War and the Return of Memory: Alevi–Shi‘i Imaginaries in Contemporary Turkey

Beneath the visible structures of Anatolian political culture lies a deeper emotional and symbolic reservoir—one shaped not merely by institutions or ideologies, but by long durée memories, moral archetypes, and affective attachments. Among these, the Turkmen–Alevi sensibility stands out as a historically persistent yet often suppressed layer of identity. Rooted in reverence for Ali and structured around a moral universe of justice, suffering, and resistance, this sensibility has periodically resurfaced during moments of crisis. Today, in the context of the U.S.–Israel war against Iran, one can observe not only its reactivation—but also its translation into contemporary cultural forms, including music circulating in the streets of Turkey.

To understand this phenomenon, we need to place it in a historical context. From the late medieval period onward, Turkmen populations in Anatolia developed a religious-cultural orientation that was different from the emerging Sunni orthodoxy. Their beliefs—later linked with Alevism—were not strict theological systems but ethical and symbolic frameworks centered around the figure of Ali. In this tradition, Ali is seen as more than a historical figure; he is an archetype of justice against ظلم (injustice), of dignity in suffering, and of resistance against tyranny.

This symbolic structure revealed itself during key historical disruptions. The defeat of the Ottomans by Timur in 1402 temporarily disrupted imperial centralization and created space for peripheral Turkmen loyalties. More importantly, the rise of Shah Ismail in the early sixteenth century showed the depth of these alternative visions. His ability to rally Anatolian Turkmen under a heterodox Shi‘i banner reflected not just sectarian allegiance but an attraction to a charismatic symbol of justice against imperial power. The subsequent Ottoman repression of these groups pushed this worldview to the margins—but did not eradicate it.

Instead, it persisted as what might be called a cultural subconscious. Preserved through oral poetry, rituals, and collective memory, the love for Ali became less about doctrinal belief and more about a moral attitude. It shaped how communities understood power, suffering, and legitimacy. The Karbala story, for example, was not just remembered; it became a model for understanding injustice across time.

In modern Turkey, successive political regimes—Kemalist secularism and later Sunni-oriented political Islam—both marginalized Alevi expressions in different ways. Yet the symbolic world persisted. It did not dominate public discourse, but it remained latent, waiting for moments of resonance.

The current war appears to be one such moment.

What is striking is that the revival of this sensibility is happening not mainly through formal political mobilization, but through emotional and cultural channels. One of the clearest examples is the recent spread of a Persian-origin song translated into Turkish, which has become quite popular on the streets, especially among younger audiences.

The Zekr Jahani by Hossein Sotoode was translated from Persian and became very popular in Turkey. This Zekr is a deeply spiritual and emotionally resonant noha that reflects on the valor, moral authority, and sacred legacy of Imam Ali and his noble lineage, powerfully performed by Hossein Sotoodeh. The Turkish translation resonated not just because of its musical structure but also because of its emotional depth. Its lyrics center around longing, suffering, dignity, and a insistence on moral justice. Even when not explicitly political, the song is interpreted within the current context as expressing a shared emotional language of resistance and pain.

Importantly, only fragments of its lyrics circulate in daily speech, often reduced to short phrases—no more than a few words—used in moments of frustration or solidarity. These fragments act almost like mnemonic triggers, sparking deeper symbolic meanings. In this way, the song functions not just as entertainment but as a vessel of cultural memory. Therefore, the war doesn’t just generate geopolitical reactions; it activates a feeling grammar rooted in the Turkmen–Alevi moral universe. The song’s popularity demonstrates several interconnected dynamics.

First, it shows how cultural forms mediate political experience. Instead of engaging through formal ideological discourse, individuals express their responses through music, emotion, and shared symbols. This aligns with broader patterns in Turkish musical culture, where popular music often serves as a means of expressing social tensions and political sentiments indirectly. Second, it demonstrates the de-sectarianization of symbolic frameworks. The emotional resonance of the song is not limited to self-identified Alevis. Instead, it spreads across broader segments of society, suggesting that the figure of Ali—and the moral universe associated with him—is being revived in a more universal way. Third, it highlights the shift from discourse to action—and from doctrine to feeling. Just as Iran-aligned actors gain legitimacy through visible confrontation, cultural expressions that embody suffering and resistance gain symbolic power. The song becomes part of a broader symbolic economy where justice is felt before it is spoken. At a deeper level, this phenomenon reflects what Charles Taylor might call a social imaginary—a shared understanding that enables common practices and emotions. The war provides the context in which this imaginary is activated, allowing people to reinterpret current events through inherited symbolic frameworks.

The figure of Ali is central here. His significance lies not in sectarian identity but in his role as a moral signifier. The renewed popularity of songs invoking themes of suffering and justice suggests that Ali’s symbolic presence is being re-politicized—not through institutions, but through affect, memory, and cultural expression.

This also challenges dominant narratives in the region. Both state-centric and Islamist frameworks often focus on power, strategy, and ideological coherence. In contrast, the Turkmen–Alevi sensibility introduces a different logic—one that highlights ethical judgment, compassion, and resistance to injustice. It is less about who wins and more about what is just.

In conclusion, the U.S.–Israel war against Iran is not only reshaping geopolitical alignments; it is also reactivating deep layers of cultural memory within societies like Turkey. The revival of Turkmen–Alevi sensibility—seen not only in discourse but also in music circulating in everyday life—shows the lasting power of symbolic frameworks rooted in justice and suffering. The popularity of the translated Persian song is not incidental; it reflects a broader shift. It signals the return of a moral language where the pursuit of justice, mercy, and dignity becomes central. What we are witnessing is not just a political reaction but a cultural awakening—a moment when dormant memories find new expression and the past re-enters the present as a guide to understanding war, injustice, and the potential for moral resistance.