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Defense & Security
K2 Black Panther during the 75th Republic of Korea Armed Forces parade, in Seoul, South Korea, on September 26, 2023

Major military weapons of South Korea defense industry

by World & New World Journal Policy Team

I. Introduction South Korea’s defense industry has rapidly emerged as a significant global arms exporter, driven by technological advancements, strategic government support, and increased geopolitical tensions such as the Ukraine war. South Korean arms exports have surged from $1.2 billion (2011–2015) to $38 billion (2021–2023), positioning South Korea as a key player in global arms market, challenging traditional arms exporters. This paper aims to introduce South Korean weapons to government officials and businessmen in European and Middle Eastern countries. This is the first paper in a series on South Korean defense industry. Focus is on South Korean weapons exported to Europe. The second paper will deal with South Korean weapons exported to Middle Eastern countries. This paper first provides an overview of South Korean defense industry and then introduces major Korean weapons exported to European countries. II. Overview of Korean Defense Industry It was 72 years ago that the bloody 1950-53 Korean War ended with an armistice. Today, South Korea, the once-war-ravaged nation, stands among global leading arms exporters, and its factories turn out advanced tanks, artillery systems and fighter jets destined for battlefields far beyond the Korean Peninsula. As Figure 1 shows, South Korea’s arms industry has been riding a wave of global demand. South Korea’ arms exports increased from 2.5 billion dollars in 2019 to 23 billion dollars (estimate)in 2025. South Korean weapons are in high demand for their advanced technology and fast delivery. As a result, in recent years, South Korea has often been listed among the world’s top 10 arms exporters, competing with the US, Russia and China. As Figure 2, South Korea ranked No. 10 in global arms exports, with a 2.2 % share of the world arms market in the 2020-2024 period, according to the Stockholm International Peace Research Institute. The South Korean government is now setting its sights on breaking into the ranks of global top 4 arms exporters. Figure 1: South Korea arms export Figure 2: world’s biggest arms exporters 1. Major South Korean defense companies According to the Defense News Top 100 list for 2020, four of South Korea’s defense companies were ranked in the top 100 defense companies in the world. These four companies are Hanwha (32nd), Korea Aerospace Industries (KAI 55th), LIG Nex1 (68th), and Hyundai Rotem (95th). These South Korea’s top four defense companies are expected to surpass 100 trillion won ($72 billion) in total order backlog in 2025, driven by strong export growth. More European and other countries adopt self-reliant defense strategies as US President Donald Trump warn that the US will no longer protect them for free and as he calls for increasing military spending. Moreover, the Ukraine war and the Gaza conflict continue. Thus, there are higher expectations that South Korea’s leading defense firms will secure more orders. According to data compiled by the Chosun Ilbo, a top Korean newspaper, on May 6, 2025, the combined backlog of South Korea’s top four defense companies stands at around 94.5 trillion won. The figures for Hanwha Aerospace and KAI are based on the results of the first quarter in 2025, while those for LIG Nex1 and Hyundai Rotem reflect data from the end of 2024 (The Chosun Ilbo, May 6, 2025). All four companies secure more export deals, thereby enhancing both the scale and quality of their order books. Hanwha Aerospace, for example, holds 31.4 trillion won in ground defense orders, led by exports of K9 howitzers and Chunmoo multiple rocket systems. Exports account for 65% of that backlog. KAI’s backlog at the end of the first quarter in 2025 reached 24.3 trillion won, up 32% from 18.4 trillion won in 2020. The KAI aims to exceed 29 trillion won by year-end. Its export share has also risen from 50% in 2020 to 63% by the end of 2024. LIG Nex1 holds a backlog of around 20 trillion won as of the end of 2024, while Hyundai Rotem’s stands at 18.8 trillion won. More than half of the orders for both companies come from overseas. Hyundai Rotem is also expected to finalize a second contract with Poland to export around 820 K2 tanks, valued at over 8 trillion won. If finalized, the deal would significantly boost its backlog this year. According to updated data from the Chosun Ilbo, South Korea’s four major defense companies saw their combined order backlog surpass 100 trillion won ($72 billion) for the first time, driven by strong overseas demand. Data in second quarter of 2025 show that Hanwha Aerospace, LIG Nex1, Hyundai Rotem, and Korea Aerospace Industries held backlogs totaling 103.48 trillion won, more than double the 42.23 trillion won recorded at the end of 2021. Industry officials say these companies now have enough work secured for the next four to five years. (The Chosun Ilbo, August 19, 2025)  Figure 3: South Korea top 4 defense companies’ order backlog (source: the Chosun Ilbo, August 19, 2025)  This jump in exports of Korean-made conventional weapons has led to the Korean defense industry boom. Orders for Korean artillery weapons and armored vehicles from Eastern Europe and the Middle East have significantly increased since the outbreak of the Ukraine war. Sales of Hyundai Rotem Co., the supplier of the K-2 Black Panther tank, and Hanwha Aerospace Co., the supplier of the K-9 Thunder howitzer, have skyrocketed over the same period. Their parts suppliers have also seen their sales double over a year. The South Korean defense industry’s current heyday is expected to continue for a while as global demand for Korean-made weapons and combat systems has surged amid growing geopolitical conflicts around the world. According to defense industry sources, Hanwha Aerospace is expected to soon close a deal with Vietnam to export the K9 self-propelled howitzers, a contract expected to be worth 1 trillion won. Indeed, Hanwha Aerospace signed an agreement to export its K9 self-propelled howitzers worth US$250 million to Vietnam. Hyundai Rotem is also reportedly nearing the final stage of inking a second agreement with Poland for K2 battle tanks that could be worth over 7 trillion won. LIG Nex1 has supposedly been in talks with Malaysia to export its surface-to-air missile system Cheongung. KAI is looking to export its KF-21 fighter jet to the Middle East. As the Korean defense companies continue to rack up orders and look to expand their list of clients worldwide, JP Morgan released a report on the four major defense firms -- Hanwha Aerospace, Hyundai Rotem, LIG Nex1 and KAI – in March 2025, increasing their stock price targets by an average of 28 percent while pointing out that there is “plenty of room to go” for their values to rise (The Korea Herald, April 17, 2025). The report surprised investors, industry officials and analysts as it set the target prices of the four defense companies higher than the domestic market consensus. J.P. Morgan adjusted the target stock prices of Hanwha Aerospace, Hyundai Rotem, LIG Nex1 and KAI to 950,000 won, 90,000 won, 370,000 won and 120,000 won, respectively. JP Morgan noted that it estimates an annual new order market of 19 trillion won -- 14 trillion won from Europe and 5 trillion won from the Middle East -- for Korean land weapons systems companies. “Korean-made weapons remain one of the top choices for Eastern European countries facing national security issues,” said Lee Tae-hwan, an analyst at Daishin Securities. “Discussions about ordering conventional weapons will gain momentum. The K9 self-propelled howitzers and K2 tanks are excellent candidates with strong potential for scoring additional export deals in Eastern Europe.” (The Korea Herald, April 17, 2025). Yu Ji-hoon, a research fellow at the Korea Institute for Defense Analyses, told The Korea Herald that “South Korea has rapidly matured into one of the world’s leading arms exporters, backed by a highly capable manufacturing base, a track record of delivering on time and at scale, and proven platforms.” (The Korea Herald, April 17, 2025). 2. Importers of South Korean weapons According to data from the Korea International Trade Association and the Korea Herald, last year’s biggest importer of Korean defense systems was Poland, which purchased Korea-made weapons worth about $2.51 billion, more than four times what it bought in 2023. The most-exported items were from Hanwha Aerospace, which shipped 212 units of its K9 self-propelled howitzers, and Hyundai Rotem, selling 134 units of the K2 battle tank. (The Korea Herald, April 17, 2025). Middle Eastern countries occupied most of the top five spots among importers of Korean weapons as regional tensions escalated due to the conflicts involving Israel, Hamas, and the Houthis in Yemen. Saudi Arabia ranked second in the purchase of Korean weapons with $530 million in 2024, while the United Arab Emirates and Turkey placed fourth and fifth with $145 million and $113 million, respectively. The United States was the third-biggest importer of Korean weapons at $219 million. III. Major military weapons of South Korean Defense Industry 1. Overview In South Korea’s expanding arms export portfolio, the K2 tank, called “Black Panther” and built by Hyundai Rotem, has been a flagship item. The K2 is South Korea’s most advanced main battle tank, designed for speed, precision and adaptability on the mountainous Korean Peninsula. In recent years, the K2 has drawn major international orders, most notably from Poland, as Polish and other nations’ militaries seek modern armor to replace aging Cold War units. It is central to South Korea’s largest-ever defense export deals, including the one with Poland, signed in 2022, in which Poland ordered 180 K2 Black Panther tanks from Hyundai Rotem in a $3.37 billion agreement. Deliveries began within months, far faster than European or American suppliers could offer. (The Korea Herald, August 14, 2025) In 2025, Poland signed with a $6.5 billion contract for 180 upgraded K2PL tanks, to be produced in part in Poland. The two phases, part of a broader plan involving the manufacturing of up to 1,000 K2s, have made South Korea one of the North Atlantic Treaty Organization’s most important new arms partners and cemented South Korea’s status as a major player in the global defense market. Other key weapons in the South Korean export portfolio are the K239 Chunmoo Multiple Rocket Launcher System, K9 self-propelled howitzer, FA-50 fighter jets and KP-SAM chirons. (The Korea Herald, August 14, 2025) Prominent deals made with global clients include K239 Chunmoo MLRS systems purchased by the United Arab Emirates and Saudi Arabia in 2017 and 2022, respectively. South Korea also signed a $250 million agreement to supply Vietnam with 20 K9 self-propelled howitzers on August 14, 2025, marking the weapon’s first deployment to a member of the Association of Southeast Asian Nations bloc. The K9 howitzers are already in service in countries such as Turkey and Egypt. (The Korea Herald, August 14, 2025) In December 2013, Iraq signed a contract for 24 T-50IQ aircraft, a FA-50 variant, plus additional equipment and pilot training over the next 20 years. The first batch of aircraft was delivered in March 2017. On March 28, 2014, Department of Defense in the Philippines signed a contract for 12 FA-50 fighters worth P18.9 billion (US$421.12 million). Deliveries began in November 2015, all 12 aircraft were delivered by May 31, 2017. (The Korea Herald, August 14, 2025) Indonesian Air Force acquired and operated KP-Sam Chirons since 2014 which was integrated with Oerlikon Skyshield 35 mm anti-aircraft gun system. Additional 2 Chirons transferred according to a 2019 SIPRI small arms report. 54 KP-SAM chirons were delivered to Romania in June 2024. 2. Major South Korean weapons exported to Europe This is the first paper in a series on South Korean defense industry. Focus is on South Korean weapons exported to Europe. As Table 1 shows, South Korea exported the following weapons to European countries such as Poland, Romania, and Turkey in the period of 2022-2024: K 2 tanks, K 9 howitzer, Chunmoo multiple rocket systems, FA-50, and the KP-SAM Chiron. Table 1: Major defense export contracts, 2022-2024 (source: Issues & Insights on Economy, Technology, and Security, no. 011 (25-06) 4 June, 2025, p. 2) 1. K 2 Black Panther (K 2 tanks) Figure 4: K2 Black Panther (source: Wikipedia) K2 Black Panther (K-2 흑표 tank) is a South Korean fourth-generation main tank, manufactured by Hyundai Rotem. The K2 Black Panther has an advanced fire-control system, in-arm suspension, laser rangefinder, a radar, and crosswind sensor for lock-on targeting. The K2’s thermographic camera tracks target up to 9.8 km, and its millimeter-band radar acts as a Missile Approach Warning System, enhancing situational awareness. And its soft-kill active protection system deploys smoke grenades to counter incoming projectiles. The K2’s autoloader reduces crew size from 4 to 3, thereby providing a faster rate of fire, better fuel efficiency, and lower maintenance costs compared to other western main tanks requiring human loaders. In addition, the K2 can operate in indirect fire mode, offering key advantages over Western designs.[1] The K2’s production started in 2008 and its mass production began in 2013. The first K2 tanks were deployed to South Korean army in July 2014.[2] The K2 Black Panthers were exported to Turkey and Poland. The potential operators of K2 Black Panthers are Armenia, Egypt, Morocco, Peru, Romania, and Slovakia. a. Turkey In June 2007, South Korea and Turkey negotiated a deal worth $540 million that included South Korea’s support for the development of Turkey’s Altay battle tank. On July 29, 2008, Hyundai Rotem and Turkey’s Otokar (Turkish defense firm) signed a contract to provide design assistance and technology transfer for the Altay tank project. This collaboration included systems integration, critical design elements, and manufacturing expertise from South Korea, specifically tailored to develop Turkey’s domestic manufacturing capabilities. South Korea’s contributions to the Altay’s development included the transfer of manufacturing technologies for critical components. Hyundai Rotem played a central role in the system design and integration process, and Hyundai WIA provided the 120 mm 55-caliber smoothbore gun technology. Poongsan Corporation supported the development of ballistic protection systems, while Samyang Comtech shared expertise in advanced armor materials. These collective efforts laid the foundation for Turkey’s capabilities in producing the Altay tank.[3] This cooperation extended beyond technical support, encompassing assistance in establishing production lines for key subsystems. Hyundai Rotem guided Otokar in tank systems development, while MKEK (Turkish mechanical and chemical corporation) received tank gun production technologies. Roketsan (Turkish defense firm) was supported in the design and manufacturing of advanced armor packages. These collaborative efforts were instrumental in the development of prototypes PV1 and PV2, finalized in 2015, and the Altay project's official completion in 2016.[4] On 10 March 2021, BMC, the Turkish contractor responsible for the production of Altay tanks, made a decision to import engines and transmissions from South Korea to address production delays. Seven months later, on 22 October 2021, South Korea’s DAPA approved the export of Hyundai Doosan Infracore (now HD Hyundai Infracore) DV27K engines and SNT Dynamics EST15K transmissions to Turkey. In August 2022, durability testing of the powerpack, combining the DV27K engine and EST15K transmission from South Korea, was successfully completed. Following this success, the first batch of Altay tanks will be produced using this Korean powerpack including engines from HD Hyundai Infracore and transmissions by SNT Dynamics. The tank is in production according to the Turkish media.[5] In 2025, mass production of the Altay tank officially started on 5 September, 2025. b. Poland In January 2020, Poland announced negotiations with Hyundai Rotem for license production of the K2 Black Panther for the Polish Army. On 13 June 2022, the Polish Ministry of Defense announced that it had signed a memorandum of understanding (MOU) to buy at least 180 K2 tanks for the Polish military. On 27 July 2022, the Polish Armaments Group (PGZ) and Hyundai Rotem signed a framework agreement to provide 180 K2s and 820 K2PLs. The contract included rapid arms supply and extensive technology transfer from South Korea. According to the contract, 180 K2s will be produced in South Korea and delivered to Poland starting in 2022, and 820 K2PLs will be produced in Poland under license beginning in 2026.[6] On 26 August 2022, the first executive agreement worth $3.37 billion was signed to procure 180 K2s in Morąg in northern Poland. The contract included logistics packages, training programs, explosive reactive armor packages, 50,000 120 mm, 4.3 million 7.62 mm and 12.7 mm machine gun ammunition for the K2. Soldiers of the 16th Mechanized Division of the Polish Army were sent to South Korea in October 2022 to participate in the training program. The 180 K2 tanks will be delivered during the period of 2022-2025 and then be deployed to the 20th Mechanized Brigade, 15th Mechanized Brigade, and 9th Armored Cavalry Brigade in Poland.[7] On 7 September 2022, PGZ and Hyundai Rotem signed a partnership agreement to develop and produce tanks, armored vehicles and ground unmanned systems. The contract included joint cooperation in building manufacturing facilities in Poland for the production and maintenance of 1000 K2 tanks and the production of K3 next-generation battle tanks. The facilities to be built in Poland will be used as a hub in Europe for the sale and maintenance of Hyundai Rotem’s armed vehicles and tanks. On 5 December 2022, the first 10 K2 tanks arrived in Poland, just “six months” after the signing of the agreement. The tanks were delivered to the 20th Mechanized Brigade of the 16th Mechanized Division on 9 December 2022. On 31 March 2023, the Polish Ministry of Defense signed a foundational agreement with Hyundai Rotem for a consortium to produce K2PL in Poznań. 2. The K9 Thunder (K 9 howitzer) Figure 5: K9 Thunder (source: Wikipedia) The K9 Thunder is a South Korean 155 mm self-propelled howitzer designed and developed by the Agency for Defense Development and South Korean corporations including Samsung Aerospace Industries, Dongmyeong Heavy Industries, Kia Heavy Industry, and Poongsan Corporation for South Korean Armed Forces. It is now manufactured by Hanwha Aerospace. K9 howitzers operate in groups with the K10 ammunition resupply vehicle variant.[8] The entire K9 fleet operated by South Korean Armed Forces has undergone upgrades to K9A1, and a further upgrade variant K9A2 is now tested for production. As of 2022, the K9 series had a 52% share of global self-propelled howitzer market.[9] The K-9 Thunder is superior to the US self-propelled howitzer M109A6 Paladin or the British self-propelled howitzer AS90. The Chinese PLZ-05 has poor recoil and suspension functions as revealed in the released operating video. And the performance of the Russian 2S35 Kalitsa-SV has not been verified. Compared to the German PzH2000 (currently the world’s best self-propelled howitzer), the K-9 Thunder is a cost-effective alternative, offering a similar balance of performance, range, and mobility but at a lower price, making the K-9 a highly successful export system. The main differences between K-9 and PzH2000 lie in cost and performance. The PzH 2000 has been known for its superior automation and slightly higher firing rate, while the K9 Thunder boasts excellent mobility, a better cost-performance ratio, and seamless integration with its K10 ammunition resupply vehicle.[10] For these reasons, as Table 2 shows, the K9 Thunders were exported to a number of countries such as Turkey, India, Norway, Poland, Finland, Estonia, Australia, Egypt, and Romania.  Table 2: Countries to which K9 howitzers have been exported and the number of units under contract, 2001-2024 a. Turkey In May 1999, the Ministry of Defense in South Korea ordered its military attaché in Turkey to arrange a presentation for K9 Thunder. Although Turkey showed interest in K9 Thunder, there was no business deals made as Turkey was planning to produce German Panzerhaubitze 2000 at that time. As Turkey’s plan to build PzH2000 eventually became halted by Germany, South Korea and Turkey signed MOU to strengthen their military and defense cooperation on 18 November 1999.[11] On 12 December, Turkey sent a team of military general and engineers to Korea to inspect K9 Thunder. Satisfied with the K9’s performance, Turkey cancelled its plan to find replacement from Israel and decided to manufacture K9 Thunder. On 19 February 2000, a technology evaluation team from members of the Agency of Defense Development and Samsung was sent to Turkey and inspected various Turkish companies and facilities including Turkish 1010th Army Factory, MKEK, and Aselsan to optimize manufacturing process of K9 in Turkey. On 4 May 2000, the Ministry of Defense in South Korea and Turkish Land Forces Command signed a memorandum of understanding (MOU) to supply 350 K9 systems untill 2011.[12] The prototype was finally assembled on 30 December 2000, and earned the nickname Firtina (Fırtına; Storm). Winter test was held in January and February 2001 at Sarıkamış, and Firtina was able to operate in snowy mountain terrain without issue. A formal contract was signed by Samsung Techwin (formerly Samsung Aerospace Industries) and the Embassy of the Republic of Turkey in Seoul on 20 July 2001. South Korean government promised to transfer the technologies of the Agency for Defense Development to Turkey for free in exchange for Turkey’ purchase of 350 vehicles—280 for Turkish Land Forces and 70 for its future customer—by 2011, which the total is expected to be $1 billion. The first 24 T-155 Firtina consisted of Korean subsystems worth $65 million. The Turkish model was named T-155 Firtina.[13] Hanwha Defense has generated more than $600 million from Turkey since then, much lower than expected. This is because Turkey produced fewer units than planned and because Turkey increased its localization efforts gradually by indigenous research and from technology transfer. b. India On 25 March 2012, South Korean President Lee Myung-bak and the Indian Prime Minister, Manmohan Singh signed Memorandum of Understanding (MOU) to strengthen their economic and military ties. On 29 March 2012 at DEFEXPO, Samsung Techwin and Larsen & Toubro announced their partnership to produce the K9 Thunder in India. According to the agreement, Samsung Techwin will transfer key technologies, and the vehicle will be manufactured under license in India using 50 per cent of the domestic content such as FCS and communication system.[14] Two units of K9 were sent to Thar Desert, Rajasthan for firing and mobility test, and competed against Russian 2S19. Operated by Indian military personnel, the K9 fired 587 Indian ammunitions including Nub round and drove a total distance of 1,000 km. Maintenance test was conducted at Pune, EMI (electromagnetic interference) test at Chennai, and technical environment test was held in Bengaluru until March 2014. K9 Thunder achieved all ROC set by Indian military while the Russian counterpart failed to do so. Hanwha Techwin (previously Samsung Techwin) later told in an interview that the Russian engine performance dropped when the air density is low and in high temperature, the placement of the engine also resulted in the center of the mass located at the rear, making the vehicle difficult to climb high angles. On the other hand, K9 benefitted from automatic control system of the engine, providing the optimum performance based on given condition automatically—this was one of the decisive reason why India selected K9 over 2S19.[15] In September 2015, the Indian Ministry of Defense selected Hanwha Techwin and Larsen & Toubro as preferred bidder to supply 100 K9 Vajra-T to the Indian Army after K9 outperformed 2S19 Msta-S and passed two-year trial. On 6 July 2016, India agreed in purchasing 100 K9 Vajra-T for $750 million. On 29 March 2017, the Government of India approved budget of $646 million for purchasing 100 K9 Vajra-T. A formal contract of $310 million was signed between Hanwha Techwin and Larsen & Toubro in New Delhi on 21 April. According to the contract, Hanwha Techwin will supply first 10 K9 Vajra-T, and 90 K9 will be license produced in India by Larsen & Toubro.[16] In May 2021, it was reported that India’s Defense Research and Development Organisation was working with Larsen & Toubro on a light tank using the K9 chassis with 105 mm or 120 mm gun system to counter China’s Type 15 tank.[17] The Indian Army planned to order an additional 40 K-9 Vajra-T from Larsen & Toubro as of 2021 after completion of high altitude trials at Ladakh under cold climatic conditions. At that time, India was also looking to export the K9 Vajra-T variant to third countries in collaboration with South Korea and its industry partners. As per a report in 2022, the Indian MoD could place a repeat order of 200 K9 Vajra-T worth ₹9,600 crore (equivalent to ₹100 billion or US$1.2 billion in 2023) after satisfactory performance of the guns at high altitude terrain.[18] According to a report in May 2024, the clearance for next 100 units would be approved after the formation of a new government after Indian general election in 2024. The Cabinet Committee on Security cleared the purchase of 100 units on 12 December 2024.[19] The contract, worth ₹7,628.70 crore (US$900 million), was signed with Larsen & Toubro on 20 December 2024 in the South Block, New Delhi. The entire order is to be processed and delivered by the end of 2025. On 3 April 2025, Larsen &Toubro signed another contract with Hanwha Aerospace at $253 million to execute the order.[20] c. Norway In May 2015, Samsung Techwin joined the Norwegian artillery upgrade program to replace Norway’s M109Gs with 24 new systems, competing against the KMW Panzerhaubitze 2000, the Nexter CAESAR 6x6, and the RUAG M109 KAWEST. A single K9 was sent to Norway to join the competition. Operated by a sales team, the vehicle went through tests between November 2015 and January 2016. During the January winter test, the K9 was the only vehicle that managed to drive through meter-thick snow field and fire its weapon without any issue. Competing vehicles experienced engine troubles or broken parts.[21] The K9’s engine was able to maintain heat overnight by simply covering the area with tarpaulin, a simple trick learned from operating experience, allowing the engine to ignite without failure the next day at an extremely cold temperature. The hydropneumatic suspension became a huge advantage for mobility, as its mechanism melted snow on mobility parts much quicker. The test result had also significant impact on Finland and Estonia to acquire K9, because the two nations were invited to observe performances for their artillery replacement. In December 2017, a contract of $230 million was signed between Hanwha Land Systems and the Norwegian Ministry of Defense. According to the contract, Hanwha would supply 24 K9 Thunder and 6 K10 ARV by 2020. The K9 outperformed competitors in various weather and terrain conditions according to Norwegian military officials during trials.[22] The Norwegian variant was named K9 VIDAR based on the K9A1 configuration. In November 2022, Norway decided to purchase 4 K9s and 8 K10s, increasing its total vehicles to 28 K9s and 14 K10s (2:1 ratio). The delivery was expected to be completed in 2 years.[23] In April 2025, it was announced that Norway plans to almost double its K9s by ordering an additional 24 K9s for about $534 million USD.[24] d. Poland i) PK9 (AHS Krab with PK9 chassis) In 1999, Poland joined NATO and launched a military program named Regina Project to replace its 152mm Soviet-era SPGs with the NATO standard 155 mm artillery system. In December 2014, Samsung Techwin signed a cooperation agreement with Huta Stalowa Wola to supply modified K9 Thunder chassis for AHS Krab self-propelled howitzer. The deal is worth $310 million for 120 chassis, which includes related technology transfer and the power pack. From 2015 to 2022, 24 units were scheduled to be manufactured in South Korea, and 96 would be license produced in Poland. First chassis rolled out on 26 June 2015, and all 24 vehicles produced in South Korea were sent to Poland as of October 2016.[25] Late in May 2022, the Polish government sent 18 AHS Krab howitzers to Ukraine to assist the Ukrainian military to defend against Russia during the Ukraine war. On 29 May, Polish minister of defense visited South Korea for high level talks about the purchase of various Korean weapons to increase AHS Krab production. On June 7, Poland and Ukraine signed a contract for the purchase of an additional 54 units plus support vehicles, in a deal worth US$700 million. The agreement was the largest defense contract that Polish defense industry had made.[26] On 5 September 2022, Poland ordered 48 Krabs and other support vehicles for a value of PLN 3.8 billion zlotys (USD $797 million). On 23 December 2024, the contract worth PLN 9 billion for 96 Krabs, command vehicles, command and staff vehicles, ammunition vehicles, and repair workshops was signed. The delivery for this batch was scheduled by the end of 2029.[27] On 8 April 2025, Huta Stalowa Wola signed a ₩402.6 billion deal with Hanwha Aerospace to supply parts and power packs for 87 AHS Krabs between 2026 and 2028. ii) K9PL On 27 July 2022, Polish Armaments Group (PGZ) and Hanwha Defense signed a framework agreement to supply 672 K9PL. Hanwha Defense hoped to expand the deal by adding K10 ARV and K11 FDCV support vehicles. Poland was also expected to produce AHS Krab in parallel; however, due to the low production capability, the deliveries of the existing order will be completed by 2026. On 26 August 2022, an executive contract of $2.4 billion was signed to acquire 212 K9PL manufactured by Hanwha Defense as a Batch I order. Under the contract, Hanwha is responsible for delivery of all 212 vehicles by 30 September 2026. Poland plans to build K9PL locally afterward via technology transfer for the Batch II. On 7 September, Hanwha Defense and WB Electronics signed a $139.5 million deal for installation of Polish communication systems on the Batch I order.[28] The first 24 K9PL(GF) was rolled out on 19 October 2022. The delivery ceremony was held in Poland on 6 December. The first new K9PL began its construction in July 2023.[29] On 1 December 2023, Poland and Hanwha Aerospace signed a $2.6 billion agreement for 6 Batch I K9PLs by 2025, 146 Batch II K9PLs between 2026 and 2027, and integrated logistics support for the howitzers and 155 mm ammunitions.[30] On 4 April 2024, Hanwha Aerospace opened a European office in Warsaw and announced the integration of the K9 and Krab howitzer systems with cooperation from Huta Stalowa Wola to improve the operational and maintenance efficiency of the Polish military. e. Finland On 1 June 2016 at KDEC (Korea Defense Equipment & Component) industry fair, South Korea and Finland signed a MOU for defense cooperation including export of used K9. In July 2016, the Finnish Ministry of Defense announced that an undisclosed number of used K9s have been acquired from South Korea. In September 2016, K9 was field tested in Finland, and Seppo Toivonen, the commander of the Finnish Army, visited South Korea to inspect operating units during 2016 DX Korea. On 25 November 2016, two countries signed MOU to supply 48 used K9 for $200 million and match equal amount of free technology transfer related to vehicle maintenance.[31] On 17 February 2017, the South Korean Ministry of Defense announced that Finland will acquire 48 used K9s over a period of seven years starting in 2018, with conscript training on the equipment begining in 2019. On 2 March 2017, final contract of value of €145 million ($160 million) was signed by two governments in Seoul, South Korea.[32] On 21 October 2021, Finnish Ministry of Defense authorized exercising option to purchase 10 new vehicles including spare parts and supplies—5 in 2021 and another 5 in 2022—for €30 million, increasing the fleet size to 58 vehicles.[33] On 18 November 2022 Finnish Minister of Defense Antti Kaikkonen authorized purchase of another 38 used vehicles for €134 million. The official Finnish designation of the K9 howitzer is 155 PSH K9 FIN, colloquially called Moukari (meaning Sledgehammer). On 4 March 2024, Millog, a Finnish company, signed a contract with the Finish Defense Force to upgrade 48 vehicles purchased in 2021 and 2022 at €8.1 million. The work is expected to be completed by 2030.[34] f. Estonia To reduce the cost for both nations, Finland invited Estonia to jointly procure the K9. In February 2017, Estonian military officials visited South Korea for price negotiations. In June 2018, Rauno Sirk, the director of the Estonian military procurement agency, announced that Estonia would buy K9 Thunder howitzers. Hanwha Land Systems was to supply 12 used K9s for €46 million, which would cover maintenance, parts and training, as in the contract with Finland. In October 2019, the Estonian Ministry of Defense announced that it would exercise the option to purchase 6 additional K9s under the terms of this contract, at an estimated cost of €20 million.[35] In August 2021, the Estonian Centre for Defense Investment (RKIK) signed a €4.6 million contract with Hanwha Defense and Go Craft to modernize 24 K9EST Kõu, hinting at purchasing 6 more for its inventory. The upgrade involves communication systems, a FCS, painting, fire suppression system, and electronics.[36] In September 2022, it was reported that Estonia had purchased 24 vehicles in total. In October, the Estonian defense minister stated that Estonia would procure 12 additional K9s, bringing the total number up to 36 units. In November 2022, Go Craft opened Estonia's first private military workshop, and will start upgrading K9s. In January 2023, Estonia ordered 12 vehicles for €36 million, which will be delivered before 2026. The first Estonian edition by Go Craft was rolled out in February 2023.[37] g. Australia In August 2009, it was reported that the consortium of Samsung Techwin and Raytheon Australia had the upper hand for Australia’s Land 17 artillery replacement program by becoming a sole bidder, as KMW, the manufacturer of the competing Panzerhaubitze 2000, had not provided the detailed offering proposal that Australia requested.[38] The K9 was sent to Australia and was evaluated by the Australian military starting in April 2010. The test included firing M982 Excalibur, a requirement which the K9 satisfied. In June 2010, the K9 became the preferred bidder for the LAND 17 program, but the program was delayed. In May 2019, in the lead-up to the 2019 Federal Election, the Prime Minister of Australia, Scott Morrison, announced that 30 K9 howitzers and associated support equipment, including ten K10 ammunition resupply vehicles, would be acquired for the Australian Defense Forces. No time frame was given for the purchase.[39] In September 2020, the Minister for Defense, Linda Reynolds, announced a request for tender to locally build 30 K9s under the Land 8116 Phase 1 Protected Mobility Fires requirement. The sole-source request for tender was released to the preferred supplier, Hanwha Defense Australia, to build and maintain 30 K9s and 15 K10s, as well as their supporting systems. These would be built at Hanwha Defense Australia's Geelong facility. Australian variant AS9 Huntsman was based on Norwegian K9 VIDAR.[40] In December 2021, the Capability Acquisition and Sustainment Group (CASG) of Australia and Hanwha Defense Australia signed a formal contract of producing 30 AS9s and 15 AS10 AARVs under license at Hanwha Defense Australia facility in Geelong. The estimated value of the deal is $788 million, and manufacturing was expected to start in Q4 2024.[41] Production of AS9 and AS10 began in June 2023. In July, Australian army conducted tests on ammunition compatibility at the Agency for Defense Development test center in South Korea. In August, another Israeli company Epsilor was selected to supply NATO standard 6T Li-ion batteries for the howitzer.[42] On 28 March 2024, Hanwha Aerospace announced the beginning of assembly of two AS9s and one AS10 in Changwon. The remaining 28 AS9s and 14 AS10s will be built at H-ACE in Australia. On 23 August 2024, Hanwha Aerospace invited Korean and Australian government officials for an opening ceremony of H-ACE. The factory will start mass production of AS9 and AS10 in 2024 and deliver all vehicles to the Australian Army by 2027.[43] In December 2024, Hanwha Aerospace delivered two AS9 and one AS10 to Hanwha Defense Australia, and the Australian military received them in January 2025. h. Egypt In 2010, the K9 was evaluated by the Egyptian military to replace its aging artillery fleet. The regional instability resulting from the Arab Spring revolution caused the Egyptian government to postpone the replacing project indefinitely. In April 2017, it was reported that Hanwha Techwin was again in negotiations with Egypt to export the K9 Thunder. Hanwha Techwin sent a K9 howitzer to Egypt in July and K9 test-fired at a range located west of Cairo in August, competing with the French CAESAR, Russian 2S35 Koalitsiya-SV, and Chinese PLZ-45. During the test, the K9 hit a target ship approaching to the shore, successfully performing an anti-access/area denial simulation against enemy ships for the Egyptian Navy.[44] In October 2021, South Korea and Egypt discussed the sale of the K9 Thunder. The estimated value of the deal was $2 billion, including training of technicians.[45] In February 2022, South Korea's Defense Acquisition Program Administration (DAPA) announced that Hanwha Defense had signed a $1.6 billion K9 Thunder export contract at Egypt's Artillery House, attended by Egypt's Ministry of National Defense and key officials from both countries. According to the DAPA, the deal provided for the production of 200 K9A1EGY and 100 K10EGY in Egypt, including technology transfer. An unknown number of the earliest vehicles in the series were to be produced in South Korea and delivered to the Egyptian Army and the Egyptian Navy.[46] The production of the first K9A1EGY was expected in Q4 2022. At a military parade on 25 October 2023, the Egyptian Army unveiled the K9A1EGY in service with the 4th Armored Division. On 1 July 2024, Egyptian media reported that the exact number of South Korean exports was 216 K9A1EGY, 39 K10, and 51 K11. Previously, Egypt received K9A1 and K10 vehicles with 1,000 horsepower Korean-made SMV1000 engines for testing purposes.[47] On 5 October 2024, Arab Defense reported that the Ministry of Military Production in Egypt announced local manufacturing of the SMV1000 engine by the state-owned Helwan Casting Company, also known as Military Factory 9. In addition, Egypt worked with Hanwha Aerospace in transferring manufacturing technology and installing production lines. The Military 200 became the main manufacturer, and the Military 100 would produce the CN98 cannon and armored steel. Moreover, Egypt plans to become the regional center to export the K9 Thunder system to African and Arab countries, and the Minister of Military Production confirmed negotiations with a number of countries.[48] i. Romania On 26 September, 2022, Romanian media reported that the Romanian military was interested in purchasing K9 Thunder and K2 Black Panther. Romania also expressed interest in the K239 Chunmoo multiple rocket launcher and the K21 infantry fighting vehicle. In July 2023, it was reported that Romania planned to acquire 54 (3 systems of 18) K9 Thunders.[49] On 19 June 2024, Romanian Defense Minister Angel Tîlvăr finally decided to buy 54 K9s worth ₩1.3 trillion ($920 million) during an official meeting with South Korean Defense Minister Shin Won-sik. The Romanian version is called K9 Tunet. The first 18 vehicles are expected to completely built at the Changwon factory in South Korea, while the rest will be assembled in Romania. On 9 July 2024, Hanwha Aerospace signed the ₩1.3 trillion contract with the Romanian Ministry to supply 54 K9s and 36 K10s, including ammunition and support equipment packages. Hanwha will deliver the vehicle from 2027 in cooperation with a local defense company in Romania. Meanwhile, Hanwha will deliver 18 K9s and 12 K10s from South Korea.[50] j. Vietnam The negotiation for K9 Thunder began when Nguyễn Xuân Phúc, the president of Vietnam, visited South Korea for the 30th anniversary of diplomatic ties in 2022. In March 2023, Vietnam’s highest military figure Phan Văn Giang and other officials showed interests in the K9 by visiting South Korean Army’s K9 operator unit and discussion with Hanwha Aerospace on the potential K9 procurement for the Vietnam military.[51] In April 2024, it was reported that the Vietnam Ministry of National Defense has officially outlined the K9 procurement plan to its South Korean counterpart, with Korean officials supporting the deal. 108 units was mentioned as the potential purchase number. Vietnam confirmed the purchase on 11 August 2024 during Vietnam Prime Minister Tô Lâm's visit to South Korea. 3. The K239 Chunmoo (천무) Figure 6: K239 Chunmoo (source: Wikipedia) The K239 Chunmoo(천무) is a rocket artillery system developed in 2013 to replace the aging K136 Kooryong(구룡) of the South Korean military. The K239 Chunmoo is a self-propelled multiple launch rocket system (MLRS) capable of firing several different guided or unguided artillery rockets. The Cheonmu has a maximum range of 80km, capable of striking North Korean coastal artillery positions near the Military Demarcation Line and even the Wonsan area. It can fire 12 rounds continuously per minute, striking 12 different targets.[52] The Chunmoo is much better than US military’s HIMARS (High Mobility Artillery Rocket System) multiple rocket launcher in the ammunition capacity. The Chunmoo can fire up to 12 230mm guided missiles in single or burst bursts. Moreover, using 130mm pod-type ammunition (POD) of the same caliber as the Kooryong(구룡), the Chunmoo can fire 20 rounds per pod, for a total of 40 rounds simultaneously. It can also fire the US military’s 227mm MLRS ammunition. The wheeled Chunmoo launcher vehicle boasts excellent mobility, reaching a top speed of 80 km/h. It also has rapid response capabilities, capable of firing its first round within seven minutes of arriving at the firing point, and protection to ensure crew survivability. The Chunmoo boasts an excellent capability of carrying a wide variety of rocket types. The US Hymas, whose effectiveness was recently proven in the Ukraine war, can carry six rockets, while the ATACMS tactical ballistic missile can only carry a single rocket. However, the Chunmoo can fire 130mm rockets (36 rockets per pod), 227mm rockets (6 rockets per pod, two pods), and 230mm rockets (6 rockets per pod, two pods). Unguided 227mm rockets can travel up to 80km, while guided rockets can travel up to 160km, allowing them to strike all major North Korean military targets.[53] The K239 Chunmoo(천무) were exported to United Arab Emirates, Saudi Arabia, and Poland. a. United Arab Emirates (UAE) In 2017, Hanwha Defense announced at ADEX (Aerospace & Defense Exhibition) in Seoul that it had signed a nondisclosure contract worth 700 billion won to export K239 Chunmoo to a certain country in the Middle East. Later it was revealed that the United Arab Emirates signed a supply contract with Hanwha Defense, including 12 K239 Chunmoos, 12 K239T Ammunition Support Vehicles, GPS-guided rockets, and munitions. In February 2021, 12 K239 Chunmoo systems and 12 K239T Ammunition Support Vehicles were delivered to the United Arab Emirates.[54] b. Saudi Arabia At the World Defense Show in Riyadh, Saudi Arabia, on March 9, 2022, Hanwha signed a defense export contract worth 1 trillion won ($800 million) with the Saudi Arabian Ministry of Defense, but details of the contract were not known. It was later confirmed on 31 March 2023 that an unknown number of Chunmoo was in service by the Royal Saudi Land Forces. As in the case of UAE, it is presumed that Saudi Arabia has signed a non-disclosure contract.[55] c. Poland On 27 August 2022, Polish defense minister, Mariusz Błaszczak, said that there were ongoing negotiations to acquire South Korea’s rocket artillery system. On 13 October 2022, Polish Armament Agency announced that the negotiations with South Korea to acquire nearly 300 K239 Chunmoo systems had been completed and the framework agreement was signed on October 17. Poland had originally intended to procure 500 American M142 HIMARS launchers, but such an order could not be fulfilled in a satisfactory timeline, so decision was made to split the HIMARS order into two stages, buying less of them and adding Chunmoo procurement. A supply contract for 288 Chunmoo MLRS mounted on Jelcz 8x8 chassis and equipped with Polish TOPAZ Integrated Combat Management System along with 23 thousand missiles with the range of 80 and 290 kilometers was signed in Poland on October 19, 2022.[56] On 20 August 2023, first Homar-K (Polish version of Chunmoo), which completed system integration and testing in South Korea, was deployed to the 18th Mechanized Division of the Polish Land Forces in Poland.[57] 4. FA- 50 Figure 7: FA-50 (source: Wikipedia) The FA-50 is a light combat aircraft manufactured by Korea Aerospace Industries (KAI) for South Korean Air Force (ROKAF). It is a light combat version of the T-50 Golden Eagle supersonic advanced jet trainer and light attack aircraft. FA-50 aircraft can carry a weapons load of up to 4.5t. The aircraft can be armed with AIM-9 Sidewinder short-range air-to-air missiles, AGM-65 Maverick air-to-ground tactical missiles (AGM), GBU-38/B Joint Direct Attack Munitions (JDAM), CBU-105 Sensor Fused Weapon (SFW), Mk-82 Low Drag General Purpose (LDGP) bombs and Cluster Bomb Units (CBUs).[58] The aircraft is also mounted with an internal, three-barrel 20mm Gatling gun and LAU-3/A 19-tube 2.75″ rocket launcher for firing Folding-Fin Aerial Rockets (FFAR). The wide range of weapon systems aboard the FA-50 jet allows it to counter multiple threats in today’s complex battlefield scenario.[59] The FA-50 platform will be integrated with Lockheed Martin’s Sniper advanced targeting pod (ATP), which is an electro-optical targeting system encased in a single, lightweight pod. It will expand the capabilities of FA-50 with two-color laser spot tracking (LST), high-definition, forward-looking infrared (FLIR), and the Global Scope™ sensor software suite for non-traditional intelligence, surveillance and reconnaissance (NTISR) missions.[60] The FA-50 can be externally fitted with Rafael’s Sky Shield or LIG Nex1’s ALQ-200K ECM pods, Sniper or LITENING targeting pods, and Condor 2 reconnaissance pods to further improve its electronic warfare, reconnaissance, and targeting capabilities. Other armaments include SPICE multifunctional guidance kits, Textron CBU-97/105 Sensor Fuzed Weapon with WCMD tail kits, JDAM, JDAM-ER for more comprehensive air-to-ground operations, and AIM-120 missiles for BVR air-to-air operations. FA-50 has provisions for, but does not yet integrate, Python and Derby missiles, also produced by Rafael, and other anti-ship missiles, stand-off weapons, and sensors to be domestically developed by Korea. The South Korean military is reviewing whether to arm the FA-50 with a smaller version of the Taurus KEPD 350 missile to give it a stand-off engagement capability of 400 km (250 mi). European missile maker MBDA’s Meteor and ASRAAM medium and short-range air-to-air missiles are also reportedly available for integration on the FA-50.[61] Currently FA-50 is operational in South Korea, Indonesia, Iraq, Philippines, Thailand, Poland, and Malaysia. a. South Korea In 2011, the first squadron with the TA-50, the T-50’s light attack variant, became operational with the South Korean Air Forces. In 2014, the FA-50 was officially deployed by the South Korean Air Forces with President Park Geun-hye officially leading a ceremony during which a flight demonstration was held showing its capabilities. 20 FA-50s was assigned its own Air Force wing. 60 FA-50s were ordered by South Korean Air Forces. On October 9, 2014, an FA-50 successfully test fired an AGM-65 Maverick at a stationary target, a retired ship.[62] b. Indonesia Indonesia had been considering the T-50, along with four other aircraft, to replace its BAE Systems Hawk Mk 53 trainer and OV-10 Bronco attack aircraft. In August 2010, Indonesia announced that T-50, Yak-130 and L-159 were the remaining candidates for its requirement for 16 advanced jet trainers. In May 2011, Indonesia signed a US$400 million contract for 16 South Korean T-50s, designated T-50i. They feature weapons pylons and gun modules, enabling light attack capabilities. Deliveries began in September 2013 and the last aircraft were delivered in January 2014.[63] In July 2021, KAI confirmed that it has been awarded a US$240 million contract to supply another batch of six T-50s along with a support and logistics package. c. Iraq Iraq first publicly expressed interest in the T-50 trainers during the Korea–Iraq summit in Seoul on February 24, 2009. In December 2013, Iraq signed a contract for 24 T-50IQ aircraft, a FA-50 variant, plus additional equipment and pilot training over the next 20 years. The first batch of aircraft was delivered in March 2017, while the second batch arrived in May 2018. However, none were flown until June 2022, following the negotiation of a maintenance, logistics and training contract with KAI in November 2021.[64] d. Philippines The Philippine Air Force (PAF) chose 12 TA-50s to fulfill its requirement for a light attack and lead-in fighter trainer aircraft. In January 2013, state media reported that the FA-50 variant, not the TA-50 as previously reported, was selected for procurement. On March 28, 2014, the Department of National Defense in the Philippines signed a contract for 12 FA-50 fighters worth P18.9 billion (US$421.12 million).[65] Deliveries began in November 2015, all 12 aircraft were delivered by May 31, 2017. On January 26, 2017, two PAF FA-50PHs conducted a nighttime attack on terrorist hideouts in Butig, Lanao del Sur in Mindanao, the first combat sorties flown by these aircraft.[66] e. Thailand In September 2015, the Thai government chose Korean T-50TH for its air force over the Chinese Hongdu L-15 to replace its aging L-39 Albatros trainers. In July 2017, the Thai government approved the procurement of eight more aircrafts. Deliveries began in January 2018. The Royal Thai Air Force’s 2024 White Paper outlined a plan to acquire two more T-50TH aircraft in the fiscal year 2025. This acquisition will bring the total number of aircraft in squadron 401 to 16.[67] f. Poland On July 22, 2022, Polish Defense Minister Mariusz Blaszczak announced in a press interview that Poland would purchase 48 FA-50 fighter jets. KAI officially signed a contract with the Polish government on July 28 for 12 FA-50GF (Gap Filler) Block 10 aircraft and 36 FA-50PL (Polish version) Block 20 aircraft.[68] Blaszczak stated that KAI’s ability to quickly deliver aircraft was a decisive factor in the selection. The Russian invasion of Ukraine in 2022 required the Polish Air Force to urgently replace its remaining MiG-29 fighters and Su-22 attack aircraft. However, the United States was unable to supply additional F-16s in such a short timeframe. The FA-50PL contract was awarded for an aircraft version still under development. The FA-50PL is an improved version of the basic FA-50 designed to meet Poland’s specific requirements. Many of these requirements, including the sniper targeting pod, GBU-12 bombs, KGGB guided bombs, and aerial refueling probes, had already been tested and integrated onto the FA-50 platform prior to the Polish order. Other integration plans for the FA-50PL, such as the Phantom Strike AESA radar and Link-16 datalink, were considered challenging, primarily in terms of timing, but not technically impossible.[69] The FA-50PL will be integrated with modern air-to-air missiles such as the AIM-9X Sidewinder and AIM-120 AMRAAM. The FA-50 is a light fighter aircraft similar in size to the F-16. While the FA-50 has limited combat capabilities, it is not without the capabilities and can carry and use certain weapons.[70] The FA-50’s training role has been compared to the Italian M-346 AJT. While the M-346 can simulate a wider range of virtual weapons, it is more expensive to operate than the FA-50. Unlike the M-346, the FA-50 can also be used for training against live targets and has unique combat capabilities. g. Malaysia On February 24, 2023, KAI announced the signing of a $920 million deal with the Malaysian Ministry of Defense for the purchase of 18 FA-50 Block 20 for the Royal Malaysian Air Force’s light combat aircraft (LCA) and fighter in-lead trainer (FLIT) tender, which is intended to replace the Aermacchi MB-339 and Hawk Mk 108/208 currently in service.[71] The FA-50 was in competition with the Indian HAL Tejas, Italian Alenia Aermacchi M-346 Master, Turkish TAI Hürjet, Chinese Hongdu L-15, Russian Mikoyan MiG-35, and Sino-Pakistani JF-17 Thunder. On May 23, 2023, Malaysia signed a $920 million final contract with KAI to purchase 18 FA-50 Block 20s. KAI officials said Malaysia is willing to order 18 more FA-50s later.[72] 5. The KP-SAM Chiron (신궁) Figure 8: KP-SAM Chiron (source: Wikipedia) The KP-SAM Chiron (신궁) is a South Korean shoulder-launched surface-to-air missile manufactured by LIG Nex1. The KP-SAM Chiron was created to protect South Korean troops in the forward area, which started in 1995 under the direction of LIG Nex1. The KP-SAM began production in 2004 with extended trials in early 2005.[73] In late 2005, the KP-SAM entered service with the South Korean Army, after development for nearly 8 years. The KP-SAM was marketed in 2012 for India’s modernization of their VSHORAD system, competing with the RBS 70, the Starstreak, the Mistral-2 and the SA-24.[74] In 2014, Indonesia bought the KP-SAM for integration with the Skyshield 35 mm anti-aircraft system.[75] While the KP-SAM missile system externally resembles a French Mistral system, the entire missile systems including the seeker, control section, warhead and motor were developed and manufactured in South Korea. The missile features integrated IFF systems, night and adverse weather capabilities, a two-color (IR/UV) infrared seeker to aid in negating infrared countermeasures (IRCM) and a proximity-fuse warhead. During development tests, the missile scored a 90% hit ratio. According to Agency for Defense Development officials, the KP-SAM is superior to the American FIM-92 Stinger or the French Mistral in hit probability, price and portability. the KP-SAM had been involved in a missile test where its missile made impact on a low-flying target as high as 3.5 kilometers with a speed of 697.5 m/s (more than Mach 2.36) and a distance range of 7 km.[76] The KP-SAM Chirons are operational in South Korea, Indonesia, Romania. Indonesian Air Force acquired and operated Chirons since 2014 which was integrated with Oerlikon Skyshield 35 mm anti-aircraft gun system. Additional 2 Chirons were transferred to Indonesia according to a 2019 SIPRI small arms report.[77] First systems of 54 KP-SAMs were delivered to Romania in June 2024. The KP-SAM Chirons have been operational in South Korean army since 2005. IV. Conclusion This paper provided an overview of South Korean defense industry and its major military weapons that have been exported to European countries. The future for South Korean defense industry looks bright because of its advanced technology and fast delivery amid ongoing conflicts in Ukraine and Middle East. References [1] For more information, see "Abrams i Czarna Pantera kontra rosyjskie T-14 i T-90M". Default (in Polish). 2023-01-23. [2] Kim Moon-kyung (27 September 2014). “K2 전차 실전배치 후 첫 공개 -- 백발백중.” YTN. [3] For more detailed information, see Wikipedia https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/K2_Black_Panther [4] “Altay National Main Battle Tank of Turkey”. Globalsecurity.org. 5 February 2022. 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Defense & Security
Two special forces soldiers close-up, military anti-terrorism operations concept

The Utilitarian paradox of the War on Terror: Afghanistan and beyond

by Tabinda Sabah

Abstract The War on Terror (WOT) initiated after the September 11, 2001, attacks has been one of the most consequential and complex military and political campaigns in modern history. Looking back it dignifies the idea that the global war on terrorism was an aggression frustration response of US towards the 9/11 attack of 2001. As it not only created a dense overlapping financial burden on the US but also the cost of the invasion was never in favor with US peace and conflict policies. Many scholars argue about the utility of WOT with other ethics of war and conflict mediating techniques along with using the paradigms of realist and liberal theories. But now when the NATO alliances withdrawal enacted the end of a 20-year constitutive war. As the NATO withdrawal marked end of WOT without a remediate response, it enacts a dispersed or iconic philosophical thought that was the WOT was a success or utter failure? This article will foreshadow the events of WOT, NATOs withdrawal and human rights violation that emerge exploring this issue through primary lens of utilitarian paradox in international political theory. Introduction Afghanistan is a multi-diverse state situated in the central south Asia. Its borders are tied by mountain ranges and trading ports submerge in southern and eastern parts of Asia, Europe & the Middle East. The geography of Afghanistan has been a frontier for colonial reign for centuries. From being occupied by the from the USA – USSR post -cold war struggles till the US invasion in Afghanistan in the WOT. Afghanistan has struggled to maintain a monopoly of economy, governance, infrastructural and parental isolation of Taliban within their own boundaries. The WOT was launched by the United States in the aftermath of September 11, 2001. The attack became one of the most contentious military and foreign policy actions in contemporary history. The war which initially aimed to dismantle terrorist organization such as al-Qaeda eliminate the Taliban regime in Afghanistan and secure global peace has lasted over two decades involving not only the USA but also the NATO forces. The centrality of military intervention and counter terrorism efforts in Afghanistan, Iraq and other regions has been met with both support and intense criticism particularly regarding its humanitarian consequences, effectiveness and long –term strategic outcomes. The complex history between the United States and Afghanistan, particularly form the Soviet- Afghan War 1979-1989 to the 9/11 attacks, offers a case study of how international relations, realpolitik, and the principle of utility (central to utilitarianism) can guide state behavior. By examining the role of foreign of U.S. policy in terms of net benefit or harm to global security and human welfare, especially when applying the principle of utility, which aims to maximize well-being and minimize suffering for the greatest number. This article seeks to explore the WOT through the principle of utility, a central concept in utilitarian philosophy. The principle of utility rooted in the works of philosophers like Jeremy Bentham and John Stuart Mill, posits that actions should be judged based on their ability to produce the greatest happiness for the greatest number of people [1]. By applying this principle, the review critically examines the ethical dimensions of the WOT, NATOs involvement and the humanitarian violations that have occurred throughout the conflict. The article is organized into the following sections: 1. Theoretical foundation of utilitarianism along with US and USSR influence in Afghanistan 2. US foreign policy and military strategies during the WOT. 3. NATOs overall assessment of the WOT under the principle of utility. In each section, the analysis will assess the actions taken by the US, NATO and other actors exploring whether the outcomes align with the utilitarian ideal of maximizing overall well-being. 1. Theoretical foundations: the principle of utility in war Utilitarianism is a consequentialist ethical theory that holds that the right course of action is the one that maximizes overall happiness or wellbeing. It evaluates actions based on their outcomes rather than their intrinsic moral qualities. This framework is particularly useful in the context of WOT. The principle of utility can be applied to assess whether the human, financial and political cost of the War were justified by the benefit of greater security, freedom from terrorism and regional stability. While NATO withdrawal from Afghanistan in 2021 has been framed as strategic realignment, it has also triggered a range of human rights violation, most notably the treatment of civilians, the resurgence of the Taliban and plight of women and minorities. This research will critically examine the interplay between the WOT, NATO withdrawal and human rights violation that emerge exploring this issue through primary lens of utilitarian paradox in international political theory. Utilitarian calculus in war: US relations in Afghanistan (1950-1970) The utilitarian calculus involves comparing the benefits of military intervention (such as the defeat of terrorist organizations the promotion of security and the establishment of stable democratic government) against it cost (including civilian causalities, economics expenditure and long-term social destabilization). As the WOT unfolded, the decision –making process in the US and NATO appeared to prioritize short -term security gains over long term humanitarian outcomes. For instances, the US began engaging with Afghanistan as part of its boarder strategy to contain Soviet expansion during the Cold War. The Helmand Valley Project aimed at modernizing the Afghan agriculture, and US aid under King Zahir Shah and Muhammad Dauod Khan government were early manifestation of US interest in Afghanistan. However, Soviet influence also grew particularly through infrastructure projects like the Salang Tunnel. The competition between the US and Soviet Union for influences in Afghanistan explains the context of utility of benefits in a realist perspective where states act primarily acts to protect and expand their own power for the greater benefit of good for the greater number of people. (Morgenthau, 1948). Also, the key challenges in applying the principle of utility to the WOT is determining who benefits and who suffers. for instance, the US and NATO countries may have gained security by weaking terrorist groups, but the Afghan and Iraqi population have borne significant cost in term of civilian causalities, displacement and economic destabilization of the Middle East and growth of radicalization, complicates any simplistic utilitarian evaluation. Under the presumptive analysis of utility: Any war or WOT occurs where there is an imbalance in the collapse of the monopoly of the inter-state relations among the rivalry. Furthermore, from a utilitarian perspective, the US & USSR interventions aimed to protect national security and detain the expansion of the rival superpower. However, the long-term consequences of such competition particularly the US focus on the military aid and covert actions led to the instability, civil war and the eventual Soviet invasion of Afghanistan in 1979. The overall outcome – while achieving short term strategic gains in containing the Soviet influence ultimately disrupted Afghan society, leading to the widespread maximizing welfare for the Afghan people or for the global peace in the long run, as they contributed to a power struggle that further destabilized Afghanistan. Utilitarian critique of preemptive war Utilitarianism also directly critiques the preemptive war doctrine espoused by the George W. Bush administration. The Invasion of Iraq in 2003, based on the belief that Saddam Hussein possessed weapons of mass destruction (WMDs) illustrated a problematic application of utilitarian reasoning. Critics argue that the invasion was not only morally unjustifiable but also inefficient as it caused massive human suffering without achieving its purported goals. According to the utilitarian philosophy such as Peter Singer’s the catastrophic outcomes of the Iraq War – millions of displaced, the loss of thousands of lives and destabilization of regions – far outweighed by any potential benefits in term of preventing future threats to US security. Also, the US influence deterred the rise of the People Democratic Party of Afghanistan which was aligned with the soviet interest. This led to the soviet invasion of Afghanistan in December 1979 intended to prop up the PDPA government. The US response was to support the Mujahedeen Rebels providing them with military aid (including stinger missiles) & funding through intermediaries like Pakistan and Saudi Arabia. Thus, this covert operation was seen as a part of broader Cold War strategy to undermine Soviet influence in the region. In the long run, the intervention was a justified action and response to Soviet expansionism. According to Hans Morgenthau’s principles of international politics states act based on their national interest which in this case was to counter Soviet influence. The US built alliances with the Islamism groups in Afghanistan which while supporting US geopolitical goals led to the creation of radicalized Islamist network, contributing global terrorism. The creation of this network, with groups like Taliban and Al-Qaeda exemplifies the unintended consequences for foreign intervention that may maximize short term strategic benefits but lead to a long–term instability and suffering. The soviet withdrawal left Afghanistan in a state of chaos. The Mujahedeen factions, funded by the US turned against each other, leading to the rise of the Taliban in 1996. Meanwhile, Osama bin Laden, who had been in Afghanistan during the Soviet conflict, founded Al-Qaeda. Al-Qaeda’s rise the Taliban support for them would set the stage for 9/11 attacks. While on September 11, 2001, Al-Qaeda under the leadership of Osama bin Laden, orchestrated the terrorist attack on the United States. The attacks killed nearly 3,000 people and led to the Taliban regime that harbored it and prevent further attacks. Utilitarianism and long-term consequences From a utilitarian viewpoint the US role in fostering Islamic Militancy in Afghanistan can be seen as contributing to a greater global harm in the form of terrorism. The short-term goal of defeating the Soviet Union led to the rise of extremist group that would go on to inflict severe harm globally, culminating in the 9/11 attacks. The utilitarian perspective here emphasizes that although the US successfully countered Soviet expansion, the long–term consequences – including the development of Al-Qaeda and its attacks on the US and other countries – created a greater global security threat. These consequences starkly illustrate the limits of the principle of utility raises important ethical concerns about the methods used and their long–term impacts where interventions create unforeseen global risks. Also, the immediate benefits of the US invasion were clear: the removal of Taliban and the disruption of Al-Qaeda’s operation in Afghanistan reduced the immediate threat of global security. However, the long-term consequences – including the loss of civilian lives, economic costs, and the rise of new insurgencies – raised questions about whether the intervention truly maximized global well-being. The humanitarian cost of War, including the deaths of thousands of Afghan civilians, the destabilization of the country and the ongoing conflict must be weighed against the benefits of preventing further terrorist attacks Moreover, the prolonged US military presence in Afghanistan until their withdrawal in 2021 led to the significant economic and social costs that have yet to be fully realized in terms of global welfare. 2. US Foreign policy and military strategies during the WOT The US action during the WOT was justified under the assumption that eradicating terrorism and ensuring national security would promote greater good, both domestically and internationally. However, the application of the principle of utility raises important ethical concerns about the methods used and their long-term impacts. The WOT initiated by the United States in the aftermaths of September 11, 2001 attacks, fundamentally reshaped international relations and military strategy, particularly in Afghanistan. These interventions, characterized by the use of military force, under the Authorization for Use of Military Force (AUMF) aimed to eliminate Al-Qaeda and dismantle the Taliban regime that harbored them. The US was soon joined by NATO allies in what was labeled operation enduring freedom and later operation led to significant human, political, and humanitarian costs. The Bush administration’s approach to security The Bush administration response to the 9/11 attacks was fundamentally shaped by realist principles of international relations, which emphasize the pursuit of national interest, power, and security in an anarchic international system. Under a realist paradigm, states must act in their own self-interest, often using force to ensure their survival and dominance. This is especially evident in offensive realism, as articulated by scholars like John Mearsheimer, which suggest that great powers seek to maximize their influence and security, often through coercion and military intervention. Under President George W. Bush the primary rationale for the WOT was the principle of self-defense and the protection of citizens from the threat of terrorism. The US government invoking the Bush Doctrine adopted a policy of preemptive military strikes, aimed to maximize the safety for the greatest number of Americans by neutralizing terrorist organization like Al-Qaeda and dismantling the Taliban support for such groups. However, the application of preemptive military force led to significant civilian casualties in Afghanistan and Iraq. According to Amnesty International the US military use of air strikes drone attacks and ground operation led to thousands of civilian deaths raising questions about whether the benefits of eliminating immediate terrorist threats justified the loss of innocent lives. Noam Chomsky and other scholars had argued in the past that the Iraq War, in particular, was a costly endeavor that not only failed to eliminate terrorism but also contributed to the rise of groups like ISIS exacerbating the global security threat in the long-term. This outcome from a utilitarian standpoint challenges the initial justification for the WOT as the human cost seemed disproportionate to the benefits achieved. According to UN reports and media outlets like Al-Jazeera, the conflict resulted in the loss of over 100,000 lives, including both civilians and military personnel. These humanitarian issues, however, were often sidelined in favor of military objectives and maintaining control over Afghanistan’s strategic importance. The principle of utility in military intervention: benefits and harm The principle of utility, central to utilitarianism, seeks to maximize overall well-being and minimize harm. From a utilitarian perspective the effectiveness of military intervention like the WOT can be evaluated by examining whether the benefits – such as the elimination of terrorist threats outweigh the harm caused to civilians, the humanitarian crises and regional instability. In the immediate aftermath of 9/11 attacks the US & NATO military actions were justified on the grounds of protecting the lives of American citizens and global security by dismantling Al-Qaeda and ousting the Talban, in utilitarian terms these goals seemed to promise a net benefit: by limiting al-Qaeda safe haven the intervention could potentially prevent future terrorist attacks on the US and its allies thereby protecting millions of lives. The humanitarian costs and the questions of net utility However, from a utilitarian viewpoint, the long-term harm caused by the intervention, including civilian deaths, displacement, and the destabilization of Afghanistan, must also be factored into the equations. According to various reports including the United Nations and Human Rights Watch, NATO’s military operations in Afghanistan caused widespread civilians being killed or injured. Additionally, the war exacerbated poverty, displacement, and psychological trauma for millions of Afghans. These humanitarian factors, especially when weighed against the limited gains in terms of security, question the net utility. Furthermore, the war led to prolonged instability in Afghanistan, which has seen a resurgent Taliban and the growth of new extremist groups like ISIS-K. This indicates that the intervention did not lead to long-term stability and may have contributed to further global security. The continued suffering of the Afghan people and the rise of new threats to global security (such as the Taliban’s return to power in 2021) suggests that the long-term consequences of the intervention might outweigh its initial benefits, thus failing the utilitarian criterion of maximizing overall well-being. State-building efforts and the decline of utility The US and NATO also pursued the strategy of state-building in Afghanistan which was intended to create a stable democratic government. The hope was that a New Afghan Government would prevent the country from becoming a heaven of terrorists, however, despite significant investment in democratic institutions human rights and social justice the central goal of security remained elusive. The inability to create a functioning state in Afghanistan, coupled with the increase of violence and corruption, indicated that the state-building efforts were not successful in improving the long-term welfare of Afghan population. While the US & NATO intervention in Afghanistan may have been justified through the lens of realism – to secure national interest and protect against terrorism – the utilitarian evaluation of the intervention reveals that the human and geopolitical cost likely outweighed the benefits, calling into question the true utility of the war and its outcomes. Further interventions must weigh these long-term consequences more carefully and seek to maximize the well–being of both local populations and global security. Obama’s counterterrorism strategy: drone warfare The Obama administrations sought to reduce ground troop deployment and shift to a strategy of targeted killings, particularly through the drone strikes, while distancing itself from the controversial Iraq War. This approach not only aimed to minimize US causalities while addressing threat posed by the groups like Al-Qaeda and Taliban. While drone strikes targeted high valued terrorists, like ISIS, Al-Qaeda and Taliban, they also crated collateral damage along with deaths of civilian in Pakistan, Yemen and Somalia while achieving the primary interest of assonating Osama bin laden. The approach of Obama’s administration emphasized the pursuit of national interest, security and state sovereignty in an anarchical international system. Realism often holds the ideal that a state acts in their self-interest, often through military force to ensure their survival and to maintain power relative to other states. Under Obama the core objective of the US foreign policy remained the same: to eliminate terrorist threat to the US and its allies particularly from Al-Qaeda. Also, the decision to continue the Afghanistan War while pulling back from Iraq was largely framed as a more focused, efficient approach to combat terrorism by selective military actions and intelligence, instead of fugitive prolonged war. This principle prioritized the effectiveness of military power over ideological or humanitarian goals. A key feature of the Obama’s realist approach was the unilateral actions the US took to pursue its objectives, particularly in the case of Operation Neptune Spear – the Navy Seal Operation that killed Osama bin Laden in 2011. The operation, conducted in Abbottabad, Pakistan, was not coordinated with Pakistani authorities which led to significant tension between the US and Pakistan. From a realistic standpoint the unilateral actions can be understood as a pragmatic use of military power to neutralize a direct threat to US security. In a world of anarchy, where no global authority can enforce laws, the state must often take matters into their own hands. By conducting a covert operation without seeking Pakistan’s approval, the US acted out perceived self –interest taking actions to eliminate a high valued target who posed an ongoing threat to American citizens and interests. However, Pakistan's sovereignty was violated in this instance, which raised significant international law concerns. Under Article 2(4) of the UN Charter, the use of force by one state on another is prohibited, except in cases of self-defense. The U.S. justified the operation as a self-defense measure, arguing that Bin Laden’s presence in Pakistan was a direct threat to U.S. security, and that the operation was an act of preemptive self-defense against terrorism. From a realist perspective, this is a reasonable justification for intervention, as the preservation of national security often supersedes concerns about sovereignty. From a utilitarian perspective, Obama’s drone strategy presents a moral paradox. While it may have successfully neutralized terrorist leaders and prevented attacks on US soil it also caused significant harm to local populations, violated international law and arguably contributed to anti-American sentiment in affected regions. In this case the benefits to US security were weighed against the moral and human cost of innocent lives lost raising question about whether the outcomes were truly in the service of the greater good. Utilitarian analysis of the Obama administration’s WOT: maximizing security and minimizing harm. The Obama administration’s approach to WOT can also be observed by its ability to maximize overall security and minimize harm both to the US and to civilians of Pakistan and Afghanistan. The idea is to assess whether the benefit of military actions, such as the elimination of high valued targets, outweighs the costs including civilian casualties, displacement of population and the destabilization of the region. One of the key successes of the Obama’s administration was the target killing of Osama bin Laden. The operation provided a sense of closure to the 9/11 attack, which is benefit from the perspective of US public security and national pride. The death of Bin Laden was framed as a symbolic victory over Al-Qaeda, and this may be seen as a positive outcome because it removed a key figure head of terrorism, which could reduce the perceived threat to global security. However, the humanitarian cost of the broader WOT – which included the use of drone strikes and special force operations – were substantial. While drone strikes allowed precise targeting of terrorist operatives, they also led to numerous civilian causalities in Afghanistan, Pakistan, Yemen and Somalia. Drone warfare has been heavily criticized for the lack of transparency, the risk of collateral damage, and the psychological impact on local populations. In the case of Pakistan, the unilateral nature of the Bin Laden’s operation not only undermined Pakistan’s sovereignty but also caused political fallout that weakened the US-Pakistan relationship. The operation demonstrated that US actions even when taken in interest of self–defense could have serious long-term geopolitical consequences, such as the erosion of trust and cooperation between states. From a utilitarian perspective, the broader costs – including the destabilization of US relations with Pakistan particularly when it comes to larger goal of regional stability – outweigh the perceived benefits of the operation. The ethics of targeted killings The increasing use of targeted killing, especially through drone strikes also raised significant ethical concern from a utilitarian perspective. While these operations may have been effective in neutralizing specific terrorist threats, the long-term consequences, including the moral hazard of using covert killings without oversight, can lead to escalations of violence and increased instability in the regions already plagued by a conflict. The principle of utility requires a careful balance of costs and benefits. In many instances, targeted killings have resulted in collateral damage, including the deaths of innocent civilians, which diminishes the overall moral benefit of these actions. Ultimately while the Obama administration efforts had eliminated specific threats and achieved short term gains, the long-term impact of the regional stability and international relations suggest that the utilitarian cost benefits analysis of the WOT points to a more complex legacy. Further interventions must carefully consider both the military objectives and humanitarian cost, to better align actions with the ultimate goal of global security and human flourishing. Trump’s “America First” approach and the cost of withdrawal Donald Trump’s first administration continued the WOT with a focus on unilateralism and reducing US military involvement aboard. The Doha Agreement (2020) negotiated between the Trump administration and the Taliban was a significant shift in the US policy, aiming for the withdrawal of American troops from Afghanistan. While this decision aligned with Trump “American First” philosophy, which prioritized US interest over global obligation, the execution of the withdrawal was chaotic, leading to the rapid resurgence of the Taliban significant humanitarian crises. From a utilitarian perspective the withdrawal decision can be seen as an effort to end a costly and unproductive military engagement that was producing diminishing returns. However, the aftermath of the Taliban returns to power accompanied by the collapse of Afghan government and widespread humanitarian suffering – raises significant doubts whether this decision ultimately maximized the welfare of the Afghan population or the global community. The decision to abandon NATO allies and the Afghan government, left a power vacuum, creating conditions for renewed conflict and humanitarian suffering thus failing to achieve the greater good in the long run. Paradoxically, Trump sought to reduce US involvement in long standing conflicts like Afghanistan which he viewed as a dent on American resources with minimal return in terms of national security. His decision to withdraw NATO forces from Afghanistan reflects this approach, emphasized the reduction of military expenditures and prioritizing domestic issues over international commitments. Trump’s decision to withdraw NATO forces can be viewed as an attempt to minimize the costs of prolonged military engagement while attempting to safeguard American lives. The moral benefit of withdrawal lies in the relief of American soldiers from the ongoing conflict and allowing the US to refocus its attention on the issues perceived as more pressing like economic revitalization & domestic infrastructure. However, the humanitarian consequences of such a move were severe. The Doha Agreement signed in 2020, aimed to facilitate the US withdrawal in exchange for Taliban assurances failed to deliver on key promises such as the protection of human rights and the creation of legitimate Afghan government. The agreement, while offering the possibility of peace did little to address the internal division in Afghanistan or to ensure the long-term stability of the country. The Taliban’s return to power in August 2021 resulted in a swift collapse of the Afghan movement, marking a humanitarian disaster as the Taliban took over Kabul, triggering widespread violence displacement and violation of human rights, particularly women rights. The decision to withdraw without securing a lasting peace agreement resulted in a net negative outcome for Afghanistan civilian population. While the US may have minimized its military risk the benefits of withdrawal were offset by the harm inflicted on the Afghan people. The Doha Agreement and peace talks. The Doha Agreement (February 2020) reflected Trump’s aims of ending the “forever war” in Afghanistan. The agreement led to US-troop reduction in exchange for Taliban promises not to harbor terrorist organization and a commitment to negotiating with the Afghan government. From a utilitarian perspective, the promise of peace talks was intended to maximize overall stability by ending the cycle of violence. However, the exclusion of the Afghan government from the peace talks and the continued violence by the Taliban during that period – undermined the utility of the agreement. The lack of inclusivity in the talks created a perception that US was abandoning its Afghan allies and supporting a regime that had a long history of human rights violation. The net benefit of the Doha Agreement therefore can be seen as limited, as it failed to bring about the desired peace or long-term stability in Afghanistan, while the Taliban rapidly retook the power once the US troops began their withdrawal. Biden’s commitment to ending the WOT Biden decision to proceed with the US withdrawal was framed as a continuation of a long-standing policy of ending the war. Biden argued that the US mission had evolved from counter terrorism to nation-building and that the Afghan government was not capable of holding power without US military support. In his view, the war had become a strategic quagmire, consuming trillions of dollars and thousands of lives without clear, sustainable outcomes. Biden’s decision to withdraw aimed at minimizing the harm to American soldiers and the financial burden of the war. However, the immediate humanitarian impact of the withdrawal was catastrophic. The rapid fall of Kabul in August 2021, months ahead of the scheduled withdrawal, led to scenes of chaos and desperation. The human cost of the disorganized withdrawal, the Taliban resurgences and the human right abuses that followed outweigh the short-term benefits of US troop withdrawals. From a utilitarian perspective, Biden decision to withdraw aimed at minimizing the harm to American soldiers and the financial burden of the war. However, the immediate humanitarian impact of the withdrawal was catastrophic. The rapid fall of Kabul in August 2021, months ahead of the scheduled withdrawal, led to scenes of chaos and desperation, as thousands of Afghan Civilians – including those who had assisted US troop withdrawals. While Biden justified the pullout as a necessary step for ending the war, the immediate aftermath suggested that the overall utility of the withdrawal was minimal, as the Taliban’s return marked a return to an authoritarian rule, with increased repression of women, journalist and other civil society groups. Biden’s foreign policy and NATO’s role Biden’s administration faced significant criticism for its handling of NATO’s withdrawal from Afghanistan. The collapsing Afghan government left NATO allies in a difficult position, as they were forced to evacuated personnel and citizen alongside US forces. The dis-orderly nature of the withdrawal strained NATO alliances, as many European countries felt sidelined by the US decision–making process. From a utilitarian viewpoint, the US withdrawal had a dual impact on NATO. On one hand, it removed NATO forces from an increasingly unpopular and costly conflict, thereby reducing the risk for Western nations. On the other hand, it undermined the credibility of NATO as a security alliance, casting doubt in US commitment to collective defense under Article 5 of the NATO Treaty and creating a vacuum within the EU and NATO that was quickly filled by the resurgence of the Taliban. 3. NATO’s role and withdrawal from Afghanistan NATO roles in Afghanistan were to assist in stabilizing the country after the initial US invasion and to ensure that Taliban could not regain power. However, NATO efforts through significant in terms of resources and manpower were ultimately undermined by the persistent instability corruption and a lack of clear political resolution in Afghanistan. However, the Biden administration faced significant criticism for its handling of NATO withdrawal from Afghanistan. The collapsing Afghan government left NATO allies in a difficult position as they were forced to evacuate personnel and citizens alongside US forces. The disorderly nature of the withdrawal strained NATO alliances as many European countries felt sidelined by the US decision-making process. From a utilitarian viewpoint the US withdrawal had a dual impact on NATO. As it undermined the credibility of collective defense under article 5 of the NATO Treaty, the EU and NATO allies faced the challenge of reassessing their own defense strategies as they were left to cope with the vacuum created by the US pullout and the resurgence of the Taliban. The Utility of NATO’s Intervention was framed as a collective security mission aimed preventing terrorism and fostering a stable democratic Afghanistan. From a utilitarian perspective NATO goal was to promote peace and security for the Afghan people while supporting the broader international community fight against terrorism. NATO actions contributed to civilian casualties raising ethical concern about the cost-benefit ratio of the intervention. The chaotic withdrawal in 2021 mirrored under President Biden was another critical juncture in the WOT. The sudden collapse of the Afghan government and the Taliban swifts return to power raised questions about the utility of NATO long-term involvement in Afghanistan. The withdrawal did not produce a greater good as the human cost of Taliban resurgence, and the subsequent humanitarian crisis significantly outweighed the benefits of the mission. Regional geopolitics and the Taliban’s return to power The Taliban’s rapid rise to power was followed by international recognition from China, Russia, and Pakistan, all of whom were keen engage diplomatically with the new regime. China’s BRI initiative showed interest in Afghanistan’s strategic location, while Russia and Pakistan sought to maintain their regional influenced. From a utilitarian perspective, this shift in regional power dynamics presents mixed outcomes. On the positive side, the Taliban’s reassertion of control over Afghanistan could potentially reduce terrorist activities within the region if the Taliban adheres to the assurances it made to foreign powers regarding counter-terrorism efforts. However, the humanitarian costs, especially for the Afghan population – remain severe. The Taliban’s treatment of women, freedom of speech and other fundamental rights represent a serious human cost that undermines the utilitarian justification for withdrawal. For neighboring countries like Pakistan, the Taliban rise creates a security dilemma as it may embolden domestic insurgents like the Tehreek-e-Pakistan (TTP). This could lead to spiral of violence that destabilizes the entire region, potentially leading to further refugee flows, terrorist activities, and cross conflict. The US withdrawal from Afghanistan, under both Trump and Biden was driven by the goal of minimizing the costs of prolonged military engagement, which from a realist perspective, could be justified as a necessary step in re-orienting US foreign policy. However, from a utilitarian standpoint the humanitarian consequences of the withdrawal including civilian suffering, regional instability, and the empowerment of the Taliban, have largely outweighed the short-term benefits. 4. Humanitarian consequences and civilian casualties and the use of force One of the most striking aspects of the WOT and particularly the US and NATO actions in Afghanistan and Iraq is the humanitarian violations that have accompanied military operations, the principle of utility demands that the human cost of war be carefully considered and yet civilian casualties during the WOT have been significant. According to estimates, more than 200,000 civilians have been killed in Afghanistan alone with additional fatalities in Iraq and other regions affected by the conflict. The extensive use of drone strikes air raids and ground operation against the Taliban’s Al-Qaeda targets has resulted in numerous instances where civilians were killed in the process. While these actions may be justified as targeting terrorist the humanitarian consequences raise question about whether the WOT strategic objective were worth the cost incurred. Utilitarian philosophers like Rosa Brooks argue that this violation which may have been undertaken in the name of security failed to maximize the well-being of those affected, particularly the victims of torture. The collateral damage in terms of civilian suffering and the loss of moral credibility further diminishes the utilitarian justification of these actions. Bush administration: the use of force without legal protection The Bush administration’s labeling of Al- Qaeda as a terrorist organization allowed for the indefinite detention of suspected terrorists with many denied the rights of prisoners of war (POWs) as outlined in Geneva Convention article 3. The US government’s treatment of captured militants, including the decision to not grant them POW status, was a direct violation of international law. The lack of judicial trial, along with the use of military commission to try detainees, highlighted the absences of fair trial guarantees and violated basic principles of justice. Detention and torture: Guantanamo Bay The detention of suspects at Guantanamo Bay and the torture inflicted on prisoners there, became a significant violation of international human rights law. Detainees held in indefinite detention without trial were often subjected to enhance interrogation techniques, which included waterboarding, stress positions and other forms of psychological and physical abuse. These actions violated international conventions, including the Geneva Conventions and the Convention Against Torture (CAT), both of which prohibit torture and inhumane treatment. From a utilitarian perspective, these actions fail to justify the moral harm they caused. The human suffering of detainees at Guantanamo, along with the damage to the US international reputation, cannot be outweighed by the perceived benefits of gathering intelligence. While some argue that torture may have produced vital information, the overall harm caused to human dignity, individual rights and the rule of law suggest a net negative utility. Drone strikes and civilian casualties Drone strikes, particularly in Pakistan, and Afghanistan have been another controversial aspect of the WOT. These strikes, which were often conducted with minimal oversight and without regard for sovereignty of countries, resulted in the deaths of thousands of civilians. In many cases non-combatants, including women and children were killed in mistaken strikes or when their proximity to a target was deemed insufficient to prevent harm. From a utilitarian standpoint, drone strikes can be seen as a high–risk, high-reward strategy. The argument made by proponents of drone warfare is that it minimizes American causalities and prevents terrorist attacks, therefore maximizing American causalities and prevents terrorist attacks, therefore maximizing national security. However, collateral damage and the disruption of communities in targeted countries can lead to the problem. This creates a vicious cycle, while the US attempts to reduce the immediate threat the long-term harm to global stability and human lives is profound. For instance, the 2010 incident in which 23 civilians were mistakenly killed in a drone strike is a clear example of this negative utility. The mistaken targeting of civilian buses underlines the lack of precision and accountability in the US strategy, which when weighed against the loss of innocent lives, cannot be justified under the utilitarian principle of minimizing harm. Obama administration and violation of IHL Under Obama’s administration, the drone strikes campaign intensified with the goal of targeting high valued terrorist and leadership figures within Al- Qaeda and the Taliban. While the strikes may have helped eliminate specific threats, they were often conducted without proper regard for international humanitarian law, particularly distinction (the principle that combatants and civilians must be distinguished) and proportionality (the requirement that military actions must not cause excessive civilian harm in relation to the anticipated military advantage). For instance, Obama’s Operation Neptune Spear, which targeted Osama bin laden in Pakistan, while celebrates as a success in eliminating a key terrorist figure, raised significant legal questions. The operation violated Pakistan’s sovereignty and was conducted without prior consent, in clear breach of the UN Charters provisions against the use of force on foreign soil without permission. A utilitarian may argue that the elimination of bin Laden may have offered short-term benefits in terms of counterterrorism, the long-term consequences – the violation of international law, the deterioration of US-Pakistan relations and the potential for escalated conflict – suggest that the operation caused more harm than good. 5. The economic and social cost of the WOT The financial cost of the WOT was astronomical. According to the US Department of Defense, the total military expenditure in Afghanistan from 2001 until 2020 was around $ 955 billion with estimates that the total cost of the WOT, including related costs, could reach $2 trillion by 2024. This enormous expenditure, while it supported military and intelligence operations, could arguably have been better utilized from a utilitarian argument, for domestic priorities like health care, education, and infrastructure. Furthermore, the opportunity cost, the benefits that could have been derived from using the resources elsewhere, undermines the utilitarian arguments for continuing the war, particularly given the lack of tangible success in achieving long-term peace and stability in the regions affected by the war. The human cost The human cost of the WOT was profound. Thousands of US soldiers, tens of thousands of Afghan civilians and hundreds of thousands of people in the broader region lost their lives. Many others faced psychological trauma and displacement. The US military emphasizes on counter insurgency and drone strikes, while designed to protect American lives, resulted in widespread civilian casualties and displacement in the countries like Afghanistan and Pakistan, further destabilizing the region. Discussion The WOT initiated after September 11, 2001, attacks have been one of the most consequential and complex military and political campaigns in modern history. Looking back there are several key reconditions and conflict mediation on how it could have been handled differently to achieve better outcome, reduced unintended consequences, and hold international law and human rights Applying the principle of utility to assess the overall effectiveness and morality of the WOT reveals a complex picture. While the US and NATO achieved some military successes, including the eliminations of key terrorist leader and the weakening of organizations like Al-Qaeda, these gains were accompanied by profound humanitarian costs. From a short- term utilitarian perspective the WOT may have been justified in terms of protecting US national security and neutralizing immediate threats forms of terrorism. However, when considered from a long-term perspective the human, financial, and strategic costs - especially the rise of radical groups like ISIS, the displacement of millions, and the destruction of entire societies - raised serious doubts about whether the WOT truly maximized global well-being. The ethical implications of the civilian casualties, torture and human rights violation further complicate the utilitarian evaluation. From a utilitarian perspective the WOT appears to have been a failure , the short term benefits such as eliminating terrorist leaders like Osama bin Laden – do not outweigh the long-term harm caused by the war including: humanitarian violation (torture, extra-judicial killing, drone attacks), financial burden (trillions of dollars spent, with little to show in terms of lasting peace or security), social and psychological costs (widespread of causalities in Afghanistan and Pakistan), and erosion of international norms (the violations of the Geneva Conventions, particularly the treatment of prisoners, contributed to the decline of international humanitarian standards). Conclusion The WOT and NATO involvement in Afghanistan and the humanitarian violations that accounted for the military intervention provided a rich case to evaluate the effectiveness of foreign policy through the lens of utility. While the WOT was initially justified on the grounds of maximizing security and protecting national interest in the long-term, consequences including civilian causalities, regional instability and the erosion of human rights suggest that the ultimate outcome were far more ideal. Although the utilitarian studies enacted some tactical victories in the WOT, the overall utility in terms of human rights, financial cost and global stability was negative. As a result, the strategy failed to create sustainable peace and instead resulted in a cycle of violence that ultimately undermined the very values it aimed to protect. Consequently, NATO may have failed to achieve greater good, causing more harm than benefit to both the people in the regions affected and the broader international community. In retrospect, instead of heavy reliance on military interventions the US and its allies could have focused more on intelligence gathering, law enforcement and international cooperation to disrupt terrorist cells before they could act. In short, focused on intelligence and law enforcement, not just military force Moreover, engaging more deeply with moderate Muslim –majority countries and regional allies to counter extremist ideologies and promote development and political stability in the Middle East and beyond would be a good idea. The WOT often alienated large segments of Muslims worlds furling resentment and contribution to the efforts of groups like Al-Qaeda and ISIS. A focus on diplomacy, addressing underlying grievances, and building local political and economic structures would have been more sustainable. Similarly, avoiding overuse of force in Afghanistan and Iraq would have helped. The US-NATO forces could have employed more targeted operations including special forces counter insurgency tactics and precision air strikes, rather than large-scale military invasions and occupations, because these onset of wars accounted for the increase of causalities, which allotted disruption to the laws of wars amendments Furthermore, to ensure lasting peace, it was essential to promote nation building and reconstruction. Military intervention efforts should have focused more on this aspect. Equally important was better adherence to Human Rights and International Law. The WOT should have adhered more strictly to international laws, including the Geneva Conventions and upheld human rights standards to prevent practices like torture, indefinite detention and extraordinary renditions. Actions and unlawful detentions tarnished rage moral authority of the US and its allies and violated human rights standards. This approach not only harmed individuals but also damaged global support for the WOT, leading to accusations of hypocrisy and fueling anti-Western sentiment. The WOT should have been framed as a global problem involving broad cooperation with international organizations like the United Nations and regional coalitions. Finally, addressing the root causes of terrorism - poverty, education, and political grievances -was crucial. Public diplomacy and soft power should have been used more effectively; the US should have relied more on cultural programs and soft power to counter extremist narratives and build goodwill in Muslim-majority countries. References 1. Amanullah Haidary Azadany. 2016. How Would a Realist Explain the Civil War in Afghanistan? Vol 12. European Scientific Journal file:///C:/U s ers /admin/D ow nloads /7171 -A rticle%20Text - 20870 - 1 -10 -20160330%20(1).pdf 2. Emily Stewart. (2021). the history of US intervention in Afghanistan, from the Cold War to 9/11. https://www.vox.com/world/22634008/us-troops-afghanistan-cold-war-bush- bin-laden 3. Mohammed Ahsan Zia. (2000). An Analysis of Peace-building Approaches in Afghanistan. https://asiasociety.org/analysis-peacebuilding-approaches-afghanistan 4. Trevor Blond in. (2015). Soviet Intervention in Afghanistan, the Saur Revolution, and the Cold War. Volume 2, (2). The Undergraduate Historical Journal at UC Merced. https://escholarship.org/uc/item/5qx01820 5. Julie Lowenstein. (2016). US Foreign Policy and the Soviet-Afghan War: A Revisionist History. https://elischolar.library.yale.edu/cgi/viewcontent.cgi?article=1045&context=applebaum_award 6. Sergey Kyree. (2004). G George Lisa Gee Liska's Realist Alliance Theory s Realist Alliance Theory, and The, And the Transformation of Nato. file:///C:/Users/admin/Desktop/George%20Liskas%20Realist%20Alliance%20Theory%20And%20The%20Transformation%20Of.pdf 7. The U.S. War in Afghanistan. (1991-2021). https://www.cfr.org/timeline/us-war- afghanistan 8. Prabhash K Dutta. (2021). “20 years of 9/11: From Terror to WOT to Return of Terror”. https://www.indiatoday.in/world/story/20-years-of-9-11-from-terror-to-war-on-terror-to-return-of-terror-1851656-2021-09-11 9. Bill Calcutt. (2011). “just war theory and the WOT”. Journal of Policing, Intelligence, and Counter-Terrorism. Research gate publishers. file:///C:/Users/admin/Downloads/Justwartheory-JPICTV6N2-Oct11.pdf 10. Ruairidh Wood. 2020 “Promoting democracy or pursuing hegemony? An analysis of U.S. involvement in the Middle East”. Vol. 6, No. 2. Journal of Global Faultlines’ pp. 166-185. Published by: Pluto Journals. https://www.jstor.org/stable/pdf/10.13169/jglobfaul.6.2.0166.pdf?refreqid=excelsior%3A7b9ad0d28602a07b5febbc678c780c26 11. Md. Mizanur Rahman. (2018). “The US State-building in Afghanistan: An Offshore Balance?” Vol. 23(1). Pp: 81_104.Jadavpur Journal of International Relations. https://journals.sagepub.com/doi/pdf/10.1177/0973598418804292 12. Timothy Hoffman. (2015). “Realism in Action: Obama Foreign Policy in Afghanistan”. Political analysis Vol.16. article 6 https://scholarship.shu.edu/cgi/viewcontent.cgi?article=1019&context=pa 13. Brett Campbell. (2014). “Realist or Liberal? Theoretical Interpretations of the Obama Administration’s Counterterrorism Strategy”. file:///C:/Users/admin/Downloads/B_Campbell%20(2).pdf 14. Luis E. Chiesa & Alexander K.A. Greenawalt. (2012). “Beyond War: Bin Laden, Escobar, and the Justification of Targeted Killing”. https://digitalcommons.law.buffalo.edu/cgi/viewcontent.cgi?article=1343&context=journal_articles 15. Alexander J. (2013)."The Killing of Osama Bin Laden" Law School Student Scholarship. 308. https://scholarship.shu.edu/student_scholarship/308 16. Meghan McGee. (2020).” Europe Needs to Push Back against Trump: Disastrous and erratic policies demand a stronger response. https://foreignpolicy.com/2020/07/10/trump-europe-nato-transatlantic-push-back/ 17. Grant Farr. (2020).” The Afghan Peace Agreement and Its Problems”. Published at International Relations. https://www.e-ir.info/2020/04/06/the-afghan-peace-agreement-and-its-problems/ 18. Aljazeera. (2021). “Inside Story: How will US troop withdrawal affect Afghanistan?” https://www.aljazeera.com/program/inside-story/2021/4/14/how-will-us-troop- withdrawal-affect-afghanistan 19. Furqan Khan. (2021).” The Afghan Conundrum: Taliban’s Takeover and the Way Forward”. https://www.airuniversity.af.edu/JIPA/Display/Article/2759350/the-afghan- conundrum-talibans-takeover-and-the-way-forward/ 20. Vilde Skorpen Wikan. (2015). “How Has the Human Rights Regime Been Affected by 9/11 and the ‘WOT?”. https://www.e-ir.info/2015/08/30/how-has-the-human- rights-regime-been-affected-by-911-and-the-war-on-terror/ 21. Human Rights Watch. (2004). “Enduring Freedom”: bourses by U.S. Forces in Afghanistan”. Vol. 16, No. 3(C). https://www.hrw.org/sites/default/files/reports/afghanistan0304.pdf 22. Jean-Marc Piret. (2008).” The war against terrorism », international law and the growth of unchecked executive power in the U.S.” carin. Info. Vol: 60. https://www.cairn.info/revue-interdisciplinaire-d-etudes-juridiques-2008-1-page-59.html 23. Hilde Eliassen Restad. “The WOT from Bush to Obama: On Power and Path Dependency”. https://www.files.ethz.ch/isn/142735/NUPI-WP-798-Restad.pdf 24. Christopher Paul Kailani Medeiros. (2013). “Neither Legal nor Justiciable: Targeted Killings and De Facto Immunity within the War on Terror”. https://gsj.global.ucsb.edu/sites/secure.lsit.ucsb.edu.gisp.d7_gs-2/files/sitefiles/Medeiros.pdf 25. Afghanistan Independent Human Rights Commission: “Violations of International Humanitarian Law in Afghanistan Practices of Concern and Example Cases”. https://www.refworld.org/pdfid/471f4a500.pdf BBC news. (2021).” Afghanistan: What has the conflict cost the US and its allies? https://www.bbc.com/news/world-47391821

Defense & Security
01/07/2020 Mumbai. India. three warships of the Indian Navy anchored in Mumbai

India-China Rivalry After Galwan: Is the Maritime Front the Next Flashpoint?

by Muhammad Salman , Muhammad Umar Nasir

The Galwan Valley clash (Reuters, 2024) of 15 June 2020 pushed South Asian strategic thinking: competition with Beijing is no longer a single-theatre rivalry. Having pressed advantage on land where it achieved asymmetric leverage, Beijing is increasingly pressing seaward —expanding capability for naval reach and overseas logistics and calibrated “grey-zone” maritime tools —and India must consider the Indian Ocean (Bhatt, 2024) as an equal front of competition if it is to prevent everyday coercion at sea from becoming the region's next crisis. From the Ridge to the Reef: Why the Shift Matters Galwan was a tactical clash whose political and strategic reverberations were felt far beyond Ladakh. New Delhi's post-Galwan posture has not only involved fortified mountain deployments but also renewed emphasis on the Indian Ocean. Beijing's investments in port development, logistics, and longer-range naval capability augment its capacity to influence sea lines of communication that India depends on for trade and energy. Analysts have documented China's growing dual-use presence and stronger commercial ties in littoral states —a geo-economic underpinning to expanding naval reach. China’s Maritime Toolkit: Militia, Coast Guard, and Overseas Access At sea, Beijing prefers calibrated coercion. The People’s Armed Forces Maritime Militia (PAFMM), the China Coast Guard, and the PLAN all operate together to create facts on the water, remaining below the threshold of conventional war. Open-source research shows an increase in militia vessels (CSIS, 2024) linked to Hainan frequent coast guard harassment in contested seas, while overseas logistics and basing (from Djibouti to commercial port arrangements) potential to sustain persistent presence and surge capacity all represent separate components of modern grey-zone strategy. According to the theory of irredentism, China's approach is not unprecedented. In the South China Sea, Beijing has mixed coast guard surveillance, militia swarming, and slow incremental land reclamation to generate facts on the ground and created continued friction with Vietnam (the Paracel and Spratly Islands) and with the Philippines (the 2012 Scarborough Shoal standoff). These examples show how calibrated maritime coercion can cumulatively shift the status quo without descending into outright war. India’s Response: Deterrence, Presence, and Partnership New Delhi has not been idle. The Indian Navy has stepped up its ship and submarine building program, increased patrols of chokepoints, and participated in enhanced joint exercises with partners to signal that it is serious about maintaining a presence in the Indian Ocean (Maqbool & Sharma, 2025). It has also modernized the Coast Guard and MDA networks on the Indian side of the Indian Ocean while developing diplomatic engagement with littoral states to present choices in preference to unilateral submission. Taken together, these actions demonstrate an appreciation that presence matters, as do allied cooperation and indigenous capability. Moreover, India’s maritime capabilities face significant constraints. Its defence budget is far smaller than China’s (India: ~$72 billion vs. China: ~$224 billion in 2023) (Tian, Lopes da Silva, Liang, & Scarazzato, 2024), and its naval share of the defence budget has declined in recent years. India continues to depend heavily on foreign arms imports—Russia alone supplies over 45% of India’s major arms purchases. Additionally, India lacks a network of overseas logistics facilities comparable to China’s “String of Pearls,” (Devonshire-Ellis, 2009) which includes Djibouti, Gwadar, and Hambantota. These vulnerabilities limit India’s ability to sustain prolonged operations far from home ports. Regional Dimensions (ASEAN) While ASEAN as an institution often struggles with consensus on China, its member states—such as Vietnam, Indonesia, and the Philippines—share India’s concerns about grey-zone coercion. Building issue-based coalitions with these countries could complement Quad initiatives, especially in areas like coast guard training, joint patrols, and legal capacity building. How Maritime Competition Can Become Dangerous The ocean's crowded and invisible environment creates acute risk: commercial shipping, fishing boats, coast guards, and naval vessels can operate close together, so what would be an ordinary event raises the stakes into a crisis risk when a coordinated actor exerts calibrated pressure. The ongoing investigations and research writing often discuss militia swarms, Automatic Identification System (AIS) (United States Coast Guard US Department of Homeland Security, s.f.) shutdowns, and coast guard shadows that result in risky close-quarters interactions—where a collision, boarding, or injury can simply become a theatre of escalation to a strategic crisis (VOA, 2023). India is already seeing episodes of this type, and if there is no recognition of what is happening, they risk becoming normalized tactics compared to an episodic problem. Policy decision: Prepare, Partner, Penalize A maritime Galwan—where an ordinary event becomes an escalation to strategic crisis—needs three conditions: improve detection and attribution, broaden regional engagement to build resilience, and deliver credible costs for repeat coercion. Preparation (detection & attribution): India needs to integrate naval, coast-guard and civilian surveillance into a Maritime Domain Awareness (MDA) (IMO, s.f.) architecture that uses spaceborne and underwater sensors, development of standard incident reporting, and speedier protocols for attribution. Preventing or stopping massing of vessels, or identified AIS-indoctrination, is self-deterrent: it removes ambiguity and allows for calibrated, defensible legal responses. This is clear from the RAND’s local security claim —where robust MDA remains the first line of defence in grey-zone contests. Partner (regional resilience): Operationalize partnerships (the Quad, IORA, and bilateral frameworks) to provide coast-guard capacity building, legal assistance, and situational awareness support to vulnerable island and littoral states, and reduce the pool of permissive ports, and strengthen partner enforcement to deny coercive actors easy safe havens, and build diplomatic coalitions so they can be publicly isolated. Penalty (raise costs): India should lead a regional initiative to criminalize deliberate AIS disabling, ship ramming, and state-backed commercial harassment and develop rules with targeted diplomatic and economic penalties for repeat offenders. Purposeful, independently verified documentation of incidents will make penalties credible and raise the political cost of grey-zone campaigns. Operational Measures Specific operational measures include increased coast-guard rapid-response flotillas; more pre-positioned mobile logistics to reduce reliance on distant basing; institutionalizing joint exercises designed to practice non-lethal harassment and gather evidence; and creating a regional maritime incident task force to investigate and publicize coercive acts. These operational measures will raise the expense of coercive campaigns without necessitating an extraordinary expansion of fleets. Conclusion Galwan has imparted a painful lesson to South Asia that rivalry can jump sectors and cause true damage, when states over-reach. In the maritime domain, Beijing can exploit some ambiguity to use coercive measures that are lower cost. India must likewise extend its vigilance and monitoring from the Himalayas to the high seas. However, this is not simply a story of vulnerability: India can use strong Maritime Domain Awareness, increasingly engage with ASEAN and Quad partners, and implement selective measures to raise the costs for coercion to tilt the opportunity to develop norms in the region. The challenge is serious, but the sea does not have to be the next flashpoint or crisis, with alliances and adapting strategy in mind. References Bhatt, P. (2024, 06 16). From the Mountains to the Seas: India-China Competition in the Wake of Galwan. Retrieved from Stimson: https://www.stimson.org/2024/from-the-mountains-to-the-seas-india-china-competition-in-the-wake-of-galwan/ CSIS. (2024, 12 12). Behind the Curtain: An Update on Hainan’s Maritime Militia. Retrieved from Asia Maritime Transparency Initiative: https://amti.csis.org/behind-the-curtain-an-update-on-hainans-maritime-militia/ Devonshire-Ellis, C. (2009, 03 18). China’s String of Pearls Strategy. Retrieved from China Briefing: https://www.china-briefing.com/news/china%E2%80%99s-string-of-pearls-strategy/ IMO. (n.d.). Maritime Domain Awareness. Retrieved from International Maritime Organization: https://www.imo.org/en/ourwork/security/pages/maritime-domain-awareness.aspx Maqbool, R., & Sharma, A. (2025, 01 15). India’s navy launches submarine, warships to guard against China’s presence in Indian Ocean. Retrieved from AP News: https://apnews.com/article/india-navy-submarine-warships-launch-69c138048bb4202a1a409b0b2353a2f4 Reuters. (2024, 10 25). What was the India-China military clash in 2020 about? Retrieved from Reuters: https://www.reuters.com/world/asia-pacific/what-was-india-china-military-clash-2020-about-2024-10-25/ Tian, N., Lopes da Silva, D., Liang, X., & Scarazzato, L. (2024, 04). Trends in world military expenditure, 2023. Retrieved from SIPRI: https://www.sipri.org/sites/default/files/2024-04/2404_fs_milex_2023.pdf United States Coast Guard US Department of Homeland Security. (n.d.). Automatic Identification System (AIS) Overview. Retrieved from Navigation Center: https://www.navcen.uscg.gov/automatic-identification-system-overview VOA. (2023, 05 09). Chinese Militia Boats Cross Indian, ASEAN Warships Exercising in South China Sea. Retrieved from VOA: https://www.voanews.com/a/chinese-militia-boats-cross-indian-asean-warships-exercising-in-south-china-sea-/7085847.html

Defense & Security
Letter tiles, Chinese Yuan bank notes and national flags on a word map. A Belt And Road Initiative concept.

Blocking the Belt and Road: Activation and deactivation of conflicts to contain China

by Alonso Ronald Ortiz García

Introduction Contemporary geopolitical competition has moved away from traditional paradigms of direct military conflict, giving way to more sophisticated forms of strategic rivalry. In this new landscape — where the lines between peace and war are increasingly blurred — the control of critical infrastructure and trade routes has emerged as a fundamental element of national power. The Belt and Road Initiative (BRI) — conceived by Beijing as the most ambitious geoeconomic project since the Marshall Plan — seeks to reshape the Eurasian trade architecture, positioning China as the central node of an integrated connectivity system. However, the events of 2025 reveal that this project does not operate in a strategic vacuum; rather, it faces a coordinated response from rival powers that have developed sophisticated strategies to limit, fragment, or condition its expansion. This article examines the indirect containment strategies directed against the BRI, focusing on one particular dimension: the deliberate activation and deactivation of conflicts as a tool of geoeconomic blockade. Through the analysis of two paradigmatic cases, it illustrates how rival powers can employ geoeconomic methods to block, fragment, or constrain large infrastructure projects by strategically manipulating regional conflicts. Two seemingly disconnected but strategically linked events will be examined — both of which have redefined the struggle for control over Eurasian trade routes. On one hand, the military escalation between India and Pakistan in the southern sector, specifically in the Rajasthan–Sindh–Southern Punjab Corridor; on the other, the peace agreement between Armenia and Azerbaijan, which revived the Zangezur Corridor Project, now under U.S. control. Both events represent concrete manifestations of a new form of great power rivalry centered on the instrumental use of conflicts to systematically obstruct the BRI. Geoeconomics as a Theater of War Geoeconomics, understood as an analytical discipline, examines how geographic, economic, and political factors intertwine to determine the relative power of states within the international system. Within this framework, connectivity infrastructures transcend their technical or commercial nature to become strategic assets capable of altering the regional balance of power. At its core, the BRI represents China’s attempt to create a network of economic dependencies that enables it to project political influence across Eurasia. This network includes both land and maritime corridors connecting East Asia with Europe, Africa, and the Middle East, establishing China as the central node of an integrated commercial system. However, the interconnected nature of this system also generates specific vulnerabilities: the disruption of critical segments can produce cascading effects that compromise the functionality of the entire network. Containment strategies, therefore, do not need to dismantle the BRI entirely to be effective. It is enough to introduce points of friction, uncertainty, or external control in key segments to alter participants’ cost-benefit calculations and reduce the overall attractiveness of the Chinese system. This logic of “selective blockade” allows rival powers to exert disproportionate influence with limited resources. In this context, the strategic activation and deactivation of conflicts emerge as a particularly refined tool. Unlike direct blockades — which require a permanent military presence and entail significant political costs — the manipulation of conflicts enables the introduction of instability indirectly, leveraging preexisting tensions to generate disruptions along critical BRI corridors. Thus, the temporal simultaneity of the India–Pakistan crisis and the resolution of the Caucasus conflict does not constitute a geopolitical coincidence but rather the manifestation of a deliberate geoeconomic containment strategy that employs the selective activation and deactivation of conflicts to block the fundamental pillars of the BRI. Case 1: Activation of the Indo-Pakistani Conflict The China–Pakistan Economic Corridor (CPEC) stands as the flagship project of the BRI in South Asia. With an estimated investment exceeding $60 billion, the CPEC aims to connect China’s Xinjiang region with the Port of Gwadar on the Arabian Sea, providing China with an alternative trade route that bypasses strategic straits controlled by rival maritime powers. The fundamental vulnerability of the CPEC lies in its dependence on Pakistan’s territorial stability—particularly in the southern provinces, where both critical infrastructure and the energy resources that sustain the project are concentrated. This is precisely where the strategy of conflict activation reaches its fullest expression. Following the escalation recorded in May 2025, intelligence analysts suggest that the timing and intensity of the Indo-Pakistani crisis indicate a deliberate activation of preexisting tensions with specific geoeconomic objectives. The impact of a hypothetical Indian incursion into the Rajasthan–Sindh–Southern Punjab belt would not necessarily aim for the permanent occupation of Pakistani territory, but rather for a demonstration of capability to disrupt the territorial continuity of the corridor. This interdiction strategy through conflict activation operates across multiple dimensions simultaneously. On the physical level, temporary control over this belt would effectively sever the connection between southern Pakistan and the routes leading to China, forcing costly detours or temporary suspensions of operations. On the economic level, the mere threat of disruption would significantly increase security and insurance costs for Chinese investments, thereby reducing the projected profitability of the corridor. More importantly, on the psychological level, a successful demonstration of interdiction capability through controlled escalation would create lasting uncertainty about the security of Chinese investments in the region. This uncertainty would not be limited to the CPEC, but would extend to other BRI projects that depend on the stability of strategic partners. The implicit message is clear: China cannot guarantee the security of its trade corridors against the strategic activation of conflicts by rival powers. The temporal dimension of this strategy is particularly sophisticated. The activation of conflicts makes it possible to generate immediate disruptions in the functioning of the corridors, while their eventual deactivation — once the strategic objectives have been achieved — avoids the long-term costs of a prolonged confrontation. This modulation of conflict intensity transforms regional tensions into precise instruments of geoeconomic policy. Access to the hydrocarbon reserves in southeastern Sindh adds an additional layer to this activation strategy. By temporarily controlling these resources during periods of escalation, India would not only obtain direct economic benefits but would also deny Pakistan and China the revenues that could otherwise be used to finance and expand the CPEC. This logic of “resource denial through conflict” is particularly effective in infrastructure projects that rely on sustained revenue flows to justify their initial investments. Case 2: Deactivation of the Armenian–Azerbaijani Conflict The second case illustrates the complementary side of this strategy: the use of conflict deactivation as a mechanism to gain control over critical infrastructure. The Zangezur Corridor, renamed the “Trump Corridor for Peace and International Prosperity” (TRIPP), represents a paradigmatic example of how a major power can insert control points into connectivity networks through the instrumental resolution of conflicts. In August 2025, U.S. mediation in the Armenian–Azerbaijani conflict allowed Washington to obtain exclusive development rights over this corridor for 99 years, effectively transforming what could have been a component of the BRI into an asset under Western control. This maneuver is particularly ingenious because it uses conflict resolution — seemingly a global public good — as a tool for broader geoeconomic objectives. The conflict deactivation strategy operates under a logic that is different but complementary to activation. While activation seeks to generate immediate disruptions in existing corridors, deactivation enables lasting control over critical segments of the connectivity network through the establishment of new contractual and regulatory frameworks that emerge from the peace process. The TRIPP occupies a crucial strategic position within the Eurasian connectivity network. As part of the Trans-Caspian Corridor (the so-called “Middle Corridor”), it provides a direct land route between Central Asia and Europe that bypasses both Russia and Iran. For China, this corridor represented a vital alternative to reduce its dependence on routes controlled by rival powers. However, by securing contractual control over the TRIPP segment through the instrumental deactivation of the conflict, the United States effectively introduced a strategic bottleneck in the middle of this network. The effectiveness of this strategy lies in its ability to condition the use of the corridor without explicitly prohibiting it. Washington can employ a variety of regulatory, tariff, and security instruments to make the transit of Chinese goods more expensive or cumbersome, rendering the route less attractive to traders and investors. This form of “administrative friction” can be as effective as a physical blockade, but with far lower political costs and reduced risks of escalation. Moreover, control over the TRIPP allows the United States to modulate its policy toward the BRI according to its broader strategic needs. During periods of bilateral tension, it can tighten restrictions on the corridor as a form of pressure; during periods of détente, it can ease such measures as a gesture of goodwill. This flexibility transforms the corridor into a permanent bargaining instrument in Sino–American relations. Integrated Logic: Activation and Deactivation of Conflicts as a Containment System The true sophistication of the analyzed cases becomes evident when one understands that the activation and deactivation of conflicts are not isolated tactics, but rather components of an integrated system of geoeconomic containment. The effectiveness of each element is amplified when they operate in coordination, creating a dynamic that maximizes pressure on the BRI while minimizing costs for the implementers. The activation of conflicts generates immediate disruptions and heightens the perception of risk associated with Chinese projects. Simultaneously, the selective deactivation of other conflicts allows rival powers to establish alternative control frameworks that channel trade flows toward systems under their own influence. This combination produces a “push-and-pull” effect: pushing trade away from routes controlled by China through the creation of instability, while pulling it toward alternatives managed by rival powers through the creation of selective stability. The temporal dimension of this integrated strategy is crucial to its effectiveness. Cycles of activation and deactivation can be calibrated to maximize the impact on long-term investment decisions, generating sufficient uncertainty to discourage future commitments — without creating levels of instability that would undermine the broader interests of the implementing powers. Systemic Dynamics The strategies of conflict activation and deactivation go beyond their immediate tactical objectives to generate broader systemic effects on the BRI and on global geopolitical competition. These effects operate across multiple levels and time scales, creating dynamics that can fundamentally alter the strategic calculations of all actors involved. First, these strategies introduce an element of structural uncertainty deeper than that produced by conventional forms of interference. While direct blockades or sanctions are predictable in their application, the manipulation of conflicts introduces elements of volatility that are far more difficult to anticipate and mitigate. International connectivity depends on the predictability and reliability of trade routes, but when those routes become subject to the unpredictable dynamics of strategically activated conflicts, investor and trader confidence in the system as a whole is eroded. Second, the alternation between activation and deactivation creates a pattern of cyclical instability that complicates long-term planning. Investors must consider not only the current state of stability in a region but also the likelihood that latent conflicts may be activated in the future for geoeconomic purposes. This additional consideration translates into demands for higher returns to compensate for perceived risk, thereby increasing the cost of capital for future BRI projects. Third, the strategy of activation and deactivation can generate demonstration effects that shape third countries’ perceptions of the BRI’s viability. When these countries observe that middle powers can effectively disrupt segments of China’s system by manipulating local conflicts, they may feel empowered to adopt more assertive positions in their own negotiations with Beijing. This dynamic can gradually erode China’s position as a preferred partner for infrastructure projects. Finally, these strategies create dangerous precedents for the stability of the international system. If the activation and deactivation of conflicts become normalized as tools of geoeconomic competition, other actors may adopt similar tactics, fostering a more volatile and unpredictable global environment. China’s Counterstrategies The strategies of conflict activation and deactivation do not operate in a strategic vacuum; rather, they generate adaptive responses from China that can alter their long-term effectiveness. Beijing has developed a variety of counterstrategies specifically designed to reduce the vulnerability of the BRI to this kind of indirect interference. One of the most important responses has been the development of mediation and conflict-prevention capabilities. Recognizing that many of the conflicts which can be strategically activated have roots in genuine, unresolved disputes, China has significantly expanded its involvement in international mediation. This approach seeks to address the underlying causes of instability that could otherwise be exploited by rival powers. At the same time, Beijing has intensified efforts to build early warning systems that enable it to anticipate the imminent activation of conflicts in regions critical to the BRI. These systems combine traditional intelligence with big data analysis and predictive modeling to identify patterns suggesting the external manipulation of local tensions. China has also pursued a more systematic geographic diversification of routes and corridors, developing multiple pathways to the same destinations to reduce dependence on any single segment of the network. This strategy of “planned redundancy” increases system costs but also enhances resilience against selective blockades caused by activated conflicts. A third line of response has been the development of specialized financial and insurance instruments for projects in high-risk regions. These tools allow China to maintain the economic viability of BRI projects even in unstable environments, thereby reducing the impact of conflict activation strategies. Future Projections The analysis of conflict activation and deactivation strategies directed against the BRI reveals the growing sophistication of contemporary geopolitical competition. The examined cases demonstrate that rival powers have developed effective methods to condition, fragment, or disrupt large-scale infrastructure projects without resorting to direct military confrontation, instead employing the strategic manipulation of conflicts as a tool of containment. These strategies represent an evolution of traditional forms of containment operating within the geoeconomic domain, using the interdependence of connectivity systems and their vulnerability to regional instability as vectors of strategic influence. Their effectiveness lies not necessarily in their ability to dismantle the BRI entirely, but in their capacity to introduce cyclical frictions and structural uncertainties that diminish the overall attractiveness of the Chinese system. However, the adaptive nature of geopolitical competition suggests that these activation and deactivation strategies will generate countermeasures and counter-countermeasures that continuously reshape the balance of advantages. China’s capacity to develop alternatives and redundancies, combined with its growing mediation and conflict-prevention capabilities, may eventually limit the effectiveness of these containment tactics. In the long term, competition surrounding the BRI will likely evolve into even more sophisticated forms of geoeconomic rivalry, where the ability to create, control, and protect connectivity networks — as well as to manipulate or resolve the conflicts that affect them — will become a fundamental measure of national power. This dynamic will have far-reaching implications not only for the main actors involved but also for the international system, which will need to adapt to an era in which the strategic activation and deactivation of conflicts has emerged as a central tool in great-power competition. The growing sophistication of these strategies suggests that the future of geopolitical competition will be marked by an increasing instrumentalization of regional conflicts for global geoeconomic objectives, creating new challenges for international stability and requiring the development of normative and institutional frameworks adapted to this new reality. References Chatham House. (2025). India-Pakistan ceasefire remains shaky; relations unlikely to return to status quo. https://www.chathamhouse.org/2025/05/india-pakistan-ceasefire-remains-shaky-relations-unlikely-return-status-quo Consejo Previsional Mundial (WPC). (2025). Informe sobre la brecha de infraestructura en Asia y el impacto de la BRI. La división de los BRICS y la guerra que estamos ignorando entre India y Pakistán. (2025, 8 de mayo). Navarra Confidencial. https://www.navarraconfidencial.com/espana/la-division-de-los-brics-y-la-guerra-que-estamos-ignorando-entre-india-y-pakistan/ La iniciativa de la Franja y la Ruta es un proyecto de cooperación internacional presentado por China en 2013, con enfoque en infraestructura, comercio y conectividad. (2025, 1 de septiembre). Lisanews. https://www.lisanews.org/internacional/iniciativa-franja-ruta-que-es-objetivos/ Le Grand Continent. (2025, 10 de agosto). Al firmar un acuerdo de paz entre Armenia y Azerbaiyán, EE.UU. desplaza a Rusia en el Cáucaso Meridional. https://legrandcontinent.eu/es/2025/08/10/al-firmar-un-acuerdo-de-paz-entre-armenia-y-azerbaiyan-ha-desplazado-trump-a-putin-del-caucaso-meridional/ Ministerio de Defensa de España. (2025). La visión estratégica de la República Popular China en la nueva era: Análisis del Libro Blanco sobre Seguridad Nacional. https://www.defensa.gob.es/ceseden/-/ieee/la_vision_estrategica_de_la_republica_popular_china_en_la_nueva_era_analisis_del_libro_blanco_sobre_seguridad_nacional_2025 Nedopil, C. (2025). Países de la Iniciativa del Cinturón y la Ruta (BRI). Green Finance & Development Center. https://greenfdc.org/countries-of-the-belt-and-road-initiative-bri/ Reuters. (2025, 7 de agosto). EE. UU. asegura un corredor de tránsito estratégico en el acuerdo de paz Armenia-Azerbaiyán. https://www.reuters.com/world/us-secures-strategic-transit-corridor-armenia-azerbaijan-peace-deal-2025-08-07/

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
Bricked wall with stop terrorism sign

Causes of women involement in terrorism

by Eraj Farooqui

AbstractThis paper explores the complex factors that contribute to women's participation in terrorism, a subject that has attracted more scholarly interest, particularly in the wake of 9/11. The discipline is nonetheless politicised and divided despite a great deal of study, which is frequently made worse by a lack of primary data. Women, who are typically thought of as quiet and non-violent, have taken on important roles in terrorist groups, especially during the 1990s, where they have participated in high-profile attacks and leadership roles. The study identifies the main factors: political, religious, personal, and gender equality—that motivate women's participation. Examples show how different organisations differ in that some encourage women to participate actively, while others limit their positions. The study also examines how terrorism has changed over time, with a particular emphasis on its gendered aspects, and assesses how contemporary organisations such as the Islamic State have reshaped the roles of women in terrorist networks. Finally, by illuminating the ideological, cultural, and societal factors that lead to women's radicalisation and involvement, this research offers an in-depth examination of the relationship between gender and terrorism.Keywords:  Terrorism , Women , Political , Religion , Personal , Gender-equality Introduction The reasons behind female terrorism have been extensively studied and debated by numerous academics. Even though there is a wealth of study, a substantial portion of it is contradictory or incomplete. Frequently, the highly politicised word of terrorism has led to contradictory claims in the research. To understand why individuals resort to women terrorism, scholars highlight political, religious, social, and personal causes. In our culture, women were seen as housewives and peaceful members of society, and terrorist groups were controlled by men. Research on women and terrorism can be done on a variety of subjects; however, this paper will mostly focus on the causes of why women participate in terrorism. After 9/11 the academic research on scholarly papers on terrorism have increased by 300% since 9/11.[1] The connection between terrorism and gender is often overlooked due to governments' reluctance to reveal the primary causes and the reluctance to provide reliable data. Researchers often avoid original sources for security reasons. A 2009 review by Karen Jacques and Paul J. Taylor found a reluctance to describe events, excessive narrative analysis, and reliance on secondary sources. [2] The word "terror" comes from the Latin verb "terrere" which means to frighten. It was originally used by the Romans in 105 B.C. to characterise the terror that engulfed Rome during the attack by the Cibri tribe. During the French Revolution’s Reign of Terror, Maximilien Robespierre incited fear among the people.[3]The word "terrorist" was used by Edmund Burkey in the Regicide Peace letter. With the end of Reign of Terror, the word ‘terrorism’ gained popularity.[4] Terrorism, a deliberate use of force or intimidation, is a significant issue in the 21st century, often driven by ideological, religious, or political factors. However, the term "terrorism" has no widely recognised definition. There are four distinct stages of modern terrorism. The first wave of terrorism began in Russia and spread to Western Europe and the United States, using revolutionary and anarchist beliefs.[5]  The final wave is founded on religious beliefs that the world is currently dealing with. This wave started in 1979 when Iran underwent an Islamic revolution. Because of gender norms, terrorists are frequently perceived as masculine attackers. Women are perceived as powerless, passive, and victims during times of conflict, but it is important to remember that if they participate in terrorism, they may pose a greater threat than men.[6]And since 1990, women have gained prominence in terrorist organisations, assuming leadership positions and taking part in more brutal assaults. More media attention is given to female attackers, and people are more curious about the motivations behind their actions. Additionally, terrorist organisations are recruiting more women as a result of this. Although they have historically been involved in terrorist organisations, women's numbers have been small. As an example, the number of female suicide attackers has surged from eight in the 1980s to well over 100 since 2000, indicating a growth in the involvement of women in terrorist actions.[7]  On the other hand as per Bloom’s report over 257 suicide attacks were carried out by female bombers between 1985 and 2010, accounting for 25% of all terrorist incidents. Since 2002, the proportion of female bombers in several nations has surpassed 50%.[8]The first known incidence of female political violence happened in 1878, when Zasulich shot Fedor Trepov, the governor of Saint Petersburg. David Rapoport identified this as one of the four waves of modern terrorism.[9] Weinberg and Eubank claim that women have primarily assumed leadership positions in left-wing revolutionary bands while being assigned to inferior positions in right-wing organisations. They mostly perform supporting and auxiliary functions for numerous religious institutions. [10]Gender, Palestinian Women, and Terrorism: Women's Liberation or Oppression? was written by Anat Berko and Edna Erez. stated that during his questioning, he discovered that many Palestinian men did not approve of women participating in suicide bombings because they saw them as inferior to men.[11] After doing study with a local terrorist organisation, Jacques and Taylor chose 30 male and female suicide bombers. He finished by studying the fact that males prefer to join terrorist organisations for religious and nationalistic reasons, but female suicide terrorists are motivated by personal ones. Mia Bloom’s book the Bombshell: Women and Terrorism examines the motivations of women who participate in terrorism,[12] with an emphasis on relationships, respect, revenge, and redemption. According to Vetter and Perlstein, one of the reasons why women join terrorist organisations is because of gender equality. However, Jacques and Taylor disagree with this notion.[13]The main reason women join the LTTE is to fight for gender equality; they participate in every aspect of the group and do so to avoid being discriminated against and repressed by the male-dominated society.  The following studies will provide an academic perspective on the causes of women's involvement in terrorism. The main focus will be on four causes: political, religious, personal, and gender equality, as well as a list of important terror occurrences conducted by female terrorists as a result of some key ideological beliefs. Religious Cause: Religious convictions have been the foundation of many terrorist organisations throughout history. The Crusaders can be categorised as a terrorist group. Although the Crusaders' main objective was to propagate Christianity, they also committed heinous acts of terrorism. The Iranian Revolution of 1979 was the fourth wave of contemporary terrorism, and David Rapport claims that it was the first instance of religious terrorism in the modern era. Religious terrorism's core principle is the promotion of violence in the name of furthering religious beliefs. For example, Al-Qaeda and ISIS promote an Islamic caliphate globally.[14] However, attempting to do so by using cruel and aggressive methods. Islam and terrorism have become more associated since 9/11, as terrorist organisations have posed a serious threat to Western ideologies and societal influences.[15] Gonzalez-Perez notes that suicide bombers frequently use the idea of martyrdom and benefits in the afterlife to lure people into justifying their acts.[16] Women are also part of religious terrorist organisations but there are two argument over women involvement in jihadi group. As explaind by Muhammad Khayr Haykal in his book Al-Jihad wa al-qital fi al-siyasah al-shar'iyyah. 1. Women were seen as having a responsibility in raising money for Jihadis, caring for children, and providing medical treatment.[17] 2.    The Islamic state should set up training facilities for women to learn how to wield weapons and combat techniques, according to Islamic legal expert Muhammad Khayr Haykal. According to him, all Muslims should be held accountable for jihad if it turns into fard ‘ayn, and women must be prepared for this possibility in order to perform their duty. This strategy permits the practice of female jihadism in martyrdom missions and on the battlefield.[18] Role of women in Al-Qaeda According to Robet Pape in his book Dying to Win: The Strategic Logic of Suicide Terrorism.[19]Highlights that male terrorists affiliated with Al-Qaeda oppose women's participation in terrorism. However the Tamil Tigers used twenty-three female attackers, the Palestinians used six, the Lebanese used six, the Chechens used fourteen, and the PKK used ten. Consequently, he concluded that Islamic fundamentalists oppose female fighters.[20] However, after the rise of the Islamic state, which encourages women to join their organisation and accept arms, the Pape argument is no longer regarded as legitimate. For example, some 200 women joined the Islamic State in Syria in 2014 after migrating from Western nations. Additionally, they more than doubled their numbers in 2015, reaching over 550 women.[21] This suggests that the Islamic State may assign women a direct role, such as suicide bombing, in a way that is different from that of many other jihadist organisations, such as the Taliban and Al Qaeda.  In Al-Qaeda the women played a secondary role for.e.g: Al Qaeda also benefited strategically from the assistance that women provided. For instance, the female terrorists of Al Qaeda were strongly using the internet to try to convince men to join the worldwide Jihad. Some males are inclined to join these groups because they feel ashamed of their masculinity as a result of these communication strategies.[22]Women's roles in jihadist organisations are valued in that they bear children and raise them to be potential recruits for terrorist organisations. Usama Bin Laden thanked women by saying: "You have inspired and encouraged [men] to join jihad, and you have raised all the men who fought in Palestine, Lebanon, Afghanistan, and Chechnya, and you are the ones who produced the squadron of heroic men who carried out the raids in New York and Washington."[23] On the other hand Ayman al-Zawahiri's wife, Umayma al-Zawahiri, also urged her "Muslim sisters" to raise their kids on the love of jihad in God's way and "to induce their brothers, husbands, and sons to protect Muslims' lands and properties. To support (male) jihadists with prayers and financial support. [24] Al Khansa'a was one of the authors of the online magazine that inspired Muslim sisters with her articles; while she did not advocate for women to fight in combat, she did counsel them to stay in shape and exercise so they would be prepared for jihad.[25] Al-Qaeda Iraq's founder and Al-Qaeda member Abu Musab al Zarqawi urged Iraqi women to join the military. In Talafa, Iraq, a US military recruiting centre was the target of the first female suicide bomber. According to the announcement made by al Qaeda in Iraq on its website, "A blessed sister carried out a brave strike defending her beliefs. May God include our sister among the group of martyrs.’’[26]According to Mia Bloom the attack was carried out under the alias "ghost group" because it was still forbidden for Al Qaeda Central to collaborate with women on suicide bombings.[27] The identities of male suicide bombers are mentioned by AQI members, but the names of female suicide bombers are never mentioned. As a result, it is challenging to determine the purpose or driving force for their membership in terrorist organisations. Despite the lack of data regarding female suicide bombers, certain enquiries and interviews provide us with comparable reasons why they chose to join AQI as female terrorists. After losing a loved one, women join terrorist organisations in order to kill the offender and get revenge for the deaths of their husbands and brothers. Furthermore, AQI members urged young females to die as martyrs, claiming that they would immediately enter heaven and be the prophet Muhammad's neighbours.[28] Al-Qaeda is therefore mostly a male organisation that discourages women from engaging in violent activities. Women's roles are limited to becoming teachers, fund-raisers, social media advocates, and moms of potential jihadists. Role of women in Islamic State(IS) Islamic State was founded in 1999. The Islamic State had the greatest number of foreign terrorist fighters in history, making it a unique terrorist organisation. About 41,490 foreign nationals from 8 nations joined the Islamic State with the goal of restoring the caliphate. Of the foreign terrorist fighters, about 4761 (13%) were female. Following Eastern Europe (44%), Western Europe (42%), the Americas, Australia, and New Zealand (36%), and other regions, Eastern Asia had the greatest percentage (70%) of women connected with the Islamic State.[29] The biggest motivation for joining an Islamic terrorist organisation is religion. Women typically played a supporting role in Islamic terrorist organisations prior to the rise of the Islamic State. However, the role of women in these organisations has grown stronger after the fall of Al-Qaeda and the rise of Islamic State in the Middle East. Muriel Dagauque, a Muslim woman who converted to Islam and was married to a Muslim man, was one of the Islamic State suicide bombers. She moved to Iraq with her spouse from Europe in order to become a martyr, and on November 9, 2005, she bombed herself.[30] Many jihadist suicide bombers are comforted by the assurance that they will be sitting next to God (Allah), experiencing only joy and no agony, before the first drop of their blood ever hits the earth.[31]Women joined the Islamic State mostly for religious reasons. Umm Layth, also known as Aqsa Mahmood, was a 21 year old Scottish university student who travelled to Syria to take part in Islamic State terrorist activities. Mahmood expressed her opinions on jihad with the following sentences.: "If not you, then your grandkids or their grandchildren. But do not worry, our cubs will eventually shed your blood. This Islamic dominion will become well-known and dreaded all over the world. Choose a side; this is a fight against Islam. You may either support them or support us.''[32] Role of women Chechnya Terrorism: Islam is the predominant religion in Chechnya, and Wahhabist terror ideology is linked to Chechen terrorism, particularly suicide terrorism.[33]The Wahhabi sect appears to have spread to the Chechen territories through other terror cells in the Middle East, such as al Qaeda.[34] This ideology which glorifies martyrdom and promotes jihad in order to establish a worldwide Muslim caliphate is a rationale for carrying out acts of retaliation and acting on behalf of a national separatist movement.[35] Chechen women, due to their Islamic influence, often wear black and traditional Muslim clothing, such as a head scarf or jilbab, which allows them to conceal weapons and bombs, as seen in the Dulbrov theatre incident.[36] Religion is one factor that contributes to women joining terrorist organisations, but it is not the only one; other factors also play a role. Political Cause According to Gus Martin, terrorism can occur under a variety of circumstances when there is political repression. First, the group is resentful of the injustices they perceive in society. The group also believes that their social dissent is insignificant. Last but not least, the group believes that there are problems with the system that can be fixed, which leads them to confront the conflict.[37] Despite the widespread belief that women do not participate in political violence, women have been planning attacks and taking part in political violence since 1800.[38] Violence is a tactic used by women who are dissatisfied with the government, have their opinions ignored, and are under-represented in organisational structures With anarchist and revolutionary beliefs, anarchism was the beginning point of the first wave of contemporary terrorism, which swept from Western Europe to America. Nonetheless, women's political motive persisted until the second wave of terrorism, when nationalism emerged as the primary driver of women's participation in terrorism.[39] However, they were only allowed to serve as scouts and messengers during the second wave of terrorism. David Rapoport claims that because women once again assumed leadership roles, there are some similarities between the first and second waves.[40] Vera Zasulich shot the governor of St. Petersburg; she said that she had a political purpose for doing so because the governor was well-known for his Polish insurrection and had ordered to execute political prisoner Arkhip Bogolyubov. This infuriated the revolutionary forces, and six people made the decision to kill the governor, but Zasulich was the first to take the initiative. This was the beginning of the first wave of terrorism. Despite the fact that women participated in political violence, her case is notable as the first instance of female political violence in the modern era or the first to be acknowledged. [41] Russian university students founded the group, which specifically targeted political figures. Vera Figner and Gesia Gelfman, Sofia Perovskaya, and three ladies from Narodnaya Volya had a key role in the March 13, 1881, assassination of Russian Emperor Alexander II in St. Petersburg.[42] The reason behind this act was that Tsar Alexander II released his renowned Emancipation Manifesto in 1861 after the Russian intellectuals struggled to achieve their demands. This was intended to end the peasantry's enslavement and, if feasible, bring about a new, more liberal era. Perovskaya and other disappointed reformers decided to accelerate change as it became evident that this new age was a false dawn. As a result, hundreds of revolutionaries left St Petersburg in 1874 to tour the Russian countryside and read pamphlets to the peasants about socialism, nihilism, and anarchism in an attempt to educate them for the day when they would destroy the Tsar.[43] In 1954 the Algerian muslim formed a group called National Liberation Front. Their major goal was to achieve independence from the colonial power France. FLN rose to prominence thanks to its female members, Zohra Drif, Dajmila Bouhard, and Samia Lakhdar. They were able to cross the French checkpoint and leave bombs in various locations, and as a result, three people died in an explosion on September 3, 1956, and several others were injured.[44]This movement occurred at the time of second wave of contemporary terrorism which was based on the idea of nationalism and anticolonialism. As per reports between 1970 and 1984, 451 Italian women joined terrorist organisations and then engaged in political violence. The bulk of these women had degrees and performed identical duties to those of male terrorists, they found, with 35% of them being students, 23% being clerks, secretaries, nurses, technicians, and 20% being instructors. A paramilitary group called Red Brigade was established in 1970 and was engaged in terrorist activities around the nation. Because it supported Italy's withdrawal from NATO and dominated the Marixist-Leninist worldview. Known for its kidnapping and murderous activities, Red Brigades also killed former Italian Prime Minister Aldo Moro and abducted James L. Dozier, a senior US officer at NATO. Barbara Balzerian had murdered him. Many female members of the Red Brigades participated in the group's violent assaults, and Margherita Cagol (Mara), one of the Red Brigade's co-founders and one of the first victim in an armed conflict with the police, became a symbol of the left-wing movement.[45]The most violent communist organisation throughout the 1970s and 1980s was the Red Army Faction which engaged in ideologically motivated terrorism in West Germany. Ulrike Meinhof and Gudrun Ensslin, co-founders, protested consumerism by burning a department store in Frankfurt in 1968.[46] A major problem is the Chechen people's desire for independence from Russia, which is driven by their nationalist and separatist beliefs. In the lengthy history of the Chechen Republic, Russians, have been the target of several violent attacks. Since June 7, 2000, Khava Barayeva and Luisa Magomadova stormed the temporary headquarters of an elite OMON (Russian Special Forces) squad in Alkhan Yurt, Chechnya, sparking the start of Chechnya's "Black Widows" movement. With two fatalities and five injuries, the incident brought attention to the group's notorious actions.[47]According to the report, women were responsible for 47% of all terrorist incidents and 81% of suicide attacks in the Chechen region between 2000 and 2005.[48] For more than 30 years, the Liberation Tigers of Tamil Eelam (LTTE) battled the Sri Lankan central government, mostly because of the Tamil minority's ethnic oppression. Their goal was to establish their own nation in Sri Lanka's north and east.[49] The use of female suicide bombers and the LTTE's high proportion of female members were well-known. The proportion of female LTTE members varied between 20 and 30 percent, with some estimates reaching as high as 50 percent in certain years.[50]According to LTTE theorist Anton Balasingham's wife, Adele Ann, a Tamil woman's decision to join the group was a sign to society that she was dissatisfied with the status quo and had the ability to rebel against authority.[51]To sum up, female revolutionaries have contested the idea that they are less capable of committing acts of terrorism or have less political clout, and. Additionally, nationalism and revolution are the main goals of the majority of terrorist organisations that are focused on women. Personal reason Personal causes, such as revenge, family instability, rape, personal tragedy, and revenge, are important motivations for the individual to join terrorism. Women are more likely to cite these as their original motivation in joining terrorist organizations than men. Mia Bloom, Jaques and Taylor, and Robert Pape have all proposed that the reasons behind female terrorists are different from those of male terrorists. According to them, the emotions of female terrorists such as family problems, discontent, and the desire to commit suicide are what motivate them. These motivations are further divided by Bloom into four categories: respect, relationship, revenge, and redemption. [52] 1. Women who experience sexual assault, including rape, may retaliate violently; some may even choose suicide bombing as a last resort. After women were raped in Iraq, Samira Ahmad Jassim, dubbed the "mother" of suicide bombers, was accused of encouraging rape victims to commit honour suicide and conducting 28 suicide attacks, according to the Die Welt article..[53] 2. During the Chechen War, Russian soldiers sexually assaulted many Chechen women. According to estimates from Doctors Without Borders, 85 percent of Chechen women experienced sexual assault at the hands of law enforcement and military during the Chechen War. Journalist Svetlana Makunina claims that after being drugged and raped, Chechen women were left with no choice but to commit suicide bombing.On the evening of May 21, 1991, LTTE suicide bomber Dhanu killed former Indian Prime Minister Rajiv Gandhi at an election rally in Sriperumbudur, Tamil Nadu. She clarified that she took this action after being gang-raped by Indian peacekeeping troops. 3. Another crucial element that encourages women to join terrorist groups is relationships. Family members and relatives, who are important in the recruitment process, could function as a conduit between the terror group and women. Sidney Jones claims that while some women freely choose to wed male terrorists, others are coerced by their relatives.[54] Many women join ISIS for a variety of reasons, including a desire to contribute to the caliphate, a desire for friendship with like-minded individuals, or direct pressure by family members and acquaintances.[55] For e.g., Shamima Begum was influenced by her friend Sharmena to join IS. Barbara Victor, Army of Roses: Inside the World of Palestinian Women Suicide Bombers stated that instead of acting on their own initiative, female Palestinian suicide bombers are “at the mercy of, or in love with, their handlers.”[56] (women join terrorist organisations because they are forced by male) 4. Guillermo Galdos, and “Eliana Gonzales,” points out that male influence is not an essential prerequisite for recruiting women into violent organizations. In order to join revolutionary movements, women have reported willingly leaving their boyfriends, husbands, and kids. The oldest woman in Columbia's Fuerzas Armadas Revolucionarias de Colombia (FARC), Eliana Gonzales Acosta, for instance, abandoned her husband, sister, and daughter to join the group.[57] 5. Many people who have been directly impacted by the acts of another group resort to terrorism. The revenge theory is the name given to this. An individual is more inclined to engage in terrorism if they have lost a friend or loved one to a terrorist organisation or the military.[58] Additionally, according to Jacques and Taylor, revenge influences people's decision to join terrorist groups.[59] In literature and art, the stereotype that women are more revengeful than males is mirrored. According to William Cosgrove's The Mourning Bride, "Heaven is furious, like love turned to hate, and Hell is furious, like a woman scorned.”[60]Russian negotiator suggests the difference between men and women is that “[Chechen women] are ‘zombified’ by their own sorrow and grief.[61] The Russian and international press called Chechen women bombers "Black Widows" as it was revealed that many were acting in retribution for the deaths of their husbands, kids, and brothers.[62]Since the takeover of the Dubrovka Theatre in October 2002, nineteen female bombers have appeared in black mourning garments with bombs attached to their bodies. They held 850 people hostage for two and a half days. Until Russian forces imposed persecution on the people and executed the terrorist. While these motivations were not limited to revenge or family difficulties, they were also gender specific. There are more men killed in these battles, resulting in an imbalance of women battling for retribution. Furthermore, women constitute the majority of rape victims in these communities, which motivates them to join. Gender Equality: According to Vetter and Perlstein, one of the reasons why women join terrorist organisations is because of gender equality. However, Jacques and Taylor disagree with this notion.[63]FARC, or Revolutionary Armed Forces of Colombia, was established to combat societal inequality and provide women with opportunities for advancement. Despite being predominantly dominated by women, the organization offers women's rights, sexual freedom, and opportunities for advancement in a patriarchal society.[64] FARC recruits in rural areas, where women often have fewer opportunities, highlighting the organization's societal focus on women's rights.[65]A woman who had spent many years of her life in the FARC (Fuerzas Armadas Revolucionarias de Colombia—Ejército del Pueblo, or Revolutionary Armed Forces of Colombia—People's Army) was interviewed by Anne Phillips in 2012.[66]For the numerous reasons mentioned above, this woman, code-named "Athena," joined the FARC before turning thirteen. She explains why she joined this group  as it provides gender equality. She had economic reasons because she was from a rural area and lacked access to economic and educational opportunities. Women in Colombia's rural communities face a lack of opportunities, which leads to prostitution. Many women turn to the FARC as a viable alternative to prostitution. The FARC gives women a stable income. Women turn to the FARC because they are guaranteed food and other requirements. They are given the same opportunities as males and are able to support themselves. Also, by women joining terrorist organizations they are challenging gender stereotypes in their societies. O’Rourke says that women dislike these gender norms and rise out against them in opposition of the stereotyped female in their culture.[67]The LTTE gives women the same incentive to advance gender equality. According to LTTE women, they felt liberated and empowered within the organisation. By establishing sexual limitations and providing equal training chances, the LTTE established an environment that was equal for men and women. Women held leadership roles inside the LTTE and believed they were on par with the men themselves. Often, women join these groups to either learn about or escape gender inequality. CONCLUSION: The primary goal of this article was to examine the primary motivator for women to join terrorist organisations. For more than a century, women have been participating in terrorist activities, but only in recent decades have studies of terrorism examined female terrorists. Political, religious, personal, and gender equality are some of the motivations for women to join terrorist groups and participate in liberation movements. Since the 19th century, women have joined a variety of terrorist organisations; some conduct these horrible deeds to defend their beliefs or territory. Religion is another reason these women wish to sacrifice themselves in the name of Islam. They act in this way because they believe that, despite their crimes, they will be admitted to heaven if they commit murder for Islam. Women's terrorist operations might occasionally be motivated by personal issues. Although forced marriage, family issues, rape, the death of a loved one, and defiance of the patriarchal society are some of the main causes, other traumas could also influence their choices. However, each of the four factors has a major impact on women's decision to participate in terrorism. Al-Qaeda and Islamic State, for example, are heavily influenced by religion. The Tamil Tigers and FARC, on the other hand, are primarily driven by personal motives and gender equality. Furthermore, the political cause of Red Brigade and the National Liberation Front has been their main source of motivation. "Personal, political, and religious motivations are the main cause behind women's involvement in terrorism," claim Cunningham and Bloom. In order to curb terrorists' actions in the modern world, it is critical to comprehend their objectives and the reason behind their organisation. Furthermore, since many highly educated women have joined terrorist organisations, we cannot claim that education may have a major influence. There is extremely little research on gender and terrorism, particularly on women's participation in terrorist actions. To determine the primary reason women, participate in terrorism, we must conduct additional research in this field. Due to the fact that the information offered is highly generalised. What steps should the government take to prevent women from joining terrorist organisations? What other variables might encourage women to join terrorist organisations? Researchers from all social science fields should conduct some research on these pressing concerns as political scientists alone are unable to provide these answers. Bibliography[1] Jessica Shepherd, “The Rise and Rise of Terrorism Studies,” last modified July 3, 2007, accessed December 10, 2024, https://www.theguardian.com/education/2007/jul/03/highereducation.research.[2] Jessica Shepherd, “The Rise and Rise of Terrorism Studies,” last modified July 3, 2007, accessed December 10, 2024, https://www.theguardian.com/education/2007/jul/03/highereducation.research.[3] Ariel Merari, Driven to Death: Psychological and Social Aspects of Suicide Terrorism, 1st ed. 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Pape, Dying to Win: The Strategic Logic of Suicide Terror (NewYork: Random House Books, 2005).[20] Rosemarie Skaine , Female Suicide Bombers (United Kingdom: McFarland, 2006).[21] Erin Marie Saltman and Melanie Smith, Till Martyrdom Do Us Part’: Gender and the ISIS Phenomenon (Institute for Strategic Dialogue, May 22, 2015).[22] Zeynep Bayar, “The Role of Women in Terrorism,” City University of New York (CUNY) , accessed December 15, 2024, https://academicworks.cuny.edu/cgi/viewcontent.cgi?article=4346&context=gc_etds.[23] Nelly Lahoud, “The Neglected Sex: The Jihadis’ Exclusion of Women from Jihad,” Terrorism and Political Violence 26, no. 5 (February 20, 2014).[24] Nelly Lahoud, “Umayma Al-Zawahiri on Women’s Role in Jihad,” Jihadica, last modified February 26, 2010, https://commons.lib.jmu.edu/cgi/viewcontent.cgi?article=1422&context=honors201019.[25] Mia Bloom, “What’s Special about Female Suicide Terrorism,” Gender Studies 28, no. 1–2 (June 1, 2011).[26] “Woman Suicide Bomber Strikes Iraq,” BB, last modified September 28, 2005, http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/middle_east/4289168.stm. [27]Ibid[28] Aqeel Hussein and Damien McElroy, “Mother of All Suicide Bombers’ Warns of Rise in Attacks,” The Telegraph, last modified November 15, 2008, https://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/worldnews/middleeast/iraq/3464411/Mother-of-all-suicide-bombers-warns-of-rise-in-attacks.html.[29] Joana Cook and Gina Vale, From Daesh to “Diaspora”: Tracing the Women and Minors of Islamic State (International Centre for the Study of Radicalisation, 2018).[30] Zeynep Bayar, “The Role of Women in Terrorism,” City University of New York (CUNY) , accessed December 15, 2024, https://academicworks.cuny.edu/cgi/viewcontent.cgi?article=4346&context=gc_etds.[31] Mia Bloom, Bombshell: Women and Terrorism (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2011).[32] Susan Swarbrick, “Scots ‘Jihadi Bride’ Talks of ‘Revenge’ in Hate-Filled Blog,” The Herald, last modified July 6, 2015, https://www.heraldscotland.com/news/13415875.scots-jihadi-bride-talks-of-revenge-in-hate-filled-blog/.[33] W. Andy Knight and Tanya Narozhna, “Social Contagion and the Female Face of Terror: New Trends in the Culture of Political Violence,” Canadian Foreign Policy Journal 12, no. 1 (March 14, 2011).[34] Ibid.,33[35] Ibid.,33[36] LindseyA O’Rourke, “What’s Special about Female Suicide Terrorism?,” Security Studies 18, no. 4 (December 2, 2009): 690.[37] Gus Martin , Understanding Terrorism: Challenges, Perspectives, and Issues , 8th ed. (SAGE Publications, Inc, 2024), 60.[38] Maha Butt, “Feminist IR Theory and Terrorism,” International Affairs Forum, accessed December 16, 2024, https://www.ia-forum.org/Content/ViewInternal_Document.cfm?contenttype_id=0&ContentID=9152#:~:text=Analyzing%20terrorism%20from%20a%20feminist's,female%20terrorists%20as%20'women%20terrorists..[39] David Rapoport, The Four Waves of Modern Terrorism (Washington DC: Georgetown University Press, 2004), 46–73.[40] Elena Gapova, “Gender Equality vs. Difference and What Post-Socialism Can Teach Us,” Womens Studies International Forum 59 (November 1, 2016).[41] “Vera Zasulich,” Wikipedia, https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Vera_Zasulich#cite_note-5.[42]Elena Gapova, “Gender Equality vs. Difference and What Post-Socialism Can Teach Us,” Womens Studies International Forum 59 (November 1, 2016).[43] James Crossland, “The Women Who Ended an Emperor,” History Workshop, last modified April 21, 2021, https://www.mybib.com/#/projects/39m8D0/citations/new/webpage.[44] Zeynep Bayar, “The Role of Women in Terrorism,” City University of New York (CUNY) , accessed December 15, 2024, https://academicworks.cuny.edu/cgi/viewcontent.cgi?article=4346&context=gc_etds.[45] Ruth Glynn , Approaching Women, Terror, and Trauma in Cultural Perspective, 2013.[46] “Andreas Baader and Ulrike Meinhof,” Encyclopedia.com, accessed January 2, 2025, https://www.encyclopedia.com/history/encyclopedias-almanacs-transcripts-and-maps/andreas-baader-and-ulrike-meinhof.[47] Anne Speckhard and Khapta Akhmedova, “Black Widows: The Chechen Female Suicide Terrorists,” The Institute for National Security Studies, last modified August 2006, https://www.inss.org.il/wp-content/uploads/2017/08/Female-Suicide-Bombers-63-80.pdf.[48] Anne Speckhard and Khapta Ahkmedova, “The Making of a Martyr: Chechen Suicide Terrorism,” Studies in Conflict & Terrorism 29, no. 5 (September 22, 2006).[49]Peng Wang, “Women in the LTTE: Birds of Freedom or Cogs in the Wheel?,” Journal of Politics and Law 4, no. 1 (2011).[50] Karla J. Cunningham, “Cross-Regional Trends in Female Terrorism,” Studies in Conflict and Terrorism 26, no. 3 (May 2003).[51]“Liberation Tigers of Tamil Eelam (LTTE),” South Asia Terrorism Portal, https://www.satp.org/satporgtp/countries/srilanka/terroristoutfits/ltte.htm.[52] Karen Jacques and Paul J. Taylor, “Male and Female Suicide Bombers: Different Sexes, Different Reasons?,” Studies in Conflict & Terrorism 31, no. 4 (2008).[53]Mia Bloom, “What’s Special about Female Suicide Terrorism,” Gender Studies 28, no. 1–2 (June 1, 2011).[54] Sidney Jones, “Inherited Jihadism: Like Father, like Son,” International Crisis Group, last modified July 4, 2007, https://www.crisisgroup.org/asia/south-east-asia/indonesia/inherited-jihadism-father-son.[55] Daniel Milton and Brian Dodwell, “Jihadi Brides? Examining a Female Guesthouse Registry from the Islamic State’s Caliphate,” Combating Terrorism Center 11, no. 5 (May 2018).[56]Edward E. Azar, “Protracted International Conflicts: Ten Propositions,” International Interaction 12, no. 1 (January 9, 2008).[57]“GENDER and TERRORISM: MOTIVATIONS of FEMALE TERRORISTS ,” DNI.gov, https://www.dni.gov/files/documents/FOIA/DF-2023-00139-Gender_and_Terrorism_Thesis.pdf.[58]LindseyA O’Rourke, “What’s Special about Female Suicide Terrorism?,” Security Studies 18, no. 4 (December 2, 2009): 710.[59]Karen Jacques and Paul J. Taylor, “Male and Female Suicide Bombers: Different Sexes, Different Reasons?,” Studies in Conflict & Terrorism 31, no. 4 (2008): 322[60] “GENDER and TERRORISM: MOTIVATIONS of FEMALE TERRORISTS ,” DNI.gov, https://www.dni.gov/files/documents/FOIA/DF-2023-00139-Gender_and_Terrorism_Thesis.pdf.[61]Ibid.,63[62] Anne Speckhard and Khapta Ahkmedova, “The Making of a Martyr: Chechen Suicide Terrorism,” Studies in Conflict & Terrorism 29, no. 5 (September 22, 2006).[63]Karen Jacques and Paul J. Taylor, “Male and Female Suicide Bombers: Different Sexes, Different Reasons?,” Studies in Conflict & Terrorism 31, no. 4 (2008).[64]Natalia Herrera and Douglas Porch, “‘Like Going to a Fiesta’ – the Role of Female Fighters in Colombia’s FARC-EP,” Small Wars & Insurgencies 19, no. 4 (January 26, 2009).[65]Mia Kazman, “Women of the FARC,” William J.Perry Center, accessed December 23, 2024, https://wjpcenter.org/wp-content/uploads/2023/09/Women-of-the-FARC.pdf[66]Christine Balling, “Why Women Turn to the FARC -- and How the FARC Turns on Them,” Foreign Affairs, last modified June 1, 2012, accessed December 23, 2024, https://www.foreignaffairs.com/articles/colombia/2012-06-01/fighting-mad.[67]LindseyA O’Rourke, “What’s Special about Female Suicide Terrorism?,” Security Studies 18, no. 4 (December 2, 2009): 702

Defense & Security
Indonesia and Pakistan, two crossed flags isolated on white background. 3d image

Civil-Military Relations in Transition: Learning from Indonesia’s Democratic Reform to Curtail Pakistan’s Military Dominance in Politics and the South Asia Region.

by Muhammad Younus , Halimah Abdul Manaf , Dyah Mutiarin

We explore a crucial comparative study between Indonesia and Pakistan, which have long histories of military intervention in politics. Written by Muhammad Younus and colleagues, it seeks to answer a pressing question: How can Pakistan reduce military dominance in its politics by learning from Indonesia’s democratic reform? The work's central theme is the struggle between military power and civilian supremacy. By analyzing Indonesia’s successful democratization after Suharto’s fall in 1998 and comparing it with Pakistan’s repeated cycles of military rule, the authors highlight institutional, political, and social reforms that can help Pakistan overcome entrenched interventionism. Military Rule in Pakistan: Historical Roots and Persistence Let's trace Pakistan’s persistent military dominance to its security-centric founding context. From independence in 1947, Pakistan faced border conflicts with India and a fragile political leadership that left a power vacuum. The deaths of Jinnah and Liaquat Ali Khan deprived Pakistan of strong civilian leaders, allowing the military to step in as guardian of national survival. Other factors reinforced this role: Border insecurities – the wars with India (1947–48, 1965, 1971, and later crises) created a perception that only the army could guarantee sovereignty.Geopolitics of the Cold War – Pakistan’s strategic location drew U.S. and Western support, channeling resources to the military rather than civilian governance.Weak political institutions – fragmented elites and fragile parties enabled military takeovers in 1958, 1977, and 1999. Economic and business roles of the military – Pakistan’s military developed vast commercial interests, strengthening its autonomy from civilian governments. As a result, Pakistan has spent nearly half its history under direct military rule, with civilian governments often overshadowed by the so-called establishment or deep state. This hybrid arrangement has created enduring instability and undermined democratic consolidation. Indonesia’s Trajectory: From Military Authoritarianism to Reformasi In contrast, Indonesia experienced a different but comparable pattern of military dominance. After independence in 1945, the Indonesian National Armed Forces (TNI) played a founding role in defending sovereignty. Under Sukarno’s Guided Democracy (1957–65), the military expanded its influence, but during Suharto’s New Order (1967–1998), the military became fully entrenched in politics, bureaucracy, and business. The military’s “dual function” doctrine allowed officers to control defense and governance. Civil liberties were suppressed, and military-backed elites monopolized power. However, Suharto’s collapse in 1998 amid economic crisis and mass protests triggered the Reformasi era, which brought sweeping democratic reforms: Military representatives were removed from parliament. The TNI was separated from the police and confined to defense roles. Civil society and student movements mobilized to keep the military in check. Successive civilian governments gradually asserted constitutional authority. While challenges remain, Indonesia is now regarded as one of the most successful cases of democratic transition in Southeast Asia. Comparative Themes Between Indonesia and Pakistan We identify multiple comparative themes that connect and contrast Indonesia and Pakistan. These themes highlight similarities in their historical trajectories and expose the structural differences that explain why Indonesia successfully reduced military intervention while Pakistan continues to struggle. - Muslim-Majority Identity and Political Legitimacy Both Indonesia and Pakistan are Muslim-majority states, and Islam plays a central role in legitimizing governance. In Pakistan, Islam was a founding ideology: the creation of Pakistan in 1947 was justified as a homeland for South Asian Muslims. As a result, the military often presents itself as the guardian of Pakistan’s Islamic identity and territorial integrity, using religion to strengthen its political authority. For instance, General Zia-ul-Haq’s military regime (1977–1988) fused Islamization with military rule, giving the armed forces a dual role as defenders of both faith and nation. Islam also permeates social and political life in Indonesia, but its role in legitimizing military dominance has weakened. Despite being the largest Muslim-majority country in the world, Indonesia developed a more pluralist political identity under Pancasila ideology, which emphasized unity and diversity. This pluralism limited the military’s ability to monopolize religious legitimacy. Thus, while both militaries operated in religious societies, Pakistan’s military more successfully embedded itself as a religious-political actor than Indonesia’s TNI. - Colonial Legacies and Institutional Development Colonial experiences profoundly shaped state institutions. Indonesia’s 350 years under Dutch rule created a centralized but rigid bureaucracy, while Pakistan’s British colonial legacy emphasized indirect rule through local elites. In Indonesia, the Dutch left behind weak political institutions but a militarized control structure, which the TNI easily adopted after independence. In Pakistan, the British institutional legacy emphasized bureaucracy and military professionalism, but weak democratic roots allowed the army to dominate once independence brought political instability. Both states inherited fragile democratic institutions at independence. Still, Indonesia’s authoritarian consolidation under Suharto created a long, stable period of military dominance, whereas Pakistan experienced repeated coups and oscillations between military and civilian governments. - Military Dictatorships and Modes of Authoritarianism Both countries experienced prolonged military dominance, but the nature of their authoritarianism differed. In Indonesia, Suharto’s New Order (1967–1998) created a centralized, corporatist system where the military had constitutional political space under the “dual function” doctrine. Under a stable authoritarian order, the TNI occupied bureaucratic, political, and business roles. Citizens experienced repression, but the system provided economic growth and relative stability until the 1997–98 Asian financial crisis triggered a collapse. In Pakistan, military rule has been more fragmented and cyclical. Generals Ayub Khan, Zia-ul-Haq, and Pervez Musharraf seized power through coups, justifying intervention as necessary to restore stability. However, no institution was as stable as Suharto's system. Instead, Pakistan alternated between weak civilian governments and recurring military takeovers. The instability prevented the military from being permanently curtailed, as civilian institutions remained fragile. - Geopolitics and the Cold War Indonesia and Pakistan were strategically significant during the Cold War, but their alignments diverged. Pakistan aligned closely with the United States, joining alliances like SEATO and CENTO. As a frontline state against communism and later against the Soviet invasion of Afghanistan, Pakistan’s military received significant financial and military aid. This external support strengthened the army as an autonomous actor, independent of civilian oversight. Indonesia, under Sukarno, initially pursued non-alignment and even leaned toward the socialist blocs. But after the failed 1965 coup attributed to communists, Suharto realigned Indonesia with the West, becoming a key anti-communist ally. Unlike Pakistan, however, Indonesia’s external support did not give the TNI unchecked autonomy in the long run. When Suharto fell, the international community supported democratic reform, not military dominance. Thus, while both militaries were empowered by Cold War geopolitics, Pakistan’s international patronage entrenched military supremacy, whereas Indonesia’s geopolitical reorientation facilitated eventual reform. - Demography and Population Pressure Both Indonesia and Pakistan are densely populated developing countries. High population growth, urbanization, and inequality have strained governance. In Indonesia, the population pressure was partly managed through economic growth under Suharto and decentralization after democratization, though inequality and corruption remain challenges. In Pakistan, population growth and poor governance deepened social unrest. Military regimes often justified intervention by claiming that civilian governments failed to manage these pressures. Population dynamics thus fueled instability in both countries, but Indonesia’s reformist elites turned these pressures into momentum for democratization, while Pakistan’s elites often relied on military backing instead. Civil Society and Public Attitudes Civil society is a critical difference. In Indonesia, students, NGOs, and media mobilized strongly during the 1997–98 crisis. Their sustained activism ensured that reforms were not reversed after Suharto’s fall. Public opinion strongly supports civilian supremacy, and the memory of military abuses under Suharto reinforces this sentiment. In Pakistan, civil society is weaker and fragmented. While lawyers’ movements and urban middle-class activism have occasionally resisted authoritarianism (e.g., the Lawyers’ Movement of 2007–09), civil society has not been consistently able to constrain the establishment. However, recent shifts show rising criticism of military interference, suggesting potential for change. Public Mindsets: Shifts in Perceptions Another contribution of this analysis is the changing public attitudes in both countries. In Pakistan, regime changes (such as Imran Khan’s ouster) have shifted from individualistic to collective voting behavior, where people increasingly prioritize national over personal benefits. A shift from state-centric to people-centric perspectives, demanding governance that serves citizens rather than the state or establishment. Growing criticism of military involvement in politics is unprecedented in Pakistan’s history. Stronger participation in elections, with citizens using the ballot to challenge establishment influence. Calls for a new social contract, clarifying the responsibilities of political and military institutions. In Indonesia, public opinion strongly favors civilian leadership and views the military’s role as limited to national defense. While some sectors still favor military involvement in anti-corruption efforts, the dominant sentiment is democratic and reformist. Additional Regional Perspectives: Bangladesh, Myanmar, and Thailand While this study focuses on Indonesia and Pakistan, a broader South and Southeast Asian perspective reveals that civil–military contestation is not unique to these two countries. Bangladesh, Myanmar, and Thailand provide parallel yet distinct experiences of military intervention in politics, enriching the comparative landscape. Bangladesh Since its independence in 1971, Bangladesh has struggled with repeated military interventions. Coups in 1975 and 1982 entrenched the army as a dominant political actor, often presenting itself as the guardian of national stability. Like Pakistan, the military developed political parties and cultivated influence even during civilian rule. However, unlike Indonesia’s post-1998 trajectory, Bangladesh has oscillated between civilian governments led by rival parties (Awami League and BNP) and military-backed caretaker administrations. The persistence of confrontational party politics provides fertile ground for military influence, similar to Pakistan’s fragile democracy. Myanmar Myanmar represents one of the most entrenched military-dominated systems in the region. Since the 1962 coup, the Tatmadaw institutionalized military supremacy under the guise of “discipline-flourishing democracy.” Even during the 2011–2020 hybrid transition, the constitution reserved parliamentary seats and key ministries for the military, limiting civilian authority. The 2021 coup confirmed the Tatmadaw’s unwillingness to cede real power. Compared to Indonesia’s Reformasi and Pakistan’s hybrid arrangements, Myanmar illustrates a worst-case scenario: the military refuses reform and resists domestic and international pressure. Thailand Thailand’s modern political history is punctuated by repeated coups (more than a dozen since 1932). The Thai military often positions itself as the arbiter of political conflict, stepping in during crises and withdrawing after resetting political rules. The 2014 coup, followed by the 2017 constitution, institutionalized military oversight of civilian politics. Unlike Pakistan’s Islam-centered legitimacy or Indonesia’s nationalist developmentalism, Thailand’s military has leaned on monarchy-centered legitimacy and nationalism to justify interventions. Despite periods of electoral democracy, the military’s entrenched influence makes Thailand comparable to Pakistan in terms of cyclical authoritarianism, but distinct from Indonesia’s relatively consolidated democratic transition. Recommendations for Pakistan and Other South Asian Countries We draw from Indonesia’s reform success to propose recommendations for Pakistan. These can be grouped into political leadership, institutional reform, military restructuring, and civil society engagement. Strengthen Civilian Leadership and Authority Pakistan’s repeated political crises stem partly from weak leadership and fragmented parties. To emulate Indonesia, Pakistan’s leaders must: Assert authority over military appointments, ensuring that promotions and postings reflect professional criteria rather than political manipulation. Demonstrate unity among parties by agreeing not to invite or legitimize military intervention against rivals. In Indonesia, elite consensus was critical to sidelining the TNI. Build legitimacy through governance performance, reducing the military’s justification for intervention. Reduce the Military’s Commercial Empire The Pakistan Army runs one of the world’s largest military-business complexes (e.g., Fauji Foundation, Army Welfare Trust). This gives the military financial independence and political clout. We recommend: Gradual divestment of military-run businesses to civilian authorities. Transparent auditing of military-owned enterprises. Laws restricting the army’s involvement in commercial ventures. Indonesia pursued similar reforms by curbing TNI’s business interests after 1998, a move Pakistan could replicate. Pursue Constitutional and Institutional Reforms Civilian supremacy must be enshrined legally. Key steps include: Amending the constitution to clarify the military’s defense-only role. Strengthening parliamentary committees on defense and national security to provide oversight. Enhancing judicial independence to protect civilians from military overreach. Indonesia’s constitutional amendments and reforms limiting TNI’s legislative seats offer a model. Professionalize the Military A professional military is less likely to interfere in politics. Recommendations include: Reforming military training curricula to emphasize apolitical professionalism. Enhancing civilian expertise in defense policy, reducing dependence on military decision-making. Encouraging cross-branch appointments to reduce the Army’s dominance over other services (Navy, Air Force). Empower Civil Society and Media Civil society pressure was a decisive factor in Indonesia’s Reformasi. For Pakistan: NGOs, lawyers, students, and independent media must be supported to demand transparency and accountability. Educational reforms should foster democratic values, encouraging citizens to resist authoritarianism. Digital platforms should be used to strengthen civic activism and counter establishment narratives. Encourage Civil-Military Dialogue and Trust-Building Instead of open confrontation, Pakistan must create structured spaces for civilian-military dialogue. These should: Clarify roles and responsibilities. Build trust so the military sees its institutional strength as linked to democratic stability. Encourage joint decision-making on security issues within constitutional limits. International Support for Reform Indonesia benefited from international backing after Suharto’s fall. Similarly, Pakistan’s reform agenda would require: External partners emphasizing democratic reforms in aid and cooperation. Regional diplomacy reduces Pakistan’s security anxieties, often fueling military dominance. Conclusion Civil-Military Relations in Transition is both a scholarly contribution and a practical guide. Juxtaposing Indonesia’s reformist success with Pakistan’s struggles shows that military interventionism is not inevitable but can be curtailed through leadership, reform, and public mobilization. For Pakistan, the Indonesian example offers hope and caution: reforms require political consensus, a strong civil society, and an unwavering commitment to democratic norms. Without these, cycles of intervention may persist. With them, however, Pakistan could achieve the same democratic consolidation that Indonesia has pursued since 1998. The article emphasizes that sustainable democracy rests on civilian supremacy, institutional reform, and citizen empowerment. Only by embedding these principles can Pakistan move toward stable, democratic governance and curtail the political role of its military establishment. 

Defense & Security
9th September 2025. Kathmandu, Nepal. Gen Z moment destruction in the parliament of Nepal, protest against corrupted Nepalese government and the banned of social media.

How hardships and hashtags combined to fuel Nepal’s violent response to social media ban

by Nir Kshetri

Days of unrest in Nepal have resulted in the ousting of a deeply unpopular government and the deaths of at least 50 people. The Gen Z-led protests – so-called due to the predominance of young Nepalese among the demonstrators – appeared to have quieted down with the appointment on Sept. 12, 2025, of a new interim leader and early elections. But the protests leave behind dozens of burned government offices, destroyed business centers and financial losses estimated in the billions of dollars. The experience has also underscored the importance of social media in Nepal, as well as the consequences of government attempts to control the flow of online information. I study the economic, social and political impacts of social media and other emerging technologies. Being based in Kathmandu, I have watched firsthand as what began as a protest over a short-lived ban on social media snowballed into something far greater, leading to the toppling of Prime Minister K.P. Sharma Oli. Indeed, social media has played a crucial role in this ongoing turmoil in two ways. First, the government’s decision on Sept. 4 to ban social platforms served as the immediate catalyst to the unrest. It provoked anger among a generation for whom digital spaces are central not only to communication, identity and political expression, but also to education and economic opportunities. And second, the pervasive use of these platforms primed the nation’s youth for this moment of protest. It heightened Gen Z’s awareness of the country’s entrenched social, economic and political problems. By sharing stories of corruption, privilege and inequality, social media not only informed but also galvanized Nepal’s youth, motivating collective mobilization against the country’s systemic injustice. The role of social media As with many other nations, social media is central to daily life and commerce in Nepal, a landlocked nation of 30 million people situated between two Asian giants: China and India.   As of January 2025, just short of half the population had social media accounts. This includes some 13.5 million active Facebook users, 3.6 million Instagram users, 1.5 million LinkedIn users and 466,100 X users. Indeed, social media platforms drive roughly 80% of total online traffic in the country and serve as vital channels for business and communication. Many users in Nepal depend on these platforms to run and promote their businesses. As such, the government’s decision to block 26 social media platforms sparked immediate concern among the Nepalese public. The move wasn’t completely out of the blue. Nepal’s government has long been concerned over the growth of social media platforms. In November 2023, the Ministry of Communication and Information Technology introduced new social media regulations, requiring platforms to register with the government, set up a local contact point, appoint a grievance officer and designate an oversight official. Platforms were also obliged to cooperate in criminal investigations, remove illegal content and comply with Nepali law. The Nepalese government, citing concerns over fake accounts, hate speech, disinformation and fraud, said the measures were to ensure accountability and make operators responsible for content on their platforms. Then, in January 2025, the government introduced a Social Media Bill that placed further requirements on social media platforms. Censorship concerns Regardless of their intent, these government measures sparked immediate civil liberties concerns. Critics and rights groups argued that both the ban and the bill function as tools for censorship, threatening freedom of expression, press freedom and fundamental rights. Ncell, Nepal’s second-largest telecommunications service provider, noted that shutting down all platforms at once was, in any case, technically difficult and warned that the move would severely impact business. Small business owners, who rely on social media to promote and sell their products, were especially worried with a busy festive season looming. The ban also had significant implications for education. Many students rely on social media platforms to access online classes, research materials and collaborative learning tools. More generally, the Nepalese public criticized the government’s measures disproportionate impact on ordinary users. As such, this deep reliance on social media by Nepalese society turned the ban into a flashpoint for public dissent. The rise of #NepoKids Even before the protests began on Sept. 8, the pervasive use of social media, along with exposure to content showcasing inequality and elite privilege, had heightened Gen Z’s awareness of Nepal’s entrenched social, economic and political problems. A few weeks before the protests began, the hashtags #NepoBaby and #NepoKids began trending, fueled by viral videos of politicians’ lavish lifestyles. The content drew attention to the country’s inequality by contrasting the lives of the children of the country’s elite – with designer clothing and foreign vacations – with images of Nepali migrant workers returning home in coffins from dangerous jobs abroad. The hashtag campaigns gained traction on TikTok and Reddit, leading to calls for asset investigations, anti-corruption reforms and even transferring the assets of the wealthy to public ownership. One particularly notable viral video featured the son of a provincial government minister posing in front of a tree made from boxes of luxury labels including Louis Vuitton, Cartier and Gucci. Such posts served to further fuel public outrage over perceived elite privilege. The immediacy and interactivity of social media platforms amplified the outrage, encouraging group mobilization. In this way, social media acted both as a magnifier and accelerator, linking perceived injustice to on-the-ground activism and shaping how the movement unfolded even before the Sept. 8 protests began. A deeper story of hardship and corruption Yet a social media campaign is nothing without a root cause to shine a light on. Economic insecurity and political corruption have for years left many of Nepal’s youth frustrated, setting the stage for today’s protest movement. While the overall unemployment rate in 2024 was 11%, the youth unemployment rate stood significantly higher at 21%. But these figures only scratch the surface of Nepal’s deep economic problems, which include pervasive vulnerable employment – informal and insecure work that is prone to poor conditions and pay – and limited opportunities that constrain long-term productivity. Between 2010 and 2018, fewer than half of new entrants into the workforce secured formal, stable jobs; the remainder were primarily engaged in informal or precarious work, which often lacked consistent income, benefits or legal protections. Most available positions are informal, poorly compensated and offer little stability or room for career growth. All told, children born in Nepal today face a grim economic reality. By age 18, they are likely to achieve only about 51% of their productivity potential – that is, the maximum economic output they could reach if they had full access to quality health, nutrition and education. Meanwhile, corruption is widespread. In 2024, Nepal ranked 107th out of 180 countries on Transparency International’s Corruption Perceptions Index, with 84% of people perceiving government corruption to be a major problem. An upshot of corruption is the growing influence of Nepal’s politically connected business elite, who shape laws and regulations to benefit themselves. In the process, they secure tax breaks, inflate budgets and create monopolies that block competition. This capture of public policy by an entrenched elite stifles economic growth, crowds out genuine entrepreneurs and exacerbates inequality, while basic public services remain inadequate. Combined, these economic and political pressures created fertile ground for social mobilization. While persistent hardships helped fuel the rise of the #Nepokids movement, it was social media that gave voice to Nepali youths’ frustration. When the government attempted to silence them through a ban on social media platforms, it proved to be a step too far.

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. 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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.