[This article was originally published on Waging Nonviolence.]
In late March 2025, Turkey was rocked by its largest protests in a decade after Istanbul Mayor Ekrem İmamoğlu — a leading rival to President Recep Tayyip Erdoğan — was detained on corruption and terrorism charges. Outrage over his jailing and the subsequent closure of city services (such as metro and bus lines) under a protest ban quickly spilled into the streets. Yet alongside anger and defiance, an unexpected element emerged: humor and creative spectacle.
Protesters of all ages, led by waves of university students, converged on city halls and public squares across Turkey, not only waving flags and chanting slogans, but also wielding costumes, memes and symbolic performances as tools of resistance. These playful acts — from cartoon mascots weaving through crowds to the satirical street theater — have become defining images of the demonstrations, providing moments of levity even as police crackdown.
International media have taken notice, painting a portrait of a protest movement that feels at times like a carnival of dissent unfolding in the face of repression.
But behind the colourful masks and street performances, a more sobering reality has taken shape. Turkish authorities have responded with mass arrests and force. Nearly 1900 protesters have been detained nationwide since the unrest began, and riot police have used tear gas, water cannons and rubber bullets to disperse gatherings.
President Erdoğan dismissed the demonstrators as “evil” agents and “street terrorists” and warned protests would not be tolerated. He even accused the opposition of orchestrating a “psychological war” by leveraging humor — a claim amplified on pro-government media, which debated whether the protest stunts were part of a conspiratorial plot.
In one stark example of the clampdown, BBC correspondent Mark Lowen was detained and swiftly deported for covering the protests, after officials branded him a “threat to public order.” Also, Davide Martello, a pianist was also deported for the same reasons.
Despite these intimidation tactics, the protest movement has only grown more creative and resilient. Organisers shifted tactics on the fly. When iconic Saraçhane and Maltepe Square were sealed off by police, crowds regrouped in other districts. When Istanbul’s governor shut down public transit to thwart mobilisation, demonstrators simply kept marching on foot.
Social media has been crucial in this adaptive strategy, with opposition figures and student networks using online calls-to-action to redirect supporters. (“If you don’t come now, when will you?” one young man said in a video, addressed to an opposition party leader). As tensions rose each night, so did the inventiveness of protesters, who are finding new ways to make their point — and to make each other smile under the rain of pepper spray.
Pikachu and the power of playfulness
The most viral symbol of this unrest arrived in a flash of electric yellow. In what Business Standard called an “unexpected dramatic scene from Pokémon Go”, a protester in a life-sized Pikachu costume was spotted marching with the crowds and then sprinting away as riot police charged in Antalya. Footage of the beloved Pokémon character dodging water cannon blasts and outpacing officers has since taken the internet by storm, amassing over 15 million views on X within days. The comical sight of a bright yellow Pikachu zigzagging through streets filled with tear gas provided a moment of absurd levity amid the chaos — and quickly became the image of Turkey’s protests that global audiences couldn’t ignore.
People marveled at how a costumed cartoon mascot eclipsed the gravity of Turkey’s political crisis in news coverage. Indeed, foreign outlets from India to the United States ran headlines about the “Pikachu protester”, underscoring how a bit of whimsy radically amplified the protests’ visibility.
What made the situation especially poignant was the juxtaposition: a symbol of childhood innocence being pursued by armor-clad riot police. As one analysis observed, the absurd image “highlights the stark contrast between the innocence of play and the brutality of state power,” turning a routine crackdown into a moment of collective reflection. Many Turks reveled in the dark humor: Even Pikachu, it seemed, was now a “terrorist” in Erdoğan’s Turkey.
Social media only amplified the magic (and mischief) of “Protest Pikachu”. Users flooded platforms with witty captions, Pokémon puns and artful remixes. “They can’t catch ’em all!! Let’s call this the Pokémon Uprising!” one social media user joked, as clips of the fleeing Pikachu spread worldwide. For many watching abroad, the spectacle was irresistible. X users started to say things like “I don’t care what they’re protesting, I’m on Pikachu’s side,” in a widely shared post.
Within hours, AI-edited images appeared showing Pikachu amid clashes — and even alongside other pop culture icons. One high-quality “photo” of Pikachu darting through riot police went so viral that fact-checkers had to debunk it as fake, noting tell-tale glitches like garbled text on police jackets.
In reality, the only authentic visuals were the shaky videos filmed by a student photojournalist on the ground. That didn’t stop the internet’s imagination: doctored images depicted not just Pikachu but also Batman and the Joker standing off against Turkish police, as if the protests had leapt into a comic-book multiverse. “Protests in Turkey look like something right out of the Joker movie,” said one account on X, sharing an AI-generated scene of a menacing clown-faced figure amid the fray.
The “memeification” of Turkey’s resistance was in full swing — blending reality and parody in real time. Yet for all the laughs, the underlying message was sobering. British-Palestinian writer John Aziz remarked that seeing Pikachu on Turkey’s streets was “more than just a viral moment — it symbolizes a kind of hope, global community and modernity” for a young generation yearning for change. In other words, the Pokémon protester became a standard-bearer of the protesters’ spirit: optimistic, creative and unafraid to poke fun at power.
A carnival of resistance
Pikachu may be the star, but he’s hardly the only character to grace Turkey’s protests. The movement has taken on a carnivalesque flavor, with demonstrators embracing costumes, music and satire reminiscent of a street festival even as they confront armed police.
People created iconic protest videos that feature music remixes related to the events. In one example, a video labeled “Turkish cardio” uses a remix of Travis Scott’s song “Fein”. Protesters chant, “Jump, jump, jump! Whoever doesn’t jump is a Tayyipçi” (referring to supporters of the president), prompting the entire crowd to jump in unison as an act of protest.
These protests are displaying a loud, powerful carnival-like image, which has led to comparisons with the creative protest culture seen during the 2013 Gezi Park uprising. That movement began as a peaceful sit-in to prevent the demolition of Gezi Park, one of the last green spaces in central Istanbul, slated to be replaced by a shopping mall.
When police responded with excessive force, the protest escalated into a nationwide wave of anti-government demonstrations, expressing broader frustrations with authoritarianism, restrictions on freedom of expression, and government overreach. The movement became known for its diverse participation, grassroots organization and imaginative forms of resistance — using satire, performance and visual art to voice dissent.
In recent weeks, an eclectic cast of symbols and performances has populated the demonstrations, turning city squares into improvised stages of resistance. One of the most emblematic sights is the whirling dervish. Perhaps the most striking image came from Istanbul, where one protester donned the flowing white robe of a Sufi semazen (whirling dervish) — complete with a gas mask — and performed the serene spinning dance of spiritual devotion in front of a line of riot police.
Video captured the dervish twirling peacefully amidst clouds of tear gas, even as officers blasted pepper spray directly into his whirling figure. The almost surreal tableau — a symbol of love and peace literally facing down brute force — quickly went viral and was hailed as a “potent symbol” of the protest movement’s resolve.
Organising in the digital trenches
From the outset, social media has been the scaffolding of Turkey’s protest movement — not only for coordination, but for framing the narrative. Protesters have leveraged X, Instagram, TikTok and emerging platforms to mobilise supporters, document abuses and spread viral moments at lightning speed.
When İmamoğlu was first taken into custody in a pre-dawn raid, the news spread online within minutes, sparking spontaneous calls for citizens to gather in front of Istanbul’s city hall. Opposition party figures live-tweeted updates and rally points, including one leader whose social media post redirected protesters away from a square blocked by police, leading thousands to regroup at alternate locations. Student groups formed Telegram channels to dodge censorship and share protest schedules. The result was massive crowds forming organically, even as state TV largely ignored the events.
Once the demonstrations were underway, smartphones became weapons of witness. Protesters constantly filmed and uploaded footage. These clips not only informed the world in real time, they also helped protesters adapt tactics. For instance, videos showing officers charging without warning went viral, so marchers began wearing masks and goggles after seeing what to expect. When clips of plainclothes police snatching people off the street emerged, activists circulated tips on evading arrest and legal hotline numbers via Twitter threads.
Hashtags in Turkish like #HerŞeyÇokGüzelOlacak (“Everything will be fine”, İmamoğlu’s campaign slogan) and #Sarachane (the site of Istanbul’s main protest) trended alongside global tags like #FreeImamoglu, amplifying the cause beyond Turkey’s borders. Each meme or viral video carried subtle instructions and morale boosts.
This digital battlefield has put the government on the defensive. In response, Ankara’s internet regulators tried throttling platforms and banning certain content; police even detained over 30 people just for “provocative social media posts” about the protests. But tech-savvy Turkish youth quickly deployed VPNs and alternate apps to stay connected. As happened before: “Users often find ways around these restrictions. They cut the metro, they walked. They slowed Twitter, so they switched to VPN. They could’t stop them that easily.” This is their way of handling the anti-government activities to declare their democracy. The cat-and-mouse game online continues, but thus far the protesters’ message — often carried by a funny image or heartfelt tweet — has consistently broken through.
Global echoes and solidarity symbols
The creativity on Turkey’s streets has not only enchanted foreign onlookers, it has also started to reverberate in protests overseas. Perhaps the most remarkable example came just two weeks into the Turkish demonstrations — thousands of miles away in Washington, DC. During a massive “Hands Off!” rally against US President Donald Trump’s policies (part of nationwide protests on April 5), an American demonstrator showed up dressed as none other than Pikachu.
The bright yellow costume bobbing through the crowd in front of the White House drew cheers and knowing laughs. Video from Washington showed the US Pikachu holding a sign and high-fiving fellow protesters, as chants of “Hands off our democracy!” rang out.
This wasn’t the first time a whimsical protest symbol transcended its origin. Observers have compared “Revolutionary Pikachu” to Chile’s famous “Tía Pikachu”, a woman who danced in a Pokémon costume during Chile’s 2019 protests and later became a politician. And reports have emerged of Pikachu sightings in protests as far as Georgia and Iran, underlining how global protest culture cross-pollinates in the digital age.
But the direct homage in American protests — explicitly linking back to Turkey — signals a new level of international solidarity through satire. It suggests that demonstrators around the world are drawing inspiration from Turkey’s creative playbook, adopting its symbols to express shared themes of standing up to authoritarianism.
In turn, Turkish protesters have been buoyed by these echoes abroad. Social media in Turkey lit up with delight at the Washington footage of Pikachu, circulating side-by-side clips of the Turkish and American Pikachus. Such moments have helped Turks feel less alone in their fight, reframing their local struggle as part of a global narrative of democracy vs dictatorship.
Satire as defiance
Beyond the immediate buzz, analysts are parsing what this turn toward humor and symbolism means for Turkey’s opposition movement. Many see it as a deliberate (and savvy) strategy to seize the moral high ground. By cladding their dissent in satire and culture, protesters are highlighting the absurdity of the crackdown — making it harder for authorities to justify force.
At the same time, satire has its risks. The authorities clearly recognise the threat posed by mockery — hence the furious claims of psychological warfare. There’s an unease that humor might “diminish” the seriousness of the cause or spiral into mere internet spectacle. But so far, protesters have balanced the lighthearted and the grave.
It subtly jabbed at the government’s attempts to paint protesters as ignorant or out-of-touch. And when thousands chant “Everything will be fine” while flashing peace signs, there is both optimism and irony in the air.
Crucially, the underlying grievances remain front and centre. Protesters still hold banners demanding the release of political prisoners, an end to media censorship and economic relief for citizens. Humor augments these messages; it doesn’t replace them. “The viral spread of the image reflects not just amusement but a deeper unease about the force being used against young citizens,” one analysis noted, emphasising that behind the laughs is a “collective reckoning” with an authoritarian turn.
In fact, many of those who helped create the memes and joyous scenes have paid a price: dozens of students and artists involved in protest art were beaten and arrested, reminding everyone that this is no game. That reality — the sight of a friendly Pikachu or serene dervish being hauled off by police — has struck a chord worldwide.
As Turkey’s demonstrations enter their sixth week, the protest movement seems to have found its voice — equal parts fury and fun, satire and seriousness. Each night around Turkey, crowds still gather outside the darkened municipal building where İmamoğlu once worked, now ringed by barricades. They come bearing drums, costumes and flashlights. In one hand, a young woman might hold a placard of Pikachu proclaiming “Hak, Hukuk, Adalet!” (“Rights, Law, Justice!”); in the other hand, perhaps a rose for the friends in jail. The police presence remains heavy — yet so does the determination of the protesters to keep the atmosphere defiant and upbeat. “This country is secular and will remain secular,” a 70-year-old demonstrator vowed, “We will resist until the end.”
And thanks to the viral power of these creative tactics, the world is watching Turkey’s struggle in a new light. In an era of dour headlines, Turkey’s protesters have offered a master class in the subversive strength of humor. By turning protest into performance, they have changed the script and — transformed fear into hope, oppression into ridicule and local outrage into a global narrative of resistance.
[Reprinted from Waging Non Violence. Ela Buruk is a pseudonym to protect the identity of the writer and editor, who specialises in technology, digital trends, and ethical issues.]