They love us. They love each other. That was tremendous unification.
In Ankara, a gathering that began under the shadow of fractured alliances and presidential unpredictability closed with something rarer than expected: a working consensus. NATO's July summit produced concrete commitments on Ukraine's air defense, a reaffirmation of collective security, and a quiet but significant shift in how Europe and its partners are choosing to arm themselves — not by waiting on American goodwill, but by building capacity of their own. History does not always move in straight lines, and sometimes the most unlikely summits yield the most durable results.
- Ukrainian cities remain under relentless Russian missile fire, and the global supply of Patriot interceptors — partly drained by Trump's own Iran campaign — has left Kyiv dangerously exposed.
- Trump arrived in Ankara having spent months undermining confidence in NATO's core promise, and the summit's opening hours did little to dispel the familiar tension.
- A breakthrough emerged nonetheless: Ukraine will be licensed to manufacture Patriot interceptors domestically, a practical workaround to a shortage the United States itself helped create.
- Twelve nations committed £37 billion to an independent European long-range missile program, signaling a structural shift away from reliance on American defense production.
- Australia's involvement in the joint PrSM missile project — now joined by the UK — places the Indo-Pacific squarely within the expanding architecture of Western defense manufacturing.
When Donald Trump landed in Ankara for the NATO summit in early July, the atmosphere carried all the familiar signs of dysfunction. He walked past Italy's prime minister without a word, complained about Britain's refusal to back his Iran campaign, and the obligatory leaders' photograph radiated its usual stiffness. Few expected the gathering to produce much of substance.
Yet by the time Trump sat before reporters at his closing press conference, the tone had shifted. He spoke of unity and warmth — words that might ordinarily be dismissed as hyperbole, but which this time were anchored to real outcomes. The most urgent of these addressed Ukraine's critical shortage of Patriot interceptors. With Russian missiles continuing to kill civilians across Ukrainian cities and global supplies exhausted, Trump announced that Ukraine would be licensed to manufacture the interceptors domestically. It was a practical solution to a problem his own military campaign against Iran had helped create.
NATO's communiqué also reaffirmed Article 5 as an 'ironclad commitment' — language that carried weight precisely because Trump had previously cast doubt on whether he would honour it. The doubts have not vanished, but the reaffirmation was a net gain. Trump's relationship with Zelensky had also visibly thawed; where eighteen months earlier he had told the Ukrainian leader bluntly that he held no cards, in Ankara he spoke of love in the room. Zelensky, for his part, deflected a question about travelling to Moscow for peace talks with dry wit: there were, he noted, rather a lot of Ukrainian drones there.
Europe moved in parallel to shore up its own defences. NATO allies assembled a €70 billion support package for Ukraine, funded without American contribution — a quiet signal of where the burden of European security is increasingly falling. Twelve countries, led by the UK, committed £37 billion over the next decade to a new long-range missile program, choosing to build capacity rather than wait on American production lines.
Australia's Defence Industry Minister attended the summit and participated in forums on missile manufacturing. Australia is collaborating with the United States and now the United Kingdom on the Precision Strike Missile — a system already in use in Ukraine — with plans to eventually manufacture it domestically. The range may double over time, and the project places Australia within a broadening network of Western defence industry that extends well beyond the European theatre.
What Ankara produced was not a transformation of Trump's instincts, but a convergence of needs. Ukraine needed a way to arm itself. Europe needed to prove it could act independently. Trump needed a summit that looked like a win. The result was incomplete and fragile — but the machinery of collective defence, against the odds, moved forward.
When Donald Trump touched down in Ankara for a NATO summit in early July, the omens looked grim. The American president had spent months needling European allies, demanding they spend more on defense, threatening trade wars over his fixation on acquiring Greenland, and casting doubt on whether he would actually honor the alliance's core commitment to collective defense. The obligatory family photo of world leaders standing shoulder to shoulder seemed destined to capture the usual awkwardness—and it did. Trump walked past Italian Prime Minister Giorgia Meloni without acknowledgment. He griped about British Prime Minister Keir Starmer's refusal to back military action against Iran. The gathering had all the hallmarks of another fractious Trump performance.
Yet something unexpected unfolded as the summit wound toward its close. By the time Trump sat down for his closing press conference on Wednesday morning—early Thursday by Australian time—the tone had shifted entirely. "I can only say that if there's one word that comes out of today, it's unification," he told reporters. "I've never seen anything like it. They love us. They love each other. That was tremendous unification." The words sounded characteristic of Trump's tendency toward hyperbole, but this time they were anchored to concrete outcomes.
The most urgent of these concerned Ukraine's desperate need for air defense. Russian missiles continue to rain down on Kyiv and other Ukrainian cities, killing and maiming civilians with relentless frequency. Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelensky has been pleading for Patriot interceptors—the sophisticated missiles that can shoot down incoming Russian strikes—but global supplies have dried up. The American manufacturer Lockheed Martin cannot produce them fast enough to meet demand. Trump's own military campaign against Iran had consumed vast quantities of these missiles, costing billions of dollars and leaving allied nations waiting in line for their own systems. At the summit, Trump announced a solution: Ukraine would be licensed to manufacture Patriot interceptors domestically. "We'll give them the right to make Patriots," he said, sitting alongside Zelensky. "We'll show them how to do it. I think they can produce them pretty quickly." It was a practical fix to a problem Trump himself had worsened.
The second significant outcome involved NATO's foundational commitment. The alliance's communiqué reaffirmed Article 5—the provision stating that an attack on one member constitutes an attack on all—as an "ironclad commitment." This language mattered because Trump had previously cast doubt on whether he would honor the pledge, particularly when he threatened trade wars with Europe earlier in the year over Greenland. The doubts will never fully disappear given the constant risk of new disputes with Trump, but the reaffirmation represented a net gain for one of the world's most vital security arrangements.
The tone of Trump's meeting with Zelensky also marked a striking reversal. Eighteen months earlier, in February 2025, Trump had told the Ukrainian leader bluntly: "You have no cards." In Ankara, he spoke of unity and warmth. "There was a lot of love in that room," he said of their encounter. When Trump asked whether Zelensky would travel to Moscow for peace negotiations, the Ukrainian president replied with dry humor: "It's difficult. There are a lot of Ukrainian drones there." The exchange suggested a relationship that had thawed considerably.
Europe itself moved to shore up its own defenses independent of American support. NATO allies assembled a €70 billion support package for Ukraine—roughly $115 billion—to purchase military equipment from the United States and other suppliers. Trump contributed nothing to this fund, a reminder that Europe is increasingly bearing the cost of its own security. More significantly, the UK and eleven other countries committed to spending £37 billion over the next decade on a new long-range missile system called the Deep Precision Strike project. With Russian threats mounting and missile stocks depleted, European nations are building up their own defense manufacturing capacity rather than relying solely on American production.
Australia's security interests intersected with these developments in concrete ways. Defense Industry Minister Pat Conroy attended the summit and participated in a defense industry forum focused heavily on missile production. Australia has been collaborating with the United States on a Precision Strike Missile—known as PrSM, pronounced "prism"—that can be fired from the High Mobility Artillery Rocket System launch vehicles Australia has already acquired and that are currently in use in Ukraine. The missiles are being designed to strike targets 500 kilometers away, with the possibility of doubling that range over time. Just before the NATO summit, the UK confirmed it would join the PrSM project alongside Australia and the United States. As Europe expands its defense manufacturing, Australia is pursuing plans to manufacture its own long-range PrSMs domestically, contingent on operational need and cost-effectiveness.
What emerged from Ankara was not a sudden transformation in Trump's approach to alliances, but rather a convergence of interests. Ukraine needed missiles it could produce itself. Europe needed to demonstrate it could defend itself without depending entirely on American goodwill. Trump needed to show he could deliver results at a major summit. The outcome was messy and incomplete—Trump's doubts about NATO remain, his demands for European spending persist, and his unpredictability continues to unsettle allies. But for a moment, the machinery of collective defense actually moved forward.
Notable Quotes
We'll give them the right to make Patriots. We'll show them how to do it. I think they can produce them pretty quickly.— Trump, on licensing Patriot missile production to Ukraine
It's difficult. There are a lot of Ukrainian drones there.— Zelensky, when asked if he would travel to Moscow for peace talks
The Hearth Conversation Another angle on the story
Why did Trump suddenly shift tone at the end of the summit? Was it genuine?
It's hard to know what's genuine with Trump. But the outcomes suggest something real happened—the Patriot licensing deal addresses an actual crisis, and the NATO reaffirmation of Article 5 was something allies needed on record. Whether he meant the warm words about unity is almost beside the point.
The missile shortage seems to be the hinge on which everything turned.
Exactly. Ukraine is being shredded by Russian air strikes, and there simply aren't enough Patriot interceptors in the world. Trump's Iran campaign made that worse. Licensing production to Ukraine wasn't charity—it was the only practical solution anyone could find.
But Trump didn't contribute to the €70 billion support package. Doesn't that undercut the unity narrative?
It does, in a way. Europe is essentially saying: we'll fund Ukraine ourselves because we can't count on American consistency. That's not unity—that's self-preservation. But it's also Europe finally accepting it needs to build its own defense capacity.
What about the Australia angle? Why does a NATO summit matter for Australian security?
Because the missile systems being developed and manufactured in Europe and the US will shape what Australia can acquire and produce. The PrSM project is a direct line from NATO decisions to Australian defense capability. If Europe and the US are serious about long-range precision strike, Australia needs to be part of that ecosystem.
Is there a risk Trump changes his mind about the Patriot licensing?
Always. But once you license technology, it's harder to take back. Ukraine will have the knowledge and the capability. That's more durable than a promise from Trump.
So the summit succeeded despite Trump, not because of him?
More like: it succeeded because everyone else worked around him. The allies got what they needed, Ukraine got a path forward, and Trump got to declare victory. That's not ideal, but it's functional.