As the United States steadily scales back its military footprint in Europe — and Donald Trump bluntly declares he has “no intention of defending those who won’t pay for their own security” — NATO is undergoing tectonic shifts beneath its surface. For decades, Europe relied on the American shield. Now it faces a stark dilemma: either ramp up its defense budgets and industrial base or watch the continent’s strategic balance erode.
In this shifting landscape, Ankara sees a once-in-a-generation opening: to turn Turkiye into the alliance’s industrial backbone — the arsenal that fills Europe’s production gaps.
While Brussels, Warsaw, and Berlin debate rearmament programs and the concept of a “European army,” Turkiye is already moving — fast, pragmatically, and with technological precision. In just five years, its defense industry has nearly doubled in size. By 2025, defense exports reached almost $8 billion, and domestically produced systems accounted for more than 70 percent of output. This isn’t just a manufacturing success story; it’s a new model of statehood — one that doesn’t wait for outside help but becomes the helper itself.
From “Peace Dividends” to “Deterrence Dividends”
While most European countries cashed in on the “peace dividends” of the post–Cold War era by downsizing their armies and shuttering defense plants, Turkiye never had that luxury. The 1990s were a crucible of constant conflict — terrorism, separatism, and regional instability. That hard-edged experience became the catalyst for modernization. While European policymakers were slashing defense budgets, Turkiye was quietly laying the groundwork for its future military-industrial complex.
By 2025, the country is producing more than 600 types of military equipment — from drones and armored vehicles to electronic warfare systems and naval platforms. Over 3,000 companies now operate in the defense sector, and state investments have exceeded 80 billion Turkish liras. The Presidency of Defense Industries (SSB) has evolved from a mere regulator into a strategic command center — brokering partnerships across NATO, the Middle East, Asia, and Africa.
Turkiye is now the alliance’s rare hybrid: a front-line state that doesn’t critically depend on the U.S. for its defense. It has its own armor, drones, artillery, warships — and soon, its own fifth-generation fighter jet. In a Europe where even Germany still struggles to produce enough ammunition, Turkiye’s adaptability looks like salvation.
NATO After Washington
At the NATO summit in The Hague in the summer of 2025, the U.S. unveiled a radical new framework: by 2035, every member must raise defense spending to 5 percent of GDP. The move embodies Trump’s doctrine — fewer American troops abroad, more national accountability at home. For most allies, this mandate will be an uphill climb, especially for southern European economies already buckling under energy costs and inflation.
Turkiye, though, sees opportunity where others see burden. A continental surge in defense budgets means a bigger market, more contracts, and deeper cooperation. Turkish firms are already embedded in dozens of joint projects with European defense contractors — from drone and armor supplies to the development of ground-based air defense systems.
Ankara is deliberately repositioning itself from a buyer to a builder, from a client to a partner. Its companies aren’t just selling finished products — they’re co-designing systems, sharing technologies, and establishing joint ventures.
The Compatibility Problem
Yet between Turkish pragmatism and European bureaucracy lies a stubborn fault line. NATO’s chronic weakness is the fragmentation of its arsenals. The U.S. military relies on roughly 30 core weapons systems; the EU collectively uses around 180. The result: logistical chaos, costly inefficiencies, and operational incoherence.
Turkiye, which built its defense sector around NATO standards from day one, is pitching a bottom-up solution — unification through the manufacturer, not the minister.
Enter Project Steel Dome, Turkiye’s integrated air and missile defense concept. Its architecture — radars, sensors, interceptors, launch systems — is designed from the ground up to plug seamlessly into European command networks, no modifications needed. It’s not just a commercial play; it’s a geopolitical gambit. If Europe starts using Turkish systems as its baseline modules, Ankara’s influence inside NATO will become structural, not symbolic.
Technology Barriers and Invisible Ceilings
For all its momentum, Turkiye’s defense ecosystem still faces real constraints.
The first is technological dependency. While Ankara now designs its own platforms, it still struggles with critical subsystems — engines, avionics, composite materials. The fallout from the 2019 purchase of Russian S-400 missiles still looms large: U.S. sanctions effectively expelled Turkiye from the F-35 program. Painful, yes — but also catalytic.
Ankara responded with its own fifth-generation fighter, the TF-X Kaan, which has already completed a round of test flights and is slated to enter service by 2028. Yet its engines are still supplied by Britain’s Rolls-Royce and America’s General Electric. Turkish engineers are racing to build a homegrown jet engine, but full autonomy remains on the horizon, not within reach.
The second weak spot is microelectronics. Guidance systems, optics, and sensor suites largely rely on imports from South Korea, Italy, and Germany — leaving exports vulnerable to sanctions or supplier politics.
The third is strategic raw materials. Turkiye’s booming drone and missile production depends on lithium, rare earth metals, and graphite — most of it imported from China. Attempts to launch domestic processing face the twin obstacles of investment gaps and environmental regulation.
Still, the trajectory is unmistakable. In the past three years, the share of imported components in Turkish defense products has dropped from 45 to 28 percent. Behind this figure is a localization drive involving over 400 small and medium enterprises. Unlike the U.S., Turkiye’s model doesn’t rest on defense giants; it thrives on a nimble web of suppliers that can pivot fast.
In today’s NATO, where Europe’s defense awakening meets America’s strategic retrenchment, that agility may turn out to be Turkiye’s greatest weapon.
European Distrust
Politically, Turkiye remains a complicated partner. Within the EU, its role in NATO still triggers unease. Greece and the Greek Cypriots have consistently blocked Ankara’s participation in European defense programs — including PESCO and the European Defense Fund (EDF), both aimed at building shared technologies and joint capabilities. This isn’t just an echo of old rivalries; Athens sees Ankara as a direct competitor for contracts, influence, and industrial capacity.
European elites also continue to eye Turkiye’s operations in Syria and Libya with suspicion. Even though those interventions targeted terrorist groups, Brussels frames them as “unilateral actions,” incompatible with collective decision-making.
Inside NATO headquarters, however, the mood is far less political. Turkish engineers and defense specialists have long been integrated into the alliance’s coordination units. Ankara plays a key role in NATO’s standardization efforts, electronic warfare programs, and communications systems projects. Turkish giants like Aselsan, Roketsan, and Havelsan have become suppliers not just for Turkiye’s armed forces but for the alliance’s broader infrastructure.
The New Diplomacy of Arms
Over the past two years, Turkiye has signed export deals for its Bayraktar TB2 and Akıncı drones with Poland, Romania, Croatia, Latvia, and Albania. Poland — the first NATO member to purchase Turkish drones — is now preparing for joint production. Meanwhile, Turkish armored vehicles from Otokar are in service in Estonia and Hungary, and Turkish shipbuilders are delivering support vessels to Portugal and upgrading frigates for Italy.
These deals aren’t just about revenue; they’re about leverage. Turkiye is turning arms exports into a tool of diplomacy, not just commerce. Each contract tightens bonds and creates interdependence — not economic, but technological. A country that buys Turkish systems inevitably buys spare parts, trains its personnel in Turkiye, and joins collaborative testing programs.
Ankara is building a horizontal network, not a vertical dependency. That’s a major departure from the American model, where clients are effectively locked into a supplier’s ecosystem. Turkiye’s approach offers partners flexibility and agency — and that, paradoxically, is what earns their trust.
Sanctions and Realism
Sanctions still loom large as a constraint. Both the U.S. and the EU maintain embargoes on certain categories of electronic components and dual-use technologies. Yet Turkiye has adapted, diversifying its supply chains from South Korea to Malaysia. It’s also developing domestic microelectronics clusters in Ankara and Konya to reduce exposure to external shocks.
Still, Ankara harbors no illusions. Executives in Turkiye’s defense industry openly admit that full technological autonomy is years away. But they also point out an uncomfortable truth: Europe and the United States face the same dependency. Even defense giants like Rheinmetall and BAE Systems rely heavily on Asian suppliers. Turkiye just happens to be more candid about it.
Strategic Duality: Ally and Competitor
Turkiye now occupies a singular position within NATO — ally, producer, and competitor all at once. On one hand, it remains a pillar of the alliance, securing NATO’s southern flank from the Black Sea to the Middle East. On the other, it’s building its own defense initiatives that, in some areas, parallel or even overlap with NATO’s functions.
This duality isn’t a contradiction — it’s a deliberate strategy. Ankara’s model is multilayered: participation in NATO for legitimacy, autonomous defense capacity for sovereignty. Turkiye isn’t seeking a break with NATO; it’s ensuring that when push comes to shove, it won’t be left exposed.
It’s telling that the language in Turkish defense programs increasingly pairs two key words: compatibility and alternatives. Bayraktar drones are fully integrated into NATO’s Link 16 communications network, yet designed to operate independently if needed. The Hisar and Siper missile systems meet NATO standards but aren’t reliant on Western components.
In a world where alliances are becoming transactional and deterrence is increasingly nationalized, Turkiye is positioning itself not as a junior member of NATO — but as the one ally that can’t be ignored, outproduced, or sidelined.
NATO Without Its American Anchor
The gradual drawdown of America’s military footprint in Europe isn’t just a hallmark of the “Trump era” — it marks the beginning of a deeper geopolitical realignment. Washington’s strategic focus is shifting toward the Indo-Pacific, where it views China — not Russia — as the defining challenge of the 21st century.
For Europe, that shift means the end of a familiar security architecture. U.S. bases in Germany, Italy, and the U.K. — once the bedrock of collective defense — now feel more like relics of a bygone order. Trump has made it abundantly clear: the United States “won’t keep footing the bill for the defense of wealthy nations unwilling to defend themselves.” NATO’s 2025 strategic framework codified that philosophy, setting a target for each member to reach defense spending of 5 percent of GDP by 2035 under the principle of “national readiness.”
That bar is almost unreachable for most members. France, with its nuclear triad, hovers around 2.3 percent. Germany is barely at 2. Italy lags at 1.7. Against this backdrop, Turkiye — already exceeding 2 percent — stands out as the only ally positioned for a rapid ramp-up in defense spending.
That’s why NATO’s attention has pivoted sharply toward Ankara. Secretary-General Mark Rutte, who took office in early 2025, has repeatedly underscored Turkiye’s “key role in deterrence along the southern flank and in strengthening the alliance’s industrial backbone.” His remarks after the Prague summit left little room for doubt: “Without Turkiye’s contribution, NATO cannot close its technological gap with Russia.”
Europe Between Shortage and Dependence
Europe’s defense industry is straining under the weight of wartime demand. After three years of supplying Ukraine, the continent’s production base has been effectively scorched. Factories in Germany, the Czech Republic, and France are running at full throttle but still failing to refill even their own stockpiles.
The problem isn’t just capacity — it’s infrastructure. For decades, Europe lived under the U.S. security umbrella and never built a fully independent logistics chain. Now it’s scrambling to recreate what Turkiye never lost: a dense ecosystem of manufacturers, testing centers, maintenance hubs, technical universities, and defense R&D labs.
Ankara, ever pragmatic, is capitalizing on the moment. It’s not merely selling weapons — it’s offering partnerships. The model it pioneered with Poland and Romania operates on a “build it yourself, but with us” principle: Turkiye provides the technological foundation, while its partners share production and gain access to export markets.
That formula gives Turkiye’s approach a resilience the U.S. model lacks. Instead of creating dependency, Ankara’s co-production deals create mutual necessity. The result: Turkiye isn’t just an economic player within NATO’s supply chain — it’s becoming a strategic one.
Competition as a Catalyst for Integration
Ironically, competition is what’s making Turkiye indispensable. European governments, fearing the loss of domestic contracts, are now compelled to collaborate with Ankara to keep their own production chains viable. Turkish defense firms are expanding aggressively across Europe: Baykar acquired Italy’s Piaggio Aerospace, a maker of aircraft engines, while Canik Arms purchased Britain’s AEI Systems, known for its barrels and turret systems.
These aren’t routine business moves; they’re strategic footholds. Turkiye is transforming defense production into a tool of geo-economic influence — the same way it once leveraged energy corridors to build regional power.
By 2025, one can already speak of a “Turkish industrial belt” stretching across Europe. Baykar, Aselsan, and Roketsan have operational hubs in Poland, Croatia, and Italy. In Hungary, joint armored vehicle assembly lines are underway. In Germany, talks are advancing on localizing components for air defense systems.
And all of this is happening outside Brussels’ formal frameworks. Turkiye is bypassing EU bureaucracy and projecting influence through the economy — a quieter, but far more durable kind of power.
Ankara’s Geopolitical Capital
Turkiye’s role in NATO can’t be measured by contracts or hardware alone. Its real asset is geopolitical. The country controls the Bosporus and Dardanelles, bridges Europe and the Middle East, and brings decades of hard-earned experience in conflict zones and crisis stabilization.
That experience is invaluable for an alliance increasingly drawn into hybrid conflicts — from migration waves to cyberwarfare. Ankara doesn’t deal in theories or white papers; it delivers field-tested solutions. It remains NATO’s only member simultaneously conducting live combat operations while maintaining an independent industrial base.
Industrial Leadership as a New Form of Power
For Turkiye, economics has always been an extension of geopolitics. It became an energy crossroads and a transportation hub between Europe and Asia — and now it’s applying that same formula to defense.
Unlike the U.S. or France, Turkiye’s model isn’t built around massive defense conglomerates. Its strength lies in agility. There’s no suffocating bureaucracy slowing decisions; the state sets the framework but doesn’t choke initiative. As a result, over the past decade, a new generation of Turkish engineers and entrepreneurs has emerged — lean, inventive, and competitive with their Western peers.
Nothing embodies this evolution better than Baykar — a company that began with small drones and, in less than a decade, became a global defense brand, exporting to dozens of countries. Around Baykar has grown a full-fledged ecosystem of electronics, engine, and communications firms — the locomotive of an entire sector. Aselsan, Roketsan, TAI, and Havelsan each own a slice of that technological landscape, forming a network capable of producing everything from sensors to satellites.
This diversification is precisely what allows Turkiye to serve as NATO’s industrial donor — the one ally bridging Europe’s gap between military ambition and industrial reality.
Political Will as the Ultimate Resource
Defense production is more than an economic metric; it’s a reflection of political will. And that’s where Turkiye outpaces Europe.
When the debate over supplying Ukraine with ammunition bogged Brussels down in endless procedural wrangling in 2023–2024, Turkiye simply doubled shell production and started exporting to its allies. While Europe drafted frameworks, Ankara built factories.
That contrast has redefined Turkiye’s image — from a peripheral partner to a decisive actor capable of acting independently yet still in NATO’s interest. For an alliance struggling with internal discord and rising skepticism within the U.S., that decisiveness carries strategic weight.
From the Periphery to the Core
A decade ago, Turkiye was seen as a geographic necessity — important, but industrially marginal. Today, the tables have turned. Europe now finds itself seeking cooperation with the very partner it once tried to sideline.
Where Germany, France, and the U.K. long formed NATO’s industrial triad, Turkiye is emerging as a fourth pillar — one that not only manufactures but also coordinates. Its role within NATO projects now extends well beyond localized production. The Presidency of Defense Industries (SSB) participates in strategic planning, sits in permanent consultation with NATO command, and helps shape alliance-wide standards and certifications.
That’s not symbolic; it’s structural recognition. NATO’s long-term viability now depends, in part, on Turkish capability.
Looking Ahead: NATO 2035
If current trends hold, the alliance will enter the next decade fundamentally reconfigured. The U.S. will stay focused on the Pacific, Europe will have to rebuild its own industrial backbone, and Turkiye will sit at the center of that network.
The 5-percent-of-GDP defense spending goal set in The Hague isn’t just a fiscal benchmark — it’s a blueprint for transformation. Power in NATO’s next chapter won’t be measured by troop numbers but by the ability to produce, modernize, and sustain advanced weapons systems. On that front, Turkiye already leads much of Europe.
By 2025, defense spending accounts for roughly 2.3 percent of Turkiye’s GDP — but its efficiency far exceeds that of its neighbors. More than 70 percent of the weaponry supplied to its armed forces is domestically produced. By 2030, Ankara aims for 85 percent — a threshold that would make it not just self-sufficient, but a net technology exporter within NATO.
Balancing West and Independence
The central question is whether Turkiye can maintain that balance. Its power lies in autonomy, but also in integration. Ankara isn’t opposing NATO, nor is it dissolving into it. It’s one of the rare cases where a nation can simultaneously strengthen the alliance and reduce its dependence on it.
Europe, weary of America’s unpredictability, needs precisely this kind of partner. Turkiye is evolving into more than an arms supplier — it’s becoming a bridge between U.S. strategic instinct and Europe’s cautious pragmatism.
For Ankara itself, this isn’t merely an economic strategy but a political philosophy: self-reliance without isolation. That mindset allows it to act not just as a participant in the security order, but as one of its architects.
NATO’s New Industrial Map
By the fall of 2025, one thing is unmistakable: NATO’s industrial center of gravity is shifting southeast. As U.S. leadership wanes and Europe struggles with fragmentation, Turkiye has become the connective tissue — both strategically and industrially.
Its companies are building ships, developing air defense systems, producing aircraft platforms, and exporting drones and armored vehicles across continents. But beyond the machinery lies a new philosophy of the alliance — decentralized, pragmatic, self-sustaining.
In the early 21st century, NATO’s power was defined by Washington. By mid-century, its shape will increasingly be defined by Ankara — not through rhetoric, but through production lines, blueprints, and contracts.
That’s the paradox of the Trump era: as America pulls back, Turkiye isn’t merely filling the vacuum — it’s redrawing the map of the alliance itself, turning the word ally back into what it was always meant to be — equal.