Up until that point, Turkish state universities (there were no private ones) were semi-autonomous. Rivalries and backstabbing were conducted within the normal roller derby gentility of an academic institution. YÖK introduced a whole new layer of viciousness. Instead of being a community where everyone knew they would have to get along, they became hierarchical institutions where those with authority could hide behind closed doors. Well-connected members of staff had access to national political power (Turkey was under martial law at the time) with which to pursue old vendettas. Respected professors at odds with the regime found themselves dismissed or exiled to mud-brick (rather than red-brick) universities away from family, colleagues and friends.There was an uneasy rationale behind this clipping of institutional wings. Turkey in the 1970s was a violent place, and much of that violence had spread onto university campuses. One corridor of İstanbul Technical University (İTÜ) was affectionately nicknamed the Ponderosa on account of the gunfights that used to occur. There were still bullet holes in the walls of some Ankara faculties. YÖK set out to depoliticize the universities, if only so parents could feel confident about sending their children off to learn. But, of course, it did so in a very political way.
There were additional objectives. By centrally administering the entire systems as if all institutions were part of one Turkey University, administrators could allocate scarce academic resources more rationally; if İstanbul University had two medieval historians, why not send one to Sivas where there wasn't much of a history department at all? And the final, popular and populist aim was to increase radically the number of students and thus provide more people with higher degrees and passports to better jobs.
It didn't take a genius to realize that this rapid expansion would be at the expense of existing standards and that creating institutions of excellence would take some time. İhsan Doğramacı, the first head of YÖK, in an act of cynicism of which Diogenes would be proud, diverted state funds into a private university of his own devising. Bilkent was intended as a sort of Noah's Ark, a bit of academia that might stay afloat after its founder released the deluge.
That was nearly three decades ago. YÖK has answered the need for more university places, and Bilkent has set a precedent for other private universities, of whom a handful will almost certainly mature into prestigious places of learning. Many state universities have managed to re-establish their institutional esprit. For nearly 30 years, as well, YÖK has imposed a style of administration on Turkish places of learning. While it is no longer the steeply pointed pyramid structure its architects intended, it has certainly set a tone. I was recently surprised to learn that many university rectors go around with bodyguards, less because they are in constant danger but because it ups their prestige.
Universities are more peaceful places, but then so too is Turkish society. Academia is a battleground only in the metaphorical sense of where those women who want to wear a headscarf tussle with those who want to tell them how to dress. However, the latest round of indictments in the Ergenekon trials suggests that YÖK has not succeeded in depoliticizing university campuses. Among those detained have been the rectors of Turkish universities charged with hatching a coup to replace the elected government.
It is not proper to try in the press an issue that is before the courts. While many of those charged are guilty of arrogance, always thinking you know best is not yet a punishable offense. Arresting such prominent people is of vast public concern. As Yavuz Baydar pointed out in his column yesterday, the prosecution has been sorely negligent in explaining this case to the public. However, let me simply note that YÖK has spawned its progeny. This time it is the rectors, not the students, who stand accused of plotting violence to overthrow the state.
