In the early morning hours of January 31, 1996, Greece and Turkey came dangerously close to armed conflict over two small, uninhabited outcrops in the eastern Aegean Sea, which has since come to be known as the Imia crisis.
The standoff escalated into a near military confrontation, although it was not without casualties, as a Hellenic Navy helicopter launched from a frigate crashed into the sea while patrolling in the immediate region amid very poor weather conditions. A diplomatic intervention by the United States, based on the premise of “no ships, no troops, no flags” was later deemed as instrumental in avoiding the standoff from turning into a shooting affair.
Nearly three decades later, the Imia crisis remains a point of tension and stands as a defining moment in post-1974 Greek-Turkish relations, serving as both a historical lesson and a stark reminder of how easily friction between the two neighbors can escalate into near full-scale conflict.
Imia Islets
What Was the Imia Crisis?
The Imia crisis was a sovereignty dispute over two uninhabited islets in the Aegean Sea, known as Imia in Greek, but later called “Kardak” by the Turkish side and Turkish media.
The islets lie between the Greek island of Kalymnos and the Turkish coast near Bodrum, two locations both known today for their prominence as tourist destinations.
While the rock islets were officially ceded to Greece by Italy in 1947 under the Treaty of Paris, Turkey abruptly challenged Greek sovereignty in late 1995, igniting a chain of events that nearly led to war.
The Series of Events Leading up to the Imia Crisis
What started as a seemingly routine maritime incident quickly spiraled into a full-blown crisis. On Christmas Day 1995, a Turkish cargo ship, Figen Akat, ran aground near Imia. Greek authorities offered assistance, but the ship’s captain refused, asserting that the islets belonged to Turkey and that he would receive salvage assistance from a Turkish-registered vessel. It was a minor act of defiance, but one that would set the stage for a larger dispute over sovereignty over the two islets, and just as importantly, the maritime zone surrounding them.
Days later, on December 29, 1995, Turkey’s Foreign Ministry formally disputed Greek sovereignty over Imia, in a
note to the Embassy of Greece in Ankara, reviving tensions. By January 26, 1996, back-and-forth statements had transformed into a battle of symbols and power.
The Mayor of Kalymnos, determined to assert national sovereignty, raised a Greek flag on Imia, sparking outrage in a cascade of Turkish media reports. In response, Turkish reporters from the country’s well-known newspaper Hürriyet landed on one of the two islets, removed the Greek flag and replaced it with a Turkish one on January 27, 1996—an act that played out in front of television screens in both countries, fueling nationalist sentiments on both sides.
Greek Naval forces quickly restored the Greek flag on January 28, 1996, but by then, the crisis had escalated beyond mere symbolism. Warships from both nations entered the area. As a result, young men in the Greek disapora readied to see if they would be conscripted or if they could volunteer to fight in any coming conflict, while military forces increased readiness levels to a grade below actual engagement.
The Night Greece and Turkey Almost Went to War
As tensions peaked, diplomatic efforts were overshadowed by military maneuvers. On January 30, 1996, Greek Prime Minister Costas Simitis addressed Parliament, warning Turkey that Greece was prepared to defend its territory. Meanwhile, Turkish warships pushed further into what Athens considers as its territorial waters, setting the stage for a potential clash.
In the early hours of January 31, Greek intelligence confirmed that Turkish commandos had landed on one of the islets and the Greek Navy scrambled to verify the reports. At 4:50 AM 0n January 31, a Greek Navy helicopter lifted off from the frigate Navarino, navigating through treacherous weather to scan the rocky terrain below. The helicopter’s crew spotted Turkish commandos stationed on Lesser Imia, reported their visual confirmation of their presence, and turned back to the ship.
The helicopter never made it back to the frigate’s deck, as it plunged into the dark waters, killing all three servicemen on board: Lt. Christodoulos Karathanasis, Lt. Panagiotis Vlachakos and Chief Petty Officer Ektoras Gialopsos.
Greek military authorities attributed the crash to poor weather and possibly pilot disorientation, although speculation in the media and among the public opinion even claimed that the craft was brought down by enemy gunfire. If the theory that Turkish fire downed the helicopter had been confirmed, then the event would have been a cause of war.
Nevertheless, the exact circumstances remain sealed in classified reports and are convoluted by conflicting testimonies, allowing the speculation to resurface each year on the anniversary of the Imia crisis, something that often fuels nationalist sentiment within Greece and far-right parties.
With the situation teetering on the edge of war, international intervention became a last-ditch effort for de-escalation. By dawn, the United States stepped in, determined to prevent a military conflict between two allies. U.S. Deputy Secretary of State Richard Holbrooke brokered a tense, last-minute agreement: “No ships, no troops, no flags.”
It was a simple formula, but it worked. By noon on January 31, both Greek and Turkish forces began withdrawing from Imia. The war that seemed inevitable was averted—just barely.
Why the Imia Crisis Still Matters Today
The Imia crisis marked a milestone in Greek-Turkish relations by ushering in a theory of “grey zones” promoted by Turkey, whereby it claimed that certain rocky outcrops and isles, along with maritime zones, were not covered by all applicable treaties dealing with the Aegean Sea (Lausanne, Montreux, Paris, UNCLOS etc) and customary law. The fragile status quo between the two countries remains threatened by unilateral Turkish claims, Ankara’s flat-out rejection of the UN Convention on the Law of the Sea (UNCLOS) to delimitate the Aegean’s continental shelf and the more expanded concept of Exclusive Economic Zone (EEZ) in the eastern Mediterranean, in tandem with an overall revisionism (the so-called “Blue Homeland” dogma) characterized by belligerence and saber-rattling.
In the Aegean, the most prominent acts fueling tension, according to the Greek side, are recurring airspace violations by Turkish fighter planes, infringement of Athens FIR rules and even NOTAMs issued by Turkish authorities to temporarily “restrict” – ostensibly for military or search and rescue exercises – large blocks of the eastern Aegean that Greece considers as part of its sovereignty.
The most egregious provocation by the Turkish side in the wake of the Imia crisis was the passing of a resolution by that country’s grand assembly in 1996 declaring that Greece’s right (under UNCLOS) to extend its territorial waters to 12 nautical miles is an occasion for war (casus belli). The unprecedented threat by one NATO member-state against another remains to the day.
Beyond its geopolitical significance, the crisis serves as a stark reminder of how quickly disputes can spiral out of control. A simple act—a raised flag, a maritime dispute—can ignite nationalistic fervor and bring nations to the brink of war. The lessons of 1996 still resonate today, as tensions between Greece and Turkey continue to simmer.
