They are images more familiar from mafia trials or authoritarian regimes: dozens of men in handcuffs, marching in single file, held by police officers on both arms—paraded through the gates of a courthouse before rolling cameras. But these are not suspected criminals. They are politicians from Turkey’s main opposition party, the Republican People’s Party (CHP), arrested as part of a corruption probe. The charges, however, are based largely on dubious testimony from questionable witnesses, some of whom were allegedly promised leniency in return.
This spectacle was staged by the Turkish police. President Recep Tayyip Erdoğan provided the narrative backdrop. In a public speech, he referred to the imprisoned CHP politician and former mayor of Istanbul, Ekrem İmamoğlu, as the head of a “criminal octopus” whose tentacles stretched beyond Turkey’s borders. With this rhetoric, Erdoğan made clear: the case is not just about corruption—it’s about painting the opposition as part of a subversive, anti-state network.
The accusations against İmamoğlu, however, appear highly contrived. The so-called evidence is largely hearsay, attributed to individuals allegedly offered plea bargains or reduced sentences. Even in Turkey’s politically jaded public, where corruption is often viewed as a given, there is widespread skepticism that the authorities have failed to produce anything resembling solid proof. After visiting İmamoğlu in prison, Nacho Sánchez Amor, the European Parliament’s rapporteur on Turkey, described the case as “entirely fabricated.” He accused Istanbul’s Chief Public Prosecutor, Akın Gürlek, of being “tasked” with eliminating İmamoğlu as a political contender. Gürlek is already notorious for presiding over politically charged cases against opposition figures, journalists, and academics.
CHP party leader Özgür Özel has also gone on the offensive. During a rally in Istanbul, he accused Gürlek of orchestrating the public humiliation of his party colleagues. “Akın!” he shouted into the microphone. “I will not witness such disgrace again. Don’t force me to go further!” The statement triggered a criminal investigation on charges of threatening and insulting a judicial official. Due to his parliamentary immunity, Özel currently faces no arrest—but the legal pressure on him is mounting.
On June 30, a court in Ankara is set to rule on the legitimacy of Özel’s election as party chairman. The case was initiated by none other than supporters of his predecessor, Kemal Kılıçdaroğlu, who lost to Özel in the CHP’s internal elections last November and never publicly conceded defeat. Kılıçdaroğlu is even listed as the “injured party” in the complaint—and has done nothing to dispel the impression that he wishes to reclaim the leadership. The government has exploited this intra-party rift with ease, using it to justify legal action.
The result is a looming existential crisis for the CHP. If the court annuls Özel’s election, it could pave the way for his removal—and potentially the appointment of a government-installed trustee to oversee the party. Meanwhile, prosecutors are pushing for a political ban on İmamoğlu. The implications are severe: a weakened or fractured CHP would be a gift to Erdoğan’s ruling AKP, not just in the short term, but strategically.
Still, Erdoğan proceeds with caution. For him, the crackdown carries its own risks. Forcibly removing Özel could reignite the protests that have continued regularly since March. Twice a week, thousands still rally in Istanbul and other cities—many in open solidarity with İmamoğlu and Özel. The new CHP leader has rapidly gained political traction. According to a recent ORC poll, 47 percent of respondents view Özel as a stronger leader than Erdoğan, who trails slightly at 44 percent. Since last year’s municipal elections, the CHP has consistently outperformed the AKP in opinion polls.
Yet Erdoğan is playing the long game. With national elections unlikely before 2027, he has ample time to dismantle his rivals—and let public memory of İmamoğlu fade. In Turkey, İmamoğlu’s X (formerly Twitter) account has already been blocked for several weeks. The Istanbul city government has been instructed to remove all posters bearing his image. Meanwhile, the judiciary continues targeting his associates: his private secretary, his bodyguard, and several CHP municipal officials have been arrested—five of them stripped of office. Some were rearrested shortly after being released, underscoring how the justice system is increasingly weaponized for political ends.
Strikingly, many of the arrest warrants have been issued on Saturdays—reportedly to avoid spooking the financial markets. After İmamoğlu’s detention, Turkey’s central bank had to sell $12 billion to stabilize the lira. So far, however, the economic fallout has been manageable. Inflation dropped unexpectedly to 35 percent in May. If the economy rebounds further, it would likely boost Erdoğan’s reelection prospects—especially if the opposition remains mired in internal divisions and legal entanglements.
Turkey now faces a major test of its democratic resilience. Never since the advent of multiparty politics has the country’s main opposition faced such extensive legal and political pressure. The calculated demonization of the CHP, the removal of charismatic leaders, and the tightening grip over media and judiciary all point to an increasingly autocratic trajectory. The only open question is whether the public will continue to accept this gradual authoritarian shift—or whether the crackdown will end up fueling the resistance it seeks to crush.
