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It is a conventional wisdom that monarchy has become an anomaly. In the case of Southeast Asia, this axiom is valid only up to a point. Despite the institutional upheavals, caused by colonialism and its dismantling, the region contains one ruling monarchy (Brunei), and three varieties of constitutional monarchy (Cambodia, Malaysia and Thailand) of some political import. Whether the anomaly of monarchies surviving is due to the persistent and natural workings of traditional political values, or whether their existence, besides being partly fortuitous, is now manipulated by elites (even by monarchs themselves), in order to pre-empt the destructive or destabilising effects of modernisation – the very modernisation which seems to make the survival of the monarchy rather unpredictable. The purpose of this short article is not to treat the subject as an anomaly, but to provide some pointers to the survival of monarchies in Southeast Asia under the new political climate. It is not just modernisation that has contested the political relevance of the monarchies, democratisation has posed a threat to their existence too. In the age of democratic consciousness, a question emerges: is monarchy compatible with democracy? So far, some monarchies have successfully entrenched their rule against the tide of democracy. Some are potentially becoming the target of annihilation. For example, the youth-led protests in Thailand in 2020 called for immediate royal reforms. Protesters risked violating the draconian lèse-majesté law which forbids critical discussions on the monarchy. This was the first time in the Thai history in which the monarchy has been made a public agenda. Talks on republicanism in Thailand have remained a taboo. Yet they are proliferating. I argue that the future of monarchies in Southeast Asia depends on the combination of their personal and political capabilities and how they transpire as a non-threatening factor to democracy, at three levels: personal, national and international. At a personal level, the monarchs, more than ever, need to exhibit their increased accountability, transparency and responsibility, if they want to live side-by-side with a democratic regime. On mainland Southeast Asia, the concept of divine kingship has remained highly sacred. The Thai and Cambodian kings are supposed to perform as Buddhist Dhammarajas, or virtual kings, so as to augment their charisma, and subsequently reverence, from their subordinates. Much in the same vein, the Sultans must show that they exercise their royal authority based on Islam. The religious sanctity of the throne is indispensable for the existence of the monarchies. It demonstrates the close intertwining between kingship and religion, and if used wisely, it can enhance further the level of divinity of the monarchs. The collapse of Nepalese monarchy was partly caused by the king’s fading faith in religion. At a national level, the monarchy’s position is intricately related to its role as guardian of democracy. The monarchies, in the democratic world, are obliged to play a crucial part in supporting democratic constitutionalism, as seen in the case of Britain. They may serve as an important symbol of national unity and harmony, particularly in deeply divided societies. In transitional societies, they may assist in bridging past with present to ensure political stability by supporting democratisation and rule of law. In time of crisis, from war, political violence, terrorist attack to natural disaster, monarchs may help the country mourn and heal as part of restoring peace and normalcy. The Japanese Emperor provided an example as a national healer by visiting those affected by tsunamis and earthquakes in the past. Monarchs may be expected to give advice to the head of executive power and perform an essential check on the power of elected legislators. Lastly, at the international level, the monarchies may need to ensure that their existence is in the interests of powerful foreign allies, and that they remain an essential political institution. The United States was known to be a guarantee of security of the Thai monarch during the spread of the communist threat in the region. Foreign recognition of monarchies is important for their survival. All these guides to longevity of monarchies in Southeast Asia do not automatically offer a rosy picture for their future. New factors emerge from time to time to challenge the integrity and legitimacy of their rule. Using illegitimate weapons to manage such challenges may prove counterproductive. They do not necessarily display the monarchs’ ultimate power, but rather their desperation, and insecurity, to cling on to it. The monarchical system has been around for thousands of years. It has become less forceful, and in some cases has ceased to exist, as nations of the world have accepted democracy as the final form of government. The key to the survival of the monarchical institution, therefore, rests on the way in which it acts and reacts in a complementary manner to the rising desire of the people for democracy.

When South Korea President Yoon Suk Yeol broke out into an impromptu performance of the song “American Pie” at a gala White House dinner in 2023, it was more than just a musical interlude. It was symbolic of how on the big Indo-Pacific issues of the day, Washington and Seoul are singing from the same songbook. But so, too, is Japan. And for South Korea’s karaoke-loving leader, that means humming a different tune to predecessors on the international stage – and risking hitting a sour note back at home. Yoon, who took office in May 2022, has embraced closer ties with Japan, South Korea’s former colonizer, as part of an alignment with U.S.-led security cooperation in the Indo-Pacific region. It entails a more demanding stance toward North Korea’s denuclearization and a watchful eye on China and its increasing assertiveness in the South China Sea. The approach culminated in a historic Camp David summit in 2023 aimed at solidifying relations between South Korea and Japan. Such rapprochement with Japan has won Yoon plaudits in the U.S. But it has done nothing to improve his popularity back home. In South Korea there is growing disapproval of Yoon’s leadership. Critics point to an illiberal streak in his rhetoric and policies, which has included attacks on his critics and the media. It has, they contend, contributed to a worrying trend of democratic erosion in Korea. Yoon’s poll ratings are sinking at a time when his conservative party seeks control of parliament in elections slated for April 10, 2024. As scholars who study democratization and authoritarian politics and modern Korea, we are watching as these concerns grow in the run-up to the parliamentary elections. That vote will prove a test of the popular support for Yoon, his domestic agenda and his vision for South Korea’s more outward-looking international role. Japan is ‘now our partner’ Yoon struck a raw nerve in an Aug. 15, 2023, speech celebrating National Liberation Day in Korea, in which he affirmed the country’s partnership with neighboring Japan. He said the country’s former colonial occupier is “now our partner, sharing universal values and pursuing common interests,” and emphasized that “as security and economic partners, Korea and Japan will cooperate with a forward-looking approach, contributing to global peace and prosperity.” His remarks were met with public outrage, especially given their timing: National Liberation Day commemorates Korea’s liberation from Japanese colonial rule, which lasted from 1910 to 1945. The Japanese occupation was brutal, simultaneously exploiting Korean women – as evident in the use of so-called “comfort women,” or military sexual slaves – and treating Koreans generally as second-class citizens, all the while pushing obligatory assimilation into Japanese civilization on the occupied population. Attempts by the Japanese colonial regime at erasing a separate Korean identity and culture – this included banning the teaching of the Korean language and coercing Koreans to adopt Japanese names, along with the violent suppression of independence movements – left deep scars on the collective Korean psyche. For many Koreans, watching their country join Japan in a trilateral partnership with the U.S. is too much to accept. Emergence of pro-Japan voices Yoon and his conservative administration’s foreign policy goals are based not on nationalism but on what has been described as “a value-based alliance” with Washington. This stance is at odds with the nationalist focus often seen in the right-wing politics of other countries. Indeed, in South Korea it is the political left that increasingly identifies with a form of nationalism. Meanwhile, the “New Right” in South Korea has correspondingly embraced an anti-nationalist stance, specifically attacking anti-Japanese sentiment. Since the early 2000s, Korean conservatives have increasingly distanced themselves from nationalism, particularly of the anti-Japanese variety. If, as theorists such as Ernest Gellner have argued, modern nationalism is based on the presumed unity of state and nation, political developments in Korea since 1980 have destabilized this relationship. After the bloodshed of the Gwangju Massacre in 1980, during which the state killed hundreds of its own citizens, leftist nationalists argued that the South Korean state was neither the representative or defender of the Korean nation. Rather, they saw the South Korean state’s inheritance of institutions and personnel from the Japanese colonial government, alongside the hegemonic presence of the United States in Korea – characterized as “neocolonial” by some – as diluting the state’s nationalist credentials. In contrast, conservatives defended the South Korean authoritarian state’s legitimacy and its legacies. They argued that authoritarian rule was responsible for the rapid economic growth that allowed South Koreans to live in prosperity. As part of their defense of Korea’s legacy and attack on a political left increasingly identified with nationalism, conservatives embraced an anti-nationalist stance, specifically attacking anti-Japanese rhetoric. This has involved downplaying the negative effects of Japan’s colonial rule in Korea between 1910 and 1945 and even rejecting the validity of Korean comfort women testimonies. One additional motivation for conservatives has been to justify the achievements of right-wing heroes such as former dictator Park Chung Hee. Park, who has been credited with jump-starting Korea’s economic growth, has been castigated by nationalists as a pro-Japanese collaborator due to his having been trained in the Manchurian and Japanese military academies during the 1940s. Starting around the turn of the century, there has been a gradual increase in the frequency and intensity of pro-Japan voices. Far-right organizations, such as the Republic of Korea Mom’s Brigade, have since the 2010s organized rallies in defense of Japanese colonialism. More recently, far-right groups have systematically disrupted so-called Wednesday Demonstrations – a protest that has been continually held for over 30 years in front of the Japanese embassy in Korea to demand that Japan address the comfort women issue. In a 2019 bestselling book, conservatives even attacked anti-Japanese nationalism as a form of “tribalism” on the left. It is in this context of the growing prominence of pro-Japan voices that Yoon, in a 2023 interview with The Washington Post, expressed that he “could not accept the notion that Japan must kneel because of what happened 100 years ago. Attacks on critics and fake news Yoon embodies this reorientation of Korean conservative ideology and foreign policy that rejects nationalism in favor of closer relations with Japan, especially in the context of alignment with the U.S. against the threat of North Korea and China. The approach has seen Yoon embraced by American policymakers. Yet his popularity at home has fallen from an approval rating of above 50% in mid-2022 to 29% at the beginning of February 2024, although it has since picked up a little. At first glance, his foreign policy seems to support liberal and democratic values. However, in domestic matters there has been growing concern that his rhetoric and policies reflect an illiberal character. Examples include labeling his opponents as “communists” and attacks on the media and “fake news.” This is perhaps unsurprising; the nature of Korean conservatism is deeply rooted in authoritarianism. The Biden administration is keen to present Yoon differently – as an ally, along with Japan, in the protection of Asia’s democracies. But this says more about a U.S. foreign policy that centers China as a threat than it does Yoon’s actual commitment to democratic freedoms. To a South Korea audience, however, Yoon’s position on Japan only adds to general concern over his illiberal tendencies ahead of April’s vote – the first general parliamentary elections during Yoon’s tenure. Editor’s note: The article was updated on March 7, 2024 to clarify Park Chung Hee’s World War II record.

President Emmanuel Macron has set his strategy for this year’s European Parliament election. At its heart are pro-Europeanism, support for Ukraine – and an eye to shaping the leadership of EU institutions Populist radical-right parties are expected to win big in the European Parliament election this June, as a major study by the European Council on Foreign Relations found. The results are likely to drive a rightward shift in who runs the EU institutions, including the European Commission. With his party set to come a poor second on current polling, last month President Emmanuel Macron dismissed his prime minister and replaced the government. To show he is not – yet – a lame duck president, he has put himself at the heart of proceedings. The political choice he is presenting to the country is one between himself and the far-right. Unapologetic pro-Europeanism and support for Ukraine are central planks in this offer. And, although this is not the first time he has made the far-right his main target, this time around the president is seeking to do so from the centre-right. This is almost certainly with a view to building the strongest political position to weigh in on the pivotal decisions around who runs the EU institutions, once Europe has voted this summer. Macron matters When the president introduced his new government last month, the scenography of the occasion told its own story: he was seated on a stage with his entire government looking on at him from the side. France’s new government is indeed concentrated more than ever around the person of the president. Many of its members, including the prime minister, Gabriel Attal, owe him their political careers and rose to prominence under his aegis. Those ministers who were seen as insufficiently committed to the president’s agenda – or with whom he disagreed publicly – were shown the door. In many ways, this was a silent admission of failure. After his Renaissance party fell short in the 2022 legislative election, the president tasked the prime minister, Elisabeth Borne, with building coalitions in parliament to get the government’s legislation through. This largely failed, with the government resorting to the “49.3 mechanism” to ram through major legislation such as pensions reform. Last December it even lost control of parliamentary business altogether, to the point where a split Renaissance voted for an immigration law largely framed by the right and far-right. Macron appears to have responded to this bruising experience by making himself the central decision-maker in France, with the prime minister’s role to implement the priorities handed down to him. However, the composition of the government also tells its own story – one that has the next election in view. Macron has reached further into the right of the political spectrum. Out of 11 new ministers, seven previously served in right-wing administrations. And it is not just about personnel: when Attal addressed the National Assembly on 20 January, he expanded on themes that are typically associated with more conservative policymaking, such as underlining the value of work, the importance of accountability, and the need to deregulate. The president appears to be courting what remains of the traditional French right. Targeting the far-right For the coming four months until the election, Macron’s camp is facing an uphill battle against a rising far-right . With 31 per cent in the polls, Marine Le Pen’s Rassemblement National party is racing ahead in voting intentions. (Support for the far-right Reconquête! stands at 7 per cent.) The president’s camp also runs the risk of losing voters to the socialist-ecologist list in the wake of the controversial pensions and immigration votes. As a consequence, Macron is visibly taking on the far-right, denouncing the “incoherence” of its politics – as he has done before, in his two presidential wins and the 2019 European election. “Let’s act, let’s do, let’s change our habits, and demonstrate that we can change things and people’s everyday lives”, Macron hammered home when announcing his priorities for the new government. His prime minister echoed this: “What I want is action, action, action, results, results, results.” The promotion of younger, talented faces is also something that has served Macron well before. At age 34 and 38, both the prime minister and the new foreign minister are the youngest ever to hold their respective offices in the Fifth Republic. And the similarities between Attal and the leader of Rassemblement National, Jordan Bardella, have not gone unnoticed. Both are young, popular, and effective communicators who have often faced off over the years. Unapologetically pro-European The final new-old trick is for the president to place support for the European project at the heart of his political offering. Since his meteoric rise in politics in 2017, support for the European Union has long provided the sharpest contrast with the far-right. For these reasons, the president has lately doubled down on his pro-Europeanism, pushing for EU solutions to domestic policy questions, from immigration, to climate, to energy. Even amid a difficult domestic context, this has been his go-to option: in response to recent nationwide protests by farmers, Macron pointed to the EU’s common agricultural policy and trade policy as ways to remedy the crisis. Again, his new personnel embody the pro-EU – and pro-Ukraine – politics. Foreign minister Stéphane Séjourné has been a member of the European Parliament since 2019, and was leader of the Renew group until his elevation. Séjourné’s appointment signals Macron will maintain his pro-enlargement, pro-Ukraine approach – the surest way for him to appear the clearest choice for those who want to stop the far-right. Séjourné reasserted France’s support for EU enlargement, a position Macron had made clear at the Globsec conference in Bratislava in May 2023. His first trip as a minister was to Ukraine, where he stated that it “is and will remain France’s priority”. He followed this up with a visit to Germany and Poland, affirming France’s interest in the “Weimar format” of close cooperation between Paris, Berlin, and Warsaw. * With populism and the radical right on the rise, centrist parties are in retreat across Europe. Current polling suggests the liberal Renew group in the European Parliament will shrink after the election, reducing its influence over who gets the top EU jobs. If Macron is able to limit the damage – finishing close to Rassemblement National would be enough – without deviating from his pro-European and pro-Ukrainian stances, he will have safeguarded his political standing in Europe. And he will do so just at the moment of prime influence over shaping the EU institutions. Macron’s right-of-centre positioning of his new government would also be compatible with a European Council that will likely tilt right. The coming months in French politics are set to be a bumpy ride. They will reveal whether the president can see off the far-right in more or less the same way as before – or whether offering the same choices with new faces will prove insufficient this time around.

Hundreds of thousands of people have been protesting across cities in Germany since early 2024, standing up against the Alternative for Germany party, a relatively new, far-right, nationalist party that is known as the AfD. What has driven so many Germans to suddenly protest against a small, extremist political party? The protesters in Germany are directly responding to the AfD’s radical policy positions and the fact that it is currently in second place in the polls for the upcoming federal election, which will take place on or before Oct. 26, 2025. While the AfD did not win any parliament seats in its first federal election in 2013, the group’s popularity has been rising. The AfD held about 13% of the seats in parliament from 2017 through 2021 and was the third-largest party in parliament. Since 2021, it has held about 11% of the seats. After the next federal election, the AfD could become the second-largest party. While this limited power would not let it enact any extreme policies that could potentially reduce freedom and respect for civil liberties in Germany, the AfD could use its position in parliament to disrupt the policymaking process, criticize establishment parties and attract new voters for future elections. What is the AfD and why is it so controversial? Several politicians and journalists formed the AfD in direct response to the Eurozone crisis of the 2010s. That crisis was triggered by several European governments in the European Union, including Greece, Portugal and Ireland, that developed large budget deficits. The European Union’s 27 member countries promise to be fiscally responsible. Otherwise, poor public management in one country could trigger an economic crisis throughout the entire European Union. This is what happened during the Eurozone crisis. Poor public management in some member-states led to a European-wide crisis. To mitigate the crisis, other European governments had to bail out other governments. The AfD’s founding members were outraged that Germany, as a leading member of the European Union, would become in part responsible for financially rescuing them. Over time, the AfD has not only become increasingly skeptical of the European Union, but it has also become very clearly anti-immigration. Compared to other countries in Europe, Germany has a relatively large immigrant population. As of March 2023, about 23% of the people who live in Germany either are immigrants or their parents are or were. Germany is also the largest host country for refugees in Europe. The true extent of AfD’s anti-immigration policies came to light in January 2024, when a German investigative news report revealed that high-ranking AfD members attended a secret meeting with neo-Nazi activists to discuss a “master plan.” According to this plan, the German government would deport immigrants en masse to their countries of origin. This plan also included deporting non-German-born citizens of Germany. The meeting was especially controversial because a few members of the Christian Democratic Union, one of Germany’s long-standing conservative parties, were also in attendance. Once the investigative report became public, the AfD publicly distanced itself from the meeting and the plan. Yet, it has been hard for the party leaders to convince the public that they do not support the supposed mass deportation policy, in part because high-ranking AfD members have suggested such policies in the past. Germans’ response to the AfD Once news of the mass deportation meeting circulated in mid-January, hundreds of thousands of people throughout Germany began to protest against the AfD and its anti-immigration policies. Many of the protesters are also protesting to defend democracy and human rights in Germany. Protesters have compared the AfD’s growing prominence to that of the Nazi party. They have been carrying signs that say the “AfD is so 1933,” “No Nazis” and “Deport the AfD Now.” They believe the only way to prevent the rise of a far-right party again in Germany is to protest the far-right movement before it becomes too popular. Symbolically, the protesters are protesting under the slogan “We are the firewall” to illustrate how they are protecting Germany from the rise of far-right nationalists once again. Some are also pushing for the German government to ban the AfD. Yet, while Germany has laws against extremist groups that were developed after World War II, it is unclear whether such laws should be used to ban the party, as some observers caution that banning the AfD might backfire and make it more popular. What the AfD can still accomplish While the AfD is currently posing an electoral threat to more mainstream parties in Germany, it is unlikely that it will take control over the German government any time soon. Germany is a multiparty system; no single party can control German politics at any given time. Parties must share power when governing the country. It is unlikely that any of the current establishment parties will work with the AfD to govern Germany, primarily because the AfD supports policies that are so far removed from what typical German parties would find acceptable. Additionally, the Christian Democratic Union is currently the most popular party, according to opinion polls. CDU members have previously emphasized that they will not cooperate with the AfD in any circumstance. And other establishment parties and politicians have also distanced themselves from the AfD. Yet, while the AfD may not be able to make sweeping policy changes in the short run, it does pose an electoral threat to the establishment parties in Germany. As such, other German parties may start to alter their own policy platforms to appease some potential AfD voters. The Christian Democratic Union is already proposing to send asylum seekers to other countries while their applications are being processed. However, their ability to make this policy change is unlikely, as it would require changes to European Union law. In the long run, if the AfD is able to continue to grow in popularity at the local level, this may help it grow its voter base and become more successful in federal elections. The AfD is more popular in states in eastern Germany, especially among voters who feel disenchanted with the reunification of communist East Germany and West Germany in 1990, and disenchanted with the drawbacks of Germany being a leading member of the European Union. Some people fear that if the AfD continues to grow, it could undermine democracy in Germany, much like far-right populist parties have recently done in other democracies in Europe and in the rest of the world. And as democracy continues to decline in Europe and globally, protections for civil liberties and political rights will continue to decline as well.

A lot of saliva and lots of ink has been spent in recent days to criticize the behavior that President Lula da Silva has sustained on the international stage. In effect, even though one of the pillars of democratic rule of law, which is still in force in Brazil only due to Lula’s return to the presidency, is freedom of expression. Much of this criticism is grounded on a mistaken (or politicized) reading of the history of the country’s foreign policy, of what Lula actually did in his first two terms in office in the early 2000s, as well as what Lula is currently pursuing on the international stage. Brazil has historically supported multilateralism, the peaceful resolution of conflicts, and the right of self-determination of all peoples. While Lula may have caused some controversy in recent statements, or even on some diplomatic initiatives, none of this contradicts Brazil’s tradition of defending universal principles while also making use of foreign policy to promote the country’s development and positioning. Even before regaining the presidential seat, Lula was praised for his defense of multilateral and cooperative ways to tackle the climate crisis at 2022’s COP-27 in Egypt. Much in the same way, as his new government took office in January 2023, Lula sought to revive the foreign policy that bore so many fruits during his first time in office. He did this by maintaining an ambitious agenda of international trips, which balanced meetings with traditional partners while expanding on projects linked to the so-called Southern agenda. His tours began in neighboring Argentina to attend the 7th Summit of Heads of State and Government of the Community of Latin American and Caribbean States. This was followed by a visit to Washington, where he met Biden and jointly made a clear statement in defense of democratic values, which have been under threat in both countries in recent times. A few weeks later, Lula made a visit to China to deepen trade relations, but when there he also tried to promote a peace effort for Ukraine. This initiative did not yield results, something that more reflects the structural difficulties of today’s world rather than a misalignment of Lula’s foreign policy. Reproducing the great achievements of the so-called proud and activeforeign policy of 20 years ago, when Brazil reached an unprecedented level of relevance on the international scene, will be difficult. The world has changed, and Brazil has changed, generally in a negative sense. Liberal democracy faces a crisis as authoritarianism, and even (neo)fascism, present themselves as viable alternatives and political and ideological polarization are on the rise. It is in this rigidly fragmented and increasingly violent world where greater activism from Brazil is needed. Given its historical trajectory, economic weight, and diplomatic tradition, Brazil can serve as an interlocutor between the countries of the Western sphere, Latin America, the Russian-Asian bloc, and the so-called countries of the South. Lula’s international overtures are only likely to increase as it becomes ever more likely that Trump may return to the presidency in the US – while simultaneously the extreme right advances in Europe and xenophobic authoritarianism deepens in Russia, India, and China. During his first two terms in office, Lula did not strain relations with traditional partners, such as the USA and Europe. Rather, he sought to expand the range of connections with new countries, particularly those that shared Brazil’s history of colonialism and unfair treatment from established powers. This stance does not contradict what Brazil has sought to do since at least the beginning of the 1960s. Under very different types of political regimes, Brazil’s foreign policy has consistently sought to establish new global collaborations with an ever-larger number of nations so that Brazil’s weight within the international realm could be expanded. All of this was done without risking relations with powerful allies. Likewise, Brazil’s international actions recurrently sought to democratize, or at least expand, the spheres of international deliberation so that they could effectively become representative and legitimate multilateral spaces. Sustaining this course of foreign policy is more challenging in today’s global context. With multiple actors competing for hegemony, a country like Brazil may be able to bargain for even greater gains within the many ongoing disputes. But no success will be achieved if pundits and critics continue to be inspired by dogmatic or ideological positions, refusing to understand the rising international relevance of Brazil and Lula’s unique role in promoting dialogue and inclusion in an ever-more divided world.

This blog post originated from a recent discussion by Professor Syaru Shirley Lin in the Winston Lord Roundtable Series on Asia, the Rule of Law, and U.S. Foreign Policy, where she debriefed the recent Taiwan elections. Since Taiwan’s first democratic presidential election in 1996, national elections have centered on national identity and the island’s future relationship with China. At present, however, the majority of Taiwan’s population largely identifies as Taiwanese, contrasting sharply with less than 3 percent identifying as Chinese only. This shift in identity, among other factors such as China’s treatment of Hong Kong, elicited a more centrist approach from the presidential candidates in the 2024 elections, pivoting their campaign focus toward domestic policy. The foreign policy platforms of all candidates aligned on protecting Taiwan’s sovereignty while maintaining the status quo and rejecting China’s “one country, two systems” unification formula. The historically pro-independence Democratic Progressive Party (DPP) softened its stance, whereas the Kuomintang (KMT) candidate Hou Yu-Ih and the Taiwan People’s Party (TPP) candidate Ko Wen-je advocated for a more accommodating stance toward China but stopped short of appearing overly friendly. In the 2024 election, marked by a robust 72 percent voter turnout, the DPP’s Lai Ching-te secured the presidency with 40 percent of the votes, but Hou with 33 percent and Ko with 26 percent trailing not too far behind. Ko founded the TPP in 2019 as an alternative to the long-established KMT and DPP. He seemed to have attracted a lot of the younger voters, a demographic that has traditionally supported the DPP, especially Tsai Ing-wen. This likely reflects the frustration of Taiwan’s younger generation with the establishment parties as they are directly affected by Taiwan’s toughest policy challenges, including sustainability, housing policy, and upward mobility. All three candidates brought to the forefront domestic issues, such as unaffordable housing, stagnating wages, an aging population, energy insecurity, and unsustainable entitlements, which stem from Taiwan’s high-income trap. However, the candidates had varying approaches to addressing and funding these challenges. For instance, Lai wishes to advance the Tsai administration’s policy of phasing out nuclear energy by 2025, whereas the KMT and TPP insist on extending the lifespans of Taiwan’s nuclear reactors to meet Taiwan’s increasing energy needs. These inter-party divisions and disagreements are significant because despite the DPP winning the presidency for an unprecedented third term, it lost its eight-year majority in the Legislative Yuan (the DPP won fifty-one seats, the KMT fifty-two, the TPP eight, and pro-KMT independents two). The Lai administration will thus have a weaker mandate to enact its policies. Notably, with none of the parties bagging the fifty-seven-seat minimum required to pass legislation, policy initiatives will inevitably take longer to pass, if at all. The election thus exposed emerging generational and socioeconomic fault lines. By allowing the DPP to gain control of both the executive and legislative branches in 2016 and 2020, voters expected the party to not only safeguard Taiwan’s autonomy but also make Taiwan a more prosperous and healthy society. This outcome of not awarding the DPP the legislative majority likely reflects the electorate’s dissatisfaction with DPP governance along with demand for stronger government accountability and tangible reforms. Many of Taiwan’s domestic issues are features of its high-income trap that will be difficult to solve without strong political will or partisan cooperation. Taiwan's healthcare system, despite its affordability and accessibility, is financially unsustainable, further exacerbated by a rapidly aging population. The three parties will need to agree on how to secure the necessary financial and labor resources. All these challenges prompt the question: Can Taiwan’s political parties rise above their differences to deliver on their promises? Beijing, for one, might be glad to see a more polarized and ineffective Taiwanese government. Three decades of democratic governance in Taiwan has only widened the gap between Taipei and Beijing. When Tsai Ing-wen entered office in 2016, Beijing closed official communication channels, continued isolating Taiwan in international society, enticed 10 countries to switch diplomatic relations from Taiwan to China (Nauru made the switch merely two days after the 2024 election), and escalated its gray-zone warfare. Yet Beijing’s immediate reaction to the election has been surprisingly muted. This deviation from the norm might indicate that Beijing has started to recognize the limits of mere coercive measures in gaining the favor of the Taiwanese people. Besides continued economic coercion, gray-zone warfare, and disinformation campaigns, Beijing will have to recalibrate its strategy to make its Taiwan policy work. The coming years will test the capabilities of both Beijing and Taipei in managing cross-Strait relations. Meanwhile, Taiwanese society has grown increasingly skeptical of the United States, which has been enhancing its political relationship with Taiwan but without enhancing its international standing or offering it tangible economic benefits. Amid rising tensions with China, the United States has dedicated considerable political capital to its relationship with Taiwan through arms sales and defense packages. However, the increased number of official visits to Taiwan has been perceived as largely symbolic. Although an initial bilateral trade agreement was signed in June 2023 under the United States-Taiwan Initiative on 21st-Century Trade, it provides Taiwan with no real market access to the United States. Moreover, U.S, policies aimed at containing China’s economic and technological expansion, especially in the semiconductor industry, continue to negatively impact Taiwan, which relies heavily on the information and communication technology sector for economic growth. Consequently, Taiwan’s semiconductor companies feel squeezed by U.S. policy. The next four years will test Taiwan’s resilience as a democracy in the face of geopolitical rivalry, climate crisis, diminishing socioeconomic prospects, and an aging society while being led by a divided government. The lack of a party majority in the Legislative Yuan will increase government accountability but at the risk of a legislative deadlock. This could further complicate Taiwan’s efforts to push through reforms and balance its interests between China and the United States. While the stakes are high for both China and the United States, they are even higher for the people of Taiwan.

Rapid geopolitical change is curtailing Russian power in the South Caucasus, boosting the influence of Middle Eastern countries and bookending the region’s “post-Soviet” history. The South Caucasus is undergoing a geopolitical transformation. The war in Ukraine and the effective resolution of the Nagorno-Karabakh conflict between Armenia and Azerbaijan mean that the region is entering a new age. Armenia, Azerbaijan, and Georgia have gradually become more confident on the world stage, with each trying to limit its dependence on Russia by diversifying its foreign policy. Georgia has boosted relations with the European Union, China, and—to some extent—the United States, while Azerbaijan has sought closer ties with Turkey, Israel, Central Asia, and a number of European countries. Having gone through the traumatic loss of Nagorno-Karabakh, Armenia has pushed for closer engagement with the EU, rapprochement with Turkey, and even military links with India and some European states. Instead of an arena for competition between Russia and the West, the South Caucasus has turned into a highly congested geopolitical space, with up to six major powers vying for influence. We are not, however, just witnessing the end of the post-Soviet period. We are witnessing the end of exclusive Russian influence in the South Caucasus, which has been the status quo for almost two hundred years. The decline of Russian power has led to the reemergence of close links between the South Caucasus and the broader Middle East. Indeed, geography favors such a connection. Russia lies across the formidable Caucasus mountains, and Middle Eastern states have long regarded the South Caucasus as a natural continuation of their own territories. The deepening ties are visible in growing trade, investment, energy infrastructure, and railways that link the South Caucasus to two large neighboring powers: Turkey and Iran. Turkey is a key ally of Azerbaijan, and also enjoys close links with Georgia, while Armenia has Iran’s backing. In particular, Turkey has been pushing for the development of east-west connectivity that cuts through the traditional Russia-sponsored north-south infrastructure. The successful completion of the Baku-Tbilisi-Kars railway is one example; another is the push by Baku and Ankara to open a new route via Armenia’s southernmost province of Syunik. Iran, too, has scored significant victories. In October, it inked a deal with Baku on a new transit corridor linking Azerbaijan to its exclave of Nakhchivan via Iranian territory. Tehran has also advanced work on the International North-South Transport Corridor, which runs from southern Iran to Russia via Azerbaijan and the Caspian Sea. Other initiatives involve the development of roads through Armenia, which could provide solid links between Iran and Georgia’s Black Sea ports of Poti and Batumi. Energy infrastructure in the South Caucasus, too, is increasingly tied to the Middle East. Azerbaijan has become one of Turkey’s major gas suppliers, covering about 16 percent of the country’s needs in 2022, while Iran and Armenia have agreed to extend their gas trade agreement through 2030. The civil war in Syria showed how political and military developments in the Middle East impact the South Caucasus. For instance, residents of the Pankisi Gorge in Georgia volunteered to fight with radical Islamist groups in Syria and Iraq, sparking fears of terrorism spreading. Syria is also one of few countries that has recognized the independence of Georgia’s separatist regions of Abkhazia and South Ossetia. And the Second Nagorno-Karabakh War of 2020 allegedly saw Syrian soldiers fighting for Azerbaijan. Even beyond security, Armenia and Georgia have built robust relations with other prominent Middle Eastern countries. Saudi Arabia recently agreed to establish diplomatic relations with Armenia, which has also expanded its ties with other Gulf states. Similar trends are visible in Georgia’s relations with nations like Saudi Arabia, Iraq, and Jordan. Other actors like Israel are also playing an increasingly active role. Israel’s relations with Azerbaijan are especially noteworthy, with the two states enjoying close military ties. Azerbaijan used high-tech Israeli weaponry to devastating effect in the Second Nagorno-Karabakh War, and, more recently, in September 2023, when it reclaimed full control over the disputed region. Azerbaijan is also a major supplier of oil to Israel, meeting as much as 40 percent of the country’s demand. Azerbaijan’s links with the Middle East mean that flare-ups between Israel and Iran could have local consequences. Iran has expressed concern about Israel allegedly using Azerbaijan for espionage activities, and Azerbaijan was one of just a few Muslim countries not to condemn Israel’s military operation in Gaza, sparking anger in Tehran. With an end to Russian dominance in the South Caucasus, it’s clear that the region is growing closer to the Middle East. Historically speaking, this is actually a return to normal practice, with Middle Eastern powers traditionally the most influential in the region. For Iran and Turkey, Russian hegemony was always an aberration. The process could yield benefits for the West. After all, shifting tectonic plates create opportunities for multiple actors to project power. But the EU and United States are limited by geographical distance, and the absence of significant economic levers. Turkey and Iran are both nearby, and eager to accrue more influence in the South Caucasus.

Prabowo Subianto has won Indonesia’s presidential election. Who is he, what will Joko Widodo’s influence be, and what does it mean for Indonesian democracy? Prabowo Subianto has achieved a resounding victory in the elections for the presidency of Indonesia with around 58 percent of the vote. Who is the new president of Indonesia? Prabowo is the ultimate insider whose entire life has been focused on keeping himself close to power, but his path to the presidency has been a long one. Born into an influential family, Prabowo joined the military in 1970, a pivotal institution at the time. He quickly rose through the ranks of the elite Special Forces (Kopasas), helped along by his 1983 marriage to then President Suharto’s daughter, Titiek. He was, however, sidelined after the fall of the Suharto regime in 1998 when he was dishonourably discharged from the military over allegations of human rights abuses. Despite this blow to his career, Prabowo used close family connections to go into business and re-emerged into public life as a multi-millionaire and aspiring candidate for the presidency. Prabowo stood unsuccessfully for the presidency in the 2009, 2014, and 2019 elections. In his first bid, he allied with Megawati Sukarnoputri, leader of Indonesia’s largest party and daughter of President Sukarno. In the following two elections he created motley coalitions of various parties, alliances that reflected both Prabowo’s highly movable political outlook, plus what has been called the “promiscuous” behaviour of Indonesia’s political parties. In the 2019 elections Prabowo conducted a bitterly divisive campaign against incumbent President Joko “Jokowi” Widodo, playing on deep divisions in Indonesia between those aiming for a more prominent role for Islamic values and those wanting to protect the diverse and tolerant character of Indonesian society. He also initially refused to accept the 2019 election outcome and briefly threatened to mount a campaign in the streets to overturn the results. But despite Prabowo’s bitter standoff against Jokowi in 2019, the two leaders apparently reconciled, with Jokowi’s surprise move of taking Prabowo into his camp as Defence Minister. While ostensibly remaining “neutral” in this year’s election, Jokowi signalled his support for Prabowo’s bid by arranging for his eldest son, Gibran Rakabuming Raka, to stand as Prabowo’s vice-presidential running mate. Jokowi is an immensely popular figure and his implicit backing provided critical momentum to Prabowo’s winning campaign. This is despite criticism of Jokowi that he is betraying his origins as a non-elite outsider and trying to build a political dynasty. What do these results mean for Indonesia’s major parties and leaders and what questions remain? This outcome represents the culmination of a lifetime effort by Prabowo to achieve the ultimate position of power in Indonesia. A key question is how he will conduct himself as president. He is known as a volatile figure, given to fits of anger, and seen as a military enforcer during the Suharto regime. While generally seen as an effective Defence minister, he was known for publicly putting forward ill-conceived proposals without presidential authorisation. The big question is how Prabowo will act as president. During this year’s campaign he was markedly more self-controlled, but it remains to be seen whether he will revert to his old authoritarian habits. Was he only acting when he appeared to be a threat to stability in the 2019 election or was he only acting when he seemed more moderate in this year’s poll? Will he become Indonesia’s version of Donald Trump or Vladimir Putin? Prabowo will need to build a coalition of parties to support his administration in parliament. Under Indonesia’s presidential system, the president does not need a parliamentary majority, but a troublesome parliament would be a major impediment for his presidency. While Prabowo swept the field in the presidential contest, his party, Gerindra, received only a small boost to its modest parliamentary vote. With his son as vice president and Prabowo in his debt, Jokowi is well placed to sustain his influence long after he leaves the presidential palace. Jokowi is very keen to protect his policy legacy and maintain the momentum of investment in infrastructure, including the building of a new capital city, and policies designed to encourage local Indonesian investment in processing the country’s natural resources. The relationship between incoming Prabowo and Jokowi will be one to watch. Although having Jokowi’s son as vice president was symbolically important during the election, the powers of the office are constitutionally undefined, and it is in Prabowo’s power to keep Gibran marginalised if he chooses. The election result was a massive blow to long-standing leader and would-be kingmaker Megawati and her party, the Democratic Party of Indonesia – Struggle (PDIP). Despite Jokowi’s formal status as a member of PDIP, he and Megawati had a difficult relationship, and he resented her efforts to treat him as a party subordinate. Jokowi took his huge political capital to another party, with the PDIP presidential candidate, Ganjar Pranowo, relegated to a humiliating third place. How PDIP conducts itself during Prabowo’s presidency remains in doubt. While the party narrowly retained its status as the largest party in parliament, it lost votes and is continuing a long-term decline from its glory days when it controlled nearly a third of parliamentary seats. PDIP may form the main opposition force to Prabowo’s administration, but it may be tempted to be bought off with a seat in cabinet. What does the outcome mean for Indonesian democracy? The formal process of the election appears once again to have been free and fair. The massive logistical task of running presidential elections on the same day as managing both national and regional parliamentary elections has been undertaken with the same effectiveness that has characterised Indonesia’s six democratic elections. But while the electoral process has been untainted, serious concerns are growing about the conduct of Indonesia’s political affairs and governance. Indonesia made great democratic progress after the fall of Suharto in 1998. This included the withdrawal of the military from politics, constitutional reform, and the flowering of non-government organisations, freedom of speech and media, as well as governance changes such as the creation of an anti-corruption commission and the devolution of power to the regions. From the beginning, however, concerns were expressed that the peaceful transfer of power had allowed most of the old players to reinvent themselves as democratic politicians but maintain the old ways of backroom politics. There was thus widespread optimism when Jokowi’s rise to the presidency in 2009 appeared to usher in a new type of leader – he came from the provinces, not from the old Jakarta circles and had won his national status as an honest and effective local administrator. But to secure his position in the face of potential obstruction from the old political elite, Jokowi resorted to the methods of that elite. Instead of changing the system, the system changed him. Jokowi used his presidential office to intervene in the internal affairs of other political parties to install leaders who supported him. He slashed the powers of the anti-corruption commission, partially reversed the devolution of authority to regional governments, and cracked down on non-government political movements. These backward steps are unlikely to be reversed under Prabowo – he may take them even further. Jokowi’s anointing of his son as vice-president is widely seen as the final sign of his incorporation into the elite and the triumph of dynastic politics. Dynastic succession has been a key feature of the elite’s grasp on power and now Jokowi has become a master of the game. An implicit alliance between Prabowo and Jokowi could become a way to choke off political competition. Prabowo’s election happened through a peaceful transfer of power, but it has cemented in place a system of governance that challenges the ideals of democratic politics that many Indonesians had looked to with hope during the heady days of reformasi after 1998.

Renewed major tensions have surfaced once again in the South China Sea between China and the Philippines. While the immediate concern revolves around the control of reefs and islets, the underlying issue extends to the control of maritime territories, driving the parties involved. These sovereignty disputes are not novel occurrences. Conflicts in the South China Sea (SCS) have intensified since the 1960s, leading to a competition for the occupation of islands and islets in the Paracels and Spratlys. The objective was to establish control over these islands, using them as military outposts and symbols of sovereignty. With the introduction of the United Nations Convention on the Law of the Sea (UNCLOS), the rivalry transitioned towards the assertion of states' rights over maritime zones. The narrative of the parties involved has evolved regarding the legitimacy and legal characterization of the claimed maritime territories. Malaysia (1983), Vietnam (1994), and the Philippines (2009) have contended that the Spratly Islands do not merit an exclusive economic zone (EEZ), indirectly challenging China's claims. In response, Beijing has adjusted its official discourse. Is this shift in legal rhetoric a strategic reinterpretation of maritime law aimed at refuting adversaries' arguments and utilizing legal discourse as a political tool in a broader struggle for influence? An evolution in the legal discourse of Southeast Asian states In the South China Sea (SCS), a noticeable shift in the redefinition of maritime boundaries has emerged since 2009. Previously, definitions often lacked clarity and legal grounding. In recent years, Malaysia, Brunei, Vietnam, and the Philippines have sought to refine their claims, aligning them with the norms established by the 1982 United Nations Convention on the Law of the Sea (UNCLOS). This strategic move sharply contrasts with the trajectory of the People's Republic of China (PRC), whose evolving stance has been criticized for increasingly diverging from international maritime law. Between 1994 and 2016, China's assertion over the Maritime Claims (MCS) primarily relied on the controversial nine-dash line [九段线], criticized for its ambiguity regarding the extent and legal basis of the claimed maritime territory. However, since 2016, following the ruling by the Permanent Court of Arbitration, China's discourse has shifted towards the "Four Sha" theory [四沙], positing that large (sometimes fictional) archipelagos serve as the legal foundation for its maritime claims. This shift among the Southeast Asian players could be seen as a strategic move vis-à-vis China: by refining their claims to align more closely with the principles of the Law of the Sea, these nations might aim to underscore the inherently unlawful and objectionable nature of China's assertions. This tactic underscores an increasing disparity between Southeast Asian states, endeavoring to adjust their claims in accordance with international legal norms, and China, whose assertions are grounded in disputed interpretations of maritime law. The clash of legal discourses in the South China Sea The People's Republic of China (PRC) asserts its claim to the South China Sea (SCS) through what is commonly known as the nine-dash line (Fig. 1), a demarcation that has encompassed the majority of this maritime region since 1949. However, significant ambiguity persists regarding the precise meaning and scope of this demarcation, as China has yet to provide a clear explanation despite repeated requests from neighboring states. This lack of transparency has led to frustration among neighboring nations, prompting the Philippines to file a formal complaint with the Law of the Sea Tribunal in April 2013. The Chinese government's reluctance to clarify the exact nature and coordinates of the line has fueled suspicions regarding its true intentions. Even Indonesia, which does not have territorial claims in the South China Sea, expressed concerns about the legal uncertainty surrounding China's delineation of this maritime boundary in 2010. Before 2009, Southeast Asian countries involved in disputes over island formations or maritime zones in the South China Sea (SCS) had not clearly delineated their claims, either by providing legal justifications for their extensions or by publishing precise coordinates of the boundaries of the claimed maritime areas. However, on May 6, 2009, Malaysia and Vietnam submitted a joint proposal for the extension of their continental shelves in the southern part of the SCS, followed by Vietnam's independent submission for the central part of the SCS on May 7. By doing so, they publicly disclosed the positions of the outer limits of their respective Exclusive Economic Zones (EEZs). Neither state included the island formations they claim in the SCS in the definition of their EEZs or extended continental shelves. Instead, the boundaries of the 200-mile zones are determined based on each state's coastline. For instance, both Malaysia and Vietnam have excluded the Spratly Islands from the definition of their maritime zones, indicating that they consider these island formations as rocks under Article 121(3) of the United Nations Convention on the Law of the Sea (UNCLOS), which cannot generate either EEZs or continental shelves.  Are the states of Southeast Asia pursuing a political objective by modifying their legal discourse? There has been a notable evolution in the discourse of Southeast Asian states involved in the South China Sea conflict – Vietnam, the Philippines, Malaysia, and even Indonesia, which is not directly embroiled in the dispute over sovereignty in the Spratly Islands – regarding the status of these islands and their capacity to generate maritime zones. Changes in interpretation, qualifications, or legal doctrines, as well as efforts to define international norms, can potentially be seen as a mobilization of law to achieve political objectives. When questioned about the evolution of legal analyses among the protagonists in Southeast Asia, a majority of the interviewed specialists (20 out of 25) noted a clear shift in the discourse of these four countries. There is a consensus that they seek alignment with the principles of the Law of the Sea. These states are exploiting ambiguities in Article 121 for political purposes: it involves waging "legal guerrilla warfare" and "legal diplomacy" to underscore China's divergent stance and, implicitly, its disregard for the spirit of UNCLOS. Chinese Response: Reassessing Island Groups in the South China Sea? On July 12, 2016, the Permanent Court of Arbitration in The Hague issued its ruling following the Philippines' claim filed in 2013. The Court's decision rebuffed Chinese assertions regarding historical rights and determined that none of the island formations in the Spratlys qualify as islands under Article 121, precluding them from generating an EEZ or continental shelf. China vehemently rejected this ruling, refusing to acknowledge the arbitration. However, Chinese rhetoric has shifted since 2016, indicating a willingness to adjust its arguments in light of the Court's findings. Before 2016, China asserted its sovereignty over the islands in the South China Sea without specifying the status of the Paracels or Spratlys island groups. However, since 2016, China has been advancing a new line of argumentation, grouping the island formations in the South China Sea into cohesive units. Chinese sovereignty is claimed to be derived from control over four blocks of islands forming coherent entities. It appears that Chinese legal experts are attempting to introduce a novel concept, as China cannot assert itself as an archipelagic State under UNCLOS. Such status would allow continental States to draw baselines around their archipelagos, which are considered territorial units. This concept faces significant challenge from numerous Western legal experts. Hence, in the Chinese narrative, there's a departure from discussing individual island groups or the ambiguous nine-dash line, towards emphasizing four archipelagos as the fundamental units of Chinese legal discourse. This shift, while sidestepping the PCA's 2016 ruling and distancing itself from the weakened concept of "island" due to the arbitration's denial of China's EEZ rights in the Spratlys, introduces the notion of archipelagos, purportedly enabling the creation of maritime zones in official discourse. However, this stance is dubious under the Law of the Sea, as it doesn't permit continental States to exploit the establishment of archipelagos outlined by lengthy baselines. Moreover, it doesn't authorize the generation of maritime zones from archipelagic entities if the islands constituting these archipelagos cannot themselves establish an EEZ or continental shelf.    Conclusion In the South China Sea, there has been a notable shift in legal positions by both China and the Southeast Asian states. Vietnam, the Philippines, and Malaysia are now advancing the argument that the islets fail to meet the criteria outlined in Article 121(3), thus negating the establishment of an EEZ or continental shelf. This reclassification not only impacts their own claims but, more significantly, challenges China's assertion of expansive maritime territories under international law. This strategic maneuvering appears to signify a politicized manipulation of maritime legal frameworks. Conversely, China has also undergone doctrinal evolution, transitioning from conventional maritime claims rooted in the Paracels and Spratlys islands, to the historically contentious nine-dash line, and most recently, the emergence of the "Four Shas" concept, positing four coherent archipelagos as the basis for EEZs. This progression aims to establish a novel legal foundation to defend its ambitious territorial claims. In essence, these legal transformations underscore the instrumentalization of law as a means to advance and safeguard national interests, with China advocating for a distinct interpretation of international legal norms.

Alexei Navalny was a giant figure in Russian politics. No other individual rivalled the threat he posed to the Putin regime. His death in an Arctic labour camp is a blow to all those who dreamed he might emerge as the leader of a future democratic Russia. What made Navalny so important was his decision to become an anti-corruption crusader in 2008. Using shareholder activism and his popular blog, he shone a spotlight on the corruption schemes that enabled officials to steal billions from state-run corporations. His breakthrough came in 2011, when he proposed the strategy of voting for any party but President Vladimir Putin’s “party of crooks and thieves” in the Duma (parliament) elections. Faced with a collapse of support, the regime resorted to widespread election fraud. The result was months of pro-democracy protests. Putin regained control through a mix of concessions and repression, but the crisis signalled Navalny’s emergence as the dominant figure in Russia’s democratic movement. Despite being convicted on trumped-up embezzlement charges, he was allowed to run in Moscow’s mayoral elections in 2013. In a clearly unfair contest, which included police harassment and hostile media coverage, he won 27% of the vote. Perseverance in the face of worsening attacks The authorities learned from this mistake. Never again would Navalny be allowed to compete in elections. What the Kremlin failed to stop was his creation of a national movement around the Foundation for the Struggle Against Corruption (FBK), which he had founded in 2011 with a team of brilliant young activists. During the ensuing decade, FBK transformed our understanding of the nature of Putin’s kleptocracy. Its open-source investigations shattered the reputations of numerous regime officials, security functionaries and regime propagandists. One of the most important was a 2017 exposé of the network of charities that funded the palaces and yachts of then-premier Dmitry Medvedev. Viewed 46 million times on YouTube, it triggered protests across Russia. No less significant was Navalny’s contribution to the methods of pro-democracy activism. To exploit the regime’s dependence on heavily manipulated elections, he developed a strategy called “intelligent voting”. The basic idea was to encourage people to vote for the candidates who had the best chance of defeating Putin’s United Russia party. The result was a series of setbacks for United Russia in 2019 regional elections. One measure of Navalny’s impact was the intensifying repression directed against him. As prosecutors tried to paralyse him with a series of implausible criminal cases, they also pursued his family. His younger brother Oleg served three and a half years in a labour camp on bogus charges. This judicial persecution was compounded by the violence of the regime’s proxies. Two months after exposing Medvedev’s corruption, Navalny was nearly blinded by a Kremlin-backed gang of vigilantes, who sprayed his face with a noxious blend of chemicals. More serious was the deployment of a death squad from Russia’s Federal Security Service (FSB), which had kept Navalny under surveillance since 2017. The use of the nerve agent Novichok to poison Navalny during a trip to the Siberian city of Tomsk in August 2020 was clearly intended to end his challenge to Putin’s rule. Instead it precipitated the “Navalny crisis”, a succession of events that shook the regime’s foundations. The story of Navalny’s survival – and confirmation that he had been poisoned with Novichok – focused international attention on the Putin regime’s criminality. Any lingering doubts about state involvement in his poisoning were dispelled by Navalny’s collaboration with Bellingcat, an investigative journalism organisation, to identify the suspects and deceive one of them into revealing how they poisoned him. The damage was magnified by Navalny’s decision to confront Putin’s personal corruption. In a powerful two-hour documentary film, A Palace for Putin, Navalny chronicled the obsessive greed that had transformed an obscure KGB officer into one of the world’s most notorious kleptocrats. With over 129 million views on YouTube alone, the film shattered the dictator’s carefully constructed image as the incarnation of traditional virtues. ‘We will fill up the jails and police vans’ It is difficult to exaggerate the impact of the “Navalny crisis” on Putin, a dictator terrified of the prospect of popular revolution. No longer was he courted by Western leaders. US President Joe Biden began his term in office in 2021 by endorsing an interviewer’s description of Putin as a “killer”. To contain the domestic fallout, Putin unleashed a crackdown that began with Navalny’s 2021 arrest on his return to Moscow from Germany, where had been recovering from the Novichok poisoning. On the international stage, Putin secured a summit with Biden by staging a massive deployment of military force on the Ukrainian border, a rehearsal for the following year’s invasion. The Kremlin’s trolling factories also tried to destroy Navalny’s reputation with a smear campaign. Within weeks of Navalny’s imprisonment, Amnesty International rescinded his status as a “prisoner of conscience” on the basis of allegations about hate speech. The evidence was some ugly statements made by Navalny as an inexperienced politician in the mid-2000s, when he was trying to build an anti-Putin alliance of democrats and nationalists. What his detractors ignored was Navalny’s own evolution into a critic of ethnonationalist prejudices. In a speech to a nationalist rally in 2011, he had challenged his listeners to empathise with people in the Muslim-majority republics of Russia’s northern Caucasus region. This divergence from the nationalist mainstream was accentuated by Putin’s conflict with Ukraine. After the invasion of Crimea in March 2014, Navalny denounced the “imperialist annexation” as a cynical effort to distract the masses from corruption. Eight years later, while languishing in prison, he condemned Putin’s full-scale invasion of Ukraine, exhorting his compatriots to take to the streets, saying: If, to prevent war, we need to fill up the jails and police vans, we will fill up the jails and police vans. Later that year, he argued a post-Putin Russia needed an end to the concentration of power in the Kremlin and the creation of a parliamentary republic as “the only way to stop the endless cycle of imperial authoritarianism”. Navalny’s tragedy is that he never had a chance to convert the moral authority he amassed during years as a dissident into political power. Like Charles de Gaulle in France and Nelson Mandela in South Africa, he might have become a redemptive leader, leading his people from war and tyranny to the promised land of a freer society. Instead, he has left his compatriots the example of a brave, principled and thoughtful man, who sacrificed his life for the cause of democracy and peace. That is his enduring legacy.