'I am an economist, give the authority to this brother of yours'

The year was 2009... A guest had arrived in our wallets, dignified in its color and imposing in its value... The 200 Turkish Lira note, with its purple violet hue. That piece of paper we held at our fingertips in those days was not just a means of payment; it was a symbol of trust, stability, and perhaps even economic maturity. With a single banknote, we could fill an entire shopping cart and still have enough to tell the shopkeeper to "keep the change" as a gesture of goodwill.

Back then, 200 lira sat in our pockets like a giant. It had a nobility that stood its ground against 131 dollars and 94 Euros, slamming its fist on the table with its purchasing power. When we compare it to its current state, reduced to 4 dollars, remembering those days feels like a distant fairy tale, a dream that never happened. Now, 200 TL notes are flying around in the markets. Because even 4 lemons are sold for 60 TL; to buy a kilogram of cherries, two 200-lira banknotes silently fly out of your pocket.

Time has gnawed away not just at the calendar pages, but at the soul of that purple banknote in our pockets. I am not exaggerating; it has turned it into the 10 lira of the past. That piece of paper, which once filled the tank 130 liters over and over and symbolized abundance in the kitchen, can today only serve as "pocket money" for a quarter-loaf doner kebab, or perhaps just a few liters of fuel. The banknote is the same, the portrait on it looks back with the same dignity, but the number beneath it no longer carries the truth. As the numbers grow, the meaning shrinks; even if the zeros do not disappear from the paper, they melt away one by one in our minds and our wallets.

That vicious monster we call inflation has gnawed the 200 TL note to pieces. That largest banknote, which we once "couldn't bear to break," has now turned into "loose change" that just takes up space in cash registers and wears out money-counting machines.

While the footsteps of 500 and 1000 lira notes are being heard in the market, the 200 TL note now resembles a tired worker being forced into retirement.

The value of money is not measured by the number written on it, but by the presence of what you can buy in exchange for it. And today, 200 lira is so weak that it would melt away even in the steam of a few loaves of bread we might buy from the bakery.

So, how did the 200 TL note end up like this? That is a question for Recep Tayyip Erdoğan and his team, who shouted to enthusiastic crowds, "I am an economist, give the authority to this brother of yours." By the way, Mr. Erdoğan, you know how you meticulously sort the banknotes you take out of your pocket to give to children while traveling on election buses; well, with that banknote, children can no longer buy much beyond a few of the lowest-quality pencils, erasers, etc.

Because a pack of chocolate that a child might eat with delight has reached 140-150 liras even in the "three-letter" discount supermarket chains. I wanted you to know; because your well-dressed advisors, who deal with multi-billion dollar tenders, might not be aware of the realities on the street. Even if they were, they might not reflect them to you... What was your partner Bahçeli saying: "So that poor children can also eat biscuits..."