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These arbitrary detentions are in contrast to the otherwise cosmopolitan atmosphere of Turkey's most European city. In the cafes, waiters serve coffee and beer. Patrons sit on low stools playing backgammon or talking animatedly. At each corner, the simiticis call out "simit, simit, simit," selling the round pretzel-like pastries that go well with Turkish tea.

But away from Istiklal Avenue, with its plush consulates and carefully tended gardens, are hidden casualties of a fading war in the predominantly Kurdish Southeast that has polarized the country. The 15-year-old conflict has brought to the surface Turkey's deep-seated problems with ethnicity and freedom of expression. In Istanbul, as in many cities, families evacuated from the war-torn regions of the Southeast are crowded into shanties and other poorly constructed housing. With their previous sustenance based on agriculture and animal husbandry, many migrants face unemployment in the cities, and their children must work instead of going to school, to help make ends meet.

The war has infuriated many Turks and created a tide of intolerance toward the Kurdish minority. For the families of slain Turkish soldiers, no single figure embodies the evil of that war more than Abdullah Ocalan. The controversy over the Kurdish rebel leader's fate has revealed the most recent threat to Turkey's efforts at reform.

In mid-January, the Turkish government postponed a parliamentary vote on whether or not to hang Ocalan, its No. 1 enemy. The 51-year-old leader of the Kurdistan Workers' Party (PKK) was convicted of treason last summer for leading the guerrilla war against the state in the country's predominantly Kurdish Southeast. Ocalan, who remains in prison, called on the guerillas to put down their arms in early August, saying that he wanted to work out a political solution for peace.

The move to delay a vote on the death penalty does not reflect a change of heart about Ocalan. Rather, Turkey knows that its enactment of the death penalty would shut the door to its accession to the European Union, which it has fiercely coveted for years. In December, the country was granted EU candidacy. One of the EU's requirements for accession is banning capital punishment.

Turkey has had a 16-year de facto moratorium on capital punishment, but popular reaction to Ocalan has vigorously called for lifting it. The state blames Ocalan for the deaths of 30,000 soldiers and civilians in the conflict. Emotions over Ocalan run deep. Following Ocalan's capture in Nairobi by Turkish intelligence agents last February, TV news outlets showed segment after segment of families of Turkish soldiers demanding "death to the terrorist chieftain." Small children in school uniforms paraded with posters of Ocalan labeled "blood-sucking baby killer." Grisly photographs of corpses accompanied still shots of Ocalan in newscasts. His lawyers were physically attacked by a jeering crowd while police looked on.

The controversy over Ocalan's death sentence is only part of a larger and thornier issue for Turkey's bid for EU accession: its human rights record. Turkish and international human rights groups have documented arbitrary detentions, torture, disappearances, extra-judicial executions and imprisonment for "thought" or "speech" crimes in Turkey. Many cases relate to the oppression of Kurds.

In a country where the military is revered and every son in every family is conscripted into military service, you are either with the state or you are against it. Such a view is sanctioned by the 1982 constitution, drawn up by the leaders of Turkey's 1980 military coup. In its preamble, it states, "No protection shall be afforded to thoughts and opinions contrary to Turkish national interests."

The overwhelming sentiment against Ocalan intensified this attitude and swept to power the far-right National Movement Party (MHP), now part of the three-party coalition government. The party's now-deceased founder, Alparslan Turkes, admired Hitler and Mussolini and dreamed of a pan-Turkic movement spanning Central Asia.

And despite a fledgling shift toward reform at top levels of the government, the effort has not translated to changes in police conduct, the courts, or at the grass roots. For instance, MHP supporters attacked the Ankara office of the Human Rights Association (IHD) in November because of the organization's opposition to the death penalty, a spokeswoman for the groups says.

As a result of this us-versus-them mentality, many journalists, activists and intellectuals (both Turkish and Kurdish) have gone to prison for what they've said or written. Akin Birdal, the former general secretary of the IHD, went to prison last year to serve a 12-month sentence for "inciting racial hatred." His sentence stems from a 1996 speech in which he called for "peace and understanding" with respect to "the Kurdish people."

Next page | Evading international law: When is a minority not a minority?