Brazil, Turkey: Emerging Markets, Emerging Riots

[Solidarity posters from Brazil to Turkey and from Turkey to Brazil. Image via \"International Solidarity with Occupy Gezi\" Facebook page.] [Solidarity posters from Brazil to Turkey and from Turkey to Brazil. Image via \"International Solidarity with Occupy Gezi\" Facebook page.]

Brazil, Turkey: Emerging Markets, Emerging Riots

By : Erdem Yörük

Brazil and Turkey, two so-called emerging market economies, have been undergoing massive public protests over the last few weeks, protests that erupted simultaneously against the ruling parties in each country. The unrest in both countries was sparked by small protests against relatively minor issues: a hike in public transport fares in Brazil, and a construction proposal in a city park in Turkey. Yet, in both countries, these initial small protests rapidly evolved into nationwide uprisings after being repressed by sheer police violence. Despite the many similarities between the two cases, however, the government responses have diverged. In what follows, I will track the similarities and explain the divergences.

The similarities in the two cases have been striking. These nationwide uprisings were organized as leaderless grassroots movements making broader demands. In Brazil, hundreds of thousands of people protested government corruption, inequality, failing public services, and police brutality. In Turkey, people mainly protested the authoritarian stance and neoliberal policies that the governing Adalet ve Kalkınma Partisi (AKP) and its leader Recep Tayyip Erdoğan have increasingly adopted, especially in recent years. In both countries, most of the protestors are young people, and in both cases, the popular movements started among the middle classes and spread into the slums and working class neighborhoods over time.

But there are also differences. In Turkey, the middle class continues to constitute the backbone of the movement, while in Brazil, the working class composition of the uprisings is significantly higher than Turkey. Trade unions declared a one-day general strike, which made sense in Brazil but not in Turkey, where the formal working class is no longer a powerful grassroots political group. Moreover, the strongest unions in Turkey are collaborating widely with the government. Gezi protestors expected much from an attempted general strike, but the leftwing unions who declared it seemed hesitant to undertake it for a while, creating some disappointment among the protestors. The failure of the strike showed the real reason why unions were hesitant: it was not their lack of motivation, but their lack of capacity to meaningfully impact the economy. In Brazil, the power of the Workers Party (PT), Brazil’s governing party, has depended on the constant cooptation of trade unions, granting formal sector workers much greater bargaining power than their Turkish counterparts. In addition, the working class neighborhoods in Turkey are still under the hegemonic influence of Erdoğan, while residents of the favelas in Brazil took to the streets. Their participation contributed to increased concessions by the government, which has felt threatened by the favelas for a long time due to the degree of control exercised in favelas by drug traffickers.

In the Turkish context, it has been the rise of People’s Assemblies that represents the most critical step taken by protestors, one that is likely to leave a permanent impact on Turkish society and politics. After the police evacuated Gezi Park on 15 June, people carried the resistance back to their own neighborhoods, forming assemblies in local parks. These assemblies have been created in almost every district in Istanbul, which has in turn been followed by other cities. These assemblies now function quite well in developing forms of grassroots democracy, something Turkey has been lacking for more than three decades. Brazilians are currently forming similar popular assemblies as well, especially in the capital Brasilia, albeit in a less organized fashion.  

In many respects, the uprisings in Turkey and Brazil have assumed an international character. The governments of the two countries have presented two different explanations for this, accompanied by two different strategies of response. Brazilian President Dilma Rousseff has said that the protest in Brazil is part of a global independent wave of uprisings, which, therefore, is not related directly to the specific actions of the Brazilian government. Turkey’s Prime Minister Erdoğan, on the other hand, resorted to an infamous conspiracy theory, suggesting that it was international finance capital that has attempted to undermine the economic and political success of Brazil and Turkey by organizing a plot. "The same game is now being played over in Brazil," Erdoğan said. "The symbols are the same, the posters are the same, Twitter, Facebook are the same, the international media is the same. They (the protests) are being led from the same center. They are doing their best to achieve in Brazil what they could not achieve in Turkey. It`s the same game, the same trap, the same aim."

In fact, in both Brazil and Turkey, the governments initially tried to appease protesters by addressing the original spark of the protests. In Brazil, this meant reducing an announced fare hike; in Turkey, it led to an agreement to subject the Gezi Park redevelopment plan to judicial scrutiny and even public plebiscite. These concessions proved inadequate at best, as protesters’ grievances concerned a much wider array of issues. Despite the common use of high levels of state violence in both countries to quell the protests, substantial divergences in state response emerged after the initial concessions failed. In particular, Rousseff has approached the protests with a much more conciliatory language than Erdoğan. Rousseff has been ready to give additional concessions and to acknowledge the legitimacy of grievances, unlike the unwavering Erdoğan. For example, the Brazilian government went beyond the reduction in transport fares and announced a political reform plan while praising the democratic sensitivity of the protestors. Meanwhile, Erdoğan has consistently denounced the protestors for acting like vandals.

The roots of these different responses can be traced to two factors: the ideological positions of these two governments, as well as the composition of the protestors in each country. The PT of Brazil emerged as a coalition of social movements that overthrew the military regime of the 1980s. The AKP of Turkey, on the other hand, emerged as a form of passive revolution against the Islamic challenge of the 1990s, a process through which the previous radical elements of the Islamist movement was absorbed into mainstream neoliberal capitalism (for more on this point, see Cihan Tugal’s Passive Revolution). So, despite similar policies based on populism, the PT has turned out to be more like a social democratic party while the AKP has become the champion of conservative neoliberalism.

This has also been reflected in the political strategies used to sustain rapid economic development in each country. Both Brazil and Turkey have displayed high rates of economic growth in the last decade under the PT and AKP governments. Economic growth in both countries has largely depended on the neoliberal policies that these governments successfully implemented without significant resistance. In Brazil, the smooth transition to neoliberalism has been made possible through the leftist cooptation of various grassroots social movements under the hegemony of the governing PT. In Turkey, the AKP has absorbed possibly threatening resistance to neoliberal policies into Islamic populism. But the simultaneous uprisings show the limits of these strategies of accommodation with neoliberalism, particularly because the protests have revealed the degree to which the state in both countries has been transformed into little more than a police apparatus.

Since neither government has translated growing wealth into a democratic and egalitarian form of governance, citizens who now have higher expectations than before challenged this gap by flooding into the streets. It is worth noting that anti-neoliberalism is the most important common ground for the uprisings in Turkey and Brazil. This is more explicit in the Brazilian case and more difficult to grasp in Turkey, where protestors have been calling more loudly for democracy and freedom. Yet, just as in Brazil, city dwellers in Turkey suffer from deepening gentrification, which has expelled people to ever-more-distant peripheries where basic public services and urban infrastructure (such as schools, hospitals, public security, libraries, cinemas etc.) are missing. The most important of these missing services is transportation, as jobs are increasingly concentrated in now-distant central metropolitan areas. The increasing authoritarianism of Erdoğan and the increasing state intervention in the daily lives of ordinary people has been accompanied by a widespread state-sponsored marketization and commodification of nature and social goods, turning Istanbul into a big showroom of construction companies. This has constituted the background for the Gezi uprising, as the middle classes refused to accept any further such commodification.

As a former guerilla fighter, Rousseff has a better sense of how social movements rise and fall and how concessions work effectively for containment. But Erdoğan has insisted on disregarding the accumulated social grievances of the last decade under the AKP’s neoliberal conservatism. More importantly, protestors in Brazil consisted largely of the actual supporters of the PT itself, while the streets in Turkey were crowded by almost all sectors of the society except for AKP supporters. Thus, protestors in Brazil presented a serious challenge for the PT: protests represented the risk of losing electoral support as much as being a security threat. For the Turkish government, by contrast, the security threat presented by the uprisings has been the main challenge. Thus, facing the fact that her supporters had transformed into her protestors, Rousseff had to give concessions to the protestors in order to not to lose support from the electorate (a recent survey by CNT has shown that 84.3 percent of Brazilians approve of the demonstrations).

However, Erdoğan has insistently refused to offer concessions in order not to lose the support of his voters, who constitute the numerical majority. Most of his supporters believe strongly in his charisma and his conspiracy theories, and they would regard any concession as a sign of defeat, which would in turn undermine his image as an undefeatable leader. Therefore, Erdoğan’s insistence on polarizing the society into Gezi supporters versus AKP supporters should be seen as a political strategy to preserve his party’s popular base. While conservative AKP supporters now regard Gezi protestors as a threat to their belated power over the state, Gezi supporters see the AKP as a threat to their lifestyles, freedom, and right to the city. As a result, there is an increasing risk of direct confrontation between AKP and Gezi supporters, perhaps more akin to developments in Egypt.

Ultimately, neither the Brazilian strategy of attempted conciliation nor the Turkish strategy of polarization has worked to successfully contain the uprisings. Rousseff first promised a constitutional assembly and offered political reform, and then presented the option of holding a plebiscite. She also promised to significantly increase healthcare and education expenditures by using new oil revenues. But all of these steps have backfired, as the failure to enact them in the Parliament has further diminished the credibility of the Brazilian president. As such, while Erdoğan has appeared to be “too tough,” Rousseff has been accused of being “too weak” (she has been described as inexperienced and passive even within her own party), an image that was reinforced after she received extensive advice from Lula, the previous leader of the PT. Despite some decline in severity, protests in Brazil continue, especially with the recent participation of trade unions. In Turkey, on the other hand, the irreconcilable attitude of Erdoğan appears to be the main force driving the protests. Whenever Erdoğan makes a “thrilling” speech, people take to the streets.

There are two questions to ask. First, to what extent will the dynamism of these social movements and people’s assemblies be translated into parliamentary representative politics in the face of upcoming elections in both countries? Second, considering the fact that the riots in Turkey have partly inspired the riots in Brazil, can we expect that the sum total of the two uprisings will spiral out into further global unrest, covering other emerging markets? Unfolding events have so far driven us optimistically towards a positive answer to both questions. But we will have to wait at least until the end of this hot summer to figure out what will happen next.  

Occupy Gezi as Politics of the Body

Since the Gezi resistance started with bloodshed on 31 May, it has had an “anti-depressant” effect, as a friend of mine puts it, as much as it has been nerve-racking. During this period where each day has been prone to new crises and normalcy was completely disrupted, we simultaneously experienced the peaks of ecstasy and the depths of sorrow.

Analyzing such an intense event naturally requires taking some distance. Pending systematization, however, the vivid memory of each day impels one to put on paper multifarious ideas that resonate well with the resistance. Each morning, many bodies with sleep deprived eyes wake up in Istanbul, Ankara, Antakya, Urfa, and Denizli to take to the streets once again, after having quickly checked the latest news in the social media. They are astonished and impressed that they can still walk, run, stand up, and carry provisions for those in the parks. Exhausted bodies rejuvenate with every new threat that the government utters, and with thousands, tens of thousands of others they begin flowing to Taksim, Kızılay, Kuğulu Park, Gündoğdu, Abbasoğlu, and Yeniköy Park carrying home-made gas masks, swimmer goggles, anti-acid solutions, and whistles.

No one does or can govern these bodies. The masses that gather in public spaces are not formed by virtue of transferring tax money into the wallets of partisans. No one provides shuttle buses for them; no one gives them flags, or feeds them with sandwiches. No one assigns them the slogans they shout out during the demonstrations. Bodies that take heart from knowing that they are not alone do not count, or count on, numbers to meet with others in communal or virtual spaces. One standing man suffices for thousands of others to take to the streets. After all, “one” is also a number…

The government, whose tactlessness prompts these resisting and standing bodies to convene again and again every single day, could not have missed the significance of this body politics. These bodies naturally do have a language, even a few languages that are at times congruent and at others incongruent; however, as a whole, they constitute a politics of the body. The rage and dreams that have been embodied in tweets and graffiti since 31 May turn into material realities through the physical existence, visibility, and endurance of the bodies. If history is being rewritten, then its subject is the body.

Four of these bodies lost their lives during this war that the government has waged on society. Thousands of bodies have been beaten up: some lost their eyes, some received irretrievable injuries. Skins were burnt under the water from the cannons, “laced” with chemicals for maximum harm; lungs were choked with tear gas. Pounded arms, legs, and heads got crushed and broken. The long-term effects of the tons of chemicals dumped on bodies are still unknown. What is known, however, is that these chemicals killed hundreds of cats, dogs, and birds, and that they did harm to countless insects, butterflies, and other smaller organisms.

The apparatuses of the state, and the vehicles of death that responded to Gezi’s politics of the body, attempted to imitate the life force that they failed to extort. In response to the huge numbers that filled the parks and squares and astonished everyone without exception, they hoped to gather partisans together in scripted rallies. They began comparing head counts; they calculated representative percentages. When the calculations did not match, they increased the number of police in body armor and helmets and moved them from protest to protest. They built walls of flesh and steel against the wave of resisting flesh. When that did not work, they offered these bodies—which have been in contact with each other physically and virtually through meetings, banners, and tweets—a mise en scène of dialogue, the conditions of which were more or less already determined. They could not even wait for this attempt to yield fruit; two warnings and a command were enough to launch an assault to remove the bodies that produced an alternative sociability from the park, from the space in which physical resistance could be transformed into a life style. They freed the public space of the public. They collected all the banners, pictures, and colors one by one to erase them from social memory. They stripped all the trees, each dedicated to victims of state violence; they appropriated the barricades that were named after tens of people who had undergone physical and psychological torture, and they tore them to tatters. They destroyed the efforts to keep alive the memories of Fikret Encü, who was a victim of Roboski; Metin Göktepe, who was tortured and killed in detention; Dicle Koğacoğlu, who could not take all the sorrow inherent in this society any more; and the Surp Hagop Armenian Cemetery, which was destroyed by Turkish racism.

The only thing that remains is a politics of the body—but the bodies that produce this politics differ from what Giorgio Agamben calls “bare life.” They are not “mere” bodies that the arbitrary will of a sovereign can isolate from society, oppress unceremoniously, or push to the margins of the symbolic world. Rather, they evoke what Ernst Bloch calls “the upright man,” the collective Prometheus. Bloch writes:

Nothing is more fortifying than the call to begin from the beginning. It is youthful as long as it is; to it there belongs a young and aspiring class. It is innocent of the bad things that have happened, for it has never had a real opportunity to be guilty. When this happens, justice has the effect of a morning; it opposes itself to that eternal sickness which was handed down before it. Beginning anew is freshness through and through; it is a first if it appears completely ahistorical, and if it seems to lead back to the beginning of history….It carries the image of the pastoral mood, of the shepherd, of the simple and upright man; one can play with it even in the dark.[1]

Gezi is the struggle of disorderly bodies, those who do not have any dispositif other than their own bodies, against the death machines. If the machines are regulatory instances that follow commands and extort public spaces of mobility with force and violence, then the force they face is the resistance of life itself. Life flourishes at the most unexpected moments and places, just like weeds that crack the concrete and spring out of it. No apparatus of the state can succeed in dominating life absolutely.

The state seeks order; it can control only those whom it orders. It cannot cope with the demand of "freedom"; it has to ask questions such as “freedom for whom,” “freedom for what,” or “freedom under what circumstances” in order to tuck freedom into neat boxes. Order draws borders, fixes identities, and defines. It attempts to establish a hierarchy. By telling parents to take their daughters and sons home from the park, it both brands the resisting bodies as "children" and tries to trigger into action the nucleus of society: family. Through its rhetoric of security, it attributes the risks of its own making to the resisting bodies. It hangs its own flag or banner on the bodies that it prefers knocking down rather than protecting. It punishes those who do not obey; it uses punishment as retaliation. It operates through censorship, threats, and propaganda.

Life, on the other hand, is a constant flux. It challenges borders and moves beyond them. It opens up to circulation those spaces that are closed off due to construction; it paints such destructive vehicles as bulldozers pink; it transforms steps into tribunes, pieces of iron into wish trees, and trees destined to be cut down into monuments. It walks on highways and bridges that are closed to pedestrians. It does not like the empty and the sterile; it covers them up with banners, slogans, tents. It leaves its mark on every surface. It disrupts silence at times with pots and pans, and at other times with a tune from a piano. It plays with identities and definitions; it makes them fluid; it renders them indistinguishable. It can make fun of both itself and the established order thanks to its humor. By changing one single letter in a word, it can ridicule the heaviest of symbolisms. When the state apparatus sends a riot-intervention vehicle to pour tear gas on it, life stops to catch its breath for a while and goes right back to resisting. When a body grows tired, it gets replaced by a reinvigorated one. Life turns into thousands of fingers that tweet and take photographs when the state apparatus sends down vehicles of propaganda. It stops its wheelchair to grab the flag that fell on the ground while escaping from tear gas. It apologizes when it steps on someone`s foot while running; it calms down those who panic.

It is obvious that these bodies that fascism wants to militarize will not assume any ideological identity. When they do not drink alcohol, they ridicule conservatism; when they lie under a TOMA, they make fun of liberalism, which claims that life is the most valuable good. Orthodox Marxism cannot decide under which class struggle these "çapulcu" bodies are to be subsumed. As long as they stay in physical contact, as long as they remain as collective Prometheuses, as long as they—have to—continue the resistance, they grow accustomed to each other`s colors, languages, and genders. They disrupt the behavioral rules that ideologies and institutions expect from them. The natural or moral instinct of protection that has been attributed to mothers loses ground when female bodies participate in the resistance alongside their children. The nationalist and the Kurd exchange anti-acid solutions in gas-filled hotel lobbies. The upper-class college kid drinks the water handed over by the kid with an Anonymous mask without needing to ask what neighborhood he’s from. Soccer fans save their curses for the police rather than for their rivals.

What comes out of all this is trust, not chaos. That`s why the bodies multiply with every gush of tear gas, spaces expand with every police attack, and the quality of contact among the bodies increases with every propaganda speech. The life woven together by bodies born in Gezi is so tenacious that the government is right in fearing it. The power of these bodies stems from their capacity to mutualize endurance, rather than vulnerability (as Judith Butler envisioned they would). One would need to look into the extensive interstices of this politics of the body, rather than into macro-level discourses, to begin deciphering it.

NOTES

[1] Ernst Bloch, Natural Right and Human Dignity (Cambridge: MIT Press, 1987), 61.

[An earlier version of this article was published on 26 June 2013 on BIA ("Independent Communication Network"). The link to that version can be found here. This article was translated from Turkish by Gülfer Göze.]