ANKARA, Turkey — Ekrem Imamoglu, the 48-year-old politician who defeated President Recep Tayyip Erdogan’s party in Istanbul’s recent mayoral election, is known for his gentle ways.
But on Monday night, Mr. Imamoglu was furious. A large crowd gathered to hear him in his home district, Beylikduzu. His shirt sleeves rolled up, he jabbed his index finger into the air as he spoke. “There are those who want to take the dignity of our Republic, this country, this city, under their feet!” he shouted. “But we, 82 million people, will not let a handful of people extinguish these values!”
That day, the Supreme Election Council, Turkey’s top electoral body, had canceled the results of the election that Mr. Imamoglu had so momentously won. In the weeks since the March 31 vote, Mr. Erdogan’s Justice and Development Party, which lost control of Istanbul for the first time in 25 years, had scrambled for recounts, hoping to close the narrow margin between Mr. Imamoglu and its candidate.
When that did not work, the party sought a rerun, arguing that clandestine organizations had sabotaged the election. For a month, the party’s media juggernaut claimed that Turkey’s enemies had plotted the fall of Istanbul. The question on everyone’s mind was whether Mr. Erdogan would “give up Istanbul.” He didn’t.
In a country where the institutions of the state are intact, the opposition might curse under its breath and prepare for another campaign. But Turkey is not such a country. The election council’s decision puts in question the integrity of the democratic process. A dangerous new chapter has begun.
The history of the Turkish republic can be seen as a struggle between two counteracting forces: the politicians versus the bureaucratic oligarchy, composed of senior civil servants, military generals and judges. The bureaucratic oligarchy drew the boundaries of acceptable politics; the politicians were to remain within them.
If politicians of the wrong sort — Islamists, Communists, Kurdish nationalists — rose beyond the “acceptable” thresholds, they faced legal repercussions like bans on their parties. If they persisted, and were seen to be endangering the integrity of the system, there would be a military coup.
A pattern developed. Politicians would push the boundaries; judges and generals would push back and eventually wipe the slate with a coup. Turks hoped that this form of democracy would eventually find its equilibrium.
As an up-and-coming Islamist politician, Mr. Erdogan distinguished himself with an especially vivid description of this pattern. Life, he said, was an epic contest between the “national will,” embodied by Muslim conservative politicians, and the “so-called elites,” of business and the bureaucracy. As he spread this narrative among the population while delivering on public services, infrastructure and economic growth, his popularity increased.
He won 25 percent of votes in the 1994 municipal elections, and was elected mayor; he received 34 percent of the national vote in 2002, which helped his newly founded party form the government; he took 47 percent in the 2007 national elections, and was re-elected as prime minister; and he got 50 percent of the vote, and a third term as prime minister, in 2011.
By the mid-2010s, Mr. Erdogan had become so powerful that he broke the old pattern of contestation and negotiation between the bureaucratic oligarchy and elected politicians. The judges and the generals could no longer curtail or depose him.
Instead of transitioning the country to a system where these figures were loyal to the Constitution, Mr. Erdogan made them beholden to him and his party. “The fate of Turkey and the fate of the Justice and Development Party have become one,” Mr. Erdogan declared in 2017.
Mr. Erdogan is now designing the rules of the game while being a player. He campaigns on the government budget, legislates against the opposition and presses media groups, both private and government- owned, into his service. He has turned electoral politics into a soccer game in which the winning team scores multiple goals — and then makes its opponents strap on heavy backpacks.
Yet until now, Mr. Erdogan did not interfere with elections. The ballot box was sacred. As long as elections were untouched, there was hope among the opposition that someone might beat the odds. This is why the decision to redo the election in Istanbul is critical in the country’s history. The team with backpacks actually scored, but the winners co-opted the referee’s powers and ruled that the goal doesn’t count.
It may seem odd that Mr. Erdogan is undermining the political system that carried him, a boy from the rough streets of Istanbul, to the presidency of the Republic.
Mr. Erdogan probably thinks that beating the opposition parties in election after election will eventually break them and allow him to expand his support base beyond 50 percent of the population. In this scenario, elections are reduced to being merely a ritual reaffirmation of faith in the state rather than a choice between viable alternatives.
Mr. Erdogan admires President Vladimir Putin of Russia, who won 77 percent of votes cast in an election last year. If he is aspiring for similar results, it would also mean Putinesque levels of repression and international pariah status.
Having broken the old pattern of Turkish politics, Mr. Erdogan may have created a new one. Politics is no longer about defending an ideology or a policy position, but about being the champion of “the people” against the powers that be.
Mr. Erdogan started his political journey as a pious Muslim from the wrong side of the tracks. Now he is the establishment, and so he is bound to become less popular over time. Mr. Imamoglu, the young opposition leader, easily transcends the secular-religious divide of Mr. Erdogan’s generation, earning shout-outs from pilgrims in Mecca as well as the punk rock star Gokhan Ozoguz.
And in Mr. Imamoglu voters have somewhere to go. Every misstep or misfortune Mr. Erdogan’s government suffers — from the economy to foreign policy — increases Mr. Imamoglu’s support. He is the perfect opponent, created by Mr. Erdogan himself.
Mr. Erdogan has devoted his life to the relentless expansion of the political sphere, subsuming the bureaucracy in the process. But what if the political sphere turns against him?
Selim Koru is an analyst at the Economic Policy Research Foundation in Ankara and a writing fellow at the Foreign Policy Research Institute.
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买马有多少个号【梁】【夏】【回】【过】【神】【来】【道】：“【我】【决】【定】【谁】【也】【不】【杀】，【我】【们】【到】【那】【个】【落】【脚】【点】【便】【下】【去】，【利】【用】【所】【娑】【昆】。” 【刀】【疤】【男】：“【你】【想】【清】【楚】【了】【吗】？【他】【知】【道】【你】【不】【可】【告】【人】【的】【秘】【密】。” 【梁】【夏】【笑】【道】：“【你】【不】【也】【同】【样】【知】【道】【了】【我】【不】【可】【告】【人】【的】【秘】【密】，【我】【若】【杀】【了】【他】，【岂】【不】【是】【也】【要】【把】【你】【给】【杀】【了】。” 【小】【黑】【担】【忧】【声】【在】【脑】【海】【里】【响】【起】：“【梁】【夏】，【你】【真】【要】【想】【清】【楚】【了】。” 【梁】【夏】
【九】【十】【分】？ 【猫】【女】【郎】【原】【本】【晕】【乎】【乎】【的】【脑】【袋】【被】【这】【个】【数】【字】【一】【炸】，【变】【得】【清】【醒】【了】【一】【些】。 【太】【高】【了】【吧】——【她】【想】。 【从】【小】【到】【大】，【猫】【女】【郎】【一】【直】【在】【被】【要】【求】【做】【得】【更】【好】。 “【为】【什】【么】【别】【人】【能】【做】【到】【一】【百】【分】，【而】【你】【做】【不】【到】？”【记】【忆】【中】，【妈】【妈】【总】【是】【用】【这】【样】【的】【话】【语】【去】【指】【责】【她】。 【小】【小】【的】【猫】【女】【郎】【辨】【白】【道】：“【我】【至】【少】【也】【有】【八】【十】【分】【了】【吧】？【每】【天】【擦】【地】、【洗】【碗】
【第】【九】【十】【章】【大】【结】【局】 【这】【树】【真】【壮】【实】，【腰】【有】【点】【疼】，【浑】【身】【和】【散】【了】【架】【子】【似】【的】。 【抽】【这】【点】【时】【间】，【艰】【难】【的】【抬】【了】【抬】【眼】，【看】【向】【刚】【在】【出】【声】【的】【地】【方】。 【粗】【槽】【的】【山】【壁】，【一】【根】【自】【悬】【崖】【上】【伸】【出】【来】【的】【树】【枝】，【而】【她】【正】【在】【这】【棵】【树】【上】【晃】【晃】【悠】【悠】，【真】【是】【险】【境】。 【墨】【妃】【顿】【时】【觉】【得】【自】【己】【小】【腿】【抽】【搐】，【顿】【时】【到】【吸】【了】【一】【口】【气】。 【可】【恶】！【这】【地】【方】【和】【她】【八】【字】【不】【合】！【绝】【对】【的】
“【小】【彤】，【你】【说】、【结】【婚】【之】【后】【不】【要】【孩】【子】？” “【当】【然】【了】！” 【出】【了】【家】【门】，【两】【个】【人】【坐】【在】【车】【里】，【比】【起】【许】【诺】，【乐】【彤】【更】【是】【心】【绪】【难】【安】。 “【咱】【们】【一】【起】【努】【力】，【陪】【着】【多】【多】【健】【康】【长】【大】，【他】【喜】【欢】【滑】【板】【那】【就】【送】【他】【去】【做】【运】【动】【员】，【要】【是】、【怎】【么】【了】？”【许】【诺】【正】【说】【得】【眉】【飞】【色】【舞】【的】，【突】【然】【发】【现】【扭】【过】【头】【去】【的】【乐】【彤】【似】【乎】【在】【抽】【泣】。 【于】【是】【他】【解】【下】【安】【全】【带】，“【怎】买马有多少个号9.2 【星】【期】【一】【天】【气】【晴】 【爸】【爸】【说】【我】【已】【经】【上】【幼】【儿】【园】【了】，【要】【学】【会】【写】【字】，【于】【是】【他】【让】【我】【每】【天】【写】【日】【记】，【身】【为】【爸】【爸】【妈】【妈】【的】【小】【宝】【贝】，【我】【当】【然】【要】【好】【好】【听】【他】【们】【的】【话】。 【我】【叫】【春】【春】，【大】【名】【夏】【书】【凌】。【相】【对】【于】【大】【名】，【我】【更】【喜】【欢】【我】【的】【小】【名】，【因】【为】【妈】【妈】【每】【天】【都】【会】【把】【我】【抱】【在】【怀】【里】，【一】【边】【亲】【我】【的】【脸】【一】【边】【喊】【我】【春】【春】。 【对】【了】，【为】【什】【么】【我】【叫】【春】【春】【呢】，【这】【是】【因】
【实】【际】【上】，【老】【村】【长】【把】【价】【格】【表】【还】【给】【夏】【海】【升】，【就】【是】【不】【想】【和】【夏】【海】【升】【做】【交】【易】【的】【意】【思】。 【因】【为】【他】【还】【不】【清】【楚】【夏】【海】【升】【他】【们】【把】【货】【物】【价】【格】【标】【的】【这】【么】【低】，【这】【其】【中】【是】【不】【是】【有】【其】【他】【的】【什】【么】【意】【图】。 【这】【个】【天】【下】【没】【有】【免】【费】【的】【午】【餐】，【也】【不】【会】【有】【无】【缘】【无】【故】【对】【你】【好】【的】【人】。 【因】【此】，【在】【没】【有】【搞】【清】【楚】【事】【情】【的】【真】【相】【之】【前】，【老】【村】【长】【绝】【不】【敢】【贸】【然】【开】【始】【和】【夏】【海】【升】【他】【们】【进】【行】
【就】【在】【梁】【九】【等】【人】【离】【去】【还】【没】【多】【久】，【三】【大】【魔】【王】【齐】【齐】【现】【身】【于】【白】【素】【冢】【身】【后】，【单】【膝】【跪】【地】。 “【参】【见】【主】【上】。” 【白】【素】【冢】【回】【头】【瞥】【一】【眼】，【皱】【眉】:“【饕】【餮】【至】【今】【未】【归】？” 【三】【人】【点】【头】。 【白】【素】【冢】【脸】【色】【一】【沉】，【掐】【指】【一】【算】，【没】【一】【会】，【震】【怒】【万】【分】: “【魂】【飞】【魄】【散】？【是】【谁】！【好】【胆】！” 【魔】【音】【如】【啸】，【三】【王】【亦】【脸】【色】【大】【变】，【齐】【齐】【闷】【哼】【一】【声】，【双】【膝】【跪】【地】
【最】【先】【拍】【的】【是】【室】【内】【照】，【傅】【亦】【笙】【的】【新】【房】【就】【是】【很】【好】【的】【背】【景】。 【古】【色】【古】【香】【的】【家】【具】，【令】【人】【叹】【为】【观】【止】【的】【名】【画】，【糅】【合】【出】【与】【现】【代】【截】【然】【不】【同】【的】【风】【格】。 【一】【二】【三】【层】【楼】，【选】【定】【几】【个】【可】【拍】【照】【的】【背】【景】。 【手】【推】【卷】【的】【发】【型】，【身】【穿】【彰】【显】【玲】【珑】【曲】【线】【的】【旗】【袍】，【手】【执】【黑】【柄】【团】【扇】，【腕】【戴】【翡】【翠】【镯】【子】，【背】【景】【选】【用】【民】【国】【期】【间】【的】【圈】【椅】，【陆】【晴】【晴】【优】【雅】【地】【坐】【在】【椅】【上】，【傅】【亦】【笙】(来源：马光祖)