The Silence of the Centre, the Noise of the Margins

On Conciliatory Leadership, Marginal Politics and the Loss of Common Ground

To love a city, you first have to hear its voice.

In old cities, sound drifted between the morning call to prayer and the smoke of the bakery. Time melted slowly, like sugar dropped into a coffee cup, giving flavour to the coffee and peace to the community. In new cities, sound echoes in our ears like a siren, sharp and hurried, as if something were always “urgent”.

The voice of politics has changed in the same way over time. Politics used to be like the footsteps of people walking across a square. Different rhythms, but the same cobbled road. We used to accept our differences as our wealth. Now the shouts of politics echoing at the edge of a cliff raise society’s voices, but sadly narrow the space for meaning.

A louder voice in politics does not always mean a stronger idea. Where the decibels rise and meanings get lost, it does not follow that the meanings living within society have died. Meaning breathes even amid the noise.

That is precisely why certain moments in history make us feel good. History tells us of the fragile miracles in which people learned to “live together”. The Constitution of Medina is one such example.

The Constitution of Medina is associated with the Medina period of the Prophet Muhammad and symbolises the search for an order in which different groups could live together in one city. In historical accounts, this text is seen as one of the symbolic examples of communities with different faiths and tribal affiliations seeking to live within the same urban order. On one side, tribal habits and old grievances; on the other, the undiminished weight of the question “Who are we?” The city’s streets were narrow, but its problems were large. Not every heart was equally ready for this new order. At such times, leadership is the ability to build a new social order.

What is needed here is conciliatory leadership. With this approach to leadership, there is little applause in the short term, but in the long term peace grows. Because conciliation is less about silencing people at one moment, letting them speak at another and then making them quarrel, and more about enabling them to live together in the same space in trust.

In marginalisation, considered the opposite of conciliation, the “extremes” multiply and the “middle” we call the centre slowly disappears. This sometimes stems from fear, sometimes from the worry that “whatever I say will be misunderstood”. The centre first shortens its sentences, then lowers its voice. And in the end, the film scene closes with the centre feeling emotionally guilty.

Some cities, for example, have bridges. You cross from one bank to the other, you look at the same water, but the view changes. Politics used to be a bridge too. People came from different banks and tried to meet on the same bridge. Now the bridge’s stones are being deliberately removed, and in their place marginal or separate towers are being erected within society. Each tower sells “trust” to its own side. And trust is no longer a need but something like a packaged product. Wrapped, sloganised, even discounted… And every package carries the same warning: “Caution: the other side may be dangerous.” We read this warning so often that one day, when there really is danger, we may take it for a slogan too.

It is precisely when these bridges are being dismantled that conciliatory leadership steps in. First, it separates the people from the problem. Because the wall between two towers is usually not the problem itself but the meaning people attach to one another. Turning a person into a “label” does not solve the problem; it merely changes the target. That is why an inclusive mind tries to build common ground without completely dividing people: “You exist, and so do I. My visibility exists with you.” Just as day cannot be understood without night.

One of the approaches that gives concrete form to this perspective is “principled negotiation”, known from Roger Fisher, William Ury and Bruce Patton’s book Getting to Yes. Its four basic principles work like a kind of inner compass in the hands of a conciliatory leader:

• Separate the people from the problem,
• Focus on interests, not positions,
• Invent options for mutual gain,
• Insist on objective criteria.

Four points may sound simple. That is exactly the point. The hardest thing is to do the simple thing consistently.

The greatest success of marginalisation, the opposite of conciliation, is not so much defeating the truth as dissolving and devaluing it. Reaching the truth requires patience. But marginality demands speed. A quick sentence, quick anger, a quick judgement… The human mind psychologically surrenders easily to what comes quickly, because what is quick looks “certain”. And certainty is the partisans’ favourite fairy tale.

Once, what we called an ideal was a journey. Within the ideal they embraced, people reached a thought and stayed there for a while. Now this ideal has turned into fixed-mindedness. In Turkey, membership of a political party is now carried like an “identity card”. You show it, and doors open or close. Changing parties is presented not as trying other options but as something like “betrayal”. Yet a person exists to the extent that they can change their mind. Those who cannot change their mind only repeat. Those who repeat, after a while, no longer speak but recite by rote. And rote cancels thinking and multiplies unthinking reactions. That is why, in marginal politics, the other side must be not a “person” but a “label”. This approach is easier, faster, more convenient.

The tragicomic side is this: marginalised politics presents itself as “brave”. Yet more often than not, what it shows is not courage but a lack of patience. Those without patience shout and believe only they are right. Thus they no longer feel any need to listen to others. Naturally, those who do not listen do not understand the other side. And then they chant slogans of “unity”. Unity does not come from slogans. Unity begins with a greeting at the doorstep, with an embrace.

Conciliatory leadership invents options for mutual gain. It refuses to be squeezed between two extremes. It looks for new paths. Sometimes it makes unseen possibilities visible. This approach does not make people the same. It builds order together with differences.

In this process, the subtlety of language matters. A language is built that does not target people but discusses solutions. This language keeps relations with the other side open, because the aim is not to win but to be able to move forward together.

Quick, day-to-day solutions may be tempting, but lasting solutions usually move slowly. Conciliatory leadership accepts this truth. It knows the value of small steps. A greeting, a moment of listening. And sometimes a step back.

On this ground, the centre too regains its meaning. It ceases to be a place and becomes an attitude. The centre is being able to say “everyone has a share”. Being able to say “my side may be right, but it is not flawless”. Being able to say “your side may be wrong, but you are still human”.

The conciliatory leader manages processes. They listen to everyone and identify common ground and shared interests. They give everyone a sense of calm and trust. This calm is not avoidance. On the contrary, it is the power to give direction and to mobilise. It softens emotions and keeps communication open.

Even in moments dominated by fear, this approach can find space, because people do not only want to be protected. They also want to be understood. When this need is recognised, the language of politics changes. A more inclusive direction emerges.

The conciliatory leader produces options: they break the “either this or that” trap. They look for a third way, sometimes find a fourth possibility. And they put forward objective criteria. They ask not “Who has the power?” but “Which principle is fair?” This approach opens the door to living together by clarifying common rules without making people the same.

This is how conciliatory leadership preserves this accumulated wealth. It does not get lost in the noise. It stays calm but is not ineffective. It gives direction. It opens space. It keeps alive the paths by which people can reach one another.

In conclusion, we can say that marginalisation in politics is not merely a process that arises by itself; it is fed by the repeated choices of political actors, of media language and of society. Change the choices, and the results change too. One day someone says: “I am not looking for the enemy in my world of ideas; I am looking for a solution.” And others say: “I am not shouting; I am explaining and listening.”

And suddenly the old bridge reappears in all its grandeur. A little rusty, worn, but still passable, upright and rock solid.

Because the centre does not mean everyone thinking the same. The centre means that different ideas can find a place within the same country without destroying one another. And this is what is needed today: not a louder voice, but firmer ground; not harsher slogans, but a more trustworthy common sense.