Turkish series on Mehmed II hits prime time

Turkish series on Mehmed II hits prime time

A Turkish production company places a 177-episode historical drama about Mehmed II, the sultan who entered Hagia Sophia, in prime time. The paradox isn't that it's broadcast: it's that it's bought. According to circulating reports, the series has sold to numerous countries, Greece included, and wherever it lands, it tops audience ratings. The pattern repeats: impeccable historical fiction, recognizable villains, and a national narrative that asks no permission.

The anger doesn't come from the product, but from the mirror. The dominant complaint isn't that Turkey produces and exports its history, but that Spain fails to do the same. Any local attempt to tell the story of the Reconquista, Lepanto, or the Alhucemas landing is labeled as fascist, manipulative, or propaganda. The result is a void that others fill with their own epic, dubbed and subtitled.

What the series really tells and why it chooses that moment

The first episode, according to cited descriptions, focuses on Mehmed's youth, a 12-year-old prince under the shadow of his father, Sultan Murad II. The character is the same one who ended the Byzantine Empire with the fall of Constantinople, and the choice of arc is not accidental: it allows telling the construction of the myth without entering the most uncomfortable episodes of the mature empire.

Some argue that the series stops just before thorny topics. The forced recruitment of Christian children, known as devshirme, or the slave system are left out of focus. The Janissaries who entered the city were, precisely, Christian children converted into soldiers against their own nation. That material exists. It is not of interest.

The most cynical reading is also the simplest: the founder, Osman, or the young conqueror is chosen because they sell better than a documentary on taxes and revolts. The less cynical reading admits that any historical fiction cuts corners. The difference lies in who benefits from the cut.

The battle Spain does not fight on screen

The recurring argument is asymmetry. Turkey produces, exports, and places its narrative on foreign channels. Spain, however, has plenty of raw material and an industry that prefers rural thrillers or neighborhood comedies. The repeated conclusion: any production about Spanish history is considered fascist, and this framework discourages investment.

The contrast becomes more acidic when specific politics are mentioned. It is claimed that, due to pressure from Segarro, the Alhucemas landing is not officially celebrated. This is the yardstick used: not the quality of the fiction, but the capacity of a State to sustain its own memory in the calendar.

The complaint extends to the media. A segment of the public argues that generalist channels broadcast content that treats their audience with disdain, and that continuing to watch them is a form of masochism. The criticism does not distinguish between entertainment and editorial line: everything is the same package.

Byzantium as a shield: the recurring historical argument

The defense of the Byzantine Empire appears in almost all derivatives of the issue. It is argued that it endured a thousand years of invasions, internal struggles, and betrayals, and that without that wall, the advance from Central Asia would have gone much further. The comparison with Spain is inevitable: let's see if it lasts a thousand years.

The nuance provided by the well-informed is that Byzantium did not fall solely due to Ottoman military skill. The greed of the court, power struggles, and the inability to sustain a fiscal apparatus did more damage than the cannons. The Turks were the final push, not the only cause. This reading unsettles those who prefer a clean narrative of heroes and villains.

It is also recalled that Constantinople had already been sacked before by Venetians, Genoese, Catalans, and Franks. The city was a disputed corpse long before Mehmed arrived. The epic of the fall works better on screen than the chronicle of decay.

Lepanto, Vienna, and the narrative written by others

The thread leads to the old discussion about who stopped whom. It is maintained that the infantry embarked at Lepanto was mostly Spanish and that the command was Spanish, recognizing the greatest contribution. The response is always the same: half-truths are the worst lies, and the distribution of merits is more complex than convenient for a headline.

The most repeated irony points to France. It is said that the Ottoman Empire was a plague sponsored by European powers that later looked away, and that in battles like Nicopolis or Varna, help arrived late or not at all. The phrase summarizing the anger: one of the tragedies of Western civilization.

The closing of the matter is a proposal that will not be made: an Austrian series of 200 episodes titled At the Gates of Vienna, with a luxury copy for the corresponding recipient. It is the most honest way to admit that the cultural war is fought in programming grids, and that there it is lost by non-appearance.

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Remains the disorienting fact: the series was imposed by no one. It was bought, scheduled, and watched by millions of people who do not feel challenged by the narrative. The industry works. The narrative, too. The uncomfortable question is not why Turkey does it, but why here we debate whether it can be done.