A new name for an old political disease: ‘Pet Country Syndrome’
In Berlin this past week, I learned of a new political-sociological syndrome. I suppose its comparable to those maladies more familiar in political discourse: “compassion fatigue,” or “imperial overstretch,” or even the well-known “Vietnam Syndrome.” It is just that it is more insidious and subject to various mutations. This term, new to me, is “Pet Country Syndrome.”
Like most diseases, this one has probably been around for a while, awaiting the practitioner to describe it and add it to the literature. And so that step occurred, the work of an international group of social scientists gathered over dinner for a post-mortem on a conference earlier in the day in this famous capital. The venerable Turkish Economic and Social Studies Foundation (TESEV) sponsored the conference on EU-Turkish relations.
“Pet Country Syndrome” is a social disease that affects communications systems. And it did so here. Its victims – or carriers - are generally leftist-oriented, minor party politicians who count themselves as “friends of Turkey.” Among the ravages of the disease is the fact that while these politicians are condemning the real and growing threat of “extreme nationalism” in Turkey, they are in fact contributing to this dangerous current. And all the while, they are totally unaware of what they are doing.
However, let me back up to how I came to learn of the “Pet Country Syndrome.” For it is not my discovery. I was just an observer here. The conference I came to attend was set to discuss all the grim realities of Turkish-EU relations: suspended chapters, Turkey’s stalled reforms and of course the growing anti-Turkishness in just about every European country and the reverse. That we were assembling to talk about these things in the wake of the brutal murder of Turkish-Armenian journalist Hrant Dink added both a sense of urgency and a sense of mourning. But I am not sure how much we really accomplished.
The absence of reciprocity:
Unspoken throughout the day was a pall of tension between the European and Turkish participants. Being personally in neither category, perhaps I should constrain my judgment. So I will try and stick to observation. The source of the tension was that when the EU-member participants were criticizing Turkey, the Turks were generally both in accord and reflective. You can imagine the topics: infamous “Article 301,” human rights, women’s rights, democratization. Nevertheless, reciprocity was not in evidence. For example, when the conversation turned to a report TESEV published in December, “Seeking Kant in EU-Turkey Relations,” the Europeans would have none of it. This, of course, is a report we’ve discussed in the pages of the Turkish Daily News; keying off the values of the Enlightenment philosopher Emmanuel Kant, it examines the many double standards in the EU treatment of Turkey when compared with other candidate countries. Turkey’s many imperfections are fair game for analysis; those of the EU are not.
I won’t get into names, we are talking about figures frequently in the media and I am sure readers know of whom I speak. It is the specific dialogue killer worthy of attention: when a Turkish social scientist moves to examine an EU frailty, the automatic and dismissive response is that this is simply a manifestation of either “nationalism” or its cousin, “national pride.” As “nationalism” has no legitimacy, any observation that might proceed from it lacks legitimacy as well. It is an elegantly intellectual way to say, “Shut up.” Except that, this is not a debating technique, but the sum of assumed premises, a world view. One group has a set of views that are noble and the other does not.
The label of ‘nationalist’:
After we had left behind the microphones, name cards and the protocols, we reassembled as a much smaller group for dinner in a neighborhood of the former East Berlin. The discussion around the table ultimately turned back to the phenomenon I describe. And that was when someone named it, “Pet Country Syndrome.”
“The problem is that these people see Turkey as their pet country. They either are, or aspire to be, minor parliamentarians of minor European parties and as such they haven’t got a lot to do,” one observer allowed. “The route to an international platform is the hero’s role, a mission to save Turkey. If one crosses them, one is instantly labeled as a nationalist.”
Another at the table weighed in: “I feel it’s like Greenpeace and its mission to save the baby seals. Except, we are not baby seals.”
A young German at the table, who grew up in the former East Germany and who fled before the fall of the Berlin Wall through Hungary, offered a particularly valuable insight. This was from someone who spent years in a refugee camp as the two German sides were uniting and his recollections were poignant. “I understand exactly what you are talking about,” he told the little assembly. “We Easterners experienced precisely the same thing. Because the Westerners were our ‘big brothers’ the slightest questioning was regarded as ingratitude. The result was that in the integration of East and West, we were hard pressed to defend our own natural rights and in the end, I think we made far more concessions than we should have. However, you cannot explain this to a Westerner. They simply cannot understand.”
A columnist for the TDN’s sister newspaper, Nabi Yağcı, has touched on this topic in the past, under the headline of “Orientalism.” “The westerners unfortunately, have everything to teach Turkey,” he wrote. “But they have virtually nothing to learn from Turkey.”
The discussion at the table took me back to a conversation I recalled with the late Turkish playwright Memet Baydur. In those years, he lived in Washington. In my first career in the newspaper business, we used to get together from time to time. One night he spoke of “the irony of a particular brand of cultural imperialism that flows from the left.” He went on to discuss a frustration that was alive at the dinner table in Berlin. “We don’t need teachers, we don’t need elder brothers, we don’t need wise men to show us the enlightened path,” said Memet. “What we do need is collaborators who share our values. And these are few.”
At the time of Memet’s observations, I had no intention of ever returning to Turkey in a professional capacity. Since I resumed my craft at Referans three years ago, and now continue it at the TDN, I have recalled his words a thousands times. I did so again in Berlin.
The difference this time was the diagnosis of this ambiguous disease, “Pet Country Syndrome.” It is the most apt of descriptions.
In these perilous times, I worry deeply about the disease of extreme nationalism and where it may take Turkey. But I worry more about the contributors to this scourge, the attitudes that can inflame nationalism. “Pet Country Syndrome” is at the top of my list.
Nationalism can be confronted with education, with economic development, with a thoughtful and effective news media. But “Pet Country Syndrome?” The cure to this disease, I fear, will remain elusive.