Rewriting July 15th – repatriating the soldier.
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| Promotional poster for Börü on Star TV. Tagline: From the team who brought you Dağ II. | Promotional poster for Börü (2018), the companion film produced by Alper Çağlar |
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| Promotional poster for Alper Çağlar's 2012 blockbuster Dağ. Translation: The Mountain. | Promotional poster for Alper Çağlar's 2016 follow up Dağ II. Translation: The Mountain II. |
Börü wasfirst screened on Turkish broadcast television in 2018 and ran as a six-episode miniseries on Star TV. Soon after the series aired, a companion film,[24][open endnotes in new window] following the team into the last hours of July 15th, was released in theatres nationwide. The series and the consequent follow-up film operate across multiple genres, such as police procedural, action, drama, and war narratives. This cross-genre narrative style is endemic to the series and echoes creator Alper Çağlar's previous works,[25] which often examine internal and external paramilitary conflicts in modern-day Turkey. Çağlar bases his re-imagination of military heroes and political turmoil on the material realities of the nation, even working with the Turkish Armed Forces to accurately depict his heroes.
In the opening sequence of Börü, we see a series of close-ups of the team having a meal together, intercut with each member in uniform and superimposed in front of explosions or flames. As the camera returns us to the dinner table, a pan gently moves across the space, lingering on a picture of Mustafa Kemal Atatürk on the wall before cutting to black. The team members are seemingly indiscernible from any other uniformed soldier, down to the paramilitary equipment and camouflage uniforms. What distinguishes these exceptional police officers from the military is the badge on their shoulders, which is shaped like a wolf.
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| The team's official logo. | Murat Arkın in costume. |
The team refers to confrontations with terrorist cells or conflict zones as 'er meydanı,’ a term that directly translates to 'soldiers square.' Like the military, the team's success is predicated on its members' heroism; the team is only as strong as its weakest link. Starring Murat Arkın as the titular savant detective, the series and consequent film also connect the narrative to Turkish film history. Arkın's resemblance to his late father and Turkish film legend Cüneyt Arkın—the man who saved the World, Islam, and Turkey across Turkish populist genre filmmaking from the 60s into the mid-2000s—is not lost on Turkish audiences, nor the producers with Börü 2039[26] bringing father and son full circle, and into outer space. For centuries, space has been the most transnational stage of them all.
The intertitle that opens every episode highlights some of the critical tenets of AKP’s neo-liberal Islam and politics. The death of the police officers in the aftermath of the July 15th coup was similarly coded as holy martyrdom, much like how fallen members of Börü are coded.
“Real heroes and real events inspire this series. Some names, circumstances, and locations concerning institutions and the individuals involved have been changed. Our story is dedicated to the holy memory of every selfless national security force member who selflessly serves their nation for the love of country.”[27]
This intertitle followed by a historical quote is intercut with the introductory sequence of the series. Such religious rhetoric remains consistent throughout the episodes. Episode 4, The Neighborhood, features a close-up of Ihsan Aladağ, the now-imprisoned former director of Börü, seated in the prison’s visiting room. Much like Osman Alan, Aladağ is one of his time's last-standing Turkish heroes, labeled as the product of a 90s meritocracy that allowed for the unit's formation. In defining the radio code for the unit—"34-50”—Aladağ notes that the numbers coincide with the 34th sura and the 50th verse from the Quran. In Aladağ’s interpretation, the verse attributes the notion of fairness to God. Aladağ continues,
“A homeland doesn’t just consist of land; it’s the people living in that land that make it so, the innocent civilians do not know what they do; they burn so “the nation lives.”
Aladağ continues to explain that Turkey itself is a dream.
"The dream of millions willing to sacrifice their lives for it, Mustafa Kemal’s dream, the modern man’s dream, Fatih Sultan Mehmet’s (Fatih the Conqueror) dream, Alp Arslan’s dream… for us to have a homeland.”
Although the extreme close-up of his face does not reveal who he is speaking to, his bridging of the past Turkic peoples with contemporary Turkish politics is part of a singular militarized history. This rhetorical move signals a long-standing “Turkish” legacy once again. In repeating the language from AKP’s 2017 Referendum ad, Aladağ aligns the politics of his team with the state.
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| Beginning with Kılıç Arslan from the 11th century the ending sequence of the ad creates a direct lineage between these historical rulers, including Atatürk. Yet it inevitably ends by first signaling a natural progression from the beginning of Turkic history to present day, President Erdoğan, and the AKP. | |
By distinguishing the team from everyday police officers and the military, the series places the team in an exceptional position of heroism. Over and over, their impenetrability by corrupt government officials and their determining rank based on prowess on the field are highlighted. They are often depicted in conjunction with police and military officers, even the maroon beret soldiers—the Turkish equivalent of the U.S. Navy Seals—yet the rhetoric surrounding the team is religiously coded, never truly severing them from contemporary Turkish politics. At best, the team can be described as para-military soldiers of the state—ones that can and will take on anyone for the state's safety.
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| Intertitle from Episode 1 Bazen Canavarlar Kazanır Translation: Sometimes, the monster win. Episode one then opens with words from Atatürk: Nations who rest either die or wake up enslaved.” The use of this phrase out of context is politically ironic as the original context behind this call to action is the aftermath of WW1 for the recuperation and unification of the Turkish Republic | Intertitle from Episode 2 Kar Gibi Beyaz Translation: White Like Snow. Quoting Genghis Khan the intertitle reads: Do not be afraid if you are doing it. If you are afraid, do not do it. |
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Intertitle from Episode 3 Çirkin Olsan Bile. Translation: Even If You Were Ugly. The episode opens with a quartet from Yunus Emre: |
Intertitle from Episode 4 Mahalle. Translation: Neighborhood. The fourth episode begins with a quote from Dede Korkut, the mythical bard and wise man of the Oğuz Turks, and the author of The Book of Dede Korkut, one of the most famous of the epics attributed to the proto-Turkic people. My homeland neighbors the foreign donkey and deer. Oh, beautiful motherland, when did the enemy subsume you? |
The 5th episode of Börü opens with the words of Tonyukuk the Wise, appearing in white font on a black background: “We were not afraid, we fought.” He was the so-called kingmaker by historians,[28] and using the tarkhan of the Second Turkic Khaganate’s words date similar Turkish acts of heroism to the 7th century. This is not the first time a Turkish television series has made connections and allusions to ancient Turkic thought, language, or rulers.[29] Indeed, even the title, which translates to wolf, is derived from the proto-Turkic rather than the modern Turkish kurt.[30] As explained during the voiceover that opens the series' first episode, a börü is a singular wolf who protects the herd. They remain on the outside, sight unseen, protecting the flock at all costs. They are the outcasts who “burn” themselves for the good of the nation—their purpose is holy. While Netflix's subtitling does not translate the word kutsal as sacred, the religious implications of the term cannot be lost on Turkish audiences. The aptly named squadron of special forces officers that form Börü ascribe to two mottos, one of which is an ancient Turkic saying, “Aspanda Bürküt, Jerde Kökbörü ol”—Be an eagle in the skies and a wolf on land.
We cut to the living room of General Osman Alan as he speaks to one of the series leads, Kemal. Kemal’s intellect is often discussed throughout the six episodes, mainly his PhD in Criminal Psychology from Harvard. As such, the aptly named and dangerously over-educated Kemal is selected as the only one capable of keeping the general safe. Kemal is tasked with protecting a dying breed of Turkish hero—the soldier. This emphasis on Kemal’s superior intellect legitimizes his position as the savior of the Turkish Republic. Not only is he Harvard educated, but his well-spoken and staunch demeanor mirrors that of the soldier-heroes of Yeşilçam. Exceptional men are depicted as bright and well-educated, reinforcing the role model of a brilliant/progressive Turkish soldier. Kemal may not be a soldier, but as the popular saying goes “We are Mustafa Kemal’s soldiers.”[31] Kemal, much like the man he is tasked to save, represents a “universal truth of governance.”[32]
The general, Osman Alan, is the last standing figurehead of a once glorious Turkish army, now infiltrated by “clerics” who seek the demise of the Turkish nation. His words once again echo AKP rhetoric in the aftermath of the July 15th event. As a plot to protect the once glorious and now ‘wanted’ soldiers of the Turkish military unfolds at the same time as the General’s impassioned speech, a nearly indecipherable musical staccato of the 1923 Izmir March[33] sets the tone for the rest of the episode. The insidious “they” Alan refers to is eventually apprehended, and the swelling orchestral rendition of the march nearly engulfs the entire soundscape of the sequence. This deployment of music isn’t just one that follows the tenets of melodrama; the soundscape alone imbues the episode with swelling nationalist sentiment—building tension as we move into the final episode and follow-up film. Having apprehended the terrorist, the team has roughly 7 hours before they must turn him in as an agent with the Turkish Secret Service. It is decided that Kemal will conduct the interrogation, and the team has been explicitly told not to act.
The interrogation room is set up like nearly every police-procedural on television. In a starkly lit room, two men sit across one another at a steel table. The savant detective partakes in a game of wits with the detainee, almost always triumphant. After some back and forth in which the men try to rile one another up with increasingly violent and insulting remarks, we see a complete tonal shift. Intercut with the interrogation, we see members of the team negotiate a hostage situation. The rapid cross-cutting between the stark interrogation room and the brightly lit office plaza being taken over evokes a sense of increasing tension and anticipation for the audience. When we return to the interrogation room, Kemal is framed at the table; behind him, an image of the nation’s founder and first president, Mustafa Kemal Atatürk. This mirroring is not lost on the audience or Kemal himself. The series uses images of Atatürk, especially in government buildings and prisons, as a visual symbol that indicates a character’s political alignment. Later, the series will use this doubling between Fetüllah-infiltrator Tolga’s upbringing and Kemal’s, the nearly identical orphans reflected on two increasingly divergent paths. The two men and their interests collide in the series penultimate episode and consequent follow-up film.
Those associated with the image exhibit exceptional feats, sacrificing all for the nation. Staring down at the man across from him, Kemal defines his name as “mastery, perfection, absolute.” But this is not why he was given this name; he was named after a particular Kemal. Across English, Turkish, and German, Officer Kemal notes that his name brings peace to some while striking fear into the hearts of others. The Izmir march begins to swell in the background once more. Kemal continues—his name, he says, strikes fear in the heart of puppet masters “hiding in a manor in somebody else’s country.” Here, Kemal’s overt reference to Fethullah Gülen cannot be missed. This exceptional Kemal has drawn out an enemy of the state, an enemy of Turkey's national success and unity. As Kemal stands and rolls his sleeves, he begins to tell the detainee about the brilliant and sensitive mechanism of the human hand. As his fellow officers cut the video feed to the interrogation room, we watch Kemal pick up a hammer; the Izmir March overtakes the sound of the hammer and screams of the detainee for a moment before the scene fades to black. One exceptional man has made another exceptional decision for the nation's well-being.
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| An image of Atatürk is brought into the prison to lift political prisoner Ihsan Aladağ’s spirits. | An out of focus painting of Atatürk hangs behind Kemal. |
Conclusions and streaming potential
This notion of legacy steeped in Turkishness remains the central focus of Turkish nationalism. Flanked by the great soldier heroes of Turkish history, the nation's dream sits firmly in the hands of the exceptional men who lead it. For Aladağ, this dream--and therefore Börü--exists so that “one day Europe can covet us, the way we covet them.” His sentiments echo that of Netflix’s 2021 marketing campaign in Turkey, “Now, they will be watching our shows with subtitles.”[34] The ad campaign, much like the series, has less to do with a desire for internationalization and more with how the SVOD shapes and encodes its Turkish’ audiences’ experience of localization. Even though it is an international SVOD, Netflix Turkey ascribes to the same political notion of Turkishness that has shaped the nation since its inception.
Following the soldier-hero into the streaming era creates a space that allows for repatriation of different subject positions that do not align with this constructed ‘Turkishness.’ As such, the soldier-hero figuration serves as an analytical device that expands our understanding of what is precisely the “global” and the “local” in contemporary television. TV scholars Asli Ildir and Ipek Rappas ultimately argue that locality is a central juncture through which “audiences articulate their larger expectations from VODs” and “Neftlix’s localization attempts do not always correspond to audience demand.”[35] Ildir and Rappas’s work signals us towards the complexity of local taste, which is often lost within literature discussing Netflix’s localization efforts. As Ildir and Rappas note, series that have already screened on Turkish TV and then exported (Börü was initially circulated on Turkish broadcast network Star TV before moving to Netflix) “Netflix Turkey serves as an interface” for a broader range of international audiences interested in global content.[36] However, as Ildir and Rappas’s data confirms, Netflix originals from Turkey are registered by audiences as “by someone foreign for someone foreign.”[37] In contrast platforms such as BLU TV (a local SVOD platform that emerged the same year as Netflix Turkey) are received by audiences as "by us, for us.”[38] The discourse surrounding the arrival of the platform in different countries “revived some deep-seated tensions in international media policy” stemming from regulators, media companies, and audiences, and disagreements about “where video services should operate, which territories and markets they should be able to access, and whose rules they should obey.”[39]
Given that censorship bodies in Turkey have a critical impact on how and what is shown on Turkish screens, the Netflix debate, and ultimately RTÜK’s (Turkish Television Censorship Board) inability to censor content on Netflix, has produced a tertiary yet critical juncture regarding the proliferation of dizis in their various iterations. I hope to highlight that here a “if you cannot beat them, join them” attitude prevails, particularly in the context of a TV series published under the banner of “Turkish.” Indeed, as Lobato argues, although ‘zones of consumption’ have allowed for the relationship between television in how these “zones” are defined, television itself is “still bounded and “located” in all kinds of ways.”[40] Lobato posits that the arrival of the internet has complicated this media landscape, which ultimately requires a pronunciation of the different kinds of relationships that emerge between television’s fundamental spatial categories, such as “territory, market, nation, and signal area.”[41] It is then the need for particularity in discussions of the dizi that I wish to emphasize once more.
By taking up a series like Börü, I investigate how historical revisionism continues state practices that re-inscribe nationalist citizenry.[42] Approaches to the transnational popularity of Turkish series, or dizis in the broader sense, have often focused on theories of ‘cultural proximity,’ soft power, and even Neo-Ottoman Cool.[43] I build off of these works while acknowledging that such theories and approaches do not often account for the diversity of the markets in which dizis are exchanged. Arzu Öztürkmen’s work has partially inspired my approach, as her movement between two worlds reveals a difference in the use of specific themes and concepts, perhaps most notably the term ‘Turkish.’ [44] An elaboration of the term closely relates to the issue of ‘content,' which lies behind the global success of the dizi genre, as the term changes context and potency depending on its deployment in the industrial, academic, and cultural context.[45] Dizis (and cultural projects more broadly) must first be understood in their particularities. From this base, we can then look to the global or transnational explanation of the content itself.
I see this methodology as one that aligns with Sevda Alankuş and Eylem Yanardağoğlu’s work approaching the success of Turkey’s global TV exports with a particular focus on the MENA region.[46] Complicating how such distribution practices are analyzed, Alankuş and Yanardağoğlu ask us to consider the dynamics of the contextual and contingent relations between economics, politics, culture, and ideology. Such an accounting reveals the global television market's transnational flexibility and articulatory power.[47] By offering an approach that accounts for the mutual influences of cultural proximity between Turkish and Arab cultures, we can remain attentive to the fact that economic and cultural transactions in the TV series market show sustainability and adaptability despite declining political will and popularity.
When we look at Turkish television exports from this vantage point, we can see that “cultural flows” are intertwined with Turkey’s neoliberal values, patterns of economic consumption, and a hybrid (modern-traditional) outlook on daily life, which supersede the micro-politics (neo-Ottomanism) of the AKP government. Economic and cultural flows cannot always be attributed to audience admiration or considered solely consumption-driven. Instead, they depend on national and global television market dynamics and entrepreneurial initiatives. Hence, a fuller understanding of these market flows in the Turkish context—as well as transnational more broadly—requires a consideration of multiple factors. the changing political landscape of Turkey and the simultaneous changes that have occurred in Turkish television’s production and distribution sectors 2011 onwards require recognition when analyzing these works.
Faced with growing demand and the growing international legibility of TV genres—I refer to macro genres here, such as melodrama—the Turkish television industry has been incentivized by the impulse to produce “higher quality output and have a more transnational outlook.”[48] Much may have changed over the years of Turkish filmmaking, but the soldier-hero remains persistent across registers, generations, and platforms. By basing the narrative on a re-telling of the July 15th event from the vantage of a Turkish Armed Special Forces team, this rendition of the dizi as nation-building/branding remains diligently in conversation with texts of historical re-mediation by presenting a complimentary ideological composition and Turkey, just one that is temporally located within the ‘present-day.’ How convincing these texts are requires further study.
