'It was a queer, sultry summer, the summer they killed people on the streets, and I didn't know what I was doing in Istanbul …" There was something about Turkey's Taksim Square protests that often made me think of the opening line in Sylvia Plath's The Bell Jar. The same gloom was in the air; heavy with pepper spray and tear gas.
As difficult as last summer was for the nation, autumn brings new hope. The long-awaited "democratisation package" was announced this week at a huge press conference, and translated into Arabic and English simultaneously. The details tell a lot. The fact that it was named "democratization package" gave the impression that it would have something for every religious, ethnic and political group. Thus, like eager children, all 76 million of us gathered around the presents, expecting there to be something for us. Writers and journalists wanted freedom of expression. Tired of being sued and brought to court for our words, we hoped that the package would recognise the importance of a free, diverse press in a democracy The Alevi minority wanted equal rights and the recognition of their cemevi as houses of worship. Students and academics wanted universities to be places where science and free thought flourish, as well as the right to peaceful demonstration. And the Kurds? They wanted serious steps to be taken now that they have invested so much in the peace process. It is significant that Abdullah Ocalan, the imprisoned head of the PKK, was watching the press conference live from his prison cell.
But when the presents were opened, many of Turkey's children were disappointed. Immediately a hullabaloo followed, with critics accused of being ungrateful by those in favour of what the government offered. The importance of gratitude is instilled in Turks in early childhood, and to understand how Turkish politics works you have to understand the role it plays. Criticising something that has been given to you is seen as evidence of ingratitude – and ingratitude is culturally looked down upon. That some Turks think in these terms about politics is evidence of the sad fact that we still see the state as a father and ourselves as its children.
The package had both positive and negative aspects. It returned Mor Gabriel, a 1,700-year-old monastery in Mardin, to the Christian Syriac community. A decision long overdue, since it already belonged to them and the state had no right to confiscate it in the first place. At the same time, there was no mention of the Greek Orthodox seminary in Heybeliada. Why is it that the Syriacs have been returned their monastery and the Greek Orthodox have been left out? Nobody understands. Yetvart Danzikyan, an Armenian columnist for the daily Radikal, said that "the failure to reopen the seminary has caused disappointment not only among the Greek community, but all minority groups".
The ridiculous ban on the three Kurdish letters – w, q, and x – which don't exist in the Turkish alphabet was lifted. You will no longer be in trouble if you give your child a name containing any of these letters. Names of locations that had been Turkified will now be returned to their former spelling. Kurdish language can be taught in private schools, should students opt for it. But such steps, although progressive, are far from satisfying the millions of Kurds who have felt suppressed for too long. Not surprisingly the BDP, the primary Kurdish party, expressed its displeasure.
An important step was the lifting of the ban on headscarves being worn by those in public services. Similarly there are signs that the electoral threshold will be lowered, after discussions in parliament. New regulations will be made regarding hate speech. However, this, too, is conditional. Hatred against an ethnic minority is a crime, but what about hatred against a sexual minority?
Personally, I am relieved that the student oath that we repeated every morning has been abolished. "I am a Turk, I am correct, I am diligent … May my existence be a gift to you," it reads, drumming into us that we were not individuals but part of an undifferentiated mass and had delegated our existence to the state and the nation. That mentality is changing. We are individuals. We owe this cultural shift to the young protesters of Taksim Square.
The problem with the democratisation package is that it is not enough, not any more. Society has changed: Turkey's people are changing faster than its politicians. And the gap is increasingly visible. These reforms do not embrace the whole of society, giving the impression that some citizens are being favoured and others forgotten. The Alevis, who were not even mentioned in the prime minister's speech, are massively disappointed – and rightly so.
After the summer of 2013, Turkey is more polarised than ever. Nowadays you are either "pro" or "con". People who believe we should debate both the positive and the negative things in the country are being pushed to the margins. This is our biggest loss. We don't have intellectual bridges connecting people from different sides any more. Instead, we have two angry, resentful camps. Both the government and the opposition demand "Are you one of us, or one of them?" Those who refuse this artificial duality are fast becoming Turkey's new minority, and it is no big surprise that they won't get any presents from anyone.
Elif Shafak is an award-winning novelist.