From Partners to Threats: Islamic Alliances and Authoritarian Consolidation in Egypt and Türkiye

Abstract

This article offers a comparative analysis of authoritarian governance in Egypt and Türkiye through the lens of two pivotal state–Islamist alliances: the early partnership and eventual rupture between Gamal Abdel Nasser and the Muslim Brotherhood (MB), and the strategic collaboration followed by confrontation between Recep Tayyip Erdoğan and the Gülen Movement (GM). Despite operating in different historical and institutional settings—a postcolonial military regime in Egypt and an electoral, hybrid regime in Türkiye—both leaders allied with influential religious actors during moments of transition to gain popular support and dismantle entrenched power structures. These alliances were instrumental and temporary: once religious movements developed autonomous influence, they were recast as threats and suppressed through legal, institutional, and religious mechanisms. This study traces how religious institutions like Egypt’s al-Azhar and Türkiye’s Diyanet were co-opted to delegitimize these former allies and justify state repression. While the MB pursued overt political goals and the GM functioned through civic and technocratic channels, both were ultimately excluded from the political order once they had been considered as threats to the central authority of the regime. This comparison underscores the strategic use of religion in authoritarian statecraft and the enduring tension between religious autonomy and centralized political control in Muslim-majority polities.

1. Introduction

The political trajectories of Egypt and Türkiye1 illustrate a recurring pattern in authoritarian contexts: the strategic alliance between rising political elites and Islamist actors during transitional periods, followed by the systematic marginalization of those actors once power is consolidated. This article offers a comparative, historically grounded analysis of two emblematic cases: the evolving cooperation and eventual rupture between Egyptian nationalist leaders and the Muslim Brotherhood (MB), and the alliance and subsequent breakdown between Türkiye’s ruling Justice and Development Party (Adalet ve Kalkınma Partisi, AKP) and the Gülen Movement (GM). While both cases follow a familiar arc of alliance and repression, they differ markedly in structure, religious ideology, and historical context. One particularly important difference—often overlooked in comparative studies—is their divergent responses to repression. While the MB’s brutal suppression in the 1950s contributed to the emergence of radical offshoots such as al-Qaida and inspired global jihadist discourses, the GM has not responded with violence, despite facing intense persecution over the past decade (Kepel 2002; Gerges 2018; Yavuz and Koç 2016). This contrast underscores the distinct theological orientations and civic strategies that define each movement—both operating within Sunni Islam, yet diverging sharply in how they interpret political engagement, state confrontation, and moral authority (Yavuz 2013).

Islamism refers broadly to Islamic movements that seek to establish political systems or regimes guided by Islamic law (Shariʿa) and principles (Roy 1994). To clarify the conceptual framework, this article distinguishes between Islamist movements—defined in the literature as political projects seeking to establish an Islamic order or state (Kepel 2002; Wickham 2013)—and broader Islamic movements that are religiously inspired but do not articulate such political goals. The Muslim Brotherhood fits within the classic Islamist category, having explicitly declared the establishment of an Islamic state as part of its program. By contrast, the Gülen Movement has consistently rejected the aim of founding an Islamic state, presenting itself instead as a civil society–based religious network focused on education, service, and moral reform (Yavuz and Esposito 2003; Hendrick 2013). At the same time, the AKP itself emerged from Türkiye’s Islamist political tradition (Milli Görüş) and is widely regarded as an Islamist-rooted party that strategically adapted its discourse to democratic and pro-European frameworks in the 2000s (Yavuz 2009; Tuğal 2009). Accordingly, in this study the GM is analyzed not as an Islamist movement, but as an Islamic ally of the AKP—an Islamist-rooted party that instrumentalized GM’s networks for political ends. This conceptual clarification provides the theoretical grounding necessary for the comparative analysis that follows.

While this study compares two authoritarian trajectories—Gamal Abdel Nasser’s Egypt in the 1950s and Recep Tayyip Erdoğan’s Türkiye in the 2010s—it acknowledges that the significant temporal gap between these cases introduces both analytical advantages and limitations. On the one hand, this contrast allows for a broader understanding of how authoritarian strategies involving religious actors persist across vastly different historical, institutional, and technological contexts. It highlights the recurrence of elite–Islamist alliances and ruptures under changing global conditions—ranging from postcolonial nationalism to globalized civil society, and from Cold War bipolarity to post-9/11 securitization (Heydemann 2007). Such a diachronic comparison enables the identification of structural logic such as co-optation, ideological instrumentalization, and institutional centralization—that transcend specific eras (Levitsky and Way 2010).

On the other hand, the temporal distance also constrains direct equivalence. Nasser operated in a postcolonial, pre-digital, and largely bipolar international environment, where authoritarian rule was openly asserted and external pressures for democratization were minimal (Brownlee 2007). In contrast, Erdoğan governed in an era of multipolar globalization, under formal electoral competition, EU candidacy scrutiny, and pervasive digital media, all of which shaped both the nature and visibility of authoritarian practices (Esen and Gumuscu 2016; Aydın-Düzgit and Keyman 2017). The Muslim Brotherhood’s role as a mass political movement in the mid-20th century differs fundamentally from the GM’s technocratic, transnational, and “apolitical” posture in the 21st century (Wickham 2013; Yavuz and Koç 2016). Furthermore, repression in Nasser’s time was often brutal and public, whereas Erdoğan’s model—especially before 2016—combined legalism, media framing, and bureaucratic purges within a nominally democratic framework (Taş 2018; Esen and Gumuscu 2016).2

Therefore, while the two cases do not lend themselves to one-to-one comparison, their juxtaposition offers valuable insights into how different regimes adapt religious alliances to context-specific threats and opportunities. Recognizing these temporal asymmetries do not invalidate the comparison but instead deepens it by emphasizing how similar authoritarian patterns emerge under diverse conditions (Heydemann 2007; Gerschewski 2013).

In Egypt, the relationship between the MB and nationalist forces predates the 1952 revolution. Under the leadership of Hassan al-Banna, the Brotherhood supported anti-colonial efforts in the 1930s and 1940s, envisioning a significant role in shaping Egypt’s post-monarchical future (Mitchell 1969; Carré and Michaud 1983) through the establishment of an Islamic government grounded in Shariʿa as the guiding political regime (in the sense broadly used in the Islamism literature) (al-Banna 1999b). The Free Officers, including Gamal Abdel Nasser, initially welcomed the Brotherhood’s support during the overthrow of King Farouk. Although the Free Officers articulated a commitment to republican reform, their consolidation of power gradually resulted in a centralized authoritarian regime. As the Brotherhood pressed for political inclusion, tensions escalated. Nasser ultimately turned against the movement through arrests, surveillance, and the suppression of its ideological influence (Gerges 2018; Wickham 2013). What began as a pragmatic alliance devolved into a prolonged confrontation over political authority and religious legitimacy. This repression radicalized certain factions within the MB and contributed to the ideological currents that would later inspire militant Islamist movements (Kepel 2002; Sivan 1990).

In Türkiye, a strikingly similar pattern emerged. The AKP, led by Recep Tayyip Erdoğan, rose to power in 2002 through democratic elections and formed an early alliance with the GM. Rooted in the teachings of Said Nursi and expanded under Fethullah Gülen, the GM operated through civil society, education, and media rather than formal political participation (Yavuz and Esposito 2003; Yavuz and Koç 2016). Like the Brotherhood in Egypt, the GM played a vital role in helping the ruling elite displace entrenched secularist forces, who were regarded as the archenemies of both movements—especially within the military and judiciary. However, unlike the Brotherhood, the GM consistently denied any ambition to establish an Islamic state, instead presenting itself as a religiously inspired civic movement—an “Islamic ally” of the AKP. As Erdoğan steadily consolidated control over key state institutions, particularly after the 2011 constitutional changes, his relationship with the GM grew adversarial. The 2013 corruption probes triggered a public rupture, and the failed coup attempt in 2016, blamed on Gülenist actors, led to a sweeping purge of the movement from all sectors of Turkish public life (Taş 2018; Altınordu 2017; Jenkins 2016). Yet, in stark contrast to the Brotherhood’s history, the GM has not responded with violence or the formation of radical splinter groups. Its reaction has largely remained within the bounds of legal advocacy, international outreach, and passive resistance—even in exile (Turam 2007; Tekines 2024).

Despite their distinct historical and institutional contexts, both cases reflect the strategic instrumentalization of religious actors during transitional phases. In Egypt, the Brotherhood was a politically ambitious, hierarchical mass movement that openly sought a role in governance. In contrast, the GM was a diffuse, non-partisan religious network that emphasized moral reform, education, and bureaucratic presence (Yavuz and Koç 2016; Hendrick 2013). While Nasser governed a newly independent postcolonial state emerging from monarchy and imperialism, Erdoğan operated within a pluralist electoral system shaped by decades of Islamic political mobilization. Yet, in both instances, the religious actors became politically expendable once the regimes had secured sufficient control over the state apparatus. What followed in Egypt was the fragmentation and radicalization of segments of the Islamist field. In Türkiye, however, the GM’s emphasis on service, dialogue, and Sufi-inspired pietism may have insulated it—at least so far—from similar trajectories of violent escalation (Michel 2005).

This study adopts a comparative, empirical approach rather than relying solely on theoretical abstractions. Nevertheless, it engages with relevant conceptual frameworks to understand the mechanisms at play. The alliances discussed here exemplify patterns of elite–movement collaboration, where ruling elites temporarily align with social or religious movements to gain legitimacy or weaken opponents during periods of institutional flux (Bosi et al. 2016). Over time, such alliances often give way to repression, a dynamic central to processes of authoritarian consolidation (Gerschewski 2013). The article also considers how these trajectories relate to the broader phenomenon of competitive authoritarianism, where democratic institutions exist but are gradually hollowed out through informal power centralization (Levitsky and Way 2010; Esen and Gumuscu 2016).

By examining the specific historical, religious, and institutional configurations in each case, this article contributes to a more nuanced understanding of state–Islamist relations and the political uses of religion in authoritarian regimes. It challenges determinist accounts that treat such alliances as inherently doomed and instead shows how outcomes are shaped by the ideological character of religious movements, the strategic calculations of political elites, and the broader sociopolitical context. Through close comparison, it argues that while Nasser and Erdoğan operated in different eras and institutional environments, both followed a similar authoritarian logic—leveraging religion in the service of power, only to suppress it when it threatened the autonomy of the state.

2. The Case of Egypt: Gamal Abdel Nasser and the Muslim Brotherhood

2.1. Background: The Fall of King Farouk and the Rise of Nasser

Despite formal independence in 1922, British political and military influence continued to shape Egypt well into the mid-20th century (Tignor 2010, p. 140; Abou-El-Fadl 2018). By the early 1950s, King Farouk’s regime was widely viewed as corrupt, ineffectual, and overly dependent on British support. As Abir argues, the monarchy functioned effectively as a British proxy, lacking popular legitimacy and sovereignty (Abir 1977, pp. 295–313). Popular resentment grew in response to the monarchy’s inability to achieve true independence, its repression of political opposition, and its failure to address deepening socioeconomic inequalities. Egypt’s defeat in the 1948 Arab–Israeli War further undermined the monarchy’s credibility (Vatikiotis 1991, p. 332; Tignor 2010).

Within this legitimacy crisis, the Free Officers emerged as the organized elite coalition that capitalized on widespread grievances and positioned themselves as agents of regime change. Driven by nationalist ideals and the postwar decolonization wave, the officers aimed to end foreign control, abolish the monarchy, and build a new order based on sovereignty and social justice (Kirk 2000, p. 2; Gelvin 2008; Cleveland and Bunton 2016, pp. 288–89).

This historical juncture can be understood through the lens of O’Donnell and Schmitter’s (1986) framework on transitions from authoritarian rule, which highlights the pivotal role of uncertainty and elite realignments during regime breakdown. In Egypt, Gamal Abdel Nasser, a key leader of the Free Officers, strategically aligned with the Muslim Brotherhood—a powerful Islamist social movement with significant grassroots support and organizational capacity (Mitchell 1969; Carré and Michaud 1983; Hamouda 1994). This alliance provided Nasser with ideological cover and mass mobilization capabilities, enhancing the legitimacy of the revolution and facilitating the removal of King Farouk.

2.2. Religious Thought, Political Strategy, and Salafi Influences in the Muslim Brotherhood

To better understand the strategic convergence between Nasser and the Brotherhood during this transitional period, it is essential to examine the ideological foundations of the MB. Founded in 1928 by Hasan al-Banna, the movement was based on the conviction that Islam constitutes a comprehensive system governing both private and public life. As al-Banna declared, Islam is “a perfect, all-embracing system that covers all aspects of this world and the next one” and should “control all matters in life” (al-Banna 1999a, p. 87; 1999b, p. 59). His foundational texts described Islam as dīn wa dawla—religion and state—an order intended to guide society as a whole (al-Banna [1936] 1978, pp. 7–9).

Al-Banna’s interpretation of Islam was explicitly ideological. He believed Islam to be “a perfect, all-embracing system that covers all aspects of this world and the next one,” one that “should control all matters in life” (al-Banna 1999a, p. 87; 1999b, p. 59; 1999c, p. 173; 1999d, p. 2). However, al-Banna’s vision went beyond personal piety: “Islam is an ideology and worship, country and nation, religion as well as government” (al-Banna 1999c, p. 173). This conception blurred the line between public and private life and shaped the Brotherhood into what he famously described as “a Salafi invitation, … a Sunni way of thought, … a Sufi truth, … [and] a political organisation” (al-Banna 1999c, pp. 177–78). Unlike quietist Salafi trends, the Brotherhood sought to influence state institutions, presenting Islam as both a moral framework and a political project (Mitchell 1969, pp. 207–10).

The movement’s theological trajectory shifted with Sayyid Qutb, whose prison writings in the 1950s marked a radical turn. In Milestones, Qutb argued that Muslim societies had fallen into a state of modern jāhiliyya (ignorance), as they were ruled by “man-made laws instead of the Shariah” (Qutb [1964] 2005, pp. 10–16). He called for the creation of a disciplined vanguard to restore God’s sovereignty (ḥākimiyya) and resist secular authority. Qutb’s claim that “contemporary societies exhibit jāhiliyya because they are organised on the basis of man-made laws” (Cheema 2006) resonated with later Islamist and even jihadi currents. While Qutb himself did not advocate widespread takfīr, his writings were later invoked by militant groups as religious justification for revolution (Gerges 2018, pp. 99–105).

The Brotherhood’s ideological project directly shaped its political engagement with Nasser. In the early 1950s, the Brotherhood allied with the Free Officers, hoping to guide Egypt’s new political order along Islamic lines. Yet the same religious networks that made the Brotherhood an attractive partner also positioned it as a rival. Once in power, Nasser viewed the Brotherhood’s independent sources of legitimacy as a threat to his centralized rule, leading to arrests, executions, and the suppression of Islamist activism (Carré and Michaud 1983, pp. 59–63; Zeghal 1999). Qutb’s writings, produced in prison during this repression, further radicalized parts of the Brotherhood, deepening the conflict between the movement and the regime.3

2.3. Nasser’s Alliance with the Muslim Brotherhood

Building on this ideological context, the early relationship between the MB and Nasser’s regime must be seen as both a product of shared anti-imperialist goals and a foreshadowing of later tensions. Despite their ideological differences, Gamal Abdel Nasser’s Free Officers Movement and the MB shared a strategic objective: dismantling British colonial influence and overthrowing King Farouk. As Hasan al-Banna declared, Islam offered not only spiritual renewal but a political solution to Egypt’s decline (al-Banna 1999c, p. 173). This conviction, captured in the enduring slogan “Islam is the Solution” (Mitchell 1969, p. 12; Milton-Edwards 2016, p. 3), framed the Brotherhood’s activism as both religious duty and national liberation.

Al-Banna believed that Muslim decline stemmed from stagnation and foreign domination, and he stressed the necessity of an Islamic government grounded in social justice and national unity (Al-Abdin 1989, pp. 221–23). The Brotherhood’s extensive social services—schools, clinics, and charitable institutions—enabled it to cultivate a formidable grassroots base, transforming it from a small association into a major sociopolitical force (Mitchell 1969; Carré and Michaud 1983). Yet this mass legitimacy, while enhancing its political leverage, also made the Brotherhood susceptible to co-optation by ambitious elites. Social movement theory underscores how transitional periods often generate elite–movement alliances—temporary coalitions designed to enhance mobilization and legitimacy (Tarrow 2011). In parallel, O’Donnell and Schmitter (1986) highlight that such pacts are particularly salient during moments of regime crisis, though they rarely rest on stable foundations. The Free Officers’ collaboration with the Brotherhood was therefore less an ideological synthesis than a precarious strategic alignment—one that secured short-term gains but carried the seeds of eventual rupture.

The Brotherhood’s grassroots activism also translated into nationalist mobilization (Abdo 2011, p. 21–23). Its networks staged mass demonstrations and, in al-Banna’s framing, national service itself became a form of jihad (struggle) for liberation: “Jihad is an obligation which cannot be ignored, until Muslim lands are freed” (al-Banna [1936] 1978, p. 42). This framing resonated with religious constituencies and secular nationalists alike, including the Free Officers (Abdo 2011, pp. 21–23; Mura 2012). During the 1940s, both movements participated in anti-British uprisings, and the Brotherhood’s paramilitary wing—the Special Apparatus (al-Nizām al-Khāṣṣ)—fought colonial forces and supported the Palestinian cause in the 1948 Arab–Israeli War (el Zalaf 2022, pp. 22–25; El-Awaisi 1998, p. 110; Hamouda 1994). Their cooperation reached its peak when a Free Officers unit joined Brotherhood fighters against Israeli forces, underscoring the extent of their convergence (Mitchell 1969, pp. 96–104; Abou-El-Fadl 2018).

What appeared to be a promising partnership, however, was shaped more by pragmatism than shared ideology. For Nasser, the Brotherhood’s organizational strength and mass legitimacy provided indispensable support in dismantling the monarchy; for the Brotherhood, the alliance offered a path to Islamizing the political order. In sum, the alliance represented a temporary convergence of interests under structural upheaval rather than a stable ideological alignment—an example of the fragile, interest-based coalitions that often dissolve once power is consolidated and agendas diverge.4

2.4. Nasser’s Shift: From Alliance to Suppression

In the aftermath of the 1952 revolution, Gamal Abdel Nasser emerged as the central figure of Egypt’s Revolutionary Command Council. At first, his regime maintained a cautious alliance with the MB, recognizing the movement’s grassroots legitimacy and broad influence. For the Brotherhood, this revolutionary juncture offered an opportunity to shape a new political order based on Islamic values. Yet, as Nasser consolidated power, tensions deepened. His vision of a secular, Arab socialist republic stood in direct opposition to the Brotherhood’s aspiration for an Islamic system of governance (Mitchell 1969, pp. 105–11; Carré and Michaud 1983, pp. 59–63).

The collapse of this alliance should not be seen as the cause of authoritarianism but rather as part of Nasser’s broader strategy of political consolidation. As scholars of authoritarianism argue, regimes in transition often rely on selective inclusion, exclusion, and repression to stabilize their rule. Nasser initially experimented with co-optation by integrating some Brotherhood figures into state institutions, but this arrangement quickly unraveled as the Brotherhood’s independent legitimacy and vast social networks threatened the regime’s hegemonic project.

By 1953, all political parties—monarchist, liberal, and leftist alike—were banned, with the MB the only remaining mass movement. Unlike other actors, it embodied a rival source of authority rooted in Islamic ethics and reinforced by schools, mosques, and welfare services (Gerges 2018, pp. 15–16; Al-Anani 2016). Suppression thus became a political necessity, aimed at neutralizing an actor capable of mobilizing outside state control.

The turning point came in October 1954, when a failed assassination attempt on Nasser—blamed on a Brotherhood member—provided the pretext for mass repression (Carré and Michaud 1983; Krämer 2010). Thousands were imprisoned, and leading figures such as Sayyid Qutb were tortured and eventually executed in 1966 (Mitchell 1969; Calvert 2010). Beyond coercion, Nasser’s strategy involved systematically purging Brotherhood influence from Egypt’s educational and religious institutions.

One major front in this purge was al-Azhar University. As Skovgaard-Petersen notes, Law 818 “set up committees that were designed to purge al-Azhar of all faculty who were unwilling to support government control,” cutting the faculty from 298 in 1959 to 215 by 1963 (Skovgaard-Petersen 2004, p. 162). This institutional purge mirrored efforts in the Ministry of Education, where Brotherhood-affiliated teachers, inspectors, and administrators were replaced by loyalists aligned with the regime’s Arab nationalist project. Sayyid Qutb himself, who had worked nearly twenty years in the Ministry of Education “first as a teacher and later as an inspector and administrator” (Calvert 2010, p. 133), exemplified the rupture between Islamist reformism and state-led nationalism.

The 1961 al-Azhar reform law further transformed the institution by expanding its faculties and placing it under state supervision. This shift marked al-Azhar’s conversion from a semi-autonomous religious authority into a centralized tool of regime ideology (Zeghal 1999, pp. 374–75; Aburish 2004, pp. 46–47). As Zeghal observes, “the state used al-Azhar to issue fatwas in support of nationalization and socialism, turning Islamic authority into a pillar of state legitimacy” (Zeghal 1999, p. 385). Curriculum revisions aligned religious education with Arab nationalist goals, while the merger of religious and civil courts consolidated state dominance over the legal domain (Zeghal 1999; Aburish 2004).

This institutional realignment was reinforced by ideological delegitimation. State-controlled media and official ‘ulama portrayed the Brotherhood as “sectarian, backward, and heretical,” undermining its religious legitimacy in the eyes of the public (Zeghal 1999, p. 386). Fatwas denouncing the MB proliferated, and education reforms redefined Islam along statist, modernist lines (Aburish 2004, pp. 200–1; Shah 2004). The effect was to marginalize the Brotherhood’s alternative moral vision while constructing a state-sanctioned Islam compatible with Nasser’s developmentalist and anti-imperialist project.

This campaign exemplified authoritarian upgrading: Nasser’s regime did not simply crush the Brotherhood militarily but restructured the religious sphere itself. By purging rivals, reshaping al-Azhar, and delegitimizing the Brotherhood, the regime replaced pluralism with a state-controlled Islam that bolstered its authority. In conclusion, Nasser’s shift from tactical alliance to suppression was a phased process of authoritarian consolidation. As the Brotherhood’s autonomous influence grew incompatible with centralizing ambitions, inclusion gave way to exclusion, and alternative claims to moral and political leadership were eliminated.

3. The Case of Türkiye: Recep Tayyip Erdoğan and the Gülen Movement

3.1. Background: The Rise of Erdoğan and the Islamic Movement in Türkiye

The ascent of Recep Tayyip Erdoğan and the broader Islamist movement—including reformist offshoots of Necmettin Erbakan’s Milli Görüş tradition and faith-based civil society actors such as the Gülen Movement—reflects deep institutional and ideological shifts in Türkiye’s political landscape. As in Egypt, where regime transformations have involved complex interactions between secular elites and Islamist challengers, Türkiye’s trajectory demonstrates how political Islam re-emerged within a secular nationalist framework—especially after the 28 February 1997 “postmodern coup,” which sought to suppress Islamist politics but ultimately facilitated their reconfiguration—and eventually played a central role in redefining it. This process can be contextualized within the broader literature on regime change and hybrid authoritarianism.5

Kemalist secularism,6 established after 1923, subordinated religious institutions to the state through measures such as abolishing the caliphate, closing religious schools, and founding the Directorate of Religious Affairs (Diyanet) (Mardin 1989, p. 155; Gözaydın 2008). While framed as modernization, this was also a form of authoritarian ideological control that marginalized religious actors and cast religiously inspired movements—whether explicitly Islamist or more civic and faith-based in orientation—as existential threats to the secular republic. Such movements were subjected to varying degrees of state repression, particularly when they gained traction among rural conservatives and segments of the urban poor.7

The transition to a multi-party system in 1946 opened political opportunities for religious sentiment to re-enter public life. From the 1970s through the 1990s, Islamist parties—notably the National Salvation Party (MSP) and Welfare Party (RP)—articulated a counter-hegemonic Islamic political identity, appealing to underserved urban peripheries. Out of this wave emerged Erdoğan, who rose to prominence as Istanbul’s mayor in 1994, combining effective service delivery with Islamic moral discourse to legitimize political Islam in governance. His political lineage lay in Erbakan’s Milli Görüş (National Outlook) movement, shaped by Naqshbandi Sufi networks (Cornell and Kaya 2015; Erturk 2022), and influenced by the ideas of transnational Islamist thinkers such as Hasan al-Banna and Sayyid Qutb (Altunisik 2022, pp. 22–23; Stein 2013, p. 6). While Erdoğan’s style later diverged from Erbakan’s doctrinaire Islamism, he nonetheless inherited the organizational networks and religious vocabulary of this tradition. He was personally affiliated with the İskenderpaşa Dergahı and has publicly acknowledged it as one of the four major influences on his personality and worldview (Rubin 2001, pp. 26–27; Heper 2013; Cornell and Kaya 2015).

The rise of the RP, culminating in Erbakan’s premiership in 1996, provoked military intervention and the “postmodern coup” of 1997, which forced Erbakan’s resignation and dissolved the party (Peterson 1998, p. 2; Jenkins 2007, p. 29; Özbudun 2000, p. 106). In response, a reformist faction (Yenilikçiler) led by Erdoğan and Abdullah Gül broke from Erbakan (the more traditionalist—Gelenekçiler), founding the AKP in 2001. Rebranding as “conservative democrats,” they embraced market liberalism, EU accession, and democratic norms while distancing themselves from overt Islamism (Özbudun and Hale 2010, pp. 129–30; Yavuz 2009, p. 97).

The AKP’s landslide victory in 2002 parliamentary elections, securing 34.2% of the vote (Yüksek Seçim Kurulu (Supreme Election Board) 2002) and forming a single-party government, marked a critical regime transformation. Erdoğan’s platform of economic reform, democratization, and EU integration resonated across ideological divides, enabling the AKP to build a broad coalition of devout Muslims, entrepreneurs, the Anatolian middle class, and disenchanted secularists (Akarca and Tansel 2008; Keyder 2004). This shift reflects a broader pattern of hybrid regime formation, in which democratic institutions are preserved in form but gradually hollowed out to entrench executive dominance (Levitsky and Way 2010, pp. 3–10).

Erdoğan’s rise thus exemplifies how Islamist actors, once marginalized, can capitalize on political openings, adapt ideologically, and transform the regime from within. Far from signalling the collapse of secularism, the AKP’s ascent reconfigured it into a new synthesis of religious identity, electoral legitimacy, and state authority—setting the stage for Erdoğan’s later confrontation with other Islamic actors, particularly the Gülen Movement.

3.2. Religious Thought, Ritual, and Civic Practice in the Gülen Movement

To fully understand the dynamics of the GM, it is essential to examine the religious and organizational vision that underpins it. Inspired by the charismatic Turkish Islamic scholar Fethullah Gülen (1941–2024), who left Turkey in 1999 citing medical reasons and remained in residence at a compound in Saylorsburg, Pennsylvania until his death in 2024, the GM integrates classical Sunni theology with a strong emphasis on education, social responsibility, and interfaith dialogue (Tee 2021). Central to this vision is the concept of hizmet (service), which redefines worship not merely as ritual devotion, but as active engagement in the betterment of humanity through moral leadership, the dissemination of knowledge, and public good. Gülen interprets this service-oriented ethic as a form of spiritual fulfillment and religious obligation grounded in Islamic principles (Gülen 2009, pp. 11–17). This emphasis on service as a form of lived piety became so central that adherents came to refer to themselves as the Hizmet (Service) Movement, signalling their shared goal of civic transformation through faith-inspired action.

At the heart of this project lies Gülen’s ambition to cultivate a “golden generation”—a new cohort of morally upright, intellectually capable, and socially responsible individuals who could lead the transformation of society. This ideal became both the spiritual core and organizational driver of the movement. Gülen’s theological vision is deeply rooted in the intellectual and spiritual legacy of Said Nursi (1877–1960), a prominent Kurdish Sunni scholar whose Risale-i Nur (Treatise of Light) emphasized the compatibility of Islamic faith with reason, science, and modernity. At the core of Nursi’s project was the revival of faith as the essential basis for building a just and ethically grounded society (Ünal and Williams 2000, pp. 25–27; Michel 2005).8 Drawing heavily on Nursi, Gülen developed a civic-oriented Islam that prioritized education, ethical conduct, and dialogue over political confrontation (Yavuz and Esposito 2003). Complementing this rational framework is the spiritual heritage of Anatolian Sufism, particularly figures like Jalaluddin Rumi, Yunus Emre, Ahmad Yasawi, and Hacı Baktaşı Veli who emphasize inner purification, universal love, and tolerance (Gülen 2011, p. xvi; Ünal and Williams 2000, pp. 52–58; Tee 2021).

Gülen often refers to this synthesis as “Turkish/Anatolian Islam” or “Anatolian Muslimness”—a blend of Sunni orthodoxy, Sufi spirituality, and cultural pluralism (Gülen 2011, p. xvi; Ünal and Williams 2000, pp. 52–58; Aras and Çaha 2000). These foundations gave rise to the movement’s overarching aim: the development of the ideal human (al-insaan al-kaamil), whose personal virtues would form the basis for an ideal society. As Gülen puts it: “Today, above all else, we are in need of a generation that is conscientious in fulfilling their duty toward God and we need ideal people who can guide society” (Gülen 2011, p. 95). Thus, the movement is structured not only around theological principles, but also around an aspirational anthropology that sees individual moral refinement as the key to broader social transformation (see Gülen 2011, pp. 81–130; 2009, pp. 123–28, 145–55; 2005, pp. 103–9).

Expanding on this vision, Gülen argues that the transformation of society begins with the formation of ideal individuals—those who are spiritually disciplined, morally upright, intellectually curious, and socially responsible. He describes such a person as “so humble … so rational and sagacious … so zealous, persevering and confident” (Gülen 2005, pp. 103–4), suggesting that they become living embodiments of service, love, and tolerance—core values at the heart of what he terms the “golden generation” (al-insaan al-kaamil) (Gülen 2011, pp. 81–130). When such individuals populate a community, Gülen envisions an ideal society: one characterized by compassion, interfaith harmony, justice, and a commitment to the public good. Through institutions founded on love, tolerance, and dialogue—such as schools and cultural initiatives—social reform, in his view, is achieved not through political coercion but through the collective influence of morally cultivated, educated individuals (Gülen 2004, pp. 202–9).

This vision of moral excellence does not remain theoretical; rather, it becomes actionable through a clearly defined set of ethical principles that guide both personal and communal life. To cultivate this new generation, Gülen outlines core values including love, forgiveness, peace, humility, service (hizmet), and self-criticism—virtues he regards as foundational to Islam, in contrast to more external or performative aspects of religious practice (see Gülen 2005, 2006, 2009, 2011). Complementing this moral vision is his conception of the ideal human as someone who combines spiritual devotion, ethical consistency, and intellectual depth. Gülen identifies eight core traits of such individuals: sincere faith, boundless love, a rational engagement with science, a reimagined understanding of the universe, respect for freedom of thought, collective deliberation, clear reasoning, and aesthetic appreciation (Gülen 2009, pp. 5–10, 31–42). Altruism—living not for oneself but for others—lies at the heart of this moral formation, seen by Gülen as the highest realization of Islamic ethics (Gülen 2006, p. 10).

This ethical formation serves as the foundation for the movement’s institutional expansion. The emphasis on personal transformation as a precursor to societal change helped foster the development of a vast transnational network of institutions. This informal civil society ecosystem encompasses educational academies, media outlets, interfaith platforms, charitable foundations, and business associations. Among the most influential are the dershanes (private exam preparation centres) and sohbet circles (small-group religious discussions), which serve as both pedagogical and spiritual spaces. These venues not only offer religious education but also cultivate mentorship, discipline, and upward mobility among youth—functioning as incubators for the “ideal human” Gülen envisioned (Hendrick 2013, pp. 92–7).9

Grounded in this ethos of moral reform and civic service, the GM does not position itself as a political actor. Its mission is articulated in terms of ethical renewal and societal uplift, rather than formal political engagement. This strategic orientation allowed the movement to maintain a degree of autonomy and avoid direct confrontation with the secular state for much of its history. However, it is precisely this autonomy—and the GM’s growing influence within key state institutions—that would later lead to its framing as a political threat to Erdoğan’s authority (Balci 2013; Taş 2018; Martin 2020). Its historical evolution and civic orientation set it apart from other religiously inspired movements—particularly those with explicit political agendas such as the Milli Görüş tradition and the Muslim Brotherhood—a distinction that became increasingly salient during the political conflicts of the 2010s.

3.3. Erdoğan’s Alliance with the Gülen Movement

This model of faith-based civic engagement created the conditions for what would become one of the most significant political alliances in modern Turkish history. Recep Tayyip Erdoğan and the AKP were significantly bolstered by a strategic partnership with the Gülen Movement (GM), a powerful civil society network with deep institutional presence in education, media, law enforcement, and the judiciary.10 The significance of this partnership lies not only in its breadth but also in the GM’s distinctive organizational capacity. Among various religious communities, the GM stood out for its ability to mobilize technocratic cadres and maintain a disciplined, transnational structure (Jenkins 2008; Yavuz 2013), illustrating how an ostensibly apolitical religious movement could function as a decisive actor in the restructuring of state power. While the AKP sought to consolidate authority and dismantle the entrenched Kemalist establishment, the GM pursued political protection to advance its civic initiatives and promote an interpretation of Islam compatible with modernity and democratic norms (Yavuz and Esposito 2003; Tee 2021). This complementarity helps explain why two actors with differing long-term projects nonetheless converged during a transitional moment.

Although their objectives were not entirely aligned, the AKP and the GM shared overlapping ideological and strategic goals. Both supported Türkiye’s EU accession, economic growth, and the strengthening of democratic institutions—particularly where these weakened military guardianship (Tekines 2024; Balci 2013). Their shared roots in Islamic conservatism and Anatolian moral traditions emphasized social cohesion, religious values, and civic responsibility, but more importantly, they provided a cultural repertoire that made their cooperation intelligible and legitimate to broad segments of Turkish society. Unlike Gamal Abdel Nasser, Erdoğan is widely seen as a religious figure, shaped by Naqshbandi Sufi networks under the mentorship of Necmettin Erbakan, which enhanced his appeal among Türkiye’s devout constituencies.11 This personal religious capital strengthened the plausibility of Erdoğan’s alliance with the GM by signaling authenticity to conservative voters.

Despite maintaining relationships with various religious communities—such as Sufi orders, traditional Sunni scholars, and Islamist NGOs—Erdoğan forged a uniquely close alliance with the GM. This choice reveals that the alliance was not simply one among many, but rather a calculated preference based on institutional leverage. In contrast to other religious orders fragmented by intra-Islamist rivalries and historical resentment toward Erbakan, the GM had remained politically neutral and built a powerful presence in the judiciary and police. This neutrality, combined with a shared resentment toward the military-secularist establishment, made the GM an ideal partner for Erdoğan in his bid to dismantle the secular “deep state.” While Türkiye hosts a diversity of religious actors, few matched the GM’s institutional reach or capacity to influence state restructuring—making it both the most effective and, eventually, the most threatening religious ally (Yavuz and Koç 2016; Martin 2020; Tee 2021). What might otherwise seem like a conventional alliance thus becomes a textbook case of how political elites strategically privilege one movement over others to maximize regime transformation.

Yet, important differences in goals and public strategy persisted. The AKP aimed to capture state power and reshape governance along conservative-nationalist lines. The GM, by contrast, presented itself as a non-political actor, focused on moral renewal through education, interfaith dialogue, and bureaucratic engagement (Balci 2013). This divergence in institutional aspirations foreshadowed the fragility of the alliance and underscored the fact that elite–movement coalitions are rarely sustained beyond their immediate objectives.

Nevertheless, their mutual opposition to the secularist military’s guardianship over civilian governance created a powerful strategic convergence. The AKP relied on the GM’s influence in the judiciary, media, and police to weaken the so-called “deep state.” The GM, in turn, relied on political cover to expand its educational institutions and media platforms (Aras and Çaha 2000; Aydıntaşbaş 2016; Martin 2020). This complementarity enabled both actors to reshape Türkiye’s political landscape in the early 2000s, demonstrating how fragile coalitions can nonetheless have profound institutional effects.

The alliance manifested concretely through the GM’s active presence in key state sectors. Gülen-affiliated actors played pivotal roles in shielding Erdoğan from judicial investigations and military challenges—longstanding barriers for Islamist politicians in Türkiye’s secular republic (Aviv 2016; Taş 2018; Martin 2020). In return, the AKP facilitated the GM’s institutional expansion and implemented reforms that weakened the military’s political power, including the 2010 constitutional referendum (Balci 2013; Tee 2021; Tekines 2024). These mutual accommodations highlight the mechanics of exchange central to elite–movement alliances.

This episode exemplifies the broader logic of collaboration: the AKP leveraged the GM’s grassroots and bureaucratic networks to consolidate its rule, while the GM gained influence and protection under the AKP’s political umbrella. However, the alliance was ultimately tactical and fragile. As both actors pursued diverging visions of Türkiye’s future—especially over political control and the role of Islam in the state—mutual distrust deepened. By the early 2010s, this rift had grown irreparable, marking the start of a highly polarized and conflict-ridden era in Turkish politics (Tol 2014; Toosi 2016; Martin 2020).

In summary, Erdoğan’s alliance with the GM was a pragmatic coalition rooted in anti-Kemalist objectives and mutual institutional interests. It enabled the AKP to ascend by dismantling Kemalist-secularist dominance with the help of the GM’s infrastructure. Yet its collapse underscores the instability of such coalitions when long-term goals diverge, and one actor seeks to outgrow its subordinate role. As in the Egyptian case, this trajectory demonstrates the double-edged nature of elite–movement alliances: they may be transformative in the short term but structurally unstable in the long run.

3.4. Erdoğan’s Shift: From Alliance to Conflict

The deterioration of the alliance between Recep Tayyip Erdoğan and the GM marked a critical juncture in Türkiye’s political trajectory, highlighting the dynamics of hegemonic consolidation within a competitive authoritarian context. What began as a tactical partnership grounded in shared opposition to Kemalist secularism devolved into open conflict as Erdoğan sought to consolidate executive dominance and neutralize autonomous actors embedded within the state apparatus (Göl 2017; Baykan 2024). This shift exemplifies how alliances forged in transitional moments can later become obstacles to the centralization of authority.

By the early 2010s, Erdoğan’s consolidation of power followed patterns consistent with hybrid regime models.12 Although the GM had once been a strategic ally embedded in critical state institutions—particularly the judiciary and police—it increasingly came to be viewed as an autonomous and threatening actor. This reclassification of the GM as a rival was catalyzed by Erdoğan’s subordination of the military and other secular strongholds, which had historically curtailed Islamist politics (Toosi 2016; Göl 2017; Baykan 2024). Once these constraints were diminished, Erdoğan’s project shifted toward a more centralized, personalized model of governance, and tensions with the GM inevitably escalated.

The first visible rupture between the GM and the AKP occurred over foreign policy, revealing how ideological divergence can fracture tactical alliances. Gülen publicly opposed Erdoğan’s confrontational international stance—especially his pro-Iran leanings, anti-Israel rhetoric, and Brotherhood ties. This divergence became visible during the May 2010 Mavi Marmara incident, when Gülen denounced the flotilla’s attempt to break the Israeli blockade of Gaza as a violation of international law and Israeli sovereignty (Lauria 2010; Yavuz 2018). His critique signalled a clash between Erdoğan’s populist, confrontational foreign policy and the GM’s more cautious, internationalist orientation.

Soon after, the 2010 constitutional referendum became another turning point in Türkiye’s institutional transformation. While presented as democratization, the Venice Commission and European Commission warned the amendments would undermine judicial independence and enable executive dominance (Venice Commission (European Commission for Democracy through Law) 2010, para. 23; European Commission 2010, p. 16). The GM supported the referendum, seeing it as a means of weakening military tutelage and advancing EU reforms. Yet this support created a contradiction: the movement, long committed to democratization, endorsed reforms that EU bodies themselves feared would foster authoritarianism (Yavuz 2013; Baykan 2024). This paradox underscored how alliances often force movements into positions that compromise their normative claims.

Following the referendum, the AKP’s subordination of the military13 was widely hailed as a democratic breakthrough. Erdoğan was praised across the Middle East and the West, and Türkiye was cast as a model demonstrating compatibility between electoral legitimacy, religious conservatism, and modern governance. During the Arab uprisings, Türkiye’s prominence reinforced this perception (Tuğal 2016; Hamid et al. 2017). Yet what appeared as democratic ascendancy masked deeper fractures. The AKP’s new confidence emboldened more assertive foreign policy moves, which Gülen openly criticized, further straining the alliance.

The second major confrontation came in early 2012, when a prosecutor allegedly linked to the GM summoned Hakan Fidan, head of the National Intelligence Organization (MIT), over his covert PKK negotiations in Oslo. The AKP leadership saw this as an attempt to strike Erdoğan through one of his closest allies, framing it as a judicial coup by Gülenist actors (Yavuz 2018; Altınordu 2017). Around the same time, Erdoğan’s office and residence were wiretapped, reportedly by GM-affiliated police (Yavuz 2018; Kardaş and Balcı 2019). These actions were interpreted not as institutional oversight but as betrayal, exemplifying how autonomy within the state can be redefined as subversion under consolidating authoritarianism.

Rather than interpreting such criticism as democratic pluralism, Erdoğan treated it as disloyalty. The GM’s vocal criticism of his foreign and domestic policies, combined with its institutional autonomy, was reframed as a breach of their informal pact. As the AKP distanced itself from earlier commitments to reform, the GM began to withdraw, and the alliance unraveled (Hendrick 2013; Tekines 2024). This sequence illustrates how alliances collapse once movements cease to be subordinate partners.

By 2013, confrontation escalated into Erdoğan’s accusations that the GM had formed a “parallel state” (paralel yapı) within the judiciary, police, and education system (Jenkins 2014; Yavuz and Koç 2016; Taş 2018). The divergence extended to foreign policy: while the GM continued supporting EU accession, Erdoğan turned Eurosceptic, portraying EU institutions as biased and hostile toward Muslim-majority states (Yavuz 2013; Baykan 2024). This divergence shows how external alignments can deepen internal fractures.

Tensions intensified during the Gezi Park protests of May–June 2013.14 Gülen publicly called for restraint and dialogue, insisting:

“The people voiced democratic demands [during the Gezi Park protests] and, initially, there were innocent protests… Freedom of speech and expression cannot be restricted. While the views of the majority certainly deserve respect, the views of minority groups should be treated with the same level of respect as well”.

(Hürriyet Daily News 2014)

Such statements emphasized inclusion and nonviolence but were interpreted by Erdoğan as betrayal. He accused the GM of conspiring with foreign actors, again framing dissent as treason (Aviv 2016; Habervaktim 2013). Gülen, in response, rejected these accusations, lamenting that “pressure led to violence and a local issue turned into a national security issue” (Hürriyet Daily News 2014). These exchanges illustrate how rhetoric and symbolic positioning became central weapons in the alliance’s breakdown.

Later in 2013, Erdoğan escalated by targeting the GM’s dershanes—private prep schools central to its recruitment and finances (BBC News 2014; Jenkins 2014; Yavuz and Koç 2016). Their closure not only weakened the GM’s grassroots infrastructure but also symbolized Erdoğan’s determination to dismantle its societal base. The corruption probes of 17–25 December 2013, led by prosecutors allegedly linked to the GM, further deepened the rift. With cabinet ministers implicated, Erdoğan denounced the investigations as a “judicial coup” and launched sweeping purges of GM-linked officials (Jenkins 2016; The Guardian 2014; Balci 2023).

The January 2014 MİT trucks scandal escalated repression further. Prosecutors accused Turkish intelligence of supplying arms to Syrian jihadists, triggering mass dismissals, criminal charges, and seizures of GM-linked media and schools (BBC News 2014; Euronews 2021; Cagaptay 2017). As Baykan (2024, p. 182) argues, this episode “made the authoritarian characteristics of the AKP government more visible and undeniable.” These developments illustrate how authoritarian regimes frame security crises to justify dismantling rivals’ institutional networks.

In the following years, Erdoğan intensified repression: the GM was designated a terrorist organization, its media and schools were seized, and its companies placed under state trusteeship. These measures, presented as national security imperatives, consolidated Erdoğan’s domestic support by recasting the GM as a foreign-backed subversive threat (Martin 2020; Kütahyalı 2024). The rebranding of the GM from ally to enemy reinforced Erdoğan’s hegemonic control over civil society, media, and institutions.

This trajectory culminated in the 15 July 2016 coup attempt, which Erdoğan immediately blamed on the GM (Altınordu 2017). The coup became the final rupture in what had once been a mutually empowering alliance. In contrast to Egypt—where Nasser’s clash with the MB was framed as ideological—Erdoğan’s confrontation with the GM was rooted in institutional domination. Both cases, however, underscore how authoritarian consolidation often involves recasting former allies as existential threats to legitimize the monopolization of power.

3.5. The 2016 Coup Attempt and the Abolition of the Gülen Movement

The failed coup attempt on 15 July 2016, marked a decisive turning point in President Erdoğan’s escalating conflict with the GM, crystallizing the dynamics of hegemonic consolidation within a competitive authoritarian context. What had initially been a tactical alliance and later evolved into rivalry now entered a phase of full repression, demonstrating how fragile coalitions are redefined as existential threats once executive power is sufficiently centralized.

The coup, conducted by a faction of the Turkish Armed Forces under the name “Peace at Home Council” (Yurtta Sulh Konseyi), involved the occupation of state institutions in Ankara and Istanbul, attacks on the parliament, and an alleged attempt to assassinate Erdoğan. Erdoğan’s survival and his dramatic FaceTime broadcast on CNN Türk became a symbolic rallying moment for the regime (Fırat 2016; Yeni Şafak 2016; Al Jazeera 2016). Yet the coup collapsed rapidly, lacking both broad military support and popular legitimacy (Pierini 2016; Kalafat 2016).15 Erdoğan quickly framed the events as a divine opportunity to purge opponents and consolidate power, illustrating how authoritarian leaders can transform moments of crisis into vehicles for regime entrenchment. Alternative interpretations persisted: opposition parties16 labelled the coup a “controlled coup,” suggesting the government may have anticipated the uprising but allowed it to unfold as a pretext for repression (Artunç 2017).

In the coup’s immediate aftermath, Erdoğan publicly declared: “This uprising is a gift from God (‘Allah’ın lütfu’) to us because this will be a reason to cleanse our army” (Dolan and Solaker 2016; Fırat 2016, p. 159). This framing legitimized mass purges as providential necessity rather than political choice. He immediately blamed Fethullah Gülen and his followers, accusing them of decades-long infiltration of the state to seize power. While Gülen rejected any involvement and called for an impartial investigation (BBC News 2016; ABC News 2016; Hizmet News 2017), Erdoğan dismissed this outright, insisting: “It is obvious who is behind this...There is no need to debate it further” (quoted in Filkins 2016). Competing interpretations reflected broader uncertainty: Filkins (2016) notes that while some Turkish and Western officials believed Gülenist officers played a leading role, others denied affiliation, pointing to a coalition of anti-Erdoğan factions. Similarly, Şık argued the coup involved multiple networks within the military (Kalafat 2016). Despite this ambiguity, Erdoğan pursued Gülen’s extradition and labelled the movement a grave security threat (Daily Sabah 2016; Coker 2016). This episode demonstrates how contested events can be instrumentalized to justify sweeping repression.

Capitalizing on the crisis, Erdoğan launched expansive purges across society. Tens of thousands of civil servants were dismissed within days, and thousands detained under emergency decrees. The crackdown extended beyond suspects to civil society, media, academia, and political dissent (Aydıntaşbaş 2016; Winter 2016; Human Rights Watch 2017). According to TMSF (Savings Deposit Insurance Fund), nearly 1000 companies worth more than $11 billion were seized (TMSF (Savings Deposit Insurance Fund of Turkey) 2023). These measures reflected a strategy of authoritarian upgrading, where repression was paired with the appropriation of economic resources to reconfigure state–society relations.

To justify the purge, the regime formulated an official “July 15 Narrative.” At its core was the depiction of the GM as a clandestine “Parallel State Structure” infiltrating the bureaucracy. Amplified by pro-government media, orchestrated commemorations, and ritualized public spectacles, this narrative legitimized authoritarian restructuring (Altınordu 2017, pp. 152–54; Filkins 2016).

A key pillar of this narrative was the instrumentalization of the Directorate of Religious Affairs (Diyanet). Under Erdoğan, the Diyanet was mobilized as a religious arm of the state, casting the GM not merely as political rivals but as heretics and existential enemies of Islam. Official reports and Friday sermons labeled the group as a source of fitne (sedition), fesat (corruption), and treachery, alleging collaboration with foreign powers. Diyanet president Mehmet Görmez described the movement as “a movement of power and privilege, under the guise of religion,” denying Gülen any claim to scholarly legitimacy (Kutlugün 2016). His successor, Ali Erbaş, condemned it as “a deviation in creed, practice, and morality… a great source of discord, division, and danger for the future of all Muslims” (Bozdoğan 2019). These statements reframed political repression as a religious duty, producing a moral consensus around state violence (Yilmaz and Albayrak 2021).

This sacralization of repression extended into extremist rhetoric. Abdulmetin Balkanlıoğlu, a Diyanet-trained imam, told democracy vigil (demokrasi nöbetleri) crowds that Gülenists’ property was “war booty” (Yeni Akit Gazetesi 2021). Hüseyin Adalan, a columnist for the pro-government Milat and Yeni Söz newspapers, tweeted that it was “religiously permissible to kill” even the children of Gülenists (Turkey Purge 2017). Trabzonspor executive Veysel Taşkın described their wives as “spoils of war” (Ersoy 2016). Although some figures faced backlash, such discourse illustrated how state propaganda blurred into violent theological extremism.

Mosques17 also became sites of mobilization. On the night of July 15, imams broadcast the salâ—traditionally a funeral call—over loudspeakers, summoning citizens into the streets. This transformed resistance into a spiritual obligation (Tremblay 2016). In the following weeks, the salâ was repeatedly broadcast to sustain nightly vigils, embedding the heroic narrative of July 15 within religious ritual (Altınordu 2017, p. 149). A state-backed study, The Victory of National Will, July 15, confirmed this, reporting participants found the salâ “100 percent effective” in mobilization (Enes 2017). Thus, religious ritual was fused with regime narrative to produce mass compliance.

Alternative interpretations of the coup were systematically suppressed. Public figures who questioned the official narrative—such as Genco Erkal and pop singer Sıla—were vilified, legally threatened, and cancelled (Diken 2016; Çıplak 2016; Yeni Şafak 2016; Cumhuriyet 2016). Live broadcasts corrected deviations in real time, underscoring the regime’s tight control of discourse (Altınordu 2017, p. 155). The fusion of authority, religion, and nationalism marginalized dissent and reframed political plurality as disloyalty (Jenkins 2016).

The state of emergency, lasting until July 2018, institutionalized repression: more than 150,000 public employees purged, 50,000 arrested, and hundreds of institutions shut down (Amnesty International 2018a, 2018b; Human Rights Watch 2025). Accusations of terrorism were wielded against journalists, academics, and civil servants without due process (Yeşil and Sözeri 2017; Taş 2018). Since 2016, 390,354 individuals have been detained, of whom 113,837 formally arrested (Karar 2025). These numbers reveal the scale of authoritarian consolidation under the pretext of national security.

The consolidation culminated in the 2017 constitutional referendum. Abolishing the prime ministership and vastly expanding presidential powers, it weakened judicial independence and legislative oversight. Erdoğan justified the reforms: “The presidential system is not about me; it’s about ensuring the strength of our state in the face of threats” (Hürriyet 2017; Ajansı 2017). Critics, however, warned the changes entrenched one-man rule (BBC News 2017; Çınar 2019; Reuters 2017). The referendum thus formalized authoritarian rule under the veneer of constitutional legitimacy.

In sum, the failed coup attempt functioned as both trigger and pretext for Türkiye’s authoritarian transformation. The eradication of the GM, once a pivotal ally, exemplified Erdoğan’s broader strategy: eliminate autonomous power centers, control discourse, and reconstruct the state in his own image. Through repression, narrative control, and legal engineering, Erdoğan consolidated a hegemonic regime where dissent is delegitimized, and pluralism systematically diminished.

4. Parallel Authoritarian Pathways: Comparative Analysis and Reflections on Nasser and Erdoğan

The trajectories of Recep Tayyip Erdoğan’s relationship with the GM and Gamal Abdel Nasser’s engagement with the MB reflect a recurrent authoritarian logic: political elites temporarily align with influential religious actors to consolidate power, only to later suppress those same actors once their autonomy becomes a perceived threat. Both cases illustrate this cyclical pattern of co-optation and rupture, though they differ in regime structure, ideological context, religious institutional history, and the precise character of the alliances formed.

4.1. Strategic Alliance Formation

In both Egypt and Türkiye, ruling elites strategically aligned with Islamic movements during moments of institutional upheaval and political transformation. Despite differing contexts—Egypt emerging from colonial rule through military revolution and Türkiye navigating a constrained but competitive electoral system—the alliances followed a shared logic. Rather than being grounded in ideological affinity, they were driven by mutual political necessity. Political elites required grassroots legitimacy and institutional access, while Islamic movements sought protection, influence, and formal recognition. These were marriages of convenience, and both illustrate a broader pattern: religious movements are instrumentalized to dismantle entrenched orders but rarely integrated as enduring partners in governance.18

4.1.1. Common Strategic Logic: Alliance Against the Old Order

In both Egypt and Türkiye, Islamic movements were recruited not as co-rulers but as transitional allies capable of mobilizing popular support and challenging bureaucratic resistance. In Egypt, after the 1952 coup, the Free Officers turned to the MB, then the most organized Islamic force in the country. With its extensive networks in mosques, schools, unions, and charities, the Brotherhood supplied ideological legitimacy and mass mobilization (Mitchell 1969; Wickham 2013). Yet once Nasser consolidated power, the Brotherhood’s ambitions clashed with his own, resulting in swift repression (Slater 2010; Levitsky and Way 2010).

In Türkiye, a parallel dynamic unfolded in a more incremental fashion. When the AKP rose to power in 2002, it lacked a bureaucratic base. The GM—a faith-based network rooted in education and moral reform—had cultivated cadres in the judiciary, police, and education sectors (Hendrick 2013; Taş 2018). Though publicly apolitical, its institutional reach was crucial for the AKP’s struggle against secularist resistance. The alliance thus served reciprocal needs: Erdoğan gained bureaucratic leverage, while the GM expanded its societal reach (Yavuz and Koç 2016; Turam 2007). In both cases, leaders turned to religious movements not to share authority but to consolidate it—revealing the strategic logic of elite–movement pacts under transitional stress.

4.1.2. Divergence in Historical Contexts and Institutional Settings

Despite these similarities, the alliances unfolded in distinct political environments. Egypt in the 1950s was undergoing a military revolution with no functioning party system or constitutional legitimacy. The MB’s support was therefore essential to stabilize the new regime, but once the Free Officers—especially Nasser—consolidated the state, the Brotherhood was dispensable (Kandil 2012).

Türkiye’s setting contrasted sharply. The AKP came to power through elections under a tutelary secularist regime dominated by the military and judiciary (Yavuz 2009). To challenge this establishment, Erdoğan required allies embedded in the bureaucracy, and the GM—with its quietist posture and deep institutional presence—was uniquely positioned (Taş 2018). Egypt’s revolutionary upheaval allowed Nasser to eliminate the MB swiftly; Türkiye’s semi-democratic structures forced Erdoğan to tolerate the GM for over a decade before repression became feasible. These contrasts show how regime type shaped both the tempo and durability of alliances.

4.1.3. Ideological Tensions and Strategic Asymmetry

The alliances also diverged in terms of ideological orientation. The MB had long envisioned an Islamic state governed by sharia. From Hasan al-Banna’s founding vision in 1928, it operated as a political movement with overt demands for public Islamization (Mitchell 1969; Al-Anani 2016). Its political activism quickly collided with Nasser’s secular nationalism, making confrontation inevitable (Wickham 2013).

By contrast, the GM deliberately avoided direct politics. Inspired by Said Nursi and led by Fethullah Gülen, it focused on education, interfaith dialogue, and moral reform (Ebaugh 2010; Hendrick 2013). Its declared aim was social transformation from below, not theocratic rule. This posture initially made it a more manageable ally for the AKP. Yet over time, the very features that delayed conflict—technocratic penetration and apolitical rhetoric—rendered it a covert rival once its autonomy seemed to exceed Erdoğan’s control (Altınordu 2017). Thus, while Nasser repressed the MB for its overt ideological challenge, Erdoğan turned on the GM for its concealed institutional power.

4.1.4. Alliance Durability and the Role of Regime Type

The contrasting regime types also explain variation in alliance durability. Egypt’s post-coup order hardened quickly into authoritarianism. With no legal protections, the MB was vulnerable and swiftly eliminated (Kandil 2012; Brown 2012).

Türkiye’s semi-democratic framework provided buffers. The AKP could not purge the GM immediately without risking domestic and international backlash. As a result, the alliance endured for more than a decade, despite growing mistrust. Only once Erdoğan had consolidated control over courts, media, and bureaucracy could he move decisively against the GM, culminating in the post-2016 purges (Yavuz 2013; Taş 2018). This illustrates how hybrid regimes may delay repression but ultimately replicate authoritarian patterns once power balances shift.

4.1.5. Lessons in Co-Optation and Rupture

Both alliances followed the same arc: religious movements were instrumental in dismantling old power centers but discarded once consolidation was achieved. The mechanisms of rupture, however, differed. In Egypt, conflict was swift and violent, triggered by irreconcilable ideological visions. In Türkiye, rupture unfolded gradually and bureaucratically, driven by suspicions of covert autonomy.

A key insight is that even movements avoiding politics may become intolerable if their influence grows too large. The AKP–GM split was not about ideology but control. Once the GM’s reach exceeded the AKP’s tolerance, it was reframed as a threat (Tarrow 2011; Yavuz and Koç 2016). Historical memory shaped these dynamics: Erdoğan’s cautious pragmatism reflected Turkey’s legacy of Islamist repression, yet his eventual strategy echoed Nasser’s—ally with religious actors to defeat secular elites, then restructure state–religion boundaries to ensure unchallenged rule (Altınordu 2017).

4.1.6. Conclusion: Alliances as Transitional Mechanisms

In both Egypt and Türkiye, alliances between state elites and Islamic movements were driven by political necessity, not ideological harmony. They reveal how religion operates as a strategic resource in transitional regimes—instrumental in opposition, dispensable in consolidation (Slater 2010; Levitsky and Way 2010). Neither case supports the idea of durable pluralism. Instead, both demonstrate a recurrent logic in hybrid regimes: religious movements are tolerated only so long as they remain subordinate. When autonomy threatens executive dominance, repression follows—whether through Nasser’s swift crackdown or Erdoğan’s gradual purge. The comparative lesson is clear: alliances with religious actors provide authoritarian leaders short-term gains but also create long-term vulnerabilities, resolved through coercion and exclusion.

At the same time, the fragility of these alliances underscores their deeper function: they are not endpoints but transitional mechanisms of authoritarian upgrading. In both cases, rulers engaged in elite–movement co-optation, exploiting religious networks to weaken entrenched rivals and gain grassroots legitimacy. Yet once rulers secured coercive, institutional, and discursive dominance, these same movements were recast as existential threats and eliminated. Egypt’s revolutionary setting enabled a swift and violent rupture; Türkiye’s semi-democratic context produced a slower, more incremental breakdown. But in both trajectories, the pattern was the same: alliances served as scaffolding for consolidation, dismantled once rulers no longer required them. This comparative logic marks the hinge between coalition-building and authoritarian consolidation, preparing the ground for the next stage of regime entrenchment.

4.2. Authoritarian Consolidation

If alliances with Islamic movements represent the scaffolding of regime transformation, their collapse marks the onset of authoritarian consolidation. In both Egypt and Türkiye, once Nasser and Erdoğan no longer depended on the Brotherhood or the Gülen Movement to counter entrenched rivals, they moved decisively to dismantle these alliances and reconfigure state–religion relations on their own terms. This phase was not simply about repression; it entailed the systematic reorganization of institutions, the monopolization of religious authority, and the delegitimation of former allies as existential threats. Although both regimes followed this common logic, the pathways diverged significantly due to distinct regime types and historical contexts. Egypt, already authoritarian in the early 1950s, absorbed the rupture with the Brotherhood into an established framework of coercion. By contrast, Türkiye under the AKP shifted from a competitive electoral regime toward authoritarianism, with the Erdoğan–GM split marking a decisive turning point in democratic erosion (Levitsky and Way 2010). Yet these divergent trajectories ultimately converged on the same outcome: the subordination and eventual repression of once-powerful Islamic allies.

Despite these contextual differences, both cases reflect a common logic: Islamic movements are tolerated only so long as they remain subordinate to the ruling elite’s monopoly on power and ideological authority. When these movements begin to assert independent legitimacy or accumulate institutional leverage, they are reframed as existential threats. This transformation from ally to enemy aligns with broader authoritarian patterns in which pluralism is permitted only to the extent that it remains non-threatening to elite control (Slater 2010; Levitsky and Way 2010).

4.2.1. Co-Opting and Instrumentalizing Religious Institutions

In both Egypt and Türkiye, authoritarian consolidation was reinforced by the instrumentalization of state-aligned religious institutions to delegitimize former allies and provide moral justification for repression. In Egypt, following the Brotherhood’s alleged 1954 assassination attempt on Nasser, the regime mobilized al-Azhar’s authority to portray the MB as a danger to national stability. Prominent clerics issued fatwas framing the Brotherhood as religious deviants and political subversives, thereby transforming theological discourse into a tool of state repression (Crecelius 1966; Shah 2004). Similarly, in Türkiye, the AKP deployed the Diyanet—the Directorate of Religious Affairs—to denounce the GM after the 2013 fallout. Official sermons and statements cast the GM as a heretical sect undermining national unity and the ummah, thereby sanctifying Erdoğan’s crackdown as a religious imperative (Yilmaz and Albayrak 2021).

While both regimes relied on religious institutions to erode public support for former allies, the institutional mechanics differed in ways that highlight their contrasting contexts. Al-Azhar, historically semi-autonomous, was gradually drawn into the post-revolutionary state as a legitimating device. By contrast, the Diyanet was already embedded within the Turkish state apparatus and functioned as a direct extension of executive power. In both settings, however, religious authorities were transformed into instruments of authoritarian legitimation rather than independent arbiters of moral or theological guidance.

4.2.2. Bureaucratic Purges and the Reconfiguration of State–Religion Relations

After rupture, both regimes initiated wide-scale purges of their former allies from state institutions, using exclusion not only to punish but also to restructure state–religion relations. In Egypt, the Brotherhood had embedded itself in key sectors, including al-Azhar, charitable networks, and professional syndicates. Following the 1954 crackdown, thousands of MB members were arrested or executed, and those in public service were expelled—transforming repression into a sweeping bureaucratic purge (Skovgaard-Petersen 2004; Al-Awadi 2004). This extended deeply into the Ministry of Education and al-Azhar, where Brotherhood members—many of whom had served as teachers, inspectors, or administrators—were systematically removed and replaced with cadres loyal to the regime’s secular-nationalist project. As Jakob Skovgaard-Petersen notes, “from 1959 to 1963, the number of faculty at al-Azhar dropped from 298 to 215,” due to Law 818, which “set up committees that were designed to purge al-Azhar of all faculty who were unwilling to support government control” (Skovgaard-Petersen 2004, p. 162). Sayyid Qutb, who had worked for nearly two decades in the Ministry— “first as a teacher and later as an inspector and administrator”—became emblematic of this ideological and bureaucratic purge (Calvert 2010, pp. 133–35). Al-Azhar’s 1961 reforms expanded its educational mandate but subordinated it to the Ministry of Religious Endowments (Zeghal 1999), centralizing religious discourse and producing a state-sanctioned Islam aligned with Arab socialism.

In Türkiye, an analogous process unfolded after the 2013 corruption probes—widely believed to be led by GM-affiliated prosecutors—which targeted Erdoğan’s inner circle (Balci 2023; Taş 2018). This marked the point of no return. The AKP began removing suspected Gülenists from the judiciary, police, and education ministries, escalating after the 2016 coup attempt, which the government attributed to the GM. Whether or not the GM orchestrated the coup, it gave Erdoğan the pretext to declare a state of emergency and initiate mass purges. Over 150,000 public servants were dismissed, thousands of institutions closed, and the constitutional framework altered through the 2017 referendum (Human Rights Watch 2025).

While the Brotherhood’s repression occurred during the early consolidation of an already authoritarian regime, the GM’s repression marked the authoritarian transformation of a nominal democracy. In both cases, purges were not only punitive—they were reconstructive, reshaping the ideological and institutional architecture of the state to ensure subordination of religion to political authority.

4.2.3. Divergent Paths: From Miscalculation to Strategic Rupture

Both the MB and the GM miscalculated the limits of their alliances, though in opposite ways. The Brotherhood believed the Free Officers—especially Nasser—would usher in Islamic justice after the monarchy’s fall. Many within the movement saw participation in the new regime as natural, given their mass legitimacy and history of anti-imperialist activism (Shah 2004; Al-Anani 2016). Yet Nasser’s consolidation of power and embrace of secular Arab nationalism clashed with the Brotherhood’s pan-Islamist vision. The rupture, solidified by the 1954 incident, transformed Nasser into a symbol of authoritarian nationalism and marked the beginning of a new state–Islam settlement (Crecelius 1966; Laub 2019).

By contrast, the GM assumed that avoiding overt politics would shield it from rivalry. Its emphasis on education, moral reform, and quietist religious activism enabled it to thrive within Türkiye’s secular framework. But its deep institutional entrenchment—especially in the judiciary and police—eventually positioned it as a rival power center. The 2013 corruption cases shattered the AKP–GM alliance and provoked Erdoğan’s campaign to eliminate the movement from the state (Martin 2020; Balci 2023).

Thus, while the Brotherhood overestimated its ability to shape a revolutionary state, the GM underestimated the risks of wielding institutional influence without democratic legitimacy. Both cases expose the fragility of alliances with authoritarian rulers whose tolerance of pluralism is conditional and revocable.

4.2.4. From Crisis to Authoritarian Recalibration

In both Egypt and Türkiye, moments of crisis were transformed into opportunities for authoritarian recalibration. Nasser used the assassination attempt to justify a one-party system and eliminate religious pluralism from politics. The Brotherhood was outlawed, and Islamic discourse centralized under state control.

Erdoğan followed a similar trajectory after the 2016 coup attempt. Emergency decrees enabled the dismantling of the GM’s infrastructure, closure of opposition media, and constitutional shift to presidentialism. As with Nasser, the former ally was rebranded an internal enemy, with repression cast not only as necessary for state security but also as a sacred duty to protect Islam and the nation.

Yet important differences remain. Nasser’s repression was ideologically driven and shaped by Cold War geopolitics, producing a rupture and re-foundation of state–society relations. Erdoğan’s was bureaucratically methodical, rooted in regime preservation within a hybrid system. Türkiye’s authoritarian shift evolved incrementally through legal and electoral mechanisms until the authoritarian threshold was crossed.

4.2.5. Strategic Rupture and Consolidation

In both Egypt and Türkiye, the trajectory from alliance to authoritarianism reveals a consistent authoritarian logic: religious movements are co-opted when regimes are vulnerable, tolerated while useful, and purged once they accrue independent power. Whether through ideological rivalry, institutional competition, or crisis exploitation, authoritarian leaders act decisively to neutralize allies who threaten hegemonic control.

Yet the sequencing, rhetoric, and institutional strategies diverged. Egypt’s rupture was abrupt and justified by ideological antagonism in a revolutionary context. Türkiye’s was gradual, legalistic, and catalysed by crises. In both settings, repression was not simply reactionary—it was recalibrative, redefining the permissible boundaries of religious engagement and embedding state-aligned Islam as a pillar of authoritarian rule.

These comparative insights caution against interpreting state–movement alliances as evidence of durable inclusion. Instead, they reveal how authoritarian consolidation is constructed through selective inclusion, strategic rupture, and the dismantling of alternative moral authorities. Authoritarianism, in these cases, was not merely an outcome but a process, shaped by co-optation, crisis, and the systematic monopolization of religious and political authority.

4.3. State Control, Public Religion, and Political Legitimacy

In both Egypt and Türkiye, authoritarian consolidation relied not only on coercive repression but also on the systematic reconfiguration of religion. Rather than sidelining Islamic institutions, Gamal Abdel Nasser and Recep Tayyip Erdoğan remade them into instruments of political legitimacy. Through institutional restructuring, ideological messaging, and the marginalization of autonomous religious actors, both regimes sought to monopolize the meaning of Islam and fuse it with state authority. Although their ideological orientations—Arab socialism in Egypt and Sunni nationalism in Türkiye—differed, their deployment of state-aligned religion followed a convergent authoritarian logic: to legitimize repression, delegitimize rivals, and construct a durable political legacy.19

In Egypt, this logic was crystallized in Nasser’s efforts to neutralize the MB while simultaneously elevating state-controlled Islam. Although the Brotherhood had initially supported the Free Officers during the 1952 revolution, their growing grassroots influence and organizational autonomy soon conflicted with Nasser’s centralizing vision. The alleged assassination attempt by a Brotherhood member in 1954 provided the pretext for a sweeping crackdown (Carré and Michaud 1983; Krämer 2010; Gerges 2018). Thousands of members were imprisoned or executed, while figures such as Sayyid Qutb were purged from the Ministry of Education, where he had served for nearly two decades (Skovgaard-Petersen 2004; Al-Awadi 2004; Calvert 2010).

The repression of the Brotherhood was paired with the restructuring of Egypt’s premier religious institution, al-Azhar. The 1961 reforms expanded its curriculum to include modern sciences while subordinating it to the Ministry of Religious Endowments, ensuring that clerics became salaried agents of the state. These institutional changes allowed the regime to mobilize al-Azhar in legitimizing state policies ranging from economic reform to foreign policy, as well as in justifying repression of Islamist rivals (Crecelius 1966; Aburish 2004; Moustafa 2000). The purge of Brotherhood-affiliated faculty was formalized under Law 818, which created committees to remove dissenting voices. As Skovgaard-Petersen notes, “from 1959 to 1963, the number of faculty at al-Azhar dropped from 298 to 215” (2004, p. 162). In effect, al-Azhar was transformed from a semi-autonomous religious authority into a bureaucratic arm of Nasser’s Arab socialist project.

Beyond institutional capture, Nasser also sought to saturate public life with state-curated Islam. The expansion of mosques—from 11,000 before the revolution to more than 21,000 by 1970—was paired with compulsory religious education, new girls’ Islamic schools, and Quran memorization competitions. Millions of Qur’ans and Islamic heritage texts were printed and distributed domestically and internationally through state publishing houses and radio broadcasts (Sabih 2022). These initiatives allowed the regime to claim guardianship of Islamic authenticity while undermining the Brotherhood’s transnational appeal. Nasser’s banning of gambling, closure of Baha’i forums, and regulation of public morality further defined Islam through state power. His personal attendance at Friday prayers reinforced his public persona as a pious reformer (Aburish 2004; Sabih 2022). As Amr Sabih (2022) observes, Nasser’s “functionalist approach” cast religion as a vehicle for modernization and national unity, subordinated to the imperatives of centralized control.

In Türkiye, Erdoğan pursued a parallel strategy of religious instrumentalization, though adapted to the legacies of Kemalist secularism. Whereas the early Republic had curtailed Islam through the Diyanet (Mardin 1989; Gözaydın 2008), Erdoğan expanded and politicized the institution, making it a central organ of AKP ideology. The Diyanet’s budget increased nearly 2000 percent, surpassing many ministries and enabling it to dominate the religious public sphere (Duvar English 2021). Its Friday sermons were aligned with government priorities, emphasizing obedience, national unity, and moral conservatism (Çevik 2019).

As with Nasser, the education sector became the most visible arena for Erdoğan’s project. His pledge to raise a “pious generation” materialized through the dramatic expansion of Imam Hatip schools (Butler 2018). Between 2012 and 2018, enrollment rose fivefold to 1.3 million, with disproportionate state funding: though only 11 percent of upper secondary students attended Imam Hatips, they received 23 percent of national education spending (Butler 2018; Cornell and Kaya 2015; The Economist 2017). Religious instruction reached up to 13 h per week, while secular schools were often converted into Imam Hatips against community resistance. National curricula were revised to remove Darwinian evolution and expand Quran, Hadith, and Sīrah (The Prophet’s biography) studies, blending religious education with political indoctrination (Butler 2018).

The AKP’s use of the Diyanet was also central to delegitimating former allies. Following the rupture with the GM, Erdoğan recast the movement as a deviant sect, particularly after the failed 2016 coup attempt. Gülen-affiliated schools, media, and civil associations were closed, over 100,000 civil servants dismissed, and the Diyanet framed these measures as a religious obligation. Fatwas and public statements portrayed loyalty to the state as a religious duty, while dissent was equated with heresy and treason (Çevik 2019; Yilmaz and Albayrak 2021).

Taken together, the trajectories of Egypt and Türkiye reveal a shared authoritarian logic. Independent religious actors were first instrumentalized in moments of regime vulnerability, only to be delegitimized and purged once their autonomy threatened centralized control. Fatwas, sermons, and curricula were transformed into weapons of political legitimation. Regime loyalty was redefined as a religious virtue; opposition became heresy.

Yet, divergences in institutional history shaped the costs of these strategies. In Egypt, al-Azhar’s incorporation into the state apparatus eroded its legitimacy as an independent authority. In Türkiye, the Diyanet’s overt politicization fueled polarization and skepticism among secular and religious constituencies alike. Both regimes succeeded in narrowing the domain of “acceptable Islam,” but at the expense of pluralism and institutional credibility.

Ultimately, the comparative trajectories of Nasser and Erdoğan underscore how religion became not merely a cultural resource but a domain of authoritarian governance. By subordinating religious authority to political power, both leaders used Islam to discipline dissent, project moral authority, and engineer national identity. This fusion of state and religion produced cohesive yet constrained political orders—ensuring regime survival at the expense of religious independence. In comparative perspective, however, the two cases also highlight how different institutional contexts shaped the modalities of control: revolutionary Egypt absorbed al-Azhar through rapid centralization, while Türkiye’s incremental transformation politicized the Diyanet over time. Despite these divergences, both regimes converged on the same outcome: the monopolization of religious authority as a cornerstone of authoritarian consolidation.

5. Conclusions

This study has demonstrated that authoritarian consolidation in both Egypt and Türkiye was not only enforced through coercion but also enabled by the strategic co-optation and subsequent repression of autonomous Islamic movements. Nasser and Erdoğan each formed opportunistic alliances with religious actors—the MB and the GM—not from ideological alignment but from a shared need for legitimacy, institutional access, and social mobilization during formative stages of regime transformation. However, once these actors developed independent power, they were systematically marginalized. This trajectory—from alliance to elimination—was not an aberration, but a predictable outcome of authoritarian logic in which loyalty, not faith, defines political acceptability.

A key insight from this comparison is that authoritarian regimes tolerate religious pluralism only insofar as it remains non-threatening. In Türkiye, unlike Egypt, other religious groups have continued operating under Erdoğan’s rule because they have demonstrated loyalty to the ruling order and have not challenged its authority. In some cases, these groups have actively supported the regime’s agenda. Among many religious actors, only the GM accumulated sufficient organizational autonomy and moral authority to be perceived as a threat—thus becoming uniquely expendable. The repression of the GM reveals the regime’s red line: it is not religiosity but independence and disloyalty that provoke exclusion. Thus, authoritarian religious policy is not uniformly repressive but selectively exclusionary—permitting compliant actors while dismantling those who claim independent moral or bureaucratic legitimacy. These dynamics are consistent with the logic of competitive authoritarianism, in which democratic institutions remain formally intact but are manipulated to entrench incumbents and suppress challengers (Levitsky and Way 2010).

Taken together, these findings refine broader theoretical understandings of religious co-optation (Brownlee 2007; Gandhi and Przeworski 2007), authoritarian upgrading (Heydemann 2007), and the instrumentalization of religion (Kuru 2009). They suggest that in Muslim-majority authoritarian settings, religion is not merely manipulated rhetorically but actively institutionalized to construct state-aligned moral authority. Institutions like Al-Azhar and the Diyanet were transformed from centers of religious scholarship into ideological instruments—delegitimizing dissenting religious actors while legitimizing repression in theological terms.

The divergent trajectories of the MB and the GM also shed light on how religious movements respond to authoritarian pressure. In Egypt, the Brotherhood’s exclusion catalyzed long-term cycles of radicalization and fragmentation within the Islamist field. In contrast, the GM—despite facing widespread purges—has largely adopted a strategy of legal contestation, civic advocacy, and exile-based resilience. These outcomes underscore that repression does not uniformly produce violence; it may also result in passive endurance, strategic retreat, or the erosion of public religious voice. The specific response depends not only on the severity of state repression but also on the movement’s theology, structure, and orientation toward violence.

These findings also carry important normative implications. For state actors, the instrumentalization of religion may deliver short-term political gains, but it often comes at the expense of institutional trust, civic pluralism, and long-term stability. For religious movements, survival under authoritarian rule does not hinge solely on theology or public support, but on their perceived loyalty to the state. Navigating this terrain requires religious actors to carefully balance moral autonomy and regime tolerance, preserving their identity without provoking existential exclusion.

Finally, these findings underscore the broader cost of authoritarian religious policy: the erosion of religious pluralism, the entrenchment of moral monopolies, and the narrowing of public discourse. A sustainable resolution to enduring conflicts—such as that between Erdoğan and the GM—would require more than pragmatic negotiation. It would necessitate a structural rethinking of how the state engages religious authority, allowing space for independent moral voices without politicized delegitimation. In the absence of such transformation, religious movements will remain either co-opted, repressed, or silenced—trapped within a system where their legitimacy is contingent on political subservience.

In sum, this comparative study affirms that in authoritarian contexts, religion functions not as a neutral domain of belief, but as a terrain of power. It is here—where faith becomes a tool or a threat—that the boundaries of state authority, civic resistance, and pluralist possibility are drawn. Future research should continue exploring how regimes calibrate repression and co-optation in response to religious autonomy—and how religious actors adapt, resist, or retreat under such constraints. Similar patterns may be unfolding in other Muslim-majority contexts—such as Malaysia, Algeria, or Pakistan—where states strategically accommodate, marginalize, or instrumentalize religious authority. Understanding these dynamics is essential not only for analysing regime survival, but for imagining pathways toward more inclusive and pluralistic governance.