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This chapter analyzes the reflections of Turkey’s neoconservative and neoliberal politics of gender on daytime television. The focus is on Bridal House, a popular daytime TV show in Turkey which interpellates women as domestic subjects competing with other women to prove their domestic abilities, particularly the ability to navigate the etiquette of domestic consumption. Hierarchies are instigated among women through symbolic battles on “tasteful” consumption, and the marital household surfaces as a space of constant regulation where women strive to be ideal housewives. By analyzing Bridal House through a Bourdieusian framework, this chapter traces the representations of the “ideal female subject” along neoconservative and neoliberal lines, and demonstrates the ways in which symbolic violences are enacted on women in contemporary Turkey’s daytime TV culture.

The marriage show was a popular reality show format that invited people to find their soulmate and marry on live television in Turkey. Based on ethnographic fieldwork which took place in the show’s studio between 2011 and 2012, this chapter explores female participants’ investment of their trust in the show. While being reluctant about finding a spouse on television, women take on registers of safety, familiarity, and secrecy to navigate the show as a safe venue. This endeavor also involved women’s safeguarding of themselves on their way to marriage. The fragility of trust in the show, therefore, indicates how women foresee risks and yet strive for securing happiness and safety in marriage in general. This affective tension, at a larger scale, is related to the increased sense of insecurity at a global scale, and the systematic failure of the family to provide the safe living environment it promises in the Turkish context.

En France, depuis quelques années, le terme « décolonial » fait couler beaucoup d'encre. Employé d'abord dans les milieux militants antiracistes, il a fait plus récemment l'objet de manifestations scientifiques et de travaux académiques, ainsi que d'une réappropriation médiatique qui, en en dévoyant bien souvent le sens, jette sur lui une forme d'anathème, lui conférant une coloration largement polémique. Les théories et les mouvements décoloniaux restent ainsi fondamentalement mal compris, et leurs concepts fondateurs, comme la notion de colonialité, ne sont presque jamais rapportés à leur contexte d'origine ni aux penseurs et penseuses qui les ont forgés. L'histoire de la pensée et de la pratique décoloniales, malgré des travaux universitaires ou des revues dédiées de plus en plus nombreux, reste finalement mal aimée, parce que mal connue, du grand public. Pour dissiper les amalgames ordinaires qu'occasionne en France la réception souvent trop superficielle de ces courants, des universitaires et / ou militant·e·s tentent de diffuser la richesse conceptuelle et politique du mouvement. Leurs travaux soulignent la nécessité de faire connaître la voix d'intellectuel·le·s et d'activistes latino-américain·e·s en diffusant leurs textes en langue française, en les soumettant au débat ou en en proposant des approches critiques. On peut dire qu'un champ d'études décoloniales, encore jeune, mais pluriel et foisonnant, est en cours de consolidation. Retour aux origines Si les termes « décolonial » et « décolonialité » se chargent souvent dans les médias français de connotations hostiles, du fait notamment de la critique radicale de la modernité qu'ils induisent ou du soupçon de communautarisme qu'ils soulèvent, il importe de revenir à l'origine du mouvement décolonial, des théories et concepts qui le fondent, aux luttes, aux résistances concrètes et aux propositions de mondes qu'il recouvre. Pour tenter de mettre en lumière ses apports-philosophiques, mais aussi épistémologiques, politiques, ontologiques ou esthétiques-, un tour d'horizon s'impose des différent·e·s auteur·e·s et notions qui caractérisent le mouvement décolonial, au demeurant éminemment pluriel, d'Amérique latine.

The 1990s’ popular televised journalistic/history documentaries have played a vital role in the making of political television culture, society of political spectacle, and the production of popular history and memory in Turkey. Despite their importance, these documentaries did not attract enough scholarly attention. By focusing on arguably the most popular and impactful journalistic/history documentaries of Turkey’s history, developed by Mehmet Ali Birand in the 1990s, I will assess the role of television in teaching, telling, and writing the political history. In doing so, I will also contextualize the form and discourse of these documentary series within historical juncture of globalization and neoliberalization of television as well as the country’s political economy.

Satellite television has not only provided migrant communities with stronger ties to their home countries but also enabled second-generation migrants in particular to know more about their country of origin beyond their family ties. The aim of this chapter is to explore the ways in which Turkish television contributes towards the making of the transnational identity of the “twice minority” group of Alevi Kurds through what I call mediatised culturalisation. Drawing on 17 in-depth interviews that I conducted with the second-generation members of the Alevi Kurdish community in London in 2016, I explore the role of Turkish television in contesting the boundaries of transnational social imaginaries of the second-generation viewers.

When, in 2015, students at the University of Cape Town in South Africa demanded the removal of a statue of British colonial and diamond merchant Cecil Rhodes from their campus, they initiated what was to become a global call to ‘decolonize the university’. In the same year, students at University College London began to ask the question: why is my curriculum white? Other public sector cultural institutions soon joined the chorus in an overdue acknowledgement that unspoken colonial legacies had for too long upheld and promulgated white privilege. The role of public sculpture as a catalyst for political debate and change has a long tradition within art's histories. It serves to remind us of the centrality of the discipline in promoting and maintaining dominant cultural values; and yet it also enables us to interrogate them as historically located and subject to inevitable temporal mutation. Whilst postcolonial studies and critical race studies have been informing and challenging the shape of art history for several decades, new generations of students, scholars, critics, curators, collectors, artists and audiences are seeking radical re-evaluations of the academy and those cultural institutions who hold themselves up as standard-bearers of our collective cultural heritage. But, what, if anything, is specific about the current moment's demands to reassess how universities, museums, and galleries teach, research, collect and exhibit? How can art historians, curators, collectors, museum directors, artists and writers respond to the call to decolonize art history? How can we draw from the rich legacy of postcolonial, feminist, queer and Marxist perspectives within art history, and what are the new theoretical perspectives that are needed?

This article paves way for a materialist analysis of the games industry as 21st century imperialism that is economically and culturally structured to cultivate anti-democratic norms that lead to fascist movements against those who question or seek to change the status quo. While much research has studied the politics of reactionary movements in gaming cultures, few have paid attention to the relation between the games industry as part of an imperialist economic system, the chauvinistic ideals symptomized in their cultural products, and the reactionist consumer audiences they attract and cultivate. As I argue, the economic structure of the industry as 21st century imperialism leads to perpetual anti-democratic crises that are maintained by reactionary forces that cultivate, attract, and form fascist grassroots organization. To conceptualize this dynamic, I invoke the labor aristocracy theory as suggested by Friedrich Engels and V.I. Lenin. This theory helps highlight the material basis from which consumers of digital games are bribed to become ideologically aligned with the chauvinism that the imperialist nature of the games industry is justified by. I also invoke W.E.B. Du Bois’ concept of a public and psychological wage to highlight the chauvinistic tendencies that the games industry cultivates via their products and marketing, in which the lack of democratic and equitable representation provides the reactionary consumers a sense of superiority. Together, these approaches account for the economic and cultural bases of both the games industry and its reactionary consumers. By anchoring my analysis in critical theories on imperialism and race, the article identifies the root causes of organized harassment and chauvinism in game cultures, as well as how the industry as 21st century imperialism benefits from and is protected by these forces of reaction.

This contribution interrogates the figure of the perpetrator as it emerges in narrative videogames. First, we provide a brief outlook on some key characteristics of videogames, before we discuss how the specific affordances of this “new” medium offer unprecedented ways of approaching and dealing with perpetrators and perpetration. Finally, we offer concrete examples from three games to illustrate different possible configurations of the playerperpetrator nexus—Yager Development’s Spec Ops: The Line (2012), 11 Bit Studio’s This War of Mine (2015), and Hangar 13’s Mafia III (2016). In contrast to other media, games enable an active exploration of, and participation in, a variety of possible offenses. Rather than merely witnessing evil deeds, players are immersed in simulated environments that demand constant evaluations of complex settings and require decision-making under systemic limitations. This performative aspect of play makes games a unique medium for learning and teaching about the intricate logics and innate dynamics of perpetrations.

This article aims to answer two questions. The first is: What is a Sámi art museum? The second question considers whether there is no Sámi art museum, as assumed by the Nordnorsk kunstmuseum (NNKM) as the title of a museum performance and exhibition in 2017. To answer the first question, it is necessary to tell the long story of the Sámi cultural-historical museum in Karasjok, Samiid Vuorká-Dávvirat (SVD). This museum was inaugurated in 1972 as an act of resistance against the increasing assimilation politics towards the Sámi population in the post-war period. The building that was erected became a cultural and political centre, and a living cultural institution that housed the increasing Sámi ethno-political movement and its energy. Furthermore, as I will argue, the activity that took place at the site became a part of Sámi cultural heritage. The museum has also collected art since 1972 - a collection that today comprises 1400 artworks. Since the 1980s, various plans have been made for a Sámi art museum in a separate building, somehow connected to SVD, however, none of these plans have yet been realised. The article discusses the different reasons for this, and points to the connotations embedded in the SVD building as a cultural and political centre as one of the contributing factors. To answer the question of whether there is no Sámi art museum, a critical reading of the Nordnorsk kunstmuseum’s 2017 museum performance There Is No is necessary. My answer to the question is that NNKM, unfortunately, fell into several traps in their attempt to focus on the fact that there is no physical building. One such trap, that is very common in Western museums displaying indigenous art, is their use of traditional art-historical models as interpretive lenses when displaying indigenous art. A different concept of what an art museum could be today, as a place where things happen, where we could meet counter narratives, or Sámi art and culture could be presented as being part of the present as well as the past and future, would have been closer to a Sámi art museum. I offer this conclusion both through the deeper understanding of Sámi cultural and ethno-political movements as offered in the story of SVD, and through my reading of the theories of the indigenous American scholar John Paul Rangel. While there may indeed be no physical building claiming to be a Sámi art museum, it does in fact exist through the Sámi concept of árbevierru.

Sport has had a symbiotic relationship with television for decades, as it has always been one of the most marketable visual products for the medium. The new visual media technologies that have been introduced since the 1970s have altered this relationship greatly by incrementally commodifying sport at each step. One of the most crucial aspects of this relationship is globalisation, which initially depended on satellite television and took sport’s hyper-commodification to a whole new level. Turkey, which went through a massive transformation to a neoliberal rule following a bloody coup d’etat in 1980 that practically razed the whole social and political structure, has since become an important example of the roles of sport and television in an aggressively neoliberal setting. This chapter aims to explain why televised sport has had a remarkable role in the sociopolitical transformation of Turkey since the 1980 coup.

Fin des années 1960 aux Etats-Unis, les Indians of All Tribes impulsent un mouvement de contestations sociales qui a pour but la reconnaissance des droits inhérents aux peuples autochtones à la souveraineté et à l'auto-détermination. L'American Indian Movement et sa branche féminine Women of All Red Nations s'emparent de ces questions sociales, politiques et culturelles. Femmes et hommes entament de concert un processus d'émancipation dont l'accomplissement ne cesse d'être repoussé par les politiques assimilatrices successives du gouvernement états-unien. Au Canada aussi, des mobilisations collectives éclatent dans les années 1980 et 1990, et culminent avec les événements de Restigouche (1984) et la Crise d'Oka (1990). Ces évènements majeurs inspirent toute une jeune génération d'artistes autochtones et de femmes en particulier, formées notamment à l'Institute of American Indian Arts à Santa Fe (Nouveau-Mexique). De formations universitaires approfondies, elles développent des démarches artistiques transdisciplinaires à mi-chemin entre l'histoire de l'art et l'ethnographie. Elles mettent en évidence la porosité et la friabilité des frontières instaurées dans tous les secteurs par la société dominante contre les groupes considérés comme minoritaires. A cette fin, le photographique - par lequel nous désignons la pratique, la technique et l'image photographiques - devient un outil stratégique majeur de réappropriation et de réaffirmation de ce qu'elles sont et tendent à incarner. Ces artistes femmes interrogent grâce à ce médium les façons dont elles ont été représentées et se représentent elles-mêmes dans le cadre de démarches critiques des stéréotypes dont elles font l'objet depuis plusieurs siècles d'appropriation culturelle. Elles repensent par ce biais leurs identités, les rapports qu'elles entretiennent à leurs corps, à leurs sexualités et à leurs genres, à l'aune de leurs propres spiritualités. Grâce à leurs images artistiques et politiques, fruits de pratiques fondées sur une analogie entre la violation de leurs droits, l'exploitation de leurs terres et territoires, et les violences sexuelles dont elles font l'objet, elles continuent à prendre part aux mouvements de résistance actuels qui s'opposent aux projets extractivistes face auxquels elles s'affirment, une nouvelle fois, en première ligne. A partir d'un corpus iconographique de près de 400 œuvres réalisées entre 1969 et 2019, et d'entretiens individuels avec des artistes et des militantes femmes et queer autochtones des Etats-Unis et du Canada, cette thèse a pour objectif de montrer en quoi ces images - en particulier photographiques configurent des épistémologies nouvelles dans une perspective intersectionnelle, décoloniale et anticapitaliste, et s'inscrivent dans la continuité d'un processus de réaffirmation des droits inhérents des peuples autochtones, garantis par la Déclaration des Nations Unies sur les Droits des Peuples Autochtones (2007)

This chapter traces the evolution of the Turkish Public Service Broadcaster with a focus on its transnationalization. Drawing parallels between the changing dynamics in politics, culture, and media in Turkey; contemporary cosmopolitan media cultures; and the continuities and changes in Turkish Radio and Television Corporation’s (henceforth TRT) identity as a public service broadcaster, I shed light on the ways in which TRT has been engaging in transnational broadcasts since the beginning of 1990s. For this I elaborate on the ways in which transnational broadcasting processes in Turkey have been influenced by media transnationalization around the world. I discuss two different incentives behind TRT’s transnational endeavors. First, I elaborate on TRT’s attempts at engaging with the Turkish diaspora around the world; later, I articulate how, in more recent years, TRT sets out to exert a Turkish cultural presence in the Middle East and North Africa (MENA) region. The chapter aims to draw a general portrait of the concept of transnational broadcasting in Turkey with a specific focus on the country’s public service broadcaster, TRT.

Police procedural has been historically perceived as a dominantly masculine genre for continually revolving around the investigations of male police officers. In accordance with the patriarchal norms that pervade Turkish society, local variations of the police procedural genre have conveniently appropriated this globally known convention and left little room for female detectives in their narratives. However, whenever they got a chance to be included in this male-dominated universe, female detectives have been frequently depicted as relatively independent women but also submitted to the traditional norms of womanhood in an ambivalent manner. This chapter examines this hesitant position of female police detectives in three contemporary Turkish police procedurals, Kanıt (The Evidence, 2010–2013), Cinayet (The Killing, 2014) and Sṃahsiyet (Personality, 2018), by building connections between the interest of police procedural genre in feminist debates in the global context and the influence of this interest on local variations.

"The Routledge International Handbook of Perpetrator Studies provides the first comprehensive overview of this emerging interdisciplinary field in the humanities and social sciences. Featuring contributions by scholars from a wide variety of fields and disciplines, the Handbook charts the growth and development, foundations, key debates, core concerns, and frontiers of Perpetrator Studies. Focusing on genocide, terrorism, and other forms of political mass violence, this Handbook addresses questions of guilt and responsibility, definition, terminology, typology, motivations, group dynamics, memory, trauma, representation, and pedagogy. Offering a thematic and conceptual approach that facilitates a comparative analysis across historical, geographic, and disciplinary lines, the Handbook allows different disciplinary perspectives to confront one another. In so doing, this foundational volume presents contemporary perspectives on longstanding debates whilst also providing new contributions to the field. Written with an interdisciplinary readership in mind, the chapters provide an overview of existing work on a specific topic or issue, delineate current developments within the respective discipline or field, and make suggestions for further research. As such, the book will appeal to scholars across a range of disciplines, including history, sociology, anthropology, criminology, law, philosophy, memory studies, psychology, political science, literary studies, film studies, cultural studies, art history, and education"-- Provided by publisher.

In contrast with radio broadcasting, which began in 1927, television started remarkably late in Turkey. When the country’s sole public service broadcaster, Turkish Radio and Television Corporation (TRT), was established in 1964 and all of the radio transmitters were transferred to the Corporation, even radio broadcasting was not successfully institutionalized to catch up with its Western counterparts. For a very young Republic like Turkey, radio was an integral part of the modernization and nation-building agenda of the early ruling elite and therefore it institutionalized as a part of the machinery of the state, under very strict state control. Much known indispensable merits of autonomy and independence attributed to the historical public service broadcasting model in Europe were hardly appreciated and supported in Turkey. Television broadcasting also had its share from this negative perception and had to face similar obstructions as radio from the beginning. This chapter traces the history of content regulation in television broadcasting by situating the political controversies at the center at different times from the 1960s until today. Unfortunately, as the saying goes, there is nothing new under the sun, not in Turkey.

This essay considers how the experience of Black folk descended from slaves in North America helps us to rethink a definition of play that has been largely informed by scholars and philosophers working within a White European tradition. This tradition of play, theorized most famously by Dutch Art Historian Johan Huizinga, French Sociologist Roger Caillois, Swiss Psychologist Jean Piaget, and New Zealander Brian Sutton-Smith reads play in a mostly positive sense and asserts that certain practices, namely torture, are taboo and thus cannot be play. I argue that this approach to play is short-sighted and linked to a troubling global discourse that renders the experiences of Black, Indigenous, and People of Color (BIPOC) invisible. In other words, by defining play only through its pleasurable connotations, the term holds an epistemic bias towards people with access to the conditions of leisure. Indeed, torture helps to paint a more complete picture where the most heinous potentials of play are addressed alongside the most pleasant, yet in so doing the trauma of slavery is remembered. In rethinking this phenomenology, I aim to detail the more insidious ways that play functions as a tool of subjugation. One that hurts as much as it heals and one that has been complicit in the systemic erasure of BIPOC people from the domain of leisure.

This chapter examines the social transformation of the television audience of rural Turkey. Villages near a metropolitan area, which were subject to an administrative decision to be relocated, were the focus of my fieldwork 30 years ago. Several visits between 1987 and 2019 to the same location, which is inhabited by television viewers and non-viewers alike, yielded an insightful mapping of engagement with popular culture via television at the periphery in Turkey from a historical perspective. While rural inhabitants are busy with daily labor in the countryside and are not keen on watching television, they are nonetheless aware of and connected to new, nationwide cultural trends and social changes. By reflexively discussing these experiences in ethnographic fieldwork on television habits and reception in rural Turkey over a 30-year span, I avoid the traps of modern-traditional and urban-rural binaries, allowing for an exploration of the role of television in mediating social change in the rural context and thus an analysis of the various complex layers and processes of mediatization among rural audiences.

Since the1980s, the television (TV) drama has proved to be one of the most dominant formats on Turkish TV channels and occupied major slots on primetime throughout the 1990s and 2000s. As Internet penetration grew, on-demand services transformed audiences’ expectations of TV series. Internet series first became a trend on YouTube in 2013, and Netflix began broadcasting in Turkey at the beginning of 2016. Its entry to the sector triggered video-on-demand suppliers like Blu TV and Puhu TV which are digital enterprises of Doğan and Doğusṃ Holdings. Blu TV announced their first original project in 2017, Masum (Innocent), which was a big-budget series that included famous actors. In the same year, Puhu TV released their first original, Fi (Phi). Finally, Netflix launched their first original production in Turkey, Hakan: The Protector, in 2018. This chapter focuses on the implications of convergence for the production and distribution of TV dramas and considers the changes in the sector as television broadcasting shifted to new media platforms in Turkey.

This chapter examines the intersection of popular culture and populism in Turkey by focusing on the TV show Payitaht Abdulhamid. Our motivation to analyze the recent TV series Payitaht Abdulhamid stems from our interest in the instrumental mobilization of popular culture for the Turkish government’s dual desire to both establish cultural hegemony and consolidate its populist style of government. Our analysis reveals that television, especially in the Global South, still plays a central role in governments’ desire to reconstruct history and establish cultural hegemony. This is particularly important as Turkey is going through a crisis of hegemony since the public is completely divided in its support for the government. Within the context of this hegemonic crisis, televised popular culture is vital, perhaps more than ever. Specifically, the show reduces a complicated history into easily understandable dichotomies and projects them on to contemporary politics in order to consolidate support for the government. Through televised popular culture, the government mobilizes history for purposes of cultural hegemony and populist politics flavored with nationalist, Islamist, and anti-Western motifs. Ultimately, the TV show presents yet another moment for understanding the mediated nature of 21st-century politics outside Western contexts.

Aucune étude n’a jamais démontré que les formes médiatiques disposeraient d’un pouvoir direct de transformation des réalités sociales. Une approche critique un peu sérieuse préférera ainsi appréhender le jeu vidéo comme le site d’un ensemble de rapports de pouvoir opérant au sein de la culture dominante, traversé, à l’instar d’autres formes culturelles, par des contradictions, des résistances et des réappropriations – autrement dit par des circulations dans la production de sens, les formes et les affects, qui viennent renforcer, nuancer ou déstabiliser les normes de l’hégémonie culturelle. Depuis le début des années 2010 et en particulier la polémique du #GamerGate en 2014, la communauté vidéoludique ne peut plus ignorer le sexisme. Les féministes n’ont pourtant pas attendu si longtemps pour se manifester. Mais c’est peut-être l’année 2012 qui marqua un réel tournant, lorsque Anita Sarkeesian lança une campagne de crowdfunding pour une série de vidéos sur sa chaîne YouTube feministfrequency. Sa démarche déclencha une vague de cyberharcèlement qui alla des insultes aux menaces de mort et jusqu’à la publication de données personnelles. Ce modèle de violence sexiste s’est reproduit à de multiples reprises, notamment en France en 2013 à l’encontre de la créatrice de jeu et féministe Mar_Lard, attaquée pour sa critique argumentée du sexisme dans la culture geek. Elle revenait en particulier sur des propos plus que complaisants d’un journaliste à propos d’une séquence où le personnage de Lara Croft, héroïne du mythique je…