The Mecca Pact has faltered in the fight against the Houthis. The differing interests of Ankara, Riyadh and Islamabad

Ankara. It appears that the United States is hoping Turkey will commit – including with ‘boots on the ground’ – to the defence of Saudi Arabia, but at present the Turkish President, Recep Tayyip Erdogan, does not seem inclined to embark on any military adventure, least of all now that he is busy clearing the field of opposition ahead of the presidential elections. He does, however, appear willing to provide Riyadh with greater military assistance and a more adequate supply of defence and intelligence systems. US President Donald Trump, on the other hand, has hinted that he might secure a more direct commitment from Ankara to defend Saudi Arabia through military operations against Yemeni Shia militias.

Signed in Mecca on 7 August 2026 by Saudi Arabia, Turkey and Pakistan, the defence pact has been likened by Ankara to Article 5 of NATO. The comparison is misleading: the agreement expresses nothing more than solidarity and a willingness to cooperate, and does not provide for joint command structures or integrated facilities comparable to those of the Atlantic Alliance. The Houthi crisis in Yemen provided the first concrete test of the pact. Drone and missile attacks on Saudi territory and infrastructure put the signatories’ commitments to the test. Pakistan condemned the attacks but ruled out an immediate military response.

Turkey initially focused on de-escalation; subsequently, Foreign Minister Hakan Fidan stated that Ankara is prepared to contribute to Saudi Arabia’s defence needs, but clarified that the agreement is not offensive: Turkey will not send troops to attack Yemen and does not intend to intervene directly in the conflict. Ankara is only considering the deployment of personnel, pilots, aircraft, air defence systems and electronic warfare equipment to protect Saudi infrastructure, but the agreement itself and any supplies must comply with Turkish constitutional procedures, including parliamentary approval.

This crisis reveals the nature of the agreement better than any slogan. It is neither a ‘Muslim NATO’ nor a Sunni bloc automatically aligned against Iran or Israel. The three countries have different priorities: Pakistan is primarily concerned with India; Turkey is focused on Russia, Syria, the Kurds and the eastern Mediterranean; Saudi Arabia is concentrating on Iran, Yemen and the reliability of external protection. Their threat maps overlap only partially. There is no common enemy, and an attack on one does not automatically mean the others will enter the war.

The realist theory of alliances helps to interpret this ambiguity: states cooperate to safeguard their interests and security, not out of mere solidarity. Each seeks commitments that are credible enough to ensure they are not left in the lurch, yet flexible enough to avoid being dragged into an unwanted conflict. Riyadh wants reliable partners; Islamabad has no intention of becoming embroiled in a wider confrontation with Tehran; Ankara wants to increase its influence without compromising NATO or its own freedom of action.

The precedent set by the Central Treaty Organisation (CENTO), a now-defunct Middle Eastern military and security alliance known as the Baghdad Pact, founded in 1955 by Turkey, Iraq, Iran, Pakistan and the United Kingdom, calls for caution: when members have differing priorities, cohesion can weaken. In 2015, Pakistan opted for neutrality regarding the Saudi intervention in Yemen, whilst supporting the kingdom’s territorial integrity.

The agreement may, however, lead to concrete cooperation. Joint exercises and collaboration are planned in the fields of air defence, drones and electronic warfare. But coordinating different systems is complex: Turkey operates within NATO structures, Saudi Arabia relies on Western systems, whilst Pakistan is also linked to the Chinese military ecosystem. Command structures, intelligence arrangements and the criteria for activating collective defence remain to be clarified.

The crisis has highlighted the limits of Saudi diversification. Riyadh asked Washington for direct intervention against the Houthis, but did not receive it immediately; the United States provided intelligence and support in identifying targets and approved the sale of F-35s. The United States is calibrating its involvement, but is not abandoning the region: it remains central in terms of intelligence, advanced weaponry and operational capabilities that are difficult to replace. Riyadh is seeking a broader range of relationships, not a new exclusive protector: security with the United States, economic ties with China, military cooperation with Pakistan and industrial cooperation with Turkey, whilst keeping channels open with Tehran. This diversification broadens Saudi Arabia’s options without eliminating its dependencies. Ankara, too, is asserting its autonomy whilst remaining in NATO; Islamabad is strengthening its ties with the Gulf without turning its back on Beijing.

The Middle East does not appear to be divided into rigid blocs. It is shifting from a hierarchy dominated by a single centre to a geometry of overlapping partnerships. American exclusivity is waning, but Washington’s material primacy remains evident. The Mecca Pact does not resolve the contradictions between the signatories: it provides a framework for negotiating assistance, limits and responsibilities. The crucial question is not merely which side one is on, but which threat one is confronting, with which partners and at what cost.