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Defense & Security
K2 Black Panther - South Korean basic tank. Hyundai Rotem concern has offered the Polish army a K2 model adapted to its needs along with full technology transfer

The Development of South Korea’s Tanks and the Global Competitiveness of the K2 Black Panther

by World and New World Journal

1. Introduction Since the Korean War, South Korea had long relied on U.S.-made tanks, but in the 1970s it launched a full-scale domestic tank development program under the principle of self-reliant national defense. As a result, beginning with the K1 tank, the country gradually increased its localization rate, and today it has fielded the highly advanced K2 Black Panther, placing itself among the world’s leading tank powers. However, when compared to major tanks competing in the global defense market, a comprehensive analysis is still required not only in terms of performance, but also in cost-effectiveness and export competitiveness. This study examines the evolution and localization of South Korea’s tanks, and analyzes the performance of the K2 in comparison with other global competitors to highlight its export potential and strategic significance. 2. Early Background: The Korean War – Early 1970s During the Korean War 1950-1953, North Korean forces launched their invasion spearheaded by the Soviet Union’s best-selling tank, the T-34. In contrast, South Korea did not possess a single tank at the time. The power of the T-34 allowed the North Korean army to advance rapidly in the early stages of the war. However, the arrival of U.S. ground forces changed the situation. The M24 Chaffee light tank was the first to be deployed, followed by the M4 Sherman medium tank, the M26 Pershing heavy/medium tank, and the M46 Patton medium tank, all of which overwhelmed the North Korean forces. Thanks to this reinforcement, the Nakdong River defensive line was held, and the tide of the war shifted in favor of the UN forces. Additionally, by late 1950, the British Army had committed its renowned A41 Centurion tanks to the conflict. After the war, in 1959, South Korea received the M47 Patton tank from the United States as part of its allied support policy and broader equipment modernization program. After the war, South Korea relied on U.S. assistance until 1970 to accumulate experience in operating and maintaining tanks. In particular, in 1966, when the M48 Patton tanks were provided by the United States, South Korea also received a Technical Data Package (TDP), which included key technology transfers alongside major upgrades. Through this, South Korea acquired comprehensive expertise in armor casting and welding, production processes, precision manufacturing and assembly, as well as quality inspection and testing. This foundation became a crucial stepping stone for the subsequent development of the Korean tank industry. 3. Development of the K1 Indigenous Tank: 1970s–1980s Under President Park Chung-hee’s policy of self-reliant national defense, South Korea launched the Republic of Korea Indigenous Tank (ROKIT) program in 1975 in cooperation with the United States. Following the signing of a memorandum of understanding in 1978, full-scale development began. The design direction was set to base the new tank on the form and performance of the U.S. Army’s latest third-generation tank at the time, the M1 Abrams. Chrysler Defense (now GDLS), the manufacturer of the M1, participated in the project, while South Korea’s Agency for Defense Development and Hyundai Precision (now Hyundai Rotem) worked together to create a smaller, terrain-optimized “Little Abrams” for the Korean Peninsula. In April 1984, two prototypes were produced, and after passing a series of tests, mass production began in 1985. The production K1 tank was armed with a 105 mm rifled gun and equipped with a 1,200 horsepower German MTU-series diesel engine, built with General Dynamics technology. A key feature was the adoption of a hydropneumatic suspension system, allowing adjustable ground clearance suited for Korea’s mountainous terrain. The tank weighed 51.5 tons, carried a crew of four, and a total of 1,026 units were produced between 1985 and 1997. During its service, the upgraded K1A1 variant was developed, featuring a 120 mm smoothbore gun, improved fire-control systems, and enhanced armor protection. A total of 484 K1A1s were produced between 1996 and 2008. Subsequent modernized versions, the K1E1 and K1E2, have ensured that the K1 series continues to serve as a core component of the South Korean Army’s armored forces. 4. The K2 Black Panther: 2000s – Present Beginning in 1996, the Republic of Korea Armed Forces acquired 68 T-80U tanks from Russia as repayment for an economic cooperation loan. At the time, the T-80U was Russia’s latest main battle tank, and for South Korean engineers, who had previously only worked with U.S.-made tanks, it provided a valuable opportunity to gain direct experience with a new model. The lessons learned from operating the T-80U contributed significantly to the later development of the K2 tank. After the Ministry of National Defense announced its next-generation tank program in 1992, a system concept study was carried out in 1995, followed by exploratory development in 1998. In 2003, full-scale system development began. By 2007, three prototypes were unveiled for operational testing and evaluation, and mass production was initially scheduled to begin in 2012. However, issues arose during the development of the domestic powerpack (engine and transmission). These included an engine protection temperature setting error, which failed to safeguard the engine from overheating, and insufficient cooling fan speed in the transmission at maximum output, which led to inadequate cooling. Despite multiple redesigns, persistent problems in performance and reliability testing delayed deployment. As a result, the first production batch of 100 K2 tanks was equipped with Germany’s MTU engines and RENK transmissions instead of the domestic powerpack. These vehicles began delivery to the ROK Army in April 2014. By September 2014, the domestic engine had passed the Defense Acquisition Program Administration’s evaluation, and the second batch of 106 tanks and the third batch of 54 tanks were produced with a “hybrid powerpack”—a Korean-made engine combined with a German transmission. Starting with the fourth production batch, SNT Dynamics’ domestic transmission was successfully integrated, completing full localization of the K2 powerpack. Unlike its predecessor, the K1, which had been developed under the leadership of General Dynamics and relied heavily on U.S. components, the K2 Black Panther is a fully indigenous South Korean tank. With domestically developed engines and transmissions, it achieved a high localization rate, giving South Korea independence from U.S. and German export restrictions and allowing greater freedom in operating and exporting its tanks. As South Korea’s most advanced tank, the K2 incorporates cutting-edge technologies that set it apart from its predecessors. These include a 120 mm smoothbore gun, an active protection system (APS), an autoloader, and stealth features, delivering superior mobility, protection, and firepower. Today, it stands as a core asset of the South Korean Army. Specifications (K2 Black Panther):Crew: 3Weight: 55 tonsEngine: Doosan Infracore DV-27K diesel engineTransmission: SNT Dynamics EST15K automatic transmissionMain Gun: Hyundai WIA 120 mm smoothbore CN08Fire Control System: South Korean domestic technologyArmor: Korean-developed composite armor  5. Timeline of South Korea’s Tank Development: From U.S. Aid to the K2 The introduction and development of tanks in the ROK Army have been organized in a chronological timeline with images. This timeline is designed to provide a clear overview of the entire progression — from U.S. aid tanks, to tanks acquired from Russia, and finally to the development of indigenous Korean tanks.   6. K2 vs. Regional Main Battle Tanks — Performance Comparison Tank performance can be compared across four key categories: Mobility, Firepower, Protection, and Sensors & C4I. MobilityComponents: engine & transmission (powerpack), suspension, roadwheels, sprockets, tracks, and fuel systems.Role: determines speed, acceleration, cross-country mobility, and operational range. Maintainability (ease of maintenance and access) is also included here. FirepowerComponents: main armament (gun) — barrel and mantlet, stabilization system, autoloading/manual loading systems, coaxial and anti-aircraft machine guns, ammunition stowage.Role: defines ability to defeat enemy armor and other targets, hit probability (integrated with the fire-control system), and ammunition variety (e.g., APFSDS, HE).ProtectionComponents: baseline composite/steel armor, explosive reactive armor (ERA), active protection systems (APS), smoke generation, fire suppression and NBC protection, and crew survivability compartments.Role: protects crew and systems from penetration, fragmentation, anti-tank weapons, and environmental threats.Sensors & C4I (Command, Control, Communications, Computers, and Intelligence)Components: fire-control system (FCS), thermal and night sights, laser rangefinder, communications suites, electronic warfare and laser warning receivers, and power-management systems.Role: responsible for target acquisition, firing accuracy, and networked combat — i.e., information sharing with friendly forces.Below is a comparison of the K2 and the region’s current main battle tanks.    The K2 Black Panther is regarded as a world-class main battle tank, demonstrating well-balanced excellence in mobility, firepower, protection, and electronic systems compared to neighboring countries’ tanks. 7. South Korea’s Tank Export Outlook and Key CasesWhile exports of the K1 tank were restricted due to U.S. technology regulations, the K2 tank—developed with fully indigenous Korean technology—became eligible for overseas sales. In 2022, South Korea successfully signed a contract with Poland, and negotiations are currently underway with countries in Europe, the Middle East, and Africa, signaling the expansion of Korean tanks into the global defense market. 7.1. Turkish Joint Development of the Altay Tank Based on the K2 (USD 540 million)In 2007, South Korea signed a design support and technology transfer contract with Turkey for the development of the Altay main battle tank. Under this agreement, South Korea transferred several core technologies derived from the K2 tank, including:- 120 mm CN08 smoothbore gun technology (Korean-produced main gun)Advanced armor and composite equipment design consultation and production support- Powerpack (engine + transmission) technology transfer and testing: the Altay successfully completed durability trials with the HD Hyundai Infracore engine and SNT Dynamics transmission The Altay is scheduled to enter full-scale mass production in 2025, with an initial production run of 250 units and a long-term goal of building up to 1,000 tanks. 7.2. K2 Export to Poland: First Batch of 180 Units (USD 3.4 billion), Second Batch of 180 Units (USD 6.5 billion) In 2022, the K2 tank was selected by Poland over strong competitors such as Germany’s Leopard 2A7 and the U.S. M1A2 Abrams. The key factors behind this successful export were as follows: - Rapid delivery and phased supply: South Korea demonstrated its ability to deliver tanks within a very short timeframe. Following the 2022 contract, the first batch of 10 units was delivered within the same year. By contrast, competitors faced production line bottlenecks, raising concerns over delivery delays. - Modern design with European upgrade potential: The K2 features a 120 mm 55-caliber smoothbore gun, an autoloader, an active protection system (APS), and hydropneumatic suspension—technologies equal to or in some cases more advanced than those found in Europe’s latest MBTs. Moreover, South Korea promised to develop a localized version, the K2PL, through joint development with Poland, tailored to Polish requirements. - Local production and technology transfer: South Korea offered local production of the K2PL, guaranteeing the participation of Polish defense industries, along with technology transfer, industrial cooperation, and the prospect of using Poland as a base for future exports. - Cost competitiveness: Despite being a state-of-the-art tank, the K2 is relatively more affordable than the M1A2 or Leopard 2A7. Maintenance and sustainment costs are also projected to be lower than those of European tanks, giving the K2 a strong reputation as a “cost-effective MBT” with excellent value for performance. - Tactical versatility and advanced systems: Equipped with an autoloader, hydropneumatic suspension, and advanced smart fire-control systems, the K2 offers outstanding adaptability across diverse operational environments, including mountainous terrain, urban warfare, and extreme cold.Through this deal, South Korea and Poland established a relationship that goes beyond a simple arms sale, building long-term defense industry partnership and mutual trust. Potential export destinations for the K2 include the Czech Republic, Slovakia, Romania, Saudi Arabia, Oman, Egypt, Morocco, and India. 8. Comparison of Tanks from Export Competitor Nations South Korea’s K2 tank has attracted global attention for its outstanding performance, but the international tank market is already dominated by several major players.This chapter analyzes and compares the leading tanks that compete with the K2, while also examining each country’s export competitiveness.   The K2 Black Panther, while incorporating cutting-edge technologies, is lighter than many Western main battle tanks, resulting in relatively lower sustainment costs. It is therefore widely regarded as a cost-effective, well-balanced tank. The cost of a tank varies greatly depending on its design and configuration, but if we break down the production cost (manufacturing, components, and assembly) into four categories, the estimated shares are as follows:- Protection: 30–40%- Firepower: 20–30%- Mobility: 15–25%- Electronics & C4I: 15–25% The actual share, however, depends on specific factors. For example, the use of advanced armor materials (composite/uranium) or the inclusion of an Active Protection System (APS) significantly increases protection costs. Similarly, specialized gun and ammunition systems (such as a 120mm smoothbore, autoloader, or advanced munitions) raise firepower costs. Integration, testing, and safety features greatly affect electronics costs, while options like autoloaders, high-performance thermal sights, and networked systems can heavily influence the final balance. Other important factor is Lifecycle Perspective (Unit Cost vs. Total Life-Cycle Cost), which can be defined as below.- Procurement: About 20–30% of total life-cycle cost (highly variable)- Operations & Support (O&S): 60–70% — dominated by fuel, maintenance, spare parts, and maintenance personnel costs- Upgrades & Depreciation: 10–20% In other words, the long-term operation and maintenance costs take up a much larger share than the initial procurement cost of a tank.Below is a comparison table of modern main battle tank costs: unit acquisition cost, annual sustainment cost, and 30-year life-cycle cost (procurement + sustainment).*The sustainment cost for China’s Type 99A and Russia’s T-90M is an estimate.   9. Conclusion This study has systematically examined the evolution and localization of South Korea’s tanks, and verified the level of their advancement through performance comparisons with leading global competitors. In particular, the K2 has demonstrated balanced capabilities in mobility, firepower, protection, and electronic command-and-control, supported by advanced technologies and a high degree of localization. At the same time, it offers superior cost-efficiency in sustainment and operational expenses compared to heavier Western MBTs. This makes the K2 not only a key asset for strengthening domestic defense, but also a competitive and cost-effective platform in the global arms market. Taken together, these findings suggest that South Korea’s tanks have progressed beyond being a mere symbol of self-reliant defense, and are now positioned to expand exports and build long-term strategic partnerships worldwide.

Defense & Security
LNG plant based on gravity type with a gas carrier. The Arctic LNG-2 project. Utrennoye deposit, Yamalo-Nenets Autonomous Region, Russia. 3d rendering

Securing the ‘great white shield’? Climate change, Arctic security and the geopolitics of solar geoengineering

by Nikolaj Kornbech , Olaf Corry , Duncan McLaren

Abstract The Arctic has been identified by scientists as a relatively promising venue for controversial ‘solar geoengineering’ – technical schemes to reflect more sunlight to counteract global warming. Yet contemporary regional security dynamics and the relative (in)significance of climate concerns among the key Arctic states suggest a different conclusion. By systematically juxtaposing recently published schemes for Arctic geoengineering with Arctic security strategies published by the littoral Arctic states and China, we reveal and detail two conflicting security imaginaries. Geoengineering schemes scientifically securitise (and seek to maintain) the Arctic’s ‘great white shield’ to protect ‘global’ humanity against climate tipping points and invoke a past era of Arctic ‘exceptionality’ to suggest greater political feasibility for research interventions here. Meanwhile, state security imaginaries understand the contemporary Arctic as an increasingly contested region of considerable geopolitical peril and economic opportunity as temperatures rise. Alongside the entangled history of science with geopolitics in the region, this suggests that geoengineering schemes in the Arctic are unlikely to follow scientific visions, and unless co-opted into competitive, extractivist state security imaginaries, may prove entirely infeasible. Moreover, if the Arctic is the ‘best-case’ for geoengineering politics, this places a huge question mark over the feasibility of other, more global prospects. Introduction ‘The Arctic region plays a key role in the global climate system acting as a carbon sink and a virtual mirror’ (Carnegie Climate Governance Initiative (C2G), 2021: 1) – thus reads a typical introduction to the rationale for solar geoengineering (SG) in the Arctic. To most, SG – any large-scale intervention that seeks to counteract anthropogenic global warming by reflecting sunlight – is still an obscure idea. However, it is quickly gaining traction among some groups of climate scientists, entrepreneurs and even some governments as climate impacts provoke an ever-increasing sense of alarm and urgency. Debates concerning potential governance of SG routinely acknowledge its potential international governance challenges, but have tended to leave security dimensions mostly unexamined (but see Nightingale and Cairns, 2014), usually by framing the challenge primarily in terms of coordinating efforts and dealing with potentially unwanted side effects (Corry et al., forthcoming). While climate change itself is often understood as a potential security threat, it has not yet motivated exceptional or decisive state action, but rather seems to produce a series of routine practices through which ‘climate change is rendered governable as an issue of human security’ (Oels, 2012: 201). Geoengineering could potentially change this situation. The potentially high-leverage, transboundary nature of large-scale SG has led to suggestions that it would involve disagreements over the methods and intensity of interventions (Ricke et al., 2013) and could lead to international conflicts, not least from uni- or ‘mini’-lateral deployment (Lockyer and Symons, 2019). In addition, with its potential to make climatic changes and catastrophes attributable to (or able to be blamed on) the direct and intentional actions of states, SG could also make the rest of climate politics a more conflictual field (Corry, 2017b). Other scholars have examined geoengineering itself through a human security frame – recently developed as ‘ecological security’ with ecosystems as the main referent object (McDonald, 2023), where the insecurity arising from climate change is seen to go beyond the particularity of state interests. This casts geoengineering as a potential ecological security measure, or even as a potentially ‘just’ one, if it would protect groups otherwise vulnerable to climate threats (Floyd, 2023). However, the entanglement of geoengineering, even if framed as an ‘ecological security’ measure, with national and international security dynamics, would remain a distinct risk, in similar ways to how humanitarian aid and development have become entangled with, and for some historically inseparable from, security (Duffield, 2007). In this article, we seek to move beyond theoretical speculation about the International Relations of geoengineering abstracted from historical or regional security dynamics, using a case study of the Arctic to investigate how geoengineering might (not) enter this political space and to derive conclusions of broader relevance to the international debate. We make use of the empirical richness revealed by schemes for Arctic geoengineering to identify how security imaginaries – ‘map[s] of social space’ (Pretorius, 2008: 112) reflecting common understandings and expectations about security – are already implicit in scientific and technical visions of geoengineering. We contrast these scientific security imaginaries with current state security imaginaries that play a dominant role in the anticipation of Arctic futures more generally. As we will show, scientific security imaginaries consider the Arctic as a best case for geoengineering in terms of political feasibility. This allows for analytical inference based on critical case selection (Flyvbjerg, 2006): if even in the Arctic these scientific security imaginaries have little compatibility with current state security imaginaries, geoengineering faces major obstacles of political feasibility in other regions and globally, unless deployed in pursuit of security rather than global environmental protection. Many different ideas for SG have been explored as ways to cool the Arctic. These include marine cloud brightening (MCB): spraying salts from sea vessels to make marine clouds more reflective (Latham et al., 2014) or covering ocean or ice surfaces with reflective materials (Field et al., 2018). Related ideas involve using wind power to pump water onto ice to help thicken it (Desch et al., 2017), underwater ‘curtains’ to protect ice from warmer water streams (Moore et al., 2018) or reintroducing large animals to graze and trample so that dark boreal forest is replaced by reflective snow-cover, protecting permafrost (Beer et al., 2020).1 The technique of stratospheric aerosol injection (SAI) – spraying reflective aerosols like sulphur or calcite into the stratosphere – is also included as an option by some organisations working with Arctic geoengineering2 or explored in simulations or other research (Jackson et al., 2015; Lane et al., 2007; Robock et al., 2008). In practice, however, aerosols distributed in or near the Arctic would likely spread over much of the Northern hemisphere, and model studies of Arctic-targeted SAI generally conclude that is it not a desirable option due to particularly severe negative side effects outside the Arctic (Duffey et al., 2023). While geoengineering scientists seek to distance their work from geopolitical concerns (Svensson and Pasgaard, 2019), scientific research in the Arctic – even that involving cooperation between Cold War adversaries – has long been deeply entangled with state security objectives and military interests (Doel et al., 2014; Goossen, 2020). Similarly, weather modification schemes have a history of (largely failed) entanglement with military purposes (Fleming, 2010), while climate modelling evolved partly through and with military scenario-making (Edwards, 2010). Climate modelling occupies a more civilian location in multilateral institutions now but still shares its particular way of seeing the climate – as a space of geophysical flows – with a military gaze (Allan, 2017). More importantly, the interrelated environmental, economic and geopolitical interests in opening up the Arctic that are emerging with global warming make for a particular set of contradictions and tensions in the region that we argue will be much more likely than global environmental concerns to determine what role (if any) geoengineering could or would play. Arctic SG ideas are emerging largely oblivious to this context, which is understandable, but makes for an interesting comparative analysis that, as will we show, raises questions concerning the overall feasibility of SG in the Arctic, especially deployment of it in line with scientific imaginaries. Since scientific literature tends to be central to governance-oriented assessments of SG (e.g. National Academies of Sciences, Engineering, and Medicine, 2021), a mismatch between assumptions has potentially serious policy implications, not least in terms of overall feasibility, which in turn augments risks of such schemes failing and contributing to mitigation deterrence (when they were hoped or planned for, delaying emissions reductions (McLaren, 2016)). Attention to the geopolitical complexities of Arctic geoengineering could prevent scientific work being translated into policy prescriptions in unintended ways or having unexpected effects – if the complexities can be foregrounded when interpreting such work and be considered in designing future research. Approach We analyse both Arctic geoengineering schemes and state strategies for the Arctic as security imaginaries. This concept draws on Charles Taylor’s (2004) notion of the social imaginary, ‘the ways people imagine their social existence, how they fit together with others, how things go on between them and their fellows, the expectations that are normally met, and the deeper normative notions and images that underlie these expectations’ (p. 23). Imaginaries, in this sense, are worldviews – sets of assumptions that may or may not correspond to social reality but affect it in significant and material ways. They are not simply subjective constructions to be weighed against some objective reality, but (often competing) ways of constructing and institutionalising the world. Following Pretorius (2008), a security imaginary is then ‘that part of the social imaginary as “a map of social space” that is specific to society’s common understanding and expectations about security and makes practices related to security possible’ (p. 112). Regrettably, social imaginaries are often theorised through ‘internalism’: as if a society is determined by factors originating within that society alone (Rosenberg, 2016).3 This makes it difficult to explain why different societies often have similar security imaginaries. By breaking with internalism, national imaginaries can be understood as inherently international in the sense that they are deeply affected by coexistence with other societies. For Pretorius (2008), ‘the security imaginary is . . . open to influence from perceptions, beliefs and understandings of other societies about security’ due to ‘trans-societal exchanges’ such as travel (p. 112). But in a deeper way, the mere existence of multiple societies is fundamental to the whole idea of (national) security (Rosenberg, 2016). In addition, if the Arctic is considered a ‘regional security complex’ (Lanteigne, 2016) such that the security imaginary of societies in a region ‘cannot be reasonably analysed or resolved independently of each other’ (Buzan and Wæver, 2003: 44), then relations between societies become constitutive, even, of security imaginaries of that region. Scientific communities – in this case geoengineering researchers – can produce a different ‘map of social space’ from national ones, since the groups (in one version ‘epistemic communities’ (Haas, 1992)) producing these are not necessarily national, and use different tools and concepts than national security communities. At the same time, scientists are rarely unaffected by their backgrounds, and their technical and conceptual tools for producing such a ‘map’ reflect traces from state priorities and international structures, including colonial legacies (Mahony and Hulme, 2018). State and scientific security imaginaries are thus distinct but not separate, and as we shall see, they can clash or draw upon each other, often implicitly. The security imaginary concept captures three important characteristics of our empirical materials. First, geoengineering ideas and state security strategies are performative (rather than purely descriptive) in their anticipation of (Arctic) futures (Anderson, 2010). Second, they are based on understandings of social order which merge factual and normative claims – what is and what should be (Taylor, 2004). Third, they construct threats and necessary responses in terms of the security of that social order, irrespective of whether those threats are of a military nature or otherwise (e.g. a climatic threat); in other words, they can securitise a variety of referent objects (Buzan et al., 1998). In investigating scientific and state security imaginaries, we focus on the difference in the construction of two objects: climate and the international order. We ask: how is the ‘Arctic climate’ articulated and made legible in relation to the planetary climate and other factors, and further, how is the Arctic climate problematised and related to concerns of desirable or undesirable futures? What political, economic and international infrastructures are presumed? In sum, what threatens and what defends Arctic and international order? To explore the security imaginaries of Arctic geoengineering, we gathered materials that construct Arctic futures through searches in the peer-reviewed literature with the search terms ‘Arctic’ and ‘geoengineering’ using , as well as search hits on the term ‘Arctic’ in the archive of the Climate Engineering Newsletter run by the Kiel Earth Institute,4 which also covers grey literature and press coverage on the topic.5 We manually excluded texts exclusively focused on carbon removal forms of geoengineering, except those with positive effects on the surface albedo. For the state security imaginaries of the Arctic, we consulted policy documents and other official government publications looking for the most recent policy statement in each of the littoral states: Canada, the United States, Russia, Norway and Denmark (which controls the security and foreign policy of Greenland) concerning their respective Arctic security strategy.6 Public documents are often used as data in security studies as testaments to state preferences or intentions, despite the often performative character of such documents. Such documents generally attempt to portray the institutions that produce them as competent and coherent – and of value to particular external audiences. As such they are potentially unreliable as sources for underlying intentions, levels of capacity and commitment behind policy goals. However, as documents set out to perform a future which is seen as desirable – either by the authors themselves or the audiences they appeal to – they are a useful guide to the underlying assumptions of social and international order guiding Arctic security politics – the state security imaginaries, in other words. We therefore study them for their performative content, with particular emphasis on the intended audiences and messages (Coffey, 2014). Similarly, geoengineering publications also perform a material and political Arctic future to advance scientific or research agendas, and we therefore analyse the underlying imaginary of their desired futures, without prejudice to the climatological or technical feasibility of the envisioned schemes. However, as the imaginaries of many researchers typically invoke global benefits from Arctic geoengineering, in particular through preventing tipping events, it bears mentioning that recent literature questions these benefits. Research indicates that that some techniques (ice restoration in particular) would have limited impacts on the global climate (Van Wijngaarden et al., 2024; Webster and Warren, 2022; Zampieri and Goessling, 2019), and a recent comprehensive review finds only limited support for the claim that Arctic sea ice is a tipping element in the climate system (Lenton et al., 2023: 58–60, 66–68). Even so, it should not be assumed that scientific considerations alone will drive decisions to geoengineer the Arctic, and the growing interest in these ideas makes it important to examine their political imaginaries. Finally, we must acknowledge the highly consequential difference in the power to securitise between the actors which produce the imaginaries. The state apparatuses producing the state security imaginaries are more aligned with, and therefore more likely to influence, actors with the power to securitise (Floyd, 2021). We read both sets of imaginaries in this light. The ‘great white shield’: scientific security imaginaries In geoengineering studies and policy papers, the Arctic is foremost understood as a part of the global climate system (Corry, 2017a), with focus placed on potential tipping points in terms of alarming above-average warming, the sea ice albedo feedback and the potential release of methane and carbon dioxide from thawing permafrost or undersea clathrates. These may push the Earth into feedback cycles of further warming. The Arctic is therefore seen as a ‘great white shield’ for the global climate, but a fragile one: ‘the weakest link in the chain of climate protection’ (Zaelke, 2019: 241). Many of those advocating exploration of Arctic geoengineering argue that emissions cannot be reduced in time to prevent tipping points. One paper contends that cryospheric tipping points ‘are essentially too late to address by standard political processes [for climate management]’ (Moore et al., 2021: 109). This pessimistic assessment spawns a complementary opposite: hopes that geoengineering might prove especially feasible and desirable in the Arctic, with associated aspirations for near-term experimentation and potential deployment. One researcher coined the term ‘Arctic Premium’, arguing that the particular climatic characteristics of the region will enable ‘a dividend for regionally based climate interventions that could be less expensive, more effective and achieve faster results than if they were targeted over the whole earth’ (Littlemore, 2021: 2) – the Arctic imagined as an effective and relatively accessible lever for operating on the global climate system as a whole.7 While regional benefits such as the preservation of ice-dependent Indigenous ways of life are sometimes mentioned (Moore et al., 2021: 110), this tends to occur when regional benefits align with what are understood as global climatic interests. This instrumental attitude can also be seen in proposals that, echoing some of the early literature on SG (Lane et al., 2007; Robock et al., 2008), see the Arctic as a testing ground. These include ‘SCoPEx’, which would have tested SAI equipment over Indigenous Sámi land, and the suggested use of the Sermeq Kujalleq glacier in Greenland – Inuit territory – as a prototype for more substantial glacial geoengineering in the Antarctic. The Sermeq Kujalleq proposal is justified on the basis of ‘fewer global environmental impacts’, despite the considerable amount of local socio-environmental impacts and acknowledgement that ‘the reactions of local people would be mixed’ (Moore et al., 2018: 304). In a quote that sums up the assessment of most researchers Bodansky and Hunt (2020) argue that ‘as bad as Arctic melting is for the Arctic itself, its global effects are more concerning’ (p. 601). The concern with global effects infuses scientific security imaginaries with urgency. The ostensible ‘speed’ (Zaelke, 2019: 244) of SG is contrasted with the slowness of politics, emissions reductions and large-scale carbon removal.8 In many cases, such invocations of urgency lead to claims that geoengineering is necessary: that ‘excluding polar ice restoration could make the 1.5° C goal impossible to achieve’ (Field et al., 2018: 883) or that ‘more and more people see geoengineering as a necessity more than an option, making it a matter of when rather than if’ (Barclay, 2021: 4). One proposal notes that ‘these are expensive propositions, but within the means of governments to carry out on a scale comparable to the Manhattan Project’ (Desch et al., 2017: 121); others also specify funding by rich states as the way to move forward on research and deployment (Moore et al., 2021). The urgent threat of Arctic climate change is seen as a job for decisive state action, and thus, it is argued to be salient in so far as it appears as a universal threat to state interests. At the same time, the causes of climate change are downplayed and depoliticised across the literature. Attributing climate change to emissions from ‘human societies’ (Beer et al., 2020: 1), the literature frames out the vastly unequal responsibility for climate change and the social and economic dynamics driving historical and continued emissions.9 One policy paper neglects social causes of climate change altogether, contrasting geoengineering only to ‘conventional mitigation policies’ (Bodansky and Hunt, 2020: 597) and ‘decarbonisation of the global economy’ (p. 616). In this way, Arctic climate change is constructed as a global security threat, seen as stemming from the ‘tight couplings within global systems, processes, and networks’ (Miller, 2015: 278) rather than the actions of any specific group of humans, and as a threat to global ‘human security’ and therefore not subject to the division and distrust of international politics. In this, the imaginary resembles much liberal environmentalism in International Relations, characterised by a ‘global cosmopolitanism’ which does not seriously engage with inequalities of power and intersocietal difference (Chandler et al., 2018: 200). This imaginary is probably adopted to construct scenarios for technical research, since it fits neatly with modelling tools that produce visions of geoengineering in purely technical Earth system terms. But the liberal imaginary also shapes assessments of political feasibility and could impinge on the technical design of geoengineering schemes, including in ways that can be hard to unpick when the research enters the political sphere. Most publications entirely omit considerations of state security, including some papers that focus on governance (Bodansky and Hunt, 2020; Moore et al., 2021). The mentions of security that do exist are brief and vague: C2G (2021) notes that ‘evidence suggests potential security issues may arise’ (p. 2) in the case of SAI. Another paper notes as an example of ‘geo-political . . . friction’ that ‘Arctic regions such as Russia, Alaska and the Canadian Yukon would be providing a global public good . . . which would add a major new dimension to international relations’ (Macias-Fauria et al., 2020: 10), suggesting that geoengineering can be adequately grasped through rationalist decision frameworks where global public goods offer non-rival and universal benefits, which is disputed (Gardiner, 2013). In the research, the omission of geopolitics is justified by relegating it as a problem which only concerns the ostensibly more controversial techniques such as SAI deployed globally. There is a hope that ‘Arctic interventions pose less of a governance challenge than global climate interventions’ (Bodansky and Hunt, 2020: 609). This rests on the twin claim that the physical effects of Arctic interventions will be more limited and therefore less risky and that the Arctic’s political environment is more conducive to geoengineering than the ‘global’ polity as a whole. In terms of physical effects, many Arctic interventions are argued to be ‘low-risk’ (Barclay, 2021: 4) due to fewer and less severe environmental side effects. What Zaelke (2019) calls ‘soft geoengineering’ (p. 243) approaches are presented as ‘more natural’ (Littlemore, 2021: 2) than the most commonly considered SG techniques such as SAI or MCB which involve physical and chemical manipulation of the atmosphere.10 In particular, efforts to restore sea ice without atmospheric interventions are promoted highlighting the ostensibly more ‘natural’ character of their intervention (Field et al., 2018: 899). ‘Unlike other [SG] methods, thickening sea ice is attractive because it merely enhances a naturally ongoing process in the Arctic’, claims one proponent (Desch et al., 2017: 112). Efforts at ecological intervention in ecosystems to halt permafrost thaw are also described as ‘a return to a more “natural state”’ (Moore et al., 2021: 111). ‘Soft’ geoengineering concepts are in many cases linked to discourses of conservation, with the sometimes-explicit expectation that this will make them more benign and less politically controversial: ‘Since it is rooted in the preservation of the existing state rather than introducing new and undeniably controversial elements into the atmosphere, it likely presents easier governance challenges’ (Moore et al., 2021: 116). Such distinctions between ‘natural’ and ‘unnatural’ interventions may well facilitate cooperation around some methods, but notions of ‘natural’ are also situated, making distinctions inevitably difficult to maintain in practice. While aiming to preserve select parts of the Arctic environment (such as land ice, sea ice or permafrost), geoengineering interventions will likely also introduce significant changes and risks to Arctic ecosystems (Miller et al., 2020; Van Wijngaarden et al., 2024).11 In this way, ostensibly ‘natural’ Arctic interventions would lead to unprecedented anthropogenic – and for others therefore ‘unnatural’ – impacts on ecosystems in the Arctic and possibly beyond, since remote impacts are plausible but not yet well understood.12 This reveals an imaginary prevalent among proponents of Arctic geoengineering, where a distinct construction of ‘natural’ emerges to bridge aspirations of technical manipulation of the climate with what scientists see as palatable to (or believe to be) social ideals of ‘nature’. In addition, the adjectives used to describe ‘soft’ geoengineering – ‘targeted’ (Moore et al., 2021: 108), ‘localized’ (Latham et al., 2014: 3), ‘reversible’ (Barclay, 2021: 4) and ‘intelligent’ (Field et al., 2018: 900), all point to an imaginary where aspirations towards the ‘natural’ are combined with expectations of fine-grained, scientifically calibrated control. As Zaelke (2019) explicitly suggests, ‘in other words, we have control over soft geoengineering’ (p. 243) – the ‘we’ here left ambiguous. The idea of having a relatively large degree of control originates in restraint vis-a-vis ‘global’ SG, in that it recognises large risks from attempting to control the global climate system as such. But this sense of fine-grained control may also encourage more Promethean dreams of a ‘designer climate’ (Oomen, 2021), as speculation over future possibilities of ‘fine-tun[ing] the flows of heat, air and water’ using localised MCB indicates (Latham et al., 2014: 10). In terms of the Arctic’s political environment, discourse on the feasibility of geoengineering reveals further elements of a liberal imaginary, relying on (existing or imagined) international law and institutions, distributive justice and consequentialist ethics (Baiman, 2021; Barclay, 2021), a focus on cost minimisation (Desch et al., 2017; Field et al., 2018) and market-based approaches such as payments for ecological services (Moore et al., 2021) or carbon credits (Macias-Fauria et al., 2020) in the implementation of geoengineering schemes. Taken together, such measures rather well resemble a ‘liberal cosmopolitan framework through the advocacy of managerialism rather than transformation; the top-down coercive approach of international law; and use of abstract modernist political categories’ (Chandler et al., 2018: 190). Distributive notions of justice and consequentialist ethics are arguably also at the root of claims that local populations in the Arctic, including its Indigenous peoples, may be uniquely receptive to geoengineering schemes. While many advocate public engagement (Desch et al., 2017; Macias-Fauria et al., 2020) and stress that ‘Northern people who use and depend upon the existing landscape need a strong voice’ (Littlemore, 2021: 3), there is a general expectation that such engagement will not be prohibitively conflictual. One policy scholar suggested that ‘given that Northern people are already seeing the effects of climate change, the North may be a place for a more pragmatic, constructive, and legitimate deliberative discussion on Arctic interventions’ (Ted Parson, quoted in Littlemore, 2021: 5). Other researchers have concluded that using SAI would conserve ‘indigenous habits and lifestyles’ in the Arctic (Chen et al., 2020: 1) as a direct consequence of reducing permafrost thaw. These assumptions were strained by the SCoPEx controversy, where the Sámi Council strongly opposed the experiment planned in their territory (Cooper, 2023). Equally, Arctic populations (Indigenous and non-Indigenous) have varied interests that cannot be assumed to be oriented to preventing or reversing Arctic climatic change, some seeing new opportunities for economic development and potentially political independence in the case of Greenland (Jacobsen, 2020). Political feasibility of geoengineering plans is often assessed through legal analyses that weigh up specific techniques and target environments in relation to existing treaties and other legal regimes (Barclay, 2021; Bodansky and Hunt, 2020). Some place hope in techniques such as permafrost/glacier preservation that may be deployed within the bounds of a single nation’s territory, which would, in their view, sidestep the need for international governance altogether: ‘for example, Russian and Canadian policies could change the carbon released from thawing permafrost. Similarly, Greenland’s ice sheet would be the primary responsibility of the Greenlanders’ (Moore et al., 2021: 109). While such techniques might be localised in effect, and only intended to slow climate feedback effects such as the rate of ice loss, inclusion of such measures in market credit schemes, as attempted by the Real Ice project,13 could prove controversial and under some conditions undermine any SG-based climate effect (Fearnehough et al., 2020: Chapter 3). For cross-border geoengineering schemes, the Arctic Council14 is in some cases highlighted as a favourable site for governance (Desch et al., 2017). One paper calls it an ‘obvious institution’ for international governance of Arctic geoengineering in general, contending that ‘because of its relatively small size, the Arctic Council has been a relatively effective forum to develop regional policies relating to the Arctic’ (Bodansky and Hunt, 2020: 610). However, in a later article, one of the authors described the Arctic Council as ‘an informal institution that lacks any regulatory powers and shows no signs of being up to the task of taking significant action’ on Arctic climate change (Bodansky and Pomerance, 2021: 2). Moore et al. (2021) similarly contend that ‘the Arctic Council is not a true international organization with rule-making power’ (p. 113). Yet Moore et al. (2021) still argue the Arctic is a politically tractable space for geoengineering due to the low number of states that would need to come to an agreement – in contrast to global SG which ‘would ideally need at least near-global consensus’ (p. 109). This reveals an important complexity in the concept of globality that permeates the geoengineering imaginaries. While the Arctic, as we showed above, is instrumentalised for a global community – operated on to mitigate climatic effects across the planet – it is also differentiated from ‘global interventions’ that take the global Earth system as their direct object of intervention (Bodansky and Hunt, 2020: 597). As Moore et al. (2021) state explicitly, ‘targeted geoengineering is done on regional scales but aims to conserve the various parts of the global climate and earth system’ (p. 109). The politically salient objects are imagined to be the methods of intervention, spatially bounded in the Arctic region while the intended global climatic effects are in effect rendered unproblematic and therefore without need for governance. Arguably this reflects a common assumption that governance is only relevant in the case of ‘adverse or unintended effects’ (Barclay, 2021: 5) – the intended effect of albedo modification implicitly understood as an unambiguous global public good. On a technical level, this assumption is questionable – since remote consequences of Arctic geoengineering are not yet well understood. But more crucially, the assumption projects exactly those liberal rationalist norms which are argued to be especially present in the Arctic on to the wider geopolitical context. The specific imaginary constructed to justify regional geoengineering interventions as politically feasible while still being part of a global solution to climate change cannot work without a general liberal imaginary of international politics. Otherwise, the global effects of regional interventions would threaten to undo the validity of the ‘regional feasibility’ argument. Arctic state security imaginaries The history of scientific research in the Arctic reveals the liberal security imaginaries underlying Arctic geoengineering to be a relatively recent phenomenon. Doel et al. (2014) describe the intertwinement of 20th-century Arctic research projects and three broad state goals, shared to varying degrees by all littoral states: national security, exploitation of natural resources and extension of territorial sovereignty to disputed areas. When intercontinental and submarine-launched ballistic nuclear missiles were introduced from the late 1950s, the Arctic became a ‘buffer zone’ between the Cold War powers, experiencing a continuous period with low military activity and absence of conflict that likely paved a way for increased cooperation after the Cold War, with Mikhail Gorbachev famously declaring the Arctic a ‘zone of peace’ (Gjørv and Hodgson, 2019: 2). The Arctic came to be seen as an ‘exceptional’ region in the post-Cold War period, where institutionalised multilateral cooperation on regional issues, particularly environmental and scientific activities, could blossom (Lackenbauer and Dean, 2020). In this section, we examine recent state strategies and developments in the Arctic to assess the contours of the current leading security imaginary among Arctic states. The key characteristic of Arctic exceptionalism is that geopolitical conflicts and tensions from outside the Arctic are excluded from affecting cooperation on internal Arctic issues and that, as a corollary, specifically ‘Arctic issues’ are compartmentalised: ‘Actors . . . can talk about everything except contentious issues, not least military security’ (Gjørv and Hodgson, 2019: 3, original emphasis). However, this compartmentalisation is hard to find in recent state assessments. The US emphasised in 2019 that ‘The Arctic remains vulnerable to “strategic spillover” from tensions, competition, or conflict arising in these other regions’ (United States Department of Defense (USDOD), 2019: 6). In 2020, the Danish Minister for Foreign Affairs spoke of ‘a new security-political dynamic in the region. Disagreements and conflicts originating in other areas of the world are also being expressed in the Arctic’ (Kofod, 2020: 1).15 For the four North Atlantic Treaty Organization (NATO) members in the Arctic littoral, such concerns were obviously directed at the only non-NATO state: Russia (even before the invasion of Ukraine). Denmark expressed concern over ‘the Russian build-up of military capabilities’ (Kofod, 2020: 2); Norway stated that ‘Russian build-up of forces and military modernisation can challenge the security of Norway and allied countries directly’ (Royal Ministry of Foreign Affairs (RMFA), 2020: 23) and cited the Russian annexation of Crimea as a key moment in increased tensions and deteriorating optimism regarding peaceful cooperation in the Arctic (RMFA, 2020: 10). Russia, for its part, described ‘military buildup by foreign states in the Arctic and an increase of the potential for conflict in the region’ as a ‘challenge’ (Office of the President of the Russian Federation (OPRF), 2020: 5). Among the NATO states, these assessments have for several years been accompanied by a call for deeper military cooperation. Denmark has pledged to ‘support NATO’s role in the Arctic and the North Atlantic’ (Ministry of Foreign Affairs of Denmark, 2022: 23), a change from previous strategy documents which stressed that ‘enforcement of the realm’s sovereignty is fundamentally the responsibility of the realm’s authorities’ (Ministry of Foreign Affairs of Denmark, Greenland and the Faroe Islands, 2011: 20). Canada aims to ‘increase surveillance and monitoring of the broader Arctic region’ in collaboration with the United States, Denmark and Norway (Government of Canada, 2019: 77), while Norway in 2021 negotiated a deal with the United States to allow it access to two Arctic military installations – the Ramsund Naval Base and the Evenes Airfield. Trust has only deteriorated further since Russia’s full-scale invasion of Ukraine in 2022. All Arctic Council member states except Russia announced they would suspend participation in council meetings because of the invasion, subsequently announcing a ‘limited resumption’ of projects without Russian participation (Global Affairs Canada, 2022). The recent US Arctic strategy describes ‘increasing strategic competition in the Arctic . . . exacerbated by Russia’s unprovoked war in Ukraine’ (The White House, 2022: 3) and claimed that ‘Russia’s war of aggression against Ukraine has rendered government-to-government cooperation with Russia in the Arctic virtually impossible at present’ (The White House, 2022: 14). Russia interprets Arctic politics on similar terms; the Arctic ambassador has stated that the Finnish and Swedish bids to join NATO ‘will of course lead to certain adjustments in the development of high altitude [sic] cooperation’ (quoted in Staalesen, 2022). This dynamic of de-exceptionalisation, where the Arctic is increasingly reintegrated into great power politics, is the contemporary context in which the littoral states interpret the region’s present and future climatic changes. The state goals associated with early and mid-20th century Arctic science are reappearing as a background for envisioning the impact of climate change. Of the three goals identified by Doel et al. (2014), assertion over disputed territories is arguably of lesser importance today. All states have indicated a willingness to settle territorial continental shelf disputes via international law, and such statements are generally accepted by commentators as genuine (Østhagen, 2018). But the goals of military national security and extraction of natural resources are growing in salience, and changing in character, as the ice melts and the permafrost thaws. In contrast to the geoengineering literature, climate change is rarely addressed as a primary threat in state policies but described in more restricted terms. Adaptation problems from ‘sea-ice loss, permafrost thaw and land erosion’ (Government of Canada, 2019: 63) are emphasised, and both Canada (Government of Canada, 2019: 18) and Norway (RMFA, 2020: 14) describe climate change as a cultural threat to Indigenous peoples. Nonetheless, the task of emission reductions does not figure as a specifically Arctic objective (e.g. RMFA, 2020: 14). In this way, climate change figures less as a problem that must urgently be dealt with and more as an unavoidable condition of Arctic politics. In the context of military security objectives, climate change is understood primarily as a driver of increased navigability and accessibility of the Arctic. The US Navy anticipates an increasingly ice-free ‘blue Arctic’, where ‘peace and prosperity will be increasingly challenged by Russia and China, whose interests and values differ dramatically from ours’ (United States Department of the Navy, 2021: 2). Cold War-era interpretations of the Arctic’s geographical significance are being reinvigorated: Canada stresses the importance of maintaining air and missile capabilities in its Arctic region due to its location along the shortest path from Russian to US territory (Government of Canada, 2019: 77). And as the region becomes more accessible, it rises in strategic importance. The US Department of Defense presents the Arctic as ‘a potential corridor – between the Indo-Pacific and Europe, and the U.S. homeland – for expanded strategic competitions’ (USDOD, 2019: 6) and stresses that ‘maintaining freedoms of navigation and overflight are critical to ensuring that . . . U.S. forces retain the global mobility guaranteed under international law’ (USDOD, 2019: 13). The increased accessibility of the Arctic also brings new hopes of further use of the region’s natural resources as a vehicle for economic growth (Keil, 2014). Such goals have become intertwined with development discourses and policies that focus on lack of modern infrastructure, low employment and population decline and, in this way, align the economic objectives of faraway capitals with local concerns. Canada aims to ‘close the gaps and divides that exist between this region, particularly in relation to its Indigenous peoples, and the rest of the country’ (Government of Canada, 2019: 36) and presents these gaps in a consumerist national imaginary where being ‘full participants in Canadian society’ means having ‘access to the same services, opportunities and standards of living as those enjoyed by other Canadians’ (Government of Canada, 2019: 36). The Russian government frames its Arctic policy goals in terms of avoiding a dystopia of a depopulated region lacking economic growth, and such fears are directly presented in security terms: ‘population decline’ and ‘insufficient development’ of infrastructure and business are named ‘primary threats to national security’ (OPRF, 2020: 4–5). In Norway, Northern depopulation is presented as a key concern to be addressed through investment in public education and business infrastructure (RMFA, 2020: 11). The emphasis in such ‘development’ is on natural resources such as fossil fuels and rare earth minerals, trans-Arctic shipping routes and tourism. Russia is particularly clear in its focus on fossil fuels; ‘increasing oil and gas extraction rates, advancing oil refining, and producing liquefied natural gas and gas-chemical products’ are considered ‘primary objectives for the economic development of the Arctic zone’ (OPRF, 2020: 7). The development of the Northern Sea Route as a ‘competitive national transportation passage in the world market’ is named a ‘primary’ Russian national interest (OPRF, 2020: 4). Other states also emphasise ‘new economic opportunities, for example in the form of new maritime routes and extraction of natural resources’ (Kofod, 2020: 1). In some states, the role of fossil fuels in extractive ambitions is arguably receding. In its previous Arctic strategy, the US anticipated the Arctic’s role in ‘future United States energy security’ through its ‘proved and potential oil and gas natural resources that will likely continue to provide valuable supplies to meet U.S. energy needs’ (The White House, 2013: 7). Now, ‘the Arctic’s significant deposits of in-demand minerals essential to key technology supply chains’ (The White House, 2022: 6) have ostensibly replaced fossil fuels as the main extractive interest. Yet such shifts leave intact visions of major extractive operations dependent on (or facilitated by) a warming Arctic. More generally, there is an assumption of compatibility between interests in extractivism and economic growth and climate and environmental policies. Imagined futures contain ‘safe and environmentally-responsible shipping’ (Government of Canada, 2019: 49), ‘the sustainable use of natural resources’ (OPRF, 2020: 9) and ‘sustainable tourism’ (Ministry of Foreign Affairs of Denmark, Greenland and the Faroe Islands, 2011: 24). Technological innovation is, unsurprisingly, anticipated as the main way to realise the sustainability of these activities. In contrast to this assumed compatibility with environmental objectives, the economic opportunities are portrayed as in need of protection against interests from other states. The US expresses commitment to protect ‘freedom of navigation’ in the Arctic against perceived Russian threats, alleging that Russia ‘is attempting to constrain freedom of navigation through its excessive maritime claims along the Northern Sea Route’ (The White House, 2022: 6). As described above, this interest in freedom of navigation is partly military, but also acts to protect an economic order. The US argues for ‘a shared interest in a peaceful and stable region that allows the Arctic nations to realise the potential benefits of greater access to the region’s resources’ (USDOD, 2019: 4), underpinned by US military power. Russia, for its part, has named ‘actions by foreign states and (or) international organizations to obstruct the Russian Federation’s legitimate economic or other activities in the Arctic’ a ‘primary challenge to national security’ (OPRF, 2020: 5). Here, China is also constructed by Western states as an economic security threat. While under the President Biden, the US threat perception in the Arctic appears to have shifted to an almost exclusive focus on Russia (The White House, 2022); the prior Trump administration indicated strong concerns that ‘China is attempting to gain a role in the Arctic in ways that may undermine international rules and norms, and there is a risk that its predatory economic behavior globally may be repeated in the Arctic’ (USDOD, 2019: 6), a sentiment shared by Denmark and Norway (Ministry of Foreign Affairs of Denmark, 2022: 23; RMFA, 2020: 11). China is certainly explicit about its ambitions in the Arctic, which it portrays as an increasingly ‘global’ space. It argues that due to the changing environment and increased accessibility, ‘the Arctic situation now goes beyond its original inter-Arctic States or regional nature’, and the stress on ‘global implications’ is used to justify China’s identification as a ‘Near-Arctic State’ and ‘important stakeholder in Arctic affairs’ (english.gov.cn, 2018). Yet contrary to the impression given by Western states, Chinese material and institutional visions for the future are strikingly similar to those of the littoral states: development of shipping routes, materials extraction and tourism under promises of sustainable development and governed by international law (english.gov.cn, 2018). Hence, the mistrust expressed by other states does not concern explicit differences in visions of Arctic futures. Rather, the imaginary of economic development is securitised along the lines of geopolitical blocs, with economic cooperation across these blocs rendered problematic. Implications for the security politics of solar geoengineering Our analysis has revealed stark differences between scientific security imaginaries in the geoengineering literature and the security imaginaries of Arctic states. First, climate change is constructed as a concern in different ways. In the scientific imaginaries, climate change, and especially the prospect of Arctic tipping points, are front and centre. The Arctic is primarily interpreted through its climate-restorative potential, as imagined through computational Earth system models that imagine futures of controlled Arctic climates – and by extension, controlled global climates. By contrast, state imaginaries of the Arctic are not oriented towards preventing climate change but anticipate a mixture of desirable and undesirable outcomes from rising temperatures, which are seen as an inevitable background for the region’s future. Responses to climate change – such as increased demand for rare earth minerals – are becoming issues of concern and questions of security, more so than climate change itself (cf. McLaren and Corry, 2023), which stands as an unquestioned precondition for other strategic decisions. Whether the Arctic should be a venue of increased activity is not in doubt. This stands in sharp contrast to ideas of geoengineering which presuppose that hindering accessibility in the region for economic and military purposes, for example, by restoring sea ice, would be acceptable to all states involved. Second, the scientific security imaginaries exhibit a liberal institutionalist understanding of international politics and rely on a view of the Arctic as a global commons to be leveraged for the needs of an ostensible global humanity. In this, imaginaries of Arctic geoengineering do not differ from their planet-scaled counterparts (McLaren and Corry, 2021), except perhaps in the immediacy of imagined experimentation and deployment. Yet the Arctic case contains a unique contradictory claim. Geoengineering in the Arctic is justified partly by claims that it would be more politically tractable, drawing on discourses of Arctic exceptionalism that see it as a special region where inter-state cooperation on common interests can be shielded from exterior geopolitical dynamics and conflicts. But while the envisaged methods of geoengineering are bounded in the Arctic, they still aim to achieve global climatic effects.16 Prospective geoengineers thus make two further assumptions: that effects outside the Arctic are overall benign and/or that governance is only relevant in the case of unfavourable effects. The latter relies on a liberal rationalist imaginary of world politics, where costs and benefits are readily identified and acted upon, coordinated by institutions if required, undermining the initial presumption that the Arctic can be shielded from global conflictual geopolitics. Especially with the Russian invasion of Ukraine, this idea of Arctic exceptionalism is also increasingly obsolete – the Arctic is undergoing de-exceptionalisation, as indicated by the de facto collapse of the flagship of Arctic multilateralism, the Arctic Council. Schemes that envision deployment of Arctic geoengineering as market-driven are also likely to be less immune to geopolitical obstacles than their developers imagine. Such interventions assume an international order governed by multilateral institutions including markets for carbon removals or ‘cooling credits’. But even for those states which subscribe to similar liberal aspirations, this order is subject to uncertainty, in the Arctic and elsewhere, and is consequently understood as something which must be secured. The mistrust from Western states about China’s interests in the Arctic, although ostensibly similar and compatible with Western aspirations of Arctic futures, highlights the current and increasing uncertainty over the future of such a Western-dominated liberal economic order. Taken together, these differences reveal a deep disjuncture between the security imaginaries of Arctic geoengineering and state strategies. Given the relative strength of state security actors and institutions compared to environmental ones, the political feasibility of Arctic geoengineering appears to preclude a purely environmental logic driving development and/or deployment. It raises the question of which rationales and scenarios would become subject to modification – or disappear completely – to take account of economic, geopolitical, security and other aims. In this light, it is notable that there is one point of convergence between the state and scientific security imaginaries: technological solutionism. States might conceivably adopt geoengineering to partly mitigate Arctic warming (or ice degradation) while still leaving the environment accessible enough for increased resource extraction, transcontinental shipping and tourism. However, such a scenario – a form of mitigation deterrence (McLaren, 2016) – is hardly an expression of the scientific security imaginary, which, having securitised Arctic tipping points as a threat to a global humanity, sees the protection and restoration of the Arctic climate as the overarching priority. Furthermore, far from prospective geoengineers’ expectations that envision the interventions as supported by local and Indigenous populations, this scenario would further instrumentalise the Arctic to the ends of interests outside the region, which clearly amounts to a continuation and intensification of the neo-colonialism that characterises many parts of the Arctic to this day (Greaves, 2016). As clearly indicated by Sámi-led opposition to SCoPEx and opposition to the Arctic Ice Project led by Arctic Indigenous organisations,17 many Arctic Indigenous persons consider SG incompatible with their understandings of sustainability. As a case study, the Arctic provides more general lessons for SG and security. The region has attracted the attention of geoengineering researchers in part because they understand it as a political best case, and the legacy of multilateralism and science diplomacy in the region might seem to support such an assessment. However, even in a such a best case, the underlying imaginaries of geoengineering clash directly with the political ambitions of the states which would need to support, if not implement, the geoengineering interventions. In other words, SG is unlikely to be implemented for the purposes envisioned in scientific circles, in the Arctic context or elsewhere, least of all in the kind of globally ‘optimal’ manner envisaged in computer model experiments. Should further climatological research reveal SG to be technically feasible and climatically desirable – a question not yet settled – the technology would enter the quagmire of an increasingly competitive and conflictual planetary geopolitics and would need to be integrated with state policies that, for the moment, show no signs of adopting climate change as a primary issue. Our conclusions also have implications for McDonald’s (2023) contemplation of geoengineering albeit only ‘in the service of ecological security: a concern with the resilience of ecosystems themselves’ (p. 566). While McDonald acknowledges the problem of finding political purchase for making nature itself the object of security, he does not explore in detail the particular form geoengineering would take as a security measure. Here, we have studied the work of researchers and others who, arguably, invoke ecological security through appeals to necessity or emergency with Arctic ecosystems as the referent object. Through their work to develop geoengineering from general principles into workable interventions (i.e. which technique would be used, how it would be designed, who would be deploying it and where and with what purpose), they appeal to particular understandings of international security. This demonstrates how even attempts to make nature itself the referent object of security in practice depends on understandings about human societies – here theorised as imaginaries. Importantly, these scientific security imaginaries do not appear to align with state security imaginaries. In drawing our conclusions, we do not suggest that state imaginaries alone will determine the future of Arctic geoengineering. We afford them more power relative to the scientific imaginaries, since the former are backed by considerably more institutional, material and discursive power. But imaginaries are dynamic entities subject to change in unpredictable ways. There are prior examples of scientific cooperation between nations under geopolitical strife, including in the Arctic during the Cold War (Bertelsen, 2020), and a scenario where technical cooperation on SG leads to ‘spillover effects’ inducing restorative and sustainable forms of peacebuilding has been suggested as a hypothesis to be investigated (Buck, 2022). Still, there is also a long and consistent history of science being a proxy for and entangled with geopolitics and economics in the region (Doel et al., 2014; Goossen, 2020), and our analysis of Arctic de-exceptionalisation suggests that ‘geoengineering peacebuilding’ is getting increasingly unlikely as tensions continue to rise. A different vein of uncertainty concerns the internal contradictions of state security imaginaries – between the willingness to seize new opportunities for resource extraction and shipping, and other policy goals of environmental protection and national security. How these contradictions are managed, and which aspects are ultimately prioritised, will play a key role in forming the future of the Arctic (cf. Albert and Vasilache, 2018) and in deciding the opportunities for and political desirability of geoengineering interventions. Therefore, while analysing imaginaries can only take us so far in anticipating the security implications of SG, they provide an important foundation for conceptualising the very problems at stake in this anticipation. As climate impacts intensify and the incentives for geoengineering deployment increase – whether as a technocratic ‘climate policy option’ (Irvine and Keith, 2021), as a way of defending empire (Surprise, 2020) or “fossil fuel-dependent ‘ways of life’” (McLaren and Corry, 2023: 1), the imaginaries outlined in this article will be increasingly likely to collide, in the Arctic and elsewhere. AcknowledgmentsThe research for this article was part of the International Security Politics and Climate Engineering (ISPACE) project hosted at the Department of Political Science, University of Copenhagen. The authors thank the three anonymous reviewers for their insightful comments and suggestions and are grateful for comments given to an initial presentation of the research idea at the International Congress of Arctic Social Sciences (ICASS X) in June 2021. N.K. thanks the Copenhagen Center for Disaster Research for hosting him while conducting the analysis for this article in 2022.FundingThe author(s) disclosed receipt of the following financial support for the research, authorship, and/or publication of this article: This research was carried out with funding from the Independent Research Fund Denmark (Danmarks Frie Forskningsfond).Footnotes1. The latter approaches may also be categorised as ‘nature-based solutions’ or adaptation. In this sense, they are hybrid measures, and we include them here because they also directly or indirectly affect the radiation balance.2. See Centre for Climate Repair. Available at: https://www.climaterepair.cam.ac.uk/refreeze (accessed 5 March 2024).3. For an influential example of internalism, see Jasanoff (2015).4. Now, the ‘carbondioxide-removal.eu’ newsletter. Available at: https://carbondioxide-removal.eu/news/ (accessed 1 August 2023).5. Searches were conducted in the spring of 2022.6. We later chose to include China’s Arctic policy for important additional context.7. In terms of technical effectiveness, some estimates in fact suggest interventions in the Arctic may be less effective than at lower latitudes (Duffey et al., 2023).8. For the latter, see Desch et al. (2017).9. There are some limited exceptions (Baiman, 2021; Moore et al., 2021).10. Although many invocations of soft geoengineering explicitly exclude SAI and MCB, arguments that employ the core distinction between global, risky approaches and more targeted benign ones have also been used to justify Arctic-specific MCB, due to the ‘vastly reduced levels of seeding’ making negative side effects ‘vastly reduced or eliminated’ (Latham et al., 2014: 9). The former UK Chief Scientific Advisor David King has also recently referred to MCB as ‘a biomimicry system’ (The Current, 2022). While much rarer, arguments about reduced side effects have also been applied to Arctic-targeted SAI (Lee et al., 2021).11. Van Wijngaarden et al.’s full review of environmental risks is found in their supplemental compendium (https://doi.org/10.5281/zenodo.10602506).12. We thank an anonymous reviewer for the insight on remote impacts. In the extreme case, strong Arctic cooling without proportional cooling of the Antarctic would create a change in hemispheric heat balance which would most likely shift the Intertropical Convergence Zone southwards, leading to severe decreases in rainfall across the Sahel, parts of the Amazon and Northern India; however, this risk is usually discussed as an outcome of SAI specifically, due to its higher cooling potential (Duffey et al., 2023).13. See https://fortomorrow.org/explore-solutions/real-ice (accessed 11 October 2023).14. Composed of the littoral states, Finland, Iceland, Sweden and six ‘permanent participants’ representing Indigenous groups: the Aleut, Athabaskan, Gwich’in, Inuit, Sámi and the Russian Association of Indigenous Peoples of the North.15. All quotes from Danish and Norwegian sources are authors’ translations.16. We stress again that this finding relates to the imaginary in the cited texts. As noted in section ‘Approach’, the global efficacy of bounded Arctic interventions is questionable.17. See https://www.ienearth.org/arctic-ice-project/ (accessed 31 July 2023).ReferencesAlbert M, Vasilache A (2018) Governmentality of the Arctic as an international region. Cooperation and Conflict 53(1): 3–22.Allan BB (2017) Producing the climate: States, scientists, and the constitution of global governance objects. 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Defense & Security
China Cyber Security Ransomware Email Phishing Encrypted Technology, Digital Information Protected Secured. 3d illustration

Chinese cyberespionage: The Invisible War That Threatens the West

by Gabriele Iuvinale

On March 4, the U.S. Department of Justice charged ten Chinese nationals with carrying out massive hacks against government agencies, media outlets, and dissidents in the United States and around the world. They allegedly acted on behalf of the Chinese company i-Soon, under contract from the Beijing government. Two officials from China’s Ministry of Public Security (MPS) were also indicted, identified as the ones “directing the attacks.” According to documents held by the U.S. justice system, China’s domestic intelligence services (MPS) and foreign intelligence (Ministry of State Security, MSS) relied on a vast network of private companies and domestic contractors to hack and steal information, thereby masking the Chinese government’s direct involvement. In some cases, the MPS and MSS paid private hackers to target specific victims. In many others, the attacks were speculative: hackers identified vulnerable computers, breached them, and extracted information that was later sold — either directly or indirectly — to the Chinese government. The Growth of Chinese Cyberespionage and Its Main Areas of Operation This is not an isolated case. Over the past decade, the People’s Republic of China’s (PRC) hacking program has expanded rapidly. In 2023, then-FBI Director Christopher Wray stated that it was larger than that of all other world powers combined. This increase in power and sophistication has led to success in three key areas: political interference, sabotage of critical infrastructure, and large-scale intellectual property theft. Beijing integrates computer networks, electronic warfare, economic, diplomatic, legal, military, intelligence, psychological, and military deception resources, along with security operations, to weaken states, make them economically dependent on China, and more receptive to a “new authoritarian world order with Chinese characteristics.” For this reason, unlike traditional interpretations, Chinese state-sponsored hacking should be understood within a broader context — where control over technology, strategic infrastructure, and global supply chains is part of “trans-military” and “non-military” warfare operations, as described by two People’s Liberation Army (PLA) colonels in the 1999 book “Unrestricted Warfare”. This approach is known as liminal warfare — an escalating conflict in which the spectrum of competition and confrontation with the West is so wide that the battlefield is, quite literally, everywhere. Cyberespionage as a Tool of Electronic Warfare In electronic warfare, hacking is used for sabotage during times of crisis or conflict. These actions are led by the People’s Liberation Army (PLA), the armed wing of the Chinese Communist Party. In 2023, it was discovered that a hacker group linked to the PLA, known as “Volt Typhoon”, had infiltrated a wide range of critical infrastructure in the U.S. for years, including ports, factories, and water treatment plants — both on the mainland and in strategic locations like Guam. “Volt Typhoon is a military operation with political and potentially military strategic purposes,” explained Ciaran Martin, former director of the UK’s cybersecurity agency. Led by the PLA’s cyber unit, the operation involved installing readiness capabilities — “digital traps,” as some call them — within critical U.S. infrastructure. In addition to a sustained attack in 2023 on a power company in Massachusetts, which aimed to extract sensitive data about its operational technology (OT) infrastructure, “Volt Typhoon” gained notoriety for multiple attacks on telecommunications systems in the U.S. and other critical infrastructures globally. One of its subunits, “Voltzite”, targeted the Littleton Electric and Water Departments, prompting the FBI and cybersecurity firm Dragos to respond jointly and publish a detailed report on the attack and its mitigation. Intellectual Property Theft Through Cyberespionage The most damaging channel for intellectual property theft is cyberespionage. These intrusions allow Chinese companies — sometimes with direct support from the Communist Party or the state — to access information on operations, projects, and technology from foreign firms. China has used state-backed and coordinated cyberespionage campaigns to steal information from companies in strategic sectors such as oil, energy, steel, and aviation. These actions serve both to acquire science and technology and to gather intelligence useful for future attacks on military, government, or technical systems. In the United States, there have been numerous precedents: • In 2014, five PLA hackers were indicted for economic espionage.• In 2017, three hackers linked to the Chinese firm Boyusec were charged with stealing confidential business information.• In 2018, two Chinese nationals were indicted for intellectual property theft.• In 2020, two hackers connected to the MSS were charged with targeting COVID-19 research. Among these, the 2018 indictment stands out as part of a broader U.S. effort to raise awareness about Chinese cyberespionage. On that occasion, Chinese hackers carried out a campaign known as “Cloud Hopper”, which involved a supply chain attack on service providers like Hewlett Packard and IBM. The defendants worked for Huaying Haitai and collaborated with the Tianjin State Security Bureau of the MSS. In 2017, the U.S. Commission on the Theft of American Intellectual Property estimated that such crimes cost the U.S. economy up to $600 billion annually — a figure comparable to the Pentagon’s defense budget and greater than the combined profits of the 50 largest companies in the Fortune 500. Beyond the United States: The Global Impact of Chinese Cyberespionage In June 2024, Dutch military intelligence (MIVD) warned that Chinese cyberespionage was broader than previously believed, affecting Western governments and defense companies. A 2023 cyberattack on the Dutch Ministry of Defense reportedly affected at least 20,000 people within a few months. In 2018, the Czech Republic’s National Cyber and Information Security Agency (NUKIB) issued a warning about risks linked to China. Since then, the country has strengthened its capabilities and controls against Beijing and has worked on mechanisms to counter foreign information manipulation. According to U.S. prosecutors, dozens of European parliamentarians have been targeted by Chinese attacks. In March 2024, the U.S. Department of Justice indicted hackers linked to the MSS for attacking “all EU members” of the Inter-Parliamentary Alliance on China (IPAC), a coalition critical of Beijing. In 2021, the hackers sent over a thousand emails to around 400 accounts linked to IPAC, attempting to spy on their internet activity and devices. In addition, ASML, the Dutch leader in semiconductor lithography, suffers “thousands of security incidents per year,” including several successful infiltration attempts by Chinese actors. Research centers like Imec (Belgium) are also frequent targets. Belgium has expelled Chinese researchers suspected of espionage. The European Union has reinforced security and identified advanced semiconductors as one of four critical technologies requiring risk assessments and enhanced protection. Notably, APT41 is one of the most active and sophisticated Chinese cyberespionage groups, based in the PRC and linked to the MSS. According to Google’s Threat Intelligence Group, APT41 combines state espionage with ransomware attacks — malicious programs that encrypt files and demand financial ransom to restore them — making attribution more difficult. Unlike other PLA-aligned groups whose operations are region-specific, APT41 acts globally, attacking strategic sectors in the U.S., Europe, Latin America, and the Caribbean. It also carries out financially motivated operations, particularly in the gaming industry. Mandiant, a global cybersecurity leader, highlights APT41’s technical capabilities: it frequently exploits zero-day and n-day vulnerabilities and uses techniques like phishing, social engineering, and SQL injections. Since 2020, APT41 has conducted large-scale campaigns against over 75 companies in more than 20 countries. It is responsible for compromising supply chains, such as in the “ShadowHammer” campaign targeting ASUS, which affected over 50,000 systems in 2018. APT41 is also linked to the use of “MESSAGETAP” malware in telecommunications networks. The Role of Chinese Universities in Cyberespionage Chinese universities also collaborate with the PLA and MSS in state-sponsored cyberespionage operations. Shanghai Jiao Tong University works directly with the Chinese military on such operations. Zhejiang University and the Harbin Institute of Technology are key centers for recruiting hackers. Xidian University offers students hands-on experience at provincial MSS offices and previously maintained ties with the Third Department of the PLA’s General Staff before its reorganization in 2015 into the Network Systems Department. One of its graduate programs is co-directed with the Guangdong Office of the Chinese Information Technology Security Evaluation Center (ITSEC), an MSS-run office that leads an active team of contractor hackers. Southeast University also maintains links with security services and co-manages the “Purple Mountain Lab” with the PLA’s Strategic Support Force. There, researchers collaborate on “critical strategic requirements,” operating systems, and interdisciplinary cybersecurity studies. The university also receives funding from the PLA and MSS to develop China’s cyber capabilities. The Cybersecurity undergraduate program at Shanghai Jiao Tong University (SJTU) is taught at a PLA information engineering base. Within this program, SJTU claims to work on “network and information systems testing and evaluation, security testing for connected smart networks, APT attack and defense testing, and key technologies for cyber ranges.” Universities associated with the MSS for talent recruitment include the University of Science and Technology of China, Shanghai Jiao Tong University, Xi’an Jiao Tong University, Beijing Institute of Technology, Nanjing University, and the Harbin Institute of Technology. In addition, some cybersecurity firms — such as Beijing TopSec — collaborate with the PLA in hacking campaigns, operator training, and developing future hackers. This article was originally published by Agenda Digitale and later by Expediente Abierto, who granted us permission for its translation and republication.

Defense & Security
Chess made from USA, EU and China flags on a white background. Chess made from China, Europe Union and United States of America flags. Trade, tariffs, duty and customs war

Europe’s transatlantic China challenge

by Gesine Weber

Abstract European states currently lack a clear joint strategy on China and a coordinated approach to US–China competition. This article offers a novel perspective on the challenges for European approaches to this issue due to an omnipresent transatlantic component and the risk of an alliance dilemma. Illustratively focusing on France, Germany and the UK, it demonstrates that Europeans are facing a transatlantic alliance dilemma with the risks of abandonment and entrapment. It argues that Europe needs to strike a balance between its dependence on Washington, especially with regard to European security, while fearing entrapment by the US approach towards Beijing as it aims to maintain economic ties with China. The article concludes that the ramifications of this dilemma can be mitigated through a distinctly European approach to China, strengthening European coordination on China and bolstering European strategic autonomy. As a conceptual piece rather than a full empirical analysis, this article therefore unpacks the strategic challenge and lays the groundwork for further empirical works on the topic. Introduction Strategic competition between the US and China plays out in many realms of international affairs, ranging from global trade to security in the Indo-Pacific. European states are directly affected by this dynamic as they maintain critical ties with both sides. Albeit allies of the US through NATO, Europeans have been reluctant to align with the US on its approach to the Indo-Pacific and China, which is currently characterised by the quest to win the strategic competition with Beijing in all areas of international affairs (see Leoni 2023). Furthermore, Europe maintains close economic ties with Beijing, and imports from China to the EU have most recently increased (Lovely and Yan 2024). European governments certainly do not pursue an approach of maintaining equidistance between the US and China: not only do they regularly emphasise their strategic proximity to Washington, but more recent events, such as the willingness of European allies to publicly adopt the wording of the communiqué from NATO’s Washington summit (NATO 2024) describing China as an ‘enabler of Russia’s war effort in Ukraine’, clearly demonstrate that the tone is changing in European capitals (Politi 2023). However, Europeans still tend to emphasise China’s role in global affairs and the importance of including it in multilateral cooperation formats. With the re-election of Donald Trump as US president, European policy on China and its approach to US–China competition will increasingly be a focus of the US administration. While the exact approach of the new US government still remains to be defined, there are good reasons to anticipate a more hawkish China policy from Washington, through which the US might seek not only to further compete with China, but to actually win this competition (see Pottinger and Gallagher 2023). When designing their approaches towards China—which, among the key European states, only Germany has done so far, with the publication of its China strategy in 2023—Europeans always face a transatlantic elephant in the room. US–China competition, a structuring feature of international relations shaping the global order today through the increasing emergence of geopolitical blocs (see Leoni and Tzinieris 2024), and China’s rising global influence in almost all areas of international affairs—ranging from climate to economics, the rules-based order and security—are forcing European states to reflect on their approach vis-à-vis Beijing (for a full discussion, see Oertel 2023; García-Herrero and Vasselier 2024). As NATO members, European states also need to adapt their strategy in light of the partnership with the US as their key ally. This article argues that European approaches towards China, as shown in the examples of France, Germany and the UK, have a distinctly transatlantic component. It illustrates how these three European states find themselves in an alliance dilemma with the US, and how the risks associated with alliances also define European approaches to China and US–China competition more broadly. As the US administration regularly refers to China as a ‘challenge’ (US Department of Defense 2022), this article alludes to this formulation through the coining of the term ‘transatlantic China challenge’ to describe the strategic challenges Europeans are facing with regard to defining their approach vis-à-vis China and US–China competition more broadly. It offers a conceptual understanding of the strategic challenges for Europe in this context and thereby constitutes a basis for a more thorough empirical analysis. The alliance dilemma and European strategy in US–China competition Originating in realist international relations theory, the alliance dilemma generally describes a situation in which states face risks resulting from joining an alliance. As demonstrated by Snyder (1984), smaller allies especially face a parallel risk of abandonment and entrapment by a hegemon, that is, the dominating power, after joining an alliance. Abandonment, in these circumstances, implies that the hegemon has no further interest in defending or supporting the smaller allies, whereas entrapment refers to a situation in which a state is ‘dragged into a conflict over an ally’s interests that [it] does not share, or shares only partially’ (see Snyder 1984, 466–8). In the context of alliances, a small state is ‘the weaker part in an asymmetric relationship, which is unable to change the nature or functioning of the relationship on its own’ (Wivel et al. 2014, 9), and hence has more limited space for action than the great powers (Wivel and Thorhallsson 2018, 267). This definition arguably applies to Europe in its partnership with the US, as demonstrated by the excessive military and economic dominance of the US as compared to the European states (see Stockholm International Peace Research Institute n.d.; International Monetary Fund 2025). The re-election of Trump as US president now presents the risk of an increased alliance dilemma for Europeans. On the one hand, Trump has announced several times that he does not value the alliance commitments within NATO and potentially would not defend European allies (Sullivan 2024), threatening Europe with abandonment. This scenario is being taken seriously in European capitals, and reflections on how ‘defending Europe with less America’ (Grand 2024) could shape up have gained traction, especially in 2024. Similarly, defence initiatives within the EU to enhance the European contribution to the continent’s security have leapt forward in recent years (see Scazzieri 2025). On the other hand, even the Biden administration had pushed Europe to align with the US approach on China (see Lynch et al. 2023). However, France and Germany in particular, as the big EU member states, have been hesitant to do so, as reflected in France’s opposition to the opening of a NATO liaison office in Tokyo (McCurry 2023) and Germany’s vote against tariffs on Chinese electric vehicles, fearing reprisals from Beijing (Demarais 2024). Trump’s foreign policy might be strongly characterised by issue linkage, which means that policies in one area will be linked to those in another area. Through this strategy, the new US administration might force Europeans into alignment and thereby entrap them, making them accept policies they are not eager to support (see Barkin and Kratz 2025). The exact policies of the Trump administration vis-à-vis European allies remain to be seen, but it is not hard to imagine a scenario in which abandonment and entrapment could emerge or increase, namely when the threat of abandonment is used to entrap allies and force them to support certain policy decisions. The alliance dilemma could play out for Europeans specifically when designing their approaches towards China (see Barkin and Kratz 2025) and formulating their response to US–China competition more generally. As noted above, among the big European states, only Germany has formally adopted a strategy on China, in 2023 (The Federal Government of Germany 2023). However, China and the response to US–China competition takes a prominent place in France’s Indo-Pacific Strategy and its strategy review (Government of France 2021; Secrétariat général de la défense et de la sécurité nationale 2022), and the UK systematically included the dimension of strategic competition in its Integrated Review and its refresh (Government of the United Kingdom 2021, 2023) and has announced an ‘audit’ of its China policy under the new government (Taylor 2024). While these strategies emphasise their individual approaches towards China and the risks stemming from US–China competition, the US has increasingly pressured Europe to align with its approach (Lynch et al. 2023) and can be expected to continue this pressure (Barkin and Kratz 2025). Through the potential issue linkage of security (openly questioned by President Trump) and China policy, Europe therefore finds itself in a new form of alliance security dilemma. European approaches to US–China competition: strategic hedging How can Europe respond to the alliance dilemma of the risks of abandonment and entrapment when it comes to its approaches to China? Reviewing the theoretical literature on the alliance dilemma, one can imagine different strategies. According to Snyder, members of alliances can choose between strategies that strengthen or weaken their commitment to the alliance. To demonstrate commitment, actions could include reassurances for the ally or demonstrations of loyalty, whereas actions to weaken the commitment to the alliance could consist of restraining the ally (mostly to reduce the risk of entrapment in a conflict), increasing bargaining power over the ally or preserving options for realignment outside the existing alliance (for a full discussion, see Snyder 1984, 466–9). Alternative strategies include hiding from cooperation, that is, ‘seeking to maximize autonomy by opting out of specific aspects of the cooperation or by setting up “bastions” in the cooperation’, or bandwagoning, through which states pursue strategies of adaptation ‘to the more powerful actors in the cooperation’ (Pedersen 2023, 442). At the moment, it seems that France, Germany and the UK ‘drive on sight’ rather than approaching the question holistically. The following analysis aims to unpack how the three European states see US–China competition, the risk of the alliance dilemma and how these reflections have played out so far in their strategies. The strategies of France, Germany and the UK on China demonstrate that their approaches are influenced by a distinctly transatlantic component and reflect the transatlantic alliance dilemma. This is visible in their (1) high awareness of the risks stemming from great power competition, (2) approaches to managing the risk of short-term abandonment, and (3) hedging to mitigate the medium- and long-term risks of abandonment and entrapment. The empirical evidence for this analysis was gathered through a qualitative analysis of European strategic documents, statements and policy decisions taken mostly during the period of the Biden administration. However, in light of the risk of a scaling-up of the alliance dilemma under the Trump administration, sources and evidence accessible by the end of January 2025 were included to illustrate the European approaches. In addition to publicly available documents and the sources mentioned above, this paper draws on conversations with policymakers and experts under the Chatham House rule. Mitigating risks from US–China competition: multilateralism instead of alignment That France, Germany and the UK are close allies with the US is clearly visible in their respective strategies on China, not least because of references they make to the importance of the alliance and their descriptions of their own positions between the two great powers. Overall, France, Germany and the UK share the perception of US–China competition and the emergence of blocs as potentially harmful to their interests. As a consequence, all three call for an inclusive multilateral order instead of falling into a logic of blocs, as the increasing competition is seen as a risk for Europe (Secrétariat général de la défense et de la sécurité nationale 2022, 9–15; The Federal Government of Germany 2020, 24–6; Government of the United Kingdom 2023, 22–6). The response of all three European powers to the emergence of blocs is multilateralism: instead of clearly aligning with the US, the French, German and British strategies call for building broader multilateral coalitions, which should, eventually, also include China (The Federal Government of Germany 2020, 23–6; Government of the United Kingdom 2023). The tone in Paris, Berlin and London towards Beijing has clearly changed over recent years; accordingly, the European capitals were also willing to support strong wording on China in the 2024 NATO summit declaration, which describes China as a ‘critical enabler’ of Russia’s ongoing war against Ukraine (NATO 2024). Albeit also recognised as a critical partner for key issues such as climate policy and trade, European states openly describe China as a ‘systemic rival’ and occasionally call out China’s behaviour, as they did, for example, in the case of a note verbale on the South China Sea (UN 2020). Nevertheless, Europe has not (yet) given in to US pressure to align with Washington’s more confrontational approach towards China (Etienne 2024). Even if European states and Washington have moved closer to each other, especially on economic security (Meyers and Reinsch 2023), the European positions on US–China competition demonstrate that Europeans are not willing to fully endorse or follow Washington’s approach—not least because European imports from China have increased in recent years (Lovely and Yan 2024). Managing the risk of short-term abandonment Since Trump’s election, the risk of abandonment by the US has been seen as increasingly high in Paris, Berlin and London.1 This is not least because Trump has openly questioned his willingness to adhere to Article 5 of the North Atlantic Treaty in the case of an armed attack on Europeans (Sullivan 2024). Europeans are especially concerned about issue linkage in this context, meaning that demands in a policy area other than security could be used as a condition. Concretely, Trump could use the threat of abandonment as leverage to compel Europe to align with the US on China policy.2 Barkin and Kratz (2025) suggest that Europe adopt a ‘carrot and stick’ approach, whereby Europe could start with an offer to the US: buying more liquified natural gas, defence goods and agricultural products from the US could mitigate the risk of abandonment. However, there is awareness among European states that coercion from the US to align on US–China policy, especially when linked to the threat of abandonment, might best be mitigated through enhancing European military capabilities—which would still leave the continent exposed to these threats, though to a lesser extent.3 Addressing the risk of medium- and long-term abandonment and entrapment: transatlantic hedging However, the risk of at least partial abandonment is not a new challenge for European strategy, and had already infused earlier strategic thinking. The shift of US strategic priorities away from Europe and to the Indo-Pacific has already been demonstrated in the allocation of resources to the different theatres. Moreover, European states have increasingly become aware that US forces will be withdrawn from their territories in the future and have concluded that they will have to step up their own commitment to European security (see Grand 2024). In parallel, there is an awareness in European capitals that showing more interest in the Indo-Pacific and giving more importance to policy on China is also a way for Europeans to demonstrate an understanding of their ally’s strategic priorities.4 Accordingly, the approaches of France, Germany and the UK to China and the Indo-Pacific also have to be understood as a commitment to the priorities of the US in order to keep this ally engaged in the European theatre and mitigate the risk of abandonment; however, European states abstain from fully aligning with the US approach, as their capabilities and strategic goals are perceived as diverging from those of the US. In this way, Europe aims to avoid entrapment over the medium term through slightly distancing itself from US policy. While all three European states also call for de-risking from China and diversification of their supply chains, maintaining strong economic ties with Beijing is a key component of their respective approaches—which contrasts with the US calls for decoupling. Furthermore, these states have never formally endorsed the US policy on China (Etienne 2024). Nevertheless, enhancing European capabilities would not only send a signal to Washington, but also qualify as hedging, understood as an ‘insurance policy’ to avoid a deterioration in US–Europe relations if the US opted for abandonment, or even as part of a move towards emancipation to reduce strategic dependencies on Washington (see Fiott 2018, 4–6). Conclusion: a transatlantic China challenge Designing their approaches to China and to US–China competition more broadly constitutes a complex strategic dilemma for European states. Paris, Berlin and London do not fully align with Washington’s approach, and it remains to be seen whether they will be willing to do so under the second Trump administration. To manage the risk of abandonment and entrapment, European states pursue different individual approaches to strategic hedging: their strategies on China and US–China competition are designed in a way that allows them to mitigate the risk of abandonment which might stem from significant transatlantic divergence, and to avoid automatic entrapment through their slight distancing from the US approach. From a theoretical perspective, this article has demonstrated that the alliance dilemma, along with the parallel fear of abandonment and entrapment by the US, is a major factor accounting for Europe’s limited strategies on China and its hedging behaviour. This article offers a conceptual analysis of the structural forces explaining European strategies, but other strategic cultures and relationships with the US could offer important complementary insights. To further analyse how individual European states design their strategies vis-à-vis China in light of the alliance dilemma and potential domestic constraints and specificities, neoclassical realism could offer an interesting analytical concept. This approach posits that structural forces set the parameters for foreign policy and treats domestic factors, including strategic culture, as intervening variables (see Rose 1998). Accordingly, it appears well suited for foreign policy analysis, and has indeed gained popularity in the field in recent years (see, for example, Martill and Sus 2024; Meibauer et al. 2021; Weber 2024). Empirically, this article constitutes a conceptual starting point rather than an exhaustive analysis of the strategy-making processes of European states with regard to China and US–China competition and makes a more comprehensive assessment desirable. The findings of this article have broader implications for policymaking. First, they demonstrate the necessity for Europe to determine its place in the increasing US–China competition. European coordination on the respective approaches vis-à-vis the US—especially in light of potential coercion to align—and China is of paramount importance to ensure that foreign policy strategies are mutually reinforcing and not undermining European objectives. Second, the article demonstrates that Europe currently responds to the ‘transatlantic China challenge’ through transatlantic hedging: while this strategy seems to be promising in the short term, it is questionable to what extent the strategy is sustainable and could help European states to navigate the parallel challenges of abandonment and entrapment. Unless Europe decides to fully align with the US—and it is questionable whether this decision would be in its interest—European states would be well advised to develop a sustainable long-term approach to China. A transatlantic dialogue on China, in which Europe and the US openly discuss synergies and divergences, could help prevent misunderstandings and decrease the risk of coercion or issue linkage due to a misreading of European approaches in Washington. Third, as the risks of (at least partial) abandonment and entrapment are systemic challenges due to the current composition of the transatlantic alliance, a logical step for European states to decrease their dependence on the US as the hegemon in the alliance would be to significantly strengthen European capabilities. Stronger military capabilities could help mitigate the ramifications of abandonment, and the aforementioned distinctly European strategy could allow Europe to avoid strategic entrapment in relation to China imposed by Washington. As Europe remains the junior partner in the transatlantic alliance, the parallel risks of abandonment and entrapment, as well as issue linkage, are highly likely to influence its approaches towards China in the long term, but there are certainly ways to render this ‘transatlantic China challenge’ less challenging. ORCID iDGesine Weber https://orcid.org/0009-0008-2643-0400Footnotes1. Conversation with French, German and British experts in Berlin, January 2025.2. Conversation with French, German and British experts in Berlin, January 2025.3. Conversation with French, German and British experts in Berlin, January 2025; conversation with European experts and officials in Paris, January 2025.4. Conversation with officials from Germany and France in Paris, November 2024; conversation with French, German and British experts in Berlin, January 2025.ReferencesBarkin N., Kratz A. (2025). Trump and the Europe–US–China Triangle. Rhodium Group, 16 January. https://rhg.com/research/trump-and-the-europe-us-china-triangle/. Accessed 18 January 2025.Demarais A. (2024). Divided we stand: The EU votes on Chinese electric vehicle tariffs. European Council on Foreign Relations, 9 October. https://ecfr.eu/article/divided-we-stand-the-eu-votes-on-chinese-electric-vehicle-tariffs/. Accessed 25 January 2025.Etienne P. (2024). The European Union between the United States and China: Should we choose between equidistance and following? Fondation Robert Schuman, 8 October. https://www.robert-schuman.eu/en/european-issues/763-the-european-union-between-the-united-states-and-china-should-we-choose-between-equidistance-and-following. Accessed 22 December 2024.Fiott D. (2018). Strategic autonomy and the defence of Europe. European Union Institute for Security Studies, Brief 12/2018. https://www.iss.europa.eu/sites/default/files/EUISSFiles/Brief%2012__Strategic%20Autonomy.pdf. Accessed 25 January 2025.García-Herrero A., Vasselier A. (2024). Updating EU strategy on China: Co-existence while de-risking through partnerships. Mercator Institute for China Studies. https://merics.org/en/external-publication/updating-eu-strategy-china-co-existence-while-de-risking-through-partnerships. Accessed 30 January 2025.Government of France. (2021). France’s Indo-Pacific strategy. https://www.diplomatie.gouv.fr/IMG/pdf/en_dcp_a4_indopacifique_022022_v1-4_web_cle878143.pdf. Accessed 31 January 2025.Government of the United Kingdom. (2021). Global Britain in a competitive age: The integrated review of security, defence, development and foreign policy. London: The Stationery Office. https://www.gov.uk/government/publications/global-britain-in-a-competitive-age-the-integrated-review-of-security-defence-development-and-foreign-policy. Accessed 18 January 2025.Government of the United Kingdom. (2023). Integrated review refresh 2023: Responding to a more contested and volatile world. London: The Stationery Office. https://www.gov.uk/government/publications/integrated-review-refresh-2023-responding-to-a-more-contested-and-volatile-world. Accessed 18 January 2025.Grand C. (2024). Defending Europe with less America. European Council on Foreign Relations, 3 July. https://ecfr.eu/publication/defending-europe-with-less-america/. Accessed 18 January 2025.International Monetary Fund. (2025). World economic outlook: GDP data mapper [Map]. https://www.imf.org/external/datamapper/NGDPD@WEO/OEMDC/ADVEC/WEOWORLD. Accessed 23 January 2025.Leoni Z. (2023). Grand strategy and the rise of China: Made in America. Agenda Publishing.Leoni Z., Tzinieris S. (2024). The return of geopolitical blocs. Survival, 66(2), 37–54.Lovely M. E., Yan J. (2024). As the US has relied less on imports from China, the EU has imported more. Pederson Institute for International Economics, 24 August. https://www.piie.com/research/piie-charts/2024/us-has-relied-less-imports-china-eu-has-imported-more. Accessed 22 December 2024.Lynch S., Toosi N., Moens B., Banco E. (2023). The U.S. wants Europe to stand up to China. Europe says: Not so fast. Politico, 3 August. https://www.politico.com/news/2023/03/08/us-europe-china-00086204. Accessed 18 January 2025.Martill B., Sus M. (2024). Winds of change? Neoclassical realism, foreign policy change, and European responses to the Russia-Ukraine War. British Journal of Politics & International Relations.McCurry J. (2023). France opposed to opening of Nato liaison office in Japan, official says. The Guardian, 7 June. https://www.theguardian.com/world/2023/jun/07/france-opposed-to-opening-of-nato-liaison-office-in-japan-official-says. Accessed 25 January 2025.Meibauer G., Desmaele L., Onea T., Kitchen N., Foulon M., Reichwein A., Sterling-Folker J. (2021). Forum: Rethinking neoclassical realism at theory’s end. International Studies Review, 23(1), 268–95.Meyers E., Reinsch W. A. (2023). The push for U.S.–EU convergence on economic security policy. Center for Strategic and International Studies, 7 July. https://www.csis.org/analysis/push-us-eu-convergence-economic-security-policy. Accessed 26 January 2025.NATO. (2024). Washington Summit declaration. https://www.nato.int/cps/cn/natohq/official_texts_227678.htm. Accessed 18 January 2025.Oertel J. (2023). Ende der China-Illusion: Wie wir mit Pekings Machtanspruch umgehen müssen. Munich: Piper Verlag.Pedersen R. B. (2023). Small states shelter diplomacy: Balancing costs of entrapment and abandonment in the alliance dilemma. Cooperation and Conflict, 58(4), 441–59.Politi A. (2023). The paradigm shift in EU–China relations and the limits of the EU’s current strategy towards China: A relational perspective. Asian Affairs 54(4), 670–93.Pottinger M., Gallagher M. (2024). No substitute for victory: America’s competition with China must be strategic and ideological. Foreign Affairs, 10 April. https://www.foreignaffairs.com/united-states/no-substitute-victory-pottinger-gallagher. Accessed 18 January 2025.Rose G. (1998). Neoclassical realism and theories of foreign policy. World Politics, 51(1), 144–72.Scazzieri L. (2025). Towards an EU ‘defence union’? Centre for European Reform, 30 January. https://www.cer.eu/publications/archive/policy-brief/2025/towards-eu-defence-union. Accessed 30 January 2025.Secrétariat général de la défense et de la sécurité nationale. (2022). Revue nationale stratégique 2022. https://www.sgdsn.gouv.fr/publications/revue-nationale-strategique-2022. Accessed 18 January 2025.Snyder G. H. (1984). The security dilemma in alliance politics. World Politics, 36(4), 461–95.Stockholm International Peace Research Institute. (n.d.). SIPRI Military Expenditure Database.Sullivan K. (2024). Trump says he would encourage Russia to ‘do whatever the hell they want’ to any NATO country that doesn’t pay enough. CNN, 11 February. https://edition.cnn.com/2024/02/10/politics/trump-russia-nato/index.html. Accessed 29 January 2025.Taylor R. (2024). UK government policy towards China. https://lordslibrary.parliament.uk/uk-government-policy-towards-china/. Accessed 18 January 2025.The Federal Government of Germany. (2020). Policy guidelines for the Indo-Pacific. www.auswaertiges-amt.de/blob/2380514/f9784f7e3b3fa1bd7c5446d274a4169e/200901-indo-pazifik-leitlinien–1–data.pdf. Accessed 21 December 2024.The Federal Government of Germany. (2023). China-Strategie der Bundesregierung. Berlin: Auswärtiges Amt. https://www.auswaertiges-amt.de/blueprint/servlet/resource/blob/2608578/810fdade376b1467f20bdb697b2acd58/china-strategie-data.pdf. Accessed 18 January 2025.UN (2020). Note verbale, UK NV No. 162/20, 16 September. https://www.un.org/Depts/los/clcs_new/submissions_files/mys_12_12_2019/2020_09_16_GBR_NV_UN_001.pdf. Accessed 25 January 2025.US Department of Defense. (2022). National Defense Strategy of the United States of America. https://media.defense.gov/2022/Oct/27/2003103845/-1/-1/1/2022-NATIONAL-DEFENSE-STRATEGY-NPR-MDR.pdf. Accessed 25 January 2025.Weber G. (2024). Zeitenwende à la française: Continuity and change in French foreign policy after Russia’s invasion of Ukraine. 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Defense & Security
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European Union Strategic Autonomy. Necessary but potentially problematic?

by Krzysztof Śliwiński

Abstract This paper examines the evolving concept of European Union Strategic Autonomy (EU-SA) within the context of contemporary geopolitical challenges, with a particular focus on EU-Russia and EU-China relations. EU-SA reflects the EU's aspiration to act independently in foreign policy, security, defence, and economic affairs, moving from a rule-taker to a rule-maker in global politics. The study outlines the historical development of EU-SA from 2013 to the present, highlighting key milestones such as the Strategic Compass and the impact of the Ukraine War, which accelerated efforts toward defence collaboration, energy independence, and economic resilience. It explores the transatlantic dynamics, noting growing uncertainties in the U.S. commitment to NATO and the resulting push for a more autonomous European defence posture. Additionally, it addresses the complex EU-China relationship, marked by both cooperation and competition, as well as the strained EU-Russia ties amid ongoing conflict. The paper concludes by questioning the economic feasibility and political risks of deeper EU strategic autonomy, especially regarding security centralisation and Germany's leadership role. Key Words: EU, Strategic Autonomy, Security, Geopolitics, U.S, China, Russia Introduction At the 2025 North Atlantic Treaty Organisation (NATO) Summit in The Hague, member states (Allies) committed to investing 5% of their Gross Domestic Product (GDP) annually in core defence requirements and defence- and security-related spending by 2035. They will allocate at least 3.5% of GDP annually, based on the agreed-upon definition of NATO defence expenditure, by 2035 to resource core defence requirements and meet the NATO Capability Targets. Allies agreed to submit annual plans that show a credible, incremental path to achieving this goal.[1] At the same time, Spain secured a special compromise, committing to meet core requirements with just 2.1% of GDP, making it the only exception to the broader 5% target. Previously, in 2014, NATO Heads of State and Government had agreed to commit 2% of their national GDP to defence spending, to help ensure the Alliance's continued military readiness. This decision was taken in response to Russia's illegal annexation of Crimea, and amid broader instability in the Middle East. The 2014 Defence Investment Pledge was built on an earlier commitment to meeting this 2% of GDP guideline, agreed in 2006 by NATO Defence Ministers. In light of the increase in defence spending, given that 23 out of 32 NATO Allies are EU member states, the idea of European Union strategic autonomy (EU-SA) comes to mind. This paper will explore the issue of EU-SA with a specific reference to EU-Russia and EU-China relations.[2] A Brief History of EU Strategic Autonomy European Union strategic autonomy is an evolving concept that reflects its ambition to act independently in strategically important policy areas, including foreign policy, security, defence, and economic relations. Strong strategic autonomy, according to Barbara Lippert, Nicolai von Ondarza and Volker Perthes, means being able to set, modify and enforce international rules, as opposed to (unwillingly) obeying rules set by others. The opposite of strategic autonomy is being a rule-taker, subject to strategic decisions made by others, such as the United States, China, or Russia.[3] The concept was first prominently discussed in the context of defence in 2013 and has since expanded to encompass a broader range of policy areas. Historically speaking, one can identify numerous phases during which EU-SA evolved. - 2013-2016: During this period, EU-SA focused on security and defence, with initiatives like the Permanent Structured Cooperation (PESCO) and the European Defence Fund, aiming to strengthen the EU's defence capabilities.[4]  - 2017-2019: During this period, the EU-SA shifted its focus to defending European interests in a hostile geopolitical environment, influenced by events such as Brexit, the Trump presidency, and China's growing assertiveness.- 2020: The COVID-19 pandemic highlighted economic vulnerabilities, prompting a focus on mitigating dependence on foreign supply chains, particularly in critical sectors like health and technology.- Since 2021: The scope widened to virtually all EU policy areas, including digital, energy, and values, with terminology evolving to include "open strategic autonomy," "strategic sovereignty," "capacity to act," and "resilience".- 2022: The Ukraine War and Accelerated Implementation. Russia's invasion of Ukraine catalysed concrete actions toward EU-SA, notably in defence, energy independence, and economic resilience. The European Council's Versailles Declaration (March 2022) expressed strong political will to increase EU-SA, calling for collaborative investments in defence, phasing out dependency on Russian energy, and reducing reliance on critical raw materials, semiconductors, health, digital technologies, and food imports.[5] - The Strategic Compass for security and defence policy (endorsed March 2022) outlines a roadmap to 2030, emphasising strengthened EU defence capacities. Among others, it includes: o   Establishment of a strong EU Rapid Deployment Capacity of up to 5000 troops for different types of crises.o   Ready to deploy 200 fully equipped Common Security and Defence Policy (CSDP) mission experts within 30 days, including in complex environments.[6]o   Conducting regular live exercises on land and at sea.o   Enhanced military mobility.o   Reinforcement of the EU's civilian and military CSDP missions and operations by promoting a rapid and more flexible decision-making process, acting more robustly and ensuring greater financial solidarity.o   Making full use of the European Peace Facility to support partners.[7] According to the EU itself, the EU-SA is not a zero-sum game, but rather a sliding scale between complete autonomy and full dependency, with different results for different policy areas. What is more, when compared to the famous Maslow's hierarchy of needs (European Parliament briefing's language), the EU is not only perceived as an economic power, but it is also seen as a normative power. Therefore, the EU is recognised for its core values of democracy, human rights and the rule of law. Ultimately, Maslow's “self-actualisation” could mean the achievement of an EU in which citizens recognise their European identity and which has realised its full autonomous policy potential.[8]   As if this is not enough, the same source introduces the concept of the 360° strategic autonomy wheel, which reportedly illustrates policy areas in which the EU aims for greater strategic autonomy, as well as the connections between them. Mutual influence between policy areas can happen across the wheel, but is particularly strong in adjacent areas. Military action, for example, can cause migration, health is linked to food quality, energy policy influences the climate, and misinformation undermines democracy. The wheel can help to understand links, set priorities and view potential conflicts. More autonomy in the digital green economy will, for example, require vast quantities of “rare earth” materials, making the EU more (instead of less) dependent on imports. Reductions in energy consumption achieved through the digitalisation of the economy (for example, by reducing transport) will be partly offset by the increase in energy consumption by electronic devices and data centres.   Global Context The significance of EU-SA lies in ensuring the EU's political survival and global influence in a multipolar world where its relative power is diminishing. The EU's long-term economic outlook is bleak: its share of global GDP, now at 17% (at current prices), could nearly halve by 2050. According to the World Economic Forum, this economic backsliding not only threatens Europe's ability to fund its social model but also risks weighing on the bloc's global influence, leaving it even more dependent on the U.S. and China.[9] Moreover, the COVID-19 pandemic highlighted the conflictual nature of economic interdependence, as reliance on foreign supply chains for critical goods exposed vulnerabilities. Soft power has become an instrument of hard power, necessitating autonomy in trade, finance, and investment.  The U.S.'s strategic pivot to Asia, the exclusion of Europe in conflicts like Nagorno-Karabakh, Libya, and Syria (termed Astanisation[10], which favours Russia and Turkey), the sidelining of the EU in EU-Russia negotiations regarding the war in Ukraine, and China's state-led economic model have all pushed the EU towards the sidelines. Transatlantic divide Security is a critical dimension, with significant uncertainty surrounding the U.S. commitment to NATO under the Trump administration. Reports indicate Trump has questioned NATO's Article 5 guarantees, with actions like withdrawing military personnel from a Ukraine aid hub in Poland on April 8, 2025, and proposing to stand down 10,000 light infantry troops in Poland, Romania, and the Baltic states by 2025.[11] This has led to fears of a "NATO-minus" scenario, where the EU must fill security gaps without full U.S. backing. In response, the EU is pushing for greater strategic autonomy in defence. Initiatives like ReArm EU are mentioned, with calls for the EU to develop a stand-alone, integrated military capacity to stabilise the global economy. As Jean-Pierre Maulny, Deputy Director of the French Institute for International and Strategic Affairs (IRIS), adequately observes "The risk is now clear: a form of bilateral agreement between the United States and Russia, benefiting the interests of both countries, could leave Ukraine severely weakened and an easy prey for Moscow, thereby weakening other European countries consequently. As a consolation prize, we will have to ensure Europe's conventional security, as U.S. Secretary of Defence Pete Hegseth announced to Europeans at the opening of the NATO ministerial meeting held in Brussels on 12–13 February 2025. This situation will place Europeans in a terrible dilemma: Either they do not wish to provide security guarantees to Ukraine and risk completely discrediting themselves in the eyes of powers such as the United States, Russia, and China, as Europeans will have demonstrated that they are unable to defend the continent, while also creating a significant long-term risk to Europe's security. Alternatively, they could provide security guarantees to Ukraine, accepting the financial burden that would impact the European Union's long-term competitiveness. In light of this situation, some advocate for the establishment of a European pillar within NATO. If one considers that the United States is negotiating peace in Europe without and against the Europeans, and that they no longer wish to defend Europe with conventional military means (will they respect the NATO Defence Planning Process?), Europeans should take on Europe's security fully. This would mean taking control of NATO. It will also be easier to make NATO and the European Union work together with a more Europeanised organisation".[12] Economically, there are several issues that contemporary demand addresses, but the most pressing is, of course, the Tariffs. The U.S. and European Union are running out of time to strike a deal on trade tariffs. Negotiations have been slow since both the U.S. and EU temporarily cut duties on each other until July 9. If an agreement is not achieved by then, full reciprocal import tariffs of 50% on EU goods, and the bloc's wide-spanning countermeasures are set to come into effect.[13] According to Almut Möller, Director for European and Global Affairs and head of the Europe in the World programme (European Policy Centre), "for the first time in decades, Europeans can no longer rely on a benign partner on the other side of the Atlantic, leaving them dangerously exposed and acutely vulnerable, including on the very foundations of liberal democracy. Until recently, the U.S. dominated a world order that provided a favourable environment for the EU to extend its membership, further develop, and leverage its strengths, particularly as a trading power, without having to worry much about geopolitics. Suddenly, liberal Europe looks very lonely, and is struggling to keep up with a world of change".[14] Other problems arguably include digital regulation and data protection, antitrust policy and digital taxation, fiscal policy and social protection, geopolitical rivalries, China's rise, and competition and trade policy. EU–China conundrum Both the EU and the U.S. are concerned about China's growing economic and technological influence, but they have differing approaches to addressing this challenge. The EU has sought to maintain a balance between cooperation and competition with China, while the U.S. has adopted a more confrontational approach.[15] These differences have led to tensions in areas such as trade policy and technology regulation. For example, the EU has been critical of the U.S.'s unilateral approach to addressing China's trade practices, while the U.S. has accused the EU of being too lenient towards China. These disagreements have made it difficult to achieve a coordinated transatlantic response to China's rise.[16] According to German experts, the balance of power between China and the EU and its member states is developing increasingly asymmetrically to Europe's disadvantage. Only in trade policy – and partially in investment – can the EU maintain its position in a manner respected by China.[17] Europe holds significant importance for China across various dimensions: economically, as its top supplier and second-largest export destination; technologically, as a source of advanced technology; institutionally, as a model to emulate; politically, to advance its objectives concerning other nations, particularly the United States; and selectively, as a collaborator in areas like global health and regional stabilisation. Unlike Russia and the United States, China perceives a vital interest in the EU's continued existence and unity within a multipolar world; yet, it employs a "divide and rule" strategy. China selectively rewards or penalises individual EU countries based on their political and economic significance and their compliance with China's expectations on key issues. These issues include arms sales to Taiwan, meetings with the Tibetan Dalai Lama, and positions on the Uighurs, human rights in China, and the South China Sea. China engages with Europe on multiple levels — political, economic, technological, cultural, and academic — using various political channels (such as strategic partnerships with the EU and individual EU member states), dialogue formats (like the 16+1 format with sixteen Central and Eastern European countries), and high-level bilateral intergovernmental consultations with Germany, France, and the United Kingdom. China's hopes that the European Union would emerge as an independent and comprehensive player in global politics, serving as a counterbalance to the United States, have diminished. However, China would be supportive of any European efforts towards achieving strategic autonomy, provided it does not translate into a confrontational approach towards China itself. In contrast, Europe's political priorities—such as ensuring peace and stability in East Asia, China's role in global stability, development, environmental issues, climate change, and non-proliferation, as well as improving human rights in China — are often considered secondary and are not actively pursued by all EU member states. Europe lacks a unified and assertive foreign policy stance regarding the geopolitical rivalry between the United States and China for dominance in the Asia-Pacific region. There is also an absence of a clear position on China's authoritarian vision of order. Even in trade and investment disputes, Europe struggles to establish a unified approach to resolving these issues. The EU member states are too diverse in terms of size, profiles, and interests in their dealings with China: Economically, there is a divide between countries that are appealing industrial and technological partners for China and those that compete for favour in Beijing. Some nations have a clear interest in global governance. Additionally, the United Kingdom and France maintain their respective military presences in the Asia region. In this context, ReArm EU and its financial instrument SAFE (analysed here https://worldnewworld.com/page/content.php?no=5384 ) have the potential to provide the EU with meaningful strategic autonomy and invite genuine geopolitical actorness. EU–Russia conundrum Since Donald Trump took office as the U.S. president, the coordination of transatlantic policies regarding Russia has largely disintegrated. The White House's openness to a comprehensive "deal" with Russian President Vladimir Putin contrasts with Congress's attempts to limit Trump's foreign policy options with Russia, resulting in the marginalisation of coordination with European allies. This situation is further complicated by Washington's increasing reliance on extraterritorial sanctions, a trend that began before Trump's presidency. Consequently, according to European foreign and security experts, Europe must achieve greater strategic autonomy in its dealings with Russia. However, this relationship is particularly strained by significant conflicts of interest. Russia's invasion of Ukraine significantly disrupted the previously peaceful and liberal democratic relations among European nations. Putin's "special military operation" compelled the EU to introduce seventeen (so far) escalating economic sanction packages aimed at undermining the Russian economy and ultimately limiting Russia's capacity to continue the war. In a gesture of solidarity with Ukraine, the EU has also allocated billions of euros to both EU member states and Ukraine to avert a humanitarian disaster and ensure the provision of essential needs for Ukrainians fleeing the conflict.[18] After three and a half years from the outset of the war, Russia continues to pose a complex challenge that the EU and European nations cannot address independently in the foreseeable future. If the U.S. security guarantee weakens before Europe can bolster its own capabilities, the EU could face new vulnerabilities that Russia might exploit along its external borders, such as in the Baltic states, and elsewhere. Currently, the EU and its member states lack sufficient means to deter Russia from pursuing its interests aggressively and recklessly in the shared neighbourhood.[19] Critics, on the other hand, argue that calls for EU strategic autonomy, particularly the creation of a European Army and a significant increase in military spending, are a double-edged sword. First, the primary official rationale is that the EU must prepare itself for a possible attack on EU member states by Russia. The legacy media are full of European leaders claiming that Russia will sooner or later attack Europe.[20] Yet, this claim is not substantiated with much evidence. The proponents of the European army completely disregard numerous doubts surrounding the 2013/2014 "Euromaidan" and the role of the CIA in the events.[21] Second, according to the Office of the High Commissioner for Human Rights (OHCHR) 's estimations, the total number of conflict-related casualties in Ukraine from April 14, 2014, to December 31, 2021, stood at 51,000 – 54,000. These numbers are broken down as follows: 14,200 - 14,400 killed (at least 3,404 civilians, estimated 4,400 Ukrainian forces, and estimated 6,500 members of armed groups), and 37,000 - 39,000 injured (7,000 – 9,000 civilians, 13,800 – 14,200 Ukrainian forces and 15,800 - 16,200 members of armed groups).[22] In short, the situation was chaotic, with many casualties among civilians. Third, it was allegedly Europeans who torpedoed a first chance of peace negotiations as early as April 2014 in Istanbul.[23] Fourth, many European leaders seem to be utterly oblivious to the fact that the prolongation of the war adds to the destruction of Ukraine and Ukrainian society, deaths and emigration. Last but not least, given the fact that it is Germany that calls for both the European Army and the federalisation of Europe (with some assistance from France), one should be extra careful given the role of Germans during the WWII and the fact that neither has there been any official peace treaty with Germany nor have they recompensated countries such as Poland. Conclusion Strategic autonomy may be a necessity for Europe, given the dynamics of transatlantic relationships. The questions, however, that have to be pondered (and it does not seem that anyone in the legacy media or mainstream academia is ready to ask them) are numerous. Who will pay for that? Can Europeans afford such expenses under the current economic circumstances, and even worse economic prospects? Is the centralisation of security and military a Pandora's box? Should Europeans allow Germany (of all EU member states) to take special responsibility for this project? Isn't the pro-war rhetoric of Western political leaders making relations with Russia even more tense and dangerous, in other words, leading to escalation? History has solemnly proven that when left to their own devices, the Europeans inevitably create disastrous conflicts that have lasting consequences for generations. The American pivot to Asia and the consequent withdrawal from Europe may therefore have tragic ramifications for the European continent. References[1] Defence expenditures and NATO’s 5% commitment. (2025, June 27). North Atlantic Treaty Organization. https://www.nato.int/cps/en/natohq/topics_49198.htm[2] NATO and the EU have 23 members in common: Belgium, Bulgaria, Croatia, Czechia, Denmark, Estonia, Finland, France, Germany, Greece, Hungary, Italy, Latvia, Lithuania, Luxembourg, the Netherlands, Poland, Portugal, Romania, Slovakia, Slovenia, Spain and Sweden. See more at: https://www.consilium.europa.eu/en/policies/eu-nato-cooperation/#0[3] Lippert, B., von Ondarza, N., & Perthes, V. (2019, March). European Strategic Autonomy. Actors, Issues, Conflicts of Interests. Stiftung Wissenschaft Un Politic. Deutches Institut für Politik Und Sicherheit. https://www.swp-berlin.org/ doi:10.18449/2019RP04/#hd-d14204e263[4] Damen, M. (2022, July). EU strategic autonomy 2013-2023: From concept to capacity (EU Strategic Autonomy Monitor). European Parliamentary Research Service. https://www.eprs.ep.parl.union.eu[5] Informal meeting of the Heads of State or Government Versailles Declaration. (2022, March 10–11). Stiftung Wissenschaft Un Politic. Deutches Institut Fur Politik Und Sicherheit. https://www.consilium.europa.eu/media/54773/20220311-versailles-declaration-en.pdf[6] See more at: https://www.eeas.europa.eu/eeas/csdp-structure-instruments-and-agencies_en[7] See more at: https://fpi.ec.europa.eu/what-we-do/european-peace-facility_en[8] Damen, M. (2022, July). EU strategic autonomy 2013-2023: From concept to capacity (EU Strategic Autonomy Monitor). European Parliamentary Research Service. https://www.eprs.ep.parl.union.eu[9] Open but Secure:  Europe’s Path to Strategic Interdependence. INSIGHT REPORT. (2025). World Economic Forum. https://reports.weforum.org/docs/WEF_Open_but_Secure_Europe%E2%80%99s_Path_to_Strategic_Interdependence_2025.pdf[10] In reference to the Astana format on Syria) which leads to the exclusion of Europe from the settlement of regional conflicts in favour of Russia and Turkey. See more: https://www.eeas.europa.eu/eeas/why-european-strategic-autonomy-matters_en[11] Tilles, D. (2025, April 8). US to withdraw military from Ukraine aid hub in Poland. Notes from Poland. https://notesfrompoland.com/2025/04/08/us-to-withdraw-military-from-ukraine-aid-hub-in-poland/[12] Maulny, J.-P. (2025, February 13). United States – Europe: Our Paths Are Splitting. The French Institute for International and Strategic Affairs (IRIS). https://www.iris-france.org/en/united-states-europe-our-paths-are-splitting/[13] Kiderlin, S. (2025, June 18). These are the sticking points holding up a U.S.-EU trade deal. CNBC. https://www.cnbc.com/2025/06/18/these-are-the-sticking-points-holding-up-a-us-eu-trade-deal.html#:~:text=The%20EU%20and%20US%20flags,Poland%20on%20March%206%2C%202025.&text=Afp%20%7C%20Getty%20Images-,The%20U.S.%20and%20European%20Union%20are%20running%20out%20of%20time,($1.93%20trillion)%20in%202024?[14] Möller, A. (2025, February 26). Europe in the World in 2025: Navigating a perilous world with realism and ambition. European Policy Centre. https://www.epc.eu/publication/Europe-in-the-World-in-2025-Navigating-a-perilous-world-with-realism-625da4/#:~:text=2025%20will%20be%20a%20year,with%20a%20world%20of%20change[15] Bradford, A. (2023). When Rights, Markets, and Security Collide (pp. 221–254). Oxford University Press. https://doi.org/10.1093/oso/9780197649268.003.0007[16] Portanskiy, A. (2023). UE - US: new barriers to trade. Современная Европа. https://doi.org/10.31857/s020170832304006x[17] Lippert, B., von Ondarza, N., & Perthes, V. (2019, March). European Strategic Autonomy. Actors, Issues, Conflicts of Interests. Stiftung Wissenschaft Un Politic. Deutches Institut für Politik Und Sicherheit. https://www.swp-berlin.org/ doi:10.18449/2019RP04/#hd-d14204e263 [18] Klüver, L. (2025, April 18). Putin’s War on Ukraine: What can the EU actually do? European Careers Association. https://ecamaastricht.org/blueandyellow-knowyourunion/putins-war-on-ukraine-what-can-the-eu-actually-do#:~:text=Similarly%2C%20the%20Strategic%20Compass%2C%20the%20most%20recent,its%20interests%20and%20promote%20its%20values%20internationally.[19] Lippert, B., von Ondarza, N., & Perthes, V. (2019, March). European Strategic Autonomy. Actors, Issues, Conflicts of Interests. Stiftung Wissenschaft Un Politic. Deutches Institut für Politik Und Sicherheit. https://www.swp-berlin.org/ doi:10.18449/2019RP04/#hd-d14204e263 [20] ochecová, K. (2025, February 11). Russia could start a major war in Europe within 5 years, Danish intelligence warns. Politico. https://www.politico.eu/article/russia-war-threat-europe-within-5-years-danish-intelligence-ddis-warns/[21] Katchanovski, I. (2024). The Maidan Massacre in Ukraine The Mass Killing that Changed the World. Palgrave Macmillan. https://doi.org/https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-67121-0[22] Office of the United Nations High Commissioner for Human Rights. (2022, January 27). Conflict-related civilian casualties in Ukraine: December 2021 update. United Nations Human Rights Monitoring Mission in Ukraine. https://ohchr.org[23] Johnson, J. (2022, May 6). Boris Johnson Pressured Zelenskyy to Ditch Peace Talks With Russia: Ukrainian Paper. Common Dreams. https://www.commondreams.org/news/2022/05/06/boris-johnson-pressured-zelenskyy-ditch-peace-talks-russia-ukrainian-paper

Defense & Security
Chess made from flags of Ukraine, US, EU, China and Russia

The new global chessboard: Europe, America, Russia and China in the Ukraine war

by Bruno Lété

Abstract The Ukraine war has reshaped the global geopolitical landscape, positioning Europe, America, Russia and China as key players on a new global chessboard. Europe is grappling with the dual challenge of ensuring regional security and managing the economic fallout from the conflict. America’s evolving global relationships are marked by a burden-shift with Europe, diplomatic efforts to further deter Russian aggression and a strategic rivalry with China. For Russia, the invasion of Ukraine is a bid to reassert its influence, but it faces severe international sanctions and military setbacks, constraining its strategic ambitions. And China is navigating a complex balancing act between supporting Russia and maintaining its economic ties with the West. This complex interplay of alliances and rivalries underscores the shifting dynamics of global power and the urgent need for diplomatic solutions to ensure stability and peace. Introduction On 27 March 2025 a Summit on Peace and Security for Ukraine was organised by President Emmanuel Macron in cooperation with British Prime Minister Keir Starmer. It was held in Paris. This summit was part of an ongoing series of political and operational meetings that the UK and France have been organising alternately over several weeks, aimed at contributing to a sustainable and just peace in Ukraine. This particular summit saw the participation of 31 countries, including non-EU nations such as the UK, Norway, Canada and Iceland, as well as high-profile figures such as the NATO secretary general, the president of the European Commission and the president of the European Council. Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelensky also attended. The increased frequency of meetings among this wide-ranging ‘coalition of the willing’ is recognition, in Europe’s eyes, of the immediate need to establish and permanently guarantee security and peace in the long term for Ukraine. It is evident that the unconditional ceasefire that Ukraine had declared its readiness to enter into on 11 March in Saudi Arabia has since evolved into a proposal for a limited ceasefire with additional conditions and demands from Russia. Moscow is employing delaying tactics, and there is a growing realisation, even within the US, that Russia is not genuinely interested in ending the war. Europe’s novel security approach: ‘Peace through strength’ This fear of a prolonged conflict in Ukraine, and the perceived risk of war between Europe and Russia, has pushed the European Commission to propose a way forward in its Joint White Paper for European Defence Readiness 2030 (European Commission 2025), which can be encapsulated by the motto ‘peace through strength’. This approach entails rapidly increasing military support for Ukraine, including the provision of more ammunition, artillery, air defence systems, drones and training. Additionally, it involves enhancing the capabilities of European countries by them investing more in their own defence, simplifying administrative processes and fostering better industrial cooperation, including with the Ukrainian defence industry. The European Commission has also outlined the financial instruments that have been established in record time to address these specific challenges. The primary objective of these financial instruments is to bolster European defence spending, with the EU targeting a total of €800 billion. This includes €150 billion in loans available to member states through a new Security Action for Europe (SAFE) instrument and up to €650 billion from national defence budgets, corresponding to an expenditure of 1.5% of GDP that can be excluded from national budgets by activating the ‘national escape clause’ of the EU’s Stability and Growth Pact. Additionally, private financing and funds from the European Investment Bank will be mobilised for investments in priority capabilities. Furthermore, the EU has identified several priority capabilities for investment. In the short term, joint EU purchases should focus on missiles and artillery systems. In the medium term, the goal is to develop large-scale EU systems in integrated air and missile defence, military mobility and strategic enablers. NATO standards will continue to serve as the foundation, and it is crucial that these standards are shared with the EU. Finally, ‘peace through strength’ also includes the further European integration of Ukraine, with Brussels clearly considering Ukraine the EU’s first line of defence. The Commission’s Joint White Paper and a parallel initiative launched by High Representative Kaja Kallas both aim to bolster military support for Kyiv and stress the importance of defence procurement both with and within Ukraine. Despite the commendable pace and scope of the numerous recent initiatives undertaken by the EU, it is imperative to recognise that these commitments must still be translated into tangible actions. The European Commission remains hopeful that the proposals delineated in the Joint White Paper can be actualised during the Polish Presidency, with the aim of reaching concrete decisions by the European Council meeting scheduled for 26–7 June. However, considering the ongoing deterioration of the European security landscape, it could be argued that this deadline lacks the requisite sense of urgency needed to address the pressing challenges ahead. European peace through strength—but not without the US While Europe is building its rise as a security, defence and military actor, there is a consensus among most EU member states that these efforts should not happen to the detriment of NATO and that there is a need to maintain solid US involvement in European security. Strength is not merely a matter of political initiatives but also of demonstrating a clear readiness to engage militarily. There must be a deterrent effect from military power, particularly in anticipation of potential new Russian offensives once Moscow rebuilds its troops and supplies during a future ceasefire or peace deal. And military power is exactly where Europe—willing or not—will still need to rely on the transatlantic partnership for a foreseeable while, due to its current overreliance on strategic US military and intelligence assets. Moreover, the new administration in Washington has manoeuvred fast to have a clear say on the future of European security. It is the US—not Europe—that is leading the diplomacy on a ceasefire or peace deal in Ukraine. And while Europe, in reaction, is focusing on shaping future security guarantees for Ukraine—or even pushing for boots on the ground through a ‘coalition of the willing’—both of these European endeavours hinge, first, on the success of US diplomacy to reach a deal with Russia; and second, on US logistical and intelligence support for the proposed troops on the ground. Without these, most of the ‘willing nations’ may withdraw their commitments. The situation is further complicated by the shortage of operational European troops: for instance, the UK has an expeditionary force, but relies heavily on its air and naval power; France has some units, but in insufficient numbers; and Germany’s contribution remains uncertain. In this context, a European plan to help Ukraine win and maintain peace should not compromise NATO’s resilience and should therefore be developed in close coordination with the alliance, particularly in terms of planning and interoperability. And as Europe is now spending on defence, it should do so while ensuring that its expenditures align with NATO capability objectives. Moreover, military strength is not the only domain in which Europe should continue to keep an eye on the US. Europe notably believes that it is imperative to increase pressure on Russia through sanctions. The EU is unequivocally clear that there can be no consideration of easing sanctions; on the contrary, some member states even advocate for intensifying them. The challenge for Europe, however, remains to emphatically convey this message to the Americans, as any decision by the US to ease sanctions—as requested by Russia—would undermine the most critical form of pressure against Russia. Some EU member states have already raised concerns about the future of European sanctions policy, highlighting the need for new methods to enforce sanctions, particularly if certain EU member states more friendly to Russia decide to obstruct them in the future. Putin’s patient game of chess Meanwhile, President Vladimir Putin has clearly asserted a degree of dominance in the ongoing diplomatic negotiations. He has set preliminary conditions for a ceasefire, made a limited commitment regarding energy infrastructure and subsequently undermined the credibility of his own commitment with new attacks on Ukraine. Despite this, Putin’s demands concerning Western military supplies and intelligence-sharing reveal that Ukrainian attacks on Russian critical infrastructure are causing significant damage and irking the Russian president. Putin’s demands, including the reduction of Ukraine’s military capabilities, the transfer of entire Ukrainian regions to Russian control and the replacement of President Zelensky, are, naturally, unacceptable to Ukraine. These demands also pose the most significant risk to the West: if Russia were to succeed in installing a pro-Russian leader in Kyiv and controlling the Ukrainian military, it would alter the entire power and military balance in Eastern Europe. Should President Trump agree to this, it would likely cause a further deterioration in US–EU relations too. Achieving a middle-ground in any US–Russia agreement for Ukraine currently still poses a formidable challenge. Moscow therefore perceives that it has the momentum in its favour, despite Russia’s inability to achieve any strategic breakthroughs in Ukraine. The financial and human costs of this conflict for Moscow are substantial, while it is making minimal territorial gains. However, while Ukraine has successfully liberated 50% of the territory that was previously occupied by Russia, the Kremlin nevertheless still occupies approximately 20% of Ukrainian territory. Moscow has also likely observed in the US a desire to shift towards finding a consensus and a willingness to negotiate in a transactional manner. Moreover, the recent suspension of US intelligence and military support has already had immediate repercussions on Ukraine’s strength. It has weakened Ukraine’s ability to bring this war to a conclusion and could potentially lead to a temporary ceasefire that would de facto result in the creation of a ‘frozen conflict’—an outcome which Russia would not necessarily view unfavourably. A friendly US visit to Europe . . . On 3 and 4 April 2025, US Secretary of State Marco Rubio participated for the first time in a NATO foreign ministerial meeting. Rubio’s visit to NATO headquarters was notably smoother and more amicable than the visit of his colleague at the Department of Defense, Pete Hegseth, for the defence ministerial meeting in February 2025. Rubio, a seasoned diplomat, adroitly conveyed the message that European allies must significantly increase their defence spending, advocating for allocations of up to 5% of their GDP. He acknowledged the difficulty of this demand but emphasised that it could be achieved incrementally, provided the allies concerned showed a clear and consistent direction of progress. In a similar vein, Rubio addressed the situation in Ukraine, commending the resilience and fighting spirit of the Ukrainian people. He articulated President Trump’s recognition that a military solution in Ukraine is unattainable for both Ukraine and Russia, necessitating a negotiated settlement. Rubio underscored that peace negotiations inherently require compromises from all parties involved. He acknowledged that Ukraine has already made significant concessions, whereas Russia has yet to reciprocate. According to Rubio, Russia is testing President Trump’s resolve, but he also acknowledged that Putin faces severe consequences if he does not promptly agree to a ceasefire, indicating that the timeline for such an agreement is measured in weeks, not months. Rubio concluded by asserting that a peace agreement would be unattainable without European involvement. Rubio also expressed broad support for the EU’s defence initiatives, including the EU Joint White Paper and the ReArm programme. He praised the EU’s efforts to encourage its member states to meet their NATO commitments and to strengthen the industrial base, provided that the non-EU defence industry, particularly American firms, is not unduly excluded. Despite the positive reception of Rubio’s visit to Europe and NATO, there remains an underlying uncertainty about whether other influential figures within President Trump’s Make America Great Again movement share Rubio’s views. The path to achieving a cohesive and effective alliance strategy is fraught with challenges, and it remains uncertain whether NATO will navigate these obstacles successfully and emerge intact. . . . but Washington’s priority is the Asia–Pacific region Above all, the NATO foreign ministerial meeting of early April showed again that the US felt fundamentally displeased with the Western approach to China over the past several decades. The prevailing assumption—that a capitalist and economically prosperous China would inevitably evolve to resemble Western democratic nations—was a misguided and overly optimistic expectation. This erroneous belief has permitted Beijing to engage in deceptive trade and military practices for the past 30 years without facing significant repercussions. Today the US is clearly concerned about the way China has strategically weaponised its industrial capabilities by seamlessly integrating its civilian and military sectors through a dual-use strategy that is particularly evident in critical economic and high-tech domains, such as artificial intelligence. By blurring the lines between civilian and military applications, China has been able to enhance its technological and industrial base, thereby posing a multifaceted challenge to global security. Moreover, for the US, the presence of North Korean soldiers in Ukraine serves as a stark indicator of the interconnected nature of the threats emanating from the Indo-Pacific and European regions. For Washington, the collaborative efforts of adversarial states such as China, Russia, Iran and North Korea in Ukraine and other geopolitical theatres necessitate a similarly unified and strategic approach from democratic like-minded nations to strengthening their alliances and enhancing their collective security measures in response to the evolving geopolitical landscape. Interconnected theatres of confrontation China’s alleged support for the Russian war effort in Ukraine and the military cooperation between Russia and North Korea, and Russia and Iran, clearly illustrate the interconnectedness of security dynamics between Europe, the Asia–Pacific region and the Middle East. The ongoing conflict in Ukraine represents a pivotal moment for the stability of the international system, impacting not only Europe but also other parts of the world. Contrary to the characterisation of the conflict in Ukraine as merely a ‘European war’ a few years ago, the war there is now considered by the West to be a globalised conflict with profound international implications. This perspective is widely accepted among the NATO allies, which recognise the growing interconnection between the three theatres of conflict. This attitude is also increasingly reflected in the enhanced dialogue between NATO and the Indo–Pacific Four partners—Australia, New Zealand, Japan and the Republic of Korea. This cooperation is today seen by allies as mutually beneficial and necessary. Beyond exchanges of intelligence, particularly on the challenges posed by China, support for Ukraine dominates the partnership, alongside the joint battle against hybrid threats, progress on cybersecurity and the strengthening of maritime security. It is widely expected that NATO allies will seek to further strengthen this cooperation at the 2025 NATO summit in The Hague. Among NATO members there is, furthermore, a growing consensus on the need to be firm with China. Allies agree on the necessity of sending a stronger message and taking determined and united actions in terms of deterrence, including at the hybrid and cyber levels, as well as on imposing sanctions against Chinese economic operators involved in China–Russia cooperation in Ukraine. While Russia remains the primary long-term threat to the NATO realm, there is recognition that China poses a significant problem that must be addressed in its full magnitude, particularly in the context of China–Russia cooperation. It is essential to act firmly and in a united way to increase the costs of cooperation with Moscow for Beijing while keeping open the necessary avenues of engagement. Any dissonance between Europe and the US on this issue might otherwise become the root cause of the next big crisis of trust in the transatlantic relationship. China versus a Russian–American rapprochement Russia is not fighting its Ukraine war alone. It is receiving help from allies including China, Iran and North Korea. Moreover, the war in Ukraine is not just about Ukraine’s future. It is also part of a larger global struggle, with Russia seeking position alongside China in a reconfigured world order that is more multipolar and less centred on the US. In this respect, China may be inclined to silently assist Russia in opposing a proposed ceasefire or peace plan for Ukraine put forward by President Trump. Beijing likely recognises that by resolving the conflict in Ukraine and fostering better relations with Russia, Trump’s ultimate objective is to reallocate US diplomatic, military and economic resources to address the growing global influence of China and its impact on US national interests. In this respect Putin appears keen to keep President Xi Jinping informed about American attempts at rapprochement and ongoing negotiations concerning Ukraine. Historically, the ‘good relations’ between China and Russia are relatively recent; the stability of this relationship is attributed to the resolution of their border disputes, their complementary economies and their non-interference in each other’s ideological systems. But Moscow treads carefully as it knows it is the junior partner in the relationship. Moreover, the prospect of an American–Russian rapprochement is not viewed by either Moscow or Beijing with any real sense of threat. Ultimately Russia’s offerings to the US are limited; it has also been asserted that any rapprochement would not have an effect on Moscow–Beijing relations, as Sino-Russian ties are not dependent on any third party. Furthermore, regarding the Ukraine war, China maintains that it is ‘not a party’ to the conflict (DPA 2024). China upholds the principles of the sovereignty and territorial integrity of Ukraine while acknowledging Russia’s legitimate security concerns. In the eyes of Beijing, these principles must be reconciled to end the war. Additionally, China opposes unilateral sanctions on Russia but, due to its significant trade ties with the EU and the US, it accepts the Russian sanctions and their secondary effects on the Chinese economy. The ongoing negotiations on Ukraine are perceived by China as creating crucial momentum for achieving peace through dialogue, which should not be an opportunity missed. The American initiative is seen as a continuation of previous efforts, including the Chinese Peace Plan for Ukraine of 2023, the Ukraine Peace Summit 2024 in Switzerland and the Sino-Brazilian Six-Point Plan, also in 2024 (Gov.br 2024). China calls for non-escalation and direct negotiations, noting the signs of the exhaustion of manpower and resources on both the Russian and the Ukrainian sides. Despite China’s apparently laconic stance vis-à-vis the relationship, an American–Russian rapprochement could cause some concerns for Beijing. Economically, Moscow is less relevant to Beijing than Washington or Brussels. However, Russia holds fundamental strategic value due to its extensive land border with China. In the event of an American–Chinese rivalry escalating into direct conflict, Russia could become a lifeline for Beijing, especially if accompanied by a successful American blockade. These potential risks and scenarios, which seem increasingly likely over time, may serve as a significant incentive for China to obstruct the warming of relations between Moscow and Washington. References DPA (2024). China is not a party to Ukraine war, Xi tells Scholz in Beijing. aNews, 16 April. https://www.anews.com.tr/world/2024/04/16/china-is-not-a-party-to-ukraine-war-xi-tells-scholz-in-beijing. Accessed 15 April 2025. European Commission. (2025). Joint White Paper for European defence readiness 2030. JOIN (2025) 120 final (19 March). https://eur-lex.europa.eu/legal-content/EN/TXT/?uri=CELEX:52025JC0120. Accessed 15 April 2025. Gov.br. (2024). Brazil and China present joint proposal for peace negotiations with the participation of Russia and Ukraine. 23 May. https://www.gov.br/planalto/en/latest-news/2024/05/brazil-and-china-present-joint-proposal-for-peace-negotiations-with-the-participation-of-russia-and-ukraine. Accessed 15 April 2025. This article is distributed under the terms of the Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 License (https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/)

Defense & Security
Virtual creative lock symbol and microcircuit illustration on flag of China and blurry cityscape background. Protection and firewall concept. Multiexposure

The triple dimension of Chinese cyberspace: defense, science and technology

by Elio Perera Pena

한국어로 읽기 Leer en español In Deutsch lesen Gap اقرأ بالعربية Lire en français Читать на русском Abstract Cyberspace has become a crucial area for the governance and sovereignty of states, especially in the case of China which has developed a comprehensive digital governance strategy. The Chinese government prioritized the construction of a technological infrastructure including Artificial Intelligence and Cloud Computing to strengthen its control over Cyberspace and ensure National Security. Introduction The term cyberspace was coined by writer William Gibson in his science fiction novel “Neuromancer” (1984), in which he described it as a consensual virtual reality. Since then, the concept has transcended fiction to become a tangible domain. Cyberspace can be defined as a digital environment created by the global interconnection of computer systems, networks, and devices, where information flows and human interactions take place virtually. It has undergone significant evolution since its inception. In the 1980s and 1990s, it was mainly limited to academic and military networks in the United States, such as ARPANET. With the arrival of the Internet, cyberspace expanded rapidly, incorporating millions of users and giving rise to new forms of communication such as email and online forums. The gradual proliferation of mobile devices and social networks has transformed cyberspace into an omnipresent and integral part of everyday life. In terms of communication and connectivity, it revolutionized the way people communicate by eliminating geographical and temporal barriers. Cryptocurrencies and Fintech [1] are examples of how cyberspace has transformed the economy, creating new opportunities. Regarding its interconnection with culture and entertainment, the digitalization of culture has given rise to new forms of creation and consumption such as music and video streaming, online gaming, and digital art. Cyberspace: A Strategic Domain Cyberspace has become a strategic battlefield for the hemisphere. In China, cyberspace is seen as an essential component of national security and economic development. The Chinese government has implemented strict policies to regulate cyberspace, including the Great Firewall of China, which controls the flow of information and protects digital infrastructure. In the 10th Five-Year Plan (2001–2005), promoting the information technology sector, increasing internet accessibility, and encouraging the use of digital technologies were established as national priorities. At the Chinese Communist Party Congress in 2002, information was recognized as essential for the growth of comprehensive national power; consequently, in 2005, the National Strategy 2006–2020 for Information Development was published. Regarding the treatment, study, and control of cyberspace, the People’s Liberation Army has always granted crucial importance to information and its technical infrastructure for collection, protection, and distribution, given its duty to safeguard national interests. This is demonstrated by an article written by then-Colonel Wang Baocun in the “PLA Daily” in April 1998: “The opportunity created by the new military revolution is once-in-a-lifetime. Our army enjoys many favorable conditions for informatization. Our country has achieved rapid informatization and has the potential energy to extend this work to the military. An important feature of the current Military Revolution is that local informatization begins earlier and develops faster than in the armed forces and is more technologically advanced. After generating sufficient potential energy, the work will extend to the military and trigger a massive military transformation.” (Expósito, 2022) While for most of the so-called West, and thus also for the United States, there are five domains — land, sea, air, space, and cyberspace — Chinese specialists conceive of cyberspace as the interaction of two distinct realms: the electromagnetic spectrum and informatization. In recent decades, China has emerged as a global power in the scientific and technological sphere, consolidating its position through a comprehensive strategy that links the development of science with the expansion of cyberspace. Since the implementation of the "Made in China 2025" Plan, the government has prioritized technological innovation as the engine of development, focusing on areas such as AI, big data, and cybersecurity, positioning China as a leader in the Fourth Industrial Revolution. Launched in 2015, this is an industrial strategy that aims to transform China into a high-tech manufacturing power. The goal is to reduce dependency on foreign technologies and promote local innovation in key sectors such as robotics, AI, electric vehicles, and biotechnology. The Internet of Things (IoT) is an essential component that complements it, enabling the creation of smart factories and more efficient supply chains. “Internet Plus”, also launched in 2015, promotes the integration of the internet with traditional sectors such as agriculture, logistics, and financial services. It seeks to drive the digitalization of the economy and promote the use of emerging technologies like IoT, big data, and cloud computing. The Internet of Things (IoT) is fundamental to Internet Plus, as it facilitates connectivity between devices and systems, enabling the creation of interconnected digital ecosystems. The proliferation of connected devices allows the IoT to support the development of advanced communication platforms such as WeChat and Alipay, which integrate multiple services into a single application. The relationship between these initiatives lies in the fact that IoT acts as a bridge between “Made in China 2025” and “Internet Plus”, enabling the convergence of advanced manufacturing and the digitalization of the economy. On one hand, “Made in China 2025” uses the Internet of Things to modernize industry and improve productivity. On the other hand, “Internet Plus” leverages IoT to create new data-driven services and business models. This synergy has allowed China to position itself as a global leader in technological innovation. The relationship between science and cyberspace has been strengthened thanks to massive investment in research and development (R&D). The country has allocated significant resources to training talent in STEM disciplines (science, technology, engineering, and mathematics) and has established centers of excellence in technological innovation, which have enabled the development of AI algorithms applied in sectors such as medicine, logistics, and defense. On the international stage, the People’s Republic of China has adopted a cooperative approach, actively participating in international cybersecurity organizations and promoting initiatives such as the Digital Silk Road, which aims to foster technological development in other nations. The future of the relationship between science and Chinese cyberspace is marked by emerging trends that promise to further transform society. The adoption of technologies such as 5G and Blockchain [2] is redefining how people interact with the digital world. At the same time, as the Asian nation faces the challenge of balancing technological growth with sustainability and social equity, it is developing cyber power strategy as one of the fundamental pillars of its government policy. This strategy is understood as the need to build a robust digital infrastructure that advances quantum technology, A), and their derivatives, aiming for the greatest possible development of all areas involved in the defense of cyberspace. China has positioned itself as a global leader in AI, with companies like Baidu, Alibaba, and Tencent at the forefront of research. In the field of big data, it has leveraged its vast population and the proliferation of connected devices to collect and analyze massive amounts of information, improving efficiency in sectors such as transportation and urban planning. Cyberspace is vulnerable to threats such as cyberattacks, digital espionage, and cyber warfare. In response to these risks, quantum computing offers tools to strengthen cybersecurity. In today’s digital era, quantum computing and cyberspace have become two foundational pillars for technological development and national security. China, as one of the global powers in technological innovation, has invested significantly in both areas, recognizing their potential to transform the economy, defense, and society. Quantum Computing: A New Technological Paradigm Quantum computing represents a revolutionary leap in information processing capabilities. Unlike classical computers, which use bits to represent data as 0 or 1, quantum computers employ qubits, which can exist in multiple states simultaneously thanks to the phenomenon of quantum superposition. This allows for solving complex problems in a very short time, unlike traditional computers, which would require much longer periods. China is increasing its role as a global leader in the research and development of quantum computing. In 2020, the country achieved a historic milestone by demonstrating quantum supremacy with its Jiuzhang computer, capable of performing calculations in minutes that would take the most advanced supercomputers thousands of years. Not only China has placed itself at the forefront of quantum technology, but it also has carried deep implications for cyberspace. Regarding its advancements in this area, China has achieved significant milestones, such as the development of long-distance communication networks — one example being the Beijing–Shanghai backbone network [3]. The link between these elements is manifested in several key areas: 1. Quantum Cryptography and Cybersecurity One of the most significant impacts of quantum computing on cyberspace is its ability to revolutionize cryptography. Quantum algorithms have the potential to break current encryption systems, which form the basis of online security. This poses a threat to critical infrastructure, financial transactions, and secure communications. In response to this challenge, China has invested in the development of quantum cryptography, particularly in Quantum Key Distribution (QKD). In 2016, China launched the world’s first quantum satellite, “Micius”, which demonstrated the feasibility of secure long-distance quantum communication. This advancement lays the foundation for a global communication network immune to traditional cyberattacks. 2. Artificial Intelligence and Data Analysis Quantum computing has the potential to accelerate the development of AI and the analysis of large volumes of data. In cyberspace, this translates to greater capacity to detect patterns, predict threats, and optimize networks. The People’s Republic of China, already a leader in AI, has the potential to use quantum computing to strengthen its dominance in cyberspace, both nationally and internationally. Quantum networks enable the transmission of information with unprecedented security levels, reinforcing China’s leadership by strengthening its position in cyberspace and promoting its technological standards internationally. Quantum computing also offers strategic advantages. It could be used to develop more sophisticated cyberweapons capable of disabling enemy systems. It also holds the potential to enhance cyber defense, protecting critical infrastructure from attacks. China has integrated quantum computing into its national defense strategy, recognizing its importance in maintaining superiority in cyberspace. 3. Challenges and Ethical Considerations The global technological race among powers such as the United States is one of the key variables in this challenge and could exacerbate geopolitical tensions. There are ethical concerns about the use of quantum computing in cyberspace. The power of this technology has already been used for malicious purposes such as espionage, cyberattacks, or information manipulation, especially by powers adverse to China. As quantum technology advances, there is growing integration between its components and cyberspace, driving innovation in fields such as secure communication, artificial intelligence, and national defense. China's success in these areas will have global implications, redefining the future of technology and security in this century, toward essential economic, political, and social development goals. China has recognized the importance of cyberspace as a modern battlefield and has developed regulations and strategies to protect its interests in this domain, establishing laws that require companies and organizations to implement strong security measures and report cybersecurity incidents. In this regard, the transformative potential of quantum computing for national defense and security is acknowledged. Quantum technology has been applied to conflict simulation and the analysis of complex scenarios in the military sphere. The rapid development of the IoT presents challenges. The interconnection of devices creates vulnerabilities that can be exploited through cyberattacks on power grids, transportation systems, and more, which could have devastating consequences. China recognized these risks and implemented measures to strengthen cybersecurity. In 2017, the government enacted the Cybersecurity Law, which establishes strict requirements for data protection and network security. On the communication front, authorities have made efforts to promote not only the country’s technological capabilities, but also elements of Chinese culture. Platforms such as TikTok (known domestically as Douyin) have gained global popularity, becoming vehicles to counter negative narratives in Western media. This approach has resonated in other countries, especially in the so-called Global South, with which China has established strategic technological partnerships. 4. Cyberspace and Chinese Cyber Sovereignty Cyber sovereignty refers to the notion that each nation has the right and responsibility to exercise control over its cyberspace, protecting its digital infrastructure, regulating the flow of information, and defending its national interests in the digital realm. For China, this concept is fundamental to its Internet governance approach and aligns with a vision of a regulated and secure Internet. In summary, cyber sovereignty is defined as a condition in which the state has authority over cyberspace within its borders, including the ability to regulate Internet access, control online content, and protect digital infrastructure. It is based on the premise that cyberspace is a strategic domain that must be managed to ensure national security, social stability, and economic development. Its key principles include: State control: The Chinese government exercises strict control over Internet infrastructure and online content.National security: The protection of cyberspace is considered an extension of national defense.Content regulation: Measures are implemented to filter information deemed harmful or contrary to state interests.Technological autonomy: China seeks to reduce dependence on foreign technologies and promote the development of local solutions. Legal and Political Framework The Cybersecurity Law (2017) establishes regulations for data protection, infrastructure security, and online content regulation. Regarding the practical applications of China’s cyber sovereignty, one key element is the ability to exercise surveillance, i.e., the use of advanced technologies to monitor and control the flow of information. Promotion of local platforms: Encouragement of Chinese alternatives to global services (e.g., WeChat instead of WhatsApp, Baidu instead of Google).Development of technological standards: Creation of domestic standards for technologies like 5G and the Internet of Things, aiming to reduce dependence on international norms. International Implications Alternative governance model: China promotes its cyber sovereignty approach as an alternative to the Western model of an open and free Internet.Global influence: Through initiatives like the Digital Silk Road, China offers other countries the opportunity to adopt its model of digital governance and technologies.International tensions: Disputes with other countries over the control of critical technologies and influence in global cyberspace.Balance between security and innovation: Strict control may limit creativity and entrepreneurship in the tech sector. Cyber sovereignty is a key link in China’s digital strategy, reflecting its state control and national security approach to cyberspace. This concept has enabled the Asian nation to develop a unique model of digital governance, characterized by regulation, promotion of local technologies, and projection of global influence. Internet Governance China has adopted a unique approach to Internet governance, based on the principle of national sovereignty. Unlike the open Internet model promoted by the United States, the Asian country advocates a model in which each nation has the right to regulate and control its own Internet infrastructure. This approach is reflected, among other aspects, in the adoption of policies that restrict access to foreign websites, to protect content aligned with national interests. China has also promoted international initiatives to establish digital governance norms that support its vision of cyber sovereignty. One example is the “Code of Conduct for International Information Security”, presented to the United Nations (UN), which advocates for the respect of national sovereignty in cyberspace and non-interference in the internal affairs of other countries. In response to perceived threats from the United States and other powers, China has strengthened its cyber defense capabilities. One of the most significant initiatives has been the creation of a unit within the People’s Liberation Army specializing in cyber operations. China has denounced the surveillance activities of the United States National Security Agency (NSA). The rivalry driven by the U.S. stems from China’s accelerated development in network technologies and the rise of companies like Huawei, global leaders in technology. The Asian country has sought to counter U.S. influence in cyberspace through strategic alliances with other nations while pursuing diplomatic and technological balance. It has collaborated with Russia on joint cybersecurity policies and has promoted its vision of Internet governance in international forums such as the Shanghai Cooperation Organization (SCO). The U.S. aggressiveness in the digital realm, aimed at countering China’s rise, could lead to a fragmentation of information technology, particularly in terms of data transmission, where different regions might adopt contradictory standards and regulations. This scenario, known as the “Balkanization of the Internet,” would bring negative consequences for innovation and international cooperation. For this reason, China strives — through its domestic policies and within international forums — to maintain a balance in the use of global cyberspace and in the effective approach to managing digital technologies. While some politicians and academics (Friedberg, Pillsbury) argue that China’s economic and military power will lead to an irrational use of cyberspace, others (Shambaugh, Steinfeld) maintain that China is increasingly integrated into international institutions and the global economy. They also emphasize the Chinese government's growing and sustained concern for international stability. Chinese authorities have had the opportunity to assert that, aside from the United States' aggressive stance, there are common interests between both nations regarding the defense of cyberspace and cybersecurity. For both countries, maintaining cybersecurity is vital for stability and social development. Their strategic approaches are based on serving their national interests, which is why both governments present their respective cyberspace strategies as models to emulate. Both, China and the United States, consider that strategic information must be handled with great care to ensure the proper functioning of public administration and national security. China supports the U.S. perspective on a cybersecurity governance model based on a multistakeholder approach, involving government, private, civil, and military actors in the implementation and execution of responsibilities. Certain reactionary sectors in the United States have worked to prevent possibilities for mutual understanding. In 2018, the U.S. Department of Justice launched the “China Initiative”, aimed at countering what was perceived as economic espionage and intellectual property theft, allegedly carried out primarily by U.S. citizens of Chinese descent. This initiative had several geopolitical consequences: Tension in U.S.–China relations: Considered a discriminatory measure, seen as an attempt solely to contain China's economic and technological rise.Impact on bilateral cooperation: It increased distrust, negatively affecting areas of collaboration such as trade, investment, and joint work in science and technology.Concerns about civil rights: It was criticized by human rights groups and academics for targeting Americans of Chinese descent, creating an atmosphere of fear and self-censorship among Chinese-origin researchers and scholars. In some cases, this led to the loss of international collaborations. In 2021, President Joe Biden’s administration announced the end of the initiative, acknowledging its inappropriateness and the criticism it had drawn. However, in 2023, new accusations emerged involving Chinese nationals, allegedly responsible for flying "spy balloons" over U.S. military installations. A defamatory campaign sought to fuel Sinophobia, and media outlets once again contributed to this narrative. While the Chinese Ministry of Foreign Affairs denied involvement, in the United States, the president convened the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff and mobilized several strategic components, including the U.S. Cyber Command (US CyberCom). Several U.S. intelligence analysts, including Christopher Johnson, admitted that the United States conducts espionage against China. The wave of Sinophobia was intended to justify to the public the U.S. efforts to obtain vital information about China’s strategic interests, especially those linked to digital transformation and cyberspace. In 2024, the U.S. government announced that by 2025 it would double tariffs on Chinese semiconductors, while continuing to accuse Beijing of forcing technology transfers and stealing intellectual property. Final Considerations Cyberspace and digital governance are part of a broader war rooted in the cultural dimension of contemporary hegemonic power, which is heightened by the existing links between media and culture and their influence on relationships of domination. A Cold War persists in the form of a battle for individuals' minds, underscoring its ideological nature (Expósito, 2022). With the advance in science, psychological warfare has evolved, largely due to the development of new information and communication technologies. Faced with strong U.S. interference, psychological warfare is closely linked to the justification for dominating cyberspace, interpreted also as political warfare — understood as crisis diplomacy, war of nerves, or dramatic intimidation diplomacy. Through these strategies, the United States seeks to counter China’s remarkable progress in commercial economic development, particularly in the technological sphere. To support these efforts, the U.S. intelligence directorate hires public relations consultants responsible for conducting complex psychological operations in the informational and media domain. One of their main tasks is to validate and frame information production for propaganda purposes, where military communication strategies and tactics are intertwined with and become part of media operations, in which media outlets function as oligopolistic enterprises. According to U.S. intelligence agencies, information is treated as a content-seeking tool used to persuade public opinion, regardless of its truthfulness (for example, the repeated accusations of alleged Chinese spies operating within the United States). Communication is viewed as a vehicle for promoting the communicator’s interests — in other words, an effective way to ensure that a message, with a purely propagandistic purpose, aligns with political interests, serving the agenda of the executive branch and transnational media corporations in the United States, while also considering the specific interests of the State Department and the Department of Defense. With a “prepackaged” message, cyberspace — a concept not yet fully understood by the average citizen — is presented as a stimulus for the development of various cyberspace-related programs in the U.S., such as Cicada, Tripwire, among others. As a result, the People’s Republic of China becomes the subject of a U.S. social experiment, through which this subject — often portrayed through manipulated or falsified narratives — facilitates the enrichment of the aforementioned large transnational media corporations, one of the methods employed by the United States to maintain its hegemony. U.S. authorities, working in tandem with the corporate sector, continue to advocate — so far without the expected success — for the transition of network informatization to the multi-domain sphere, extending from Earth to space and cyberspace. This transition requires a close interconnection of all elements involved, and corresponding training of technical and logistical personnel. The restrictions imposed by the United States on China’s semiconductor industry are clearly aimed at obstructing China’s technological development, as the Asian nation still depends, to some extent, on certain components manufactured in the U.S. or by its allies. Accordingly, the restrictions enforced through the 2022 CHIPS and Science Act limit China’s access to advanced chip manufacturing technologies, such as Extreme Ultraviolet Lithography (EUVL) equipment, essential for producing next-generation semiconductors. It is important to note that chips and Chinese cyberspace are closely interrelated, as chips are fundamental components of the technological infrastructure that sustains cyberspace. In short, they are the technological foundation that enables the operation, expansion, and security of Chinese cyberspace, and their development is strategic for China’s autonomy and competitiveness in the global digital arena. The link between the communication sphere and cyberspace in the People’s Republic of China reflects its development model and its governance vision, aimed at promoting social cohesion. Through the use of advanced technologies and the implementation of policies, China has managed to maintain a high level of control over its digital environment, thereby promoting its national interests. China’s security and defense strategy in relation to cyberspace reflects its aspiration to become a global digital power. By adopting an approach based on national sovereignty, China seeks to protect its interests and counter threats posed by the United States and other powers. In an increasingly interconnected world, it is essential that nations find ways to cooperate in the field of cybersecurity, by establishing standards and norms that promote stability and trust in cyberspace. As one of the leading digital powers, China maintains its commitment to playing a crucial role in balancing the international order. The relationship between quantum computing, cyberspace, and China’s military security and defense regulations is complex and multifaceted. Quantum computing has the potential to revolutionize how information is processed and how security is ensured. China has been a pioneer in integrating quantum computing into its security and defense strategies, which has important implications for global security. The “Internet Plus” initiative served as a key catalyst for China's digital transformation, positioning the country as a global leader in technological innovation. By highlighting the close interdependence between cyberspace and quantum computing, it becomes evident how emerging technologies are transforming the world. China has demonstrated a strong commitment to the development of quantum computing, recognizing its potential to strengthen its position in cyberspace and its global implications that will reshape the future of technology and security in the 21st century. For years now, cyberspace has become part of the obscure content used in propaganda spread by what is referred to as the mainstream press. It is used not only as a critical domain to be protected for the sake of national sovereignty and security, but also as a media spectacle, a staged platform in which the press is employed to convey messages desired by the political and economic executives of countries such as the United States. In such cases, in addition to the legitimate need to protect cyberspace as an intrinsic component of political and social stability, it is also used as a justification for massive financial allocations, supposedly in the name of national integrity, which in reality flow into the coffers of the Military-Industrial Complex. Notes [1] A company that uses technology to offer financial services in an innovative, efficient, and accessible way. The term comes from the combination of the words “finance” and “technology.”[2] Blockchain is a distributed ledger technology that allows information to be stored securely, transparently, and in a decentralized manner. It consists of a chain of blocks linked together, where each block contains a set of verified transactions or data. These blocks are connected through cryptographic techniques.[3] An important high-speed rail line in China that connects the cities of Beijing and Shanghai. Known as the High-Speed Railway, it is one of the busiest and most strategic routes. It was inaugurated on June 30, 2011 and covers an approximate distance of 1,318 km. References Expósito, J. (2022, enero 19). China en el ciberespacio. Revista Ejércitos. http://www.ejercitos.comFriedberg, A. L. (2011). A Contest for Supremacy: China, America and the Struggle for Mastery in Asia. Nueva York: W.W. Norton.Lewis, J. A. (2022). Chinas Cyber Strategy: A Comprehensive Analysis. Center for Strategic and International Studies. En www.centerforstrategicstudiesMinisterio de Defensa Nacional de la República Popular China (2023). Libro Blanco de Defensa Nacional. Beijing: Editorial del Pueblo.Patiño Orozco, G. A. (2021). Una comparativa de los esquemas de ciberseguridad de China y Estados Unidos. OASIS, 34, pp. 107-126. https://doi.org/10.18601/16577558.n34.07Perera Pena, E. “El llamado globo chino y algunas de sus derivaciones estratégicas”. En Revista Cuadernos de Nuestra América. CIPI. La Habana. Cuba. ISSN: 2959-9849.Pillsbury, M. (2015). The Hundred Year Marathon. Chinas Secret Strategy to Replace Americas as the Global Superpower. Nueva York: Henry Holt.Segal, A. (2020). The Hacked World Order: How Nations Fight, Trade, Manueuver, and Manipulate in the Digital Age. New York. Public Affairs.Shambaugh, D. (2013). China Goes Global. The Partial Power. Nueva York: Columbia University Press.Spanish.news.cn 16.3.2023. Libro Blanco. China explora activamente nuevos modelos de “ciberjusticia”. En: www.spanish.xinhunet.comSteinfeld, E. S. (2017). Teams of Rivals: China, the United States, and the Race to Develop Technologies for a Sustainable Future. In J. DeLisle, and A. Goldstein, Chinas Global Engagement: Cooperation, Competition, and Influence in the 21st Century (pp.91-121). Washington: Brookings Institution Press.Zhang, L. (2021). Chinas Quantum Supremacy. Beijing: Tsinghua University Press. Cuadernos de Nuestra América. No. 014 | Nueva Época 2025, Centro de Investigaciones de Política Internacional (CIPI). Under CC BY-NC 4.0 

Defense & Security
ISS052-E-37828 - View of Earth

Space in the international relations of Asia: a guide to technology, security, and diplomacy in a strategic domain

by Saadia M. Pekkanen

한국어로 읽기 Leer en español In Deutsch lesen Gap اقرأ بالعربية Lire en français Читать на русском ABSTRACT This essay brings space into the international relations of Asia. It orients readers to three unfolding trends that are shaping the evolution of the new space race at present – democratization, commercialization, and militarization (DCM). It surveys how these trends reflect, illuminate, or are connected to the theory and practice of international relations (IR) both in global and regional settings in Asia. Where possible, it brings in the space activities of the main independent and autonomous space powers in Asia – China, Japan, India, South Korea, North Korea – and probes what their activities signify for international and regional politics. It ends with some thematic takeaways for space policy, strategy, and diplomacy. Space is a strategic domain, meaning that its uses cut across civilian and military realities and will therefore long remain of vital interest to all states. Since its inception, space has drawn significant and long-standing attention in the fields of law and policy. Lawyers, legal scholars, diplomats, and policy analysts have covered the rise and interpretation of the space law regime in place today, which is centered on a set of space treaties, resolutions, and organized multilateral activities.Footnote1 Thanks to these efforts we have a good understanding of governance frameworks, the challenges they face, and how they may play out in constructing the peaceful uses of outer space. But studies that bring international relations (IR) theory and practice to bear on outer space affairs are far fewer in comparison to the voluminous law and policy literature. While IR scholars have generated works related to other emerging technologies, such as drones, cyberweapons, and artificial intelligence, space generally still remains understudied.Footnote2 This is surprising as the critical infrastructure of space anchors modern economies, militaries, and societies in a way no other technology does. It lies at the intersection of virtually all political, economic, and social forces that have been and will remain of concern to states. The space domain is not aloof from the “harsher realities of politics;”Footnote3 and, in fact, continues to reflect almost every feature of global politics in play – ideology, nationalism, aid, integration, division, and security, for example.Footnote4 Using the lens of states and their national interests, this symposium is among the first comprehensive efforts to combine IR perspectives, space studies, and the history, politics, and economics of Asia – a region with the most dynamic, ambitious, and competent sovereign space powers today. Alongside China, Japan, India, and North Korea, South Korea has risen rapidly as another determined player that is leveraging its industrial capabilities, alliances, and networks to position itself in the unfolding competition of the new space race. Australia and New Zealand, and other countries in South and Southeast Asia have also long been marked with emerging space activities and ambitions.Footnote5 These developments come at a time when both the United States and China are leading two different space regimes that extend beyond territorial matters to Low Earth Orbit (LEO) and celestial bodies.Footnote6 What states are doing in the IR of space, who with, why, and how affects prospects for war and peace. One indication of the importance of space nested in the contemporary geopolitical flux is reflected in The Camp David Joint Statement from August 2023, in which the U.S., South Korea, and Japan seek to enhance trilateral dialogues on space security.Footnote7 This essay guides readers to developments in the space domain, and the ways they connect to the theory and practice of IR. The first part interrogates the idea of the IR of space at the broadest level, and sets out the three principal trends that are shaping its evolution today – democratization, commercialization, and militarization (DCM). The second part then turns to asking where Asia fits in this tapestry, drawing on the intellectual lineage of key debates in the field as well as the findings from this symposium. The third part extracts some thematic takeaways that are likely to be of interest to makers of space policy, strategy, and diplomacy. What is the International Relations of Space? Space has always been – and will long remain – couched in IR theory that is centrally concerned with alternative explanations about competition and cooperation.Footnote8 The paradigmatic or theoretical approach analysts bring to space – such as realism, liberalism, constructivism, and so on – has consequences for relations among and within states.Footnote9 Political scientists are increasingly interested in the theory and practice of the IR of space, and in understanding the implications for real-world collaboration, competition, leadership, and diplomacy.Footnote10 This section provides a guide to the principal actors and the trends of the new space race in which they seek to position. The State in the International Relations of Space For the foreseeable future, outer space affairs will remain rooted in the geopolitics on Earth, and this will necessitate a focus on the makers of policy, strategy, and diplomacy. Nothing about this is new. Space could not escape the “political rivalries of this world” in the old space race; and the idea that U.S. leaders may well have had no option from the late 1950s onwards but to “allow for all possibilities by speaking of idealism and acting with realism” speaks with equal force to the complexities of decision-making in the present space race.Footnote11 The IR of space is about actors, their motivations, and the consequences of their actions for stability in, through, and at the nexus of space. This general framing of the IR of space draws attention away from unproductive and narrow theoretical debates, encourages analytical eclecticism, and privileges a pragmatic, policy-relevant, and problem-focused approach.Footnote12 Further, the approach locates actions and agency in known circumstances, remains deeply attentive to both material and ideational processes over time, is mindful of situational idiosyncrasies, and in sync with the inevitable ups and downs of geopolitics. Frankly, this kind of eclectic pragmatism is necessary in a dynamic domain in which scholars and practitioners want to grapple with visible challenges that need real-world solutions. As in other areas, a focus on states allows us to capture the “deeper political foundations, trajectory, centrality, and implications”Footnote13 of newer developments that can be consequential for the theory and practice of IR. Even when theoreticians are supportive of, opposed to, or merely agnostic about states as a unit of analysis, almost all of them have to grapple with interactive state actions at both the domestic and international levels.Footnote14 The idea of space policy analysis, which draws attention to sub-state actors and drivers of decision-making while crisscrossing levels of analysis, certainly enriches our understanding of major players beyond the West.Footnote15 But in many emerging space countries, and especially in the IR of Asia, the state remains the gatekeeper to the domestic-international nexus. Focusing on states also induces an equality in the IR of space, as many developing and emerging countries do not have the numerous legal, commercial, and nonprofit actors from the advanced industrial world who seek to influence outcomes across international forums and processes. This state-centricism is especially relevant in the strategic space domain − 95% of which comprises dual-use space technologies.Footnote16 In it, states are proactively seeking to position their countries vis-à-vis others because its very duality promises both civilian and military benefits. This reality is reinforced by the present legal space regime, which privileges the role of states as a matter of public international law. As on Earth so also for space, it is ultimately states that back and consume innovative space technologies, design strategies and policies, and construct or scuttle governance in line with their political and economic interests.Footnote17 None of this is to suggest that states are the only actors in the space domain, or that their preferences magically prevail in all matters of policy, strategy, or diplomacy. Rather, at the end of the day, it is states that possess both the ultimate and final authority over their citizens, thus regulating how this collective interacts with its counterparts.Footnote18 The Key Trends Shaping the IR of Space The new space race demands as well a new way of seeing the whole picture, which balances its principal trends without privileging any one of them. All states are presently navigating the intersections of three deeply intertwined trends in the new space race that pose novel questions and challenges for their own security – democratization, commercialization, and the slide from militarization to outright weaponization (DCM).Footnote19 While these trends may be analytically distinct, they are in reality fluid, nonlinear, and synergistic. They are interwoven into the fabric of the IR of space today, and if a problem-focused approach is to lend itself to real-world solutions it is meaningless to talk about strategy or policy concerning one or another in isolation. This has implications for IR theory more generally. A plethora of well-debated approaches, concepts, and constructs mark its two main subfields of international security and international political economy across all regions of the world – war, peace, balance of power, industrial policy, interdependence, governance, norms, diplomacy, for example. These theoretical constructs have to reconcile with the complexities of DCM. Doing so prevents hyperbole about a “knowable and certain future” for organizations, societies, and soldiers with stakes in space.Footnote20 It encourages vigilance about the commercialization-militarization axis fueling gray-zone ventures in space, where a commercial space actor operating for a rival could do what previously was the realm of only government military operations.Footnote21 It prevents naïve thinking that space commerce is unrelated to defense, or that private assets cannot become legitimate military targets in the fog of war.Footnote22 When it comes time to pass United Nations resolutions backed by a leading space power that can govern prospects for space safety how old and new actors in space align diplomatically on a normative basis is affected by their industrial and political interests in the context of DCM.Footnote23 The high-profile return of industrial policy in the U.S. stretches to the space industrial base, and includes efforts to strengthen the resilience of its supply chains with commercial space players and nongovernmental actors.Footnote24 As an analytical rubric, the trends in the DCM triumvirate, fleshed out below, help states see the many moving and equally important parts of the new space race, connect actions and technologies involving their counterparts spread around the world, and build a far more balanced awareness of the policies and strategies necessary to advance their own interests amid all the dynamism. The triumvirate, in short, is a powerful conceptual reminder for all states that “the church of strategy must be a broad one” in the space domain.Footnote25 One trend of the triumvirate stems from changes in manufacturing and accessibility, which have opened up — or “democratized” — the space domain to newcomers. Many of the newer state entrants have created space agencies, written national space legislation, targeted specific manufacturing or regulatory niches, and signed agreements with international partners and private companies. Alongside the rising number of nation-states, this democratization draw in nongovernmental entrants such as commercial startups, activist billionaires, criminal syndicates, and so on who could aid or thwart government objectives.Footnote26 New actors continue to proliferate across all regions and continents, with activities that crisscross the public and private spheres and that affect prospects for transnational collaboration in myriad ways. The year 2023 is illustrative of democratization in practice. In mid August, the SpaceX Crew Dragon spacecraft reached the International Space Station (ISS).Footnote27 This was the seventh crew rotation mission by SpaceX, a private U.S. company, and it carried four civilian agency astronauts from America, Europe, Russia, and Japan. In its previous mission to the ISS, SpaceX flew NASA astronauts, along with those from Russia and the United Arab Emirates. Earlier in May, SpaceX used its Dragon spacecraft and Falcon 9 rocket to launch an all-private astronaut mission to the ISS for a company called Axiom Space, which aims to build the world’s first commercial space station; it then carried passengers from the United States as well as both a male and female astronaut from the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia.Footnote28 Democratization extends to the moon. With India’s successful soft-landing on the moon in August, yet another Asian country after China now holds the distinction of being on the lunar surface.Footnote29 Private actors in Asia are also part of the tapestry. While a lunar lander attempt by a private Japanese company, ispace, was not successful in April, the company is persevering with bringing both governments and private payloads to the moon.Footnote30 More foundational for the purposes of enabling certainty for commercial transactions are some of the steps ispace took prior to the launch. It was granted a license by the Japanese government to engage in an “in-place” property transfer of ownership of lunar regolith to NASA. All these developments represent a dramatically varied landscape, which also raises challenges for building meaningful consensus in the years ahead.Footnote31 A second trend in the triumvirate is commercialization, driven by a whole new generation of space entrepreneurs. Chief among their unprecedented innovations are reusable rocketry and mega-constellations of satellites, driven by so-called newspace corporations such as SpaceX, Blue Origin, Rocket Lab, Amazon, Planet, ICEYE, Blacksky, Axelspace, and Synspective. Together these companies have not only changed prospects for frequent and cheaper access to space, but they have also changed the geospatial view of virtually all human activities on the planet, whether on land or the oceans.Footnote32 These newer entrants present competition for more established players like Boeing, Arianespace, Lockheed Martin, Raytheon, Mitsubishi Heavy Industries, Mitsui, and Thales Alenia, for example. All these corporations seek profitable niches in the global space economy, which one estimate puts at a minimum of $384 billion in 2022 and others put higher.Footnote33 Notably, the present satellite industry accounts for over 70% of the space economy. This indicates a “space-for-earth” economy, meaning space goods and services with direct use on Earth such as telecommunications and internet infrastructure, Earth observation satellites, military satellites, and so on.Footnote34 This reality accounted for 95% of the revenues earned in the space sector in 2019. Given the dependence of the global economy on space-based assets, some argue the commercial peace thesis may stay the hand of space-related conflict.Footnote35 This is good news also if the space market grows, as projected, to between $1.1 trillion and $2.7 trillion by the 2040s.Footnote36 But there is a healthy debate about what else may be scalable beyond just the satellite-enabled communications infrastructure that sustains the space economy at present. Further, despite all the rosy projections about the space economy, there is little information about which of the venture-backed private newspace entrants is or likely to be profitable anytime soon. After over two decades of operation, it is only recently that SpaceX, which leads with its rocket launches and internet-satellite business, has reported it generated $55 million in profits on $1.5 billion in revenue in the first quarter of 2023.Footnote37 In the non-satellite segment of the space economy, the search for new markets and customers certainty continues worldwide. But government budgets will matter to the survivability of many innovative technologies, products, and services where market prospects are nascent, emerging, or just plain uncertain. These include, for example, commercial human spaceflight, space stations, lunar landers and habitats, and space resources mining. The total governmental budgets for space programs worldwide is estimated to be between $92.4 billion to $107 billion.Footnote38 The U.S. government leads the world with the largest institutional budget at around $55 billion; setting aside the collective European budget at $14 billion, the single-country budgets that successively follow the U.S. are China (speculatively, $10 billion), Japan (over $4 billion), Russia ($3.5 billion), and India ($1.96 billion). More generally, the presence of government actors alerts us to a range of theoretical political economy considerations that cut across geopolitics and geoeconomics in the space domainFootnote39: the logic of state-centricism in and out of Asia in fostering innovation, the multifaceted drivers of space commercialization and privatization around the world, and the newspace business hype that needs to be reconciled with the dynamics of state interests in economic-security linkages. A final trend in the DCM triumvirate is militarization sliding into weaponization of a dual-use technology. But we may be returning to the historical roots of space technology because what we now think of as dual-use originated as military first.Footnote40 From rockets to satellites to missile defense, civilian and commercial space technologies can be morphed to serve military or national security ends. A state’s military space power can be measured not just by total space expenditures but also latent capabilities in existing commercial architecture.Footnote41 Many actors can access, or collaboratively develop, a wide spectrum of military capabilities while professing to pursue worthy civilian and commercial goals, such as launching rockets, enabling satellite communication, expanding Earth observation, developing GPS capabilities, or servicing malfunctioning satellites. These activities can be legitimized as peaceful and defensive, but their uses can also be converted to offensive purposes. As more actors join space activities and as commercial players spread space products and technologies around the world, the ambiguities of dual-use space technologies make it more and more difficult to distinguish a space asset from a weapon, or space control operations as defensive or offensive. This melding of the commercialization-militarization axis means that many advanced, emerging, and disruptive technologies that are significant for defense applications and for potentially gaining an edge over rivals are couched in commercial rather than military-industrial complexes; these technologies and capabilities are also spread unevenly across geopolitical lines.Footnote42 Depending on their financial and organizational capacities to adopt innovations, states may well face risky scenarios in an international system out of tune with power realities in which the actual balance of power diverges sharply from the distribution of benefits.Footnote43 Further, the problem is that all space assets are equally vulnerable to a range of both kinetic and non-kinetic threats, which can go from an irreversible missile hit to temporarily disabling electronic and cyber attacks on a space asset.Footnote44 Since it is hard to separate military and civilian space services, accidental or purposeful actions against those used by the military would inevitably also affect those used by civilian and commercial stakeholders. Protecting access to space and safeguarding operations within space are, therefore, a vital interest for all states interested in space for national advancement. Unfortunately, no orbit is safe or secure. This is especially concerning for the United States, which is the world’s most space-dependent power, and whose nuclear command-and-control operations worldwide rely on space assets. As of January 2023, roughly 67% of all operating satellites belonged to the U.S., with a significant part of them commercial.Footnote45 This dependence will only grow as U.S.-led mega constellations, as well as other in-space activities, proliferate. Accidents can happen, and this specter is rising as orbits become more and more crowded with civil, commercial, and military activities.Footnote46 Orbital debris, big and tiny leftovers from decades of space activities that whiz around at lethal speeds, already represent known hazards. The ISS often has to maneuver to get out of the way, and functioning satellites are also vulnerable. Satellites can collide accidentally, degrading or ending their operations; human beings can die. But it is the menace of purposeful and deliberate targeting of the space-enabled infrastructure that cannot be ruled out in the geopolitical turmoil today. There is an intensifying strategic competition between the U.S. and its allies, China, and Russia over the making of a new world order.Footnote47 This means also that there are ample incentives for U.S. adversaries to deny the heavily space-dependent United States use of its space assets in peacetime or wartime under cover of dual-use ambiguities; there are also incentives for the U.S. and its allies to do the reverse to adversaries.Footnote48 In all likelihood, every country would suffer under such scenarios, but the heavily space-dependent U.S. would suffer most. Kinetic anti-satellite (ASAT) tests have already been carried out by some of the top spacefaring powers – China (2007), the U.S. (2008), India (2019), and Russia (2021) – and have led to a U.S. declaration to ban them.Footnote49 In the non-kinetic realm, cyber attacks are a looming realistic threat for satellites and other space assets just as they for any another digitized critical infrastructure.Footnote50 Many key U.S. allies, such as Japan and Korea as well as members of NATO, see the same threats and, with extended deterrence in mind, have begun working closely with the U.S. to reshape security architectures and postures in the space domain. The war in Ukraine has also changed perceptions worldwide about the safety of the critical infrastructure of space, with Russia’s electronic and cyberattacks targeting satellite systems.Footnote51 Both the U.S. and its allies also understand that targeting U.S. space assets affects the great power status of the U.S. – the basis for its hard and soft power – which is why space will long remain a national and international imperative. Space is also pivotal because it is at the intersection of virtually all emerging and disruptive technology frontiers, such as AI, quantum computing, and cyber weapons, which can potentially affect a country’s military edge over others.Footnote52 One indication of the importance of U.S. space systems to the government for critical national and homeland security functions is reflected in institutional budgets. Worldwide, in 2021, an estimate is that civilian budgets were around $54 billion and military budgets at about $38 billion.Footnote53 The United States stands out relative to the rest of the world, irrespective of the actual size of these budgets, accounting for just under 60% of all government expenditures on space program on a global basis. The U.S. military space budget is estimated to be between roughly $30–34 billion dollars, significantly higher than its civilian budget at around $25–26 billion. With the formation of the U.S. Space Force, and the perceived growing threat to space, these patterns are unlikely to shift and will affect the evolution of U.S.-led space security architectures worldwide. Beyond orbital regimes, there are also concerns about celestial bodies, which include the moon, Mars, comets, and asteroids. The moon has become a prestigious prize. There is a race to put the next humans and outposts on it. While every state wants to be a space nation and to benefit from space-enabled prosperity and security all the way to the moon the simple point is that not all of them can be in the elite club of states who have the will and capabilities to do just that.Footnote54 Collaboration too is likely to remain divisive in the new lunar space race, whether intentional or not.Footnote55 54 countries have already signed the Artemis Accords led by the U.S. since 2020, which contain principles outlining civil exploration in space that are heralded for their openness, transparency, and predictability for all stakeholders.Footnote56 Meanwhile, China has entered into an MOU with Russia to establish an international lunar research station, with multiple scientific and exploration objectives, that is likely to be constructed on the south pole of the moon.Footnote57 The south pole on the moon is where both China and the U.S. have marked out potential landing sites as their new competing lunar programs get underway.Footnote58 It is also the region in which India, a signatory of the Artemis Accords, was instrumental in confirming the presence of water and where it has also soft-landed before anyone else.Footnote59 While no IR analyst can easily predict how the strategic culture of any state will affect its behavior in the context of space resources or space habitats it is foreseeable that such developments are significant for advancing national and relative power.Footnote60 The defense-industrial complex in the United States is paying attention to what all this will mean for the balance of power in space. The LunA-10 framework represents the next-generation quest for an integrated 10-year lunar architecture that could catalyze a commercial space economy with the U.S. in the lead.Footnote61 How competition and collaboration play out depends on how states choose to reconcile the trends of the DCM triumvirate with their own interests as they, and their counterparts, all set their sights on the moon. As technologies are always uncertain and the landscape of allies and rivals can shift, diplomacy for space security may be more necessary than ever as these lunar armadas set off.Footnote62 How Does Space Fit in the International Relations of Asia? The new space race is not going into some vacuum in the study and practice of the IR of Asia. Nor are the regional space politics divorced from the DCM trends that are reshaping prospects for all actors across all continents. There is history and intellectual precedent in how we can expect Asian states to engage with DCM trends, signifying also prospects for conflict and collaboration both in and out of the region. It is especially important to get this narrative right at a time when Asia can boast the greatest concentration of independent and autonomous space powers relative to every other region on the planet, making it pivotal for the future of space security. These are, to date, also the principal powers who have been central to shaping the dynamics of the IR of Asia in the world – China, Japan, India, North Korea, and South Korea. Caveats and Preexisting Works A few things first. This is not the place to get into polemics about what Asia is, a contested term that is perhaps most useful for differentiating it from the equally murky idea of the “West.”Footnote63 For the purposes of this essay the most useful broad category is the one from the United Nations which categorizes Member States into the regional group of the “Asia-Pacific.”Footnote64 This includes countries from Northeast, Southeast, South, Central, and Southwest Asia as well as those from the Pacific islands. This keeps us attuned to not just to the activities of the independent and autonomous space powers, but also others in the broader Asia-Pacific, such as Australia, New Zealand, and others in Southeast, Central, South, and West Asia, who are also making strides and positioning in the DCM triumvirate. This broad sweep is likely to be most useful for understanding the entanglements of the space domain in the years ahead. There is of course a substantial body of knowledge on the IR of Asia. This is also not the place to do justice to the painstaking works that have, over decades, improved our solid understanding of key aspects of the IR of Asia and allowed us to portray region-wide, sub-regional, and extra-regional interactions. A few broad works can only help us extract and reflect on the broad nature of the subject-matter involved in the making of IR of Asia to date, which continues to resonate in debates about whether or not Asia’s geography is “ripe for rivalry.”Footnote65 In very broad brushstrokes the subject-matter includesFootnote66: historical, political, and social forces that have shaped the region over time; the relevance or irrelevance of mainstream Western IR theories; the making and makeup of foreign economic or security policies; the drivers of integration or rivalries amid structural global shifts, the organizational and institutional patterns of governance, for example. More closely mirroring the IR concepts and constructs noted earlier, there are also in the IR of Asia prominent cross-cutting ideas, such as the role of states and industrial policy, economic-security linkages, technonationalism, economic regionalism and interdependence, regional organizations and institutions, balancing, bandwagoning, hedging, alliances and security architectures, and so on. But as in IR more generally, so also regionally there appears to be less of a focus on integrating space technologies into the broader fabric of changed global and regional politics. In terms of work on specific technologies in Asia, there has certainly been longstanding attention on conventional military capabilities, nuclear acquisitions, and ballistic missile defense, all of which can exacerbate security dilemmas. But there is less so on space in particular, though a number of works have contributed to our general understanding of individual space powers in Asia.Footnote67 The findings from this symposium, interwoven with IR themes below, also contributes to advancing these knowledge frontiers with implications for national interests, regional risks, and interstate stability. A cogent case for a space race in Asia back in 2012 did not prejudge any particular outcome for space security. Footnote68 In the broad sweep of space activities across Northeast, Southeast, and South Asian countries, one conclusion at the time was that Asia’s emerging space powers were keenly attuned to keeping score, following relative gains, and marking nationalist advantages vis-à-vis regional rivals. Footnote69 From the benchmark of that study, the question is what has changed in terms of Asian states and their motivations in a world returned to great power competition. Su-Mi Lee raises these questions at the start of this symposium focusing on the case of South Korea: Will South Korea and other Asian states take sides between great powers building competing blocs in the region? Or as a middle power, will South Korea recast itself as an agenda setter, rather than a passive follower, and expand its own network in space development, independently of great powers, and contribute to the peaceful uses of outer space? Jongseok Woo offers up a view on the impact of the ongoing Sino-U.S. rivalry in the Asia-Pacific region specifically on South Korea’s strategic choices in security and military affairs, as well as its space policies. There is a close connection between South Korea’s space policies and its broader economic, security, and military interests. He asserts that South Korea’s choice to align with the United States and China on trilateral cooperation in space development has arisen directly as a response to China’s assertive and aggressive policies in the Asia-Pacific region, which have also fostered negative perceptions about China among South Koreans. Material and Ideational Building Blocks There are also material and ideational building blocks that clue us into the ways space can be brought into the IR of Asia. They can guide work at a theoretical level, illuminate intersections with the politics and trends of the DCM worldwide, lead to distinctive expectations about collaboration and stability, and help us reflect on likely pathways for policy, strategy, and diplomacy in the new space race. There are three thematic clusters fleshed out below that might prove to be fruitful for these aims: (1) the state and industrial policy, intertwined with thinking on technology, economic-security linkages, and geoeconomics, (2) complex regional interdependence including economic integration, supply chains, and institutional governance, and (3) security architectures and alliances amid the changed geopolitical dynamics of the U.S.–China bipolar competition. All these clusters suggest that divorcing military and economic security for states in the region would be an analytical and policy blunder in the new space race. The Evolution of the State and Industrial Policy First, whatever the debates about its nature,Footnote70 the state in the IR of Asia is alive and well. Relative to other actors, it is unlikely to be displaced as the preeminent sovereign entity, particularly in matters of industrial and technological transformations. It has a distinguished pedigree in the region, finding its conceptual role at the center of huge theoretical and policy controversies about states and economic development.Footnote71 At one point, eight economies – Hong Kong, Indonesia, Japan, the Republic of Korea, Malaysia, Singapore, Taiwan, and Thailand – rose prominently in the international economy, a phenomenon that became known as the “East Asian miracle.”Footnote72 At the heart of the controversy was the role played by states, and whether their interventions in the market made the difference to their economic and industrial transformations. The domestic institutional configurations of the so-called newly industrializing countries (NICs) also drew attention to the reasons why states could manage to undertake industrial policies in the ways they did.Footnote73 All this came at a time of new thinking about the merits of free trade, in which activist trade policies were shown to possibly advantage some countries relative to their competitors especially in high-technology industries.Footnote74 As today, so then, high-technology industries, such as semiconductors, were at the epicenter of controversies about the fairness of then perceived Japanese activism.Footnote75 Asia is again center stage in these policy concerns, such as those about the foundational global value chain in semiconductors that fuel high-technology production and consumption. Between 2016 and 2020, 26 economies in Asia and the Pacific accounted for about 84% of total world integrated circuit exports.Footnote76 They also accounted for about 62% of total world electrical and optical equipment exports in 2021. Long mindful of their positions in the global political economy, all this suggests that for states of all stripes across Asia “developmentalism is not dead,” picking winners is still of interest, and, as in the past for other strategic sectors so also for the foreseeable future, Asian states will remain involved in shaping the frontiers of space technologies to their home advantage.Footnote77 Industrial policy motivations have clearly been a driver of South Korea’s expanding space program, and Kristi Govella points out the South Korean government has considered potential commercial opportunities when making decisions about how to structure its engagement with regional space institutions. The maxim of “rich country, strong army” pervades the intellectual landscape of prominent works, alerting us that for many countries in Asia the synergistic pathway to security comes through technology and the economy. These symbiotic economic-security fundamentals resonate in both regional and country-specific works.Footnote78 Japanese planners, for example, have long enhanced Japan’s technological edge by stimulating the interdiffusion of civil-military applications and the nurturance of a military-commercial axis.Footnote79 While not inattentive to the policy tradeoffs that must be made in practice, the Japanese state remains consistent in the twin goals maximizing both its military and its bargaining power through economic means.Footnote80 China is held up as a techno-security state – innovation-centered, security-maximizing – at a historic moment of bipolarity in world politics in which both China and the U.S. see the economic-security nexus as a pivotal peacetime battleground.Footnote81 These themes resonate also in the idea of geoeconomics – best thought of as “the logic of war in the grammar of commerce” – that would hold in a world of territorial states seeking technological innovation not just for its own sake but to explicitly maximize benefits within their own boundaries.Footnote82 With themes that echo seminal works on economic-security linkages,Footnote83 the practice of geoeconomics means the use of economic instruments in defense of national interests and geopolitical gain while being watchful of the impact on the home country of others doing exactly the same.”Footnote84 Whether geoeconomics is criticized or refined as an idea,Footnote85 is considered relevant or irrelevant to state conduct, or even goes in and out of fashion, its core continues to resonate in lively debates about the nature of statecraft in the IR of Asia.Footnote86 The case of space in South Korea is instructive along these themes. Given that the economics of the space industry require a long-term commitment with massive investments, Wonjae Hwang’s principal argument is in line with the idea of the developmental state. The South Korean government is taking a lead role in developing the space industry, and its core geoeconomic strategy in space manifests in the promotion of public–private partnerships. By building a strong governing structure within the public sector, coordinating with selective private partners, assisting them with financial support and technology transfer, the government has built strong partnerships with private firms in the space industry. There are plans to establish also a guiding public institution, which can make far-sighted plans for space development, implement the plans, and control associated institutions. As a latecomer to the space race but as a critical player in the global supply chains in the space industry, he also discusses how South Korea has promoted international partnerships with other space powers such as the U.S., EU, India, Australia, and the UAE. Complex Regional Interdependence Second, Asian economies and their integration into the international system makes them pivotal players. But indicators suggest that regional economic integration is important too.Footnote87 A regional cooperation and integration index, which tracks and meshes key dimensions across all principal regions of the world is noteworthy.Footnote88 In 2020, the index in which higher values mean greater regional integration, the EU was recorded at 0.59, North America at 0.49, and Asia and the Pacific at 0.43. This puts the Asian region on par with its peers in the global political economy. As concerns about supply chain vulnerabilities rise worldwide, less visible forces behind Asian economic fusion will also rise to shape strategies. In 2014, production networks were acknowledged as outlets for new modes of interstate friction such as between Japan and China but were still seen as reinforcing traditional commercial liberal arguments.Footnote89 Over time, despite the dramatic expansion of global supply chains involving all actors in the region over, the phenomenon remained underappreciated. But work on point finds that they may be more distinct, complex, and unique mechanisms of interdependence, and could well affect prospects for interstate conflict and cooperation in and out of the region.Footnote90 Their very presence complicates blustering proclamations of decoupling or derisking in both regional and global politics. States across Asia remain watchful about trade and investment agreements to enhance their regional and international economic prospects.Footnote91 Whatever the criticisms about this institutional proliferation, it draws attention to Asian standing and strategies relative to other regions. Among the most high-profile developments is the Regional Comprehensive Economic Partnership (RCEP), with 15 members including 10 ASEAN countries as well as Australia, China, Japan, New Zealand, and South Korea.Footnote92 China and Japan, respectively, account for around 48% and 19% of the RCEP GDP.Footnote93 RCEP’s comparative indicators put it ahead of its peer agreements, with 28% of global trade, 31% of the share of global GDP, and about 30% of world populationFootnote94 The agreement’s economic significance was deemed considerable, with one estimate suggesting it could generate over $200 billion annually to world income, and $500 billion to world trade by 2030.Footnote95 The duality of space technology also creates new dynamics for the IR of space in Asia. Even agreements that are technically about trade can be seen as opportunities to enhance alliances and alter the broader security context.Footnote96 This thinking should be borne firmly in mind in analyses of regional space governance, which is nested in broader international legal and normative frameworks. The degree of institutional density in an issue area, such as preexisting rules or regimes on point, may condition the type of diplomacy countries like China pursue in projects from space stations to lunar research stations.Footnote97 It also affects how countries like Japan can use institutional constructs for political reassurance in the region.Footnote98 At present, two markedly different Asian institutions, the China-led Asia Pacific Regional Space Organization (APSCO) and the Japan-led Asia-Pacific Regional Space Agency Forum (APRSAF) mark diplomatic prospects for the regional dynamics of collaboration and competition stretched over decades.Footnote99 Asia also leads other regions with two other space-centered institutions, the India-led Centre for Space Science Technology and Education in the Asia-Pacific (CSSTEAP) and the China-led Regional Centre for Space Science Technology and Education in the Asia-Pacific. Kristi Govella argues that these institutions have been shaped by broader geopolitical dynamics in the region, and that rising space players like South Korea carefully choose how to engage with these regional institutions on the basis of economic, security, and institutional factors. She further claims that diplomatic engagement with regional space institutions can complement states’ security alliances and bolster relationships with other like-minded strategic partners. Future patterns of regional cooperation will also continue to shape and be shaped by nonhierarchical international regime complexity in the space domain.Footnote100 Current trajectories suggest scenarios in which states’ à la carte approaches affect the integrity of existing cooperative multilateral space law and processes. Security Dynamics and Alliances Third, there is evidence for longstanding expectations that Asia’s economic rise would lead to increased military capacities and modernizationFootnote101 The grouping of Asia and Oceania stands out in this respect.Footnote102 In 2022, it accounted for about $575 billion in military spending, with China, Japan, and South Korea making up 70% of that. This figure is second only to North America with over $900 billion of military spending, the bulk of which is by the United States. Estimates between 2018 and 2022 also suggest that Asia and Oceania accounted for 41% of the total global volume of major arms, the largest compared to other regions; and, with 11% of the total, India is the largest arms importer of all countries. All this should be set against the politics of a region with the busiest sea lanes, nine of the ten largest ports, seven of the world’s largest standing militaries, and five of the world’s declared nuclear nations.Footnote103 The region is also marked by an intensifying bilateral security competition between the U.S. and China that increases the risk of inadvertent escalation of hostilities, entangling conventional, nuclear, and space capabilities.Footnote104 The U.S. has stated outright that it will consider the use of nuclear weapons in the event of any kind of a “significant” nonnuclear strategic attack on its or its allies’ nuclear forces as well as “their command and control, or warning and attack assessment capabilities” whose nodes run in and through space.Footnote105 In believing that the U.S. seeks to lower the threshold for nuclear use and so degrade its conventional strength China is responding by expanding and modernizing both its conventional and nuclear capabilities.Footnote106 A new arms race may well be underway, enmeshing old and new warfighting domains like space and affecting prospects for arms control and strategic stability. Amid these shifting military postures and perceptions, security architectures matter and have received significant attention for their origins, shapes, consequences, and transformations in the IR of Asia.Footnote107 If, prior to the 1990s, Asia was “infertile ground” for security institutions today it seems the opposite is true; new security institutions such as QUAD have come to stand alongside old ones like the ASEAN Regional Forum.Footnote108 The United States is prominent in the region for its creation of a network of bilateral alliances seen not just as instruments of containment against rivals but also as instruments of control over allies.Footnote109 As the view of space as a warfighting domain embeds itself in regional security architectures formal U.S. allies such as Japan and South Korea in the region are coalescing, connecting and responding in distinct ways.Footnote110 As well, they are motivated by other security threats and dynamics – territorial disputes and politics, North Korean missile threats and its other purported scientific missions into space – that have sobered prospects for stability in regional and global politics. Asia is leading the world in how some of these space-centric alliance transformations are coming about, and how they may affect military operations such as communication and intelligence gathering. In practice, the U.S.-led military alliances also serve as contracts in which, while one component is certainly a military commitment, there is also agreement about a continuous (and changing) exchange of space goods and services.Footnote111 The U.S.- Japan Alliance, with its attendant geoeconomic and geopolitical elements in play, is the first bilateral one in Asia to extend to the space domain.Footnote112 Although its legal foundations need far greater clarity in light of existing international space law and policy, as well as shifting nuclear postures, this extension is nevertheless becoming more concrete with the formation of a new subordinate command in Japan for the U.S. Space Force.Footnote113 But these pronounced changes on the military side sit alongside others; the Japanese state is also continuing to bargain to enmesh its civilian and commercial space interests under the umbrella of the alliance, such as those related to GPS or astronauts on the moon. A similar story is unfolding under the U.S.-Korea Alliance. As Scott Snyder notes in this symposium, the combination of South Korea’s entry into the space launch and satellite sectors and the emergence of the Sino-U.S. geostrategic competition have made it possible for both countries to pursue bilateral cooperation within the alliance. Space cooperation within the alliance brings South Korea on board to support U.S.-led development of international norms for use of space and strengthens the U.S. space-based military infrastructure to protect South Korea from adversary threats while also assisting South Korea’s long-term aspirations to gain a part of the commercial space sector. There are also implications for the hub-and-spoke model of U.S. alliances in Asia. It may not have originally encouraged trust and interactions between quasi-allies such as Japan and South Korea that are not directly allied but share the United States (hub) as a common ally. But this model may be transforming in the space domain. Tongfi Kim explains that South Korea–Japan relations, traditionally the weakest link in U.S.–Japan–South Korea trilateral cooperation, have made remarkable progress since the inauguration of South Korean President Yoon Suk Yeol in May 2022. Due to the three states’ increasing focus on space security and geopolitical development in East Asia, Kim argues, space cooperation is one of the most promising paths for institutionalizing the trilateral cooperation. What are the Thematic Takeaways? Asian states are not just passive recipients in the new space race but proactive and high-profile shapers of the DCM trends in it. They represent the new forces of democratization, which opens up diplomatic opportunities for new alignments in pursuit of material and normative quests. They know the unprecedented trends in space commercialization can boost their industrial base and position them for economic prosperity in the new frontier. They are attuned to how space militarization can give them a military edge and, carried to its extreme, how weaponization can dash prospects for strategic stability around and above us. A few takeaways stand out. The Gravity of the International Relations of Space Has Shifted to Asia Asia leads all other regions of the world with the highest concentration of independent and autonomous sovereign states – China, Japan, India, South Korea, North Korea – who possess some of the most advanced capabilities for civilian, commercial, and military space. They do not act in unison but are guided by their own national imperatives. Along with Australia and New Zealand, they are also joined by a wide variety of states in Southeast, South, and West Asia who aim for niche capabilities or capitalize on geographic locations. The State in Asia Will Be the Prime Decision-Maker in Shaping Space Activities Consistent with the state-centric nature of the IR of Asia, both the top and emerging spacefaring powers in Asia will seek to shape and balance the DCM trends in line with their own economic and political interests. They will not be dictated to, but can be persuaded through bargaining and communication. Many will try to take advantage of commercial trends abroad while reinforcing them at home, some will try to strike a balance in the commercialization-militarization axis, but a few will attempt to shift it toward offensive purposes. Dual-Use Space Technology is Another Means to Wealth and Security for Asian States All Asian states are interested in acquiring space technology, whether through direct or indirect means, to advance their prosperity and security. This is consistent with a historic intellectual lineage in the region about staying abreast of strategic high-technology sectors that crisscross civilian and military benefits, and that promise to pull other sectors along. The intersection of the space domain with emerging and disruptive technology frontiers – AI, quantum, cyber – is also of vital interest to all principal regional actors. New Patterns of Interconnectedness May Stay the Hand of Space Conflict Space nationalism drives the principal spacefaring states to compete with others in and out of the region. But continued economic integration – trade and investment flows, resilient supply chains, and space assets that facilitate them – also underpin prospects for continued engagement among all regional players. Its disruption is of concern to regional states, as in the U.S. bid to secure critical supply chains for semiconductors worldwide. As well, regional institutions that formally and informally govern relations, including those focused on space, routinize engagements, and information exchanges among all states. U.S.-Led Alliances in Asia are at the Forefront of Transforming into Space Alliances Security institutions in Asia are important for continued dialogue in the region, and for socializing emerging players into the realities of the new space race. But the designation of space as a warfighting domain — and of the U.S. declaration about the need to protect command-and-control structures that underpin extended deterrence — has put U.S.-led alliances with Japan and South Korea at the center of transformations into space alliances. This may affect the “hub and spoke” model, with the spokes also strengthening their relations in the distant future. Much however, depends on the continued domestic political support in the U.S., Japan, and Korea for alliances and such alliance transformations in the years ahead. Asian States Will Be Pivotal to Shaping or Scuttling Prospects for Peace - in Outer Space The capabilities of Asian states make them ideal candidates for large-scale collaboration in space, as well as on the moon and beyond. Diplomatically, they are being courted in the bipolar space competition between the U.S. and China. The rules on which they operate, and who gets to write and interpret them, will matter for patterns of polarity in the IR of space. Some Asian states have responded by signing up to U.S.-led interpretations of the Outer Space Treaty in practice, such as in the Artemis Accords. Other states from Asia may move to the China-led camp with Russia for an international lunar research station. 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Defense & Security
The flags of the Russia, United States, China and are drawn on a piece of ice in the form of an Arctic iceberg against a blue sky. Conflict of interests in the Arctic, Cold War, Arctic shelf

Divided Arctic in a Divided World Order

by Rasmus Gjedssø Bertelsen

한국어로 읽기 Leer en español In Deutsch lesen Gap اقرأ بالعربية Lire en français Читать на русском Introduction Arctic order historically, currently, and in the future reflects the world order. The idea of ‘Arctic exceptionalism’ is not valid and is a poor guide for policy. During Cold War bipolarity, the Arctic was divided between the Soviet Arctic and the Nordic and North American Arctic. US victory and Soviet defeat in the Cold War led to US unipolarity and hegemony which was the basis for a circumpolar (including Russia) liberal (as opposed to realist) Arctic order with organizations, such as the Arctic Council, International Arctic Science Committee, University of the Arctic, Barents and Bering regional cooperation, all on liberal topics such as science, environment, Indigenous rights, people-to-people cooperation.Footnote1 US unipolarity and hegemony are slipping away to world order characteristics of continued US unipolarity and hegemony, Sino-American bipolarity in economics and S&T and multipolarity illustrated by BRICS+. Sino-US competition and US-Russia conflict to the extent of proxy-war in Ukraine reflect these changes. The Arctic, which is de facto divided between the US-led NATO-Arctic and the Russian Arctic, where Russia reaches out to the BRICS+ in diplomacy, economics, and S&T, reflects these changes to world order. There is wishful thinking in the West of returning to post-Cold War US unipolar and hegemonic ‘liberal world order’ or ‘rules-based order’ and the circumpolar liberal Arctic order with it. This wish is probably unrealistic for global trends in demography, economics, S&T, legitimacy, etc. Significant conflict can be expected between the US/West and China and Russia on developments in world order, with the Global South standing by. The Arctic is likely to remain divided between the US-led NATO Arctic and the Russian Arctic seeking engagement with the BRICS+ world for the future with extremely limited cooperation and risk of spill-over from the Ukraine War and other US-Russia-China conflicts. The Arctic in international order There are two common, but invalid, narratives about the Arctic, which are poor guides for policy: First, ‘Arctic exceptionalism’, that the Arctic was apart from international politics and allowed for West-Russia cooperation unlike elsewhere, especially between the Russian annexation of Crimea in 2014 and the Russian full-scale invasion of Ukraine in 2022. Second, a presentist discourse, where international interests in the Arctic are seen as rising in the last 15 years, driven by climate change, the Russian flag planting on the seafloor of the North Pole in 2007, and the United States Geological Survey’s assessment of oil and gas resources in 2008, north of the Arctic Circle. Rather, the Arctic has for centuries closely mirrored the international system, whether multipolar with Western colonial empires before the World Wars, bipolar Cold War between the US and the USSR, post-Cold War US unipolarity and hegemony, or the current emerging Sino-American bipolarity and multipolarity. During 2014–2022, cooperation in the Arctic was not exceptional compared to US-Russia non-proliferation cooperation, most notably with the Iran nuclear deal in 2015, or removing chemical weapons from Syria. There was extensive US-Europe-Russia and wider collaboration around the International Space Station. There was extensive energy trade and investment between Russia and Europe, most notably with the Nord Stream 1 and 2 pipelines under the Baltic Sea. The bipolar Cold War Arctic in the bipolar Cold War order Bipolarity with two superpowers standing out from all other great powers due to their demographic, economic, science and technology, military, and ideological weight and global claims, the US and the USSR, shaped the the Cold War order. Bipolar logic shaped the international order. John Mearsheimer explains well the structural logic of a nuclear-armed bipolar superpower security competition, and he points out how each superpower formed ‘bounded orders’ of allies and clients to discipline them and mobilize their resources. These bounded orders were the West for the US with its institutions, and the East Bloc for the USSR.Footnote2 This bipolar logic was also clear in the Arctic, divided between the Nordic and North American Arctic of the West and the Soviet Arctic by the Iron Curtain in Europe and the Ice Curtain in the Bering Strait. Circumpolar Arctic cooperation was limited to the Polar Bear Treaty of 1973 between the USSR, Norway, Kingdom of Denmark, Canada, and the US, Norwegian Soviet joint fisheries management in the Barents Sea, and some Bering Strait cooperation. The Arctic was exceptionally militarized during the Cold War driven by the mutual nuclear deterrence between the US and the USSR, where the Arctic played a central role for geostrategic and technological reasons. The Arctic was the shortest flight path for bombers and missiles, and sea ice offered cover for nuclear ballistic submarines. This exceptional militarization of the Arctic harmed the human security of Arctic local and indigenous communities through forced displacement, security service surveillance, and pollution, including notable nuclear accidents, as the 1968 B52 bomber crash off Northwest Greenland with four H-bombs causing extensive radioactive contamination of much Soviet nuclear material in and around the Kola Peninsula, including sunken submarines with nuclear fuel or weapons on board.Footnote3 Circumpolar liberal Arctic order under US unipolarity The Cold War ended with US victory and Soviet defeat and dissolution, also caused by the US pressuring the USSR into a strategic nuclear arms race, that the Soviet economy could not support. US Navy operations near the Soviet Northern Fleet nuclear bastion around the Kola Peninsula were an important part of this pressure.Footnote4 The Arctic was also part of Mikhail Gorbachev’s attempt to save the USSR by reform and lowering external tension. Gorbachev called the Arctic as a zone of peace, environmental protection and scientific collaboration in his 1987 Murmansk speech, in contrast to being at the heart of a strategic nuclear arms race with the US, which the USSR could not sustain. Gorbachev’s reforms failed to avert the dissolution of the USSR and deep socio-economic, public health, and law and order crisis in Russian society during the 1990s. The Russian State withdrew to a significant extent from its Arctic, leaving military facilities and society behind. Sino-American bipolarity comes to the Arctic The relative distribution of comprehensive material and immaterial power of the strongest States shapes international order. States stay the predominant actors since the emergence of a state system, not denying powerful non-State actors historically and today. The US unipolarity after the Cold War was an exceptional time of international history and not the ‘End of History’ as believed by some quarters in the West (Fukuyama). History is returning to normal with the return of major centres of economic output and science and technology outside the West. Ironically, US unipolarity laid the foundation for the ‘Return of history’, rather than the ‘End of History’. Since the 1990s, the world experienced globalization with economic, science and technology, and cultural integration. The US as the sole superpower provided public goods and facilitated and coordinated many of these economic, scientific, and technological, and cultural flows. Globalization undermined US unipolarity, facilitating the faster relative growth of non-Western States. China’s export-oriented growth, returning it to its historical position as one of the world’s largest economies is the most important dimension for changes to world order. In parallel, other emerging markets have grown adding multipolar dimensions to international order. International Relations theory serves to think about how to respond to the return of China. About 20–25 years ago, Professor Joseph S. Nye (Harvard University) and Professor John Mearsheimer (University of Chicago) articulated two major approaches with coherent theoretical and strategic visions for the Sino-American relationship. Nye, as a liberal institutionalist scholar and policymaker in the Bill Clinton Administration, presented a vision of ‘integrate, but hedge’. China integrated in the US-led world economy as member state of the World Trade Organization, while the US hedged against the rise of China by reinforcing its alliance with Japan.Footnote5 There were strong US and Western liberal expectations of Chinese economic growth and openness leading to political openness and reform. These expectations proved to be belied and ethnocentric. Mearsheimer, in line with his offensive realist theory, clearly outlined how the US had to keep China from becoming a regional hegemon in East Asia through a containment strategy.Footnote6 The US’ China strategy has shifted from the Nye perspective to the Mearsheimer perspective, while Mearsheimer himself is ostracized for his valid, but politically unacceptable, analysis of the Ukraine War. Mearsheimer explains how Sino-American bipolarity works with realist great power State security competition, and how competing great powers form their ‘bounded orders’ of allies and clients to discipline and mobilize these.Footnote7 The US is shaping a NATO+ order of the NATO member states and Australia, New Zealand, Japan, and South Korea. The US is increasingly engaging in trade and technology wars with China to slow down its growth rate, clearly denying its access to fundamental technologies of future knowledge-based economies. A realist focus on relative gains explains US policy to reduce China’s growth rate. China has a population more than three times that of the US with an absolute economy approaching the US economy. The US cannot allow China to catch up relatively with it, as that would imply a much larger Chinese economy than that of the US. Liberals (politically and theoretically) would ascribe the US policy to different domestic political systems, but the logic of anarchy points out how domestic political systems are of secondary concern, and empirically the US firmly bypassed and disciplined the previous Anglo-Saxon superpower, Britain. US-India relations can be expected to deteriorate with India’s socio-economic development, where India has a much younger population than China with great economic growth potential. China predicted the US abandoning its own open and globalized international economic policy out of concern for China’s relative rise to the US. China pursued a domestic and international economic policy much less dependent on US benevolence. In the domestic sphere, China pursued an economy based on domestic demand. Externally, China built up a parallel international economic and science and technology system with the Belt and Road Initiative with the Asian Infrastructure Investment Bank. Other bodies, such as the Shanghai Cooperation Organization in security reflect parallel orders and institutions to the US-led Western institutions. Sino-American bipolarity also became clear in the Arctic about 10–15 years ago. China started to appear as a diplomatic, economic, science and technology actor in the Arctic. Western surprise and consternation to this development reflects the great difficulties many Westerners have in facing a world, where the Rest takes an interest in the West, and not only the West taking an interest in the Rest as during centuries of imperialism and colonialism. It should not be surprising that China as one of the world’s two largest national economies and science and technology systems (with the US) has interests in the Arctic, or anywhere else in the world. The US is globally present in politics, defence, diplomacy, economics, science and technology, culture, etc. The unfortunate Chinese term of ‘near-Arctic State’ to legitimize Chinese involvement in the Arctic drew much Western ridicule and opposition. In comparison, the US and the West seem to be ‘near-everywhere’ States. One place where the Sino-American bipolar logic appeared soon and clearly has been the Kingdom of Denmark with the North Atlantic and Arctic overseas autonomies of the Faroe Islands and Greenland. The US applies pressure on the Kingdom of Denmark to exclude Chinese investment, science and technology, in line with Mearsheimer’s argument of a superpower building bounded orders to mobilize and discipline allies and clients in security competition with a competing great or superpower. The Faroe Islands are located between Iceland, Norway, and Scotland. They are centrally placed in the Greenland-Iceland-UK Gap controlling North-South access and blocking the Soviet-Russian Northern Fleet going south for NATO or the US and NATO navies going north for USSR/Russia. The Faroe Islands are becoming increasingly independent from Denmark. Huawei has long been a partner for the Faroese telecom company, which planned to continue with Huawei for 5G. This partnership came under increasing scrutiny from Danish and US sides. The Chinese ambassador to Copenhagen during a visit to the Faroe Islands linked the Faroe Islands choosing Huawei with prospects for a Sino-Faroese free trade agreement (the Faroe Islands are outside the EU and pursue an independent trade policy).Footnote8 The US ambassador to Copenhagen publicly spoke strongly against the Faroe Islands collaborating with Huawei for 5 G.Footnote9 Greenland is geographically North American (remember the Monroe Doctrine), crucial to US (North American) homeland defence, and pursuing independence from the Kingdom of Denmark. Greenland and China have for some time eyed each other for investment and science and technology opportunities. Greenlandic independence primarily rests on economic independence from Denmark and human capital. The economic independence should be through, among other domains, mining, where China and Chinese companies were considered as very important likely investors. Copenhagen regarded Sino-Greenlandic mutual interest with great suspicion for a long time, which was evident from the report on Greenlandic mining from 2014.Footnote10 In 2014, the Royal Danish Navy abandoned Grønnedal, a small, remote old naval facility, established by the US during the Second World War, which was put up for sale. A Chinese mining company showed interest in the facility as a logistics hub for future operations in Greenland. The Danish government promptly took the facility off the market maintaining a token naval presence.Footnote11 Developing Greenlandic tourism requires upgrading the airport infrastructure, which is an enormous project for a nation of 57,000 on a 2 M km2 island. One of the finalists to an international tender was the China Construction Communication Company (4C), which might also have provided financing.Footnote12 The Danish government convinced the Greenlandic government to accept a Danish financing (with a Danish stake) of the renovated and new airports against choosing a Danish construction company.Footnote13 The Greenlandic government was reshaped over this intervention with a coalition party leaving in protest over accepting such Danish interference in Greenlandic affairs. In 2017, China publicly presented its interest in a research station in Greenland, including a satellite ground station, which the Government of Greenland might have been positive towards.Footnote14 This idea has never materialized, first probably delayed by the COVID-19 pandemic, but Denmark and the US would never accept a Chinese research station and/or satellite station in Greenland. The US government has made its pressure on the Danish government public, through former Secretary of Defense, General Jim Mattis.Footnote15 China and Iceland spearheaded Sino-Nordic Arctic research cooperation from the official visit of Chinese premier Wen Jiabao to Iceland in 2012. In 2013, the China Nordic Arctic Research Center was founded, a virtual centre of Chinese and Nordic institutions hosted by the Polar Research Institute of China in Shanghai. CNARC has hosted an annual symposium between China and a Nordic country as well as researcher exchange. Today, Sweden has withdrawn from CNARC, and Denmark does not participate, as the participating Nordic Institute of Asian Studies at the University of Copenhagen has been closed. PRIC and RANNÍS (The Icelandic Center for Research, equivalent to Research Council) held the groundbreaking ceremony for the construction of the China-Iceland Aurora Observatory, now China Iceland Arctic Observatory, at Kárhóll, Northeast Iceland, in June 2014, which I attended. The Observatory opened formally—although unfinished—in October 2018. This collaboration had been hampered by the COVID-19 pandemic and negligence from central authorities and research institutions in the capital, Reykjavik. Today, Iceland is under pressure from the US, including a recent visit by US Congressional staffers, to close CIAO.Footnote16 US-Russia Eastern European security competition divides the Arctic US-Russia security competition, especially in Eastern Europe, became increasingly clear from around 2007–2008. In 2007, Russian President Vladimir Putin delivered a speech at the Munich Security Conference, where he unsurprisingly denounced US unipolarity. Russia had rejected US unipolarity and called for multipolarity since the Primakov Doctrine of the 1990s calling for Russia, China, and India to balance the US. In spring 2008, at the initiative of the US—and with French and German reservations—the NATO Bucharest summit invited Georgia and Ukraine to become member states. In the autumn, fighting broke out between Georgia and Russian forces in the separatist enclaves of Abkhazia and South Ossetia leading to Georgia’s defeat. In autumn 2013, the EU proposed an agreement to Ukraine, which forced Ukraine to choose between Russia and the EU. The Ukrainian President rejected the EU’s proposal, leading to popular protests met with government violence and eventually the President fleeing the country. Russia intervened annexing Crimea and supporting an insurgency in the Donbas.Footnote17 In December 2021, Russia proposed a treaty to the US blocking former Soviet Republics from joining NATO and rolling back NATO troops and equipment in Central and Eastern Europe, which was rejected by the US and allies in January 2022. On 24 February 2022, Russia launched a full-scale invasion of Ukraine, which had led to a war of attrition between Russia and Ukraine. The West extends wide-ranging political, military, economic, and further support to Ukraine and tries to isolate Russia as much as possible. The Rest of the world follows Western policy of isolating Russia to a very limited extent. The Russian annexation of Crimea affected the Arctic in limited ways. The West stopped military dialogues with Russia in the Arctic Security Forces Roundtable and Arctic Chiefs of Defense Forum. The West imposed sanctions on Russian Arctic energy projects, as the US $27 billion Yamal LNG project, which initially had Russian Novatek (60 per cent), French Total (20 per cent), and China National Petroleum Cooperation (20 per cent) ownership. Sanctions forced Novatek to sell 9.9 per cent to the Chinese government’s Silk Road Fund and rely on Chinese bank funding. Russia responded to these sanctions with counter sanctions on Western food exports to Russia, which also affected some Arctic seafood export to Russia. Russia accepted Faroese salmon exports, which led to a boom in Faroese economy. In 2014, there was some protests in the Arctic Council from the Chair, Canada. Otherwise, Arctic Council and other scientific, people-to-people, cooperation continued between Russia and the seven other Arctic States. For Northern Norway, extensive regional cooperation in the Barents region continued. The Russian full-scale invasion of Ukraine led to an almost complete Western cessation of Arctic collaboration with Russia. The other seven Arctic countries refused to collaborate with Russia in the Arctic Council, chaired by Russia 2021–2023. The Seven—now all NATO member states—Arctic Council member states have since backed down significantly. The Arctic Council was always more important to them than to Russia, suggesting that this Western brinkmanship was poorly thought through. There are extensive Western sanctions against the Russian economy, including against Russian Arctic energy projects, which were a key basis for developing the Russian Arctic. Russia had sought to develop a Europe-Russia-East Asia energy system with Russian Arctic oil and gas being exported both West to Europe and East to East Asia and with balanced Western and East Asian investments.Footnote18 The West has almost completely cut science and technology relations with Russia, also in the Arctic. The rare exceptions to continued Arctic science collaboration between West and Russia are for instance, the Norway-Russia Barents Sea Fisheries Commission because Norway also depends on this collaboration. The US continues more academic collaboration with Russia than European countries allow themselves; for instance, receiving Russian Fulbright professors. Norway pursued an extensive regional cooperation policy with Russia, Finland, and Sweden in the Barents Region since 1993 with much support for cross-border people-to-people exchange for youth, in education, academia, culture, environment, business development, and further. This collaboration built extensive insight, experience, networks, and access in Russia at North Norwegian institutions, as UiT The Arctic University of Norway, UNN The University Hospital of Northern Norway, the Norwegian Polar Institute, the Arctic Frontiers Conference, businesses such as Akvaplan-Niva marine environmental consultancy, and in academia, civil society, education, and government. The border town of Kirkenes depended for about a third of its economic turnover on trade with Russia. These connections are now almost completely cut by Norwegian government policy. Russian society and politics did become much more closed and authoritarian during this period, but that was for internal political reasons and not directed against Norway. Personally, I had successful high-level academic cooperation with some of the key Russian academic institutions funded by Norwegian public funds until they were forbidden by Norwegian government policy after the Russian invasion of Ukraine. My last personal visit to Moscow was in December 2019, and I was planning to visit with a sizeable group of Norwegian faculty and PhD candidates in April 2020, postponed due to the COVID-19 pandemic. The rapid division of world order in a NATO+ and a BRICS++ world The world is separating into a NATO+ grouping of NATO countries and Australia, New Zealand, Japan, and South Korea, under clear US leadership, and the Rest. The Rest, I call BRICS++ for the BRICS+ grouping and many other countries. This separation is clear through demography, economy, and science and technology. Humanity is about 8 billion people, compared to the West, which is about 1 billion, making it a small minority. Humanity is expected to grow to 10 billion, where the West will remain at about 1 billion, a shrinking small minority. The dominance of the West has rested on economic development and science and technology, translated into military force, with a shrinking demographic share of the world economy, scientific and technological development and relative power shifts from the West to the Rest. Legitimacy and credibility divisions are also clearly visible between the NATO+ and the BRICS++ worlds concerning the war in Ukraine, where the West is astonished by its own isolation. To great surprise, the Rest of the world have not followed the West’s attempts to isolate Russia diplomatically and economically. This rejection of the West’s position was clear from the very first UN Security Council debate on the Russian invasion of Ukraine on 24 February 2022. Russian veto and Chinese and Indian abstentions were not surprising, but the abstention by the United Arab Emirates was remarkable considering the close security and other partnerships between the GCC countries and the US and historically the UK. The speech during the debate on 21 February 2022, a few days prior, by the Kenyan ambassador to the Security Council, condemning Russia’s recognition of breakaway regions but reminding that other UNSC permanent members had also violated international law, showed the lack of Western credibility and legitimacy on the issue.Footnote19 Western credibility and legitimacy have eroded further by supporting Israel’s genocide in Gaza since the 7 October 2023 Hamas attack on Israel. The Division of the Arctic in a NATO Arctic and Russian BRICS++ Arctic. The effects of world order on the Arctic are clear, applying the analytical lenses of unipolar, bipolar, and multipolar traits of world order to the Arctic. The world is increasingly becoming Sino-American bipolar, where the US seeks to maintain unipolarity through a global containment strategy of China. This struggle is also evident in the Arctic; for instance, US pressure on the Kingdom of Denmark to exclude Chinese investment, science and technology in the Faroe Islands and Greenland. The US keeps up an ever-stronger anti-Chinese Arctic discourse from Secretary of State Mike Pompeo’s 2019 speech in Rovaniemi, Finland, to US Senator Lisa Murkowski at the Arctic Circle Assembly in Reykjavik in 2024. Russia has opposed US unipolarity since the 1990s, seeking multipolarity. The conflict between US and Russian multipolarity ultimately escalated via the 2014 annexation of Crimea, the 2022 invasion of Ukraine and the proxy war in Ukraine. This conflict has led to an almost complete division of the Arctic into NATO-Arctic (collaborating with the wider NATO+ world and further) and the Russian Arctic. Russia reaches out all it can diplomatically, economically, and in science and technology to the BRICS++ world, especially China and India. The Rest of the World seems restrained from pursuing Russian Arctic opportunities by the risk of US and Western secondary sanctions and other NATO Arctic pushbacks. Conclusion: looking forward for world and Arctic order The world is—as usual for international history—marked by the struggle over the world order among the strongest State actors. This struggle was forgotten especially by European observers during the post-Cold War era, with the illusion of End of History and confounding globalization and modernization with Westernization. Instead, we have had the Return of History and the return of historically very large non-Western economic, science and technology actors as China, followed by others. The current struggle over the world order also shapes the Arctic, as was historically clear, especially during the Second World War and the Cold War. The US is determined to prolong post-Cold War unipolar dominance expressed as ‘rules-based order’, where the US defines the rules, to whom, and when they apply. Europe has found an apparently comfortable and completely dependent position in this US-led order. The Rest of the World less so, with China and Russia explicitly rejecting this US-led order. The conflict over world order between the US and its bounded order in the NATO+ world in Europe, Oceania, and East Asia and the Rest of the World, can only be expected to escalate. The US must either stop Chinese economic, science and technology development (and later other peer competitors), or demographics, economy, science and technology will lead to a more bipolar and multipolar world. Europe by its dependence on the US is forced to follow this US strategy. The war in Ukraine can lead to a frozen conflict, where the overall Russia-West relationship remains highly conflictual, including in the Arctic. Ukrainian defeat or a negotiated settlement with a neutralized Ukraine and cessation of territory to Russia will also probably lead to a decadal severance of economic, science and technology, people-to-people ties between Russia and the West, including in the Arctic. A Russian defeat is unlikely because of difference in Russian and Ukrainian manpower and resources. China is unlikely to allow Russia to succumb to the US, which would put defeated Russia on China’s Northern frontier in China’s own conflict with the US. All in all, world order seems highly conflictual and with increased separation between the NATO+ and the BRICS++ world, which will only bring humanity more conflict and less economic development and growth, unlike the age of post-Cold War globalization. This division will be replicated in the Arctic. Disclosure statementNo potential conflict of interest was reported by the author(s).Additional informationNotes on contributorsRasmus Gjedssø Bertelsen is Professor at UiT The Arctic University of Norway. Views expressed are personal. Notes 1. Rasmus Gjedssø Bertelsen, ‘Unipolarity and Order in the Arctic’. Nina Græger, Bertel Heurlin, Ole Wæver, Anders Wivel, (Eds.), Polarity in International Relations. Governance, Security and Development, Palgrave Macmillan, Cham, 2022 at https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-05505-8_16. 2. John J. Mearsheimer, ‘Bound to Fail: The Rise and Fall of the Liberal International Order’, International Security, 43 (4), 2019, pp. 7–50 at https://doi.org/10.1162/isec_a_00342 3. George Lindsey, ‘Strategic Stability in the Arctic’, Adelphi Papers 241, International Institute for Strategic Studies, 1989. 4. Steven E. Miller, ‘The Return of the Strategic Arctic’, in The Arctic Yearbook, 2023 at https://arcticyearbook.com/images/yearbook/2022/Commentaries/6C_AY2022_Miller.pdf. 5. Joseph S. Nye, ‘The Challenge of China’, in Stephen Van Evera (Ed.) How to Make America Safe: New Policies for National Security, The Tobin Project, Cambridge, MA 2006 at https://tobinproject.org/sites/default/files/assets/Make_America_Safe_The_Challenge_Of_China.pdf. 6. John J. Mearsheimer, ‘The Rise of China Will Not Be Peaceful at All’, The Australian, 18 November 2005 at https://www.mearsheimer.com/wp-content/uploads/2019/06/The-Australian-November-18-2005.pdf. 7. John J. Mearsheimer, ‘Bound to Fail: The Rise and Fall of the Liberal International Order’, International Security, 43 (4), pp. 7–50, 2019 athttps://doi.org/10.1162/isec_a_00342. 8. Thomas Foght, ‘Hemmelig lydoptagelse: Kina pressede Færøerne til at vælge Huawei’ [Secret Sound Recording: China Pressured the Faroe Islands to Choose Huawei]. Danmarks Radio, 2019 at https://www.dr.dk/nyheder/indland/hemmelig-lydoptagelse-kina-pressede-faeroeerne-til-vaelge-huawei. 9. Adam Satariano, ‘At the Edge of the World, a New Battleground for the US and China’, New York Times, 2019 at https://www.nytimes.com/2019/12/20/technology/faroe-islands-huawei-china-us.html. 10. The Committee for Greenlandic Mineral Resources to the Benefit of Society, ‘To the Benefit of Greenland’. Ilisimatusarfik-University of Greenland; University of Copenhagen, 2014 at https://vbn.aau.dk/ws/files/208241864/To_the_benefit_of_Greenland.pdf. 11. Martin Breum, ‘Analyse: Stoppede Danmarks statsminister kinesisk opkøb i Grønland?’ [Analysis: Did the Danish Prime Minister Stop Chinese Acquisition in Greenland?]. High North News, 2018 at https://www.highnorthnews.com/nb/analyse-stoppede-danmarks-statsminister-kinesisk-opkob-i-gronland. 12. Teis Jensen, ‘Greenland shortlists Chinese company for airport construction despite Denmark’s concerns’, Reuters, 2018 at https://www.reuters.com/article/world/greenland-shortlists-chinese-company-for-airport-construction-despite-denmarks-idUSKBN1H32XG/. 13. Statsministeriet, ‘Aftale mellem regeringen og Naalakkersuisut om dansk engagement i lufthavnsprojektet i Grønland og styrket erhvervssamarbejde mellem Danmark og Grønland’ [Agreement Between the [Danish] Government and Naalakkersuisut [Government of Greenland] on Danish Involvement in the Airport Project in Greenland and Enhanced Business Collaboration Between Denmark and Greenland] Statsministeriet. Formandens Departement, 2018 at https://www.stm.dk/media/8148/10-09-2018_aftale_mellem_regeringen_og_naalakkersuisut.pdf. 14. Martin Breum, ‘Kina vil bygge kontroversiel forskningsstation i Grønland’. [China Wants to Build Controversial Research Station in Greenland], 2017 at https://www.information.dk/udland/2017/10/kina-bygge-kontroversiel-forskningsstation-groenland. 15. Damian Paletta and Itkowitz Colby, ‘Trump Aides Look into US Purchasing Greenland after Directives from President’. The Washington Post, 2019 at https://www.washingtonpost.com/business/2019/08/16/america-first-greenland-second-is-trumps-latest-white-house-directive/. 16. ‘Letter to Anthony Blinking and Lloyd Austin’, Select Committee on the Chinese Communist Party, United States Congress, 2017 at https://democrats-selectcommitteeontheccp.house.gov/sites/evo-subsites/democrats-selectcommitteeontheccp.house.gov/files/evo-media-document/10.16.24_PRC%20dual%20use%20research%20in%20the%20Arctic__.pdf. 17. John J. Mearsheimer, ‘Why the Ukraine Crisis is the West’s Fault: The Liberal Delusions That Provoked Putin’, Foreign Affairs, September/October, 2014 at https://www.mearsheimer.com/wp-content/uploads/2019/06/Why-the-Ukraine-Crisis-Is.pdf. 18. Mariia Kobzeva and Rasmus Gjedssø Bertelsen, ‘European-Russian-Chinese Arctic Energy System’,in Xing Li (Ed) China-EU Relations in a New Era of Global Transformation, London: Routledge, London, 2021, 22p. 19. Martin Kimani, ‘Statement by Amb. Martin Kimani, during the Security Council Urgent Meeting on the Situation in Ukraine’, The Permanent Mission of the Republic of Kenya, United Nations Security Council, February 2022 at https://www.un.int/kenya/sites/www.un.int/files/Kenya/kenya_statement_during_urgent_meeting_on_on_ukraine_21_february_2022_at_2100.pdf.

Defense & Security
trade war. Flag of the People's Republic of China. Flag of the United States. Taiwan flag, 3d illustration

The ‘Clash of Nationalisms’ in the Contentious USA–Taiwan–China Relations

by Orson Tan , Alexander C. Tan

한국어로 읽기 Leer en español In Deutsch lesen Gap اقرأ بالعربية Lire en français Читать на русском Abstract Why is it that cross-strait tension has been at its highest since the missile crisis of 1996? Why is the USA–Taiwan–China relations so contentious since 2016? This article argues that one oft-neglected factor—nationalism and identity politics—needs to be considered as a contributing factor to the heightened tension in this triangular relationship. In all three states, audience costs have significantly increased as domestic leaders and elites appeal to populist and nationalistic positions and rhetoric. Though studies of foreign policy often claim that ‘politics stop at the water’s edge,’ populist and nationalist rhetoric in the domestic politics almost always spill over to the international arena. The convergence of Trump’s America First and the US’ obsession with its global primacy underpins and drives America’s approach to its strategic competition with China. China’s continual reference to the hundred years of humiliation in the nineteenth century and early twentieth century and Xi Jinping’s ‘China Dream’ are ethnonationalist appeals that drives China’s fight for its ‘rightful place’ in the global pecking order. Taiwan’s deepening national identity and sociopolitical de-Sinicisation while contributing the development of a separate nation-state is a direct clash to the People’s Republic of China (PRC’s) claim of Taiwan as part of its one-China principle. This article will trace and examine the role of domestic nationalism and how it has contributed to make the Taiwan Straits a ‘hotspot’ in global geopolitics and geoeconomics. Introduction The introduction of the phrase ‘Taiwan Contingency’ to the global lexicon in 2020 served to highlight how the temperature of cross-strait relations between China and Taiwan had become a key barometer that the global community was paying attention to (Taylor, 2020). It is also not a coincidence that the increasing attention paid to the Taiwan Strait comes at a time when the USA–China relationship has devolved into great power strategic competition; the Pentagon had long used the term ‘Taiwan Contingency’ in its annual assessment reports on the US military’s ability to implement the Taiwan Relations Act, going as far back as the report from the year 2000, but it was only when USA–China relations worsened and cross-strait tensions created a worry about a flashpoint that the term became widely used (Department of Defense, 2000; Wuthnow, 2020). Much has been said about the increasing tension in cross-strait relations being a result of the overarching competition between the USA and China to define their positions vis-a-viz each other in the global hierarchy. These increasing tensions have often been attributed to the inherent rivalry between an ascending power and a declining one, most notably by Graham Allison in his book Destined for War (Hanania, 2021). The idea of the Thucydides Trap as floated by Allison has become the dominant narrative in the discourse surrounding the USA–China competition and has also contributed to an arguably narrow analysis of the strategic competition. Influenced by the analysis of the Thucydides Trap, China’s actions have been cast separately as being driven by security concerns and imperial aggression, feeding into the narrative of a power struggle in the international arena between the reigning superpower and a surging new power with desires to fulfil its civilisational creed (Mazza, 2024; Peters et al., 2022; Sobolik, 2024). This view seeks to portray China as a disrupting force that seeks to upend the status quo in the international system and thereby overturn the current rules-based international order, while casting the USA as a defender standing up against Chinese aggression, and has led to the USA–China strategic competition also being referred to a ‘new Cold War’ (Brands & Gaddis, 2021; Mazza, 2024). The rising tension in the Taiwan Strait has thus been seen as serving as a frontline to this ‘new Cold War’, and that the three-party relationship between the USA, China and Taiwan serves as some litmus test of American ability to contain a rising China (Lee, 2024). In fact, China hawks in the US and Taiwanese officials have often made use of this ‘new Cold War’ setting to frame the USA–China strategic competition as a competition between autocracies and democracies, and that Taiwan’s democracy makes it worth protecting (Hung, 2022; Lee, 2024). The Taiwanese government has consistently focused on a need to build an alliance of democracies that will support the island against Chinese aggression, highlighting shared values and like-minded partners in their discourse (Ripley, 2024). Yet, a broader analysis shows how framing the rising tension in the Taiwan Strait was a by-product of the greater geopolitical struggle between the USA and China in this ‘new Cold War’ ignores other possible factors. Most notably, the impact of nationalism and identity politics on the domestic sphere needs to be considered as a contributing factor to the heightened tension in this triangular relationship. While there has been increasing attention on nationalism as a characteristic of the international system since the time that scholars like Holsti (1980) brought up the need to emphasise the ‘prominence of nationalist behaviour’ in international relations (IRs) theory, the contemporary analysis of the Taiwan Strait issue shows that most still ignore the impact of domestic pressures on foreign policy choice by the three parties in this relationship; audience costs have significantly increase as domestic leaders and elites appeal to populist and nationalistic positions and rhetoric, and these populist and nationalist rhetoric in the domestic politics almost always spill over to the international arena (p. 25). In the United States, we have the convergence of Trump’s America First ideology and the US’ obsession with its global primacy that underpins and drives America’s approach to its strategic competition with China. While in China, the Chinese Communist Party’s (CCP) continual reference to the hundred years of humiliation in the nineteenth century and early twentieth century and Xi Jinping’s ‘China Dream’ are ethnonationalist appeals that are used to reinforce the Party’s right to guide China to fight for its ‘rightful place’ in the global pecking order. On the island, Taiwan’s deepening national identity and sociopolitical de-Sinicisation while contributing the development of a separate nation-state create a direct clash to the People’s Republic of China (PRC’s) claim of Taiwan as part of its one-China principle. This article thus seeks to trace and examine the role of domestic nationalism and how it has contributed to make the Taiwan Strait a ‘hotspot’ in global geopolitics and geoeconomics. This is done by first analysing the literature on nationalism and its role in IRs, following which, the sections examine the unique nationalisms of the United States, China and Taiwan and their role in increasing audience costs for the political elite, which will allow us to analyse how this clash of nationalism contributes to the Taiwan Strait becoming the global ‘hotspot’ that it is. Understanding Nationalism in International Relations As previously mentioned, the literature on IRs theory mainly focuses ‘on models of international interaction based on rational action and material structural factors, and exogenising the formation of preferences and the actors’ identities’ (D’Anieri, 1997, p. 2). Even theorists who have engaged with nationalism in international relations have admitted that ‘the relationship between the two has never been an especially easy one’ (Cox, 2019, p. 249). Yet nationalism is arguably central to the practice of IRs, given how nationalism is a key factor that makes it possible to conceive of states as coherent agents, as it creates the distinctiveness that allows a nation-state to define itself in its interactions with another (Kowert, 2012; Waltz, 1959). It is almost impossible to ignore the role of nationalism given the presumed equivalence of ‘nation’ and ‘state’ in IRs theories, and how nationalism is embedded in the conceptualisation of sovereignty, which serves as a fundamental factor in the interactions between states (Heiskanen, 2019, 2021). This is especially so given how the era of globalisation has come to an end, giving rise to a period of IRs that is characterised by securitisation and the preponderance of terms like ‘national security’ and ‘national interest’ (Heiskanen, 2019; Posen, 2022). In this contemporary age, there is a heightened awareness of the need to express and protect a state’s sovereignty in its international interactions, which therefore paves the way for nationalism to be the ‘centripetal force’ in driving interactions between nation-states (Kovács, 2022; Waltz, 1959, pp. 177–178). Nationalism can play such a role in defining interactions between nation-states because nationalism at its core is the conceptualisation of the identity of the polity. Modern nationalism in that sense is the expression of the principle that ‘nation = state = people’, with the purpose of binding the people to the state under one ‘imagined community’ to justify the existence of the nation-state as a construct (Anderson, 1983; Hobsbawm, 1990, p. 19). The nationalism that defines the nation-state is neither natural nor inevitable, but rather a by-product of a nation-building effort to craft an identity that will allow the state to distinguish and therefore differentiate itself in a world of nation-states (Connor, 1990; Gellner, 1983; Smith, 1986). This creates the peculiarity of nationalism in which they are essentially all the same, yet at the same time, individually unique by necessity. It is thus the interaction between the individual uniqueness while having the same broad goals that lead to nationalism influencing the interactions of nation-states in the international arena; arguably, it is not just the strength of nationalism that is important but also the content of the national identity that helps dictate the interaction between the states (D’Anieri, 1997). The creation and the make-up of nationalisms and national identities are thus of interests for this article’s analysis of the triangular relationship between United States, China and Taiwan. The literature on nationalism and national identity gives us a breakdown on the creation of nationalism. As a relatively modern phenomenon, the rise of nationalisms around the world is a direct result of the socioeconomic upheaval that marked the progress of modernity (Anderson, 1983; Gellner, 1983). The advent of industrialisation saw the collapse of the previous social structure that separated the agrarian, merchant classes and the nobility, and necessitated the development of a new identity that would bind diverse groups of people together under the banner of a nation-state. In that regard, the creation of nationalism was necessarily top-down, often driven by the needs of the new political elite who now exercised power in these emerging modern nation-states and formed through nationwide tools such as a national language and the national education system (Anderson, 1983; Gellner, 1983). The content of the national identity though could not simply be created out of thin air where the general form of nationalisms is the same and built on a structure of common identity and a sense of belonging to a community, the content of nationalisms needed to be specific to the groups of people living in the nation-state to produce the necessary uniqueness that would engender the desired outcome. As such, nationalisms and national identities were built on the pre-existing myths and histories of the people that inhabited the land or were present at the founding of the nation-state (Billig, 1995; Calhoun, 1997; Smith, 1986). This results in various contents of the nationalism that are part ethnic but also part mythological. The next section will examine the contents of the national identities of the United States, China and Taiwan in relation to this. American Exceptionalism: America the Great Like all nationalisms, American nationalism aims to ‘legitimise, mobilise and integrate the nation, thereby promoting the unity of the national people, and demanding a sovereign state for this nation’ (Trautsch, 2016, p. 291). Yet unlike European nationalism which had existing histories to build upon, American nationalism was ‘a model of nationhood that did not rest on historic claims to antiquity nor on any sense of distinctive peoplehood’, its foundations being very much rooted on mythologising the pilgrims’ journey across the Atlantic on the Mayflower and the nation’s beginnings as a settler nation (Doyle, 2009, p. 79). The pilgrims’ journey on the Mayflower marked the separation between the ‘Old World’ and the ‘New World’, providing dividing line that forms the basis for the conceptualisation of America as unique. While American nationalism does identify its roots with the colonial migration from Europe, the beginnings of this nationalism are tied specifically to the American Revolution and the Declaration of Independence (Doyle, 2009). The War of Independence marked a coalescing of consciousness in the 13 colonies that birthed a new nation, and gave even more credence to the distinction between Europe and the ‘Old World’, and the new American nation in the ‘New World’ (Commager, 1959; Doyle, 2009). This distinction was helped by the colonies’ history as an asylum for religious dissenters, impoverished servants and assorted refugees from Europe, allowing the colonies to divest itself of its British heritage (Doyle, 2009). Yet, certain aspects of British culture did influence the founding fathers of America in the conception of the American nation. While rebelling against their colonial masters, the founding fathers framed their independence as based on the British belief in the institutions of law, liberty and representative government mixed with a healthy dose of religiosity, which, given the lack of a feudal tradition and existing aristocracy, allowed for the creation of a national consciousness that celebrated equality without the necessary social revolution that marked the ‘Old World’ (Lieven, 2012). This allowed for the image of America as a newfound promise land, further playing into the distinction between the old and new, and as scholars from Tocqueville on have noted, birthed the idea of the exceptionalism of the American nation, the ‘shining city on the hill’ (Lieven, 2012). The subsequent expansion of the USA westward that saw the eventual formation of the geographical borders of modern America helped to further this sense of exceptionalism. As the expansion evolved from purchasing land to conflict with both the Native Americans and the Spanish colonial forces, American exceptionalism took on a sense of preordination (Doyle, 2009; Trautsch, 2016). Between the Revolution and the Civil War, American nationalists who recognised the need for strengthening the national consciousness began the enterprise by focusing on the fundamental idea that ‘Americans had a historic mission and that their bond of nationhood lay in their common destiny’; this required the positioning of America’s future place in the history of the world as one that was naturally glorious (Doyle, 2009, p. 86; Trautsch, 2016). To that end, the nationalists pushed the narrative of America’s ‘manifest destiny’, an unstoppable rise for the ‘freest, the happiest, and soon to be the greatest and most powerful country in the world’ (Doyle, 2009, p. 88). The successful expansion and victories in conflict that eventuated in the American nation covering the breadth of continental North America firmly entrenched this sense of preordained greatness for the nation. American nationalism had come to encompass both the civic values of liberty and respect for institutions, and the dreams of imperial grandeur that marked them for greatness; America was free and therefore exceptional, just as America was victorious and therefore exceptional. American exceptionalism, therefore, made the nation’s ascension to the top of the global hierarchy post-1945 easy. To the American nation, having believed in their destined greatness, a seat at the table presiding over global affairs was only to be expected. American nationalism had led the nation to believe in its destiny, and it saw itself as having been chosen, or even, anointed to lead (Lieven, 2012). Such exceptionalism naturally influences modern American foreign policy, as Kristol (1983) points out: Patriotism springs from love of the nation’s past; nationalism arises out of hope for the nation’s future, distinctive greatness…The goals of American foreign policy must go well beyond a narrow, too literal definition of ‘national security.’ It is the national interest of a world power, as this is defined by a sense of national destiny. (p. xiii) American nationalism shapes the way the USA views its interactions with the world, starting with its presumption of its deserved position at the top of the global hierarchy. The mythologising of its ‘historic mission’ and ‘manifest destiny’ helped to create the paradigm that the United States is the natural leader of the world, and its national interests include the protection of its position as the leader of the world. This creates a knock-on effect in its interactions with other states; if the United States is the natural leader, then others must listen and be led, and as the leader, challenges to its primacy cannot be tolerated. However, such conceptualisation brings it into a clash with the rising nationalism of China. Chinese Ethnonationalism: The China Dream Unlike American nationalism, modern Chinese nationalism is a relatively new phenomenon. In fact, the conceptualisation of a Chinese nation did not come about until the nineteenth century, as the Chinese tried to ‘create a modern identity to cope with conditions created by China’s confrontation with the Western world’, forcing the Chinese ‘to deal with foreign concepts, including that of nation, state, sovereignty, citizenship and race’ (Wu, 1991, p. 159). Furthermore, where American nationalism was centred upon its existence as a settler nation, Chinese nationalism could rest on both historic claims to antiquity and a sense of distinctive peoplehood, as Smith (1986) would have identified it, the roots of Chinese nationalism were definitely ethnosymbolic. The 1911 Revolution that saw the collapse of the Qing Dynasty and Imperial China marked the beginnings of modern Chinese nationalism (Townsend, 1992). Where previously the conceptualisation of Chinese identity was grounded in a rich cultural heritage of stories about the ‘abstract idea of the ‘Great Tradition’ of Chinese civilisation’, the encroachment of Western colonial forces in China led to rising discontentment amongst the Chinese public and the rise of intellectual writings about a modern form of Chinese identity which combined Chinese tradition and Western nationalism (Townsend, 1992; Wang, 1988, p. 2; Zheng, 2012). Dr Sun Yat-Sen, who is acknowledged as the father of the modern nation, pushed for the creation of a consciousness of nationhood in his Three Principles of the People, advocating for the creation of modern Chinese nationalism that was centred upon the Chinese people as a unified group, which he categorised as the Chinese ethnic community, ÖлªÃñ×å zhonghuaminzu (Fitzgerald, 2016; Tan & Chen, 2013; Wang, 1988; Wells, 2001). The end of the 1911 Revolution saw the establishment of the Republic of China (ROC) with Dr. Sun as the first president (Zheng, 2012). This marked the transition of China from imperial to statehood and saw the coalescing of the consciousness of Chinese nationhood. The ethnosymbolic roots of Chinese nationalism permeated this consciousness, even the name of the Republic, ÖлªÃñ¹ú zhonghuaminguo, emphasised the belonging of the state to the Chinese ethnic nation as the first three characters of the name represent the ethnic Chinese nation. So, Chinese nationalism can be said to also equate to Chinese ethnonationalism, and as a nationalism that rested on the rich history of the Chinese people and the abstract conceptualisation of the following the tradition of great Chinese civilisations, Chinese nationalism is also beholden to a lot of nostalgia. Where Dr Sun and his fellow intellectuals pushed the creation of Chinese nationalism by appealing to the cultural heritage of Chinese civilisation, they combined this with modern western nationalist ideology that focused on a struggle for sovereignty, in this case against the Western imperial powers and the Qing rulers. As such, this nostalgia is driven by the experiences of the Chinese people during the perceived ‘century of humiliation’ °ÙÄê¹ú³Ü bainianguochi starting from the Opium War till 1945, where China struggled for self-determination only to be invaded by the Japanese prior to the Second World War (Fitzgerald, 2016; Townsend, 1992; Zheng, 2012). China, as the empire-turned-nation and heir to the great tradition of Chinese imperial civilisation, was successively beaten and this was seen as a deep shame to the Chinese people who under successively foreign oppressors, including the Manchus of the Qing Dynasty, longed for freedom and a return to glory for the Chinese nation. As such, when Mao announced the founding of the PRC in 1949, the legitimacy of the CCP in ruling the nation was built on Chinese nationalism and the part that the party played in defeating the Japanese. The CCP’s victory in the civil war was arguably also because they presented themselves as even more nationalist than the nationalist Kuomintang (KMT) that they chased out of the mainland (Gries, 2020). This close connection between the party’s legitimacy and Chinese nationalism has seen the CCP often fall back on nationalistic propaganda to shore up its position of power, most notably after the events of Tiananmen Square (Gries, 2020). With his ascension to the presidency, Xi Jinping has continued the use of Chinese nationalism to firm up the party’s hold on power, having often referred to China’s rise as the country’s national destiny, referencing the country’s glorious past and harping on the ‘century of humiliation’ that denied China its place among the world’s powers (Tan, 2023). In this current form of Chinese ethnonationalism, Xi’s slogan of ‘national rejuvenation’ helps to reinforce the concept that China, once great but humiliated by the predations of Western colonisers, is now reclaiming its previous majesty to fulfil the ‘China Dream’ (Tan, 2023). This creates the sense that China must stand up to Western powers due to their rightful placed in the world while it must also continue to address the humiliations of the past, of which Taiwan serves as a reminder of, and this creates the setting for competition with the United States and rising tensions with Taiwan. Taiwanese Nationalism: De-sinicised and Independent The case of Taiwanese nationalism is an interesting one. Of the three nationalisms examined in this article, Taiwanese nationalism is the youngest one, having come into existence only in recently. Furthermore, unlike the United States and China, there is no continuity and coherence between the nation and the state in Taiwan. The state governing and exerting authority over Taiwan’s population embodies and merges two distinct political visions, each tied to a separate national identity: Chinese and Taiwanese, as the ROC is ‘a product of Chinese history and Chinese nationalism’, having been imposed onto the island when the KMT lost the civil war and fled the mainland (Clark & Tan, 2012; Lepesant, 2018, p. 65). In fact, while the KMT exercised marital rule over the island under the regimes of Chiang Kai-shek and Chiang Ching-kuo, the party tried constantly to impose an essentialist Chinese nationalism that clashed with the memories and experience of most of the island’s population, especially those who were raised under Japanese rule (Lepesant, 2018). This directly restricted the development of a national consciousness that centred on Taiwanese-ness, which explains the relatively late creation of Taiwanese nationalism. While overseas Taiwanese who were exiled by the KMT had started to display ideologies that was a semblance of Taiwanese nationalism, it was not until the 1980s and the gradual democratisation of the island that this nationalism began to take root (Chiou, 2003; Clark & Tan, 2012; Wakabayashi, 2006; Wu, 2004). With the increasing calls for political liberalisation in the 1980s, Chiang Ching-kuo began the initial process of Taiwanisation, allowing for the appointments of Taiwanese who were ±¾Ê¡ÈË benshengren (Han-Chinese who were on the island before the 1949 migration) to political positions even in his own administration (Cabestan, 2005). This kickstarted the process of nation-building, which only moved into a higher gear with the democratisation of the island in the early 1990s as there developed a political imperative to create an identity that could unify the people on the island (Wakabayashi, 2006). Lee Teng-hui, as the president of Taiwan who oversaw the democratisation process, put his support behind the Taiwanisation movement, supporting the development of a nation-building programme that would spur the adoption of Taiwanese nationalism, against the wishes of the KMT old guard. Lee’s action in building up Taiwanese nationalism is best seen in his propagation of the idea of a ‘new Taiwanese’ national identity in his speech to the National Assembly and more concretely, the change in name for the ROC to the ROC on Taiwan (Chiou, 2003; Jacobs, 2007; Wakabayashi, 2006). As such, the content of Taiwanese nationalism cannot be separated from the complex history of the island. The roots of Taiwanese nationalism are traced to the imperial expansion of Japan in the late 1800s, while previously the island had some contact with various Chinese dynasties and a brief colonial period by the Dutch, the Qing had neglected the island which meant that Japanese colonialisation marked the modernisation of the island (Cabestan, 2005; Wakabayashi, 2006). Japanese colonial rule also sparked the development of a pan-Taiwanese identity rooted in a struggle for independence, and distinctly anti-colonial and anti-Japanese (Brown, 2004). This pan-Taiwanese identity covered all the residents of the island who were not Japanese and therefore was not just restricted to the ethnic Han Chinese. With democratisation and the push for the ‘new Taiwanese’ national identity under Lee, this pan-Taiwanese identity was used as the foundation to build a new national identity. However, this also meant that the aspects of this identity that focused on independence were subsumed into the new Taiwanese nationalism, which was further enhanced by the experiences of the Taiwanese people under KMT rule (Wakabayashi, 2006). For Taiwan, both Japanese colonial rule and the experience of the civil war of post-1945 China became the existence of the ‘others’ to the development of the Taiwanese sense of self (Wakabayashi, 2006). This therefore meant that Taiwanese nationalism was first and foremost a nationalism for an independent Taiwan. In 2000, with the election of Chen Shui-bian from the then opposition Democratic Peoples’ Party (DPP) to the presidency, Taiwanese nationalism took another step in its evolution. No longer was Taiwanese nationalism simply about the independent sovereignty of the island whilst maintaining the cultural affinity for the Chinese tradition as espoused by Lee, but now there was a clear de-Sinicised aspect to Taiwanese nationalism and national identity (Hughes, 2013; Wakabayashi, 2006). This was driven by the policies of the Chen administration which included initiatives to rectify Taiwan’s name, changes to institutions designed to promote unification with mainland China, attempts to change the ROC Constitution and most importantly, the re-orientation of the education curriculum to focus more on Taiwan and less on the mainland. This resulted in the evolution of Taiwanese national identity towards one that increasingly sidelined the culturally ethnic Chinese component, instead insisting a cultural makeup that was simultaneously Han Chinese, Japanese and Aboriginal Taiwanese (Brown, 2004; Hughes, 2013; Wu, 2004). Yet such a nationalism brings along issues given the precarious relationship between the island and its cross-strait neighbour. The Clash of Nationalisms This article aimed to examine the role that nationalism played in the rising tensions in the United States, China and Taiwan triangular relationship. The idea that nationalisms can be antagonistic to each other and lead to conflict is not entirely new, despite the lack of IR theories that appropriately accommodate for the impact of nationalism. Samuel Huntington (1996) in his book, Clash of Civilizations, argues that future global conflicts will be driven not by ideological or economic differences but by cultural and civilisational divisions due to the increasing interaction between civilisations as a result of globalisation. Huntington (1996) predicted that a rising and assertive East Asia, on the back of rapid economic development, would increasingly come into conflict with Western civilisation led by the United States, in part due to a difference in cultural values and geopolitical goals. Where some would argue that Huntington’s claims were oversimplified and may broadly reinforce cleavages, especially in the aftermath of 9/11 and the War on Terror, his basic premise provides an interesting starting point to examining the impact of nationalism on the USA–China–Taiwan relationship. While Huntington viewed the incoming conflict as drawn along civilisational lines, assuming that cultural similarities and affinities would be sufficient to create groupings of nation-states around the world that would come into conflict with each other, recent events have proven otherwise. In fact, cases like Donald Trump’s threat to put a 25% tariff on Canadian imports when he assumes the presidency in January 2025 serve as a reminder that nationalism can easily overpower any sense of cultural affinity, even between nations as closely connected and allied as the United States and Canada (Hale, 2024). The advent of modernity brought about the rise of nationalism in the nation-state, and in the bid to give the nation-state’s existence legitimacy, each nationalism was propagated as individually unique. And as such, while cultural civilisations may not be a cleavage that thoroughly defines the world today, nationalism seems to be one that could fit into Huntington’s theory instead. Given the unique nationalisms of the United States, China and Taiwan covered in the sections above, it also appears that what is happening in this triangular relationship is a conflict arising from diametrically opposed nationalisms, a ‘clash of nationalisms’ if you will. Figure 1 summarises the interactions between the nationalisms of the United States, China and Taiwan.  Figure 1. Interaction Between Nationalisms. The United States having built a national identity that centred on a higher calling to being a model nation and leader of the world sees its position at the top of the global hierarchy as sacrosanct. The reason why the concept of the ‘Thucydides trap’ has gained so much attention is because there is an inherent acknowledgement that no matter the ills that may plague the United States, it is unwilling to see the global primacy it has established after the end of the Cold War being challenged (Mazza, 2024). However, China’s ascendency on the back of its rapid economic growth and the fact that it managed to emerge from the 2007–8 Great Financial Crisis relatively unscathed has given life to the belief in the PRC that their anointed time has finally come. Driven by Xi’s desire to push Chinese ethnonationalism as a foundation for the PRC’s assertiveness in the international arena, the world is now witnessing a China that seeks to act like a great power, including a demand for regional hegemony (Mazza, 2024). Yet regional hegemony for the PRC set it in direct conflict with the United States as regional hegemony in East Asia would mean the United States having to pull back on its global primacy and cede control over the region where it has key allies like Japan and South Korea. And this is exacerbated by the anti-West element of Chinese ethnonationalism that holds the West, with the United States being symbolic of it, responsible for the century of humiliation and the country not being the rightful great power it should have long been. As the saying goes, one mountain cannot contain two tigers, the nationalisms of both the United States and the PRC are dependent on the countries fulfilling their self-perceived destiny of greatness which naturally puts them into conflict with each other and is reflected in Figure 1. Similarly, Figure 1 also shows how the nationalisms of China and Taiwan are in conflict. As mentioned above, Chinese ethnonationalism and the ‘China Dream’ are also about washing away the shame from the century of humiliation. Part of this humiliation stems from the losses to the Japanese in the two Sino-Japanese wars, of which the loss of the island of Taiwan serves as a reminder of and it is for this reason that Xi has made clear that reunification between Taiwan and the mainland is a core part of his ‘national rejuvenation’ (Sobolik, 2024). Yet, in Taiwan, the evolution and rise of Taiwanese nationalism have led to a strong Taiwanese national identity that rejects its relationship with the Chinese mainland; increasingly Taiwanese are rejecting the Beijing-led discourse of a common identity between them and the mainland Chinese, and polling shows an increasing majority of Taiwanese no longer identify as Chinese (Fifield, 2019; Wang, 2023). This sets up the two nations in a path for conflict, a worse-case scenario that experts are predicting gets ever closer, as Taiwanese independence is a redline for China that cannot be crossed, but any form of reunification for the island is incompatible with their unique and independent national identity (Kuo, 2022; Wu, 2004). On the flip side, the relationship between American nationalism and Taiwanese nationalism is somewhat complementary, as shown in Figure 1. In examining American nationalism above, we pointed out how much of American nationalism is driven by American primacy in the form of American exceptionalism. This exceptionalism has been shown to have a messianic fervour, with Badri (2024) arguing that this has led to America’s interventionist foreign policy since 1991. Yet this messianic fervour makes American nationalism the perfect complement for Taiwanese nationalism. As Taiwanese nationalism tends towards de-sinicisation and independence, it has also gone through pains to emphasise its democratisation as a key characteristic of its nationalism. This results in America becoming a natural support pillar for the objectives of Taiwanese nationalism, while America’s messianic tendencies lead it to want to support Taiwanese democracy. As a result, American and Taiwanese nationalism become complementary existences. However, that the nationalisms are in conflict do not necessarily explain the existence of the triangular relationship that has seen the Taiwan Strait become the geopolitical ‘hotspot’ that it is. In order to do so, it is important to remember that nationalism is a double-edged sword when used by governments (Gries, 2020; Tan, 2023). Since 2016, we have seen the respective governments in all three countries increasingly turn to nationalism to further their own agendas (Kuo, 2022; Restad, 2020). Trump won his first presidential victory on the back of his ‘Make America Great Again’ slogan, which implied that the greatness of the American nation had been allowed to wane by his political predecessor. In doing so, Trump had unleashed a torrent of populism built upon conservative American nationalism that centred upon how powerful and great the country was perceived at the end of the Cold War and the longing for a return to those days (Renshon, 2021). In China, Xi, as previously mentioned, turned to the concept of the ‘China Dream’ in his bid to secure the legitimacy of the CCP and his hold over power. In his elaboration, it was the preeminent task of the CCP to restore the past glory of the nation and thereby, turn the dream of a great power nation into a reality, which would aid in making life better for the Chinese people (Bhattacharya, 2019). The rise of Chinese ethnonationalism has been successful in legitimising the position of the CCP in the wake of the political turmoil of the early 2010s and increasingly we have seen assertive Chinese expressions of this ethnonationalism, be it in its ‘Wolf Warrior’ diplomacy or cases of Chinese international students in university campuses in places like Australia, United States and the United Kingdom who openly challenge their lecturers and peers who comment on issues like Taiwan and Hong Kong (Tan, 2023). While in Taiwan, the DPP under Tsai Ing-wen latched on to the anti-Chinese sentiment of the 2014 Sunflower Movement and harnessed Taiwanese nationalism and desire to exist as a sovereign people to win the 2016 presidential election from the KMT (Chen & Zheng, 2022; Clark et al., 2020). Since then, the DPP has increasingly relied on Taiwanese nationalism to secure itself electoral victories, as it provides a clear delineation on the Taiwanese/Chinese cleavage between itself and the opposition KMT, while also allowing the government to create a narrative that differentiates Taiwan from the mainland, and therefore rouse support for its cause for international recognition (Lee, 2024). In each of these countries, we have seen political leaders turning to nationalism for their own domestic agendas. However, using nationalism in such manner also means that there is a significant consequence when the desires and dreams of the nationalism cannot be fulfilled, especially for regimes that have built their legitimacy on said nationalisms. To that end, the escalation of tension in the Taiwan Strait becomes understandable. Taiwanese nationalism has led to Tsai and the DPP to insist on Taiwanese sovereignty, even without the need for actual independence, but this has crossed the CCP’s red line and Chinese ethnonationalism necessitates a reaction in the form of increased military activity. The United States, having been bound to support Taiwan due to the Taiwan Relations Act, and in part to reassert its global hegemon status, thus sees it as imperative that it continue to be involved in the situation in the Taiwan Strait, either through freedom of navigation movements or selling of arms. As each side escalates their foreign policy response to the Taiwan Strait issue, audience costs for the political leaders also increase. Having unleashed the forces of nationalism, any semblance that the political leader is contemplating backing down would have serious implications on the stability of the domestic regime. This is even more so given the looming economic challenges in each of the three nations. Conclusion Therefore, the triangular relationship between the United States, China and Taiwan is not merely a product of power struggles or ideological conflicts but a ‘clash of nationalisms’. The interplay of unique national identities, reinforced by domestic pressures, has intensified the geopolitical stakes in the Taiwan Strait, transforming it into a critical hotspot in global politics. In understanding this, we can therefore see how nationalism is in fact an important factor that influences the interactions of states in IRs theories. Declaration of Conflicting InterestsThe authors declared no potential conflicts of interest with respect to the research, authorship and/or publication of this article.FundingThe authors received no financial support for the research, authorship and/or publication of this article.Cite: Tan, O., & Tan, A. C. (2025). 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