He's the problem, not the country by Avani Devi

For decades, analysts and journalists have treated Turkey as a geopolitical puzzle: a bridge between East and West, a linchpin in NATO, a rising regional player in the Middle East. Its strategic location, robust economy, and historical clout made it seem almost inevitable that Turkey could assume the dual role of superpower and peacekeeper in a volatile neighborhood. And yet, here we are, watching a nation of nearly 90 million stumble, not because of geography, demography, or destiny, but because of one man: Recep Tayyip Erdoğan.

It is an inconvenient truth often masked by discussions of Turkey’s “problems” in Syria, Libya, or the Eastern Mediterranean. Observers point to creeping authoritarianism, economic instability, or military overreach as if they were structural flaws embedded in the country itself. But those are symptoms. The disease is Erdoğan. His personal style of governance, his moral compromises, and his relentless pursuit of personal power have transformed a potentially stabilizing force into an unpredictable actor whose credibility is near nil.

Erdoğan’s Turkey is not struggling because the world is too complex. It is struggling because Erdoğan has made the world complex. He has spent two decades cultivating an image of strongman competence, but beneath the veneer lies a reputation for corruption, cronyism, and opportunism so well-known that even his allies approach negotiations with suspicion. Loyalty to Erdoğan is transactional, not principled; it is contingent on survival or benefit rather than shared vision or ethical alignment. The institutions that might have tempered his worst impulses—courts, legislatures, even civil service have been hollowed out or repurposed to enforce obedience.

This is not to suggest that Turkey has lost all agency. On the contrary, the country retains remarkable capacity: a dynamic economy, a young population, a strategic position at the crossroads of Europe, Asia, and the Middle East. These assets could make it a regional peacemaker, a mediator between warring factions, a broker of uneasy alliances. Yet Erdoğan has turned these tools into instruments of self-interest, often prioritizing short-term political gain over long-term stability. Foreign policy decisions are increasingly transactional, opportunistic, and unpredictable, leaving allies and rivals unsure whether Turkey will act as a partner, a spoiler, or simply a chaotic bystander.

Take Syria, for example. Once seen as a potential arena for Turkish diplomacy, the conflict has instead become a showcase for Erdoğan’s personal ambitions. Military incursions, shifting alliances, and the instrumentalization of refugees are not the work of a responsible regional power but of a leader seeking to consolidate domestic power, distract from economic woes, and shape a narrative of nationalist heroism. In Libya, the pattern repeats. Erdoğan positions Turkey as a decisive player, but the veneer of influence masks a reputation for transactional deals and a penchant for inflaming tensions when they suit his narrative.

The paradox is that Erdoğan’s personal brand of authoritarianism promising strength and vision while eroding trust and stability has rendered Turkey simultaneously powerful and impotent. Powerful, because he can make unilateral decisions that bend regional politics; impotent, because no one truly believes those decisions will be principled, sustainable, or reliable. Allies hedge. Rivals calculate. Investors hesitate. Diplomats tread lightly. Erdoğan’s Turkey is a country constantly measured against the caprice of one man’s whims, rather than against the aspirations of a nation capable of acting in its own long-term interest.

It is telling that critics often conflate Erdoğan’s failings with Turkey itself. This is an error not just of analysis but of responsibility. Turkey’s history, culture, and people are not the problem; Erdoğan is. There is a stark difference between a nation struggling to define its role on the global stage and a nation struggling because its leader has deliberately undermined the very structures that would enable credibility and influence. Erdoğan has made it impossible for Turkey to be reliably a peacemaker or a superpower because he has made himself the focal point of both admiration and suspicion. The moment you separate Erdoğan from Turkey, the picture changes. The country still has tools, talent, and a strategic position that could make it a stabilizing force. Erdoğan has simply chosen to wield them in ways that serve him, not the collective interest.

Perhaps what is most frustrating and what makes Erdoğan such a dangerous figure—is the illusion of control. He wants the world to see a confident, decisive leader steering a rising power, but in reality, his decisions often exacerbate instability. His reputation for corruption undermines diplomacy before negotiations even begin. His penchant for authoritarianism destabilizes domestic politics and alienates allies. His willingness to bend principles for political expediency makes Turkey’s promises suspect, and its potential as a regional peacemaker a mirage.

Turkey’s challenges are real, but they are surmountable. Erdoğan’s choices, on the other hand, are not just reversible, they are avoidable, had there been a different path taken. It is tempting to blame geography, history, or geopolitics, but such abstractions obscure the truth: Turkey could play a stronger, steadier, and more constructive role if not for Erdoğan himself. Until he is no longer the measure of the state, Turkey’s potential will remain hostage to the ambitions, whims, and moral compromises of a man who has turned personal power into the country’s chief liability.

The lesson is both simple and stark, the world’s eyes may be on Turkey, but the problem is Erdoğan. Not the country. Not the people. Erdoğan.