A Turkish Tragedy

The case against the alleged coup plotters of Operation Sledgehammer could destroy Turkey's democratic balance.

The authors continue their public campaign to free their close relative, Çetin Doğan, a leading defendant in the Sledgehammer case. Here, they take on the evidence.

In just about three months, 196 active-duty and retired officers are scheduled to go on trial in Turkey, charged with plotting in 2003 to overthrow the then-newly elected Justice and Development Party (AKP) government. The alleged coup plot—codenamed Operation Sledgehammer—involved horrifying acts, including the bombing of mosques and the downing of a Turkish fighter, aimed at destabilizing the government and paving the way for martial law and eventual takeover.

If the charges prove to be well-founded, the country’s powerful military establishment will stand disgraced for harboring violent, anti-democratic elements among its senior ranks. And it will be the first time that civilians have brought it to account for its frequent political intervention. Turkish democracy will have gone through a rite of passage, emerging stronger. Conservative-Islamist groups—the AKP and their ally the Gülen movement, a network of the followers of the Muslim spiritual leader Fethullah Gülen—will be vindicated and their political dominance assured.

But if the prosecutors’ case crumbles, it is the government, the Gülenists, the prosecutors, the media, and much of the country’s intelligentsia that will find itself discredited. For these groups have fought hard in recent months to convince Turks (and Turkey’s friends abroad) of the veracity of the Sledgehammer coup plot.

The sad irony is that the facts of the case leave no doubt as to where the truth lies: Operation Sledgehammer is a fiction. Its authors are not the defendants in the case but unknown malfeasants who fabricated the documents sometime after 2008. Anyone with a couple of hours to spare—and a good command of the Turkish language—can see it for themselves. That the charges have been allowed to stand for so long—and that a trial will take place at al—is testimony to the intensity of the disinformation campaign waged by the AKP and its supporters.

This is a bold claim, but one that is easy to substantiate. The Sledgehammer plot is chock-full of inconsistencies, the most telling of which are the inadvertent, but glaring anachronisms that make it plain that it could not have been hatched in 2003 as claimed. The documents purporting to be original military plans from 2003 contain references to entities that did not yet exist and future developments that could not have been known at the time. It’s as if a text pretending to date from 1970 referred to Diana Spencer as Princess of Wales—a title which she acquired only in 1981—or mentioned her car crash decades later. Hence, to any but the most jaundiced eye it is obvious that the incriminating documents were authored not by the military officers on trial, but by others many years later.

SOME KEY FACTS:

In January 2010 an anonymous individual claiming to be a retired officer delivered to a virulently anti-military newspaper, Taraf, a suitcase of material, including cassettes and CDs, which he said had been secreted from the 1st Army headquarters in Istanbul. Extracts from the documents were serialized in Taraf, and the whole batch subsequently turned over to the Istanbul public prosecutor.

The authenticity of much of this material, consisting of routine military documents and correspondence, is not in question. The heart of the case resides in three of the CDs that contain the incriminating documents referring to the Sledgehammer coup plot and related operations. (The cassettes are recordings of the proceedings of a military contingency planning seminar. The prosecutors maintain that the seminar was a dress rehearsal for the Sledgehammer coup, even though there are no references during the seminar to Sledgehammer, to a coup, or to any other criminal activities.) The Sledgehammer case therefore stands or falls with the authenticity of these three CDs.

There is no direct evidence that ties these CDs to computers in the 1st Army where they are said to have been produced. Not a single one of the hundreds of officers questioned in the case has acknowledged ever hearing of Operation Sledgehammer or any of the other plans included in the incriminating CDs. The documents on the CDs don’t carry signatures or other authenticating features. The evidence that the three CDs in question are genuine comes solely from their “metadata:” the username and date contained on the CDs and the Word documents therein. According to these metadata, the documents and the CDs were produced in 2003, and the authors of the documents are the officers now under indictment.

The problem with basing the case on metadata is obvious. Every computer forensic expert knows that manipulating the metadata in question is child’s play. One simply has to assign appropriate user names to computer accounts and set the computer’s clock to any desired time—or use one of the many freeware programs that alter time and username information. Remarkably, this didn’t prevent TÜBİTAK—the nation’s once premier scientific institution, now reeling under government control—from authenticating the CDs based on their metadata alone.

Even more telling is the affirmative evidence that shows the CDs to have been fabricated.

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