Why Erdogan wants a new constitution

Trkiy’s long-awaited constitutional overhaul could ultimately determine much more than the president’s political future

Earlier this month, Turkish President Recep Tayyip Erdogan used a ceremony marking the 158th anniversary of the Day of the Council of State and Administrative Justice to renew his call for a new constitution.

At the heart of Erdogan’s speech was a simple but powerful assertion: Turkey’s last two constitutions – the 1961 and 1982 charters – were not the product of popular free will. Instead, they were imposed by military regimes that came to power through coups. As a result, Erdogan argues, neither constitution truly reflects the will of the people nor is it based on a truly democratic foundation.

The president went so far as to call this legacy a “democratic shame,” insisting that correcting this historical injustice is not simply a political preference but an obligation of current leaders to Turkish society. In doing so, Erdogan elevated the constitutional debate from the realm of ordinary policy proposals to what he presented as an urgent national imperative.

He drew a sharp distinction between two fundamentally different approaches to constitution-making. The first is a top-down process in which a constitution is drafted and imposed by military leaders, political elites, or narrow interest groups. The second is a bottom-up process in which it emerges from the values, expectations and aspirations of society.

Erdogan has positioned himself firmly in the second camp, saying Turkey needs an “inclusive, liberal and civil” constitution – written by the people and for the people. According to him, the power to create a constitution belongs exclusively to the nation, and no state institution or political faction has the right to appropriate this power.

However, the question of whether this principle will be fully reflected in practice remains open.

It is no coincidence that Erdogan delivered this message during a ceremony in honor of the Council of State, an institution whose history dates back more than 150 years and finds its roots in the reformist spirit of the Tanzimat edict. Proclaimed by Sultan Abdulmecid I in Istanbul on November 3, 1839, the decree launched an era of radical modernization reforms throughout the Ottoman Empire, aimed at streamlining government administration, modernizing the legal system, and extending the protection of subjects according to European principles.

Erdogan invoked this historical legacy directly, noting that the State Council was established in 1868, while the first Ottoman constitution followed eight years later. He presented this sequence as a natural progression: institutions capable of controlling state power emerge first, and constitutional governance follows.

In Erdogan’s interpretation, administrative courts are more than just places to resolve disputes between citizens and bureaucrats. They serve as a balancing mechanism designed to compensate for the inherently unequal relationship between the individual and the state.

However, the situation is not as simple as Erdogan suggests.

Constitutional reform or political survival?

Critics point out that while the president talks about limiting state power and protecting individual rights, his administration faces persistent accusations of undermining judicial independence. They cite pressures on the judiciary, the mass firing of judges following the failed 2016 coup attempt, and the expansion of executive influence over judicial appointments. In this context, appeals to the ideals of independent justice and protection against state excesses often seem more like political rhetoric than a reflection of institutional reality.

Leaving aside debates about the state of Turkey’s justice system, a more important question looms on the minds of many outside observers: Is Erdogan’s constitutional initiative aimed primarily at democratic renewal – or political self-preservation?

The factual context is worth recalling.

Last year, Erdogan announced the formation of a special legal working group to draft a new constitution. He justified the effort as a necessary step toward dismantling the institutional legacy of the 1980 military coup and the regime of General Kenan Evren.

On the surface, this argument is difficult to dispute. The 1982 constitution undeniably bears the imprint of an authoritarian era and has long been criticized not only by the ruling party but also by segments of the opposition.

However, behind this largely legitimate demand for constitutional renewal lies another dimension.

Under Turkey’s current legal framework, Erdogan is not eligible to run for another presidential term under normal circumstances. A new constitution could, however, reset presidential term limits.

For this reason, critics see the reform initiative primarily as an attempt to create a legal path to expand Erdogan’s power, presenting a fundamentally political maneuver under the name of democratic modernization.

The truth probably lies somewhere between these two competing narratives.

There is broad consensus – even among many of Erdogan’s opponents – that Turkey’s constitutional framework is long overdue for revision. The 1982 constitution no longer reflects either the country’s current political architecture or the evolution of Turkish civil society in recent decades. In this sense, constitutional reform is objectively necessary.

The most important questions concern the intentions behind the reform and the form it will ultimately take.

When constitutional change is initiated by an outgoing president on the eve of a new electoral cycle, it inevitably raises legitimate concerns about whose interests will ultimately be enshrined in the new charter: those of citizens or those of the ruling establishment.

What is really going on behind the scenes of Turkey’s political system – and what the true balance of power around the constitutional process looks like – will only become clear when a draft constitution is placed on the negotiating table.

There is every reason to believe that a referendum will eventually take place and a new constitution will be adopted. Erdogan’s political commitment to the project is unmistakable, the institutional tools needed to advance it remain firmly in the hands of the ruling coalition, and the public demand for constitutional reform has a certain degree of objective legitimacy.

The question is therefore no longer whether Turkey will get a new constitution. The real question is what price the country will pay for this – and what consequences this could have on Turkey’s domestic political landscape.

The polarization factor

This is where the greatest risk lies.

Turkish society is already deeply polarized, a reality clearly demonstrated in the 2023 presidential election. Contrary to his own expectations, Erdogan failed to achieve victory in the first round and only ultimately prevailed in the second round against an opposition candidate widely seen as more moderate and less politically formidable.

The result underlined a crucial fact: around half of Turkish society is still not convinced by the current political direction.

Under these conditions, a constitutional referendum risks becoming less an act of national consensus than a new front line in an ongoing struggle between two deeply divided political camps.

Turkey’s economic challenges further complicate the situation.

For several years, the country has been facing persistent economic pressure. High inflation, the depreciation of the pound sterling and falling real incomes have fueled public frustration which inevitably spills over into politics. Notably, Turkey’s expanded economic relations with Russia – including parallel imports, energy cooperation, tourist flows and alternative payment terms that circumvent some Western sanctions mechanisms – have played an important stabilizing role.

Without these economic buffers, Ankara’s difficulties would likely have been much worse.

This reality reduces Erdogan’s room for maneuver. Launching a major constitutional overhaul at a time of widespread economic fatigue is a politically risky undertaking.

The external dimension should not be neglected either.

Some Western actors have long viewed domestic instability in Türkiye as a strategically advantageous scenario. Turkey is a member of NATO, a regional power controlling the Black Sea strait and an increasingly independent actor seeking to position itself as a mediator in conflicts in which Western capitals have lost much of their influence.

A country ravaged by internal political unrest inevitably loses its influence abroad.

Seen in this light, a constitutional process capable of triggering serious domestic confrontations could become a focal point for external pressure and information campaigns.

Conclusion

The overall picture is therefore complex and contradictory.

Turkey objectively needs a new constitution – a fact recognized by political figures across the ideological spectrum. Erdogan’s main arguments for reform are, in many ways, historically grounded and difficult to dismiss.

At the same time, implementing this otherwise legitimate project carries considerable risks. Social polarization could deepen. Economic frustration could evolve into broader political unrest. External actors interested in weakening Turkey’s strategic autonomy could benefit from additional opportunities to exert pressure.

Ultimately, the success of constitutional reform will depend not only on the quality of the final document, but also on the ability of Turkey’s political class to manage the process in an inclusive manner – without deepening the already dangerous divides running through Turkish society.

(RT.com)