When the Polish President Andrzej Duda welcomed Türkiye into the Three Seas Initiative (3SI) as a “strategic partner,” the applause in Warsaw echoed louder in Ankara. But make no mistake: this was no love letter from Europe—it was a memorandum of mutual utility. The Turkish state-run media, notably Türkiye quoting Anadolu Agency, framed the development as a geopolitical coup, branding Türkiye the “security line of Europe.” In Turkish political semiotics, that translates loosely into: “You may not like us, but you’ll need us.”
The 3SI, launched in 2015 under the joint auspices of Poland and Croatia, is an infrastructural initiative aiming to plug the gaps—transport, energy, digital—between the Baltic, Adriatic, and Black Seas. Initially a club of twelve EU member states, it has since expanded both in ambition and guests. Greece joined as a full member in 2023. This year, Montenegro and Albania were handed associate memberships, while Türkiye and Spain earned the “strategic partner” moniker—a diplomatic term for “you’re not quite in, but close enough to be useful.”
Ankara has embraced this role with fervour. For Türkiye, the Three Seas Initiative isn’t a stage for European camaraderie; it’s a corridor of commercial relevance and geopolitical reassertion. The route may be north-south, but Türkiye’s gaze is firmly east-west.
Türkiye doesn’t just want to be the bridge. It wants to charge the toll.
Infrastructure is not new to Türkiye’s regional playbook. What’s new is the overt blending of infrastructure with strategy under European endorsement. At the 10th 3SI Summit in Warsaw, Transport Minister Abdulkadir Uraloğlu presented Türkiye not as a participant, but as a linchpin. Central to the pitch is the Via Carpatia highway project—a transport spine that begins in Klaipeda, Lithuania, and winds its way south through Poland, Slovakia, Hungary, Romania, eventually reaching Thessaloniki and then Istanbul.
That final leg—from Thessaloniki to Istanbul—is more than asphalt and ambition. It is an assertion that Türkiye, despite its EU freeze-out, remains vital to Europe’s logistical future. Türkiye called it “a strategic line of resilience.” A more honest subtitle would be “Europe can’t get there without us.”
Indeed, the geopolitical overtones are inescapable. In a continent bruised by energy insecurity post-Ukraine, the eastern flank has become the fixation of both Brussels and Washington. The United States remains a firm supporter of the 3SI, and while it may not shout about Türkiye’s involvement, it surely notes the advantage of Turkish cooperation along Black Sea corridors. Ankara, never one to let a crisis go unleveraged, has played its cards with the studied patience of a man watching others panic-buy coal.
COSCO, the Bosporus, and a rerouted Silk Road
One of the least subtle tensions underlying the Turkish enthusiasm for the Three Seas Initiative is its potential to create alternative routes for Chinese goods. The Chinese state-owned shipping giant COSCO has long used the Port of Piraeus—owned through layers of Greek docility—as a Mediterranean hub. But with Ankara tightening its grip on logistics, from Marmaray to the Edirne-Kars rail corridor, Türkiye now whispers to Beijing: “Why dock in Athens when you can cross the continent faster through Anatolia?”
The Türkiye report places heavy emphasis on the infrastructural gap in Eastern Europe—€550 billion in unmet needs across transport, energy, and telecommunications by 2030. That gap, Ankara wagers, is not just a European vulnerability—it is a Turkish opportunity. With connections to the Trans-Anatolian Natural Gas Pipeline (TANAP) and growing logistics with Azerbaijan and Central Asia, Türkiye positions itself as Europe’s plug-in module for eastward extension. Or, if you prefer brutal clarity: Ankara wants to make the Piraeus less essential.
And what of Greece? The timing of Turkish infrastructural assertiveness contrasts sharply with Athens’ relatively modest role in the 3SI. Though a full member, Greece lacks the logistical tentacles Türkiye has spent years cultivating. While Athens focuses on port privatisations, Türkiye designs corridors. One moves containers; the other moves influence.
Diplomatic convenience or geopolitical doublethink?
If the 3SI was conceived as a counterweight to Russian influence, then Türkiye’s inclusion raises a particularly arched eyebrow. Ankara’s relationship with Moscow is—how shall we say—complicated. It buys Russian energy, hosts Ukrainian grain talks, and sells drones to Kyiv. It is, in essence, the geopolitical equivalent of dating two people who don’t speak to each other, while also offering to cater their respective weddings.
Still, Türkiye’s inclusion is not without precedent. The 3SI has long embraced a pragmatic approach to membership, preferring utility over purity. And Türkiye, to be fair, offers plenty of utility. Its geography straddles trade, its military straddles NATO, and its diplomacy straddles ambiguity. The EU may mutter about democratic regression, but it signs energy deals all the same. Brussels often prefers a reliable transactional partner to an unreliable ideological one.
Yet here lies the irony: Ankara’s flirtation with the 3SI comes at a time when its EU accession dreams are more fossilised than a Hittite stele. Strategic partnership may be the new consolation prize, but it’s one Türkiye has learned to monetise handsomely.
The Greek factor: Watching from the sidelines
For Greece, Türkiye’s strategic hitchhiking onto the Three Seas Initiative presents both a warning and a lesson. The warning: regional influence isn’t granted, it’s built—one rail, one corridor, one customs union at a time. The lesson: European integration may confer legitimacy, but it doesn’t guarantee relevance.
While Greece may remain diplomatically integrated, its infrastructural narrative lacks the punch of its Anatolian neighbour. The Port of Piraeus is a COSCO asset, the Thessaloniki port remains underutilised, and the Belgrade corridor is more promise than progress. With the Via Carpatia threatening to bypass Greek logistical gravity altogether, Athens must decide whether to be a waypoint or a destination.
Even more disconcerting: Türkiye’s ability to present itself as both a NATO bulwark and a Eurasian interlocutor. This flexibility—anchored more in calculation than conviction—allows Ankara to extract concessions where others merely make requests. In that light, Greece’s overt Western alignment, while noble, is less versatile.
Who owns the road owns the route
Infrastructure is ideology with concrete. The Three Seas Initiative, for all its bureaucratic façade, is not a pipe dream—it is a pipeline strategy. It reflects a Europe recalibrating its centre of gravity eastward, building redundancies away from the old Franco-German core. And in that recalibration, Türkiye sees leverage.
Not moral leverage. Not institutional leverage. But leverage of steel, gas, and freight. The kind that shows up in procurement contracts, not communiqués.
In a region where war has made infrastructure political and logistics strategic, Ankara’s reading of the Three Seas Initiative is brutally lucid. It sees an opportunity not to join Europe, but to interlock with it. It does not beg for inclusion—it invoices for relevance.
And while European officials will continue to speak in the hushed tones of shared values and regional cohesion, Türkiye has already drawn the route. It leads through Istanbul. And it comes with a price.