All Politics Is Local: Mustafa Sarıgül and the CHP (Part Two)
[Part one of this article can be found here.]
By 1987, Turkish politics was returning to its old patterns. Though the new constitution remained in effect and General Evren still presided over the state as president, the five-year ban from politics for leaders like Ecevit and Baykal was at an end and they had begun to plot their returns. Sarıgül too was busy positioning himself for the upcoming elections by recruiting large numbers of new members into the SHP, so that they might nominate him in the party primaries.
Like the CHP before it, the SHP was a hodge-podge of competing center-left factions, presided over by Erdal İnönü, a university president and novice politician whose only claim to power lay in his famous father and his ability to remain above the factional chaos. Sarıgül had followed his political mentor, Aytekin Kotil, into the party two years earlier and immediately became embroiled in new factional struggles. Many of his recruits to the party simply went unacknowledged by the central party apparatus in Ankara, which was controlled by other cliques—who saw stymying his electoral chances as taking precedence over expanding the party’s membership.
Despite these attempts within his own party to block his ambitions, Sarıgül won a spot on the party list for Istanbul’s fifth district, a vast area that at the time stretched to cover an area including Şişli, Zeytinburnu, and Sarıyer. In the election, the Turkish left fared poorly; in the fifth district the SHP won only twenty-seven percent to ANAP’s forty percent, which translated into two representatives. Fortunately for Sarıgül, he was one of them. At only thirty years old, he was the youngest member of parliament in Turkish history.
Brimming with energy, he had the misfortune of entering an assembly where his party held only ninety-nine seats to ANAP’s 292. With limited ways to make a name for himself, he sought the most high profile role he could—a seat on the Bureau of the Assembly, a small group of parliamentarians, selected by their parties, with little role other than to select the Speaker of the Assembly and sit up on the dais during formal events. Sarıgül campaigned hard for a seat, reminding his fellow SHP members of their debts to his political patrons, and ultimately secured the post. But his new role brought its own challenges: the opening of the legislative session would begin with a speech by President Evren. Many in the SHP intended to walk out in protest, others—at minimum—to withhold their applause. Sarıgül, with his prominent role, felt pressure to make a gesture of solidarity; at the same time, he felt his official position necessitated that he act above party. “For me,” he insisted, “State is first and party second.”
Sarıgül’s ultimate solution was to have an opposition politician named Nurhan Tekinel take his seat on the dais for the duration of Evren’s speech on the understanding that, once the speech had finished, Sarıgül could have his seat back. Tekinel agreed and Sarıgül remained with his party in the audience while Evren spoke. After, however, when he sought to reclaim his chair, Tekinel refused, claiming that Sarıgül needed the permission of the presiding minister. The two men began to argue. Sarıgül pushed Tekinel and Tekinel punched Sarıgül in the face—all caught on television. Looking back on the scuffle, Sarıgül was proud, saying, “I gained great support from the people for my decisive attitude that day. They came to know and love me. If I hadn’t raised my voice against injustice, if I’d stayed passive, if I hadn’t demanded my rights, if my fighting nature hadn’t shown through, this couldn’t have been.”
From day one of his legislative career, then, Sarıgül was in the limelight. A handful of issues were particularly important to him: his first major bill was an attempt to assist the thousands of students whose educations had been cut short by the chaos of the 1970s and 1980s. He proposed a bill that would allow students expelled from school for failing a single class the right to take a test and restart their studies. The bill proved so popular that (as Sarıgül remembers it) Özal decided to put his own name on it and deny Sarıgül full credit.
Sarıgül was also involved in unsuccessful attempts to repeal articles 141, 142, and 163 of the Turkish Penal Code. All three articles had been passed in the early 1950s to protect the state against the dual threats of Communist subversion and religious reaction, but the latter had been strengthened further by the military in 1983. In recent years, they had served as justification for the military’s harsh tactics. Though repealing the first two, which banned activities that fanned “class-based” animosities, had sufficient support in 1987, it would take several more years to rally the necessary votes to undo all three.
In general, he was a dependable party member, criticizing Özal and ANAP for failures ranging from their closeness to the construction industry to the way they spent money on sports. Occasionally he would make dramatic gestures like handing out free bread to the poor or declaring that a chunk of the toll money from the two trans-Bosporus bridges should go to the city. On the most divisive issue of his term—Özal’s support for the 1991 Gulf War—he was largely silent, merely calling for a commission of experts to make recommendations.
The only black mark on Sarıgül from the period—albeit one that did not come to light until a decade later—involved military procurements. In late 1989, the parliament had been weighing bids from foreign arms manufacturers for advanced air force technology. Several major European firms were in competition, but the bid ultimately went to a Spanish firm named CASA. When a series of accidents involving CASA planes resulted in the death of thirty-eight soldiers in 2001, a former member of the SHP came forward. He claimed that, during the bidding process, military officers had asked him to submit a call for parliamentary inquiry. After the request had been submitted, Sarıgül had invited him to the Hilton Hotel for breakfast and introduced him to a representative of CASA. Sarıgül and the rep pressed the representative to withdraw his request, but to no avail. Days later, however, unbeknownst to the representative, his request was withdrawn using a forgery of his signature—a fake the representative suggested might even have been Sarıgül’s. Thirteen years since the accusations were made, the scandal has continued to dog Sarıgül.
His term in office was cut short in 1991, not by scandal but rather when early elections were called. Despite his personal popularity in Istanbul’s fifth electoral district, the SHP failed to gain the twenty percent necessary to send a representative to the national assembly. Sarıgül was once more a private citizen. The defeat—both in Istanbul and nationally—set off a new round of finger pointing. Deniz Baykal, who had joined the SHP in the 1987 election and immediately directed his energies toward toppling Erdal İnönü, saw a new opportunity to seize control of the party. Sarıgül backed him, explaining:
[I saw an] energy in Deniz. Erdal was a very good person, a very great researcher, a democrat—but he didn’t come naturally to politics. He didn’t know the subtle balances…He was exhausted, but more importantly, he had completed his mission of uniting the social democrats. The time had come for him to turn over his duties.
At the 1992 Şişli Party Congress, the SHP found itself divided into roughly three factions: one loyal to Sarıgül, another loyal to Baykal, and a third dubbed “Reformists.” Sarıgül and Baykal’s factions, harking back to their old days in the CHP, united and dominated the congress. Speaking after the voting had taken place, Sarıgül declared, “Our struggle is clear…we have come here to plant the CHP’s flag.” Not content in victory, his supporters “showered their opponents with threats,” allegedly provoking a fight in which one Sarıgül opponent lost an eye. The whole debacle was referred to the party discipline committee with the recommendation that Sarıgül be expelled from the party. Refusing to accept such a punishment, he withdrew from the party. For the moment, he was without a political home.
If the 1980s had been a time for forming powerful connections, the 1990s were a time for cementing those connections and securing a place among the Istanbul elite. No longer in government, but now controlling a faction of his own at the municipal level, Sarıgül was becoming a force to be reckoned with. In the aftermath of the 1991 electoral campaign, he refocused on his business interests, including pastry shops and auto dealerships. (He also re-married, this time to Aylin Kotil, the niece of his mentor Aytekin Kotil.)
Exiled from the SHP, Sarıgül had several options: the CHP had been reestablished by Baykal and his allies in 1992, thus enabling Baykal to finally assume control of the party. Meanwhile, Ecevit’s DSP persisted in large part due to its leader’s unwillingness to join with his former rivals. Invitations also came from center-right parties, and Sarıgül describes his faction as giving serious thought to such overtures. Ultimately, however, his faction opted to join Ecevit’s DSP.
Sarıgül joined the DSP with the intention of becoming its mayoral candidate in Şişli’s 1994 municipal elections, but he found the entire process frustrating. The DSP was slow to announce its candidate list, even though he had already prepared his campaign team. Receiving the party’s approval, he discovered, “The DSP hadn’t made any preparations; there wasn’t an election committee, there wasn’t a provincial organization! No materials, no equipment! No nothing…There was only our determination.” Determination, however, would be insufficient to defeat an opponent like ANAP’s candidate Gülay Atığ.
Unlike Sarıgül and his migrant family, Atığ’s family had lived in the Istanbul region for over two hundred years. She had attended Boğaziçi University, and then studied Urban Planning in England. Returning to Istanbul, she joined the Democratic Center Party (DMP). The DMP was essentially the personal party of Istanbul’s former mayor, Bedrettin Dalan, but her father was the Vice-President. At twenty-six, she was put in charge of its organization in Çatalca, a mostly rural Istanbul municipality.
When the DMP merged with the larger True Path Party (DYP), she became the latter’s candidate for mayor of Çatalca and was victorious. Young, energetic, and beautiful, Atığ was a fixture in newspapers during the following several years. As she grew in prominence, her ambitions grew as well: she hoped to become the mayor of a bigger municipality, like Şişli. She was unable, however, to get in the good graces of the DYP leadership and quit the party. She then joined ANAP, which nominated her as its 1994 Şişli candidate.
Despite Sarıgül’s popularity, the divisions on the Turkish left cost him dearly. As ANAP’s candidate, Atığ maintained the party’s vote share from the previous election. The DSP, CHP, and SHP, however, split the center-left vote and threw the election to Atığ. She beat Sarıgül by just 0.95%—less than 1,500 votes.
When he joined the DSP, many in the party hierarchy had been skeptical of his intentions—some worried that he sought to take their spots on the party’s national election list. In order to join the party, Sarıgül had emphasized that he was focused on the mayoral election. Having lost, he was in a nebulous position: the next municipal election was five years away. Sarıgül had confidence he could win the next go around, and so he re-focused his efforts on business and networking.
First, he sought opportunities abroad. He set his sights on Romania, opening a series of bakeries in Bucharest and beyond. As he describes the venture, it was initially quite popular; Romanians were used to hard, mass-produced loaves from state-owned bakeries, and his ovens were something of a free-market success story. However, he began to encounter difficulties:
While we were selling flour at ten lira, we suddenly saw that a Greek competitor was selling for eight. Suddenly orders were cut. We learned that the Greek government was subsidizing its own entrepreneurs; giving money from its own pocket. In this way I learned a lesson…If some day I were to have more power than I do today, in order to strengthen the international strength of our firms, I would do whatever I could.
The view of state-business relations suggested by the anecdote is far from social-democratic; he criticizes socialist industrial methods for producing substandard bread and promises to throw state resources behind private enterprise. When critics speak of “neo-liberalism,” this is essentially what is meant: turning the duties of state-owned and managed industries, which are mediocre but (at least theoretically) obligated to take care of their employees, over to the private sector, which has little or no obligation to its employee’s welfare—and even less motivation after unions were crushed in the 1980 coup.
Tired of dealing with the competition in Romania, Sarıgül returned to his businesses in Istanbul. In addition to his existing enterprises, he opened a Renault dealership and a pair of gas stations. To befit his rising status in the Turkish elite, he also joined the Galatasaray FC Board of Directors. The position brought him into regular contact with members of the Turkish elite like Ali Tanrıyar, a founding member of Özal’s ANAP and former Minister of the Interior; Yılmaz Ulusoy, one of Turkey’s richest men; and Ateş Ünal Erzen, the General Director of Renault in Turkey. As part of the board, Sarıgül was instrumental in arranging the necessary land deals to build a new stadium in Şişli’s northern Maslak neighborhood—or, as he put it, “I was the salt in that soup.”
Bordering Maslak was another large—and largely undeveloped—Şişli neighborhood, Ayazağa. Since coming into office, Mayor Gülay Atığ had been focusing on developing this area as part of her “Şişli 2020” program. Her plan was to turn the area into Turkey’s Silicon Valley, with factories, start-ups, and universities. In the more central Şişli neighborhood of Mecidiyeköy, she intended to develop an insurance and finance hub. In general, Atığ was having success: she was a fixture at wedding ceremonies, business openings, and various social events in Şişli’s up-market Nişantaşı neighborhood. Three years into the job, it appeared that she would be a formidable opponent for Sarıgül.
In late 1997, things turned sour for Atığ. In mid-September, she revealed she was divorcing her husband of ten years. Nine days later, she announced that she had married a businessman named Orhan Aslıtürk, whose company was involved in the Şişli 2020 project. Investigations and accusations quickly began to fly. The CHP claimed that she had sold Aslıtürk a parcel of land in Ayazağa that was zoned as green space; an investigation by ANAP’s provincial leadership agreed and suggested she be expelled from the party. Not waiting for the party-discipline process to run its course, Atığ (now going by her husband’s name of Aslıtürk) announced she was pregnant, resigned as mayor of Şişli, and flew off with Orhan to the French Riviera.
A full investigation by ANAP revealed that, in addition to giving multiple contracts to Orhan without going through a bidding process, she had also engaged in unethical promotion practices, advancing friends in the municipal police faster than was warranted. More investigations followed, revealing that she had created numerous fake companies and placed them on the municipal payroll, bilking Şişli of around four billion lira (about eighteen million USD in 1997). After briefly returning to Istanbul, the Aslıtürks fled to Miami (where Gülay gave birth) and then London (where her father had a house). From there, they called for justice and refused to return to Turkey. This was the situation in 1999 when the mayoral elections rolled around.
Sarıgül won the election with thirty-eight percent of the vote, nearly twenty percent more than his nearest rival. Understandably, he campaigned by promising to clean up Şişli politics. Additionally, he promised to both improve the parking situation in the municipality while simultaneously expanding its green spaces; he imagined this balance would be achieved through an increased number of underground parking lots and establishing an “aesthetic committee” to evaluate zoning decisions. By adding more parking spaces, he intended to reduce Istanbul’s “Parking Lot Mafia.” Under a Sarıgül administration, social services for the poor would also be increased, cultural centers would be opened, and unnecessary municipal buildings would be rented out to raise money.
Finances, however, was a serious issue facing the new mayor. In addition to the millions Atığ had embezzled, the municipality’s expenses were far beyond its means—somewhere in the neighborhood of six trillion lira of debts (twenty billion USD). Within his first year in office, Sarıgül found multiple means of cutting costs. When he came to office, for example, the municipality was covering the cost of employee phone bills without any limit; by 1999, the cost had risen to two hundred and fifty million lira (1.1 million USD). Sarıgül capped the budget at fifteen million lira. Likewise, the municipality was in the habit of sending wreathes made from expensive fresh-cut flowers to weddings and business openings; Sarıgül mandated that these be replaced with a less costly, flowerless version.
In order to tackle sloth in the bureaucracy, Sarıgül hired a number of actors to conduct inspections and submit reports as to the speed and quality of municipal service. He also increased inspections of restaurants and clubs throughout the municipality —occasionally accompanying the inspection teams to emphasize his support. On other occasions, he stood with “the people” against law enforcement; he opposed arming municipal police and, in the aftermath of the 2001 financial crisis, put an end to ticket writing on Fridays and Mondays, arguing that these days were “stressful” enough already.
There were many other initiatives to improve daily life as well: early in his term, Sarıgül signed a deal with his old Galatasaray Board of Directors to open the stadium to the public in the early morning; now people could exercise if the mood struck them. He also introduced a “Şişli Card” that gave residents discounts at local restaurants and exempted them from certain fees, like parking meters. In the poorer neighborhoods of the municipality, like Kuştepe, he opened free laundromats to make local women’s routines easier. He also established a fund to help poor families travel home for funerals.
Sarıgül also proved especially good with aesthetic issues. Working alongside local businessmen, he raised funds for beautifying buildings along Şişli’s main streets. Similar initiatives were organized to clean schools and prayer rooms throughout the municipality. Nor did his cleanup efforts end with inanimate objects: he also required all municipal headmen to wear nice clothes and all street cleaners to get manicures. This emphasis on outward appearance—especially his own—has long given ammunition to his foes. By his own admission, he goes through multiple sets of clothing a day and travels with his own personal barber in tow—but these, he argues, are necessities given his hectic routine. His defense was less than successful: when the term “metrosexual” was in vogue in the mid-1990s, Turkish papers discussing the trend would invoke Sarıgül as Turkey’s leading example.
Despite suggestions that he was money-grubbing and shallow, Sarıgül was careful to retain his close connection to voters in Şişli. He was constantly visiting constituents and attending community events. Upon becoming mayor, he acknowledged Şişli’s large Armenian population by naming an Armenian as his Deputy Mayor—the first such municipal official in Turkish Republican history. With the DSP heading toward a rout in the 2002 elections, he left and joined Baykal’s more popular CHP. Once again part of Ataturk’s party, he went the extra mile to remind Şişli residents of his Kemalist credentials: four months after re-joining the CHP, he organized a trip for 12,000 impoverished children to visit Ataturk’s mausoleum in Ankara. (Various local transportation companies were encouraged to donate ten buses each for the cause.) Later that year, he oversaw the construction of the world’s largest flag—a 3.5 kilometer long behemoth.
He also maintained good relations with the local business community. Atığ had spoken of turning Şişli into a Turkish Wall Street, but it was under his watch that the dream was realized. (Moreover, it is during Sarıgül’s administration that the municipality has become home to Turkey’s largest concentration of shopping malls.) Businessmen responded positively to Sarıgül’s vigorous defense of their interests: in January 2004, just two months before the municipal elections, a group of the country’s most important businessmen, including Sakıp Sabancı, Cem Boyner, Erdoğan Demirören, and Yılmaz Ulusoy, awarded him “Mayor of the Year” for his efforts.
After five years, he had much to show for himself: the municipality had planted 170,000 new trees; built 113 new parks and green areas, fifty new school science labs, sixteen new libraries, and six new neighborhood health centers; established women’s art courses serving upwards of twenty-six thousand; and opened eighteen new sports facilities for local children. With the election approaching, and polls showing the AKP headed for a dramatic victory over the CHP, the only municipality that struck commentators as “guaranteed” for the CHP was Sarıgül’s Şişli. His dominance was especially impressive, since no politician had managed reelection in the two decades since the municipality had been established. Given that his re-election bid was a lock, Sarıgül kept his vows simple; he promised to build local health facilities, women’s shelters, and even more parking lots. When all the votes were tallied, he had received sixty-five percent—ten percent more than the next most popular CHP mayor in Istanbul and more than any other CHP mayor in the country. Five years earlier, he had won fifty thousand votes; he was re-elected with over ninety thousand.
[Part three of this article can be found here.]
 Ayse Gunes-Ayata and Sencer Ayata describe Erdal İnönü as having “neither deep emotional nor idealistic commitment to a political movement nor was he a person of great ambitions in politics; rather, he tended to define his role as one of responding to a call and performing a duty.” (“Turkey’s Mainstream Political Parties on the Center-Right and Center-Left,” Turkey Since 1970: Politics, Economics and Society, Debbie Lovatt ed. Great Britain: Palgrave, 2001, p.100).
 Sarıgül, p. 124.
 See 1987 election statistics at Türkiye Seçimleri. Acessed: 1/8/14.
 Sarıgül, p. 142.
 “Sarıgül: ‘Yüzüme yumruk yedim.’ Tekinel: ‘Kendimi savundum.’” Milliyet, 12/16/87, p. 8.
 Sarıgül, p. 144.
 “Tek derse,” Milliyet, 8/17/88, p. 8. Sarıgül, p. 145.
 Ayşe Hür, “CHP, Ticaniler ve Atatürk’ü Koruma Kanunu,” Taraf, 2/10/08. Accessed: 1/8/14. The text of the three clauses can be seen HERE. They were finally lifted in 1991 as part of Özal’s Gulf War era Kurdish opening.
 One exception to his party loyalty was a moment of intrigue in which he allowed one of his garages to be used as a meeting place for Ali Topuz’s factional meetings. At a meeting infiltrated by reporters, Topuz spoke of the SHP being taken over by Alevis and Kurds. (See “Garaj bunalımı,” Milliyet, 11/23/88, p. 8, and İsmet Demirdöğen, “Sarıgül nereden nereye…(1),” Radikal, 11/17/04).
 Ayhan Aydemir, “‘CASA alanı kurşunmalı,’” Milliyet, 5/23/01, p. 14 and Ferkan Altınok, “Sarıgül ‘uçan tabut’un neresinde,” Yeni Akit, 11/21/13. Accessed: 1/13/14.
 Istanbul was allotted fifty seats in the national assembly. These were divided between nine districts, each with three to six possible seats. In Sarıgül’s fifth district there were six seats. Getting more than twenty percent earned a party a seat (because 100/6=17%). In the election the results were: ANAP (twenty-nine percent), DSP (nineteen percent), SHP (nineteen percent), RP (sixteen percent), and DYP (sixteen percent). Since only ANAP cleared the barrier, it won all six seats and the other parties won none. If the center-left DSP and SHP had allied, they would have won around two-thirds of the seats. Overall, the 1991 election was bad for both the SHP (whose number of parliamentarians fell by ten) and for ANAP, which lost its majority to the True Path Party (DYP) a center-right. See 1991 election statistics at Türkiye Seçimleri. Accessed: 1/12/14.
 Sarıgül, p. 160.
 Reformists were tied to to Erdal İnönü and İsmail Cem, both on the left of the party’s spectrum.
 Yalçın Doğan, “CHP’nin Şişli Provası Değil Bu,” Milliyet, 7/5/92, p. 14.
 Sarıgül, p. 174.
 Sarıgül, p. 176.
 In 1989, the SHP won Şişli with thirty-eight percent (around fifty thousand votes) and ANAP garnered twenty-five percent (thirty-three thousand votes), the DYP won nineteen percent, and the DSP won eleven, so the left (DSP-SHP) can be said to have won about forty-nine percent. In 1994, ANAP won with twenty-four percent (thirty-four thousand votes) and the DSP-CHP-SHP collected a forty-seven percent split amongst them. See 1989 Şişli results HERE and 1994 results HERE.
 Sarıgül, p. 175.
 Sarıgül, p. 192.
 Sarıgül, p. 241.
 “Atığ’ın büyük rüyası,” Milliyet, 4/15/96, p. 3.
 “Başkanın hızlı düşüşü,” Milliyet, 11/14/97, p. 1.
 “Imar affından büyük rant,” Milliyet, 11/14/97, p. 14.
 “Aslıtürk raporu,” Milliyet, 3/25/98, p. 18. The dollar conversion is based on the 220 lira: 1 dollar rate in the newspaper that day.
 Gülay Çokay (her maiden name, having subsequently divorced Orhan) still lives in London. Many of the charges have been dropped and Orhan, after being arrested in Spain in 2008, has been released from jail and returned to Turkey. A recent interview can be seen HERE (“Aysegul Ekinci–Gulay Cokay,” Youtube, 12/20/11. Accessed: 1/15/14).
 Details of the 1999 election results can be found HERE.
 “Belediyeciliğin kara mirası Şişli,” Hurriyet, 3/22/99. Accessed: 1/15/14.
 “Yalçın Bayer: Şişli’de bir Ermeni…” Hurriyet, 5/13/99. Accessed: 1/15/14.
 “Sarıgül’ün çiçekleri,” Milliyet, 10/13/99, p. 8.
 Şeyda Ağırgol, “Şişli’de rüşvet veren prim alıyor,” Milliyet, 4/23/03. Accessed: 1/15/14.
 “Zabıtayı kim koruyacak,” Hurriyet, 6/2/99. Accessed: 1/15/14. “Şişli’de zabıta, pazartesi ve cuma ceza kesmeyecek,” Hurriyet, 7/8/02. Accessed: 1/15/14.
 In taking credit for the idea, Sarıgül angered the mayor of Gaziantep who claimed he had come up with the idea first (Milliyet, 7/17/03, p. 19).
 The issue of parking proved trickier. The municipality had added parking meters during Atığ’s term, and Sarıgül had removed these upon coming into office. Polls showed that residents did not like these meters—and ones without cars were even more opposed to them. Quickly, however, he realized they were necessary in order to cut down on parking lot mafioso and allowed them to be put back on a number of streets. In order to avoid the impression that he was imposing zoning decisions on Şişli’s central districts, he held a number of mini-elections regarding whether or not to pedestrianize streets.
 “Bu çöpçüler manikürlu,” Milliyet, 12/17/99, p. 15. “Şişli’nin Pierre Cardin’li muhtarları,” Hurriyet, 3/15/01. Accessed: 1/15/14.
 “Bir metroseksüel’imiz eksikti,” Hurriyet, 7/3/03. Accessed: 1/15/14. Sarıgül, pp. 200-01. Alongside his reputation as a dandy, he maintained his habit for brawling: in 2002, he was in the news when his bodyguards punched a Fenerbahçe representative at a Galatasaray match. (“Saran’a yumruk,” Hurriyet, 2/17/02.)
 “Cumhuriyet’in ilk Ermeni belediyecisi,” Hurriyet, 5/19/99. Accessed: 1/15/14.
 “12500 çocuk Anıtkabir’de,” Milliyet, 4/20/03, p. 18.
 “Yılın Belediye Başkanı Sarıgül,” Hurriyet, 1/22/04. Accessed: 1/15/14.
 Ersin Kalkan, “İletişim dehası olduğu kesin,” Hurriyet, 4/4/04. Accessed: 1/15/14.
 Serpil Yılmaz, “CHP’de adayı sıkıntısı,” Milliyet, 2/1/04, p. 13.
 See election results HERE.
[An earlier version of this article was published on the author’s blog; it can be found here. Part one of this article can be found here; part three of this article can be found here.]