In Istanbul, Turkey, the sight of large stray dogs lounging near bustling cafes and shops has become an iconic part of the urban landscape. These dogs, many of which are the large, pale white Akbaş or the golden-coated Kangal shepherd breeds, embody a curious juxtaposition of belonging and disorder amid the city’s human hustle. A particularly affectionate giant, famously known as “The Boulder,” even enjoys celebrity status outside a popular ice cream shop, drawing in both locals and tourists who are advised, through reviews on Google Maps, not to disturb his slumber.
Despite their general acceptance and even affection from the public, the presence of an estimated 4 million stray dogs has sparked a contentious debate across the nation. This came into sharp focus following a horrifying incident last December when a young boy was mauled by a pack of strays. The outcry prompted President Recep Tayyip Erdoğan to assert, “It is our duty to protect the rights of our people harmed by stray dogs,” promising swift governmental action.
In response, Turkish lawmakers rushed a controversial bill, pejoratively dubbed the “massacre law” by critics, aimed at addressing the stray dog dilemma. The legislation mandates the collection of these animals to be placed in already overcrowded and underfunded shelters. Here, they would undergo vaccination and sterilization before potential adoption, with those deemed ill or aggressive facing euthanasia. Non-compliance by municipalities could lead to severe penalties for mayors, including prison sentences.
The swift passage of the law in late July immediately fueled divisions. Proponents see it as a necessary step to safeguard public health and restore order to the streets, reflecting Erdoğan’s earlier claim that stray dogs represent “a problem that no other developed country has.”
Contrastingly, a collective of opposition groups and animal rights activists argue that the solution is too harsh and departs from the country’s traditionally compassionate stance towards street animals. Dog-loving Turks pride themselves on a culture that generally reveres street animals rather than shuns them. Critics of the new mandate demand the enforcement of existing animal welfare laws instead of imposing what they perceive as draconic measures.
Public reaction was swift and visceral, culminating in protests on the streets of Istanbul. Demonstrators, closely watched by the police, aired their dissent under the chant, “Get your hands off our animals.” Activists like Zeynep Tekin see the law not just as an animal rights issue but as a creeping authoritarian control over public spaces. “This is about much more than an animal rights issue; this is a war between the Turkish government and the oppressed,” she commented during the protests.
Among the demonstrators, sentiments ranged from fears of governmental overreach to specific worries about animal welfare. Longtime shelter volunteer İnci Kutay shared her dread that the new law would essentially mean a death sentence for many dogs due to the poor conditions and lack of funding in municipal shelters: “Sending more animals to these facilities is not a solution; it is a death sentence due to low budgets.”
In contrast, some individuals like Murat Pinar, who founded the Safe Streets Association after a personal tragedy involving stray dogs, advocate for the law as a means to bring order and safety. He criticized the uproarious nature of the protests, labeling participants as marginal groups and reiterating the need for structured control over the street dog population.
The new law, threading a difficult line between public safety and animal welfare, continues to provoke heated debate and reveals the complex layers of governance, civic values, and human-animal coexistence in contemporary Turkey.