situated actually at opposite poles within the LA21 project

regarding to their democratic performance, these cities have represented tremendous

practical advantages to us. Indeed, the fact that we have already studied Bursa for our MA

thesis rendered us relatively familiar with the city. We have already not only been quite

informed about the LA21 process in the city but also disposed to quite a number of local

contacts that turned out to be extremely useful when realising the fieldworks of the present

research. On the other hand, Mersin was further familiar to us due to the fact that we lived

in the city for about a decade where we still have quite a number of relatives and friends

who would obviously facilitate the realisation of our fieldwork11. Therefore, it is

undeniable that such personal factors have been also influential when choosing Bursa and

Mersin as the case-studies of the present research.

11 A presumption that turned out to be rather false as we shall explain below.

23

6) The fieldwork: The making of the empirical research

The underdevelopment of social studies on Turkish cities that we stated above was

valid also for the cities that are examined within this research. The very limited number of

studies on Bursa and Mersin led us to found our findings primarily upon our personal

fieldworks and to a lesser extent on press archives. For this purpose, we realised two waves

of fieldwork during the summers of 2003 and 2004, each lasting for about three weeks in

each city. In total, we realised 122 interviews with local actors who can be broadly

considered as the local elite. These interviewees were mainly associative activists, political

actors, municipal and bureaucratic agents, LA21 staff and volunteers, journalists as well as

unionists12.

Reaching to these actors was actually quite challenging although we had initial

contacts in both of the cities. Even obtaining the required contact information for these

actors turned out to be extremely difficult. Those who disposed all the contact details of

local organisations (prefectures, LA21 secretariats, municipalities) appeared to be

extremely reluctant in providing us with this information. For example, it was only towards

the end of our fieldwork that we could acquire the full list of the members of the city

councils of both cities and even this was possible with the friendship we established with

some lower-ranked personnel of the LA21 secretariats. Yet, it was actually too late to make

use of these data since we had little time left.

There might be various reasons behind this reluctance; the limited number of actual

socio-political fieldworks realised out of Istanbul might be a reason for this reluctance.

Indeed, most of our interlocutors seemed to find odd being contacted by a political science

student. Another reason might be related to the poor institutionalisation of civil

organisations which have been usually identified with certain names rather than a

sustainable institutional character. As a result of such personalisation of organisations, the

databases of institutional contacts end up comprising wholly personal contact details and in

12 To these fieldworks we have realised during our PhD research, two other empirical sources should be added. First, in a number of points, we referred to the interviews that we realised in 2002 in Bursa for our DEA (MA) research. Secondly, we also had the privilege of consulting to the interviews realised by VTR production company when preparing the documentary of Turkish LA21 experience.

24

most of the cases portable phone numbers. In such circumstances, it is actually normal that

our initial contacts hesitated to share these private contact details with us.

Therefore, we had no other chance to build-up our personal database of related

contact persons. For this purpose, we started with interviewing the ones that we already

knew and at the end of each interview we asked whom they would advice us to consult and

their contact details. In parallel, we started reaching to local journalists and organisations

whose contact information was publicly visible (on newspapers, brochures, signboards).

Yet, we soon realised that procuring the contact details of someone did not mean that

we could easily meet with him/her. Particularly at the beginning of our initial fieldwork,

we had the difficulty of presenting our research subject in a way that would convince them

to accept meeting with us. Indeed, we rapidly realised that we avoid using terms like

‘politics’, ‘participatory democracy’ or ‘local governments’ during the first contact on

phone. We started thus describing our study simply as a general research on the related

city. Moreover, depending on the person we contacted, sometimes we did not mention that

the research was actually conducted in France or that we would start working in the

University of Mersin after concluding our doctoral research.

The problem of meeting with these local actors was not overcome even if they

accepted to meet with us due to the difficulty of scheduling the interview since quite a

number of them told us to visit them whenever we could. Yet, after a few unsuccessful

trials (not finding them at their offices), we realised the need for specifying the meeting

time. Our request for such precision was mostly replied to with general statements such as

“in the morning or afternoon”; anything more specific for example on an hour-based

agenda, was simply not feasible. As a result, we spent perhaps as much time while waiting

for, visiting and re-visiting, calling and re-calling some actors as we spent during the actual

interviews. The actual realisation of the interviews was not easy in some cases. Especially

in Mersin, we had interviewees who permitted us neither to record the conversation nor

take notes; “let’s just chat” they were saying. The scepticism towards us was so strong in

some particular cases that one of our interlocutors went even so far asking to see our

identity card. It took quite a while for us to understand the reasons of this scepticism in

Mersin. Yet, as we started realizing the nature and the scope of the tension present in the

city, we figured out that they might have been concerned to be accused or attacked because

of their responses to us. Just like all other local actors, we might be indeed a part in the

25

ongoing confrontations. As a matter of fact, in total contradiction to what we have

expected, the fact that we had our relatives and friends in the city and that we would start

working there after the PhD research, seemed to increase our probability of taking sides.

The interviews that lasted between a quarter of an hour to two hours were realised in

an open-ended manner almost always in the form of a free conversation. In most of the

cases, the interviews took place in the office of the interviewee. Some of the interlocutors

were contacted twice and even three times with the objective of obtaining complementary

information and opinion. Press archives represented a second primary source of the

empirical research. Apart from following the local press via internet, the archives of certain

newspapers were consulted either on internet or in the Turkish National Library in

Ankara13.

7) The internal structure of the study

This research does not aim at providing a extensive description of Turkey’s

socioeconomic and political characteristics. Even if there is indeed a rapid chapter on her

political history, those who might hope to have a comprehensive idea on Turkish politics in

general would probably be disappointed since this is not a research on, but rather about

Turkey. Similarly, the study does not intend to provide a thorough socioeconomic

description of the cities examined. Therefore, the thesis is not an area study neither on the

national nor on the local level and aims actually to discuss a political question that is not

proper to Turkey.

For this purpose, we structured our study on a plan formed as an hourglass

illustrating the scope of different chapters of the research as presented by the figure below.

Thus, as goes the shape of an hourglass comprised of two bulbs, the thesis is divided into

two main parts and its content will move from a very large scope to very specific case in

the first part whereas in the second part it will depart from a very narrow focus and enlarge

towards a broader perspective. The first part covers rather conceptual and contextual

dimensions of the research in order to situate our main question and the hypothesis in a

theoretical and empirical framework moving from more general to specific dimensions.

26

Figure 1. Hourglass formed plan of the study

Therefore, we start in the first chapter presenting the theoretical and political

background of the evolution towards a more participatory democracy. After very rapidly

summarising the cornerstones of the theory of participatory democracy, we shall discuss

how actual political and ideological transformations have paved the way to the

popularisation of participatory themes and practices in contemporary politics. In the final

section of the chapter, we shall discuss participatory democracy more concretely by

evoking concrete mechanisms as well as the political impact and limitations of such

experiences.

Our main objective in the second chapter is to provide a basic picture of Turkey’s

political history in order to be able to better situate our particular case in a national context

that has long been identified for long with its troublesome process of democratisation. As

we have already stated, since our intention is not to provide a full picture of Turkey, this

chapter should not be read as a comprehensive narration of Turkish political history but

rather a rapid overview of the major events. This basic historical narrative is also

accompanied by facts about the evolution of Turkish local governmental system due to the

fact that our case study is situated at the local level.

13 We have to admit that the state and the scope of these archives were extremely disappointing, not

27

The last chapter of the first part focuses directly to a specific case in which we shall

gather our empirical findings. Starting with the general framework of LA21 initiatives, we

shall report how the project has developed in Turkey and what has been its actual impact in

Turkish politics. Finally, we shall describe more concretely what has actually taken place

in our respective cities in the framework of this LA21 project and more importantly how

dissimilar these experiences have proven to be.

The second part is founded principally upon our empirical findings which are

interpreted in the framework of our main hypotheses. Each chapter of this part is thus

developed in a particular theoretical perspective based on one of the hypotheses. Therefore,

each section opens with a theoretical framework in which the empirical findings are

situated further on. This way the study avoids falling in the trap becoming a merely

descriptive monograph that lacks a generalisation of the findings in a more abstract

manner. The order of the discussion always follows the form of hourglass, starting with the

narrowest perspective on the local leaders (chapter 4) enlarging towards the most extensive

dimension on the comparison of social structure of our respective cities (chapter 6). In

between, we shall develop our second hypothesis based on social capital (chapter 5).

We tried to draw a rapid outline of our PhD voyage that we have been realising for

the last four years. As we have remarked, we had an initial roadmap with a definite

problem and approach. Yet, the version of the ‘road’ previewed different paths and

destinations even if we have stayed in the initial empirical geography. Departed to

understand the democratic deficiencies of Turkey, we ended up reflecting upon ‘which and

how local factors determine the actual outcome of new participatory mechanisms.’ All

through the different stages of the research, we shall try to gather useful elements to

develop a response to this main question. But, as Temelkuran’s lines suggest, what we care

more is rather what we see and learn along the voyage rather than where we arrive. As a

matter of fact, borrowing the lines of another Turkish author/poet our main concern has

been “better discovering the labyrinth, rather than untying all the knots and arriving to a

plain” (Batur, 2000: 226). So looking back at the past four years, we feel as being a

‘voyager;’ whether or not we became a ‘researcher’ along the way, will be judged by the

readers of the study.

allowing us to obtain satisfactory amount of information.

28

First Part - Theory, scene and the case

29

I - Participatory democracy: Theoretical, ideological and empirical winds of a political change

Since the 1990s, we observe a growing number of participatory experiences

throughout the planet. This political evolution identified with greater efforts for associating

citizens to politics has developed primarily as a consequence of the general disappointment

about the democratic functioning of political institutions and processes. As a matter of fact,

all the major aspects of representative democracy seem to suffer from the transformation of

citizens’ political attitudes. To put in Hirschmanian terms, people appear more tilted to

adopt the option of ‘exit’ from politics. A brief discussion of some of the main dimensions

of this civic apathy would reveal the nature of the bottleneck that representative democracy

has been going through for at least a decade.

Above all, rates of voter turnout indicate a free fall of the number of citizens going

to ballot boxes everywhere in the world. After having reached its summit in the sixties and

seventies, following their stable rise after the Second World War, rates of voter turnout

started to go down again to levels sometimes lower than their initial point (Schweisguth,

2002: 53). Similarly, having analyzed the diagrams of voter turnout of 18 industrialized

democracies for the period between 1950 and 1997, Gray and Caul (2000) note a decline of

10% in averages compared to the level of the fifties. For example, for the European

countries, voter turnout rates appear stable between 83.9% and 85.6% from 1945 until

1988, while it falls to 78% for the following years (Rose, 2004). The tendency is clear:

there are less and less citizens who tire themselves to go to ballot boxes in order to

contribute to the determination of the political power. This indifference with respect to

ballot boxes demonstrates that the most essential dimension of the representative

democracy, that of designating political representatives, has been suffering from a deep

crisis. The main channel of political participation has been thus disapproved by a

significant proportion of the society in the occidental democracies.

If ever more indirect ways of political participation could have maintained its

popularity among citizens, the fall of turn-out rates could perhaps have been more

tolerated. If it were the case, we could have assumed that citizens are henceforth more

inclined to associate with the institutions and the processes of representative democracy in

30

other indirect ways. However, the indifference to electoral elections seems to be coupled

with a weakening of political party affiliations. Peter Mair (2001), for example, notes a

considerable decline regarding to the numbers of political party members in twenty

European democracies between 1980 and 2000. According to the author, the stable rates or

slight crescents of political party affiliation between 1960 and 1980 had already indicated a

political disengagement given that the scope of electorate was significantly widened for

this same period. However, the disengagement in the last years goes far beyond that of the

previous period since it’s actually the net number of party members that falls in a context

where the electorate has been still widening. Moreover, this weakening is not limited to

formal bonds of adhesion since the tendency of the self-identification with a political party

has been also in free fall (Schweisguth, 2002: 56). For example for the French case, Nonna

Mayer (2002: 88) states a decline of 10% between 1977 and 1997 regarding to people who

feel very or rather close to a political party. Since political parties represent the main

institution of political activity in a representative democracy, such a weakening signifies

that the crisis is not limited with only ordinary citizens’ disaffection whose main political

activity is the electoral participation, but affects also the political activists who constitute

the grassroots of representative democracy.

The stated indifference of citizens as well as political activists, be it in the form of

electoral participation or political party activity, may be interpreted as a consequence of an

overwhelming satisfaction about the political conjuncture. Indeed, these indifferent citizens

might have been so satisfied and content about how the things are in their country or city

that they might have found it rather useless to display efforts to influence the politics. Yet,

just the opposite is demonstrated by diverse studies indicating a growing mistrust in

political actors and institutions. For instance, Putnam, Pharr and Dalton (2000: 19)

conclude that in 11 trilateral nations out of 14, confidence towards the principal institution

of representative democracy, namely parliament, significantly eroded. Political actors can

hardly escape from this wave of mistrust; the proportion of people who think that

politicians are not concerned about ordinary people, increased from 42% to 81% between

1977 and 1997 in France while the rise was by 30% in the United States between 1960 and

2000. Similarly, the number of those who suppose that political leaders are corrupt

increased by 26% in France and by 22% in the United States for the same periods (Mayer,

2002: 88; Schweisguth, 2002: 58). This non-negligible erosion of the images of main

31

political actors and institutions reveals that the crisis has some moral fundaments identified

by a growing mistrust in political procedures.

These diagnostics on the crisis of the representative democracy can be further

detailed. However, what is relevant for our discussion is the prescriptions rather than the

diagnostics, since the consensus on the political crisis is observed also on the need of

developing and introducing more participatory practices in order to re-associate citizens to

political scene. As a matter of fact, the enhancement of participatory channels has been

quasi-unanimously advocated as the most adequate strategy for overcoming the

contemporary crisis of representative democracy.

It would be yet an exaggeration to associate the emergence of participatory themes

in the political science literature wholly to the contemporary crisis of representation since

the participation of citizens to public affairs was even at the heart of the classical theory of

democracy. By the Middle Ages, however, the homo credens of the Christian faith

preoccupied to live in communion with God, eclipsed the homo politicus whose very being

is affirmed through political action (Held, 1996: 37). It is only with the Renaissance that

citizen as an active agent returned to the political sphere, thanks especially to the

republican philosophers. Yet, it would be necessary to wait until the 20th century to witness

the concrete reflections of this theoretical advocacy for a more participatory political

system since the political hegemony of liberal approaches would stigmatise this republican

stance as a dangerous political nostalgia (or utopia) which is likely to make affairs of the

public ungovernable. This stigmatisation of participatory themes erodes rapidly in the last

decade of the 20th century due to, on the one hand, the transformation of ideologies both on

the right and the left, and the theoretical evolution of the participatory democracy on the

other. Consequently, we observe a general cease-fire between the political realm and the

participatory theory that would bring about numerous concrete participatory experiences

all over the world.

Therefore, in this chapter, we aim at presenting the theoretical and ideological

transformation of participatory democracy that led to the popularisation of participatory

themes in the political realm. For this purpose, in the first section, we shall sum up very

briefly the theoretical approaches regarding to participatory democracy. We ought to

underline though that this theoretical discussion does not have an ambition to provide a

thorough summary of the whole theory of participatory democracy. Our objective is just to

32

remind the reader of the corner stones of the conceptual development of participatory

democracy. After this theoretical section, we will turn towards the actual political realm to

observe how ideologies have been recently transformed in favour of participatory methods.

Before illustrating how the rightist and the leftist ideologies have evolved in the last decade

towards a common point where they both advocate for a more participatory political

system, we would like to remind the hegemonic liberal approach that excluded the

participatory practices from the political realm for quite some time. Finally, after

illustrating the ideological transformation, we present an empirical overview to focus on

the concrete reflections of the theoretical and ideological transformations outlined in the

preceding two sections. This empirical presentation will be concluded by a discussion

aiming to understand to which extent the new participatory methods manage or do not

manage to bring about a significant democratic impact.

A - From ‘general will’ to ‘public spheres’: a theoretical overview

1) Republican conceptualisation: Rousseau and Arendt on participatory democracy

According to Pateman (1970: 22), Rousseau is the theorist par excellence of the

theory of participatory democracy since he puts the political participation of individuals at

the heart of his political theory while being opposed to any idea of delegation of

sovereignty to political actors or institutions. According to Rousseau (1987: 114; Book III,

Chp. 15), it is hardly possible to represent the will, which: “does not admit of being

represented: either it is the same or it is different; there is no middle ground... Any law

which the People has not ratified in person is null; it is not a law.” Yet, in thus refusing any

kind of representation of the will of citizens, Rousseau is obliged to face a fundamental

problem: “[to] find a form of association that will defend and protect the person and goods

of each associate with the full common force, and by means of which each, uniting with

all, nevertheless obey only himself and remain as free as before” (Rousseau, 1987: 49-50;

Book I, Chp. 6).

Rousseau proposes "alienation" as the key of this major problem; each citizen

obtains all his rights, transfers them to the community to manage to conceive a general

will: “Each of us puts his person and all his full power in common under the supreme

33

direction of the general will; and in a body we receive each member as an indivisible part

of the whole” (loc. cit.). The individual is sacrificed to become a citizen; it is this civic

virtue, this public spirit which safeguards the republic. Obviously, this ‘alienation’ does

not occur automatically. It is only through the participation of all citizens in decisions that

the community manages to determine its ‘general will’ which is distinguished from the

‘will of all’. The latter takes into account the private interests and indicates the sum of the

particular wills whereas the general will considers only the common interest. This passage

from the ‘will of all’ to ‘the general will’ announces the emergence of a new community,

of a “public person thus formed by the union of all the others…” (loc. cit.).

From this perspective, the participation of citizens to public affairs is not only a

political instrument of government, but a principle of social transformation; transformation

of ‘will of all’ to ‘general will’ as well as of private persons to ‘citizens.’ In other words,

participatory democracy represents more than a political order; rather, it is a new kind of

society in which public affairs are integrated to the affairs of the ordinary citizens (Held,

1996: 57). In this new society founded upon the ‘social contract,’ there is no longer a

subordination to the individuals, but a subordination to the laws issued from participatory

procedures. Domination of certain ones on others is from now on out of question as it is the

ensemble of citizens who are the authors of the laws that must comprise their happiness.

Thus, the people turns into a legislative power per se, competent and responsible for

making the ruling laws of their community.

In short, in the approach of Rousseau, the political participation of citizens is

essential insofar as the famous social contract depends on it. However, it is unquestionably

restricted as the general will - determined once- is irreversible as it is “always constant,

unalterable and pure” (Rousseau, 1987: 122; Book IV, Chap. 1) and thus any possible

claim against this will is a priori illegitimate. Consequently, the general will turns into a

restrictive power, if not oppressive, for all those who do not share the values and the

priorities of the majority. These features of collectivism in the thought of Rousseau

certainly eclipse the importance attributed to the participation of citizens and accentuate,

on the contrary, the sovereignty of the general will. The participation hence becomes an

instrument to shape the individuals rather than that of the formulation of the common

good, which is pre-determined by the preferences of the majority. In this perspective,

participation does not aim at influencing the decision but rather showing consent to it.

34

The predominance of the general will at the expense of pluralism is also criticised by

Hannah Arendt, the modern heiress of the republican tradition, who founds her definition

of citizenship on participation of individuals to a public space of discussions and debates

on the affairs of public interest. By moving towards to this public space, to this collective

world, the individual acquires a new pluralist life thanks to the virtue of citizenship without

however compromising his individuality (Canovan, 1992: 225-226). Thus the collective

will of Rousseau which assembles citizens becomes – in Arendt’s thought- the collective

world where citizens “inhabit the same public space, share its common concerns,

acknowledge its rules and are committed to its continuance, and to achieve a working

compromise when they differ” (Canovan, 1992: 227). It is because of this passage from the

‘general will’ to the collective world that, in the arendtienne thought, “the political

question” is no longer “that of communitarian identity but that of the political activity”; we

do not wonder any more who we are but rather which actions we undertake together

(Tassin, 1999: 543). According to her, a society can be considered “democratic only to the

extent of the active participation of citizens who make it up. To cease acting, for citizens, it

is just like saying, ‘inactivate’ the democracy” (Tassin, 1999: 545).

Participation, thus, is a means of social transformation also in Arendt’s thought. Yet,

different than Rousseau’s conceptualisation, it does not represent an instrument of citizens’

alignment to the majority’s priorities, but on the contrary, an opportunity to exchange

different opinions among fellow citizens, an opportunity that would enable a collective

political thinking which goes beyond a subordination to a general will based on

quantitative power. Citizens assemble in such ‘collective worlds’, exchange ideas and

opinions and thus decide upon public affairs with an ‘enlarged mentality’ (Arendt cited by

Canovan, 1992: 227). This constant political activity in the form of presence in the

‘collective worlds’ is the heart of any democratic system.

Yet, in the given context of representative democracy, citizens seem to have

consented to being pacified. They do not enjoy direct and continuous interactions with the

political system. Arendt explains this voluntary pacification by the imposition of a

‘happiness’ based merely on possession and consumption. Politics is thus dominated by

materialistic interests, by an obsession with economic affairs in the modern times putting

the politics under the hegemony of economy. When the economic interests become the

fundamental stake of social relations, it becomes less likely that the ‘enlarged mentality’

35

will be reached. Immobilised by an illusion of private interests, the people contend to

delegate their political power to representatives. Yet, the only thing that can be represented

is their private interests, thus neither action nor their opinion (Arendt, 1967: 398-399).

Consequently, even if we acknowledge that there can be effective deliberations among the

political representatives, it is obvious that the latter could only be motivated by the private

interests of their electorate.

The consequential disappearance of all occasions of collective opinion formation due

to the omnipresence of economic interests within the political sphere as well as the

monopoly of the candidate nomination of the political parties make Arendt observe the

emergence of a new kind of oligarchy in which:

“the small number governs, at least in theory, for the interest of a great number. This government is democratic in the sense that the wellbeing of the people and its private happiness are its principal goals; but it can also be called ‘oligarchic’ in the sense that the public happiness and freedom become again the privilege of a small number” (Arendt, 1967: 398-399).

Departing from this conclusion of the emergence of a new kind of oligarchy founded

upon the representation of private interests, Arendt defends the enhancement of political

participation of citizens to politics. That is why she proposes a new political structure that

would enable the introduction of alternative political principles such as “the direct

democracy, the experiment of public freedom and happiness in the modern world, an

adequate arena for the formation of the opinions and politics not founded on the concept of

sovereignty” (Sitton, 1987: 81).

Inspired by the “elementary republics” of Thomas Jefferson (Arendt, 1967: 368) and

the experiments of the local structures developed at the time and/or after French (1870),

Russian (1905 and 1917), German (1918-1919) or Hungarian (1956) revolutions, she

defends a ‘democracy of the neighbourhood councils’ that are based on public spaces in

which people can discuss and act upon their common affairs (Canovan, 1992: 235-236).

Arendt suggests that these local councils that would be in the form of spaces of

deliberation and decision on the local affairs, should be open to all those who would like to

take part. The participants of these councils name their representatives for the higher

council in order to thus establish a pyramidal structure of national government.

According to Arendt, this system based on several levels cannot be hierarchical

because the relation between various levels does not reveal an unspecified mandatory

36

instruction, but rather a reciprocal confidence which would make exercising pressure

possible from neither top nor bottom. Thanks to this pyramidal but not hierarchical

structure, the public authority would be neither born at the top nor at the base, but on each

level of the pyramid and thus solving the most important problem of contemporary politics,

namely the conciliation of equality with authority (Arendt, 1967: 412-413). Such a

reconciliation would pave the way to a new form of government which would enable all

members of modern equalitarian society to become co-partners of public affairs (Arendt,

1967: 392). This would also re-define the principles of happiness and liberty and save them

from being imprisoned in the narrow and selfish conception of economic interests.

Henceforth, “no one can claim to be neither happy nor free without taking part, without

having his share of public power” (Arendt, 1967: 377).

In short, participatory democracy, in Arendt’s understanding, is a means for moral

transformation of citizenship; a tool that would save individuals from the hegemony of

private economic interests in which the political representation is founded. By associating

citizens to public affairs through participatory mechanisms such as neighbourhood

councils, she believed in substituting the influence of private self-interests among citizens

by an ‘enlarged mentality’, and thus founding a new society comprising politically active

and responsible citizens rather than the ‘citizen soldiers’ of Rousseau.

When compared with that of Rousseau, Arendt’s conceptualisation of participatory

democracy is more comprehensible since citizens’ participation to politics represents more

than a repressive alignment to a sacred ‘general will.’ It is conceptualised as a concrete

instrument for transforming individual priorities of citizens, an instrument for breaking up

the economic manipulations omnipresent in a capitalist society. Yet, from a practical

perspective, the pyramidal -but not hierarchical- political structures still represent

theoretical and practical ambiguities. In this sense, we can state that Arendt adequately

defined the problem of representative democracy and the need for developing more

participatory mechanisms without however managing to propose a consistent answer to it.

2) Bridging participation to deliberation: Barber’s st rong democracy

As one of the contemporary successors of the republican tradition, Benjamin Barber

aims at a revision of the liberal theory of democracy, which he considers too weak to

37

respond to the actual reality. He distinguishes himself from the preceding republican

authors by refusing their consideration of ‘politics in its ancient sense of a ‘way of life’ and

argues that it must be rather “a way of living” (Barber, 1984: 118). He is opposed to the

unitary politics, to the potentialities of totalism that he finds in the “republican nostalgia.”

Yet, this scepticism regarding to the republican tradition does not convince him to

connive at “the wan residualism of liberal democratic pluralism, which depicts politics as

nothing more than the chambermaid of private interests” (loc. cit.). Indeed, Barber founds

his theory of strong democracy as a criticism of this state of contemporary democracies

imprisoned in the liberal pluralism. According to the author, in these political systems,

participation of citizens in politics risks being condemned as a democratic excess in the

pretexts of “the revolt of the masses... the tyranny of the majority... the rule of the

mediocrity and levelling effects of egalitarianism... the serfdom of the planned society...

the high despotism of the Idea enacted as the General Will... or of the spectre of Big

Government” (ibid. p. 93-94). In order to avoid such political pathologies, liberalism

defends the moderation of democracy by a “judicious application of a constitutional

herbicide made up in equal doses of individual liberty, natural rights, private property; and

market capitalism” (loc. cit.). However, quite contrary to this philosophical abstraction,

liberalism appears to generate the same pathologies that it associated to direct democracy.

In a society of torn masses constituted of individuals motivated above all by their private

interests and goods, the argument according to which the aggregation of private interests

would lead to an adequate definition of public interest has turned out to be a ‘fallacy of

composition’ in John Ruskin’s terms (ibid. p. 172).

Barber refuses such a reduction of politics to an aggregate of individual and

particular goods based on the formulas of rights, utility and fairness (ibid. p. 171). His

opposition is not only because this liberal conception of politics is subordinated to a mere

economic logic, but because he is opposed to any kind of exogenous rationality being

influential in politics. He considers the latter as an autonomous epistemology per se that

can enable us to define the collective interest. In other words, there cannot be any

exogenous logic or rationality imposing its priorities on politics; it is the politics itself that

determines the public priorities through the participation of citizens.

Such an autonomisation of politics requires obviously a societal transformation; the

transformation of the individual to the citizen disposing reciprocal civic bonds with the

38

other members of society. For that, it is necessary to go beyond the logic of particular

interests in order to “create a public language that will help reformulate private interests in

terms of susceptible to public accommodation” (ibid. p. 119). In other words, it is

necessary to convert “me” to “us” and to re-conceive “the other” by personally

encountering it directly in the political arena via participatory practices. Consequently, this

re-definition of ‘us’ is only possible “when individuals redefine themselves as citizens and

come together directly to resolve a conflict or achieve a purpose or implement a decision”

(ibid. p. 153).

Up to here, it is quite difficult to understand how Barber distinguishes himself from

the preceding republican authors, particularly from Arendt. Both of these authors state that

the restrictions imposed on politics from the capitalist government imprison individuals in

a very narrow perspective of private interests. Moreover, they both valorise participation as

an instrument of societal and personal transformation that would lead to an actual

democratic regime. The difference is that Arendt does not provide a concrete picture of

what she understands from participation. Would it be enough to gather individuals in a

“collective world” so that they pass through a transformation of morality and rationality?

The answer is obviously ‘no’ since, as Barber admits also, a greater political participation

on the part of individuals might also be instrumentalised and trapped by the defence of

private interests, egoistical ambitions or small benefits. What is necessary for transforming

“masses” to “citizens” is the communitarian consciousness. That is why community

appears as one of the two main dimensions of the Barber’s theory of strong democracy:

“Community without participation merely rationalizes collectivism, giving it an aura of

legitimacy. Participation without community merely rationalizes individualism, giving it

the aura of democracy” (ibid. p. 155).

One can indeed argue that highlighting an abstract concept such as community does

not provide a key to understand how participation transforms the individuals to citizens. In

fact, Barber’s actual contribution to the republican school is the introduction of

deliberation in the theory of participatory democracy. He argues that the political talk is the

main instrument of forming a collective consciousness. He carefully distinguishes ‘talk’

from ‘speech,’ which he defines as the “articulation of interest by appropriate signs” (ibid.

p. 174). Beyond this one-way line of communication of ‘speech’, ‘talk’ involves “receiving

as well as expressing, hearing as well as speaking and empathising as well as uttering”

39

(loc. cit.). Thus, ‘talk’ is not restricted by the simple advocacy of various interests, but

consists also a certain valorisation of listening that aims at perceiving what is common

between citizens and developing a spirit of mutual interest that will in turn enable the

development of the communitarian consciousness.

In light of all these statements, Barber (ibid. p. 132) defines his ‘strong democracy’

as “politics in the participatory mode where conflict is resolved in the absence of an

independent ground through a participatory process of ongoing, proximate self-legislation

and the creation of a political community capable of transforming dependent, private

individuals into free citizens and partial and private interests into public goods.” In this

perception of strong democracy, the participatory practices do not represent only a means

of societal and individual transformation (as is the case with the preceding republican

authors) but also an instrument of political epistemology saving the political system from

the pressures of the capitalist structure. Thanks to such an epistemological approach

combined with the highlighted function of political talk, the importance of participatory

practices is demonstrated with fewer ambiguities. They are defended more or less in a

practical manner, going beyond the purely normative defence of the former authors. Yet, it

has to be underlined that the risk of totalism that Barber signals regarding to Arendt, does

not totally disappear as his communitarian consciousness might also bring about social

pressures on the minorities who do not share this collective spirit in spite of being

legitimate participants of the political system. Nevertheless, his emphasis on the

importance of political talk paves the way to a conceptualisation of participatory

democracy without requiring communitarian references. In fact, as Dryzek (2004: 145)

notes, this feature in Barber’s thought in which political thought is emphasized

significantly, constitutes a bridge between the theory of participatory democracy and that

of deliberative democracy in which stress is laid rather on the political right and the

capacity of individuals to take part in the authentic deliberations about public affairs.

3) The deliberative turn: Habermas’s public spheres

The liberal approach in the theory of democracy considers the political tasks and

decisions too complicated to be handled by ordinary citizens whose participation to the

political sphere has to be thus restricted to elections. On the other extreme, the republican

pole defends that all citizens must take part in the discussions until a general consensus

40

emerges. Jürgen Habermas distinguishes from both of these approaches by opposing to the

former on theoretical grounds while criticizing the latter for practical reasons (Outhwaite,

1996: 13). What Habermas proposes, is to reconcile the reason - that the liberals attribute

only to the political elite- with participation - which the republicans advocate without

being able to provide the adequate practical means. The key of conciliation that the author

proposes is a communicative rationality that develops within the public discussion taking

place in a sphere between the market and the state, namely in the public sphere.

According to Habermas, public sphere is a domain of social life in which the public

opinion can be formed and to which access is, in principle, free to all citizens. The

participants of these public spaces act neither like businessmen nor like professionals who

defend their private interests, nor like legal consociates subject to the legal regulations of

the state and obligated to obedience. Citizens constitute a public as soon as they are

interested in the affairs of general interest without feeling any coercion, therefore with a

guarantee of total freedom to assemble and to express their opinions. Such a social space

turns into a political public sphere when the discussions become related to the objects

associated with the practices of the state. For larger publics, diverse means of

dissemination and influence – such as the written or audio-visual media- become necessary

so that communication between members of the public can be maintained (Habermas,

1997: 105).

Habermas’s public sphere thesis, which attracted large attention as well as

significant criticisms, was initially formulated in his doctoral thesis in the early sixties. In

his work, he presents the transformation of the public sphere since its emergence in the

second half of the 18th century in the form of social places (cafés, clubs, newspapers etc.)

where individuals - the cultivated bourgeoisie- gathered (Sintomer, 1999: 228). Thanks to

such social gatherings, public affairs (those which are related to state affairs) gained

publicity making information about the government available and thus bringing a

transparency to the official activities. This public transparency enabled the emergence of

critical opinions about the state. It also allowed the transmission of bourgeoisie’s ‘general

will’ to the state thanks to the legal guarantees concerning freedom of expression, press

and assembly, and ultimately via the parliamentary institutions of the representative

government (Fraser, 1992: 112). Hence, the development of public spheres represent the

emergence of social groups enjoying a political autonomy from the State and which can,

41

consequently, render the State responsible to its citizens who can henceforth follow and

participate in state affairs.

In Habermas’s thought, the development of public spheres signifies not only the

political autonomisation of citizens with respect to the State, but also the emergence of a

new rationality based on the free and objective interaction among citizens. The participants

of these public spheres are guided by the logic of publicity which leads them to adopt an

objective point of view on the questions related to the general interest (Sintomer, 1999:

229). Consequently, the interactions among citizens are no longer founded on private

interests but on a communicative rationality that emerges within the public debates and

deliberations on the political affairs if the ideal speech situation is provided. To be able to

have this ideal situation, the participants supposed to (A) feel equal vis-à-vis the others; (B)

aim at defending or at criticizing institutions and programs while considering that the

others have reasons to accept them; (C) be ready to acknowledge the conclusions issued

from such deliberations by considering them mandatory (Cohen, 2003: 21).

By defining the ideal conditions of public deliberation, Habermas avoids thus the

communitarian trap that we underlined above when discussing Barber’s Strong

Democracy. As the latter notes also, the simple assembly of individuals do not lead

necessarily to the emergence of a civic community. Barber proposes the communitarian

spirit as the means to transform masses to citizens. Yet, Habermas manages to

conceptualise a democratic citizenship based on participatory practices without referring to

holist bases. For the German philosopher, a democratic deliberation is feasible if ever the

three conditions of the ideal situation of speech are granted. Founded on this

communicative rationality, the participatory structures enable the individuals to deliberate

freely and objectively public affairs and determine the public interest.

Moreover, the conceptualisation of public spheres to which citizens can easily

access, represents a new source of democratic legitimacy independent from the established

political and/or administrative structures. The collective authority of citizens is recognised

through the deliberations and the decisions realised in these public spaces without

threatening the habitual institutions of representative democracy. Such deliberative

practices can be thus easily formalised without provoking a distortion in the formal

framework of representative government (Blondiaux and Sintomer, 2002 : 25).

42

This “non-aggressive” legitimacy of the public sphere incorporated Habermas’s

approach to the theory of participatory democracy. The popularisation of such a

conceptualisation of democracy particularly accelerated through the debates on the new

social movements of the sixties and the seventies. The social movements of peace, of

ecologists or of the feminists are regarded as concrete illustrations of public spheres that

enabled the emergence of autonomous civic powers parallel to the state and the

representative institutions (Dryzek, 2000: 23). The activists of these social movements

could develop a political influence within the society while keeping their autonomy - at

least at the beginning- vis-à-vis the representative structures and procedures.

Participatory democracy associated thus to the deliberative procedures is no longer

regarded as an alternative or a competitor of the representative democracy, but rather as its

complement (Blondiaux, 2001: 45).

Consequently, with the works of Habermas, we can observe a fusion of deliberative

and participatory approach within the political theory. Yet, Blondiaux and Sintomer (2002:

26) warn us justly against any confusion among participatory democracy, deliberative

democracy and the governance. According to the authors, “deliberation and participation

are not terms which would be intrinsically complementary.” As a matter of fact, the

deliberative and the participatory aspects of the new political mechanisms are hardly

identical. But, the probable differences in these dimensions do not avoid conceptualising a

democratic ideal identified simultaneously by both of them. Indeed, in a more recent

article, Blondiaux (2004: 159) defends the possibility of associating these two dimensions

since the “new democratic forms” which he examined, have” the principal characteristic of

crossing these dimensions, to reveal “participatory democracy” and “deliberative

democracy” all at the same time, to an extent that the opposition between these two

concepts appears to be rather artificial."

While thus flirting with the participatory theory, the deliberative approach

sympathised at the same time with liberalism despite its initially critical position. It thus

became gradually comparable to the liberal constitutionalism that aims to limit citizens’

role in an electoral framework. This assimilation has taken place through three different

axes. First of all, deliberative principles coincide with certain rights defended by the

liberals, such as freedom of expression and association. In the second place, the liberal

constitutions are regarded as adequate tools to promote deliberation particularly within

43

justice and legislation. And finally, the drafting of a constitution is itself a deliberative

procedure guided by a public rationality (Dryzek, 2004: 145). These three common aspects

between deliberative democracy and liberal constitutionalism allowed the latter to

‘domesticate’ the arguments of the former by integrating them into its own discourse. This

assimilation can be observed even in Habermas’s more recent works. In The Theory of

Deliberative Action, but especially in Justice and Democracy, he distinguishes two

different tracks of democratic action: the bureaucratic and legislative actions on the one

hand and the informal actions of the public sphere on the other. The communicative power

issued from the deliberations of the public sphere influences the formal actions of the legal

institutions to generate an administrative power (ibid. p. 146 and Avritzer, 1999: 42). In

other words, we do not seek any more to take part directly in the government of the

country, but rather in public sphere which is a priori capable of influencing the

administrative authorities.

From such a deliberative perspective, a new conceptualisation of participatory

democracy that can be qualified as “semi-direct”14 emerges. On the one hand, citizens can

take part indeed individually in the deliberations on public affairs and this direct

participation is much more frequent than habitual electoral procedures or referenda. On the

other hand, these mechanisms do not usually dispose a formally binding decisional power

and can influence the public policies only through the approval of political and

administrative authorities. Consequently, deliberative democracy seems to propose a

reconciliation between public rationality founded on the participation of citizens and the

administrative expertise of bureaucratic and political ‘professionals’. Hence, even the

liberals could sympathize with the notion of the participatory democracy which does not

appear threatening anymore to the values of expertise that they consider essential to carry

out adequate public policies.

This is very rapidly how the conceptualisation of participatory democracy has

gradually evolved from Rousseau’s general will to Habermas’s public spheres. In other

words, it is a brief account of a theoretical voyage of a notion from being a quasi-utopian

14 Our use of the term is actually different than that of Papadopoulos (1998: 23) who considers the mechanisms of referendum as the instruments of semi-direct democracy since they do not necessitate the gathering of all citizens at the same place, but establish a vote by which citizens express themselves on diverse subjects via classical electoral procedures.

44

ideal to becoming a practical political instrument. Naturally, this voyage did not comprise

only of the authors cited above. But, as we have already noted, we did not seek presenting

all the theoretical foundations of participatory democracy. Instead, our objective has been

only to recall the cornerstones of this theoretical evolution simply because we are more

interested in its practical reflections in the political realm. Therefore, we pursue our

discussion by focusing to the actual political scene in order to see how participatory

democracy has actually been translated into a conventional discourse.

B - From Elitist to Participatory democracy: A political overview

The reconciliation between deliberative and participatory democracy when coupled

with the present crisis of representative democracy has led to direct consequences in the

actual political realm in form of attracting great interest from both left and right wings of

the ideological spectrum. In order to better perceive this political change, in this second

section of our chapter, we propose to examine the concrete reflections of the participatory

turn in democratic politics. For this purpose, we shall first take one step back to better

comprehend the initial reluctances of both of the ideological wings before narrating their

evolution towards participatory themes.

1) Initial reluctances of liberalism towards participatory democracy

The three decades following the end of the Second World War represent a period of

optimism and a consensus on the state of the democracy and on its bright future. A general

support for the political institutions in Western societies was actually observed. The great

prosperity thanks to the strong economic growth of the Trente Glorieuses reinforced the

belief towards the world of free enterprise moderated and supervised by an interventionist

State. The extreme cases of the right (Fascism and Nazism) as well as the left

(Communism) provided more legitimacy to the political system, while the Cold war

required that politics be structured on democratic bases (Held, 1996: 221-222). In short, it

was a period of democratic euphoria: “... when one thinks how was Western Europe in

1945 and how it is today,” noted Raymond Aron (1960: 76) fifteen years after the Second

World War, “pessimism would be criminal.”

45

Yet, this democratic euphoria turned out to be only provisory. The attitudes and the

feelings towards the political system changed so radically and quickly that in 1974 Willy

Brandt dared to announce the fall of democracy in a few decades:

“Western Europe has only 20 or 30 years more of democracy left in it; after that it will slide, engineless and rudderless, under the surrounding sea of dictatorship, and whether the dictation comes from a politburo or a junta will not make much difference” (quoted by Crozier, Huntington and Watanuki, 1975: 2).

The confidence towards the political system, already weakened early in the

seventies by the civil rights revolts, the violent demonstrations against the war of Vietnam,

the trauma of the scandal of Watergate in the United States as well as the radical

movements of students and workers in Europe; had almost completely eroded due to the

international economic recessions caused by the oil shocks (of 1973 and 1979), which

prevented the pursuit of social policies of the welfare state. The political institutions of the

representative democracy as conceived in the 19th century turned out to be incapable of

responding to the requirements of the 20th century (Norris, 1999: 3-4).

According to the pluralist approach, the origin of the democratic crisis of the

Seventies was the strong increase in the expectations and the requests addressed to the

governments. This thesis of “overloaded government” considered the expansion of

political participation as the principal reason of the bottleneck that representative

democracy had been passing through. According to Crozier, Huntington and Watanuki

(1975: 163-164), this dangerous expansion of political participation appeared in five forms.

Firstly, an increasing number of people engaged in political activities. Secondly, new

social groups as well as new consciousness on the part of the old groups emerged such as

groups of youth or regions as well as ethnic minorities. The diversification of repertories of

action and strategies that the social groups used revealed a third form of expansion. In the

fourth place, citizens’ expectations vis-à-vis the state’s responsibilities in meeting their

needs were enhanced. Finally, the extent of these needs associated with the governmental

functions had widened. According to the formulation of King (quoted by Kasse and

Newton, 1995: 24), people who expected until then that the worldly order be assured by

first the god then by the market turned more and more towards the government.

In short, according to the pluralists, the increasing politicisation of the masses

created a heavy burden on the administration while rendering ungovernable the public

policies. Yet, political actors continued to incite citizens’ expectations in a context of

46

extremely competitive electoral framework whereas the governments were no longer

capable of responding to these increasing and expanding demands.

These observations on the state of representative democracy in the seventies can be

considered as the empirical affirmation of the critical literature on the classical theory of

democracy15. The ‘overloaded government’ thesis did indeed seem to justify the critical

authors’ reluctances in further involvement of citizens in the political sphere beyond

elections. For example, in his very influential book Capitalism, Socialism and Democracy,

Joseph Schumpeter announces the bankruptcy of the classical theory by defending the

impossibility of determining a ‘general will’ founded on the consensual definition of the

common good: “Both the existence and the dignity of this kind of volonté générale are

gone as soon as the idea of the common good fails us. And both the pillars of the classical

doctrine inevitably crumble into dust” (Schumpeter, 1976: 252). Once the nullity of the

concepts such as ‘common good’ and ‘general will’ is thus admitted, Schumpeter feels free

to reverse the order of the political relations - which until then subordinated the choices of

the representatives to the hanging political problems- by reducing the role of citizens to the

production “of a government, or else an intermediate body which in turn will produce a

national executive or government” (ibid. p. 269). In other words, in the schumpeterian

conceptualisation of democracy, citizens are nothing but mere voters who choose - as

customers of an economic market- among the policies offered by the political

entrepreneurs (Pateman, 1970: 4). Thus, Schumpeter suggests a new definition of

democracy according to which: “the democratic method is that institutional arrangement

for arriving at political decisions in which individuals acquire the power to decide by

means of competitive struggle for the people’s vote on these decisions at the end of a

competing fight relating to the votes of the people” (Schumpeter, 1976: 269).

The schumpeterian approach is reproduced in the more recent literature that

criticizes the classical theory of democracy by empirically demonstrating its impertinence

with the reality of the contemporary societies. These studies aim actually at going beyond

the normative arguments of the traditional political philosophy whose objective “was to

15 It is interesting to note that what is referred as the classical theory of democracy was not clearly defined. As Pateman (1970: 6, n. 1) notes the authors of this critical school do not specify any authors or works of what they consider as the classical theory. What is criticised actually is the advocacy for further involvement of citizen in the political life.

47

influence the real political attitudes. They wrote to condemn or support the present

institutions, to justify a political system or to persuade citizens to change it” (Alfred

Cobban, quoted by Berelson, Lazarsfeld and McPhee, 1986: 306). Indeed, they could now

refer to the abundant empirical data in order to “clarify the standards and to correct the

empirical presuppositions of the normative theory” (loc. cit.). For example, the conclusions

of the Elmira Study, a study of public opinion carried out at the time of the American

presidential campaign of 1948, reveal a very different reality of representative democracy.

By analyzing the data of this study, Berelson, Lazarsfeld and McPhee (1986) conclude that

the voters of Elmira are far from meeting the requirements of a democratic system as is

conceptualised by the classical theory of the democracy. They express neither a true

interest nor an effective involvement in politics; they are poorly motivated and ill informed

about politics and they refer to neither ideological principles nor a political rationality

when making their electoral choices. Despite such a political indifference and ignorance,

the political system survives and even develops (Berelson, Lazarsfeld and McPhee, 1986:

307-312). Thus, the authors conclude that this civic apathy is not only tolerable but also

desirable for the wellbeing of democracy because it moderates the political contradictions

issued from the unavoidable heterogeneity of contemporary societies (Pateman, 1970: 7).

A -certainly relative- approval of the political apathy of citizens can be also noticed

in the works of Gabriel Almond and Sidney Verba, who spell-out the most adequate

culture for an effective democracy in their famous study, The Civic Culture. Based on a

comparative study on the individual attitudes and political behaviours in five countries (the

United States, the United Kingdom, Germany, Italy and Mexico), the study concludes that

the most civic culture is absolutely not a participatory one. In recognizing the importance

of the political participation of citizens though, they state that political activity, inclusion

and rationality of citizens should be balanced by pacifism, traditionalism and parochial

values in order to bring about a civic culture (Almond and Verba, 1972: 32). In other

words, the authors appear quite concerned about the excess of participation and thus put

forward the traditional cultures (parochial and subjective) as a kind of antidote to this

political trap.

Giovanni Sartori who also appears favourable to the political apathy, is another

author concerned by the consequences of a more enhanced political participation. He

warns against the perverse effects of encouragement “for an activism of intervention and

48

reaction” which are likely “to transfer popular sovereignty from the matters where it

preserves a certain capacity of reasonable judgement towards situations in which it loses

it” (Sartori, 1973: 73). In any case, according to the author, it is not worth while to seek the

reasons of civic apathy because “it is thus, even when the alleged difficulties disappear

[economic development, improvement of means of education and communication etc.], it

is obviously useless to seek culprits who do not exist” (ibid. p. 75). The fact that “man does

not have wings” (loc. cit.) has to be assumed; it is possible neither to understand the

problems without having personal experiences on them, nor to have ideas without being

able to formulate them ourselves. Citizens lacking ‘wings’ have to thus agree to be

governed by a politically qualified minority and should not seek for further participation in

the political sphere.

This critical approach to the so called classical theory of democracy thus

conceptualises an elitist interpretation of democracy. In their perspective, the masses are

neither informed nor rational enough to be able to contribute to the government of their

country or locality. They should become involved in politics only via elections to designate

politically competent actors. Any attempt to participate in politics beyond this, would be

harmful for democracy since it would bring about political chaos due to the irrational

demands of citizens. Indeed, such prognostics of these authors of the elitist school

appeared to be affirmed by the diagnostics on the state of representative democracies in the

seventies. As we have stated above, pluralists condemned the excess of citizen

participation in politics as the origin of the democratic crisis of the period, just as the

elitists had warned for several decades. The combination of these elitist prognostics and

pluralist diagnostics probably paved the way to the rise of new-right ideologies of neo-

liberalism and neo-conservatism whose main objectives have been to reduce the

governmental burden.

2) Participatory democracy: a neo-liberal wolf in the guise of a democratic grand-mother?

The best illustration of the new-right ideology was observed in the governments of

Ronald Reagan in the United States and of Margaret Thatcher in the United Kingdom.

Both of the governments aimed at the withdrawal of the state from political and economic

spheres. In order to revalorize individual freedoms and initiatives through a minimal state,

49

the program of the new right defended the widening of market control on more and more

fields of social life; the restriction of state’s presence in economy as well as in the creation

of new opportunities; the regulation of demands of some social groups that up until then

exercised a significant pressure on governments and finally the improvement of

governmental functions concerning the security and maintenance of law and order (Held,

1996: 243). Thus, experts and partisans of the neo-liberalism attempted to respond to the

crisis of governability from which political systems were supposed to suffer, by

dissociating socio-economic problems and governmental functions (Putnam, Pharr and

Dalton, 2000: 5). By restricting governmental presence in socio-economic life, the new

right tempted to moderate public expectations and thus to lower popular pressure on

governments (Norris, 1999: 4). In short, the new-right adopted the motto “Small is

beautiful” in searching for an exit from the socio-economic and political crisis of the

seventies; the minimisation of state bureaucracy and of governmental functions was

considered the main key of political reaction in that critical conjuncture. For this purpose,

privatisation and contracting-out initiatives spread throughout the countries under the rule

of neo-liberalism. Consequently, the delivery of numerous public services, which were

until then under the responsibility of government, was delegated to private agencies. This

delegation could also be in the form of an absolute deregulation, meaning that state leaving

said task to a priori competitive actors of the free market.

It would be nevertheless misleading to state that the socio-economic vacuum

provoked by this “deresponsibilisation” of the state was filled only by profit-oriented

private enterprises. Indeed, this liberalisation of the public domain was gradually disguised

in a new form of democratisation, thanks to the valorisation of non-governmental

organisations as ideal partners of the government in public service delivery. Active

presence of such civil organisations was henceforth encouraged to cooperate with

government in those domains in which the state wished to minimise its responsibilities.

Seeing how such non-governmental and non-profit organisations were welcomed by

neo-liberal governments might be considered contradictory in the light of the elitist

tendencies that the latter had always advocated for. The conviction that only politically

representative and professionally competent actors could take part in the government was

no longer valid. This shift in the political perspective was not because those non-

governmental organisations had demonstrated their capacity to contribute to the

50

government but simply because the former had changed its ‘skin.’ The traditional

conception of government was replaced with that of “governance” transforming the

governmental art to an ability to develop and maintain partnerships with numerous actors

of the socio-economic domain. Hence, the government was no longer a monopolistic

domain of activity belonging to political elites, but a terrain of interaction and partnership

among public, private and social organisations. As Hermet (2005: 35) states, because of the

abandon or at least the weakening of this public-private hierarchy, it is no longer

verticality, but a kind of horizontality that marks the exercise of political authority in the

new governance approach. The accent is henceforth on the coordination rather than the

regulation and intervention of public authorities as Bagnasco and Le Galès’s (2000: 26)

definition of governance reveals: “a process of co-ordinating actors, social actors and

institutions in order to reach objectives which have been collectively discussed and defined

in fragmented, even nebulous environments.”

The new ‘governance’ perspective indicates thus three main axis of transformation

in the public action. First of all, public affairs were no longer under the mere responsibility

of public authorities and deserve a more plural as well as interactive approach. Secondly,

this end of the monopoly of public authorities on public affairs necessitates the

multiplication and diversification of actors that can be associated to the public domain. In

other words, civil organisations and market forces become influential in the public decision

making and public service delivery processes. Finally, governance implies the emergence

of the need for interaction and negotiation among these non-governmental actors as well as

between them and the public authority (CDU, 2000: 11-12). All of these three dimensions

actually illustrate the overture of the public sphere to non-governmental actors and thus the

changing role of the state’s authority in this sphere. The extreme popularisation of concepts

such as partnership, interaction, cooperation, coordination, stake-holders etc. implies in

fact the domestication of participatory approaches in the neo-liberal approach via the

promotion of ‘governance’ as the main principle of public administration. The prescription

is quite clear: in order to respond to the crisis of governability, the state has to be re-

defined in minimal terms regarding to its functions, authority and responsibility, and the

vacuum provoked by such a withdrawal of the state from the public sphere has to be filled

with the association of non-governmental actors (be they non-profit or market

organisations) to public actions.

51

A description of neo-liberal politics only in terms of a minimisation of governmental

functions would be rather incomplete since this political perspective also represented the

transformation of the working principles and bureaucratic functioning of that minimal

state. New right’s state remodelling efforts were not restricted in a purely quantitative

perspective (reducing the scope of governmental functions) but also consisted of a

qualitative dimension which consists of the internal re-organisation of state activities.

Indeed, public administration was supposed to deal with problems that went beyond the

excessive scope of functions. Indeed, the corrupted practices of politicians and/or

bureaucrats prevented a rational functioning of the administrative apparatus where the red

tape rendered it inefficient and ineffective. To avoid such administrative deficiencies, the

traditional mentality of public administration was to be revised by introducing managerial

principles that the private sector had been applying for a long time. Hence, we see the

emphasis of public sector values such as democracy, accountability, equity and probity

being combined –if not wholly substituted- by the managerial priorities that are more

concerned about “getting things done as quickly, cheaply, effectively as possible -and

usually about getting things done through other people” (Pollitt and Bouckaert, 2004: 9).

The principal functions of the public administration are henceforth described mainly by

three E’s: economy, efficiency and effectiveness. This shift in the administrative priorities

reveals in fact the transition from public administration to new public management that is

characterised by:

• output oriented perspective (efficiency, effectiveness, service quality);

• the principle of subsidiarity indicating an organisational decentralisation and

deshierarchisation;

• delegation of public services to non-governmental agencies;

• augmentation of efficiency by determination of concrete objectives of

productivity and by creation of a competitive climate within the public

administration

• reinforcement of strategic capacities for an easier adaptation to external changes

in an automatic, flexible and economic manner (OECD, 1995: 8).

Very broadly put, such an evolution to “New Public Management (NPM)” aimed a

radical transformation of the public administration to a large private company. In such a

context of organisational change, the nature of citizen-state relations had to go through a

52

radical change, too. The intermediaries of such interactions at the time of public

administration consisted mainly of political actors who were henceforth accused of being

responsible for the widespread corruption paralysing the bureaucratic functioning. Even

without any accusation of corruption, the traditional means of political representation have

been criticised as being ineffective because they are thought to be restricted in either a

broad and ambiguous electoral mandate or a tight party discipline (Christensen and

Laegreid, 2001: 306). The need of substituting these traditional political intermediaries

when combined with the winds of public managerialism turned citizens into customers of

public services. Consequently, the latter should be able to interact with the public agencies

through mechanisms similar to the customer services of private companies rather than

specific political agents. Moreover, as one of the objectives of NPM is better quality of

service, direct and rapid feedback of customers was further important. Given this necessity

of establishing a more direct and ‘apolitical’ interaction with individuals, NPM introduced

a variety of managerial techniques such as market research, user satisfaction surveys,

complaints procedures, customer care programmes, focus groups, call centres, interactive

websites etc. (Hambleton, 2005: 198). Citizens who were not considered competent and

rational enough to contribute to the determination of public policies could henceforth –in

principle- make their voices heard as being customers of specific public services.

After the theoretical reconciliation of participatory practices and liberalism, we see

that they are also combined on the real political scene thanks to two major political

dynamics. On the one hand, the popularisation of the concept of governance paved the way

to the active participation of non-governmental bodies in decision-making and service

delivery procedures of the public sphere. By letting ‘civil’ actors be active in the public

action domain, neo-liberalism found an adequate measure for minimising state’s presence

in the socio-economic spheres. On the other hand, the spreading of NPM techniques

introduced new channels of interaction between citizens and the public authorities since the

perception of the state as mainly an output oriented enterprise necessitated the

establishment of closer contacts with its customers. Consequently, citizens enjoyed new

opportunities that enable them to express their opinions more easily as customers of the

public services.

Moreover, it has to be underlined that this shift to governance and NPM did not

consist of an endogenous dynamics that was transforming the administrative scene of the

53

concerned countries. Very influential international organisations such as the World Bank,

OECD or IMF whose ideological tendencies should not be unknown to anybody, not only

advocated for reforms aiming at such structural transformations towards governance and

NPM, but also actively supported and even imposed such efforts. For example, in 2000 the

World Bank clearly summarised its approach vis-à-vis the public reforms that it had been

advocating for a couple of years as:

“ …to broaden the range of reform mechanisms we [World Bank] support, maintaining our efforts to strengthen internal rules and restraints within government [read: decentralisation, fiscal pressures, watchdog bodies] while expanding our complementary emphases on competition [read: privatisation, deregulation, delegation] and “voice” and participation [read: governance, customer-citizens]…in ways that put country’s citizens in the driver’s seat” (World Bank, 2000: 59)16.

Similarly, a specific Public Management Committee of OECD is founded with the

objective of directing:

“a concentrated programme on governance and public management which contributes to the OECD Member countries’ economic and social policy objectives, especially to improving the effectiveness, efficiency and accountability of public institutions; [the committee shall also] contribute a governance and public management perspective on major policy concerns addressed by the Organisation including horizontal activities” (OECD, 1999).

Even the International Monetary Fund whose main focus had been mainly

macroeconomic policies, realized the importance of good governance, and started

displaying efforts for “promoting good governance in all its aspects including ensuring the

rule of law, improving the efficiency and accountability of the public sector, and tackling

with corruption” (IMF, 1997).

It is not easy to answer the question whether such engagements of the extremely

influential global organisations aim at a veritable democratic impact since as the objective

of the envisaged participation opportunities are not any more to define a more consensual

thus more democratic public interest, but rather to enable ‘customers’ to express more

easily their personal interests and preferences (Christensen and Laegreid, 2001: 309).

Therefore, we can state that participatory practices perceived in a neo-liberal perspective

have nothing in common with their republican interpretation. As can be recalled

16 The [read] sections in italics are our formulations based on the arguments applied by the Bank to defend these objectives all through the report. For a more detailed explanation of these objectives, refer to the third section of the report.

54

immediately, the participation was considered by the republicans as an instrument to

‘bond’ citizens to each other in order to arrive to a democratic political community. In the

neo-liberal conceptualisation of participatory practices, they seem yet to serve in contrast

to highlight the individualism of the members of society by enabling them to defend their

personal interests as being the customers of specific public services.

In light of the preceding statements, we can conclude that the neo-liberal politics

responded to the “ungovernability crisis” of the seventies by making use of participatory

practices. In interpreting the political crisis as, first of all, a fiscal problem then a question

of legitimacy, the neo-liberal approach saw in the participatory instruments a potential for

reacting to these problematical dimensions of public administration (Politt, 2004: 183-

185). Regarding to the fiscal aspect, the introduction of participatory practices is

interpreted as an adequate means to lighten the fiscal burden of the state. Participation in

this understanding represented an enhanced presence of non-governmental actors in the

public service delivery. By forming partnerships with the non-profit organisations or

private enterprises, the state could then delegate some of its public functions to these non-

governmental actors. This tendency that could be summed up in terms of privatisation and

deregulation, is identified with the governance approach which enjoys also an unrealistic

aura of democratisation. Therefore, with the same token of participatory discourse, neo-

liberals aimed at not only lightening the fiscal burden of the state but also endowing it with

a democratic illusion.

As for the problem of legitimacy, the introduced NPM techniques provided a new

source of political justification. By enabling customers of the public services to express

their personal opinions on the concerned public services or questions, the neo-liberal

tendency acquired a new source of political justification in deciding on or delivering public

services. Participation of citizens in public deliberations can above all allow the

administration to have a better knowledge about the state of public opinion. Thus, probable

reactions against the public action in question can thus be observed in advance in order to

make the necessary changes which could avoid probable popular reactions. Moreover, the

fact that state agents can intervene directly to these deliberations, renders them able to

convince, even manipulate, the public so that the latter approves the pre-determined action

through the participatory practices. The public policies thus approved by citizens enjoy an

enhanced legitimacy which would ultimately improve their effectiveness in application. In

55

any case, the essential dimension of the problem could still be kept under the state

monopoly. As Parkinson (2004) formulates intelligently, the public authority is free to

organise a deliberation on housing politics, building choices or painting preferences.

Letting citizens deliberate the colour of the apartments, could actually provide an enhanced

legitimacy on more fundamental decisions such as the macro urban policies or architectural

exigencies.

Put in such a neo-liberal perspective, participatory democracy may be seen as a wolf

in the guise of a grand-mother. The totality of the arguments in favour a more democratic

government via participatory practices can indeed be associated with the explicit or

implicit agenda of neo-liberalism. If this is really the case, we could do nothing but

approve Hermet’s conclusions on the participatory democracy as being a mechanism of

monopolisation of the domains of authority by the co-opted minorities in terms of rules

written in code with invisible ink on transparent paper (Hermet, 2005: 40-41). Yet, we still

believe in the possibility for an alternative understanding of the participatory democracy

defined in more egalitarian, social and democratic terms. For such a non-liberal

conceptualisation of participatory democracy, we shall pursue our debate this time looking

at the left wing of the ideological spectrum.

3) From revolution to empowerment: Participatory democracy seen by socialists

One might expect us to initiate our debate on how leftist ideas contradict the rightist

ones in regards to the participatory democracy as is the case in the quasi-totality of other

political issues. If the rightist thought had adopted an elitist attitude, the left must have

defended the enhancement of participatory practices. Yet, this has not quite been the case

since the traditional Marxist left appeared almost as sceptical as the liberals vis-à-vis the

participation of citizens to the political life, albeit with entirely different arguments.

Indeed, Marxist reluctance in participatory democracy went beyond being for or

against the participatory dimension but rather put democracy in question. The latter was

not in fact considered as an essential issue within the Marxist tradition. Even Marx himself,

does not seem to have an honourable reputation in the history of democracy. For example,

Woodcock (2005: 23) associates the collapse of the First International after only eight

years of existence with the restrictions that Marx imposed on the pluralistic ideas that

56

could (even should) be neglected in the name of the Revolution, both the main instrument

and the ultimate objective of the socialist thought. What were essentially given importance

were the structural paradigms like the vanguard party (Marxism-Leninism), the working

class (orthodox Marxism), capitalist development (the modernisation school) or external

capital (dependency theory). Given the importance of such structural parameters, the role

of popular forces in determining their proper history was nothing but negligible (Baker,

1998: 402). Therefore, even the principle of electoral participation could be disqualified as

being an instrument of bourgeois class domination and thus a possible diversion from the

revolutionary objectives; “devoid of substance thus alien to the project of the Left”

(Roberts, 1998: 18). In any case, socialism did not require any mediation between the state

and society via for example elections, simply because it was a political regime per se by

carrying with it a global project of society that considered the state and the political regime

flowing from and reflecting the transformation of economy (Garréton, 1989: 13).

Consequently, these democratic instruments such as elections may be used if only specific

historical conditions required their application for achieving some objectives; however

they did not have an intrinsic value in socialism.

Democratic processes did not thus represent a significant potential for Marxists in

their fight against the capitalist order. In this perspective, whether citizens enjoyed a

political power or not through democratic processes and institutions did not mean much as

the objective of overcoming this political domination was reachable only by the capture of

the state by a total revolution realised by the working class. Such a conceptualisation of the

political struggle in an ‘either-or’ form minimised the importance of minor political

endeavours be they in the form of electoral mobilisation or social movement.

Consequently, participation of citizens in the political sphere did not attract significant

attention from the Marxist thought.

The only remarkable opposition to this absolutist orientation was formulated by the

anarchist authors who were rapidly excluded from the Marxist camp17. The Marxist history

consisted nevertheless of some exceptional periods of self-management systems in which

active participation of fellow citizens was the main principle. The Paris Commune of 1871,

17 For examples of such criticisms by very influential anarchist thinkers such as Bakunin, Proudhon, Kropotkin etc. see Ward, 2005.

57

the Russian soviets of 1905, the Spanish revolutionary syndicates in 1930s and the

Hungarian councils of 1956 represent such experiences that can be compared relatively to

more contemporary participatory practices where citizens play an active role. Yet, as

Bookchin (2005: 206) notes, the fact that these experiences had been “highly vulnerable to

centralisation, to manipulation, and finally to perversion” and that “statism is built into

their structure and nourished by their class roots,” paved the way for their quick

disappearance. Perhaps the only more significant experience in the socialist history would

be Yugoslavian self-management practices under Tito’s rule.

Founded initially on the Soviet Union model of communist government, Yugoslavia

broke with the Soviet regime in late 1940s and adopted more decentralised politics at first

in the economic domain then in the politico-administrative structure from 1950s onwards.

In Tito’s reformed socialist rule, the commune became the basic socio-political community

enjoying very important political influence in country’s political life to the extent that

communal assemblies elected the deputies of the republican and federal assemblies.

Moreover, they also enjoyed a right to recall them -a political right that even the

contemporary participatory experiences still dream of. The communes were also

responsible for all activities excepting those that were specifically attributed to higher

administrative levels. Apart from these practices of politico-administrative

decentralisation, with the referenda in local communities, communes, and enterprises;

meeting of voters; the increasing ability of local residential communities within communes

and the system of continuous rotation of all elected deputies and political functionaries, the

Yugoslavian self-management experience represents a unique example of direct socialist

democracy (Hunnius, 2005).

The reluctance towards, if not a total dismissal of, civic participation in the political

domain would seem to be quite strange for those who only concentrate on contemporary

participatory practices which were mainly developed and initiated by leftist governments.

It is obvious that the leftist thought had passed through a significant evolution to reach

where it stands now in favour of a radical and deepened democracy. Of course there are

numerous factors that have led to such a fundamental transformation in the socialist

tradition. Without aiming at providing a complete picture of this conceptual evolution of

democracy within leftist ideologies, we can specify four main factors. First of all, the new

social movements of the sixties and the seventies represented a breaking point in the

58

socialist tradition. The political perspective structured on the-one-and-only socio-political

antagonism, namely between the bourgeoisie and the proletariat capitalists and the

labourers, had to be revised due to the emergence of ‘new antagonisms’ constituting new

terrains for the struggle against inequalities and the claiming of new rights (Laclau and

Mouffe, 1992). The statement, according to which the working class was occupying the

key position in society and would be the leader of a revolutionary movement, was thus

significantly weakened. Second, during this period socialist groups successfully

established participatory structures in the form of schools, health clinics, food co-ups etc.

based on face-to-face, consensual decision making. Therefore, at least at lower levels of

society, participatory democracy proved to be feasible. Third, the bloodless revolutions of

southern Europe in the seventies demonstrated that the overthrowing of authoritarian

regimes could be achieved through velvet revolutions and moreover it was not only social

movements led by the working class that had a chance of success. Finally, the collapse of

communist regimes in the eighties revealed the ontological crisis that the Marxist thought

had to face; even in power, socialism did not manage to offer an egalitarian socio-political

order for the peoples under its rule. In short, the socialist project was weakened in its three

main aspects: the content because the class based conflict was no longer the main political

paradigm; the means because the revolution was either not probable as in most of the cases

or feasible through other social forces than that of working class; and finally the objective

because the lived experiences turned out to be totally different than the ideal proposed and

thus lost its credibility.

As a result of this three-folded crisis, the socialist thought passed through a

significant discursive transformation from the eighties onwards. The traditional emphasis

on the structural determinism of class-based conflicts was gradually replaced by the

Gramscian understanding of hegemony. The objective was no longer the capture of the

state that produces and reproduces class inequalities but to fight against all the inequalities

within the distribution of power, be they between workers and capitalists, men and women,

homosexuals and heterosexuals etc. The ‘renovated’ socialism does not represent “a

mechanistic order, a predetermined social system”, it is henceforth a process, a process of

“elimination of various kinds of alienation, oppression and exploitation” (Garréton, 1989:

26). Furthermore, this political struggle did not have to begin within a revolutionary

59

framework; the objective was not to alter the existing political order by force but to gain

political power by making use of democratic means that ought to be radicalised though.

The Left has thus entered a post-authoritarian phase that is identified with a broad

counter-cultural project rather than a manifesto listing particular political objectives from

above (Chavez, 2004: 4). Giving up its holist transformative ambitions, it was more

oriented towards to the liberal understanding of democracy, prioritising processes and

institutions of political representation and the democratic role of the civil societal

organisation within this political framework. The post-Marxist school in particular

advocates the re-definition of a socialism by radicalising, advancing the traditional

democratic instruments. The ideals of liberal democracy were wholly adopted; the

objective was “to take its declared principles literally and force liberal democratic societies

to be accountable for their professed ideals” (Mouffe, 1992: 2). The adhesion to the basic

ideals of liberal democracy was so strong that the direct and permanent political

participation of citizens was strictly excluded:

“Too much democracy can kill off democracy. It would produce hellish and unworkable results –everything would be defined as political, private life would be swallowed up by the public sphere, human beings would be transformed, perhaps forcibly, into ‘total citizens’, despite the fact that the growing diversification and complexity of modern societies prevents individual citizens from being present in the same place at the same time to make decisions which affect their lives directly or indirectly” (Keane, 1991: 11).

Reminding the elitist arguments of liberals, Keane’s statements reveal clearly how

participatory democracy was not actually envisaged by the radicalisation of democracy

advocated by post-Marxists. The association of citizens to political life was limited to their

presence in civil societal organisations and their participation to the traditional means of

political representation. Yet, very rapidly, the insufficiency of this approach pertaining to

the classical political schemes of representative democracy was realized since the

inequalities within society were directly reflected in their capacity of making use of these

political instruments. The socioeconomic weakness, not to say exclusion, of the

disadvantaged social groups was directly reproduced in the political sphere; they were

underrepresented in political processes and quasi absent in civil societal organisations.

With the rapid spreading of neo-liberal ideology, their socio-political handicaps were

further accentuated since the market-oriented policies cared even less about their rights and

interests. In such a context of general inequality, be it social or political, representative

democracy had to be strengthened by the introduction of participatory mechanisms with

60

the objective of enabling the socially disadvantaged to be more present in the political

sphere. In other words, participatory democracy was no longer seen as an alternative to the

existing representative form, but as a mean of reinforcement as illustrated by Bachrach and

Botwinick’s (1992: 46-47) statements:

“It is clear from our defense of the theory of participatory democracy that the assumptions and principles underlying it and the theory of representative democracy are in sharp tension with one another. Nevertheless, it is equally clear that on a practical level each theory is dependent upon the other. Given the size, in a large democratic society that requires the establishment and maintenance of representative institutions, we are emphasizing the importance of nurturing widespread political participation as an essential means of fostering democratically responsible and representative system of governance. A democratic participatory system committed to the promotion of self-development and the well-being of all of its citizens would aim to establish participatory institutions wherever practically feasible, and thus serve as a continuing democratic leaven on the representative system”.

Socialists turned thus towards participatory themes considered not as an alternative

political project, but as a complement of the representative democracy. The adhesion to

representative democracy was not questioned while its insufficiencies could not be ignored

any longer. The universal political rights of citizens have fallen undeniably short to provide

them actual access to political life. It was clear that -lacking the appropriate social and

cultural resources- citizens ought to be ‘empowered’ to be able to express and defend their

interests, priorities and preferences through the political instruments provided by

representative democracy. Borrowing the definition of Nylen (2003: 27), the empowerment

thesis18 is founded on the need of transforming “an individual’s prior mentality of fatalism

and dependency on ‘higher ups’ and/or an active disgust regarding all things political, to a

new sense of personal responsibility to struggle against systemic exclusion and

domination, and a belief in one’s efficacy to be successful in doing so.” Reformulated in

the civic culture perspective of Almond and Verba “empowerment means moving from

‘parochial’ and ‘subject’ mentalities toward a ‘participant’ mentality” (loc. cit.). In other

terms, the empowerment approach consists of practices and policies aiming at better

18 It has to be noted that neo-liberalism had also used the concept of “empowerment” in the 80s, albeit in a totally different meaning. In that neo-liberal conceptualisation, empowerment indicated “the removal of obstacles to individual choice and initiative presented by state regulations, state services and ‘popular’ organisations interacting with the state to control entry into labour markets, incomes, job security and working conditions” (Stieffel & Wolfe, 1994: 183). Thus, in total contradiction, with the socialist interpretation, the neo-liberal empowerment signified an individual reinforcement –surely of a minority- thanks to an administrative deregulation leaving the entrepreneurs free to behave as they wish.

61

integrating social groups having hitherto a minimal access to –not to say being excluded

from- the socio-political system by providing new opportunities for the enhancement of

one’s self-confidence, self-autonomy and practical capabilities, in short for his/her self-

development.

The empowerment thesis thus indicates a political strategy for democratising

democracy without being obliged to re-configure the current representative institutional

framework. The objective is to render citizens more capable of making use of the current

political mechanisms by improving their personal capabilities. Nevertheless, keeping the

representative system untouched does not indicate the total absence of institutional

innovations. Taking special measures to assure that socially or economically disadvantaged

groups or social segments are included in processes of political discussion and policy

formation came to be considered as vital (Young, 2004: 19). The integration of ‘hitherto

excluded’ to the socio-political system depends mainly on the introduction of new

participatory mechanisms whose developmental and educational impact have been already

stated by John Stuart Mill as we will discuss below.

Fung (2004: 14-17) identifies three theoretical sources in the development of the

empowerment approach: civic engagement, pragmatism and deliberative democracy. The

first source, the civic engagement literature, emphasizes the importance of civil

associations in a democratic framework. The associational habits of the Americans

publicised by Tocqueville’s famous study Démocratie en Amérique had long been the main

reference within the literature. The velvet revolutions of Eastern Europe in the late eighties

attracted political scientists’ attention to the democratisation capacity of civil society, of

non-governmental organisations. The debate on the importance of associations regarding to

democratic development has been further animated by a contemporary representative of

this school of thought, Robert Putnam (1993, 1995, 2000), who writes on how the United

States has been losing her famous civic blood, her social capital that he considers as the

main base of democratic government. Therefore, be it in the form of Tocqueville’s ‘habits

of the heart’, of Putnam’s social capital or in the form of civil society; civic engagement

has been always associated to the theory of democracy. The empowerment approach also

values these civic organisations as an instrument to improve citizens’ personal abilities and

experiences in the public sphere.

62

Secondly, empowerment flirts also with John Dewey’s pragmatism by sharing the

belief in the surprising consequences of the collective actions undertaken by citizens and

experts. It is widely acknowledged now that the contributions of simple laymen, of citizens

are highly valuable in determining appropriate and effective public policies. This

pragmatist aspect of the participatory practices has been further accentuated in the political

science literature in parallel with the growing number of scientific controversies that reveal

the end of specialists’ monopoly on public policy orientations (Callon, Lascoumes and

Barthe, 2001). This decline in experts’ technical monopoly on public choices renders

legitimate -even necessary- the active participation of citizens in decision making

procedures. The empowerment thesis has been thus reinforced also from a pragmatist angle

by aiming at the personal development of individuals to let them recognize and sensibly

respond to the public problems and be present in decision making processes hitherto

monopolized by technical or bureaucratic experts.

Finally, participation of citizens in decision making is not limited by constituting a

passive audience or providing simple input or feedback. The deliberative nature of the

strategy determination and decision making cannot be ignored since citizens’ participation

in such procedures does not represent a simple aggregate of personal opinions or

preferences. As the deliberative theory states the public discussion is per se a valuable

instrument of both empowering citizens and policy making. Therefore, the popularisation

of deliberative approach represents a third theoretical source in the empowerment

literature.

Supported thus by these three autonomous but interrelated theoretical paths, the

empowerment thesis became the main political dynamics of socialists regarding to the

participatory democracy. The objective was henceforth to keep the traditional framework

of representative democracy while advancing it by empowering citizens so that they play

more active roles in the political sphere. Consequently, socialists (at least the neo-Marxists

as well as social democrats) gave up endeavouring to reverse the capitalist political system

identified with the agencies of representative democracy by a revolution led by the

working class. Yet, this shift in the ideological orientations did not actually indicate a total

submission to the unequal distribution of political power. By developing mechanisms

aiming at the empowerment of citizens and at their more active association in the public

sphere, the socialists have sought to enhance the influence of the masses in the political

63

realm. Therefore, the participatory methods turned out to be the main instrument in such an

ideological reconfiguration. Notably, Lula’s ascension to the presidency of Brazil affirmed

the adequacy of implementing participatory techniques in order to seize political power.

Since then, diverse participatory experiences have been multiplied by socialists all over the

world.

As a result of these opposite winds of ideological change, one from the right by

NPM and governance themes, the other from the left via empowerment efforts, yet towards

the same direction, the ideological rivals reached the common position on advocating for a

more participatory democracy. We suppose it is not necessary to underline once more how

these two dynamics differ in motivation and nature. Indeed, when we observe what has

been really going on in the actual political realm, we perceive the difference immediately.

That is why in the final section of this chapter, we propose to pursue our discussion by

presenting the empirical reflections of the participatory trend. By examining different

participatory practices, we can not only better understand how the concretisation of such

participatory efforts differs on the field, but also analyse the actual democratic impact of

such practices.

C - An empirical overview

When examined empirically, we remark rapidly that the popularisation of

participatory themes have been accompanied by two major dynamics. First of all, local

scale appears to be more present in political debates as being the most adequate level for

introducing new participatory mechanisms. Secondly, we observe a rapid and amazing

development of institutional innovations that aim at facilitating citizens’ involvement in

politics. Nevertheless, despite the attraction of local politics and the participatory

engineering efforts, the actual democratic impact of such political developments should not

be taken for granted since the process has to go through non-negligible challenges.

Therefore, in this section of our study, after developing an empirical regard at both of these

dynamics following the popularity of participatory democracy, we shall discuss the actual

outcomes of the outlined participatory trend.

64

1) Return of the local

Reaching to a theoretical and political quasi-consensus on the need for developing

more participatory political practices and institutions does not necessarily help actually

transforming the political scene. Since we are no longer living in the Greek city-states

where all citizens could assemble to deliberate on public affairs, such a gathering of all

citizens is just not practical. The geographical and/or demographic size of contemporary

states prevents the active involvement of all citizens in the national political scene -even if

participatory themes are praised by all sides of the political spectrum. In such a context, the

local level appeared as an ideal base for experiencing the introduction of participatory

mechanisms aiming to better associate citizens to the political sphere. As Wolton (2000:

90-91) states justly “the reference to local became the barometer of a will of change

regarding to the crisis of democracy... if it did not exist, it would be necessary to invent the

local to redesign the politics.” Fortunately, there was no such need as the local had been

thoroughly studied by various political scientists long before it was perceived as one of the

main keys in overcoming the contemporary democratic crisis. It has been already noted

that it would be mainly on this level that the gap between the democratic ideal and reality

could be meaningfully minimised.

The best reference for the valorisation of the ‘local’ in the political science literature

would certainly be Democracy in America by Alexis de Tocqueville who considers the

local level as the tool par excellence in fighting against the administrative despotism that

cannot be counterbalanced only with ballot boxes. He believes that the liberty of the people

is found at the local level, namely in the towns where citizens dispose of, use and accustom

to it. Just as students of primary school make their first basic encounters with science,

democracy is discovered at the local level. Without such a political formation, liberty could

only be a consequence of momentary passions, temporary interest or the chance of

circumstances; therefore the despotism would ultimately reappear if a spirit of liberty is not

developed through such local institutions (Tocqueville, 1981, v.1:123). That’s exactly how,

according to Tocqueville, the American democracy managed to avoid the emergence of

despotism and was able to generate a democratic political culture. By decentralising some

administrative functions and political authority, American governments were able to

accustom citizens to deal with public affairs and enabled them to contribute to the

government of their society:

65

« …dans cette sphère restreinte qui est à sa portée, il [l’habitant de la Nouvelle-Angleterre] s’essaie à gouverner la société ; il s’habitue aux formes sans lesquelles la liberté ne procède que par révolutions, se pénètre de leur esprit, prend goût à l’ordre, comprendre l’harmonie des pouvoirs, et rassemble enfin des idées claires et pratiques sur la nature de ses devoirs ainsi que sur l’étendue de ses droits » (Tocqueville, 1981, v.1 : 132-133).

Thus, for Tocqueville, the town, the local level does not represent only a practical

support for democratic development; it appears as the main source of democratic

government by endowing citizens the necessary habits, capabilities and knowledge. These

arguments in favour of the local governments are adopted wholly by John Stuart Mill, who

also considers local institutions as an adequate instrument of political education of the

society. He believes that action can be learnt only in action and local governments offer

numerous possibilities of undertaking such educative actions. Thanks to such actions,

citizens do not only develop their political skills as Tocqueville suggests but also go

beyond judging in particular events by understanding and applying the practical value of

general principles (Mill, 1994: 162-164). Consequently, for Mill, just as for Tocqueville,

democratisation of national politics is dependent on local politics where citizens develop

their civic abilities essential for such a political evolution.

These virtues associated with local governments coincide with the objectives of the

empowerment thesis that aims at reinforcing civic capabilities of citizens to render them

more active in political life. Moreover, rightists do not oppose to such a valorisation of the

local since it facilitates not only the lightening of the administrative burden of the central

government but also the introduction of management principles to the public sphere.

Therefore, the popularisation of local politics in the participatory democracy debate goes

beyond the practical advantages that the local level possesses. The local appears, thus, as

the adequate political level for responding to the contemporary crises of democracy in

participatory terms. As Wolton (2000: 90) states “between the symbolic value related to

the origin of the Athenian democratic politics and the reference to the basic unit of the

society, the local is found at the origin of all attempts of recasting of politics.”

The attractiveness of local politics was not naturally free of “side effects.” The over-

valorisation of local level is susceptible to lead to the multiplication of NIMBY (not-in-

my-backyard) type of social movements (Sintomer, 2003). These movements do not

actually contradict with the personal development virtues that Tocqueville attributes to

local politics since the active participants of such gatherings improve their personal skills

66

by defending their local specific case. They do not create though a veritable democratic

impact since they are motivated by particularistic interests rather than general and

egalitarian principles. Therefore, efforts for reforming the political scene should not be

limited to micro-local and should in fact extend to supra-local levels.

Moreover, a simple decentralisation of central competences and resources is not

enough to respond to the contemporary crisis of democracy since local institutions suffer

also from the current bottleneck of representative politics. They can not indeed spare

themselves from the growing distrust of citizens towards public institutions. For instance,

Pierre Sadran (2004: 32) observes that the French decentralisation reforms did not manage

to spare local governments from the crisis of representation despite their proximity to the

base19. Consequently, a simple decentralisation of administrative functions and resources

without restructuring the political scene might contradictorily reinforce the crisis by

creating ‘local tyrannies’ in the body of local elites who would be more autonomous vis-à-

vis central government without sharing their power with the rest of society. This would

substantially aggravate the political repression and demobilisation factors that have already

affected representative democracy (Nylen, 2003: 31).

The return of the local as a popular political object does not thus represent a

response per se to the crisis of representative democracy. Advocating simply for further

local democracy would not solve the main problem if its traditional pattern is left

untouched. From this point of view, the valorisation of local government is meaningful in

the sense that it points to the adequate scale for undertaking innovatory initiatives which

would facilitate citizens’ involvement in public affairs. In other words, the local is

important because it represents the probable origin of a total political reconfiguration be it

in institutional scheme or in individual political attitudes and habits. The first traces of

such a renovation might be perceived in numerous institutional innovations that have been

experienced in different parts of the world. Therefore, in the following section we propose

to examine briefly some examples of such new political institutions.

19 “Dopé par la décentralisation, le gouvernement représentatif local devrait en principe s'en trouver ragaillardi, c'est-à-dire refondé en légitimité effective, plus proche de sa base, et donc susceptible de réduire la facture typique des mécanismes de délégation, et reconfiguré en fonction des exigences contemporaines de l'action publique. Or, tout se passe comme si le système était au

67

2) New participatory mechanisms

Since the nineties, the institutional landscape of local governments has been

significantly diversified by the introduction of new civic platforms, deliberative institutions

and consultation mechanisms. Citizens’ juries and panels, participatory planning and

budgets, local assemblies, district organisations have entered to the contemporary

terminology of local governments. All these new political institutions or practices have a

common objective: to encourage and facilitate the participation of citizens in the local

political life beyond the traditional procedures of political engagement (Lowndes, Pratchett

and Stoker, 2001: 207). In other words, they have been the concrete reflections of the

theoretical and political quasi-consensus on the need for evolving to a more participatory

democracy. Just as the diversity of intentions and orientations behind this participatory

trend, the real experiences vary among themselves regarding to the objectives, nature and

extent of participation they aim at. This diversity among the observed experiences has led

political scientists to propose different typologies of new participatory mechanisms.

To start with, George Gontcharoff (1999, 2001) proposes a bi-categorical scheme

based on the origin of the initiative. On the one hand, we find ‘descending movements’

initiated by public authorities from above in the forms of district councils, consultative

commissions, public service customer commissions, provisory commissions on specific

themes or assemblies of social groups (youth, women, children, elderly, disabled etc.).

These new institutions represent public officials’ efforts aiming at overcoming the

contemporary political crisis by regaining citizens’ confidence and thus reinforcing the

legitimacy of their policies by reforming the traditional administrative framework.

On the other hand, we also observe ‘ascending movements’ that have their origins in

the grassroots initiatives undertaken by citizens themselves without the initial support of

public authorities. In most of the cases, such initiatives take place at the infra-local level

assembling the inhabitants of a district eager to defend their collective interests against

public authorities or other similar gatherings. Even if, at a first glance, it is possible to have

a NIMBY-like impression on these ascending movements, experiences show that while

contraire bloqué sur ses équilibres antérieurement établis, générateurs d'un sentiment persistant de crise de la representation” (Wolton, 2004: 32).

68

spreading horizontally (e.g. to other districts) or vertically (e.g. to higher levels of

administration), they become more egalitarian and democratic.

Moreover, in some exceptional cases (such as Porto Alegre’s participatory budget),

these two models may be combined constituting a third category in the typology based on

the origin of the movement (Bacqué, Rey and Sintomer, 2005).

If the origin of the initiative is important, its output is further significant in

developing a typology of the new participatory initiatives since the contemporary repertory

of such practices reveals a great richness of new forms of political participation. For

instance, Lowndes, Pratchett and Stoker (2001: 207 and 216) regroup these new

participatory experiences in five categories. In this typology, the consumerist methods

represent the first form of participation. Initiatives that fall into this group are nothing other

than the customer satisfaction practices that the private sector has been exercising for many

decades. Transferred to the public sector with the new public management wave, these

methods aim first of all, at the improvement of the quality of public service delivery. By

establishing public relations departments, organising satisfaction and/or opinion surveys

public authorities aim at better responding to citizens’ expectations. Yet, the democratic

impact of these methods is rather negligible since citizens are addressed only as customers;

thus they can just only comment on the related public service.

The traditional methods such as public meetings, document consultation as well as

question and answer sessions constitute the second category of Lowndes, Pratchett and

Stoker. Used over a long time, these practices aim at better informing citizens on the

pursued policies and services provided by local authorities. Even if citizens are not

regarded any more as the simple users of public services as in the consumerist methods,

these practices do not give an active role to citizens since they allow only one-dimensional

communication between the authorities and the public; citizens constitute very often a

passive audience of such practices. Therefore, even if they seem to be present in the

political sphere by participating to such practices, citizens’ influence on public policies via

these traditional participation methods can only be very symbolic.

According to the authors, the third category consists of various types of forums

which bring together citizens sharing common interests and/or concern, on a regular basis.

The inhabitants of a district, citizens who are interested in the environmental problems, the

69

users of public transport or the communities (based on a social category –women, youth,

elderly etc.- or a cultural identity) can constitute the audiences targeted by such forums.

Apart from making use of the traditional methods cited above, these forums encourage and

enable citizens to take active roles in the government of their locality or simply the

resolution of a specific problem. By developing projects and action plans within these

forums, citizens contribute actively to local affairs.

The most significant group of the discussed participatory practices falls in the last

two categories of the typology proposed by Lowndes, Pratchett and Stoker since as their

names reveal, they represent recent innovations in this domain. The authors divide these

innovative methods in two categories: consultative and deliberative innovations. The

difference is whether citizens are actually engaged in sustained dialogue or only consulted

briefly on a particular issue. Acknowledging the importance of such a distinction, we argue

though that a further regrouping is necessary since the practices that would fall broadly on

these two categories dispose very specific characteristics that deserve to be highlighted by

a more detailed typology.

As a matter of fact, the form-based typology proposed by Bacqué, Rey and

Simtomer (2005) can be useful in comprehending these more particularistic dimensions of

the new participatory methods. The authors present a typology consisting of ten different

forms of participation. We can skip their first category, the assemblies, as we have already

mentioned it in Lowndes, Pratchett and Stoker’s typology. The second category, the

referendum represents also a minor importance regarding our discussion since it is rather a

traditional form of political participation though it has been recently quite popularised

especially at the local level.

The third form of participatory mechanism that Bacqué, Rey and Simtomer present

is the district council that assembles inhabitants at the lowest urban scale to which citizens

can identify themselves. These councils, the most popular participatory practice in Europe

according to the authors, enable citizens to act collectively in the name of their local

interests. The success of district councils lays in their potential of collective mobilisation

thanks on the one hand to the sentiment of belonging to the district that bonds citizens to

each other and to the probable formation of coalitions among the latter against the external

institutions and/or actors on the other (Gontcharoff, 1999: 307-308). Looking at how this

mobilisation potential is translated into concrete action, Gontcharoff (1999) identifies six

70

functions that the district councils exercise. First of all, they reveal a festive characteristic

with the role they play in the organisation of local feasts and in other social occasions.

Secondly and thirdly, they facilitate the flow of information either from the grassroots to

administrative units by informing or notifying the municipal agents about the problems of

the district (ascending flow of information) or from the latter to the inhabitants in the form

of providing information on the policies and actions pursued by the local authorities

(descending flow of information). Fourthly, the councils can facilitate the consultation

procedures undertaken by the municipalities on the projects under consideration by

collecting and then transmitting to the local authority the opinions of district inhabitants.

Moreover, as a fifth function, they can also serve in representing the district in other

deliberative processes organised by the local government. Finally, albeit very rarely,

district councils initiate concrete projects that are founded upon and managed by

permanent participation of district inhabitants. Despite these ambitious functions attributed

to district councils, they continue to remain as poor institutions as Domergue, Plenel and

Prete (2004) note with regards to the French experience; poor because they enjoy neither a

financial nor a functional autonomy and remain dependent on the political actors’ will and

initiatives.

The fourth type of participatory method in Bacqué, Rey and Simtomer’s

categorisation is the district funds that allow the inhabitants of a particular district to make

modest investments in their locality. Usually associated to district councils but also to other

participatory mechanisms, these funds are far from creating a significant political impact at

the local level despite their growing popularity in the European context. In a similar way,

the community development practices enable the inhabitants to take active role in their

proximity. By delegating the management of specific public equipment to the inhabitants,

public authorities aim at better associating citizens to local affairs.

All of the preceding three types of participatory methods bring citizens together on a

territorial basis at the district level. Yet, citizens can also assemble on thematic grounds

according to their interests or concerns or just by coincidence as in the citizen juries.

Inspired from the court juries of some justice systems, the citizen juries let a group of

citizens determined arbitrarily (usually by respecting a social quota system) pronounce on

a specific issue after being informed adequately on different aspects of the issue in

question. The citizen juries are especially important in technically controversial issues on

71

which experts can not reach to a consensus. By letting laymen express their preferences,

the public authority aims at arriving ultimately to a ‘socially acceptable’ (Callon,

Lascoumes and Barthe, 2001) decision that enjoys a public legitimacy.

The citizen juries thus provide two significant democratic opportunities for citizens.

First of all, citizens can directly influence a public decision on a specific issue. Even if the

decision of the juries is not legally bonding, the public authority can hardly oppose such a

decision. Moreover, the decision reached by the jury is not founded on just the personal

interests and the popular knowledge of the participants. By providing detailed information

on the issue, the juries bypass one of the main critics against the participation of citizens

according to which citizens are not capable of deciding justly on public affairs, which

necessitates a minimum technical formation. Despite these advantages, the citizen juries

can not be considered as a main key for the ‘democratisation of democracy’ since only a

small number of citizens can take part in the process. Besides, this small group of citizens

does not actually enjoy an actual power of representation even if specific social quotas are

respected in the selection procedure. As Smith and Wales (2000) argue, the fact that

different social groups are included in the process does not ensure that they are all

represented. Representation is not necessarily equal to ‘inclusivity’ since sharing a

common social identity does not provide per se a representative power. Even without

providing a perfect political representativeness, the citizen juries constitute nevertheless an

interesting innovation in associating citizens to the public decision making procedures.

This is probably why the practice is spreading rapidly all around the world20.

A similar category in Bacqué, Rey and Sintomer’s typology is consultative

commissions that bring together public authorities with either the representatives of related

associations or social groups on a specific theme. Unlike the juries, they do not seek to

create a microcosm of the society by respecting social quotas but include just the

concerned or interested groups. Furthermore, they do not have decision-making power

since, as their name suggests, they serve as consultative bodies. Even so, by creating a

channel of communication and deliberation between public officials and the related social

groups, the consultative commission would create non-negligible democratic impact on

public affairs.

72

The representation mechanisms of citizen-customers in public services are another

type of new participatory method that Bacqué, Rey and Sintomer cite. Different than

Lowndes, Pratchett and Stoker’s consumerist methods, these mechanisms enable the

customers of a public service to participate actively in the management of its delivery.

Therefore, instead of being passive clients who are expected just to provide ad hoc feed-

backs to the public service provider via surveys or wish-boxes, customers can thus

influence the direction of the public office.

All the methods cited above target very specific proportions of the society either on a

geographical scale (district organisations) or on a thematic basis. One can thus easily argue

that these micro efforts would not be enough to transform the political sphere even at the

local level and that more developed mechanisms are necessary in order to be able to create

a significant impact. Indeed, the last two categories of Bacqué, Rey and Sintomer’s

typology present examples of more developed models that would address to a wider

proportion of society with a larger scope of themes. The first example is the participatory

strategic plans or community development plans that give a voice to citizens in the

preparation for the future of the locality. By actively participating to the urban or social

planning of the city, citizens can directly influence the determination of public policies on

a very large scope of socioeconomic, cultural and urban domains. The Local Agenda 21s

that we shall discuss in depth in the following chapters are good examples of such

domains.

The preparation of a plan is obviously different than its application. Citizens’

engagement in the planning period does not necessarily indicate that the adopted plan will

be wholly respected during its actual application. So, a model that permits the association

of citizens to both the planning and the execution would be closer to the democratic ideal.

The last category in the typology proposed by Bacqué, Rey and Sintomer, namely the

participatory budget responds relatively to this need of covering both of the stages of

public policy determination and implementation. Developed in Porto Alegre, Brazil, the

participatory budget is a year-long process that combines both the geographic and thematic

organisations as well as the planning and execution phases. Founded on a system of forums

and forum representatives, the annual municipal budget is determined mainly by citizens

20 For a detailed description of the French experience on citizens’ juries see Bourg and Boy (2005).

73

themselves. Furthermore, citizens are also capable of inspecting whether the municipal

agents respect the outcomes of the process. According to Gret and Sintomer (2002: 130-

131), the participatory budget, at least as it is developed in Porto Alegre creates a positive

democratic impact since first of all, it associates citizens to public policy determination

without making them lose their autonomy vis-à-vis public authorities. Secondly, it

improves the communication between the latter and citizens. Moreover, it avoids the

political fetishism based on the political monopoly of delegates. Finally, it improves the

inclusiveness of the political sphere by facilitating dominated groups’ access to the

political scene. In other words, the participatory budget is the closest participatory model

to the democratic ideal suggested by the advocates of a more participatory form of

democracy.

An additional category that is included in none of the cited typologies would be the

electronic participation channels that let citizens be informed about or react to local public

affairs. Popularised under the heading of e-government, such methods provide new and

rapid sources of information (web-sites, e-mail groups, electronic newsgroups etc.), of

interaction (electronic forums, e-mail communication etc.) as well as reaction (online

petitions and referenda). The most important advantage of such electronic participatory

methods is that they may help overcoming the biggest obstacle against establishing an

authentic participatory democracy in contemporary societies that are unavoidably too

crowded, too torn apart and too busy to gather together. Yet, with the vulgarisation of such

electronic methods, citizens would be able to take part in public affairs without being

obliged to be present at a specific place on a given time. The public sphere would be thus

reachable from office or home whenever the person feels free to do so. Consequently, such

electronic developments would bring about either new democratic platforms or enhance

the ones already present in more traditional ways. As a matter of fact, all the methods we

discussed above may be democratically improved by making use of these electronic

instruments.

A legitimate question after presenting a broad inventory of participatory methods

would be whether they actually lead to an authentic democratic change. In other words, is

it sufficient to introduce one or several of these participatory instruments to overcome the

contemporary crisis of democracy? The last section of this chapter will aim to give an

74

answer to this question by discussing the limits and the challenges of the democratisation

of democracy via the introduction of these new participatory methods.

3) Democratic impact of participatory methods

The theoretical and ideological transformation of participatory democracy as well as

the development of new participatory methods that we discussed above do not necessarily

render the participation of the hitherto excluded more practicable. Even if the latter do

enjoy enhanced opportunities of authentic participation in the political sphere, this

participation does not always translate into a concrete influence within the traditional

political system. The theoretical convincingness of the literature on the virtues of

participatory democracy can not indeed be always affirmed by empirical observations on

the actual experiences. This gap between the theoretical assumptions and empirical facts

has been actually examined by certain scholars who reflect upon the challenges and the

limits of the new participatory methods instead of simply praising or condemning them.

While acknowledging the contemporary weakness of the participatory practices, these

scholars try to identify the reasons behind their actual shortcomings in order to be able to

enhance them so that they can bring about a more meaningful impact on the political

sphere. In the last part of our discussion on the participatory democracy from an empirical

perspective, we also suggest such an analysis on the outlined participatory practices. We

shall discuss how these experiences may not bring about the political changes that the

‘wishful’ literature on the participatory democracy has expected. We admit that such a

discussion is far from being an original analysis since a number of scholars have already

commented on the challenges, problems or dilemmas of the participatory experiences

(Abers, 2000; Bacqué, Rey and Sintomer, 2005; Blondiaux, 2005; Sintomer, 2003;

Swinnen, 2005). Yet, instead of resuming the conclusions reached by these scholars, we

propose a different synthesis of these observations combined with our own reflections. For

this purpose, we suggest a four-folded approach that analyses separately the inclusiveness,

the scale, the operation and outcome of the examined experience. In other words, by being

inspired by the golden rule of journalism we analyse the three W’s and one H: who, where,

how and why participate? By doing so, we hope to identify the main challenges for

authentic participation that would democratise the democracy.

75

a) Challenges of inclusiveness: Who participates?

One of the main critiques towards the new participatory methods is that they

represent nothing than the reproduction of traditional political power relations in a new –

perhaps more smiling- manner. According to this point of view, those who are already

acquainted with the traditional participation channels and institutions will most probably

be able to make more use of the new participatory methods. Besides, unlike the traditional

thus episodic participation channels, these new mechanisms require more time allocation

and personal skills from the participants, therefore increasing the cost of participation that

would be much more affordable for the upper strata than the lower social groups who have

less time to spare, fewer educational skills and lower self-esteem. In other words, unless

special measures are taken, the famous ‘hitherto excluded’ will continue to be alienated

also from the new participatory channels. Consequently, the political inequality that the

representative system is accused of provoking not only remains untouched, but also risks

getting aggravated because of the better organisation and mobilisation of the upper

socioeconomic groups. In other words, the inclusiveness of the new channels of

participation is one of the main factors determining their eventual democratic impact.

It would be unjust though to consider this danger of worsened political inequality as

an unavoidable outcome since in case of establishing specific measures for reaching out to

the underrepresented social groups (working class, women, youth, foreigners etc.), the new

participatory method can actually overcome this trap of political inequality. For example,

the methodology developed in Porto Alegre’s participatory budget has managed to

associate the lower socioeconomic groups to the process. Even if the poorest citizens

continue to be still absent in the political sphere, the middle classes appear to lose their

overwhelming dominance in similar practices (Abers, 2000: 121-127). Because of this

relative absence of the middle class in the participatory budget of Porto Alegre, the

problem of inequality is inversed: “since poor citizens so dominate the assemblies, middle-

class neighbourhoods are sometimes totally unable to obtain benefits through the process”

(Abers, 1998: 52). So one way or another, the equal participation of different

socioeconomic groups, in other words the problem of political equality, is a very important

dimension in the analysis of the new participatory methods.

76

b) Problem of scale: Where to participate?

Secondly, we ought to examine at which level of the political sphere the new method

is located in order to better comprehend its nature. If for example, as we have already

stated above, the participatory mechanism addresses the extreme micro-level, the practice

risks of turning into a NIMBY movement motivated by very particularistic and egoistic

interests. The multiplication of such NIMBY like organisations would lead to a very

conflictual context where autonomous participatory mechanisms violently oppose to each

other. Even if motifs for participation are more universal at the micro-level, it is necessary

to link these efforts to upper politico-administrative levels in order to be able to obtain

concrete results. Getting closer to the grassroots does not necessarily bring about a

democratic political change since the actual decisions are usually made at higher levels. In

other words, the ‘proximate’ is not always the most ‘beautiful’ and a well-functioning

coordination has to be established in between micro-local and more universal initiatives.

c) Operational problems: Participate but how?

Even if the two preceding conditions are met by first inviting all social groups to the

process and then establishing an adequate coordination between participatory initiatives

functioning at different political levels, the democratic impact of the process should not be

taken for granted since how the mechanism functions is at least as important as its

inclusiveness and scale. For instance, all the social groups may be present in the process

albeit without enjoying equal influence within deliberations. As we have already implied in

discussing the profile of the participants, the well-to-do classes are also more used to and

capable of expressing themselves and defending their point of views in front of a public.

However, for the ones from more modest backgrounds, watching the discussions silently

from their corner might be more preferable then actively participating to the debates. In

other words, categorical inclusiveness of the methods does not ensure the inclusiveness of

deliberations within the process which may indeed be monopolised by an active minority

more familiar with such deliberative activities. This might lead to a more serious problem

of inequality since it can not be perceived only by examining the formal structure of the

process; a participatory platform that brings together participants from diverse

socioeconomic origins may in reality serve only the interests of a specific group.

77

As with the problem of inclusiveness, this functional challenge may necessitate the

introduction of some measures aiming at a more egalitarian distribution of influence within

the process. The public authority or the organizers of the process can incite passive

participants to take more active roles by offering some stimulants or by establishing

internal rules that would ensure a more plural interaction. Yet, such interventions of the

organising agents may arouse questions on the autonomy of the process: if the former is

expected to play such determining roles, would not there be a risk of co-optation? Indeed,

enjoying the privilege of being able to shape the process, the public authority may seek

instrumentalising the participatory method with the objective of obtaining a popular

legitimacy for its policies or acts as well as of overcoming the opposition of social groups

by occupying them with the process. Therefore, by inviting the public authority to take

specific measures to ensure the political equality –be it at the level of presence or of

deliberation-, we risk of paving the way to the instrumentalisation of the process by the

former.

In any case, the risk of co-optation goes beyond this dilemma between the political

equality and the institutional autonomy since in most of the cases (top-down movements)

the public authority is free to decide upon the main lines of the new method. In Parkinson’s

(2004) terms, it can introduce a participatory mechanism about the issues of housing,

building or the painting. In other words, it can invite citizens to deliberate on the macro

policies of housing, the urban plans or the urban development strategies. In such a

participatory platform, citizens would obviously be able to shape the future of the locality.

Yet, the same mechanism may be introduced at the building level enabling its participants

to pronounce only on their close environment in their district, street or building. Even more

specifically, citizens can be expected to express their opinion on a very simple issue such

as the colour of the walls of a house. In each case, the public authority may present the

initiative as a sincere effort of democratising local politics though the actual impact

brought about would be obviously quite dissimilar for each experience. In more explicit

terms, the public authority may instrumentalise the participatory trend by occupying

citizens with the colour of the walls where as more complex and most probably more

controversial issues are spared from major popular opposition.

In short, a thorough analysis of the functioning of the process is necessary in order to

adequately identify its democratic impact since respecting the representation of different

78

groups in the mechanism or its association with higher (or even lower) levels does not

ensure a democratic transformation due to the danger of monopolisation of the deliberation

by a more active minority or of instrumentalisation by the public authority.

d) Power at stake: Why participate?

Let’s assume for a moment that a perfect participatory practice is experienced; all

social groups are represented and they participate actively in the deliberations on a large

scope of public themes, the mechanism is associated to other levels of the politico-

administrative system and is protected from the risk of instrumentalisation by the public

authority or other actors. Unfortunately, even such an ideal example of ‘democratic

engineering’ does not seem to be sufficient to ensure a democratic transformation of local

politics since such a mechanism may be used for different ends. We have already

underlined that the choice of the theme deliberated in the process (housing-building-

painting) is a decisive factor on its eventual democratic impact. Yet, what we mean by the

power at stake of the method is different than its theme and implies the degree of power

that citizens obtain via the process. The issue is not that citizens are assembled to decide

the colour of the walls, but whether they have the last word on the issue in question. We

are interested thus to what extent the new practice modifies the power relations within the

given political system.

There are indeed numerous models in the literature that categorise the participatory

methods according to the impact they create on traditional power relations. The best known

model of this kind is certainly Arnstein’s (1967) ‘ladder of citizen participation’ that

regroups different participatory practices under three main groups, which cover eight

subsections. As illustrated in Figure 1, Arnstein’s ladder starts with non-participation

practices that aim actually to enable the power holders to educate citizens through such so-

called participatory channels. At the second level of the ladder, the degrees of tokenism,

we find practices that involve indeed some degrees of dialogue between the public

authority and citizens without yet providing an authentic decision power to the latter.

Finally towards the summit of the ladder, we approach to the participatory ideal where

citizens enjoy an absolute control within the decision and policy making.

79

Figure 2. Arnstein’s (1967) ‘Ladder of participation’

After almost four decades, Arnstein’s scale of citizen participation still remains

among the main references in the literature on participatory methods, albeit without

lacking justified critics. For instance, Burns, Hambleton and Hoggett (1994: chp. 6)

consider her approach inadequate for contemporary discussions on participatory methods

for mainly three reasons. First, they believe that it is necessary to distinguish between

participation and control more precisely than they are presented in Arnstein’s ladder.

Second, they think that several additional categories are required especially on the upper

half of the ladder. Finally, they underline that the steps of the ladder should not be identical

since climbing the lower rungs of the ladder is far easier than approaching its summit. Due

to these three weaknesses of Arnstein’s model the authors propose a new ‘ladder of citizen

empowerment’ based on three main levels as in the older scale but covering four more

rungs. The first level, citizen non-participation, covers the practices that are presented as

participatory initiatives whereas the real concern is improving the image of the public

80

authority without allocating any political power to citizens. It is only after the fifth rung

that the genuine citizen input begins by providing high quality information and establishing

consultative and advisory mechanisms. These first three types of categories of citizen

participation are distinguished from the rest due to the fact that the public authority does

not necessarily make a commitment to follow the preferences voiced within these methods.

Yet, for the upper-level arrangements, citizens dispose some power that let them acquire

genuine bargaining influence. Finally, the last two categories that make up the level of

citizen control indicate citizens having the power to govern a programme, area or

institution more or less independently of the public authority.

Figure 3. Burns, Hambleton and Hoggett’s (1994) ‘ladder of citizen empowerment’

81

Both the ladder of citizen participation and empowerment illustrate well that the

impact of diverse participatory mechanisms varies quite significantly from one experience

to another. Consequently, the democratic impact of these methodologies differs

considerably also. Nonetheless, this does not imply that the upper levels in both scales

would be always preferable in each local context. For example, Swinnen (2005: 181)

rouses a very legitimate question: should we try to climb up in the scale as high as we can?

Since his answer to this question is not affirmative, Swinnen suggests the utilisation of

‘spectrum’ instead of ‘ladder’ in the discussion on different participatory methods.

Indeed, we agree absolutely with Swinnen’s warning against an unfaltering

advocacy of the most elaborated participatory methods without taking into consideration

the local socio-political conditions. We have already evoked quite a number of variables

that appear to be determining the eventual impact of the participatory mechanism on the

political system. Yet, all of these variables can be considered as endogenous determinants,

thus are related with the internal structure and operation. All these dimensions fall under

what we suggest to call ‘democratic engineering’ implying the efforts aiming at developing

or transferring specific institutions or practices that are hoped to improve the democratic

quality of the political system. However, an important point should not be neglected: as we

have already emphasised in the introduction, the success of the political innovation would

be one way or another dependent on the context that it targets to change. In other words,

there will most probably be quite a number of exogenous factors that would undermine or

facilitate the performance of the introduced methodology. Therefore, a customer care

program might bring about a more significant democratic change than a partnership

practice in a specific local context. Following the same line, a delegated control experience

may paradoxically degenerate the political system. In short, there is no one-best-

participatory-way in order to democratise local politics. There are obvious limits of

democratic engineering that consists of implementing some ‘exported’ mechanisms in a

totally dissimilar local context.

As a matter of fact, the unavoidable variation of the impact of similar participatory

methods in diverse local contexts is indeed one of the departure arguments of our study. By

discussing the Local Agenda 21 experience in two Turkish cities, we shall illustrate how a

common scheme of participatory efforts bring about quite contradicting political changes

due to the influence of local socioeconomic and political factors. For this purpose, in this

82

chapter we have theoretically developed our argument by showing first how the

participatory themes have been popularised so rapidly and then by discussing their political

and empirical outcomes. Henceforth, we can continue our discussion by introducing our

case study. Yet, before diving directly into our specific case, we ought to give a broad idea

about the universal picture of the state of democracy in Turkey both at national and local

levels. After describing the general background of our case study, we shall get into the

details of the participatory method that will be examined in our study.

83

II - Turkish context

Although, as we have underlined in the introduction, this study is not on Turkey, we

ought to nevertheless present some information on the political history of the Republic in

order to be able to better situate our case-study in a more general perspective. Moreover,

given that our focus will be rather on local politics, the development of local governmental

system is quite relevant to our discussion since the impact of new participatory

mechanisms can not be isolated from the actual state of local politics and democracy.

Therefore, in this chapter, we shall present a rapid summary of Turkish political history

with a particular concern to sum up the development of Turkish municipal system. Since

the origins of the republican political bodies lay at the late Ottoman period, we shall launch

our discussion by the imperial system and end up with the most recent developments.

A - Ottoman Legacy

1) The origins of the Turkish local governmental system

The major dimensions of the traditional political organisation of the Ottoman Empire

can be easily summarised. At the summit of the system with its limitless competencies and

authority, the Sultan stands with an unquestionable legitimacy provided by the dynastical

control of the throne since the foundation of the Empire and strengthened by a religious

authority after becoming the caliph of the entire Islam world. Under the sultan we observe

an immense patrimonial bureaucratic machine. The most important feature of the

bureaucratic elite was the fact that they were totally cut off from all their social and

cultural roots. These bureaucrats were recruited in their early adolescence from the non-

Moslem communities and received a privileged training in the imperial institutions in order

to become devoted servants of the Sultan. All their properties and even their lives could be

confiscated with a simple decision of the Sultan to whose authority they were subjected.

This method of recruitment and then of this specific training prevented any formation of

dissidence against the emperor’s sovereignty that could have emerged among the ruling

elite.

84

The rest of the Ottoman society consisted of subjects without any political or social

rights. They did not even have the ownership of the land that they were cultivating. All

Ottoman land was divided into military fiefs; the peasants farming on that piece of land

were required to pay a proportion of their product to the fief holder who was in turn

responsible of feeding and forming a group of soldiers who participated in the conquests of

the Sultan. Some derivations from this military fief system progressively favoured the local

fief holders (Mardin, 1974: 12) who emerged as local notables of their region. However we

have to underline that these local notables never managed to form an autonomous social

class such as the aristocracy in feudal Europe. They reached the summit of their autonomy

in the 19th century when they managed to obtain a decree (Sened-i Ittifak/Deed of

Agreement-1808) from Mahmut II that assured certain local autonomies.

Observing the strengthening of the local notables, one can expect the development of

local political bodies at this period of imperial history. Yet, still a couple of decades would

be required to witness the appearance of local governmental bodies in the Empire. More

interestingly, this evolution would indicate exactly the opposite of what one would expect:

it would be motivated by the centralisation efforts of the Sultan and not by the

enhancement of local notables’ influence at the province. Indeed, the introduction of the

first local government like bodies was experienced in 1838 by the creation of local

councils (muhassil -and later on memleket- meclisleri) with the objective of assisting the

tax collectors appointed to implement the program of fiscal centralisation (Finley, 1986: 5).

With the Tanzimat (re-organisation) reforms in the second half of the nineteenth

century, the scope of centralisation efforts went far beyond the fiscal system and the centre

started seeking to enhance its presence and influence at the local level by assuming the

local services up until then handled by foundations, professional or communitarian

organisations and the neighbourhoods (mahalle). However, the fact that the local populace

had been traditionally auto-organised to carry out these services did not indicate the

existence of a proto-local government since these features never managed to be

institutionalised in a legally determined and sustainable form. As a matter of fact, by the

nineteenth century, the provision of urban services by these civil organisations was

significantly degenerated due to the socioeconomic transformations that took place within

the Empire. The need to introduce new measures to provide basic urban services was

therefore obvious. Yet, the bureaucratic organisation of the Empire was not strong enough

85

neither for carrying out such services on its own, nor for excluding totally the traditional

leaders, so the cooperation with the local society through the local councils was

indispensable (Ortayli: 1990). Consequently, the councils were progressively established in

different administrative levels as well as on diverse administrative domains from the 1840s

and onwards.

Even if these local councils did not represent authentic local governmental bodies,

they provide enough historical facts to question the very famous assumption according to

which the Ottoman local governmental system was purely imposed from the centre as an

imitation of occidental administrative systems in the second half of XIXth century. Based

on this initial supposition, it has been argued that the Turkish local governments could

have been neither local nor democratic since they were not founded on a political evolution

consisting of the gradual strengthening of civil society and of a civic opposition vis-à-vis

the authoritarian centre. Even if the remark is not wholly wrong, the mentioned councils

should not be totally neglected when examining the emergence of local governmental

bodies in the Ottoman Empire.

The popularity of this thesis on the municipal mimesis can be viewed in light of the

first municipal organisation that was established in 1855 in Istanbul under the influence of

international developments and foreign pressures caused by the War of Crimea (1853-

1856) during which the urban transformation of the city was actually accelerated. Since the

city became a logistically important military port during the War, she hosted considerable

numbers of foreign soldiers. Consequently, there was a crucial need for improving her

urban infrastructure; building telegraph lines and roads, constructing military hospitals, and

recruiting firemen and police agents from occidental allies. Furthermore, as a consequence

of the War, the Ottoman Empire was considered as an European country and became more

vulnerable to the influences of the occidental powers (Neumann, 2004: 6-7).

In such a specific conjuncture, the first municipal organisation (though not yet an

actual municipality), the Şehremaneti was established in 1855. Presided by the sehremini

appointed by the Palace, Sehremaneti was expected to carry some basic urban functions

such as the provision of essential goods for the inhabitants of the city, market control,

construction of roads and sidewalks, urban hygiene, charity and the collection of some

official taxes (Toprak, 1990:76). Resembling rather an ordinary bureaucratic unit, the

municipalism of the organisation was due to the Council (Sehremaneti Meclisi) established

86

as its legislative organ. Consisting of 12 members selected by the Sublime Port and

appointed by the Sultan from among the merchants and the high bureaucrats, the Council

was formed to deliberate and decide on urban affairs. Yet, deprived of an autonomous

status and competencies, sehremaneti did not represent an example of modern

municipalism (Ortayli, 1990: 71).

As we have already underlined above, the introduction of the municipal organisation

emerged as an obligation for the Sublime Port due to the extraordinary conditions and

specific consequences of the Crimean War. Since the experience of Sehremaneti did not

actually suffice to respond to this requirement, there were further steps to be taken. Indeed,

three years later21 the sixth arrondissement of Istanbul was founded at Pera and Galata

where occidental inhabitants were concentrated. The French influence was so powerful that

although the city was divided into 14 municipal areas, only one of these municipal zones

was legally formed under the name of the sixth arrondissement, imitating that of Paris.

Furthermore, French was accepted as the official language of the organisation. With its

autonomous financial sources and personnel, the experience of the sixth arrondissement

was the first example of Turkish municipalism. Thanks to the relative success of this first

example, in 1868, the other thirteen municipal districts were legally formed with a

regulation (Dersaadet İdare-i Belediye Nizamnamesi). With this new legislation, the

capital was designed to be governed in a federal scheme. The sehremaneti organisation

was re-formed above the districts with a supplementary council consisting of the mayors

and three representatives of each arrondissement (Keles, 2000: 126). However, the

outcome of the expansion of this municipal model towards other districts of the capital was

a big disappointment; municipal councils could be formed only in a couple of districts

where the Sublime Port appointed the required municipal personnel. Nevertheless, there

was no other attempt to improve the local governmental system in the capital until the

second Ottoman Parliament with the exception of a new municipal law of 1877, which did

not change the system apart from augmenting the number of district municipalities to 20.

Meanwhile, there were also efforts to establish a local governmental system at the

province. After two unsuccessful attempts in 1864 and 1871, the Municipal Law of

Departments (Vilayetler Belediye Kanunu) of 1877 designed the municipal form of the

21 Neumann (2004: 13) notes that the unit started functioning de facto earlier.

87

Empire, the capital excepted. According to the law each city would have a municipal

council of 6-12 members depending on the size of the locality. The mayor of the city

would be appointed from the capital from among these councillors in most of the cases

corresponding to the local notables. The council was expected to deliberate the local

issues, prepare the annual budget and to decide upon constructions (Ortayli, 1990: 72).

It is rather intriguing to observe this dualist structure in the development of local

governments in the Empire. One the one hand, at the capital, the introduction and the

development of the system was carried out under a very strong foreign influence. The city,

particularly the sixth arrondissement, had been considered as “a reception place from

where the Ottoman Empire was opening to the external world” (Neumann, 2004: 23).

Therefore, the occidental system, namely the French one, was directly imitated without

taking the socioeconomic characteristics of the local context into consideration.

Consequently, the system had to be revised numerous times though without ever achieving

an adequate scheme. On the other hand, at the provinces, the evolution was gradual from

councils to municipals and in more harmony with the local context. Yet, in both cases, the

political outcome was far from indicating the emergence of local autonomous bodies since

the process had been thoroughly marked by the centralisation efforts of the capital. This

pressure became further accentuated with the rise of the Union and Progress to power.

2) From Sultan’s absolutism to Party’s authoritarianism

The end of military golden age and the commencement of serious defeats prompted

traditional elites to find ways to “save the Empire”. The first objective of this reform wave

was to modernize the military schools and equipment to be able to prevent any further

military defeats and return to those glorious days of the Ottoman rule. However, the

bureaucratic elites and military students who became familiar with and were influenced by

European values and ideas, started to demand broader reforms with the objective of

modernizing the State in a rational and modern manner. According to them, the first

condition of such a government was to establish a parliamentarian regime. As Raymond

Aron states when describing the supporters of modernisation in the Ottoman Empire “the

criterion of development was a parliamentary building, rather than a factory chimney”

(quoted by Hanioglu, 2000: 247).

88

In fact, the first Ottoman Parliament, established in 1877, managed to exist only until

1878 when it was suspended (practically but not actually abolished). Thirty years later, in

1908, members of the Committee of Union and Progress (Ittihat ve Terakki Cemiyeti)

carried out a revolution which brought about the re-opening of the Ottoman Parliament.

Most of the members of this party, Mustafa Kemal included, were officers who had

attended the modernized military schools and had thus been significantly influenced by

western ideas. Their objective was to “create permanent institutions against changing

sultans in order to limit their competences” (Hanioglu, 2000: 248).

It is difficult to find the idea of representing citizens’ interests and demands in such a

parliament. The reformers whose main objective was to save the Empire, perceived

parliament as an instrument for unifying different ethnic minorities in order to prevent an

ultimate separation (opcit.). Therefore, efforts for the creation of such an institution were

not aimed at the representation of different social classes of the society or sharing the

power with the public, but rather to establish a political institution that would on the one

hand render the bureaucratic elite more powerful against the sultan, and on the other hand

unite the Moslem majority and the non-Moslem minorities on a common platform in order

to resist to the growing nationalist and separatists movements.

The real motive of these modernisation efforts was to create a counter-power vis-à-

vis the sultan in order to be able to realize determined projects destined to save the Empire.

From this perspective, “politics is seen as a process of realizing what is fair for all society

rather than a process of unifying and conciliating demands and interests of different social

groups” (Ozbudun, 1995: 9).

A reflection of this mentality could be also observed in the party’s attitude with

regards to the municipal organisation of the capital. As Neumann (2004: 27) underlines,

for the Union and Progress in their quest for the proper project of modernity founded upon

a much emphasized centralisation and for a popular mobilisation controlled by the state

apparatus, the French-like municipal system of the capital had to be abandoned. Indeed, in

1912, with a brief law [Dersaadet Teskîlat-i Beldiyesi Hakkında Kanun-i Muvakkat] all

district municipalities were abolished, all their competencies were transferred to a

appointed mayor of the city and the elected council was overwhelmed by an executive

commission formed by bureaucrats and technocrats. In other words, all the municipal

experience acquired for a half a century was abandoned by a mentality that aimed at

89

“saving the Empire” in following the modernisation scheme dictated forcefully from

above.

What took place meanwhile in the provinces might seem to be contradictory at the

first sight with this Jacobin centralism of the Party of Union and Progress (PUP), since the

departmental law of 1913 introduced a governmental framework at the departmental level.

Enjoying a public identity as well as autonomous resources, the delivery of local services

was attributed to this provincial government. In other words, the law of 1913 indicates the

origin of an authentic local governmental system at the departmental level since

departments acquired thus a relative autonomy vis-à-vis the centre. By this legislation,

according to Guler (2005: 234), the PUP executed an administrative decentralisation and

thus withdrew from a struggle [that of centralisation] that had continued for 35 years.

Nevertheless, despite the legal framework apparently favourable for autonomous local

governments, in reality Ottoman local organisations suffered more from centralist political

pressures and became more and more dependent on the central government during this

period (Ortayli, 1995: 150).

Such centralist tendencies of PUP were more visible at the national level as in the

example of the coup d’Etat organized by the members of PUP in 1913. Oppression on the

opposing –liberal and conservative- party ended with the transformation of parliament to

“a puppet of PUP” after the elections of 1913-1914 (Zürcher, 2000: 164). One can

conclude that the political developments emerged after the re-establishment of parliament

represent nothing but the shift of authoritarian rule from the sultan to a group of

bureaucratic elites while maintaining the same mentality that the welfare of the state and

the society was to be determined from above in a closed circle. Therefore, society was to

be kept away from political involvement despite the fact that a parliament was founded, on

the claim that it represented demands and interests of the society. As we will discuss

below, the same Jacobin tradition can be traced along the first decades of the newly

founded Turkish Republic.

90

B - Early republican years: Turkish municipalism determined by populism and statism

1) An exceptional period of democratic populism

The defeat of the Ottoman Empire at the end of First World War resulted in the

occupation of major parts of the country by the allied forces. Against this occupation, a

national resistance emerged under the leadership of Mustafa Kemal who had left Istanbul

and moved on to Anatolia in May 1919. After organizing two congresses in Sivas and in

Erzurum with the objective of drawing a strategy of resistance against the foreign invasion

and partition as well as of assembling the major actors and military units for this objective,

the Grand National Assembly was established in Ankara in 1920. The foundation of the

Republic in October 1923, followed by the victory of the Independence War in 1922, was

realized owing to the success of mobilizing all social groups of society, local notables and

military units for a shared objective: to save the country from foreign invasion. It was the

first time such a cooperation was realized between central elites, local notables and average

citizens of the society. Consequently, the principle of populism appeared to be the main

motto of the movement. The emergence of this new political principle may be best

observed in Mustafa Kemal’s early discourses upon his arrival in Ankara in December

1919:

“Within our organisation… the national paramount… every individual must become personally concerned with his destiny. A structure that in this way rises from below to the top, from the foundation to the roof, will surely be sturdy… I have been gratified to observe that our national organisation… has reached down to its true point of origin, to the individual, and that from there the real structuring upward has also begun” (quoted by Rustow, 1991: 12).

The emergence of a coalition between local notables and the independence

movement as well as the formulation of the new populist principle can also be observed in

the importance attributed to local governments. Indeed, more than half of the articles of the

first constitutional framework of the post-ottoman period were on the local organisations

(13 out of 23). According to this legislation, the country was divided into departments

(vilayet), towns (kaza) and villages (nahiye) (art. 10). Departments and villages possessed

a public identity, enjoyed an administrative autonomy and were governed through local

councils that were responsible for organising and administrating the public services related

to local foundations, religious or secular schools, health, economy, agriculture, public

91

works and charity (art. 11). Councils were elected for two years and chose their own

president and an executive committee from among themselves (art. 12 and 13). The prefect

appointed by the centre was responsible only for the national government affairs (Batum

and Yuzbasioglu, 1997: 2). Therefore, this first law on the local governments represented

indeed a very significant move towards a very democratic organisation of local politics. As

Ortayli resumes, this legal structure was a “unique status that can be matched neither in the

past nor in the present, envisaging the development of local governments and democracy in

Turkey… There is no doubt that this status is a noteworthy age of our [Turkey’s]

democratic history” (quoted by Guler, 1998: 154).

This democratic exception with regards to local governments was possible thanks to

the considerable presence of local notables in the first Assembly. Among the 365 deputies

of the first assembly, there were 129 landlords and/or merchants, 53 religious and 5 tribe

leaders who would be shortly left out by the second elections in 1923 (opcit.) since they

did not appear to be eager in supporting a revolutionary modernisation project. The basic

objective of the collective upheaval against the foreign invaders was to save the Empire,

hence the Sultan who was captured by enemy forces, and the religion, which was

threatened by the infidels. Therefore, when contributing to the national resistance, the local

notables did not have the intention of changing the entire traditional political system. The

second Assembly freed from these unenthusiastic members with regards to a modernising

process, represented a perfect continuity with the Imperial past with regards to the

character of ruling elites. Bureaucrats and officers of the previous regime re-acquired their

power with in the political system; more precisely 93% of the high officers and 85% of

bureaucrats of the Ottoman Empire continued to serve for the Republic (Ozbudun, 1995: 7-

8).

In fact, this continuity has been considered as a key feature behind the success of

nationalist resistance and of the establishment of the Republic as Rustow argues (1991:

11): “in contrast to the post-colonial states of Asia and Africa, the Turkish Republic did not

have to build up its political leadership in a vacuum, but could draw on the ample

personnel resources of the late Ottoman political establishment.” The stability with regards

to the ruling elite between the imperial and republican periods was also a sign of the

continuation of reform ideas and modernisation projects of the late Ottoman period. The

supporters of political and social reforms were now definitively in power and were able to

92

pursue their ideals more effectively since the counter-power of the Sultan had disappeared.

Centralist tendencies were ready to re-appear on the political scene.

2) Municipal organisation in a centralist conjuncture

The main characteristic of the modernisation project was the westernisation of

institutions and of social features of the Republic. However, society did not seem to be

encouraging these reform projects. Nevertheless, the hesitation of society towards the

reforms was not enough for discouraging the ruling elites from carrying on their

modernisation project. However, in light of the lack of popular enthusiasm for such

reforms, the principle of populism seemed to become “consummatory” rather than

“instrumental”; that is to say, the bottom-up structure of government turned out to be seen

“as an end in itself rather than a means for achieving some higher order” (Turan, 1993:

131). Mustafa Kemal justifies this change in the character of the populism principle by

stating that “there is a need at the beginning of any undertaking, to go not from below

upwards but from above downwards” (quoted by Rustow, 1991: 13). Therefore,

modernisation was to be achieved by cultural changes rather than structural transformation.

In this perspective, society was not able to distinguish its real interests and needs due

to the fact of being subjected for centuries to the absolute authority of Sultans. Given this

false-consciousness of the society, the first duty of the governing bodies was seen to be the

achievement of a cultural modernisation by the realisation of some radical reforms, such as

the reform of clothing, of alphabet etc. and by the establishment of some local institutions

(The People’s Houses/ Rooms) in order to mobilize and train people. Their official

description of these efforts was “to safeguard the citizen from the ill effects of old

traditions” (quoted by Karpat, 1991: 52).

Given such a scepticism towards society, the maintenance of the local autonomy

attributed to local governments with the Constitution of 1921 would be quite paradoxical.

Indeed, very shortly after the approval of the new constitution, a new legislation

concerning the local governments was launched. The initial idea was to prepare separate

laws for each administration level (from villages to metropolitan municipalities) starting

with the villages. Indeed, the Law on Villages was accepted in 1924. However, later on,

this idea of separate legislation was renounced and a universal municipal law was prepared

in 1930.

93

The political content of municipal law No. 1580, to remain in force for 75 years, was

determined by two contradictory forces: the importance of local autonomy and the need for

central supervision. The report by the mixed commission responsible for the preparation of

the law perfectly demonstrates this contradiction:

“Experience gained over half a century has proven that, be it in Istanbul or other districts, municipal government needs to be strengthened; in order to rescue our communes from their miserable and ruined condition, it is socially and economically essential to upgrade the powers of municipalities to the level that they are found in developed countries. Yet, in acknowledging this requirement, we should not disregard another socio-political obligation, namely that of keeping these governments under the supervision of the state. The possibility of anarchy at state government level can be prevented only if central supervision is enhanced in parallel with the extended powers of the municipalities” (quoted by Aytac, 1990: 91).

Evolved under such contradictory concerns, the law brought into being a municipal

framework that was perceived mainly as an extension of the central government’s

responsibility for carrying out local public services. The ban on deciding political issues in

the municipal council would be the best evidence of the emphasis on the public service

delivery function of municipalities (Mumcu and Unlu, 1990: 116). This service-based

nature of Turkish municipalism can be better seen by referring to the functions allocated to

the municipalities. As a matter of fact, article 15 of the law allocates 76 different duties to

the municipalities in areas such as urban infrastructure, basic urban services, town planning

and controls, the provision and the control of clean food, health and some religious

services, cultural activities, housing and social aid facilities etc.

The depoliticisation of local governments was also directly related to two of the

major political principles of the Kemalist regime, populism and statism (Mumcu and Unlu,

1990: 113). The substitution of the initial eulogy of ‘national sovereignty’ by a Jacobinic

populism summed up as “For the people, despite the people” required a total control of

local society, especially of local power brokers who were mainly excluded from the

national scene by the second parliamentary elections. By minimizing the political power of

the municipalities, the Kemalist regime aimed to prevent the traditional provincial power

figures from acquiring public power. In doing so, any deviation from the Kemalist

modernisation project would be prevented. Local affairs were thus either supervised

directly from the capital or carried out by provincial governments presided over by the

prefect (Guler, 1998: 155).

94

It has to be underlined though that the depoliticisation of local governments did not

actually indicate a total submission of local notables to the kemalist centre. On the

contrary; as long as they approved or at least did not oppose the ongoing modernising

project, the former were left free to pursue their social status and economic interests. In

other words, the social inequalities in the traditional system were ignored in the name of

macro modernisation efforts. The rural population that constituted 80% of the overall

population was thus left under the influence of local notables so long as the latter did not

seek political power at the national level.

The second Kemalist principle that led to the depoliticisation of municipalities was

the emphasis on statist policies. Local public resources were obliged to be used in large-

scale investments either for industrial development or for building/improving transport and

communication infrastructure in the most urbanized parts of the country. In this way the

financial power of local government was minimized; local public resources were

transferred either to the central government or to other more privileged cities, and the

planning, funding and carrying out of local public works schemes were undertaken by

central institutions such as the Bank of Municipalities (Belediyeler Bankasi) or the Board

of Municipal Public Works (Belediyeler Imar Heyeti) (Guler, 1998: 159-160).

In short, the municipal framework was designed as an instrument of the national

modernisation process; local government was depoliticized to prevent local power figures

from taking part in national politics, and local public resources and works were placed

under the strict control of central government, so that they could be efficiently used for the

general socioeconomic development of the country. Yet, it is difficult to state that these

efforts were translated into successful practices; on the contrary the urban politics entered

gradually under the influence of local interest groups. The restrictions on the

administrative and financial autonomy of municipalities under the pretext of jacobinistic

and statist ambitions rendered them too vulnerable vis-à-vis the influence of local interests.

Consequently, urban contexts were mainly structured by local interest groups that

consisted of local merchants and entrepreneurs who were individually weak but organised

collectively within chambers or professional organisations. Especially, the significant

acceleration of massive rural exodus after the Second World War further weakened the

central government’s influence in the urban context (Sengul, 2001: 75-76). Moreover, this

political withdrawal of the Kemalist regime from urban politics had reflections on the

95

ideological level. The indoctrination of Kemalist principles through various political

instruments was experiencing serious troubles during the same post-war period.

3) Towards the multi-partite regime: The political weakening of Kemalist regime

The People’s Party (later to become the Republican People’s Party- CHP) was the

only existing institution for political participation. It was in fact the natural heir, even the

continuation, of the Society for the Defense of Rights, which was established in order to

organize the national resistance against the foreign invasion during the Independence War.

There was a small opposing group (the Second Group) in the first parliament who was

mostly eliminated by the second elections in September 1923. Soon political bodies and

state corps were de facto unified; the prefectures of the cities were also the heads of the

local party organisation. Even if neither the ambition nor the preference of the Party was to

establish an authoritarian regime, the justifications on the need to carry out further reforms

and to preserve those already in vigour increased the governmental authority (Karpat,

1991: 56).

In fact the establishment of an opposing party was tried out twice; firstly in 1924 and

then in 1930. Obviously, both of these attempts turned out to be failures since the

governing elite perceived the extraordinarily rapid and intense interest shown to these

organisations as a threat to the Kemalist reforms and thus to the modernisation ideals. The

conclusion that the governing elite reached from these attempts, was that society was not

ready to pursue the modernisation project and that it was still necessary to continue the

top-to-bottom cultural transformation.

Meanwhile, the long period of drought between 1927 and 1928, the increasing

intervention of the State to the economy in order to initiate and finance an industrialisation

program after the international economic crisis of 1929 and the imposition of new taxes to

offset the increasing military expenses on the eve of the Second World War were

augmenting the economic burden on peasants as well as middle classes and resulting in a

steady decline of their living standards. The emergence of such economic problems was of

course rendering the majority of the population more and more critical to the existing

regime. Even the de facto alliance between local notables and governing elites, consisting

of leaving each other on their own respectively in local and national politics, was about to

96

collapse since the progression of the economic statism was threatening the interests of the

former. The social unrest within society was gradually increasing; however there was no

instrument to transmit these complaints to the political actors. The efforts of the governing

elite towards the development of a convenient socio-political culture for a democracy when

combined with the mentioned problems contributed to citizens’ alienation from and even

opposition to the formers’ ambitions and projects. This reaction to the elite’s dominance

became apparent with the transition to a multi-partite regime.

C - A political culture identified by the mono-partite regime

1) Formal transition to multi-partitism

The first Turkish elections with an actual opposing party were realized in July 1946,

albeit with numerous claims about electoral frauds and bureaucratic repression on behalf of

the governing CHP. The clues of such a transition could be observed since the end of 1944,

in the discourses of Ismet Inonu, president of the republic and the head of CHP. Inonu was

aware of the growing unrest within society and decided that a relative political

liberalisation allowing for the establishment of an opposing party that was believed to

share the Kemalist principles, might serve as a safety valve for the political system

(Zürcher, 2000: 302). Consequently, as Ahmad states (1993: 105): “The Democrat party

(DP) came to be seen by the public as a ‘control party’, a safety valve which could be

turned on and off so as to deflect public hostility and head off a popular explosion.” In

addition to national politics, the international developments had been also urging for a

political liberalisation. After the World War II during which Turkey managed to keep her

neutrality until the very end of the war, she chose to be in the democratic camp where

mono-partitism was highly associated to fascist regimes. In actuality, transition to multi-

partite regime was one of the unwritten conditions of admission to the occidental world.

Unsurprisingly, the results of the first multi-partite elections did not lead to a change

of the political power; DP managed to win only 65 of the 465 seats of the parliament.

However, this was enough for CHP to review its fundamental political orientations. The

policy of economic liberalisation became the leitmotif of the government; there were even

some evident concessions from the initial modernisation project, particularly concerning

secularist policies. The Party’s approach to local governments was equally nuanced in the

97

new constitution of the Party, changed in the seventh general assembly in 1947. Hence the

new statutes acknowledged the need for considering local governments as the basic

elements of the democratic order and for assigning an adequate autonomy to elected actors

and councils. As CHP’s municipal approach was highly influenced from that of DP, it

could be stated that there was no noteworthy difference between the two parties. By

proposing an obligation to prepare quinquennial working plans subjected to the central

government’s approval, DP appeared even more centralist than CHP (Geray, 1990: 218).

Yet, as we shall discuss below, neither the transition to multi- partitisme nor the change in

the political power did not bring about a remarkable modification of the municipal

framework.

These ideological compromises of CHP were far from being enough for preventing

the absolute defeat of the party in the elections of 1950. DP won 408 of the seats whereas

CHP obtained only 39. This was a victory that even the Democrats were not expecting.

Even if there were some rumours about the intervention of the army for giving the power

back to CHP, Inonu turned down all such proposals by delivering the power in a principled

manner to democratically elected DP (Zürcher, 2000: 316).

It is argued that the main factor of the definitive victory of DP in the elections of

1950 was the cease of the de facto alliance between governing elites and local notables. In

addition to the increasing role of the state in the economy (despite the compromises after

the elections of 1946) especially during the World War period, the local notables were

seriously disturbed by the approval of a land reform that was aimed at the re-distribution of

state lands and the lands of grand proprietors to the poor and landless farmers. This was a

direct threat to the interests of local notables who provided the seeds and the farming

instruments of the peasants in exchange of ¼ or ½ of their production (Zürcher, 2000:

305). It was not a coincidence that one of the founders of DP and later the prime minister,

Adnan Menderes, was also a grand proprietor of the Aegean Region.

As a matter of fact, the change in the composition of the national assembly with

regards to the socioeconomic background of the deputies demonstrated perfectly the links

between the grand proprietors and DP. The percentage of the grand landowners,

industrialists and merchants in the assembly augmented 10 percent with DP’s rule (from

19% in 1930s to 29% in 1954). Similarly, the presence of self-employeds usually in close

solidarity with these groups increased from 25% to 40% whereas the percentage of military

98

or civil bureaucrats dropped to 22% from 55%. Moreover, this de-bureaucratisation of the

political actors was further significant at the local level since the government annulled the

legislation that had permitted civil servants to return to their ex-posts in case of non-

election in local elections. With this decision, the influence of local notables in municipal

bodies was enhanced simply because fewer and fewer bureaucrats dared to show up in the

electoral competition (Guler, 1998: 165).

2) The relative status quo at the local level despite the transition to multi-partitisme

The change of the main political actors’ socioeconomic profile at the local and

national level did not however indicate an equally important transformation of the legal

framework of local governments. Four main legal modifications can be observed after the

transition to a multi-partite regime until the military coup of 1960. First of all, the electoral

procedure was simplified by reducing the electoral period from almost two months (from

early September until October 20th) first to a week in 1946 and then to one day in 1950.

Secondly, revenues of local governments were improved with a new financial legislation

of 1948; the share of local governments in the national budget increased from 11.5% in

1946 to 12.4% in 1952 and then to 16.1% in 1956. As the table illustrates, this financial

improvement was further considerable for municipalities when compared to provincial

governments. This evolution represented a relative shift towards local autonomy since

municipalities composed of elected actors were considered more autonomous than the

provincial governments presided by an appointed prefect no matter that their councillors

were also elected22.

A third change in the local governmental framework was that some of public

services which fell under the responsibility of provincial government (construction of main

roads as well as the organisation of primary education) or of the municipalities

(organisation of urban traffic) according to the municipal law of 1930, were transferred

back to the central government. In addition to such legal changes, the new founded state

22 Another evolution during this period was the separation of prefecture and municipality in Ankara (1948) and in Istanbul (1954) that were differently governed directly by appointed bureaucrats. Nevertheless, the old system was de facto maintained since the prefects were also elected as the mayors.

99

ministries took de facto numerous public functions officially assigned to municipalities

(Gormez, 1997: 124-125). Thanks to these transfers of functions to the central government,

the financial burden of local governments was lightened.

The proportional distribution of the budgets of local governments (1946-1958)

Years Share of local governments in the national budget (%)

Share of provincial governments in the budget allocated to local governments (%)

Share of municipalities in the budget allocated to local governments (%)

1946 11.5 53.4 46.6 1948 10.0 41.8 58.2 1950 7.1 38.4 61.6 1952 12.4 34.5 65.5 1954 15.8 33.6 66.4 1956 16.1 32.5 62.5 1958 12.2 28.4 71.6

Source: Guler, 1998: 170.

A final development financially favouring municipalities was the foundation of Bank

of Departments (Iller Bankasi) in 1946 with the unification of the Bank of Municipalities

(Belediyeler Bankasi) and the Board of Municipal Public Works (Belediyeler Imar Heyeti).

This new bank was addressing all local governments from villages to provincial

governments, unlike the old bank that concerned only the municipalities. Nevertheless, the

latter could maintain even enhance their privileges since the new bank served mainly for

transferring the incomes of provincial governments to municipalities (Guler, 1998: 170).

The foundation of the Bank of Departments represented at the same time the accentuation

of the influence of the central government on the local level. Indeed, along with the

allocation of required financial resources to local governments, the Bank became the main

authority in determining the nature of the local investments. Through this competence of

financial assistance and project development, the central government acquired an adequate

instrument for controlling local public policies (Geray, 1990: 222 and Guler, 1998: 173).

All these legal developments during the transition to multi-partitism and then during

the DP rule indicate that despite the initial discourse on local democracy and autonomy,

there had been no remarkable move towards these ends. The enhancement of financial

capacities of local governments, particularly of municipalities, was counterbalanced with

the strengthening of centralist pressures. Therefore, we can state that the period did not

bring about noteworthy changes related to the local governments. Yet, DP had developed

100

more effective methods beyond advancing local democracy in order to obtain and maintain

popular support for its political power.

3) Clientelism as the main political instrument in a dualist society

The transition to a multipartite regime and DP governments corresponded also to a

period of massive rural exodus and of spectacular speed of urbanisation. Whereas only

18.3% of the population inhabited in cities in 1945, by 1955 the percentage reached to

22.1%; five years later almost a quarter of the population (24.6%) resided in urban

geographies (Geray, 1990: 217). The rapid industrialisation in the urban zones on the one

hand and the transformation of socioeconomic situation on the rural side (the agricultural

mechanisation and modernisation, the change of the traditional regime of landownership,

the monopolisation of the landownership) drove the residents of rural zones towards cities.

However, the massive displacement to cities, in other words the demographic urbanisation,

did not bring about a social modernisation since there was no public policy developed

neither to organise nor to respond to the massive arrival of rural immigrants to cities. Left

on their own, immigrants gradually developed their own settlement strategies based on

interpersonal and inter-communitarian solidarity networks. This led to the reproduction of

the traditional rural culture in the urban context. Consequently, a dualist picture was

gradually drawn; the traditional and the modern started to co-exist at the same scene23.

The best illustration of this ‘rural urbanisation’ would be the gecekondu

phenomenon. Literally meaning “landed at night”, The Dictionary of urbanism terms

defines gecekondu as “a type of habitat constructed by poor or low-income households

whose need of housing is not met by the public services, in contradiction with the

standards of construction and urban plans on the private or public property of land without

the assent nor knowledge of the owner” (cited by Keleş, 1997: 385). The rapid spreading

of the phenomenon can be easily understood by referring to the numbers: in 1948 there

were only 25-30 thousands of gecekondu whereas they were doubled two years later in

1950 indicating that 4.7% of the urban population, more precisely 250 thousand persons,

inhabited gecekondus; in 1953 they had already reached to 80 thousand. Finally, at the end

23 Another dimension of this dualist picture was the development of a parallel informal economy due to the lack of public policies addressing to the problem of unemployment.

101

of DP’s rule in 1960, 1.2 million persons (16.4% of the urban population) were living in

240 thousand gecekondus (Keles, 1997: 385-386).

The main reason for this spectacular growth of gecekondus was essentially the lack

of adequate housing policies addressing to the new inhabitants of big cities. However, this

political vacuum would not indicate a total indifference of political actors with regards to

these immense “vote-banks”. Instead of preparing and executing macro public policies that

would respond to the problem in more global terms, public authorities preferred to

introduce machine politics functioning on clienteles established through traditional

factional oppositions and alliances based on kinship, ethnic, religious or community-

oriented cleavages that were reproduced in the urban context. As the traditional rural

culture was sustained as a survival and settlement strategy in a situation of endless urgent

needs of the immigrants, mobilisation of these hierarchical networks was achieved quite

easily. Consequently, DP turned into a vast political machine that served in exchanging

electoral support with concrete material benefits, personal assistance in alleviating the

burdens of bureaucratic red-tape, and in some instances, even cash payments (Sayari,

1975).

If the generalisation of political clientelism was one of the legs sustaining DP’s rule,

the other was the degeneration of democratic principle by identifying it with a mere

electoral majority. According to the party elite, all actions of the government were

legitimate and democratic as long as the majority expressed their electoral support on

behalf of it. Any other mechanism of control or opposition was considered as undemocratic

since they were against the nation’s will. This perception of democracy becomes obvious

in Deputy Minister Samet Agaoglu’s words: “Democracy is the regime of numbers. In this

regime, the wishes of masses are carried out. We, as the responsible ones in the power are

obliged to take into consideration the wishes of the mass of the people and not the shouts

and criticisms of a handful of intellectuals” (quoted by Ahmad, 1977:44). In short, from a

regime of modernisation ideals and projects, Turkey had thus passed to a regime of

numbers; even the judicial system had to be subjected to this quantitatively determined

nation’s expressed will. For instance, what took place in Malatya in the very early period

of DP’s rule is quite illustrating for not only the degeneration of democratic principle but

also for understanding its implications on local governments.

102

4) A mono-partite political culture in a multi-partite system

This noteworthy incident broke out when the elected mayor of Malatya refused to

take down the portrait of ex-president of the Republic Ismet Inonu from the walls of the

mayor’s office despite prefect’s word of warning that he would then solicit the Ministry of

Interior for mayor’s dismissal. In the justification for his demand, the prefect claimed that

the municipality had tried to give an impression of disposing an autonomous authority by

refusing the prefect’s request. However, according to the legislation on municipalities,

such a claim could be actually made if only the mayor refused to execute his official

functions despite the prefect’s written demand; taking down a picture from the wall was

not obviously among the official functions of the mayor.

The government insisted on the dismissal of the mayor regardless of the

administrative court’s and Council of State’s adverse decisions. The justification of the

government’s illegal act was extremely evocative with regards to DP’s approach to local

governments since the declaration was distinguishing the municipal autonomy and that of

mayors who were considered as “agents of the central government.” In any case, according

to the government, even the municipal autonomy did not bring about a right to ignore the

decisions and the demands of public authorities. Such an autonomy would be possible if

the localities had disposed the right of self-governing which would be only possible in

federal states, which was obviously not the case. As a matter of fact, after the dismissal of

the mayor, the central government dissolved the municipal council that decided to keep the

portrait on the wall. The dissolution was justified by considering the council’s decision as a

political act. (Geray, 1990: 219).

The ‘portrait’ incident of Malatya illustrated clearly that the municipalities were still

considered an organic extension of the central government. Any tension between the two

levels of government revealed how fragile the formal autonomies of local governments

were. Examples of such incidents can not be multiplied simply, as evidenced by with the

local elections of September 1950: DP had won the mayoralty of 560 municipalities out of

600 in total. In other words, four years after formal transition to multi-partitism, Turkey

returned to a de facto mono-partitism with crushing electoral victories of 1950. Moreover,

this continuity with the single party rule went beyond the electoral results; it was rather a

103

common political culture that was observed in both of the periods. The influence of the

political legacy can be summarised through three dimensions.

First of all, in both regimes the role of political opposition was extremely restricted,

even neglected. During CHP’s rule, any kind of opposition was considered as being against

Kemalist principles and project whereas it was regarded as being against the expressed will

of the Nation during DP governments. This perception of political opposition naturally

inhibited the development of political tolerance and characterized an assumption of an

inherent conflict between an in-group and an out-group, or ‘us’ and ‘them’ (Saribay, 1991:

127). This characteristic of political intolerance was particularly manifested when

Menderes, Prime Minister of DP, appealed in October 1958 “for the creation of a

‘Fatherland Front’ (Vatan Cephesi) against the ‘front of malice and hostility’ being created

by the Republicans”. In fact, Ahmad states that the idea of creating such a front had not

originated by the Democrats but rather that some Republicans had already proposed it in

December 1945 (Ahmad, 1977: 60 and note 111).

Second, the consideration of all state institutions being at the service of the party in

power seems to be another similarity between CHP and DP governments. The unification

of party and state bodies during the mono-partite regime as we have already discussed in

the preceding section, had persuaded the Democrats about their right to use all existing

institutions and cadres on behalf of the implementation of their policies. Civil servants

were considered as instruments of the ruler. Even the judges were expected to act

according to the preferences of political leaders and those who did not act likewise were

literally exiled (Turan, 2000: 371-372). This mentality of seeing the state as an instrument

of the governing party can be seen in Menderes’s reply to CHP’s accusations about the

monopolisation of state radio by DP. He had stated that “this practice was completely

democratic because the controlling authority of the radio, which was an organ of the state,

was the government.” He had also added that “the radio was not common property and it

would not be shared with the opposition parties” (quoted by Ahmad, 1977: 45).

Consequently, even if the justification was different, we observe the instrumentalisation of

state resources for political ends in both regimes.

Another aspect of similarities between CHP and DP was the belief of having the

right of exercising political power without any restraint (Saribay, 1991: 127). The

formation of a Parliamentary Investigation Committee that consisted only of DP deputies,

104

by DP in 1960 with the objective of investigating ‘subversive activities’ of the opposition,

may be referred to reveal this characteristic. The existence of such a committee was

obviously against the principle of the separation of powers since it held extraordinary

powers which superseded those of the Assembly and the Courts. It was empowered to

censor the press, suppress the newspapers, to issue subpoenas, and to impose sentences up

to three years’ imprisonment on anyone who resisted or hampered its work (Ahmad, 1977:

64). As Turan summarizes “such a committee was not only technically illegal but also

violated a fundamental understanding of how political power is exercised in a competitive

political system” (quoted by Saribay, 1991: 127).

The increase in the authoritarian tone of DP’s rule was in fact indicative of the

growing unrest in the society. The growing economic difficulties, such as rising prices,

spiraling inflation, shortage of goods, black-marketing and agricultural stagnation had

significantly affected DP’s initial popularity. The government had already burned its

bridges with the bureaucracy and the intelligentsia by following the mono-partite, thus

undemocratic, manner of government. The mentioned economic problems rendered the

public more responsive to the criticism of the opposition carried out by the intelligentsia

and bureaucracy as well as by CHP. DP’s reaction to this growing sympathy for the

opposition was to take measures to isolate the public from politics by, for example,

forbidding public meetings (Ahmad, 1977: 55). Moreover, repression on the opposition

was increased, and finally reached its peak by the formation of the Parliamentary

Investigation Committee that we have already evoked. The emergence of important student

demonstrations in Istanbul and Ankara was a reaction to this authoritarian rule. The

declaration of martial law in these cities and then closing down the universities were DP’s

response to these public manifestations, which seems to have paved the way to the military

intervention of May 27th, 1960.

D - Hopes, hatreds and deceptions: 1960-1980

1) Persisting municipal weakness despite a liberal constitution

On May 27th, 1960 the army intervened in the political life of the country on the

pretext of “extrication of the parties from the irreconcilable situation, setting up an above-

party administration, holding free elections and handing back political power to the

105

winning party” (Ahmad, 1977: 161). The new constitution established by the junta was in

fact the most liberal constitution of the Turkish Republic and represented the outcome of

an important scepticism with regards to political actors. New institutions were introduced

in order to prevent the arbitrary, undemocratic and unconstitutional acts of the

governments: The Grand National Assembly became bicameral with the creation of a

Senate; the Constitutional Court was founded to review the constitutionality of the

legislation; the electoral system was modified according to proportional representation and

the autonomy of certain public institutions such as universities or public broadcasting was

strengthened. In addition to these institutional changes, all civil liberties, including

freedom of thought, expression, association and publication were guaranteed by the new

constitution.

Despite such fundamental changes in the constitutional framework, the local

governmental system was not actually amended. Even if the principle of decentralisation

was formally evoked in the new constitution by the explicit separation of central and local

governments (art. 112) and the requirement of allocating adequate resources to the latter

(art. 116), the old system was in reality maintained due to the lack of laws that would

translate these constitutional principles into actual practice. The only major differences

with the past were on the supervision of the municipalities and the election of the mayors.

Henceforth, the inspection of the municipalities would be carried out only by the judicial

mechanisms and thus not by the agents of the central government and the mayors would be

elected directly by the citizens (law n° 307 approved in 1963).

Apart from these minor changes in the legal framework, the financial and political

problems of the municipalities persisted. The centralist pressures were even accentuated

with the transition to a planned economy in the 1960s. Following the Keynesian economic

principles favouring the development of a welfare state, the new regime was inclined to

centralise decisions, functions and resources in order to enable the application of macro

socioeconomic plans. For instance, the share of local governments in the total public

revenues decreased from 16.35% in 1960 to 5.67% in 1972 representing a reduction of

42% in the municipal service production per capita (Altaban, 1990: 319). Furthermore,

with Law n° 6785, the competencies related to public works and urbanism were transferred

to the central government. Accordingly, the decentralisation principles of the new

constitution were not respected; the municipal autonomies were forgone for a rapid

106

socioeconomic progress; the financial and administrative dependence of the municipalities

on the central governments was thus accentuated.

The continuity of centralist pressures on the local governments was actually quite

strange for the political atmosphere of the country which was identified –at least at the

beginning- with a general liberalisation and pluralisation of politics.

2) From pluralisation to polarisation: Ideological politics in the sixties

The rapid urbanisation and socioeconomic transformation of Turkey in the 1960s

had introduced the ideological dimension to Turkish political life owing to the liberal

ambiance provided by the new constitution. During the foundation period, CHP had seen

the nation as united for the republican modernisation ideal while claiming that no specific

interest groups existed among the society. The interests of the society as a whole were

identical, thus laying the groundwork for the development and the modernisation of the

country. In the 1950s, DP had profited from the unrest of the society vis-à-vis the

authoritarian rule of the CHP and privileged concrete demands of the rural population.

Thus, no ideological discourse or differentiation was to be observed before 1960.

Yet, the new constitution had given the right to trade unions to strike. The workers

constituted henceforth a significant pressure group on the political system. Moreover, the

civil liberties provided by the constitution had enabled the emergence of political literature

publications and periodicals as well as the organisation of intellectual societies (fikir

kulüpleri) in the universities. These developments obviously represented the growing

attraction of leftist ideas, which signified, in Ahmad’s words, “a constant criticism of the

status quo and proposals for alternatives outside the two-party consensus which had

offered only different ways to achieve the same end” (Ahmad, 1993: 136). Such an

ideological mobilisation was of course also related to the youth mobilisation going on all

around the world and reaching its peak in May 1968 in France.

The reaction of the Republicans to this social mobilisation was to modify the party’s

position by identifying it as the “left of the centre” by a declaration that emphasized social

justice and social security without referring to socialism. However, this slight ideological

transformation of CHP did not change the public image of the party since no significant

transformation was accomplished neither within its staff and nor in its objectives; Inonu

107

was still the head and bureaucratic mentality was still dominant in the party. Unsuccessful

attempts to represent these new left discourses in the legitimate grounds of the Turkish

political system could not prevent the radicalisation and marginalisation of these waves

with the exception of the Worker’s Party of Turkey (WPT) that managed to enter the

parliament with its 15 deputies in the elections of 1965.

The response of the political right to the growing leftist influence was violent. The

growing leftist movements represented to the political right a very dangerous threat to the

existing order; nationalists believed that the left aimed to import communism to the

country in order to be able to sovietize it. To overcome this political menace, they

encouraged the formation of reactionary nationalist and Islamic groups among students.

Furthermore, the political leaders preferred to sharpen the political differentiation between

“them” and “us” to be able to make use of the growing political conflict by strengthening

their own poles founded upon the fear of the enemy.

The total rejection of the opposed political discourses by labelling them as enemies

accelerated the growing tension among the society. Different political groups had been

carrying actual battles on the streets. Ahmad (1993: 147) describes the situation very well:

“By January 1971, Turkey seemed to be in a state of chaos. The universities have ceased to function. Students emulating Latin American urban guerillas robbed banks and kidnapped US servicemen, and attacked American targets. The homes of the university professors critical of the government were bombed by neo-fascist militants. Factories were on strike and more workdays were lost between January 1st and March 21st than during any prior year. The Islamist Movement had become more aggressive…”

3) The army back in the political scene

With the pretext of “ongoing anarchy” the army intervened once again on March

12th, 1971 with a memorandum presented to the president and to the chairmen of the two

chambers of the Republic demanding the resignation of the government, which was held

responsible for “driving the country into anarchy, fratricidal strife and social and economic

unrest” (Ahmad, 1993: 148). The memorandum stated clearly that the army would take

over the administration unless a strong and credible government that would “neutralize the

existing anarchical situation and would realize the reforms in accordance with the Kemalist

perspective” was formed (Zürcher, 2000: 373). Following the resignation of the prime

minister Suleyman Demirel who preferred not to resist to the military officials’

108

memorandum, a supra-partisan government, which consisted mostly of technocrats out of

parliament, was soon formed by Nihat Erim.

The restoration of law and order soon turned out to be a “witch hunt” of any groups

viewed as leftist. The student organisations in the universities, the branches of trade

unions, and other political organisations that were considered as leftist, thus dangerous

were banned and their meetings and seminars were forbidden by the martial law in April. It

is argued that approximately 5000 people most of whom were leftist journalists, trade

unionist, student leaders and members of WPT, were arrested and tortured (Zürcher, 2000,

377). Moreover, neo-fascist “idealist hearts” of Nationalist Action Party, encouraged by

this official leftist hunt, carried on their own executions against those they identified as

leftists, particularly against school teachers in provincial towns who were considered as the

supporters of WPT (Ahmad, 1993: 148-149).

The liberal constitution of 1961 that was considered as a luxury by the new prime

minister Erim was amended on September 1971 by restricting the civil liberties, by

restraining the autonomy of public institutions such as public broadcasting and universities

as well as by limiting the independence of the courts related to the regime (i.e. the

Constitutional Court) (Soysal, 1993: 78-79). In short, the liberal spirit of the 1961

Constitution was totally reversed in the name of restoring law and order. Ironically, the

regime that had forced Demirel to resign was aimed towards his own ambitions.

However, the reforms destined to restore the political order were far from being

effective against the growing political violence. The prohibition of legal grounds for the

organisation of alternative political formations obliged these groups to orient more towards

illegal and mostly violent activities. The unofficial encouragement of the rightist groups

contributed significantly to the increase of political violence. Zürcher (2000, 383) states

that the number of victims of political violence reached to 1200-1500 deaths per year

towards the end of 1970s. As said by Hikmet Ozdemir (1997: 247) what Turkey had lived

through after 1978 was an actual civil war with 5000 victims according to the official

reports without counting the injuries and material damage caused by bombs.

Of course, it would not make sense to try to explain the augmentation of political

violence merely by the lack of political tolerance towards alternative political formations.

The economically troubled years of 1970s contributed without a doubt to the unrest of the

109

society. The increase in oil prices after the crisis of 1973-1974 and then 1979, the US arms

embargo and European economic sanctions imposed after the military intervention to

Cyprus in 1974 (while the intervention itself had brought a serious economic burden upon

the government), the irresponsible financial policies of the governments and the populist

economic preferences in order to maintain electoral support of the rural population were

factors in rising unemployment and inflation whilst wages declined. Moreover, attempts to

control prices had provoked the rapid development of black-markets.

Nobody can ignore the political dimension of such economic problems, as all the

governments were formed by weak coalitions since the military intervention of 1971. The

two major parties CHP and JP did not accept to form a coalition together. All coalitions

always consisted of one of the aforementioned parties along with other minor parties.

However, this was not an easy feat either. In 1975, the state was left without a government

for 241 days in trying to form a coalition. Extraordinary privileges were given to the minor

parties in order to persuade them to participate in a coalition. The marginal parties such as

the Nationalist Action Party (neo-fascist) and Salvation Party (Islamic) had acquired

enormous powers totally out of proportion to their support in the country and their

representation in the Assembly. As Ahmad (1993: 165) notes “The state was parcelled out

between the parties [of the coalitions] which used the ministries assigned to their members

to provide patronage for their supporters.” Consequently, not only the radical ideologies of

these parties spread rapidly through the patronage channels they had acquired by

participating to the governments, but also the political system was blocked since the

formed governments were far from being capable of taking effective measures neither for

the economic problems nor for the political violence. The paralyzed state of the political

system became totally apparent when the Assembly did not manage to elect the new

president of the Republic after 100 electoral tours in April 1980.

Quite interestingly, while the national political scene was paralysed by such a

vicious cycle of ideological polarisation and political violence, some local governments

were developing simultaneously the most original municipal experience of the Turkey’s

history (and probably future).

110

4) The new municipalism of the seventies

In 1973, for the first time, the social democrats in opposition managed to control the

largest Turkish cities such as Istanbul, Ankara and Izmir. This would be also the first

example of a cohabitation between the central and local governments since until then the

same political party held the power in both levels. Responding to this local dissidence, the

central government further restricted the financial autonomy of the municipalities on the

one hand and made an excessive use of its right of administrative tutelage on the other. The

political autonomy of the municipalities, the need for administrative decentralisation as

well as the question of local democracy, were finally on the political agenda of the country.

The reaction of the social democrat mayors against this centralist repression was to initiate

a national municipal movement that would be later called as the “New Municipalism”. The

new municipality defined by the movement would be:

a. democratic and participatory b. productive c. fund-raiser d. advisor e. organizer f. unionist

The ‘New Municipalism’ based on these six principles was born as a pure initiative

of several mayors. The local actors, until then dependent on the central resources and

policies, were henceforth claiming their political autonomy vis-à-vis the central

government. Furthermore, the hostility of the latter to this demand led them to develop

innovative strategies in fund raising and in inter-municipal cooperation. Besides, thanks to

a concern of internal democratisation of the municipalities, considerable efforts were

displayed to associate citizens to the government of their localities. Nevertheless, despite

the sincere willingness of reaching to citizens, the movement did not manage to establish

organic bonds with the public and remained mainly as an elitist initiative supported by the

middle-classes. In any case, constrained by the extraordinarily unfavourable

socioeconomic circumstances of the period, the harsh hostility of the central government,

the reactions of the business circles and the inter-partisan conflicts, the actual impact of the

movement on the political traditions of the country could have been only inconsequential.

Even if all these factors had been different, the military intervention of 1980 would not

actually allow the furtherance of the movement.

111

E - 1980s: Years of rapid socioeconomic transformation

1) Efforts in the name of a “depoliticised democracy”

On September 12th, 1980 at 1 p.m., the army once again left their barracks to

intervene in politics. The objectives were similar with their previous interventions: to

safeguard the unity of the country and the nation and the rights and freedoms of the people,

to ensure the security of life and property and the happiness and prosperity of the people

and to restore the state authority in an impartial manner. However, this time the army took

power not only from the government and the parliament, but from all the organized social

forces of the society (Toprak, 1996: 94). The National Security Council (NSC), the junta

which ruled Turkey until 1983, issued decrees which suspended the constitution, dissolved

the parliament, closed down the political parties, detained their leaders, and suspended

virtually all professional associations and confederations of trade unions. In addition to the

parliamentarians and senators, all mayors and municipal deputies were dismissed and

prefects, sub-governors, retired bureaucrats or officers were appointed to govern the cities.

The scope of this last coup d’Etat was far beyond the reformation of the political

system. As Dagi (1996: 125) states, it was aiming “to change the political attitude of

people and to de-politicize the whole society in an attempt to prevent in future the political

and ideological fragmentation and polarisation which had characterized pre-coup Turkey.”

The experience of previous interventions must have persuaded the generals that the

political culture of the society had to be changed since in a short time after each

intervention, the so called political crisis was once again emerging as if there had been no

coup d’Etat. This time Kenan Evren, the main actor of the intervention and the chief of

NSC, was determined “to remove all obstacles which had hindered the healthy working of

the democratic order in a way that would preclude for ever the need for similar

interventions in the future” (quoted by Ahmad, 1993: 183).

That is why Evren and his allies were inclined to entitle the democratic freedoms to

only those who believe in democracy; that is to say they were eager to exclude the parties

of the left and the extreme right from the political process (loc. cit.). They were convinced

that such alternative and opposing political formations were dangerous for the democracy

that they were idealizing. Moreover, the junta was determined to teach the future

generations “to defend democratic values.” However, this defence of democratic values

112

was in fact the total de-politicisation of the youth since in the eyes of the junta, being

politically active or conscious meant being instrument of dangerous political organisations.

For the junta, a democratic society consisted of silent and obedient citizens.

In order to carry out this “democratisation” project, the elimination of political

violence and the suppression of political opposition appeared to be the first task of the

military rule. By the end of 1980, there were 30,000 people who were considered as

politically dangerous, thus mainly leftist, in detention (Ahmad, 1993: 184). According to

Zürcher (2000: 407) the number had increased to 122,600 in the following year. The use of

torture became widespread and systematic. These people were not only suspected

terrorists, but also trade unionists, politicians, academicians, teachers, journalists and

jurists, in short as Zürcher (2000, 408) notes “all who dared to express their opinions

before September 1980.” Consequently, “state authority” was restored by the destruction

of all the –even potentially- dissident formations. Henceforth, fundamental measures had

to be taken in order to maintain the authority or to prevent the re-emergence of alternative

political voices. The new constitution was the main instrument to achieve such an

ambition.

The new constitution was accepted in 1982 by a referendum with the approval of

91.37% of the population. This extraordinarily high percentage might be associated to the

perception of the constitution as the only way to pass to the civilian government. People

were convinced that the military rule would continue unless they voted in favour of the

constitution. Moreover, not only it was forbidden to criticize Evren’s discourses that

encouraged people to vote “yes”, but voting had also become mandatory. The electoral

absentees would be punished with a fine and would be disabled to vote in the following

five years. The approved constitution was marked (and is still marked) with its

resemblance to the French Gaullist constitution of 1958. It was presidential in character,

though the prime minister had more power than his Gaullist counter-part. In addition to the

increasing power of the president, the National Security Council (that gathered état-major

and executive power) was significantly empowered. As a result, the influence of the

military on country’s political life became constitutionally legal. Moreover, freedom of

press and of trade unionism as well as civil rights and freedoms were restrained. Even the

basic rights and freedoms that were provided by the constitution could be cancelled,

suspended or limited with the pretext of threats to national interests and security, to public

113

order and health or to the Republican system (Zürcher, 2000: 409). The autonomy of

public institutions such as universities and national broadcasting agency was extremely

restricted.

Another aspect of the constitution was that it brought about important restrictions on

the associative freedom. Civil servants were deprived of the right to found or even to

become a member of associations. Even for the others who were permitted, the use of

associative rights had become troublesome. Associations could be closed down by judges

or even suspended by related civil servants without an actual juridical decision in the

pretexts we have already stated above (Soysal, 1993: 146). Associations could not have

any political objectives or carry out political activities; nor could there be any kind of

relation or cooperation in between associations, political parties, trade unions foundations,

professional chambers and cooperatives (Ozbudun, 1999: 114). In addition to the

constitution, the government was provided by the Law on Associations of 1983, the

competence to control the charters and activities of associations.

Similarly the freedom of manifestation and of meeting was also restricted. In fact,

everyone had the right to organize meetings and manifestations without any permission,

however the constitution had given to the local administration the competence to determine

the place or the itinerary of the organisation with the objective of maintaining the urban

order. Therefore, the freedom of manifestation and of meeting had become de facto subject

to an administrative permission. In light of such constitutional restrictions, we can argue

that the military regime had attempted to limit the scope of politics within the political

institutions. Yet, even becoming a conventional political actor had become quite difficult

with the Law of Political Parties of March 1981, in which all politicians who were active

before September 1980, were banned from politics for the following decade. The founders

of the new parties established after the military intervention had to be approved by NSC,

thus the junta was even attempting to determine the political actors who would appear on

the political stage after their departure24. Students, professors and civil servants could not

affiliate with political parties. Finally, political parties were disabled to establish youth or

women’s branches, to cooperate with other social organisations and even to found party

offices in the villages.

114

2) From centre-periphery to centres of the periphery: Strengthening of local governments by the neo-liberal wave

As we have underlined above, if the rise of political violence was one aspect of the

political crisis of the seventies, the severe economic problems represented the other aspect.

The petrol crisis of the seventies rendered impossible the pursuit of the import-substitution

regime. The new economic orientations were already determined by the famous decisions

of January 24th, 1980. Yet, the ongoing political crisis hindered the application of the

economic policies; none of the political parties could assume the responsibility of the new

measures that would inevitably provoke non-negligible social reactions. Naturally, this

concern of public reaction disappeared with the establishment of the military regime.

The new government appointed by the junta carried out a very important economic

transformation based directly on the decision of January 24th: the Turkish lira was

immediately devaluated, restrictions on the foreign trade were abandoned, most of the state

subventions were cancelled, interests were liberated and public incentives were introduced

in order to encourage exportation and foreign investment. Last but not the least, labour

costs were indirectly reduced by forbidding labour organisations. All these economic

orientations were not indeed specific to the Turkish case. Since the worldwide economic

crisis of the seventies, the neo-liberalism hat turned out to be the main economic reference

in most countries. Additionally, international organisations such as IMF and World Bank

had been imposing similar measures to all the underdeveloped countries. In other words,

the decisions of January 24th and their rapid application by the junta were actually the local

reflections of this global economic trend.

As we have stated in the preceding chapter when discussing the neo-liberal

interpretation of participatory practices, the motto of the trend was “Small is beautiful.”

Therefore, the main objective was the lightening of administrative and financial burden of

the state apparatus. In this perspective, local governments were considered as adequate

instruments to reduce central responsibilities. As a result, for the first time in the Turkish

history the municipalities started to enjoy a gradual improvement of their financial

resources and administrative competencies. As early as in early 1981, the junta published

two laws (n° 2380 and 2464) increasing the financial resources of local governments. Yet,

24 12 parties, among fifteen founded after the coup, were rejected by NSC.

115

the actual progress would be realised between 1983 and 1987 by the Motherland Party

(Anavatan Partisi- ANAP) that would obtain a quasi-unexpected electoral victory in the

first elections after the military coup of 1980.

ANAP obtained more than 45% of the votes despite all the generals’ efforts –even

direct support- on behalf of the party of an ex-general, thus resulting in a strange coalition

of main ideologies and interest groups. Its leader, Turgut Ozal claimed to represent liberal

values of small-scale entrepreneurs, conservative priorities of religious groups and

nationalist sentiments of the average (even radical) citizens. Yet, the main concern of Ozal

who was in fact the real author of the decisions of January 24th, was certainly the

liberalisation of the markets along with the minimisation of the bureaucratic apparatus.

The local implications of this neo-liberal orientation were immediate and could be

followed through three main trends: decentralisation, de-socialisation and privatisation

(Guler, 1998: 185-194).

Firstly, decentralisation implied changing the power and resource distribution

scheme between the central government and municipalities in favour of the latter. With

numerous laws passed by post-1980 governments, the financial resources of local

governments were considerably improved to such an extent that municipal incomes were

doubled between 1980 and 1986 (from 1.02% to 2.87% of their share of the GNP) and

tripled between 1980 and 1993 (from 4.65% to 13.84% of their share of national budget

resources) (Guler, 1990: 186). Yet this apparent increase in wealth did not actually mean

real financial independence for local government, as it did not control the resources

allocated. The taxes that basically formed the source of these new resources were still

decided on by central government, so dependence on Ankara was maintained.

In addition to the financial changes, local governments also experienced a functional

evolution in the decentralisation of a number of administrative powers and responsibilities.

For instance, the role of the municipalities in deciding and supervising local public

investments was reinforced so that the share of the Bank of Departments in local

investments fell from 70.2% to 14.9% between 1981 and 1995 (Guler, 1998: 186).

Municipalities also won the right to prepare and approve urban plans under Law No. 3030

which also introduced the status of metropolitan municipality to the local government

system. However, as was the case with the improvement in the financial situation,

116

functional transformation also failed to lead to the disappearance of centralist pressure.

Central government continued to retain the right to intervene in local affairs when it

thought it necessary, such as when the social-democrats won local power in the major

Turkish cities in 1989.

Without changing the legal framework, central government thus managed to

drastically restrict local government’s financial and administrative autonomy. The political

tension between the centre and the local governments was back in the agenda. Yet this

time, social democrat mayors of the period did not manage to propose or to develop an

original political program on the local governments and got caught between the

administrative pressures from the centre and the everlasting demands of the local society

not only in the domains of urban services but also in particularistic subjects like

employment, housing etc., with the result that they had to quit the local power after the

elections of 1994. Nevertheless, the de facto “go back and forth”s with regards to the local

autonomies remained in the agenda depending on the political parties in power of central

and local governments.

Secondly, the functional transformation of municipalities was also to be seen in the

nature of the municipal services provided. In harmony with the neo-liberal trend, social

and cultural services in areas such as health, education, housing, nutrition and heating,

already very poor, were totally disregarded in order to de-socialize municipal duties. The

direct intervention (e.g. subsidizing, organizing or facilitating ad hoc activities) and

indirect intervention (e.g. market regulations or hygiene control) of municipalities in these

socio-cultural areas were thus discouraged in order to transfer these resources to more

capital-friendly sectors.

The most neo-liberal aspect of the municipal transformation was the privatisation of

some municipal services. To put it bluntly, the resources withdrawn from social areas and

saved from current costs (mainly individuals’ salaries) were channelled to the private

sector. So instead of providing the service itself, municipalities started purchasing the

services from private companies or leaving the field wholly to private initiatives. The

structural incorporation of municipalities into free markets was also pursued by the

multiplication of municipal enterprises. Founded as private companies, and hence free

from the restrictions of administrative legal control, these municipal enterprises also

sidestepped any kind of public control. In fact, even market forces were unable to influence

117

these bodies since they generally enjoyed a monopoly position in their field (Sengul, 2001:

111).

The global legal umbrella of this three-fold transformation of Turkish local

government was the introduction of metropolitan municipalities in 1984 under Law No.

3030. By this new legislation, certainly the most significant since the municipal law of

1930, the government of the largest cities was reformed so as to be handled at two different

municipal levels. While the old district-based municipalities were maintained, they lost

considerable resources and powers; a metropolitan municipality was introduced above

these district governments, initially in the three largest cities, Istanbul, Ankara and Izmir.

With the metropolitan municipalities in place, local democracy, already fragile, was further

weakened, since the provinces started to suffer from the control and pressure of the

metropolitan government in addition to that of the central government. Moreover, some

aspects of the way it was organized weakened the democratic functioning of

municipalities. For example, there were no elected members in the executive councils of

the metropolitan governments; they consisted solely of the chairmen of administrative

departments (Elicin-Arikan, 1997).

It is certainly true that Turkish municipalities were financially and administratively

strengthened by all these legal changes in the eighties. But it is not so easy to claim that

this enhancement of resources and powers contributed to the democratisation of local

politics. On the contrary, the withdrawal of centralist pressures from the local political

scene was accompanied with the multiplication of capitalist pressures. The city was

henceforth a valuable focus of investment and ground rent. New local practices such as

drafting urban plans at the local level, privatizing municipal services and large-scale public

investment rendered cities attractive centres of private investment. Since no attention was

paid to guaranteeing public transparency and accountability in municipal decisions and

investments, stories of corruption multiplied throughout the country. After long being

dominated by central government, local politics was henceforth determined by usually

illegitimate and even illegal networks of private interests. Moreover, metropolitan mayors

enjoyed powerful rights of veto and amendment of the decisions of the district and

metropolitan councils. Mayors thus started to enjoy considerable financial and

administrative power in the absence of adequate checks and balances in local politics. Yet,

the empowerment of mayors was not limited with the introduction of metropolitan

118

governments; even the district mayors appeared to be really privileged when compared

with those of the pre-1980 period.

As a matter of fact, the mayor had always enjoyed a powerful position towards the

council. As centralist restrictions and pressures gradually eased, the mayors’ political

influence grew. Particularly after the organisation of private credit systems for

municipalities, mayors became even more independent, since their dependence on public

resources controlled by the central government was thus reduced. When the personal –and

usually illegitimate- enrichment of the mayors is considered, we can state that the mayors

have been since then the main power holders of the cities. The substitution of centralist

pressures and restrictions by the personal empowerment of mayors did not in fact represent

a significant democratic development since the people remained as distant from

government processes as before. In other words, the peripheries that had long suffered

from centralist pressures, created their own hegemonic centres in the personalities of

mayors.

The weakness of democratic evolution despite the rapid socioeconomic change was

not limited by local politics. The national scene had been witnessing an equal degeneration

of political principles in the post-1980 period.

3) ANAP governments: patronage and populism

In the guise of economic liberalisation, what had been developed by ANAP

governments were new and highly exploited patronage channels. Ozal had made great use

of the system of funds that was established outside the budget and therefore outside the

control of the Assembly or the bureaucracy. The government (in fact Ozal himself) was

able to use these funds arbitrarily without any juridical or political control. According to

Ahmad (1993: 191), the fund economy had grown so rapidly and greatly that it constituted

a quarter of the budget in 1984 and almost half in 1986. Owing to this large resource Ozal

could obtain and maintain the support of the client-voters.

Under Ozal’s rule, the character of these clientelistic relations also differed: instead

of local notables and rural population, local industrialists and entrepreneurs of import-

export sectors had become the new clients. Moreover, the patrons were no longer

conventional politicians but rather businessmen/technocrats with links in the market who

119

had been recruited into politics by Ozal. The recruitment of this new kind of political

actors had weakened the role of the traditional bureaucratic elites in public-policy making.

However, such a deteriorating of the bureaucratic elite dominance was merely economic

and not political, thus strengthening hands of civil societal elements in the sociopolitical

domain was not a significant concern (Heper, 1990: 326). Nepotism had also become one

of the key elements of Turkish political life since there were many doubts and even

accusations about Ozal’s family’s rapid enrichment. In short, corruption was the leitmotif

of Ozal’s governments.

Apart from the efficient use of nepotistic instruments, Ozal made use of Islam as a

key element of popular support. For this purpose, Ozal’s governments undertook policy

measures to increase state support of institutional religion; religious instruction became

mandatory at high schools, religious morality was emphasized in textbooks, Koranic

courses flourished with direct support of the government, the number of religious

personnel increased, etc. Moreover, they provided the framework in which religious

activism could spread, independent of state support, religious foundations were

established, the entrance of Arab money to support such activities was legalized, tax

exemptions were introduced for those who work with Islamic finance institutions etc.

(Arat, 1991: 171-172). In 1989, Ozal endeavored to cancel the ban of Islamic headscarves

in universities. After the abolition of the decision by the Constitutional Court, the

government published a decree that was leaving the decision (whether to allow the wearing

the headscarves or not) to the university rectors. However, the discussion had provoked the

emergence of conflict and anger among the conservatives. The outcome was immediate; in

1990 two important and laic academicians were assassinated by the fundamentalists.

Political violence was once more developing.

The re-emergence of violence was not restricted to Islamic motifs. On March 21st,

1984 (during Kurdish new year- Newroz), the PKK (Partiya Karkeran Kurdistan –

Workers’ Party of Kurdistan) initiated its guerilla activities in the Southeastern Anatolia.

The organisation was founded on November 1978 under the leadership of Abdullah Ocalan

with the objective of founding an independent Kurdish state. The first reaction of the

government was to pass ‘anti-terrorism law’ on April 1984 giving public authorities

extraordinary powers to deal with whatever they chose to designate as terrorism (Ahmad,

1993: 200). In 1986, the government initiated the armament of salaried local peasants in

120

order to resist against PKK attacks. None of these coercive measures were enough to abate

the Kurdish insurrection. By 1990, there were 2500 civilians and soldiers who had lost

their lives due to this armed conflict. No democratic or economic measures were on the

agenda neither to liberate the utilisation of Kurdish as a minority language or the

development of Kurdish media with the objective of creating a tolerant ambiance of

deliberation, nor to develop the economy of the region in order to improve the life quality

of the inhabitants. The country still continues to suffer from this Kurdish problem even if

the armed conflict seems to be declined since the arrest of the organisation’s leader Ocalan

in 1999.

In sum, the eighties represented a period of political transformation, be it at the

national or local levels. The abandon of state supervised economy and a total adhesion to

neo-liberal principles brought about very radical socioeconomic changes. Yet, this process

of change did not actually manage to respond to the democratic deficits of the country.

Despite formal discourses on liberalisation in the economy, bureaucracy, social and

cultural life, there was no attempt to amend the undemocratic laws inherited from the

military government. As Ahmad (1993: 197) puts it, “his [Ozal’s] philosophy was summed

up in the words: ‘first the economy, then democracy.’” Yet, the economic revival would be

delayed for still two decades, and so too democratisation.

F - 90s: Another period of instable coalition governments

1) Old names, young faces… same story

The referendum of 1987 allowed the active political actors of pre-military coup

period to return to the political scene. Already weakened by the economic instabilities,

ANAP governments had to deal thereafter with rising political competition. Even the

parliamentary majority of the party could be maintained thanks to some technical

amendments on the law in the elections of 1987. Indeed, in 1991, two years after Ozal’s

election as the president of the Republic, ANAP lost the elections and left the government

to a coalition founded by the True Path Party (TPP -Dogru Yol Partisi) of Demirel (central

right) and Social Democrat Populist Party (SDPP- Sosyal Demokrat Halkci Parti) (central

left) of Erdal Inonu (Ismet Inonu’s son). For the seventh time, Demirel became prime

121

minister of the Republic heading a coalition whose program provoked an optimistic

ambiance within the public opinion due to its accent on the democratisation of the regime.

The preparation of a new constitution, the examination of all laws of the military rule, the

prevention of torture, the strengthening of juridical security and the autonomy of

universities were among the main objectives of this democratisation project (Tanor, 1997:

89). However, this attempt of democratizing the political system had been rapidly diluted

and the mere constitutional amendments realised during their rule turned out to be the

abolition of state monopoly on TV and radio broadcasting in 1993 and of the interdiction

of cooperation among political parties and NGOs in 1995.

The political ineffectiveness of the coalition was also undermining its own stability.

In 1993, after the sudden death of Ozal, Demirel was elected as president. A few months

later, Inonu departed from the presidency of his party leaving the coalition to new and

young faces of Turkish politics. Yet, this rejuvenation of political leaders did not suffice to

revitalize the coalition. On the contrary, the economic situation was radically worsened:

the country was suffering from chronically high inflation rates as well as critical budget

import-export deficits. Furthermore, there was a growing general distrust towards political

actors who had been identified with networks of corruption or of illegitimate interests since

the liberalisation of national economy. The economic degradation led unsurprisingly to a

severe economic crisis in 1994. The measures introduced to overcome the economic crisis

furthered weakened the coalition that was finally dissolved in 1995; precipitated elections

were decided for the same year.

2) Political islam in power

With 21.4% of the votes and 158 parliamentary seats, the islamist Welfare Party

(WP) emerged as the most powerful political party after the legislative elections of 1995.

Nevertheless, they did not enjoy a parliamentary majority to found a government on their

own and the other parties were not eager to take part in a government led by the islamists.

After almost three months of negotiations among the leaders, a coalition was founded in

assembling both of the centre-right parties; a coalition that remained in function for only

four months. In July 1996, another coalition was founded this time between the WP and

TPP leading an islamist leader, Necmettin Erbakan, to the prime ministry for the first time

122

in country’s history. Yet, the clues for this political ascension of the islamists had been

available for long time.

As Gérar Groc (1998: 61-63) observes, the Turkish islamist organisations in the

repressive post-coup period prioritised the social sphere rather than the political process.

Enjoying the implicit and indirect support of the junta, the movement established strong

bonds with society. When the political conjuncture was favourable for direct political

implications, these societal bonds were easily mobilised for political ends to such an extent

that the WP claimed to be the one and only authentic representative of the Turkish civil

society (Navaro-Yashin, 1998: 9). Therefore, while the mainstream parties were suffering

from the burdens of economic crisis, political instability and public distrust due to the

spreading stories of corruption; WP was gradually developing its electoral power.

The first stage of WP’s political empowerment took place unsurprisingly at the

municipal level where local organisations and the social bonds were easily mobilised for

the electoral ends. The party won the metropolitan municipalities of the two largest cities

of the country, namely Ankara and Istanbul. The electoral results provoked great reactions

particularly among the Kemalists; the capital city founded by latter would be thereafter

government by a presumably reactionary movement.

For the first time, local politics was playing such a major role with regards to the

national political scene. On the one hand, the kemalists were very closely observing the

actions of the WP municipalities in hoping to prove the latter’s anti-regime intentions and

ad hoc practices. On the other hand, the WP mayors were trying to demonstrate their broad

adherence to the regime principles in order to calm down public unease on the one hand

and enlarging their electoral bases by advancing their social bonds with civil society on the

other. As Navaro-Yashin (1998:12) notes, the municipal experience of the WP gave them

an opportunity to “implement and practice their version of democratic ideal.” Indeed, a

year later, the party increased its electoral support from 19.1% to 20.7% and became the

strongest political organisation of the country. Yet, the governing on the national level

123

would not be as easy as the municipal experiences and would end up with a post-modern

military coup25.

3) From a surrealist car accident to a post-modern coup

The political tension already raised by the foundation of a coalition led by the

islamists further climbed with a car accident that took place in the town of Susurluk in

November 1996. Its importance was that in the wrecked automobile, the bodies of a law

enforcement official and an internationally wanted criminal were found together with a

surviving member of parliament along with thousands of dollars in cash and weapons with

silencers. The accident revealed very clearly the scope of corruption and mysterious

interest networks established within the bureaucratic corps. Even if public upheaval was

great, there were initially no mass protestations.

However, by the beginning of 1997, an anonymous appeal started to spread via fax

messages inviting citizens to switch off their lights for one minute at exactly 21 o’clock in

the evenings in order to “protest the inability or unwillingness of the state authorities and

the governing politicians to clear a series of political and criminal scandals” (Kramer,

2000, 18). This popular campaign spread rapidly throughout the country under the name of

“Civic Initiative of One Minute of Darkness for a Bright Future.” Apart from turning lights

off and on, people started to gather in the centres of cities and towns in order to protest the

scandal and express their will for a democratic, modern, transparent state. Despite the

Ministry of Interior’s circular demanding the prevention of the gatherings, no significant

tension was experienced during the daily demonstrations.

Yet, the character of the massive mobilisation was also evolving. The Susurluk

accident was gradually substituted by the islamists-led coalition as the main motive of the

massive mobilisation. Hence, similar public demonstrations started to take place by

supporters either of Kemalism to bring down the Islamist-led coalition on one side, or of

the government to show their approval of coalition’s policies on the other. “All these

activities”, as Kramer puts it “are witness to the growing ability of Turkey’s urban

25 It is interesting to note that despite the general success of WP governed municipalities in calming down the regime concerns, the acts of two WP mayors, that of Sincan and Rize accelerated the process leading to a new intervention of the military in national politics.

124

population to express political and social discontent in an effective but peaceful manner”

(loc. cit.). However, behind this extraordinary civic mobilisation, there seemed to be

another and totally contradicting process that was evolving. Indeed, the daily gatherings

would be instrumental in order to justify the eventual military intervention (Kurkcu: 1997).

The unexpected rise of Islamist WP had shocked most of the traditional ruling elites

as well as the military officials. The growing relationships with the Arabic countries and

the privileges as well as the priorities provided to fundamental groups in the country had

been worrying the secular groups of the Republic, in particular, the military officials. The

possibility of a new military intervention had become one of the ordinary subjects of daily

discussions of the public opinion. However, what had turned out to be, was a “post-modern

coup d’Etat” as the general secretary of the National Security Council (NSC) of the period,

Erol Ozkasnak, dubbed it four years after the implicit intervention26. What was described

as a post-modern intervention was in fact one of the regular monthly meetings of NSC that

took place on February 28th, 1997. After a full nine and one-half hours of discussion, the

NSC announced its adoption of eighteen recommendations designed to stem the perceived

growth of Islamism in Turkey (Gunay: 2001). Such a resolution that might be easily seen

as a military ultimatum to the government, differed from the former experiences due to the

fact that the actual subject of all the concerns, namely prime minister Erbakan, was one of

the signers of the document. Paradoxically, the main accused political actor had appeared

among the ranks of accusers. The army had managed to intervene in national politics

without leaving its barracks, thus staying within its constitutional status. That was why the

intervention was named as a post-modern coup d’Etat, as it was carried out, in Ozkasnak’s

words, “in contrast with the former interventions, without scattering any blood or

disappointing anyone and by following democratic processes”27.

The intervention was not restricted to the meeting of NSC of February 28th, 1997

since in the following weeks, the officials started to organize a series of briefings destined

to the media, to juridical cadres, to academic personnel, to bureaucrats etc. explaining the

scope of the Islamist menace. The surrealism of the period was evident since the military

26 Radikal, “Ozkasnak: 28 Subat Post-modern Darbeydi (Ozkasnak: February 28th was a post modern coup d’Etat)”, January 15th, 2001. 27 Radikal, January 15th, 2001.

125

as a whole seemed to act as a lobbying group trying to create a public opinion consistent

with their perspective. The outcomes of such a process will soon appear as Erbakan would

feel obliged to resign four months after the famous NSC meeting. Moreover, WP was

closed and Erbakan as well as some other main directors of the party were banned from

politics in 1998 by the Constitutional Court.

The coalition founded by three centrist parties after Erbakan’s resignation from the

prime ministry aimed on the one hand to lead the country to another precipitated election

in the meanwhile by introducing adequate public policies aiming at better safeguarding the

secularist nature of the Republic and at an eventual adhesion of the country to the

European Union. Thanks to the immense popularity granted to the coalition by the

unattended capture of the PKK’s chief Abdullah Ocalan, two of the coalition partners

(Motherland Party and Party of Democratic Left) stayed in the government to which the

nationalist party participated also. The EU adhesion was the main objective also of the new

coalition. The structural changes required for this process and for the economic revival

were indeed realised thanks to the relative harmony in the coalition; an optimism that came

to an halt with one of the most severe economic crisis of the Republic in 2001.

Nevertheless, the coalition managed to keep on track with a new economic program that

had been successfully implemented until the serious worsening of the prime minister’s

health and his refusal to give up his functions. In other words, the economic crisis was thus

coupled with a political crisis. When combined with the internal tensions of the coalition

with regards to the EU adhesion reforms, another period of precipitated elections was

launched in November 2002.

G - Turkey at present

1) European integration and economic liberalisation

The elections of November 2002 thoroughly transformed the national political scene;

with 34.26% of the votes the Party of Justice and Development (AKP) obtained the

parliamentary majority (263 of 550 seats), thus, for the first time in the last eighteen years

forming a non-coalition government. Hence, not only did a long period of instable

coalitions come to an end, but also parliamentary politics re-became bi-partite after four

126

decades28. Moreover, the islamists were back in the power with a significant nuance with

regards to the preceding political organisations of the islamist movement. Even if coming

from the same political tradition, the founders of AKP separated from the movement in

2001 in claming a more enhanced democracy both in the party and the country. By diluting

their islamist motives with an emphasis on the anti-corruption and developmentalist

policies, they claimed to be a conservatory democratic party situated thus at the centre-

right of the Turkish political scheme.

Since AKP experience is still an ongoing history, it is rather difficult to provide an

adequate analytical account of the period. Moreover, as our empirical cases belong to an

earlier period, such an account would not be directly relevant to our discussion. Yet, we

can surely state that the accession to the European Union and the liberalisation of the

economy have been the main dynamics of AKP governments.

Already accelerated during the preceding coalitions, particularly since the December

1999 where Turkey’s pre-candidacy was formally acknowledged, the accession to

European Union has been one of the main political issues of the country. Enjoying a

parliamentary majority that enables the party to legislate easily, AKP accelerated very

significantly the process that ended with the decision of opening the negotiations from

October 2005 on. The process of EU candidacy brought about naturally non-negligible

changes on the legislation about the democratic, socio-cultural and human rights.

Parallel to this process of EU adhesion and democratisation, AKP has carried out a

general project of economic liberalisation that consists of privatisation of state enterprises

and public services, the deregulation of markets and withdrawal of social functions of the

state. In a sense, AKP governments have taken up Ozal’s liberalisation efforts of eighties

after very severe and repetitive economic bottlenecks and crisis all along the nineties. Even

if the state of national economy is described as very positive when these lines are written,

there have been nonetheless serious concerns about the near future as some macro

28 Other parties re-appeared in the parliament as some deputies adhered to them. Three years after the elections, in October 2005, ANAP even managed to found a parliamentary group by reaching to the threshold of 20 deputies.

127

variables such as the import-export deficit and over-valorisation of Turkish currency

representing non-negligible risks29.

As we have stated in opening this section, it is still early to comment on the AKP

governed period of Turkish history. Time will reveal whether the EU motivated democratic

improvements and apparently favourable economic situation bring about actually structural

and sustainable changes within the Turkish society.

2) State of municipal legislation in the contemporary Turkey

The political ascension of the islamist movement passed through firstly the

municipal governments. After a decade of experience in the local governments, the same

political tradition has managed not only to conserve the mayoralty of these initial

municipalities, but also to expand its control to the totality of the country. As a matter of

fact, in the last elections of 2004, AKP won in more than the half of the circumscriptions

(1963 municipalities out of 3538) by obtaining 40,12% of the votes. Therefore, it would be

quite surprising if the legislation on the local governments remained intact in the strong

winds of legal change. Indeed, there have been very intense discussions on municipal

reforms since 2001.

After dozens of law drafts, long discussions on specific commissions and

parliamentary sessions, AKP reformed the municipal law in July 2004. Yet, the publication

of the law was far from ending the discussions since the new legal framework was fiercely

criticised for being an outcome of pure neo-liberalism since it opens the way to the further

privatisation of municipal services and the dangerous association of local governments to

global markets. Another concern expressed on the municipal law was that it exaggerated

the local autonomy by abandoning the administrative tutelage. According to this point of

view, this municipal legislation would first bring about a de facto federalism before a total

destruction of the national unity. It is therefore interesting to note that the nature of the

critics on the municipal legislation has been totally inversed; from claiming for more local

democracy, we arrived to a point where we warn against the excess of local democracy.

29 As a matter of fact, in spring 2006 when these lines were revised, the country underwent through a significant economic crisis.

128

Even if these criticisms and discussions do not seem to change the government’s

approach to the issue, the juridical obstacles delayed the actual application of the new law.

The legislative process of the law have consisted many ‘go back and forth’s between the

parliament, the president and the constitutional court. The parliament adopted the law on

July 9th, 2004. Two weeks later, the president sent back the law text in opposing to the

third, fourth and fourteenth articles. On December 7th, the parliament re-published the law

after modifying the articles that the president objected. Even if the president gave its

approval to the modified text, this time the Constitutional Court annulled the law due to a

procedural error that took place during the parliamentary approval in January 2005. Finally

on July 3rd, 2005, the parliament re-approved the same law with respecting to the

procedural details.

In light of this brief history of Turkish politics, we can conclude by stating that the

major issue of the Turkish local democracy has been the tension between the central and

local governments. Structured in harmony with the centralist tradition of the Turkish

politics, the municipal system had long suffered from the administrative tutelage as well as

the financial control of the centre. Therefore, the local governments have been traditionally

considered as quasi-organic extensions of the central government responsible of carrying

out public services. Yet, by the second half of eighties, the socioeconomic transformation

motivated by neo-liberal aspirations brought about a new municipal scheme identified with

more developed financial and administrative resources that were still monopolised in the

hands of very influential and popular mayors who managed to become politically stronger

vis-à-vis the central government. However, it is still difficult to argue that this evolution

improved the quality of the local democracy in Turkey since it indicated the emergence of

local centres against the national centre rather than the improved association of citizens to

the government of their localities. In other words, the centre-periphery juxtaposition has

been gradually substituted by the phenomenon of the centres of the periphery.

In this new formulation of the question of local democracy, the problem was no

longer directly related to the legal structure that determined the distribution of

competencies and resources between the central and local governments, but a question of

democratic share of political power among the local political actors and citizens. Indeed,

towards the end of 90s, we started observing local efforts to facilitate citizens’ participation

to local governments. Local leaders who had until then perceived local democracy as more

129

of administrative and financial autonomy vis-à-vis the centre, started displaying concern

for citizens’ involvement in the local decision-making process. The best illustration of this

trend would be the Local Agenda 21 Project that emerged with neither concrete legal

grounds nor pre-determined structural framework. Therefore, we propose to examine this

experience in depth in the next chapter before launching our discussion on the possible

factors determining the success of such efforts.

130

III - Participatory mechanisms in Turkey: Original scheme and dissimilar impacts

If we juxtapose the conclusions of the two preceding chapters, we end up with quite

contradictory results. On the one hand, we argued how local participatory democracy has

become very popular throughout the world with the development of various institutional

innovations, whereas on the other hand we described the state of Turkish local democracy

as repressed by either the centralist pressures or hegemonic local executives, thus far from

revealing any signs of an evolution towards participatory democracy. Nonetheless, despite

this apparent contradiction between the two observations, new participatory mechanisms

have not been totally absent from the Turkish political scene.

As a matter of fact, in quite a number of Turkish cities, there have been significant

efforts of implementing participatory principles through the introduction of new political

instruments in the framework of LA21 project. In the quasi-absence of a specific civic or

political dynamism encouraging such a political change, one can ask whether these

participatory experiences are simply the outcomes of top-down initiatives of institutional

mimesis that consists of exporting some foreign practices to the local context. Given the

traditional schemes of reform of Turkish politics identified mainly with Jacobinic

strategies, this assumption may indeed appear more credible. New participatory

mechanisms might have been introduced by a simple decision of the political elite in the

form of imposing some strictly defined institutions and principles.

Yet, what has actually taken place regarding to the introduction of new participatory

mechanisms does not really confirm these assumptions. First of all, the political centre

does not appear as the Jacobinic origin of the process that has been rather motivated and

supported by the global themes and practices of Local Agenda 21 efforts. Nonetheless, the

influence of this non-domestic framework does not seem to be leading to the direct

exportation of certain ‘ready-to-implement’ participatory bodies. Instead, local

governments seem to adapt some universal mechanisms to local contexts or even develop

original institutions that better address their particular conditions and needs. Yet, such

distinctions from the traditional Turkish schemes of political reform, has not actually

ensured the success of the process in all localities where it has been launched; that is

131

exactly where our main problematic on the context dependence of the actual impact of

institutional innovations is founded.

Therefore, in this chapter, we shall present the global origin as well as the local

implications of the Local Agenda 21 process that has enabled the introduction of new

participatory mechanisms in a number of Turkish cities. After outlining the development

the process in Turkey, we shall focus more specifically on the concrete outcomes of the

project firstly on the national level and then more thoroughly in Bursa and Mersin with the

objective of illustrating the dissimilarities in the actual impact of the process.

A - Local Agenda 21: Civic Participation for sustainable development

Environmental problems threatening the living conditions of our planet, have always

been one of the major concerns of international organisations. However, despite all efforts,

most of the governments seemed reluctant in taking measures to avoid environmental

sufferings of the earth. Confronted with such an indifference of politico-administrative

cadres despite the urgent environmental problems, these international organisations started

considering the civil society as an alternative source of influence that can urge the political

powers to act.

In fact, the emergence of civil societal organisations as a major actor of ecological

issues goes hand in hand with the emergence of the sustainable development perspective.

The origins of this approach can be found in the United Nations Conference on the Human

Environment held at Stockholm from 5 to 16 June 1972. The final declaration30 of the

Summit noted with force that “a point has been reached in history when we must shape our

actions throughout the world with a more prudent care for their environmental

consequences (art. 6)” and that “the capacity of the Earth to produce vital renewable

resources must be maintained and, wherever practicable, restored or improved (Principle

3).” The “solemn responsibility [of the humanity] to protect and improve the environment

for present and future generations (Principle 1)” had been clarified with an invitation to the

30 Full text of the declaration can be consulted on http://www.unep.org/Documents.multilingual/Default.asp?DocumentID=97&ArticleID=1503&l=en ; last consultation April 11th, 2006.

132

governments and the people to “adopt an integrated and coordinated approach to their

development planning so as to ensure that development is compatible with the need to

protect and improve environment for the benefit of their population. (Principle 13).” Thus,

while pointing out ‘the capacity of earth’, the duty for the future generations and the

imperative bond between the development and the environment, the Summit of Stockholm

determines the fundamental principles of the sustainable development approach without

pronouncing the term.

Four years later, in 1976, the Conference of the United Nations (HABITAT I) of

Vancouver, noted that the conclusions of Stockholm had remained on paper without any

significant change in development policies. This meant indeed the bankruptcy of

environmental policies left to the monopoly of central governments. This failure to

encourage governments to adopt the adequate policies for better managing the natural

resources led the General Assembly of the United Nations to establish a specific

commission (World Commission on Environment and Development- WCED) in 1983 with

the objective to better observe the global follow-up of the recommendations made in

Stockholm and to develop new strategies intended to identify and solve the problems

related to environment and development.

In 1987, the Commission published its report entitled “Our common future”,

commonly referred as the “Brundtland Report” after the Commission's chairwoman, Gro

Harlem Brundtland. It is a very detailed socio-ecological account of our planet

accompanied by the strategies suggested to fight against the noted challenges. The notion

of “sustainable development” is introduced as a key concept to make economic

development and preservation of the environment compatible. Defined as a principle which

advocates meeting “the needs of the present without compromising the ability of future

generations to meet their own needs31,” the notion of sustainable development emphasizes

a necessary harmony between population size and growth and the changing productive

potential of the ecosystem.

31 Chp . 3, Art. 27 ; for the full text of the report

http://www.are.admin.ch/imperia/md/content/are/nachhaltigeentwicklung/brundtland_bericht.pdf ; last consultation on April 12th, 2006.

133

The importance of this report for our research is the fact that for the first time,

potential contributions of local governments and non-governmental organisations were

acknowledged. It does not though represent an explicit advocacy for a participatory

democracy because the report only criticises the centralisation of political, institutional and

financial powers by the national governments which appear to impede cities “to adapt and

deploy some of the vast array of tools available to address the urban problems32”.

Moreover, a more active support of personal or communitarian initiatives was advised only

“to fill gaps in services left by the local government33.” In other words, the reference to

local governments and civil organisations appeared as only a concern of practical

effectiveness rather than a political appeal to democratisation through the introduction of

participatory policies.

The evolution of the role of local governments and NGOs from simple instruments

of practical effectiveness to true partners within the ecological debates and actions was

brought about during the United Nations Conference on Environment and Development

(UNCED- The Earth Summit) held in June 1992 in Rio de Janeiro. 120 heads of state, 178

governmental representatives, more than 10 000 governmental delegates, hundreds of

bureaucrats of UN organisations, as well as 8 000 media representatives were thus

assembled for the event to discuss the state of our planet and drawing up a global

assessment. Parallel to the UNCED, a forum of nongovernmental organisations (the World

Forum), was held by attracting 400 000 participants coming from 167 countries and

representing the world of business and of science, nongovernmental organisations, and

other groups. Indeed, the transformation of the role of NGOs in the environmental issues

went beyond a mere presence in such a global event. The adoption of Agenda 21 as the

main strategy of sustainable development assigned them major responsibilities in the

domain.

1) Agenda 21: a new global vision on sustainable development

Agenda 21 adopted in the final declaration of UNCED represents actually the socio-

economic and political agenda of the 21st century. By constituting the origin of a new and

32 Chp. 9, Art. 39. 33 Chp. 9, Art. 45.

134

global partnership for sustainable development, it determines an action framework for

tackling the present urgent problems as well as preparing the world to the tasks of the

following century. In other words, Agenda 21 documents a global willingness for

establishing strong linkages between economic growth, social equity and environmental

protection.

Agenda 21 consists of 40 chapters encompassing the basis of action, objectives,

activities, and cost evaluation in relation to priority topics, grouped under the following

four sections: social and economic dimensions; conservation and management of resources

for development; strengthening the role of major groups; and means of implementation34.

Within these principal sections, three objectives emerge: 1) to publicise the notion of

durable development, 2) to create new mechanisms of participation or to develop those

which exist and, 3) to mobilize this information and these mechanisms to integrate

economic, social and environmental priorities into the local and national policies, plans and

programs. The chapter that interests us the most is the 28th chapter of Agenda 21 which

emphasizes the role of local initiatives in supporting the accomplishment of the objectives

of Agenda 21. In fact, the second part of the slogan “Think globally, act locally" finds

action bases in this chapter leading to the emergence of Local Agenda 21s (LA21). Being

the administrative level most proximate to the population, major players of local

economies (particularly as employers and through their purchasing policies) and primary

managers and/or regulators of local environments (Lucas, Ross and Fuller; 2001:11), local

communities are indicated as the essential actors “in educating, mobilizing and responding

to the public to promote sustainable development”35. Hence, as it was believed that they

would be excellent instruments to strongly influence the environmental behaviour of

others, the following objectives are proposed for the local sphere of the Agenda:

• By 1996, most local authorities in each country should have undertaken a consultative process with their populations and achieved a consensus on "a local Agenda 21" for the community;

• By 1993, the international community should have initiated a consultative process aimed at increasing cooperation between local authorities;

34 http://www.un.org/esa/sustdev/documents/agenda21/english/agenda21toc.htm, last consultation on April 12th, 2006. 35 For the full text of 28th chapter of Agenda 21, see Annex 1.

135

• By 1994, representatives of associations of cities and other local authorities should have increased levels of cooperation and coordination with the goal of enhancing the exchange of information and experience among local authorities;

• All local authorities in each country should be encouraged to implement and monitor programs which aim at ensuring that women and youth are represented in decision-making, planning and implementation processes (Article 28.1).

In contrast with the other sections of Agenda 21 that are heavily loaded with

guidelines, recommendations and ambitious goals, the simplicity of the articles cited above

related to LA21 paved the way for its relative success. The main idea is the need to

develop a consultative process initiative by the local governments with both local citizens

and representatives of relevant local stakeholders, with a particular interest in involving

women and youth (Lafferty, 2001: 1-2). The aim is to reach an agreement on a vision for

sustainable community at the local level through these consultative processes. Then, this

vision must be transformed to a political engagement or to a consensual declaration on the

values, the objectives and the priorities of this given vision, which will in turn define the

action plan of local development. This plan must be based on multi-sectorial data including

environmental, socio-cultural and economic factors. Obviously, all these aspects of the

establishment of Local Agenda 21s necessitate the existence of participatory mechanisms.

Consequently, development of mechanisms enabling civil participation seems to be the

most significant objective with regards to local sustainability. Therefore, the Local Agenda

21 perspective represents a framework that bridges sustainable development to the

participatory democracy by associating environmentalist concerns to democratic efforts.

Impact of the LA21 framework was surprisingly rapid. According to the results of

international surveys undertaken by International Council for Local Environmental

Initiatives (ICLEI), the number of local governments engaged in the establishment of

LA21 processes had already reached 1800 in 64 countries, only five years after the Rio

Summit in 1997. In 2002, the number passed the threshold of 6000 municipalities (exact

number is 6416) in 113 countries all around the world of which a great majority (80%) was

though located at the European continent. In 73% of these initiatives, stakeholders took

active roles in processes that already accomplished the development of local action plans

in 61% of the local governments. Furthermore, in 59% of the experiences, the process was

integrated to a municipal system (ICLEI: 2002). The report concludes by stating that the

surprising growth of LA21s indicates a trend of continually increasing local commitment

and action toward sustainable development in response to the international sustainability

136

agenda through active involvement of their communities. In other words, LA21 represents

a veritable dynamism of participatory politics in the name of sustainable development.

A very important particularity of this dynamism is that it represents a very specific

kind of public policy since it is based on global policy goals where as the implementation

is undertaken at the local level. That is, the impetus of the policy is external to the local

context, determined mainly during the Rio Summit. This ‘outside-in’ character of LA21

renders the framework as a perfect illustration of glocalism that bridges the global

concerns with local actions and policies. Moreover, by-passing of national government

leaves considerable room for cross-national variation of the actual experiences (Lafferty,

2001: 8). Indeed, the Turkish experience is a very good example to observe such

divergences of LA21 practices within a national context. Therefore, we propose to pursue

our discussion on the concrete examples from the Turkish LA21 framework.

2) LA21 in Turkey

Despite the fact that Turkish participation in the Conference of Rio was at the prime

ministry level, the concept of sustainability remained virtually unknown within the Turkish

society until the second half of 1990s. For the majority of Turkish citizens, environment

has been an issue that can be ignored or even sacrificed in the name of economic

development. Therefore, the conclusions of Rio interested nobody except a handful of

NGO representatives with international connections and some bureaucrats (UNDP, 2001:

1). Even those that were familiar with the procedure of Rio saw it like a purely

environmental project. In response to such a lack of information and of consciousness with

regards to the outcomes of Rio, IULA-EMME (International Union of Local Authorities-

Section for the Eastern Mediterranean and Middle East Area) proposed and initiated the

“Project of Promotion and the Development of the Local Agenda 21s in Turkey" in

cooperation with UNDP-Turkey (United Nations Development Program) and Capacity 21

Program36. The project had two principal objectives:

a. the promotion of the Local Agenda 21s and its implications at the local level;

36 Capacity 21 is a program of UNDP whose objective is to support the development of integrated, participatory and decentralized strategies for sustainable development in cooperation with governments, civil society and the private sector.

137

b. the establishment of consultative mechanisms that will facilitate the procedure of local participatory planning at pilot cities.

The protocol of the project was signed in September 1997 by the Turkish

government, UNDP and IULA-EMME. At the initial phase only nine local authorities

among nearly 3000 in the country were willing (or rather ‘convinced’) to take part in the

project (UNDP, 2001: 4). However, the rapid progress in these cities generated significant

demand from other cities all over the country to become one of the partners. At present, 61

local authorities from allover Turkey carry out a wide scope of activities in the framework

of Local Agenda 21 Project (See figure 1).

Figure 4. Partner cities of Turkish LA21 projetct

Source: http://www.la21turkey.net/index.php

In the early stages of the Project, prefectures of the adherent cities challenged the

course of the activities of the LA21 on numerous occasions because the existing legislation

did not allow the functioning of participatory platforms like the city councils. It was a real

challenge to persuade the bureaucratic cadres that they were equal partners of the program

like the other participants, therefore that they should facilitate rather than question the

procedure. This bureaucratic hesitation was solved finally owing to the publication of the

“Local Agenda 21 Program Document” -signed by the Council of Ministers- in the Official

Journal on March 6th, 1998. The legitimacy provided by the official document, enabled the

publication of a specific decree by the Ministry of Interior inviting all prefects to facilitate

the activities of the program. Owing to this decree, not only the official recognition of the

project was strengthened, but also the participation of public agents to the activities was

enabled.

138

In December 1999, the first phase was concluded. The dynamism of the project

encouraged the transition to a second phase in January 2001, entitled as the project of

“Implementing Local Agenda 21s in Turkey.” By extending the LA21 initiatives to more

than 50 partner cities the project evolved to a long-termed program (Emrealp, 2005: 30).

Passage to the second phase represented in fact a transition from theoretic promotion to

concrete implementations through five main objectives37. First, increasing the number of

local authorities engaging in Local Agenda 21, and the promotion and development of

participatory processes in new partner cities are envisaged. Second, the preparation of local

action plans in new partner cities and the implementation of these plans in partner cities

from the first phase are to be facilitated. The third objective encompasses the launching of

campaigns to inform the public, as well as to publicise the process abroad to increase

international support. Moreover, it is to be ensured that the Local Agenda 21 process

receives long term sustained support. Finally, Local Agenda 21 is to be developed in order

to play a facilitating role in the recovery and reconstruction process of the Marmara

earthquake.

The second phase of the project ended in mid-2003 after bringing about significant

changes at the local level through the mechanisms that we shall discuss below. The

concrete achievements of the first two phases of the initiative encouraged the pursuit of

international support provided to local initiatives. Therefore, in 2003, the program entered

its third phase that consists of three intertwined and mutually-supporting projects. The first

project of this new stage of the program entitled “Establishing a Sustainable Network to

Promote Local Democratic Governance in Turkey” is supported by UNDP Democratic

Governance Thematic Trust Fund, aims at the establishment of national “Local Agenda 21

Governance Network.” Secondly, the project of “Enhancing the Role of Women and Youth

in Local Partnerships and Networking for Transparency” (supported by the MATRA

Program of the Netherlands Ministry of Foreign Affairs) focuses on facilitating and

encouraging of participation of women and youth in local decision-making processes.

Finally, through the project “Localizing the UN Millennium Development Goals and WSSD

Plan of Implementation through the Turkey Local Agenda 21 Governance Network” it is

37 http://www.la21turkey.net/modules.php?name=Content&pa=showpage&pid=97 last consultation August 24th, 2006.

139

aimed at increasing the support of the central government and at augmenting the visibility

of LA-21 by making a substantial impact in localizing the respective global targets and

actions. Apart from these three major projects, a small grants program entitled “Supporting

Local Projects” has also been launched (Emrealp, 2005 : 30).

In short, the Turkish Local Agenda 21 experience is founded upon a national

framework that has already passed through three different stages since 1997. Providing

such details on the origins and the structure of the initiative does not actually give a

concrete idea about its impact at the local level. In order to present what has been actually

taking place at the partner cities, we ought to take a closer regard to the working principles

and the introduced mechanisms of the project.

3) Turkish LA21 for real

Even if the Turkish LA21 process is often described as a national project or

program, there has been no concrete scheme that is imposed to the local partners. Each

participating local authority is left free to determine the structure and the functioning of

their LA21 process. Therefore, despite the presence of a national framework, the glocalism

that we evoked above remains valid although a relatively common model has gradually

emerged in following the preliminary successful examples. Indeed, the national dimension

of the process consists only of general coordination carried out by the IULA-EMME that

carries out the facilitation of communication and exchange of know-how among the

partner cities as well as the bureaucratic tasks related to the international financing of local

actions. In other words, the role of the national coordination body is limited to providing

financial and technical support to the autonomous local initiatives.

At the local level, each partner establishes a LA21 secretariat that coordinates the

local activities of the project as well as the relations with the national coordination and the

other partner cities. Appointment of the general secretary as the local coordinator of a

LA21 process can be realised either through participatory mechanisms of LA21 (e.g.

election by the city council) or in some cases by a direct nomination pronounced by the

mayor. In fact, this difference in the appointment of the local general secretary reflects a

structural variation within the Turkish LA21 experience. As a matter of fact, the local

process can be either associated directly with the municipality or organised autonomously

by mainly the city councils (Emrealp, 2005: 49-58).

140

For the cases organically linked to the municipality, the LA21 activities are

coordinated by a department of the municipality either created specifically for this purpose

or an existing one that addresses to other municipal functions (environmental protection,

public relations etc.). Yet, it should be underlined that being directly associated with the

municipal structure does not necessarily indicate that the general secretary is a municipal

employee. A person out of the municipal body can be appointed to the function by the

mayor. The important aspect of this model is that the structure of the process is mainly

determined by the municipality, particularly by the mayor. Even if this organic association

to the municipal body makes us doubt the autonomy of the introduced participatory

mechanisms and the risk of total failure in case of municipality’s withdrawal of its direct

support, in reality the human and logistical resources provided by the latter facilitates and

accelerates the process significantly.

The second model, that of extra-municipal organisation, consists of processes

coordinated by mechanisms and bodies established within the framework of the City

Council. Even if in most of the cases, local authorities do not refrain from being present in

the bodies and providing active support to the process, structure and functioning of

mechanisms as well as coordination of activities and relations with other partners are

carried out by the civil societal elements. When compared to the previous model, its

autonomy and democratic nature can be easily stated. However, it should also be

acknowledged that the absence of a direct institutional support may bring about some

practical problems in the mobilisation of civil society as well as in finding adequate

resources for the organisation of the activities. Moreover, as we will see further on, in

some cases, the local authorities may perceive the process as opposed personally to

themselves and thus condemn the former to an absolute failure by withdrawing their

support and impeding that of other institutions. In other words, even in cases that are

institutionally separated from the municipal framework, the influence of the latter on the

overall process is undeniable. As Emrealp (2005: 40) puts it: “the common precondition

for the success of the LA-21 processes … is the ‘ownership’ of local authorities.

In each model, there are slight variations from one city to another depending on the

structural and organisational choices made through the process. In any case, as we have

already underlined there is no one best way imposed or even suggested to the partner cities

eager to initiate their own LA21 process. Each local authority determines its operational

141

design considering the specific conditions of the city. This diversity of models that are

observed in the coordinative structures becomes more visible when the introduced

participatory mechanisms are considered. Nevertheless, we can speak of three main groups

in which the participatory bodies can be regrouped: city-councils, district organisations and

thematic groups.

a) City Councils

The main institution of the Local Agenda 21s is the city council which has been

already established in more than 40 partner cities throughout the country. The main

objective of these bodies is put as: “to serve as a democracy platform, through which the

local partners in the city would be active, provide guidance and direction, contribute to the

solution, and participate in local governance”38 with the objective of identifying and

discussing development priorities and main problems of their cities; in short of establishing

a “collective wisdom” which embraces the whole city (Emrealp, 2005 : 65).

These councils assembling between 100 and 600 organisations depending on the

locality (IULA-EMME, 2003: 10) are the participatory platforms where cooperation

among central and local government as well as civil organisations is enabled. Mayors,

governors and parliamentarians of the provinces, local representatives of political parties,

provincial extensions of central government agencies, members of municipal assemblies

and heads of neighbourhood authorities are public sector participants of the councils.

Representatives of foundations, associations, professional chambers, private sector

organisations, trade unions and academic institutions represent the civil society in the

council; on average two thirds of city councils are constituted by these civil members (loc.

cit.). Moreover, representatives of other branches of LA21s also participate in activities of

councils. Even if no obstacle is established against participation of all fellow citizens, city

councils appear to be more accessible to organized civil society rather than individuals.

Thus, city councils stand upon three main components: central government, local

government, and civil society.

38 http://bursa.la21turkey.net/en.php?bid=9 last consultation on August 30th, 2006.

142

There is no unique working scheme for the councils in general. Each of them

prepares and endorses their own working principles or statues. Therefore, the structure of

city councils varies from one city to another; in some councils governor is the president

whereas in others the mayor or an elected member appear as the head of the institution.

One may ask whether traditional political institutions such as municipal assemblies,

whose objective is also to represent popular demands in local governments, perceive these

new bodies as a threat to their authorities. This scepticism, which is quite widespread

within the framework of the Turkish political system, does not appear to be a major

problem for LA21 since the “conventional” political actors also participate actively to the

activities of the city councils. Under the decision of these bodies, they also have their

contributions and signatures. In any case, these decisions made by the councils do not have

a legally binding character, they are only advisory and thus the city councils can not claim

to substitute or constrain the traditional organs of representative democracy.

In certain cities such as Bursa, Antalya, Izmir, and Izmit, the harmony between the

traditional political institutions and the city councils are established so well that the

decisions of the latter enter de facto into the agenda of the following meeting of municipal

assemblies. Therefore, only after the adoption by the latter, the city council’s decisions

obtain a legal character.

b) District Organisations

Even if city councils serve as a bridge between organized civil society and local

government, the problem of reaching to the grassroots still persists as a challenge of local

democratisation efforts due to the fact that scope of civil organisations is far from being

sufficient to represent a satisfactory proportion of the population. The silent unorganized

majority of the society is still far from being active in the government of their locality.

Departing from this crucial requirement, LA21 aims creating significant opportunities in

order to enable silent members of the community to participate in local decision-making

processes as well as contributing to the actual actions destined to solve their problems and

improve their living standards.

In order to achieve such an ambition, Turkey possesses actually an important

advantage that has never been used before. In the Turkish administrative system, the

143

neighbourhood (mahalle) constitutes the lowest level of wards. Until the end of 19th

century imam appeared to be the leader of neighbourhood. After the Greek Revolt in 1829,

Muslim neighbourhoods in Istanbul organized and elected a leader in order to protect

themselves against Greek aggressions. As time went by, that neighbourhood leader became

what we now call muhtar. Since then, muhtar constitutes the lowest level of Turkish

administrative structure with the exception of the early republican period when it was

temporarily abolished (1934-1946). Until the coup d’Etat of 1960, muhtars also acted as

political agents since the political parties established their local branches according to the

division of neighbourhoods.

According to the current legal arrangement, muhtars are elected during the local

elections; however no political party affiliation is officially permitted. Anyone residing for

more than six months in the concerned neighbourhood and older than 25, can present

her/his candidacy on an individual basis. Despite the fact that muhtars seem to be a part of

the local government since they come to office by election and constitute the most

accessible organisational unit for the residents, they have neither any decisional authority

on local issues nor a legal personality. They report to central administration and perform

143 different functions; all of them administrative procedures such as giving

accommodation certificates, identity card duplicates, military service documents etc.

(Belge and Bilgin, 1997: 17-18). In sum, muhtars may provide a significant opportunity for

concretizing the principle of subsidiarity even if they are presently perceived as mere

administrative agents of the central government.

Departing from this local particularity of Turkish administrative structure, some

partners of LA21 have developed specific projects to involve muhtars and neighbourhood

divisions in order to enable the participation of grassroots in the local decision-making

processes. The idea is quite simple and effective: to organize neighbourhood committees

under the facilitation of muhtars with the objective of transmitting local demands and

needs to upper levels of LA21 and to local government as well as rendering the

neighbourhood residents capable of developing projects destined to solve their specific

problems.

There are indeed various kinds of neighbourhood organisations introduced in the

framework of the LA21 project (Emrealp, 2005: 106-107). The first type of such

mechanisms is neighbourhood forums introduced with the objective of facilitating face-to-

144

face relations between residents of wards and representatives of local authorities as well as

civil organisations and providing an easily accessible venue for exchanges of opinions

about problems of neighbourhoods and for jointly seeking solutions to them. City

volunteers’ houses can be mentioned as a second kind of practice that aims at the

enhancement of interaction among ward residents, enabling them to participate actively to

the development of their environment and in other participatory channels introduced within

the project. The activities organised and services provided by these houses represent

adequate means of awareness-raising on current problems and opportunities as well as

socio-political empowerment. As a final example, we can evoke neighbourhood

committees that are introduced in some cities with the objective of enabling the

neighbourhood inhabitants to become active partners in the solution of their specific

problems instead of being merely demanding communities waiting passively the delivery

of ad hoc services by the local authorities.

Apart from such participatory functions, neighbourhood organisations provide an

opportunity for municipalities to decentralise and improve the quality of their service

delivery at the very local level. By facilitating and accelerating the exchange of

information and communication between citizens and local authorities, the latter can

become more responsive to the local demands and preferences. In other words, even in

cases where the participatory dimension of the ward organisations remains insignificant,

the mediation of ward organisations between the municipal bodies and the citizens improve

the effectiveness and efficiency of traditional representative institutions.

c) Thematic working groups

The preceding two bodies that we briefly discussed above are designed to enable

citizens’ active participation in local governments while addressing either mainly the

organised segment of the local community or a very specific district of the city. Yet, issues

that deserve active involvement of fellow citizens can be restricted by neither some

institutional conditions nor geographic limitations. It is obvious that it is an actual need to

enable individual citizens to take part in city-wide activities and projects. Furthermore,

some institutional arrangements should be undertaken in order to associate the activities of

the city-councils on the one hand and the district organisations on the other.

145

Indeed, thematic working groups assemble a wide range of volunteers from different

sectors and background on diverse topics determined either upon a decision of the city

council or by the initiative of the local secretariat of LA21 upon popular demand. In about

45 partner cities, working groups are established consisting of between 40 to 80 persons in

relatively large cities (IULA-EMME, 2003: 10). The main objective of working groups is

to enable citizens’ participation in the determination of local priorities of their city as well

as rendering citizens capable of contributing actively to the solution of current problems.

The working groups do not thus only provide an environment for discussion, brainstorming

and consultation, but also serve as a platform where joint actions toward the solution of

basic problems are determined and prioritized (Emrealp, 2005 : 77).

There are mainly two categories within the working-groups if the nation-wide

experience is considered. The first category represents groups founded with the objective

of facilitating the deliberations of local socio-economic as well as environmental issues.

The theme of such groups varies from environmental protection to oral history; from urban

renovation to human rights; from disaster management to tourism, from culture and art to

urban planning etc. Working groups that fall in this category gather together all those who

are personally, professionally or institutionally interested or related to the determined

theme. After the preparation of an account of the state of the concerned issue, participants

of the groups develop and undertake actions that aim at the resolution of the related

problems or the improvement of the situation.

The second category consists of groups that target some specific social groups that

are traditionally absent or at least under-represented on the urban scene such as women,

youth, children, elderly, disabled and those that deserve a special attention to be able to get

involved in socio-political undertakings. Therefore, such working groups not only gather

together members of such target groups with the objective of bringing about a collective

mobilisation, but also to incite others to take part in the effort by organising awareness-

raising campaigns and projects as well as by developing tools and platforms to empower

themselves. As we shall evoke below, particularly, achievements of women and youth

groups deserve great appreciation.

146

4) The impact of Turkish local agenda 21s on the national scale: a global-down-up democratisation

Changes brought about by the introduction of such participatory mechanisms in the

Turkish context cannot be ignored. By providing adequate means of organisation and

mobilisation, the LA21 framework enhanced citizens’ involvement in the local problems

and projects. Nevertheless, it would be quite unjustified to suppose that the progress

realised in each partner-city has been identical. The presence of a significant divergence in

the number of mechanisms introduced or that of volunteers mobilised, in the quality of

democratic functioning of these bodies or in the concrete outcomes achieved makes us

argue that the national LA21 project is far from representing a homogenous level of

progress when all the partner cities are considered. Yet, before illustrating an example of

this divergence in the LA21 experiences observed in two cities, we should highlight the

impact of the project on the national level simply because the outcomes have not been

restricted to the local context of partner cities but extended towards the national scene.

To start with, the LA21 women groups managed to build up a national network of

women’s activities with the objective of enhancing collaboration and cooperation, and the

exchange of information and experience amongst themselves so that the LA21 women

initiatives could be developed in the cities where they already existed and got started where

there had been no previous actions. Apart from focusing directly on local activities, the

Network organised annually a national festival that aimed to serve as a springboard for

attaining the envisaged targets. The first experience of this “LA-21 Cities Women’s

Activities Festival » was organised in Izmir in October 2002 with a theme of “Peace and

Women” bringing together the representatives of LA21 women platforms from 16 partner

cities. The following year, the festival that was organised in Bursa with a theme of

“Globalisation and Women” attracted a greater attention with the participation of hundreds

of women representatives from more than 30 partner cities. In 2004 the theme of the

festival that was hosted by Samsun was “Governance and Women.” Finally, in 2005,

Zonguldak organised the fourth festival on “Economy and Women” with a record of

participants from 51 partner cities illustrating the growing interest in and success of the

LA21 women activities throughout the country. Given this success of LA21 women

activities and their extension towards the national scale, it would not be unjust to argue that

147

they have created a significant national dynamism going beyond merely local

undertakings.

Very similar to the “nationalisation” of LA21 women activities, the youth platforms

have established their own national network and started developing regional and national

programs with the objective of exchanging their local experiences in order to facilitate the

progress of youth activities in each partner city. Yet, this cooperation among youth

platforms gradually evolved towards a collective initiative of a national youth body.

Consequently, in May 2003, a national youth summit was held at the Capital with the

participation of about 220 youth representatives from 64 different cities. This youth

gathering actually represented the origin of a process that would eventually lead to the

National Youth Parliament that would be officially founded a year later during a second

youth summit to which 297 delegates and observers from 75 cities attended39. Defined by

its own statutes as “a national platform targeting the participation of youth in the

development and implementation of youth policies and programs at the national level,

which is built upon local youth councils and based upon democratic and civil

participation,” the Parliament aims to evolve with direct reference to the establishment of a

National Youth Council for Turkey, that would bring all youth-related groups and

institutions under a common roof (Emrealp, 2005: 97). In other words, local initiatives

launched at the local level in different parts of the country have been combined and

translated into a non-negligible national dynamism that paved the way to a unique output

by leading to the first youth body of the country. So, as is the case with the women’s

initiatives, youth activities of the Turkish Local Agenda 21 brought about a great impact

on the national scene.

The changes that LA21 has brought about on a national scale are not limited to the

development of nation-wide initiatives addressing to target groups as women and the

youth. The democratising impact of these achievements should not be underestimated

given the semi-permeability of the Turkish political system particularly against these

groups. Furthermore, the democratisation impact of the LA21 has not been restricted by

the nationalisation of target group initiatives as the process affected significantly the legal

structure of the Turkish political system. As a matter of fact, the public administration

39 http://www.la21turkey.net/dl/ugpmeeting/ankara04.pdf, last consultation April 18th, 2006.

148

reforms that the AKP government has been undertaking for the last two years seem to be

significantly influenced by the outstanding success of the LA21 experiences. A perfect

illustration of this influence would be the new municipal law that borrows the principles

and even the mechanisms of the LA21 framework.

A first evidence of such a transfer of LA21 experience to the national legislation

would be the introduction of city councils in the municipal law. Indeed, the 76th article of

the new law explicitly refers to the city councils as a new municipal body that aims at “the

development of an urban vision as well as an awareness of city fellowship [hemsehrilik];

the protection of urban rights and law and the realisation of the principles of sustainable

development, environmental sensitivity, social cooperation and solidarity, transparency,

accountability, participation and decentralisation.” Besides, municipalities are held

responsible for “helping and supporting the effective and efficient realisation of the

activities of the city councils that are founded upon the participation of professional

chambers, labour unions, notaries, if present universities, related non-governmental

organisations, political parties, public institutions, muhtars as well as other related

persons.” Furthermore, as we have already evoked as a practice of certain partner cities of

LA21, the new legislation stipulates that the decisions of the city councils will be included

in the agenda of the following meeting of the municipal assembly to be deliberated40.

Apart from inspiring the new municipal law with regards to the city councils, the

LA21 bodies are invited by the Ministry of Interior to contribute to the elaboration of a

ministerial regulation on the practical functioning of the new mechanism. Indeed, the

regulation that is developed by an active participation of LA21 partners goes beyond the

mere foundation of city councils by suggesting the introduction of other participatory

bodies of the Program such as women and youth councils as well as thematic working

groups. It would not be thus unjust to argue that with the enforcement of this regulation –

that still waits for its parliamentary adoption at the time of the redaction of this text- the

LA21 framework will enter almost entirely in the national legislation on the municipal

governments.

40 For the full text of the new law, see http://mevzuat.basbakanlik.gov.tr/mevzuat/metinx.asp?mevzuatkod=1.5.5393, last consultation April 19th, 2006.

149

In fact, the influence of the LA21 experience within the new legal framework on

municipalities goes beyond affecting the new institutional design and can be observed

within the new principles introduced to the municipal government. For example, the 9th

article on the neighbourhoods reminds the role that the LA21 attributes to the muhtar by

rendering the latter responsible for determining the common needs of the neighbourhood

through voluntary participation of the inhabitants, improving the life quality of the locality,

carrying out cooperation with the municipality and other public institutions, expressing

opinion about issues related to the neighbourhood and executing other functions that the

law assigns him/her.

Similarly, the 13th article stipulates the facilitation of the participation of universities,

professional chambers, labour unions and the experts to the activities aiming at the

development of socio-cultural relations among the fellow citizens as well as the protection

of cultural values. The encouragement of the participation of related organisation to the

local government is also observed in the 24th article that allows their involvement in the

specific commissions of expertise of the municipalities albeit without a right to vote.

Moreover, with the 75th article, local governments are invited to develop common projects

of service delivery with civil organisations reminding the principle of partnership of the

LA21 framework. Apart from such facilitations for the participation of civil organisation to

the local government, the 77th article evokes the participation of individual volunteers in

municipal activities on a very wide domain of public services. In short, participation on an

institutional as well as an individual basis, seems to be largely integrated into the new

municipal legislation.

Last but not the least; the new law introduces a program of strategic planning and

performance very similar to the LA21 process of local action planning. The strategic plans

that appear for the first time in the legislation are to be developed by the active

involvement of universities, professional chambers and non-governmental organisations

(art. 41). Therefore, the emphasis on a participatory approach seems to be further

strengthened by stipulating a strategic planning process, another public innovation

introduced by the LA21 experiences.

All these elements of the new law demonstrate remarkably the impact of the LA21

on at the national level. Not only the mechanisms of the framework seem to be integrated

into legislation, but also the guiding principles of the LA21 process as the participatory

150

approach and strategic planning have been largely adopted by the new law. It is indeed too

early to comment whether this orientation in harmony with the LA21 mechanisms and

principles reflects the actual practice since the legal procedure has not yet been

accomplished. Even if adopted entirely, the practice can turn out to be nevertheless quite

different than the ideal determined by the law. The outcome might even be totally opposite

to the actual LA21 experience since such participatory practices became thus legally

imposed activities rather than voluntary policies adopted freely by local governments.

Nevertheless, we would argue that the influence of the LA21 on the new legislation

deserves larger attention even if it eventually remains on paper.

The importance of the way LA21 affected the legislation lies on the observation

according to which it has developed quite differently from the main schemes discussed in

the literature on democratisation. As we can recall from our first chapter, participatory

initiatives are structured by either descending or ascending impulses (Gontcharoff, 1999

and 2001). In other words, they reveal either a “top-down” or “bottom-up” character. But

when the Turkish LA21 experience and its impact on the national legislation is considered,

we see that it fits to neither of these schemes. The national government, the “top”, does not

appear at the origin of the initiative even if its formal accord has been obtained from the

beginning. There is no upper institution or actor that incites the observed transformation of

the local scene. It is rather the global issues and dynamism that stimulates the undertaking

of such participatory practices. The local governments that encounter with these

participatory principles and actions transfer them to their cities without waiting for a

support or accord of the national government. Given the legitimacy of such issues on the

global level, the latter can not oppose such an orientation even if it wants. Global

developments are thus reproduced at the local level. Given the obvious differences with the

habitual ‘top-down’ movements, we argue that this scheme of institutional innovation

deserves to be appealed as ‘Global-down’ revealing the influence of international themes

and actors on the observed democratic transition.

Furthermore, as far as the Turkish LA21 is concerned, the movement does not stop

at a transfer of global principles and actions to the local context; as we have demonstrated

above it has been gradually translated into a source of political transformation at the

national level. Illustrated perfectly by the national women and youth initiatives as well as

by the nature of the new municipal law, the LA21 experience has very significantly

151

affected the new national legislation. From this perspective, it resembles very much a

classical ‘bottom-up’ movement due to the fact that the origin of the process lays at the

grassroots. However, the particularity of the process based on its global dimension

distinguishes it from other examples of ‘bottom-up’ movements. Therefore, both of the

aspects, namely that of global-local and local-national, need to be described if a general

qualification is to be given to such movements. For this purpose, we propose a generic title

of “global-down-up” movement indicating both the global dimension and the transfer of

these practices to upper levels.

Re-defined in these terms, the LA21 originates in the ‘global’ by following

international concerns and efforts as well as practices and realising them at the local

context. After this ‘global-down’ phase, the process started evolving to a national transition

identified by the national festival of women, national youth parliament in parallel to a legal

transformation introducing its mechanisms and principles at the national context. Yet, in

spite of the possibility of summarising the Turkish LA21 experience in such generic terms,

it would be unjust to consider the process as a homogenous movement taking place very

similarly in each context where it has been initiated. On the contrary, the nationalisation of

the movement owes its dynamism to only several of the partner cities where the process

has evolved very successfully. On several other contexts, the process has developed very

slowly, if ever actually started functioning properly, due to local factors that impeded its

successful implementation. Therefore, it would not be justified to attribute a general

success to this ‘global-down-up’ movement which, as we argue for the rest of this research,

depends on a number of local factors. Before identifying such determining factors, we shall

first demonstrate the dissimilarity of performance between two partner cities on which we

shall then develop our explanations about the reasons of the observed gap. For this

purpose, in the following section, we shall provide an empirical description of how the

project started and developed in Bursa and Mersin.

B - Different facets of the Turkish LA21 experience

1) Bursa: An exemplary model

The introduction of participatory practices in Bursa goes back as early as late 1994

when a ‘civil’ city council (City Council of Cooperation and Consultation (CCCC) -Sehir

152

Danisma ve Dayanisma Konseyi) was founded assembling 104 representatives of the local

non-governmental organisations quarterly. Besides this city assembly composed of

associative actors, the Metropolitan Municipality of Bursa (MMB) introduced, in the same

period, the District Consultation Centres (Semt Danisma Merkezleri) with the objective of

organising intra-local activities and formations aiming at a better integration of women,

children, youth, elderly, disabled and the newcomers to the city life. In other words, the

themes and the objectives of the Local Agenda 21 were already introduced in Bursa

without a veritable intention or consciousness to do so before 1995. In this sense, the city

realised the first implementation of LA21 in Turkey.

Indeed, it did not take long to become aware of the closeness of such activities with

the principles of LA21. After being informed about the concept at a meeting of ICLEI, the

mayor of the city associated the mentioned activities to the principles of LA21. After a

period of intensive deliberations through 1995, the establishment of LA21 was announced

to the inhabitants of Bursa in February 1996 by a ‘People’s Forum’ in which 600 citizens

participated. During the forum, a questionnaire was distributed to the participants with the

objective of prioritizing the urban themes that deserved elaboration within the new

participatory mechanisms. As an outcome of this questionnaire, a dozen of thematic

working groups to which more than 300 citizens had immediately adhered, were founded

(Interview # 35).

In February 1998, upon the launching of the national LA21 project mainly

influenced by the experience of Bursa, the CCCC was transformed to the LA21 City

Council with a significant structural reorganisation augmenting the scope of participants

from 104 to 667 thus providing access to a broader part of the society. With its new

structure, the council aims to:

a. enhance the democratic participation at the local level, develop the sense of urban fellowship and adopt a governmental style based upon multi-partnership;

b. identify adequate strategies to harmonise the socio-economic life of a Bursa of the 21st century with its environmental, historical and cultural heritage;

c. establish a venue for reaching to a consensus that would facilitate the determination of public policies that aim at a sustainable development of the city, essential priorities and adequate solutions;

d. prepare, implement and develop action plans with the inhabitants of the city :

153

e. undertake initiatives that concern all aspects of life41.

Founded upon such ambitions, the Council reflected the main principles of LA21

such as participation, sustainable development, partnership, strategic planning and

collective actions. To achieve these ends, the Council was planned to assemble at least bi-

monthly. Nevertheless, only 38 sessions had taken place between January 1995 and July

2003; in other words more than a dozen of meetings had been missed. Unfortunately, the

data on these sessions that we dispose are quite limited making available to us only the

profile of members that participated in the council meetings covered only eleven

consecutive meetings between June 1999 and May 2001. According to these data, number

of participants in each session vary from 46 to 111, corresponding to an average of 67.3

actually participating members; an average exactly one tenth of the allocated seats.

Probably nobody had expected the exact reflection of de jure composition to the actual

attendance, since for example numerous ‘honorary’ seats had been allocated to local actors

such as ex-governors, ex- or actual deputies, ex-mayors whose regular participation would

be quite surprising. Therefore, the categorical distribution of the actual participants is more

informative than their gross number.

The eleven consecutive sessions of the Council between June 1999 and May 2001

assembled 739 persons in total. The most represented group in the Council seems to be the

representatives of professional chambers by constituting 15% of all the actual participants.

When the influence of these chambers is combined with that of associations and

foundations, labour unions and citizens, civil society seems to have almost the majority in

the Council. Therefore, the ‘civil’ character of the Council seems to be affirmed also by the

actual distribution of attendants. Besides, central or local governmental actors have also

been present in the sessions42.

These rates of actual participation are not sufficient to claim an absolute

representativeness of the city Council. As a matter of fact, what we present here is the

41http://www.bursa-bld.gov.tr/yerelgundem/yerelgundem.asp?ygID=4&gundemID=18&dil=Turkce . last consultation April 19th, 2006. 42 When we speak of agents of local government, we refer to mayors, local councillors and municipal employees who do not directly appear in the bureaucratic hierarchy of the public administration. On the other hand, what we mean by central governmental actors are either those who represent the local agencies of public administration (prefect, sub-prefect, bureaucrats etc.) or members of the national parliament and/or government (ministers, deputies).

154

aggregate data of the Council representatives. Therefore, we are not able to see whether

there has been a just distribution within the categories and thus to identify for example

which associations or foundations are represented or not in the Council. It is probable that

certain kinds of civil organisations were not either invited or present in respective sessions.

Indeed, the new general secretary of LA21-Bursa43 stated us that one of his priorities is to

enlarge the scope of city council participants starting by incorporating the hometown

organisations44 to the process revealing indirectly that these organisations were until then

disconnected to LA21 (Interview # 108).

Table 1. De jure composition of and actual attendance to the City Council of Bursa

De jure composition Actual attendance

Membership groups Number Percentage Number Percentage

Central government 88 13,2% 89 12,0%

Local Government 47 7,0% 81 11,0%

Political parties 20 3,0% 34 4,6%

Academicians 25 3,7% 58 7,8%

Representatives of other LA21 organs 31 4,6% 68 9,2%

Professional chambers 45 6,7% 116 15,7%

District governors (Muhtars) 176 26,4% 51 6,9%

Associations and foundations 127 19,0% 99 13,4%

Labour Unions 49 7,3% 86 11,6%

Citizens 59 8,8% 57 7,7%

Total 667 100,0% 739 100,0% Source: Data provided by the general secretariat of LA21 of Bursa

Moreover, even if we assume that the local civil society and/or the public sector

have been adequately represented in person within the Council, we do not dispose of any

information on the representativeness of these participants. In fact, we do not know how

they were elected; whether or not it is the same person who represents the same institution

in all sessions; whether or not s/he provides adequate feed-back to his colleagues and

discuss the related issues with them. Consequently, although the Council does not appear

43 The new metropolitan mayor elected in 2004 appointed a new general secretary just as the previous mayor had done. 44 The community organisations that will be discussed more in detail in the fifth chapter are associations or foundations that aim at developing solidarity bonds within immigrant groups.

155

to be dominated by a single group, be it from the public sector or from the civil

organisations, it has not enjoyed an actual power of representation.

Nonetheless, the representative weakness of the Council does not mean that it has

been totally devoid of political legitimacy since the deliberative character of the

mechanism represented a veritable democratic asset within local politics in three different

aspects. First of all, the deliberations of the Council took place in a quite democratic and

egalitarian manner. As a matter of fact, when examined in detail, it is observed that the

discussions had not been constrained by the monopolisation of the floor by the

bureaucratic or municipal agents. In most of the cases, after the relatively brief

presentations of the issue by the official actors (the governor, the mayor, the directors etc.),

every one can have the floor for five minutes with the condition of being inscribed in

advance45. Thanks to these strict rules of deliberation, quite a number of participants could

have expressed their opinions and suggestions on the related issue. Thus, organised or non-

organised citizens have been able to not only discuss their daily problems and sufferings

with the official agents, but also propose their ideas and probable contributions related to

these local issues. Given the traditional gap between citizens and governmental agents, this

new platform of deliberation and interaction represents thus a very valuable political

means. Thanks to this new participatory platform, citizens and civil organisations would be

able to transmit their opinions and preferences to the political actors without being obliged

to be involved in the hierarchical patronage relationships.

At this point, one can wonder about the actual political influence of the deliberations

and the decisions of the mechanism. As a matter of fact, like in all other city councils, the

resolutions of the City Council of Bursa do not have a legally binding character. Therefore,

we can suppose that the traditional political organs do not have any legal obligation to

follow the opinion of the Council. Yet, two features of the process create a de facto

political influence upon the representative institutions. First of all, the participation of

high-ranked local bureaucrats (be it from the central government or from the municipality)

to deliberations and decisions renders the eventual resolutions too credible to be wholly

disregarded. Especially, until 1999 during which most of the Council meetings were

45 For the ones who have demanded the floor in writing before the opening of the session, this duration is 15 minutes.

156

presided by the metropolitan mayor himself who was also the initiator of the process, the

decisions of the organ were carefully respected by the local executives since the mayor

always stood behind the expressed opinion of the Council and supervised their full

application. Secondly, resisting or disregarding these decisions even without metropolitan

mayor’s attentive interest would mean opposing to a union of civil societal elements that

may very probably get mobilised to protest such a reluctance in respecting their expressed

and formalised decisions. Therefore, it would not be quite easy to wholly neglect the

Council’s decisions. That is why the Council did enjoy a de facto political power although

being deprived of a legally binding character.

Secondly, the deliberations of the Council contributed to the public transparency of

the current political issues and projects. Henceforth, citizens and civil organisations would

be informed more adequately on municipal and/or administrative actions and policies that

were traditionally determined and applied behind closed doors. For an overview of the

issues deliberated in the Council, we can refer to Table 2 that recapitulates the agenda

items46 of the 38 sessions of the Council held between January 1995 and July 2003.

Table 2. Issues deliberated in the council Distribution Categories of Issues on the agenda of Council sessions

Frequency Percentage Internal organisation of either the Council or the LA21 9 13.2 Issues related to the urbanisation (urban problems, plans, projects etc.) 28 41.2 Issues on the environment (problems, measures, action plans etc.) 16 23.5 Briefing on various issues 6 8.8 Macro-policies (Grand local projects, social and juridical policies and projects etc.)

9 13,2

Total 68 100

By referring to this thematic distribution of the Council meetings, we can argue that

the participants should have become more informed about particularly the urban issues.

Especially, the public deliberation of urban plans and projects that had traditionally been

an important key of urban rent and thus had been habitually determined behind closed

doors represents a noteworthy democratic gain. Recalling our first chapter on the theory of

participatory democracy, in this sense, Bursa’s city council might be compared to the

emergence of public spheres in the eighteenth century according to Habermas’s narration.

46 At the end of each session, the Council determined the agenda of the following meeting.

157

Just like the public sphere in the form of social places where public affairs gained

publicity, the city council has brought a relative transparency to local governmental issues.

Finally, the gained publicity of public affairs did not remain restricted by the

deliberations that took place in the Council since the public opinion got interested and

informed about the deliberated issues. Especially, thanks to the media organs that

systematically reported the activities of the Council, the details of local problems, policies

and projects became accessible to a very large public. Therefore, apart from the direct

impact of the council, it facilitated the circulation of information among citizens and civil

organisations.

For an interesting first-hand confirmation of all these functions of the City Council,

we can refer to one of our interviewees’ statement who was actively involved during the

foundation and the first years of the platform:

“In some sessions, we had 600 participants including numerous representatives of professional chambers as well as civil society organisations. All these institutions brought up of issues that were related to their domain of expertise and that concerned the public…For instance, in one of the meetings, we discussed the loss of underground waters due to the illegal drilling bored by the prefecture. The speakers of that meeting criticised the administration while looking straight into the eyes of the prefect and other high-ranked bureaucrats. They publicised the mistake of the administration by referring to different technical dimensions of the issue that fell into their domain of expertise… They established thus a collective opposition. The following day, the issue was of course in the media and a favourable public was thus formed. Similarly, we undertook very serious struggles against some urban practices of the metropolitan municipality or on behalf of some important problems of the city. I call it a struggle but in fact when we examine them on a more macro level, we achieved a non-negligible opposition against what we consider as contradictory to general public interest. While enabling such an opposition, the City Council developed also alternative projects (Interview # 38).”

These observations on the democratic functions of the Council convince us that the

lack of an absolute representative power of the mechanism does not deprive it from

enjoying a significant political legitimacy as well as a de facto but not negligible influence

in local politics. A perfect illustration of this observation would be a particular experience

on the making of strategic plan of Bursa in 1997.

The plan in question is a metropolitan development plan of Bursa and her

surroundings on the scale of 1/100,000 and for the year 2020. Unlike other plans of the

same kind, 2020 Strategic Plan of Bursa was not limited to the metropolitan zone and it

was based on much more broader perspective covering all the provincial zone of Bursa as

well as the neighbouring provinces and regions. The competence of preparing such

158

regional plans belongs officially to the central administration. However, owing to a

protocol signed between the MMB and the Ministry of Public Constructions, the former

had acquired a legal ground for adopting a regional perspective. For this purpose, a specific

planning office was founded in the metropolitan municipality. The initial propositions

formulated by this office were then presented to university faculty, professional chambers

and to representatives of the private sector with the objective of receiving their

contributions, critics and suggestions. The developed draft was then brought to the city

council for an evaluation of a broader public participation before being finally adopted by

the municipal council.

The plan was deliberated in the seventh session of the city council assembled

specifically for this purpose on April 6th, 1996. According to the summary report published

by the MMB (undated: 28-34), the session was opened by the presentations of the mayor

who underlined the importance of a participatory approach in planning as well as in local

government in general. Later, technocrats of the central and local governments provided

more precise information about the process and the content of the plan. Following these

introductions, numerous, more precisely thirty-seven47, local actors –mostly the

representatives of professional or non-governmental organisations or political actors- took

the floor to deliver their views and propositions about the plan. It is worth underlining that

almost all the speakers expressed their appreciations for the participatory technique used in

the planning process.

Even if the participatory process undertaken for the 2020 strategic plan of Bursa had

gone beyond a singular session of the City Council given the number of stages that it had

gone through, in the collective memory it is identified with the most concrete democratic

impact of the latter on the local politics. The deliberations on the plan in the Council were

cited by almost all of our interviewees in the city as the most illustrating example of

participatory democracy in the city. Acknowledging the fact that it had not indeed enabled

a participation of the totality of the local population, they seem content with at least the

public transparency of the process. Local actors thus strongly associated themselves with

the process and therefore, the plan is still cited as the plan of Bursa (or “our strategic plan”)

47 Unfortunately, we could not find any information on the total number of participants to this session.

159

instead of a routine decision of the municipality. It has been strongly defended against all

attempts of violation be it by the central government, the private sector, or the succeeding

local governments.

The participatory experience observed through the preparation of Bursa’s strategic

planning illustrates the democratic impact of the Council. Even if the latter had not led to

any other democratic achievements, which was not indeed the case, we would still argue

that the Council represented an authentic democratic success since not only the preparation

of a strategic planning with such a wide scope represented a unique experience in the

Turkish context but also the way it had been developed constituted a corner-stone in the

democratic tradition of the country. Thanks to the participatory platform that the Council

provided, the related organisations as well as the concerned citizens enjoyed a very

adequate means to take part in a decision-making process on city’s priorities and

development strategies.

As a matter of fact, the 2020 strategic plan was not the only concrete impact of the

Council. In order to give a broad idea of its other actions, we can cite some of the main

achievements of the council (Hanzade-Erbey, 200: 42-43):

• The organisation of a public manifestation against the Ovaakca Energy Plant;

• The utilisation of the Balat Forest and the Pasa Farm as a natural park;

• The purchase of a combined-meat plant, that was planned to be privatised, by a joint-venture composed of the inhabitants of the city;

• The publication of a collective protocol against illegal urbanisation;

• The opposition against the construction of an airport on an historical zone;

• The organisation of a committee of volunteers for environment;

• The publication of a report on the urgent requirements to fight against air pollution;

• Obliging the public authorities to re-evaluate the opening of city zone to urbanisation in a more participatory manner;

• The construction of disabled-friendly sidewalks and toilettes;

• The organisation of a working group in order to prevent the construction of an extension to the high-way;

• The prevention of the privatisation of Merinos, one of the first industrial plants of the country.

160

Given the examples of the concrete activities of the City Council, we can argue that

the latter had brought about significant changes related to a wide scope of principles such

as participatory democracy, environmental protection, sustainable development, public

responsiveness and accountability. Nevertheless, although the City Council can be seen as

the main mechanism of the LA21 of Bursa, it would be unjust to ignore the achievements

that have brought about by the other organs of the project. For this purpose, we propose to

discuss briefly the working groups and the district organisations that have been established

in the framework of LA21 in Bursa.

Working Groups:

As we have stated above, the working groups of LA21 assemble related civil

organisations as well as concerned individual volunteers with the objective of undertaking

collective actions in the name of general problems and main priorities of the city. In Bursa

we observe 19 different working groups under four main domains: environmental

development, social development, participatory platforms and project groups (Figure 2).

As one may easily observe in the schema, the issues vary from a very specific problem

such as the conservation of one kind of tree, to general themes such as education or health.

As we have already stated, the participation to the meetings and the activities of the

working groups are open to all the citizens. In fact, to present the wide range of

participants, we may refer to member profiles of working groups of Bursa.

161

Figure 5. Working Groups of Bursa48

According to the data provided by the general facilitator of working groups in LA21-

Bursa, 636 volunteers participate regularly and actively to the meetings and activities of

the working groups49. The members of the youth council constitute almost half of these

participants (300 members). By using the member profile of the working groups except the

youth council as well as the women’s platform whose data was not available to us, we

observe that 37.5% of the regular participants are women. This ratio would certainly be

higher if the youth and women’s platforms were also taken into account. In any case, this

ratio represents already a significant involvement of women in LA21 activities given the

persisting gender inequality of Turkey. As a matter of fact, according to the Human

Development Report of 2005 published annually by UNDP, Turkey ranks 70th among 140

48 The numbers in the parenthesis indicate the number of regular participants in each working group. 49 This data is based on the activity reports and meeting attendances of working groups for the year of 2001-2002. In the data made available to us, there was personal information on only 299 participants. Therefore, the quantitative statements that we shall develop will be based on only this proportion of the participants.

162

countries in the gender-related development index (GDI)50 with a value of 0.742 (worst

performer in the southern Europe)51. When gender empowerment measure (GEM)52 is

considered the situation does not change: Turkey ranks 76th as women hold 4.4% of

parliamentary seats, and make up 30% of professional and technical workers. 6% of

administrators and managers are women.

Table 3. GEM rankings of Turkey in comparison with some other countries

Source: http://hdr.undp.org/statistics/data/country_fact_sheets/cty_fs_TUR.html

Moreover, in contrast of what one might expect, these woman participants of the

working groups do not necessarily fall into the upper socio-economic classes since only

12.5% of women participants, have a university degree53; similarly the most common

50 The gender-related development index (GDI), introduced in Human Development Report 1995, measures achievements in the same dimensions using the same indicators as the HDI but captures inequalities in achievement between women and men. 51 http://hdr.undp.org/statistics/data/country_fact_sheets/cty_fs_TUR.html last consultation September 4th, 2006. 52 The gender empowerment measure (GEM) reveals whether women take an active part in economic and political life. It focuses on gender inequality in key areas of economic and political participation and decision-making. It tracks the share of seats in parliament held by women; of female legislators, senior officials and managers; and of female professional and technical workers- and the gender disparity in earned income, reflecting economic independence. Differing from the GDI, the GEM exposes inequality in opportunities in selected areas. 53 The ratios of elementary and high school graduates are respectively 26.8% and 30.4%. The ratio of “not provided” is also significant: 30.4%. One can argue that there might be a significant

163

“professional” activity among women participants is being a housewife with 17.9 %,

followed by students with a percentage of 17 %. Given such a participant profile, one can

argue that participation channels provided by LA21 facilitate the participation of women,

especially the poorly-educated ones, to socio-political activities. In this sense, we can

argue that the project represents a two-folded improvement: not only women but more

particularly those coming from underprivileged socioeconomic groups have been better

integrated to the local public sphere of Bursa thanks to these working groups.

Moreover, the activities of the women’s platform, whose data is not included in the

member profile we referred to above, were contributing -perhaps more importantly than

women’s participation to issue-based working groups- to the democratisation of urban

politics. The main objective of the women’s platform in Bursa can be summarized as the

development of strategies in order to improve the status of women within the family and

the society by removing legal, administrative, cultural, behavioural, social, and economic

obstacles against the equal participation of women in public life. To this aim, initially

educational seminars are arranged with different themes such as domestic violence,

marriage, politics and women, healthy communication, sexuality etc. Various activities

(petitions, demonstrations, panels etc.) are organized in order to create public awareness of

domestic violence and required legal amendments in favour of women. Professional

formations are organized and economic assistance is provided to contribute to the

economic development of women. A “Women’s Communication Centre” is established to

provide medical, psychological and juridical assistance to women who suffer from sexual

abuse, violence, or discrimination.

As one might recognize easily, these activities have a double effect on women’s

existence in the Turkish public sphere. First of all, since all these activities are carried by

women themselves, even if the objectives of these activities are not reached, women’s

existence in the Turkish public life is improved. Secondly, the outcomes of the activities

will certainly contribute to the development of women’s skills and level of self-

consciousness as an individual as well as a citizen and thus will encourage them to take

more active roles in society. In other words, these platforms and activities represent a

proportion of autodidacts without any regular attendance to educational institutions, among this 30.4%.

164

perfect instrument to socioeconomically and politically empower women in the local

context. Consequently, we believe strongly that women activities in the framework LA21

contribute actually to the improvement of gender equality in Turkish public life and thus to

the eventual democratisation of the political system.

Leaving this gender issue behind, we can continue discussing the member profile of

working groups. The second aspect we would like to focus on is the education level of the

participants. According to the data provided by the general secretary of LA21-Bursa54, the

majority of the participants (44.5%) have a high school degree. University and elementary

graduates respectively constitute 26.3% and 29.2%. In order to distinguish the significance

of these ratios, it might be necessary to quote briefly a research on the general profile of

associative membership in Turkey (Aksit, Serdar and Tabakoglu, 2002). According to this

research conducted on 926 members of 40 different civil organisations in different parts of

Turkey, more than half (56.8%) of the NGO members have at least an university graduate

degree. Thus according to the conductors of the research “the argument that the Turkish

civil society has a structure mainly consisted of the enlightened class, is justified” (Aksit,

Serdar and Tabakoglu, 2002: 4). Education has always been the main factor of social

participation not only in Turkey but in almost all democratic countries. Observing a

majority of high school graduates, thus, reveals another virtue of the LA21 activities. The

citizens with lower level education seem to be also inclined to take active part in the

framework of the project. As a consequence, it contributes to the generalisation of civic

attitudes towards lower levels of education. We may argue that civic experiences and

social responsibilities acquired within these activities substitute for skills and values

obtained by scholar formations. Therefore, citizens with average levels of education also

feel free to take part in the local public space.

This generalisation of civic virtues may also be observed within the professional

profiles of the members of working groups. White-collar participants represent only 9.9%

of the members whereas retired people, tradesmen and housewives constitute respectively

54 The members of the children group are excluded from the estimation. Total number of cases with declared education level after this exclusion is 209.

165

26.6%, 16.1% and 10.4% of the working groups55. Such a distribution may be related to

the time constraints of different professions. Retirees and housewives may feel freer to be

active in social activities as well as the tradesmen with flexible working hours who can

modify their working schedules according to the previewed activities. Whatever the reason

is we can state that lower socioeconomic classes become more and more visible in public

debates.

Another aspect of membership profile of working groups would naturally be the

generational distribution of the participants. We can right away state that the majority of

the members are middle aged citizens with a ratio of 31.8%56. Their percentage decreases

only slightly to (29%) even if we take members of the children and retireds’ group under

consideration. This dominance of middle-aged members may be associated with the fact

that the themes of the working groups either necessitates specific expertise such as the

“Land use and water resources” or addresses the concerns of older citizens rather than the

younger ones such as “ Historical and cultural heritage working group.” Moreover, we

have to keep in mind that half of the total number of members of working groups in Bursa

belongs to the youth platform whose data was not available to us. The effective

participation of middle-aged citizens is a pleasing outcome since they are the only group

that does not constitute a specific target group like youth, children, women and retired

groups. As we observe clearly, the lack of such a specific enabling platform does not

inhibit their participation in the issue based working groups.

Perhaps, another very important point on this generational aspect is the participation

of the youth in LA21 activities. First of all, achieving the effective adhesion of young

people to the vision and the activities of LA21 will certainly ensure its success in the long-

term. This is true for any kind of policy as well as any other country. However, Turkey has

a specific particularity that increases the importance of youth participation to LA21. As we

have already underlined while discussing the recent history of the country, one of the main

55 We regrouped administrative directors, engineers, doctors, accountants, journalists and authors under the title of white-collars. The members of the children group and of the retireds’ platform are excluded from the estimation. Total number of cases with declared profession after this exclusion is 192. 56 The members of the children group and of the retireds’ platform are excluded from the estimation. Total number of cases with declared dates of birth after this exclusion is 220.

166

objectives of the military regime after 1980 and the governments succeeding it, was the de-

politicisation of the society, in particular that of the youth with the objective of preventing

the re-emergence of political polarisation which in their perspective is the synonym of

terrorism. In fact, the result was an actual success since by 1990s the youth was almost

totally alienated from politics and estranged from social concerns.

In contrast with this general picture, as we have already noted above, LA21

encourages the active involvement of the youth in the participatory mechanisms. Indeed,

the youth activities of LA21 in Bursa could be a good example of such efforts. The

working group of youth founded in 1996 “aims to contribute to participation of young

people in decision-making processes, to become a platform where ideas turn into action

and to provide awareness raising in environmental issues by improving the concept of

being a citizen” (IULA-EMME, 2003: 56-57). Since the related data on the actual

participation in the group was not provided to us, we are not able to present quantitative

picture of the group as we did for the other working groups. Yet, our personal observations

as well as the statements of our interlocutors in the city, indicate that the youth group

represents a participatory venue where young people in general but particularly students of

all ages meet regularly to discuss their problems (university entrance exam, psycho-social

development, sexual diseases etc.), and undertake concrete actions (environmental

initiatives, social gatherings, assistance to earthquake victims etc.). In this sense, the youth

platform of the LA21 enables young people to get together and develop an ambiance of

cooperation among themselves while improving their concerns about their socio-political

environment and urging them to take active roles in the public space. The best evidence of

the success of the youth platform would be the fact that the group has become an

independent council with its own statute, activity centre, and secretariat in 2000, thus

veritably institutionalized in four years. Henceforth, it is a veritable youth council

assembling 250 representatives of the schools of the city and the civil or public

organisations working on youth issues. The council has even founded its own working

groups on eight different themes: communication; national and international relations;

education; culture and art; health and sports; ecology; tourism; and technical team.

Concrete projects of the working groups:

In the previous section, we described the thematic distribution as well as the

participant profile of these working groups. We argued also that the participation in the

167

working groups reveal a significant evolution towards an improved presence of some

social groups who have been traditionally under-represented or insufficiently involved in

the public sphere. One can argue that even a mere presence at the meetings of these

working groups participating to the deliberations on the related issues could represent a

democratic success as they contribute to the socio-political and personal empowerment of

the participants. Yet, the impact of the working groups has gone beyond being a theoretical

school of democracy by realising concrete projects and bringing about non-negligible

changes in the city.

It would not be appropriate to give a detailed account on every project realised by

the LA21 working groups of Bursa. For this purpose, we have selected just a few examples

that would illustrate adequately the concrete achievements of the working groups.

To start with, the project of familial preparation for disasters aims at rendering

citizens more prepared for natural disasters, fires and accidents by particularly addressing

house-wives who plays the role of protector and educator in families. Indeed, in the

framework of the project, 7708 participants were formed by the experts on how to act

before, during and after the earthquakes; first aid and domestic accidents; fire protection;

building safety and the psychological consequences of earthquakes.

A second example would be the project of protecting the floral diversity of

Uludag that has been introduced to inform the opinion public and organise collective

actions to protect the flora of the Mountain by identifying the fragile parts, re-organising

the natural park, undertaking an ecologic restoration on one of the ski-tracks through a re-

plantation and organising public activities to highlight the biological diversity of the

mountain.

Another project that deserves to be cited here is the project of fighting against air

pollution whose objective is to create and maintain a ‘task-force’ composed of individual

volunteers as well as the representatives of public authorities, civil organisations and the

local university that surveys whether the decisions of the local environmental council on

the air-pollution are respected. The project aims also to develop new strategies or solutions

to fight against air-pollution.

A final example would be the project of re-building of residential zones that was

initiated to transform the unhealthy and ugly state of the urban zones that had emerged

168

illegally following massive waves of immigration. The strategy adopted by the project was

to get into contact with the inhabitants of the concerned neighbourhoods, to organise

meetings to determine what can be done to beautify the districts’ appearance. Besides,

numerous formations on various themes have been organised to improve the socio-cultural

level of inhabitants and to enable their active involvement in the project.

As the preceding examples of projects developed by the working groups illustrate,

the latter has brought about significant changes on the local environment by enabling

fellow-citizens to contribute actively to the development, protection and the physical

improvement of their locality. In other words, apart from supporting the socio-political

empowerment of the inhabitants of Bursa, the working groups have appeared as adequate

instruments to encourage collective actions in the name of the well-being of the city.

District organisations:

Before concluding our account on the outcomes of the LA21 project in Bursa, a final

dimension on the district organisations deserves a closer look. In fact, the Metropolitan

Municipality of Bursa initiated its efforts to introduce participatory district organisations as

early as in 1994. These ward offices were first established under the title of “Neighborhood

Consultation Centres” with the objective of raising civic consciousness at the

neighbourhood level. After the participation of Bursa in the LA21 project, these offices

were evolved and transformed to “Ward Service Rooms and Committees” that “aim to

enable the self-government of local population and to render the municipal services more

effective and efficient.”57

In order to achieve such an ambitious objective, “Ward Service Rooms (WSR)”

were established in eight neighbourhoods of the city. These rooms aim at the improvement

of communication between the local government and the local community. The demands,

suggestions, and contributions gathered in these centres are immediately transmitted to the

related branch of the local government. The response or the reaction of that branch is also

delivered to the concerned citizen in a maximum of 48 hours. Moreover, the functioning of

WSR is not merely based upon individual demands or propositions of the citizens. Each

WSR constitutes a “Ward Service Committee (WSC)” composed by the residents of the

57 http://bursa.la21turkey.net/ last consultation on September 1st, 2006.

169

neighbourhood with the participation of the muhtar. These WSC meet regularly with the

objective of discussing the problems and the needs of their environment as well as

evaluating the activities carried out and projects proposed by the local government. Each

WSC elects a representative who is responsible of delivering their resolutions to the

weekly meetings of WSC representatives. The opinions, suggestions and demands

expressed during these meetings provide the local government to have a realist idea of the

public opinion. Furthermore, agents of the municipality benefit from the opportunity of

explaining their plans and policies to these representatives who will in turn deliver this

information to their neighbourhood. What's more, mayors participate periodically in the

meetings of WSC in order to discuss the problems of the neighbourhood and to clarify

their policy priorities. Consequently. a productive platform of communication between the

local government and the society is achieved thanks to these local participatory structures.

On the other hand, the local government also obtains a means of publicizing its

services, activities and projects via WSR. Citizens, who have been quite alienated from

what goes on “above them”, are henceforth able to be better informed about local policies,

visions and objectives. Being able to update the citizens about their prospective actions, the

local government can justify them more easily and effectively. This would certainly

contribute to ensure the success of these actions owing to a general approval of the public.

But, of course the public does not necessarily approve all the projects of the municipality

no matter how well they are informed. Even in such a case, the local government has a

chance to foresee probable reactions and resistance since it is in close relation with the

public opinion. The ex-general secretary of the LA21 of Bursa, explains these outcomes of

the WSR:

“If this mechanism is used properly, it can assist to the local government since owing to these organs, you can be aware of the public opinion, you have a chance to learn popular priorities and wishes. By making decisions according to public suggestions, not only your decisions become more just, but also you prevent prospective critical reactions (Interview # 105).”

Apart from such an impact on the development of democracy at the local level,

WSRs contribute also to the improvement of social capabilities of the society. They

develop their own projects in order to solve the determined problems by the committee.

WSCs organize ad hoc subgroups to focus on specific problems. These subgroups propose

concrete activities after the examination of the problem in depth. These activities can be

170

either carried out by the residents themselves or by the related public and/or civil

organisations that are contacted by the former. The ex-director of LA21 directorate of

Metropolitan Municipality of Bursa gives concrete examples of such efforts of WSCs:

“They demand for various formations such as musical formation, theatrical formation. But they also provide some suggestions related to these problems like ‘There are people we know; we can contact to them.’ Somehow they also indicate the solution possibilities. For example, there is a stream passing by Alacahirka [a neighbourhood of Bursa] and it is very polluted. The residents of the neighbourhood were complaining about the pollution of the stream. They were also complaining that they could not persuade others to keep the stream clean. But then they proposed to carry out a collective action in order to raise the consciousness of the people residing by the stream. As you see, they determine a problem and propose the solution of it.”58

The officer of one of these WSCs clarifies how these efforts were concluded by

concrete actions:

“WSC constituted a subgroup that filmed the pollution of the stream. Then, with the participation of an environmental engineer, they organized a presentation of that film and a debate upon it. Thus, they managed to improve the consciousness of the residents by making use of these concrete materials… All the intention and the efforts are from the residents themselves” (Interview #30).

Perhaps the most illustrating example of the WSR activities took place in

Elmasbahceler, a neighborhood of Bursa with a population of 10 thousand. The ward was

seriously suffering from the pollution caused by the iron industry implemented nearby and

by the highway passing by. The residents were organized within the framework of WSC

and initiated a series of activities to decrease the level of air pollution. After the

organisation of seminars about NOx pollution and about the utilisation of the instruments

that measure the level of NOx in the air, the residents started to monitor these instruments

and to find out the main reasons of the pollution when the levels were above the average.

Apart from informing the related institutions about distinguished reasons of the pollution,

the WSC initiated a practice of “Voluntary Environmentalist Identity Card” in order to be

able to intervene directly. Regular meetings were organized and various projects were

carried out such as planting trees, street cleaning and solid waste collection with the

participation of the majority of inhabitants. The amount solid waste collected increased as

58 Interview with S. M. by VTR on November 6th, 2000, Bursa.

171

high as 1 ton per week59. This was achieved by improving the environmentalist

consciousness of the inhabitants.

By meeting regularly in WSCs, the neighbourhood residents identify a problem and

then contact related institutions in order to receive their contribution. The themes of the

identified problems depend directly on what those people actually need: reading and

writing courses, computer literacy, juridical assistance, health issues, professional

formations, foreign language education etc. All these activities are organized in

cooperation with public or civil institutions. Therefore, after identifying the problem WSCs

continue to act, with the facilitation of LA21, in order to organize also the solution of the

problem. Consequently, WSC are not only demanding passive groups, but also active

partners of the solution process.

In sum, WSCs of Bursa represented an adequate tool to empower the neighbourhood

residents through the organisation of various formation programs as well as awareness-

raising activities. The direct links with the general LA21 process encourage also the

involvement of citizens in other activities of the project organised by the city council or the

working groups. Therefore, WSCs represent in a way the association of grassroots in the

LA21 process, so the generalisation of the principles and practices asserted by it.

As these observations on the LA21 activities of Bursa reveal, the project has

brought about or facilitated non-negligible democratic achievements in the city since its

initiation. These achievements dispose a three-fold importance within the traditional

Turkish political system. First of all, the relative political neutrality of environment

appeared to enable hostile groups to get together in the LA21 framework. As a matter of

fact, the environmental core within the LA21 framework has provided a very significant

asset as a politically ‘neutral’ object in a highly polarized and conflictive political scene

like that of Turkey. Indeed, it used to be almost impossible to bring together different

political groups to decide upon political issues since polarisation was usually at levels of

mutual hatred impeding any kind of collective political undertakings. Environmental

issues, however, have not been included in this critical polarisation since they have not

been considered a real political issue; this means that opposing groups did not have fixed

59 This is one eighth of the amount collected in Osmangazi that has a population 70 times higher than Elmasbahceler (MMB, 2000).

172

positions in this area. That is why, despite having a generally acknowledged political

character, the environment has remained politically neutral so that different groups and

individuals could undertake collective initiatives in Turkey. Consequently, quite a number

of citizens who have preferred to distance themselves from the political scene, since they

identify it with unending and meaningless political rivalries and/or corruption, started

participating in local politics as the LA21 process is distinguished from daily politics.

Indeed, it seems to represent an instrument of ‘depoliticized politicisation’ due to the fact

that the substantially political nature of the process is ignored by the participants. In short,

in this re-defined sphere of politics, citizens have a greater chance to come together and to

undertake collective initiatives.

Second, independent from the real impact of efforts displayed within the project,

from whether they really transform the local situation or not, the fact that the mechanism

functions with the active participation of fellow citizens and civil organisations deserve per

se a general appreciation simply because it has served as an adequate instrument to

assemble and mobilise local civil organisations on common grounds and objectives. The

citizens involved have acquired more skills and information related to their social and

political environment owing to the permanent activities of consciousness raising, again

initiated and organized by themselves. Thus, the more they have gotten together and

organized such events, the more they have improved their personal and collective skills,

which in turn have made them more capable of battling their own problems. Therefore,

even if the actual impact of such efforts is to be interpreted as insignificant or insufficient,

it must be considered as an initiation to collective civil mobilisations, as a democratic,

civic internship.

Last, it is obvious that the evoked outcomes of the LA21 efforts represent important

improvements on particularly environmental issues. To the ones who might consider the

cited examples as inconsequential, we would like to point out that these collective

mobilisations and activities have brought local authorities to think twice before concluding

their decisions with the fear of being obliged to face similar collective oppositions upon

their final decisions. Therefore, the LA21 process in Bursa has brought about directly or

indirectly non-negligible democratic improvements in the city, hence the need to

acknowledge the success of the project.

173

As a matter of fact, as we have already evoked for several times, the relative success

of LA21 observed in some Turkish cities such as in Bursa, can not be generalised all

through the country. To present a counter-example, we pursue our discussion with the

observations on Mersin.

2) Mersin: Contentious politics in a participatory framework

The introduction of new participatory mechanisms in Mersin took place more

recently than the one in Bursa, as an electoral promise of the mayor elected in the local

elections of April 1999. During his electoral campaign, the mayor had engaged himself

with the facilitation of citizens’ participation in the local government owing to new

mechanisms such as a city council, district organisations, local economic council etc60.

Table 4. Composition of the City Council of Mersin

Membership groups Number of representatives Central government

62 Local Government

49 District governors (Muhtars)

66 University 14

Political parties 21

Associations and foundations 324 Professional chambers

54 Labour Unions

35 Military Officials

6 Media Representatives 26

Private Sector Representatives 42

TOTAL 689

Source: The constitution of City Council of Mersin

Indeed, he immediately formed a commission constituted by a dozen of university

scholars and professional chamber representatives for the preparation of the legal

60 “Today, the people of Mersin do not participate to the government of the city; can not let her voice be heard. That is why I propose to govern together our city, to strengthen the human rights, improve pluralism and urban rights. Let us enable the participation of our people to the government and to its control. Let us encourage their engagement in city problems, establish a democratic, autonomous and participatory city council. Let us found a council of Mersin that will meet annually; therefore get ready for the city council…” (The electoral program of Macit Ozcan in 1999).

174

framework of the city council. Just a few months later, in July 1999, local organisations

were called for a meeting with the objective of deliberating the draft-constitution of the

council proposed by this commission. However, the draft was seriously criticised by the

participants and no agreement was reached on the constitution of the Council. The meeting

ended without any significant resolution. After several months of inactivity on the

preparation of the council, a new commission was formed to work on a new draft-

constitution. The new draft was deliberated and adopted at the second meeting of the

council on April 13th, 2000.

Table 5. Categorical distribution of member civil organisations of the City Council of Mersin

Handicapped 12

Professional solidarity 31

Art and culture 26

Social solidarity and mutual aid 20

Public interest61 22

Women and children 18

Youth 12

Hometown organisations 35

Rotary and Lions Clubs 13

Environment 12

Multifunctional (sic.)62 20

Mosques 19

Education 37

Sports 37

TOTAL 314

Source: Constitution of City Council of Mersin

According to the constitution approved, the Council was to consist of 689 members

as presented in Table 4. At first glance, similar to the City Council of Bursa, the power of

civil organisations seems remarkable as they (associations and clubs together) constitute

61 Associations of public interest is a formal categorisation just like the French “association reconnue d'utilité publique.” These associations that are formally recognised as serving for the public interest enjoy financial resources granted annually by the central government. 62 It seems that this multifunctional category corresponds to other associations that could not be put under other headings. Among these multifunctional associations, we see mainly political organisations (13); a feature that will be dicussed in the fifth chapter.

175

almost the half of the Council’s members. But when we examine the organisation of the

Council, we see that this formal structure is in fact quite problematic for various reasons.

First of all, we wonder how these 324 civil organisations were determined. When the full

list of civil members are examined, we have the impression that all the associations and

foundations that undertook any kind of social activity were included in the list of members

of the General Assembly of the City Council. Regrouped under 14 sub-categories as in the

Table 5, these 314 associations correspond indeed almost to one sixth of all associations

(1825) founded in Mersin since 192363, which is quite an unrealistic ratio.

We had the impression that the names of most of these associations and foundations

were mentioned just to give a ‘civic’ image to the Council. As a matter of fact, in the list of

Council’s participants which also included the contact information of these members, no

information was provided for 160 of these 324 organisations giving the impression that

they had never been contacted about council’s organisation and activities.

Second, the allocation of seats to three specific socioeconomic groups can not be

sufficiently explained with democratic principles. Most intriguingly, the six seats reserved

for military officials can not ever be justified on democratic terms given that the influence

of armed forces even in habitual politics is criticised. To reserve some seats for them in a

mechanism that aims formally to empower ordinary citizens is totally contradictory with

this objective. Moreover, we find the presence of private sector representatives intriguing

since they must be already represented through trade and industry chambers as well as

businessmen organisations. As a matter of fact, when we examine the members list more in

details, we see these seats are reserved for two private hospitals, seven large corporations,

twenty-three banks and ten construction cooperatives. The democratic or even political

contribution of these private enterprises to such a participatory mechanism is still a big

question for us. Finally, it is also difficult to comprehend the reason for allocating specific

seats for the media representatives. In any case, they should be in principle already present

in the activities of the Council to inform the rest of the society about the deliberations and

decisions of the mechanism. Their function would be to reflect what takes place in the City

Council rather than being an actual partner of the process and for this, they would not need

63 The development of Mersin’s associative life will be discussed more in details in the fifth chapter.

176

to have their own seats in the Council. Given that these three categories represent more

than ten percent of the overall composition, the initiative leaves an impression according to

which the Council aims at the reproduction of the actual power relations or just giving a

democratic image to the mayor’s mandate rather than being a new instrument for the

participation of the city’s residents.

In any case, as we shall see below, the Council never managed to overcome its

internal conflicts to see what this de jure composition would give as a real experience.

Which is more interesting about the approved constitution was that it had indeed

anticipated serious internal conflicts since three articles of the constitution were about

controlling the ‘improper’ behaviour of the participants. For example, Article 24 defined

the conditions of interrupting one’s speech by the president while the following article had

introduced the ‘right of reaction’ in case of any discursive transgression against the

Council’s members or the national interests. Last but not least, the 26th article regularised

the procedure to follow in case of personal offences. These articles could be interpreted as

at least contradictory in the constitution of a civil body founded on “the presumption of

respect for participatory principles, tolerance and mutual understanding” (Article 4-b).

Serious internal conflicts and personal confrontations seem to be expected all from the

beginning.

As a matter of fact, even the approval of the constitution was not free of quarrels and

conflicts. Apart from numerous critics on the organisation of the Council, a more

ontological issue on the principal function of the platform was firmly raised. The question

of whether the Council could supervise the municipality was addressed to the metropolitan

mayor who stated that the supervision of the municipalities could be carried out only by

the ministries of internal affairs and of finance and thus the Council could only make

advisory decisions (MKK, undated). This discussion on the functions of the platform

seems to me very revealing on the prospective problems since the mayor seemed to feel

intimidated by the expressed willingness of supervising the municipality by the civil actors

of the city. He had interpreted this intention as a sign of probable instrumentalisation of the

platform by his political opponents whereas the local organisations had seen in the mayor’s

emphasis on the advisory function of the Council his insincerity for introducing veritable

participatory mechanisms. Nevertheless, the actual confrontation was de facto postponed

by the election of M.T. as the general secretary of the Council. Being the president of the

177

association of businessmen of Mersin (MESIAD), M.T. was not only respected by the civil

organisations but also trusted by the mayor. Therefore, the breaking-up of the actual

confrontation could wait for a while.

After a third meeting of the Council held on June 22nd of 2000 on the urbanisation

problems of the city, the Municipality had decided to integrate the platform to the LA21

process to which the city had adhered to in the meanwhile. For this purpose, the structure

of the Council had been reformed by the introduction of an executive committee composed

of 92 members of whom 66 were elected by the general assembly besides the 26 ex officio

members. The executive committee was responsible for determination of the agenda,

facilitation of the execution of the decisions made by the council and coordination of

overall activities of LA21. Even if it was designed to be the executive branch of MCC by

meeting once a month, the crowdedness of the organ with its 92 members obliged to have a

more effective executive organ, namely the assembly of presidents (APr) consisting 9

members: the president (the metropolitan mayor), the vice presidents (3 mayors of the

district municipalities) a general secretary and four vice-general secretaries (three of them

elected by the executive committee, one nominated by the metropolitan mayor).

Such a complicated internal structure would most probably slow down the

functioning of the council, if it could have functioned at all. In fact, the elections for the

general secretariat held on April 6th, 2001 further complicated the functioning of the organ.

Against the present general secretary who was considered to be too influenced by the

mayor, the vice-president of the Chamber of Commerce and Industry of Mersin (MTSO),

posed his candidacy for the post and was elected. His election was a cold shower for the

mayor since the former had been an opposing candidate in almost all the preceding

elections and would most probably run in the following local elections. Considering this as

a strong threat to his position, the mayor cut progressively all the municipal resources

mobilized on behalf of MCC to prevent the recently elected general secretary from gaining

political power by using the reputation of MCC. The municipality did not first of all

allocate the budget of LA21 to the general secretariat although it was included in the

annual budget. Since the utilisation of the offices and the material reserved for LA21 were

also disabled for the new direction, they opened an entirely separate office financed both

by the general secretary himself and other local organisations.

178

In such circumstances, the democratic impact of the Council on the local politics

would only be insignificant. This conjuncture of immobility, if not of ‘cold war’, continued

until the mayor found an excuse for disqualifying the general secretary in January 2003.

Meanwhile, the general assembly could be brought together only once in the summer of

2002. However, even this meeting of the Council had been far from aiming at the better

integration of the citizens to the government of their city since it was held with the

objective of letting the governor present his project of re-defining the borders of the

metropolitan municipality. Assembling the council on such a theme was problematic for

various reasons. First of all, even though it was not expressed explicitly, the real motive

behind the modification of municipal borders was interpreted as an effort to limit the

political power of the Kurdish community in the city. Concentrated mainly in one of the

district municipalities, the community was thus able to influence significantly the results of

the municipal elections. It was argued that by modifying the municipal borders, the

governor aimed at diluting the community’s political power by including some other

neighbourhoods in their constituency. It was obviously unacceptable to see the city council

instrumentalised for such a discriminative project totally contradictory to its essential

principles. Secondly, even if we ignore the political aspect of the initiative, the

modification of municipal borders did not fall in the competencies of the local government;

let alone the city council. The competency of such a decision belonged to the central

government who had not expressed any intention to do so. Therefore, it was not quite

rational for the city council to deliberate an issue that did not legally exist. In any case, the

session did not allow any kind of deliberation: the governor presented his project, the

mayors (7 minutes for each) and the representatives of the political parties (3 minutes for

each) expressed their opinions and the session was closed. Consequently, the only session

between April 2001 and January 2003 was seen as part of a political manipulation plan;

needless to say, exactly the opposite of the Council’s founding principles.

The final straw that transformed the ‘cold war’ between the metropolitan mayor and

the elected general secretary of LA21 into an actual confrontation came on January 22nd,

2003 during the fourth session of the Council. The agenda of the meeting consisted only

one item “The approaching war on Irak and its consequences on Mersin and Turkey.” In

fact, even without the incidents that we shall discuss below, such a session of the platform

would be problematic since there seemed to be no intention of facilitating the participation

179

of citizens in the local affairs. Instead, three university scholars were invited to discuss the

eventual consequences of the approaching war. However, there was a surprise waiting for

the participants of the council. The president of the university had vetoed the names

determined by the executive committee64 and proposed three other scholars for discussing

the issue. Without notifying any other members of the committee, the general secretary had

accepted the president’s proposition.

Naturally, such a fait-à-complit in a platform that was supposed to promote the

participatory democracy in the city was inadmissible. As anyone would expect, the session

was opened by very severe critics towards the general secretary by the other members of

the executive committee as well as the other members of the Council. One of the vice-

general secretaries resigned immediately from his position and left the meeting to protest

the decision taken solely by the general secretary. Following the session during which

protests increased due to the poor quality of the presentations given by the orators, a

media-war was launched. The resigned vice-general secretary accused openly the general

secretary for using the Council for his own political ambitions. Responding to these

accusations, the latter blamed the metropolitan mayor for attempting to manipulate the

council and held him responsible for the immobilisation of the platform. The mayor, in his

turn, qualified the general secretary’s behaviours as a political show aiming at the

promotion of his political candidacy and gathered the assembly of presidents to call for an

extraordinary session of the general assembly to renew the elections65. In fact, these

elections never took place due to the ambiguities in the constitution that allowed only the

general secretary to appeal for an extraordinary session and that did not envisage a system

of recalling for the elected posts. Consequently, the City Council of Mersin had been

brought to an absolute immobility due to these severe conflicts among the principal actors

of the local politics.

The final scene of this conflict was played out in the summer of 2003 by a new

organisational scandal that occurred in the working group of women. Before discussing

64 In fact, the political tension between these three scholars and the direction of the university was no secret to anyone. 65 The fact that this decision was the third official decision of the organ demonstrates to what extend MCC was unfunctional.

180

this event, we would better mention the situation related to the working groups of the

LA21 in Mersin.

Working groups:

Following the exemplary experience of Bursa, the LA21 of Mersin introduced also

thematic working groups on nine different issues. Out of these nine groups, only four of

them could be formally established; the other five remained on paper. But, even the formal

establishment did not bring about effectively operational working groups. As a matter of

fact, during our fieldwork, there seemed to be only two working groups: one on the

environment and the other on women, each assembling a dozen of members; almost all

women.

The working group on environment appeared the only functioning unit of the LA21,

the city council included. At least, there was a concrete project about which the members

of the group were enthusiastic. The initiative consisted of a local campaign on the

collection of solid waste for recycling purposes. The members of the group in cooperation

with the local authorities and civil organisations working on ecological issues informed the

women in the selected three neighbourhoods on the benefits of recycling as well as the

method to select the recyclable waste. Garbage bags were also distributed for this purpose.

With the earned money from the recycled wastes, the working group planned to help

children living in the streets. Yet, just after the project was actually initiated by the

collection of solid wastes, it appeared that the municipality had already contracted out the

collect and the recycling of these solid wastes and that the working group had no right to

do so. Fortunately, with an accord reached by the private contractor, the wastes collected

within the project was to be delivered to the latter who in turn engaged himself to

contribute financially to the efforts towards the street-children. Since then, the project

continued on this basis and actually achieved significant successes in raising consciousness

on the importance of recycling as well as in helping the street children.

The second working group, that of women, reflected a much more animated profile,

albeit not necessarily in terms of democracy or efficiency. Enjoying the national dynamism

on the women activities, the working group of women was founded just after the launching

of the project in Mersin. Although there was a great interest displayed towards the platform

by the local NGOs and individual volunteers in the beginning, most of these initial

181

participants distanced themselves from the group because of persisting internal conflicts.

Nevertheless, the remaining members continued to gather periodically perhaps because of

the presence of actual motives to stay in such as the trips and other activities undertaken

within the national festival framework. Even the metropolitan mayor, having cut all its

contributions to the process, accepted to finance these trips of the group. But the internal

tensions continued to rise to reach a climax in the summer 2003.

In June 2003, the working group of women organised its internal election to

determine a new president as well as the executive committee of the platform. The old

president lost the elections against another member but did not accept the result claiming

that her opponent had benefited from the support of some voters who did not have the right

to participate in the elections. According to her, these voters were in fact the friends of her

opponent who had never participated in the activities of the group and came only to

support their friend. Indeed, the internal statute of the group did not formally determined

the conditions of membership and thus of voting ability since it was founded on the

volunteering of city’s residents. Thus, the losing president could not claim the illegality of

the elections but insisted on its illegitimacy. Yet, the winning candidate did not accept

these accusations and claimed her presidency. But what is more interesting in this conflict

is that both candidates found support from other local actors since the evoked conflict

between the general secretary and the metropolitan mayor was directly reproduced in this

occasion. Hence, the former supported the old president by declaring the invalidity of

electoral results whereas the metropolitan mayor recognised the elected members as the

executive committee of the group. Consequently, the group was totally divided into two in

the personalities of the self-declared presidents.

Perhaps one of the main factors inciting internal conflict within the women’s

working group was the fact that Mersin was scheduled to host one of the preparatory

meetings of the National Women’s Festival in late June. Perhaps both contenders saw it as

a great opportunity for their self-promotion in local politics since both of them were active

in the local branch of the same political party. However, this sudden breaking-out of a

division within the group reversed all the plans as the meeting never took place.

The metropolitan mayor had in any case never supported the initiative of hosting the

preparatory meeting in his city. In responding to the official demand of the general

secretariat of LA21 for financial and logistical support to the organisation of the meeting,

182

he had stated that he could not contribute to or take part in the organisation of the meeting

since the partnership of the municipality with the LA21 project has not yet been

officialised. It is rather intriguing to observe such a declaration from someone who had

personally initiated the process in the city and has been the ex officio president of its City

Council. Despite the indifference even the hostility of the metropolitan mayor, the

women’s group managed to gather adequate resources and means to host the visiting LA21

women groups from all around the country. Yet, the mayor was determined to prevent the

organisation of the meeting that he probably perceived as a big opportunity for his political

opponent, the general secretary of LA21.

As a matter of fact, only a few days before the meeting when all preparations were

undertaken, the national coordinators of the LA21 Project cancelled the organisation due to

a request made by the metropolitan mayor as the president of the local LA21 Council. In

other words, the mayor who had denied the legal existence of a partnership between the

LA21 program and his municipality, seemed to change totally his opinion by demanding

the cancellation of the organisation as the president of the process. The national

coordination accepted his demand not to deepen the local conflict and to avoid the national

women’s initiative from becoming a pawn in such personal confrontations. Considering

this decision as the non-recognition of the civil organisation of the city, the general

secretary resigned from his post with severe criticism towards the mayor and the national

coordination. The LA21 process of Mersin was thus definitively halted since the internal

regulations of the process did not foresee such crises and thus the organisation of

precipitated election of its executive organs.

Given the observed conflicts and practical problems in the LA21 experience in

Mersin, we can state that the formal introduction of participatory practices in the city has

been far from bringing about significant democratic changes within the local politics. The

LA21 project did not manage to overcome the personal contentions to provide a new venue

where the local actors and citizens could have reached a consensus on city’s problems and

develop strategies to fight against them. Far from enabling a mobilisation that would

permit the undertaking of collective activities within the city, the introduced institutions

appeared to reproduce and even multiply the political and personal struggles among city’s

main actors. In short, the LA21 experience in Mersin turned out to be a total failure in

bringing about a democratic change in local politics.

183

Conclusion

When the LA21 experiences in Bursa and Mersin are compared, the dissimilarity

should be obvious for every one. The LA21 mechanisms such as the city council, working

groups and district organisations in Bursa have significantly contributed to the association

of civil organisations and the fellow citizens to the decision-making processes of the local

government. Even if they are not legally annexed to the traditional political structures, the

success of including civil organisations and citizens in the new participatory platforms

obliged the former to consider the expressed preferences and proposed strategies of these

new bodies. Moreover, the developed projects and realised activities of the LA21

mechanisms have no doubt contributed to the improvement of local socio-cultural

environment and to the resolution of specific problems. Last but not the least, the fact that

citizens have acquired very important experiences in democratic deliberations and

collective undertakings represents indeed a non-negligible development of their personal

skills and capabilities in socio-political domains. In short, the democratic impact of LA21

project in Bursa can not be ignored.

On the other side of our comparison, we find Mersin where the participatory spirit of

the LA21 project did not appear to be translated into concrete democratic undertakings.

Trapped by political confrontations among the local actors, these mechanisms either did

not ever become operational or were rapidly immobilised by enduring conflicts and crises.

The mechanisms have been victim of numerous attempts of instrumentalisation in the

name of personal ambitions in politics. Observing disappointedly the transformation of

these new platforms to a political arena of personal confrontations, the civil organisations

and citizens gradually distanced themselves from these mechanisms. In the end, the LA21

was left to a handful of local actors who attempted to use these new organs either as

rhetorical or practical arms and shields. The experience was finally blocked entirely in the

summer of 2003. Even though there have been further attempts to revitalise the process,

there has been no significant outcome as of this writing.

Given these dissimilar participatory tales of two cities, we argue that the democratic

impact of LA21 has been incomparably greater in Bursa than Mersin. We would like to

underline that this statement does not mean that the LA21 experience of Bursa represents a

perfect example of a participatory democracy. Our intention is neither to present the

experience of Bursa as an ideal type nor to compare it with such an ideal. We acknowledge

184

perfectly that when compared with some famous examples of participatory democracy

such as the participatory budget of Porto Alegre, Bursa might have seemed too preliminary

to represent a new political structuring in which the majority of city residents are involved

actively and continuously. Our argument is simply that when the political conditions and

traditions of Turkey are considered, the democratic impact of LA21 experience of Bursa

should not be neglected. Moreover, when compared with another specific case as Mersin,

the importance of the achievements of Bursa should be further acknowledged.

Therefore, we argue that the LA21 experience of Bursa represents a relative success

in introducing and developing local participatory mechanisms rather than an ideal example

of such undertakings. It is a veritable relative success when compared to other national

cases.

185

II. Second Part: A tale of two cities: leaders, societies and coalitions

186

I - Does Leadership Matter?

In the first part of our discussion, we have underlined the neo-liberal turn in the

public administration bringing about a shift to governance models as well as to the new

public management principles. We have already stated that the growing emphasis on the

three E’s (economy, efficiency and effectiveness) of this administrative shift does not

necessarily lead to a democratic evolution even if the related discussions never abstain

referring to terms like participation, cooperation, partnership, public involvement etc.

Instead, the executive organs of political institutions have been strengthened in order to

facilitate more managerial government styles. This shift to more executive-oriented models

is best illustrated by the change in local governmental systems. The strengthening of

mayors in a number of European countries, be it by formal reinforcement of his

competencies and the weakening those of the councils or simply by their direct election,

are observed through a general wave of local governmental reforms66. Even in contexts

where this executive oriented shift has not yet taken place so remarkably, the importance

of individual leadership has been accentuated since the growing fragmentation and

complexity of public institutions necessitate the integrating role of leaders to let individuals

and organisations work together (Borraz: 2003 and Borraz and John: 2004).

Nevertheless, we have to acknowledge that in parallel to this managerial, executive

tendency, there has been a growing demand in the public opinion for more participatory

practices as well as more open, accountable and responsive governments. In other words,

executive and participative dimensions of local government which might have been

considered as contradictory in the past, are simultaneously highlighted and discussed. It

might even be argued that local political power is personalized and pluralized by the same

token. In fact, Hambleton (2002 and 2005) combines these two independent but also

interrelated dynamics in his “New City Management” approach. According to the author,

this new approach goes beyond the development of an array of managerial tools for urban

governance by changing the role of political leaders through the promotion of innovation

66 For a rich discussion of these reforms in Europe and in the United States, see Berg and Rao: 2005 and for general concluding remarks see particularly Larsen’s chapter in the book.

187

in politics of place as well as innovation in public service management. In other terms, it is

concerned with democratic renewal as wall as with public service effectiveness

(Hambleton, 2002: 157).

Even if the liberalism of the New Public Management seems to be softened by the

New City Management approach, the role of leaders will remain as the major determinant

of the new administrative scheme. Therefore, be it in the name of a more managerial public

administration or a more democratic government, we witness a growing importance of

individual leadership, hence the multiplication of studies on the issue (Berg and Rao (eds.):

2005; Haus, Heinelt and Stewart (eds): 2005; Getimis, Heinelt and Sweeting (eds.): 2006).

In parallel to this institutional evolution highlighting the role of political leadership

at national as well as local political scenes but also due to other local, thus specific factors,

local leadership has been also emphasised in the Turkish context. As we have already

stated in the related chapter, since the 1980s, mayors enjoy a growing influence at the local

political scene thanks to the improvement of financial and administrative autonomies of the

municipalities. The changing role of mayors from simple public service-delivery agents to

powerful political entrepreneurs deserves a closer regard.

These two lines of evolution, one on a worldwide scope through a wave of

institutional changes and another on the national context through the enhanced influence of

local leaders, lead us to associate our discussion to the growing literature on leadership.

Hence, in this chapter, we shall look for clues related to this leadership approach that could

be used to explain the observed dissimilarity between Bursa and Mersin. For this purpose,

we shall first provide a rapid overview of the state of art on the issue and then associate

these theoretical statements to our observations on Mr. Erdem Saker and Mr. Macit Ozcan,

mayors of Bursa and Mersin respectively.

A - Who is a leader, what is a leadership ?

The most basic way of naming a leader would be to look at the legal framework and

to see who holds the formal power. The mayor would be obviously the first local actor to

be considered as the local leader. Yet, as the community power literature reveals there

might be a number of other actors enjoying a de facto power at the local political scene,

businessmen making use of their financial resources, local party organisation mobilising

188

various electoral machines or bureaucrats taking advantage of their administrative

competencies or that of general bureaucratic system may appear to be more influential in

determining the way things evolve in local politics67. The formal leaders may turn out to be

wholly dependent on other actors or forces. Thus, there is a need to underline that

leadership behaviour is not always exhibited by individuals in formal leadership position

(Leach and Wilson, 2000: 8). Therefore, those who formally occupy a leader seat might

not necessarily dispose significant power bases and thus execute an actual leadership and

vice versa.

What is then a leadership behaviour that could be displayed independently from

formal positions? Burns (1978) answers this question by first presenting his understanding

of power process that can be summed up as a collective relationship involving an intention

or purpose between power holders and recipients. More precisely, it is a process “in which

power holders, possessing certain motives and goals, have the capacity to secure changes

in the behaviour of a respondent…by utilising resources in their power base, including

factors of skill, relative to targets of their power-wielding and necessary to secure such

changes” (Burns, 1978: 13). Indeed, leadership is simply the exercise of this power; in

Burns’s (1978: 425) own words, it is “the reciprocal process of mobilising; by persons with

certain motives and values, various economic, political, and other resources, in a context of

competition and conflict, in order to realize goals independently or mutually held by both

leaders and followers.”

The particularity of Burn’s approach to leadership as well as to power is that it does

not consider the followers as pacified actors who are bought, persuaded, frightened,

confused, fascinated etc. to act in a way that they would not do if the power-holder had not

intervened. In his understanding, leadership is the ability to mobilise followers for certain

goals that relate to their wants and needs, their aspirations and expectations. Therefore, it is

inseparable from followers’ needs and goals; it is a kind of mobilisation rather than

coercion as is the case with the naked power (Burns; 1978: 439). Burns arrives thus to a

very compact definition of leadership: a collectively purposeful causation (Burns, 1978:

434); collective because the leaders, in responding nonetheless to their own motives,

67 The different approaches in the community power literature will be discussed more thoroughly in the last chapter.

189

appeal to the motive bases of potential followers (p. 452); purposeful since it is goal-

oriented by pointing in a direction and by being the vehicle of continuing and achieving

purpose (p. 455); and finally it is a causation since the real leadership is tested by the

extend of real and intended change achieved by leaders’ interactions with followers

through the use of their power bases (p. 434).

Figure 6. Burn’s approach to leadership

Re-defined in such a tri-dimensional perspective, Burn’s understanding of leadership

goes beyond the classical dichotomy between behavioural and structural factors that

constitutes the Janus of the study of political leadership in Jones’s terms (1989: 3). When

we examine the faces of this Janus of leadership, on one façade, we observe the emphasise

of personal characteristics of the leader; it is leader’s personality, ability and attitude that

determines the exercise of leadership. At the extreme pole of this approach, one can find

Weber’s charismatic authority that is founded upon “a certain quality of an individual

personality by virtue of which he is set apart from ordinary men and treated as endowed

with supernatural, superhuman, or at least specifically exceptional powers or qualities”

(Weber, 1947: 358). In this sense, the charisma represents a divine or exceptional personal

resource for leadership. However, the legitimacy of such a leadership does not stem from

this charisma, but rather from the duty of those who are called to follow the person that had

proven her exceptionality always by a miracle. In other words, the former does not follow

the leader, but rather act in a total devotion. In any case, the interaction between the leader

Interaction

Purposefulness Causation

Leadership

190

and followers stems directly from individual attributes of the person who is considered as

the leader of the community.

The behavioural approach is not obviously exempted from serious critics and

oppositions which can be regrouped through three different lines of objection (Greenstain,

1986). First, the randomness of the distribution of personality characteristics in

institutional roles is argued to be an invalidating factor of personal behaviours. According

to this analytical posture, the extra-personal factors play the major role in the recruitment

for institutional positions, thus minimising the influence of personal attributes in the

determination of major social status. More simply put, if the individual characteristics are

not actually enough to obtain an adequate institutional position that would let the

translation of these personal attributes to an exercise of a real leadership, how can we

consider these characteristics as the main source of leadership?

A second objection highlights the influence of social rather than personal

characteristics; that is to say the attitudes of an actor are more determined by her prior

social experiences, social environment than her personality. Therefore, instead of

concentrating on the impact of personality, we ought to find out the social factors that

bring about the practice of leadership. These two lines of criticism do not actually question

the role that can be played individuals within the political processes. For example, when

the first group of objections is reconsidered, we have to acknowledge the fact that people

with perhaps identical personal qualities can not necessarily play a similar role in politics,

but this fact does not nullify the importance of personalities; it shows that the latter is

dependent or at least interrelated with other variables. The same argument can be used for

the second, social characteristics objection since when the personal attributes are

considered we do not necessarily think about the inborn particularities of persons. Be it

biologically determined, pedagogically taught or socially acquired; what counts is the

personal particularity of a specific personage; the background of such features does not

necessarily fall in the discussion of leadership if the analysis is not prone to be prescriptive

or descriptive.

In this sense, the third cluster of arguments that Greenstein regroups under what he

calls “action dispensability” is quite different than the first two since it either minimises the

probable impact of a single person on the events or if played, the independence of that role

from the personal characteristics. Very roughly put, this line of objection argues that it is

191

the history that makes the leaders and not the inverse; so it represents the structural pole of

the pendulum of discussions on political leadership taking us to the second face of the

Janus of leadership. Therefore, the individual actions undertaken by specific actors do not

represent an actual impact on the making of history. It is the structural circumstances of a

given period of time that determines the direction of events. The emergence of a big leader

is not thus the origin but only the consequence of this structural conjuncture.

Burn’s understanding of leadership differs from both of these behavioural and

structural approaches. Instead of emphasising structural elements such as the systemic,

institutional or functional aggregations or behavioural aspects such as motivations,

perceptions, knowledge and skills, Burns focuses on both dimensions by considering them

as a collective resource pool that is to be mobilised for leaders’ and followers’ motives. In

this sense, it is not important whether the source of leadership is personal or structural;

what rather deserves an attention how these different resources are mobilised for specific

ends.

Burn’s understanding of leadership that highlights the factors of interaction,

resources and goal-orientation makes us think of Lagroye’s conclusion on leadership that

interprets it as a form of social configuration in which “the relations between actors tend to

grant to one of them a dominant position, because the latter is perceived and presented as

indispensable to the continuation of beneficial relations, instituted as the guarantor of a

system which ensures all players’ (at least they believe) presence in the common games,

the safeguarding or improvement of their positions, the vital satisfaction of their interests

and the legitimation of their practices and the values to which they are attached (Lagroye’s,

2003: 53).”

This definition of leadership by Lagroye reflects in fact his scepticism towards the

consideration of the term as a scientific concept or notion. Hence, according the author,

leadership can not be elaborated as a theoretical framework per se and has to be examined

by referring to “notions éprouvées” 68 of the political science. The adoption of such a

methodology would be most probably more frequent in the structural façade of our Janus

68 « …les rapports entre groupes dominants, l’imbrication des activités économiques, sociales et politiques, les intérêts et les croyances des acteurs, l’idéologie diffuse qui sourd des relations sociales et en légitime la forme contingente » (Lagroye, 2003 : 52).

192

of leadership since there is obviously a great richness of conceptual instruments (e.g. class

conflict, socioeconomic development, path dependency etc.) in discussing the structural

particularities of a given context. The methodology applied in the behavioural elaboration

of leadership can be summarised as the normative appraisal of the great heroes of the

history and their extraordinary achievements. The study of leadership becomes the

narration of remarkable case studies.

Our intention is neither to underplay the role of individuals in the name of a

structural analyse nor to draw up a heroic story of particular actors. In order to see, whether

the leadership styles of the mayors of Bursa and Mersin have actually determined the

impact of LA21 processes, we shall simply juxtapose them by making use of further

conceptual references. Therefore, instead of developing separately personal monographs of

the mayors, we prefer to structure the discussion through three main dimensions, namely

personal background, political careers and international contacts. On each dimension, the

mayors will be compared to identify their contrasting characteristics, which might have

affected the LA21 experience.

B - A comparative analysis of mayors’ leadership styles in Bursa and Mersin

1) Leadership as habitus:

In discussing different types of leadership, Burns distinguishes executive leadership

from party and parliamentary leaders due the lack of reliable political and institutional

support as well as the dependence on bureaucratic resources such as staff and budget of the

former. In the absence of an adequate machinery (such as a political party or a legislative

bodies totally in their service)69, executive leaders may have great troublesome in

accomplishing the functions of leadership. Their most important resource in doing so is

their own talent and character, prestige and popularity; in short nothing other than

themselves (Burns, 1978: 371-372).

69 Writing particularly on the American context, Burns seems to disregard the possibility of fusion of executive, parliamentary and partisan powers as is a frequent case in the European context. Nevertheless, since we are rather interested in the local level, the assumption holds to be valid for our discussion.

193

Mayors are no doubt the executive leaders by excellence at the local level. Even if

it is not actually possible to argue that they totally lack institutional and political resources,

their personal attributes represent the most important source of their influence. As a matter

of fact, almost all of our interlocutors in Bursa associated the relative success of LA21 in

the city to Mr. Saker’s personal background. It is generally argued that his mandate was

significantly marked by his stable professional career that deserves to be discussed in the

first hand. Yet, before actually discussing our cases, we should perhaps summarise the

main functions of a leader to be able to have some points of reference in identifying the

leadership capabilities of our respective mayors.

Indeed, Leach and Wilson (2000) identify four major key tasks of mayors.

According the authors, the first task of a mayor would be the maintenance of cohesiveness

within the party group, local party organisation, the municipal administration or between

the former two. Second, mayors should be able to initiate new policies, develop strategies

and/or set their proper agenda to mark their difference in government. Thirdly, they ought

to represent their localities in the external world. And finally, they must ensure the

accomplishment of the tasks that fall under their responsibility and competence (Leach and

Wilson, 2000: 14-16). As a matter of fact, Leach and Wilson’s approach to leadership tasks

-the representation in the external world excepted70- is quite similar to Burn’s triangular

definition since the task of cohesiveness relates to interaction, the political innovation to

purposefulness and the ensuring of executive tasks to the causation. In other words, Burns’

definition of leadership reveals implicitly its major tasks.

The question at this point of our discussion on leadership is not whether mayors or

other political actors manage or not to carry out the totally of these functions. There is

indeed no “one best way” to perform these tasks that would enable us to conceive a pattern

of good leadership. Depending on the contexts and on particular priorities, there could be

numerous appropriate ways to fulfil these key tasks. Nevertheless, we can refer to a major

distinction of leadership styles between transactional and transformational leadership

conceptualised by Burns (1978). According to the author, transactional leadership is

founded on –as its name reveals- transaction, on the exchange of economic, political or

70 The representation in the external world is indeed a very particular task of local leaders and thus can not be expected to be present in a very general definition.

194

psychological goods; the whole interaction is a bargaining process that does not bond the

leader and the followers beyond the goods exchanged. It does not represent a joint effort

for common aims acting for the collective interests of followers, but rather a bargain to aid

the individual interest of persons or groups going their separate ways (Burns, 1978: 425).

In contrast, transforming leadership is founded on mutual engagement of leader and

followers for a common purpose without actually seeking counterweights in the bargaining

process; they raise one another to higher levels of motivation and morality (Burns, 1978:

19-20). It represents an alteration or elevation of motives, values and the goals of

followers. The outcome is a “relationship of mutual stimulation and elevation that converts

followers into leaders and leaders into moral agents” (Burns, 1978: 4).

When the four key tasks identified by Leach and Wilson are re-considered within

Burns’s transaction/transformation perspective we see that all these functions can be

indeed carried out either way. As a matter of fact, the cohesiveness might be maintained by

permanent negotiations or by assembling the parties around new ideas and projects by

highlighting common objectives. Similarly, the new strategies and policies proposed by the

mayor could be marked by ‘give and takes’ among different actors or by transformative

features that go beyond the particular interests of the concerned parties. In the same way,

representing the authority in the external world can be a mere presence or a strategy in

finding new resources or methods in other parts of the country and the world. Finally, the

task accomplishment could similarly represent an instrument of transaction (e.g. in the

form of meeting a request of a group of actors) or of transformation.

Having provided a broad framework of leadership functions, we can now pursue

our discussion by presenting empirical observations directly from our case studies. In this

first section, we shall focus directly on the personalities of our mayors in two different

perspectives. Hence we shall first examine their personal histories before proceeding to

their proper personalities .

a) Personal backgrounds

After graduating from the prestigious Civil Engineering Faculty of Istanbul

Technical University in 1959, Mr. Erdem Saker, the mayor of Bursa between 1994 and

1999, was recruited as project engineer by the State Waterworks (DSI) where he had

already been working as an intern for two years. Very rapidly, he became the regional

195

director of the institution in 1971; a post that he held continuously for 23 years until 1994.

Such a professional experience was without any doubt one of his most important assets for

diverse reasons.

First of all, as being the director of Bursa’s region of DSI, he

acquired an immense acquaintance on the city’s problems and needs. In

any case even without such a long professional career, he would not

totally be a stranger of the city since he was born and grown up in Bursa.

As a successful technocrat, he is known as the person who solved

Bursa’s problem of potable water by establishing first a provisory system

based on water pits and then by the construction of the Dam of Doganci. He was so

interested in local problems that he was even criticised by his superiors for going beyond

his technocratic competencies:

“…when I was still at DSI, the minister of public works of the period said one day: ‘It seems that you had misled us, director.’ When I asked the reason, he said that what we had being doing were not the duties of DSI but of the municipality. ‘You are right, Mr. Minister’ I replied ‘officially, these are the duties of the municipality. For example, the municipality should have constructed the pipes that are connected to the refinement plant. However, if we had waited for the municipality to construct them, the dam as well as the plant would have not been operational; citizens would not have potable water…’ It’s true that we had gone beyond our competencies at the time…I did my duty to the inhabitants of Bursa. I do not regret it.”71

In all these projects and during all these years, he was in close relation with all local

bureaucrats and politicians; during his directorate, he worked with six mayors and ten

governors. Thus, even before becoming the metropolitan mayor of Bursa, he had not only a

clear idea on the city and its problems, but also a respected reputation among local

bureaucrats and politicians, a very valuable social capital that would no doubt facilitate his

mandate as the metropolitan mayor of Bursa. By already possessing such close contacts

with local actors, he must have more easily established a sustained interaction with the

latter and secured a more effective cohesion; two factors that foretell the signs of his strong

leadership.

On the other hand, the metropolitan mayor of Mersin has a quite different personal

background. First of all, he was neither born nor grown up in Mersin though he had not

been a total stranger; Mr. Macit Ozcan is from the neighbouring city, Adana, where he was

71 http://www.yenibursa.com/index.php?mod=Soylesi&Soylesi=12.

196

born in 1954 and pursued all his studies, university included. After

graduating from the university as a civil engineer in 1975, he worked for

various public institutions. It is interesting to note that he changed his post

almost once a year. In 1982, he resigned from his post and started to work

for diverse private companies as a construction supervisor until 1984.

After getting occupied with commercial business for the following couple

of years, he became interested in public works and obtained a number of

state contracts mainly in the surroundings of Nigde, a central Anatolian

city. During these years of state-contracting, he was accused of being involved in corrupted

activities; he was even banned from all public offers in the year of 200372.

The professional stability and expertise of Mr. Saker is not thus observed in the

background of Mr. Ozcan who unlike the former, was employed in diverse public

institutions before becoming a private entrepreneur, albeit closely associated to public

affairs. They both realized public works, but while it was a duty of service for the former,

for the latter it seemed to be mainly an economic activity. Moreover, neither the

bureaucratic past nor the private undertakings do not seem to familiarise Mr. Ozcan to the

problems and the needs of the city that he would govern from 1999 and on. The managerial

experiences of both mayors also contradict since Mr. Ozcan’s past consists mainly of quite

small-scaled activities that would not necessarily lead to very developed managerial skills.

Nevertheless, it would not be just to argue that his past career did not have any

impact on his leadership style. All through those years during which he had been a

contractor of the state, he must have acquired a great know-how in more obscure aspects of

public works and bureaucratic functioning given the scope of illegal and illegitimate

interactions within the public contracting has been remarkably large in Turkey. As we have

noted above, there are obvious evidences revealing Mr. Ozcan’s involvement in such

illegitimate activities. His experience in abusing the legal lacunas or concealing the

illegitimate acts must have enabled him to master the clientelist networks in which he

became the absolute patron thanks to his control on the local resources. In other words,

72 E-mail correspondence with a local journalist (May 2005) who states ironically that “mayor Ozcan would not be able to work with contractor Ozcan.”

197

after long years of being a client, he became a veritable patron of such relationships

founded mainly on public contracts.

If we turn back to Mr. Saker, it seems that his area of expertise, the waterworks, also

contributed to his personal capabilities. In his words, “as being an engineer, [he] struggled

against the nature all through [his] life, especially during the years at DSI, and thus learned

how to overcome the factors decelerating or impeding [his] efforts73.” Thanks to such a

permanent struggle against the natural conditions in his professional past, he developed

management skills that would be useful during his municipal mandate. An example for

such skills might be the ability to think and plan in a long-term perspective:

“In DSI, when you enter to a river basin, you have to prepare immediately a thorough project even for a task that will be completed in 40 years. Then you start working from a point. At first, you plan the first ten years. While realising that first stage, the conditions change; consequently you revise the project according to these changing conditions… Nevertheless, an initial macro perspective is indispensable74.”

In order to be able to adopt such a long-term perspective, Mr Saker first re-activated

the office of local planning and then transformed it to a municipal directorate consisted of

experts of the issue. He closely cooperated with professional chambers and particularly

with university. His objective was to realise a thorough diagnostics on the problems of the

city, then develop adequate strategies and policies to solve these problems and finally

establish functional organisations that would enable the realisation of determined policies.

For this, such structural adjustments were more than necessary since:

“…be it social or economic issues, be it the government of a country or of a city, the establishment of systems, systems that can function independently from actors, is essential. During my rule of five years, I aimed at establishing such systems. I wanted them to be so well-established that they do not degenerate when others intervene ultimately75.”

Saker’s remarkable concern for establishing systems with the objective of preventing

the later degeneration reminds directly Selznick’s (1984) emphasise for the importance of

institutionalisation of organisations: “the more precise an organisation’s goals, and the

more specialized and technical its operations, the less opportunity will there be for social

73 Interview with Erdem Saker, July 29th, 2003; Istanbul. 74 Interview with Erdem Saker, http://www.yenibursa.com/index.php?mod=Soylesi&Soylesi=12 last consulted June 17th, 2005. 75 Interview with Erdem Saker, July 29th, 2003; Istanbul.

198

forces to affect its development” (p. 16). Yet, this institutional process is not merely a

technical endeavour since it represents also the infusion of the organisation with values (p.

17) so that it embodies the aspirations of its members and obtains a common identity.

Individuals sharing those values are not any more simple technicians carrying out a given

task, but persons enjoying a great satisfaction from what they are doing for the

organisation. According to the author, the main agent of this evolution from organisation to

institutional is the leader that offers “a guiding hand to a process that would otherwise

occur more haphazardly, more readily subject to the accidents of circumstance and history

(p. 27).”

The “institutionalisation” of the municipal organisation under Saker’s rule through

can be best observed through his attitudes to the municipal employees. Instead of following

the tradition of ‘spoil-system’, he kept, to a large extent, the personnel of the previous

mayor and imposed them four principles: honesty, productivity and being apolitical as well

as hardworking. He argues that all the employees who respected these principles had

maintained their posts and even ascended in the municipal hierarchy (Saker, 2000: 39). If

we think in Selznick’s terms, these four principles represent the values fused to the

municipal organisation for achieve its institutionalisation. This process was highly

important for Saker since what he aimed for the government of Bursa was a team-task and

thus absolutely not a personalised rule:

“I don’t remember anything during my rule that I regretted afterwards since every step we took was a product of hard work. They were not decisions that I took alone. They issued from conclusions reached by a large municipal team and I believe sincerely in the adequacy of the accomplished projects. Therefore, I feel comfortable about what we had done between 1994 and 1999; I am even proud of them (Saker, 2000:53)”

Saker’s concern was not only to establish a functioning system, but also to determine

a strategic framework that would let the municipality determine and achieve its policies.

This is exactly what Leach and Wilson (2000: 76-77) call strategic direction identified by

core values, strategic vision and strategic responses. In Saker’s example, this strategic

framework consisted of –in addition to the governmental principles that we cited above-

clearly identified objectives, determined policies and ad hoc measures. This political

framework when combined with an exemplary municipal team enabled Erdem Saker to a

veritable managerial success.

199

For the case of Mersin, the situation was contradictory since the mayor has governed

the city in a more personal and spontaneous manner. Far from aiming at the establishment

of autonomously running system and of general principles, he had even attempted to by-

pass the legally protected schemes about the personnel regime of the municipalities. Since

municipal employees enjoy a civil servant status, the scope of mayor’s competencies on

their internal status is not indefinite. However, Mr. Ozcan was creative enough to by-pass

these legal restrictions. Instead of struggling with municipal bureaucrats, he established a

de facto signature competency to his personal consultants. He declared that the documents

without the signatures of his consultants would not be valid even when they were approved

by municipal bureaucrats. This practice created a significant internal conflict between

municipal bureaucrats and consultants of the mayor. The system was paralysed and even

the most ordinary tasks were hardly realised. Finally, after three and a half years of conflict

and struggle, the Mr. Ozcan had no choice but to abandon the practice of consultants’

signature (Interview # 90).

Even this very simple example reveals to what extend Mr. Ozcan was not eager to

undertake an institutionalisation of the municipal organisation. Far from strengthening the

formal functioning by determining and imposing institutional principles, he favoured a

more arbitrary rule identified by individual decisions taken mostly by himself or his

personal consultants. We have to acknowledge that such a managerial orientation is in fact

mandatory if what is at stake is the subsistence of clientelist networks. If one aims at

maintaining his patronal status, informal and arbitrary practices have to be encouraged so

that clients comprehend well that it is the patron in person rather than intangible rules and

principles that determine eventual municipal policies and practices.

b) Personal characteristics

Such a difference in the governing styles of the mayors is obviously associated to

their personal characteristics which had been probably determined also by their

professional backgrounds. Mr. Saker has been for example renowned for his self-

confidence acquired during decades of experience in regional bureaucracy:

“Erdem Saker had a personal quality; he was determined and self-confident. In other words, he trusted in his experience and he could struggle. I am not one of his electors; I do not agree with his opinions, nevertheless I appreciated his determined personality (Interview # 70).”

200

As the quotation illustrates, even the ones who do not politically appreciate the

mayor of Bursa, cannot avoid respecting his self-confidence and self determination.

Although these personal features might have been sometimes considered as the signs of an

authoritarian rule, Mr. Saker has been always identified with his openness to

communication and deliberation:

“He was a despotic manager, very despotic. I mean, an intriguing character, I would like you to know him. Someone who had worked for 35 years in the same institution and during 25 years of this period as a regional director starts suddenly governing a municipality, an institution in which democratic principles are essential. He could not distinguish the difference in these institutions, though he could do the following: to fight on an issue, but to cooperate on another…I have never sympathized politically with him, but he is a very good friend of mine. I fought too much with him, but it is a pleasure even to fight with Erdem Saker... We could not hit each other, but we hit the table with our fists to show our anger. Nevertheless, each time, we left the room hand in hand and we could cooperate with pleasure on another issue. He was apt to such relations (Interview # 56).”

Similar quotations might have been multiplied, but the idea is obvious: Mr. Erdem is

unanimously respected because on the one hand he is determined and confident, even

sometimes authoritarian; on the other hand open to communication and discussion, and

ready to defend his arguments against his opponents. Of course, it would be an

exaggeration to claim that all the decisions of his mandate were made in a veritable

democratic manner. However, even the local opposition acknowledges the fact that he was

always ready to discuss the issues on the agenda rather than making the decisions behind

closed doors:

“We had criticized Mr Saker a lot; he always gave a response to us. We could at least share a common language; we could ultimately agree on a common position. Somehow he seemed much more sincere to us (Interview # 113).”

On the same issue, one of our interviewees adds how accessible he was:

“Everbody could reach Mr. Saker Erdem because he was in relation with the public throughout his professional career. He had a political past which had taught him how to keep in touch with the people (Interview # 29).”

Such permanent links with the public represent also a valuable leadership quality.

Indeed, as Burns (1978: 374) states clearly, the effectiveness of a leadership is highly

associated to leader’s ability to communicate with a variety of people of widely different

background, temperament, interest and attitude. As the quotations reveal well, Mr. Saker is

highly appreciated in his manner of dealing with local actors independent from whether or

201

not a common consensus is formed. Such a quality of interpersonal relations presents a

very valuable personal resource that enhances Mr. Saker’s leadership capabilities.

While self-determination and democratic aptitudes of Mr. Saker is highly

appreciated in Bursa, in Mersin Mr. Ozcan has represented quite a contrast in terms of

individual personality. He is considered almost unanimously by our interlocutors in the

city as an asocial person lacking any kind of self-confidence and managerial vision.

Governing the city thanks to a political machine based on patronage relations if not

corrupted interactions, he has never taken part in democratic deliberations where his

opponents could have expressed their opinions. He has been intolerant to any kind of

criticism to himself. One of our interviewees describes Mr. Ozcan’s attitude by a concrete

example:

“For the last two years, the annual press meetings of the mayor of the metropolitan municipality turned out to be a one-man show, a stand-up show…because he makes a power-point presentation, then he reads a press declaration and that is all. Afterwards we are invited to the brunch organized at Hilton. The press does not have the chance of asking even one question. Is that a press meeting? In my newspaper, I qualified it as a one-man show rather than a press meeting. Then, a couple of days later, the mayor stopped me and asked me whether I was not ashamed of criticizing, of writing against him. I responded by saying that I had always done my job. Questions have been asked, criticisms have been made, but they have never been replied by even a word....There is a group of flatters among which there have been also some journalists around the metropolitan mayor. He has got used to this. In their bi-weekly or montly newspapers, these flatters praise the activities of the mayor. They are paid in countrepart. Macit Ozcan is fond of this, not of criticism (Interview # 14).”

The preference of the mayor for not being criticised was obviously not possible, but

he developed a strategy to fight against the emerging criticisms. In case of formation of a

local opposition, he frequently disqualified it as treason to the city or a personal attack to

himself. For example, when the representatives of the professional chambers of Mersin

expressed their doubts and criticisms on the project of the refinement plant that will cost

approximately 100 million euros, they were immediately accused of betraying the city. In

the declaration on the comments of the professional experts, he stated clearly that “he

[would] realize the project despite everybody and all criticisms” (Ayan, 2003).

This attitude of Mr. Ozcan reminds what Stone (1995: 100) calls the ‘conspiratorial

worldview.” Perhaps due to the relative weakness of managerial skills and professional

202

experience, he seemed to develop a governing style based on political clienteles76. Apart

from distributing local resources and privileges to his supporters, he has mobilized the

local population on ethnical bases. By highlighting his Arab origins, he had already

constituted a loyal local community. Besides, he enjoyed a broader support by playing on

the Kurdish menace to the city77. When such ‘politics of division’ (loc. cit.) becomes the

rule, there was naturally no room left for democratic deliberation or public discussion.

Every criticism has been interpreted (or more probably presented) as an unjustified attack

from the enemy camp, the camp of betrayers, of separatists to the actual servitors, to the

real interests of the city.

Mr. Ozcan’s use of his ethnic origin and the Kurdish problem reminds us Briquet’s

remarks on the normative dimension of the political clientelism. According to the author,

the material reciprocity does not represent the only foundation of political clientelism. In

other words, the implications of this form of political relationship go beyond Weingrod’s

(1977: 42) ‘mutually beneficial transactions’ or Médard’s (1976: 103) ‘mutual exchange of

favors’ and also correspond to a set of normative obligations. In other words, Mr. Ozcan

manages to disguise his clientelist politics by successfully linking them directly to his

ethnic origins and to the local implications of the Kurdish problem.

The contradiction between the mayor of Bursa and of Mersin is thus quite obvious.

On the one hand, we have Mr. Saker who had a long and stable professional experience

that endowed him with managerial skills. Thanks to such a professional past, he developed

a long-term municipal vision and mobilised effectively human and financial resources of

the municipality in the name of determined objectives. Meanwhile, he never neglected

associating local actors to the government of the city; perhaps thanks to his confidence in

himself and in his vision, he was not reluctant in discussing municipal issues with other

local actors. Consequently, even if the adopted decisions or policies were severely

criticised, his attitude that enabled local deliberations was unanimously appreciated.

76 Weingrod (1977: 42) defines political clientelism as “a form of political organisation in which the links between leaders and followers are rooted in ‘mutually beneficial transactions’ and in which the ties are of a personal, enduring kind.” Therefore, a political clientele should “be distinguished from an interest group or an ideological movement, and its leaders can hence be labelled ‘patrons’ and the followers ‘clients’” (ibid.). 77 The issue will be detailed in the following chapter.

203

On the other hand, for Mr Ozcan who did not have a stable professional career since

he changed several institutions and posts before getting into business affairs, the

government of the city turned to be a personal task accomplished either by himself or by

his nearest and dearest. Deprived of managerial skills and a political vision, he adopted a

social scepticism towards others. Consequently, the world was divided between ‘us’ and

‘them’ transforming local politics to a deadlock of social conflicts. Nevertheless, his

success in his ‘politics of division’ enabled him to maintain his post whereas the mayor of

Bursa lost his second elections. To be able to understand these quite surprising electoral

results, we shall examine the political relations of our two mayors in the following section.

But before that, we would like to recapitulate our findings on the personalities of our

mayors by situating them in Burn’s triangular approach to leadership.

Figure 1. Juxtaposition of Mr. Saker and Mr. Ozcan within Burn’s triangular approach

As figure 1 illustrates, we distinguish contrasting attitudes and reflections on all

three dimensions of Burn’s leadership approach. While Mr. Saker carries out his

interactions through the institutionalisation of municipal bodies as well as close

relationships with the public, Mr. Ozcan appeals to his ethnic origins and to the presumed

204

Kurdish threat. The contradiction is also observed on the dimension of ‘purpose’ since

managerial and democratic initiatives and innovations have marked Mr. Saker’s mandate

whereas Mr. Ozcan’s concern has been to establish and maintain political clienteles. For

cases that political clientelism do not work out, his leadership style becomes aggressive

and authoritarian. Finally, outcomes of such dissimilar leadership styles have been also

contradictory: Mr. Ozcan managed to be re-elected although it seemed rather quite

improbable for most of local actors. On the other hand, despite his disappointing political

failure, Mr. Saker’s mandate is still considered as a successful period thanks to his fruitful

efforts such as the renowned experience of LA21.

All these observations related to the impact of personal backgrounds of the mayors

on their leadership styles encourage us to interpret leadership as habitus by borrowing

Bourdieu’s very popular concept. According to his definition, habitus indicates “a system

of sustainable and transposable dispositions” (Bourdieu, 1980a: 88). In this conceptual

framework, dispositions imply a particular inclination to perceive, feel, do and think

incited by the social trajectory of a person. These dispositions are sustainable since even if

it is not impossible to modify such inclinations, they reveal mainly a veritable continuity in

time. These dispositions are transposable since they affect different aspects of a person’s

life, from social relations to professional attitudes. Finally, this scheme indicates a system

since the dispositions tend to unify among themselves (Corcuff, 2004: 32-33).

To put it more simply, habitus emphasises the importance of past experiences in the

determination of the present perception, thought and action. When our narrative on the

mayors’ personal background is reconsidered through this conceptual framework, we see

that their leadership styles are actually highly influenced by their personal past. Thus their

professional experiences, personal interactions, initiatives and interests represent a non-

negligible factor in the shaping of their observed leadership styles. For instance, without

managerial experiences that Saker acquired all through his career in the Public

Waterworks, he would not probably achieve the institutionalisation of the municipality.

Similarly, if Ozcan had not been a public contractor, his tendency to machine politics

would not be perhaps so marked.

Such examples can be multiplied through our observations that we cited above. Each

aspect of their past experiences can be associated to their leadership styles. Therefore, we

argue simply that there is in fact a leadership habitus that is consciously or unconsciously

205

acquired during one’s past experiences and relationships. In this sense, if leadership is to

be analysed through a behavioural evidences, the concept of habitus could be quite useful

in associating the present observations to the individual past experiences.

2) Political career

Until now, we have discussed different tasks, styles and models of leadership which

relate to persons who already disposes a significant political influence. Yet, another major

dimension of leadership would be indeed the process of reaching to power, becoming a

leader. We have already evoked that it is structural, personal or social factors that

determine the emergence of leaders, but we did not actually evoke how these different

resources can be mobilised. Leach and Wilson (2000: 41-44) identify in fact three different

forms of leader ascension: congruence, reaction and transformation. The congruence

represents the emergence of a new leader as the outcome of a stable situation between

political and organisational culture; leader is likely to reflect and reinforce the traditional

cultural ethos; the status quo is maintained in the personality of the new leader.

The second scheme of leader ascension is identified by instability in the political

environment bringing about a reaction against the prevailing leader who would be sooner

or later challenged by a leadership contender who represents the forces for change.

Therefore, if the latter manages to obtain the leading role, his ascension to the power

would be marked by this reaction. How he will use his newly acquired power is another

question; he can pursue a transformational leadership and attempt to change the conditions

that he reacted or he might achieve transactions with different actors with the objective of

maintaining the cohesiveness after reaching to a relative stability.

The third form, transformational ascension, resembles to that of reaction except the

fact that leadership contender does not profit from an ongoing instability within the

political environment. He mobilises a group of followers by persuading them on the need

for a change of leadership; this change may be due to personal, ideological or operational

reasons. Whatever the motive would be, the most important feature of transformational

ascension is that the contender himself initiates the dynamism for change independent from

the current situation of the political environment. It is necessary to highlight that not every

leader that acquired political power in a transformational manner, pursues a

206

transformational leadership when actually in post; the processes of ascension and of the

actual use of power should be carefully distinguished.

As a matter of fact, being elected as a mayor represents obviously a veritable

ascension to leadership which necessitates enormous political support within first a

political party to which the mayor belongs and then from the public who votes in the

elections. Enjoying one of these kinds of political support does not actually confirm the

presence of the other. For example, in the Turkish context where political parties are

organised and governed without really respecting the democratic principles, acquiring an

adequate political support from parties could be extremely troublesome for political

candidates, be it in the national scene or at the municipal level. In most of the cases, it is

the central administration of the party if not the president himself, who determines the

candidate for a political post. The undemocratic internal structure of the political parties is

not only the origin but also the consequence of such a problematic way of candidate

determination. Since the political ascension of the persons who might attempt to question

this problematic functioning of the parties are thus impeded, the partisan system is easily

reproduced, even strengthened over time thanks to the relative ‘hygiene’ of the party’s

cadres.

If ever consulted, even the influence of the local branch of the party could be only

insignificant; not even mentioning the preferences of the general public78. So, until the

official declaration of candidates, the local political scene does not quite interest the pre-

candidates most of whom camp in the central offices of the party buildings at the capital in

struggling to exchange a few words with the president to be able to prove the adequacy of

their candidature. No matter how brief or simple it could be, any gesture or the expression

of the president is interpreted as a sign of the eventual decision on the lists of candidates.

In such circumstances, the political investment destined to an eventual candidacy

consists of two totally separated phases: one that occurs years before and another just days

before the official declaration of candidates of a party. Someone who envisages becoming

a candidate for a political post, starts first investing in the local branch of the party. He

78 It is for instance not so extraordinary to observe mayors or municipal deputies who have been elected independently or from the lists of political parties other than the one that they had been long time adherent.

207

starts first by multiplying his supporters within the political party from which he thinks of

being a candidate. This enhancement of partisan influence could be either ‘seducing’ the

actual members or by persuading his entourage to join to the party. Within a short period

of time, an ambitious pre-candidate can acquire enough power within the local branch

either to enter to its executive committee or to influence it from exterior. Yet, no matter

how important it could be, the real stake is not the control of the local branch, but rather

being influential in the determination of the local delegates who posses a right to vote in

the general assemblies of the party, thus an influence in the determination of the party’s

central cadres. The number of delegate votes of a candidate is certainly his most important

political capital when it is time to determine the candidates. More the central bodies owe

their position to his support in general assemblies, more he has the chance to be assigned

as the candidate of the party. Nevertheless, it is still mandatory to show up in the party

coulisses when the negotiations on the eventual candidatures are going on in the party

offices as well as very familiar hotels and restaurants79.

At this stage of the process, the influence of the local branch could only be very

limited since their preferences are not actually considered. Nevertheless, they can not be

wholly neglected by the pre-candidates since they play a non-negligible role during the

actual campaign. Yet, it is not so uncommon that local disputes arouse within the local

branch before each election if another candidate is determined to run for the elections. The

supporters of a specific pre-candidate give up working for the campaign or at least do it

begrudgingly. In any case, the principal determinant of the campaign is neither the support

of local branch nor the collective mobilisation of party activists, but the individual

resources of the candidate in the form of social or economic capital.

Such a scheme of political career building leads to a relative autonomy of mayors

with regards to the local branches of political parties. Assigned by the central office and

mobilised mainly his personal resources the mayor does not feel necessarily dependent on

the local party branch80. Therefore, the task of cohesiveness that Wilson and Leach

79 It is quite interesting to note that there has been no research to our knowledge on these public places as an informal but a major scene of Turkish politics. 80 Nevertheless, the bridges can not be totally burnt since the party branch could be capable of exerting pressures on the central government or state bureaucracy through the clientelist networks

208

consider among the main functions of local leaders does not represent a significant burden

for the Turkish mayors. The political ascension of the mayors of our respective cities

demonstrates very adequately this feature of Turkish local politics even tough they dispose

absolutely distinctive political careers.

a) A good leader but a bad politician

To start with, Erdem Saker’s entrance to local politics was not in fact quite

premeditated. As one would expect, since he was a prominent and successful local

bureaucrat, he was recurrently receiving political offers from various political parties.

However, he was not so willing to start a political career; he thus refused the political

proposals made for the local elections of 1994. Yet, the candidate for the metropolitan

municipality of ANAP had serious health problems during the electoral campaign and had

to abandon his political ambitions. In search for a new candidate, Mr. Saker appeared to be

the only alternative. Nonetheless, even in those conditions, it was not easy to convince

him; he was taken to the president of ANAP as if the latter wished to listen to his opinions

on the potable water problems of Istanbul in order to give some ideas to their candidate of

the city. In fact, the actual objective of the meeting was to persuade him for an eventual

candidacy of the metropolitan municipality of Bursa. After hours of discussion during

which other important leaders of the party also intervened, he was made to recognize that

the city as well as the party needed his candidacy. Upon his return to Bursa, he asked the

opinion of his family and of his personal doctor who all encouraged him to go ahead in

local politics81.

His reluctance in being a candidate reveals indeed his understanding of politics. In

replying to the president of ANAP who asked him why he hesitated so much to enter to

politics, he stated that politics, particularly at the municipal level, is based upon personal

interests whereas all through his life he cared for public interests by even sometimes going

beyond his legal competencies (Saker, 2000: 51). For him, “in politics two times two is not

that it controls and the mayor can find himself suffering from central pressures be it in financial or administrative form. 81 Interview with Erdem Saker, July 29th, 2003 ; Istanbul and Saker, 2000: 38.

209

always equal to four; it is sometimes 3.8 sometimes 7.8. However, for [him] it is always

equal to four because [he] has always been above all an engineer82.”

In responding to his concern, the president of ANAP encouraged him to take

measures for improving the transparency of the elaboration of urban plans in case of

election as the metropolitan mayor. As a matter of fact, Mr. Saker admits that during his

rule of five years he never received a political request from the president. Though, in the

first two years of his mandate, he had some problems with the local branch of his party on

the pretext that he had not been working for the party. The tension continued until he

clarified his understanding of politics in a meeting of the party:

“One day, I had enough. I took the floor and said: ‘I am not elected to render service to the members of the party. I am elected to work for this people, the people of Bursa. If you accept this, support me as the members of the party, let us work together for the people of Bursa.’…After that, during the last three years of my mandate, I did not have any such demand or criticism from my party (Saker, 2000:51).”

It is clear from the cited anecdotes that Mr. Saker enjoyed a veritable political

autonomy that enabled him to pursue his own political priorities. Although his political

autonomy vis-à-vis his political party does not correspond exactly to the pattern we

described above, it depended also to the support of the party’s central figures. Hence, even

if he did not undertake that long run from the control of the local branch to the

determination of national delegates in order to be able to exercise pressure on the central

direction, the undeniable support of the president of the party facilitated the gaining of his

relative political autonomy.

At this point, a very justified question would be to ask what this political autonomy

represents actually. Shall we interpret it as a positive evidence of a democratic leadership

because it neutralises particularistic and clientelistic demands that would come from the

party or shall we see it as the blockade of one of the major representation channels that

would counterbalance mayor’s individualistic rule? Even if the issue deserves a veritable

discussion especially for the Turkish case where political parties represent the main

instrument of clientelist relationships, given the limits and the focus of our study, we shall

simply state that the political autonomy of the mayor can not be qualified as a democratic

gain per se. Such a context of political gap between the party and the mayor would indicate

82 Interview with Erdem Saker, July 29th, 2003 ; Istanbul.

210

either an authoritarian rule by the latter, or his association to other political, interest or

collective organisations as a source of institutional support. Yet, for Saker’s case neither of

these possibilities turned out to be true since a probable democratic lacuna was avoided by

the introduction of new participatory mechanisms.

By launching original participatory practices, Mr. Saker not only managed to

associate citizens to the local government and thus democratised local politics, but also

used these new political instruments to resist to the particularistic demands coming from

various organised interest groups. For instance, he relates his successful resistance to a

very influential multinational company and to the local chamber of industry to these new

mechanisms:

“Let me tell you something. One day, one of the most influential business groups came to me. They were willing to set up an automotive plant in the city. I objected to this idea since according to our strategic plan, there was no room left for the conventional industry in the city. They were extremely angry. They even attempted to change my opinion by asking the intermediation of some of my party members. Moreover, the Bursa Chamber of Commerce and Industry was also annoyed because I did not ask their opinion before giving a response to those entrepreneurs. Then, I reminded them the strategic plan. I asked them whether we had not discussed it all together, whether or not I had the approval of the Chamber. Afterwards they kept silent. Here you are the advantages of participation83.”

The initial political autonomy from party politics when combined with the political

legitimacy issued from the deliberative processes obviously reinforced Saker’s position

vis-à-vis other political and business actors. His efforts on behalf of the public interest

were not thus degenerated by interventions from outside the municipality. Therefore, he

managed to pursue urban politics determined by thorough deliberations with municipal

agents as well as external experts. In short, he could continue referring to a technocratic

rationality based on cost-benefit estimations rather than getting paralysed in fragile

political equilibriums founded upon particularistic interests. Nevertheless, this technocratic

tendency did not represent an authoritarian rule since apart from establishing a deliberative

tradition within his administration, he also managed to assure public support for his

policies and activities through participatory mechanisms.

Such a description of Saker’s leadership might seem to be ‘too good to be true.’

Indeed, a leadership that is technocratic but also participatory, authoritarian but also

83 Interview with Erdem Saker, July 29th, 2003 ; Istanbul.

211

democratic, autonomous but at the same time supported could be only an ideal type of the

concept. As a matter of fact, it is not quite possible to consider Saker’s mandate as an

adequate example for a quasi-ideal leadership type simply because he did not manage to

prolong his mayoralty to a second term; he lost the local elections of 1999 to which he had

presented his candidacy still from ANAP. How can this electoral defeat be explained given

that almost all our interlocutors in the city express their esteem with regards to his

mandate? One explanation to this contradiction would be the methodology that we applied

in our field works, namely to interview the local –political, associative and civil- elite that

obviously represent a very small proportion of the electoral base. Saker’s reluctance in

developing clientelist networks and pursuing populist policies would not necessarily

concern these upper-middle classes whose interests found on rather post-materialistic

issues that do not require any particularistic effort. Yet, for the electoral majority who has

been accustomed to populist and clientelistic leaders, Saker’s would have seemed to be too

indifferent to their ‘wants and needs’ and thus a ‘bad leader.’

Another explanatory path can be proposed in a macro-political perspective since

Bursa has been known as highly sensitive to nationwide electoral tendencies. Indeed,

several of our interlocutors in the city argued that Bursa has been governed traditionally by

whom the country was governed. In other words, the party holding the political power at

the national scene had almost always achieved also in the city. Consequently, Saker who

obtained his post thanks to the wind of ANAP in 1994, left the seat with that of DSP in

1999. Therefore, the political autonomy he enjoyed vis-à-vis his party and other political

bodies did not save him from the consequences of the nationwide political developments.

In short, such winds of change on macro-politics when combined with Saker’s apathy to

electoral policies might have paved the way to his departure from the local political scene.

b) Patronal leadership

On the other hand, as one might expect by now, the political career of Macit Ozcan

has had an entirely different evolution though his entrance to local politics was also quite

unattended. His political ambitions were not known until several months before the local

elections of 1999. As we have already indicated as being a state contractor working mainly

in the city of Nigde, he was not quite present in the local socio-political life although he

was residing in the city for about two decades. According to one of the members of the

212

executive committee of the local branch of the DSP at that period, his candidacy did not

seem to be quite probable. Apart from not proposing a concrete political program based on

problems and priorities of Mersin, he had also left an impression of an awkward

personality especially during the interviews realised with all the other pre-candidates.

Consequently, in the report of evaluation sent to the national direction of the party, his

candidacy was not backed; at least the members of the selecting committee thought to state

so. Nevertheless, the final decision taken by the national direction designated him as the

candidate of DSP for the metropolitan municipality of Mersin (Interview # 82).

Members of the local branch of the party thought that it was another unilateral

decision taken by the party-centre which was not unusual with regards to the internal

functioning of DSP. However, later on, they discovered with great surprise that the report

that they had prepared was modified by the local president before being sent to the centre.

Even if this discovery provoked a considerable scandal in the party, the extraordinary

electoral mobilisation prevented it to become a veritable crisis. Nevertheless, the local

branch was divided into two separate groups; while a group continued to work for Ozcan’s

campaign, a second group supported another candidate of the party aiming at a district

municipality84.

Finally, even if it was not actually quite expected, Mr Ozcan was elected as the

metropolitan mayor. The most important factor behind his election was perhaps the

extraordinary success of his party, DSP, in the elections. Thanks to the nationalistic wind

caused by the arrest of the chief of Kurdish separatists, Abdullah Ocalan and the popularity

of DSP’s leader Bulent Ecevit due to his honest personality that contrasted with

overwhelming corruption stories of political elites, the party managed to become the

84 This candidate for the district municipality was in fact the one who was designated by the local branch as the candidate for the metropolitan municipality. Our interlocutor remembers a telephone call that this candidate received from Macit Ozcan just after the official declaration of party’s candidates. According to her, Mr. Ozcan explicitly stated that the former had cost too expensive for him and he would have to pay that one day. Even if we could not confirm personally whether there had been actually such a conversation, none of my interlocutors in the city could disregard the probable impact of some illegitimate interactions during this period of candidate determination.

213

strongest political organisation in the national assembly as well as in numerous

municipalities85.

Ozcan’s electoral success was not obviously only owing to the unexpected rise of

DSP. Even if he did not propose a well-prepared political program, he managed to achieve

a significant popular mobilisation in the city thanks to his ethnic origin. In most of our

interviews, the question on the metropolitan mayor was firstly replied by referring to his

Arab origin:

“Macit Ozcan is Arab. That is a wonderful capital for him as he admits explicitly. There are native Arabs, Alevi Arabs in Mersin who make their electoral choices in referring to the logic of minority. The entourage and the actual electoral base of Macit are from this Arab community and he invests this capital successfully. He is from Karatas, thus does not have any connection with Mersin. He settled here not so long ago, but he managed to establish that electoral basis by making use of clientelist relations. He acts according to the demands of that communatarian basis (Interview # 48).”

This accentuation of Arab origins can actually be considered as contradictory to

what Christian Le Bart (2003) calls “the incarnation of the locality in the personage of the

mayor” that requires the deactivation of all signs that can be seen as a constituent of an

another identity. According to the author, no other factor has to contradict with mayor’s

expressivity with regards to the city s/he governs. Yet, the Arab ethnicity can not be

counted among the authentic characteristics of Mersin, so à priori it should not contribute

to Ozcan’s local leadership skills. But the reality contradicted totally with Le Bart’s

theoretical assumption. Ozcan’s emphasised Arab identity did not prevent his election as

the metropolitan mayor of Mersin. This apparently unexpected outcome can be explained

by the traditional influence of national politics over the local political scene. Even if this

feature of Turkish politics has relatively evolved since the 80’s by leading to emergence of

more local issues in the electoral campaigns86, the 1999 electoral results of Mersin were

significantly determined by the rise of DSP on the national scene. Profiting veritably from

this political wave, Ozcan was elected in a city where he was almost an unknown87.

85 The same wind of DSP led to the electoral defeat of Mr. Saker in Bursa since the candidate of DSP was elected also in the city. 86 For a discussion of this evolution see Incioglu: 2002. 87 Yet, his election was not totally free from speculations as we shall evoke in the following chapter.

214

Mr. Ozcan has managed thus to create a significant political loyalty by accentuating

his ethnical origins. He has also achieved to keep this communitarian influence alive by

making an efficient use of patronage relations. Rumours of political corruption have turned

out to be extremely widespread in the city since his election as the metropolitan mayor.

According to almost all our interlocutors in the city, Mr. Ozcan’s mandate has exclusively

been identified with corruption. He has been considered as a specialist of making use of

legal gaps and/or of very complicated bureaucratic techniques on behalf of personal

profits. In this way, he has been supposed to create an immense personal fortune of which

a proportion has been distributed among his political collaborators or followers. Several

projects of urban landscape improvement have particularly roused general suspicions on

the accountability of his mandate.

Furthermore, his political party allegiance did not follow a stable evolution. When a

group of opponents to the party’s leader Ecevit seceded from DSP and founded a new

political party, namely the Party of New Turkey (Yeni Türkiye Partisi –YTP) Mr. Ozcan

followed them and adhered in the new party. Despite the noteworthy support of the

mainstream media to the movement, the YTP turned to be a big political fiasco. Therefore,

while the local elections were approaching, Mr. Ozcan found himself in a political solitude.

Finally, after a long period of ambiguity, he adhered to Republican People’s Party (CHP)

just a few months before the elections and became the candidate of the party for the

metropolitan municipality. Obviously, this last minute manoeuvre did not lack rumours on

some illegitimate transactions between himself and the party’s leading elites since there

was a consensual opposition to his candidacy from the local branch of CHP since Mr.

Ozcan had competed with them not only in the last local elections as the metropolitan

candidate but also during the legislatives of 2002 as being one of the founders of YTP.

The opposition to his candidacy developed quite early because it turned out to be

clear that he would tend to adhere to CHP and to become its candidate after the fiasco of

YTP. He could not return to DSP simply because he was one of the main actors of the

secession and the party had eroded all its public support. In such circumstances, pre-

candidates (candidates for candidacy) initiated their campaign quite early with the main

objective of avoiding Ozcan’s eventual candidacy. Their strategy was concordant with the

scheme that we described in the beginning of this section; namely to get the control of the

215

local branch and then exercise pressure on central bodies through delegates in order to

assure their candidacy.

On Ozcan’s side, he did not bother to get into such a complicated struggle. In any

case, he did not have any experience in such partisan affairs. As we have already noted

above in discussing his previous candidacy, his preference was to intervene in the last

minute to persuade the key-actor (the local president in the previous case) instead of trying

to gain the support of the local party organisation. Even after the elections, he did not

bother to get into the local party affairs. After the failure of YTP and thus when CHP was

left as the only address for a future candidacy, he did not try to gain influence in the local

organisation, neither. Hence, in the local congress of the party in mi-2003, Ozcan was

totally absent (Turgut, 2005: 82-86).

During the summer of 2003, when we were carrying out the first part of our

fieldwork, Ozcan’s future party affiliation was one of the favourite political issues in the

city. Even if there was no doubt that he would insist on CHP, there were not a lot of people

who believed that he would manage to be the party’s candidate. But there were also

rumours that in case of refusal from CHP, he would orient to the nationalist MHP. Yet, a

few months later, in early December, Ozcan’s adhesion to CHP was officialized; the

probability of his eventual candidacy was henceforth much higher.

The reaction of the party’s branch –under the direct influence of one of the pre-

candidates, was immediate; ten busses of party activists departed to Ankara with the

objective of avoiding his official adhesion. Before the departure of the party convoy,

Ahmet Akin, a pre-candidate for the metropolitan municipality who won the local congress

of the party, stated that “nobody should worry since Macit Ozcan can not be a candidate

from our party. It seems that our president has been misinformed. We are departing to

Ankara in order to correct this mistake88.” Yet, these efforts would turn out to be vain and

the president of the local branch would feel obliged to defend himself by stating that “the

decision [related to Ozcan’s adhesion to the party] was the general president Deniz

88 http://www.zaman.com.tr/2003/12/03/akdeniz/h16.htm; last consultation March 30th, 2006.

216

Baykal’s determination and instruction” and he was just “telephoned by the central office

and notified to come to party’s parliamentary meeting with Macit Ozcan89.”

After a few weeks from the official adhesion to the party, Ozcan was indeed CHP’s

candidate for the metropolitan municipality of Mersin. Furthermore, the scope of Ozcan’s

success went beyond his own candidacy since he imposed his own preferences with

regards to the other district candidates. As a matter of fact, the actual mayor of Yenisehir,

was expected to be CHP’s candidate in the district for the approaching election since his

mandate was judged positively. But, his candidacy was cancelled in the last minute due to

Ozcan’s pressures90. We would like to underline that Ozcan’s implication to the mayor’s

candidacy is not an interpretation or deduction; it was even unofficiously admitted by Mr.

Baykal himself to the mayor:

“Immediately after the withdrawal of my candidacy, I went to the president’s office not to beg for the candidacy, just to learn the reason. He could tell me that I was unsuccessful or this or that. On the contrary he acknowledged my success and said that he did not understand why Macit Ozcan did not want me despite that success. ‘Why would he want’ I said ‘I adhered to the part much earlier than him; when I adhered to CHP, he did not sign my assembly decisions in order to hinder me. This is the origin of our conflict…’ He could not of course say anything. Can you imagine a president as such (Interview # 116B)?”

Very similarly, aonther pre-candidate for one of the district municipalities, stated

that her candidacy was directly obstructed by Ozcan who did not forget her critics as a

local associative activist about the water refinement project that the former defended

furiously. What is further interesting about her case is that her pre-candidacy was directly

encouraged by Baykal who was quite impressed by her presentation on the problems of

Mersin during one of his visits to the city (Interview #114B). In other words, Macit’s

influence was so significant on the president of the party that the former had to contradict

with his proper advice at the dawn of approaching elections.

Given this unusual process of Ozcan’s candidacy, two questions deserve to be posed.

First of all, how could we explain this great influence of Ozcan in a party that he adhered

at the last minute? We can propose a first hypothesis founded on the electoral counts. In

89 http://www.zaman.com.tr/2003/12/05/akdeniz/h20.htm; last consultation March 30th, 2006. 90 It should be hereby underlined that the mayor was the candidate who was determined by the local branch of DSP in the previous elections; the one that cost very expensive to Ozcan as we have already noted above (see note 84 above).

217

supposing that Ozcan would eventually find another party to be the candidate for the

metropolitan elections, the president of CHP might have been concerned for not being able

to win the elections. When the rumours on the former’s possible adhesion to the nationalist

party is considered, this thesis might have been strengthened. No matter how contradictory

it would appear, by such an adhesion, Ozcan would take with himself a considerable

proportion of his supporters attached to him on the ethical basis and not on ideological

grounds. Already concerned by the union of socialist and pro-Kurdish parties around a

strong candidate, the president might have preferred not to take the risk of further division

and to back his candidacy.

A second hypothesis that seems less realistic but much more evoked, is the presence

of an illegitimate exchange between the president and the mayor. As a matter of fact, just

shortly after the local elections, a national conservative newspaper claimed that Macit

Ozcan’s brother had transferred 1.5 million dollars to Baykal’s daughter’s account in a

Swiss bank just before the local elections in order to secure Ozcan’s candidacy91. Even if

this thesis was furiously rejected by Baykal, the clouds of suspicion with regards to

Ozcan’s candidacy were never dispersed. Perhaps in his understandable disappointment,

the mayor whose candidacy was prevented believes sincerely in the presence of such an

interaction:

“It was not only me who opposed to Macit. There was nothing left that was pronounced against him; by M. O. who is very influential in the party, and by the deputies of Mersin included. But despite all, the guy managed to be the candidate. This is really intriguing... CHP is over; for me it is henceforth a private company. It is unbelievable that the chief of the main opposition of the country could be so simple, so corrupted, so ‘buyable’; I could not personally believe until I discussed with him. There was indeed nothing to discuss. ‘What shall I do?’ I asked to him, ‘what do you advice me?’ ‘Go and work with him’ he said. Can you believe? He advices me to work with someone who personally hindered my candidacy... Even if it was claimed by a lot of people, I did not believe. But when I talked to him, I understood it, I saw it by my eyes (Interview #116B).”

Whatever the real reason might be behind Ozcan’s candidacy from CHP, how he

managed to be elected despite the veritable opposition against it remains as a second

question. The urban landscape improvement projects that he accomplished during his first

mandate, on which there had been numerous speculations of illegitimate profits, was

91 Dunden Bugune Tercuman, March 3rd, 2004; the related article may be consulted on http://www.realist.com.tr/secimkulisi/haber5-15.html, last consultation March 30th, 2006.

218

obviously one of the factors of his success. Instead of investing in the urban infrastructure

(in other words of “burying the money underground”), he spent municipal resources in

parks, gardens and outdoor furniture, thus in visible actions. This urban transformation

might have actually facilitated his re-election.

Nevertheless, there seems to be a more important determinant behind the second

electoral victory of Mr. Ozcan; his re-election was identified to a great extent with a

reactionary behaviour vis-à-vis the growing political influence of Kurdish minority in the

city. In the previous local elections of 1999, the pro-Kurdish party had indeed gained one

of the sub-metropolitan municipalities. Since them, the city has been represented as being

under a significant menace from the separatist organisation as we shall discuss more

thoroughly in the following chapter. The scenarios of a probable annexation of the city to a

future Kurdistan had already started to spread.

For the local elections of 2004, the political influence of the Kurdish community was

expected to grow further since the pro-Kurdish party had made an electoral coalition with

some leftist parties and had agreed on the candidacy of a nationally-known local socialist

for the metropolitan municipality. Thus, the election of a pro-kurdish metropolitan mayor

was perceived as quite probable. In such a context of urban tension, Mr. Ozcan managed to

attract the nationalist voters by representing his candidacy as the only way to defend the

city against the separatist threat. Consequently, these reactionary votes of the nationalists

when combined with the traditional social-democrats of CHP and the personal cliental base

of Mr. Ozcan, led him to a second mandate. As matter of fact, all rumours on his corrupted

activities, all criticisms on the local policies pursued in his first mandate as well as all

concerns on the growing social fragmentation propagated by the clientelist practices of the

mayor were completely disregarded on behalf of protecting the city from the Kurdish

menace.

To put it differently, Ozcan managed to maintain and even strengthen his leadership

on the one hand by clientelist transactions and on the other hand by creating an ideological

constituency, namely a nationalist mobilisation. At the first sight, this form of leadership

corresponds indeed with Bailey’s conceptualisation that is considered as one of the major

anthropological works on leadership. According to Bailey (1971: 60), a leader can have a

first circle of persons whose attachment reveals a moral character (the core) and then

another circle, a remoter one that is identified with more transactional attachments (the

219

entourage). When interpreted within this perspective, Mr. Ozcan seems to enjoy a moral

core founded upon the Arab identity and a transactional entourage that is established

through clientelist networks. Yet, on a more outer layer, we observe another circle that can

be considered moral and transactional at the same time. This outmost group is nothing but

nationalists’ support during the elections; it is moral as it is ideological and value-based

and transactional because it is valid only during the electoral period. It can be thus argued

that his second victory in the local elections was mainly thanks to this third circle of

support that combined moral and transactional motives.

Given the way Ozcan became the candidate of CHP and managed to be elected for

the second mandate indicates clearly to what extent his political autonomy could have been

reached vis-à-vis the local party organisations. He was far from being backed by the local

party activists who even opposed to his candidacy. In such circumstances, it would be

unrealistic to suppose that the local branch could have enjoyed a significant influence on

the policies adopted by the mayor. Yet, different than the political autonomy that Saker

established in Bursa, Ozcan did not bother to check and balance this autonomy by adequate

measures and practices such as participatory mechanisms. On the contrary, the lack of

veritable mechanisms of political control represented the original source of his political

strategy. As being the one and only political patron of the city, he could have developed his

clientelist networks and thus maintained his political power. In other words, both of our

mayors enjoyed a political autonomy during their mandates. However, the pattern of this

autonomy seemed to be significantly different than the traditional scheme that we

underlined in the introduction of this section. Furthermore, the outcome of such an

autonomy was also remarkably distinctive under the rule of our respective mayors. On the

one hand, we observe a mayor, Erdem Saker, who tries to keep his autonomy from party

politics, from external political influences with the objective of pursuing freely his local

policies that were justified nevertheless through internal and public deliberations. On the

other hand, the mayor of Mersin founds his mandate to a large extent on a political

autonomy in order to be able to pursue his political relations blended with corrupted

activities and electoral bargaining.

In sum, when the political careers of both of our mayors are considered, we see

clearly that neither of them correspond to the political ascension schemes theorized by

Leach and Wilson that we evoked above. As a matter of fact, we observe neither

220

congruence, nor reaction, nor even a transformational motivation in their political

ascension to the mayoralty. We can not even speak of a veritable political competition

among different political actors in which the mayors appear as the actual winner. It is true

that in Ozcan’s case there were other pretenders for the post, but no open confrontation

took place during which different actors applied open strategies to strengthen their

position. At least on Ozcan’s side, all had taken place behind closed doors hindering the

development of a democratic competition.

Such a difference in the political careers of the mayors provides indeed important

clues about the dissimilarity observed within the LA21 project. For a mayor whose main

concern was to free his hands in order to be able to pursue and enhance his clientelistic

bases, such participatory mechanisms would represent nothing but a very probable

headache. So was the case as we have already described in the related chapter. On the other

hand, Saker introduced and used these practices in order to provide a public and

institutional support for his policies. Therefore, he sincerely supported the process in order

to keep his political autonomy vis-à-vis local and national political actors and institutions.

But such different attitudes towards the project were not only originated from personal

characteristics or political strategies since the LA21 process was in fact transferred to the

Turkish context from abroad. Therefore, relations with the original sources of the initiative,

with the external world deserve to be elaborated in order to see whether or not the scope

and the nature of their international relations affected the observed outcome.

3) International contacts:

In theoretically discussing leadership, we referred to Leach and Wilson (2000) who

consider the representation of the local authority in the external world as one of the key

tasks of the local political leaders. In our understanding, such a representation does not

imply a mere of presence of mayors in different places on national or international

occasions aiming at a better promotion of the locality in the external world. It represents

also an effort to bring home new resources and methodologies that will facilitate the

realisation of policies and strategies developed by the leader. As a matter of fact, thanks to

a better and easier contact with international organisations as well as foreign counterparts,

local leaders can thus be more informed and motivated in adopting new political visions

about democratic practices or entrepreneurial initiatives. Moreover, financial or technical

221

support provided owing to international contacts of local governments facilitates the

realisation of such visions. A comparison between Bursa and Mersin demonstrates

excellently the impact of international contacts on local politics.

a) Glocal innovators

Even before becoming the metropolitan mayor of Bursa, Erdem Saker had

significant contacts with international circles. Apart from being closely related with the

international organisations on his domain of expertise as a technocrat, he took

responsibilities in numerous international sport organisations such as the International Ski

Federation as well as being a member of the National Olympic Committee. Therefore, he

was quite interested in what was going on out of the national borders. His understanding of

local government was also determined by his interest in international developments:

“I believe that all what we discuss here will be solved by principles already determined by international developments…What has been going on in the world? We have been not only following these developments but also trying to apply them. Nowadays, a governmental earthquake, like the one that had taken place when transiting from Medieval Age to New Age, is taking place. A governmental earthquake…I mean from the feudal states in the Medieval Age, we had passed to kingdoms, to empires, later on to central democracies. However, on the eve of the 21st century, we are transiting from central to local democracies. And the key concept of this transition is ‘partnership’. There are three dimensions of this partnership. The first, the vertical, dimension is between central and local governments…the second dimension, the horizontal partnership, is between local governments and citizens…and finally the third dimension, the global partnership, is between local governments and international organisations (Saker, 1997).”

In the circumstances of the ‘governmental earthquake’ that Mr. Saker observes the

international partnership appears to be an adequate means to develop new policies for

responding to local problems of Bursa. He insisted on the absurdity to ignore what has

been going on abroad and on the need to profit from the international experiences. That

was obviously why, during his mandate, the Metropolitan Municipality of Bursa multiplied

its international relations and adhesions. The list of organisations adhered under leadership

of Mr. Saker would reveal the scope of such efforts: International Council for

Environmental Initiatives (1995), World Academy of Local Authority and Democracy

(1996), World Conference of Mayors for Peace Through Inter-City Solidarity (1997),

United Nations Development Programme (1997), Association of Cities for Recycling

222

(1997), World Conference of Mayors for Peace Through Inter-City Solidarity (1997)92. He

also posed the candidacy of the municipality for the Healthy City Project of the World

Health Organisation and initiated a national network of Turkish Healthy Cities. However,

both of the application processes were concluded in 2000, after the election of the new

mayor.

Furthermore, in his understanding, the importance of international relations was not

limited solely by contacts established with international organisations. He also adhered to

the significance of developing bilateral relationships with other cities with the objective of

sharing local experiences. For this purpose, he displayed considerable efforts in twinning

Bursa with other, particularly less developed cities (Saker, 2000: 56). Indeed, Mr. Saker

signed nine of the nineteen foreign city twinnings of Bursa. The cities twinned with Bursa

during his mandate are as follows: Bitola (Macedonia-1996), Herzlya (Israel- 1997), Cadir

Linga (Republic of Moldovia-1997), Kizilorda (Kazakhstan-1997), Mascara (Algeria-

1998), Kulmbach (Germany-1998), Plevne (Bulgaria-1998), Plovdiv (Bulgaria-1998),

Tirana (Albania- 1998).

The impact of such a concern for international connections can be easily observed in

Mr. Saker’s efforts in trying to establish participatory mechanisms in Bursa. He states

explicitly that the projects that he undertook were significantly influenced by his personal

experiences acquired while serving in the executive boards of international organisations

such as International Union for Local Authorities (IULA) and International Council for

Environmental Initiatives (ICLEI)93. As a matter of fact, the launching of LA21 in Turkey

first as a local initiative in Bursa, was in fact thanks to a regional meeting of ICLEI in

Rome in 1995. Mr Saker who got to know the concept in that meeting, initiated the process

even before arriving back to the city as one of his closest collaborators, the first general

secretary of LA21 in Bursa, remembers smilingly:

“It was a Sunday; I was going to Istanbul when my car phone rang. ‘Mr. Erdem Saker wants to speak to you’, they said. He was a quite interesting man. He had always had someone in his secretariat until midnight and even during weekends to be able to reach

92 The website of the metropolitan municipality of Bursa,

http://www.bursa-bld.gov.tr/uluslararasi/uluslararasi.asp?uluslararasiID=1&uluslarID=1&dil= Turkce last consulted June 13th, 2005. 93 Interview with Erdem Saker, July 29th, 2003 ; Istanbul.

223

people via teleconference from wherever he was. ‘Hello O., how are you?’ he said. ‘I am fine thank you, Mr. Mayor. Welcome back’ I replied. He immediately invited me for dinner that evening. I said that I couldn’t because I was on the ferry on my way to Istanbul. Coincidentally, he was also on the ferry on the opposite direction towards Bursa. ‘Ok’ he said, “come to me on Tuesday then, I have things to tell you.’ He mentioned briefly about LA21 but of course I understood nothing. On Tuesday, we met for lunch. He started enthusiastically telling me about LA21 that he heard in Rome. ‘LA21, it’s just for you. We will initiate it here in Bursa. We will be the pioneer in Turkey.’ But that strange concept of LA21 did not mean anything to me. He explained more in details. The LA21 process had indeed started like this (Interview #91).”

Mr. Erdem’s enthusiasm about international relations and his interest in global

developments should not be interpreted as a purely passive attitude towards the occident.

His ambition did not consist of ‘importing’ new concepts, new practices or new

mechanisms from the Occident to Bursa. Instead, what he aimed was to re-interpret, re-

evaluate the particular characteristics, problems of the city in a global perspective. “We

ought to sew our own clothes [institutions],” he was telling to the Turkish businessmen

gathered to discuss local governments, “however these clothes have to be associated to the

globally determined principles94.” Hence, even if he heard about the LA21 in Rome in

1995, what he undertook upon his return was not to initiate a totally new process. As we

have already described above, briefly after his election, he had already established a city

council and district organisations. What he did after participating to the meeting of ICLEI,

was to associate these local efforts to a global framework. In this way, he facilitated the

process not only by enjoying a veritable resource of global know-how, but also by

justifying his efforts in referring directly to international themes and practices. In other

words, without his political program and vision, all these efforts would not necessarily

mean much. Yet, it does not mean that international relations are only useful when the

local leader has already a political perspective. In the contrary, according to Mr. Saker,

local leaders need to get involved in international activities in order to undertake

democratic steps on behalf of local democracy and of participatory mechanisms:

“The actual problem is that the mayor should believe in such efforts and to be able to believe, he needs to observe them with his own eyes. Of course, not speaking a foreign language is a big handicap for mayors, they get bored. For example, me, when I go to a meeting, I don’t miss even a minute of the meeting; when I go to somewhere, I go there for the meeting, not to walk around the city. However, when the mayor does not speak a foreign language, he gets bored and then leaves the meeting…I learned a lot from

94 Oral intervention during the conference on the local governments organised by TUSIAD, October 1997, Istanbul. http://www.tusiad.org.tr/turkish/rapor/yerel/html/sec7.html last consultation June 13th, 2005.

224

international meetings. That’s why we need to take them to such meetings. For this purpose, when I was in the executive of board of IULA, we were trying to arrange simultaneous translation in Turkish; we were paying for that…We need to spread such ideas like this, by the multiplication of such international contacts95.”

In short, in Mr. Erdem’s understanding, international contacts represent an adequate

instrument for what Rebecca Abers (1998: 56) calls the ‘demonstration effect.’ He believes

that mayors who witness institutional innovations and contemporary policies undertaken

by their foreign counterparts, would become eager to adopt similar strategies in their

localities. At least, for the case of Bursa, the influence of such ‘demonstration effect’ is

obvious. Particularly interested in international experiences and developments in the

domain of local governments, Mr. Saker managed to undertake original initiatives that

were closely associated to global themes and experiences.

At this point, it would be useful to refer once more to Burns (1978) who emphasizes

the importance of ‘motives’ and ‘resources’ for leaders to dispose a veritable power.

Indeed, according to the author, the power of a leader is founded on both motives and

resources which are actually interdependent. When reconsidered in this perspective, the

significance of international contacts can be better perceived since first such contacts may

provide excellent opportunities for improving resources available to local leaders. For the

past two decades, multiplication of funds, aids, credits and donations of international

organisations destined to social projects, infrastructure investments and democratic

initiatives have represented very valuable means of fund-raising for Turkish municipalities

for whom the scarceness of financial resources has been the rule due to centralist political

traditions. Apart from such direct resources, international contacts may provide non-

negligible strategic and methodological resources for local governors. By getting to know

different experiences all around the globe, leaders may develop more adequate and

effective policies in their locality. This importation of global know-how may even be

reinforced by various means of cooperation and exchange by national and foreign counter-

parts. Furthermore, as a second dimension, these contacts with the external world

constitute an excellent means of motivation for local leaders. By witnessing personally to

various innovations undertaken by other local actors, leaders become more motivated in

achieving similar policies. In this sense, the international contacts may contribute to the

95 Interview with Erdem Saker, July 29th, 2003 ; Istanbul.

225

reinforcement of the second condition of Burn’s power approach. As Saker demonstrates

perfectly, being aware of what is going on in other localities, encourage the leader to

determine and work for his own motives. In other terms, Aber’s ‘demonstration effect’

contributes to Burns’s ‘motive’ condition through the development of international

contacts, which simultaneously improve financial and personal resources of leaders.

b) Glocal brokers

On the other hand, as for Mersin, the dissociation of Mr. Ozcan’s mandate with

international developments has been obviously an important determinant in the city’s

unsuccessful attempt for introducing new participatory mechanisms. Indeed, although the

mayor had personally engaged in establishing participatory mechanisms during his

electoral campaign, his intention was not quite based on a personal conviction. According

to some of our local interlocutors, his engagement did not represent a sincere ambition

since even his electoral programme was prepared by third persons:

“I was personally present in the electoral campaign of Mayor Ozcan. When his electoral program, his electoral brochure was prepared, he was not involved…He did not even know what the city council, LA21 signified. He signed what was proposed to him by others (Interview #48).”

From all we have discussed until now, it is not quite difficult to adhere to the

assumption that Mr. Ozcan was not actually convinced about the need for establishing new

participatory mechanisms. In several of our interviews, it is even argued that his later

hostility to the process was because he understood lately what the process would actually

bring about. According to this point of view, he appeared willing to introduce new

participatory mechanisms only until he became aware that this would oblige him to share

his political power and in the ‘conspiratorial worldview’ that we outlined above, this would

mean the reinforcement of his political enemies. Therefore, he has not been actually quite

aware of the new global tendency on behalf of local democracy. The motive stimulated by

international developments is thus only decorative; it enables the mayor to develop a

discursive strategy that aims at giving to his mayoralty a democratic, globally-connected

and innovative image. In other words, it represents mainly a rhetorical resource for the

mayor of Mersin, a resource than can be further used for other ends then a democratic

image…

226

Mr. Ozcan’s lack of sincere interest to international context should not be interpreted

as an isolationist attitude since he has had quite frequent interactions with foreign

institutions, not mentioning his very frequent touristic visits to abroad. Yet, the nature of

his international connections seems to differ significantly from what Mr. Saker sought.

Instead of international organisations and bilateral relationships of cooperation, he is more

associated to foreign business corporations and international credit organisations96. In

every urban project he undertook or tried to undertake, there was always a foreign partner

involved in the initiative either as a contractor or as a financer. For example, in every

occasion he proudly announces that he managed to obtain the cheapest international credit

for his project of water refinement plant. But, of course, such a great achievement was

hindered by numerous ‘local traitors’ who furiously criticised the initiative on ‘unjustified’

grounds. However, as these ‘traitors’ argue, the fact that the credit is allocated with a

reasonable interest rate does not necessarily indicate that it is actually adequate for city’s

financial situation on the long-run97. In any case, the focus of opponents’ argument is in

fact the nature of the project; they criticise the location of the plant, the system that will be

installed and the demographic estimations on which the efficiency projections are founded.

However, instead of responding to these very concrete arguments, Ozcan have preferred to

repeat how cheap the foreign credit was. In a way, he seemed to justify the end by the

means.

Discussions on the water refinement plant project illustrate how international

contacts can contribute to leadership resources. The resource in the example includes

indeed a financial dimension. But it also represents a rhetorical resource that would be very

useful in Ozcan’s defence for the project. Another example that illustrates the rhetorical

capacity of international contacts would be Ozcan’s Italian partners that were presumed to

undertake three major projects of the city. In December 2003, upon his return from a

voyage to Italy, Mr. Ozcan announced proudly that the metropolitan municipality found an

96 In fact, this tendency is not specific for Mersin. As we have noted in discussing the post-1980 developments in the Turkish local municipal system, local governments have been encouraged to find foreign funding for their investment projects. 97 That is exactly why the majority of the Turkish municipalities have been in a de facto bankruptcy since the nineties. Mayors have used inadequate middle or long term credits without considering the future burden of these amounts on the city in perhaps supposing that they would have until then already quit municipal functions.

227

Italian partner who accepted to engage in all of the three large-scaled projects of the city,

namely, the water refinement plant, the solid waste burning plant and the tramway; the

total sum of the envisaged project corresponds approximately to 500 million dollars.

However, a local journalist who made a rapid search on the internet finds out that no such

company exists in reality. After publishing an article on his unexpected finding, the

municipality corrects the name of the related company in explaining that the mistake was

“due to the abundance of English words in the agreement.” Yet, the journalist was still far

from satisfied with the response of the municipality and thus pursued his investigation on

the net. What he finds out with the corrected name was an non-professional webpage of a

Swiss finance company that arranges short and medium-term financings for borrowers not

having ready access to the international public issue market. The company had indeed a

contact office in Rome, but as anyone would suppose, it was far from representing an

adequate expertise or references for getting involved in an immense undertaking of 500

million dollars (Ayan, 2004a, 2004b). As a matter of fact, the Italian partner never arrives

to the city and the projects remain on paper.

As the cited examples reveal, international contacts enable the mayor of Mersin to

develop a rhetorical power that is used to justify his policies and projects. The fact that

there are foreign actors that are interested and ready to cooperate in such initiatives provide

a discursive evidence for the mayor to prove the adequacy of his enterprises. Thus, for

Ozcan, those who oppose to such efforts could only be mistaken, manipulated or

prejudiced since they could not evaluate the situation better than the international –more

specifically occidental- agents. In other words, such contacts provide him a very rich

resource of political legitimacy.

Consequently, the difference in the nature of international contacts that both mayors

pursue during their mandates is undeniable. While international scene represents a rich

source of inspiration for new policies and practices of Mr. Saker, for Mr. Ozcan it is rather

solely a resource of financial credits and business partners if not a purely rhetorical

strategy. It would be false to argue that the metropolitan municipality of Bursa does not

associate financially with foreign institutions since the legal framework obliges all Turkish

municipalities to seek foreign credits. However, during the mandate of Mr. Saker Bursa

appears to have taken one step forward than this economic globalisation. Personal

implication of the mayor in international organisations, thus in the global exchange of new

228

ideas and practices, significantly determined the outcome of the undertaken participatory

initiatives. Therefore, in addition to his personal characteristics and his political

positioning, international relations that he pursued enabled Mr. Saker to introduce new

participatory mechanisms in Bursa. On the other hand, in Mersin, the establishment of

similar institutions turned to be problematic since they are condemned to remain artificial

in the local context due to the total indifference of the mayor to global efforts on the issue.

C - Leading by policies or politics

The discussion of the mayors of Bursa and Mersin may appear to some of our

readers too burlesque resembling to a tale of “The beauty and the beast.” Even if our

intention was actually not to deliberately sharpen the contrast between these figures, our

empirical findings of both our fieldworks and second source inquiries brought about such

portraits. Although we insistently searched for clues for softening the contrast by evoking

more positive and negative elements on their personal leadership styles98, we simply could

not. This picture may be a result of a methodological deficiency. Yet, having met with

more than a hundred actors, we sincerely believe that our findings should not have been

distorted by political contentions or personal rivalries.

Based on these observations and analyses concerning the mayors of Bursa and

Mersin, we distinguish two contradictory leadership styles in the Turkish politics. On the

one hand, Mr. Saker represents a local leader with a clear political vision based on a

collectively determined political programme and concrete objectives. Endowed with a

highly significant professional expertise and managerial skills, he manages to develop local

policies that cope with the problems and the needs of his city. Moreover, by managing to

keep a distance with party politics, he enjoys a political autonomy that enables him to

pursue the undertaking of his projects. In this sense, Saker meets both of the conditions

that Burns determines for being able to dispose power: motive and resources. When his

political vision and objectives, thus his motives combined with his individual resources in

terms of personal (non-negligible experience in the bureaucracy, managerial skills and

98 Towards the very end of our research, one of my interlocutors in Mersin whom we met three times, finally replied by stating that “What do you want me to say? Yes, he is kind and sympathetic when personally encountered. But, his political style is as it is. He does not simply know how to lead otherwise” (Interview #1C)

229

attitudes) and social (being well-known in the city, international contacts) capital, we

observe a transformational leadership in the personality of Mr. Erdem Saker. As we have

already repeated for several times, his particular leadership style as well as his innovative

services in the city have been acknowledged and appreciated by even those who were not

necessarily among the sympathizers of the political tradition that he represented.

At this point, we believe that Fiorina and Shepsle’s (1989) categorisation of

leadership styles would be useful in theoretically distinguishing Saker and Ozcan. Indeed,

according to the authors, three different models of leaders can be stated: agents, agenda

setters and the public entrepreneurs. An agent is the most responsive type of leader to her

public; leader’s acts are wholly determined by the follower behaviour since the most

important ambition of the leader is to remain leader in the following period by maintaining

followers’ support. When re-formulated in Burns’s perspective, all the acts of leaders are

more or less fixed by a macro level transaction that can be resumed as “whatever you want

as soon as I am re-elected.” Within this grand framework, there would be of course a great

number of little-scaled transactions between followers and the leader. However, the margin

of negotiations can not be actually very large since what is really at stake for the latter is

his/her re-election rather than any strategic priority of policy choice.

The second model of leaders that Fiorina and Shepsle propose is ‘agenda setter’ that

indicates a leader whose actions are also determined by permanent transactions undertaken

with his/her followers. But in contrast with agent-leader, agenda setter does not simply

obey to the outcomes of such transactions; s/he uses the extraordinary powers of the leader

status in order to manipulate the perception of what is really at stake. Therefore, agenda

setter can bias final outcomes in the direction of her preferences without actually being

obliged to oppose to followers’ choices. So, in a way, agenda setter appears to be as

responsive, as representative, as submissive as an agent since s/he does not apparently

contradict with the preferences pronounced by the public; but actually s/he is the one who

influences the outcome by making use of diverse methods of manipulation. That is why, an

agenda setter can be situated in the middle of transitional and transformational leadership

since although still dependent on transactions, s/he manages to transform the way problems

or questions are formulated in order to be able to influence the outcome. In other words,

even if not associated really to a strategic vision or a determined policy orientation, an

agenda setter disposes of a transformational influence.

230

Finally, Fiorina and Shepsle proposes public entrepreneur as the third kind of leader.

According to Lewis’s definition (1986: 250) public entrepreneur is “a person who creates

or profoundly elaborates a public organisation so as to alter greatly the existing pattern of

allocation of scarce public resources.” The most important feature of public entrepreneurs

is the fact that they manage to acquire a relative autonomy from their followers by

engaging in particular strategies of organisational design. According to Fiorina and

Shepsle, leader can either attempt to coordinate the actions of a group of people with the

objective of constituting his/her power base independent from those that already exist and

that would constraint her decisions. This coordination consists of assembling people that

have not being able to communicate among each other. By coordinating the actions of this

up until then separated group, s/he creates a profit opportunity for him/herself. The

coordination of this collective gathering and mobilisation will not also contradict with

his/her policy priorities since s/he would be the one to define such preferences of the

coordinated group. A second method, albeit not wholly different than the former, would be

to create a specific social organisation that would support leaders’ actions. The influence

that leaders enjoy in coordinating or organising followers let them dispose a very important

autonomy in government. Therefore, public entrepreneur is quite associated to

transformational leadership since s/he transforms first of all the social order by

coordinating groups or creating formal organisations. Furthermore, the political autonomy

that this social transformation enables him/her to pursue his/her proper policies without

being constraint by the pressures of status quo issued from the permanent transactions with

followers.

Given this theoretical model of different leadership styles, we can argue that Saker

represents an adequate example of the public entrepreneurs in the Turkish context. His

political autonomy with regards to the Turkish partisan politics was balanced by his

success in mobilising the local community through participatory mechanisms that he

introduced in the city. In this sense, we can note that he achieved an exemplary political

enterprise by procuring a general support for his municipal endeavours. Furthermore, these

activities represent a very original example of innovative government since they aimed at

the transformation of the local context. Therefore, they can also be considered as the

evidence of a public entrepreneurship.

231

On the other hand, leadership of Mr. Ozcan is founded upon very delicate political

accounts. Devoid of a significant professional expertise either on a technical issue or on

public management, Mr. Ozcan does not manage to propose concrete policies for the city

he governs. Instead, his political legitimacy is based on machine politics that consists of

electoral mobilisation by the distribution of particularistic privileges or by identity politics.

Thus, his leadership style corresponds perfectly to Burns’s transactional leadership. His

political power stems indeed from explicit or implicit transactions that he establishes with

various actors and local communities. Be it in the form of clientelist exchanges or identity

politics, such transactions enable Ozcan to keep his political power. Even if his policies

and initiatives have not been actually appreciated, he has managed to prolong his mandate

for another term; a political success that Saker was deprived.

Despite the prevalence of populist or particularistic transactions in his authority,

Ozcan can not yet be considered as a simple agent in Fiorina and Shepsle’s typology

because he does not appear as a totally passive actor who is subjected absolutely to wants

and needs of his supporters. Instead, he manages to manipulate the formulation of the

socio-political issues and questions in a way that the popular tendency corresponds exactly

to his interests. Hence, by making use of Kurdish problem, his ethnical identity as well as

international contacts, he manages to influence the public opinion to vulgarise his

conspiratorial worldview so that local projects are discussed not on terms of

socioeconomic or technical adequacy but on the division of city-lovers and local betrayers;

municipal elections are determined not by achievements or projects but by a virtual

Kurdish menace etc. Consequently, even those who do not appreciate his municipal

practices, find themselves supporting him in the new agenda set by the mayor himself.

Therefore, we argue that Ozcan is actually a good example of a local agenda-setter in the

Turkish context.

Giving such apparent differences between the mayors of Bursa and Mersin, a

theoretical distinction can be proposed to conceptualise the observed dissimilarity in

leadership styles. The two mayors discussed along this chapter reflect indeed two different

perception of local government that we propose to call as government by policies and

government by politics. Government by policies, as the mayor of Bursa demonstrates, is a

governmental style in which the local leader appears as a political visionary. Founded upon

personal technical experiences and managerial skills and developed by the participation of

232

the municipal bureaucrats and civil societal experts, the mayor manages to propose

concrete policies for local development as well as to cope with the city’s problems. His

political career either depends on the success of the policies pursued or does not exist at all

as for Mr. Erdem since party politics is kept apart from the determination of urban policies.

On the other hand, in the style of government by politics, local government becomes

an instrument of daily politics. The municipality appears as a framework of resources and

advantages ready to be used for political ends. The local leader, in this scheme, appears as

a political entrepreneur who cares mostly for his personal interests or the ones of his

political cliental. He proposes, if he does at all, populist undertakings that do not respond

actually to the real problems of the city. Nevertheless, by playing on socio-political

cleavages and urban conflicts, he manages to maintain his political power.

Consequently, we argue that the contradiction with regards to leadership styles of the

mayors is useful in understanding the dissimilar outcomes of the LA21 in the respective

cities. Participatory mechanisms that are introduced by the project were perceived by Mr.

Saker as adequate tools of pursuing his policies as well as supporting his political

autonomy vis-à-vis both the partisan apparatus and the interest groups. On the other hand,

the project introduced by Mr. Ozcan without quite being aware of its implications and

impact, was undermined by himself fearing that it would weaken his political influence as

a local patron of clientelist networks. The impact of local leaders on the introduction of

such participatory mechanisms is thus obvious.

Nevertheless, it would be too simplistic to answer our major problematic by merely

local leaders’ attitudes and orientations since the practice under examination is not an

ordinary public policy that could be realised by the effective mobilisation of municipal

agents and resources. Indeed, the initiative aims at reaching to the local community and

mobilising them within the introduced mechanisms. In other words, no matter how

democratic, innovative and entrepreneurial a mayor could be, without the community’s

involvement in the process, the initiative would be a big failure. Similarly in another

context, the initiative would mark a big success if the local community, the grassroots were

mobilised for such ends independent than their leader’s attitude. So to say, such an

initiative wholly dependent on the involvement of local community can not be understood

without taking societal factors in consideration. That’s why we pursue our discussion by

introducing some societal elements to our discussion in the next section.

233

II - Social capital as a key to local democratisation in fragmented contexts

The fall of socialist regimes in the late 1980s led by the mobilisation of citizens

against authoritarian political regimes, represented the re-popularisation of the concept of

‘civil society’ within the political science literature on democracy and democratic

transition. This re-popularisation marked also the second fundamental transformation of

‘civil society’ already enrooted in political philosophy since Aristotle’s works in which

politike koinonia (translated to Latin by Ciceron as societas civilis) indicates an ethic and

political community of free and equal citizens in a system of rules determined by laws. In

this conceptualisation of the concept, there was no distinction between state and society;

‘civil society’ represented thus also the former when defining a political community. Even

if this unity between state and civil society had already been weakened by the emergence

of absolutist states replacing the feudal system, it was actually Hegel’s understanding of

civil society that constituted the first breaking-point in the conceptual history of the term.

The German philosopher distinguishes civil society both from family and state by

describing it as a venue of the economic market as well as of organisations defending the

interests of their members. By subscribing to the assumption according to which

individuals are naturally selfish and preoccupied only with their private interests, he

perceives civil society as a domain of private interests, demands and needs (Erdogan-

Tosun, 2001:36-40). Hence, individuals in corporations would normally never achieve

collective objectives. But, no matter how they are motivated by selfish instincts, people

actually get together and realise their collective interests. Therefore, civil society may

serve to transform selfish individuals to citizens caring also for general interests (Hamidi,

2002: 39-30). This function of transformation is enabled mainly by the state that maintains

relative peace among the members of society. In other words, even if civil society is

henceforth distinguished from state, it is not wholly detached.

If Hegel can be referred as the author who differentiated civil society from state,

Tocqueville is the one who provided the democratic connotations of the concept. In fact,

the latter also believes in the egoism of individuals. Furthermore, he thinks that the

234

establishment of democratic regimes, thus principles of liberty and equality, would

aggravate the consequences of the individualistic nature of human beings and would lead

to anarchy or despotism. According to the French author, the only instrument to prevent

such dangerous derivations is associative participation. Just like Hegel claims, he also

believes that individuals would join associations with individualistic motives but would

then better understand the virtues and advantages of acting collectively and considering the

general interests of society. In this new state of ‘interest definition,’ citizens can better

organise among themselves to resist the despotism of state and to achieve collective

initiatives that would serve to the general public interest.

The conceptual history of civil society does not indeed include only positive

arguments on its impact on society. For example, Rousseau accused such social formations

for being responsible of enhancing factions within a society, whereas Gramsci emphasized

the risk of instrumentalisation of the civil society by dominant classes leading to the

establishment of a hegemonic power. Similarly, Arendt considers civil society as an

instrument that provides a public legitimacy to private interest. Most probably due to such

negative connotations associated to civil society mainly by the Marxist tradition, civil

society did not attract significant attention from scholars of political science until the

1980s.

Yet, the role played by civic movements like Solidarnocs in Poland and Charte 77 in

Czechoslovakia during the fall of socialist regimes re-popularised the concept as an

important analytical tool in understanding the preconditions of a democratisation process.

The third wave of democratisation affecting countries such as South Korea, Taiwan, Chile,

China, South Africa, Nigeria and Benin was thus described in a direct reference to civil

societal elements (Diamond, 1994: 4-5). Civil society has since then been perceived as the

master key of democratisation which led to an abusive usage of the term throughout the

globe.

Yet, in its new form, civil society was no longer an abstract issue of normative and

empirical categories of the social theory, but a quantitative indicator of the democratic

capacity of a given country. Hence, the Tocquevillian perspective was back in the political

agenda of the debates on the prerequisites of democratic transition under the generic label

of civil society. Nonetheless, the concept has meanwhile gone through an epistemological

transformation; the question was not anymore whether or not an associative life exists in

235

the examined contexts since associative liberties and rights have been formally granted in

almost all political regimes claiming to be democratic. The question has been henceforth to

see to what extent societies make use of these rights and liberties in getting together to

achieve collective objectives. In other words, the democratic transition –interpreted from a

civil society perspective- was no longer seen dependent on certain institutional

arrangements but rather on societal capabilities.

The problematisation of civil society in terms of ‘how much’ rather than ‘whether or

not’ led to the elaboration of the concept in more quantitative terms. Hence, the ‘civilism’,

i.e. the democratic capacity, of nations was henceforth determined by the number of

associations and of their members analysed through world-wide surveys. This

methodological transformation of civil society based analyses was also accompanied by a

theoretical revision introducing new paradigms such as Robert Putnam’s social capital,

which turned out to be one of the most popular contemporary political concepts marking

the neo-Tocquevillian line of thought.

Given this recent epistemological shift of the political studies on democratic

transition, we aim at pursuing our discussion on the dissimilarities between our respective

cities by a direct reference to the contemporary debate on social capital with the objective

of verifying the explanatory power of the approach on our case study. Therefore, after

resuming the theoretical assumptions of the social capital approach, we shall verify

whether they help us explaining the dissimilarity of the democratic outcomes of the LA21

project in our respective cities.

A - Theoretical assumptions and conceptual weaknesses of social capitalist approach

Despite the earlier utilisations of the term99, the theoretical development of the social

capital approach does not go back very far in the history and can be identified by three

major lines of theoretical tributaries. The first line of understanding of the concept belongs

99 Schuller, Baron and Field (2000: 3) argue that “social capital” is first used as a term in 1957 by the Royal Commission on Canada’s Economic Prospects in a report titled as “Housing and Social Capital” where it identified –broadly- the public physical infrastructure of a nation whereas Putnam (2000: 19) claims that the first utilisation of the concept belongs to L. J. Hanifan, the state

236

to Pierre Bourdieu who highlights the importance of social relationships in having access

on various resources100. Therefore, Bourdieu adds a third dimension (after economic and

cultural dimensions) to the perception of capital as a tool of explaining the structure and

dynamics of differentiated societies by associating the production and reproduction of

socioeconomic inequalities within a given society to the networks of connections (Foley

and Edwards, 1999: 143).

After this Marxist understanding of social capital, Coleman offers a functionalist

interpretation of the concept as a constitution of social organisation which facilitates “the

achievement of goals that could not be achieved in its absence or could be achieved only at

a higher cost” (Coleman, 1990: 304). In this Parsonian version, the concept indicates a

variety of different entities not only consisting of certain aspects of a social structure, but

also facilitating specific actions of individuals. Although continuing to perceive social

capital as an individual instrument in having access to resources, Coleman distinguishes

from Bourdieu, in that, for him, social capital can exist only in and through relationships

and social structures, whereas for the latter, it is rather a combination of individual

identities and strategies. In other words, in Coleman’s thinking, social capital is not borne

by individuals wherever they might go (Foley and Edwards, 1999: 144). Moreover, for

Coleman social capital is politically neutral given the fact that its uses may range from

asocial to antisocial to broadly prosocial supporting civic activisim or promoting

something more akin to Edward Banfield’s101 ‘amoral familism’ (Foley and Edwards,

1997: 552).

Social capital acquires its democratic virtues through Putnam’s Tocquevillian and

Weberian reading of the concept as “features of social organisation, such as trust, norms,

and networks that can improve the efficiency of society by facilitating coordinated actions”

supervisor of rural schools in West Virginia, who underlined “the importance of community involvement for successful schools” by referring to the idea of “social capital” as early as in 1916. 100 « Le capital social est l’ensemble des ressources actuelles ou potentielles qui sont liées à la possession d’un réseau durable de relations plus ou moins institutionnalisées d’interconnaissance et d’interreconnaissance ; ou en d’autres termes, à l’appartenance à un groupe, comme ensemble d’agents qui ne sont pas seulement dotés de propriétés communes … mais sont aussi unis par des liaisons permanentes et utiles » (Bourdieu, 1980b : 2). 101 Banfield, E. C. (1958), The moral basis of a backward society, Chicago : Free press.

237

(Putnam et al., 1993: 167). Hence the concept is turned into a social resource serving to the

enhancement of democratic effectiveness of political systems.

Putnam’s formulation of social capital theory owes most of its basic assumptions to

research that he conducted in Italy with the objective of understanding the possible reasons

of the performance gap of the institutions between northern and southern Italy, which were

established at the same time with the same structure. The initial intention of the research

was to study how the new institutions issued from a regional government reform in the

beginning of 1970s, develop and adapt to their environment (ibid. p.6). However, after two

decades of study, the main question of the work turns out to be: What are the conditions for

creating strong, responsive, effective representative institutions ibid. p.XIII)102? He ends up

finding significant clues in the historical development of each region that would inspire

him to formulate a category of “social capital” which seems to be lacking in the south

while flourishing in the north.

To support this argument of historical heritage disparity, the author also makes use

of rich quantitative data for the periods for which regional statistics are available. He

develops a civic-ness index for each region based on four indicators of civic-ness: vibrancy

of associational life, newspaper readership, electoral turn-out and preference voting (as a

counter-indicator) (ibid. p.91-99). He observes that “regions where citizens use personal

preference votes, but do not vote in referenda, do not join civic associations, and do not

read newspapers are the same regions whose leaders describe their regional politics as

clientelistic, rather than programmatic.” (ibid. p.99). In fact, according to the author, these

are “apathy and ancient vertical bonds of clientelism” that “restrained civic involvement

and inhibited voluntary, horizontally organized manifestations of social solidarity” (ibid.

p.149). On the other hand, he also remarks that in northern Italy where cooperatives and

choral societies have been sustained, “also provided the most support for mutual aid

societies and mass parties” and citizens “were the most eager to make use of their newly

granted electoral rights” ( loc. cit.). In short, as Cohen (1999: 217) summarizes, Putnam

102 In this stage of problematisation, Putnam’s operational dependent appears to be the policy performance. Yet, further in his work, this institutional performance is gradually transformed to a democratic criterion whence the title of his book “Making democracy work.” The lack of convincing justification on this equivalence between policy effectiveness and democracy represents indeed a serious theoretical weakness (see Tarrow: 1996).

238

“argues convincingly that horizontally organized voluntary associations that cut across

social cleavages are more likely to nourish wider social cooperation, to reinforce norms of

reciprocity, and thus to ‘make democracy work’ rather than hierarchical segmental

organisations or clientelistic structures.”

Later on, he orients his academic interest to his own country, the United States,

where he observes a significant loss of social capital in the American society for more than

a quarter century. This social erosion is well identified by the decrease in associative

participation, informal socialisation and social trust. According to the author, participation

in voluntary associations “has declined by roughly 25% to 50% over the last two or three

decades”, the time that Americans spend on “informal socializing and visiting is down

(perhaps by one quarter)” since 1965, the interest in public affairs and responsibilities

(such as attending a rally, a speech or a meeting, working for a political party, volunteering

etc.) have fallen sharply, group membership has dropped roughly by one quarter since

1974 and social trust has gone down roughly one-third (Putnam, 1995: 666). The United

States seem to be losing its civic spirit so fast that Tocqueville would not recognize it, if he

were alive now (Mendras: 2001, 181). In trying to explain the causes of such an erosion of

social capital, Putnam refers to time and money pressures, urban constraints (city design,

suburbanisation etc.), and technological changes (particularly monopolisation of leisure

activities by television). In short, it is becoming more and more difficult to make American

democracy work since it loses its social capital due to the fact that Americans are inclined

to live more on their own, relatively alienated from the rest of the society.

No matter how hard Putnam insists that his research is behavioural and structural

rather than attitudinal or cultural, what Putnam achieves actually can be considered as a re-

interpretation of Almond and Verba’s civic culture under the new generic name of social

capital. In this new conceptualisation of a political culture that favours the democratic

functioning of a political system, we observe two distinct but interrelated dimensions:

normative (interpersonal trust) and structural (social networks), that we propose to treat

separately in the following section.

239

1) Trust as “The Chicken Soup of Social Life”103 ?

The normative aspect of Putnam’s social capital approach is founded on the

importance of interpersonal trust and reciprocity that are considered to be crucial for social

and political stability and cooperation. According to the author, “if actors are unable to

make credible commitments to one another, they must forgo many opportunities for mutual

gain” (Putnam et al., 1993: 164). Therefore, in order to facilitate the accomplishment of

collective actions in the community and to decrease their transactional costs for all

participants, the society has to have “a substantial stock of social capital” (ibid. p.167).

From this point of view, social trust is considered to be a facilitator “due to the fact that in

trustful relationships, less resources are required to guarantee compliance than in other

relationships” (van Deth, 2001: 5). Putnam illustrates his argument by the example of

rotating credit associations in which the participants make regular contributions to a fund

of which the contributors make use in rotation (Putnam et al., 1993: 167). The most

significant feature of such an organisation seems to be the trust in other participants that

they do not drop out once they have received the pot. Like in this example, “trust lubricates

cooperation. The greater level of trust within a community, the greater the likelihood of

cooperation” (ibid. p.171).

But how does this social trust develop? In trying to give an answer to this question,

Putnam indicates, as the main source, the norms of reciprocity, which “serve to reconcile

self-interest and solidarity” and which can be either balanced (a simultaneous exchange of

items of equivalent value) or generalized (continuing, but irregular exchange of items

unrequited or imbalanced) (ibid. p.172). According to the author, the community would

benefit considerably from the outcomes of generalized reciprocity since its members would

be more inclined to display concern towards others such as volunteering, giving blood and

contributing to charity (Putnam, 2000: 340):

“Members of the community that follow the principle of generalized reciprocity –raking your leaves before they blow onto your neighbour’s yard, lending a dime to a stranger for a parking meter, buying a round of drinks the week you earn overtime, keeping an eye on a friend’s house, taking turns bringing snacks to Sunday school, caring for the child of the crack-head one flight down- find that their self-interest is served, just as Hume’s farmers would both have been better off by sharing their labours” (Putnam, 2000: 135).

103 Eric M. Uslaner, 2000-2001: 569.

240

According to Putnam, the second source of trust is the existence of social networks

within the society that “facilitates the achievement of certain common ends and engenders

cooperative behaviour that otherwise would not have been possible” (Norris, 2001: 3).

That’s where he starts discussing the structural aspect of social capital. His “theory of

social capital presumes that, generally speaking, the more we connect with other people,

the more we trust them” (Putnam, 1995: 665). He argues that participation in civic

organisations, such as neighbourhood associations, choral societies, cooperatives, sports

clubs, mass-based parties, facilitates the generalisation of trust we have for the people we

know, towards the people we don’t know, because “repeated exchange over a period of

time tends to encourage the development of a norm of generalized reciprocity” (Putnam et

al., 1993: 172). He follows “Alexis de Tocqueville who argued that civic associations are

the essential building blocks of collective action” (Uslaner, 2000-2001: 570).

In short, in Putnam’s understanding the existence of social networks in a community

improves that community’s ability and potential to cooperate for mutual benefit. He

enumerates four reasons for this argument (Putnam, 1993: 173-174): first of all, the cost

would be higher for one who defects from a transaction since by doing so s/he might risk

to lose the benefits expected from other transactions carried out in the same community.

Secondly, the interaction that exists in these social context, would promote the level of

reciprocity due to the fact that repeated encounters promote participants’ mutual

expectations to one another. Subsequently, these civic networks enable the transmission

and refinement of individuals’ reputation about trustworthiness by facilitating the

communication among participants. And finally, the experience of success and

collaboration lived through in these networks constitutes a template for future reference. In

brief, due to all these reasons, Putnam (1995: 666) claims that “people who join are people

who trust.”

Putnam’s consideration of the interpersonal trust as a very valuable virtuous resource

with regards to the democratic development of a political system can be acknowledged on

a normative basis. There is no doubt that in a society in which citizens have reciprocal

confidence towards one another, democracy as well as all other interpersonal interactions

would function quite easily and efficiently. Yet, it is not equally easy to find enough

empirical evidence to support such a normative assumption. As a matter of fact, the

241

interpersonal trust dimension of Putnam’s social capital approach has been subjected to

numerous critics.

A first group of critics aims directly at the statistical validity of Putnam’s

conclusions. For instance, Galland (1999: 45-46) argues that utilisation of the data of

World Values Survey instead of General Social Survey (to which Putnam refers) would

reveal an augmentation of social trust in the United States, rather than a decrease as

Putnam suggests. Similarly, Kenneth Newton (1999: 175) argues that the data of American

national statistics contradict significantly with those of the international surveys.

Therefore, Putnam’s empirical justifications on the relations between interpersonal trust

and democracy do not seem to be supported by other statistical data available for the

United States.

Moreover, when his conclusions are tested on other non-American contexts, the

results are far from indicating a statistical validity of the association between trust and

democracy. For instance, Van Deth (2001: 17-18) concludes by referring to the voter

turnout rates in national elections in 16 European societies in the period of 1990-1994 and

to the aggregated data from the World Values Surveys 1990, that the correlation between

these variables is highly insignificant.

As all these counter-researches reveal, it is quite difficult to re-affirm Putnam’s

conclusions on the democratic virtues of interpersonal trust dimension of the social capital.

Yet, even if they were to confirm Putnam’s arguments, another methodological problem

would nevertheless remain unsolved. As a matter of fact, all these statistics upon which

Putnam’s assumptions are justified or invalidated are based on aggregate data that ignore

the significance of varying distributions within the society and from context to context.

Indeed, we do not rationally decide whether to trust or not to others; our confidence

towards others is determined by various socio-political and economic factors. As Foley and

Edwards (1999: 151) posit “context counts… and counts crucially” in the development of

interpersonal trust. We can trust to our neighbours but not our colleagues or vice-versa or

we can have confidence in only some of them and not in others. Such variations even on an

individual basis can not be seized through national aggregate statistics. It is not voting for a

party or pursuing associative activities that are rationally decided acts whose cross-national

average may give an idea on the general tendencies or orientations of a society that can be

242

interpreted when analysing a national political geography. But for interpersonal trust, it is

neither rationally decided nor constant in time or in context.

Furthermore, the supposed relation between trust and associative activities also

deserves to be questioned since repeated encounters with others may render us distrustful

towards others due to some disappointing experiences104. Even if associative encounters do

not represent disappointing experiences, it is argued that they lead only to more trust

specifically for other fellow members rather than contributing to more generalised trust,

thus keeping the positive impact on interpersonal trust within the associational setting

(Stolle and Hooghe, 2003: 234). Or some individuals may decide to pursue collective

actions exactly because they do not trust others and thus aim to protect themselves or their

interests.

In any case, even if we acknowledge the causality between social trust and

associative experiences, should not we dispose of a minimum trust in order to develop

social networks? In other words, such an interrelation would indicate a social endeavour, in

which the ‘raw material’ and the ‘final product’ would be the same norm, namely social

trust. Stolle (2003:25) describes this theoretical chicken-and-egg dilemma as ‘the classical

problem of endogeneity’ in arguing that people with higher levels of trust indeed self-

select into associations. Consequently, people who join actually trust others; but the line of

causality may be just the inverse: they participate because they trust.

In light of such methodological and theoretical considerations, it is rather difficult to

acknowledge the empirical validity of the normative leg of Putnam’s social capital

approach. Yet, the conceptual weakness of this normative dimension does not necessarily

lead us to disinvest totally in social capital simply because the structural aspect of the

theory is argued to dispose a stronger empirical validity and explanatory capacity (Foley

and Edwards: 1999). To verify this assumption we propose to pursue our discussion on the

social networks dimension of Putnam’s social capital perspective.

104 As reminded by the famous graffiti: “The more I meet people, the more I love my dog.”

243

2) Social Networks: Supervisors and Schools of Democracy

In his Making Democracy Work, Putnam (1993: 89) argues that “the norms and

values of the civic community are embodied in, and reinforced by, distinctive social

structures and practices.” In total harmony with the Tocquevillian theoretical heritage,

Putnam considers civil associations as the main instrument of democratic effectiveness and

stability. The importance that the author attributes to civil organisations is justified firstly

by their capacity of engendering social trust among citizens. Yet, as we argued above this

normative causality appears to be rather problematic due to the difficulty of finding

empirical evidences to support this thesis. At any rate, the democratic potential of

associative bodies is not restricted by their presumed contribution to the generalisation of

social trust since they are considered to dispose significant and direct contributions to

democracy independently from the interpersonal trust perspective.

The democratic potential of associations can be asserted in two different aspects:

their external effects on the larger polity and internal effects on participants themselves.

Externally, social networks provide their participants with a platform to transmit their

interest and demands on the government and defend themselves against its abuses. In this

sense, these bodies enable citizens to build up autonomous organisations that would let

them be more present and influential in the political sphere. They are in this sense an

instrument to reinforce the political power of citizens in politics.

Secondly, social networks are, according to Putnam (2000: 338), “schools of

democracy” where social and civic skills are acquired and practiced. “Members learn how

to run a meeting, speak in public, write letters, organize projects and debate public issues

in civility” ( loc. cit.). Furthermore, they serve as forums for deliberation on public issues

and “as occasions for learning civic virtues, such as active partisanship in public life” (ibid.

p. 339). These significant effects of adhering to social networks enable citizens to improve

their civic skills and competences, so that “they are more likely to hold elected leaders

accountable for their actions” and consequently “the leaders are more likely to believe that

their acts will be held to account” (Norris, 2001, 3). This feeling of accountability certainly

contributes to a democratic government by rendering community members to be active

citizens in the public sphere. Another dimension of the internal effects of social networks

is that they “instil in their members habits of cooperation, solidarity, and public

244

spiritedness” (Putnam et al., 1993: 88) so that citizens become more capable of

undertaking collective initiatives and cooperating among themselves in the name of

general public interest. Thus, social networks represent an adequate tool for enhancing

citizens’ socio-political capabilities that can be later used in classical representative

institutions and processes.

Indeed, the arguments used in favour of social networks resemble very much those

that were formulated on behalf of participatory mechanisms that we have thoroughly

discussed in the first part of this dissertation. We can therefore state that Putnam considers

social networks as an adequate tool for enhancing citizens’ political capabilities and

resources that would contribute to the democratisation of political regimes. Such a

summary of Putnam’s approach reveal the truism of his work since the positive impact of

social networks on democracy has been acknowledged since Tocqueville works and

significantly emphasized since the fall of communist regimes in late 1980s. In this sense,

Putnam seems to dress up common knowledge in a fancy language by introducing a new

concept; or by rather stretching the meaning of an already existing one (Portes and

Landolt, 1996).

Repeating what has been already posited in new terms does not indeed save the

author from criticism. His indifference to social networks other than formal associations

would be a first example of such reactions. Yet, as Newton (1997: 582) argues, informal

groups that involve fairly intense relations are more likely to create ‘habits of the heart’ by

their socialisation role. By focusing only on associative bodies, ignoring participation in

school, family, work, and community, Putnam neglects a great source of social capital.

Furthermore, Putnam ignores also the fact that certain kinds of these formal associations

may indeed be quite harmful for democracy. By accentuating specific group identities and

thus segregation within a society, such organisations undermine the societal resources that

could be mobilised for democratic ends.

Acknowledging this “dark side of social capital”, Putnam carries out a distinction

between two different kinds of social capital: bridging (or inclusive) and bonding (or

exclusive). The bonding social capital is “inward looking and tends to reinforce exclusive

identities and homogeneous groups (such as ethnic fraternal organisations, church-based

women’s reading groups and fashionable country clubs)” whereas bridging social capital is

“outward looking and encompasses people across diverse social cleavages (such as civil

245

rights movement, youth service groups and ecumenical religious organisations” (Putnam,

2000: 22). Based on this distinction, Putnam accepts that bonding social capital may create

a feeling of hostility between the members of that group and the rest of the society due to

the fact that group loyalty may shadow the relation of the members with persons outside

the group (ibid. p. 23). Therefore, even if these kinds of social capital are not

interchangeable, bridging social capital supported by the intensity of consensus on

democratic norms and values, such as tolerance and equality, seems to contribute more to

democracy than the bonding ones (ibid. pp. 350-363).

Nevertheless, this simplistic distinction between bridging and bonding organisations

or brighter and darker sides of social capital does not seem to render the theory totally

convincing since it is still possible to find ‘bridging organisations’ that do not necessarily

contribute to democracy. For instance, Berman (1997) argues persuasively that Poujadism

in France, the extreme right-wing activity in the United State and Nazism in Germany were

all supported by what we can qualify as bridging associative bodies. Especially in interwar

Germany, the social cleavages were accentuated by various choral societies and bird-

watching clubs that appeared to be civic-minded and horizontally organised although they

eventually contributed the lethal segregation of socialist, catholic and protestant groups

leading to ‘ferociously jealous small republics’.

Therefore, the interrelationship between social networks and democracy does not

appear to be quite linear. Even if the democratic potential of associations is generally

acknowledged, their actual impact can not be taken for granted since there are other

determining factors, particularly on the political context. As in the examples given by

Berman, associative bodies can be mobilised for ends other than democratic development.

As he underlines, in a context where political institutions are weak or perceived to be

ineffective and/or illegitimate, civil society may become an alternative sphere of politics

for dissatisfied citizens, ‘increasingly absorbing their energies and satisfying their basic

needs’ and subsequently ‘undermining stability and deepening social cleavages’ (Berman,

1997: 569-570). In such circumstances, it is obvious that the associative activities could

only bring about negative consequences for democracy.

Apart from the nature of their impact on democracy, the development of associative

activities is dependent on the political context, since citizens’ will and chances for getting

together can not be isolated from the political environment to which they are subjected. In

246

a political system where the civil liberties of expression and organisation are restricted and

the resources for such gatherings are limited, it would be surprising to observe a vibrant

associative life. In other words, the institutional factors are highly determining with regards

to the development of associative bodies whereas they are totally absent in Putnam’s

conceptualisation of social capital.

Indeed, this lack of political factors in Putnam’s reasoning engendered non-

negligible criticisms towards his social capital approach. For example, Tarrow (1996)

argues that the chain of causation that Putnam posits between democracy and social capital

can be inversed by rendering the latter a dependent variable rather than an independent

factor determining the quality of democracy in a given context. As a matter of fact, the

civic capacity can well be considered as a ‘by-product of politics, state building and social

structure’ (Tarrow, 1996: 396). In this case, the level of social capital can turn out to be the

symptom rather than the resource of the problem ( loc. cit.). As a matter of fact, in

concluding their edited book, Stolle and Hooghe (2003: 243-244) state that most of the

contributors of the book found significant influence of the institutional factors, particularly

welfare policies, economic equality, the state of juridical and police system as well as the

scope of corruption, on the production of social capital.

The dependence of social capital on other factors renders the theory to a tautological

reasoning. Turning in a logical circularity, social capital turns out to be simultaneously a

cause and an effect, as Portes (1998: 19-20) posits justly:

“It [social capital] leads to positive outcomes, such as economic development and les crime, and its existence is inferred from the same outcomes. Cities that are well governed and moving ahead economically do so because they have social capital; poorer cities lack in this civic culture…In other words, if your town is ‘civic,’ it does civic things; if it is ‘uncivic,’ it does not.”

According to the author, this tautological character of Putnam’s approach results

from two different analytical decisions. First of all, his analysis may be summarised as an

attempt to identify post-factum causes of an observed difference without neither

considering alternative explanations nor testing the proposed explanations in cases other

than those considered. Since other potential causes are thus ignored, we are not able to see

whether the explanatory factor of the initial difference is actually a cause or a consequence.

Secondly, explaining the whole difference by a prime determinant leads the final predictive

statement to be either a truism or circular since it often ends up re-labelling the original

247

problem to be explained. Hence, Putnam’s conclusion indicates actually that “…cities

where everyone cooperates in maintaining good government are well-governed” (loc. cit.).

When this tautological character is considered, resources of social capital turn out to

be a consequence of particular socioeconomic and political conditions. In other words,

social capital appears rather a consequence than a determinant of the quality of democracy

observed in a given context. In order to verify this assumption on our particular cases, we

pursue our discussion by a comparative analysis of our two cities. For this purpose, we

shall first examine the associative lives in these cities in order to identify the differences

between them. Then, instead of associating simply these differences to the dissimilarity

observed in LA21 experiences as a convinced social capitalist would do, we shall deepen

our analysis by searching for probable reasons for this difference. In other words, we shall

try to understand why these two cities enjoy distinct stocks of social capital in order to

avoid the tautological trap from which the social capital approach suffers.

B - Social capital in Bursa and Mersin

1) Associative lives in Bursa and Mersin

Analysing associative affiliation in Turkey is not an easy task due to the lack of

adequate empirical data on social networks. With the exception of World Values Survey

(WVS), no national or local surveys have been undertaken that would provide us

systematic and reliable evidences on the associative habitudes of Turkish citizens. Yet, the

outcomes of the World Values Survey reveal clearly their strong reluctance in joining to

civil bodies. As Chart 1 illustrates, the levels of associative affiliation are significantly

lower in Turkey than other countries. But, founded upon national aggregates, WVS would

not help us analyse our cases since they do not let us undertake a regional comparison

within the country.

248

Chart 1. Associability in comparative perspective

0

10

20

30

40

50P

erce

nta

ges

of

asso

ciat

ive

affi

liat

ion

USA Norway France Britain Turkey

Religious Sports Culture/Art

Trade Union Political Party Environment

Professional Social Welfare/ Charity

Source: Human Development Report105 1998: 42.

Very fortunately, we were able to make use of another statistical resource that

contains very rich empirical information on the Turkish associative life. This set of data to

which we could refer, thanks to the exceptional kindness of Mr. Birol Caymaz who had

acquired them inofficiously by using his personal contacts, is in fact an administrative

database kept by the Ministry of Interior on the foundation of associations since the

foundation of the Republic until 2003106. Therefore, through this database we can follow

the development of Turkish associative life in analysing the categorical and regional

distribution of founded associations107.

Nevertheless, we ought to signal some of the problems that may weaken the liability

of the empirical observations based on the data of the Ministry. First of all, the repertory

includes information only about the associations, so excluding other forms of civil

organisations such as foundations, collectives or civic initiatives. Yet, as the associative

105 The report founds its conclusions on the data of Turkish Values Survey 1996/1997 and World Values Survey 1989/1990. 106 Even if no official permission is needed for their foundation, associations are obliged to inform the Ministry of Interior with a copy of their status and the composition of their executive boards. 107 The database covers 163884 associations regrouped under 112 categories.

249

activities constitute the main legal form of civic initiatives, we can argue that it provides a

quite realistic picture of the Turkish civil society108. Secondly, the database is based on the

declaration of official launching of associations and does not specify whether or not the

association still exists. There may be a quite number of them that ceased to function

without disappearing from the official database. Moreover, even for the ones that still

continue to function, we are not able to determine the scope and the nature of the activities

undertaken by these associations. Indeed, for the Turkish context, this aspect is quite

important since associations enjoy certain administrative and financial advantages that lead

people to make use of this legal framework for private purposes. In other words, a number

of the indexed associations may not represent actual civil gatherings founded in the name

of collective purposes. Finally, we are not able to deduce any quantitative or qualitative

information from the data set about the membership profiles of the associations. Despite all

these weaknesses, the data set of the Ministry of Interior appears as a meaningful source

that can enable us to give a more or less realistic picture of the associative life in our

respective cities.

Chart 2. Historical development of associations

0

50

100

150

200

250

1923

1933

1938

1944

1949

1954

1959

1964

1969

1974

1979

1984

1989

1994

1999N

um

ber

s o

f fo

un

ded

ass

oci

atio

ns

Bursa Mersin

108 The Law on Associations (n° 5253) defines associations as “Formal assembly that disposes a judicial identity and consists of at least seven real or judicial persons gathered for permanently incorporating their information and activities on common objectives other than sharing profits and than those forbidden by laws.”

250

Source: Data of Ministry of interior

To start with, we propose to first focusing on the development of associations over

time in both of our cities. As Chart 2 illustrates very clearly, the number of founded

associations per year has been greater in Bursa than Mersin in most of the years all through

the republican era. Yet, given that their population sizes are not identical, this mere number

of associations can be misinforming. That is why an analysis of the number of associations

per habitant is also necessary. In fact, even such an analysis does not alter the observation

according to which the associative life of Bursa appears to be more developed than that of

Mersin. Chart 3 illustrates the validity of the observation by presenting the number of

associations per 10000 habitants according to periods of republican history.

Chart 3.Associative growth per habitant

Number of associations per 10000 habitants

2,193,29

6,585,36

12,24

0,561,67

4,653,13

7,17

0,730,460,00

2,00

4,00

6,00

8,00

10,00

12,00

14,00

1923-1950

1950s 1960s 1970s 1980s 1990-2003

Bursa

Mersin

Source: our calculations based on the Data of Ministry of Interior and the National

Census Data:

What is interesting in this dissimilar scheme of associative lives is that we observe a

number of exceptional periods during which the associative growth in Mersin surpasses

that of Bursa. Indeed, we see clearly that number of founded associations seems to be

significantly multiplied during the second halves of the last three decades; particularly in

1975 and 1978, in 1986 and in 1996. We think that the background of these exceptional

patterns of associative development deserves to be examined in detail.

251

A first observation would be to state that these periods of associative enhancement in

Mersin correspond indeed to the intensification of political struggles in the country. As a

matter of fact, as we have noted in the related chapter, the second half of seventies

witnessed the intensification of ideological polarisation and the multiplication of armed

confrontations between different political groups. The second half of the eighties

represents the normalisation of the national politics that focus on overcoming the

repressive measures inherited by the military junta. The political competition was

gradually re-established and the political life was re-animated by the (re-)emergence of

political actors and ideas. Finally, the second half of nineties has been identified by

increasing political conflict due to the unexpected rise of the Islamists in the national

politics as well as the climax of the Kurdish armed conflict. One may wonder of the

parallel between the exceptional associative growth in Mersin and the noteworthy

developments in the national political scene is not a mere coincidence.

Chart 4. The number of uncategorised associations

The number of uncategorised associations

0

20

40

60

80

100

120

140

1927

1937

1943

1950

1954

1958

1962

1966

1970

1974

1978

1982

1986

1990

1994

1998

2002

bursa mersin

Source: our calculations based on the Data of Ministry of Interior

When deepening our analysis in hoping to find some clues on this parallelism, we

are astonished by another aspect of the associative growth pattern of Mersin. When we

examined the type of associations founded on these exceptionally ‘civic’ periods of

Mersin’s history, to our great surprise, we have found that the associations that led to such

252

a growth were not categorised by the Ministry. A very large group of ‘unknown’

associations seems to trigger the exceptional associative growth of the city109. When we

examine the development of this ‘unknown’ category in our cities through the republican

history, as Chart 4 illustrates, the peaks of this ‘unknown’ kind of associative movement -

the 2000s excepted- correspond exactly to those during which Mersin’s associative

development surpasses that of Bursa.

What might be included this ‘uncategorised’ group of associations? Actually, we can

only speculate on the characteristics of these associations. Even acknowledging that such a

claim would not be quite scientific, we are inclined to argue that these associations may be

political organisations110. In fact, when we examine the 95 different categories used for the

associations in Bursa and Mersin, we distinguish only 6 Kemalist, 3 socialist111 and 1

human right organisations in Bursa and only one socialist organisation in Mersin out of a

total of 3,307 associations in both cities. Since it would not make sense to suppose that the

political organisations are limited with these 11 organisations in our cities, we would argue

that the picture is unrealistic. Associations that undertake political activities could have

been thus omitted and put in an obscure category of ‘unknowns’. When we combine this

possibility with our preceding observation according to which the ‘unknown’ associations

had been multiplied in periods of ‘hot’ politics, our speculation makes more sense. In other

words, it would not be too surprising that the number of associations related to political

issues increases during periods of intense politicisation.

109 The relationship is so strong that when we apply a correlation analysis between the developments of associations in general and of the uncategorised group in Mersin, the outcome is 0,951 whereas the same relation is correlated at 0,668 in Bursa. 110 Indeed, until the constitutional amendment of 1995, it was legally impossible to speak of ‘political associations’ since the 33rd article of the constitution of 1982 forbids the associations from having political objectives, undertaking political activities, supporting or receiving support from political parties and cooperating with labour unions, professional chambers considered as public institutions and foundations on political ends. For the original version of the amended article refer to http://www.hukuki.net/kanun/2709.55.text.asp last consultation July 1st, 2006. 111 What we consider as a socialist organisation is in fact the People’s Houses that were founded in 1932 as a tool of kemalist indoctrination for the general public. At present, the organisation is very strongly identified with a socialist stance. For an analysis of the People’s Houses see Simsek, Sefa (2002), Bir ideolojik seferberlik deneyimi: Halkevleri 1932-1951 [An essay of ideological mobilisation: People’s Houses 1932-1951], Bogazici Universitesi Yayinevi, Istanbul.

253

If we suppose that the assumption according to which the political associations have

been more determining in the development of local civil society in Mersin than in Bursa,

the question deserves more of a qualitative analysis to in order to understand –if it is

indeed true112- why Mersin’s local civil society has been more animated by political

motifs. But before proceeding to a more qualitative analysis of the local associative lives,

let us have a look at the distribution of local association among different categories once

the ‘unknowns’ are left aside.

Table 6. Categorical distribution of associations in Bursa and Mersin (‘unknowns’ ignored)

Type of Association Bursa Mersin

Institutions of education 287 15,07% 151 22,37%

Mosques 454 23,83% 137 20,30%

Community 363 19,06% 94 13,93%

Professional cooperation 229 12,02% 92 13,63%

Culture and arts 24 1,26% 13 1,93%

Environmental 50 2,62% 12 1,78%

Health 75 3,94% 33 4,89%

Charity and solidarity 135 7,09% 36 5,33%

Research 34 1,78% 12 1,78%

Disabled 6 0,31% 9 1,33%

Sportive 209 10,97% 69 10,22%

Political 10 0,52% 1 0,15%

Others 29 1,52% 16 2,37%

Source: our categorisation and calculation based on the Data of Ministry of Interior

112 As a matter of fact, after a few days after writing these lines, we met with Mr. Caymaz who had provided us with these data. When we told him about our observation and hypothesis on the ‘unknown’ associations of Mersin, he totally agreed and said that the same category had intriqued also himself and had asked the question to the bureaucrat who gave him the data. His response seems to affirm totally our hypothesis since he told Mr. Caymaz that they are ‘the associations that aim at somehow saving Turkey’. As even those who are slightly familiar with the Turkish politics would immediately understand, ‘saving Turkey’ represents the sine qua non of political engagement in the country.

254

When Table 1 is examined, we see that apart from the first three categories, the

distribution of different kinds of association is quite similar in both of the cities. Yet, the

difference in these three categories can not be neglected since they constitute more than

half of all the associations in both cities (57.96% and 56.60% respectively once the

uncategorised associations are left aside). Therefore, we would like to comment briefly on

the differences that we observe in the distribution of these three categories.

The most significant difference between the cities is observed in the first category,

namely the educational institutions regrouping under associations founded to support

various kinds of schools from kindergarten to universities. These organisations aim at

mainly the improvement of the conditions in schools, very similar to parent-teacher

associations. Observing a greater number of such associations in Mersin indicate a

significant concern for institutions of education in the city. As a matter of fact, this concern

is quite reasonable since the city suffers from a serious scholarly deficit. With a primary

schooling rate (84.72%) below the national average (%89.76%) as well as that of Bursa

(100%)113 and a provincial deficit of about 2300 classrooms114, it is obvious that the

situation of the educational system in the city has been quite problematical, rendering

parents’ implication through such organisations- which are encouraged by school

administrations- necessary. By raising funds, exercising pressures upon public authorities

and cooperating with the teaching staff, these associations aim at contributing to the

improvement of conditions of education.

Secondly, we observe that in Bursa, the largest associative category consists of

associations of mosques that officially aim at construction or maintenance of mosques or

private religious formations. But, in reality, it is not so rare that these associations serve to

assemble communities of diverse religious orders. Observing a greater number of such

associations in Bursa, may be interpreted as the city’s more conservative character when

compared to Mersin. As a matter of fact, very strongly identified by the Ottoman heritage,

the city has always been considered as rather a conservative region.

113 http://www.tuik.gov.tr/PreIstatistikTablo.do?istab_id=98; last consultation June 30th, 2006. 114 Hakimiyet (local newspaper), June 30th, 2006.

255

Finally, we distinguish a significant disparity to what concerns the number of

community associations (hemsehri dernekleri) that represent the organisations founded

upon sentiments of belonging to a specific locality or a culture or simply hometown

associations115. Founded with the objective of facilitating cooperation and solidarity among

the emigrants of the same locality, these associations represent indeed the

institutionalisation of informal solidarity networks that played a major role during the

settlement of the new inhabitants in large cities. The transition from informal networks to

associative bodies indicates in fact the diversification and complication of the problems,

needs and interests of the communities of immigrants. After the resolution of immediate

urban needs such as housing and employment and after starting to enjoy relative welfare,

the immigrants’ concern orients also towards socio-cultural and philanthropic activities

which necessitate more formal institutions like associative bodies (Bayraktar : 2001 and

2003). The number of such community organisations is thus more related to the level of

socioeconomic development of immigrant groups rather than their demographic size. In

other words, with their 31000 members (only within the metropolitan borders; Nari: 1999),

the communitarian organisations of Bursa tell us an important story about immigrants’

integration to the urban context. Despite being an equally important destination of internal

immigration, Mersin does not dispose as much such communitarian organisations as Bursa

does. We shall try to interpret the political significance of this associative dissimilarity

further below when discussing ethnic social capital.

To sum up, the quantitative dissimilarity of the associative lives of our cities is

coupled also by a qualitative differentiation. The weight of associations that address to

institutions of education in Mersin turns into that of associative bodies that reflect either

religious or community concerns in Bursa. But the dissimilarity is not limited by such a

categorical variation since the associative engagement represents totally contradicting

connotations in our respective cities. To better comprehend this feature, we shall develop a

more qualitative analysis on the local civil societies of our cities in the following section.

115 For a special issue of the electronic European Journal of Turkish Studies on “Hometown organisations in Turkey” see http://www.ejts.org/sommaire359.html

256

2) Beyond numbers: qualitative analysis of associative life in Mersin and Bursa

a) An over-politicised civil society: Associative life in Mersin

As we have argued in the theoretical introduction of this chapter, the contemporary

literature on democracy highly praises the role of civil organisations in the democratisation

processes. In this perspective, civil society provides new means and skills for participating

in politics for fellow citizens who do not manage to be adequately present in the political

sphere only through the traditional political instruments of representative democracy. The

political potential of the civil societal elements is indeed undeniable. However, the actual

problem is perhaps whether or not these organisations actually address those who are

relatively deprived from adequate political means; it is not improbable that they are

instrumentalised by the classical actors of the political sphere who could multiply their

political power by making use of such civil bodies. In such cases, civil society might

appear as a disguised form of classical political struggles.

When our observation on the probable inclination of the associations in Mersin to

politics is reconsidered in this angle, to ask whether the local civil society of the city

reflects such a political instrumentalisation becomes a justified question. As a matter of

fact, our empirical findings on the city seem to support this thesis.

For instance, when we ask about the general profile of associative actors of Mersin,

the president of one the professional chambers of the city responds in regrouping them in

four main categories:

1. those seeking for personal gain;

2. social masturbators (i.e. those who are eager to appear among the local

elites);

3. those having a political project;

4. fools (i.e. those who adhere for just an idealism) (Interview #100).

Needless to say, such a total disqualification of associative adherents may actually

be too exaggerated to reflect the social reality. Yet, it is interesting to note that none of the

democratic virtues of associative participation is referred to by the president. Personal

interests appear as the main motif of associative adherence. Those who might aim at

creating a democratic impact are considered as fools who unrealistically struggle for

257

certain ideals. According to S.K., such ambitions are unrealistic because, on the one hand,

the present political conjuncture would never allow the success of such efforts and on the

other hand, such civil initiatives will sooner or later find themselves trapped by the

political confrontations that would accentuate their ‘politician’ tendencies.

Exactly on the same line of thinking, one of the bureaucrats of the metropolitan

municipality argues that civil organisations have been significantly affected by the political

segregation of different groups:

“The majority of the social segments of Mersin still reflect a structure defending their original region, ethnic community or the city that they emigrated. As a result, associations, political parties and civil organisations emphasise the interests of their regions and communities. Consequently, the projects essential for the city in general have been impeded or at least decelerated (Interview #4).”

Very similarly, a local journalist affirms the politicisation of civil elements:

“In Mersin all relations refer to politics. In other words, even the most democratic and civil bodies shortly lose their identity and become an arena of political competition; they start serving for the specific interests of persons or communities. This is the main feature of civil organisations in Mersin (Interview #48).”

Listening/reading these statements, one thinks naturally of Putnam’s bonding type of

organisations that reinforce internal relations of specific communities. Yet, what is

intriguing in the case of Mersin is that the associations that seem to adopt a ‘bonding’

discourse are not necessarily organisations founded for such purposes. The civil

organisations that our interviewees mention are not community or solidarity organisations,

but associations formally founded in the name of public interest.

Indeed, politicisation of the civil associations does not transform their objectives;

they continue to claim working for the general public interest. The politicisation actually

affects attitudes of the leaders of these organisations who become shortly political aspirants

as most of our interviewers affirm:

“Associations have their proper agenda; rather than solution, the leaders of these organisations aim at making their publicity and develop their political career. For example, as the Municipality of Yenisehir [one of the district municipalities of Mersin], we decided to cooperate with NGOs116. We invited certain associations to improve the public parks of our municipality. We were to show them specific fields and provide

116 In fact, the Turkish abbreviation used for NGOs is STK for Sivil Toplum Kurulusları meaning civil society organisations. The translation of NGO to Turkish is an unending debate within the literature on Turkish civil society.

258

them with the adequate material and they would take care of its management and protection. Shortly, we realized that they were only showing off during the opening ceremony and never come back again (Interview #45).” “[The civil bodies] can be used as a political springboard…I mean if you are the president or the representative of an association or a professional chamber, you meet with more people and everybody starts to recognize you since you appear in the local press and become familiar in the public opinion. This resource can be obviously used for political ends (Interview #98).” “…one day, you see that one of the presidents of the professional chambers, become a candidate for mayoralty or municipal council. For example, all of the preceding five presidents of ADD117 are at present in different parties. There is a tendency to immediately turn back to politics in Mersin (Interview #48).” “Let’s leave a margin of 10% and say that the 90% of associative leaders consider the organisations they lead as a political springboard or a means of private gain. We witnessed in the past; one of the presidents of the chambers of engineers, although politically known to be somewhere else, participated to the foundation of the Party of New Turkey (YTP) just to be closer to the metropolitan mayor and indeed won some public contracts from the municipality. Maybe as an individual, he is not respected. But as the leader of thousands of members he becomes politically important. Consequently, civil organisations and chambers are used as political springboards, to appear in local press instead of discussing problems of the city. For example, as being myself or a simple citizen, nobody cares about me. But if I preside on a chamber or an association, I can give declarations to local press every two days; I can thus make a reputation within the public opinion. That is how such organisations are instrumentalised as political or economic springboards by their presidents (Interview #79).”

In light of these citations, we can easily claim an over-politicisation of civil society.

At first glance, this observation may be considered as a positive feature since it may be

understood as a massive involvement of citizens in politics confirming the most popular

assumption on the democratic virtues of associative activities, namely associating people to

political sphere. Yet, what we mean by over-politicisation is indeed the predominance of

habitual conflicting struggles of the formal political arena also in the associative life rather

than an exceptional involvement of ordinary citizens in politics. As a matter of fact,

associations and other non-governmental organisations of Mersin seem to be either trapped

by political confrontations or instrumentalised for personal political ends. In any case, the

theoretical virtues of associative participation on improving citizens’ presence and

influence in politics do not seem to be confirmed in Mersin. On the contrary, civil society

seems to become an extension of ordinary political struggles aiming at grasping positions

of political power. Perhaps, this is the major problematic feature of the local civil society

of Mersin.

259

It is normal that the activities of civil organisations reflect political implications. But,

in principle, the acquisition of political power which is the main objective of classical

political organisations should not be the main motif of civil bodies. Yet, as we tried to

illustrate, in Mersin, they seem to be instrumentalised in the personalities of the associative

leaders for power-oriented political struggles. Naturally, this characteristic of civil

organisations prevent bringing about democratic outcomes in the city since first of all, the

public or political actors in power do not consider such organisations as civic initiatives

aiming at the solution or improvement of a local issue but rather as political instruments in

the service of their actual or potential political opponents. Each opposition is thus

interpreted by the former as a political attack to their power rather than a vocalisation of

demands and preferences of local society. Considered as disguised moves of some political

aspirants, civil organisations and initiatives lose their civic nature both in the eyes of

power-holders and fellow citizens. Transformed thus to an amalgam of civic motifs and

habitual politics identified by private interests and corrupted relationships, associative life

remain weak both in terms of number of associations present in Mersin as well as number

of citizens involved in the activities of these associations. Ordinary citizens of Mersin thus

keep their distance with associations that they identified by particularistic political

struggles. Therefore, we should conclude stating that the weakness of associative life in

Mersin is highly related with the over-politicisation of the civil organisations placing them

in the centre of local political power struggles. This feature of the civil society in Mersin

explains also the weight of political associations that we observed above while examining

the categorical distribution of associations founded in the city. Before trying to understand

the reasons of this problematic politicisation of the public sphere, we should first observe

the situation in Bursa.

b) Bursa: The city of cooperative civil tradition

The quantitative superiority of associative life in Bursa when compared to Mersin,

seems to be also coupled by the nature and scope of associative activities. As we shall

discuss in the following chapter, especially since the nineties, Bursa has witnessed a very

117 Association of Kemalist Thought (Ataturkcu Dusunce Dernegi, an association defending Kemalist principles).

260

significant development of civic initiatives particularly in the name of environmental

protection of the region. Associations, professional chambers as well as labour unions have

mobilised massively against certain projects of the central government or private

enterprises. In other words, unlike the civil bodies of Mersin, those of Bursa seem to

manage cooperating for the general public interests.

Indeed, there are several civil formations that illustrate well this asset of collective

mobilisation. The first example would be the Union of Academic Chambers of Bursa

(BAOB, Bursa Akademik Odalar Birligi) that assembles all the professional chambers of

the city. As a matter of fact, the gathering of chambers of engineers and architects is not

exceptional since they already have a nationwide union (Union of Turkish Chambers of

Engineers and Architects, TMMOB -Türk Mühendis ve Mimar Odalar Birliği118) and

represented by a Provincial Council of Coordination (İKK, İl Koordinasyon Kurulu) in

cities. However, the gathering of all the professional chambers under a common formal

roof is particular to Bursa since there is no other such example in Turkey. In this original

formation, chambers of dentists, pharmacists, financial consultants, independent

accountants, doctors, veterinarians as well as the Bar assemble with the seventeen

chambers of TMMOB.

The impact of this common platform of professional chambers is undeniable. First of

all, such a union of all local ‘white-collars’ represents an assembly of a major party of the

local upper-middle class within the same formal framework. Therefore, socio-

economically their political tendencies can not be wholly ignored. Furthermore, the

demands and statements formulated by such a gathering can not be in principle simple and

unfounded since the technical expertise of the members cover the quasi-totality of the

socioeconomic life, from industrialisation to accountancy, from public health to judicial

system, from environmental protection to urbanisation etc. Therefore, the political position

adopted by the Union enjoys a professional legitimacy that can be hardly questioned.

118 Founded in 1954, the Union regroups 23 professional chambers and 280263 engineers and architects (http://www.tmmob.org.tr/cr/degisiklik/2.8.%20uye%20sayilari.xls, last consultation June 22nd, 2006). The Union has been traditionally identified with leftist tendencies; a characteristics that the Union has always assumed.

261

Indeed, it is not rare that the professional chambers criticise the policies adopted by

the central or local governments. Yet, as has been the case in Mersin, if such positions had

been taken only by certain chambers and not by the others, the act could have been usually

disqualified as if it were a ‘politician’ move undertaken by political opponents or aspirants.

However, when the same criticism is formulated by the totality of the professional

chambers, it is obviously difficult to ignore it on the grounds of political strategies.

Consequently, as one of our interviewees argues “when BAOB made a declaration, all eyes

turned to the issue and public opinion was immediately convinced that something

problematic was going on in this or that domain (Interview #38).” In other words, the

Union’s political positions and critics enjoyed a significant credibility within the public

opinion.

Last but not the least, the professional chambers constituted actually very important

political springboards. A very important number of political actors (deputies, mayor,

municipal deputy, political candidate or member of the local branches of political parties)

that we could interview in Bursa had been actively involved in the governments and/or

activities of these chambers. There is indeed nothing unexpected in this observation since

as we have mentioned above, these individuals could combine their professional expertise

with organisational and political experiences that pave their way to a merited political

career. Yet, what is interesting is that none of our interlocutors in the city attempted to

disqualify or criticise the activities of the chambers on the grounds of being instruments for

individual political ambitions. Everybody seemed to acknowledge that these organisations

function in the name of the general interest and those who have significantly contributed to

such initiatives have been naturally distinguished as potential political actors.

Even one of our interviewees who criticised the president of on the professional

chambers for adopting a “politician attitude” during one of the last meetings of LA21

wanted to clarify his remark in order to avoid an unjust generalisation of such attitudes:

“Even if very rarely, we encounter sometimes the implication of personal interests in these activities…but by looking at this very specific example, at this particular person, nobody should have prejudices for non-governmental organisations. When we say “some of them”, we might seem to accuse the totality of institutions, which is obviously not the case (Interview #43A).”

The passage of certain actors from the domain of professional organisations to local

or national politics provides in fact an additional asset to the activities of chambers, since

262

they represent very familiar contacts for the latter with whom they could establish a much

easier and effective relationship in advocating for their positions. Therefore, in contrast

with our observations on Mersin, the political implications of the local organisations do not

represent a factor for discrediting local civil initiatives.

In fact, BAOB is not the only example illustrating the success of the civil

organisations of Bursa in achieving collective undertakings. The Union of Bursa’s Labour

Unions (UBLU), founded in 1996, with the objective of organising collective activities to

defend the interests of working classes, would be another example. Despite its successful

activities, the Union did not live long since a few years later a nationwide initiative, “the

Platform of Labour (Emek Platformu)” assembling six labour confederations, TMMOB,

the national unions of the Bars, veterinarians, doctors, pharmacists, accountants and

financial advisors as well as several labour associations was launched. Since all the

members of the UBLU were members of the Platform, the former turned out to be

redundant and was thus closed down (Interview #43A).

Another example would be “Democratic Forces of Bursa (Bursa Demokrasi

Güçleri)” that is composed of about thirty political parties, labour unions and non-

governmental organisations and professional chambers with the objective of organising

collective events on particular days of commemoration and on political issues concerning

the city and the local government. The objectives and the nature of the formation are put as

follows:

“[In order to overcome the political divisions with regards to the attitudes taken for or against the central government as well as the other internal conflicts among the political organisations] we founded the “Democratic Forces of Bursa” that would involve all the political parties, associations, labour unions or all other organisations and individuals who would have something to say bout the city or the country, who would get together on a common discourse. The formation is open to all political parties, associations and labour unions though not all of them have participated to it…In this way, we avoid to some extent the multi-headedness of local community but attention multi-headedness not polyphonicness…All participants express their views and we then have many effective activities…Our aim is to include all political parties, associations and labour unions in order to develop our formation. Let me give you an example, for the first time, we managed to get together with Mazlum-Der119, which is seen as a religious organisation. Before now, we have had almost no cooperation with the association (Interview #43A).”

119 A human right organisations identified with a much bigger concern for religious issues.

263

Obviously, we can expect that the formation will never achieve it ultimate objective

of regrouping the majority of socio-political organisations under its umbrella. However, in

our opinion, what counts when compared to Mersin, is the presence of such an initiative

and of the basic signs of a widespread sense of cooperation rather than whether or not it

will be successful. Remembering the antagonistic societal sphere of Mersin, even the

simplest forms of general mobilisation and cooperation mark the difference.

The cooperative of contemporary education is another example that illustrates the

Bursa’s capacity of undertaking collective initiatives. The cooperative has at present three

dormitories that serving to 497 students of which 121 enjoy a scholarship from the

institution. With its 44 employees, the cooperative has an annual budget of about 700,000

€.

We got to know the cooperative through one of our interviewees who had been very

actively involved in the foundation of LA21 in Bursa and was one of the executives of the

cooperative at the time we interviewed him. He considered the initiative as a perfect

example of the civic capabilities of Bursa:

“This place, this organisation [the cooperative] is the best illustration of this feature. This building is donated by a fellow citizen. We founded a cooperative as a non-governmental organisation, we maintain our activities by making business. For this, we assembled people from very different political camps, we established partnership among them. We cooperate with the governorship, with the municipality, with individuals; in a spirit of imece120 everybody contributed somehow to it and the concrete outcome is there… This is the spirit of imece. We initiated the process by inviting all those who have skills, to contribute to the process by their skills, who have time by time, who have money by money. At present we have 1700 members and a very effective civil model (Interview #76A).”

What is very interesting about the cooperative is that most of the 23 founders were in

fact from different political camps, active members of different political parties. In fact,

this diversity within the founding members seems to be the key of the success of the

cooperative since it enabled the organisation to reach a very large scope of contributors:

“S/he [the contributor] does not trust personally to me; s/he trusts the mechanism, someone else among us. S/he trusts to O.D. because he is a businessman and from ANAP. Another member, Mr. K. goes meeting with O.O. who is a friend of his and requests his contribution. O.O. asks how much we need to finish the dormitory. K says that about 140,000€. He donates the entire sum. If I was to go and meet O.O., I would

120 A particular term used to indicate collective works especially undertaken in the rural areas.

264

not be able to even see him. I am simple ex-bureaucrat and a politically dangerous leftist person. But he trusts to other members of our cooperative (Interview #76A).”

The remarks of our interviewee illustrate how the actual impact of civil initiatives is

multiplied if there is diversity in the involved actors. A context where everybody trusts

everybody is quite improbable in the Turkish context. But, the cooperative seems to

achieve an indirect but general trust among fellow-citizen by assembling people from

different groups.

The particular example of the Cooperative is quite revealing about the relative social

peace that is observed in Bursa. In a total contrast with Mersin, the city reveals such

experiences in which politically opposed actors cooperate leading to non-negligible

political and/or socioeconomic outcomes. All these observations illustrate that when

examined from a social capitalist perspective, Bursa’s quantitative superiority in terms of

numbers of associations present in the city seems to be confirmed qualitatively with the

empirical observations. Indeed, the qualitative dimension seems to be more telling than the

number of associations in each city since as we have remarked in Mersin, even the

bridging organisations may not suffice for enhancing interpersonal relations and thus the

capacity of collective mobilisations. Therefore, if we are to explain the dissimilarity

between Mersin and Bursa with regards to the LA21 performances in terms of social

capitalist theory, we ought to donate more attention to the features of the associative life

than its numerical size. However, the theory does not include such a perspective since it

considers the presence of a vibrant associative life as a determinant of a democratic

regime. Yet, acknowledging that similar kinds of associations may display different

characteristics and thus functions, renders the associative dimension to a dependent

variable. Such a modification of the theory may also confirm the importance of the

political context as we have argued above. To deepen this analysis and to see whether we

can explain the reasons of having dissimilar associative geographies, we propose to pursue

our discussion to focusing on the local socioeconomic and political characteristics of our

cities.

C - What enhances and hinders social capital?

According to our interlocutors in the city, if Bursa is relatively successful in

mobilising civil organisations for collective objectives and public interest, it is thanks to

265

the level of industrialisation of the city that leads to the presence of a significant workers’

community:

“In fact, Bursa is a city of labour; it is the capital of textile and a very important centre of the automotive sector. Consequently, there are thousands of workers in the city and with such an important workers community, it is a major duty of the leaders of the labour organisations to found such organisations [i.e. Democratic Forces of Bursa]: it is the main responsibility of all those who care for the labour. And we are trying to realise our responsibility by founding and maintaining such organisations (Interview #43A).”

The industrialisation does not only reinforce the presence and influence of the

worker classes but also contributes to socioeconomic and thus political strengthening of

white-collars as privileged employees of these industrial enterprises. Being individually

powerful with their personal resources and social status, these upper-middle classes enjoy a

political autonomy vis-à-vis the bureaucratic and political actors of the city. Particularly

when the quite remarkable vibrancy of professional chambers in Bursa is considered, this

autonomy is striking:

“The members of the executive committees of the professional chambers of the engineers (especially those of mechanical engineers) have been also orienting this industrial city…The first two sectors of Bursa, namely textile and automotive, are at the hands of these engineers. They are directors in these enterprises, production managers, responsible for export and import and thus they dispose a significant power within the enterprises. This power translates also into politics (Interview #29).”

As we shall discuss in the following chapter, Mersin does not enjoy such an

economic asset that renders the local civil figures as autonomous as their colleagues in

Bursa. The chronic economic crisis that the city has been experiencing for more than a

decade, has rendered local entrepreneurs more interested in public resources controlled

either by central or local government. Such an interest in public resources has naturally

limited their autonomy in undertaking collective initiatives that would oppose public

authorities. Therefore, the industrialisation and thus the relative economic welfare of Bursa

can be referred as one of the main factors in causing the observed differences between the

associative lives of our respective cities. Enjoying a larger margin of autonomy vis-à-vis

the decisions of public authorities, inhabitants of Bursa have benefited by undertaking

collective initiatives, accumulating social capital.

Furthermore, Bursa is not only more privileged than the other cities that are not as

industrialized as herself, but also than those that are significantly more developed because

despite its rapid socioeconomic development, Bursa has not become an immense

metropolis:

266

“I think that Bursa has another privilege; there is no doubt that in Istanbul, Ankara, and even Izmir, there are much more actors with civic concerns. However, those cities are so big that, assembling the local actors is a very difficult task. Bursa is not like that though. Despite everything, Bursa has expanded on a limited area and our civic leaders can find one another much more easily (Interview #80).”

In short, Bursa’s economic and urban advantages may be referred as meaningful

factors in leading to a vibrant associative life, to greater amounts of social capital in the

city. This statement supports directly the argument according to which social capital can

not be an independent variable that can be applied directly to comparisons of democratic

regimes. There are obviously other factors on which the accumulation of social capital

seems to be dependent. The socioeconomic development is obviously an important

variable that facilitates the accumulation and the use of social capital.

Apart from the quantitative accumulation, the functional nature of social capital

seems to be influenced by other factors. The politicisation of the associative life of Mersin

may be a good example. A justified question at this point would be to ask whether

socioeconomic factors have also been influential in this problematic associative

development. Obviously, their impact can not be ignored. As we have briefly underlined

above, the economic problems of Mersin pushed all the local actors to be extremely

interested on local public resources. Since the distribution of such resources lies at the

heart of local politics, the majority of social relations, be it on private or associative

grounds, have been inclined to be easily politicised. Nevertheless, we would argue that

competition on having a share from public resources does not tell the whole story. In order

to develop a more completed analysis we ought to take other socio-demographic and

political variables into consideration. A possible way to undertake a broader analysis

would be to inverse our focus of interest by examining the local cleavages within these

cities to better understand the factors that disable fellow citizens to realize collective

initiatives or that limit the impact of existing associative activities by confining them in

conflictive political struggles. In other terms, we ought to go beyond the identification of

the favourable factors for the development of social capital by focusing on factors that

consume or degenerate it such as the presence or lack of social cleavages within the

analysed cities.

267

1) Social fragmentation as a determinant of social capital?

A rough definition of social fragmentation would suggest the absence or

underdevelopment of connections between society and some social groups on the lines of a

common culture, nationality, race, language, occupation, religion, income level, or other

common interests. This gap between the concerned group and the rest might be social,

indicating poor interrelationships among each other; economic based on structural

inequalities; institutional in terms of formal and political, occupational, educative or

associative organisations; and/or geographic implying regional or residential segregation.

As a matter of fact, quite a number of such cleavages can be easily identified in the

Turkish urban context. Even if a homogenous nation “with neither class nor privilege” had

been the objective of the founding republican elite, social cleavages issued from religious,

ethnical, economic or political differentiations could have never been avoided; ethnic and

religious cleavages have actually endured. The historical tension between two sects of

Islam (Sunnites and Alevis) caused several tragic bloody confrontations in the recent

Turkish history. Moreover, the armed conflict between the state army and the separatist

Kurdish groups caused the death of at least 32,000 people on both sides between 1984 and

2000. Therefore, neither religious nor ethnical tensions have been absent from the Turkish

context.

It would be thus unrealistic to expect that Bursa and Mersin have been exempted

from such social cleavages. Indeed, in both cities, we perceive very significant tensions

within the respective local communities. Yet, the impact of such cleavages on local politics

is quite different. Therefore, in the following sections, we shall focus on two particular

cleavages, namely on muhacirs121 and forced immigrants, in our cities before discussing

how they affect the local socio-political life.

a) Muhacirsin Bursa: Turks in Bulgaria, Bulgarians in Turkey

According to the official census of 2001, 6.26% of Bursa’s population appears to be

born in Bulgaria (DIE, 2000b). The presence of such a local community, corresponding to

133,056 persons, is due mainly to the forced immigration of the Turkish minority of

121 Muhacir is a term used for the immigrants from the Balkans. Within this study we shall mainly refer to those who immigrated from Bulgaria as muhacirs.

268

Bulgaria who had escaped from the Zhivkov’s practices of assimilation, which came to be

known as the “vazroditelen protses” (“revival process”) initiated in 1983 and causing the

massive exodus of Turkish minorities in 1989. The number of forced immigrants

welcomed by Turkey only in 1989 is estimated as 226,863, representing, according to

some researchers, the greatest immigration wave that Europe had witnessed after the

Second World War (Doganay, ND)122.

In fact, the extent of muhacir community in Turkey in general and in Bursa in

particular goes beyond these official estimations because the muhacir immigration had

taken place continuously since the independence of Bulgaria from the Ottoman rule in

1878. Nevertheless, there had been some punctual amplifications of the flow due to the

change in the political conjuncture. The first intense flow took place between 1950 and

1951 where about roughly 150-200 thousand Turkish minority members were deported by

the recently established communist rule. Later on, between 1968 and 1979, a family

uniting treaty between Turkey and Bulgaria allowed for the immigration of some 120

thousand Turkish minority members who had relatives in Turkey among those who

immigrated in 1950s (Ertuna, 2003, 19-30). Therefore, even before the forced migration of

1989, there was already a significant muhacir community in the country. However, the sole

data of birth place does not provide sufficient information to estimate the size of actual

population of the community including the second and even the third generations of

immigrants.

The integration of these groups to the local community has been rather

problematical. As Andrews notes in 1989, thus just before the last big flow, muhacirs

constituted a distinct social fragment in the Turkish society:

“Despite their advantage of speaking Turkish, and often of practicing Sunni Islam, and notwithstanding the deliberate policy of settlement in existing villages, the fact that these settlers are still readily identified thirty years after the mass expulsion of 1950-1951 shows that assimilation is far from complete. In a few cases, definite avoidance of the new community has been recorded” (Andrews, 1989: 96).

Fifteen years later, this observation still seems to be valid, as a local barber in Bursa

confirms explicitly:

122 The exodus continued intermittently until 1995 reaching a number of 300,820.

269

“The image of muhacir in our eyes is somewhat established. How can I say, it is fixed as a muhacir. To say the truth, they are considered as second-class citizens…I mean it is not my personal opinion; it is the society that considers them as so.”123

The presence of a social cleavage of the muhacir community in Turkish society

represents in fact a three-folded segregation; on the first level the local society has a

stigmatic image of the community, on the second level the latter self-distinguishes

deliberately from the former; finally the residential concentration of muhacirs in the urban

context constitutes a third level of their non-integration.

The stigmatic image of muhacirs in the eyes of the local society is based on several

factors. First of all, despite their ethnic origin, native language and expressed identity, they

have always been identified with their Bulgarian past. When the term muhacir is not used,

they are called either as the “Bulgarian Turks” or “Bulgarian immigrants.” In spite of all

efforts displayed by muhacir organisations for the utilisation of compatriots, even the

official statesmen cannot avoid designating them as “Bulgarian immigrants”124.

Representatives of muhacir organisations in Bursa that we interviewed have not hidden

their deception of being considered as Bulgarians in Turkey after being discriminated for

being Turks in Bulgaria. Ertuna (2003: 83-87) observes the same deception among the

members of the muhacir organisations of Istanbul who shared with her some of their

unpleasant experiences such as resignation from work after being called “Bulgarian” by the

director, quitting school due to the ‘insults’ of classmates or innumerable disputes with the

local community. In short, Bulgarian past of muhacirs seems to be still a motif of

discrimination by the local community.

Moreover, the religious identity of muhacirs has also been a source of doubt for the

local population. No matter how muhacirs consider themselves as Muslims, in the popular

stigma, they are represented as degenerated Muslims if not infidels. During the daily talks

that we had with numerous inhabitants of Bursa, the impression that their religious beliefs

and practices had been different than the ‘authentic’ Islam was explicitly or implicitly

expressed. We do not possess any empirical data to confirm this observation. Nevertheless,

in their article on the labour of muhacirs in Bursa, Nichols, Sugur and Sugur (2001) cite

123 Informal conversation with a local barber, Bursa, June 21st, 2004.

270

survey evidence from the 1970s that reveal that ethnic Turks of Bulgaria had been more

religious than the Bulgarians themselves. The same survey states nonetheless that “nearly

40 per cent of them were ‘uncertain’, ‘passive atheists’ or ‘active atheists’.” A member of

the Association of the Migrants of the Balkans (BAL-GOC) admits indirectly the presence

of such non-believers in the community when he explains the assistance provided to some

muhacirs who had been degenerated by Zhivkov’s regime and had turned out to be either

“atheists” or “alcoholics” (Interview #31). Therefore, personal encounters with such

‘degenerated’ muhacirs combined with the unpopular image of the communist regime

might have facilitated the spreading of doubts on the religiosity of the community.

Furthermore, the morality of muhacirs seems to be also doubted by the local

community. Particularly, the female muhacirs suffer from a general stigma according to

which they feel free to undertake illegitimate relationships. Some of our interlocutors even

went as far as associating the closure of public brothels to the arrival of muhacirs in the

city. The origin of this popular stigma might be multiple. First of all, communist regimes

have been represented by Turkish nationalists and conservators as a socio-political system

lacking any kind of moral principles. Such manipulations on the fallacious representation

of communist regimes might have led to an illegitimate deduction according to which the

ex-members of such societies have thus been naturally immoral. Furthermore, the fact that

women are more present in the public sphere and female labour is more widespread among

muhacirs than the traditional Turkish society, might have facilitated the spreading of the

stigma on the immorality of muhacirs125. Finally, having grown up in a much more open-

minded society, muhacirs had not gotten used to hiding their intimate relations from

others. Such a behavioural preference seems to be, at least at the beginning, found rather

odd by the members of a society where a general hypocrisy in such relations has been the

rule for long time.

124 On March 2005, when the Minister of Interior referred them as the “Bulgarian immigrants” in one of his official declarations, the muhacir community expressed their disappointment and demanded respectfully a correction of this expression. 125 In her article on the female labour in Bursa, Ecevit (1991:59) states that in the past young girls who worked in Bursa.s factories were called ‘company girls’, which implied they were promiscuous and that for a husband to permit his wife to work could still represent a loss of respect.

271

A final dimension of the non-integration of muhacirs to the local context is observed

in their rapid and dense entrance in the local labour sector. They seem to be held

responsible for the decrease of wages and of social security conditions. In their urgent need

to make their living upon their arrival to the city, muhacirs might have indeed been content

to work more for lower wages than local workers. Mustafa, a muhacir presented in

Nichols, Sugur and Sugur’s (2001:5) article, illustrates the initial psychology and the

motivations of muhacirs:

“After 10 days or so, I found a job in a small garment company offering only the minimum wage. At first I was working like a slave. It was incredible that the owner of the workshop kept telling other workers that how good I was and blaming them for not working as hard as I did…Then my younger brother found a job in an industrial estate as a car mechanic. Next month my father got a job in construction. My mother stayed at home. I will never forget the first three months. We were working like animals to make a living. I counted each lira we earned and tried to save some money for the family.”

No businessman could in fact resist being attracted by this new resource of labourers

who appeared to be ready to “work twice for one third of the normal salary” (Interview

#66). What is further interesting is that the recruitment of this extremely ‘efficient’ labour

force is that thanks to the general public affection towards the muhacirs, such capitalistic

motifs could be disguised in nationalistic and humanistic arguments. In other words, the

industrialists recruited these cheap and hardworking workers as if the main objective was

to help these compatriots trying to overcome a troublesome period.

Nonetheless, such a spectacular entrance of muhacirs to the local labour sector was

not just because they had accepted to work harder for a lower wage, but also that they were

more qualified and better educated than their local colleagues owing to the more developed

education system of socialist Bulgaria. Furthermore, the social fragility that they have

suffered as an inevitable consequence of the traumatic experience of the forced

immigration rendered them somewhat more compliant with the managers. Consequently, a

stereotyped image of the muhacir workers has developed in the eyes of local workers:

“More than ten years later they were still regarded with some suspicion. Workers in several factories regarded them as untrustworthy, as management spies and not as one of them. In some cases workers warned the interviewer to be careful what they said in the presence of the Bulgarians” (Nichols, Sugur and Sugur, 2001:10)

In short, popular scepticism on the turkishness, on the Muslim identity, on morality

and the very rapid entrance to the local labour sector of muhacirs seem to have avoided the

total assimilation of the community in the local society. However, their non-integration can

272

not be only associated to the reaction of the local population since muhacirs have also self-

discriminated themselves.

It is rather difficult to state that muhacirs have not been disappointed with what they

had lived through upon their arrival to the homeland. Their deception in the homeland is

obviously related to the discriminatory attitudes summarised above. Their response to such

attitudes was to highlight the cultural, normative and social ‘superiority’ of their

community. The first leg of such a perception of superiority is observed in their emphasis

on their education levels. In every conversation we had with muhacirs of Bursa, the fact

that they have been more educated than the local community was always underlined. The

empirical evidence provided by Nichols, Sugur and Sugur (2001, Table 3) seems to

confirm this educational gap between muhacirs and the local community. According to the

data presented by the authors, 83% of muhacir workers hold at least a senior secondary

degree whereas the percentage of those holding a primary degree is only 4%. For the local

Turkish workers the percentages become 61% and 26% respectively. When the comparison

is applied for women, the gap becomes further evident: 73% of muhacir women workers

hold at least a senior secondary degree whereas only 39 percent of Turkish women workers

have an equivalent education level.

The reason of this gap between the education levels owes primarily to the fact that

the system of education in the socialist Bulgaria was more developed and democratic than

the one in Turkey. However, perhaps more important than the provided opportunities,

muhacirs seem to give more importance to education than their local compatriots.

Borrowing the statements of one of the executives of BAL-GOC, “in their efforts for social

promotion in the new context, muhacirs have given a particular attention to education”.

Still according to him, this educational concern led to more developed personal

qualifications thanks also to the fact that “muhacirs are actual hard workers” (Interview

#31). Apart from being hardworking and well-educated, muhacirs consider themselves

more trustful than their local compatriots. In a context where corruption has been

particularly widespread, they regard themselves as an exception in the Turkish society.

Moreover, in the eyes of muhacirs, their differences with the local population go

beyond personal attributes. They sincerely believe in the cultural distinction of their

community; they consider themselves more tolerant, more open-minded than the local

population. The status of women in the muhacir community is often cited as the best

273

indicator of such a communitarian distinction. The fact that the labour of women has been

much more habitual and that the distribution of domestic roles and responsibilities has

been more egalitarian are mentioned as concrete evidence of communitarian differences

between muhacirs and the local population. Even one of the highest-ranked bureaucrats of

Bursa observes that the muhacir families appeared to be much less patriarchal than the

local community (Interview #92).

In the light of such personal and communitarian virtues, muhacirs consider the local

culture as less modern and even less “European”:

“Sometimes in the immigrants’ tone one could also distinguish rings of arrogance towards their local fellow-citizens with respect to the level of education and modernisation. In all cases, the Bulgarian Turks feel to be much more European and much more adequate to the standards of the modern technologies and scientific achievements, to have more general knowledge and interests in greater variety of fields than their colleagues or neighbours in the new place” (Zhelyazkova, ND: 6).

These socio-cultural distinctions that the muhacir community attributes to

themselves, naturally decelerate their assimilation in the local society. Therefore, while the

local population stigmatise muhacirs on ethnic, religious or normative pretexts, the latter

do not attempt to minimise the social gap because of the socio-cultural superiority that they

feel towards the former. Consequently, the integration of muhacirs to the local context

turns out to be rather problematic.

A third dimension of the non-integration of muhacirs in the Turkish context has been

the spatial segregation; districts like Hurriyet or Kestel have been mainly identified with

muhacir settlement. Such a concentration of muhacirs in some specific places of Bursa

would have been brought about even only due to the features of non-integration discussed

above. However, there has been a more precise origin behind the dense settlement of

muhacirs in specific corners of the city. In fact, muhacirs arrived with the first major flow

of immigration from Bulgaria in 1950-51 were settled by the Turkish state in the 36,292

houses that were constructed for this purpose in urban or rural contexts in different parts of

the country126. Out of the 35,496 families settled in this way, 3,541 families were housed in

Bursa. For the second flow of muhacirs in the 70s, there was no similar central settlement

126 In fact, the conscious spreading of immigrant groups throughout the country had aimed at the facilitation of their integration to the local population. Nonetheless, the concentration of muhacirs in some parts of the cities or their return to big cities could not have been prevented.

274

policy since the immigrants were expected to live with their relatives. For the last wave of

immigration from Bulgaria, the state did not undertake a macro settlement policy, but

initiated collective housing projects to which the immigrants were expected to participate

financially from the beginning (Doganay, ND). Consequently, the settlement of muhacirs

in the cities resulted in bringing about a communitarian concentration in specific parts of

the cities such as Bursa, Istanbul, Izmir and Eskisehir.

In short, the muhacir community of Bursa represents a veritable social cleavage in

the city. Be it due to the discriminatory attitudes of the local population, due to the feelings

of superiority of the former vis-à-vis the latter or due to the spatial segregation, the

muhacir community continues thus to be a distinct social entity in Bursa.

b) Social fragmentation in Mersin: Kurdish immigrants

In half a century, the population of Mersin multiplied by more than five times

augmenting from 318,000 in 1950 to 1,650,000 in 2000, mainly as a result of the massive

arrival of immigrants to the city. Hence, while in 1950 only 7.5% of the population was

born out of the city, in 2000 the percentage of such inhabitants corresponds to 38% of the

overall population (DIE, 2000a). What is further interesting about such a demographic

evolution is that the majority of new inhabitants of the city have been from either the East

or Southeast of the country. According to Ayata (1999: 201), 56% of immigrants who

settled in the city between 1990 and 1997 were from these regions. As chart 5 illustrates, in

1950 only about 0.1% of the population of Mersin was born in East or South-East Anatolia

whereas in 2000 the percentage increases as high as about 17%127. In other words, the

number of inhabitants originating from the eastern regions of the country has become 170

times more crowded than 50 years ago, reaching a community of 280801 persons.

The demographic movement from eastern parts of the country towards other regions

has been due not only to the socioeconomic consequences of the unequal regional

development schemes that lays at the origin of classical rural exodus. As we have stated

above, the armed conflict between the state army and the separatist Kurdish groups that

127 According to the survey conducted in 1997 by a private publiv opinion organisation on behalf of the Prefecture of Mersin, the 70% of Mersin’s population comprised of immigrants. Moreover, those emigrated from the South Eastern Anatolia represented 70% of this immigrant community (Dogan, 1999 : 181).

275

had taken place mainly in the eastern and south-eastern parts of the country, caused the

death of 32,000 people from both sides between 1984 and 2000. As one can imagine

easily, the conflict devastated the region, obliging the citizens to leave their hometowns.

Chart 5. Percentage of persons born in East or Southeast Anatolia, in the overall population of Mersin

,

,02

,04

,06

,08

,1

,12

,14

,16

,18

1950 1955 1960 1975 1980 1985 1990 2000

Source: DIE, 2000a;, calculated by the author from census results of corresponding years

Yet, in some cases, emigration from the region was not even a free choice to be

taken since the state had undertaken a policy of displacement of the local population due to

security reasons. According to the thorough report on the issue prepared by the Association

for Social Solidarity and Culture of Immigrants (Göç-Der)128, about 4- 4.5 million persons

were obliged to leave the region because of the evacuation of 3438 villages between 1989-

1999 (Göç-Der, 2001:8). The pretext of such a grave measure taken by state officials was

to cut the logistical support provided to the separatist groups by the local population. Thus,

all villages that did not accept to co-opt with the state forces by becoming “village

guards129” were suspected as potential supporters of the separatist groups and was thus

urged to leave the region. In other words, the nature of the latest wave of immigration from

the region, henceforth forced migration, is quite different than the preceding waves.

128 The report that we shall refer to frequently, is based on a survey realised on 2,139 households covering up to 17,845 forced immigrants settled in six Turkish cities, namely Istanbul, Diyarbakir, Batman, Van, Izmir and Mersin. The sample on Mersin consisted of 320 households corresponding to 2,650 persons. From now on, all cited percentages will be based on this survey unless a specific reference is given.

276

Destinations of these forced immigrants were numerous since the force displacement

was not paired with a forced settlement policy; they immigrated either to the relatively

larger cities of the region like Diyarbakir, Batman and Van or to the western metropolitan

cities like Istanbul, Ankara, Izmir and Bursa. Furthermore, large cities out of, but close to

the region like Adana and Mersin, also received significant numbers of these forced

immigrants. Therefore, the rapid growth of the number of inhabitants of Mersin (illustrated

in chart 5) who were born in eastern or south-eastern regions, can be associated to this

phenomenon of forced migration.

The choice of Mersin as a destination of forced immigration is based on a couple of

different factors. Geographic proximity of the city to the troubled region constitutes

obviously one the most important factors. For such a demographic movement lacking any

kind of preparatory phase, closeness might have represented the most feasible alternative.

In fact, the report of Goc-Der (Table 87) illustrates that 32% of the forced immigrants in

Mersin associated their settlement in the city to its geographic proximity to their

hometown. Moreover, for the inhabitants of the region, Cukurova130 in general and Mersin

in particular was a relatively familiar geography since every year, significant numbers of

men of the region worked in the cotton farms and in citrus gardens as seasonal workers

during the harvest period131. The city also seemed to offer non-agricultural job

opportunities. Particularly, the unrealistic illusions created on the opportunities that the

establishment of a free zone in Mersin in 1987 would offer, was interpreted as a sign of

abundance of employment possibilities in the city132.

Furthermore, favourable daily life conditions of the city might have also been

considered as a supplementary asset. With its soft Mediterranean climate and inexpensive

129 « Village guards » were in fact paramilitary forces financed by the state whose number reached 67,000 by 1995 (Yilmaz, 2006). 130 The plain where Mersin is located. 131 The fact that paid workers constitute 21% of the agricultural labour in Mersin reveals the importance of such seasonal workers (Ayata, 1999:204). 132 The Free Zone was first understood as a total change of Mersin’s status to an entirely free and autonomous city with specific rules and practices to which access would be limited to its inhabitants and international merchants. Dogan (1999 : 169 ; footnote n°113) considers the very important number of people (82,454 between 1983 and 1986) who transfered their administrative birth registries to the city (an unnecessary effort in normal circumstances) as a concrete evidence of this tendancy.

277

life standards, the city seemed to be considered as a convenient refuge in escaping from the

conflictive region. In addition to these attractive characteristics, the city had initiated an

immense collective cheap housing project, known as Guneykent, in 1984. The project

consisting of the construction of 10,000 economic apartments was indeed the second

largest initiative ever taken in Turkey at that time133. The inexpensive housing opportunity

offered by this project might have been another motivation of settling in Mersin for the

forced immigrants.

Last but obviously not least the migrants were politically welcomed in the city.

When discussing the issue with our local interlocutors, the name of one of the ex-mayors

of the city, Mr Kaya Mutlu, was always cited as one of the reasons of such a

communitarian concentration in Mersin. According to this quasi unanimous popular

assumption, Mr Mutlu had personally encouraged the immigration of Kurdish families to

the city by offering them 5000 jobs in the municipality with the objective of enhancing his

electoral power.

In spite of such attractions that Mersin offered for forced immigrants, it is impossible

to speak of their actual integration to the new urban context. The reasons of this troubled

settlement in Mersin are multiple. The first dimension of the non-integration of the forced

immigrants is indeed the specific nature of the immigration experience that they suffered.

Since the decision to leave their hometowns was an obligation imposed by security forces

rather than a free and rational choice, forced immigrants were not capable of preparing for

such a displacement. They could not neither liquidate nor save their personal properties

before quitting their villages. They had to evacuate their villages very rapidly, most of

which were subsequently burnt down by security forces. The fact that their hometown were

destroyed constituted another disadvantage when compared to the precedent immigrants

who continued to enjoy relative support (in terms of subsistence provision or at least of

moral support) from their families left behind134. Furthermore, we can suppose that having

133 According to its initial objectives, the number of appartments to be constructed was 34000 on 840 hectars addressing to a population of 156000 (Sandal, 2002 : 141). This objective was obviously never reached. 134 For a much more detailed discussion of the specific consequences of the forced immigration, see Yilmaz (2006).

278

no place to return in case of failure in establishing a new life might have constituted a

supplementary stress on the forced immigrants.

Another consequence of the forced immigration was that kinsmen who had already

established themselves in the city of destination could not indeed facilitate their relatives’

integration to the city since the newcomers arrived in masses. In the precedent –voluntary-

waves of immigration, such relations could absorb the particular needs and demands since

only few persons had been arriving at once. However, for the case of forced immigration,

whole families, tribes or even villages were displaced at once and thus the contacts at the

city were inadequate for proposing any assistance in their efforts of settling in the city.

Consequently, involuntary immigrants could not have enjoyed a veritable informal support

neither from their geographic origin since nothing/nobody was left behind nor from their

urban destination since they arrived too crowded to be welcomed by kinsmen at the city.

The integration of these new inhabitants of Mersin on a personal basis was also quite

improbable since their cultural capital were extremely unfavourable for the new urban

context. First of all, the language seems to be an obstacle in their integration to the urban

context since 10% of the involuntary immigrants of Mersin did not even speak Turkish.

Moreover, the fact that 90% of them speak Turkish does not mean that they have not

experienced any linguistic problems in their new settlement since 92.5% of the involuntary

immigrants uses Kurdish within the family, 83.3% for their daily affairs and 63.1% in their

work. Therefore, it would not be surprising that the fluency of their Turkish has been

problematical. As a matter of fact, 33.4% of the involuntary immigrants of Mersin state

that they have indeed experienced linguistic problems. Consequently, we can suppose that

the main element for social integration, namely language, has actually been unfavourable

for the involuntary immigrants of Mersin.

Moreover, another aspect of cultural capital, education, has also been a handicap for

the community of involuntary immigrants. According to the data presented by Göç-Der,

25.9% of the involuntary immigrants in Mersin are illiterate, 15.6% literate but did not

attend to school and finally 33.4% had only a primary school degree. With such scholarly

inferiority, the integration of the concerned group would be quite surprising since they

would not be able to find appropriate means of employment in the new urban context.

When their professional background is considered (75.4% of them had been medium, small

or poor farmers or agricultural workers for the overall sample of Göç-Der), their traditional

279

know-how became completely useless in the new urban context. Indeed, 93.1% of the

forced immigrants of Mersin confirm that they experienced significant difficulties in trying

to find a job. When their present situation of employment is questioned, we observe that

most of them are either unemployed (23.4%) or working in the informal sector such as

street-vendors, undeclared construction workers etc. (20%). When the officially employed

segment is considered, we observe that they are either unqualified service workers (8.4%)

or working as daily (thus not stable) employees (34.1%). Such a scheme of employment

for the involuntary immigrants of Mersin must be interpreted as a sign of their potential

social vulnerability. As a matter of fact, 89% of households in Mersin have declared that

they had no social security coverage.

These empirical observations reveal without leaving any doubt that the forced

immigrants of Mersin suffer from social exclusion. On this point, Kaygalak (2001:163-

167) who had undertaken research on a district of Mersin where immigrants from eastern

and south-eastern regions have been significantly concentrated concludes that the dramatic

consequences of the forced immigration when combined with the impact of neo-liberal

policies facilitate the development of the ‘new poverty’ in the context of Mersin. From this

perspective, forced immigrants constitute a social fragment dissociated from the legal

labour market, social development and security opportunities and are thus condemned to a

social enclave of chronicle poverty.

Apart from this apparent dimension of social exclusion, the forced immigrants also

suffer from a political stigma based on their ethnic identity. Even if the region has not been

ethnically or religiously homogenous, the immigrants from east and south-east are

considered to be Kurds135. Since Kurdish identity has been frequently identified with the

separatist organisation, the people from the east or south-east of the country have been

frequently subjected to discriminatory acts. Even if the ethnic identity is not explicitly

claimed, the geographic origin of a person could easily be identified by his/her physical

appearance or linguistic accent and thus exposed him/her to ethnic discrimination. As a

matter of fact, 33.8% of the forced immigrants state that they suffered from being seen as a

135 To a great extent, this consideration might not be false. However, there has been no official empirical indicator in order to identify the ethnic origins of the population since the minority status is officially and historically attributed to only non-muslim communities. Therefore, it is not possible to give a precise answer on who is Kurdish and who is not.

280

potential criminal. It has been also observed that 17.8% of the children of the forced

migrants had been insulted at school because of their ethnic origin.

All these observations illustrate clearly the presence of a non-negligible and social

cleavage in the local context of Mersin136. Stuck in a chronicle of poverty and social

fragility, deprived from means of social ascension and exposed to discriminatory attitudes,

their integration to the city has been extremely problematical.

2) Social capital in fragmented societies

In both of our cities, we observe clearly a significant social fragmentation caused by

a forced demographic displacement, albeit in very dissimilar origins and characteristics.

While on the one hand, muhacirs constitute a particular community quite separated from

and even discriminated by the local population, on the other hand, the forced immigrants of

Mersin have been socially excluded and ethnically stigmatized. Therefore, in both of the

cities, we distinguish very significantly fragmented societal geographies.

At first sight, the presence of such social cleavages within the local communities

may be interpreted as an obstacle per se for the development of social capital since they

reduce the potential for collective mobilisations. If each social cleavage is considered as a

large ‘bonded’ community with very weak ‘bridges’ with the other members of society,

this assumption would not be unjust. However, recent research on contexts with distinct

ethnic communities seem to contradict with deduction; the growing literature on the ‘ethnic

social capital’ claim that if the communitarian fragment disposes its own vibrant

associative networks within the community (thus in a bonding manner), the aggregate

political participation of community members would be improved. For example, Fennema

and Tillie’s (1999 and 2001) research on Dutch cities reveal a very significant correlation

between political participation and political trust of ethnic minorities, on the one hand, and

the network of ethnic associations on the other. They observed that Turks in Amsterdam

have more political trust and larger participation in the political field than Moroccans who,

when compared to Turks, have a weaker network of associations. Therefore, the authors

136 Yet, the statement can be generalised for other contexts within Turkey and perhaps to a nationwide situation.

281

argue that the virtues of social capital theorised by Putnam are valid also for ethnic

associations, albeit they have a ‘bonding character.’

Fennema and Tillie’s initial research was generalised for other contexts. Yet, the

conclusions of further research does not totally affirm authors’ arguments of ethnic social

capital. For example, Jacops, Phalet and Swyngedouw (2004) do not find a significant

positive relationship between participation to ethnic associations and political involvement

at least for the case of Brussels. The authors observe also that different ethnic groups

reflect different effects of associative involvement in ethnic organisations. Togeby (2004)

reaches the same conclusion by stating that the impact of associative participation varies

from ethnic group to ethnic group in Denmark.

These reservations on the universal validity of ethnic social capital approach actually

signal the influence of other socio-political factors in determining the impact of associative

participation on politics. As might be recalled, this was the main criticism made also to

Putnam’s social capital approach. Yet, the dependence of social capital to other factors

become more visible through this ethnic perspective since even if the national or local

context is common, the theoretical application reveals varied conclusions when different

ethnic groups are analysed. As a mater of fact, Odmalm (2004) and Koopmans (2004)

underline the importance of local or national political opportunity structures in the

consistency and the strength of the ethnic social capital approach. Hence, the state is

brought back in to the discussions on social capital.

If we turn back to our own empirical discussion on Bursa and Mersin, we see that

the point we reached in examining our local contexts from a social capitalist perspective

would let us pursue our discussion by introducing the influence of state policies to our

comparison. Indeed, we have two distinct associative geographies both in quantitative and

qualitative aspects, marked with significant social cleavages on ethnical lines. Whether or

not the state policies represent a meaningful factor in determining the present associative

characteristics of the cities and thus their capacity in establishing new participatory

mechanisms appears to us as a justified query. As a matter of fact, as we shall present

below, the state’s attitudes on the one hand towards muhacirs of Bursa and towards the

Kurds of Mersin on the other, differ very radically in bringing about totally contradicting

outcomes in local social life as well as politics. The social fragmentation would end up

with a destructive social conflict in Mersin whereas in Bursa, the presence of muhacirs

282

would not lead to any social problems or tensions. Therefore, we pursue our discussion on

examining how state policies can prevent or cause the translation of social cleavages into

socio-political conflicts that would impede all democratic efforts.

a) Muhacirs as a domestic diaspora

Muhacirs have been wholly welcomed by the Turkish state all from the beginning

since their problems have been considered as a national issue. Their sufferings under the

communist rule in Bulgaria and their needs in Turkey have been always interpreted under a

nationalistic tone. State agents and political actors of all colours have unanimously

mobilised their resources in order to solve their problems and provide them with the

necessary assistance.

Especially, in the last and the largest immigration wave from Bulgaria in 1989, the

Turkish government displayed enormous efforts first to put international pressure on

Zhivkov to stop his assimilation policy. Parallel to these international initiatives, the

government attempted also to facilitate the settlement of muhacirs in the motherland. In

her dissertation, Ertuna (2003:88) details the efforts of the government on behalf of

muhacirs:

“Needs of the migrants were appeased mainly by the Turkish Red Crescent and the Social Mutual Aid and the Solidarity Funds (Sosyal Yardimlasma ve Dayanisma Fonu). The mission of coordinating all efforts on behalf of the migrants was given to a ministry and special laws were promulgated to facilitate their settlement. The priority was given to food and housing. In particular, a remarkable part of the poverty fund was spent for need satisfaction of the migrants (approximately 24 percent of the expenditure). Other needs, including rents, the expenditure related to the heating and the financial needs were financed by the fund. Moreover, the construction of residences for the migrants was financed in co-operation with the Administration of Collective Housing of the prime ministry. According to a study carried out by the Institute of Public administration of Turkey and the Middle-East (TODAIE), the funds reserved for the migrants were higher than those reserved for all the other poor of the country at that period.”

What had rendered possible the mobilisation of such colossal efforts was in the first

place the immense influence of nationalism in Turkish politics. The assimilation practices

of Zhivkov had been interpreted as an insult to the Turkish nation. The reaction had been

further intensified since the attack to the Nation came from the “enemy number one” of

Turkish nationalism, namely the communist regime. Therefore, Zhivkov’s regime and its

policies represented more than a particular hostile government; it was the communist

system as a whole that threatened the Turkish state and its nation. In this particular case,

283

this communist threat had just become more apparent. Consequently, sufferings of

muhacirs had a very powerful impact on the general public opinion justifying all the

measures taken and the resources allocated.

Another factor in this extraordinary mobilisation of the Turkish government were the

activities of the muhacir organisations, founded mostly in the eighties137. These

organisations had managed to create a great mobilisation of their members as well as other

actors of Turkish civil society; they organized meetings, petitions, collected donations etc.

In short, they undertook an extraordinary campaign in order to make the Turkish public

aware of the problem of muhacirs, be it in Bulgaria or in Turkey, and they achieved not

only to create a great mobilisation but also to become legitimate interlocutors of the

government in the issues concerning the muhacir community.

Since then, the muhacir organisations collaborate very closely with state agencies

and other political actors. One might find curious this ongoing cooperation between the

state and the muhacir community since public opinion favourable for muhacirs does not

exist anymore. On the contrary, as we summarised above, their integration to the local

population had turned to be quite problematic. The emotionally welcomed muhacirs

became immoral and infidel Bulgarians who got the jobs of local inhabitants. Moreover,

neither the communist rule nor Zhivkov’s regime is still present to create a nationalist

affection for the victim muhacirs. Despite all, close relations between the state and the

muhacir community via their civil organisations have been sustained.

The key for understanding the ongoing interest of the Turkish state in muhacir

community is the fact that most of the latter are still in possession of their Bulgarian

citizenship. Indeed, most of them have not even become Turkish citizens and continue to

formalise their stay in Turkey by a tourist visa138. Therefore although they live in Turkey,

they still posses their political power in Bulgaria. In this sense, the muhacir community

constitutes what we would call a “domestic diaspora” in the eyes of the Turkish

government. Furthermore, when the European Union membership of Bulgaria in the near

137 In 1987, these organisations assembled within a Federation of Balkanic Immigrants ; an immense gathering having more than 30,000 muhacir members. http://www.balgoc.org.tr/tarih.html; last consultation June 30th, 2006. 138 The legislation that permits muhacirs to acquire Turkish citizenship dates as late as March 1994.

284

future is considered, they represent a precious political power for the Turkish government.

During every election in Bulgaria, trips are organised and even financed by the muhacir

organisations and encouraged by the state agents to facilitate the political participation of

muhacirs in Bulgaria. The political candidacy of Turkish minorities in Bulgaria is

encouraged and candidates are actively supported. For example, one of the executives of

Bal-Goc stated quite proudly how they had contributed to the election of a Turk as a mayor

of a Bulgarian municipality that would undertake the presidency of a European municipal

organisation. According to the president, in this way “Turkey would have already entered

to the Union without being officially adhered to it,” needless to say, “thanks to muhacirs,

to his organisation” (Interview #31).

This diasporic power of the muhacir community thus permits the maintenance of the

close cooperation between them and the Turkish state preventing the politicisation of the

problem about their non-integration to the local population. In other words, the social

dissociation between muhacirs and the inhabitants of Bursa does not turn out to be a

political issue, a social conflict. Muhacirs try also not to be identified directly with political

organisations with the objective of not causing any further reaction towards their

community139; those active in politics try not to publicise their muhacir identity outside the

community. Their associations “participate indirectly to politics,” they “do not propose any

political lists, but the political parties have to take their presence in consideration140.”

Consequently, even if muhacirs participate very actively to local (even national) politics,

their communitarian identity does not become significantly visible on the political scene.

All these observations on Bursa seem to illustrate how the state’s concern for

muhacirs prevented the transformation of their non-integration to a veritable political issue

which would create conflicts within the local population. Enjoying very significant

assistance from bureaucratic and political actors, muhacirs have not needed actually to

pursue communitarian politics in the local context. There have been naturally political

actors among the community, but the muhacir identity did not become a political object

139 One of the executives of Bal-Göç told us how his family has reacted negatively to his election as in the executive boards of the association arguing that muhacirs have to stay distant from active politics (Interview #31). 140Statements of Emin Balkan to a local journalist, http://www.balgoc.org.tr/gulkolayli.html last consultation May 15th, 2005.

285

per se. Consequently, the discriminatory attitudes or judgements on muhacirs did not lead

to the development of a political reaction in the local context; a relative peace in city

politics has been thus maintained. There have been indeed very dense discussions,

divisions, tensions and conflict among the socio-political actors of the city; however they

have never been based on an ethnic identity or communitarian mobilisation. The

divergences have always been on the different conceptions of the well-being of Bursa; the

actors took their position in order to defend the city according to their priorities. Despite

the social gap among themselves, the local urban identity of Bursa has been the common

denominator within the local population. Even if the social distance between muhacirs of

Bursa and the native of Bursa had been maintained: it did not constitute a veritable

obstacle to the cooperation of the members of these two local universes.

Moreover, demographically speaking, the population of Bursa is not divided only

between the natives of Bursa and muhacirs. According to the official census data of 2000,

the former constitutes 58% of the local population. The remaining 42% was not born in the

city; subtracting the 6% of muhacirs leads us to a conclusion according to which Bursa’s

more than one inhabitant out of three has immigrated to the city after birth and as in all

large cities of Turkey, the sentiments of appurtenance to emigrated regions have been quite

vivid. The presence of 363 communitarian associations would be the best evidence of the

livelihood of townsmenship.

Yet, what is interesting in this regionally fragmented demographic structure is that it

does not seem to trigger a social tension among different communities. As we have

underlined above, these associations have been considered as the formalised form of

hierarchical solidarity networks among the newcomers of large cities. The main concern

and the domain of activity of such hometown organisations have most frequently focused

on delivering services to their original region as well as to their fellow townsmen in the

city that they immigrated. Even if their clientelist character has been also valid for those of

Bursa, we have not neither remarked nor been told that there have been significant socio-

political tensions among such community groups. Some of them even seem to reveal more

civic and democratic concerns. Even if the predominant emphasis on home-country and

countrymen is still valid, the interests and problems of Bursa appear quite significantly in

their discourses. For example, during the interviews that we realised with the members of

286

the executive committee of the Hometown Organisation of Artvin141, both of the actors

underlined particularly their activities and projects for Bursa and her environment

(Interview #90 and #64). This argument was also confirmed by our other interlocutors who

agreed that the common urban identity of Bursa has been even internalised by the new

inhabitants of the city (Interview #94).

It is indeed impossible to generalise these characteristics to all hometown

associations; they are still accused of ‘micro-nationalism’ (Interview #108) or of

contributing to the ‘socio-cultural alienation’ of immigrant communities (Interview #122),

the muhacir organisations excepted. However, when compared to other contexts,

especially to Mersin as we shall see below, the townsmen associations seem to be reflect

more concern to the problems of the settled city. For instance, in July 2001, twelve of these

associations representing immigrant communities of very different regions along with two

professional chambers signed a common declaration in the local press protesting the

appointment of the chief police superintendent who had been assertively fighting against

the illegal formations in the city, to another city. This simple example illustrates an

unaccustomed tendency of townsmen associations to cooperate among themselves.

In sum, the presence of ethnic cleavages in Bursa did not seem to lead to a local

political conflict. On the contrary, as the ethnic social capital approach suggests they may

have even facilitated ethnic groups’ political participation. On the contrary, assembled

under the roof of communitarian organisations, these ethnic communities are more present

in the political life of the city. Yet, it should be particularly emphasized that this facilitated

integration of immigrants to the local political life is mostly due to public authorities’

attitudes that do not stigmatize ethnic organisations. In order to better seize the importance

of this seemingly simplistic observation, we proceed to discussing the case of Mersin.

b) From non-integration to political conflict: Kurds i n Mersin

The state’s attitude towards forced migrants in Mersin has been extremely

problematical and contradictory to what muhacirs have experienced in Bursa. Not only in

Mersin, but on a national scale the Kurdish problem has been a major issue of democracy,

141 A small city in the Black Sea region.

287

human rights and civic liberties for the last two decades. Turkey has been severely

criticised due to the policies and practices that she adopted on the problem. It is

nevertheless true that since the arrest of the PKK’s chief Abdullah Ocalan and thanks to

the democratisation efforts displayed on the path to a future European Union membership,

the situation has been much more optimistic despite recent signs of re-aggravation. Since

our intention is not to discuss thoroughly the Kurdish question, we would directly focus on

the local implications of the problem in order to see how it might have affected the local

associative life and politics.

In Mersin, the social non-integration of forced immigrants seems to be aggravated

by direct or implicit pressures exercised by public authorities. Unlike muhacirs of Bursa,

the forced immigrants of Mersin did not enjoy any kind of public support or assistance

upon their arrival and settlement. On the contrary, they have been subjected to various

unofficial discriminatory practices that rendered their social-integration further

problematical. A brief discussion of some events from the near past of Mersin would

illustrate this argument.

The local elections of 1999 might be considered as a turning point of the local

reflections of the Kurdish problem. These local elections of 1999 were actually the second

local elections after the administrative transformation of the city to a metropolitan

municipality, but the first one to which the pro-Kurdish party participated; apart from the

metropolitan mayor, three mayors of sub-municipalities were elected142. Due to the spatial

segregation, Kurdish immigrants were concentrated in one of the sub-municipalities,

namely the municipality of Akdeniz where the candidate of the pro-Kurdish HADEP won

the elections as was expected143. This electoral victory of the pro-Kurdish party in one of

the district municipalities was interpreted as a direct threat on the city. It is true that the

city had been already affected indirectly by the Kurdish problem mainly by the massive

arrival of immigrants. However, the problem was henceforth there, in the city. The

scenarios of a probable annexation of the city to a future Kurdistan started to spread very

142 All of the four mayors were from the central right at the first elections that took place in 1994 just one year after the administrative change. The pro-kurdish party had boycotted those elections. 143The victory of HADEP was speculated even for the metropolitan municipality while the electoral count continued (Turgut, 2005: 42). At the end, it was Mr. Ozcan from Democratic Left Party (DSP) who became the metropolitan mayor.

288

rapidly. According to some conspiracy theories, the city would be the port of Kurdistan, its

contact point with the world. It was even argued that Abdullah Ocalan had said that he

“could give up even Diyarbakir144, but not Mersin” (Turgut, 2005: 54). In short, it was

hence believed that Mersin was seriously menaced and thus it was urgent to develop a

strategy to secure the city. An implicit war was to take place between Kurdish immigrants

and public authorities.

The first scene of this implicit war took place two months after the elections when

the mayor of Akdeniz was not allowed to enter to a military zone where a local reception

to which he was officially invited, was organized. Furthermore, the journalist who had

attempted to report news on this event was ‘politely warned’ by the city governor and by

the president of the association of journalists that he would better off not publicising the

event (ibid. p.45). The message that was addressed to the legally and legitimately elected

mayor was explicit and seemed to foretell the successive developments that would

accelerate with the nomination of a new governor to Mersin in August 2001.

According to most of our interlocutors in the city, the respective undertakings of the

new governor made obvious that he was nominated with an unofficial mission to secure the

city from the Kurdish menace. In order to incite the immigrants’ flow from the city, the

easiest measure would be reducing city’s attractiveness. The interdiction of street-vendors

by the new governor was the first illustration of such efforts.

When examined from a juridical perspective, this was a completely legal measure

since informal economy could not be officially tolerated145. However, such activities have

been unofficially tolerated since no social security measures were present for unemployed

persons. They were considered as the main survival strategy of the urban poor. Such an

interdiction meant without any doubt forcing the poorest inhabitants (forced immigrants in

this case) to leave the city. According to Turgut (ibid. p. 57), approximately 1,000 street-

vendors were condemned to a total social uncertainty by this measure because the security

reports had concluded that all of them were sympathisers of the PKK. According to the

144 The largest city in the southeastern Anatolia. 145 As a matter of fact, the circular sent to the municipalities by the governor stated that “street-selling is an informal economic activity and for this reason it has to be prevented and the city has to be evacuated by the street-sellers”; http://www.ozgurpolitika.org/2002/04/20/hab03.html last consultation June 29th, 2006.

289

president of the Street-vendors Association founded in Mersin, the number of street-

vendors was about 3,000 among which 230 were imprisoned for attempting to revolt,

membership to an illegal organisation, and support and harbouring to terrorist

organisation146.

The interdiction of street-vendors by the governorship represents a veritable act

aiming at the expulse the poorest Kurdish immigrants for whom informal economy was the

only means to survive in the city. Being deprived of this last economic activity, they would

either become involved in totally illegal acts or quit the city. But, the driving away of the

Kurdish immigrants away from the city was not restricted by only the poorest groups and

did extend towards upper socio-economic classes wherever it was possible. For example,

Turgut (ibid. p.48-49) argues that in this period quite a number of doctors and teachers

with south-eastern origins were appointed outside the city. Therefore, the poorest and the

middle-classed Kurdish immigrants were somewhat incited to leave the city. The governor

had not of course forgotten the rich Kurds and asked the native businessmen of Mersin not

to do business with Kurdish entrepreneurs in order to control their economic activities (loc.

cit.).

Obviously, such measures aiming at dismissing the Kurdish inhabitants from the city

would not suffice to overcome the presumed Kurdish menace of Mersin. There have to be

other strategies developed to augment the socio-political pressure on those, who despite

everything, insist to stay in town. For this purpose, the tension has to be accentuated so that

more repressive measures would be justified. As a matter of fact, the traditional Kurdish

feast, the Newroz, which had been forbidden for many years but allowed since the relative

reconciliation of the Kurdish problem, was a perfect occasion to augment the pressure on

the Kurdish community. While the feast was celebrated peacefully throughout the country

by even the participation of state agents, the new governor decided not to allow the popular

celebrations by referring to the local security reports that were never publicised.

Consequently, Mersin became the scene of an extreme tension caused by numerous street

confrontations between security forces and the local population causing the death of two

persons. The local tension was henceforth explicit.

146 The association was also shut down during this campaign against the street-vendors; http://www.ozgurpolitika.org/2002/06/13/hab04.html, last consultation June 29th, 2006.

290

Moreover, in August 2002, 22 district governors (muhtars) were dismissed from

their functions and subjected to a juridical investigation on the pretext of registering illegal

electors. Since most of the concerned districts were those where the pro-Kurdish party was

influential, this act of the governor was interpreted as an attempt to reduce the political

power of the party in the city. Indeed, Turgut (2005: 64) reports the declaration of the party

stating that they had lost about 7000 electors.

Another act of the governor against the presumed Kurdish menace was the project of

modifying the municipal borders with the objective of diluting the electoral concentration

of Kurds by creating new and more heterogeneous constituencies. As we have already

mentioned in the chapter on the LA21, the governor had even taken the issue to the City

Council in order to find popular support from the local civil society. However, with the

change of central government after the elections of 2003, the national political conjuncture

had evolved and the governor was dismissed from his post before being able to finalise his

project.

All these evidences illustrate how there had been a systematic reaction in Mersin

against the Kurdish inhabitants of the city. Their social non-integration was thus

aggravated by exclusionary even hostile attitudes of public actors. Consequently, the

problem of social fragmentation was transformed to a conflictive political issue. An

extremely significant political tension was caused by the discriminatory policies. Not even

the traditional representative structures were left operational for the integration of Kurdish

immigrants. They seem to be condemned to a social exclusion and political stigmatisation.

As a result, totally in contradiction with what we have observed in Bursa, the state played a

role of aggravating the social-fragmentation by transforming it to an extremely conflictive

political issue. The socioeconomic gap between the Kurdish immigrants and the local

society was deepened by the politicisation of the problem and a veritable political tension

emerged.

Furthermore, this local tension did not remain limited in between the immigrants

from the southeast and the rest of the population, since the accentuation of the ethnic

identity of a group led to the emergence of other minor cultural identities. The social

cleavages seem to be multiplied all over the city: Arabs, ex-nomads, central Anatolians,

Alevis as well as natives were regrouped within separate sub-communities. The term of

‘sub-identity’ was so popular in the city that almost all our interlocutors referred to it at

291

least once during our interviews; Mersin was often described as the paradise of ‘sub-

identities.’ Such an abundance of sub-identities blurred naturally the collective urban

identity founded on sentiments of appurtenance to the city. Inhabitants of the city seemed

to accentuate their links with specific communities rather than with the geography which

they inhabited.

The cleavages formed along these communitarian identities affected the whole of the

local socio-political environment; even the civil organisations were subdivided among

themselves. For example, the most powerful civil organisation of the city, MTSO

(Chamber of Commerce and Industry of Mersin) was known to be controlled by the natives

of the city. As a reaction to such an overwhelming influence of natives in the organisation,

a group of businessmen founded MESIAD147. The new association was regarded as the

organisation of the immigrant businessmen, particularly of alevis. The division had of

course continued with other smaller organisations such as ISIAD, MIGIAD, MUSIAD

identified by other sub-identities (Interview #48).

Not surprisingly, local politics has been henceforth determined by a direct reference

of these socio-cultural ‘sub-identities’. For example, as we have stated in the previous

chapter, the Arab identity of the metropolitan mayor is considered as his most important

political capital and the key of his electoral success in the last two local elections. In such a

fragmented socio-political geography, it is inevitable that the patronage networks become

the main political instruments. The political elites are thus determined by their

communitarian identity since the main dynamic of political mobilisation passes through

these local divisions. Elites, who acquire political power, thus control the public resources

and can influence the bureaucratic procedures and offer specific privileges or particular

benefits to their kinsmen to be able to maintain their support in the following elections.

The impact of such a vulgarisation of clientelist relationships on local politics could

not be insignificant. As Abers notes, there are two major consequences of the prevalence of

clientelism. On the one hand, since the services offered by political elites in the form of

gifts, privileges or priorities are contingent on the political support, the anti-democratic

system in which only a few political elites are influential is maintained. On the other hand,

147 The Association of Industrialists and Businessmen of Mersin (Mersin Sanayici ve Isadamlari Dernegi).

292

the accentuation of vertical relations between patron and clients constitutes an obstacle to

the development of civic activism based on active and rational participation of citizens;

only “those who are well enough positioned to negotiate with politicians” participates

actively to city politics (Abers, 2000: 30).

The situation in Mersin is quite similar to what Abers suggests. The city politics

appear to be wholly structured along hierarchical clientelist relationships which have been

particularly animated by communitarian discourses multiplied especially after the

politicisation of local social fragmentation. In such conditions, there has been no room left

for civic cooperation since communitarian divisions accentuated within the local society

have impeded any kind of general gathering of fellow-citizens. Each initiative has been

first perceived by whom it was launched in order to see whether it “us’ or ‘them’ who is

behind the enterprise. This line of perception is so common that even for those who can not

be directly considered in this or that community, accusations of a secret agenda or future

political ambitions have been rapidly speculated. As a natural result, every civic initiative

was born as condemned to a rapid death, if not instrumentalised for politician ambitions.

In such circumstances, it should not be thus surprising that the introduction of new

participatory mechanisms experience very significant difficulties. Indeed, the social

tensions among different communities have been reproduced within new participatory

platforms. Instead of constituting an egalitarian public sphere where inhabitants of the city

could have deliberated in public affairs, the organs of LA21 became very fast a scene of

personal confrontations and conflictive interactions. Attempts of exploiting these new

instruments on behalf of specific interests brought the process to a halt. After the election

of one of his political opponents as the general secretary of LA21, the metropolitan mayor

rapidly distanced himself from the organisation fearing that it would undermine his

personal power.

Even this basic election was manipulated by the local conflicts in the city. It seemed

to be a success of the native actors against the elites of the immigrants since the candidate

backed by the mayor who was also identified by a specific community, was the president

of MESIAD, considered as the association of migrant businessmen. The elected general

secretary, on the other hand, was the vice-president of MTSO controlled by native

entrepreneurs. So, the election of the general secretary turned out to be a political struggle

of different local communities. When questioned about the background of the election of

293

the general secretary, one of the influential local actors admits without any complex that

the choice had the objective of wearing the metropolitan mayor down: “there was no

program, neither any collective standpoint. We had constituted a bloc just to put off the

mayor. Afterwards, the system was paralyzed, but at least the mayor could not benefit from

it” (Interview #71).

Thus, the new participatory instruments could not spare themselves from the local

conflicts predominant in the city. Tensions between different fragments were reproduced

or even multiplied within the new context. The new organs that supposed to enhance

political consensus contrarily contributed to the local conflicts. For instance, the general

secretary criticised by the –Kurdish- mayor of Akdeniz because of his anti-democratic

attitude in changing the program of the conference organised by LA21 without informing

any other members of the executive committee, feels free to question the mayoralty of the

latter (Ayan, 2003c). He seems to attribute more political legitimacy to himself than a

mayor elected in a district of 150000 inhabitants. Consequently, the head of the new

organisation that was supposed to contribute to the social integration and democratic

development appears to kindle new conflicts or accentuate the existing ones. Likewise, the

governor of the city attempts to exploit the council in his supposed mission of saving the

city from the Kurdish threat. By trying to mobilise the local civil society via the city

council, he tries to be backed in his project of changing the municipal borders to reduce the

electoral power of the local Kurdish community. In short, LA21 in Mersin becomes rapidly

a puppet of local power struggles and social conflicts.

D - Social capital: a determinant or an indicator of democracy?

We can associate the observed conflict-based spread of communitarian politics not

only to the weakness but also to the politicised character of the associative life in Mersin.

The preponderance of communitarian discourses and clientelist networks obstruct

gathering of citizens for collective purposes. The overwhelming distinction between ‘us’

and ‘them’ has obviously disabled people’s assembly on general purposes. The civil

initiatives that have been somehow launched could not spare themselves from the political

conflicts and divisions and eventually being politicised if even not already founded for

political purposes. The urban tension emerged with the local reflections of the Kurdish

problem and then spread via other communitarian discourses has thus restricted the social

294

capital resource of Mersin. In other words, inhabitants of Mersin have been massively

adhering to social networks founded on communitarian identities, but this form of social

mobilisation has never brought about a democratisation of the political sphere. Moreover,

it has also impeded the introduction or functioning of other mechanisms such as the LA21

organs that aimed to empower citizens’ democratic influence within local politics, by

generating social distrust and conflict among fellow citizens.

On the other hand, the associative life of Bursa may have obviously facilitated the

introduction of new participatory mechanisms issued from the LA21 project. Not only with

their greater number and more democratic nature, the civil organisations of the city have

obviously contributed to the process by either their direct institutional participation or

involvement of those who have been already active within these organisations. On the

same line of thinking, the weakness of the associative life, so the scarcity of local social

capital in Mersin may be interpreted as the main reason behind city’s failure in

implementing the new participatory mechanisms. Deprived from past experiences, thus

know-how of acting collectively, inhabitants of the city may have not managed to make

use of the new civic platforms.

If the analytical reasoning is stopped at this point, Putnam’s social capital approach

may make sense. As a matter of fact, we could have very simplistically associated the

dissimilarity between our two empirical cases to the quantitative and qualitative

differences of their respective associative lives. We could have shortly argued that Mersin

has lacked adequate social capital resources for successfully implementing LA21

mechanisms whereas Bursa makes use of her rich stocks of social capital within the LA21

framework and thus successfully establishes new participatory mechanisms. Actually, in

doing so, we would have directly fallen in the tautological trap of social capital theory; to

associate the relative success of LA21 in Bursa to its developed associative life would be

another way of stating that “civic towns do civic things” (Portes, 1998: 19-20).

Consequently, the background of such a civic or uncivic environment remains totally

unexplored as social capital appears as an indicator of civicness rather than a determinant

of democratic processes.

As we have discussed quite thoroughly above, the weakness as well as the politicised

character of associative life of Mersin seem to be directly linked to the specific conjuncture

of the city. The translation of the social fragmentation into a veritable political conflict

295

with the direct implication of state policies has greatly affected the local civil society.

Regrouped in separate communitarian compartments following the particular local

politicisation of the Kurdish problem, inhabitants of Mersin have been indirectly disabled

from assembling for collective objectives. All interpersonal and thus inter-communitarian

relationships reflected a political implication; therefore local civil society was politicised

through intra-local divisions.

On the other side of our comparison, in Bursa, a similar fragmented social structure

has been prevented to be politicised thanks to the direct intervention of the state in

responding to the needs and demands of the muhacir community. The close cooperation

between the community and the public authorities prevented the translation of social

fragmentation to a conflictive political issue. Therefore, unlike Mersin, the socio-cultural

non-integration of muhacirs did not turn out to be a major issue of local politics. They

were very active in local politics and associative life, but their political and associative

activities have not been seen as having particularistic communitarian implications. On the

contrary, as we shall briefly mention in the following chapter, some of the most active

civic leaders are muhacirs. In this sense, the arguments of the ethnic social capitalists seem

to be affirmed in the case of Bursa. Significantly organised within themselves, muhacirs

have been actually active in local politics and the public sphere. Yet, again, this is not an

inherent relationship. The role of state’s attitude towards such communitarian

organisations is probably the most important determinant of such an outcome. Without the

support of public actors to the community or by furiously reacting to them as has been the

case in Mersin, muhacirs would not be as present and active as they have been in actuality.

Therefore, we would conclude by re-affirming the importance of political context on

social capital, thus the tautological character of Putnam’s approach. As the cases of Mersin

and Bursa illustrate, not only the size but also the nature of local resources of social capital

are significantly affected by other socio-economic and political factors. When we re-

consider the case of Mersin in this perspective, her failure in establishing new participatory

instruments was not because she lacked adequate resources of social capital but because

she suffered from socio-political problems that prevented such an initiative as well as

accumulation of social capital. Similarly, in Bursa, the relatively richer resources of social

capital and the relative success of the LA21 project have been probably the outcome of the

296

social peace facilitated by the economic welfare of the city and by public policies

implemented by the central and local governments.

Furthermore, our discussion on Bursa and Mersin illustrates the fragility of the

association between social trust and associative life. As the case of Mersin reflects not all

kinds of associative activity enhances social trust among citizens. On the contrary, social

organisations may serve to aggravate the social tension among different groups and

communities if they are instrumentalised by conflictive confrontations of habitual political

actors. Even if not founded with ‘bounding’ purposes, such organisations may be spoiled

by particularistic objectives of political aspirants. On the other side of our comparison, we

observe that in even socially fragmented contexts where the gap between different social or

ethnic entities remains, a rich and democratic associative life may develop leading to

significant democratic impacts. In other words, a democratic and developed associative life

can be reached even if it does not lead to a united society. Therefore, the normative and

structural aspects of Putnam’s social capitalism should be dissociated.

To sum up, we would state that social capital approach should not be considered as

an independent variable, an autonomous determinant disposing an inherent explanatory

capacity since it is almost totally determined by other socio-political and economic factors.

Especially, the influence of state policies on the civil society should be carefully

considered since as Fillieule (2005: 213) notes on a broader perspective, there is no clear

distinction between state and the civil society; the former can facilitate or impede the

development of the latter or instrumentalise the already present civil bodies for its own

objectives148.

As a matter of fact, by highlighting the role of public policies and agents in the

transformation or not of social cleavages to serious political conflicts, we aimed at

illustrating the importance of state policies in the associative development in our respective

cities. By doing so, we aimed at better understanding the backstage of local politics and

associative life and thus going beyond a tautological and simplistic description through

Putnam’s social capital perspective. Yet, we have to acknowledge that we focused rather

on the political dimension, thus almost totally neglecting other socioeconomic factors

148 For diferent instrumentalisations of the civil society discourse in Turkey see Bayraktar, 2005.

297

especially the economic situation of our cities. In order to overcome this weakness, we

propose to pursue our discussion by developing a more economic regard in the following

chapter. However, instead of roughly describing the economic landscape of our cities, we

preferred to locate this aspect of local life in a theoretical perspective that would indirectly

refer to our discussion on social capital. Indeed, we shall argue that ‘Urban Regime

Theory’ represents a very adequate theoretical tool to compare the economic conditions of

these cities while keeping in mind our social capitalist conclusions.

298

III - Urban coalitions in Bursa and Mersin

In the first chapter of this dissertation, we have thoroughly discussed the

development of participatory themes in local politics as well as in the political science

literature. In light of all those statements, we can roughly summarise this growing interest

in participatory efforts as an attempt to transform political power balances in favour of

fellow citizens by better associating them to politics. In fact, such a formulation of the

theory reveals indirectly that some other institutions and/or groups traditionally control the

political power more than ordinary citizens from where the need for reallocating political

influence among principal actors, institutions and fellow citizens emerges. Yet, at this

point, a very justified question can be raised: if some groups and/or institutions enjoy

already an influential –perhaps even hegemonic- position within politics, why would they

let a re-structuration of the political regime if they were to lose some of their actual

political influence? We can easily suppose that they would not do so voluntarily unless

there has already been a change with regards to the distribution of political power within

the system. This change may be a result of either a transformation within the ruling elite or

of a massive mobilisation of citizens, in any case related of some changes in the social

structure. In the absence of such socio-political developments, the participatory efforts

have a small chance of success since even formally introduced, the new mechanisms would

not bring about significant outcomes due to the opposition or indifference of politically

powerful actors. In other words, there has to be a relative change in the political power

scheme prior to the introduction of participatory experiences that will lead to the actual

democratic impact.

Departing from this statement, we can also argue that the dissimilarity regarding the

dissimilar outcomes of LA21 practices in Bursa and Mersin might be related to the

presence or absence of such prior changes in the local social structure that affect the power

balances. Therefore, in this chapter, we shall present an historical account of the

socioeconomic and political developments in our respective cities in order to better

comprehend the background of political developments. The conceptual tool applied to our

research for this purpose will be the Urban Regime Theory that prioritises the presence of

299

urban coalitions behind the formation, maintenance and adjustment of local power

schemes. In other words, we shall try to see whether the dissimilarity between Bursa and

Mersin can be explained by such urban coalitions. For this purpose we shall first briefly

discuss the theoretical assumptions of the theory and then present the socioeconomic

history of our cities with direct references to these assumptions.

A - Community power structures: Political economy versus pluralism

In the 50’s and 60’s, study of community power structures was one of the main

themes of the political science research. The famous question formulated in the title of

Dahl’s (1971) very influential research on New Haven, Who Governs?, was the main

problematic of these studies. In trying to explore the actual dynamics of local power

structures, different methodologies have been applied. The emphasize on the applied

methodology has been so omnipresent that Elkin (1987: 2) presumes to qualify them as “a

dispute about methodology”

A first methodological approach has been to concentrate on formal institutions and

office holders with the objective of understanding the functional logic of local

governmental procedures while keeping the focus on the legal framework, thus ignoring

the non-institutional aspects of political influence. The advantage of the approach is that it

provides a methodological facility in examining the power structure. However, the

negligence of the actual resources of power and influence has been the main weakness of

the institutional approach (Birnbaum, 1973). As an example of this methodology, in his

famous article on the French governors and local elites, Jean-Pierre Worms (1966)

demonstrates the presence of an implicit ‘complicity’ between the representatives of the

central government and the local political actors despite the long-dated impression of an

apparent and formal opposition between them. The author observes a coherent system of

local politics based on an inherent consensus on the roles that each side plays and that

brings about an actual resistance against all attempts of change.

The indifference of the positional approach towards the non-institutional aspects of

political power has led the researchers to look for more subjective identification of power

holders. In this second methodology, those who wield power are identified by making use

of the reputation of local actors. In this way, the researchers attempted to go beyond the

narrow framework of institutional analysis and to identify the informal sources or holders

300

of local power. The most famous example of the application of reputational methodology

is certainly Hunter’s (1953) research on Atlanta (Regional City) in which the author first

secured “lists of people occupying positions of prominence in civic organisations, business

establishments, a University bureaucracy, office holders in Village politics and lists of

persons prominent socially and of wealth status” (Hunter, 1953: 263). Then he provided

these lists to 6 ‘judges’ who had knowledge of community affairs and asked them to

identify the ten most powerful names in these lists. Finally, he narrowed further down the

list by making use of interviews in order to identify who was really powerful in the city

and how their power operated149. Using this methodology, Hunter found out that the

economic elites were the most influential actors in the local politics of Atlanta. Thanks to

various non-political mechanisms such as the withholding of contributions, withdrawal of

credit and control over jobs, the business leaders seemed to enjoy a dominant power in the

city. Thus, Hunter introduces the political economy to community politics by illustrating

the political domination of economic elites in local politics. This political economy

approach is further developed in the second half of the 1980s through the growth machine

models that are supposed to form coalitions between the local actors who directly or

indirectly derive economic benefits from urban growth (Logan and Molotch, 1987).

A third methodology used in analysing the local power structures has been the

decisional approach that is based on the examination of a number of significant decisions

on local policies. By observing the actual influence of various local actors in the decision-

making process, the researcher aims at identifying the actual holder of local power.

Concentration mainly on the actual influence exercised by various local actors on the

decisions enabled researchers to not only avoid the methodological restrictions of the

institutional approach, but also reduce the risk of ungrounded subjectivity present in

reputational analyses. Robert Dahl’s seminal book on the local politics in New Haven has

been the pioneer study founded on the decisional methodology. After analysing three

major decisions on urban renovation, nomination of political candidates and public

education, Dahl asserts that local politics is not simply dominated by economic elites.

While acknowledging their potential of political influence thanks to their control over

149 For more technical details on Hunter’s reputational methodology, see “Appendix: Methods of Study” of his book.

301

economic resources (wealth, employment) and social instruments (media), he argues that

they are far from being able to transform this potential to actual power due to the fact that

they are few in number, divided amongst themselves and interested mainly in business and

commercial issues rather than political affairs (Dahl, 1971: 75-78). In light of these

observations, Dahl concludes that American local politics has been marked with a

pluralism based on varying coalitions and compositions according to different contexts,

issues and interests.

In spite of being the dominant approach in the community power structure analyses,

the decisional methodology has been criticised on the basis of “neglecting one whole ‘face’

of power” (Bachrach and Baratz, 1963: 632). In their critical article on the conceptual

weakness of the community studies, Bachrach and Baratz assert convincingly that power

relations go beyond the decision-making and that the ‘non-decisions’ are equally important

since they reflect the capacity of elite groups to limit “the scope of actual decision-making

to ‘safe’ issues by manipulating the dominant community values, myths and political

institutions and procedures” (loc. cit.). Therefore, Bachrach and Baratz argue that power is

far from having a uniform character and can be disguised in different forms such as

influence, force, authority or manipulation. This diversity of implicit or explicit power

structures attests the need for further conceptualisation of the power relations. Despite the

appropriateness of the concern for dealing also with the ‘hidden faces’ of power relations,

the non-decisions or non-events have proved to be difficult to research. As a matter of fact,

Clarence Stone’s systemic power approach finds its roots exactly in this need for further

conceptualising of power restrained by methodological difficulties.

1) Systemic power: A new reading of local politics

According to Harding (1997:293), the main problematic of the community studies of

50s, 60s and 70s, Who governs?, is not valid anymore. Instead, the contemporary urban

political economists try to find out “who achieves when it comes to defining development

strategies, shaping key projects that support them and capturing the benefits that flow from

them.” In other words, we are not anymore interested in “Who?” but rather in ‘why and

how?’ Since the 90s, the urban regime theory has been the most popular conceptual tool

representing the development of this new approach in the community studies. Before

302

discussing the theory, we should firstly define Stone’s systemic power approach on which

he founds his theory.

For Stone, power relationships have three dimensions. First of all, they are “not only

interpersonal, but also intergroup”. Secondly, they are not only a “matter of intention, but

also a matter of the nature or the logic of the situation” (Stone, 1980: 970). That is to say, it

is necessary for the participants of the power relation to be neither rationally willing nor

aware in becoming the influential or the subordinated part of such relationships. Finally,

power may also be exercised indirectly, ‘over’ other actors rather ‘to’ them.

Based on this tri-dimensional approach, Stone conceptualised his own power type,

the systemic power that is intergroup, situational and indirect. He defines systemic power

as

“that dimension of power in which durable features of the socioeconomic system (the situational element) confer advantages and disadvantages on groups (the intergroup element) in ways predisposing public officials to favour some interests at the expense of others (the indirect element)” (Stone, 1980: 980).

Stone’s conceptualisation of power differs from the preceding community power

approaches since he puts public officials in the centre of the local political structures. In

this sense, the undeniable influence of upper strata in the local politics is not because they

dispose a hegemonic status per se, but rather because the public officials need to establish

alliances with other social groups due to the fact that “the capacity to build, modify, or

reinforce governing arrangements requires resources and skills that are not widely

available. Inequalities in that capacity are substantial, systemic, and persistent…” (Stone,

2005: 312). In other words, the situational factor leads the public officials to cooperate

with the political elite since “they find themselves rewarded for cooperating with upper-

strata interests and unrewarded or even penalised for cooperating with lower strata

interests” (Stone, 1980: 979).

The strategically important resources that the economic elite dispose, renders them

more powerful in local politics. Lower strata that lack such resources do not manage to

influence public officials as much as the former do. Thus, the actual power relationship is

indirect between the upper and lower strata; it is a ‘power over’ relationship deeply

embedded in the social structure that favours the former in three aspects (ibid. pp. 982-

984).

303

First of all, the great wealth and command of major economic enterprises of the

upper-strata let them become the revenue-producers while the lower-strata are perceived

rather as service-demanding groupings. Especially in federal systems, local governments

lean in the direction of favouring revenue production, thus of economic elites. In addition

to their favourable economic positioning, the wealthy groups enjoy also an associational

influence: they possess organisations that are either structured on self-directing hierarchies

or on small membership, which in any case do not suffer from the collective action

problem. While the middle classes may be organised massively through employment-

related or voluntary associations, they can not escape from the challenges of collective

action. At the lowest level, the associational influence is either very weak or inexistent.

This possession of greater associational capacity to mobilise and sustain resources for goal

attainment renders thus the upper-strata more influential. Moreover, the high esteem and

status that the latter enjoy thanks to their social position and life styles, lead the public

officials to regard them as not only more admirable but also more interesting and fruitful to

work with.

This three-dimensional social stratification, the unequal distribution of resources

between different social groups is at the heart of systemic power. It is not the system that

exercise the power, but situational and indirect effects of the socio economic system that

have structured the power relationships (ibid. p.982). Thus, the system does not leave the

power directly to the upper-strata; it creates pressures on public officials for favouring the

former. Even if at first glance, Stone’s systemic power follows Hunter’s political economy

approach, it does differ from the latter since the systemic power conceptualisation indicates

a more dynamic process. The power relationships are formed and reformed continuously;

each exercise of power is in fact founded on established coalitions whose stakeholders can

differ in quality and quantity. That’s where Stone’s systemic power flirts with pluralist

tradition. It is based on permanent negotiations or calculations. That is why at least a

pripori, power relationships are not uniform but rather pluralist, not in the sense that power

is equally dispersed, but in the sense that different actors can be involved in different

power relationships. This hybrid of the political economy approach and pluralism through

the systemic conceptualisation of power leads to the regime analysis in the urban context.

304

2) Urban Regime Theory

The urban regime theory borrows the ‘regime’ concept developed in the

international relations literature. The ‘regime’ concept in this domain indicates “sets of

implicit or explicit principles, norms, rules and decision making procedures around which

actors’ expectations converge in a given area of international relations” (Krasner, 1982:

186). In other words, a regime corresponds to “formal and informal arrangements that

enable cooperation across boundaries (in this case, between nations and international

organisations)” (Mossberger and Stoker, 2001: 814). The core idea in the regime concept is

the presence of an agreement among different actors that enable them to cooperate on some

specific issues. In the background of such agreements, Stone sees “selective incentives and

small opportunities that are used to achieve civic cooperation among governing coalition

members” (DiGaetano and Klemanski, 1993: 57)150.

The application of regime based approach to urban politics leads to a new

interpretation of the concept that can be defined very broadly as “the set of arrangements

through which a community is governed” (Stone, 2001: 21). Although the urban regime

theory is often identified with Stone’s study of Atlanta’s post-war politics, there have been

earlier works by Fainstein and Fainstein (1986) and by Elkin (1987).

Fainstein and Fainstein’s regime conception is founded upon a distinction between

the “state as a whole, and that part of it responsible for setting policy and susceptible to

electoral forces” (Fainstein and Fainstein, 1986: 256). For the authors, what we call the

administration or the government in ordinary language, determines the nature of the urban

regime by translating the general strategic objectives into concrete actions by setting the

political agenda of state activity. The agenda settled by the regime may correspond exactly

to the program of a powerful business interest group, bring about a new group identified by

this agenda or favour one set of business interests over another. In any case, the authors

note the presence of systemic biases in local regimes due to which the interests of capital

and to a lesser extent those of middle classes, are advanced at the expense of those of lower

150 In one of his latest articles, Stone admits that he has over-highlighted the role of selective incentives and the small opportunities at the expense of broad purposes that “can inform an agenda, generate a significant appeal, and, of special importance, provide a framework within which many lesser aims and multiples forms of motivation operate” (Stone, 2005: 320).

305

and working classes. Thus, unless the extraordinary political movements, protest and social

disorder compel the regimes to reduce such systemic biases, the interests of wealthy social

groups are wholly incorporated into the urban regimes. Even the electoral power of the

underprivileged masses does not suffice to influence the nature of regimes since the

wealthier disposes the capacity to react by mobilising its precious economic and political

resources. Therefore, even the coalitions advocating for the interests of the poor, when in

office, are obliged to get along with the former (ibid. p. 257).

The authors identify three main types of urban regimes in the American context. The

first type, the directive regimes, consists of very little effective opposition by the lower

classes. The second type, the concessionary regimes, was however identified by the

uprisings of the sixties that obliged the emergence of more responsive attitudes towards the

interests of the lower-classes. Finally and most recently, the conservative regimes aim at

conserving the fiscal stability while at the same time maintaining the social control without

costing much capital by ad hoc political arrangements. In sum, whatever the regime is, the

capital is structurally hegemonic in the urban context and determines the main lines of

urban policies. In this way, Fainstein and Fainstein’s approach is very similar to Stone’s

systemic power perspective. However, the authors do not reveal the actual dynamics of this

unequal distribution of local power and content to provide an overview of the actual

situation in American cities.

Elkin’s regime conceptualisation is a significant attempt in going beyond the

simplicity of stating merely the state of political inequalities in the urban contexts. He also

starts by noting the systemic bias that brings about an undeniable political inequality in

urban contexts. However, in addition to this normatively critical position, he also reveals a

functional weakness provoked by such biases. According to the author, it also reduces the

problem solving capacity of local governments by disregarding the proposals of some local

political actors. Therefore, the -explicit or implicit- restrictions on local politics have two

major consequences: political inequality and the weakening of social intelligence.

In trying to identify the roots of these problematic urban features, Elkin attempts to

move beyond the traditional dichotomy between elitists and pluralists of community power

studies by combining public choice and Marxist analyses. While doing so, he also tries to

go beyond, on the one hand, the overwhelming emphasis on the political incentives of the

former vein, and the structural deductionism of Marxism on the other. Despite the

306

constraints of political arrangements on local political actors, Elkin argues that they have a

relative autonomy in responding to this economic context in order to pursue their political

ambitions. This combination of structural constraints and personal strategies brings about a

tacit or open alliance between political leaders and businessmen, thus the systemic bias

stated above (Elkin, 1987: 1-17).

Elkin’s approach is, thus, founded on an analysis of urban political economy

disposing three main features. First of all, local politics is determined by the public

officials’ and local businessmen’s efforts aiming at the construction of an alliance focused

on promoting economic growth in the city, which is mainly associated to major land-use

projects. Secondly, he indicates the presence of complex electoral coalitions on other

politically conflictual matters than growth policies such as police protection and education

policies. Last but not least, the local bureaucracies play significant roles in urban politics

thanks to their relative autonomy founded on their close links with federal agencies that

provide substantial funding to local governments.

These three axes of urban political economy lead to the development of three

different types of urban regimes very similar to what Fainstein and Fainstein suggested.

The pluralist regimes, very close to Fainstein and Fainstein’s directive regimes, suggested

a pluralism within the land-use coalitions in which only the major political actors are

present, excluding the lower classes from participation in local politics. In other words, it is

a pluralism covering only the upper strata. The second regime type, the federalist regime,

is suggestive to what Fainstein and Fainstein call concessionary in the sense that it implies

the hardening of urban growth alliance formation due to the neighbourhood mobilisations

in the sixties and seventies (ibid. p. 36-60). Lastly, the entrepreneurial regime of Elkin,

illustrated by a case study on Dallas, reveals a political economy where the economic

growth coalitions are coupled with a relative autonomy of urban bureaucracies from

elected officials and local businessmen (ibid. p. 61). This last regime category also has

implications with Fainstein and Fainstein’s conserving regimes as business hegemony is

relatively softened by bureaucratic autonomy.

Having outlined the different urban regimes, Elkin does not however pursue his

analysis by detailing the nature of these regimes or of urban politics in general. Instead, he

prefers to adopt a normative position in developing an ideal type of urban regime, namely

307

the commercial republic, in which democracy is “married” with liberalism (ibid. p. 170-

188).

As we have already stated above, in spite of preceding studies on the urban regimes,

Stone’s (1989) research on Atlanta has been considered the main reference of the

discussions on the issue. The main problematic of the book is to understand how a similar

development coalition with the local business community could have been maintained

despite a succession of mayors who managed to put together different electoral coalitions

(Dowding, 2001: 10). The answer lies in the systemic power approach: the succeeding

mayors for 40 years were persuaded in the need to cooperate with the local business

community in governing the city and thus established a ‘development regime’ whose main

concern is to promote growth of local economy. In other words, the systemic power of

local business elites led to a stability in governing principles of Atlanta, thus to an urban

regime. Departing from his observations, Stone develops his theory of urban regime

according to which the local governments require establishing policy coalitions with the

local economic elites in order to have sufficient resources for problem-solving. In other

words, as Stoker and Mossberger (1994: 197) summarise:

“the urban regime theory starts with the assumption that the effectiveness of local government depends greatly on the cooperation of nongovernmental actors and on the combination of state capacity with nongovernmental resources.”

In light of Stone’s work (1989, 2001, 2005), we can re-define the urban regime as

stable, cross-sector founded, informal and productive arrangements formed around an

identifying agenda. This definition provides clues also about what Stone (2001: 23) calls

the ‘regime process,’ the formation, maintenance and adjustment of regime arrangements.

There has to be first a purpose that is in harmony with the expectations of different actors

from different sectors so that they can engage in that common agenda and thus mobilise

their own resources for the common objective. The scope of the engagement and the

resources mobilised by the stake-holders give the regime its capacity to achieve the

determined objective. Yet, such engagements can not be formally observable since they do

not have an institutional character; it is a de facto alliance of local actors. Finally, not all

arrangements in an urban context correspond to a regime. For a regime to exist, the

effective arrangements have to be sustained over time. To resume, an urban regime is the

set of collaborative arrangements that are maintained over time among local actors

308

engaged in a common purpose by mobilising their resources with the objective of

improving problem solving capacity of the local governments.

To state that urban regimes are the means of effective local government through the

formation of local policy coalitions does not actually tell us much about their nature, which

can vary according to the coalition participants and the aimed objective of the regime. This

was not the case, for example, for the political economists who considered local growth as

the only significant dynamics of local politics (Logan and Molotch, 1987). In fact, Stone

(1993) identifies four different types of urban regimes. The first type is the maintenance

regime whose main objective is to maintain the service delivery and thus keep the status

quo. The second type, the development regime, is similar to the growth machine model of

political models and aim at the economic growth of the city. Middle-class progressive

regimes give priority to more social issues at the expense of economic concerns. Finally,

mass mobilisation regimes defend the interests of the working class151.

In an effort to adapt the urban regime theory which originated from the American

context to cross-national comparisons, Mossberger and Stoker (2001: 825-827) suggest

broader categories of urban regimes based on five dimensions: goals of the regime, the

motivations of the participants, the ways used to develop a common sense of purpose, the

relations and the congruence of interests and relationship with the wider political

environment, both local and national (Stoker and Mosberger, 1994). Hence, Stone’s

maintenance regime falls in the organic regimes that are based on tradition and local

cohesion and maintenance of the status quo. Instrumental regimes emphasize the

importance of selective incentives and tangible results in coalition maintenance and thus

correspond more or less to the development regime of Stone’s typology. Finally, symbolic

regimes, like the progressive regimes of Stone, aim at the redirection of the ideology or

image of the city.

Despite the multiplication of studies associated to urban regime theory, it could not

spare itself from important criticisms. We propose to regroup some of the main criticisms

to the approach under two headings: theoretical weaknesses and application problems.

151 Based on their regime analysis in London, Dowding et al. (1999) proposes the service delivery regimes as a fifth type.

309

Even if we have been referring to Stone’s approach as the urban regime theory, there

are significant reservations on whether it corresponds to a powerful theory. For example,

Mossberger and Stoker (2001: 811) state that “[regime theory] is more a concept or a

model rather than a theory because it has limited ability to explain or predict variation in

regime formation, maintenance, or change.” The regime theory, in this sense, is only useful

in describing the characteristics of established governing coalitions whilst providing no

clues about the actual origins of this observed power configuration. About this theoretical

inadequacy, Davies (2002: 9) criticises the regime theory for saying nothing about “the

systemic forces that give rise to regime politics” while nevertheless “distancing itself from

structural Marxism and downplaying economic theory.” Consequently, the question “why,

in liberal democracy, there is often a destructive tension between business objectives and

democratic demands” (loc. cit.) is left unanswered. Indeed, Stone assumes the theoretical

weakness of his approach. For example, in one of his latest articles, he intentionally refers

to his approach as ‘Urban regime analysis’ and explains this preference by stating that his

“assumptions are not employed to build deductively an encompassing theory” (Stone,

2005: 335, note 1). He does not exclude the presence of ‘larger forces’, of the implications

of capitalism in the urban processes that shape the attitudes of local actors, but he

deliberately focuses on the local agency that he perceives as “the appropriate lens for

viewing [a] larger field” (ibid. p. 324).

Apart from lacking explanatory theoretical power with its descriptive features, the

urban regime research applies mainly case-study methodology, which provokes reliability

and validity problems due to the possible inconsistencies in comparing the cases and

integrating findings of these case studies conducted across different cities (Mossberger and

Stoker, 2001: 814). Mossberger and Stoker (ibid. p. 814-818) illustrate how some research

based on the urban regime theory suffer from the pitfalls of comparative studies such as

parochialism, misclassification, degreeism and concept stretching. These problems are

further accentuated given the fact that the urban region theory has been developed in the

American context in which local politics manifest quite different characteristics with

regards to other contexts. For instance, Mossberger and Stoker (ibid. p. 818-822) identify

four main divergences between European and American local politics. First of all,

European local governments enjoy much more public resources from the central

government that render them less dependent on private-sector finance for redevelopment

310

projects in city centres. Secondly, the need for economic development policies of the local

governments is less significant since they have been traditionally identified with service

delivery and politics of consumption rather than local development. Moreover, the local

business constituency is also less developed due to fact that it is much more centralised in

Europe than the United States. Finally, the influence of party politics and central

government is more important in the European context. Because of all these contextual

differences, the presence of local businesses in local politics is relatively insignificant in

the European context, rendering the application of urban regime theory more problematic

in this geography.

In fact, these difficulties stated on the use of the theory on non-American contexts

become further significant when the centralism of Turkish administrative and political

system is considered. Mainly dependent on central resources and decisions, the

municipalities as well as other local socioeconomic organisations are more or less

subjected to national politics. In such circumstances, the strategies developed for

socioeconomic development or symbolist actions can turn out to be only ineffective. Yet,

despite all these methodological problems and difficulties, as Dowding (2001: 17) states,

there is still life in regime analysis. Therefore, instead of totally ignoring the conceptual

advantages of urban regime analysis, we will attempt to interpret the historical background

of our cities in this perspective. Assuming the improbability of the emergence of an urban

regime in the Turkish context, we shall be content to look for urban coalitions no matter

how short-lived or relatively less influential they would be. We shall try to see whether the

success or failure of LA21 efforts in our cities could be associated to the presence or lack

of urban coalitions consisting of local actors eager to act collectively for specific

objectives. In other words, we shall look for an urban coalition that have facilitated the

relative success of LA21 practices in Bursa. Similarly, the socioeconomic life and history

of Mersin will be examined in order to better perceive city’s political life that have

hindered all efforts of introducing new participatory mechanisms.

B - From silk to automobiles: Bursa as a city of economic vitality

For quite a number of our interviewees, Bursa has been suffering from an ‘economic

identity crisis’ since she has not had a dominant economic character. She was at the same

time a city of commerce, of industry, of agriculture as well as of tourism. All of these

311

economic domains represented a level of development above national averages.

Consequently, Bursa has always appeared as an important centre of economic attraction.

By presenting a rapid summary of Bursa’s socioeconomic history, we shall thus examine

how this economic vitality has been translated into local politics.

1) An important commercial crossroad of the Ottoman era

Bursa has always been identified by a very dynamic local economy since the

conquest of the city by the Ottomans in 1326. The Ottomisation of the region also caused

the displacement of the main economic centres of Anatolia towards the western coasts of

the peninsula from the eastern regions. Thus, from the beginning of Ottoman rule in the

city, Bursa was one of the major crossroads of commercial exchange. In particular, the

great demand for silk and products of silk by Europe from the end of 13th century on

rendered the city one of the most important centres of the silk trade for about five

centuries. Although silk production in Bursa was not probably very significant before the

late sixteenth century, the silk trade and fabric provided a very significant economic

dynamism to the city to the extent that the tax revenues related to silk trade corresponded

to six million golden coins between 1487 and 1512 while further increasing to seven

million in 1513. The silk fabric was also flourishing. In the 16th century, there were a

thousand weaving looms whose annual silk requirement was approximately 36,000 tons

(Kagitcibasi, 1997: 9). The eminent professor of Ottoman history Halil Inalcik (1994:219)

notes that “Bursa became a world market between, East and West not only for raw silk nut

also other Asian goods as a result of the revolutionary changes in the network of world

trade routes in the fourteenth century”152.

The political as well as economic decline of the Empire from the 17th century was

also reflected in Bursa. Apart from this global recession, the city further suffered from

other regional and strategic developments such as the rise of Istanbul as a veritable trade

centre and of Izmir as a significant export port as well as the overture of new naval roads

bypassing the traditional trade roads. Bursa tried to fight against these strategic

inconveniences by introducing the cotton industry as a result of the growing demand of

152 Inalcik (1994) discusses the role of Bursa in the evolution of silk trade from 13th to 17th century all through a whole chapter (Chp. 10: pp. 218-255).

312

European markets for cotton products. Though, the decline was inevitable; the fabric

industry (cotton and silk) shrank for 60-70% between 1769 and 1797. Despite this

economic stagnation of the city, the local notables were augmenting their influence in local

politics since the Empire was also passing through a period of economic and administrative

crisis that caused the weakening of its central authority. In order to collect taxes and recruit

soldiers, Istanbul had to cooperate with local notables at the expense of rendering them

more and more influential in local affairs.

The nineteenth century witnessed a relative improvement of city’s economy thanks

to the modernisation efforts by introducing new technological plants and formation

opportunities. That was probably how Bursa could have participated in very important

international organisations such as the international exhibitions of London (1851 and

1862), Paris (1855) and Chicago (1893). Moreover, the first industrial exhibition of the

Empire was hosted by the city in 1890.

Another significant characteristic of Bursa’s economy was that it was controlled to a

large extent by the non-Muslim minorities. Kagitcibasi (1997: 8) notes that even the

launching of silk trade was a result of the trade privileges attributed to Italian merchants

(notably the Genoese) in 1352 by Sultan Orhan. The official registers dating the last

quarter of 15th century reveal that these merchants (Venetian, Genoese and Florentine)

controlled the local trade where as the merchants from Damascus and Aleppo started to

control the trade of spice and fabric. The Ottoman merchants were occupied only with less

rentable products such as wood, iron and tar (Akgun, 2002: 8).

In fact, it would be unjust to consider this observation specific to the case of Bursa

since the influence of non-Muslim merchants was widespread in the Ottoman Empire.

Especially, after the attribution of capitulations to the western merchants (starting with the

French in 1569 as a sign of cooperation), the latter started enjoying a full security and

liberty of trade within the Imperial borders. These western merchants, called the

Levantines, were largely present in most of the industrial undertakings in the Empire. For

instance in Bursa, the first silk production plant in modern standards was founded by a

French businessman, Mr. Falkeisen in partnership with two local non-Muslim merchants,

313

Ohannes and Osep Aghas, in 1846153. Two decades later, the presence of non-Muslim and

occidental businessmen in the local economy was further remarkable; George Perrot who

visited Bursa in 1864, reported that six or seven of the thirty-five factories belonged to

Europeans and the rest to the Armenians, Greeks and Jews (Bursa Ansiklopedisi : 604-

605).

This major influence of non-Muslim entrepreneurs and merchants in Bursa’s local

economy can also be observed in the foundation of the city’s chamber of commerce in

1889. The first president of the chamber was Mr. Osman Fevzi who had been twice the

mayor of the city in 1875 and 1884. One year later, the Bursa Chamber of Industry was

founded and united with the Chamber under the name Bursa Chamber of Commerce and

Industry (BCCI) to which 70 members joined in the first year. Since the majority of these

members were non-Muslims, the executive committee elected in 1891 consisted of only

the non-Muslim merchants and entrepreneurs. Even if Muslim members were present in

the following executive boards, the influence of the former continued for long time

(Akgun, 2002: 17-18).

The foundation of the chamber of commerce and industry towards the end of the 19th

century provides us with some clues about the influence of local businessmen in the

politics of the city. The election of an ex-mayor as the first president of the chamber

reveals the probable links between the official actors and the economic circles. Moreover,

the siege of the chamber was for a while a room in the municipal building in early 1900s,

illustrating the close contacts between those two institutions. In other words, local politics

was mainly determined by the local business elite of Bursa. A decision of the chamber

dating November 3rd, 1895 deserves to be cited in this perspective.

In their decision, the Chamber declares the need for Bursa’s involvement in the

projects related to the extension of the Imperial railroad network that aims at a better

connection of the central and eastern regions with the western coast. However, the project

153 Quite an interesting event took place during the opening of this factory. Facing a significant resistance from the local silk workers, all non-Muslims, Mr. Falkeisen had to invite the bishop of Bursa and requested him to bless the plant. The workers accepted to work in the plant only after this Christian sanctification. (http://bursa.turkhaber.com/main/v_story.php?owner_id=1&state_id=22&column_id=2&story_id=47093 as consulted on September, 8th 2005)

314

envisaged only an extension to Istanbul and Izmir which would cause Bursa to further lose

its trade capacity. In these circumstances, the Chamber published a report on the need of

integrating the city to this new project of railroad extension and addressed it to the

prefecture. Moreover, the local businessmen mobilised their personal resources and

demanded their personal contacts to back their proposal. In other words, the chamber

undertook a lobbying activity for the railroad extension to Bursa. Yet, the foreign

companies that would realize the project demanded a state guarantee for the rentability, to

which the Sublime Port opposed. Being disappointed by the capital’s decision, the

Chamber proposed to give a guarantee on behalf of the residents of the city. Eventually, in

spite of all efforts displayed, the Chamber did not manage to persuade the construction

firms for the extension and Bursa was left disadvantaged against Istanbul and Izmir, thus

accelerating its loss of economic capacity (Akgun, 2002: 18-19).

Despite the obvious failure of the attempt, the railroad example reveals the capacity

of the local businessmen to act collectively when their economic interests require doing so.

Only this collective mobilisation capacity would suffice to ensure their influence in local

politics. Yet, they also enjoyed an economic power thanks to their significant wealth.

Akgun (ibid. p. 29) reports that in 1903, the annual budget of the chamber corresponded to

220 golden coins to which more than 300 golden coins in the local bank accounts must be

added. At the same period, the annual budget of the municipality was only 3,500 liras and

was seriously suffering from economic problems to the extent that they managed to neither

complete the construction of Maksem Avenue nor finance the opening of a slaughterhouse.

So, they decide to request a loan of 300 liras from the chamber. The problem is that the

legal status of the Chamber did not preview such a financial practice. Nevertheless, with

the accord of the prefecture, the loan was given to the municipality (loc. cit.).

The cited anecdote reminds what Stone argues about the need of local officials for

cooperating with the local business in order to provide public services and to undertake

developmental policies. Totally unable to achieve some investments, the municipality was

obliged to ask explicitly for financial support from the local business. Unfortunately, we do

not have any other information on whether such a demand was multiplied in the following

years. Yet, the need for the local government to cooperate with the local business is

obvious. Even if, the municipality managed to pay back the loan –though, with some delay,

the counterparty of this financial support would not only be in monetary terms. It would

315

not be irrational to argue that the influence of the local business in city politics and in local

government must have been accentuated after this undertaking. Henceforth –or perhaps for

quite some time154- the local business was a local power in collective action or economic

terms that could not be ignored by the local officials –the local bureaucracy included. This

influence of the business elite in city politics might be discerned by the absence of grand

monuments or edifices in the city. According to Tanyeli (1999), this architectural choice is

a consequence of the preference for investing in more functional rather than artistic or

symbolic constructions.

2) Early republican years: A local economy under Ankara’s patronage

The War of Independence and the foundation of Turkish Republic marked not only

the end of the Imperial era, but also a significant transformation of the economic

geography of the country. The non-Muslim minorities that had to a large extent controlled

the economy in Bursa and elsewhere during the Imperial era, had to progressively leave the

country due to bilateral population exchanges or respective waves of political pressures.

Consequently, in a way, the new Republic was left without a bourgeoisie class and thus

pursued policies of creating her own national capitalists.

At first, the regime attempted to enable the emergence of a national entrepreneurship

by adopting a liberal attitude by encouraging and supporting the private initiatives. Yet, the

eventual inefficiency of such policies turned the Kemalist regime to direct state

intervention, thus to the economic development by public investments. Subsequently, the

state became the major actor of national as well as local economy. Therefore, the transition

from imperial to republican era had absolute consequences on the economic life of the

country. While the ex-holders of economic power had to leave the country, the

entrepreneurial vacuum left behind them was filled with direct state intervention.

Bursa did not constitute obviously an exception in this global trend of economic

turkification. Rana Aslanoglu (1998: 18) notes that the presence of non-Muslim minorities

in Bursa decreased from 25% to 3.2% by the foundation of the Republic. This

154 Indeed, Ugur Tanyeli (1999 : 14) cites that as early as in 1484, the Imperial centre borrowed 30.000 golden coins from a Jewish merchant of Bursa.

316

demographic transformation had a significant impact on the local economy given that it

was mainly controlled by non-Muslim minorities who had progressively left the city with

the foundation of Republic. Perhaps the most illustrating example on the loss of influence

of the local businessmen, especially that of merchants and industrialists, is a municipal

decision taken in 1931. According to Akgun (2002: 45), the municipal council had defined

the city’s identity as a city of thermotherapy and tourism, thus minimising the importance

of an urban growth scheme based on commerce and industrial development. Obviously, the

decision indicates a major turn in the local developmental strategies. From a collective

urban initiative pleading for the extension of the railroad network to the city with the

objective of industrial and economic development towards the end of the twentieth

century, the city elite started privileging a totally different scheme. The priority attributed

to the development of tourism was not due to a rationally economic choice in determining

the most appropriate developmental scheme of the city; it represented mainly a collective

will to protect the historical and natural heritage of Bursa, which has been not only

considered as the cradle of the Ottoman Empire, thus representing a precious historical

significance, but also renowned for its natural richness and named as “Green Bursa.” In

terms of urban regime terminology, the city evolved from a developmental coalition

towards to one of symbolism. This rapid change in Bursa’s main policy lines makes us

think the absence of an urban regime in Bursa since stability is one of the main

particularities of the conceptual approach. Yet, the formation of significant urban

coalitions on different grounds, no matter how provisory they are, seems to be evident.

Efforts of revitalising the local industry did not neither wholly lack, albeit quite

autonomously, from local initiatives. The first reaction of the new regime with regards to

this somewhat ‘orphan’ economy was to encourage private initiatives as we have indicated

above. The construction of the “Weaving Factory of Bursa” (later renamed as Ipek-Is) in

1925 is an excellent illustration of such efforts. Mustafa Kemal’s personal presence at the

foundation ceremony of the factory reveals how much the central government cared for the

development of a national industry in the hands of private entrepreneurs. The foundation of

Ipek-Is was indeed the revitalisation of an enterprise instituted during the Ottoman era155

155 “Bursa Mensucat-ı Osmaniye Anonim Şirketi” was the second joint-stock company of the city founded in 1910 by an Imperial decree with a capital of 10.000 liras.

317

by a very significant participation of Is Bankasi to its capital. Yet, such examples of private

entrepreneurship with the support of the central government could not be generalized as

Ankara had to intervene directly to the local economy by grand investments such as the

opening of Merinos cotton thread156 factory in Bursa in 1938. Founded directly by the

state, the factory aimed at not only industrial growth in the city, but also the development

of a national textile industry countrywide.

The central government’s influence in the local economy was not limited by such

direct investments; the law on the promotion of industry (Tesvik-i Sanayi Kanunu) offered

significant incentives, advantages and exemptions for those undertaking industrial

investments. Bursa was one of the most important recipients of the legislation; in 1932,

7.9% of all the enterprises benefiting from the public incentives were from the city. Almost

a decade later, in 1941, the percentage was augmented to 12% (Bursa Ansiklopedisi : 619).

The influence of the central government in the local economy, be it in the form of

direct investments or financial and administrative support, did not have only economic

consequences. It is well-known that such policies may become very easily precious means

of political objectives paving the way to the accentuation of patronage networks. This was

exactly the case in Bursa. Akgun (2002: 39) notes that Merinos had become the ‘back

garden’ of the Democratic Party (DP) between 1950 and 1960 when the political

clientelism was in leaps all through the country. In fact, the influence of DP in Bursa was

further important since one of the founders of the party, Celal Bayar who was elected as

the third president of the Republic after DP’s astonishing electoral victory in 1950 was

originally from Bursa. Thanks to his personal entourage, the party established its political

machine more easily on loyal clienteles. Yurt Ansiklopedisi (1982, v. 3: 1697) quotes Leila

Erder stating how Celal Bayar was enthusiastic about the economic development of Bursa

even before the transition to a multipartite regime. She notes that the development of city’s

economy was to a great extent thanks to Celal Bayar’s interest and support. According to

the author, Bayar explicitly assures in one his discourses in 1934 that he would provide all

the legal support of the central government on behalf of Bursa’s economic development.

Erder adds also that the entrepreneurs of Bursa profited generously from the growing

incentives and support of the central government under DP’s rule.

156 Later on weaving plants were also added to the factory.

318

All public resources were obviously an instrument for maintaining this political

loyalty. For example in 1963, three years after the end of DP rule, state enterprises, which

represented only 1.8% of the local enterprises, employed 45.8% of all the local work force

(Bursa Ansiklopedisi: 621). In other words, it seemed that there had been an over-

employment in public enterprises most probably due to obvious electoral reasons. As a

consequence of the development of such hierarchical patronage relationships, urban

politics is subjected to personal interlocutions rather than policy based coalitions, thus

undermining the emergence of any kind of urban regimes or coalitions.

In summary, the transition from the imperial to the republican rule following the

First World War and the Independence War changed the local economic geography of

Bursa. The influential businessmen who even managed to lend money to the local and

central government in the past were henceforth absent in Bursa due to the departure of

non-Muslim minorities from the city. The efforts of revitalising the ‘orphan’ economy

consisted of either state’s support to the private entrepreneurs or direct public investments

in the local economy. In either case, the businessmen did not enjoy their previous

autonomy that had rendered them very influential in local politics. They were henceforth

dependant on state subventions or investments. Furthermore, with the spread of political

clientelism, they started being subjected to local or national political actors in order to

obtain or maintain their support. In any case, even if they had the appropriate means to

influence the local politics, the new status of local governments would have disabled them

to do so since the Municipal Law of 1930 had put local governments under strong

administrative tutelage controlling all their financial resources and administrative

functions. In other words, the municipal policies were henceforth quasi ‘sterilised’ from

local pressures and influences. As we discussed in the related section, the municipal

government became responsible of mere routine urban services in which local businessmen

did not have significant interests.

Consequently, Bursa’s geography of political economy changed drastically with the

foundation of Republic. On one hand the economically powerful, thus politically

influential, non-Muslim businessmen quit the scene, while on the other hand the local

governmental scheme became inappropriate for business interference. In such

circumstances, it would be unnecessary to look for urban regime elements since the main

actor of the Stonian approach, namely a powerful business class whose cooperation is

319

essential for the public officials, seems to be missing in the early republican years. On the

contrary, the influence of the central government -be it on the local economy or on the

local government- becomes omnipresent, thus preventing the emergence of any kind of

autonomous governmental regimes.

3) The progressive recurrence of a local business class

The military coup of 1960 signified a veritable transformation of macro political

orientation of the country by adhering to the principles of planned economy. This global

re-orientation of country’s economic policies had very particular consequences on Bursa’s

local economy. The first five-year developmental plan previewed the decentralisation of

industrial development by establishing new industrial zones throughout the country. The

objective was to create an alternative to the overwhelming monopoly of Istanbul in the

national economy. For this purpose, a report was prepared by an American consultancy

firm on suitable cities for industrial development among which Bursa appeared as one of

the most appropriate since the city’s urban plan recently prepared in 1960 by Piccinato157

had previewed an industrial zone on the outskirts of the city. The main objective of the

plan was –as a natural consequence of Piccinato’s urban planning approach- was to protect

Bursa’s natural and historical richness by moving the injurious industrial plants from the

city centre. However, quite contradictorily, the fact that Bursa was the only city who had

previewed a specific zone for industry at that time, rendered it as the most appropriate

candidate for industrial investments. Thus, Piccinato’s plan, which had aimed at

controlling the detrimental impact of industry on the city, attracted involuntarily such

investments by offering them a specific zone previewed for this purpose. Consequently, a

protectionist policy turned out to encourage an urban growth based on industrial

development.

Obviously, finding a suitable location for such a zone was not sufficient for its

realisation since the establishment of a veritable infrastructure in the zone was

157 Luigi Piccinato is a famous Italian architect who had signed the urban plans of Rome and Venice and who was well-known by giving a specific priority the historical nature of cities while preparing their plans (for a discussion of his historical awareness emphasise see Ciacci, 1998: pp.6-8). Tavgac (2000: 27) remembers Piccinota saying to the prefect of the city: “If you guarantee me that the apparent roofing of this Bursa will not touched, I will prepare your urban plan for free.”

320

indispensable in order to attract the probable investors. This issue was also solved by a

credit of 26,200,000 Turkish liras from an American funding organisation. However, there

was still a major detail to be resolved: who would assume the responsibility of the

construction and the direction of the zone?

In looking for an agency to undertake the project, the BCCI appeared as the most

suitable local institution. However, the BCCI was not totally determined to take up the

issue. On the days of such an essential decision, Akgun (2002: 45) reports how the

president of the Chamber had brought the proposition to the meeting of the executive

committee of the local branch of CHP of which he was a member. Totally surprised by the

proposition, and hesitant since the developmental vision based on tourism and

thermotherapy that was identified by the municipal council in 1931 was obviously in

contradiction with this new scenario of industrial development, the executive committee

did not manage to reach to a decision and invited the well-known businessmen of the city

to hear their opinions. However, the latter was also hesitating in giving up the natural

priority given in the city. Being unable to respond to the proposition, the local branch of

CHP decided to leave the decision to the Chamber that was not enthusiastic in taking up

the initiative neither. Local industrialists whom we might expect to be the most vocal

advocates of the project, opposed the initiative since they considered the organized

industry zone (OIZ) as an attempt of exiling themselves to the outskirts of the city.

Canpolat (1999: 24) notes that the Chamber had barely accepted the project and to provide

10% of its overall budget thanks to votes of the merchant members against those of

industrialists. Finally, Bursa was ready to host, Turkey’s first organised industry zone that

would ultimately accelerate the economic development of the city and thus re-empower the

local businessmen.

From an urban regime perspective, what took place during the launching of the

project on OIZ was quite contradictory since a great opportunity for urban growth was not

welcomed with open arms. The local political actors as well as the local businessmen were

reluctant in accepting the precious proposition made by the central government. Despite all

its potential of economic development, the local actors hesitated in giving up the symbolic

priority given to city’s historical and natural resources. This preference shows that the

urban growth policies are not always overpowering vis-à-vis the conservatory tendencies.

No matter that the city ultimately realigned the industrial development; the hesitation in

321

this process illustrates that it should not be taken as granted. Yet, as we will discuss below,

the conservatory stance could –actually would- ‘strike back.’

In 1966, five years after the launching of the initiative, OIZ of Bursa started

functioning on a zone of 1.8 million square meters158. Nevertheless, despite all efforts

displayed by the Chamber, initially only four enterprises accepted to move to the OIZ. In

1970, the number of firms in the zone was not still significant since they were only

eighteen. However, the foundation of KARSAN, manufacturer of light commercial

vehicles, in 1967 in the OIZ was telling the opening of a new era in the local industry of

Bursa, one which will be marked with the impact of automotive industry.

In fact, the presence of the automotive industry in Bursa was not recent. Even during

the Ottoman era, the city was renowned as an important centre of the construction of horse

ridden coaches. At the turn of the twentieth century, the sector realised a significant

evolution by the opening of factory-like workshops. According to the yearbook of 1906,

the production capacity of the city reached 8 cars, 12 folding tops and 800 single or double

horse ridden coaches (Bursa Ansiklopedisi : 620). Therefore, we can say that there was

already a relative know-how on the automotive manufacture in Bursa, a factor that surely

facilitated the rapid development of this industrial branch from the late 1960s and on.

Year 1971 was the veritable opening of this new era marked by the rapid

development of automotive industry. In February, the TOFAS factory was opened, albeit

out of OIZ. Founded as a joint-stock company with the participation of Internazionale

Holding FIAT SPA (41.50%), Koc Holding AS (23.69%), MKE (23.13%) and Turkiye Is

Bankasi (10.50%), TOFAS represented the first grand investment in the Turkish

automotive sector. Just five months later, another automotive giant, Oyak-Renault (also a

joint-stock company with the participation of OYAK (Organisation of Mutual Aid of

Military Officers- 41.66%), Régie Nationale des Usines Renault (40%), Yapi Kredi

Bankasi (13%)), was launching its production in the OIZ of Bursa. This concentration of

automotive manufacturing in the city naturally caused the rapid development of related

158 Even the acquisition of the land on which the OIZ would be constructed was quite troublesome since the zone was situated out of the municipal borders. Furthermore, in the absence of a public land office, there was no legal ground for the expropriation of the land on which OIZ was to be built. The only solution was to buy secretly (even from the governor of the city) the concerned land parcel by parcel from a thousand peasants in order to prevent any kind of speculation.

322

sectors in the vicinity. Consequently, the firms present in the OIZ augmented to 51 in

1975, 69 in 1980 and 86 in 1983, rendering indispensable the enlargement of the zone159.

No matter how significantly they had accelerated the urban growth of Bursa, the

entrance of such giant automobile plants in the local economy did not actually signify the

empowerment of local businessmen in urban politics since they are nationwide

corporations with direct links with international enterprises. The Turkish partners of both

firms were among the most important economic actors of the country rendering them

capable of establishing close contacts with the central government. Therefore, they were

more integrated to national politics than to local affairs. They did not require establishing

coalitions in the urban context for advocating their business interests. In this perspective, it

would not be surprising to note their indifference to local affairs and political struggles.

City’s local politics was nonetheless revitalised by the multiplication of small or medium

scaled firms operating in other sub-sectors flourished parallel to these grand plants.

Nevertheless, the re-empowerment of local businessmen would be represented by the

traditional economic activity of Bursa, namely the textile industry.

In the post-war period, even if the silk industry was significantly weakened due to

the spread of artificial silk and to the outdated technology still used by the local

manufacturers, the textile industry had kept its importance in the city. In the early 1960s,

the 150 weaving plants constituted 69% of all industrial enterprises recruiting 75% of the

employed workforce of the city (Bursa Ansiklopedisi: 623). Yet, these textile firms were

mostly small or middle sized plants not disposing significant influence in the urban politics

whereas those that were grand enough to intervene in local politics had their headquarters

in Istanbul indifferent to local politics of Bursa. It was only in the early 1970s that we

would witness the emergence of very influential local actors active in the local, mainly

textile, industry. Those who represent the new form of economic and political influence in

the urban context can be discussed via two local entrepreneurs, namely Ali Osman Sonmez

and Cavit Caglar, who both started from zero after immigrating from Balkans before

constructing their economic empires.

159 The surface of the zone reached to 280 hectares in 1980, to 365 hectares in the 1990s and finally to 645 hectares in 2000 (Akgun, 2002:46).

323

4) Bursa’s local industrial empires: Sonmez and Caglar

When died in 2001, Ali Osman Sonmez was the president of an immense holding

consisting of 27 companies active in diverse sectors, from textile to construction, from

export to international transport, from tourism to media. Half a century before, in 1948

when he emigrated from Bulgaria after staying several years in Greece, he had absolutely

nothing; his first economic activity was a modest tobacco commerce in a town of Bursa. In

1964, he moved to Bursa and became interested in the commerce of textile fabrics. In

1971, he founded Sonmez Filament, a synthetic yarn factory that would constitute the heart

of his business activities and become one of the 500 leading Turkish industrial companies.

Consequently, in quite a short time, Ali Osman Sonmez appeared as one of the most

powerful local actors of Bursa. Moreover, his influence was not limited with his economic

strength since he was closely associated with local and national politics.

Just a few years later after settling in the country, he joined the Democratic Party in

which he held consecutive responsibilities. The closure of DP after

the military coup of 1960 led him to Justice Party (JP) and he was

elected as a municipal deputy. After the military coup of 1980, he

was this time a member of the Nationalist Democracy Party by

which he was presented as a candidate for the parliamentary

elections. However, the junta vetoed his candidacy and he had to

wait for the legislative elections of 1995 to become a deputy from

the True Path Party (TPP). Parallel to his political career, he was

also extremely active in local and national business affairs. As early as 1972, he had

become the president of BCCI; a post he held for more than two decades until 1995 with

the exception of two very short intervals. Furthermore, he undertook very important

functions in the National Union of Chambers and Bourses of Commerce and Industry

(TOBB)160.

The local influence of the Sonmez family was further emphasised with their entrance

in the media sector. In 1987, the group purchased one of the oldest local newspapers,

160 Sonmez’s photo is taken from http://www.sonmezholding.com.tr/index.asp?lang=&menuID=4&info=2 on September 17th, 2006.

Picture 1. Ali Osman Sönmez

324

Bursa Hakimiyet. Shortly after, Radio S would become a Sonmez company. Finally, in

1995, As TV would be founded as a local TV channel indicating the emergence of a local

media empire having a considerable influence in the public opinion (Bursa Ansiklopedisi,

v.4: 1517-1518).

The second figure who deserves our attention is Cavit Caglar who shares many

similarities with Ali Osman Sonmez in the way and the rapidity of enrichment, tough he

would experience quite a different end from the latter. Cavit Caglar emigrated from Greece

with his family to the town of Bursa at the age of 5 in 1950. After having graduated from

the high-school he starts working in little provisory jobs. His interest and talent in

commercial activities attract the attention of his uncle who had recently

launched his textile commerce, so under his uncle’s auspice, Mr. Caglar

left for Mahmutpasa, the informal centre of national textile commerce in

Istanbul, to obtain experience in the domain. At the age of 17, he had

already acquired a significant capital to the extent that he could become his

uncle’s partner in Aksoylar Textile Company a firm specialized in the

commerce of fabric. In 1976, he founded his own company, Nergis A.S.,

which would become in the following two decades the umbrella holding covering his

numerous companies from very different sectors161.

The similarity between Caglar and Sonmez was not limited by their rapid enrichment

initially in the textile sector. With a relative delay, Caglar also –perhaps better- understood

the importance of having political connections. Instead of business circles, Caglar started

constructing his personal clientele via Bursaspor, the local sports club in which he took up

different functions before becoming its president in 1982. After presiding the club for four

seasons162, he became more active in politics. His political career was launched in the

1970s under the roof of JP and accelerated after 1983 when he joined to TPP. Only four

years later, he was already in the parliament representing Bursa, a title that he would not

only keep in the following two elections (1991 and 1995) but further promote it by

161 Caglar’s photo is taken from http://arsiv.hurriyetim.com.tr/hur/turk/01/04/22/dunya.htm on September 17th, 2006. 162 In fact, the Club did not have no other president who could have stayed for so long at this post (http://www.bursaspor.org.tr/eskiyonetimler.asp, last consultation September 15th, 2006).

Picture 2. Cavit Caglar

325

participating to consecutive governments as a state-minister between 1991 and 1995. His

rapid ascension in national politics was actually related to his closeness to the historical

figure of Turkish politics, Suleyman Demirel, who considered him as his adopted son.

Indeed, after the latter becomes the president of the Republic and thus left the presidency

of TPP, Caglar’s political career was stilted. In 1996, he quits the party after disagreeing

with Mrs Ciller, the president of TPP at that time. The loss of political influence would be

also reflected in his business affairs; he would be accused of serious financial corruptions

and condemned to prison in 2005.

Caglar was also not indifferent to media; in 1987 he founded his daily journal Olay

that would be followed by a radio and a TV channel with the same name. In 1996, he

founded the first news channel of Turkey, Nergis TV (NTV) that would become one of the

most popular national TV channels after being purchased by another business group in

1999. Indeed, the nationalisation of his business affairs was not limited to media since in

1996 he entered to the banking sector by buying Interbank for 250 million dollars (Bursa

Ansiklopedisi, v.2: 465).

The history of the emergence of such powerful businessmen reveals a remarkable

feature of the evolution of local economy and urban politics in Bursa. As one might easily

observe in the brief discussion undertaken above, the enrichment of these local actors goes

hand in hand with their political ascension, making us think that these two processes have

been interdependent. In other words, the growth of their economic power seems to be

closely related to their political influence in national politics. Enjoying a veritable political

support from the central government, their enrichment might have been facilitated by

priorities, privileges or exemptions provided by their political allies while their wealth

must have contributed to their political promotion.

As we have already underlined above, this developmental scheme was not new in the

Turkish context since after the departure of non-Muslim minorities who had controlled the

commercial and industrial activities, public resources emerged as the determining factor of

economic development. Be it in the form of direct investment or logistical support, the

central government has represented the main dynamic of economic growth. However,

before the emergence of so puissant actors in the city, the local entrepreneurs had been

mainly subjected to those who controlled the public resources; they had been mere clients

of those politically powerful actors. In order to enjoy state’s financial or administrative

326

support, they were inclined to follow political patrons. Yet, Sonmez and Caglar

represented a new type of local businessmen who had the privilege of being able to bypass

these political patrons since they managed to build their own political machines. They were

personally active in national politics, rendering them both the patrons and the clients of the

political interlocutions. They were influential in determining decisions from which they

could personally benefit.

The noteworthy influence of these businessmen in national politics was also

reflected at the local level. Apart from their undeniable power issued from their personal

wealth and political contacts, they developed their own means of controlling urban politics.

Sonmez’s presidency of BCCI that continued for decades was an excellent demonstration

of this local quasi hegemony. Supervising the most powerful organisation of the city

rendered him necessarily very weighty in urban politics. In a more symbolic way, Caglar’s

presidency of the city’s local sports club must have provided him with a respectable status

letting him develop personal relations with the local notables and with the public in

general; a non-negligible resource in electoral competition. Moreover, both of them

invested in the local media in order to reinforce their influence in the local context. In

summary, Sonmez and Caglar represented a new kind of local businessman who disposed

very significant political influence both in the national and local politics.

In short, Bursa witnessed a veritable economic transformation from the 1960s and on

mainly thanks to the role played by the resources mobilised by the central government. The

establishment of an organized industrial zone on the outskirts of the city attracted

significant industrial investments. Particularly, after the opening of two grand automobile

plants, the city’s economy flourished rapidly. Yet, this urban growth was quite autonomous

from the city’s own initiatives since the impulse was created either by the central

government’s resources or by (inter)national partnerships. Therefore, it was not the fruit of

a determined urban coalition with such a common objective of urban growth. On the

contrary, the financial or administrative predominance of state resources in the local

economy inhibit the formation of coalitions among the local actors amongst whom the rule

was rather intra-competition than cooperation. In this aspect, local politics still reflected

the features of the republican period, submissive to national politics; albeit with a much

more dynamic economy. It was only in the late 70s that we witness an evolution in the

urban politics with the emergence of grand local entrepreneurs like Sonmez and Caglar.

327

Their overwhelming influence both in local economy and national politics rendered them

naturally very powerful in local politics. Their control on the main local organisations and

on the local media reinforced their weight in the urban context so much that they did not

require any kind of coalition to impose their interests to local officials or politicians. In

other words, these grand capitalists established another predominant force in the local

context beside that of central government. Thus, the submission of other local actors

continued despite the impressive industrial growth of the city.

Consequently, we can note that a political regime exists indeed in Bursa for this

period. However, this regime that permits a veritable urban growth that is far from being

an urban regime since it does not consist of a coalition amongst the local actors. Instead, it

is based upon a close association to the central government that stays to be omnipresent in

local politics via financial resources that it provides. The champions of this regime become

very rapidly veritable local powers substituting to an extent the predominance of central

government in the local politics. The dependence on public resources is thus gradually

coupled by the reinforcement of the socio-economic influence of some local actors. In any

case, the submission of most of the local actors, be it economic or public, was maintained

by inhibiting the emergence of urban regimes in the Stonenian perspective.

5) Ecological consequences of the rapid industrial development

The rapid industrial growth of the 1970s naturally effected the social and urban

composition of Bursa. With its rich employment opportunities, it became one of the main

destinations of the rural exodus multiplying the city’s population by 2.5 between 1927 and

1980. As the table illustrates, Bursa’s population has been constantly increasing since the

early 1930s. Yet, in this constant growth, we observe three major peaks between 1955 and

1960, 1975 and 1980, as well as 1985 and 1990. The first peak represents nothing specific

since the period was marked by very significant waves of immigration all through the

country. Yet, the last peak of Bursa’s population growth represents a very particular event,

the massive arrival of muhacirs that we evoked in the previous chapter. What is interesting

with this demographic growth scheme for us is the rapid population growth that took place

between 1975 and 1980 in direct association with the industrial development that we

discussed above.

328

Chart 6. Population growth in Bursa

Population Growth in Bursa

1935 1940 19451950

19551960

19651970

1975

1980

1985

1990

1997

2000

40-45

45-50

50-55

55-60

60-65

65-70

70-75

75-80

80-85 90-97

97-2000

35-40

85-90

0

500000

1000000

1500000

2000000

2500000

0,0%

0,5%

1,0%

1,5%

2,0%

2,5%

3,0%

3,5%

4,0%

4,5%

Population of Bursa Average annual population growth of Bursa

Source: Our calculation based on the data of the State Institute of Statistics.

The foundation of OIZ, the opening of huge automobile plants, the development of

small and middle sized enterprises particularly in automobile and textile industry and

finally the emergence of local industry giants created extraordinary opportunities of

employment that naturally attracted people from all over the country:

“In 1973, when I was elected as the mayor of Bursa, the city was an attractive and pretty town… At the beginning everyone knew each other in Bursa, they greeted each other on the streets. … Yet, suddenly, the establishment of OIZ and the construction of two automobile factories led to the immigration of the people suffering from economic problems from Anatolia. And then a grand explosion took place in Bursa” (Tavgac, 2000: 26).

As Ismet Tavgac, mayor of Bursa between 1973 and 1977 states, the city was not

indeed prepared to host that mass. For the year of 1995, the urban growth predictions

estimated a population of 1 million for all the provincial borders whereas the actual size

reached to 1.5 million in 1997 only for the metropolitan area (TMMOB-MO, 1997: 150).

Consequently, the urban zone has also enlarged much beyond the area previewed at the

expense of the very fertile lands of the Plain of Bursa.

329

According to the data presented by the Chamber of Agricultural Engineers of Bursa

(TMMOB-ZMO, 1997: 155), the land occupied in the urban centre and on the plain was

only 1925 hectares in 1969. The occupation reached to 7,623 hectares in 1980, 8,046 in

1981 and 9,052 in 1983, thus causing a veritable damage to the ecological equilibrium of

the region. Furthermore, due to the fact that the public land property offered for urban

development was far from satisfying the demand, this urban expansion took place on

private lands (frequently on agricultural land) in an uncontrolled manner. The indifference

or negligence of the public officials in this urbanisation scheme led to the illegalisation of

urban growth. Yet, this illegal urbanisation did not concern only the residential zones since

the industrial development followed a similar path.

Despite consecutive enlargements, OIZ could not offer any more vacant space to

industrial entrepreneurs as early as the 1970s, causing the extension of industrial zone

towards the Plain of Bursa. The richness of the Plain in terms of underground water

resources and its improved accessibility thanks to the improvement of road network

rendered the installation of new industrial plants in the Plain further advantageous.

Accordingly, firms located in the OIZ represented only 34.2% of the local industry of

Bursa whereas those situated in the Plain constituted the 42.1% in 1982163 of which the

majority was constructed without official authorisation (TMMOB-SPO, 1997: 143).

Apparently, the ecological and agricultural resources of Bursa were sacrificed in the name

of a rapid industrial development. This was exactly the opposite of what the municipal

council envisaged in 1931 and what Piccinota aimed at when preparing of the urban plan

of Bursa in 1960.

Reactions against this disastrous developmental scheme were not actually non-

existent. In 1976, the Ministry of Construction and Settlement prepared a provincial urban

plan in 1976 with the objective of not only preventing further occupation of the Plain by

the industrial plants and residential constructions, but also displacing the former from the

city centre. A year later, the plan was transformed to a protocol signed by all the public

institutions of the city. However, neither the plan nor the protocol could create a concrete

impact on the devastating characteristic of Bursa’s urban growth due to lack of adequate

measures destined for the determined objective. Consequently, the apparent efforts of the

163 18.4% of industrial enterprises were still in the city centre

330

central government in controlling city’s industrial development represented nothing but the

mere declaration of a legitimate will. Neither pursued in a determined manner, nor founded

on domestic dynamics of the city, these plans were never translated into concrete policies.

In the terms of urban regime analysis, we do not observe the development of any

urban coalitions that would be formed to achieve such legitimate objectives in this period.

Despite the efforts displayed and initiatives taken by the central government, the local

actors remain indifferent or immobile in fighting against the uncontrollable

industrialisation and urbanisation of the city. Consequently, the wild industrialisation could

not be slowed down in spite of the apparent social and ecological explosion admitted even

by the mayor of the period.

Yet, we can perhaps note the presence of an implicit urban coalition on the grounds

of populism in order to explain the immobilism of public actors in such circumstances. The

“laissez-faire” attitude of the local officials, on the one hand, let the local industrialists

freely develop their businesses and thus contribute to the urban growth. On the other hand,

by closing their eyes to the illegal urbanisation carried out by mainly the new inhabitants

of the city, the former did not risk losing the electoral support of these politically strong

masses. Furthermore, the satisfaction of urban needs of these newcomers by illegal, thus

relatively cheaper means indirectly supports the former group since these populist attitudes

of the public officials decrease the cost of labour in service for the businessmen; the

diminution of expenses must have necessarily decreased the average wages of workers.

6) Towards the 1990s: an urban coalition?

From the second half of 1980s, local actors start to express a remarkable concern for

the degeneration of Bursa’s historical and natural resources because of the uncontrolled

industrialisation and brutal urbanisation. A perfect of illustration of this growing worry for

the future of Bursa may be observed in Mr Teoman Ozalp’s words who was the mayor of

the city between 1989 and 1994:

“We have to prevent the population growth and immigration flows in order to be able to solve the problems of the city. For this purpose, we need to render Bursa unattractive for industrial investment. We have to prevent, forbid the establishment of new industrial plants…Henceforth, Bursa reached to its limits. We should not further force it. It is a pity for Bursa, for its environment. It is a pity for Bursa’s climate, nature, plain; it is a pity for all its surroundings. That is why we have to immediately stop the growth of Bursa and strictly hinder the arrival of new industries to the city” (Ozalp, 2000: 34).

331

In fact, such a change in Bursa’s developmental scheme could not be realised only

with the political authority’s determination since, as we have already underlined, this

scheme was quite autonomous from the local government and founded basically on central

government’s initiatives and resources. Moreover, the administrative and financial

weakness as well as the political dependence of the municipality would not let it take

concrete steps for such a purpose. Quoting one of Tavgac’s experiences on the issue would

reveal to what extent the local government was unable to fight against the lawlessness of

Bursa’s urban growth:

“Everybody was saying that it was impossible to fight against the illegal urbanisation. At that time the distribution of electricity was under our jurisdiction. So, we cut the electricity and the water of illegal constructions with the objective of dissuading this kind of constructions. Some time later, I was invited to a meeting in the prefecture…The prefect said me: ‘Mr Tavgac, our general president [of the party] is very upset of learning that electricity has not been provided to houses in a time when even the chicken coops have access to it; please do something.” This is the ugly aspect of politics. I was waiting for appreciation for conserving the greenness of such a pretty town like Bursa; they criticised me” (Tavgac, 2000: 50).

Hence, the municipality was unable to fight against the urban pillage not only

because the industrial lobby was too strong and the electoral populism was so determining,

but also because it was not backed by the central government on which the former was

financially, administratively and most of the time politically dependent. Yet, we observe an

extraordinary change in local politics with regards to the protection of the natural and

historical resources of the city. From a total inertia vis-à-vis the lawless industrial and

urban growth, the local actors managed to develop a remarkable anti-growth stance with

the objective of preventing further deterioration of the Plain of Bursa. How come then such

a transformation could have taken place?

We shall argue that this political evolution in the local context was actually the fruit

of an urban coalition of local actors gathered with the objective of fighting against the

destructive growth of the city. Before discussing the achievements of this coalition, we

should first discuss how such a local coalition could have been developed since as we have

emphasized above, though the concern for Bursa’s future was not recent, local actors could

have done nothing except express nostalgia for the greenness and beauty of the city. Yet,

the socio-economic and political transformation that Turkey lived through 1980s and

1990s, affected the local context as well. The impact of the country’s macro-transformation

can be discussed through two dimensions: economic and civic.

332

As we have already discussed in the related section, the military coup of 1980

represented the beginning of a new era identified by a new political climate as well as

different economic orientations. The closed economy identified by high customs barriers

and state subventions had led to the development of a bourgeoisie highly dependent on

public auspice and resources. During the post-1980 period, the opening of Turkish business

to the global markets with the liberalisation of the national economy gradually provided

the businessmen with a relative autonomy from the state subvention164. This development

was also observed in the local context of Bursa where apart from the grand industrialists, a

new bourgeoisie became more and more present and influential in local politics.

The best illustration of the evolution of local business would be the foundation of the

Association of Industrialists and Businessmen of Bursa (Bursa Sanayici ve Isadamlari

Dernegi- BUSIAD) in December 1979. Even if founded before the liberal era that would

open with the military coup of 1980, the objective of the association was to create an

alternative to BCCI which had been the only representative of local business in Bursa for

almost a century. Indeed, with numerous declarations on local and national economic

policies, BUSIAD did represent an indicative evolution of the local businessmen,

particularly in the post-1980 period.

To realise the emergence of the new type of local businessmen, it would be enough

to look at BUSIAD’s founders, which consisted of nine industrialists, five construction

contractors and three merchants. Even if we could collect personal information on only

eight of these seventeen founders of the association, our findings are quite interesting. All

of these eight founders had at least a university degree (some even had MA degrees and/or

studied abroad) representing a contrast with the profile of the traditional businessmen who

disposed personal experience issued from long years of business activity since their

childhood (such as Sonmez and Caglar) rather than professional formation. Furthermore,

their acquaintances of the former with global developments must have let them become

164 We ought to underline that the role of public resources in this period was still maintained, albeit in a different form. Instead of direct public subvention or protection, the central government supported the business interests by either creating new incentives (such as exportation incentives) or neglecting the spread of corrupted business activities (such as illegitimate privatisation or sub-contracting). Therefore, besides the independence of capital from the state resources, we witness the emergence of a new business class flourished thanks to the state’s indifference (even implicit approval) vis-à-vis the vulgarisation of corruption.

333

more attentive to social issues such as environmental degradation or corporate

responsibility. Indeed, the majority of these eight founders were involved in civil

organisations founded not necessarily for business interests or activities. It is perhaps

thanks to this civic background of founder-members, that displaying efforts “for the

institutionalisation of civil society” was mentioned in the mission statement of the

association165.

A brief discussion on the personality of the leader of this new movement of

businessmen, Dogan Ersoz, would be also useful in understanding the differentiation of the

local capitalists. Convinced that “a definitive change of structure and comprehension in the

attitudes and the habitudes of Turkish people is indispensable,” (Bursa Ansiklopedisi, v. 2:

658), Mr Ersoz took very active roles within civil organisations for this purpose. The

priority he gave to the protection of environment also marked the stance of BUSIAD that

he presided over continuously from its foundation until his sudden death in 1994. Yilmaz

Akkilic 166 remembers how hard he tried to influence other businessmen for the protection

of Bursa’s natural resources:

“It was another meeting of BUSIAD in Celik Palas. Either a well-known politician or an economist was invited. As usual, during his opening speech Dogan managed to bring the word to the nature and said ‘From time to time, give yourselves a break and relax a little bit. Take your mistresses and climb up to Uludag, watch Bursa from above. You’ll see how beautiful, how relaxing the nature is. Live this.”

Hence, particularly thanks to the efforts of its president, BUSIAD represented a new

capitalist lobby that cared for environmental coalition as much as the promotion of local

industry and the interests of businessmen. Less dependent on state resources and more

interested in technological innovation than the wild development of industry, these

businessmen were eager to support local policies destined to control the dangerous urban

growth of Bursa. Nevertheless, their influence within local politics would be never enough

to transform the city’s traditional developmental scheme unless other social forces also

supported these efforts.

Indeed, parallel to the economic developments, the societal scene was also going

through a process of change rendering the civil organisations more visible and influential.

165 For the constitution of BUSIAD, refer to the website of the association (www.busiad.org.tr) . 166 http://www.kentgazetesi.com/yukle.php?name=kats&kat=YAZAR_YAZILARI&h=2416&y=2

334

If economic liberalisation was one side of the post-1980 period, civil awakening was the

other. Repressive pressures applied by the military regime had flattened the traditional

political organisations and transformed the political discourse. With the fear of returning to

the days of ideological polarisation and quasi civil-wars, the new political discourse was

more oriented to social issues on environment, gender, human rights and democracy.

Instead of revolutionary changes, more concrete and immediate objectives were pursued.

Besides the emergence of many civil organisations, the professional chambers and labour

unions also started to advocate for such social issues.

The transformation of political orientations of civil organisations was also visible in

Bursa. In particular, environmental concerns were loudly vocalised by civil organisations.

Apart from the foundation of new and specialised organisations such as the Associations of

the Protection of Natural and Cultural Environment of Southern Marmara (Guney

Marmara Dogal ve Kulturel Cevreyi Koruma Dernegi- GUMCET) in 1990, the

professional chambers became more and more active in advocacy for social issues.

Notably the cooperation between the Bar and the chambers of engineers led to great

achievements in the protection of environment. Apart from mobilising the public opinion

on behalf of such objectives, the civil organisations and professional chambers undertook

very significant juridical initiatives to avoid further deterioration of environmental

problems in the region.

There was a de facto division of tasks among the professional chambers. The

chambers of engineers assembled under the Union of Chambers of Engineers and

Architects of Turkey (Turkiye Muhendis ve Mimarlar Odalar Birligi –TMMOB) provided

the technical analysis of the local problems on environment, industrialisation, urban

planning, management of natural resources, politics of energy etc. With their direct

professional expertise on such issues, the problematic dimensions of political or

administrative decisions on urban and industrial development of Bursa and its

surroundings were immediately reported and public opinion was informed with the

objective of mobilising other civil organisations and residents. If this mobilisation could

not be achieved or could not bring about significant changes or even simultaneous to it,

juridical procedures were launched. As a matter of fact, the impact of legal endeavours

became more important than the civic mobilisation.

335

The success of juridical procedures that we shall discuss below was to a great extent

thanks to the role played by the Bar of Bursa within these initiatives. The obvious juridical

competence of its members enabled the appropriate use of legal procedures as well as

persuasive foundation and formulation of claims. Consequently, in most of the cases, the

civil organisations managed to obtain the juridical decisions forcing the public institutions

revise their decisions or policies. All through these juridical efforts, two personalities who

deserve to be briefly mentioned have been omnipresent: Ali Arabaci and Ertugrul

Yalcinbayir.

Both of these lawyers were born in Bulgaria and immigrated to Bursa in 1950.

Graduated from prestigious law schools of Turkey, they started working as independent

lawyers in the early 1970s sharing the same office for a long time. In the meantime, they

joined to CHP and took responsibilities in the party. Mr. Yalcinbayir was even elected as a

municipal councillor in the local elections of 1977. From the 1980s and on, both of the

lawyers were always among the leaders of civic initiatives in the name of human rights as

well as ecological and historical protection. Even if Mr. Yalcinbayir continued his political

career in the Welfare Party (Refah Partisi- RP, conservatory with Islamic tendencies), he

continued to be respected by the ensemble of the local community, the social democrats

included. He was among the founders of GUMCED and took active roles in its direction

and different commissions. Meanwhile, both lawyers were also very active in the Bar of

Bursa; Mr. Arabaci was elected as its president in 1996 whereas Mr. Yalcinbayir became a

deputy in 1995 from RP; a status he maintains still under the colours of Party of Justice

and Development presided by prime minister Tayyip Erdogan. Their concern for

environmental and historical protection when combined with their extraordinary active

socio-political engagements contributed certainly to the development of civic initiatives on

environmental and social issues (Bursa Ansiklopedisi, v.1: 117 and v. 4: 1698-1699). With

their technical expertise on justice, they provided the local mobilisations with legal

grounds and appropriate means. A very experienced local journalist attests their role in

these initiatives:

“I think that such a formation [on environmental protection] developed in Bursa with the 1980s…I can mention two personalities who initiated these efforts. The first one is Ertugrul Yalcinbayir; he is still a deputy from AKP; he tried all parties, yet he is a person of great qualities. The second one is Ali Arabaci who was both the president of the Bar and the deputy of DSP (Democratic Left Party). These two were always the leaders of these initiatives (Interview #122).”

336

This de facto (later on, formal, thanks to BAOB) cooperation among the professional

chambers animated the civic struggles in Bursa. The first example of such initiatives would

be the reactions against the construction of a thermoelectric power plant in the middle of

the Plain of Orhaneli. The residents of the area organised a petition by collecting 15,000

signatures against its construction. However, the central government’s decision remained

unchanged leaving the juridical procedure as the only mean for preventing the opening of

the plant. Under the coordination of Mr. Yalcinbayir, the environmental commission of the

Bar initiated the procedure and eventually managed to obtain a decision from the

administrative court ordering the halt of the functioning of the plant. Consequently, the

plant was obliged to add a desulphuration filter in order to minimise its dangerous

emissions. A similar struggle was displayed against the Ovaakca Cevrim santrali in 1996

with the participation of professional chambers, civil organisations and the municipality.

However, central government stood firm in its decision and the plant started functioning.

The central government’s indifference to local public opinion was not actually

limited with policies of energy. The case of Cargill is very indicative since it reveals the

confrontation between the central government and local civil society, but also between the

global capital and the former. Cargill, a multi-national enterprise that is one of the biggest

firms in the domain of corn related industry, decided to construct a factory in the very

fertile lands of Orhaneli. By amending the urban plan of the locality, the Ministry of

Construction and Settlement transformed the agricultural land to industrial zone. With the

juridical procedure initiated by the professional chambers, civil organisations and local

politicians, the administrative court invalidated this plan change. Yet, the construction

continued. This time the same group initiated a lawsuit against the prime minister and the

prefect for not executing the decisions of the justice before launching another trial for the

cancellation of company’s construction license. The decisions of all these courts in favour

of the local community dissuaded neither the central government nor the company for

stopping the construction of the factory. On the contrary, the government changed recently

the status of the zone as a Specific Industrial Zone, a category created for just this purpose.

In July 2005, the same groups initiated the fourth wave of their juridical struggle against

Cargill on the pretext of the illegality of this new status attributed to Cargill and similar

companies. As a matter of fact, the Council of State found this demand legal and decided

to stop the execution of this governmental decree. When these lines were written, the

337

juridical struggle was still continuing since Cargill appealed for Council’s decision.

Meanwhile, the company declared that they were considering the closure of the plant in

case of an unfavourable decision167.

The case of Yesilsehir constitutes a final example for civic mobilisation against the

wild urbanisation of Bursa. The Yesilsehir project is an immense housing project

consisting of the construction of 15 thousand apartments on first quality agricultural lands.

Undertaken by Cavit Caglar, the project enjoyed absolute political support of the central

government to an extent that it was personally Suleyman Demirel, president of the republic

at that time, who symbolically laid its foundation in 1997. The mobilisation of the local

actors and their success in juridical procedures did not suffice in dissuading neither Caglar

from pursuing his investment nor the central government for maintaining its support to the

project. Nevertheless, Caglar could not manage to finish the project due to his rapid loss of

political and economic power.

These examples from the recent history of Bursa reveal how mobilised the local

actors have been with the objective of protecting its natural resources and decelerating the

urban disasters it has been suffering since the rapid industrialisation of the 1960s. It is true

that not all of these initiatives could bring about significant changes with regards to the

decisions taken or the support provided by the central government. Yet, they illustrate

clearly the development of a collective civic and ecological consciousness ready to be

mobilised for different purposes. In addition to the development of local civil

organisations, the professional chambers take very active roles within these struggles. Even

if not so visible in these processes, the new bourgeoisie class, represented by BUSIAD,

was considered to be involved in the development of these initiatives. Last but not least,

the local government presided over by Erdem Saker is definitively a major actor within this

de facto coalition assembled for the conservation of Bursa’s natural and historical richness.

The emergence of such an urban coalition coincides with the introduction of LA21

in Bursa. Founded on exactly the same concerns: environmental protection, sustainable

development and democratic participation, the project is backed strongly by this coalition.

As a matter of fact, most of the actors cited above took very active roles in the LA21

167 http://nethaber.com/?h=57602, last consultation June 7th, 2006.

338

process enabling it to bring about an important impact on local politics. In other words, the

project provided the coalition with an institutional framework in which they could

reinforce their initiatives by founding them upon globally acknowledged themes and

efforts. For example, the city council turned out to be it the main platform where projects

on a better future of Bursa was developed, discussed and realised. The elaboration of the

2020 Strategic Developmental Plan in the LA21 City Council was undoubtedly a perfect

illustration of one of the outcomes of this cooperation among the local actors within the

city council.

In summary, the success of the LA21 project in the second half of the nineties can be

easily associated with the development of an urban coalition consisting of a new

bourgeoisie, a flourishing local civil society and socially concerned professional chambers.

The willingness of the mayor to introduce global themes and to develop a more sustainable

developmental scheme for Bursa provided this coalition with an institutional basis where

they could develop and undertake their initiatives. Substantially, the LA21 could be

established quite successfully and represented a progressive step with regards to the

development of Turkish local democracy.

C - Mersin: Economic rise and fall of a city

When Mersin was conquered by the Ottomans towards the end of 15th century, it was

a small town without any commercial or strategic importance. Yet, about five centuries

later, it became a very developed city of industry and international commerce before re-

losing its economic power. From an urban regime analysis perspective, it is justified to ask

whether this economic growth had been associated with the presence of urban coalitions in

the city. Therefore in this section, as we have already tried to do for Bursa, we shall try to

see whether such coalitions exist in Mersin and, if so, to understand the extent of their

influence in local politics.

339

1) From a fishers’ town to an economic centre: Mersin in the Empire

When Mersin entered definitively under the rule of the Ottomans in 1516’s168, the

period of stagnation and decline of the Empire had already started. Global economic

problems of the Empire provoked serious uneasiness throughout the country and even

uprisings in some provinces, Mersin included. Even when there were no such major

movements, the region was not actually peaceful since the residents were suffering from

the bullying acts of the local ayans who had become extremely powerful due to the

administrative weakening of the Imperial centre. However, these ayans did not necessarily

indicate the presence of influential urban elite since Mersin was far from being urbanised.

It was a very small coastal village; most of the residents of the region were nomads living

in tents and moving between the plain and the mountains according to the season.

Therefore, the history of Mersin has been in total contrast with that of Bursa whose past

was identified with commercial and to a lesser extent industrial richness.

The turning point in this nomadic culture was the arrival of Mehmed Ali Pasha and

his son Ibrahim Pasha of Egypt to the region in 1832. During the eight years of their rule of

the region as an independent state, the socioeconomic structure of the region was totally

transformed by, first of all, the introduction of cotton farming in Cukurova (a very fertile

plain on which Mersin, Adana and Hatay are located). For this purpose, the Pashas of

Egypt moved the Arabs of Syria (the fellahs) to the region since the original population

was neither capable nor willing to initiate the cotton farming169. Henceforth, besides

nomadic populations like Turkmen and yoruks, the region was settled by residents who

were occupied with cotton farming. Furthermore, the Pashas constructed water channels to

prevent floods and tried fruitlessly to undertake settlement policies for the nomadic

populations. Therefore, it would not be unjust to consider Mehmet Ali Pasha and his son’s

rule in the region as the origin of the veritable urbanisation.

168 There had been periods of Ottoman rule in the city before 1516, but after each conquest, the city was re-lost. 169 Furthermore, a part of the timber used in the construction of the Canal of Suez was provided from the region. They were again Arabic groups who arrived to the region in order to take care of cutting and exportation of these timbers (Sandal, 2002: 133).

340

The settlement policies were maintained after the re-installation of Ottoman rule in

the region. In 1865, Istanbul sent a special force (Firka-i Islahiye) aiming at the settlement

of the nomadic tribes. These efforts destined to restore central authority, also facilitated the

urbanisation of the region. Besides, the success of cotton farming was already inciting

these tribes to settle because of the obvious profits related to this form of agriculture.

Consequently, the grand families that were dominant within these nomadic tribes gradually

became rich landowners employing great numbers of peasants as cheap workers at the

cotton farms (Yurt Ansiklopedisi, v.5: 3639).

This process of urbanisation and capitalisation of the region was actually closely

associated to external dynamics. We have already mentioned the independent rule of the

Pachas and Istanbul’s intervention for settling the nomadic tribes and initiating the cotton

production. In addition to these factors, Mersin was also affected by the American Civil

War (1861-1865). Fearing that the War would interrupt cotton production in the continent,

the British encouraged the production and the exportation of cotton in Cukurova (Ayata,

1999:199). In 1864, Manchester Cotton Supply Association (MCSA) distributed tons of

cotton seeds, brought experts and provided technical support to farmers for this purpose.

It was again a British businessman, Mr. Gont, who installed the first industrial plant

in the region. In 1863, he opened three cotton gin plants in Adana, Tarsus and Mersin in

order to overcome the standardisation problems of cotton bales. The construction of the

Adana-Mersin railroad in 1886 boosted the commercial capacity of the city since

henceforth regional products could more easily reach to international markets170. As a

result, the port of Mersin turned out to be the port of Çukurova as well as of the cities of

the Central Anatolia such as Konya, Kayseri and Nigde. The commercial traffic was so

important that only in the year of 1890, 900 ships visited the port enabling an importation

of 15.230.000 francs and an exportation of 8.528.00 francs (Sandal, 2002: 136). This new

dynamism was also reflected in the industrial development; in 1887 Mavromati, a Greek

merchant opened the first thread factory in Mersin. By 1914, the plant was employing 350

workers and producing 200 tons of cotton thread equivalent of 7.9 million Ottoman

centimes (kurus) (Yurt Ansiklopedisi, v. 5: 3684).

170 In 1889, 20772 tons of freight were transported on the railroad. A year latter this trafic of products on the railroad reached to a capacity of 36612 tons (Yurt Ansiklopedisi, v. 5: 3649).

341

Meanwhile, the Germans also became interested in the region. In the early years of

the 20th century, a German firm, Deutsche Levantinische Baumwolle Geselleschaft

supported the large cotton farm owners to enable the modernisation of cotton production.

Tons of cotton seeds of better quality were distributed and the irrigation system was

improved by the company. Meanwhile, the industry was also diversified; in 1910 British

Mersyna Oil Mill Co. Ltd. opened a cotton oil plant. The interest of foreign companies and

states was growing very considerably. In the beginning of the 20th century, the city hosted

twelve foreign consulates of western countries along with the local offices of foreign banks

including Die Deutsche Orientbank, La Banque Française de Syrie and the Bank of

Athens. Moreover, countries like France, Germany and Austria had their local postal

centres in the city (ibid. p. 3645). This rapid development of regional commerce and

industry as well as the amelioration of the agricultural production was maintained until the

First World War.

The historical background of Mersin is thus quite interesting since the time span

between the emergence of the city as an urban settlement and its transformation to an

important centre of commerce and industry is less than a century: in 1832 the Egyptian

Pashas arrived and initiated the cotton production; in the eve of the First World War,

Mersin was representing 13.1% of cotton farming, 18.3% of the spindles, 27.4% of

weaving workers and 13.6 % of thread production of the country and was exporting

annually 200,000 tons of agricultural and industrial products from its port (ibid. p. 3666,

3685 and Ayata, 1999:200).

This rapid growth led naturally to the emergence of a local business class who was

able to found one of the first chambers of commerce of the country. The Chamber of

Commerce of Mersin was founded as early as 1886, thus three years earlier than that of

Bursa. Yet, we do not have any information of their influence on the local public affairs.

The fact that the industrial and commercial development of the city was tightly associated

to external factors and foreign initiatives perhaps rendered the role of local politics in local

affairs relatively unimportant. In any case, the region was controlled either by large

landowners controlling crowded tribes or foreign or non-Muslim capitalists who enjoyed

the backing of foreign states. In other words, even without building local coalitions, each

of these local powers already disposed great influences within the local society and

economy. The influence of the administrative centre was minimal and thus did not

342

encourage the local actors for organising against the former. These two factors, the role of

external dynamics in the local economy and the lack of a tradition of cooperation among

the local actors would be present all through Mersin’s history determining its

socioeconomic destiny.

2) Mersin’s facile adaptation to the republican economy

The First World War, followed by the National Independence War, led to the

foundation of a Republic that undertook a rapid nationalisation of foreign investments.

Additionally, the gradual departure of non-Muslim minorities171 from the city who had

enjoyed great wealth and influence within the imperial economy brought about a

problematic period in new Republic’s economy. Those who had the capital and the know-

how of industrial and commercial activities were chased from the country without having

adequate actors who could substitute for these foreign or minority entrepreneurs. The

policies for the development of a national bourgeoisie were soon replaced by the direct

intervention of the state. As we saw in the case of Bursa, the preliminary industrial

investments were generally realised by the public authorities.

Yet, Mersin’s socioeconomic developmental scheme in the early republican period

was slightly different than this general trend. Although the state had indeed intervened

directly to take over the foreign investments or those of the minority groups, the

emergence of local capitalists would not delay too much. Different than Bursa’s

socioeconomic profile, Mersin had realised a capitalist accumulation during the Ottoman

era in the hands of the grand landowners who rapidly became wealthy thanks to the

development of cotton farming. Even if they have been content to pursue their mainly

agricultural activities until the foundation of the Republic, after the departure of non-

Turkish entrepreneurs, they accepted voluntarily to take over the industrial plants or

commercial activities of the latter. These prominent families had actually participated

actively to the independence movement and then naturally appeared in the front ranks of

171 According to Sandal (2002: 133) who cite from Vital Cuinet, in 1890 non-muslim minorities represented about 43% of the local population (2700 Greek Orthodox, 860 Armenians and 260 Catholics). The departure of these minorities can be also realised through the demographic change between 1900 and 1927 that indicates a fall from 23452 to 21171(op.cit 137). Dogan (1999: 143) gives the population of the city as 11,720 for the same year of 1927, thus indicates a more significant demographic drop.

343

the ruling party. Thanks to this proximity to the political power, the take-over of the

already established plants and activities by these prominent families of the region was not

only possible but also preferred. The central government’s support for these local

capitalists was not restricted with the approval of these take-overs; all through 1930s and

1940s Mersin remained as one of the main beneficiaries of public incentives for the

industrial development (Yurt Ansiklopedisi, v. 5: 3685).

The scope of the regional industry did not really develop though. The processing of

agricultural products was the main industrial activity in which the weaving industry

remained as the major domain. In fact, this one-dimensional development protected the

city from the general stagnation –even the decline- caused by the Second World War. The

massive recruitment of the state as a precaution augmented its demand for weaving

products. However, the exportation of these products was no longer sufficient.

Consequently, in contrast of all the other industrial branches, the weaving industry

developed allowing a significant accumulation of capital to be used later on.

The best illustration of Mersin’s developmental scheme, which is significantly

different than that of Bursa, would be the story of Cukurova Holding. The company

(initially Cukurova Industrial Enterprises) was founded in 1925 by two of the biggest

landowners of the region, namely the families of Eliyesil and Karamehmet. The company

took over the major cotton weaving plants in Mersin and Tarsus left by the non-Muslim

entrepreneurs. These plants with an initial capacity of 50 cotton gins and 5000 spindles

were totally modernised by 1932 and considered as one of the first modern factories of the

country172. Even if the company opened other plants such as an oil factory, textile

remained as its major activity and main source of income. The capitalist accumulation

realised particularly during the Second World War would be mobilised, in the 1950s, for

the importation and marketing of agricultural machines and construction equipment. The

Cukurova Group was soon the manufacturer of John Deree harvesters as well as the

national representative of Caterpillar equipments. By 1970s, the group was already among

the biggest holdings of the country, representing a capital of 120 million Turkish liras and

activities throughout the country.

172 http://www.kimkimdir.gen.tr/kimkimdir.php?id=683, last consultation september 24th, 2006.

344

One of the important aspects of Cukurova’s story is that the company that was

founded in Tarsus, a nearby town, never moved to Mersin, to the provincial centre. Instead,

the company extended its activities towards Istanbul, to the economic capital of the

country. We would like to remind to the readers of Ali Osman Sonmez’s story who had

also initiated his business in a town before installing in Bursa where he remained for the

rest of his life as one of the most influential local businessmen. With its geographical

proximity to Istanbul and developed facilities for travelling in between, the local capitalists

could afford staying in Bursa. However, for Mersin, this was (is) not the case.

Businessmen having nationwide ambitions felt obliged to leave the city. This capitalist

exodus would be an important pattern in Mersin’s socioeconomic developmental scheme.

The departure of businessmen from the city would disable the development of a

local capitalist class influential in the local politics. For example, Mehmet Kemal

Karamehmet, one of the founders of Cukurova was the president of the Chamber of

Commerce and Industry of Tarsus for a decade between 1967 and 1977, whereas none of

his sons would participate to the Chamber’s direction. Similarly, members of the Eliyesil

family did not appear in the local political scene although Muftuzade Sadik Pasha173,

probably the grandfather of the founders, was one of the first mayors of Tarsus174. The

following generations would prefer to pursue their economic activities in Istanbul and thus

stay indifferent to the local affairs of Tarsus or Mersin.

Consequently, we do not observe the presence of businessmen enjoying a veritable

influence in the public affairs of the city. Even the Chamber of Commerce and Industry did

not seem to dispose a true power in the region. Its only visible initiative was the foundation

of an agency responsible for the management of the port of Mersin. The agency, founded

in 1925 by the Chamber but in partnership with the municipalities of Mersin, Tarsus,

Seyhan and Ceyhan as well as the provincial government of Mersin, constructed a concrete

173 His influence in local politics was so important that even the first hydroelectric plant of the Ottoman Empire that was constructed in Tarsus would risk not being realised simply because Sadik Pasha owned flour mills on the river on which the plant was planned to be constructed. Despite the Sultan’s permission to realise the project, the entrepreneur had to convince the Pasha by assuring him that his mills would function more regularly after the installation of the plant (Yurt Ansiklopedisi, v. 5: 3682). 174 Similarly, the first republican generation of Eliyesil family was very active and extremely influential in national politics (within CHP).

345

dock and an atelier of reparation. However, the failure in managing the port obliged the

partners to give away its direction to the central government in 1942 (Yurt Ansiklopedisi, v.

5: 3694). The contrast between the activities of the local chambers of Bursa and Mersin is

obvious: the Chamber of Bursa managed to establish the first organised industrial zone

whereas Mersin’s chamber fails even to manage a medium-sized port.

All through the 1950s, the central government remained indifferent to the local

economy of Mersin. When the personal concern of Celal Bayar, president of the Republic

during the period, for the economic development of Bursa is considered, the lack of central

government’s support to the local economy could be better understood. This indifference

might be explained by the close relations between the main businessmen of the region and

the mono-partite regime that had not only enabled the former to take over the plants left by

non-Muslim entrepreneurs but also directly supported their investments. Untouched by the

economic repression of the Second War World that constituted one the main factors behind

DP’s electoral revolution, it would be surprising to see the local businessmen of Mersin

among DP’s leading supporters; a factor that might have kept central government’s

investments away from the city during DP’s rule.

The opening of a refinery in 1958 in Mersin might be perceived at first glance as an

exception with regards to the absence of grand investments in the city all throughout the

fifties. In reality, the central government did not have any other choice other than to

approve its construction because it owed 40 million dollars to the founding companies.

Instead of demanding this debt from the government, the four international oil giants

(Mobil, Shell, Caltex and BP) accepted to invest this money in opening refineries,

conducting research and developing domestic distribution plants. Founded upon this

agreement with the central government, ATAS started functioning in 1962 with a daily

production capacity of 65,000 barrels (Yurt Ansiklopedisi, v. 5: 3683).

Even the construction of the port that was initiated in 1954 could not be concluded

during DP’s rule; it was only in 1961 that the port of Mersin could start functioning. The

opening of the port was in fact foretelling of the city’s acceleration in socioeconomic

development all through the second half of the 60s and particularly the 70s. However,

before discussing this golden era of Mersin’s history, we would like to underline some of

the characteristics of the city in the early republican years during which we observe

346

significant differences with regards to Bursa’s socioeconomic development of the same

period.

First of all, Mersin’s local economy does not seem to suffer as much as Bursa did

from the republican transition. The economic activities and industrial plants left by the

foreign entrepreneurs and non-Muslim minorities were shortly taken over by local

businessmen who had managed to realise a considerable capital accumulation thanks to

their large cotton farms. Moreover, the wealth accumulation of these actors continued and

even accelerated owing to the support of the central government with whom the local

businessmen had very close contacts since the Independence War. Yet the emergence of

these economically powerful businessmen was not directly reflected in the local politics.

Those who reached a considerable degree of wealth extended their activities towards

Istanbul, thus gradually moving away from Mersin. In spite of their growing investments

in the region, these actors were not actually very present in local politics. Even during the

DP rule, when they were deprived from central government’s backing, they did not attempt

to reinforce their position in local politics. Consequently, even if economically powerful

local actors appeared in Mersin quite earlier than in Bursa, they did not seem to be quite

engaged in the local affairs of the city.

3) The golden era 1960-1990

The second half of the sixties witnessed grand industrial investments in Mersin.

There were two main factors for this impressive industrial attraction. On the one hand, the

opening of the port of Mersin in 1961 improved very significantly the region’s access to

international markets thus facilitating the importation of materials required for the

industrial development as well as the exportation of manufactured products. On the other

hand, the refinery that started functioning a year later rendered very easily the energy

supply of these plants.

In light of these two very important advantages for industrial investments, the

national and international entrepreneurs rushed to the city for opening one grand industrial

plants after the other. The first example of this flow was Akgubre, a chemical fertilizer

plant that was established in 1968 and started functioning in 1972. The company was

founded as an international partnership consisting of Kuwaiti and Turkish investments

representing a capital of 162 millions Turkish liras. Akgubre was followed by grand

347

investments of Turkiye Is Bankasi in the region. In 1969, the company invested in two

grand plants, one in soda (Soda Sanayii) other in the glass industry (Anadolu Cam Sanayii)

that started functioning respectively in 1972 and 1973. One of the biggest capitalists of the

country, the Sabanci Family who was originally from Adana, just in the neighbourhood of

Mersin, would also shortly start investing in the city. The Holding opened a cement factory

in 1972 and a plastic products plant in 1973. Last but not least, the Cukurova Group

multiplied its industrial investments in the city by a harvester manufacture plant

(CUMITAS-1968 with John Deere), a plant of construction equipment and their spare parts

production (CIMSATAS-1972 with Caterpillar Tractor Co.) and a sodium products plant

(CUKROMSAN- 1979).

In 1980, almost all of these firms were among the biggest 500 enterprises of the

country; Mersin was one of the most important industrial zones of Turkey with an

industrial capacity corresponding to the 29% of gross local product in 1978 (Ayata, 1999:

206). Yet, this economic growth was totally autonomous from the local politics since the

investors who were either national holdings or international enterprises were not motivated

or affected by the public policies developed by the local governments or other local actors.

In other words, the role played by the organised industrial zone managed by the BCCI in

Bursa was totally absent. Moreover, the investors did not seem to be concerned about the

local politics even after their arrival to the city; enjoying generally a nation-wide influence,

national politics was more a concern for these grand entrepreneurs rather than local affairs.

In this scheme, local actors appeared to be only the spectators of this rapid

industrialisation to such an extent that they did not even manage to establish an organised

industrial zone until 1991 although the national government had approved its construction

as early as in 1976. Dogan (1999: 206) explains this big delay by the impossibility of

raising the required fond for the expropriation of the reserved zone. In other words, the

local actors have not been thus capable to get together and unite their forces even for such

an important issue.

The cost of this incapability of acting together would be extremely expensive since

they would not be able to react when the wind would inverse and the industrialisation

would cease to progress after the 1980s; there were no more new investments and even the

local grand entrepreneurs like Cukurova and Sabanci were oriented to the Marmara

Region. Yet, this stagnation in the local economy was not immediately perceived since in

348

contrast of the industrial regression, commercial activities were significantly flourishing

thanks -once more- to mainly exogenous dynamics. The rapid augmentation of members of

the city’s chamber of commerce from 765 in 1951 to 1800 in 1970 and then to 4586 in

1981 illustrates the importance of this commercial vibrancy. More precisely, the foreign

trade capacity of the city increases very significantly from 250,000 tons in the early 1940s

to 1-1,3 million tons in late 1970s (Dogan, 1999: 147).

A first exogenous factor that boosted the commercial activities of Mersin was the

outbreak of the civil war in Lebanon that seriously inhibited the commercial endeavours

passing by the port of Beirut. Consequently, the most important port of the eastern

Mediterranean ceded its place to Mersin. Secondly, the augmentation of oil resources of

the countries in the Arabic Peninsula led to an expansion in their international exchanges

which passed through the port of Mersin particularly during the war between Iran and Iraq.

Finally, the emergence of independent states after the fall of the Soviet Union constituted

another favourable factor for the commercial capacity of the city since the trade roads

towards the region were passing through the city. Henceforth, Mersin was a veritable

crossroads of the international commerce between the Middle East, Europe, Caucuses as

well as all the central and eastern Anatolian cities.

The opening of the Mersin Free Trade Zone was perhaps the only significant

domestic factor in the development of commercial activities passing through Mersin.

Founded in 1987 on 786.000 square metres, the Mersin Free Trade Zone has provided

partial or total exemption from legal restrictions or bureaucratic procedures to its users.

Constituting the first experience of such a practice in the Turkish context, the zone reached

to annual commerce capacity of 2 billions dollars in a decade (Ayata, 1999: 204). The

Zone has also incited a significant immigration of capital to the city. Indeed, according to

the data presented by Dogan (1999: 169), among the enterprises that adhere to the

Chamber of Commerce and Industry, the percentage of those that were not founded in the

city increased from 42% in 1985 to 67% in 1987 and then to 68.6% in 1989. Similarly,

when the founders of enterprises are considered, those who were not born in the city

represented only 43.4% in 1985 where two years later the percentage has reached to

65.5%; finally in 1989 it was 72%. In other words, the city has welcomed a non-negligible

flow of external capital. However, as we shall discuss further on, hopes based on the Zone

349

would shortly end up by a big disillusion due to very serious problems handicapping its

actual potential.

Another dimension of the local economy in Mersin that should not be neglected was

obviously the agricultural sector, which represented in 1978 28% of the gross local product

(Yurt Ansiklopedisi, v. 5: 3664). With its soft Mediterranean climate, Mersin was

especially ideal for the citrus planting. As we have already stated earlier, cotton farming

had constituted a veritable turning-point in the regional history. The introduction of fruit

growing created also an important dynamism in the city, though far from representing such

a vital change as of cotton farming. The plantation of the citrus fruits such as orange and

lemon that were until then imported from abroad and thus considered as luxury product,

was initiated in late thirties and rapidly spread by the fifties. The number of citrus trees

grew rapidly reaching to 2.8 millions in 1970 and then doubling until 1980 representing the

41,3% of overall citrus growing of the country (Yurt Ansiklopedisi, v. 5: 3672). The

importance of this kind of farming has been that it allowed a more egalitarian distribution

of the lands thanks to the economic value of the citrus fruits175. Hence, the introduction of

citrus growing prevented the concentration of agricultural lands in a few hands. Among the

citrus gardens those larger than 600 hectares are considered to be exceptional (Yurt

Ansiklopedisi, v. 5: 3678). Consequently, such a widespread and profitable economic

activity did not lead to the emergence of a prosperous minority of landowners who could

dispose a veritable influence in local politics. In any case, the interest of farmers in local

politics would be relatively negligible than that of industrialists or merchants since their

activity is apparently less dependent on decisions taken by the local authorities. Therefore,

this new group formed after the introduction of citrus growing would or could not attempt

to exercise influence in the local politics.

By the 1990s, in all three domains (industry, commerce and agriculture), we would

observe significant transformations that would directly affect the local politics. Commerce

and agriculture would also follow the decline of industry, albeit for diverse reasons, and

lead the city to a serious socioeconomic bottleneck. But before passing to the discussion on

175 According to the estimations provided by the Yurt Ansiklopedisi (v. 5: 3678) the income obtained from 4 hectares of citrus gardens equals to that of 300 hectares of cotton farming.

350

this problematical period of Mersin’s history, we would like to reinterpret Mersin’s golden

era in the urban regime perspective.

The rapid industrial development was the main feature of Mersin between the late

sixties and early seventies. Yet, this scheme of urban growth did not originate from the

city’s domestic dynamics. The opening of the refinery and the port did indeed constitute

the veritable reason behind this rapid industrialisation. However, these grand investments

took place quite independently from the city’s own resources. The refinery was opened by

the international oil giants and the port was constructed by the central government. Even if

the Chamber of Commerce and Industry of Mersin had attempted to manage and develop

the city’s port in the early republican period, as we had stated, it was quite a failure on their

part. Other investments were also realised by external actors who were not actually

involved in city politics. Even the businessmen of the region progressively drove away

their activities and became rather external actors, thus distancing from local politics. As we

have shown, the younger generations of region’s wealthiest family were not interested in

local organisations and affairs and had moved towards the economic capital of the country.

Thus, Mersin’s industrialisation process brought about contradictorily a lacuna of local

notables. There were obviously other local actors more or less influential in the local

affairs, but they were rather under the shadow of national and international powers, being

content to be mainly spectators of the developments.

Moreover, the growth of commercial activities in the city was similarly thanks to the

independent factors that enhanced the strategic importance of the city as a commercial

crossroads. Again, the economic growth of the city was not dependent on the domestic

dynamics of Mersin. The opening of the Free Trade Zone was certainly an exception in this

developmental scheme although it was undertaken mainly by the central government. Yet,

the impact of the local dynamics on this valuable initiative would be in the opposite

direction, leading to disastrous consequences as we shall discuss below. In any case, the

decline of the commercial dynamism of the city would be as fast as its progress due to the

unfavourable global events –again independent from the city’s own dynamics. This rapid

rise and fall of commercial importance of the city would not enable the emergence of a

class of local businessmen who would be able to significantly influence the local politics.

This should not mean that there would be no competition; the struggle would be rather

very crude and unfair as we shall discuss later on.

351

Finally, the second agricultural revolution of the region, namely the introduction of

citrus farming, would neither bring about the emergence of influential local actors since the

wealth created by this development would be shared more or less equally without leading

to new capital accumulation similar to that of the cotton farming.

In short, the rapid economic development of Mersin was neither based on local

coalitions formed with the objective of facilitating such an evolution nor a factor leading to

the emergence of locally influential actors who would form, re-form or de-form policy

oriented coalitions. The background of this development was shaped by exogenous factors

and its consequences did not wholly reconfigure the local power relationships. The lacuna

of influential local actors was maintained; though new socio-political features would

indeed appear raising the local tension in the city.

4) “Death of a salesman” and that of his natural beauty: The emergence of an “urban crime” coalition

Mersin was identified by the rapid industrialisation in the seventies and then by the

remarkable growth of commercial activities in the eighties. However, both economic

developments could not be maintained. Investments in the industry would cease by the end

of the seventies and the commercial vitality would disappear in the nineties due to changes

in the international and national conjuncture. The outbreak of the First Gulf War followed

by the economic embargo applied on Iraq by the international community deprived Mersin

of one of its main commercial destinations. Other developments in the following decade

such as the Asian and Russian crises, the decrease in Turkey’s international commerce

with ex-soviet republics and Balkan countries as well as the European Union and last but

not least the critical politico-economic crises that Turkey passed through paralysed to a

large extent the commercial activities of Mersin. Naturally, the other by-sectors such as

transport, banking, assurance and mercantile agencies were highly affected as well (Ayata,

1999: 209). As if all of these were not sufficient, in 2001 the central government forbade

the importation of food products in the Free Trade Zone of Mersin on the pretext of the

widespread corruptions related to this domain. The 21st century was thus opening with a

serious economic bottleneck in Mersin. Moreover, this economic crisis was accompanied

by a very problematical urban growth scheme due to both the rise and the fall of the

described economic vitality of the city.

352

Chart 7. Population growth in Mersin

1935 1940 19451950

19551960

1965

1970

1975

1980

1985

1990

1997

2000

35-40

40-45

45-50

50-55

55-60

60-6565-70

70-75

80-85 85-90

90-97

97-2000

75-80

0

200000

400000

600000

800000

1000000

1200000

1400000

1600000

1800000

0,0%

0,5%

1,0%

1,5%

2,0%

2,5%

3,0%

3,5%

4,0%

4,5%

Population Annual population growth rate

Source: Author’s calculation based on the data of the State Institute of Statistics (DIE, 2000a).

Similar to what we have observed in Bursa, the population of Mersin increased very

rapidly parallel to the industrial and commercial development in seventies and eighties. As

Figure 1 illustrates, apart from the population growth peak between 1950 and 1955, a

period of massive rural exodus throughout the country, we observe two other periods of

very rapid demographic growth in Mersin. The first one between 1970 and 1975

corresponds exactly to the multiplication of industrial investments in the city. The

cessation of such investments by the second half of seventies is also reflected in the

demographic development by a significant decrease in the annual growth rate. Yet, by the

eighties the growth rate becomes even higher than the seventies thanks to the vitality of the

local economy. This exceptional growth rate (over 4% per year) was maintained all

through the eighties before decreasing sharply by the 1990s. Therefore, it is interesting to

observe the absolute parallelism between the economic development and the demographic

growth of the city. The only exception in this parallelism is observed after 1997 which

could be explained by a totally different factor, namely the massive arrival of immigrants

353

escaping from the armed conflict in the south-eastern regions of the country as we

discussed in the previous chapter.

The remarkable dynamism in the city’s economic development until the nineties

could to a large extent absorb the newcomers since employment or investment

opportunities were abundant. And yet there were other challenges: the urban landscape was

far from ready to offer adequate means of housing to the new residents of the city. The

traditional architectural style consisted of one or two stored detached houses with small

gardens or courtyards (Yurt Ansiklopedisi: v.5: 3710). Given the insufficiency of the urban

housing pool, the real estate prices boosted during the seventies with the massive arrival of

new immigrants176. Those who could not afford the high rents, settled either in the near

villages that would be gradually

annexed to the urban zone or in squatter

areas. Yet, these squatter areas of Mersin

differ quite significantly from those of

other big Turkish cities. In the latter,

these areas flourished through illegal

occupation of state property lands

whereas in Mersin the squatters

developed on lands legally bought by

private owners that divided their large

and very fertile agricultural properties on the northern parts of the city into very small and

thus very rentable plots (Dogan, 1999: 154-155). But, the housing demand of the upper-

strata could not be satisfied merely like this. The response developed for this need would

lead to the emergence of the first urban coalition of the city between the public authorities

and the real-estate speculators and building contractors.

Since the introduction of citrus gardening by the fifties, Mersin had been well-

known for its orange or lemon gardens. Even the symbol of the city is an orange rising

over the sea. However, for those who visit the city nowadays, this symbol might seem to

be a distant feature, left the past behind. Instead, what would strike the visitors first would

176 Apart from demanding astronomic rents, the real estate owners even started demanding the payment of one year’s rental in advance; a practice that still continues.

Picture 3. A view on Mersin’s urban landscape

354

be immense building blocks invading not only the entire city centre but all along the

coastal line. This urban ugliness has been in fact the fruit of a sort of urban coalition

formed in order to profit from the growing demand for housing in the city. The core of this

scheme was the transformation of citrus gardens into high and architecturally worthless

constructions. We observe three kinds of actors actively involved in this “urban crime”.

Obviously, the first and the most important component of such a scheme would be

the land property. For other cities, this problem has been easily overcome by the

occupation of state lands. Confident to legalise this occupation thanks to consecutive

amnesties, the real-estate speculators had never hesitated in launching their constructions

on state owned lands. However, in Mersin most of the land belonged to private owners, to

farmers, rendering the process relatively more complicated. Consequently, in the eyes of

the real-estate speculators, these farms and citrus gardens in the vicinities of the city

represented the promised lands for their rapid financial opportunities. As we have already

stated earlier, the citrus gardens were distributed more or less equally among the local

population. Even if this citrus gardening activity has represented an important income for

these petit farmers, it could not compete with the ease, the speed as well as the security of

real estate rentier. These citrus gardeners could sell their lands to the constructors and

obtain a very considerable and instant wealth.

Picture 4. Mersin’s new coastal landscape from above. Immense blocks in front, citrus gardens behind.

Photo: Dervis Comez’s personal archive

355

Another option, a more frequent one, was to agree with a building contractor who

would not pay for the land but instead engage in giving some of the flats to the landowner

after the construction was finished. In this way, the landowner would enjoy a constant

source of rental revenue coming from the flats constructed on his land. When compared

with the obvious physical efforts (irrigation, fertilizing, harvesting etc.) as well as the risks

of farming (frost, epidemic, theft, price instability etc.), this easy money seduced quite a

number of farmers, especially among the younger generations.

The second element of this urban coalition based upon the real-estate rentier was the

building constructors. The first condition of undertaking such an initiative of urban

construction was actually to find an adequate capital that could be used in this real-estate

investment. This requirement was not actually a real problem since first of all the capital

accumulated during the golden age of the city seem to be canalised to the sector of

construction. According to Dogan (1999: 148), the fact that such investments represented

6.9% (a quite high percentage) of the gross local product of the city in 1978 was the best

evidence of this transfer of capital. Moreover, the “land for flats” strategy allowed even

those who did not dispose enough capital by letting then acquire the land without paying

anything. Moreover, the flats could be sold even before the foundation of the building

letting the constructors finance the construction expenses. In any case, the equipment and

the materials could be purchased with long-term credits saving the latter even from finding

the initial capital. Another technique was to found construction cooperatives.

These cooperatives consisted of a number of –mainly- middle-class residents who

gathered around a project of building construction. Each member of these cooperatives

contributed to the initial capital to finance the purchase of the land on which their future

apartments would be constructed. Since the legal urbanisation framework as revised in

1986 has allowed very high buildings, the cost of this collectively bought land would not

be very significant. The construction of the building was realised in the same manner: by

making periodical payments (instalments), the members of the cooperative simultaneously

financed the construction. This process could be based either merely on the collective

initiative of the members or in partnership with a contractor who realised the construction

356

with the financing provided by the former who got some of the flats in reward for his

service177.

The popularity of cooperative based constructions could be followed by the numbers

of cooperatives registered in the MCCI. As a matter of fact, in 1986 there were only 350

cooperatives whereas in 1987 the number very rapidly reaches to 452 and to 492 by 1990.

But the real progress takes place between 1991 and 1995 during which the number of

cooperatives were almost doubled to react to 947 according to registers of the Chamber

(Dogan, 1999: 209).

Even if by the second half of 1980s, the urgent need for housing was more or less

satisfied, the rush for new constructions was maintained due to the problematical economic

conjuncture of the country. In a context of hyper-inflation, real-estate seemed to be the

safest investment leading to the pursuit of construction projects. Therefore, the sustaining

demand and the relative ease that these described features promised, led to the

multiplication of initiatives undertaken by the real-estate speculators as well as the

construction contractors ambitious to get the maximum benefits from this opportunity. Yet

the legal framework based on the urban plans of Mersin was far from previewing such a

real-estate folly, thus paving the way to the participation of public authorities to the

coalition.

The latest urban plan of the period that was adopted in 1966 had the objective of

preventing urbanisation on the fertile lands very adequate for farming, particularly for

citrus gardening. For this purpose, the plan located the residential zones on the northern

outskirts of the city towards the foot of Taurus Mountains where as the eastern districts

were reserved for industrial development (Yurt Ansiklopedisi, v. 5: 3711). Yet, the western

coastal line where the citrus gardens were concentrated was the main attraction for real-

estate speculators. In other words, the urban plans had to be modified in order to let the

latter realise their extremely profitable projects. So, the roads of the emerging real-estate

speculators and construction contractors cross with those of local politicians who had the

177 It is rather difficult to state that this type of initiative worked out properly in each case. The problems of sustaining the periodical payments of the members were quite prevalent. The frauds of the contractors or of the cooperative managers were also common. Consequently, tons of unfinished constructions due to such dysfunctions of this cooperative system can still be observed throughout the city.

357

competence to amend the urban plans. Reaching an agreement was indeed quite easy;

either the political actors became also the investors or partners of the undertaken

projects178 or they had a share in each project. Even the political actors who did not accept

to be involved in such corrupted or at least illegitimate interaction had to somehow

resignedly endure these developments due to electoral accounts. Apart from the personal

influence of real-estate speculators or construction contractors in local politics, the number

of residents involved in such projects, be it as a landowner, cooperative member or a

simple client, was so important that an opposition to this trend would also mean a

quantitative electoral threat.

Picture 5. Some photos of summer-house ‘sites’ on the coast of Mersin

Source: Dervis Comez’s personal archive

178 Or vice versa, i.e. investors entered to politics. As a matter of fact, Dogan (1999: 183) observes that the presence of businessmen and the representatives of the construction related sectors had significantly increased in the municipal council between 1984 and 1999 at the expense of qualified independent professionals and ex-bureaucrats.

358

As a matter of fact, the urban plan revision of 1986 eradicated all the obstacles

against what this real-estate coalition aimed. Table 1 reveals the success of this urban

coalition in transforming the city’s natural resources to an urban monster. In less than two

decades, the number of apartments has more than tripled, leaving behind almost all the

urban centres of the country in this speed of urbanisation. More importantly, most of these

new houses were located in immense blocks on the coastal line and used for only a few

months per year as secondary summer houses. For the year 2004, the number of such

‘site’s179 reached 847 covering 74,298 apartments (MTSO: 2005). With a simple

calculation, we find out that in average each site consists of approximately 88 apartments

revealing the grandeur of these constructions180.

Table 7. Change in number of houses between 1984 and 2000

1984 2000 Change Turkey 7,096,277 1,623,5830 128.8% Istanbul 1,378,115 3,393,077 146.2% Bursa 236,628 640,197 170.5%

Mersin 140,678 440,184 212.9% Source: MTSO (2005)

To sum up, the housing demand provoked by the massive arrival of immigrants who

were attracted by the economic vitality of Mersin, led to the emergence of an urban

coalition whose main objective was to undertake immense construction enterprises. Even

after the serious regression of the local economy, these initiatives remained as a veritable

feature of the economy. Deprived first from industrial and then commercial dynamism of

the city, local investors were more and more interested in real-estate rentier. The farmers

seduced with the easy gains of real-estate investments cooperated with real-estate

speculators and building contractors who were more than eager to invest in such initiatives.

The legal restrictions against such a non-ecologic and dangerous urbanisation were

avoided thanks to the complicity of local politicians who were one the one hand desirous to

179 Site is the Turkish name given to these residential complexes consisting of various sports, commerce and entertainment facilities besides the residential flats. Developed from a totally different motivation, the sites share many similarities with the gated-communities discussed thoroughly in the literature. 180 Indeed, these sites are most often very high buildings of 10 to 30 floors lying parallel to the coastal line, thus constituting an immense blockade between the sea and the inner parts of the city.

359

take their share from this easy enrichment opportunity and willing to keep their political

post on the other. Consequently, the fertile farms and gardens of the city were gradually

transformed to rude housing blocks, to the coastal Chinese War allaturca. At a time when

Bursa was developing an urban coalition intended to prevent further deterioration of the

local environment, Mersin was heading on to an ecological and urban crash in the hands of

the local actors assembled to exploit without the mercy of the local environment.

5) Mersin in the new millennium: desperate for a development coalition

By the new millennium, Mersin was suffering from serious socioeconomic

problems. Apart from ethnico-politic tension ruining the city that we discussed in the

previous chapter, the local economy represented an absolute deadlock with neither

industrial development nor commercial awakening. The only economic sector relatively

active was the real-estate sector, albeit to a lesser degree due to the significant diminishing

of available lands. In any case, even the capital cumulated in these activities was not

mobilised for industrial and economic investment and remained either in interest or reused

in real estate.

The economic regression was spectacular; between 2000 and 2001 GDP per habitant

decreased from $3297 to $2452 representing a fall of 25.6% where as the national

economy regressed only 3.7% for the same period. The unemployment rate was 10.2%

three percent higher than the national average in 2000 (DIE: 2002). Moreover, 57.64% of

those who are employed worked in the agricultural sector181; a rate that demonstrates the

weakness of the local industry and service sector. In short, the city was passing through a

severe economic crisis.

By 2000, this disastrous economic conjuncture pushed the businessmen to look for

means in order to organise collectively against it. However, this would not be an easy task

since the traditional business culture of the city did not constitute favourable elements for

such collective efforts. For instance, Ayata (1999: 207) states clearly that the local

businessmen of Mersin were not used to undertaking collective initiatives due to the lack

of mutual confidence among themselves. He explains that the logic of competition has

181 http://www.dpt.gov.tr/bgyu/ipg/akdeniz/mersinPER.pdf last consultation septe,ber 25th, 2006.

360

been based upon personal success criterion instead of those of product, quality and

management skills. As a result, “the entrepreneurs avoid getting into cooperation with

others and thus prefer to reserve the decisions and resources within the family” ( loc. cit.).

He refers also to the limited number of partners in the firms and to the presence of very

frequent short-lived partnerships as the main indicators of the lack of a tradition of mutual

confidence and cooperation in Mersin. This managerial tradition of mutual distrust might

have been further accentuated with the growing tension in the city as we have noted in the

previous chapter.

Like in Bursa, we observe the foundation of a second businessmen organisation in

Mersin in 1991; namely the Association of Industrialists and Businessmen of Mersin

(Mersin Sanayici ve Isadamlari Dernegi – MESIAD). Like the BUSIAD of Bursa, this

new business organisation also represented a differentiation among the local businessmen,

albeit in a quite different way. As a matter of fact, the environmental concern of the new

generation of Bursa’s businessmen gathered in a way against the old group of powerful

industrialists is not observed in the case of Mersin. Instead, the new group organisation

seems to be identified rather with their ethnic or geographical origin. Whereas MTSO has

been under the control of the businessmen who are originally from the city, MESIAD has

been implicitly identified with those who had immigrated to Mersin in the preceding three

decades. Especially, the alevi businessmen have assembled in the association with the

objective of creating their local lobby against that of MTSO. A local journalist active in

local politics describes the differentiation between MTSO and MESIAD as follows:

“For example, during the internal elections of MTSO, some of the members adopt a discourse against the presumed snatch of the Chamber by those who are not originally from Mersin. If you are from Mersin or from its towns, you find yourself approving their discourse and thus joining them. The others develop a similar discourse claming that they have been excluded from the direction of the Chamber. They start attempting indeed to take-over the direction (Interview #48)”

This division based on ethnic and/or religious identities was actually confirmed by

several of our interlocutors. Some of the readers might remember easily that even the City

Council founded in the framework of Local Agenda 21 Project suffered from divisions.

The mayor, who was not originally from Mersin, supported the candidate of MESIAD for

the post of general secretariat. As a response MTSO encouraged its vice-president for the

post. With the support of other local actors, the latter was elected although the tension

361

between himself and the mayor would paralyse the entire process and turn it into a scene of

personal struggles.

This de facto separation of the businessmen led naturally to the weakening of the

chances for cooperative action aiming at the enhancement of local democracy as well as

improvement of the local economy. Moreover, the division between ethnico-religious

identities was not actually limited to the businessmen as we have already evoked in the

previous chapter. Abdullah Ayan (2003b) implies the vicious circle of local conflict issued

from such divisions between ‘us’ and ‘them’:

“Instead of acknowledging the reality of immigration and of assuming it as a potential energy for local development, those minorities of powerful seniors or in their terminology those ‘enfants du pays’, excluded the ‘new residents of the city.’ By doing so, they encouraged the emergence of similar closed communities in the city”

The failure of the successive attempts to assemble them in the name of revitalising

the local economy is the best illustration of the incapacity of local actors to unite together.

The first initiative for assembling local actors for revitalising the local economy dates

2000. The pretext was a proposition about the foundation of a local Holding of United

Forces (Guçbirligi Holding). As its name reveals, the objective was to gather the local

actors and use the accumulated capital for local investments. The idea was launched by

MTSO without leading to any concrete results. In any case, the vanishing of the initiative

was as sudden as its appearance since very shortly a new initiative, the foundation of a

Local Development Agency (LDA) turned out to be the main objective of the Chamber.

Having “the revitalisation and the development of Mersin’s economic, social and

cultural life and the enhancement of its life quality” 182 as the main objective, LDA was

launched in early 2001. Henceforth, the objective was not to mobilise the capital of local

actors, but to improve local conditions for attracting foreign investors as well as enhancing

local businessmen’s access to international markets and technical expertise. LDA started

functioning after a year of preparation by determining five main dimensions to be leaned

on, namely the port and the free trade zone; opening to international markets and

industrialisation; food and agriculture; tourism and finally social cohesion. Even if

presented as the main activity domains of the agency, these dimensions cover in fact all the

182 Web site of LDA, http://www.mersin-ka.org/default.aspx?rid=909, last consultation September 26th, 2005.

362

aspects of the city’s local economy. Therefore, we do not observe any specific priority

given more to one aspect than to others; the ambitions have been too general to enable a

collective mobilisation of local actors and resources. In any case, the initiatives taken in

these domains have been far from satisfactory.

Except for the launching of MOSAICS Project funded by the European Union and

the opening of two social centres in squatter areas, we do not remark on significant

achievements realised by the Agency. The objective of the Mosaics project that had a

budget of 75,000€, was to facilitate a better acknowledgement of cultural features of

different communities as well as their peaceful co-existence. On the other hand, the social

centres aimed at organising socio-cultural activities and formations to facilitate the

integration of immigrants to urban life. Although we acknowledge absolutely the possible

positive impact of these efforts in Mersin’s social life, we find it quite difficult to associate

them to the economic development of the city. In this perspective, LDA did not seem to

manage to gather and mobilise local actors in the name of the economic development of

the city183. Nevertheless, MTSO undertook several economic initiatives within the

Collective Enterprise Group of Mersin (Mersin Ortak Girisim Grubu).

The Group entered the bids of the privatisation of several public institutions (the port

of Mersin, the port and the shipyard of Tasucu and a paper factory), but managed to obtain

only the shipyard. Even if the Group had been successful in all these initiatives, it would

not represent a collective accomplishment of Mersin since the composition of the Group

was far from covering all local actors. Apart from MTSO and Chamber of Naval

Commerce of Mersin, the Municipality of Tasucu (a town of Mersin) as well as two private

firms were the only members of the Group. As one might straightforwardly remark, other

main actors of the city such as the municipalities (metropolitan or district) or MESIAD

were absent in these initiatives. In other words, the Group was not indicating the

emergence of an urban coalition aiming at the local development. As we may recall easily

the heart of Stone’s urban regime approach was the cooperation between public officials

and businessmen. Yet, in the case of the Group, the municipalities were not involved; on

183 When revising these lines in July 2006, the AKP government introduced the LDA’s to the legislation. Albeit being the first Turkish experience, the LDA of Mersin is moved to Adana after becoming a regional institution most probably due to this incapacity of gathering local actors.

363

the contrary the tension between MTSO and the metropolitan municipality was growing

day by day.

The tension between these two local organisations dated the early years of the mayor

Ozcan’s rule. In 1997, the Chamber had managed to obtain the central government’s

approval for opening an Organised Industry Zone184. However, after his election, the

mayor decided to transform the same location to a refuse dump. This decision brought

about a grave tension that would continue for two years between the mayor and MTSO.

The conflict became so widespread that even other public authorities took positions; while

the mayor was backed by the minister of environment; the minister of interior and the

prefect supported the Chamber (Turgut, 2003). Finally, after losing the juridical procedure,

the mayor stepped back by cancelling the refuse dump project. However, as a quasi

revenge, he managed to impede one of Chamber’s most important project, namely that of

an exposition centre185.

Another climax of the tension between the mayor and the Chamber took place in

May 2005 when the former accused the latter for being the local complice of AKP and for

opposing all his initiatives to prevent his personal success (Ayan: 2005). In sum, the most

important actors of a possible urban coalition in Mersin have been far from being able to

even get along. In such circumstances, the emergence of a general urban coalition would

be a real miracle.

Meanwhile, other local organisations were also trying to bring about collective

initiatives. While MESIAD was launching a Mersin Lobby and multiplying his visits to

Ankara to advocate the interests of the city, the prefect founded the Council of Cooperation

for Development of Mersin (Mersin Kalkinma Isbirligi Konseyi- MEKIK) in February

2005. It is actually too early to comment on these initiatives. Yet, we suppose that even

184 In fact, this would be second OIS of the city since a first one between Tarsus and Mersin was legally founded in 1976 and started functioning after 22 years of construction in 1999. 185 In 2006, the refuse dump was again one of the main agendas of the city. This time deprived of a powerful backing from national government, MTSO had little chance to be successful. As a matter of fact, the Ministry of Environment intervened directly and approved the mayor’s decision on moving the refuse dump to the vicinity of the new organised industry zone despite of MTSO’s strong opposition.

364

such an inflation of cooperative initiatives is indicative of the obstacles against the

emergence of a veritable urban coalition in Mersin.

In light of the preceding observations, we can state that the rapid rise and fall of

economic vitality could not bring about an urban coalition among the local actors, be it

economic, political or civil. Even at the summit of its economic dynamism, we do not

observe the emergence of significantly influential actors in local politics. The enterprises

rushing to the region were either external, thus having their directions out of the city or

emigrated from Mersin as soon as they reached to a certain level of economic power.

Consequently, local politics was not dominated by specific actors or groups. The only trace

of urban coalition was formed at the expense of city’s ecological and agricultural resources

in the crude framework and rapid urbanisation. Indeed, this coalition was in total contrast

with that of Bursa, which had the objective of fighting against the non-ecological industrial

development that was menacing the fertile plain of the city. Coinciding with mayor’s

efforts to introduce LA21 in the city, this solidarity among businessmen, civil and

professional organisations, enabled the functioning of civic mechanisms of the project. At

the same time Mersin was suffering from not only what we call the “urban complicity” but

also the etnico-religious tensions dividing the local community among various sub-

identities. Affected directly from these divisions, the local actors were also regrouped in

different local camps. Thus, at a time when LA21 was introduced in the city, the local

tension impeded all initiatives aiming to gather local actors around common objectives.

Even when suffering from very grave economic difficulties, the latter did not manage to

unite to work together for the revitalisation of local economy. It was not therefore

surprising to observe local actors’ indifference to civic mechanisms of LA21 at a

conjuncture when they were even incapable of cooperating for such vital purposes as

economic development.

D - Participatory democracy and urban coalitions

As we have noted in introducing the Urban Regime Theory, Stone’s approach is

based on the American context that differs very significantly from European local

governmental system. The analytical tools that the theory offers address mainly to contexts

less dependent on central resources and initiatives. In this sense, Stone’s urban regime

perspective does not represent an adequate theoretical framework to analyse the Turkish

365

local politics. As a matter of fact, with their traditional dependence on the resources and

vulnerability to the intervention of central government as well as party politics, Turkish

municipal framework would not allow the emergence of urban regimes that are based on

lasting coalitions of local actors. Indeed, throughout the brief accounts of socioeconomic

histories of Bursa and Mersin, we have not perceived any trace of such regime formation in

these cities. On the contrary, they are more identified by a constant instability, be it in

economic or political terms, as a consequence of vulnerability or dependence on

exogenous factors (e.g. central government’s attitude, international developments, foreign

investments etc.).

Despite this total absence of regime elements in the Turkish context, the insights of

Stone’s approach can not be wholly neglected. In particular, the urban coalition dimension

of the theory may represent an important analytical tool in explaining certain local

developments such as the success of LA21 in Bursa. As a matter of fact, when examined

from this perspective LA21 experience of Bursa coincides with a significant urban

coalition formed to prevent further deterioration of city’s environmental resources. The de

facto cooperation and collective mobilisation of a number of local actors such as the

professional chambers, business organisations, civil organisations, local executives and

political actors represented an important local dynamism in the name of environmental

protection. Supported obviously by the mayor’s entrepreneurial character and city’s

cooperative ambiance, this local mobilisation could bring about non-negligible outcomes

as the examples we evoked above illustrate.

Thanks to this dynamism, we can argue that there has been a slight change in the

local power structure facilitating the implementation of LA21’s participatory mechanisms

whose environmentalist dimension coincided with the main motive of this local gathering.

Perceiving these new political mechanisms as an adequate tool for supporting their

environmentalist struggles, local actors seem to back their introduction by being actively

present in the process. Thanks to this assembly within LA21 framework, these

environmentalist activists could face the pressures of traditionally powerful actors

advocating further industrial development and thus uncontrolled urbanisation at the

expense of natural resources of Bursa. Indeed, the resistance to an automotive giant that we

quoted above (see p. 210) can be referred as an illustration of how the LA21 process

empowered local actors vis-à-vis hegemonic forces.

366

On the other hand, we are not able to perceive any kind of urban coalition in Mersin

neither for economic development nor for democratic ends. The local context highly

identified by a permanent tension among local actors seems to impede any kind of

coalition building although the need for such cooperation has been frequently vocalised.

The only traces of a general cooperation seemed to be present for a totally different

objective paving the way to a lawless invasion of fertile farms and gardens by real-state

speculators. As one can imagine, such enterprises did not have any impact on the economic

development of the city except enabling the rapid enrichment of some land-owners and

constructors. The capital accumulated thanks to these undertakings, was not re-invested in

productive sectors, the state of local economy remained problematic. Thus, local politics

mainly dominated by clientelist relationships stimulated by both political leaders’ attitudes

and the communitarian cleavages does not allow the well-functioning of new participatory

mechanisms introduced by LA21.

In light of these observations on our respective cities, we would argue that the actual

impact of new participatory mechanisms seems to be highly correlated to whether or not

there is a significant urban coalition backing the process. The sustainability of these

coalitions may lead to the establishment of a participatory political regime; a feature that

we could not observe in the Turkish context. Nevertheless, even without being translated

into a veritable regime, the urban coalitions appear as a non-negligible determinant of a

political change towards more participatory modes of government.

367

Conclusion: Recapitulation and ‘re-searching’

1) Participatory democracy as a classical music concert

In the preceding hundreds of pages, we attempted to develop a theoretical and

empirical reflection on the determinants of democratically effective participatory practices.

Launched by a rapid discussion of the related theory, the study then introduced the national

context in which our case study is situated. Moving from the general to the particular, we

outlined the general project before its implications in two Turkish cities, Bursa and Mersin.

We tried to illustrate how the experiences of LA21 in these cities have been meaningfully

dissimilar. Throughout the rest of the study, we attempted to identify the factors that lead

to this significant difference observed within initiatives based on the same objectives and

instruments.

In the light of all our observations and arguments presented throughout the study, we

can resume our conclusion in a metaphor of a classical music concert. Hence, we would

argue that the answer that this study gives to our main problematic “which and how local

factors determine the actual outcome of new participatory mechanisms” is

metaphorically very similar to the response of the question “what are the conditions of

organising an outstanding classical music concert.” Three major factors come immediately

into our minds: a talented and experienced maestro, an orchestra comprised of competent

musicians playing a variety of instruments and an architecturally and technically

convenient concert hall.

First of all, among the well-known orchestras, those without a conductor are indeed

exceptional. The maestro is crucial for not only ensuring the harmony of the orchestra but

also determining the way how the opus would be interpreted. Hence, the same partition

played by the same orchestra may appear to be quite different with different maestros.

Similarly, in light of our findings, we argue that the political leaders play a role similar to

that of a maestro conducting an orchestra within the process of introducing new

participatory mechanisms. As a matter of fact, political leaders’ “personal touch” to the

process determines the nature and eventually the success of the experience.

368

Secondly, and perhaps most obviously, the composition and the capabilities of the

orchestra is a major dimension of an outstanding classical music concert. The internal

harmony among the musicians is actually as important as their individual talents. In this

sense, the orchestral aspect of a good classical music resembles very much to the societal

dimension of a working participatory mechanism. Just like the musicians of an orchestra,

the number and the diversity of the participants present in a participatory process

determine the performance of the mechanism. Therefore, without reaching out to a

significant number of citizens from different backgrounds and socioeconomic profiles,

there is no chance that the process brings about significant democratic impact. Moreover,

the societal dimension goes beyond a merely quantitative presence since, just as in an

orchestra, there has to be minimum harmony among participants. This would not mean that

all participants should agree and act uniformly –play simultaneously the same note- on all

issues, but rather indicate the presence of a general consent on the rules of the process that

all participants sincerely respect. In short, active and collective involvement of citizens is a

sine qua non of a participatory experience just like the musicians of an orchestra.

Finally, the physical conditions of the place where the concert takes place represent

another dimension that affects the artistic value of the music as well as its impact on the

spectators. It is difficult to disregard the importance of the architectural design of the hall,

its acoustical characteristics, even the placement of the scene and the seats on the pleasure

that we obtain from a classical music concert. In other words, the talent of the maestro and

the musicians can be best appreciated in physically ideal conditions. Similarly, the

structural variables determine very significantly the actual impact of the participatory

process. Apart from financial and logistical resources provided to the process, the political

environment identified by the institutional scheme as well as the actual relationships of

power directly influence the actual democratic impact that the participatory process brings

about. Therefore, independent from how the process is introduced and operationalised,

from the scope and diversity of it participants, the real outcomes of the process are more or

less determined by structural variables since the final decision on the quality of a musical

event would be based on what we hear rather than what musicians play.

369

2) Three factors on three dimensions

As illustrated by this simplistic metaphor of classical music, the study confirms all

our initial hypotheses on the political leadership, societal as well as structural elements.

Each of these three dimensions appears to determine the success or failure of the

participatory experience that has taken place in Bursa and Mersin. Yet, it would be

misleading to pretend that these three factors affect the process separately from each other

as simplistically as in our metaphor. Actually, they are all interrelated with each other as

well as with the macro political environment. However, as a result of methodological

preferences, we dealt with them distinctively when examining our respective cities.

Consequently, the findings of each hypothetic perspective remained separate and

thus have been loosely framed within a more abstract level of reflection on the global

question. Therefore, in the guise of conclusion, we propose to combine these three

perspectives in a general framework by moving our focus from our specific cases to the

whole process. For this purpose we propose to divide the participatory process in three

major stages –launching, operation and impact- with the objective of better identifying the

combined influence of the three factors that we have illustrated throughout the research.

Launching the process:

The stage of launching indicates all preparatory activities undertaken prior to the

actual functioning of the process. The role of the leadership is crucial in this stage of

participatory process since the whole process will most probably develop in accordance

with his/her or its (if the leadership is played by a political party or another institution)

political vision. This political vision may be determined either by merely the leader’s

personal orientations and experiences or a response to a general popular demand expressed

by civil organisations and people’s gatherings. In this sense, societal environment also

becomes influential in the preparatory phase.

As a matter of fact, the preceding experiences of civil mobilisations and associative

activities represent a very important factor that facilitates the efforts for launching a new

mechanism due to the fact that in such circumstances we might expect that local actors and

population to appear to be more accustomed to act collectively. For this reason, the

presence of a crowded labour class in the examined context may be also a favourable

370

factor given that it may indicate a tradition and history of collective mobilisations186. Even

in cases identified by a political reluctance displayed by political actors, civil society can

exercise a great pressure on public authorities to push them by mass mobilisation.

Furthermore, active participation of civil elements in this preparatory phase during which

the institutional design is also determined, contributes also to the emergence of a more

appropriate model with regards to preferences and expectations of the local society, a

factor that would ultimately facilitate further involvement of citizens.

With the participation of private sector organisations and public institutions to such

collective actions, a more powerful local coalition combining societal and structural forces

may emerge as Bursa has illustrated throughout 1990s. Even if not directly and explicitly

involved, these influential groups may support or hinder the process by using their media

and opinion-making instruments. Moreover, interest groups may also intervene to the

preparatory process in order to protect their hegemonic positions or to enhance it through

advantageous means provided by the new mechanism. Thus, the institutional design of the

process may be manipulated by such interventions on behalf of powerful pressure groups.

In the absence or insufficiency of such civil dynamism on which the new

participatory mechanism could be based, it would be again the role of the political leader to

assemble local actors and citizens for this purpose. In order to encourage citizens to

become involved in the process, s/he might need to organise activities of information and

attraction. S/he would also need to be very prominent in procuring adequate financial and

logistical resources as well as gathering the required know-how for such an experience.

Leader’s national and international experiences as well as contacts turn out to be extremely

useful in such an effort as illustrated by the mayor of Bursa in the research. Moreover, the

leader’s personality would also be determining simply because the credibility of the project

would be to a great extent dependent of the leader’s image in public opinion.

Last but not the least, the formal framework of the political system in which the

mechanisms are to be launched has to provide legal bases for such an endeavour so that the

risk of eventually suffering from administrative problems and tensions with public

186 Nevertheless, this feature may also hinder the process in more orthodox contexts where socialist unions perceive such participatory mechanisms as political tokens serving implicitly to the interests of dominant classes.

371

authorities could be prevented. Moreover, the legal structure is also indirectly present in

the process by enabling or hindering the growing of collective endeavours by public

authorities’ ad hoc initiatives.

Well-functioning of the mechanism:

The influence of our three variables, namely leadership, social environment and

structure, continue to be observed even after the mechanism is practically launched, albeit

in different manners. Hence, the functioning of the process would be more or less

dependent on the financial and logistical support either provided by public institutions or

gathered by the political leader from other sources. If the social structure provides other

financial ressources, the dependence on political and public authorities decrease and the

autonomy of the mechanism is thus enhanced. Yet, the risk of instrumentalisation for

specific ends remains valid this time on behalf of private interests. So, it is necessary to

find an equilibrium between financial means and institutional autonomy.

Obviously, independent from whether or not they are able to raise their proper

budgetary resources, citizens’ active involvement in the process is vital for its well

functioning. If citizens remain indifferent to the introduced mechanisms, they either

disappear shortly or reproduce the existing power relations or are instrumentalised for

particularistic ends. We suppose that the risk of instrumentalisation is well demonstrated in

our study through Mersin’s experience where different actors (the mayor, certain political

aspirants, the prefect etc.) attempt to manipulate the introduced mechanisms to enhance

their political influence. Yet, if the over-presence of principal actors in the process may be

harmful due to the risk of instrumentalisation, their total absence is neither preferable since

it reduces significantly the credibility of the process in the eyes of the public. Therefore,

the main political actors ought to be not only involved but also counterbalanced by civil

participants in order to prevent the manipulation of the participatory process by the former.

Nevertheless, citizens’ active involvement in the process does not assure a

democratically functioning mechanism since again, as the case of Mersin has illustrated,

the internal conflict between citizens’ groups or civil organisations may halt the experience

due the disappearance of cooperative spirit of the participatory practice. Therefore, the

societal environment should not only encourage citizens’ active involvement in the process

but also nourish a relative harmony among them. Also related with the harmony among the

372

participants of the process, there has to be a general consensus on the “rules of the game”

in order to avoid probable conflicts on procedural details and principles.

Actual impact:

Even if successfully launched and effectively operationalised, the political impact of

the participatory process can not be taken for granted. Indeed, in experiences that can be

qualified as tokenist using Arnstein’s terminology, the mechanism serves only to give an

image of democratic procedural without actually bringing about a significant change in

politics. The legal framework represents perhaps the most important factor that determines

the actual impact. If the decisions taken by the participatory mechanism enjoy a legally

binding character, they would be a priori respected and applied.

Yet, if the process is deprived from such a legal force, it would be firstly leaders’

attitudes and acts that would provide a de facto force to the procedure since s/he would be

the one to decide whether or not to respect the resolutions issued by the participatory

mechanism. Moreover, s/he can also advocate these resolutions vis-à-vis other institutions

and actors in order thus to enhance the de facto power of the mechanism. S/he can on the

other hand totally ignore the resolutions that s/he does not appreciate and thus render the

process to a “democratic masquerade” as some of our interlocutors had qualified the LA21

process in their cities. Indeed, this expressed indifference or ignorance with regards to the

resolutions reached by the participatory process may be also a result of the pressures

exercised by the hegemonic actors to do so. Thanks to their de facto political power in

politics, these actors may attempt to prevent the application of the decisions that they

consider threatening to their interests and consequently the impact of the process might

turn out to be insignificant.

It would be unjust though to associate the actual impact of the process wholly to

legal framework and/or leadership since citizens’ attitudes are also decisive at this stage.

Indeed, if they manage to maintain their collective actions through periodical follow-ups

with the objective of inciting political and bureaucratic actors to respect the resolutions of

the process, the impact would be naturally great. Moreover, the degree of

institutionalisation of the process is also influential with regards to its actual impact in

politics. The resolutions reached by mechanisms that have been functional, stable and

effective over time would thus be more respected by other actors and institutions. And this

373

stability over time would be mainly the result of citizens’ sustained interest in the process.

To achieve this, the latter has to be institutionalised by endowing procedural and normative

principles to the mechanism and this can only be possible with the sustained and active

involvement of citizens in the process. If ever they give up participating once they obtain

their specific interests, the mechanism would shortly turn into a generalised platform of

NIMBY actions and thus be deprived of an institutional character.

Table 8. Recapitulation of the influence of different factors on different stages of a participatory process

LAUNCHING OPERATION IMPACT

LEA

DE

RS

HIP

• initial vision • actual initiative • gathering of required know-how and

resources as well as participants • leader’s personality as a source of

credibility

• financial and logistical support

• active involvement in the process to assure credibility

• coordination • attempts of

instrumentation

• taking the resolutions in consideration

• defending them vis-à-vis other actors and institutions

SO

CIE

TY

• popular demand • collective mobilisation with other

forms • modification of the institutional design • general support to the preparation

• active presence • internal peace • general consensus

on the procedural rules and principles

• active follow-ups • institutionalisation

Pol

itica

l s

truc

ture

∗ • formal base • indirect influence through

impact on associative and social domains

• financial and logistical support

• legal reconnaissance

• legal consideration of the outcomes

SO

CIA

L an

d P

OLI

TIC

AL

ST

RU

CT

UR

E

Soc

ial

Str

uctu

re

• indirect support through making of public opinion

• manipulation of the design

• financial and logistical support

• presence of public and private sector actors

• attempts of instrumentalisation

• de facto influence of hegemonic actors

∗ In fact, there has been no such distinction throughout our actual research simply because the institutional framework is identical for our both cases. Therefore, we did not quite really deal with this dimension in our study.

374

3) Epilogue: Now what?

A participatory process is thus affected by different factors all through its different

stages as we have recapitulated in the table above. In this research, we preferred to focus to

only three of them and tried to illustrate how they actually influence the process. However,

by a different methodology or on other contexts, some other factors might have appeared

to be significant enough for being analysed. Unfortunately, as political scientists, we do not

have the luxury to protect our conclusions by conditions like economists’ “ceteris paribus”

or chemists’ “under standard temperature and pressure.” Nevertheless, the developments

that we observed rather indirectly on our empirical fields seem to confirm our conclusions.

As a matter of fact, Bursa’s LA21 process is no longer considered among best

national practices. When we ask the reason of this decreasing efficiency of participatory

mechanisms of LA21, most of our interlocutors replied by indicating the attitudes of

mayors. As we have noted above, Mr. Saker lost the local elections of 1999. During the

mandate of Mr. Erdogan Bilenser elected from DSP, the LA21 process entered to a period

of stagnation due to mainly his relative indifference towards the mechanisms introduced by

his predecessor. Mr. Hikmet Sahin who was elected in the following elections in 2003, has

not showed a significant interest in the process neither187. Thus, LA21 in Bursa has been

deprived of a veritable support from the local leaders.

In parallel to the indifference of local leaders to the process, civil organisations

especially the professional chambers have seemed to lose their enthusiasm about the LA21

activities. There are two probable reasons of this growing disinterest of local organisations

vis-à-vis the process. First, the civil distancing from LA21 must be closely related to

mayors’ attitudes that appeared to render the potential impact of the mechanisms quite

negligible. Losing their belief that the resolutions or activities of the LA21 mechanisms

would be taken in consideration by the local executives, civil organisations might have

found it useless to take part in the process.

Moreover, apart from this exogenous factor related to the mayors’ attitudes, the

professional chambers whose role in the process has been carefully highlighted in the

187 When the personal backrounds of these mayors are considered (publicity agent and merchant respectively), our argument on the leadership as an habitus, seems to be confirmed.

375

related sections of our study have undergone a problematic period. Not only the spirit of

cooperation among different chambers has weakened, but also they started suffering from

serious internal struggles. When inquired about this unexpected evolution of the sphere of

professional chambers, most of our interlocutors referred to the growing intervention of

AKP government to the internal affairs of these organisations who have been traditionally

more identified with a leftist political stance and thus represented an actual focus of

political dissidence in the eyes of the present government. Therefore, the local branches of

AKP have been encouraged to intervene explicitly or implicitly to the internal elections of

these organisations with the objective of backing candidates closer to the Party’s ideas and

projects. In other words, party politics has been thus injected to these professional

chambers that started suffering seriously from internal struggles. Such a politicisation of

the chambers rendered Bursa’s civil sphere quite comparable to what we have observed in

Mersin. Although we do not yet observe the aggravation of an ethnic tension similar to that

of the latter, the civil organisations seem to be affected by the increasingly tense political

ambiance interfering with the effective functioning of the LA21 mechanisms.

On the other hand, Mersin does not seem to reflect any significant changes with

regards to political leaders, societal environment and structural features. As a matter of

fact, we do not distinguish a movement within the LA21 framework, neither. Even if the

city maintains her formal adhesion to the project, there has been no improvement with

regards to the democratic impact of the process.

In light of our observation posterior to our actual inquiry, we would argue that the

present research may be advanced in a diachronic perspective by analysing the change in

Bursa over time. By thoroughly examining the impact of alteration in some of the

socioeconomic and political variables such as the mayoral turn-over or developments in the

civil sphere on the LA21 process, the conclusions of the present research can be re-tested

and further advanced. Another way of developing this study would be to compare the

Turkish experience with other contexts in which similar participatory efforts have been

pursued. Thanks to such an international comparison, the impact of the legal framework -a

dimension that has been totally absent in our research as it is identical for both our cases-

could be adequately analysed.

376

4) A new problematic in guise of conclusion

Does a research ever actually end? Our response is definitely ‘no.’ For us, each

conclusion is somehow provisory; it is a rapid account of the observations and remarks

reached at a point where the research is artificially halted. As a matter of fact, the present

research still requires further investigation and interrogation; the interviews could have

been multiplied, the literature and press reviews could have been deepened, the number of

cities included in the research could have been increased, the time of reflection could have

been endlessly prolonged etc. Yet, practical -and perhaps mental- conditions oblige the

research to be somehow wrapped up.

As a matter of fact, at a point where we attempt to formulate the final statements of

the present research, we do not have the impression of providing a complete answer to our

initial questions. On the contrary, we find ourselves more ignorant and curious about the

object that we have been trying to analyse for the last four years. The details that we have

discovered all through this academic voyage has brought about more questions and

hypothesis rather than satisfying our initial analytical curiosity. For example, looking back

to all we have argued throughout the research, we started asking ourselves whether it could

have been possible to structure our inquiry on a totally different problematic.

Indeed, we have tried to identify the socioeconomic and political determinants of

effective participatory mechanisms. Yet, all our findings on the importance of political

leadership, societal environment and structural variables can be also all referred as the

determinants of local democracy defined in terms of traditional representative processes.

As a matter of fact, with a mayor respecting democratic principles, an active civil society

effectively mobilised in pursuing collective initiatives and a social structure representing

an egalitarian distribution of political power among local actors and groups, any political

regime might have perhaps brought about comparable democratic outputs to those that the

participatory mechanisms that we examined did. Formulated this way, participatory

democracy appears actually as very closely related to the well-functioning of a

representative democracy.

This statement takes us back to our theoretical discussion of the first chapter and

confirms the argument according to which participatory democracy is rather a

complementary instrument of representative democracy than a political regime per se.

377

Therefore, the point we reached with this present study corresponds to the origins of a new

research domain that consists of identifying ways and challenges of combining

participatory and representative features of a political regime. In other words, by referring

back to the poetic formulation of Temelkuran the voyage that we have realised throughout

this research brought us to the starting point of another inquiry.

Perhaps that is what a ‘re-search’ means: search again and again…

378

Bibliography Bursa In Yurt Ansiklopedisi. Istanbul: v. 3: Anadolu Yayincilik, 1982.

Icel In Yurt Ansiklopedisi. Istanbul: v: 5: Anadolu Yayincilik, 1982.

Bursa ekonomisinin tarihsel gelisimi [The historical development of the economy of

Bursa] In Bursa Ansiklopedisi. Bursa, 2002. pp. 597-629

ABERS, Rebecca. Learning democratic practice: distributing government resources

through popular participation in Porto Alegre, Brazil In Douglass, Mike and

Friedmann, John (ed.) Cities for citizens: Planning and the rise of civil society in a

global age. Chichester: John WIley & Sons, 1998. pp. 39-65

—. Inventing local democracy: Grassroot politics in Brazil. Londres: Lynne Rienner

Publishers, 2000.

AHMAD, Feroz. The Turkish Experiment in Democracy 1950-1975. London: C. Hurst &

Company, 1977.

—. The Making of Modern Turkey. london and New York: Routledge, 1993.

AKGUN, Necati. Bursa Ticaret ve Sanayi Odasi'nin kurulusu ve gelisimi [The foundation

and development of the Chambre of commerce and industry of Bursa]. Bursa:

BTSO, 2002.

AKSIT, Bahattin, SERDAR, Ayse, and TABAKOGLU, Bahar. Turkiye'de sivil toplum

soylemleri: STK yoneticileri ve uyelerinden devlete ve topluma bir bakis" [Civil

Society Discourses in Turkey: A Regard to the State and to the Society from

Directors and Members of NGOs], paper presented at the the 11th Symposium of

NGOs: Istanbul: June 21- 22nd, 2002.

ALMOND, Gabriel A., and VERBA, Sidney. The civic culture: Political attitudes and

democracy in five nations. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1972.

ALTABAN, Ozcan. 1960-1973 donemi belediyeciligine genel bakis (A general overview

of the municipalism between 1960-1973) In Turk belediyeciliginde 60 yil bildiri

metinleri [60 years in Turkish municipalism conference proceedings]. Ankara:

Metropol Imar A.S. and IULA-EMME, 1990. pp. 317-325

379

ANDREWS, Peter Alford (Ed.). Ethnic Groups in the Republic of Turkey, Wiesbaden: Dr.

Ludwig Reichert Verlag, 1989.

ARAT, Yesim. Social change and the 1983 governing elite in Turkey In Kiray, Mubeccel

(ed.) Structural change in Turkish society. Bloomington: Indiana University

Turkish Studies, 1991. pp. 163-178

ARENDT, Hannah. Essai sur la révolution. Paris: Gallimard, 1967.

ARGIN, Sukru. Tasraya iceriden bakmak mumkun mudur? [Is it possible to look at the

province from interior?] In Bora, Tanil (ed.) Tasraya Bakmak [Looking at the

province]. Istanbul: Iletisim yay., 2005. pp. 271-296

ARNSTEIN, Sherry R. A ladder of citizen participation. AIP Journal, July. 1969. pp. 216-

224.

ARON, Raymond. La démocratie à l'épreuve du XXe siècle. Paris: Calmann-Levy, 1960.

ASLAN, Sukru. 1 Mayis Mahallesi: 1980 oncesi toplumsal mucadeleler ve kent [District

of 1 Mayis: Social movements and city before 1980]. Istanbul: Iletisim yay., 2004.

ASLANOGLU, Rana. Bursa kent planlama tarihi [The history of urban planning of in

Bursa] In Kent, kimlik ve kuresellesme [City, identity and globalisation]. Bursa:

Asa yay., 1998. pp. 17-22

AVRITZER, Leonardo. Democracy and the public space in Latin America. Princeton:

Princeton University Press, 2002.

AYAN, Abdullah (2003a) "'Iddialar asilsiz' mi? (Are the claims unjustified?)" in

www.ufukturu.net, Mersin,

— (2003b) "Boluk porcuk (on diverse issues)" in Bugun Mersin,

—. Yeni donemin yerel meclisleri nasil olmali? [How should be the local assemblies of the

new era?]. www.ufukturu.net. 2003c. pp.

— (2004a) "Uc dev projeye talip italyan sirketi... (The italian company eager to undertake

the three immense projects)" in www.ufukturu.net, Mersin,

— (2004b) "Projelere talip italyanlar... (The italians eager to undertake the projects)" in

www.ufukturu.net, Mersin,

380

— (2005) "Yerelde AKP-CHP ittifaki... Ozcan'la asla [AKP-CHP solidarity at the

local...Never with Ozcan]" in www.ufukturu.net,

AYATA, Sencer. Mersin'de sanayilesme ve gelisme [Industrilisation and development in

Mersin] In Icel Sanayisini Gelistirme Sempozyumu. Mersin: MTSO, 1999. pp. 197-

215

AYTAC, Fethi. Belediye Kanunu'nun olusumu, uygulanmasi ve degisiklikler [The

determination, application and the changes of the municipal law] In Turk

belediyeciliginde 60 yil bildiri metinleri [60 years in Turkish municipalism

conference proceedings]. Ankara: Metropol Imar A.S. and IULA-EMME, 1990.

pp. 86-106

BACHRACH, Peter, and BARATZ, Morton. Decision and non-decisions. American

Political Scince Review, 57. 1963. pp. 632-642.

BACHRACH, Peter, and BOTWINICK, Aryeh. Power and empowerment: A radical

theory of participatory democracy. Philadelphia: Temple University Press, 1992.

BACQUE, Marie-Hélène, REY, Hanri, and SINTOMER, Yves. Introduction: La

démocratie participative, un nouveau paradigme de m'action publique? In Bacqué,

Marie-Hélène, et al. (ed.) Gestion de proximité et démocratie participative: Une

perspective comparative. paris: La Découverte, 2005. pp. 9-46

— (Eds.). Gestion de proximité et démocratie participative: Une perspective comparative,

Paris: La Découverte, 2005.

BAGNASCO, Arnaldo, and LE GALES, Patrick. Introduction: European cities: local

societies and collective actors? In Bagnasco, Arnaldo and Le Galès, Patrick (ed.)

Cities in contemporary Europe. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2000. pp.

1-32

BAILEY, F. G. Les règles du jeu politique. Paris: PUF, 1971.

BAKER, Gideon. From structuralism to voluntarism: the Latin American left and the

discourse on civil society and democracy. Contemporary politics, 4. 4. 1998. pp.

391-411.

BARBER, Benjamin. Strong democracy: Participatory politics for a new age. Berkeley:

381

University of California Press, 1984.

BATUM, Suheyl, and YUZBASIOGLU, Necmi. Anayasa hukukunun temel metinleri

[Basic texts of the constitutional law]. Istanbul: Beta yay., 1997.

BATUR, Enis. Gonderen: Enis Batur [Sender: Enis Batur]. Istanbul: Sel Yay., 2000.

BAYRAKTAR, S. Ulas. Associations de pays : les fers de lance du clientélisme politique

urbain unpublished Graduate Paper Thesis: Public Administration: Istanbul:

University of Galatsaray: 2001.

—. Formellesen Hemsehri Dayanisma Aglari : Istanbul’daki Hemsehri Dernekleri

[Formalised solidarity networks of fellow townsmen: Hometown associations in

Istanbul]. Toplumbilim. 17. 2003. pp. 107-119.

—. Hangi sivil toplum, nasil bir demokrasi? 1990larin Turkiye'sinde sivil toplum(lar)

[Which civil society, what kind of democracy? Civil society(ies) in Turkey of

1990s]. Sivil Toplum, 3. 9. 2005. pp. 9-14.

BELGE, Taciser, and BILGIN, Orhan. Yurttas katilimi: Sivil toplum kuruluslari ve yerel

yonetimler arasinda ortaklik ve isbirligi [Civic participation: partnership anc

cooperation between non-governmental organisations and local authorities].

Istanbul: Helsinki Yurttaslar Dernegi, 1997.

BERELSON, Bernard R., LAZARSFELD, Paul F., and McPHEE, William N. Voting: A

study of opinion formation in a presidential campaign. Chicago: Chicago

University Press, 1986.

BERG, Rikke, and RAO, Nirmala (Eds.). Transforming political leadership in local

government, Hampshire: Palgrave Macmillan, 2005.

BERMAN, Sheri. Civil society and political institutionalisation. American Behavioral

Scientist, 40. 5. 1997. pp. 562-574.

BIRNBAUM, Pierre. Le pouvoir local: de la décision au système. Revue Française de

Sociologie, XIV. 3. 1973. pp. 336-351.

BLONDIAUX, Loïc. Démocratie locale et participation citoyenne: la promesse et le piège.

Mouvements. 18. 2001. pp. 44-51.

—. Prendre au sérieux l'idéal délibératif: un programme de recherche. Revue suisse de

382

science politique, 10. 4. 2004. pp. 158-169.

—. L'idée de démocratie participative: enjeux, impensé et questions récurrentes In Bacqué,

Marie-Hélène, et al. (ed.) Gestion de proximité et démocratie participative: Une

perspective comparative. paris: La Découverte, 2005. pp. 119-137

BLONDIAUX, Loïc, and SINTOMER, Yves. L'impératif délibératif. Politix, 15. 57. 2002.

pp. 17-35.

BOOKCHIN, Murray. The forms of freedom In Roussopoulos, Dimitros and Benello, C.

George (ed.) Participatory democracy: Prospects for democratizing democracy.

Montréal: Black Rose Books, 2005 [1970]. pp. 199-217

BORRAZ, Olivier. Le leadership institutionel In Smith, Andy and Sorbets, Claude (ed.) Le

leadership politique et le territoire. Rennes: Presses Universitaires de Rennes,

2003. pp. 125-143

BORRAZ, Olivier, and JOHN, Peter. The Transformation of urban political leadership in

Western Europe. International Journal of Urban and Regional Research, 28. 1.

2004. pp. 107-120.

BOUDON, Raymond, and BOURRICAUD, François. Dictionnaire critique de la

sociologie. Paris: Quadrige/PUF, 2000.

BOURDIEU, Pierre. Le sens pratique. Paris: Minuit, 1980a.

—. Le capital social: notes provisoires. Actes de la recherche en sciences sociales. 31.

1980b. pp. 2-3.

BOURG, Dominique, and BOY, Daniel. Conférences de citoyens, mode d'emploi. Paris:

Editions Charles Léopold Mayer-Descartes & Cie, 2005.

BURNS, D., HAMBLETON, R., and HOGGETT, P. Citizen participation: Theory and

practice In BURNS, D., et al. (ed.) The politics of decentralisation: Revitalising

local democracy. London: MacMillan, 1994. pp. 153-179

BURNS, James MacGregor. Leadership. New York: Harper & Row Publishers, 1978.

CALLON, Michel, LASCOUMES, Pierre, and BARTHE, Yannick. Agir dans un monde

incertain: Essai sur la démocratie technique. Paris: Seuil, 2001.

CANOVAN, Margaret. A new republicanism In Hannah Arendt: A reinterpretation of her

383

political thought. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1992. pp. 201-252

CANPOLAT, Emin. Bursa'da kentlesme sureci [The urbanisation process in Bursa]. Bursa

Defteri. 1999. pp. 23-25.

CELIK, Behçet. Adana'ya Kar Yagmis: Adana uzerine yazilar [It snowned in Adana:

Writings on Adana]. Istanbul: Iletisim Yay., 2006.

CENTRE DE DOCUMENTATION DE L'URBANISME (CDU). Gouvernance. Paris:

Centre de documentation de l'urbanisme, 2000.

CHAVEZ, Daniel. Introduction: Local left politics in a democratising region In Chavez,

Daniel and Goldfrank, Benjamin (ed.) The left in the city: Participatory local

governments in Latin America. London: Latin America Bureau, 2004. pp. 1-10

CHRISTENSEN, Tom, and LAEGREID, Per. Transforming governance in the new

millenium In Christensen, Tom and Laegreid, Per (ed.) New Public Management:

The transformation of ideas and practice. Aldershot: Ashgate, 2001. pp. 301-312

CIACCI, Leonardo (1998) "Remaking History to Plan the City, in Town Planners'

Movies", www.planum.net/archive/documents/amolc02.rtf, last consultation

September 16th, 2005.

COHEN, Jean. Trust, voluntary association and workable democracy: the contemporary

American discourse of civil society In Warren, Mark E. (ed.) Democracy and Trust.

Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999. pp. 208 - 248

COHEN, Joshua. Procedure and substance in deliberative democracy In Christiana,

Thomas (ed.) Philosophy and democracy: an anthology. Oxford: Oxford University

Press, 2003. pp. 95-119

COLEMAN, James. Foundations of Social Theory. Cambridge: The Belknap Press of

Harvard University Press, 1990.

CORCUFF, Philippe. Les nouvelles sociologies. Paris: Armand Colin, 2004.

COSKUN, Zeki. Oteki Sivas [Other Sivas]. Istanbul: Iletisim Yay., 1995.

CROZIER, Michel, HUNTINGTON, Samuel P., WATANUKI, J. oji, et al. The crisis of

democracy : report on the governability of democracies to the Trilateral

Commission. New York: New York University Press, 1975.

384

DAGI, Ihsan D. Democratic transition in Turkey: 1980-83: The impact of European

diplomacy. Middle Eastern Studies, 32. 2. 1996. pp. 124-141.

DAHL, Robert A. Who Governs? Democracy and Power in an American City". New

Haven: Yale University Press, 1971.

DAVIES, Jonathan S. Urban Regime Theory: A normative-empirical critique. Journal of

urban affairs, 24. 1. 2002. pp. 1-17.

DIAMOND, Larry. Rethinking civil society: Toward democratic consolidation. Journal of

Democracy, 5. 3. 1994. pp. 4-17.

DIE. 2000a Genel Nufus Sayimi Sonuclari: Mersin [Results of the census of population of

the year 2000: Mersin]. Ankara: DIE, 2002.

—. 2000b Genel Nufus Sayimi Sonuclari: Bursa [Results of the census of population of the

year 2000: Bursa]. Ankara: DIE, 2002.

DIGAETANO, Alan, and KLEMANSKI, John S. Urban regimes in comparative

perspective: The politics of urban development in Britain. Urban Affairs Quarterly,

29. 1. 1993. pp. 54-83.

DIGAETANO, Alan, and LAWLESS, Paul. Urban governance and industrial decline:

Governing structures and policy agendas in Birmingham and Sheffield, England

and Detroit, Michigan, 1980-1997. Urban Affairs Review, 34. 4. 1999. pp. 556-577.

DIGAETANO, Alan, and STROM, Elisabeth. Comparative Urban Governance. Urban

Affairs Review, 38. 3. 2003. pp. 356-395.

DOGAN, Ali Ekber. Kuresellesme ve kentlerin donusumu- Mersin ornegi [Globalisation

and transformation of cities- The example of Mersin) unpublished MA Thesis:

Mersin: University of Mersin: 1999.

DOGANAY, Filiz (ND) "Turkiye'ye gocmen olarak gelenlerin yerlesimi (The settlement

of immigrants welcomed by Turkey)",

http://www.balgoc.org.tr/gocmenyerlesim.html, last consultation May 28th, 2005,

2004.

DOMERGUE, Manuel, PLENEL, Eve, and PRETE, Giovanni. Conseils de quartier:

Tranches de participation aux quatres coins de Paris. Territoires. 447- Cahiers 1.

385

2004. pp. 10-11.

DOWDING, Keith. Explaining urban regimes. International Journal of Urban and

Regional Research, 25. 1. 2001. pp. 7-19.

DOWDING, Keith, DUNLEAVY, Patrick, KING, Desmond, et al. Regime politics in

London local government. Urban Affairs Review, 34. 4. 1999. pp. 515-545.

DRYZEK, John S. Deliberative democracy and beyond: liberals, critics, contestations.

Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2000.

—. Democratic political theory In Gaus, Gerald F. and Kukathas, Chandran (ed.)

Handbook of political theory. Londres: Sage, 2004. pp. 143-154

ECEVIT, Yildiz. Shop-Floor Control: The Ideological Construction of Turkish Women

Factory Workers In Redclift, N. and Sinclair, T. (ed.) Working Women:

International Perspectives on Labour and Gender Ideology. London: Routledge,

1991. pp. 56-78

ELICIN-ARIKAN, Yeseren. Municipalités metropolitaines et municipalités

d'arrondissement en Turquie. CEMOTI. 24. 1997. pp. 71-104.

ELKIN, S. L. City and regime in the American republic. Chicago: University of Chicago

Press, 1987.

EMREALP, Sadun. Handbook on facilitative information for the implementation of Local

Agenda. Istanbul: IULA-EMME (UCLG-MEWA); can be consulted on

http://www.la21turkey.net/_dl/down/yg21/d/LA21-Handbook.pdf; last consultation

April 17th, 2006, 2005.

ERDER, Leila. The making of industrial Bursa: Economic activity and population in a

Turkish city 1935-1975 unpublished PhD Thesis: Princeton University: 1976.

ERDER, Sema. Istanbul'a bir kent kondu: Umraniye [The city landed on Istanbul:

Umraniye]. Istanbul: Iletisim yay., 1996.

ERDOGAN-TOSUN, Gulgun. Demokratiklesme perspektifinde devlet-sivil toplum iliskisi

[State-civil society relationship in a perspective of democratisation]. Istanbul: Alfa

yay., 2001.

ERGUDER, Ustun. Turkiye'de degisen secmen davranislari oruntuleri [Changing patterns

386

of electoral behavior in Turkey] In Kalaycioglu, E. and Y., Saribay A. (ed.)

Turkiye'de Politik Degisim ve Modernlesme [Political Transformation and

Modernisation in Turkey]. Istanbul: Alfa Yay., 2000. pp. 285-309

ERTUNA, Burcu. Migration et représentations identitaires: exemple des Turcs de

Bulgarie migrants de 1989 unpublished Master Thesis: Institut of Social Sciences:

Istanbul: University of Marmara: 2003.

FAINSTEIN, N. I., and FAINSTEIN, S. S. Regime strategies, communal resistance, and

economic forces In Fainstein, S. S. and Fainstein, N. I. (ed.) Restructuring the city

(Revised edition). New York: Longman, 1986. pp. 245-282

FENNEMA, M., and TILLIE, J. Political participation and political trust in Amsterdam:

civic communities and etnic networks. Journal of Ethnic and Migration Studies, 25.

4. 1999. pp. 703-726.

—.Civic community, political participation and political trust of etnic groups. Connections,

24. 1. 2001. pp. 26-41.

FILLIEULE, Olivier. Réquiem pour un concept: Vie et mort de la notion de structure des

opportunités politiques In Dorronsoro, Gilles (ed.) La Turquie conteste:

mobilisations sociales et régime sécuritaire. Paris: CNRS éditions, 2005. pp. 201-

218

FINLEY, Carter V. The evolution of the system of provincial administration as viewed

from the center In Kushner, David (ed.) Palestine in the late Ottoman period.

Jerusalem/Leiden: Brill Academic Publishers, 1986. pp. 3-29

FIORINA, Morris P., and SHEPSLE, Kenneth A. Formal theories of leadership: Agents,

agenda setters, and entrepreneurs In Jones, Bryan D. (ed.) Leadership and politics.

Kansas: University of Kansas, 1989. pp. 17-40

FOLEY, Michael W., and EDWARDS, Bob. Editor's introduction: Escape from politics?

Social Theory and the Social Capital Debate. American Behavioral Scientist, 40. 5.

1997. pp. 550-561.

—. Is it time to disinvest in social capital. International Public Policy, 19. 2. 1999. pp.

141-173.

387

FRASER, Nancy. Rethinking the public sphere: A contribution to the critique of actually

existing democracy In Calhoun, Craig (ed.) Habermas and the public sphere.

Cambridge: The MIT Press, 1992. pp. 109-142

FUNG, Archon. Empowered participation: Reinventing urban democracy. Princeton:

Princeton University Press, 2004.

FUNG, Archon, and WRIGHT, Eric Olin. Le contre-pouvoir dans la démocratie

participative et délibérative In Bacqué, Marie-Hélène, et al. (ed.) Gestion de

proximité et démocratie participative: Une perspective comparative. Paris: La

Découverte, 2005. pp. 49-80

GALLAND, Olivier. Les relations de confiance. La revue Tocqueville / The Tocqueville

Review, XX. 1. 1999. pp. 45-57.

GARRETON, Manuel Antonio. The ideas of socialist renovation in Chile. Rethinking

Marxism, 2. 2. 1989. pp. 8-39.

GERAY, Cevat. Belediyelerin hizli kentlesmeye yenik dustugu donem (1945-1960) [The

period during which the municipalities were defeated by the rapid urbanisation] In

Turk belediyeciliginde 60 yil bildiri metinleri [60 years in Turkish municipalism

conference proceedings]. Ankara: Metropol Imar A.S. and IULA-EMME, 1990.

pp. 217-224

GETIMIS, Panagiotis, HEINELT, Hubert, and SWEETING, David (Eds.). Legitimacy and

Urban Governance, London: Routledge, 2006.

GOC-DER (2001) "Zorunlu Goc Arastrma Raporu (Report on forced migration)", Istanbul,

GONTCHAROFF, Georges. Le renouveau des comités de quartier In C.R.A.P.S. and

C.U.R.A.P.P. (ed.) La démocratie locale: représentation, participation et espace

public. Paris: P.U.F., 1999. pp. 305-327

—. 2001-2007: Les chanties démocratiques de la prochaine mandature municipale.

Territoires. 414, Janvier. 2001. pp. 4-8.

GORMEZ, Kemal. Yerel Demokrasi ve Turkiye [Local democracy and Turkey]. Ankara:

Vadi yay., 1997.

GRAY, Mark, and CAUL, Miki. Declining voter turnout in advanced industrial

388

democracies, 1950-1997. Comparative political studies, 33. 9. 2000. pp. 1091-

1122.

GREENSTEIN, Fred. Personality and politics In Kellerman, Barbara (ed.) Political

Leadership: A source book. Pittsburg: University of Pittsburg Press, 1986. pp. 36-

48

GRET, Marion, and SINTOMER, Yves. Porto Alegre: L'espoir d'une autre démocratie.

Paris: Editions la Découverte, 2002.

GROC, Gérard. La 'société civile' turque entre politique et individu. CEMOTI. 26. 1998.

pp. 43-74.

GULER, Birgul Ayman. Yerel Yonetimler: Liberal aciklamalara elestirel yaklasim [Local

governments: Critical approach to liberal explanations]. Ankara: TODAIE, 1998.

—. Yerel yonetimleri guclendirmek mi? Adem-i merkeziyetcilik mi? [Strengthening local

governments or decentralisation?] In Devlette reform yazilari [Papers on state

reforms]. Ankara: Paragraf yay., 2005. pp. 227-249

GUNAY, Niyazi. Implementing the 'February 28' recommendations: A scorecard In

Research Notes: 10. Washington: The Washingyon Institut for Near East Policy,

2001.

HABERMAS, Jürgen. The public sphere In Goodin, Robert E. and Petit, Philip (ed.)

Contemporary Political Philosophy: An anthropology. Oxford: Blackwell

Publishers, 1997. pp. 105-108

HAMBLETON, Robin. The new city management In Hambleton, Robin, et al. (ed.)

Globalism and local democracy: Challenge and change in Europe and North

America. Hampshire: Palgrave Macmillan, 2002. pp. 147-168

—. Leading localities: Rethinking the agenda In Haus, Michael, et al. (ed.) Urban

governance and democracy: leadership and community. Oxon: Routledge, 2005.

pp. 190-213

HAMIDI, Camille. Les effets politiques de l'engagement associatif : le cas des associations

issues de l'immigration unpublished PhD Thesis: Paris: IEP-Paris: 2002.

HANIOGLU, Sukru. Siyasal temsil olayinin Osmanli Imparatorlugu'ndaki yeri [Political

389

representation in Ottoman Empire] In Kalaycioglu, E and Saribay, A. Y. (ed.)

Turkiye'de Politik Degisim ve Modernlesme [Political Transformation and

Modernisation in Turkey]. Istanbul: Alfa yay., 2000. pp. 246-252

HANZADE-ERBEY, Neslisah. Yerel Gundem 21 uygulamalarinin Bursa'daki etkinliginin

arastirilmasi [A study of the effectiveness of the LA21 practices in Bursa]

unpublished Thesis: Bursa: University of Uludag: 2003.

HARDING, Alan. Urban regimes in a Europe of the cities? European Urban and Regional

Studies, 4. 4. 1997. pp. 291-314.

HAUS, Michael, HEINELT, Hubert, and STEWART, Murray. Urban Governance and

Democracy: Leadership and Community Involvement. London: Routledge, 2004.

HELD, David. Models of democracy. Stanford, Calif.: Stanford University Press, 1996.

HEPER, Metin. The state, political party and society in post-1983 Turkey. Government &

Opposition, 25. 3. 1990. pp. 321-333.

HERMET, Guy. La gouvernance serait-elle le nom de l'après-démocratie In Hermet, Guy,

et al. (ed.) La gouvernance: Un concept et ses applications. Paris: Editions

Karthala, 2005. pp. 17-47

HUNNIUS, Gerry. The Yugoslav system of decentralisation and self-management In

Roussopoulos, Dimitros and Benello, C. George (ed.) Participatory democracy:

Prospects for democratizing democracy. Montréal: Black Rose Books, 2005

[1970]. pp. 127-156

HUNTER, Floyd. Community power structure: A study of decision makers. Chapel Hill:

The University of North Carolina Press, 1953.

ICLEI (2002) "Local governments' responses to Agenda 21- Summary report of Local

Agenda 21 survey with regional focus." edited by Walker, Judy, Toronto, ICLEI,

IMF (1997) "Good Governance: The IMF's role",

http://www.imf.org/external/pubs/ft/exrp/govern/govindex.htm, last consultation

December 13th, 2005.

INALCIK, Halil. Part I: The Ottoman state: Economy and society, 1300-1600 In Inalcik,

Halil and Quataert, Donald (ed.) An economic and social history of the Ottoman

390

Empire 1300-1914. New York: Cambridge University Press, 1994.

INCIOGLU, Nihat. Local elections and electoral behaviour In Sayari, Sabri and Esmer,

Yilmaz (ed.) Politics, parties and elections in Turkey. London: Lynne Rienner

Publishers, 2002. pp. 73-90

ISIK, Oguz, and PINARCIOGLU, Melih. Nobetlese yoksulluk [Poverty in turns]. Istanbul:

Iletisim yay., 2000.

IULA-EMME. Local Agenda 21 Turkey: Outstanding examples. Istanbul: IULA-EMME,

2003.

JACOBS, Dirk, PHALET, Karen, and SWYNGEDOUW, Marc. Associational

membership and political involvement among ethnic minority groups in Brussels.

Journal of Ethnic and Migration Studies, 30. 3. 2004. pp. 543-559.

JONES, Bryan D. Causation, constraint and political leadership In Jones, Bryan D. (ed.)

Leadership and politics: New Perspectives in political science. Kansas: University

Press of Kansas, 1989. pp. 3-14

KAASE, Max, and NEWTON, Kenneth. Beliefs in government. Oxford: Oxford University

Press, 1995.

KAGITCIBASI, Ergun. Bursa'nin sanayilesme ve kentlesme surecine tarihi perspektiften

bir bakis. Turk sanayiine hayat veren altin sehir: Bursa [A regard to the

industrilisation and urbanisation process of Bursa in a historical perspective: The

golden city that vitalized Turkish industry: Bursa] In TMMOB Makina

Muhendisleri Odasi (Chamber of Mechanical Enginneers) (ed.) Conference

proceedings of the symposium of Industrilisation and modern urbanisation in

Bursa. Bursa, 1997. pp. 7-19

KARPAT, Kemal H. The Republican People's Party 1923-1945 In Heper, Metin and

Landau, J. M. (ed.) Political Parties and Democracy in Turkey. London: I. B.

Tauris Co Ltd Publishers, 1991. pp. 42-64

KAYGALAK, Sevilay. Yeni kentsel yoksulluk, goc ve yoksullugun mekansal

yogunlasmasi (New urban poverty, immigration and spatial concentration of

poverty). Praksis. 2. 2001. pp. 124-172.

391

KAZGAN, Gulten. Kustepe Arastirmasi [Research on Kustepe]. Istabul: Bilgi Universitesi

yay., 2000.

KEANE, John. Democracy and the idea of the left In Mclellan, David and Sayers, Sean

(ed.) Socialism and democracy. London: Macmillan, 1991. pp. 6-17

KELES, Rusen. Kentlesme Politikasi [Policies of urbanisation]. Ankara: Imge yay., 1997.

—. Yerinden yonetim ve siyaset [Local government and politics]. Istanbul: Cem yay.,

2000.

KOOPMANS, Ruud. Migrant mobilisation and political opportunities: Variation among

German cities and a comparison with the Untied Kingdom and the Netherlands.

Journal of Ethnic and Migration Studies, 30. 3. 2004. pp. 449-470.

KRAMER, Heinz. A Changing Turkey: The Challenge to Europe and the United States.

Washington D.C.: Brookings Institution Press, 2000.

KRASNER, Stephen. Structural causes and regime consequences: regimes as intervening

variables. International Organisation, 36. 2. 1982. pp. 185-205.

KURKCU, Ertugrul. Une société civile sous contrôle. Confluences. 23. 1997. pp. 19-23.

KURTOGLU, Ayca. Hemsehrilik ve Sehirde Siyaset [Towmenship and politics in the city].

Istanbul: Iletisim yay., 2001.

KUYAS, Ahmet (Ed.). Tarih 2002, Istanbul: TUSIAD, 2002.

LACLAU, Ernesto, and MOUFFE, Chantal. Hegemony and socialist strategy: Towards a

radical democratic politics. London: Verso, 1992.

LAFFERTY, William M. Local Agenda 21: The core idea In Lafferty, William M. (ed.)

Sustainable communities in Europe. London: Earthscan Publications, 2001. pp. 1-

14

LAGROYE, Jasques. Le Leadership en questions: Configuration et formes de domination

In Smith, Andy and Sorbets, Claude (ed.) Le leadership politique et le territoire.

Rennes: Presses Universitaires de Rennes, 2003. pp. 47-69

LARSEN, Helge O. The political executive in local governments: Models, trends and

reforms In Berg, Rikke and Rao, Nirmala (ed.) Transforming political leadership in

local government. Hampshire: Palgrave Macmillan, 2005. pp. 195-211

392

LE BART, Christian. Le Leadership territorial au delà du pouvoir décisionnel In Smith,

Andy and Sorbets, Claude (ed.) Le leadership politique et le territoire. Rennes:

Presses Universitaires de Rennes, 2003. pp. 145-161

LEACH, Steve, and WILSON, David. Local political leadership. Bristol: The policy press,

2000.

LEWIS, Eugene. The political leader as entrepreneur In Kellerman, Barbara (ed.) Political

Leadership: A source book. Pittsburg: University of Pittsburg Press, 1986. pp. 250-

264

LOGAN, J., and MOLOTCH, H. Urban Fortunes. Berkeley: University of California

Press, 1987.

LOWNDES, V., PRATCHETT, Lawrence, and STOKER, G. Trends in public

participation:Part 1- Local Government Perspectives. Public Administration, 79. 1.

2001. pp. 205-222.

LUCAS, Karen, ROSS, Andrew, and FULLER, Sara. Local Agenda 21: When is it a

model for joined up community based activity? In Development, Center for

Sustainable (ed.) Working Papers. London: University of Westminister, 2001.

MABILEAU, Albert. Variations sur le local In Mabileau, Albert (ed.) A la recherche du

'local'. Paris: L'Harmattan, 1993. pp. 21-28

MAIR, Peter. Party membership in twenty European democracies 1980-2000. Party

Politics, 7. 1. 2001. pp. 5-22.

MARDIN, Serif. Center-periphery relations: A key to Turkish politics? Daedalus. 73.

1972. pp. 169-190.

MASSICARD, Elise. Sivas, une province turque entre local et global. Paris: Fondation

nationale des sciences politiques, Les études du CERI, n° 79, 2001.

MAYER, Nonna. Les dimension de la confiance In Grunberg, Gérard, et al. (ed.) La

démocratie à l'épreuve:Une nouvelle approche de l'opinion Français. Paris:

Presses de Sciences-Po, 2002. pp. 87-107

MEDARD, Jean-François. Le rapport de clientèle : du phénomène social à l'analyse

politique. Revue française de science politique, 26. 1. 1976. pp. 103 - 131.

393

MENDRAS, Henri. Le lien social en Amérique et en Europe. Revue de l'OFCE. 76. 2001.

pp. 179-187.

MERSIN KENT KONSEYI (MKK) (undated) "3. Olagan Toplantisina sunulmak uzere

hazirlanan calisma raporu [Working report to be presented at the third ordinary

session]", Mersin, unpublished report,

MILL, John Stuart. Essais sur Tocqueville et la société américaine. Paris: J. Vrin, 1994.

(MMB), Metropolitan Municipality of Bursa. Yerel Gundem 21 (Local Agenda 21-

information brochure]. Bursa: MMB, 2000.

—. Sehir Danisma ve Dayanisma Konseyi Toplanti Raporlari 1995-1997 [Meeting reports

of City Council of Cooperation and Consultation]. Bursa: MMB, (undated).

MOSSBERGER, Karen, and STOKER, Gerry. The evolution of urban regime theory: The

challenge of conceptualisation. Urban Affairs Review, 36. 6. 2001. pp. 810-835.

MOUFFE, Chantal. Preface: Democratic politics today In Mouffe, Chantal (ed.)

Dimensions of radical democracy: Pluralism, citizenship and community. London:

Verso, 1992. pp. 1-14

MTSO. Ekonomik rapor-2005 [Economic report- 2005]. Mersin: MTSO, 2005.

MUMCU, Ceyhan, and UNLU, Halil. Idare hukuku acisindan belediye kanunu [Municipal

law in the administrative code perspective] In Turk belediyeciliginde 60 yil bildiri

metinleri [60 years in Turkish municipalism conference proceedings]. Ankara:

Metropol Imar A.S. and IULA-EMME, 1990. pp. 107-118

NARI, Yasar. Bursa kent merkezinde faaliyet gösteren hemsehri dernekleri ve bu

derneklerin Bursa'nin sosyo-politik yapisina katkilari [Hometown associations in

the city center of Bursa and their contributions to Bursa's sociopolitical structure]

unpublished MA Thesis: Institut of Middle East and Muslim Countries: Istanbul:

University of Marmara: 1999.

NAVARO-YASHIN, Yael. Uses and abuses of 'state and civil society' in contemporary

Turkey. New Perspectives on Turkey. 18. 1998. pp. 1-22.

NEUMANN, Christoph K. (2004) "Marjinal modernitenin catisma mekani olarak Altinci

Daire-i Belediye (The sixth arrondissement of Istanbul as a conflict field of

394

marginal modernity)" in Altinci Daire -Ilk Belediye Beyoglu'nda Idare, Toplum ve

Kentlilik, 1857-1913 Sergi Katalogu (The Sixth Arrondissement- The first

Municipality; Administration, Society and civism Exposition Catalogue), Istanbul,

NEWTON, Kenneth. Social capital and democracy. American Behavioral Scientist, 40. 5.

1997. pp. 575-586.

—. Social and political trust in established democracies In Norris, Pippa (ed.) Critical

Citizens. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1999. pp. 169-187

NICHOLS, Theo, SUGUR, Nadir, and SUGUR, Serap. Immigrant Labour in the Turkish

Textile Industry: The Case of Muhacir Bulgarians. Cardiff: Cardiff University

Press, 2001.

NORRIS, Pippa. Introduction:The growth of critical citizens In Norris, Pippa (ed.) Critical

citizens: global support for democratic governance. Oxford: Oxford University

Press, 1999. pp. 3-34

—. Making democracies work: Social capital and civic engagement in 47 societies, paper

presented at the European Science Foundation EURESCO Conference: University

of Exeter: September 15-20th, 2001, 2001.

NYLEN, William R. Participatory democracy versus Elistist democracy: Lessons from

Brazil. New York: Palgrave Macmilllan, 2003.

ODMALM, Pontus. Civil society, migrant organisations and political parties: Theoretical

linkages and applications to the Swedish context. Journal of Ethnic and Migration

Studies, 30. 3. 2004. pp. 471-489.

OECD. La gestion publique en mutation: Les réformes dans les pays de l'OCDE. Paris:

OECD publications, 1995.

— (1999) "Resolution of the council concerning the mandate of the public management

committee", http://www.olis.oecd.org/1999doc, last consultation December 13th,

2005.

ORTAYLI, Ilber. Yerel yonetim: Devraldigimiz miras [Local governments: The legacy] In

Turk belediyeciliginde 60 yil bildiri metinleri [60 years in Turkish municipalism

conference proceedings]. Ankara: Metropol Imar A.S. and IULA-EMME, 1990.

395

pp. 63-74

—. Imparatorlugun en uzun yuzyili [The longest century of the Empire]. Istanbul: Hil yay.,

1995.

OUTHWAITE, William. General Introduction In Outhwaite, William (ed.) The Habermas

reader. Cambridge: Polity Press, 1996. pp. 3-22

OZALP, Teoman. Baskanlarin gozuyle Bursa (Bursa in the eyes of the mayors). Bursa

Defteri. 5. 2000. pp. 24-62.

OZBUDUN, Ergun. Turkiye'de devlet seckinleri ve demokratik siyasal kultur" [State elites

and democratic political culture in Turkey] In Ozbudun, E., et al. (ed.) Turkiye'de

Demokratik Siyasal Kultur [Democratic political culture in Turkey]. Ankara: Turk

Demokrasi Vakfi yay., 1995. pp. 1-42

—. Turkiye'de sivil toplum ve demokratik konsolidasyon [Civil Society and Democratic

Consolidation in Turkey] In Ozdalga and Persson (ed.) Sivil Toplum, Demokrasi ve

Islam Dunyasi [Civil Society, Democracy and Islam World] . Istanbul: Tarih Vakfi

Yurt yay., 1999. pp. 112-122

OZDEMIR, Hikmet. Siyasal Tarih 1960-1980 [Political history 1960-1980] In Aksin, Sina

(ed.) Turkiye Tarihi: Cagdas Turkiye 1908-1980, [Turkish History: Modern Turkey

1908-1980]. Istanbul: Cem Yay., 1997. pp. 189-261

PAPADOPOULOS, Yannis. Démocratie directe. Paris: Economica, 1998.

PARKINSON, John. The democratic price of effective participation, paper presented at the

Colloque sur les instruments d’action publique et technologies de gouvernement:

20-21 décembre, CEVIPOF- IEP, Paris: 2004.

PATEMAN, Carole. Participation and democratic theory. Londres: Cambridge University

Press, 1970.

PHILIPS, Anne. Identity Politics: Have we now had enough? In Andersen, John and Siim,

Birte (ed.) The politics of inclusion and empowerment -Gender, class and

citizenship. New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2004. pp. 36-48

POLLITT, Christopher, and BOUCKAERT, Geert. Public Management Reform: A

comparative analysis. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2004.

396

PORTES, Alejandro. Social capital: Its origins and applications in modern sociology.

Annual Review of Sociology, 24. 1998. pp. 1-24.

PORTES, Alejandro, and LANDOLT, Patricia. Unsolves mysteries: The Tocquveille files.

The downside of social capital. American Prospect. 1996. pp.

PUTNAM, Robert D. Tuning In, Tuning Out: The strange Disappearance of social capital

in America. PS: Political science & politics. décembre. 1995. pp. 664-683.

—. Bowling alone: The collapse and revival of American community. New York: Simon

and Schuster, 2000.

PUTNAM, Robert D., LEONARDI, Robert, and NANETTI, Raffaella. Making democracy

work : civic traditions in modern Italy. Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press,

1993.

PUTNAM, Robert D., PHARR, Susan J., and DALTON, Rusell J. Introduction:What's

troubling the trilateral democracies In Pharr, Susan J. and Putnam, Robert D. (ed.)

Dissaffected democracies:What's troubling the trilateral democracies. Princeton:

Princeton University Press, 2000.

ROBERTS, Kenneth M. Deepening democracy? The modern left and social movements in

Chile and Peru. Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1998.

ROSE, Richard. Voter turnout in the European Union member countries In International

Institute for Democracy and Electoral Assistance (IDEA) (ed.) Voter turnout in

Western Europe since 1945. Stockholm: International Institute for democracy and

electoral assistance, 2004. pp. 17-24

ROUSSEAU, Jean-Jacque. The social contract and other later political writings.

Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1997.

RUSTOW, Dankwart A. Political parties in Turkey: An overview In Heper, Metin and

Landau, J. M. (ed.) Political Parties and Democracy in Turkey. London: I. B.

Tauris Co Ltd Publishers, 1991.

SADRAN, Pierre. La mise en débat de la démocratie locale. Pouvoirs locaux. 62/III. 2004.

pp. 30-39.

SAKER, Erdem (1997) http://www.tusiad.org.tr/turkish/rapor/yerel/html/sec7.html, last

397

consultation June 3rd, 2005,

SAKER, Erdem. Baskanlarin gozuyle Bursa (Bursa in the eyes of the mayors). Bursa

Defteri. 5. 2000. pp. 24-62.

SANDAL, Ersin Kaya. Icel ili merkez ilcesinin beseri ve iktisadi cografyasi [Demografic

and economic geography of the city centre of Mersin] unpublished PhD Thesis:

Institute of Social Sciences: Mersin: University of Mersin: 2002.

SARIBAY, Ali Yasar. The Democratic Party, 1946-1960 In Heper, Metin and Landau, J.

M. (ed.) Political Parties and Democracy in Turkey. London: I. B. Tauris Co Ltd

Publishers, 1991.

SARTORI, Giovanni. Théorie de la démocratie. Paris: Armand Colin, 1973.

SAYARI, Sabri. Some notes on the beginnings of mass political participation in Turkey In

Akarli and Ben-Dor (ed.) Political Participation in Turkey. Istanbul: Bogazici

University Press, 1975. pp. 121-134

SCHULLER, T., BARON, S., and FIELD, J. Social Capital: A review and Critique In

Schuller, T., et al. (ed.) Social capital: Critical perspectives. Oxford: Oxford

University Press, 2000. pp. 1-38

SCHUMPETER, Joseph. Capitalism, socialism et democracy. New York: Harper & Row

Publishers, 1976.

SCHWEISGUTH, Etienne. La dépolitisation en question In GRUNBERG, Gérard, et al.

(ed.) La démocratie à l'épreuve:Une nouvelle approche de l'opinion Français.

Paris: Presses de Sciences Po, 2002. pp. 51-86

SELZNICK, Philip. Leadership in administration: a socialogical interpretation. Berkeley:

University of California Press, 1984.

SENGUL, H. Tarik. Turkiye'de kentlesmenin izledigi yol uzerine: Bir donemleme girisimi

[On the path that the urbanisation has followed in Turkey: An attempt of

periodisation] In Kentsel celiski ve siyaset [Urban contradiction and politics].

Istanbul: Demokrasi Kitapligi, 2001. pp. 61-94

SENGUL, H. Tarik. Turkiye'de yerel yonetimler: Deneyim ve soylemin donusumu [Local

governments in Turkey: The transformation of experience and discourse] In Kentsel

398

celiski ve siyaset [Urban contradiction and politics]. Istanbul: Demokrasi Kitapligi,

2001. pp. 95-115

SINTOMER, Yves. La démocratie impossible? Politique et modernité chez Weber et

Habermas. Paris: Editions la découverte, 1999.

—. Cinq défis de la démocratie participative. Territoires. 434. 2003. pp. 6-9.

—. Budgets participatifs et jury citoyens. Des méthodologies pour la gouvernance

participative?, paper presented at the Colloque sur les instruments d’action

publique et technologies de gouvernement: 20-21 décembre, CEVIPOF- IEP, Paris:

2004.

SITTON, John F. Hannah Arendt's argument for council democracy. Polity, 20. 1. 1987.

pp. 80-100.

SMITH, Graham, and WALES, Corinne. Citizens' juries and deliberative democracy.

Political studies, 48. 2000. pp. 51-65.

SOYSAL, Mumtaz. 100 Soruda Anayasanin Anlami [The meaning of constitution in 100

questions], . Istanbul: Gercek yay., 1993.

STIEFEL, Matthias, and WOLFE, Marshall. A voice for the excluded. Popular

participation in development: Utopia or necessity? London & Geneva: Zed Books

and UNRISD, 1994.

STOKER, Gerry, and MOSSBERGER, Karen. Urban regime theory in comparative

perspective. Environment and Planning C: Government and Policy, 12. 1994. pp.

195-212.

STOLLE, Dietlind. The sources of social capital In Hooghe, Marc and Stolle, Dietlind

(ed.) Generating social capital: Civil society and institutions in comparative

perspective. New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2003. pp. 19-42

STOLLE, Dietlind, and Hooghe, MARC. Conclusion: The sources of social capital

reconsidered In Hooghe, Marc and Stolle, Dietlind (ed.) Generating social capital:

Civil society and institutions in comparative perspective. New York: Palgrave

Macmillan, 2003. pp. 231-248

STONE, Clarence N. Systemic power in community decision making: A restatement of

399

stratification theory. The American Political Science Review, 74. 4. 1980. pp. 978-

990.

—. Regime politics: Governing Atlanta, 1946-1988. Lawrence: University Press of Kansas,

1989.

—. Urban regimes and the capacity to govern: A political economy approach. Journal of

urban affairs, 15. 1993. pp. 1-28.

—. Political leadership in urban politics In JUDGE, D., et al. (ed.) Theories of urban

politics. London: Sage, 1995. pp. 96-116

—. The Atlanta Experience Re-examined: The link between agenda and regime change.

International Journal of Urban and Regional Research, 25. 1. 2001. pp. 20-34.

—. Looking back to look forward:Reflections on urban regime analysis. Urban Affairs

Review, 40. 3. 2005. pp. 309-341.

SWINNEN, Hugo. La démocratie participative dans le processus politique local: le cas de

la ville d'Utrecht (Pays-Bas) In Bacqué, Marie-Hélène, et al. (ed.) Gestion de

proximité et démocratie participative: Une perspective comparative. paris: La

Découverte, 2005. pp. 179-195

TANOR, Bulent. Siyasal Tarih 1980-1995 [Political History] In Aksin, Sina (ed.) Turkiye

Tarihi: Bugunku Turkiye 1980-1995 [Turkish History -Contemporary Turkey 1980-

1995]. Istanbul: Cem Yay., 1997. pp. 23-157

TANYELI, Ugur. Bursa'da kentlesme sureci [The urbanisation process in Bursa]. Bursa

Defteri. 1999. pp. 10-17.

TARROW, Sidney. Between Center and Periphery: Grassroots politicians in Italy and

France. New Haven & Londres: Yale University Press, 1977.

—. Making social science work across space and time: A critical reflection on Putnam's

making democracy work. American Political Science Review, 90. 2. 1996. pp. 389-

397.

—. Crossing Boundaries: Political Contention in Composite Regimes, paper presented at

the ECPR Graduate Conference Keynote Speech: Essex, 7-9 September: 2006.

TASSIN, Etienne. Le trésor perdu: Hannah Arendt l'intelligence de l'action politique.

400

Paris: Editions Payot, 1999.

TAVGAC, Ismet. Baskanlarin gozuyle Bursa (Bursa in the eyes of the mayors). Bursa

Defteri. 5. 2000. pp. 24-62.

TEKELI, Ilhan. Cumhuriyetin altmis yillik belediyecilik deneyinin degerlendirilmesi

uzerine In IULA-EMME (ed.) Turkiye Belediyeciliginde 60 yil. Ankara: Ankara

Buyuksehir Belediyesi Metropol Imar A.S., 1990. pp. 44-56

—. Yakin gecmisten bugune, belediye programlarinin olusumu In Belediyecilik Yazilari.

Istanbul: IULA-EMME, 1992. pp. 98-108

TMMOB. TMMOB 50. Yil Andaci [The yearbook of the 50th anniversary]. Ankara:

TMMOB, 2004.

TMMOB-MO. Bursa'da kacak yapilasma ve onlemleri (Illegal urbanisation and

precautions in Bursa) In TMMOB Makina Muhendisleri Odasi (Chamber of

Mechanical Enginneers) (ed.) Conference proceedings of the symposium of

Industrilisation and modern urbanisation in Bursa. Bursa, 1997. pp. 150-151

TMMOB-SPO. Sanayinin Kent Makroformuna etkileri (The impact of industry on the

urban macroforme) In TMMOB Makina Muhendisleri Odasi (Chamber of

Mechanical Enginneers) (ed.) Conference proceedings of the symposium of

Industrilisation and modern urbanisation in Bursa. Bursa, 1997. pp. 143-149

TMMOB-ZMO. Bursa arazi kullanimi ve tarim iliskileri (Relations between land use and

agriculture in Bursa) In TMMOB Makina Muhendisleri Odasi (Chamber of

Mechanical Enginneers) (ed.) Conference proceedings of the symposium of

Industrilisation and modern urbanisation in Bursa. Bursa, 1997. pp. 155-158

TOCQUEVILLE, Alexis de. De la démocratie en Amérique. Paris: Garnier-Flammarion,

1981.

TOGEBY, Lise. It depends...How organisational participation affects political participation

and social trust among second-generation immigrants in Denmark. Journal of

Ethnic and Migration Studies, 30. 3. 2004. pp. 509-528.

TOPRAK, Binnaz. Civil Society in Turkey In Norton, Augustus Richard (ed.) Civil society

in Middle East. Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1996. pp. 87-118

401

TOPRAK, Zafer. Tanzimat'tan Cumhuriyet'e Sehremaneti [Sehremaneti from Tanzimat to

Republic] In Turk belediyeceliginde 60 yil bildiri metinleri [60 years in Turkish

municipalism conference proceedings]. Ankara: Metropol Imar A.S. and IULA-

EMME, 1990. pp. 75-84

TOPRAK, Zerrin, KOKTAS, Emin, and TENIKLER, Gokhan (Eds.). Turkiye'de uzlasmaci

ve catismaci degerler [Consensual and conflictive values in Turkey), Izmir: Izmir

YG21, 2004.

TURAN, Ilter. Politicians: Populist Democracy In Heper, Metin, et al. (ed.) Turkey and the

West: Changing Political and Cultural Identities. London: I. B. Tauris Co Ltd

Publishers, 1993.

—. Turkiye'de siyasi kulturun olusumu [The formation of political culture in Turkey] In

Kalaycioglu, E. and Y., Saribay A. (ed.) Turkiye'de Politik Degisim ve

Modernlesme [Political Transformation and Modernisation in Turkey]. Istanbul:

Alfa Yay., 2000. pp. 359-387

TURGUT, Mirza (2003) "MTSO siyasi parti mi? (Is MTSO a political party?)" in

www.ufukturu.net,

—. Gocler ve Mersin Tarihi (History of Immigrations and of Mersin). Istanbul: Etik yay.,

2005.

UNDP. Approaches to sustainability: Moving from local to national. New York: UNDP-

Capacity 21, 2001.

USLANER, Eric. Producing and consuming trust. Political Science Quarterly, 115. 4. 200-

2001. pp. 569-690.

VAN DETH, Jan W. The proof of the pudding: social capital, democracy, and citizenship,

paper presented at the European Science Foundation EURESCO Conference:

University of Exeter: September 15-20th, 2001, 2001.

WARD, Colin. The anarchist contribution In Roussopoulos, Dimitros and Benello, C.

George (ed.) Participatory democracy: Prospects for democratizing democracy.

Montréal: Black Rose Books, 2005 [1970]. pp. 247-256

WEBER, Max. The Theory of social and economic organisation. Glencoe: The Free Press,

402

1947.

WEINGROD, Alex. Patronage and power In Gellner, Ernest and Waterbury, John (ed.)

Patrons and clients in Mediterranean societies. London: Duckworth, 1977. pp. 41-

51

WIEVIORKA, Michel. Culture, société et démocratie In Wieviorka, Michel (ed.) Une

société fragmenté? le multicultiralism en débat. Paris: La Découverte, 1997. pp.

11-60

WOLTON, Dominique. Présentation: Le local, la petite madeleine de la démocratie.

Hermès. 26-27. 2000. pp. 89-97.

WOODCOCK, George. Democracy, heretical and radical In Roussopoulos, Dimitros and

Benello, C. George (ed.) Participatory democracy: Prospects for democratizing

democracy. Montréal: Black Rose Books, 2005 [1970]. pp. 11-24

WORLD BANK. Reforming public institutions and strenghtening governance.

Washington: World Bank, 2000.

WORMS, Jean-Pierre. Le préfet et ses notables. Sociologie du Travail. 3. 1966. pp. 249-

275.

YILMAZ, Bediz. Migration, Exclusion et Taudification dans le Centre-Ville Istanbuliote :

Etude de Cas de Tarlabasi unpublished PhD Thesis: Institut Français d'Urbanism:

Paris: Paris VIII: 2006.

YOUNG, Iris Marion. Situated knowledge and democratic discussions In Andersen, John

and Siim, Birte (ed.) The politics of inclusion and empowerment -Gender, class and

citizenship. New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2004. pp. 19-35

YUCEL, Hakan. Une identite generationnelle-territoriale ? Les jeunes d'origine alevie du

quartier Gazi d'Istanbul unpublished PhD Thesis: Paris: EHESS: 2006.

ZHELYAZKOVA, Antonina (ND) "The social and cultural adaptation of Bulgarian

immigrants in Turkey", http://www.omda.bg/imir/studies/nostalgia_1.html, last

consultation May 23th, 2005, 2005.

ZURCHER, Erik Jan. Modernlesen Turkiye Tarihi [Turkey, A Modern History]. Istanbul:

Iletisim yay., 2000.

403

Annexes

Annex 1- UNCED Summit 1992 - Agenda 21 Chapter 28

LOCAL AUTHORITIES' INITIATIVES IN SUPPORT OF AGENDA 21

PROGRAMME AREA

Basis for action

28.1 Because so many of the problems and solutions being addressed by Agenda

21 have their roots in local activities, the participation and co-operation of local authorities

will be a determining factor in fulfilling its objectives. Local authorities construct, operate

and maintain economic, social and environmental infrastructure, oversee planning

processes, establish local environmental policies and regulations, and assist in

implementing national and sub-national environmental policies. As the level of governance

closest to the people, they play a vital role in educating, mobilizing and responding to the

public to promote sustainable development.

Objectives

28.2 The following objectives are proposed for this programme area:

a. By 1996, most local authorities in each country should have undertaken a

consultative process with their populations and achieved a consensus on "a local Agenda

21" for the community;

b. By 1993, the international community should have initiated a consultative

process aimed at increasing co-operation between local authorities;

c. By 1994, representatives of associations of cities and other local authorities

should have increased levels of co-operation and co-ordination with the goal of enhancing

the exchange of information and experience among local authorities;

d. All local authorities in each country should be encouraged to implement and

monitor programmes which aim at ensuring that women and youth are represented in

decision-making, planning and implementation processes.

Activities

404

28.3 Each local authority should enter into a dialogue with its citizens, local

organisations and private enterprises and adopt "a local Agenda 21". Through consultation

and consensus-building, local authorities would learn from citizens and from local, civic,

community, business and industrial organisations and acquire the information needed

formulating the best strategies. The process of consultation would increase household

awareness of sustainable development issues. Local authority programmes, policies, laws

and regulations to achieve Agenda 21 objectives would be assessed and modified, based on

local programmes adopted. Strategies could also be used in supporting proposals for local,

national, regional and international funding.

28.4 Partnerships should be fostered among relevant organs and organisations

such as UNDP, the United Nations Centre for Human Settlements (Habitat) and UNEP, the

World Bank, regional banks, the International Union of Local Authorities, the World

Association of the Major Metropolises, Summit of Great Cities of the World, the United

Towns Organisation and other relevant partners, with a view to mobilizing increased

international support for local authority programmes. An important goal would be to

support, extend and improve existing institutions working in the field of local authority

capacity-building and local environment management. For this purpose:

a. Habitat and other relevant organs and organisations of the United Nations

system are called upon to strengthen services in collecting information on strategies of

local authorities, in particular for those that need international support;

b. Periodic consultations involving both international partners and developing

countries could review strategies and consider how such international support could best be

mobilized. Such a sectoral consultation would complement concurrent country-focused

consultations, such as those taking place in consultative groups and round tables.

28.5. Representatives of associations of local authorities are encouraged to

establish processes to increase the exchange of information, experience and mutual

technical assistance among local authorities.

Means of implementation

(a) Financing and cost evaluation

405

28.6. It is recommended that all parties reassess funding needs in this area. The

Conference secretariat has estimated the average total annual cost (1993-2000) for

strengthening international secretariat services implementing the activities in this chapter

to be about $1 million on grant or concessional terms. These are indicative and order-of-

magnitude estimates only and have not been reviewed by Governments.

(b) Human resource development and capacity-building

28.7. This programme should facilitate the capacity-building and training

activities already contained in other chapters of Agenda 21.”

406

Annex 2- List of interviews

Profession Gender Instituional Affiliation

Political positioning Date Place

1A 01/07/2003 1B 13/07/2004 1C

Businessman/ editorialist

M centre 04/07/2006

Mersin

4 Municipal Consultant M Metropolitan

Municipality of Mersin

Left 02/07/2003 Mersin

5 Architect M Chamber of architects 22/06/2004 Bursa

6 Labor unionist M Union of oil related

sector workers (PETROL-IS)

Left 14/07/2004 Mersin

7 Civil Engineer M Chamber of civil

engineers 03/07/2003 Mersin

8A 17/07/2003 8B

Chemist F Chamber of chemists Left 26/06/2004

Bursa

10 Muhtar M Left 27/06/2003 Mersin 11 Businessman M City Museum of Bursa centre -right 24/06/2004 Bursa 12 Professor M University of Mersin Left 27/06/2003 Mersin

13 Municipal employee F

Municipal diretcorate of centre of

services/Municipality Metropolitan of Bursa

18/07/2003 Bursa

14 Journalist M Owner and editor of

local journal 23/06/2003 Mersin

15 Political activist M Republican People's Party centre -left 28/06/2003 Mersin

16 Associate Professor & municipal consultant M

Municipality of Akdeniz Left 26/06/2003 Mersin

17 Muhtar M Association of

muhtars 12/07/2004 Mersin

18 Urban planner/political

candidate M

Republican People's Party

17/06/2003 Mersin

19 Bureaucrat M Governorship of

Mersin Nationalist 02/07/2003 Mersin

20 Merchant M Union of chamber of

merchants and artisanals

16/07/2003 Bursa

21 Physician M Chamber of physicians

Nationalist 19/07/2003 Bursa

22 Physical trainer M

Metropolitan Municipality of Mersin/ LA21

directorate

Left 05/07/2004 Mersin

23 Electrical engineer M Chamber of electrical

engineers Left 24/07/2003 Bursa

24 Urban planner M Chamber of urban

planners 28/06/2003 Mersin

25 Cartographer M Chamber of survey

and cadastre engineers 24/06/2004 Bursa

26 Physcian M Union of medical and social service workers

(SES) Left 26/06/2004 Bursa

27 Civil Engineer/ M Chamber of civil Nationalist 16/07/2003 Bursa

407

Profession Gender Instituional Affiliation

Political positioning Date Place

political candidate engineers

28 Financial consultant M Chamber of financial

consultants centre -left 15/07/2004 Mersin

29 Journalist F Editorialist in a local

journal 29/06/2004 Bursa

30 Municipal employee F Ward house officer 07/02/2002 Bursa

31 Physician M BAL-GOC

(Association of balkanic immigrants)

centre -right 21/06/2004 Bursa

32 Publicity Agent M Metropolitan

Municipality of Bursa centre -left 24/06/2004 Bursa

33 Political party

executive M

Nationalist Movement Party

Nationalist 28/06/2003 Mersin

34 Municipal employee F Ward house officer 15/07/2003 Bursa

35 Civil engineer M Metropolitan

Municipality of Bursa 29/07/2003 Istanbul

36 Political party

executive M

People's Social Democrat Party (SHP)

Left 22/07/2003 Bursa

37 Municipal employee M

Union of all municipality civil

servants (Tum-Bel-Sen)

Left 29/06/2004 Bursa

38 Manager/mechanical

engineer/political candidate

M

Chamber of mechanical

engineers/Republican People’s Party

centre -left 22/07/2003 Bursa

39 Teacher F Association of Soroptomists 03/07/2003 Mersin

40 Teacher F Association for

support of modern life (CYDD)

centre -left 17/06/2003 Mersin

41 Research

assistant/Environmental engineer

F

University of Uludag/Chamber of

environmental engineers

centre -right 14/07/2003 Bursa

42 Professor M University of

Uludag/Foundation of TEMA

23/07/2003 Bursa

43A 23/07/2003 43B

Teacher M Union of educators

(Egitim-sen) Left

25/06/2004 Bursa

45 Bureaucrat M Municipality of

Yenisehir centre -left 25/06/2003 Mersin

46 F Association for

supporting female candidates

centre-left 01/07/2003 Mersin

47 Author/Lawyer M centre -left 02/07/2003 Mersin

48 Journalist M Editor of a local

journal centre -left 26/06/2003 Mersin

49 Forest engineers M Chamber of forest

engineers centre -left 14/07/2003 Bursa

50 Businessman M MTSO 24/06/2003 Mersin

51 Research

assistant/Environmental engineer

M

University of Uludag/Chamber of

environmental engineers

centre -right 14/07/2003 Bursa

408

Profession Gender Instituional Affiliation

Political positioning Date Place

52 M Union of workers of transportation related

sectors centre -right 21/07/2003 Bursa

53 F Association for

support of modern life(CYDD)

centre -left 22/07/2003 Bursa

54 Bureaucrat M Metropolitan

Municipality of Bursa centre -right 23/07/2003 Bursa

55 Journalist M Editor of a local

journal centre -left 25/06/2004 Bursa

56 Mechanical Engineer M Association of

Kemalist thought centre -left 18/07/2003 Bursa

57 Professor/ financial

consultant M centre -left 24/06/2003 Mersin

58 Journalist M Editor of a journal of

an assoication centre 21/06/2004 Bursa

59 Retired teacher M

Association of Kemalist

thought/Association of authors and poets

centre -left 26/06/2003 Mersin

60 Dentist M Chamber of dentists centre -left 10/07/2003 Bursa 61A 08/07/2004 61B

Muncipal Employee M Directorate of LA21

of Mersin centre -left

08/07/2004 Mersin

63 Secretary F Secretariat of LA21

Mersin 03/07/2003 Mersin

64 Teacher M Hometown association

of Artvin centre 21/06/2004 Bursa

65 civil servant M Union of civil servants right 24/06/2003 Mersin

66 M Confederation of

Turkish trade unions centre -right 27/06/2004 Bursa

67 Munical

employee/political candidate

M

General Secretariat of LA21 of Nilufer/

Party of Liberty and Solidarity

Left 29/06/2004 Bursa

68 M Association of Clean

Society centre -left 28/06/2003 Mersin

69 Associate Professor M University of Uludag/

Rotary Club centre -right 21/07/2003 Bursa

70 Civil engineer M Hometown association

of Trabzon centre -left 15/07/2003 Bursa

71 Architect M Chamber of architects Nationalist 23/06/2003 Mersin

72 journalist/political

party activist F

owner of a local journal/Republican

People's Party/LA21 Mersin

centre -left 02/07/2003 Mersin

73 Businessman M MESIAD centre -left 26/06/2003 Mersin 74A 01/07/2003 74B

Author/Journalist M Owner and editor of

local journal and radio centre-left

13/07/2004 Mersin

76A 16/07/2003 76B

Mechanical Engineer M Cooperative of

modern education left 28/06/2004

Bursa

78 Businessman M MESIAD 05/07/2006 Mersin

79 Journalist M Local reporter of

national journal and editor of a local

centre -left 26/06/2003 Mersin

409

Profession Gender Instituional Affiliation

Political positioning Date Place

journal

80 Journalist M Editorialist in a local

journal centre-left 29/06/2004 Bursa

81 Urban

planner/municipal employee

F Chamber of urban

planners/Metropolitan Municipality of Bursa

21/07/2003 Bursa

82 Retired

teacher/political party executive

F Democratic Left Party centre -left May 2005 Paris

83 Journalist F Editor of a local TV

channel Left 30/06/2003 Mersin

84 Municipal employee F

General Secretariat of LA21

Bursa/Metropolitan Municipality of Bursa

09/07/2003 Bursa

85 Municipal employee M Union of municipal

workers (Belediye-Is) centre -right 26/06/2004 Bursa

86 F Association of

Independent Women Left 26/06/2003 Mersin

87 Bureaucrat M Municipality of

Yenisehir centre-right 25/06/2003 Mersin

88 Physician/political

candidate M

Chamber of physicians-

Republican People's Party

centre -left 12/07/2004 Mersin

89 Municipal employee M Metropolitan

Municipality of Mersin

centre -left 20/06/2003 Mersin

90 Merchant M Hometown association

of Artvin centre 21/06/2004 Bursa

91 Businessman/

municipal deputy M Motherland Party centre-right 21/07/2003 Bursa

92 Bureaucrat M Governorship of

Bursa 18/07/2003 Bursa

93 Mechanical Engineer M Chamber of

mechanical engineers centre-left 15/07/2003 Bursa

94 Teacher M City Museum of Bursa 23/06/2004 Bursa

95 Muncipal Employee M

Union of all municipality civil

servants (Tum-Bel-Sen)

left 14/07/2004 Mersin

96 Municipal employee M LA21 youth centre of

Bursa 17/07/2003 Bursa

97 Municipal employee F Secretary of city

council 09/07/2003 Bursa

98 Landscape architect F Chamber of landscape

architects centre 19/06/2003 Mersin

99 Civil engineer M MTSO/ General

secretariat of LA21 Mersin

centre -left 19/06/2003 Mersin

100 Architect M Chamber of architects 23/06/2003 Mersin

101 Envrionmental

enginner/Municipal employee

F LA21 General

Secretariat of Bursa 17/07/2003 Bursa

102 Journalist M Union of Journalist of 18/06/2003 Mersin

410

Profession Gender Instituional Affiliation

Political positioning Date Place

Anatolia/ owner and editor of a local

journal

103 Journalist M Owner and editor of a

local journal 19/06/2003 Mersin

104 Political party

executive M Democratic Left Party centre-left 22/07/2003 Bursa

105 Mechanical Engineer M General secretariat of

LA21 Bursa centre-left 08/02/2002 Bursa

106 Bureaucrat F Metropolity of

Orhangazi centre-left 23/07/2003 Bursa

107 Muncipal Employee F Secretariat of City Council of Bursa

22/06/2004 Bursa

108 Dentist M General Secretariat of

LA21 Bursa centre-right 22/06/2004 Bursa

109 Political party

executive M True Path Party centre -right 19/07/2003 Bursa

110 Architect/political

candidate M

Chamber of architects/Republican

People's Party centre -left 27/06/2004 Bursa

111 Teacher M Union of educators

(Egitim-sen) Left 14/07/2004 Mersin

112 Geologist/political

activist M Democratic Left Party 17/06/2003 Mersin

113 Lawyer/MP M Bar of

Bursa/Democratic Left Party

centre -left 24/07/2003 Bursa

114A 20/06/2003

114B Environmental

engineer M

Chamber of environmental

engineers centre-left

13/07/2004 Mersin

116A 30/06/2003 116B

Urban Planner M Municipality of

Yenisehir centre -left

15/07/2004 Mersin

118 Geologist F Chamber of

geologists/ LA21 Mersin

17/06/2003 Mersin

119 Political party

executive M

Justice and Development Party

(AKP) Right 01/07/2003 Mersin

120 Teacher F Association of soroptomists

03/07/2003 Mersin

121 F Association of

Republican Women centre-left 02/07/2003 Mersin

122 Journalist M Editorialist in a local

journal 28/06/2004 Bursa

411

Index

A

Abers, 15, 75, 76, 225, 293, 294

AKP, 126, 127, 128, 149, 337,

364, 365, 377, 382

Almond and Verba, 48, 61, 240

Arendt, 33, 35, 36, 37, 39, 40,

236, 384, 400, 401

associations, 8, 62, 72, 112, 114,

136, 142, 154, 155, 175, 176,

236-266, 282-288, 305, 383,

390, 395, 405, 406

Ayata, 2, 276, 278, 342, 343,

349, 350, 353, 361

B

BAL-GOC, 272, 274

Barber, 15, 37-42

BCCI, 315, 322, 325, 328, 334,

349

Blondiaux, 42, 43, 75

Bourdieu, 14, 205, 238

Burns, 15, 80, 81, 189, 192, 193,

194, 195, 201, 225, 229, 230,

232

BUSIAD, 334, 335, 339, 362

C

Caglar, 3, 324-328, 334, 339

Cargill, 338

citizen juries, 71, 72

civic culture, 12, 48, 61, 240,

248, 380

Clarence Stone, 20, 303

Coleman, 238

community power, 20, 188, 189,

301, 303, 304, 307

Cukurova, 278, 341, 342, 345,

346, 349

D

Dahl, 20, 301, 302

deliberative democracy, 40, 43,

44, 62, 385, 400

Demirel, 108, 109, 121, 122, 327,

339

district council, 70

domestic diaspora, 284, 285

E

elitist, 49, 50, 56, 60, 111

Eliyesil, 345, 346

empowerment, 8, 15, 56, 61, 62,

63, 64, 66, 80, 81, 82, 118,

119, 123, 145, 163, 168, 169,

324, 382, 397, 404

F

Free Trade Zone, 350, 352, 353

G

gecekondu, 101

general will, 33-37, 41, 44, 47

Guler, 90, 92, 94, 95, 99, 100,

116

GUMCED, 337

H

Habermas, 40-44, 158, 389, 397,

400

habitus, 193, 205, 376

Hambleton, 15, 18, 53, 80, 81,

187, 390

Hegel, 235

I

IULA-EMME, 137, 138, 140,

142, 146, 167, 380, 382, 387,

389, 392, 395, 396, 402, 403

K

Karamehmet, 345, 346

L

Local Agenda 21 Project, 13, 16,

21, 130, 138, 362

local democracy, 67, 100, 111,

118, 128, 129, 131, 224, 226,

340, 363, 378, 380, 384, 390

local leadership, 18, 188, 214

M

Malatya, 102, 103

Mardin, 12, 85

Mayer, 2, 31, 384

MCCI, 358

Mehmed Ali Pasha, 341

Merinos, 161, 319

MESIAD, 178, 293, 294, 362,

364, 365

MTSO, 178, 293, 294, 360-365,

382, 395, 403

N

neighbourhood organisations,

144, 145

New Municipalism, 111

NIMBY, 66, 68, 77, 375

412

O

OIZ, 322, 323, 330, 331

Ortayli, 86, 87, 88, 90, 92

Ovaakca, 160, 338

Ozal, 116, 119, 120, 121, 122,

127

P

participatory budget, 69, 73, 76,

185

participatory democracy, 15, 16,

17, 24, 26, 32, 33, 34, 37, 39,

40, 43, 44, 45, 56, 59, 60, 61,

63, 64, 66, 68, 74, 75, 131,

134, 136, 158, 159, 161, 180,

184, 378, 382

Pateman, 15, 33, 47, 48

Piccinato, 321

Portes, 17, 246, 248, 296

Porto Alegre, 69, 73, 76, 185,

380, 390

professional chambers, 114, 142,

149, 150, 154, 158, 159, 198,

202, 254, 258, 260, 262, 263,

264, 267, 288, 336, 338, 339,

340, 367, 376

public sphere, 41, 43, 44, 51, 53,

60, 62, 63, 66, 74, 158, 164,

168, 245, 261, 272, 294, 297,

389, 390

Putnam, 10, 17, 19, 31, 50, 62,

237, 238, 239, 240, 241, 242,

243, 244, 245, 246, 248, 259,

283, 296, 297, 298, 398, 401

R

Rio Summit, 136, 137

Rousseau, 33, 34, 35, 37, 44, 236

S

Sartori, 48

Schumpeter, 47

Sengul, 95, 118

Sintomer, 2, 15, 41, 42, 43, 66,

69, 72, 73, 75

Social capital, 18, 235, 238, 249,

282, 295, 396, 398, 399

social networks, 240, 242, 244,

245, 246, 247, 249, 296

Sonmez, 324, 325, 326, 327, 328,

334, 346

Stone, 20, 202, 304, 305, 306,

307, 309, 310, 311, 316, 364,

366, 367

strategic plan, 158, 159, 160, 211

sustainable development, 13,

132, 133-137, 149, 153, 154,

161, 339, 405, 406

systemic power, 303-309

T

Tarrow, 14, 20, 239, 248

Tocqueville, 62, 65, 66, 235, 240,

242, 246, 389, 395

U

UNDP, 137, 138, 139, 162, 403,

406

urban regime theory, 20, 303,

306, 309, 310, 311, 395

W

working groups, 14, 145, 146,

149, 153, 161, 162, 163, 164,

165, 166, 167, 168, 169, 172,

181, 184

Worms, 20, 301

Y

youth councils, 148, 149