The disintegration of the Ottoman Empire (1922) marked a moment of collective loss for much of the Muslim world. When Britain and France claimed the Middle East as war spoils from the defeated Mehmed VI, they dismantled more than just imperial borders; they fractured a vision of Islamic unity under a caliphate. That dream, long buried, continues to echo through modern political ambitions.
By Ali Albeash
Nearly a century later, Turkish President Recep Tayyip Erdoğan resurrected elements of that dream—not in name, but in scope. His 2002 rise to power through the Justice and Development Party (AKP) signalled a new era of regional ambition, characterised by diplomacy, trade, and soft expansionism.
One of Erdoğan’s earliest and most strategic alliances was with Syrian President Bashar al-Assad. Shared interests—containing Kurdish separatism, managing Euphrates water rights, and expanding trade—fostered a rare harmony.
Damascus welcomed Turkish goods with minimal tariffs, even at the expense of local industries. Assad honoured the 1987 water-sharing agreement, favourable to Turkey, despite Ankara's frequent non-compliance. Most notably, he pursued a demographic reshaping of Kurdish-majority areas in the north, relocating Arab Sunni tribes to form a buffer zone that tacitly aligned with Turkish security interests.
In many respects, Assad proved to be an ideal neighbour for Erdoğan. But the Arab Spring—and the Syrian uprising of 2011—shattered that rapport.
When peaceful protests escalated into armed conflict, Erdoğan swiftly turned on Assad, calling for his resignation and rebranding himself as a champion of democratic reform in the region. Turkish intelligence was soon accused of facilitating the transfer of jihadist fighters into Syria.
According to the Turkey-based Syrian Revolution Observatory, an estimated 178,000 Islamist militants crossed into Syria between 2011 and 2017. Over 111,000 were reportedly killed in combat. The fate of the remaining fighters remains unclear; many are believed to have returned home or integrated into Syrian militia networks.
Simultaneously, Turkey absorbed between three and four million Syrian refugees, establishing sprawling camps in its southern provinces. Though voluntary returns began after 2020, they were driven more by deteriorating conditions in Turkey than by improvements in Syria.
Erdoğan continued leveraging rebel fighters and shifting alliances in pursuit of a key objective: dismantling Kurdish control in Syria’s northeast. Between 2016 and 2019, Turkey launched three primary military operations—Euphrates Shield, Olive Branch, and Peace Spring—each aimed at curbing Kurdish autonomy. Each ultimately fell short of Ankara’s broader ambitions.
Ironically, the rise of ISIS only strengthened the Kurdish-led Syrian Democratic Forces (SDF), who emerged as a reliable partner for the U.S.-led coalition. Their coordination with international forces led to the capture of key ISIS figures and prolonged the American presence east of the Euphrates, much to Turkey’s frustration.
By late 2024, a dramatic shift occurred. Hay’at Tahrir al-Sham (HTS) overthrew Assad’s government in Damascus. Erdoğan, who had recently renewed calls for dialogue with Assad, pivoted swiftly to embrace the new regime.
Turkey became the first to establish diplomatic ties with HTS’s leadership under Ahmad al-Shara’a, embedding Turkish intelligence officers within the new administration. The move sparked speculation that Erdoğan viewed al-Shara’a as a de facto Ottoman wali, or governor, of Damascus.
Ankara’s demands quickly followed: rebuilding the Syrian army, expanding trade, and constructing Turkish military bases under the guise of counterterrorism. A proposed maritime agreement for gas exploration along Syria’s northwest coast suggests deeper economic motives, particularly amid Turkey’s inflation crisis and post-COVID economic instability, which may reach its climax by late 2025 if circumstances don’t change soon enough.
But the illusion of a neo-Ottoman revival was short-lived.
On April 2, Israeli airstrikes destroyed two Turkish military installations in Homs and Hama. The message was unambiguous: Turkish military entrenchment south of Aleppo would not be tolerated. Ankara’s protests quickly gave way to silence, and Erdoğan acquiesced to Israeli demands.
More setbacks followed. Just days after the U.S. and EU lifted longstanding economic sanctions on Syria, Brussels imposed fresh sanctions on three Turkish-backed factions—Sultan Murad Division, Hamza Division, and Sultan Suleiman Shah Brigade—along with two affiliated commanders, citing alleged abuses during March’s coastal clashes. These factions had been integrated into Syria’s new government with the approval of Turkey.
Although Washington plans to reduce its presence in Kurdish-held Syria to just a few hundred troops by the end of 2025, it remains steadfast in its support for the SDF. Their strategic value—both in counterterrorism and in regional balance—remains indispensable to Western policy.
Earlier this year, France significantly expanded its military aid to the SDF, supplying advanced air defence systems that successfully downed several Turkish Bayraktar TB2 drones. The aerial losses were both symbolic and tactical, prompting several nations to reconsider arms sales to Turkey.
At the Ambassadors' Conference in Paris last month, President Emmanuel Macron avoided inflammatory rhetoric but made clear that Europe aims to reshape regional power dynamics. By reaffirming support for the Kurds, Macron positioned France as both a security guarantor and a geopolitical counterweight to Ankara.
Collectively, these developments reflect a growing international consensus: Turkey’s ambitions in Syria must be constrained. While Ankara may retain influence in regions like Aleppo and Idlib, the broader dream of Turkish dominance over Damascus is being systematically dismantled.
This international containment is compounded by growing domestic volatility. The arrest of Istanbul Mayor Ekrem İmamoğlu on March 19 sparked widespread protests. Charged with corruption and alleged ties to terrorism, his removal is widely seen as a preemptive strike against the opposition ahead of the next election cycle.
Meanwhile, Erdoğan’s government has quietly reopened channels with the Kurdistan Workers’ Party (PKK)—negotiations reportedly mediated by Abdullah Öcalan, and tied to a peace framework in exchange for constitutional recognition of Kurdish rights.
Yet peace remains precarious. Reports indicate that many PKK fighters are relocating to Syria rather than disarming, suggesting strategic stalling ahead of the August 30 deadline for a final agreement.
Ankara, under immense domestic pressure, is eager to seal a deal to stabilise the home front, while also persuading the current Syrian administration to engage the SDF in a war of attrition against ISIS in the desert, thereby weakening Kurdish capabilities in preparation for any future Turkish-Kurdish confrontation.
But unity remains elusive. The opposition is splintering. Despite multiple previous electoral defeats, Kemal Kılıçdaroğlu is still being prompted by the authorities to be reinstalled as the head of the secularist CHP.
His recent emphasis on his Alawite identity has stirred controversy and will deepen sectarian divisions within the party. Turkey now faces a threefold political deadlock: an Islamist-nationalist bloc consolidating power, a fragmented opposition mired in identity politics, and a Kurdish movement suspended between negotiation and revolt.
Overlaying this domestic unease is the spectre of a broader regional war. Amid the Iran-Israel conflict, ultranationalist leader Devlet Bahçeli warned ominously: “What starts in Iran could end in Turkey.” Though inflammatory, his remarks reflect genuine fears among Turkish elites—that Western powers are redrawing the region’s strategic map in ways that marginalise both Ankara and Tehran.
In response, Erdoğan announced plans to accelerate Turkey’s missile program. While presented as a defensive necessity, the announcement revealed a more profound vulnerability: an implicit admission that Turkey’s current defence infrastructure is inadequate for the storm ahead.
When U.S. President Donald Trump recently commended Erdoğan for “taking over Syria for himself,” the praise came laced with irony. Turkey may have filled a vacuum, but in doing so, it has tied its fate to the new Syrian administration. Should that experiment collapse, it is Ankara that will pay the price.
The Ottomans once believed that whoever held Damascus held the key to the world. That belief endures—but it now resides in many hands, not one. Turkey’s neo-Ottoman ambitions may have been born in Damascus, but they are increasingly likely to meet their end there.
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