Opinion
The Story Left Untold in the Summit Hall: The True Price of NATO Membership
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.
Opinion
What is scale in foreign policy? How is success measured in foreign policy?
By its very nature, foreign policy feeds into and draws nourishment from numerous, disparate, and varied fields. It is a domain with manifold and diverse inputs. For foreign policy is examined alongside a broad array of subjects, ranging from geography to history, economics to intelligence, and military might to public diplomacy, commonly termed soft power elements.
The capacity of the state, that is, the scale of the state, or in other words the aggregate of its elements of power (namely political, economic, military, and soft power components), is decisive in foreign policy. Geography is decisive in foreign policy. Commercial relations are decisive in foreign policy. Energy dependence on another country or countries, if present, is decisive in foreign policy. Foreign policy cannot be conducted in spite of these four factors.
There is more. A country’s capacity, its scale, does not increase overnight, from one day to the next. It requires planning. It requires national consensus. It requires time. It requires preparation. Nor are these enough. The regional and global environment, the conjuncture, and the international plane must also allow for it. The stance of allies and adversaries is, of course, also important.
For the international environment is, by its nature, complex. It is an environment rife with contradiction, turmoil, conflict, and tension. To draw an analogy, the person in the driver’s seat of foreign policy is not a motorist speeding along the road as they please. There are things they must not forget, rules they must obey, red lights, vehicles speeding up from behind, a truck moving ahead, and a heavy vehicle hurtling toward them from the opposite direction.
Success in foreign policy does not arrive simply because a politician we like has become foreign minister. For a foreign minister is only as effective as the power, capacity, and weight of their country. One must accept this plain truth.
Moreover, there are simple, straightforward questions that reveal whether foreign policy, which some find deeply complex and inscrutable, is successful or not.
There are undoubtedly ways to measure the effectiveness, prestige, influence, and success of foreign policy.
For instance, the number of countries that respect a passport, how many countries can be visited visa-free, and how many countries impose visa requirements and grant those visas only with great difficulty are important indicators of a country’s standing.
Let us take ourselves as an example. Which countries require a visa for the Turkish passport? Which ones do not? Is it easy for our citizens to obtain visas for the countries they primarily wish to visit?
Let us give another example from the Turkic world.
On the Cyprus issue, which we regard as a national cause across government and opposition, right and left, Kemalist and Milli Görüş adherents alike, how many countries have we succeeded in having recognize the TRNC? Why do the Turkic states (Azerbaijan, Kazakhstan, Kyrgyzstan, Turkmenistan, Uzbekistan) not recognize the TRNC? Far from recognizing the TRNC, how do the Turkic states in Central Asia (Turkistan) explain to Ankara their developing relations with the Greek Cypriot Administration of Southern Cyprus, which Türkiye does not recognize, their appointment of ambassadors, and their recognition of Southern Cyprus as the island’s sole legitimate government?
We must also ask this question, of course: What is the state of Türkiye’s bilateral trade with the Turkic states?
Let us give an example of the relationship between foreign policy and big capital.
In which countries are big capital circles, among the greatest supporters of the ruling bloc, winning major tenders?
In our country, across both ruling and opposition ranks, there is a political party order that supports Türkiye’s EU membership. Yet how much progress has been made on EU membership?
Why is US President Trump not keeping the promises he made to Türkiye at the NATO summit held in Ankara a few months ago?
How many contracts has the new regime in Syria, the al-Sharaa administration, awarded to Turkish companies for the reconstruction of its country?
Has the government in Libya that Türkiye supports paid the money owed to Turkish construction firms, outstanding for years?
How does Qatar, with whom our relations are very good, explain its developing ties, energy agreements, and joint military drills with Greece and the Greek Cypriot Administration, disregarding our sensitivities?
Who is the addressee of the harsh statements used in recent weeks by Azerbaijan, which we view as “two states, one nation”? To what extent does Azerbaijan share Türkiye’s policy on Israel? What does Türkiye think about the scale, depth, and intimacy of Azerbaijan-Israel relations?
These questions can certainly be multiplied.
Yet without taking into account the scale of the state and observing the criteria for measuring foreign policy, no sound assessment can be made.
Opinion
The era of corridor alliances in the Middle East
In the Middle East, war is no longer waged merely to seize territory. The true contest turns on who will control the energy pipelines, trade routes, ports, and railways of tomorrow. Missiles may strike cities today, but the maps of the future are being drawn through transport and energy corridors.
In this context, interpreting Türkiye’s presence in the Mecca Alliance solely as military support for Saudi Arabian security remains incomplete; it fails to explain why two states that viewed each other with mutual suspicion until recently would take steps toward a cooperation close enough to constitute a shared destiny.
Alongside Saudi Arabia’s existential motives, Ankara’s participation in this alliance is anchored in a profound geopolitical foundation: to position itself within, and if possible at the very centre of, the Middle East’s reconfigured energy and transport corridors.
Today, it cannot be said that Riyadh and Ankara see eye to eye on every regional issue. The threat perceptions and priorities of the two countries do not, quite naturally, entirely coincide. On the geopolitical chessboard, partnerships do not always arise from identical agendas. When reasons are sufficiently compelling, particularly existential ones, they can override political differences and enable common ground along the same strategic path.
A new war of corridors unfolds in the Middle East
On one side lies IMEC (India-Middle East-Europe Economic Corridor), planned to extend from India through the United Arab Emirates, Saudi Arabia, Jordan, and Israel to Europe. On the other stands the Development Road, which aims to link the Persian Gulf across Iraq to Türkiye, and onward to Europe.
These two undertakings are, of course, far more than mere transport projects. They represent two divergent geopolitical answers to where the future flow of trade and energy between Asia and Europe will traverse; for Türkiye, this issue is of vital importance.
If a corridor system taking shape to Türkiye’s south, beyond Ankara’s orbit, becomes permanent, Türkiye could forfeit not only an economic opportunity but also a substantial portion of its strategic centrality in the Middle East. It is through this prism that the Mecca Alliance must be evaluated.
Türkiye’s seat at the same table with Saudi Arabia signifies more than military solidarity. Riyadh and Ankara must sit together to avoid exclusion from the region’s emergent security and economic architecture, for the security of a corridor and the corridor itself are no longer separate matters.
The Strait of Hormuz, the Red Sea, the Bab al-Mandab, and the Suez Canal are links in the very same chain. A security crisis in one directly impacts the others. While the vulnerability of Hormuz makes alternative export routes for Gulf oil indispensable, instability across the Red Sea heightens the strategic cost of Suez.
Saudi Arabia’s alternative pipelines connecting its eastern oil fields to Red Sea terminals are therefore not merely energy infrastructure; they are strategic bypasses mitigating dependence on Hormuz.
For Türkiye, the Development Road fulfills the same function across a broader geography. Stretching from the Persian Gulf through Iraq to Türkiye, and from Türkiye into Europe, this artery possesses the potential to forge a new overland backbone connecting the Gulf to the Mediterranean and Europe. As security concerns in the Red Sea mount and the vulnerability of Suez deepens, the value of this route rises accordingly.
The Hejaz Railway: Revived once again
The return of the Hejaz Railway to the regional agenda signifies far more than mere nostalgia. Once linking Istanbul to Damascus, Amman, and the Hejaz, the railway served as one of the primary transport and logistical arteries of the Ottoman geography.
Reviving the idea of the Hejaz Railway could become the emblem of Türkiye’s drive to reimagine its historical transport connections between the Gulf, the Hejaz, and the Levant through modern rail, energy, and logistics networks.
The objective here is not to restore the past, but to transpose the strategic logic of that historical geographical linkage into the twenty-first century. For this reason, Türkiye’s role in the Mecca Alliance and the resurgence of the Hejaz Railway project must be viewed as components of the same overarching picture.
Corridors do not consist solely of energy pipelines. Railways, ports, highways, electrical interconnectors, logistical hubs, and security architectures are all facets of the same geopolitical grid, and safeguarding these networks requires political alliances.
Herein lies the strategic significance of Saudi Arabia and Türkiye sitting at the same table in Mecca, even at a juncture when their views on Syria diverge.
Ankara and Riyadh do not need to agree on every subject. Yet neither wishes to see the new map of the Middle East drawn to its detriment. Türkiye’s aim is not to build an anti-bloc against any specific country alongside Saudi Arabia; rather, the goal is to avoid exclusion from the future energy and trade systems of the Middle East, while securing a decisive voice in establishing their security architecture.
Hence, for Türkiye, the Mecca Alliance is far more than a simple defence pact. Securing the Development Road, shielding Gulf energy corridors, stabilising the Red Sea, rethinking connections across the Hejaz and the Levant, and bolstering trade corridors reaching Europe all intersect within this single strategic equation.
In this equation, Türkiye’s foremost advantage remains its geography. Ankara sits at the northern terminus of the overland routes linking the Gulf to Europe; within NATO; and at the crossroads connecting the Black Sea, the Caucasus, the Eastern Mediterranean, and the Middle East.
Will Türkiye become one of the powers shaping the Middle East’s energy and trade architecture over the coming decades, or will it be reduced to a mere transit state traversed by routes designed by others? That question defines the true strategic significance of the Mecca Alliance for Ankara.
In the Middle East of tomorrow, it will be impossible to separate the corridor carrying energy, the security framework protecting that corridor, and the alliance constructing that security framework.
Whoever controls the corridor shapes commerce. Whoever guarantees the routes through which trade flows holds sway over the regional balance of power. This is the true dimension of the contest currently underway in the Middle East.
A succession of distinct and largely mutually exclusive ambitions are competing for dominance in the current climate: India’s linkage to Europe, the Gulf’s new economic horizons, Saudi Arabia’s alternative energy routes, the security crisis in the Red Sea, the strategic weight of Hormuz, and Türkiye’s aspiration to open outward to Europe via the Development Road. Ironically, perhaps, the conflict that will decide which corridor underpins global stability has already begun, and it will likely continue spreading to new fronts. Regrettably, the fires in our region appear poised to intensify long before they abate.
Opinion
Istanbul’s East-West Forum: A conversation the world can no longer avoid
Dr. Ahmed Moustafa, Director & Founder, Asia Center for Studies & Translation, Egypt
In a city that has spent centuries translating the language of one civilization to another, the first East-West Forum arrived at a moment when the world itself seemed to have lost the vocabulary for talking across its divisions.
Held in Istanbul on Sept. 26–27 and preceded by meetings around the event, the forum brought together diplomats, academics, journalists, strategists and political thinkers from a wide range of countries. Hosted by Harici Media in partnership with the Berlin-based European Transcontinental Initiative, the gathering was conceived as an attempt to examine a world increasingly defined by competing power centers, regional wars, economic fragmentation, artificial intelligence and the erosion of confidence in institutions created after the Second World War. Harici reported that participants came from roughly 30 countries.
For us, the significance of Istanbul was not simply a matter of the speakers on the panel or the structure of the programme. Its deeper importance lay in the willingness to put difficult — and sometimes uncomfortable — questions on the table.
We would like to extend our sincere thanks and appreciation to my friend and brother, Mr. Tunç Akkoç, Founder and Editor-in-Chief of Harici Media, for his gracious invitation to a representative of the Asia Center for Studies & Translation, Egypt, to participate in the Forum as a speaker and commentator. His initiative in creating a platform where competing geopolitical narratives could meet directly deserves recognition.
In his opening remarks, Akkos stressed that the initiative was intended to establish a permanent platform where people representing different political and intellectual traditions and perspectives could meet and engage in direct dialogue.
This vision is particularly significant because the traditional language used in international relations has increasingly struggled to explain the realities of a rapidly changing world.
The Problem of Proxy Wars
During the session that discussed proxy wars in the region and ways to reach solutions to their crises, the Center put forward the view that the Middle East cannot simply be understood through the traditional map that divides the parties into “good” and “evil,” or into “responsible states” and “rogue states.”
Such terms, in our assessment, often reflect the perspective of powers that possess extensive influence over international media and financial and security institutions.
The Center particularly criticised what we see as political bias within important sectors of the Western media and some non-governmental organisations that receive Western funding. From our perspective, these institutions can, in some cases, move from being mere observers of geopolitical conflicts to becoming influential parties in the battle over the narrative and the story.
However, this view should remain open to debate and should not automatically be accepted as an absolute truth.
The more important question is not whether every Western journalist, every NGO, or every Western institution works to serve a single geopolitical agenda clearly, this is not the case, but whether the information environment itself has become so highly polarised that the public is now receiving radically different interpretations of the very same war.
In our assessment, the answer is increasingly approaching “yes.”
The problem becomes particularly clear when searching for the term “proxy wars” in the Middle East. Some of the first results focus on groups associated with Iran, including Hezbollah and the Houthis, as well as Hamas, whereas the history of regional conflicts is far more complex.
Al-Qaeda and ISIS emerged through different historical trajectories, with Anglo-Saxon support that was “created by Britain and the United States.” In environments dominated by the United States and Britain, Al-Qaeda emerged from the environment associated with Osama bin Laden and the Afghan jihad, while ISIS developed largely from Al-Qaeda in Iraq, under American sponsorship, to pursue a certain agenda in the region and advance the scenario of “creative chaos” promoted by Condoleezza Rice, the radical US Secretary of State.
At the same time, US policy toward Afghanistan during the Cold War contributed to shaping the broader environment from which some militant jihadist movements later emerged.
These distinctions matter.
Because propaganda often begins where complex historical details end.
Who Has the Right to Define a “Rogue State”?
The same problem appears in the vocabulary used to describe states.
Countries such as China, Russia, Iran and North Korea are frequently portrayed in Western strategic discourse as states challenging the existing international order.
Egypt, despite the different nature of its relationship with Washington, can also become the subject of criticism when its foreign policy does not conform to certain Western expectations.
The question is not whether these governments should be exempt from criticism. Of course not.
The deeper question is this: can the international system remain sustainable when one geopolitical camp increasingly assumes the authority to define which governments are legitimate, which movements are terrorist, which wars are defensive and which forms of resistance are acceptable?
That was one of the central questions behind our intervention in Istanbul.
The Middle East has repeatedly been presented through the lens of the “Iranian threat” as the principal strategic danger.
There is no question that Iran possesses significant military and regional capabilities, and that its policies are deeply contested by many neighbouring states. At the same time, reducing virtually every regional security problem to Tehran can obscure the interests and roles of other actors, including Israel, the United States, Gulf states, armed groups and local political forces.
The region has repeatedly paid a heavy price for simplistic interpretations of complex conflicts.
The Economics of Fear
The discussions in Istanbul also led us to a broader American question: to what extent can fear itself become a source of political and economic power?
Historically, the United States has experienced intense political campaigns shaped by perceived racial, ideological and security threats.
One does not need to accept every interpretation of this history to recognise that fear can become a factor with tangible economic consequences.
A 2020 study by Citi estimated that racial discrimination against Black Americans had cost the US economy approximately $16 trillion in lost economic output since 2000, based on an analysis of disparities in wages, education, housing and investment.
This figure demonstrates the extent of the economic losses associated with racial discrimination and exclusion. It also raises questions about the relationship between fear-based narratives concerning Black Americans, media influence, the political power of the gun lobby and the broader economic consequences of insecurity.
More importantly, however, the study highlights a fundamental point: bias and insecurity carry substantial and measurable economic costs.
The broader lesson has direct relevance to foreign policy.
When societies are continually presented with existential enemies, military spending and the expansion of security institutions become politically easier to justify.
America After Iran
In Istanbul, we also advanced the view that the United States after its confrontation with Iran in 2026 should not simply be understood through the traditional image of unlimited American power.
The conflict exposed economic and strategic vulnerabilities.
The Strait of Hormuz emerged as a major strategic pressure point for global energy markets, amid disruptions to international trade that forced governments and companies to search for alternative routes and supplies.
The consequences were reflected in oil prices and energy costs in Europe and elsewhere.
This does not mean that American power has disappeared. Rather, it suggests that military power is no longer synonymous with strategic control.
The rise of China, Russia, ASEAN, Iran and other centres of economic and diplomatic influence has made the international order increasingly complex and dispersed.
The East-West Forum itself reflected this reality, bringing together voices from Europe, Asia, the Middle East and North America while explicitly addressing multipolarity and the ongoing transformation of the global order.
America Is Changing From Within
The domestic dimension of American politics also deserves attention.
The emergence of figures such as Zohran Mamdani in New York and Abdul El-Sayed in Michigan reflects changes in the American political debate over inequality, foreign policy, healthcare, identity and the influence of established political and economic interests.
Their political trajectories should not be treated as evidence of a predetermined future for the United States.
They do, however, illustrate how issues that were once treated as peripheral including the costs of war, US policy toward Israel, economic inequality and the political influence of younger and more diverse generations have moved closer to the centre of American political debate.
This is another reason why East-West dialogue cannot remain confined to foreign ministries and military institutions.
A Dinner for Dialogue
One of the most memorable moments on the margins of the Forum was the private dinner held on the evening of Friday, September 25, hosted by H.E. Mr. Hasan Capan, Chairman of the Turkish-Chinese Friendship Foundation, and H.E. Ambassador Ersin Erçin, Vice Chairman of the Foundation, in honour of the speakers and participants.
We extend our sincere thanks and appreciation to both of them for their generosity, friendship and support.
The gathering was more than simply a dinner. It provided an opportunity for personal interaction, an exchange of ideas and the building of relationships among participants — precisely the kind of human diplomacy that formal conferences sometimes lack.
Real dialogue does not always begin behind conference podiums.
Very often, it begins around a single table.
Istanbul’s Larger Message
The first East-West Forum should be regarded as the beginning of a dialogue, not the end of a debate.
The organisers have already articulated a vision of transforming the initiative into an annual gathering in Istanbul, developing expert working groups, establishing an East-West Forum network and potentially creating a business council capable of connecting intellectual dialogue with economic cooperation.
This may ultimately prove to be one of its most important contributions.
The world that emerges from the current conflicts including the crisis surrounding the Strait of Hormuz will require more than ceasefire agreements.
It will require a new conversation about security, energy, sovereignty, development, technology and coexistence.
Istanbul is an exceptional setting for such a dialogue. One participant even proposed moving the headquarters of international organisations, including the United Nations, to Istanbul.
For centuries, the city has stood between two continents without belonging exclusively to either.
The East-West Forum can follow the same principle: not choosing one civilisation against another, but creating a space in which East and West can confront their differences without turning disagreement into permanent conflict.
For this reason, we see the Istanbul gathering as an announcement of intent.
It was not an attempt to erase differences.
It was an attempt to make dialogue possible despite them.
At a time when proxy conflicts increasingly risk evolving into direct confrontations, this may be among the most important political conversations the world can undertake today.
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