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The Story Left Untold in the Summit Hall: The True Price of NATO Membership

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As NATO leaders gather in Ankara on July 7–8 for the 36th summit, the official narrative remains undisputed: facing the threat of Soviet invasion, Türkiye entered the alliance through its heroic trial in Korea, thereby securing its safety. My study of more than one thousand documents from the Diplomatic Archive of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs of the Republic of Türkiye—recently opened to researchers—reveals that neither of the two primary pillars supporting this narrative rests on a documentary foundation. First: now-accessible Soviet archives reveal that Moscow never possessed an operational plan to invade Türkiye. Second: Türkiye did not enter NATO by taking refuge under a security umbrella, but by staking the blood of its own sons in the United States’ war in the Far East. And the heaviest, most enduring toll of this bargain was levied on a relationship that Ankara needs most today: China.

UN Turkish Memorial Cemetery, Busan

There Was No Invasion Plan: There Was Fear, Error, and Opportunism

First, let us correct the record on the Soviet question. The demands conveyed by Molotov to Ambassador Selim Sarper in June 1945—a military base on the Straits, and the retrocession of Kars and Ardahan—were real, and they represented a historic blunder of Soviet diplomacy; there is no defending them. Yet, the Soviet archives opened after 1990, along with Jamil Hasanli’s archival reconstructions in Azerbaijan, document a critical truth: Moscow never drafted an operational plan to seize Kars and Ardahan; the 1945 demands were a maximalist opening gambit, one which even the Kremlin itself saw little prospect of being accepted. Stalin’s retreat during the Straits Crisis of August 1946 was likewise the product of cautious calculation rather than military intent. These same archives reveal how reluctant Stalin was even in Korea: he systematically rejected Kim Il-sung’s requests to launch an attack throughout 1949, and when he finally gave his approval in January 1950, he did so on the strict condition that no major risks would be taken.

Ankara’s fear was genuine—a fear that had accumulated since the Molotov-Ribbentrop negotiations of 1939 and can be consistently traced through archival documents; to claim that the public was deceived by a manufactured threat narrative would be a disservice to the historical record. But the sincerity of that fear does not mean the response to it was wise. Washington turned the anxiety spawned by this egregious Soviet diplomatic error into the mortar for its own bloc architecture: it excluded Türkiye from NATO in 1949, and then set the price for cracking open the door. That price was Korea.

UN Turkish Memorial Cemetery, Busan

An Entrance Fee Paid in Blood

The archives document beyond a shadow of doubt that the Korean decision was not an act of UN idealism, but a clear trade-off. Bound by no treaty obligations, Ankara decided on July 22, 1950—after deliberations lasting less than a single day—to dispatch a brigade of 4,500 troops to the front under US command. Six days later, UN Permanent Representative Sarper publicly voiced the demand for entry into the Atlantic Pact; the minutes of his meeting with Secretary-General Trygve Lie explicitly articulate this expectation of reciprocity. As the documents demonstrate, the structural decision to admit Türkiye into the Atlantic system was effectively communicated to Ankara on November 1, 1950—that is, before the Battle of Kunu-ri, but well after Turkish blood had been placed on the bargaining table. The Turkish soldier—the Mehmetçik—was made to fight against the forces of a nation that posed no threat to Türkiye, on a peninsula where Türkiye had no national interests, all for the bloc consolidation of a superpower. To call this a success story is to write a panegyric not to those who shed their blood, but to those who sent them to shed it.

The Core of the Cost: China

The least discussed and most permanent consequence of this trade-off is the rupture with China—and herein lies the true tragedy of the story. For the two peoples pitted against one another were the standard-bearers of the twentieth century’s two great anti-imperialist struggles. As my own research demonstrates, the Chinese press of the 1920s and 30s—most notably the Shenbao—closely followed Mustafa Kemal’s Türkiye as the birthplace of the first victorious war of national liberation against imperialism, viewing Kemalist modernization as a source of inspiration for their own national awakening. A quarter of a century later, the children of these two peoples were firing bullets at each other at Kunu-ri and Kumyangjang-ni—on a front drawn by Washington that served the historical interests of neither.

Ankara’s anti-China engagement was not confined to the battlefield. While Britain recognized the People’s Republic of China in January 1950, Türkiye remained anchored in the American-led non-recognition camp. In February 1951, Türkiye was at the forefront of supporting the UN resolution declaring China an “aggressor”; in an environment where even Britain and the Dominions sought moderating formulas, Ankara aligned itself with the harshest stance, driven by a reflex—plainly legible in archival correspondence—to “appear on the side of the majority.” When a strategic embargo was being prepared against China in May 1951, Türkiye chaired the relevant committee. Even the “Chinese Ambassador” whom Foreign Minister Köprülü received in Ankara on the final day of December 1950 represented Taipei, not Beijing. The result: while bridges were burned with Soviet Russia, which had been among the first to extend a hand of friendship to Ankara during the War of Independence, relations with China—the other great nation of anti-imperialist struggle—were frozen before they could even begin. Türkiye would not recognize the People’s Republic of China until 1971. As a researcher living in China, I must add this: the Korean War—known in the Chinese memory as the “War to Resist America and Aid Korea”—is an integral part of China’s founding epic, and Türkiye’s role in that war is far more vivid in the historical memory of our Chinese interlocutors than we tend to assume.

The Other Legacy of the Same Alignment: The Xinjiang File

Another enduring consequence of this bloc choice was gestated during those very years. With the establishment of the People’s Republic of China in 1949, political figures who departed Xinjiang—led by Isa Yusuf Alptekin, the former secretary-general of the provincial government, and Mehmet Emin Buğra, a former provincial administrator—turned their gaze toward Türkiye. In 1952, the Ankara government issued a decree admitting thousands of Xinjiang emigrants arriving via Kashmir, and over the subsequent decades, Istanbul became the global epicenter of this diaspora. The Turkish public’s embrace of these people was rooted in a genuine sense of kinship, a sentiment that is not in itself open to criticism. What must be critiqued, however, is the coopting of this humanitarian issue into the bloc architecture of the Cold War: the diaspora movement was politicized within the ecosystem of the American-guided anti-communist networks of the era, becoming institutionalized as part of Türkiye’s anti-China alignment. Thus, an inherently legitimate bond of kinship was transformed into an instrument of great-power rivalry—giving rise to the most sensitive file between Ankara and Beijing today: an issue that Beijing interprets as a matter of territorial integrity, while Türkiye perceives it through the lens of kinship and humanitarian concern, making it the area where the two capitals find it hardest to understand one another. Contrary to popular belief, the roots of this file do not lie in the 1990s, but extend back to those three years when NATO membership was purchased with blood. Unless Türkiye learns to approach this issue not as a leverage point between its own conscience and its relations with China, but as a historical legacy that the two nations must discuss directly and honestly, it will remain vulnerable to the instrumentalization of this file by third parties.

1953: The Pretext Evaporates, the Dependency Remains

The final act of the story is the one least favored by the official narrative. Stalin died on March 5, 1953. On May 30, 1953, the Soviet government, in an official note to Türkiye, explicitly renounced its claims on Kars and Ardahan, as well as its demands for a revision of the Straits regime; it acknowledged that Soviet security could be ensured under conditions compatible with Türkiye’s sovereignty. In later years, Moscow would go even further through Khrushchev, admitting that the Stalin-era demands were a mistake and that this very error had driven Türkiye into the American alliance. In other words, the entire rationale for NATO membership was retracted in writing by its very source, a mere fifteen months after Türkiye joined. Yet membership was not retracted; the blood had already been spilled, the architecture of dependency had already been constructed, and the door to China had already been shut. The threat was temporary; the commitments, the bases, and the closed doors became permanent.

The Real Question for the Summit

The question that will not be asked in the Ankara summit hall, but which urgently demands an answer, is this: as a nation celebrates the seventy-fifth anniversary of a membership purchased by shedding blood on a front entirely divorced from its own historical struggle, against an invasion plan that never existed, when will it take stock of the doors that very membership closed in Asia? If Türkiye is today discussing an agenda that ranges from trade with China to the Middle Corridor, it is in fact attempting to repair a relationship that was sacrificed in 1950–52 for the account of a superpower. As the world is once again dragged into bloc politics, the lesson of history is clear: security acquired by offering blood to fuel the wars of great powers is not security at all, but a dependency whose price is paid across generations. For those who remember that anti-imperialism was the founding experience of this land, the most meaningful agenda for the summit should not be the expansion of NATO, but Türkiye’s resolve to forge relations on the basis of equality with all quarters of its own geography—including China.

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India’s space sector: A launchpad for global partnerships

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Ambassador Gurjit Singh, former Indian Ambassador to Germany, Indonesia, Ethiopia, and the ASEAN and African Union missions

Growing competition in outer space provides India with a unique opportunity to shape a narrative in which collaboration, rather than confrontation, drives space exploration. Recognised as a trustworthy and cost-effective spacefaring nation, India is now well placed to transform its technological advances into enduring international partnerships that contribute to scientific progress, economic growth, and sustainable development.

India’s journey into space has been distinctive. Unlike many space programmes that emerged from Cold War rivalries, India’s programme was conceived as an instrument of national development. Dr. Vikram Sarabhai anchored India’s space vision in practical applications that would improve the lives of ordinary people. Under his leadership, satellites were developed to strengthen communications, weather forecasting, disaster management, healthcare, agriculture and education. This development-oriented philosophy remains central to India’s space programme and resonates strongly with the needs of countries in the Global South, which seek practical applications of space technology rather than prestige alone.

Today, India’s achievements extend  beyond developmental applications. The Chandrayaan missions, the Mars Orbiter Mission, the Aditya-L1 solar observatory, and the forthcoming Gaganyaan human spaceflight programme have established India as a nation capable of executing sophisticated and reliable space missions. Chandrayaan-3’s successful soft landing near the Moon’s south pole placed India among an exclusive group of space powers while demonstrating that world-class innovation can be achieved at comparatively modest cost.

India’s growing credibility comes at a time when the global space economy is expanding rapidly. Valued at over US$600 billion today and projected to approach US$1.8 trillion by 2035, the sector is increasingly driven by commercial activity in satellite communications, Earth observation, navigation, climate services, broadband connectivity, and emerging fields such as in-orbit servicing and lunar exploration. Many countries aspire to participate but lack indigenous capabilities. They seek dependable long-term partners rather than merely launch providers.

India possesses the capabilities to meet these requirements. The liberalisation of the space sector in 2020 transformed the ecosystem by opening it to private participation. The establishment of the Indian National Space Promotion and Authorisation Centre (IN-SPACe), the expanding commercial role of NewSpace India Limited, and the growth of private enterprises have created one of the world’s most dynamic emerging space ecosystems. Indian startups are developing launch vehicles, satellite platforms, geospatial applications and propulsion technologies that are attracting global investment and customers. Companies such as Skyroot Aerospace, Pixxel and Agnikul Cosmos have demonstrated that Indian private enterprise can compete internationally in advanced space technologies.

The next step is to internationalise this ecosystem.

Rather than positioning itself only as a low-cost launch destination, India will offer comprehensive partnerships encompassing satellite design, launch services, mission operations, ground stations, astronaut training, capacity building and downstream applications in agriculture, disaster management and maritime security. Such integrated partnerships would be valuable for countries across the Global South and the Indo-Pacific seeking affordable, customised and reliable technologies to meet their development priorities.

India has demonstrated the diplomatic value of such cooperation. Through the South Asia Satellite, it provided communication and developmental benefits to neighbouring countries. Indian launch vehicles have successfully placed hundreds of foreign satellites into orbit for governments, universities and commercial operators around the world. India’s decision to join the Artemis Accords reflects its willingness to participate in the peaceful exploration of the Moon through international collaboration. Cooperation with  NASA, the European Space Agency and JAXA has strengthened India’s scientific and technological capabilities.

These partnerships reinforce India’s standing as a leading voice of the Global South. India offers development partnerships based on affordability, reliability and mutual respect rather than creating technological dependence. Space cooperation has therefore become an increasingly important instrument of Indian diplomacy, strengthening bilateral relationships while delivering tangible developmental benefits.

To realise its full potential, India will aim to sustain the momentum of reform. Faster regulatory approvals, greater access to venture capital, stronger intellectual property protection, and closer collaboration among research institutions, industry and academia will be essential. Public procurement policies would continue supporting Indian startups, enabling them to scale up, innovate and integrate into global supply chains.

India is positioned to play a larger role in shaping the governance of outer space. Orbital congestion, space debris, responsible resource utilisation and equitable access to emerging space opportunities are becoming pressing international concerns. As space activities expand, there will be an increasing need for countries capable of building consensus on responsible norms and practices. India’s long-standing commitment to the peaceful uses of outer space, combined with its growing technological capabilities, equips it to contribute meaningfully to the development of rules that promote transparency, sustainability and equitable access.

The coming decade will determine not only which countries lead in space but also how space is governed. With its scientific capabilities, entrepreneurial ecosystem and international credibility, India is uniquely placed to bridge the gap between established and emerging space nations. By building collaborative partnerships founded on inclusivity, mutual benefit and innovation, India can transform its space programme into a major pillar of its global engagement.

In an increasingly divided world, India’s space sector offers a powerful reminder that the greatest achievements in space are those that bring nations together. That may well become India’s most enduring contribution to humanity’s next frontier.

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Great powers and the fierce rivalry in Africa

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In tandem with the retreat of US imperialism and the erosion of its hegemonic capacity, the rivalry among the world’s great powers is intensifying across vast geographies and divergent fronts alike. From Africa to Central Asia, from electric vehicles to artificial intelligence, an acute contest is unfolding—most conspicuously between the United States and China.

History instructs us that wherever great power rivalry takes root, peace remains elusive. Stability cannot endure there. Wars, internal conflicts, coups d’état, and the mass migrations they inevitably trigger dominate the horizon. Nor do great powers desire the cultivation of participatory democracy, human rights, the rule of law, or class consciousness in these lands. Instead, they bolster dictatorships, authoritarian regimes, totalitarian systems, and repressive governance. The imperialist powers harbor no concern for the scarcity of water, drought, or famine in Africa. Their focus is solely fixed on exploitation, plunder, pillaging the resources of the nations upon which they descend, and capturing their domestic markets.

Africa holds singular importance in this context. It commands attention simultaneously by virtue of its sheer expanse, its demographic weight, and its subterranean wealth. In the rivalry across this ancient and impoverished continent, the United States and China lead the vanguard. Russia, too, makes notable maneuvers, though on a less extensive scale. Between the United States and China, the race is particularly fierce regarding the extraction, processing, and conveyance of subterranean resources to world markets.

Africa—endowed with abundant mineral wealth, a population approaching 1.5 billion, and critical strategic importance along global trade routes—whet the appetites of capitalist, advanced, industrialized, imperialist states as a vast, populous, and expanding market. Geopolitically as well, its position cannot be ignored. Africa’s wealth in rare earth elements, precious minerals such as diamonds and gold, and strategic minerals indispensable to advanced technologies—notably copper, cobalt, and lithium—is indisputable.

AFRICA CARRIES NO WEIGHT IN GLOBAL POLITICS

Unlike other continents such as Europe, Asia, or the Americas, Africa possesses no single country that commands prominence in global politics or the world economy. Nor does Africa host an alliance, international organization, or bloc of comparable global stature. In the Americas, there stands a superpower: the United States. In Asia, there are great powers: Russia and China, with India also ascending. In Europe, major, consequential powers endure: the United Kingdom, France, and Germany. Yet on the African continent, no such states exist. What exists in Africa is the rivalry of non-African great powers. Even the 55-member African Union, the institutional body of the continent’s nations, remains far from exerting any real influence—not only in global politics, but even across the African continent itself.

Over the past fifteen to twenty years, Africa has undergone substantial upheavals. Armed conflicts, civil wars, and violence have become pervasive. From Ethiopia to Somalia, Libya to Sudan, armed hostilities have claimed countless lives, destabilized governments, and provoked massive waves of displacement. Terrorist organizations have seized upon these conditions as an opportune opening, and the great powers, in turn, have instrumentalized these terror networks.

In Africa, former nineteenth- and twentieth-century colonial powers such as Britain and France indulge in reveries of bygone eras. They attempt to assert themselves, yet their efforts prove futile. Germany, as Europe’s leading economic, industrial, and technological powerhouse, takes a keen interest in Africa; yet despite this attention, its institutional knowledge and historical experience regarding the continent pale in comparison to those of the British and French. Italy strives to act, but lacks the requisite capacity. The Netherlands and Belgium, once deeply entrenched in Africa, are far removed from their imperial past. Spain and Portugal assert no claim to global primacy. All of these nations languish, to borrow Ahmet Hamdi Tanpınar’s phrase, in “a vague longing for a bygone past.”

China, well aware of Africa’s significance, is investing heavily across the continent. It stands as Africa’s largest trading partner and the primary destination for the continent’s exports. In the provision of loans, credit facilities, and grants to African states, it has outpaced Western institutions. China’s investment and foreign aid capacity, economic leverage, and extensive commercial ties naturally consolidate its political and diplomatic influence across Africa, elevating its visibility and prestige. Under the auspices of the Belt and Road Initiative, Beijing continues to finance large-scale infrastructure investments as well as major communications and transport projects.

THE FEROCITY AND DIMENSIONS OF THE RIVALRY

It is, of course, impossible for Russia to mount massive economic investments, conduct extensive aid operations, or sustain the volume of trade in Africa that China commands. Consequently, it seeks to distinguish itself by guaranteeing the security of local leaders, corporate enterprises, and ruling elites, relying predominantly on private military companies (the operations of the Wagner Group being a case in point). Russia has deployed mercenaries to Mali and the Central African Republic.

The United States, for its part, endeavors to counter China’s expanding influence, economic footprint, visibility, and public diplomacy initiatives in Africa, while simultaneously laboring to reinforce its own economic and political ties with African states. One need only recall that the United States, having intervened in Libya in 2011 through NATO, has directly struck ISIS targets in Somalia. The strategic depth of Washington’s relationship with Cairo is likewise well known.

The United States, China, and Russia also stand out prominently in arms sales to African nations. As the great power rivalry on the continent grows ever sharper, the spectrum of contestation widens accordingly. Cultural rivalry is superimposed upon economic, political, and military dimensions. Because every great power seeking to expand its sphere of influence and reach is determined to block the advance of its competitors, Africa serves both as the stage for and the witness to this unsparing contest. Some experts explain this rivalry through the lens of a new strain of colonialism; others account for it by pointing to the inherent nature, complexity, and multifaceted character of competition between imperialist metropoles.

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The women who refuse to be erased: On Japan’s surrender anniversary, the fight over wartime sexual slavery continues

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BUSAN, South Korea — On the day Japan marks the 81st anniversary of its surrender in World War Two, a conference room in Busan’s city council building has become the latest front in a battle over memory.

Allan Wilson, Journalist

Last month, on 23 July, academics, activists and lawmakers gathered here for a symposium on one of the war’s most painful legacies: the estimated tens of thousands of women — euphemistically labelled “comfort women” — forced into sexual slavery by the Imperial Japanese Army. The event was co-hosted by the Carter Human Rights Center’s Asia division and the Korean Women’s Forum.

“The records of the Japanese military’s comfort women are historical assets that the international community must preserve together,” Nam Myung-sook, the Busan city councillor who co-organised the symposium, told the gathering. “Social consensus must be broadened.”

Her words were aimed at more than the audience in the room.

For three decades, survivors and their advocates have pressed Japan for a full and unequivocal accounting. They have met a familiar pattern: moments of apparent progress — the 1993 Kono statement acknowledging military involvement, the 2015 bilateral agreement with South Korea — followed by retreat. Japanese officials continue to dispute the term “sexual slavery.” Textbooks soften the language. Senior politicians visit Yasukuni Shrine, where convicted war criminals are honoured alongside the dead.

The symposium came as UNESCO’s World Heritage Committee convened in Busan, and the timing was deliberate. One of the gathering’s stated goals was to revive the push to have comfort women records inscribed on UNESCO’s Memory of the World register — an effort Japan has repeatedly blocked.

“Our aim is to reaffirm the historical facts of comfort women (受害) to the international community and explore directions that contribute to peace and human rights,” said Yu Ying-mo, senior adviser to the Carter Human Rights Center’s Asia region, in remarks prepared for the event.

A statue, a warning

The symposium also addressed an incident that has become a diplomatic flashpoint: the recent removal of a comfort women memorial statue in Taiwan.

The statue, one of dozens erected across East Asia and beyond, was taken down in recent months. Organisers in Busan described the removal as “an erroneous approach that erases historical wounds and weakens collective memory,” according to the symposium’s programme.

For advocates, the Taiwan case illustrates what happens when political pressure is allowed to dictate historical memory. “Statues, memorial halls, and archives related to comfort women are important spaces of memory that testify to the victims’ suffering and history,” the Carter Human Rights Center said in its written address. “They must be respected.”

Dozens of comfort women memorials now stand in cities from Seoul to San Francisco to Berlin. Each has become a site of diplomatic friction: Japan’s government has consistently objected to them, arguing they perpetuate what it calls an inaccurate narrative.

The shrinking window

Time is running out. Of the few hundred women who came forward in the 1990s, the number of surviving registered victims in South Korea has dwindled to single digits.

This demographic reality has injected new urgency into the preservation effort. Shim Ok-ju, a research professor at George Mason University Korea, told the symposium that the focus must now shift from oral testimony — soon to be lost — to documentation and education.

Seo Kyung-soon, a professor at Pukyong National University, presented findings from the so-called “Gwanbu Trial” records — a series of postwar legal proceedings in which comfort women sought compensation through Japanese courts. The documents, she argued, contain incontrovertible evidence of state orchestration.

A designated discussant panel followed, bringing together Kim Tae-wan, a political science professor at Dong-eui University; Kim Kyung-hee, an independent researcher; and Ahn Jun-young, a journalist from the Busan Ilbo newspaper. The format was designed to bridge academia and public consciousness — to test whether scholarly findings could survive the scrutiny of working journalists and political scientists.

The international dimension

The comfort women issue has never been purely bilateral. In 1996, the UN Special Rapporteur on violence against women concluded that the system constituted “military sexual slavery.” In 2022, the UN Committee on the Elimination of Discrimination against Women urged Japan to “ensure that the issue is accurately reflected in school curricula.”

Yet the gap between international consensus and Japanese government policy remains wide. Prime ministerial statements offer “apologies and remorse” but stop short of accepting legal responsibility. Reparations have come from private funds, not the state.

For organisers of the Busan symposium, the path forward runs through multilateral institutions. UNESCO recognition, they argue, would make historical revisionism harder to sustain. But Japan has made clear it will oppose any such move, as it did when Chinese documents related to the 1937 Nanjing Massacre were inscribed in 2015.

“Facing history squarely and respecting it is a fundamental value that the international community should share,” the symposium’s organisers concluded.

This 15 August, as Japan observes its National Memorial Service for the War Dead, the women who survived — and those who did not — will be remembered in rooms like the one in Busan. Their numbers are dwindling. The question is whether their story will outlast them.

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