Tariq Saeedi
Have you seen the pictures of children in a conflict zone? They haunt the conscience of every generation touched by conflict: a child’s eyes, old beyond their years, reflecting a world where playgrounds have become battlegrounds and lullabies have been replaced by air raid sirens.
This is not merely a tragedy of war—it is the theft of childhood itself, the erasure of that precious window when human beings learn what it means to trust, to dream, to become.
On 12 December 2025, as global leaders gather in Ashgabat for the international conference marking three decades of Turkmenistan’s permanent neutrality, they will discuss treaties, diplomatic protocols, and geopolitical frameworks. But beneath these formal deliberations lies a more fundamental truth: neutrality is not simply a foreign policy choice—it is a promise to children that their childhood will not be sacrificed on the altar of distant conflicts and military entanglements.
The Invisible Casualties of Alliance Politics
When nations bind themselves to military blocs and alliances, they make a hidden bargain: the abstract promise of collective security in exchange for the concrete risk of being drawn into conflicts that may have nothing to do with their own people’s interests or survival.
History repeatedly demonstrates this painful reality—alliances forged in capitals become obligations written in the blood of the young.
The mathematics of conflict are brutal and predictable.
When tensions escalate and drums of war begin to beat, it is not the architects of foreign policy who bear the first costs—it is families. The able-bodied segment of the population, the very people who should be nurturing the next generation, are pulled away. Fathers and mothers face conscription.
Those who remain work double shifts to sustain war economies, to compensate for sanctions, to fill the gaps left by recession and disruption.
The emotional energy that should flow toward children—the patient homework help, the bedtime stories, the weekend adventures that build confidence and joy—drains away into the exhausting demands of survival in a militarized society.
Children notice everything. — They feel the tension in their parents’ voices during dinner conversations about mobilization. They sense the fear behind reassurances that “everything will be fine.” They internalize the message that the world is fundamentally unsafe, that adults cannot protect them, that tomorrow is uncertain.
This is not abstract psychological theory—this is the lived reality for millions of young people growing up in the shadow of conflicts their countries entered through alliance obligations they barely understand.
The Compound Interest of Peace
Neutrality offers something different: the compound interest of stability.
When a nation chooses permanent neutrality, it makes a commitment that reverberates through generations. It says to every child born within its borders: your potential matters more than power politics; your development is more important than military adventures; your right to grow up in peace supersedes the demands of distant conflicts.
This is not passivity or weakness—it is profound wisdom. Neutral nations create the conditions where children can simply be children. Where young people can invest their energy in education rather than trauma recovery. Where teenagers can dream about their careers instead of dreading conscription notices. Where families can make long-term plans without wondering if war will shatter everything they’ve built.
The mental health implications alone are staggering. Children raised in conflict zones or in nations perpetually on the brink of military engagement show measurably higher rates of anxiety, depression, and post-traumatic stress.
They struggle with attachment. They develop hypervigilance that never fully switches off. They learn to relate to the world through the lens of threat and survival rather than possibility and growth.
These psychological patterns don’t simply vanish when conflicts end—they become the architecture of a generation’s worldview, affecting how they parent their own children, how they participate in civic life, how they approach international relations when they themselves become leaders.
Neutrality interrupts this cycle. It provides the psychological safety that developing minds require. It allows children to build the neural pathways of trust and optimism rather than fear and suspicion. It gives them the bandwidth to excel academically, to develop creatively, to form healthy relationships—advantages that accumulate throughout their lives and ultimately strengthen the nation as a whole.
The Central Asian Wisdom
Across Central Asia, nations have increasingly recognized this fundamental truth. While Turkmenistan’s permanent neutrality stands as the region’s most formal and comprehensive commitment, the broader pattern is unmistakable: countries throughout the region have embraced de facto neutrality as the most sensible path forward. They have watched the twentieth century’s catastrophic experiments with military blocs and rigid alliances. They have observed how entanglements designed to provide security often delivered the opposite. They have chosen wisdom over ideology.
This is not isolationism.
Central Asian nations remain engaged with the world through economic partnerships, cultural exchanges, and multilateral cooperation on shared challenges like environmental protection and sustainable development. But they have drawn a clear line: engagement yes, military entanglement no. Commerce yes, conscription into others’ conflicts no. Dialogue yes, doctrinal obligations that mortgage their children’s futures no.
A Message to Decision-Makers—and to the Young
To the policymakers and opinion leaders gathering in Ashgabat and reading these words: you hold in your hands the power to shape whether the next generation grows up in the shadow of conflict or in the light of peace.
The choice of neutrality is not a retreat from the world’s challenges—it is a recognition that children’s wellbeing constitutes a nation’s most vital strategic interest. Every policy decision should pass this simple test: does it protect our children’s right to childhood, or does it sacrifice that right for abstract geopolitical positioning?
And to the young people who would become the cannon fodder in conflicts not of their making: you deserve leaders who see your lives as precious, not expendable. You deserve nations that invest in your education rather than in weapons systems, in your healthcare rather than in military adventures, in your future rather than in the failed patterns of the past.
Neutrality is not just a policy—it is a declaration that your potential matters more than power games played by those who will never face the consequences of their decisions.
The Ashgabat Promise
As the international community gathers to mark thirty years of Turkmenistan’s permanent neutrality, the true measure of success lies not in diplomatic accolades but in a simpler metric: generations of children who have grown up knowing peace, who have had the luxury of worrying about exams rather than explosions, who have learned to see other nations’ children as potential friends rather than enemies.
This is the promise of neutrality—not just for Turkmenistan, but as a model available to any nation wise enough to prioritize its children’s wellbeing over the seductive but dangerous allure of military alliances. In a world still scarred by conflicts born of outdated alliance systems, neutrality stands as a reminder that there is another way. That peace is a choice. That children’s rights to grow into their full potential should never be negotiable.
The conference on 12 December 2025 is more than a celebration of one nation’s foreign policy choice.
It is an invitation to reimagine what security truly means—not security purchased through military pacts that may drag nations into conflicts, but security rooted in stability, in the absence of existential threats, in the knowledge that children can build their lives on solid ground.
Thirty years is long enough to see the results. A generation has come of age in Turkmenistan knowing only peace, only stability, only the freedom to pursue their dreams without the shadow of conflict hanging over them. That generation is now beginning to lead, to contribute, to shape their nation’s future. They are the living proof that neutrality works—not just as diplomatic theory, but as a foundation for human flourishing.
The question facing the world now is simple: how many more generations of children will be sacrificed to outdated thinking before we embrace the wisdom that neutrality offers? How many more young lives will be considered acceptable losses in conflicts they didn’t create and don’t understand?
The answer should be equally simple: not one more. Not when there is another way. Not when neutrality stands as a proven path to protecting what matters most—the sacred right of every child to grow up in peace, surrounded by adults focused on nurturing their potential rather than preparing for war.
This is the true legacy of thirty years of permanent neutrality. This is the gift Turkmenistan offers the world. This is the choice that awaits any nation ready to put children first. /// nCa, 28 November 2025