Furthermore, the Saudis will be keenly aware of last year’s Israeli strikes on Doha, targeting senior Hamas officials. According to a report last year by the Centre for Strategic and International Studies, external, “across the Gulf, states recalibrated their defence strategies”. This pact is one of Saudi Arabia’s responses.

For Pakistan, the pact offers different but complementary benefits. In May 2025 its long-standing tensions with India boiled over into open conflict.

While an all-out war was avoided, having the economic muscle of Saudi Arabia and the military and industrial might of Turkey in their corner will be seen as increasingly valuable.

It also comes at a time when Pakistan has been taking on a far more significant role in global diplomacy.

It has acted as an intermediary between Iran and the US and hosted ceasefire negotiations, significantly increasing its status in the region – something this pact further cements.

As for Turkey, the benefits are different. According to Burcu Ozcelik from the London-based Royal United Services Institute (Rusi), the deal offers opportunities for the country’s significant defence industries through “joint production, technology partnerships, procurement and greater military interoperability”.

While, on the surface, the concept of a mutual defence agreement seems straightforward, in practice the circumstances in which they would come into play are both complex and uncertain.

Would, for example, Turkey be obliged to join in strikes on Yemen if Saudi Arabia’s full-scale war with the Houthis were to restart?

Would Saudi Arabia have to declare war on India were there to be a re-emergence of conflict with Pakistan?

Each instance would require complex calculations and careful diplomacy, often in an attempt to avoid escalation. It is, in short, uncertain.

The one consequence of a mutual defence agreement that sides involved will be banking on, however, is deterrence.

The very fact that they each now have two other regional powers standing behind them may not make aggression impossible, but it will make its potential cost significantly higher.

As the conflict triggered by joint United States and Israeli strikes on Iran enters its third week, the strategic objectives of Washington appear increasingly fluid—raising new concerns among analysts and regional powers that the war could expand far beyond its initial scope.

Since the opening salvos targeted Iranian military infrastructure and leadership compounds, including the killing of Supreme Leader Ali Khamenei, US President Donald Trump has alternated between framing the campaign as a limited effort to degrade Iran’s military capabilities and suggesting broader ambitions to topple the Islamic Republic itself.

While the initial strikes were widely described by US officials as “operationally successful,” many defense analysts caution that air power alone is unlikely to achieve regime change in a country as large, politically entrenched, and regionally influential as Iran.

Instead, attention in Washington has turned—albeit cautiously and inconsistently—to the possibility of leveraging Kurdish armed groups as a proxy force to destabilize Iran from within. The idea, though publicly downplayed by Trump, has sparked alarm in neighboring Turkey and raised fears of a wider regional conflagration.

The early phase of the war demonstrated the overwhelming technological superiority of US and Israeli forces. Precision strikes crippled key Iranian military installations, disrupted command-and-control networks, and decapitated elements of the leadership.

Yet military experts argue that such success does not translate easily into political outcomes.

“History shows that air campaigns rarely achieve regime change on their own,” said a former US defense official familiar with planning doctrines shaped by conflicts in Iraq, Afghanistan, and Libya. “Without boots on the ground, the ability to control territory, influence populations, and dismantle political structures is extremely limited.”

The United States has long been wary of another large-scale ground war in the Middle East. After nearly two decades of costly interventions following the Iraq War and the war in Afghanistan, political appetite in Washington for deploying combat troops remains low.

Senior military leaders have repeatedly warned against direct invasion scenarios, citing Iran’s size, geography, and capacity for asymmetric warfare.

This constraint has led policymakers to consider alternative strategies—including the controversial idea of supporting Kurdish fighters.

The Kurds, numbering roughly 30 million people across the Middle East, are often described as the world’s largest stateless nation. Their historical homeland spans parts of Turkey, Iran, Iraq, and Syria, a geopolitical reality shaped by the collapse of the Ottoman Empire dissolution after World War I.

Despite shared linguistic and cultural identity, Kurdish populations remain divided by modern borders—often facing political marginalization and economic underdevelopment.

In Iran, Kurds make up around 10 percent of the population, concentrated primarily in the northwest. Kurdish political parties are banned, and periodic clashes between Iranian security forces and armed Kurdish groups have persisted for decades.

These groups, some of which operate from bases in neighboring Iraq, have long demanded greater autonomy or outright independence.

In Washington, some strategists see these movements as a potential lever against Tehran—a way to stretch Iranian forces internally while avoiding direct US military involvement.

However, the idea is fraught with risks.

Trump himself appeared to distance his administration from such plans earlier this month. “I don’t want the Kurds to go into Iran … The war is complicated enough as it is,” he told reporters on March 6.

Yet analysts caution that the president’s often shifting rhetoric leaves open the possibility that such a strategy could still be pursued, particularly if the conflict drags on without decisive results.

No country is watching these developments more closely—or more nervously—than Turkey.

Home to the largest Kurdish population in the world, Turkey has long viewed Kurdish separatism as an existential national security threat. Since 1984, Ankara has been engaged in a protracted conflict with the Kurdistan Workers’ Party, an armed organization seeking Kurdish independence or autonomy.

The conflict has claimed more than 40,000 lives and continues to shape Turkish domestic and foreign policy.

For Turkish President Recep Tayyip Erdogan, any move that strengthens Kurdish armed groups elsewhere in the region carries immediate implications at home.

“If Kurdish militancy is emboldened in Iran, it will not remain confined there,” said a Turkish security analyst. “The spillover effects into Turkey are inevitable.”

Turkey has demonstrated its willingness to act militarily against perceived Kurdish threats. In recent years, it has launched cross-border operations into northern Iraq and Syria, targeting Kurdish militias it accuses of links to the PKK.

These interventions have often put Ankara at odds with its Western allies, particularly during the campaign against the Islamic State, when the United States partnered with Kurdish-led forces in Syria.

Turkey strongly opposed that cooperation, arguing that some of those groups were effectively extensions of the PKK.

The Kurdish issue has become a persistent source of friction between Turkey—a key member of the NATO—and its Western partners.

Tensions have been further complicated by disagreements involving Israel. Erdogan has accused Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu of supporting Kurdish factions in Syria, a claim that Israeli officials have neither fully confirmed nor denied.

These overlapping disputes underscore the complexity of the current crisis. What might appear in Washington as a tactical opportunity—leveraging Kurdish fighters—could be perceived in Ankara as a direct threat to national security.

So far, Turkey has maintained a cautious neutrality in the Iran conflict. Despite their regional rivalry, Ankara and Tehran share a common interest in preventing Kurdish separatism.

Historically, the two countries have cooperated on this issue, coordinating intelligence and military operations against Kurdish militant groups operating along their shared border.

Both governments also strongly opposed the 2017 Kurdish independence referendum in northern Iraq, in which more than 92 percent of voters backed statehood.

For Turkey, one of the most alarming scenarios is not just the weakening of Iran, but its potential fragmentation.

A breakdown of central authority in Iran could create a power vacuum across vast مناطق, particularly in Kurdish-populated regions. This, analysts warn, could allow armed groups to establish de facto autonomous zones—similar to developments seen in parts of Syria during its civil war.

Such an outcome would extend Turkey’s security concerns across a much longer and more volatile border.

“There is a real fear in Ankara of a ‘second سوريا’ scenario on its eastern frontier,” said a regional expert, referencing the prolonged instability following the outbreak of the Syrian Civil War.

The implications would not be limited to security.

Turkey is already hosting nearly four million Syrian refugees, the largest refugee population in the world. The influx, which began after the Syrian conflict erupted in 2011, has placed significant strain on public services and become a contentious political issue domestically.

A similar or larger wave of displacement from Iran—should the conflict escalate or the state collapse—could overwhelm Turkey’s capacity to respond.

“Iran is a larger, more populous, and more complex country than Syria,” said a European diplomat based in Ankara. “The scale of potential displacement would be enormous.”

Such a scenario could exacerbate economic pressures and fuel political tensions within Turkey, where public sentiment toward refugees has grown increasingly polarized.

For Washington, the appeal of using Kurdish forces lies in avoiding the risks associated with direct military intervention. Proxy warfare offers a way to apply pressure on adversaries while limiting American casualties.

But as past experiences have shown, such strategies often produce unintended consequences.

Support for Kurdish fighters could deepen divisions within NATO, provoke a military response from Turkey, and trigger a chain reaction of instability across multiple countries.

Moreover, it risks transforming a bilateral conflict with Iran into a broader regional crisis involving multiple state and non-state actors.

Analysts warn that once such dynamics are set in motion, they can be difficult—if not impossible—to control.

As the war continues, the lack of a clear and consistent US strategy is becoming increasingly evident.

Trump’s oscillation between limited and maximalist objectives reflects deeper divisions within Washington over how far to push the confrontation with Iran.

While some policymakers advocate for sustained pressure aimed at weakening the regime, others caution against steps that could lead to unintended escalation.

The Kurdish question sits at the center of this debate—a potential tool that could either tip the balance or ignite a broader conflict.

For regional powers like Turkey, the stakes could not be higher.

If Kurdish militancy is empowered and borders become destabilized, Ankara may feel compelled to act decisively—potentially opening a new front in an already volatile region.

The idea of leveraging Kurdish fighters against Iran illustrates the complexities and contradictions of modern warfare, where local grievances intersect with global strategic ambitions.

What might appear as a tactical solution in Washington carries profound geopolitical risks, particularly for countries like Turkey that sit on the front lines of these dynamics.

As the conflict enters a critical phase, the decisions made in the coming weeks could shape not only the future of Iran but the stability of the broader Middle East.

As the bombing in Iran continues, the country’s inhabitants are facing tough choices about whether to remain in the country.

At a crossing with Turkey in north-west Iran, about 1,000 people a day are making the crossing – a comparable number to before the war.

Speaking to the BBC’s Dan Johnson, some Iranians speak about their thoughts on the conflict and what they wish to see happen.

The border separating Iran and Turkey is one of the few ways journalists have been able to speak to people coming out of Iran, with those leaving telling the BBC they feel unsafe and scared.

Hundreds escaping the war are passing through that border, but a few are going back into the country.

The BBC’s James Waterhouse reports.

Leanne Abeyance

Leanne Abeyance

‘Doing this for everybody else’

BBC

Getty Images

AFP via Getty Images

Getty Images

Turkey has entered a decisive new phase in its naval modernisation with the commissioning of TCG Hızırreis (S-331), the second submarine in the cutting-edge Reis-class fleet. The ceremony at Gölcük Naval Shipyard marks a watershed moment in Ankara’s maritime strategy at a time of accelerating geopolitical tensions in the Eastern Mediterranean and Black Sea.

The handover of TCG Hızırreis represents far more than an expansion of force structure. It confirms Turkey’s determination to strengthen its A2/AD (anti-access/area-denial) posture across contested waters shaped by energy rivalries, exclusive economic zone (EEZ) disputes, and growing great-power competition. With the region’s undersea domain becoming increasingly crowded and strategically vital, Ankara is positioning itself to secure long-term leverage beneath the waves.

The commissioning of TCG Hızırreis comes just over a year after the Navy inducted the lead vessel, TCG Piri Reis (S-330), in August 2024. Together, the two air-independent propulsion (AIP) submarines give Turkey a new asymmetric advantage: long-endurance covert operations without surfacing, making them exceptionally difficult for adversaries to detect.

The submarine was delivered through close cooperation between Germany’s ThyssenKrupp Marine Systems (TKMS) and Turkey’s Gölcük Naval Shipyard, a partnership that has gradually shifted integration expertise, systems management, and industrial capabilities into Turkish hands. The project is a central pillar of Turkey’s defence industrial evolution, contributing to Ankara’s broader ambition of advancing naval autonomy.

Valued at €2.06 billion (approximately USD 2.24 billion), the six-boat Reis-class programme is a cornerstone of Turkey’s “Blue Homeland” (Mavi Vatan) doctrine, which emphasises maritime sovereignty, sea-lane protection, and resource security across the Aegean, Mediterranean, and Black Sea.

Turkey’s submarine fleet has historically relied on German-built Type 209 diesel-electric boats, including the 209/1200 and Preveze-class 209/1400 variants. These platforms have been reliable but are now outpaced by the AIP-equipped submarines fielded by Greece, Israel, and other regional powers.

The transition to the Reis-class—based on the Type 214 design—marks a generational leap. Turkey selected the design through a competitive tender in 2008, choosing TKMS over France’s DCNS and Spain’s Navantia due to proven AIP performance and greater modularity.

The programme officially launched in 2011, with the keel of TCG Piri Reis laid in 2015. Its launch in 2019 signalled Ankara’s intent to accelerate naval modernisation, a pace maintained through the launches and sea trials of subsequent vessels. TCG Murat Reis (S-332) is currently in the outfitting phase, while other units progress through production.

The naming of the submarines—Piri Reis, Hızırreis, Murat Reis, Aydın Reis, Seydi Ali Reis, and Selman Reis—reflects Turkey’s national maritime heritage and honours legendary Ottoman naval commanders.

The Type 214TN submarines are designed for survivability and lethality in contested environments. At 68 metres long with a submerged displacement of over 2,000 tonnes, each submarine carries a crew of around 40 and is optimised for long-duration missions.

The defining feature is the hydrogen fuel-cell AIP system, allowing the submarine to remain submerged for up to three weeks, drastically reducing exposure to enemy detection systems. Its propulsion combines a highly silent Siemens Permasyn motor with MTU diesel engines for surfaced running, giving it submerged speeds exceeding 20 knots.

The hull features advanced acoustic-dampening coatings, minimising sonar reflections and making the platform one of the stealthiest in the region.

Eight 533mm torpedo tubes

DM2A4 Seehecht heavyweight torpedoes

Turkey’s indigenous Akya torpedo

Sub-Harpoon anti-ship missiles

Future integration of the submarine-launched variant of Turkey’s Atmaca missile

The potential future integration of land-attack cruise missiles could transform the submarine into a strategic deep-strike asset.

The vessel’s sensors include next-generation periscopes by Aselsan, sonar arrays by Atlas Elektronik, and an advanced electronic warfare suite. A Havelsan-integrated combat management system enables real-time data fusion and allows the submarine to function as part of a networked naval force, coordinating with unmanned surface and underwater vehicles.

The arrival of TCG Hızırreis comes at a time of heightened maritime friction. In the Eastern Mediterranean, Turkey’s disputes with Greece and Cyprus over EEZ boundaries and hydrocarbon exploration have intensified. The ability to deploy AIP submarines for extended stealth patrols gives Ankara a significant deterrent edge and complicates NATO and EU naval planning.

During the 2020 Oruç Reis crisis, Turkey recognised the strategic importance of undersea presence to protect exploration activities. The Reis-class directly addresses the shortcomings observed during that period, making Turkey’s submarine patrols both more persistent and more difficult to track.

In the Black Sea, Russia’s war in Ukraine has transformed the maritime environment. Turkey’s control of the Turkish Straits under the Montreux Convention already gives it major geopolitical leverage, but AIP submarines enhance its capacity to monitor Russian naval movements while strategically avoiding direct confrontation.

Admiral Ercüment Tatlıoğlu, Commander of the Turkish Navy, emphasised that the Reis-class will contribute to “long-term submarine deterrence capability,” signalling Turkey’s intent to sustain influence across multiple maritime theatres.

Turkey’s defence industry has rapidly expanded, with exports surpassing USD 6.3 billion in 2024. Companies such as STM, Aselsan, Roketsan, Havelsan, and Baykar now play central roles in the country’s military transformation.

The Reis-class submarines showcase Turkey’s ability to integrate indigenous systems into German-origin platforms, strengthening strategic autonomy and creating pathways for possible exports. Ankara could target Asian, Middle Eastern, or African markets with lower-cost alternatives to European or South Korean submarines.

Turkey’s maritime expansion is complemented by other high-profile defence products, including MILGEM corvettes exported to Pakistan and T129 ATAK helicopters sold to the Philippines.

The Reis-class is a stepping stone toward Turkey’s long-term ambition of designing and producing its own submarines under the MILDEN (Milli Denizaltı) programme. Construction began in January 2025, with Turkey aiming to field fully indigenous AIP-equipped submarines by the early 2030s. These may incorporate next-generation technologies such as advanced lithium-ion batteries or hybrid propulsion.

Admiral Tatlıoğlu has also expressed Turkey’s aspirations to eventually acquire nuclear-powered submarines, which would elevate the Turkish Navy to an elite tier of global naval capabilities.

Turkey’s rapid naval expansion has prompted responses from regional rivals. Greece is accelerating upgrades to its Papanikolis-class submarines and purchasing new frigates, while Israel and Egypt continue strengthening their fleets with Western platforms.

Operational challenges persist as well, especially in the shallow and geographically complex Aegean Sea, where submarine manoeuvrability, crew training, and situational awareness are critical. Turkey has increased investment in submarine simulators and conducted joint exercises with Pakistan to enhance proficiency.

The commissioning of TCG Hızırreis marks a pivotal milestone in Turkey’s transformation into a formidable undersea power. By combining imported precision engineering with growing indigenous innovation, Turkey is rapidly evolving from a regional maritime actor into a strategically influential naval force.

With unmatched endurance, stealth, and combat versatility, the Reis-class strengthens Turkey’s ability to safeguard maritime interests in some of the world’s most volatile waters. As the MILDEN programme matures and Ankara moves toward nuclear submarine aspirations, the Turkish Navy’s future may extend far beyond regional deterrence—toward a role as a global maritime stakeholder.

Red Sea to Aegean Sea: from Brussels to Doha, the balance of power now pivots on two capitals that belong to the very alliances they are weakening. Turkey and Qatar—each strategically indispensable—have transformed membership into leverage, bending NATO and the Gulf Cooperation Council (GCC) to ambitions neither alliance was designed to contain. As Houthis strike global trade routes and as India, Israel, Jordan, Egypt, Morocco, and Cyprus hold the line, Eurasia’s security is being redefined not by its adversaries, but by the courage—or failure—of its alliances to discipline their own.

Alliances demonstrate strength not by the power they accumulate, but by the discipline they maintain. Both NATO and the GCC were built on the principle of collective trust: NATO to deter external aggression through unity, and the GCC to transform regional cooperation into shared resilience. Yet today, two key members—Turkey in NATO and Qatar in the GCC—have mastered the art of extracting every benefit while bending every rule. They respect the letter but defy the spirit of their respective charters, weaponizing consensus as a form of pressure.

The structural flaw is the same in both systems. NATO’s consensus principle and the GCC’s unanimity rule, while designed to preserve equality, have become tools for transactional obstruction. When consensus becomes currency, solidarity becomes optional.

Turkey’s trajectory inside NATO offers a case study in how alliance structures can be exploited. Its 2017 purchase of Russia’s S-400 air defense system—while still a partner in the U.S.-led F-35 program—triggered a historic rupture. The U.S. imposed sanctions under the CAATSA Act, and Ankara was formally ejected from the F-35 consortium in 2020. For the first time, a NATO member faced sanctions for deepening defense cooperation with Moscow.

Yet Ankara soon learned to monetize unanimity. When Sweden applied to join NATO, Turkey delayed approval for over a year, eventually trading its signature for a $23 billion U.S. F-16 modernization deal—ratified within hours of its ratification of Sweden’s accession. This episode marked a turning point: consensus itself became a form of currency, a lever for transactional diplomacy.

Ankara had done it before. In 2019 and 2020, Turkey blocked NATO’s Baltic defense plans until the alliance adopted language denouncing the YPG—Kurdish fighters central to Washington’s campaign against ISIS. Turkey’s 2023 veto on NATO-Israel cooperation further paralyzed coordination at a moment when Red Sea tensions were escalating.

Simultaneously, Ankara cultivated a dual diplomacy. It sold drones to Ukraine while refusing to join Western sanctions against Russia; drilled in Cyprus’s exclusive economic zone; and repeatedly tested Greece in the Aegean. According to UN reports, Turkey even transferred Syrian fighters to Libya—a stunning move for a NATO member.

Recent U.S. sanctions on Turkish firms accused of aiding Russian sanctions evasion underscore the enduring challenge: Ankara’s dual-use trade networks continue to blur the boundary between alliance loyalty and national opportunism.

NATO has used the instruments available—export controls, sanctions, and program suspensions—but its fundamental weakness remains constitutional. The North Atlantic Treaty contains no suspension clause. “Consensus minus one,” a long-discussed idea to bypass obstruction by a single member, has never been codified. The North Atlantic Council, built to symbolize equality, remains vulnerable to procedural hostage-taking.

This structural paralysis means NATO can deter adversaries but not discipline allies. Without internal reform, unity will continue to depend on personality, not principle.

The GCC faces a mirror problem. Its unanimity rule, meant to protect sovereignty, has insulated member states from accountability. Qatar’s case is emblematic. It hosts Al-Udeid Air Base—the U.S. Central Command’s forward headquarters—and simultaneously hosts Hamas’s political bureau, positioning itself as mediator to all sides. Its funding for Gaza, coordinated with Israel and the UN, has blurred the line between humanitarian aid and political leverage.

The 2017 Gulf crisis, during which Saudi Arabia, the UAE, Bahrain, and Egypt severed ties with Qatar and issued thirteen demands—including the closure of Al Jazeera and an end to ties with the Muslim Brotherhood—ended with the Al-Ula Accord in 2021. Yet the core issue remained unresolved: Qatar continues to function as both member and mediator, ally and outlier.

State-funded media like TRT World and Al Jazeera have evolved from public broadcasters into instruments of foreign policy, amplifying narratives aligned with Ankara and Doha’s joint agenda. Their messaging often runs counter to the collective interests of NATO and the GCC alike.

The partnership between Turkey and Qatar has matured into a strategic triangle with Pakistan—an ecosystem of ideological and logistical outsourcing that operates inside formal alliances. Qatar provides capital, Turkey projection, and Pakistan manpower.

In 2017, Ankara stationed troops in Doha amid the Gulf crisis, while Qatar extended a $15 billion currency-swap lifeline to Turkey during its economic downturn. Pakistani security forces were deployed to Qatar for World Cup protection, and Pakistani shipyards now co-develop naval assets with Turkey. Together, these states form an informal bloc that cuts across NATO and GCC lines, balancing Western dependence with regional autonomy.

The GCC has attempted partial course corrections. The U.S.–GCC Terrorist Financing Targeting Center has sanctioned Qatari-linked financiers, and Doha signed a memorandum with Washington to tighten enforcement. Yet implementation remains uneven, and enforcement mechanisms are weak. Labor reforms and modernization efforts have improved Qatar’s global image, but International Labour Organization (ILO) and human rights reports still document systemic abuses—an irony for a bloc that proclaims itself a pillar of regional stability.

The gap between rhetoric and reliability is most visible in Yemen. Turkey’s veto on NATO-Israel coordination in 2024 and Qatar’s ambivalence toward the Saudi-led coalition have left space for others to act. India, Israel, Jordan, Egypt, Morocco, and Cyprus have emerged as dependable security partners, operating outside the formal structures but upholding the spirit of collective defense.

In the Gulf, Jordanian, Egyptian, and Moroccan contingents have flown sorties and conducted naval patrols to secure Red Sea lanes from Houthi attacks. Israel has quietly provided signals intelligence to both NATO and Gulf partners, mapping smuggling routes and maritime threats—including networks linked to Turkey and Qatar. Morocco’s transformation into a counterterrorism hub has earned praise from both NATO and the EU.

Meanwhile, Ankara and Doha have maintained ambiguous channels with Iran-aligned Houthi forces, using dual-use trade and financial systems that blur the line between engagement and complicity. Since late 2023, Houthi drone and missile attacks on commercial vessels in the Bab el-Mandeb Strait have underscored how formal allies can wage informal wars through proxies. Yemen, in effect, has become the crucible of alliance credibility.

What must be done is clear. NATO must preserve unanimity for Article 5—collective defense—but adopt “consensus minus one” for all other decisions. Automatic penalties, such as loss of funding, leadership posts, or participation in exercises, should apply to members whose actions undermine alliance integrity. Flexible coalitions—like the EU’s “enhanced cooperation” mechanism—should allow willing members to advance without obstruction.

Similarly, the GCC must evolve from a consultative forum into an accountable institution. Its dispute commission should issue binding rulings, and privileges such as access to joint ventures or customs markets should depend on compliance. Hosting or financing groups designated as terrorists by the bloc or its partners should trigger automatic suspension.

Labor-rights compliance and transparency should be independently verified, not self-declared.

Beyond formal membership, reliability should earn deeper cooperation. NATO must strengthen ties with India, Israel, Jordan, Egypt, Morocco, and Cyprus—nations that act like allies even without formal membership. The GCC, likewise, should establish a “GCC-Plus” framework integrating Egypt, Jordan, and Morocco into regional defense, logistics, and counterterrorism planning.

Alliances are magnetic fields: when some members pull against them, cohesion must be restored by strengthening bonds with those who pull together.

This is ultimately a test of leadership, not law. The founders of NATO and the GCC never anticipated that internal members would exploit consensus for political bargaining. But clarity must replace ambiguity: define essential consensus, sanction abuse, and align prestige with performance.

Deterrence depends on discipline; power without reliability is illusion. When corruption scandals like Qatargate or Halkbank erode public trust, governance itself becomes a battlefield.

An unexpected twist in the Middle East’s defense landscape is unfolding as reports surface that Turkey may follow India’s lead in seeking second-hand combat aircraft from the Qatar Emiri Air Force (QEAF) — a move that could reshape the region’s aerial balance and expose the growing urgency in Ankara’s airpower modernization plans.

According to a Middle East Eye report dated October 7, Turkey is in advanced discussions with Qatar for the possible acquisition of used Eurofighter Typhoon jets, signaling a pragmatic short-term solution to fill the Turkish Air Force’s growing capability gap. The report cites informed sources who suggest that the negotiations are “underway” and that a deal may be “imminent,” although neither Ankara nor Doha has issued an official confirmation.

The Asia Live could not independently verify these claims. Both the Turkish Ministry of Defense and the Qatari Defense Ministry have remained silent on the matter, as speculation continues to swirl around the nature and urgency of Ankara’s interest.

For Turkey, the potential acquisition of second-hand Eurofighter Typhoons represents both a stopgap measure and a symbolic breakthrough.

The Turkish Air Force has long grappled with the consequences of its expulsion from the F-35 Joint Strike Fighter program in 2019 — a direct fallout of Ankara’s purchase of the Russian S-400 air defense system. The loss of access to fifth-generation fighter technology left Turkey’s air modernization plans in limbo, forcing it to rely on an aging fleet of F-16C/Ds, many of which are nearing the end of their service life.

While the indigenous KAAN stealth fighter (formerly TF-X) is progressing under Turkish Aerospace Industries (TAI), it is still in the prototype testing phase and unlikely to become operational before the early 2030s. In the meantime, Turkey faces a strategic vacuum — one made more acute by Greece’s acquisition of French Rafales and American F-35s, which tilt the Aegean airpower balance sharply against Ankara.

The Eurofighter Typhoon, though not stealthy, offers a formidable alternative. With high agility, advanced avionics, and multirole capabilities, it’s seen as one of the most capable fourth-generation-plus fighters in service. For Turkey, acquiring even a limited number of Tranche 3A Typhoons could bridge the capability gap until the KAAN becomes combat-ready.

“Given the time-sensitive nature of Turkey’s airpower deficit, second-hand Typhoons from Qatar could serve as an interim solution,” said a senior defense analyst familiar with Turkish procurement programs. “It wouldn’t be ideal, but it’s a realistic move that balances time, cost, and political feasibility.”

The Qatar–Turkey defense partnership is not new. Over the past decade, Doha and Ankara have cultivated a robust military and political alliance built on shared interests, regional alignment, and economic interdependence.

Since 2015, Turkey has maintained a military base in Tarqiya, Qatar, hosting up to 3,000 Turkish troops. This deployment is a direct symbol of mutual trust — particularly during Qatar’s 2017 diplomatic blockade by its Gulf neighbors, when Turkey stood as one of Doha’s few steadfast allies.

Beyond troop presence, both countries have intensified cooperation in defense manufacturing, with Qatar purchasing Turkish drones, armored vehicles, and small arms, while also investing in Turkish defense firms. The two nations share a strategic worldview, often aligning their foreign policies across regional crises — from Libya and Somalia to support for certain factions in Syria.

That shared vision may now extend into combat aviation.

In early October 2025, Turkish Defense Minister Yaşar Güler and Air Force Commander General Ziya Cemal Kadıoğlu visited Doha. Officially, the visit was to “deepen defense collaboration.” However, multiple regional outlets suggested the trip was primarily aimed at negotiating a deal for 10–15 Tranche 3A Eurofighter Typhoons currently in QEAF service. The potential seller? Qatar’s Air Force, which operates one of the most diversified and modern fighter fleets in the Gulf.

Qatar’s approach to airpower diversification has been unusually ambitious for a small nation. In less than a decade, it has amassed an enviable mix of Western multirole fighters, each sourced from a different supplier bloc — the UK, France, and the US.

• 24 Eurofighter Typhoon Tranche 3A aircraft (in service),
• 12 additional Tranche 4 Typhoons on order,
• 36 F-15QA “Ababil” jets, a Qatari-specific variant of the F-15EX Eagle II, and
• 36 Dassault Rafales from France.

This tri-supplier strategy ensures logistical resilience and political flexibility — no single power holds total leverage over Qatar’s air defense capability.

However, such diversity comes at a cost. Maintaining three advanced fighter lines places heavy logistical and training demands on a relatively small air force. According to defense analysts, this may have motivated Qatar to streamline parts of its older fleet, particularly if newer Tranche 4 Typhoons and F-15QAs are now taking on a larger operational role.

Selling some of the Tranche 3A Typhoons to a trusted partner like Turkey would not only bring in financial returns but also strengthen bilateral ties and contribute to regional deterrence stability in line with Doha’s broader diplomatic strategy.

Despite apparent mutual interest, any transfer of Eurofighter jets is far from straightforward. The Eurofighter Typhoon program is jointly owned by Germany, the United Kingdom, Italy, and Spain through a multinational consortium, meaning that any resale — even of used jets — requires unanimous approval.

Turkey’s path to acquiring new Typhoons has already been long and politically fraught. Germany, in particular, had blocked Ankara’s attempts for years due to concerns over human rights and regional military operations in Syria and Libya.

That blockade was only lifted in July 2025, following months of lobbying and a breakthrough in Turkey’s rapprochement with European capitals. Subsequently, Ankara and London signed a Memorandum of Understanding (MoU) to pave the way for future Typhoon procurement.

Yet, analysts caution that even with Germany’s approval restored, negotiations over pricing and configuration could take years, and the delivery timeline may stretch into the 2030s. This makes Qatar’s second-hand Typhoons a uniquely appealing short-term solution for Ankara — assuming the consortium signs off on the resale.

“Technically, the sale is possible,” said a European defense industry expert based in Berlin. “But politically, it depends on the same consortium members who only recently allowed Turkey to resume discussions. If the aircraft are to be transferred via Qatar, that still triggers the export-control mechanisms.”

Adding a surprising layer to Qatar’s evolving defense footprint, the United States recently announced that Doha will be allowed to build an air force facility at Mountain Home Air Base in Idaho. The base will host a contingent of Qatari F-15s and pilots, serving as a long-term hub for joint training and operations.

The announcement, made by U.S. Defense Secretary Pete Hegseth alongside Qatari Defense Minister Sheikh Saoud bin Abdulrahman Al-Thani, emphasized the strength of the bilateral military relationship.

“The location will host a contingent of Qatari F-15s and pilots to enhance our combined training and increase lethality and interoperability,” Hegseth said.
“It’s just another example of our partnership. And I hope you know, Your Excellency, that you can count on us.”

This development came shortly after President Trump’s executive order pledging to defend Qatar, following Israeli airstrikes in Doha that targeted Hamas figures. The U.S. move underscores Washington’s confidence in Doha as both a security partner and a regional mediator, particularly in the wake of Qatar’s key role in brokered ceasefire and hostage-exchange deals between Israel and Hamas.

This deepening U.S.–Qatar partnership may also indirectly complicate Turkey’s potential acquisition, as Washington maintains a strong voice within the Eurofighter export framework through its transatlantic allies.

Turkey would not be the first country to explore second-hand jet acquisitions from Qatar. In June 2024, India initiated discussions to acquire 12 used Mirage 2000-5s — nine single-seat and three twin-seat variants — from the QEAF.

Originally delivered to Qatar in the mid-1990s, these aircraft saw limited use, leaving them with substantial airframe life. The deal, estimated at around ₹5000 crore (US$600 million), was attractive to the Indian Air Force (IAF) as the jets shared engines and avionics compatible with India’s upgraded Mirage 2000I/TI fleet.

Indian defense officials confirmed that Qatari representatives made a detailed presentation on the aircraft’s condition, describing them as being in “very good shape” with “a lot of life left.” For the IAF, which has long relied on the Mirage platform for precision strikes — including the 2019 Balakot operation — the acquisition offered an affordable way to extend the fleet’s operational relevance until Rafales and Tejas Mk1A units fully replace older fighters.

However, the absence of updates in recent months suggests that the IAF–Qatar Mirage deal may have stalled, possibly due to shifting procurement priorities or pricing disagreements. If that deal quietly fades away, Turkey could effectively succeed where India paused, acquiring Qatar’s surplus jets for a more pressing operational need.

For Ankara, timing is critical. The Hellenic Air Force’s rapid modernization, bolstered by Rafales, F-35s, and upgraded F-16Vs, has left Turkey increasingly vulnerable in a potential confrontation over the Aegean or Eastern Mediterranean.

The Turkish Air Force currently fields around 240 F-16s, but many are Block 30/40 variants in need of deep modernization. Efforts to secure new F-16 Block 70s and upgrade kits from the U.S. have been delayed by Congress, largely due to political friction over NATO issues and human rights concerns.

Meanwhile, Greece’s airpower renaissance is changing the operational equation. The Rafale, with its Meteor long-range air-to-air missiles, and the F-35’s stealth capabilities, create a two-tiered superiority threat that Turkey’s current fleet cannot easily counter.

This dynamic may explain the urgency behind Ankara’s Typhoon pursuit — whether from new orders or from Qatar’s used inventory.

A small squadron of second-hand Typhoons could immediately bolster Turkey’s deterrence, signaling to NATO allies and rivals alike that Ankara is intent on restoring its aerial edge — even if through unconventional routes.

The reported Turkey-Qatar negotiations also highlight the growing trend of “intra-allied defense recycling” — the transfer of high-value military assets between friendly states seeking mutual advantage without triggering the lengthy red tape of original manufacturer sales.

For Qatar, such transactions offer soft power leverage and strategic reciprocity. Its decision to part with the Mirages for India, or possibly the Typhoons for Turkey, is less about profit and more about building durable security partnerships with major regional powers.

“Qatar uses arms diplomacy to amplify its geopolitical voice,” notes a Gulf-based defense strategist. “By transferring capable but surplus aircraft to key allies, it buys influence, trust, and future cooperation — all while optimizing its own force structure.”

Turkey, in turn, benefits from a politically neutral acquisition path, avoiding potential direct procurement roadblocks from European suppliers. A second-hand sale framed as a bilateral government-to-government transaction with Doha may bypass the harsher scrutiny applied to direct arms exports.

Despite the mounting speculation, no formal announcement has been made. Turkish defense insiders have emphasized that no agreement has been finalized, and details will only be shared “once the contract stage is reached.”

Still, the convergence of recent events — Germany lifting its veto, the Turkish defense delegation’s visit to Doha, and Qatar’s increasing military cooperation with both the U.S. and Turkey — suggests that something significant is indeed in motion.

• A lifeline for the Turkish Air Force, bridging the gap until KAAN or new F-16s arrive.
• A political signal of deepening Turkey-Qatar defense unity.
• A precedent-setting transaction in the evolving practice of second-hand fighter diplomacy.

Whether the reports prove accurate or not, the notion of Qatar as a secondary supplier of advanced combat jets underscores a shifting pattern in global arms dynamics. Smaller but wealthy states like Qatar — once mere buyers — are now turning into brokers of strategic assets, redistributing cutting-edge platforms to allies facing political or logistical barriers to acquisition.

For Turkey, the urgency is existential. Airpower defines not just deterrence, but prestige and sovereignty. If Ankara does succeed in acquiring Qatar’s Typhoons, it will mark a clever workaround to years of geopolitical constraints and a reaffirmation of its determination to stay militarily competitive in a turbulent region.

In contrast, for Qatar, offloading surplus jets while expanding its U.S. training presence signals confidence and maturity — the transition from client to collaborator in the global defense order.

EPA

Reuters