In Ankara, amidst the sounds of a neo-Ottoman Janissary band, the iconostasis of the NATO temple—while not collapsing entirely—was rent asunder. For NATO—that is, for the old transatlantic political-military defensive alliance—the Janissaries’ trumpets sounded the “Last Post.” In its place, serving as a memento, there remains only the project of a transatlantic synergy; its future will hinge on the financial solvency of European governments—including their capacity to incur debt on behalf of future generations, primarily to purchase American military equipment that is already technologically obsolete (for surely no one believes the US would support the creation of a rival military power in Europe), and secondarily, to invest in their own military-industrial complexes, which will only bear fruit in the long run—that is, when we are all long dead.

Let us recall that the Janissaries were an elite corps of the Ottoman standing infantry, composed of men forcibly recruited in childhood from Christian European populations and subsequently converted to Islam. Their symbolic inclusion in the summit’s protocol may well have suggested to the guests that the Ottoman Empire’s military might rested upon the Islamization of Europe’s Christian children—just as, today, NATO’s power rests upon the Islamization of Europe.

The imperial banquet hosted by Recep Tayyip Erdoğan—featuring an opulent menu rooted in Ottoman cuisine—was more reminiscent of Suleiman the Magnificent (whom King Francis I of France respectfully called “the Grand Turk”) than of Kemal Atatürk (“Father of the Turks”). It marked the funeral of transatlantic unity and the christening of a G2—Turkey and the USA—operating for now within NATO; this signals a shift in the Middle East’s security architecture, while simultaneously leaving the Europeans to their own devices, to God, and to… Russia.

Upon his triumphant return from the Trojan War, Agamemnon’s wife, Clytemnestra, laid out purple tapestries in his path—symbolizing the red earth that, at the dawn of European civilization, was considered the “path of the gods.” In the Roman Empire, purple was the imperial color. Following Roman tradition, during the European Middle Ages, only kings and leaders of the Christian Church had the right to use red fabrics—placing them at the foot of their thrones or along the approach to them—as the color symbolized absolute power. In modern republican diplomacy, the first recorded instance of a red carpet being laid for a high-ranking official occurred in 1821 in Georgetown, South Carolina, to honor the visiting U.S. President, James Monroe. Subsequently, this custom became widespread and was adopted into universal state protocol as a mark of supreme respect for guests of the highest rank. From this origin—passing through the practice established by American railway companies of laying a red carpet for boarding first-class carriages, and its later adoption by Hollywood for the lavish Oscars ceremonies—came the expression “red carpet treatment.”

This age-old tradition was broken at the NATO Summit in Ankara, where the turquoise hue characteristic of Ottoman Islamic artistic traditions colored the carpets laid out for the Euro-Atlantic guests. Here is a symbol that speaks volumes—more than all the official statements and self-congratulatory remarks of the leaders present at the event. It is a symbol through which Turkey signals a truly historic shift: the abandonment of a civilization rooted in Greek poetry, the Christian religion, and Roman law, in favor of the resurgence of Eastern civilizational power. By denying heads of state and government from NATO and the EU the “red carpet treatment”—and instead compelling them to walk a path marked by a turquoise carpet—President Erdoğan made it clear (to those capable or willing to understand) that their power is no longer relevant, and thus no longer commands—nor receives—respect from Turkey. Turkey stands as the successor to the old Ottoman Empire—an entity against which Europeans once defined their own identity—and is now “great again,” or at the very least, on the verge of becoming so.

As this shift unfolds—amidst humanity’s entry into the “Asian century” and the strategic defeat of the US in the Black Sea (where Ukraine has rejected the 28 points of the American peace plan while Russia continues its territorial advance, shattering the entire US security architecture in Eastern Europe), in Palestine (where Israel rejects the Washington-backed two-state solution in favor of a “Greater Israel” stretching from the Nile to the Euphrates), in Lebanon (where Israel is trampling on the US-brokered ceasefire), and in the Persian Gulf (where the US failed to defend its fortified positions near Iran and, consequently, could not honor its security guarantees to the region’s Arab states), alongside the European impasse in the war with Russia, the EU’s systemic crisis, and transatlantic tensions—this situation ought to rouse European states from their slumber and make them realize that the military security provided by the Americans, much like the energy security previously provided by the Russians, is no longer available to them.

A NATO without the US is possible, but it would no longer be the same NATO that Europeans have lived with, grown accustomed to, and relied upon for development free from security fears. A political Europe without Turkey is possible, yet it cannot become the global player it might have been had it integrated Turkey. A collective Europe in strategic conflict with both Russia and China faces, at best, the prospect of becoming an unfunded history museum—devoid of global strategic relevance—unless it relapses into the nightmare of internecine wars. A smaller, “Europeanized” NATO—even one supplemented by transatlantic synergy—is not the solution. Everything must change, starting with how Europeans view themselves and how they relate to the rest of the world (particularly the collective East and the collective South).

The End of “European America”

As a rising maritime power with ambitions to advance its interests and secure exclusive global influence, the United States clashed with the European colonial empires that had established the international order. Naturally, these powers opposed American aspirations for a seat at the table of global decision-makers—much as the U.S. today opposes China’s rise as a global superpower.

In its struggle against the European-dominated world order, the U.S. pinned great hopes on conflicts among the Europeans—specifically between imperial nations and multinational empires, as well as among members within each of these groups. This dynamic enabled the U.S. to promote a “democratic” and “liberal” international policy; while European imperialists carved up the world among themselves—whether through colonial wars or agreements designed to avert conflict—the U.S. could position itself as a champion of national emancipation for oppressed colonies. Initially, of course, this applied to its immediate neighborhood in Latin America, followed by Asia, and finally Africa. This occurred after certain European empires (such as France and Russia) had supported American aspirations for independence (the War of Independence) and territorial unity (the Civil War)—albeit, naturally, to strike blows against their own European rivals (such as England).

It is thus understandable why, until recently, Europe was the most important continent for American geopolitics, and why the prospect of the continent being dominated by a single power (such as Germany or Russia) or an alliance between them (such as a Russo-German pact) represented a supreme threat to the US—one that had to be averted at all costs. Intra-European conflict was acceptable as long as no single power was in a position to defeat the others and bring them all under its sway. In the latter scenario—as Germany attempted in 1914 and 1940, and Soviet Russia after 1945—the US would abandon the isolationism afforded by its two-ocean buffer and send its sons to die for “Europe’s freedom.”

While poetically termed a “blood tribute for freedom,” American military intervention in Europe was, in reality, a “blood investment” that—like any investment—was expected to yield a profit; a profit reaped primarily from the “saved” continent and its overseas holdings, and secondarily from territories not yet claimed by the continent’s own actors. That is precisely what the Marshall Plan was about.

Thus, America became a European actor, while Europe—first its western half (after World War II) and subsequently the entire continent up to the borders of the former Soviet Russia (after the Cold War)—transformed into a “European America.” The US assured Europeans that they no longer needed to worry about their security, as this had become the responsibility of the occupying American nuclear superpower, allowing them to focus instead on economic development. This arrangement benefited both parties: US consumers could purchase high-quality, affordable European goods; investors found profitable capital outlets within the European economy; and industrialists gained lucrative access to a liberalized, solvent European market. These factors facilitated the recovery and growth of the European economy, the rise of the welfare state and European prosperity—which were both linked to and served as a guarantee of peace in the region—and the eventual formation of the European Union.

NATO was established to keep Russia at bay, ensure Germany remained militarily impotent, and prevent an alliance between the two. The cost of this arrangement was borne by the US taxpayer through massive military budgets; in the long run, beyond merely satisfying the military-industrial complex, this led to both the country’s deindustrialization—as capital fled to more hospitable locations opened up by American power itself—and its excessive indebtedness.

Overextended militarily across the globe, the US has—over a virtually endless period—devoted resources to armaments and security (priorities that became all the more pressing as its dominance grew) at the expense of economic development and social investment. Moreover, in its struggle against European rivals, it inevitably fostered the rise of new national powers or the resurgence of former imperial ones. Now, having triumphed in Europe, the US finds itself challenged and drawn into strategic rivalries on other continents. Europe—Americanized to the point of becoming a veritable “European America”—thus transforms from an asset of the American unipolar order into a vulnerability. If it wishes to be great again, America must shed its European extension (just as it must shed its Israeli alter ego).

American power is no longer threatened today by either a collective Europe or Russia. It is futile for Europeans to attempt to portray the latter as the primary threat to Europe. The Russia of today is not—nor does it wish to be, nor can it be—the former USSR, let alone the former Warsaw Pact. The Russian army of today is not the Wehrmacht.

And even if such a threat were to exist, it would be directed at Europeans, not the USA. Consequently, since the strategic interests of a collective Europe and the USA no longer align, the strategic rationale for the North Atlantic alliance has lost its foundation. America’s strategic rivals lie elsewhere. Thus, remaining tethered to Europe could prove fatal for the USA.

Indeed, maintaining NATO within its current framework—an evolution of the logic dictated by the imperatives of its inception—defies the natural order. Therefore, even if not explicitly stated, the NATO Summit in Ankara marked the USA’s decision (that of the Trump administration and any subsequent one—let us harbor no illusions on this score) to dismantle “European America” ​​and restore freedom to the Europeans; with that freedom—granted even against their own wishes—comes the obligation to rediscover their cultural and geopolitical identity and to assume responsibility for defending it.

The summit began with one NATO and ended with another. The former was a giant, ancient crustacean struggling to survive in a dried-up sea. The latter is an empty shell wherein one can hear the majestic roar of the ocean, yet which holds neither life nor sea.

The “Euro-Atlantic Turkey” Parenthesis

In exercising its self-assumed role as a global superpower, the US did not proceed to fully “Americanize” the strategic region of the Middle East—where its order could be challenged by the former Ottoman and Persian empires—in the same way it had Americanized Europe.

The first step taken there was to bring Turkey into its anti-Soviet camp, despite the long-standing affinity between Sovietism and Kemalism rooted in significant ideological compatibility. While Orthodox Russia had once served as a major bulwark against the Islamic expansion represented by the Ottoman Empire, both Vladimir Lenin’s revolution and Mustafa Kemal’s revolution were anti-clerical. Ultimately, however, geography trumped ideology; in the bipolar world order—and given Turkey’s need to resolve its historic dispute with Greece—NATO appeared to the Ankara government as a more attractive and reassuring alliance than the Warsaw Pact.

To take matters further and curb any Turkish revisionist ambitions or imperial nostalgia, the US—along with its key European ally, Great Britain—pushed for Turkey’s integration into the EU, with the establishment of a Turkish-European customs union serving as the initial step. Had the EU responded positively to these overtures, it would have gained the necessary leverage to transform itself from a regional power into a global one. For its part, the US would have gained the advantage of further strengthening the transatlantic strategic bond—with Turkey serving as a second anchor for American power on European soil—and ensuring that Turkey adopted a Middle East policy aligned with the American agenda, rather than aspiring to be a strategically autonomous actor in the region. The more deeply Turkey was involved in EU politics, the less interested and engaged it would have been in Middle Eastern affairs, thereby leaving the field open for the assertion of Israeli supremacy.

This strategy failed due to the national self-interest of the EU’s key players—France and Germany—and their lack of a global vision. Ostensibly, they were concerned about preserving the purity of the Christian identity of a political Europe. In reality, the Franco-German engine driving the EU would not countenance attaching a motor with the immense power of Turkey’s to the vehicle they dominated. Thus, having been betrothed to Europe out of American self-interest but with no real prospect of becoming its bride, Turkey decided to regain its strategic autonomy; this drove it back toward the Arab-Muslim East and—following the collapse of the USSR—toward the newly accessible Turkic world of Central Asia and Transcaucasia.

By Adrian Severin