in the spring
Turkish president Recep Tayyip Erdogan was set to speak, surrounded by tents that stretched far behind him and a sea of people who had lost everything. Ministers stood nearby, his wife at his side, broad-shouldered men wearing sunglasses facing the horizon, and a close by girl ensuring the moment stayed in memory. It looked like a pre-election rally, but the backdrop was a disaster zone and a nation in shock.
In front of the president, every microphone, camera, and TV crew in the country was aimed at him. Erdogan spoke as he had in the days since the catastrophe, promising swift action for citizens and stressing that no one would be left hungry or neglected. His cadence and cadence were unmistakable to Turks who have followed him for years, shaped by a communication style that many recognize instantly.
Yet the words did not silence the room’s tension. He pressed on, warning against chaos merchants—those who spread false or misleading news on social media. The moment was captured by a citizen watching the live feed on his phone. “See? It cannot be true! Thousands remain under rubble, and he’s talking about something else”, he told his friend beside him, the two of them trying to make sense of the scene.
Another voice joined the fray. “Unbelievable, they reacted late, rescue budgets were too small for too long. I read it in the paper the other day, and Erdogan only talks about the country’s enemies, those who criticize him. It’s hard to swallow”, said a friend. In Adana, one of the hardest-hit provinces, the earthquake that struck the southeast of Turkey and the northwest of Syria last Monday morning had already claimed lives and left thousands displaced. The city, with nearly two million residents, saw collapsed buildings towering beyond ten stories—many people did not survive the wreckage.
Six days into the aftermath, rescue efforts had devolved into a frantic, sometimes chaotic search for bodies rather than a precise race against time to save lives. The scale of the destruction remained vast, and the emotional toll heavy for residents and rescuers alike. A sense of fatigue hung over the field operations, even as officials announced measures to maintain order and security.
“I believe they will declare a state of emergency to delay the elections this week”, one observer said. “They will act in some way. I am sure of it.”
in the spring
Official plans had suggested a presidential election on May 14, but rumors swirled around Ankara about the proximity of the date and the immense displacement across ten provinces. Millions had been forced from their homes, complicating efforts to hold nationwide elections that are both historic and challenging under such conditions.
President Erdogan, who has led the country since 2003, faced a robust challenge from a resurgent opposition that gained momentum in the wake of the quake and its grim aftereffects. The catastrophe and its consequences were reshaping the political landscape, with analysts weighing how much the disaster would influence voters and public opinion in the weeks ahead.
Analysts recalled a similar moment from 1999 in Istanbul, when a devastating earthquake taught hard lessons about building codes, urban planning, and evacuation planning. One American academic emphasized that the repeated failures to apply those hard-learned lessons could have lasting political and social repercussions. The assessment suggested that while authorities might attribute destruction to old buildings, the broader pattern included shortcomings in enforcement and oversight that persisted beyond any single administration.
As the discourse shifted, a media narrative emerged. Supporters of the president focused on portraying rescue efforts as efficient and miraculous, while critics pressed for accountability for delays and missteps. In one tense moment, a journalist who had been reporting live on state television faced a confrontation with a resident challenging the coverage and the pace of relief. The moment demonstrated the intense pressure on media outlets as the country tried to reconcile competing narratives.
The broadcast later transitioned to a public radio message set to somber violins, offering wishes for a quick recovery and emphasizing resilience. It framed the nation as strong, united, and capable of weathering the disaster—an aspirational note intended to bolster morale in a time of grief. A Turkish proverb echoed within the coverage, a reminder that geography can shape destiny—and with the quake reshaping the map of where people live, the saying carried a poignant weight for many viewers and listeners across the country.