The post-October 7 Middle East is reorganising around three distinct formations, each with its own internal logic. Iran’s Axis of Resistance, though diminished by the loss of Assad and the degradation of Hezbollah, retains its core organising principle: opposition to Israel and American hegemony. The muqawama framework that binds Tehran to its remaining nodes in Iraq, Lebanon, Yemen, and Gaza is ideological before it is strategic. What has emerged to contest the space it vacated are two newer formations operating on different logics: an Israel-UAE axis that works through separatist movements and non-state armed groups, and an emerging Turkey-Saudi-Qatar alignment that has consistently backed incumbent governments and existing state structures. The Kurds – distributed across all three formations and constrained by each – are where these axes physically collide.

A definitional note is necessary. An “axis” denotes more than convergent interests: it implies sustained coordination across theatres, repeatable joint action, and an institutional or doctrinal architecture that outlasts a single crisis. An “alignment” (or formation) describes a consistent pattern of convergence that may still lack formal mechanisms, mutual commitments, or an articulated doctrine. The aim is not to freeze the region into permanent blocs, but to capture how power is currently organised—and why similar organising logics repeatedly generate similar coalitions.

The Israel-UAE Axis

The Israel-UAE relationship has matured beyond normalisation into something approaching axis characteristics: institutional coordination through the Crystal Ball intelligence-sharing platform, logistical networks spanning UAE port facilities in Berbera, Assab, and eastern Libya, and financial channels flowing to shared clients across multiple theatres. This infrastructure mirrors what Iran built over decades through the IRGC—compressed into five years since the Abraham Accords.

Crucially, the axis is developing its own ideological architecture. The Abraham Accords have evolved from a diplomatic framework into something closer to a doctrine—a set of ‘Abrahamic values’ that both Israel and the UAE actively promote as an alternative regional order. The ideological content centres on opposition to political Islam in all its forms, framing the Muslim Brotherhood and its affiliates as existential threats equivalent to Iranian influence. This shared anti-Islamism provides a common enemy beyond Iran and a justification for interventions across the region. The ideological project extends westward: both Israel and the UAE have cultivated relationships with far-right political figures in Europe and the United States, funded overlapping lobbying networks in Washington, and positioned themselves as bulwarks against what they frame as Islamist infiltration of Western societies. The Abraham Accords thus function not merely as bilateral agreements but as an ideological umbrella—offering membership to those who subscribe to its values and access to its political networks.

The organising logic of the axis centres on working through sub-state actors, though Israel and the UAE arrive at this approach for different reasons. For Israel, the strategic calculation is that fragmented neighbours pose reduced long-term security threats; states divided by internal conflict cannot project power outward. For the UAE, smaller and dependent entities are easier to integrate into Abu Dhabi’s expanding commercial network—offering port access, resource extraction, and strategic positioning without the complications of negotiating with governments that might assert competing interests. The convergence is structural: Israeli security interests and Emirati commercial interests are served by the same regional outcomes.

The Abraham Accords have undergone a functional transformation that reflects this logic. They began as a normalisation framework between existing states. They now also function as a recruitment mechanism for entities seeking international legitimacy—a pathway to recognition for those willing to align with the axis. Israel’s December 2025 recognition of Somaliland was explicitly framed as bringing the territory into the Abraham Accords framework. Days later, the Southern Transitional Council published a constitutional declaration for the ‘State of South Arabia’ and announced a two-year transition toward an independence referendum; its leader Aidarous al-Zoubaidi has stated that an independent south Yemen would join the Accords. The pattern recurs across theatres: UAE provides material support to sub-state forces—RSF in Sudan, STC in Yemen, Haftar in Libya, Somaliland and Puntland against Mogadishu—while Israel offers the legitimacy architecture of Accords membership.

The Emerging Turkey-Saudi Alignment?

The convergence of Turkey, Saudi Arabia, and Qatar represents the most significant realignment since the 2017 Gulf crisis—which pitted these same actors against each other. That crisis was driven by Saudi and Emirati accusations that Qatar and Turkey were promoting political Islam across the region. The reconciliation formalised at al-Ula in 2021 parked rather than resolved that tension. What has since emerged is consistent alignment across five separate conflicts, a pattern too regular to be coincidental.

In Syria, all three are invested in Ahmed al-Sharaa’s government—Turkey providing security architecture, Saudi Arabia diplomatic weight and financing, Qatar bridging both. In Sudan, all three back the Sudanese Armed Forces against the UAE-supported RSF; Turkey has supplied Bayraktar TB2 drones coordinated through Egypt, Saudi Arabia hosts peace talks and favours the army. In Yemen, Saudi Arabia backs the Presidential Leadership Council and has moved to open confrontation with the UAE over its support for southern separatists—Riyadh’s late December airstrikes on UAE-linked arms shipments to the STC marked an unprecedented rupture. In Somalia, Turkey brokered the December 2024 Ankara Declaration and maintains military deployment backing the federal government; all three oppose UAE support for Somaliland and Puntland. In Libya, Turkey and Qatar back the Tripoli-based government against Haftar’s UAE-backed forces in the east.

What distinguishes this formation is a consistent pattern: in every conflict where they are active, Turkey, Saudi Arabia, and Qatar have aligned with UN-recognised incumbent governments and existing state structures against the sub-state actors backed by the Israel-UAE axis. This serves their respective interests. Turkey has invested heavily in relationships with central governments—military bases in Somalia and Qatar, defence contracts with Libya’s Tripoli government, a security role in Syria—that would be undermined by state fragmentation. Saudi Arabia, facing its own restive peripheries and having watched the UAE cultivate alternatives to Saudi influence across the Red Sea littoral, has an interest in the norm that central governments should not be undermined by external support for separatists. Qatar, a small state vulnerable to pressure from larger neighbours, has reason to favour frameworks where existing states are not dismembered.

This is not yet a formal axis. There is no mutual defence commitment, no shared strategic doctrine publicly articulated, no institutional coordination body equivalent to the Abraham Accords framework. The unresolved Islamism question that divided these actors in 2017 remains latent. But the consistency of alignment and the crystallisation of a common adversary in the UAE’s regional network suggests axis formation is underway.

The recent Saudi-UAE rupture over Yemen may prove catalytic. Riyadh’s airstrikes on UAE-linked arms shipments to the STC, its 24-hour ultimatum demanding Emirati troop withdrawal, and the public diplomatic acrimony that followed mark an unprecedented breach between the two Gulf states. For a decade, the assumption undergirding Gulf politics was that Saudi-UAE coordination was structural and durable; that assumption no longer holds. As the breach widens, Saudi Arabia may find itself pushed further toward the Turkey-Qatar alignment—not out of ideological affinity but out of practical necessity. Ankara and Doha are already aligned with Riyadh on Sudan, Syria, and Somalia; if Yemen becomes another theatre of open Saudi-UAE competition rather than tacit coordination, the logic of formalising the Turkey-Saudi-Qatar alignment strengthens considerably. What was an emerging pattern of convergence could consolidate into something more deliberate.

Qatar functions as a connecting node in this emerging formation. The trajectory of Saudi-Qatari relations illustrates how rapidly Gulf alignments have shifted. In 2017, Mohammed bin Salman reportedly proposed digging a canal along Saudi Arabia’s border with Qatar, physically severing the peninsula from the mainland—the ultimate expression of the blockade’s logic. By December 2025, the same two states signed an agreement to build a 785-kilometre high-speed rail line connecting Riyadh and Doha, with trains running at 300 kilometres per hour between King Salman International Airport and Hamad International Airport. Bilateral trade reached $930 million in 2024, a 634 percent increase from 2021. The Saudi-Qatari Coordination Council now meets regularly at head-of-state level. What was an existential confrontation has become institutionalised cooperation—and Qatar’s role bridging Riyadh and Ankara has been central to that transformation.

Defence cooperation provides the emerging axis its most concrete institutional architecture. Turkey’s relationships with both Saudi Arabia and Egypt have deepened rapidly in the military-industrial domain, creating supply chain interdependencies that transcend diplomatic rhetoric. Saudi Arabia is negotiating a reported $6 billion defence package with Turkey that would include warships, Altay battle tanks, and potential participation in Turkey’s KAAN fifth-generation fighter programme—Saudi officials have reportedly expressed interest in acquiring up to 100 KAAN jets. At IDEF 2025, Saudi Arabian Military Industries signed technology transfer agreements with three Turkish defence primes—Nurol Makina, FNSS, and Aselsan—for local production of armoured vehicles and turret systems at a new Saudi facility. Riyadh has already taken delivery of Turkish Akinci combat drones under what Baykar’s CEO called the largest defence export contract in Turkish history. The logic driving Saudi interest is explicit: the 2022 US arms embargo over Yemen demonstrated the risks of dependence on a single supplier, and Turkey offers technology transfer without the political conditionality that accompanies Western sales.

Egypt’s defence relationship with Turkey has undergone a parallel transformation. In September 2025, the two countries conducted their first joint naval exercises in thirteen years—the ‘Friendship of the Sea’ drills in the Eastern Mediterranean. Egypt joined Turkey’s KAAN fighter programme in July 2025, diversifying away from Western suppliers amid concerns over US restrictions. The Arab Organization for Industrialization and Turkey’s Havelsan signed agreements for joint production of vertical take-off drones and unmanned ground vehicles, with the jointly developed Hamza-1 UAV unveiled at EDEX 2025. Egypt’s Chief of Staff has visited Turkey twice in six months. The defence cooperation extends to coordinated deployments: Egypt and Turkey are both providing military support to Somalia’s federal government against UAE-backed forces. None of this constitutes a mutual defence pact, but it represents institutional infrastructure that did not exist three years ago—and that creates shared interests in the alignment’s continuation.

The Kurdish Test Case

Kurdish actors are where these formations physically overlap, and their positioning reveals both the logic and limits of each axis. The picture is complicated by the fact that even within Kurdish political families, alignment is not uniform.

The clearest pull toward the Israel-UAE axis comes from Masrour Barzani, the Kurdistan Region’s prime minister. His relationship with Abu Dhabi has become notably close: he met UAE President Mohamed bin Zayed at least four times in 2025, and spent New Year’s Eve 2025-2026 in the UAE—a social signal that reinforces the political and commercial relationship. A key node in this network appears to be Nadhim Zahawi, the former British cabinet minister of Iraqi Kurdish origin, who has facilitated connections between the Barzani commercial-political network and Gulf capital. The UAE has appointed a dedicated Special Envoy for Economic Affairs to the Kurdistan Region, a signal of strategic priority unusual for a sub-state entity. The April 2025 Kurdistan National Prayer Breakfast, which drew criticism as Abraham Accords-adjacent outreach to US Evangelical circles, fit a pattern of cultivation of relationships within the Israel-UAE orbit.

Yet even within the Barzani family, this is not a uniform orientation. Nechirvan Barzani, the Kurdistan Region’s president and Masrour’s cousin, maintains a more balanced posture. He visits the UAE but has cultivated a notably closer relationship with Erdoğan and Turkey. This division of positioning may be deliberate hedging or genuine strategic disagreement within the family; either way, it reflects the structural constraint the KDP faces. Turkish military bases sit in KDP-controlled territory. KDP oil exports flow through the Turkish pipeline to Ceyhan. Ankara has effective leverage over Erbil’s external alignments. This is the structural difference from Somaliland or the STC: where no major power obstructed Israel-UAE recruitment, those entities moved toward Accords membership; where Turkey maintains physical presence, Kurdish entities cannot fully align even if key figures wish to.

The Syrian Democratic Forces (SDF) present a different configuration. A December 2025 Washington Post investigation confirmed that Israel funnelled funds through the SDF to establish Druze militias in southern Syria, and that the SDF continues to train Syrian Druze fighters in its territory. Turkish Foreign Minister Hakan Fidan has explicitly accused the SDF of ‘coordinating operations with Israel,’ calling it ‘a major obstacle’ to negotiations over SDF integration into Syrian state forces. The relationship extends beyond Israeli intelligence ties: UAE-affiliated media outlets have provided notably sympathetic coverage of the SDF, offering a media architecture that complements Israeli operational support. The logic is straightforward: the SDF constrains both Turkish power projection and residual Iranian influence in Syria, serving the interests of both Israel and the UAE. The ideological dissonance—a PKK-adjacent leftist movement aligned with a right-wing Israeli government and Gulf monarchies—is secondary to shared adversaries.

This introduces direct Israel-Turkey tension into Syrian politics. Ankara and Tel Aviv have maintained implicit deconfliction in post-Assad Syria, but the SDF is a fault line. Turkey has stated it will not tolerate a PKK-affiliated entity coordinating with Israel along its borders. The Turkey-Saudi-Qatar alignment’s investment in Syrian reconstitution under al-Sharaa depends on SDF integration or marginalisation; Israel’s interest lies in the opposite direction. If US presence in northeast Syria diminishes—a live question under the current administration—this tension will sharpen.

The PUK, controlling the other half of the Kurdistan Region, pursues the hedging typical of weaker actors facing multiple pressures. UAE investment flows into PUK-controlled gas fields at Chamchamal. The Talabani family maintains historic ties to Tehran. The PUK cultivates Washington. This multi-directional positioning reflects the calculation that full alignment with any axis would make the PUK a target of the others.

The three-axis framework is not a claim that regional politics have stabilised into permanent blocs. It is a description of formations in motion, each with distinct organising logics. The Axis of Resistance coheres around opposition to Israel and American power—an ideological commitment that persists despite material degradation. The Israel-UAE axis has developed its own ideological architecture through the Abraham Accords framework: ‘Abrahamic values’ as counter-doctrine to political Islam, shared lobbying networks in Western capitals, and a legitimacy pathway for sub-state actors willing to align—all serving Israeli security interests through weakened neighbours and Emirati commercial interests through dependent entities. The Turkey-Saudi-Qatar alignment backs incumbent governments and existing state structures—serving Turkish investments in central government relationships, Saudi interest in resisting UAE ‘encroachment’, and Qatari preference for a regional order where small states are not dismembered. Unlike the other two formations, it lacks an articulated ideological framework; it is defined by what it opposes rather than what it promotes.

The Kurds, present in each formation and fully belonging to none, are the terrain on which these axes’ relative strength will be tested. The Barzani family’s split posture – Masrour pulled toward Abu Dhabi, Nechirvan maintaining Turkish ties – reflects the impossibility of full alignment under Turkish constraint. The SDF’s coordination with Israel and coverage by UAE media sets it against the Turkey-Saudi-Qatar investment in Syrian state-building. The PUK’s hedging acknowledges that commitment to any axis invites pressure from the others. What happens in Erbil, Qamishli, and Sulaimani will reveal whether these formations consolidate or fragment – and whether the Abraham Accords pathway can extend to the Kurds, or whether Turkish leverage holds.