Donald Trump showed up to the NATO summit in Ankara, called Iranian leaders 'scum,' ordered US warplanes to bomb targets along the Strait of Hormuz, threatened to cut trade with Spain, floated seizing Greenland again, and still somehow left the whole thing technically classified as a success. NATO is alive. The bar is on the floor. Everyone is coping.
What Actually Happened in Ankara (It's a Lot)
Let's run through the tape. According to The Guardian, Trump arrived at the Ankara summit doing what Trump does at NATO summits: swinging. He threatened to take Greenland. He threatened Spain with trade cuts. He declared the ceasefire with Iran dead on arrival and had US warplanes hitting Iranian targets along the Strait of Hormuz while the summit was still happening. He called Iranian leadership 'scum.' Then he signed onto a communique pledging 'ironclad commitment to collective defence under Article 5.'
So: bombs, insults, annexation threats, and then a firm handshake for the cameras. A completely normal diplomatic summit from the leader of the free world.
The Guardian's Paul Taylor points out that no NATO communique ever had a prayer of public attention competing against that kind of spectacle. Which is, of course, the point. While everyone was watching Trump breathe fire, the actual substance of the summit quietly did what summits do: it produced pledges, declarations, and a fresh bumper sticker slogan. This year's model: 'a stronger Europe in a stronger NATO.' Print it on a tote bag.
The 5% Promise and the Europeans Writing Big Checks
Here is what the summit was actually supposed to be about. The Guardian reports that Ankara was meant to deliver on NATO's pledge for member states to invest 5% of GDP in defence and related infrastructure by 2035, accelerate allied defence industries, and put long-term support for Ukraine on stable footing. On paper, according to Taylor, it ticked all three boxes.
European allies and Canada announced coordinated purchases worth tens of billions of dollars, covering things like air-to-air refuelling tankers, long-range precision missiles, and air-defence systems. The message from Europe was clear: we are spending the money, we are serious, stop yelling at us.
But here is the catch buried in the fine print. The summit declaration included language about eliminating 'defence trade barriers among allies,' which sounds great until you realize nobody could agree on what it actually meant. The Guardian notes it was unclear whether this was a warning shot at the EU for pushing 'buy European' procurement rules, or a plea to Washington to ease technology transfer restrictions that leave allies without full control over US weapons systems they already paid for. A sentence that means two opposite things simultaneously is not a policy. It is a hostage situation written in diplomat.
Pete Hegseth Quietly Threatened Everyone
While Trump was doing his thing at the podium, Defence Secretary Pete Hegseth was doing his thing in the hallways. The Guardian reports that Hegseth put allies on notice: the Pentagon is conducting a six-month review of US troop presence in Europe, and Washington could use troop withdrawals as punishment for allies deemed to have 'failed.'
What counts as failing? Great question. Hegseth left that deliberately vague. The Guardian notes it was never clarified whether the fail grade would come from insufficient defence spending or from insufficient support for the US war on Iran. Those are two very different things. One is a longstanding NATO burden-sharing argument. The other is 'join our Middle East war or we leave you exposed to Russia.' The ambiguity is not an accident.
This is the core anxiety that no summit communique can paper over. European allies are spending more, building more, and signing more contracts than at any point in a generation. And they still do not know if the US has their back, because the person who decides that changes his answer depending on the news cycle and what he had for breakfast.
Ukraine Won Something, Which Is Not Nothing
The single most substantive shift from last year's summit in The Hague was on Ukraine, and credit where it is due: it matters. The Guardian reports that NATO officially declared 'Ukraine contributes to transatlantic security, and allies stand united in our unwavering support for Ukraine in defending its freedom, sovereignty and territorial integrity.'
Sixteen months ago, Trump was standing in the Oval Office telling Volodymyr Zelenskyy that he 'didn't have the cards' and the cameras were rolling. Now the alliance he leads has put its name on a statement of unwavering support for Ukrainian sovereignty. Trump also promised Ukraine would be allowed to build Patriot missile interceptors under licence, which is a genuinely significant military development.
The Guardian gives real credit to NATO Secretary General Mark Rutte, along with the UK, France, and Germany, for holding the line and gradually dragging Trump toward Kyiv's corner. They consistently defended Zelenskyy and blocked US pressure to force an unfair ceasefire that would have handed Putin territorial gains for his invasion. That is not nothing. That is, in fact, the whole ballgame.
The Putin Problem Nobody Wants to Say Out Loud
Here is the uncomfortable question The Guardian raises and nobody at the summit podium is going to answer. Vladimir Putin was watching all of this. Which version of the summit did he file away: the solemn Article 5 commitments and the Ukraine solidarity declaration, or the US president calling allies failures, threatening to seize Danish territory, and bombing Iran while the meeting was still running?
Taylor's analysis in The Guardian is blunt about this. Putin is stuck in an unwinnable war he blames on NATO expansionism. If he concludes that Trump, whatever the communique says, would not lift a finger to defend Estonia or Latvia in a crisis, that calculation matters enormously. A paper tiger with a nice communique is still a paper tiger.
The Turkish president Recep Tayyip Erdogan, the autocrat turned summit host, apparently gave NATO leaders customised engraved revolvers with live ammunition as a parting gift. The Guardian notes the symbolism was not lost on everyone in the room. It is either a charming local tradition or the most on-the-nose metaphor for the current state of the alliance that anyone has ever accidentally produced. Possibly both.
The Dingo Take
NATO is not dead. That is genuinely good news and worth saying clearly. The alliance absorbed another Trump summit, produced real commitments on defence spending, moved meaningfully on Ukraine, and lived to argue about it another day. If you had told European defence ministers in 2017 that this is where things would land in 2026, most of them would have taken that deal.
But let's not confuse survival with health. The Guardian's framing is exactly right: no alliance can feel secure when its most powerful member is run by someone who treats transatlantic diplomacy, in Taylor's words, like a no-holds-barred cage fight. The Europeans are spending the money. They are building the weapons. They are holding the line on Ukraine. And they are doing all of it while wondering if the guy who controls the nuclear umbrella is going to wake up tomorrow and decide Spain had it coming.
Somewhere in Moscow, Putin is watching all of this very carefully. He is not reading the communique. He is watching the man. And the man just bombed Iran, threatened to annex Greenland, and called the whole thing a win. The alliance survived. But 'survived' is a low bar to be celebrating this loudly.
