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Defense & Security
Iranian missile strike in Bat Yam, 15 June 2025

Will the fragile ceasefire between Iran and Israel hold? One factor could be crucial to it sticking

by Ali Mamouri

한국어로 읽기 Leer en español In Deutsch lesen Gap اقرأ بالعربية Lire en français Читать на русском After 12 days of war, US President Donald Trump announced a ceasefire between Israel and Iran that would bring to an end the most dramatic, direct conflict between the two nations in decades. Israel and Iran both agreed to adhere to the ceasefire, though they said they would respond with force to any breach. If the ceasefire holds – a big if – the key question will be whether this signals the start of lasting peace, or merely a brief pause before renewed conflict. As contemporary war studies show, peace tends to endure under one of two conditions: either the total defeat of one side, or the establishment of mutual deterrence. This means both parties refrain from aggression because the expected costs of retaliation far outweigh any potential gains. What did each side gain? The war has marked a turning point for Israel in its decades-long confrontation with Iran. For the first time, Israel successfully brought a prolonged battle to Iranian soil, shifting the conflict from confrontations with Iranian-backed proxy militant groups to direct strikes on Iran itself. This was made possible largely due to Israel’s success over the past two years in weakening Iran’s regional proxy network, particularly Hezbollah in Lebanon and Shiite militias in Syria. Over the past two weeks, Israel has inflicted significant damage on Iran’s military and scientific elite, killing several high-ranking commanders and nuclear scientists. The civilian toll was also high. Additionally, Israel achieved a major strategic objective by pulling the United States directly into the conflict. In coordination with Israel, the US launched strikes on three of Iran’s primary nuclear facilities: Fordow, Natanz and Isfahan. Despite these gains, Israel has not accomplished all of its stated goals. Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu had voiced support for regime change, urging Iranians to rise up against Supreme Leader Ali Khamenei’s government, but the senior leadership in Iran remains intact. Additionally, Israel has not fully eliminated Iran’s missile program. (Iran continued striking to the last minute before the ceasefire.) And Tehran did not acquiesce to Trump’s pre-war demand to end uranium enrichment. Although Iran was caught off-guard by Israel’s attacks — particularly as it was engaged in nuclear negotiations with the US — it responded by launching hundreds of missiles towards Israel. While many were intercepted, a significant number penetrated Israeli air defences, causing widespread destruction in major cities, dozens of fatalities and hundreds of injuries. Iran has demonstrated its capacity to strike back, though Israel has succeeded in destroying many of its air defence systems, some ballistic missile assets (including missile launchers) and multiple energy facilities. Since the beginning of the assault, Iranian officials have repeatedly called for a halt to resume negotiations. Under such intense pressure, Iran has realised it would not benefit from a prolonged war of attrition with Israel — especially as both nations face mounting costs and the risk of depleting their military stockpiles if the war continues. As theories of victory suggest, success in war is defined not only by the damage inflicted, but by achieving core strategic goals and weakening the enemy’s will and capacity to resist. While Israel claims to have achieved the bulk of its objectives, the extent of the damage to Iran’s nuclear program is not fully known, nor is its capacity to continue enriching uranium. Both sides could remain locked in a volatile standoff over Iran’s nuclear program, with the conflict potentially reigniting whenever either side perceives a strategic opportunity. Sticking point over Iran’s nuclear program Iran faces even greater challenges when it emerges from the war. With a heavy toll on its leadership and nuclear infrastructure, Tehran will likely prioritise rebuilding its deterrence capability. That includes acquiring new advanced air defence systems — potentially from China — and restoring key components of its missile and nuclear programs. (Some experts say Iran has not used some of its most powerful missiles to maintain this deterrence.) Iranian officials have claimed they safeguarded more than 400 kilograms of 60% enriched uranium before the attacks. This stockpile could theoretically be converted into nine to ten nuclear warheads if further enriched to 90%. Trump declared Iran’s nuclear capacity had been “totally obliterated”, whereas Rafael Grossi, the United Nations’ nuclear watchdog chief, said damage to Iran’s facilities was “very significant”. However, analysts have argued Iran will still have a depth of technical knowledge accumulated over decades. Depending on the extent of the damage to its underground facilities, Iran could be capable of restoring and even accelerating its program in a relatively short time frame. And the chances of reviving negotiations on Iran’s nuclear program appear slimmer than ever. What might future deterrence look like? The war has fundamentally reshaped how both Iran and Israel perceive deterrence — and how they plan to secure it going forward. For Iran, the conflict has reinforced the belief that its survival is at stake. With regime change openly discussed during the war, Iran’s leaders appear more convinced than ever that true deterrence requires two key pillars: nuclear weapons capability, and deeper strategic alignment with China and Russia. As a result, Iran is expected to move rapidly to restore and advance its nuclear program, potentially moving towards actual weaponisation — a step it had long avoided, officially. At the same time, Tehran is likely to accelerate military and economic cooperation with Beijing and Moscow to hedge against isolation. Iranian Foreign Minister Abbas Araghchi emphasised this close engagement with Russia during a visit to Moscow this week, particularly on nuclear matters. Israel, meanwhile, sees deterrence as requiring constant vigilance and a credible threat of overwhelming retaliation. In the absence of diplomatic breakthroughs, Israel may adopt a policy of immediate preemptive strikes on Iranian facilities or leadership figures if it detects any new escalation — particularly related to Iran’s nuclear program. In this context, the current ceasefire already appears fragile. Without comprehensive negotiations that address the core issues — namely, Iran’s nuclear capabilities — the pause in hostilities may prove temporary. Mutual deterrence may prevent a more protracted war for now, but the balance remains precarious and could collapse with little warning.

Defense & Security
President Donald Trump announces the Golden Dome missile defense system P20250520JB-0081 (54536146884)

The Evolution of U.S. Defense Space Doctrine under the Donald Trump Administration

by Vadim Kozyulin

한국어로 읽기 Leer en español In Deutsch lesen Gap اقرأ بالعربية Lire en français Читать на русском From 2017 to 2021, the administration of Donald Trump radically changed U.S. space policy by focusing on military dominance, integrating the commercial sector, and abandoning previous restrictions on the militarization of space. New doctrinal documents were adopted, the United States Space Force was created, and the United States Space Command was reestablished. The emphasis shifted toward the development of offensive capabilities, cybersecurity, and public-private partnerships. During his second presidential term (2025–2029), Donald Trump initiated large-scale defense projects — in particular, the “Golden Dome of America” — and expanded the involvement of private companies in their development. This policy increases international tensions, provokes an arms race in space, and draws criticism for undermining international agreements and fragmenting the legal framework. Architecture of the New Space Order: Doctrinal Principles of the 2017–2021 Administration The national security space policy of the United States is formed both through presidential directives and on the basis of legislative acts. Presidential directives remain in force until they are revised by the next president. Thus, today the U.S. operates under a set of directives issued by Presidents George W. Bush (2001–2009), Barack Obama (2009–2017), Donald Trump (2017–2021), and Joe Biden (2021–2025). During his first presidential term, Donald Trump signed an updated National Space Policy, seven Space Policy Directives (SPDs), five space-related executive orders, two strategies, two reports, and one National Security Presidential Memorandum (NSPM). His “space policy” was aimed at “reviving the proud legacy of American leadership in space,” including in the field of national security, accelerating the exploration of the Moon and Mars, and developing the commercial sector. It was based on a number of firm beliefs: America must remain the leading power in space in both scientific and commercial areas; space is a strategically important domain for protecting U.S. interests; space should become a driver of the country’s economic development; and achieving these goals would be supported by cooperation with private companies and international partners. “We are a nation of pioneers. We are the people who crossed an ocean, settled a vast continent, inhabited a boundless wilderness, and then looked to the stars. That is our history and that is our destiny,” declared Donald Trump. These beliefs were embodied in a number of doctrinal documents. The Presidential Memorandum “Space Policy Directive-1” (SPD-1) in December 2017 became one of the first steps in Donald Trump’s space policy. The document set a course for the exploration and use of lunar resources, as well as preparation for missions to Mars. In order to carry out such costly projects, the memorandum emphasized cooperation with commercial entities and international partners. In the area of national security, Donald Trump formulated the principle that the United States must maintain “peace through strength” in outer space. In the 2018 “Nuclear Posture Review” approved by him, the goal was set to modernize space-based intelligence and communication systems to strengthen nuclear deterrence. In the “National Defense Strategy” adopted in the same year, the focus was on investments in resilience and the restoration of production capabilities necessary to enhance the country’s space potential. In December 2018, the “National Security Strategy” was published, in which space was defined as a zone of confrontation, marking a more rigid approach compared to Barack Obama’s position, who merely acknowledged threats from adversaries. This document, along with the “National Space Strategy,” emphasized the strategic importance of space and the need to ensure peace in it through the demonstration of strength. In the new 2018 National Space Strategy, the administration focused on creating a more resilient space architecture, enhancing deterrence capabilities, and ensuring security in space. In 2018, under the pretext of a threat in space from China and Russia, the Trump administration initiated the creation of the United States Space Force, which in December 2019 became the sixth branch of the U.S. Armed Forces. Under Donald Trump, the United States Space Command (SPACECOM) was restored as an independent combatant command. SPACECOM, which existed as a separate military branch from 1985 to 2002, was dissolved during the reorganization following the terrorist attacks of September 11, 2001. The president restored it by using his executive powers. Today, the command is responsible for integrating the space capabilities of all military services (management of satellite communication, intelligence, navigation, and missile warning systems), developing doctrines and tactics for warfare in space, and ensuring U.S. superiority in this strategic domain. In the updated 2018 Missile Defense Strategy, special attention was given to the creation of a multi-layered system of space sensors and satellites for tracking hypersonic and ballistic threats — in particular, the satellite system “Hypersonic and Ballistic Tracking Space Sensor Layer,” which provides continuous monitoring of potential threats and data transmission. Additionally, the Trump administration initiated a transition from large satellite systems to a more resilient and distributed architecture — the Next-Generation Overhead Persistent Infrared (Next-Gen OPIR). Another presidential initiative was to accelerate the development of a “persistent monitoring layer” within the “Proliferated Warfighter Space Architecture,” which includes hundreds of satellites capable of tracking enemy missiles at all stages of flight. The administration actively promoted a public-private partnership model. SPD-2, issued in 2018, aimed to simplify the regulation of commercial space activities, including the licensing of launches and satellite operations. NASA’s budget was also oriented toward supporting private companies through contracts and partnership proposals. In September 2020, the administration of Donald Trump approved Space Policy Directive SPD-5, which became the first national document establishing cybersecurity standards for space systems. It outlined principles for protecting space assets and infrastructure from cyber threats, including the design and operation of systems based on a risk-oriented approach and the introduction of engineering solutions that account for cybersecurity threats. The directive emphasized cooperation between government agencies and commercial companies, and called on space system operators to develop cyber protection plans, including measures to counter unauthorized access, secure command and telemetry systems, prevent jamming and spoofing, and manage risks in the supply chain. The Trump administration aimed to strengthen international alliances in the space sector. One of its projects was the Artemis Accords, signed on October 13, 2020, which set standards for the exploration of the Moon, Mars, and other celestial bodies, including the registration of objects, sharing of scientific data, and ensuring the safety of space missions. A total of 53 countries joined the agreement. According to independent researcher Irina Isakova, the ultimate goal of the Artemis Accords was to attract technologies and form a new space community willing to operate under American rules. A notable departure from the policies of previous U.S. administrations was the rejection of multilateral initiatives to limit the militarization of space. The view of outer space as a new domain of warfare contradicted the spirit of the 1967 Outer Space Treaty. Nevertheless, the United States refused to participate in discussions on new international agreements aimed at preventing an arms race in space — in particular, proposals from Russia and China to ban the placement of weapons in space and to prevent their first use. Instead, the Trump administration focused on the development of offensive orbital systems, including satellites capable of disabling enemy spacecraft. This approach increased tensions on the international stage and drew criticism from other countries. “Peace Through Strength”: An Analysis of Space Initiatives (2017–2021) During his first presidential term, Donald Trump’s administration introduced new initiatives aimed at strengthening U.S. leadership in space, supporting the private sector, and ensuring national security. However, the implementation of these ambitious goals left a mixed legacy for the next administration. The use of the term “space superiority” provoked a negative response from the international community. The White House’s drive toward the militarization of space weakened the U.S. position on the diplomatic stage — the American view of space as a “warfighting domain” raised concerns that U.S. policy was provoking a space arms race. Declarations of a desire to strengthen international cooperation often contradicted the administration’s actual actions, leading to disagreements with allies and complicating the implementation of joint plans to protect satellites or develop norms of behavior in space. Doctrinal documents (such as the Defense Space Strategy) lacked a clear connection between goals and the means to achieve them. Unlike the more detailed strategies of previous administrations, Trump’s strategy offered only general recommendations. The initiative to create the Space Force turned out to be quite costly and led to excessive bureaucratization. Some initiatives faced budget constraints or delays due to technological unpreparedness, while cuts to Earth science programs caused concern among scientists. Overall, the stated goals of peaceful space exploration, aggressive rhetoric, and the actions of Trump’s administration undermined trust in the United States on the international stage. Evolution of Approaches in the Second Term (2025–2029) According to American analysts and former government officials, in its doctrinal approach to defense space policy, the Trump 2.0 administration will focus on offensive capabilities and the integration of commercial service providers into Pentagon projects. The main obstacle for the president’s space projects will be the issue of funding. One of Donald Trump’s key initiatives during his first presidency was the promotion of the idea to form a National Space Guard (NSG) as a reserve component to support the United States Space Force. At the time, the idea did not receive support. In March 2025, a bill to establish the NSG was introduced to Congress. One of its authors, Senator Mike Crapo, stated that “Guard members and reservists are often highly specialized and trained individuals entrusted to counter serious threats posed by global actors such as China and Russia.” On January 27, 2025, President Donald Trump signed an executive order to create the “Iron Dome of America”, which includes land-, air-, sea-, and space-based components, including orbital interceptor missiles. Just one month later, the ambitious initiative was renamed Golden Dome for America. The system is intended to protect the entire country from all types of missile threats. The general provisions of the order closely resemble the Strategic Defense Initiative plan of President Ronald Reagan from the 1980s. Creation of a dense system for intercepting and striking enemy missiles during the launch phase and even before launch;Deployment in outer space of intercept systems equipped with lasers to destroy enemy nuclear weapons;Deployment of interceptors in various orbits;Construction/deployment of a global ground-based infrastructure;Protection of critical assets and infrastructure within the framework of the extended deterrence concept;Modernization of battlefield air defense systems to protect military formations on the ground;Establishment of a complete and self-contained production cycle for all components of the “shield” exclusively within the United States, ensuring the security of the defense industry and logistics for the production of upgraded and advanced interceptors and tracking systems. In addition to the obvious analogy with the Strategic Defense Initiative (SDI), the current program also reflects the evolution of military technologies — the use of hypersonic sensors (Hypersonic and Ballistic Tracking Space Sensor Layer) and satellite networks like Next-Gen OPIR, which provide continuous monitoring. It is assumed that the system will be entirely produced in the United States. However, Kari Bingen, former Deputy Under Secretary of Defense for Intelligence and Security during the first Trump administration and now a fellow at CSIS, believes that the new administration will strive for close cooperation with Israel in the space domain. Although the technical and financial scale of the project raises skepticism among experts, the Golden Dome for America program may lead to greater involvement of private companies in the development and production of missile defense system components, stimulate the U.S. defense-industrial base, and ultimately contribute to a revision of the national defense strategy aimed at winning the arms race and achieving strategic invulnerability. At the same time, according to the December 2024 report “Government Space Programs: A Comprehensive Review of Government Space Strategies, Activities, and Budgets through 2033” by NovaSpace, 59% of global government funding for space programs comes from the U.S. budget, but Washington remains dissatisfied with the current funding level. The White House is betting on encouraging the involvement of private capital and foreign partners in space programs. A discussion held during the Small Satellite Symposium on February 5, 2025, in California highlighted strong competition for government contracts between legacy space program contractors (Lockheed Martin, Northrop Grumman, L3Harris, Raytheon Technologies, Boeing’s Millennium, General Dynamics) and several new consortium groups (Palantir Technologies and Anduril Industries, OpenAI and SpaceX). In the space sector, the United States holds not only strong technological and financial advantages but also significant competitive capacity. Trump’s 2.0 team includes many prominent figures with professional or commercial interests in space: Elon Musk, owner of SpaceX and Tesla; Jared Isaacman, NASA Administrator, CEO of Shift4 Payments and Draken International (which trained U.S. Air Force pilots); Steve Feinberg, candidate for Deputy Secretary of Defense and founder of Cerberus Capital Management; Tom Krause, Assistant Secretary of the Treasury and Director of Cloud Software Group; Jeff Bezos, advisor to space coordination councils and founder of Blue Origin, among others. The recent conflict between Donald Trump and Elon Musk, despite its public resonance, has not had a systemic impact on the administration’s strategy regarding the private sector. NASA officially stated its intent to continue implementing the president’s space priorities, using the full range of industrial partners. Any potential tactical slowdowns caused by corporate conflicts are offset by strong competition and diversification of contractors. NASA’s flagship program, the Artemis Accords, may undergo a shift in priorities. Its outspoken critic, Elon Musk, has consistently argued that the U.S. should abandon lunar exploration and focus on Mars. There remains a possibility that the Space Launch System (SLS) — the super-heavy launch vehicle for crewed missions beyond Earth orbit — may be canceled or significantly altered. Key roles could shift to private companies such as SpaceX or Blue Origin, with Elon Musk’s SpaceX Starship becoming the cornerstone of Martian ambitions. This is evidenced by budget cuts and job reductions: Boeing, the primary SLS contractor, has already announced potential layoffs. The future of the Artemis Accords will depend on decisions by the Trump administration, the influence of the private sector, and Congressional support. Invitation to a Space Arms Race The doctrinal approaches of the current U.S. president’s administration are transforming space into a full-fledged theater of military operations, where the United States seeks to establish dominance through a combination of military, commercial, and regulatory tools. During his first presidential term, Donald Trump laid the institutional groundwork for this strategy; in his second term, he is launching a qualitatively new phase of militarization. The 2018 National Space Strategy, with its emphasis on building a large-scale space architecture, marks a shift to the concept of “space as a warfighting domain.” The Golden Dome program effectively abandons the principle of “stability through vulnerability” and revives the Strategic Defense Initiative (SDI), which in the 1980s undermined nuclear deterrence stability and triggered a new round of confrontation. The Artemis program contributes to the fragmentation of the legal framework and undermines the regime established by the 1967 Outer Space Treaty. Trump’s “space” agenda is expected to further militarize the civilian sector of the economy, draw U.S. allies around the world into military space projects, and intensify global competition over frequencies, orbits, and cybersecurity standards. Such policies by the Trump administration have dangerous consequences for international security, including the escalation of the space arms race, the risk of space-based conflicts, and the provocation of nuclear arsenal expansion — especially by China. The New Space Landscape and Future Challenges Donald Trump’s administration has radically revised the U.S. approach to outer space, turning it from a domain of international cooperation into a stage of strategic rivalry. The creation of the U.S. Space Force, the launch of the Golden Dome program, and the promotion of the Artemis Accords represent a clear trajectory toward military-technological dominance, supported by public-private partnerships. These steps have sparked not only a wave of technological advancement but also increased international tension — including criticism from Russia and China, which advocate for banning the militarization of orbital space, as well as major disagreements over the interpretation of space law. The Trump era will leave behind a dual legacy: on one hand, accelerated innovation and commercialization; on the other, risks of legal fragmentation and the escalation of an arms race. Under Donald Trump, space is becoming an integral part of U.S. defense strategy. The future of humanity in space will depend on whether the White House administration can balance its desire to deter space competitors with a willingness to preserve dialogue — otherwise, near-Earth space risks turning into the “new front of a cold war.” Sources: V.P. Kozin. U.S. Space Forces: Their Key Missions and Future Potentials. Moscow: Sabashnikov Publishing House, 2022. 444 pages. ISBN: 978-5-82420-184-0. 

Energy & Economics
Climate migration vector illustration word cloud isolated on a white background.

Pathways to respond to climate change, forced displacement, and conflict challenges

by Edoardo Borgomeo , Anders Jägerskog

한국어로 읽기 Leer en español In Deutsch lesen Gap اقرأ بالعربية Lire en français Читать на русском Abstract The collision of climate impacts with forced displacement and conflict renders efforts to promote peace and development particularly challenging. Most of the academic literature to date has focused on exploring and predicting causal links between climate change, conflict, and forced displacement. Much less attention has been paid to the need to inform actual policy interventions and responses, particularly to support climate-resilient development. Here, we address this gap and develop a decision framework to inform long-term climate responses in contexts affected by conflict and forced displacement. Building upon previous World Bank policy reports and the authors’ professional experience, we suggest that a focus on decision pathways can help inform a long-term, development response to conflict, forced displacement, and climate challenges. Pathways capture the sequence of interventions that are required to reduce climate risks in contexts affected by conflict and forced displacement. They also offer an opportunity for aligning climate change adaptation interventions, such as water storage or flood embankments, with peacebuilding and stabilization initiatives. Case studies from Lebanon and South Sudan are discussed to illustrate the pathways approach to climate adaptation in contexts affected by conflict and forced displacement. 1. Introduction Research and policy analysis on climate change, migration, and conflict have expanded significantly in recent years (Swain et al., 2023; Von Uexkull and Buhaug, 2021). Attention has been mostly devoted to answering questions of causality, trying to unpack the complex causal linkages between these issues (e.g., Abel et al., 2019), and viewing climate as a “driver” of security risks. While research on causality has yielded important insights into some of the potential channels through which climate change might affect human mobility and conflict, it has also been criticized for its lack of nuance and context sensitivity (Brzoska and Fröhlich, 2016). Moreover, it has led to some statements about conflict–climate relationships, especially in the context of the Syrian civil war, that largely fail to account for broader political economy considerations and are, as such, unhelpful from a policy perspective and unwarranted from a scientific perspective (Daoudy, 2020; de Châtel, 2014; Fröhlich, 2016). Here, we argue that rather than attempting to quantify and model causal linkages between climate, migration, and conflict, research should focus more on questions of policy and intervention design. This will address urgent needs to anticipate people’s movements and to find lasting solutions to displacement caused by conflict- and climate-related factors (African Union and International Organisation for Migration, 2024). A focus on solutions and policy design will also support governments in conflict-affected areas in adopting a position on climate security and in prioritizing scarce development resources to address climate security risks (International Crisis Group, 2025). A focus on policy and intervention design requires understanding two sets of interactions. First, the impacts of climate risks—encompassing hazard, exposure, and vulnerability—on efforts to address protracted conflict and migration. For example, there is little knowledge of the drought and flood hazards faced by forcibly displaced populations living in refugee camps under high-end climate change scenarios, or of the effects that short-term humanitarian responses to flood hazards might have on exacerbating long-term flood exposure in conflict-affected areas. Second, the impacts of efforts to advance climate change adaptation or mitigation on forced displacement and conflict risks. For example, there is little knowledge of the potential conflict and forced displacement risks arising from investments in climate infrastructure (e.g., flood embankments, irrigation) in certain contexts. This perspective focuses on these interactions and presents a decision framework for evaluating options to address forced displacement and conflict challenges while not exacerbating the climate risks faced by populations. The perspective specifically focuses on the role of water development interventions in influencing interactions between forced displacement responses and climate risks. Forced displacement is interpreted as situations where individuals or communities leave or flee their homes due to conflict, violence, persecution, and human rights violations. 2. Promoting climate-resilient development in situations of protracted forced displacement2.1. Decision points and path dependencies shape success in development responses When responding to protracted forced displacement situations, policymakers will likely face trade-offs between short-term uncoordinated measures to respond to immediate risks (e.g., lack of drinking water supplies, temporary flood embankments) and long-term measures needed to address structural issues (e.g., provision of sustainable water services, land-use zoning to reduce flood exposure) (Borgomeo et al. 2021). These trade-offs are time-specific, meaning that they can create path dependencies and lock-in, thus influencing countries’ ability to achieve stability and climate-resilient development over the long term. Hence, at different stages of a protracted forced displacement crisis, policymakers need to be cognizant that their efforts can undermine or support long-term policy objectives such as climate resilience and peace. Building upon Borgomeo et al. (2021), we propose a framework (Figure 1) that identifies three decision points at which specific trade-offs shape future development and climate resilience paths: • Prevention and pre-crisis coordination and planning• Responding to protracted forced displacement• Preparing for recovery and return  Figure 1. Decision points and impact of climate and water-related events at various stages of conflict and forced displacement cycle. Adapted from Lund (1996). The framework adapts Lund’s peace and conflict cycle (Lund, 1996) to the specific case of climate change, conflict, and forced displacement responses. The bell-shaped curve in Figure 1 is a stylized representation of the potential course of a complex forced displacement and conflict crisis, with the vertical axis representing the intensity of the crisis, and the horizontal axis representing time. Different conflict and forced displacement crises will follow different curves: responses can prevent or reduce the risks of the crisis escalating further. Moreover, climate-related events might make addressing the crisis more challenging, exacerbating risks of armed violence, or perpetuating forced displacement cycles. At each of the decision points in Figure 1, policymakers need to explore trade-offs between addressing short-term needs and achieving longer-term development. Policymakers confront a series of choices through time; their choices will determine a “pathway” and the type of outcomes they can achieve. Figure 2 shows three examples of pathways that emerge (from left to right) depending on choices made at each of the three decision points. While timing and responses will be context-specific, these decision points are likely to arise in any protracted forced displacement situation, making the framework shown in Figures 1 and 2 generally applicable in different contexts.  Figure 2. Decision points shape three example pathways to respond to climate change, forced displacement, and conflict challenges. Prevention and pre-crisis coordination and planning At Decision point 1, in a situation where the crisis has not yet materialized, building preparedness through coordination between development, humanitarian, and security actors is essential. Development actors have access to ministries and service providers and should ensure that these public sector entities that are tasked with providing climate-related information (e.g., hydrometeorological services), managing water, and delivering services establish functional links with humanitarian and security actors (World Bank, ICRC and UNICEF 2021). Development actors should promote and support data collection and information-sharing protocols to build a common understanding across parties involved in climate-related sectors in fragile contexts. For example, a joint understanding of water resource availability and safe deployable outputs (i.e., the quantity of water that can be consumed without compromising it through depletion or salinization) and of water governance structures can ensure that humanitarian actors have a better understanding of when and where water resources might be compromised or depleted during a crisis. This joint understanding also involves mapping critical interconnected infrastructure systems, notably energy, digital, and water infrastructure, and ensuring that there are no single points of failure that—if targeted—can bring down the entire system (Weinthal and Sowers, 2020). Similarly, joint understanding should be developed in the area of flood and drought hazards, to prevent any potential crisis responses from further exacerbating exposure to climate impacts, for example, by locating refugee camps in flood-prone areas. Response to protracted forced displacement During a protracted forced displacement crisis, policymakers face significant trade-offs between short-term responses to meet immediate needs and long-term measures that address underlying sector weaknesses (Figure 2, decision point 2). Overreliance on temporary solutions provided by humanitarian actors and private sector providers can undermine long-term institutional ability to provide sector oversight, understand climate risks, and deliver services. Moreover, it might paradoxically exacerbate vulnerability and exposure to climate hazards leading to lock-in, where temporary responses perpetuate, delay, or prevent a transition to more sustainable and long-term adaptation to climate shocks (Pathway 1 in Figure 2). Two examples help elucidate the type of trade-offs that might emerge at decision point 2. In the case of water service delivery, private water vendors might be interested in maintaining control of water distribution even after the crisis ends, complicating the transition to a sustainable and affordable water delivery model. They might also avoid protecting water sources from pollution and overexploitation or promote the drilling of new wells, contributing to an uncontrolled expansion of unlicensed users and exacerbating vulnerability to droughts under climate change. This pathway has been observed in Yemen, for example, where most urban residents are supplied by privately operated tanker trucks, with ensuing issues for affordability, public health, sustainability of water use, and long-term resilience to drought (Abu-Lohom et al. 2018). In the case of flood risk management for forcibly displaced communities, short-term responses can have profound implications for future climate resilience and vulnerability. Forcibly displaced communities often relocate to marginal lands exposed to water-related hazards, such as landslides and floods. This pattern has been observed in several contexts, such as Colombia (Few et al., 2021), Sierra Leone (Gbanie et al., 2018), and South Sudan (Borgomeo et al., 2023). Once the forced displacement crisis and conflict end, these communities are likely to experience heightened climate impacts because they settle in areas highly exposed to floods and landslides. These communities might also receive inequitable benefits from recovery efforts, as settlements on marginal lands are often considered illegal and therefore not serviced by infrastructure. In turn, this might make historical grievances resurge, heightening the risk of relapse into conflict and hindering efforts to build government legitimacy and trust. Although sustainability of use, resource protection, and land use planning might not seem like priorities in the short term, they are key tenets of a development approach to the forced displacement crisis at decision point 2. Often, short-term responses, such as drilling a well, can have long-term impacts on the sustainability of both short- and long-term interventions by inevitably depleting or contaminating water resources. Similarly, short-term responses to settlement issues can also aggravate exposure to climate impacts. A development approach focused on addressing urgent needs while responding to structural challenges is better able to achieve long-term climate resilience and stability outcomes. In the context of water service delivery, this approach entails rationalizing the use of existing water resources and prioritizing demand-side solutions (e.g., reducing water use) to avoid placing additional pressures on already strained supplies (Borgomeo et al. 2021). In the context of flood risk management, this entails using integrated gray and green solutions to respond to flood risks and adopting floodplain zoning strategies. A longer-term approach might also combine short-term humanitarian actions with interventions that support the business continuity of water service providers and water resource management agencies with one-off capital injections or specific staff support programs to prevent brain drain. Although a development approach helps to address water sector issues in host countries, it might be challenging to adopt in practice. In already politically fragile and financially stretched contexts, governments might not be willing or able to provide water services or protection to forcibly displaced communities. In turn, this leaves humanitarian actors or unregulated private vendors to meet the immediate needs of vulnerable populations. However, these short-term responses might be counterproductive in the long run because they might create patterns of inclusion and exclusion between host communities and forcibly displaced populations, making integration and cohesion harder to achieve (Pathway 2 in Figure 2). When host communities perceive that forcibly displaced populations are receiving better services through humanitarian actors, this can fuel grievances against the forcibly displaced populations and the state. While temporary solutions might offer a relatively easier way to respond to forced displacement, they can also lead to lock-in and foreclose alternatives in the long term for host countries. The different responses to the Syrian refugee crisis observed in Jordan, Lebanon, and Türkiye demonstrate this problem: the water security of forcibly displaced populations and their host communities varies significantly depending on host countries’ willingness and ability to adopt a long-term development approach to the crisis rather than short-term temporary solutions. Preparation for recovery and return A third decision point relates to a post-conflict situation of recovery, peacebuilding, and potential return of the forcibly displaced. At this point, water- and climate-related interventions need to be integrated within broader plans for reconciliation and for extending basic services to camps and informal settlements, rehabilitating infrastructure, and expanding the capacity of existing urban water systems to respond to higher demand (Pathway 3 in Figure 2). For example, a higher presence of refugees in urban areas can increase water demands, highlighting the need to upgrade and in some cases increase the capacity of existing supply and sanitation infrastructure. This demand growth is different from normal surges in demand for water services, which are typically short-lived increases in demand in response to weather conditions or public health measures (e.g., COVID-19 lockdowns). In contrast to these demand surges, forced displacement causes long-lasting increases in service demand, thus requiring a master plan and long-term response. For water utilities and service providers, restoring and expanding services will be an opportunity to improve service quality for their constituents and customers while avoiding the promotion of exclusionary practices that benefit factional interests and that can contribute to fragility (Sadoff et al 2017). A development approach to recovery and return should also consider a regional perspective. Following a protracted forced displacement crisis, new economic realities and incentives might arise. In some situations, the forcibly displaced populations might not intend to go back to their place of origin (as reported by some Syrian refugees) (IPA, 2020). In this case, it might make more economic sense for development actors to prioritize the use of scarce financial resources to support the expansion of water infrastructure in the host country rather than to rebuild infrastructure in the place of origin. A regional perspective also helps to identify opportunities to share benefits from transboundary waters and identify regionally beneficial approaches to water management. 3. Insights from balancing and sequencing development interventions to respond to climate, conflict, and forced displacement challengesLebanon: addressing the needs of the forcibly displaced and their host communities in situations of crisis At the height of the Syrian crisis in 2014, the Lebanese authorities estimated that around 1.5 million Syrian refugees had entered Lebanon, causing the country’s population to increase by almost 25% (World Bank 2018). Lebanon chose not to establish refugee camps, and the majority of the Syrians settled amid Lebanese communities in urban and rural areas. The sudden increase in demand for services placed significant pressure upon already limited and poorly performing infrastructure. In 2014, the Ministry of Environment estimated that domestic water demand had increased by 43 million m3 to 70 million m3 a year, which corresponds to an increase in overall national water demand of between 8% and 12% (Ministry of Environment of Lebanon 2014). This crisis took place against a backdrop of growing water-related hazards including increasing drought hazards because of climate change, and also chronic water scarcity caused by decades of underinvestment in water systems and soaring water demands (World Bank 2017). Faced with this situation of crisis (decision point 2 above), the Republic of Lebanon, with support from the World Bank, adopted a long-term response strategy that intervened in host communities in a way that benefited both hosts and refugees. Rather than creating a parallel system of assistance only for the forcibly displaced, the Lebanon Municipal Services Emergency Project targeted both the host community and Syrian refugees through infrastructure and social interventions (World Bank 2018). Community social interventions were urgent and indispensable to complement water and energy service delivery as well as to support the long-term objective of enhancing social cohesion and living conditions. Based on consultations, communities prioritized 12 social interventions around five themes—environmental awareness, employment training, skills training, health, and social cohesion—for both Lebanese and Syrians, with a focus on women, youth, and children (World Bank 2018). Infrastructure interventions addressed urgent community priorities which were also identified through community consultations involving both forcibly displaced and host communities. This included installing solar pumps to improve the reliability of water supplies and improve the ability to meet growing water demand. This had the additional advantage of reducing electricity costs for the financially weak water utility. South Sudan: water as an enabler of durable solutions for the forcibly displaced South Sudan is the main source of refugees in Sub-Saharan Africa and hosts one of the world’s largest internally displaced populations (IDPs) (UNHCR, 2025). The country presents a multilayered mix of IDPs, asylum seekers, refugees, returnees, stateless persons, and persons at risk of statelessness. South Sudan is also among the most vulnerable countries to climate change, ranking as the second most vulnerable country to natural hazards such as floods and droughts in the world, according to the 2024 INFORM Risk Index. Forced displacement was traditionally associated with armed conflict, but in recent years water-related disasters, notably floods, have triggered large-scale internal and cross-border displacement (UNHCR, 2021). These sobering statistics position South Sudan as one of the global hotspots where urgent responses at the nexus of climate change, forced displacement, and conflict are needed. At the time of writing, South Sudan confronts a situation of relative stability and an urgent need to address the needs of IDPs and returnees (decision point 3). Since 2018, the country has faced unprecedented floods, which have contributed to protracted cycles of displacement. These floods are directly linked to rainfall patterns in the African Great Lakes region, where the Bahr el Jebel (White Nile) originates, and in the Ethiopian Highlands. Because of South Sudan’s very flat landscape and impermeable soils, flooding persists for a long time, posing long-term challenges for climate adaptation. The country also faces a water supply and sanitation crisis, with about 60% of the population using unimproved sources at risk from contamination (Borgomeo et al., 2023). Decision-makers face stark trade-offs between temporary fixes and long-term, durable solutions that lay the foundation for sustainable service delivery and flood risk management over the long term. In the context of South Sudan, the provision of water services is an area where the Government has identified the importance of transitioning towards long-term solutions instead of just relying on temporary humanitarian actions. This provides an example of how responses to decision point 3 can help countries gradually improve climate resilience and water security while addressing the urgent needs of the forcibly displaced. The provision of clean drinking water in areas of return or local integration is one of the Six Priority Areas under the South Sudan 2021 Durable Solutions Strategy, highlighting that water availability is a governing factor in the government’s response to forced displacement. The strategy recognizes that without access to water supply and sanitation services, local integration processes, voluntary returns, and relocations cannot materialize. Durable solutions are achieved when individuals no longer have specific assistance or protection needs linked to displacement and represent the closure of the displacement cycle. The Government of South Sudan and a range of humanitarian partners developed a WASH Transition Strategy for Former Protection of Civilian (PoC) Sites, to ensure that the responsibility for maintaining and operating WASH facilities is progressively transferred to local populations and the responsible local authorities. The WASH Transition Strategy for Former PoC Sites, through the WASH exPoC Task Force, is contributing to building the capacity of the responsible local authorities who should become responsible and accountable for ensuring regular services to eventually promote suitable solutions for IDPs by creating service conditions conducive to durable solutions (returns and local integration) (WASH Cluster South Sudan, 2021). In several locations, multisectoral plans are being developed at the site level, including transition plans for security, services, and community engagement (WASH Cluster South Sudan, 2022). The challenge of providing durable solutions to forced displacement in South Sudan is extremely complex: because the security conditions in multiple parts of the country remain fragile and the impacts of climate change are increasing. The country’s efforts to advance durable solutions in terms of water services show that it is indeed possible to take a long-term view of forced displacement as one that is complementary to humanitarian efforts; focuses on medium-term socioeconomic aspects; is government-led and places particular attention on institutions and policies. While water service delivery has been included in the Government’s durable solutions plan, the issue of flood risks under climate change remains largely unaddressed, posing significant challenges to break the forced displacement cycle and build climate resilience in the country. The scale of the flood challenge and the risk of regional spillovers call for more regional and international attention to climate security risks in South Sudan (International Crisis Group, 2025). Research and policy should focus on identifying opportunities to link climate adaptation interventions to broader reconciliation and stabilization efforts at local and national levels. 4. Discussion and conclusions This perspective focuses on the design of interventions to respond to complex challenges at the nexus of climate change, migration, and conflict. It suggests that sequencing and trade-offs need to be considered when implementing humanitarian interventions, to avoid perpetuating existing vulnerabilities or delaying opportunities to pursue climate-resilient development. This perspective also highlights that development and humanitarian actors should work more closely together to align perspectives and create a level of readiness for when a crisis occurs. The perspective identifies three specific decision points that can help focus planning and interactions among the different stakeholders from the humanitarian, security, and development sectors involved in crisis response. Frameworks based on pathways and decision points, such as the one presented here, have been found valuable in guiding decision-making and design of interventions in the field of water security (Garrick and Hall, 2014) and climate adaptation under uncertainty (Haasnoot et al., 2024). However, their application for intervention design and implementation at the humanitarian-development nexus is limited and likely to be affected by stakeholder cultures and objectives. Moreover, a focus on decision points and pathways requires capabilities to conduct monitoring and options identification and assessment which are often absent in contexts characterized by fragility and conflict. Moving forward, research should focus on developing models and frameworks that can help design and monitor effective policy responses at the climate change, migration, and conflict nexus. First, research should attempt to develop typologies of climate adaptation and water interventions to address conflict and forced migration challenges, including an assessment of their potential to increase risks of conflict and violence (see Gilmore and Buhaug, 2021 for an example in relation to climate mitigation policies). Typologies will help design interventions and compare experiences across different geographies and settings. Second, research should focus less on ex-post analysis or future predictions and concentrate more on careful monitoring and evaluation of ongoing climate change adaptation and conflict-resolution and peacebuilding interventions. This will help inform the early stages of policy implementation (including options assessment and monitoring strategies mentioned above), support learning, and help with early identification of risks of relapse into conflict. Finally, analysts have highlighted several challenges related to access to climate finance in contexts affected by conflict and forced displacement (Cao et al., 2021; Meijer and Ahmad 2024). Research should examine opportunities for climate finance to support the transition from humanitarian to long-term development approaches in a context characterized by fragility and conflict. This includes creating frameworks to evaluate project contributions to financiers’ objectives, as well as improved evidence on the need for urgent climate adaptation among conflict and forcibly displaced communities worldwide. Acknowledgments Findings, interpretations, and conclusions expressed in this paper are entirely those of the authors. They do not necessarily represent the views of the International Bank for Reconstruction and Development/World Bank and its affiliated organizations, or those of the Executive Directors of the World Bank or the governments they represent, or of the Global Water Security and Sanitation Partnership. Funding The author(s) disclosed receipt of the following financial support for the research, authorship, and/or publication of this article: This article is partly derived from Chapter 4 of the World Bank report Ebb and Flow, Volume 2: Water in the Shadow of Conflict in the Middle East and North Africa. As such, it benefited from funding from the World Bank and the Global Water Security and Sanitation Partnership. Data availability statement This article is not based on any new data and it contains practitioner insights based on the authors’ experience. References Abel G. J., Brottrager M., Cuaresma J. C., Muttarak R. (2019). Climate, conflict and forced migration. Global Environmental Change, 54, 239–249.Abu-Lohom N. M., Konishi Y., Mumssen Y., Zabara B., Moore S. M. (2018). Water supply in a war zone: A preliminary analysis of two urban water tanker supply systems in the Republic of Yemen. World Bank Publications.African Union and International Organisation for Migration. (2024). Africa Migration Report. Second Edition. PUB2023/132/R. African Union.Borgomeo E., Chase C., Godoy N. S., Kwadwo V. O. (2023). Rising from the depths: Water security and fragility in South Sudan. World Bank Publications.Borgomeo E., Jägerskog A., Zaveri E., Russ J., Khan A., Damania R. (2021). Ebb and flow: Volume 2. Water in the shadow of conflict in the Middle East and North Africa. World Bank Publications.Brzoska M., Fröhlich C. (2016). Climate change, migration and violent conflict: vulnerabilities, pathways and adaptation strategies. Migration and Development, 5(2), 190–210.Cao Y., Alcayna T., Quevedo A., Jarvie J. (2021). Exploring the conflict blind spots in climate adaptation finance. Synthesis Report. London: Overseas Development Institute. Enable Finance for Climate-Change Adaptation in Conflict Settings. London. Retrieved December 12, 2023, from www.odi.org/en/publications/exploring-the-conflict-blind-spots-in-climate-adaptationfinance/Daoudy M. (2020). The origins of the Syrian conflict: Climate change and human security. Cambridge University Press.de Châtel F. (2014). The role of drought and climate change in the Syrian uprising: Untangling the triggers of the revolution. Middle Eastern Studies, 50(4): 521–535.Few R., Ramírez V., Armijos M. T., Hernández L. A. Z., Marsh H. (2021). Moving with risk: Forced displacement and vulnerability to hazards in Colombia. World Development, 144, 105482.Fröhlich C. J. (2016). Climate migrants as protestors? Dispelling misconceptions about global environmental change in pre-revolutionary Syria. Contemporary Levant, 1(1), 38–50.Garrick D., Hall J. W. (2014). Water security and society: Risks, metrics, and pathways. Annual Review of Environment and Resources, 39(1), 611–639.Gbanie S. P., Griffin A. L., Thornton A. (2018). Impacts on the urban environment: Land cover change trajectories and landscape fragmentation in post-war Western Area, Sierra Leone. Remote Sensing, 10(1), 129.Gilmore E. A., Buhaug H. (2021). Climate mitigation policies and the potential pathways to conflict: Outlining a research agenda. Wiley Interdisciplinary Reviews: Climate Change, 12(5), e722.Haasnoot M., Di Fant V., Kwakkel J., Lawrence J. (2024). Lessons from a decade of adaptive pathways studies for climate adaptation. Global Environmental Change, 88, 102907.International Crisis Group. (2025). Eight priorities for the African Union in 2025. Crisis Group Africa Briefing N°205. International Crisis Group.IPA (Innovations for Poverty Action). (2020). “Returning home? Conditions in Syria, not Lebanon, drive the return intentions of Syrian refugees.” Policy brief. https://www.poverty-action.org/publication/returning-home-conditions-syria-not-lebanon-drive-return-intentions-syrian-refugees.Lund Michael S. (1996)., “Early Warning and Preventive Diplomacy.” In Crocker CA, Hampson FO, Aall P (Eds.), Managing global chaos: sources of and responses to international conflict (pp. 379–402). U.S. Institute of Peace.Meijer K., Ahmad A. S. (2024). Unveiling challenges and gaps in climate finance in conflict areas. SIPRI.Ministry of Environment of Lebanon. (2014). Lebanon environmental assessment of the Syrian conflict and priority interventions. MOE/EU/UNDP Report, Beirut. https://goo.gl/5c9DQa.Sadoff C. W., Borgomeo E., De Waal D. (2017). Turbulent waters: Pursuing water security in fragile contexts. World Bank Publications.Swain A., Bruch C., Ide T., Lujala P., Matthew R., Weinthal E. (2023). Environment and security in the 21st century. Environment and Security, 1(1-2), 3–9.UNHCR (United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees). (2021). Mid-year trends. UNHCR.UNHCR (United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees). (2025). South Sudan. Global appeal 2025 situation overview. UNHCR.Von Uexkull N., Buhaug H. (2021). Security implications of climate change: A decade of scientific progress. Journal of Peace Research, 58(1), 3–17.WASH Cluster South Sudan (2021) WASH transition strategy for former POC/IDP sites in South Sudan. WASH cluster South Sudan, Juba.WASH Cluster South Sudan (2022) South Sudan WASH cluster strategy 2022–2023. WASH Cluster South Sudan, Juba.Weinthal E., Sowers J. (2020). The water-energy nexus in the Middle East: Infrastructure, development, and conflict. Wiley Interdisciplinary Reviews: Water, 7(4), e1437.World Bank (2017) Beyond scarcity: Water security in the Middle East and North Africa. World Bank.World Bank (2018) Lebanon—Municipal services emergency project. Implementation completion report. ICR4600. World Bank Publications.World Bank, ICRC (International Committee of the Red Cross) and UNICEF (United Nations Children’s Fund) (2021) Joining forces to combat protracted crises: humanitarian and development support for water and sanitation providers in the Middle East and North Africa. World Bank.

Energy & Economics
Chinese yuan Renminbi money rolls 3d illustration. Camera over the RMB rolling banknotes. Concept of economy, crisis, finance, cash, business and recession in China.

Understanding China’s Renminbi Strategy: Strategic Integration over Monetary Supremacy

by Monique Taylor

한국어로 읽기 Leer en español In Deutsch lesen Gap اقرأ بالعربية Lire en français Читать на русском China’s strategy to internationalise the renminbi (RMB) is about building resilience and influence through selective, state-managed global integration. Beijing is not seeking to elevate the RMB to the status of a global reserve currency on par with the dollar, nor is the strategy solely about insulating China from the geopolitical risks of dollar dependence, although this is an important component. Rather, it represents a pragmatic response to an increasingly fragmented global economy—one marked by rising geopolitical tensions, growing weaponisation of the dollar, and accelerating financial and technological innovation. China is pursuing a targeted, state-managed form of internationalisation that involves building an alternative web of financial relationships and infrastructures facilitating transactions outside the US-dominated system. These include currency swap lines with strategic partners, the establishment of RMB clearing banks, bilateral trade settlement mechanisms, and payment infrastructures such as the Cross-Border Interbank Payment System (CIPS), which serves as a partial alternative to SWIFT. While these efforts help reduce exposure to potential disruptions from dollar weaponisation, they are part of a broader strategy to embed the RMB in key transactional domains like trade, investment, and energy. In these spheres, China seeks to expand its influence and establish rules and mechanisms conducive to its own strategic and financial interests. Building functional alternatives to the US dollar China’s RMB internationalisation strategy is multi-layered, spanning bilateral currency swaps, RMB clearing arrangements, development finance, and payment system alternatives. Instruments such as RMB-denominated oil trades (referred to as the “petroyuan”) and the digital yuan illustrate this approach. The petroyuan enables sanctioned countries like Russia and Iran to settle oil trades in RMB, while China’s growing financial ties with Gulf states suggest that broader adoption may follow. Similarly, the digital yuan, though originally intended primarily for domestic use, is now being piloted for cross-border transactions, potentially laying the groundwork for an international digital payments network. Technological innovations are facilitating this shift by enabling the creation of central bank digital currencies, alternative financial messaging systems, and blockchain-based settlement tools—all of which can support secure transactions that operate outside traditional dollar-clearing infrastructure. In the long run, such developments could gradually reduce global reliance on the dollar. These initiatives are less about achieving global reach and more about securing strategic autonomy and expanding influence in key domains. China’s aim is to reduce vulnerability to US sanctions and dollar volatility, while gradually expanding the RMB’s role in trade, energy, and infrastructure finance, especially in the Global South, where demand for alternatives is growing. BRICS+, the BRI, and the strategic reach of the RMB Platforms like the Belt and Road Initiative (BRI) and BRICS+ play an important role in China’s RMB internationalisation strategy. They provide the geopolitical and institutional scaffolding for RMB usage in trade and investment, particularly in politically aligned or dollar-constrained contexts. For instance, RMB settlements with BRI countries reached 5.42 trillion yuan in 2021, and China has concluded dozens of currency swap agreements with its partners. While the lion’s share of these transactions is still conducted in US dollars, RMB usage is growing steadily. These arrangements point to a shift toward a multipolar and domain-specific currency landscape—one where the RMB gains traction in selected spheres, even if it remains marginal in global reserves and FX markets. Currency swap agreements, RMB clearing banks, and trade invoicing in local currency are all being promoted among China’s partners, especially those looking to reduce reliance on Western financial systems. The result is a modest but growing network of RMB-based interaction shaped by political alignment and strategic institutional design, rather than spontaneous market demand. While dollar dominance persists, de-dollarisation gains momentum The US dollar still dominates global finance. It accounts for nearly 90 percent of FX transactions and more than half of global reserves. However, that dominance increasingly rests on geopolitical foundations that are showing signs of strain. Trump 2.0’s chaotic tariffs combined with the US’s aggressive use of financial sanctions in recent years have made allies and adversaries alike question the long-term reliability of the dollar-based system. For countries exposed to US foreign and economic policy swings, whether through sanctions, interest rate volatility, or trade frictions, China’s RMB-based alternatives offer a way to diversify. In this sense, de-dollarisation is not a revolution but a structural recalibration: a rebalancing of risk rather than a zero-sum rivalry with the dollar. What China offers is not a wholesale exit from the dollar system, but an incremental hedge—a monetary space in which RMB-denominated transactions gain traction in contexts where diversification and reducing dollar dependence are prioritised. This logic underpins a broader push within the BRICS+ grouping to reduce reliance on the dollar in trade and finance. The group has floated proposals for a shared reserve currency, possibly backed by a basket of member currencies or commodities like gold, as part of its effort to foster a more multipolar monetary system. While such proposals face significant practical challenges, they reflect a clear political intent to diversify away from dollar-dominated structures. China plays a central role in these efforts, not by promoting the RMB as a global hegemonic currency, but by embedding it in alternative financial arrangements. In doing so, China contributes to a monetary order where the dollar remains dominant but increasingly contested. Why RMB leadership is not only unlikely but unnecessary Despite growing cross-border use of the RMB, significant structural constraints remain. China’s capital account remains closed, its financial markets lack transparency and depth, and its central bank operates under the authority of the party-state and, as such, lacks institutional independence. Unlike the US, which issues dollars globally through persistent trade and capital account deficits, China runs a trade surplus. This further limits the global supply of RMB and restricts its viability as a reserve currency. Central banks are unlikely to adopt the RMB as a core reserve asset under such conditions, and China has little interest in changing that right now—Beijing’s RMB internationalisation strategy is designed to work within, not against, these constraints. Indeed, the party-state’s emphasis on control and stability sits uneasily with the financial liberalisation required for global monetary leadership. In Beijing’s view, this is not a contradiction. The goal is not to supplant the dollar, but to achieve selective integration: a system in which China and its partners can transact securely, predictably, and independently of Western pressure. This approach enables China to expand its influence within specific domains, without challenging the broader dollar-centric monetary order. Adapting to a divided global economy RMB internationalisation is neither a bid for currency supremacy nor a mere act of self-defence. It is a tool of pragmatic adaptation—part of China’s effort to build resilience and exert influence through selective financial integration and institutional alternatives. As the world moves further into geopolitical and economic uncertainty, especially with the return of a Trump administration bent on upending the global trade system, China’s efforts may accelerate. The RMB won’t displace the dollar anytime soon, but its growing role in alternative trade, finance, and payment systems signals the slow but significant emergence of a more layered, fragmented, and contested global monetary order. This work has received funding from the European Union’s Horizon Europe coordination and support action 101079069–EUVIP–HORIZON-WIDERA-2021-ACCESS-03. Views and opinions expressed are however those of the author(s) only and do not necessarily re ect those of the European Union or the European Research Executive Agency (REA). Neither the European Union nor the granting authority can be held responsible for them. This article is published under a Creative Commons License and may be republished with attribution.

Defense & Security
The Cooperation Council for the Arab States of the Gulf ,is a regional, intergovernmental, political, and economic union comprising Bahrain, Kuwait, Oman, Qatar, Saudi Arabia, and the uae

Transactional Politics: Rethinking U.S.-Gulf Security and Defence Relationships amid U.S. Decline

by Kristian Coates Ulrichsen

한국어로 읽기 Leer en español In Deutsch lesen Gap اقرأ بالعربية Lire en français Читать на русском Abstract This article analyses the shifts in security and defence policies across the six states of the Gulf Cooperation Council (GCC) and disentangles political and geopolitical strains in the U.S.-Gulf relationship from practical measures to boost cooperation and deepen interoperability. In examining the trajectory of security and defence relationships, the article assesses the stability and durability of the underlying components of U.S.-Gulf partnerships in a time of rapid change. The article begins a section that details how and why the perception of U.S. disengagement has evolved, despite ongoing reliance on facilities such as Al-Udeid in Qatar for forward basing arrangements, before a second section examines regional responses to the withdrawal from Afghanistan in 2021, the Russia-Ukraine war in 2022, and the Israeli war in Gaza that erupted in 2023. A third section explores the ‘nuts and bolts’ of security and defence relationships and considers issues such as U.S. arms sales and Department of Defense programs, such as Red Sands in Saudi Arabia and the Comprehensive Security Integration and Prosperity Agreement with Bahrain, as ways to boost cooperation in the face of political tension and stiff competition. As U.S. troop levels have ebbed and flowed, a final section considers whether a more flexible approach to security relationships is sustainable in a far more transactional era of international power and politics. Little more than 6 months separated the chaotic U.S. withdrawal from Afghanistan in August 2021 from the full-scale Russian invasion of Ukraine in February 2022.[1] The manner by which the U.S. was seen by many observers to abandon the Afghan government in the face of a resurgent Taliban cast doubt among partner nations in the Gulf Cooperation Council (GCC) as to the reliability and ‘staying power’ of the U.S. in the region, and rekindled memories of the withdrawal of American support for Hosni Mubarak in Egypt as the Arab uprisings began in early 2011.[2] Kabul appeared to be another blow to a U.S.-led regional order that was already being questioned by officials in the Gulf States even as they contributed to its weakening by diversifying their own political, economic, and, to a lesser extent, security and defence relationships. For many in leadership positions in the Gulf States, the fall of Kabul appeared to be one more step in a process of U.S. disengagement which they perceived to be one-directional and to take place across successive presidencies as different as Obama was to Trump and Trump was to Biden.[3] Whereas the withdrawal from Afghanistan witnessed the U.S. acting unilaterally to secure its own interests, narrowly defined and without seeming to take account of those of its partners and allies, the build-up of tension in Ukraine saw the Biden administration engage intensively with allies and partners in the runup to and aftermath of the Russian invasion. U.S. intelligence and information-sharing, which were seen to have erred badly in Afghanistan in 2021, was a high-profile and very visible policy over Ukraine in 2022, and restored a measure of credibility, especially among NATO allies.[4] However, in the Gulf States, the policy response to Ukraine did not deliver a ‘dividend’ in terms of restoring faith in the U.S. as a trustworthy partner, as GCC states pursued hedging strategies and further diversified their range of security partnerships, albeit in divergent ways. The war in Gaza, which erupted after the Hamas-led incursion into southern Israel on October 7, 2023, generated additional questions about the durability of an increasingly fragile regional order.[5] And yet, the ‘nuts and bolts’ of security and defence ties between the U.S. and Gulf States have continued to evolve, albeit in a looser and more transactional form that at any time since the structure of U.S. primacy in the region took shape in the late-1980s and early-1990s. Examples of diverging trajectories include the United Arab Emirates becoming a safe haven for Russian capital and business, regional responses to Houthi attacks on shipping in the Red Sea, and the resilience of Saudi-Iranian ties even as hopes for Saudi-Israeli normalization faded. In October 2024, the decision of the Saudi Crown Prince, Mohammed bin Salman, to receive Iran’s Foreign Minister, Abbas Araghchi, just as the Biden administration was weighing its support for a retaliatory Israeli attack on Iran, demonstrated how perceptions of regional interests were moving apart.[6] It is this ‘puzzle’ of divergence in the political and security tracks of U.S.-Gulf relations that is the focus of analysis, as ties have simultaneously become more fragile yet also shown resilient adaptability. This article examines the changing trajectories of U.S.-Gulf security relationships and moves beyond the focus, often seen in American policy discourse, on U.S. demands for ‘burden-sharing’ among regional partners, which redoubled in the first and second Trump presidencies. Instead, the article examines the ways in which the Gulf States are developing a more transactional approach to U.S. partnerships, resulting in a more flexible model of cooperation. This is consistent with broader shifts from a U.S.-dominated regional order toward the internationalization of regional security structures, as policy preferences (on all sides) have gradually diverged. While there is no monolithic approach to ‘the Gulf’, by and large there is a trend toward states no longer being willing to rely solely on U.S. guarantees, borne out of events in the 2010s, and to developing a more diversified portfolio of security and defence partnerships, again at different speeds across different countries, and with no uniformity on the choice of external partner. At the same time, several Gulf States, notably Saudi Arabia, the United Arab Emirates (UAE), and Qatar have emerged as assertive regional and international actors, and new forms of partnership have evolved. There are four sections to this article, which begins with an examination of how and why the perception in the Gulf States of U.S. disengagement has evolved, despite ongoing reliance on facilities such as Al-Udeid in Qatar for forward basing arrangements. A second section examines regional responses to the withdrawal from Afghanistan in 2021, the Russia-Ukraine war in 2022, and the conflict in Gaza which began in October 2023. The third section explores the ‘nuts and bolts’ of security and defence relationships and considers issues such as U.S. arms sales and Department of Defense programs, such as Red Sands in Saudi Arabia and the recently concluded Comprehensive Security Integration and Prosperity Agreement with Bahrain, as ways to boost practical security cooperation in the face of political tension and stiff competition. As U.S. troop levels have ebbed and flowed, the concluding section considers whether and how a more flexible approach to security relationships is sustainable in a more transactional era of power and politics. Gulf States’ Perceptions of U.S. Disengagement A belief held by many policymakers in the Gulf States, that the U.S. is less engaged and/or less reliable and predictable in its approach to regional affairs, has taken root over the decade and a half which has elapsed since the Arab Spring uprisings of 2010–11. To be sure, this belief is rooted in an idealized view of U.S.-Gulf relations which has, over the three decades since the Gulf War in 1991, been based on extremely visible and large-scale force deployments in the region, especially during the wars in Afghanistan and Iraq, which were not typical of long-term trends.[7] Nevertheless, this perception has lasted across consecutive presidential administrations and has become more deeply entrenched precisely because a pattern has been seen to develop across such different presidencies as Obama to Trump to Biden, and as U.S. troop levels in the region were inexorably drawn down.[8] While there was no regionwide consensus or monolithic view of the U.S. in the Gulf, and no one single incident which sparked a reassessment, attitudes evolved in response to a series of policy decisions which unfolded over the space of a decade. The effect has been to strengthen a process of diversification of Gulf States’ security and defence relationships to avoid over-reliance on any single partner in a world of growing multipolarity and strategic options.[9] Deciding where to begin with the many issues which caused degrees of concern in Gulf capitals at U.S. policymaking intent is a little like asking the proverbial question about how long a piece of string might be. For example, the second term of the George W. Bush administration saw frictions develop between the U.S. and GCC states, notably Saudi Arabia, over the mishandling of the occupation of post-Saddam Iraq and the sense of anger in Gulf capitals that Iran appeared to be the primary geopolitical beneficiary.[10] This caused significant mistrust in Riyadh at U.S. policy intent (and outcomes) in Iraq and the region.[11] It was in the Obama administration, however, that the perception of drift began to develop, including in relation to the so-called ‘pivot to Asia’ in the late-2000s which Gulf leaders (erroneously) saw as a shift in U.S. focus away from the Middle East, rather than post-Cold War Europe.[12] However, it was the withdrawal of political support from the embattled Egyptian president, Hosni Mubarak, in February 2011, which caused shock and bitterness in Gulf capitals, who saw the move as a betrayal of a longstanding U.S. partner.[13] The Obama administration’s response to the Arab uprisings (which, in the case of unrest in GCC states, was far more muted and reflective of U.S. interests in the stability of its regional partners) was followed by the disclosure in November 2013 that American and Iranian officials had been meeting secretly in Oman for over a year, and by the subsequent negotiations between the P5 + 1 and Iran for a Joint Comprehensive Plan of Action (JCPOA) to address the Iranian nuclear file in 2015. Both negotiations cut out the GCC states and added to concerns at the direction of U.S. policymaking in the region.[14] Partly in response to concerns that the JCPOA focused too narrowly on only one aspect of Iran’s regional activity and did not address other issues, Saudi Arabia and the UAE intervened militarily in Yemen in March 2015 to push back the advance of Houthi rebels they believed were in receipt of direct Iranian assistance.[15] An interview given by Obama to The Atlantic magazine in 2016 sealed the breakdown in working relations as officials reacted with fury to a comment about ‘free riders’ which they perceived to be directed at them rather than, as was the case, against the British and French governments over their intervention in Libya in 2011.[16] Genuine displeasure, as well as a degree of bewilderment, at the direction of certain aspects of the Obama administration’s policies toward the Middle East contributed to the early embrace of the Trump presidency by officials in several Gulf capitals, including Riyadh and Abu Dhabi as well as Manama.[17] In June 2017, Trump initially endorsed the Saudi-Emirati-Bahraini (as well as Egyptian) move to isolate Qatar, in a decision which caused shockwaves in Doha as well as in the U.S. Departments of State and Defense. The sight of a sitting president seemingly abandoning a U.S. partner, albeit only temporarily, raised powerful questions about the reliability and durability of the Gulf States’ most important external relationship.[18] Two years later, it was the Saudis’ and Emiratis’ turn to call into question the partnership with the U.S. as the Trump administration chose not to respond to a series of attacks, generally although never formally attributed to Iran or to Iranian proxy groups, on energy and maritime targets in Saudi Arabia and the UAE.[19] In September 2019, 2 days after a missile and drone attack on Saudi oil facilities temporarily knocked out half the Kingdom’s oil production, Trump noted pointedly ‘That was an attack on Saudi Arabia, and that wasn’t an attack on us’ and added that ‘I’m somebody that would like not to have war’.[20] Political decisions by successive presidential administrations therefore injected doubt as to the value or even the existence of security guarantees which were believed by many observers of regional affairs to form the bedrock of contemporary U.S.-Gulf relations.[21] The impact became clear when tensions between the United States and Iran soared in the aftermath of the killing of Qassim Soleimani in an American drone strike in Baghdad in January 2020, when regional officials in GCC states called for de-escalation.[22] President Biden sought to restore U.S. credibility when he reasserted ‘the U.S. commitment to help Saudi Arabia defend its territory as it faces attacks from Iranian-aligned groups’ after he took office in 2021.[23] However, poor relations between Biden and Saudi Crown Prince Mohammed bin Salman, stemming from comments Biden made in a campaign debate in 2019, proved insurmountable, with MBS going so far as to reply ‘Simply, I do not care’, when asked in 2022 what he thought of Biden’s opinion of him.[24] Regional Responses to Afghanistan, Ukraine, and Gaza In August 2021, the disorganized and seemingly unilateral nature of the final U.S. withdrawal from Kabul provided yet another indication, in the eyes of already sceptical policy analysts and officials in GCC states, of the potentially capricious nature of American interests. While there was a broad consensus that the ‘forever wars’ launched in the 2000s could not continue indefinitely, the manner by which the Biden administration conducted its final drawdown reinforced the concerns listed above about the durability of U.S. commitments to regional partners, and as elements of the political right and left coalesced around support for policies of restraint and isolationism.[25] The sight of the Afghan air force rendered inoperable after the withdrawal of American training and maintenance, and the flight of Ashraf Ghani, the U.S.-backed President, to the UAE, were indicators of the vulnerability of over-reliance on single security partners, however powerful.[26] Less than six months later, the strenuous attempts made by the Biden administration to work with allies and partners to coordinate policy in early 2022 as Russian forces massed on the border with Ukraine, and then to push back against Moscow after the full-scale invasion commenced on February 24, ought to have repaired some of the damage caused by the optics around the chaos in Kabul in 2021. Specific measures included the deployment of additional U.S. troops to Eastern Europe as well as the sharing of intelligence designed to deter Vladimir Putin from moving into Ukraine.[27] Qatar, which was accorded Major Non-NATO Ally Status by the Biden administration in January 2022, in part a recognition of its assistance to U.S. and international humanitarian efforts in Afghanistan during and after the withdrawal, also sought to play a balancing role in gas markets as Emir Tamim visited Biden in the White House and hosted Russian energy officials in Doha.[28] Europe’s pivot away from Russia restated the Gulf States’ centrality in global energy security considerations, while the rise in oil and gas prices in late-2011 and for most of 2022 also returned GCC states’ budgets to surplus after years of deficits following the oil price crash of 2014.[29] However, the ‘coming together’ effect noticeable in the U.S.-European (and NATO) response to Russia-Ukraine in 2022 did not appear to mollify strained relationships in the Gulf; if anything, the responses to the invasion made the different trajectories which had taken shape in prior years all the more visible. Like much of the Global South, the Gulf States did not take sides in the Russia-Ukraine war. Policymakers in GCC capitals did not share the view of their counterparts in Washington and Europe that the collective defence of Ukraine was ‘an international order defining event, a generational moment in which international alliances and norms are being reshaped’.[30] Regional leaders refused to get drawn into a new era of bloc rivalry and, unlike the Iraqi invasion of Kuwait in 1990, did not deem Russia’s aggression against Ukraine to pose a direct threat to their political or security interests, in common with counterparts across much of the ‘Global South’.[31] A variation in stances toward the February 2022 invasion and subsequent developments nevertheless fell along a spectrum that ranged from Qatar aligning most closely with Ukraine (and the U.S. position) and Saudi Arabia, Bahrain, and the UAE leaning more closely toward Russia, with Kuwait and Oman falling somewhat in-between. These variations in position mirrored those during the GCC rift between 2017 and 2020, and indicate that, for the Qatari leadership, the sight of a larger power threatening (and ultimately invading) a smaller neighbour carried resonance, so soon after the blockade era when Doha faced pressure from Saudi Arabia, Bahrain, and the UAE. However, while Qatari leaders announced a pause in new investments in Russia, existing links with Moscow remained unchanged, and the Qatar Investment Authority became the largest non-Russian shareholder in Rosneft after BP announced it would terminate its own relationship with the state-owned giant.[32] The UAE position was complicated by the fact that the country had just taken up a rotating two-year seat on the United Nations Security Council for 2022–23. This forced the UAE to take positions even if the Emirati choice was to abstain on two Security Council votes in February 2022 which condemned the Russian invasion and called for an emergency session of the United General Assembly – abstentions which caused considerable friction with the U.S.[33] Policy responses in and after 2022 reinforced perceptions of drift in relations between the U.S. and key Gulf partners. Both Mohammed bin Zayed in Abu Dhabi and Mohammed bin Salman in Riyadh spoke on several occasions with President Putin and appeared to rebuff entreaties by President Biden during the opening weeks of the war.[34] Positions taken on Russia-Ukraine in 2022 illustrated how tensions that built up over a period of years beforehand became manifest in the regional reactions. After the imposition of additional U.S., European Union, and British sanctions on Russian entities in 2022, the UAE (and Dubai in particular) emerged as a welcoming haven for Russian capital and business elites, several of whom appeared to obtain Emirati citizenship.[35] Many of the sanctioned Russian companies continued to do business with counterparts in the Gulf States with few evident consequences, creating gaps in the moves to isolate the Putin regime. In 2023, Mohammed bin Saleh Al-Sada, the former Minister of State for Energy in Qatar from 2011 to 2018, was elected Chairman of the Board of Rosneft, in a private capacity but demonstrative of the limited reach of Western appeals to reduce Gulf ties with sanctioned entities in Russia.[36] The case of oil prices illustrated how the Gulf States assertively put their own interests forward even if they were seen to clash with the interests of partners such as the U.S. There is nothing untoward about this, as states routinely pursue national interests based on a pragmatic calculation of internal and external interests. However, in the context of the emphasis placed by the Biden administration and its European allies on the defence of Ukraine in the name of an international rules-based order, the sight of their closest partners in the Middle East not joining with anything like the same strength of approach sent visible signals of policy divergence over Ukraine. European and American leaders, including Boris Johnson and Joe Biden, visited Saudi Arabia in the spring and summer of 2022 to make the case for an increase in Saudi (and OPEC/OPEC+) output in order to bring down oil prices which had surged.[37] Moreover, the acrimonious aftermath of President Biden’s visit to Jeddah and meeting with Mohammed bin Salman in July 2022, and the coordinated Saudi-Russian oil output cut in October 2022, demonstrated the divergence of interests, especially as officials in D.C. and Riyadh traded barbs over whether (or not) the Saudi decision to cut output, or the Biden administration’s request to increase production, were politically motivated.[38] Following the outbreak of the war in Gaza after the Hamas-led attacks on southern Israel on October 7, 2023, the legitimacy of aspects of the system of international order came under growing scrutiny by critics who contrasted U.S. responses to developments in Ukraine as opposed to Gaza. Images of Palestinian suffering caused anger across the Middle East as well as much of the Global South, including in the Gulf States, and made it politically difficult for officials to ignore, with the Saudi leadership, in particular, reassessing the terms of any normalization agreement with Israel.[39] Discrepancies in labelling acts committed by Russian and Israeli forces (in Ukraine and Gaza, respectively) as ‘war crimes’, and about whether to engage with the International Court of Justice and the International Criminal Court, brought accusations of double standards and hypocrisy, and weakened the credibility of the international order in the eyes of many in the non-Western world.[40] While Gaza did not prove a breaking-point in U.S.-Gulf relations, it did bring to the surface the different trajectories in security and defence interests and priorities. Statements by leaders in Gulf capitals hardened as the bombardment of Gaza continued, with even Mohammed bin Salman going as far as to condemn ‘the collective genocide committed by Israel against the brotherly Palestinian people’ at an Arab-Islamic Summit in Riyadh in November 2024.[41] These remarks came just 14 months after the Crown Prince told Fox News in September 2023 that ‘every day, we get closer’ to a Saudi-Israeli breakthrough that, he predicted, would be ‘the biggest historical deal since the end of the Cold War’.[42] Officials in Oman went further in the use of harsh language to condemn Israeli actions which at times bordered on tacit support for Hamas, and was reflective of and rooted in an upsurge of anger among Omani citizens, hitherto one of the most politically quiescent commentariats in the region.[43] Leaders in all GCC states had to acknowledge the domestic backlash against the destruction of Gaza, a balancing act made more delicate in Bahrain and the UAE, the two Gulf signatories to the Abraham Accords with Israel in 2020.[44] An additional consideration for policymakers in Riyadh, Abu Dhabi, Dubai, and Doha, in particular, was an interest in ‘de-risking’ potential regional volatility as focus turned to large-scale developmental, energy, and infrastructure projects, including those associated with Saudi Arabia’s Vision 2030.[45] ‘Nuts and Bolts’ of Evolving Security and Defence Relationships In the face of the political and geopolitical tensions noted above, U.S. security relationships and defence partnerships with the Gulf States have evolved. A decade of change since 2015 has illustrated that ties tend to work better on an ad hoc, case-by-case basis rather than as part of a grand strategic framework. An example of the latter was the launch of a U.S.-GCC Strategic Partnership in 2015, at a summit at Camp David between Gulf leaders (only two of whom attended) and President Obama, and the creation of five working groups to cover cooperation in counterterrorism, missile defence, military preparedness and training, critical defence capabilities, and cyber security.[46] Both the working groups and the strategic partnership fell into abeyance during the Trump administration, and were superseded by U.S. efforts to form a Middle East Strategic Alliance (MESA) with GCC states plus Egypt and Jordan. MESA failed to gain traction for a variety of reasons, including the intra-GCC rift over Qatar, a failure of parties to agree on the scope and scale of the issues to be covered by the initiative, and Egypt’s withdrawal in 2019.[47] The U.S.-GCC working groups reconvened in February 2023, nearly a year into the Russia-Ukraine war, for their first meeting in years, against the backdrop of the supply of Iranian armed drones to Russia and the provision of Russian defence assistance to Iran. The fact that Iranian weapons systems were being tested on the battlefield in Ukraine and in operational and combat settings against civilian and infrastructure targets highlighted how a secondary impact of the Russia-Ukraine war could impact on U.S.-GCC interests.[48] U.S. and Gulf States’ navies then participated in a major 18-day International Maritime Exercise in February and March 2023 co-led by Saudi Arabia, Bahrain, and the U.S. and directed from the Maritime Security Centre in Oman. Held under the auspices of the U.S. Naval Forces Central Command, more than 7000 personnel and 35 ships from over 50 countries and organizations took part in exercises in the Red Sea, the Gulf of Aden, the Arabian Sea, and the Gulf.[49] Perhaps uncoincidentally, Russia and China joined Iran in a joint naval exercise in the Gulf of Oman the same month, illustrating how, in the ‘nuts and bolts’ of security and defence relationships, the GCC still chose to side with the U.S.[50] A host of new initiatives since 2020 suggest that new security partnerships between the U.S. and individual Gulf States are evolving on bespoke bilateral and issue-specific lines. CENTCOM has worked closely with Saudi officials to develop the Red Sands Integrated Experimentation Centre as a regional testing facility in Saudi Arabia to boost cooperation against the shared threat from missile and drone attacks from Iran and regional proxies.[51] Joint exercises involving U.S. and Saudi forces have tested systems to destroy and disable unmanned aerial systems of the type that breached Saudi air defences during the ballistic missile and drone strikes on oil infrastructure facilities in September 2019.[52] U.S. officials also play an integral role in Saudi Arabia’s defence transformation plan with Department of Defense personnel assisting their Saudi counterparts with overhauling human-capital development, joint staff development, intelligence reorganization and force sustainment, and the development of a National Defence College. The U.S. role in capacity-building is a step up from the hitherto-largely scattered interventions tied to the foreign military sales process rather than in support of any deeper or underlying policy objective.[53] Another example of renewed U.S. commitment to security ties with a Gulf partner was the signing in September 2023 of a Comprehensive Security Integration and Prosperity Agreement (C-SIPA) with Bahrain. Announced during a visit to Washington, D.C. by Bahrain’s Crown Prince Salman bin Hamad Al Khalifa and described as ‘the most advanced formal security agreement the United States has with any country in the region’, C-SIPA will expand defence and security cooperation as well as trade and investment ties through collaborative measures across the security spectrum, albeit without a mutual defence guarantee.[54] Although many of the specific security-related initiatives are classified, C-SIPA may build upon the recent spate of U.S. strategic dialogues with Gulf partners, which began with Qatar in 2017 and now encompass every GCC state on a bilateral (rather than collective) basis. How C-SIPA unfolds will likely be studied carefully in other Gulf capitals, especially Riyadh and Abu Dhabi, which have long demanded enhanced U.S. defence guarantees, most recently in relation to any U.S.-brokered agreement to normalize with Israel (in the Saudi case) and in the desire for ‘codified’ U.S. security commitments (for the UAE).[55] Officials in the UAE have chosen a different approach which reflects the confidence of Emirati policymakers that the country is an influential ‘middle power’ capable of holding its own on an inter-regional and increasingly global stage. This was evident in the signing of the Abraham Accord with Israel in September 2020 in which the text of the agreement signed by the UAE was far more substantive than those signed by Morocco, Bahrain, and Sudan, and included reference to a ‘Strategic Agenda for the Middle East’ that was unique to the Emirati-Israeli accord.[56] The strategic and security-focused aspects of the UAE-Israel agreement enabled the normalization process to survive periodic frictions in the political relationship, as security and defence relations took centre-stage in the new initiatives and joint ventures announced by both parties, and neither the UAE nor Bahrain has withdrawn from the Accords although other states have not joined.[57] Both Israel and the UAE, as small states with significant hard power capabilities, have operationalized formal cooperation in the security and defence realm, including a first joint military exercise in the Red Sea in November 2021 which was coordinated by the U.S. Fifth Fleet (stationed in Bahrain), which ‘set a precedent for collective policing at sea to counter weapons-smuggling and threats posed by pirates and the Iranian navy’.[58] In February 2023, a venture between EDGE, an Emirati defence consortium and Israel Aerospace Industries unveiled their first jointly created unmanned naval vessel, for use in surveillance, reconnaissance, and mine detection, during the annual Naval Defence and Maritime Security Exhibition in Abu Dhabi.[59] Sharing of intelligence, reportedly concerning Hezbollah and the Houthi movement in Yemen, also took place, including in the aftermath of three missile and drone strikes on Abu Dhabi in January 2022.[60] Emirati policymakers have continued to engage with the U.S. and other regional and international partners in a series of more focused ‘mini-lateral’ fora, including the 12U2 (with India, Israel, and the U.S.), the Negev Forum (with the U.S. and other Arab states which have normalized relations with Israel), the Somalia Quint (with the U.S., the U.K., Qatar, and Turkey), and the Yemen Quartet (with the U.S., the U.K., and Saudi Arabia).[61] Such issue-based tie-ups outside formal institutions provide opportunities for middle powers such as the UAE to engage with specific partners and have become key elements in the UAE’s evolving approach to regional and foreign affairs, especially in Asia and the Indo-Pacific, areas of increasing focus both for the Gulf States (for economic and energy reasons) and the U.S. (connected to power competition and strategic rivalry with China).[62] How the U.S. and its partners in the Gulf balance (or fail to balance) the competing and sometimes diverging interests vis-à-vis China (and, to an extent, Russia) will go some way toward defining the next phase of political relationships that may still impinge on defence and security ties, as seen in the furore over a possible Chinese naval facility in Abu Dhabi that contributed in part to significant tensions in the bilateral U.S.-UAE relationship in 2021.[63] Shifting Toward a Transactional Approach It may be that the future of relationships between the U.S. and the Gulf States will be based around a set of transactional principles that do not commit or bind the parties to long-term arrangements and represent a more fluid approach to regional affairs. A stronger but narrower technocratic focus on shared areas of interest could help to insulate U.S.-Gulf relationships from the types of political pressures and uncertainties which have generated the perception of drift. However, ‘taking politics out’ of the equation may not be easy to do in practice and could add to layers of mutual misunderstandings or grievance, as with the U.S. pressure on the UAE over its relations with China and Russia, or on Saudi Arabia not to join the expanded BRICS + grouping in 2023 (which the UAE joined but the Saudis have yet to do).[64] Several developments since 2023 provide indications as to how a new configuration of interests could function in a genuinely multipolar landscape. The Saudi-Iran agreement in March 2023 to restore diplomatic relations, which was announced in (and by) China, could be a harbinger of what a more variegated relationship might look like, with greater flexibility to rethink and reorient interests and policies. The Beijing deal appeared to take U.S. officials by surprise, and came in the midst of Beltway speculation about the prospect of Saudi normalization with Israel rather than with Iran.[65] While Saudi and Iranian officials had engaged in multiple prior rounds of talks, beginning in 2021 and facilitated by Iraq and Oman, the decision to obtain Chinese endorsement of the deal was as symbolic as it was significant.[66] China has diplomatic relations with Teheran and Riyadh as well as energy and economic ties in both Iran and Saudi Arabia, and thus could play a balancing role in ways the U.S. simply cannot. Moreover, at a time of rising tension between Iran and the U.S. and Israel, the Chinese backing for the Saudi deal signalled the desire of Beijing and its two regional partners for diplomacy and not conflict.[67] As the Gulf has seen a regional de-escalation of tension since 2021, officials in Gulf States have leveraged what influence they have to contribute to security in different ways. These include mediation, whether in regional conflicts (by Oman and Qatar) or in aspects of the Russia-Ukraine war (by Saudi Arabia and the UAE). Oman’s Foreign Minister since 2020 has been Badr bin Hamad Albusaidi, for whom a characteristic of Omani foreign policy has long been that ‘we try to make use of our intermediate position between larger powers to reduce the potential for conflict in our neighbourhood’.[68] Omani officials have kept open indirect channels of dialogue between the U.S. and Iran and also between Saudi and Houthi officials as they continue to seek to reach agreement in Yemen.[69] Qatari mediators engaged intensively with U.S. and Egyptian counterparts to secure the release of hostages taken by Hamas in October 2023, in return for a pause in Israeli military operations in Gaza, and reached a fragile three-stage ceasefire agreement in January 2025, one day before the Biden administration gave way to the second Trump presidency.[70] The close Qatari-U.S. coordination over Gaza built upon the confidence in Qatari mediation abilities generated by their role in facilitating and supporting the U.S. withdrawal from Kabul in 2021.[71] Saudi and Emirati officials engaged differently as they sought to leverage their relationships both with the U.S. and Russia to facilitate prisoner exchanges and contribute to confidence-building measures to mitigate the impact of the war in Ukraine. The occasional releases of prisoners may only have amounted to pinpricks in the course of the most serious conflict in Europe since the Second World War, but they illustrate that, for all the political tensions over the Gulf States’ reluctance to be drawn into picking sides in any great power competition, the ability to maintain diverse contacts and balance different relationships is conducive to diplomatic initiatives in a polarized world. The subsequent Saudi centrality to the process of U.S.-Russian re-engagement in Trump’s second term illustrated the Kingdom’s desire to have a seat at the table and burnish its credibility as a diplomatic facilitator, possibly with potential future Iran-U.S. talks in mind, especially after Saudi and Emirati displeasure at being cut out of the JCPOA negotiations in 2015.[72] Attacks on maritime targets in the Red Sea by Houthi militants in Yemen have nevertheless highlighted the delicate balancing act facing Gulf States as the deadliest war between Israelis and Palestinians since 1948 threatens the rapprochement that had marked the conduct of regional politics across the Middle East prior to October 7, 2023. Memories of Houthi missile and drone attacks against Saudi cities and infrastructure targets (between 2015 and 2022) and against Abu Dhabi (in 2022) remain fresh. Especially as Vision 2030 passed its halfway point (having been launched by Mohammed bin Salman in 2016) and the ‘giga-projects’ along Saudi Arabia’s Red Sea coastline move into the construction and delivery phase, ‘de-risking’ has become a priority for the Saudi leadership as they seek to attract foreign investors and visitors.[73] Officials remain mindful of the optics that went around the world during the Saudi Arabian Grand Prix in March 2022 when the annual Formula One race in Jeddah took place against the backdrop of thick black smoke billowing from a nearby oil storage facility struck by the Houthis the day before.[74] Policy responses to the Houthi attacks in the Red Sea which began in November 2023 and triggered a multinational response in January 2024 indicated the careful balancing act at play in the Gulf, especially for Saudi Arabia, given the location of projects such as Neom on the Red Sea coastline. Bahrain was the only GCC state to be named as a participant in Operation Prosperity Guardian, the multi-country coalition which was formed in December 2023 to respond to the maritime attacks. However, Bahrain did not take part in the kinetic ship- and air-based operations and it was notable that the airstrikes against Houthi targets in Yemen did not involve U.S. or British forces based in the Gulf.[75] Instead, the strikes were launched from bases in Cyprus, the U.K., and the U.S., thereby minimizing the risks to the Gulf States from any blowback either from the Houthis or Iran. Operation Prosperity Guardian may therefore be a harbinger of a more flexible approach to U.S.-GCC relations in which security and defence cooperation continues on a technocratic basis even as there is greater elasticity, and, at times, degrees of divergence in (geo)political interests.[76] The return of Donald Trump to the Oval Office in January 2025, as the first president in 130 years to serve a non-consecutive second term, suggests that U.S. decision-making, in both domestic and foreign policy, will continue along highly transactional, unpredictable, and volatile lines. A move toward a ‘post-American’ order, regionally in the Middle East and in the structure of international politics, is likely to further reshape perceptions and policies. As the Gulf States are neither allies (in the formal sense) nor adversaries of the United States, they occupy a middle ground which may shield them from swings in U.S. policymaking toward these categories of states. It is probable that the assertion of Gulf States’ interests in engaging with Iran, as well as with China and Russia will deepen the divergence of trajectories with the U.S. and increase the likelihood that ties will reframe around a looser and more transactional-based approach. The Gaza war may not have led to a rupture with the U.S., or with Israel, but, coming in parallel with the war in Ukraine, it has intensified the repositioning of the Gulf States in a rapidly changing system of international power. Declaration of Conflicting Interests The author declared no potential conflicts of interest with respect to the research, authorship, and/or publication of this article. Funding The author received no financial support for the research, authorship, and/or publication of this article. Footnotes 1. References in this paper to the Russian invasion of Ukraine refer to the full-scale invasion which was launched by Russian forces on February 24, 2022, rather than the invasion and subsequent Russian occupation of areas of eastern Ukraine and the Crimea in 2014. 2. David Kilcullen and Greg Mills, The Ledger: Accounting for Failure in Afghanistan (London: Hurst & Co., 2021), 222–24; Marc Lynch, The Arab Uprising: The Unfinished Revolutions of the New Middle East (New York: Public Affairs, 2012), 94. 3. Tobias Borck, Seeking Stability Amidst Disorder: The Foreign Policies of Saudi Arabia, the UAE and Qatar, 2010–20 (London: Hurst & Co., 2023), 193. 4. Huw Dylan and Thomas Maguire, ‘Secret Intelligence and Public Diplomacy in the Ukraine War’, Survival 64/4 (September 2022), 34. 5. John Raine, ‘Ukraine versus Gaza’, Survival, 66/1 (February/March 2024), 173–74. 6. Ben Hubbard, ‘Iranian Official Heads to Saudi Arabia as Israel Postpones U.S. Meeting’, New York Times, October 9, 2024. 7. Dania Thafer and David Des Roches, The Arms Trade, Military Services and the Security Market in the Gulf States: Trends and Implications (Berlin: Gerlach Press, 2016), 1–7. 8. Bilal Saab, ‘After Hub-and-Spoke: US Hegemony in a New Gulf Security Order’, Atlantic CouncilReport, 2016, 4 9. Tobias Borck, Seeking Stability Amidst Disorder: The Foreign Policies of Saudi Arabia, the UAE andQatar, 2010-20 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2023), 18; Khalifa Al-Suwaidi, The UAE After theArab Spring: Strategy for Survival (London: I.B. Tauris, 2023), 120. 10. Kristian Coates Ulrichsen, Insecure Gulf: The End of Certainty and the Transition to the Post-Oil Era(London: Hurst & Co., 2011), 40. 11. Katherine Harvey, A Self-Fulfilling Prophecy: The Saudi Struggle for Iraq (London: Hurst & Co., 2021),144–45. 12. David Roberts, Security Politics in the Gulf Monarchies: Continuity amid Change (New York: ColumbiaUniversity Press, 2023), 158. 13. Fawaz Gerges, Obama and the Middle East: The End of America’s Moment? (New York: PalgraveMacmillan, 2012), 166–67. 14. William Burns, The Back Channel: American Diplomacy in a Disordered World (London: Hurst & Co.,2019), 361–62; Marc Lynch, The New Arab Wars: Uprisings and Anarchy in the Middle East (New York:Public Affairs, 2016), 226–28. 15. Thomas Juneau, ‘Iran’s Policy Towards the Houthis in Yemen: A Limited Return on a Modest In-vestment’, International Affairs 92/3 (May 2016), 658. 16. Jeffrey Goldberg, ‘The Obama Doctrine’, The Atlantic, March 10, 2016; Turki al-Faisal Al Saud, ‘Mr.Obama, We Are Not ‘Free Riders’, Arab News, March 14, 2016. 17. Mehran Kamrava, Troubled Waters: Insecurity in the Persian Gulf (Ithaca: Cornell University Press,2018), 71. 18. Kristian Coates Ulrichsen, Qatar and the Gulf Crisis (London: Hurst & Co., 2020), 77–78. 19. By contrast, the Trump administration did respond on two occasions when U.S. assets were targeted, firstin June 2019 after a U.S. drone was shot down over the Gulf and then in December 2019 after anAmerican contractor was killed in a missile strike on a base in Iraq. 20. Steve Holland and Rania El Gamal, ‘Trump Says He Does Not Want War After Attack on Saudi OilFacilities’, Reuters, September 16, 2019. 21. David Roberts, ‘For Decades, Gulf Leaders Counted on U.S. Protection. Here’s What Changed’,Washington Post, January 30, 2020. 22. Tamara Abueish, ‘Saudi Arabia’s Vice Defense Minister Discusses De-escalation with Esper’, AlArabiya English, January 7, 2020. 23. Anon., ‘Biden Raises Yemen, Human Rights in Call with Saudi King Salman’, Al Jazeera, February 25, 2021. 24. Emile Hokayem, ‘Fraught Relations: Saudi Ambitions and American Anger’, Survival 64/6 (November 2023), 9. 25. David Deudney and John Ikenberry, ‘Misplaced Restraint: The Quincy Coalition Versus Liberal Internationalism’, Survival, 63(4), 2021, 9; Alexander Hertel-Fernandez, Theda Skocpol, and Jason Sclar,‘When Political Mega-Donors Join Forces: How the Koch Network and the Democracy Alliance In-fluence Organized US Politics on the Right and Left’, Studies in American Political Development, 32(2),2018, 128. 26. Marika Theros, ‘Knowledge, Power and the Failure of US Peacemaking in Afghanistan 2018–21’,International Affairs, 99(3), 2023, 1249–50. 27. Trine Flockhart, ‘NATO in the Multi-Order World’, International Affairs 100/2 (March 2024), 473. 28. David Ottaway, ‘U.S. Calls for Help – Again – From the Tiny Arab Emirate of Qatar’, Wilson Center,February 2, 2022. 29. Li-Chen Sim, ‘The Gulf States: Beneficiaries of the Russia-Europe Energy War?’, Middle East Institute,January 12, 2023. 30. Marc Lynch, ‘Saudi Oil Cuts and American International Order’, Abu Aardvark’s MENA Academy(Substack), October 9, 2022. 31. Chris Alden, ‘The Global South and Russia’s Invasion of Ukraine’, LSE Public Policy Review, 3(1),2023, 2–4. 32. Hazar Kilani, ‘Qatar Investment Authority Holding Onto its Russian Assets for Now’, Doha News,March 2, 2022. 33. Kristian Coates Ulrichsen, ‘The GCC and the Russia-Ukraine Crisis’, Arab Center Washington, March 22, 2022. 34. Dion Nissenbaum, Stephen Kalin, and David Cloud, ‘Saudi, Emirati Leaders Decline Calls withPresident Biden during Ukraine Crisis’, Wall St Journal, March 8, 2022. 35. Natalia Savelyeva, ‘Understanding the Russian Exodus to Dubai Following the Ukraine Invasion’, TheRussia Program, George Washington University, May 8, 2024. 36. Anon., ‘Rosneft Elects Qatari Ex-Minister as New Chairman’, Energy Intelligence, July 5, 2023. 37. Mark Colchester, Summer Said, and Stephen Kalin, ‘Boris Johnson Visits U.A.E., Saudi Arabia, SeekingMore Oil’, Wall St Journal, March 16, 2022. 38. Alex Marquardt, Natasha Bertrand, and Phil Mattingly, ‘Inside the White House’s Failed Effort toDissuade OPEC from Cutting Oil Production to Avoid a “Total Disaster”’, CNN, October 5, 2022;Anders Hagstrom, ‘Saudis Say Biden Admin Requested Oil Production Cut to Come After Midterms’,Fox News, October 13, 2022. 39. Elham Fakhro, The Abraham Accords: The Gulf States, Israel, and the Limits of Normalization (NewYork: Columbia University Press, 2024), 220. 40. Stacie Goddard, ‘Legitimation and Hypocrisy in Gaza: Implications for the LIO’, in Marc Lynch (ed.),Debating American Primacy in the Middle East, POMEPS Studies 54, 2024, 47. 41. Mostafa Salem, ‘Saudi Crown Prince Accuses Israel of Committing “Collective Genocide” in Gaza’,CNN, November 13, 2024. 42. Peter Aitken, ‘Bret Baier Interviews Saudi Prince: Israel Peace, 9/11 Ties, Iran Nuke Fears’, Fox News,September 20, 2023. 43. Giorgio Cafiero, ‘Gaza War Undermines Oman’s Role as Bridge in a Conflict-Ridden Middle East’,Stimson Commentary, August 26, 2024. 44. Dania Thafer, ‘Palestinian Statehood Tops GCC Security Agenda as Diplomatic Struggles Persist’,Middle East Council on Global Affairs, October 7, 2024. 45. Kristian Coates Ulrichsen, ‘Saudi Plans to “De-Risk” Region Have Taken a Hit with Gaza Violence – butHitting Pause on Normalization with Israel Will Buy Kingdom Time’, The Conversation, October 18, 2023. 46. Anon., ‘Fact Sheet: Implementation of the U.S.-Gulf Cooperation Council Strategic Partnership’, TheWhite House, Office of the Press Secretary, April 21, 2016. 47. Kristian Coates Ulrichsen, ‘What Next for the Middle East Strategic Alliance?’, Arab Digest, October 29, 2020. 48. Barak Ravid, ‘Senior U.S. Delegation in Saudi Arabia for Talks with GCC’, Axios, February 15, 2023. 49. Anon., ‘US Leads Gulf Partners in 18-day Naval Exercise’, Gulf States Newsletter, 47/1166, March 23,2023, 11. 50. Anon., ‘China and Russia Join Iranian Exercise at Sea’, Gulf States Newsletter, 47/1166, March 23,2023, 10. 51. Melissa Horvath, ‘Is Red Sands the Future of Middle East Defence Cooperation?’, Middle East Institute,October 4, 2022. 52. Anon., ‘U.S. and Saudi Arabia Conduct Combined Counter-UAS Exercise’, U.S. Central Command press release, September 14, 2023. 53. Bilal Saab, ‘The Other Saudi Transformation’, Middle East Policy 29/2 (Summer 2022), 27–28. 54. Kristian Alexander and Giorgio Cafiero, ‘Biden’s Realpolitik Approach: Analyzing the C-SIPAAgreement with Bahrain’, Gulf International Forum, October 29, 2023. 55. William Roebuck, ‘Bahrain Sets the Pace for Enhanced Gulf Security Cooperation with the UnitedStates’, Arab Gulf States Institute in Washington, September 27, 2023; Anon., ‘The UK’s Accession to the Bahrain-US Security Agreement’, International Institute for Strategic Studies, Strategic Comment,February 2025. 56. Sanam Vakil and Neil Quilliam, ‘The Abraham Accords and Israel-UAE Normalization: Shaping a NewMiddle East’, Chatham House Research Paper, March 2023, 5. 57. UAE officials expressed their reservations about Netanyahu’s perceived attempts to leverage the normalization agreement in his 2021 campaign by downplaying suggestions of a visit by Netanyahu asPrime Minister to the UAE, and again after Netanyahu returned to office and announced that his first foreign visit would be to the UAE, choosing instead to receive other Israeli political leaders rather thanNetanyahu himself. 58. Vakil and Quilliam, ‘The Abraham Accords and Israel-UAE Normalization: Shaping a New MiddleEast’, (March 2023), 29. 59. Anon., ‘UAE, Israel Unveil Joint Naval Vessel as Military Ties Grow’, AFP, February 20, 2023. 60. Jean-Loup Samaan, ‘The Shift That Wasn’t: Misreading the UAE’s New “Zero-Problem” Policy’,Carnegie Endowment for International Peace, Sada blog, February 8, 2022. 61. Nickolay Mladenov, ‘Minilateralism: A Concept That is Changing the World Order’, The WashingtonInstitute for Near East Policy, April 14, 2023. 62. Husain Haqqani and Narayanappa Janardhan, ‘The Minilateral Era’, Foreign Policy, January 10, 2023. 63. Gordon Lubold and Warren Strobel, ‘Secret Chinese Port in Persian Gulf Rattles U.S. Relations withU.A.E.’, Wall Street Journal, November 19, 2021; Warren Strobel, ‘U.A.E. Shut Down China FacilityUnder U.S. Pressure, Emirates Says’, Wall Street Journal, December 9, 2021; John Hudson, EllenNakashima, and Liz Sly, ‘Buildup Resumed at Suspected Chinese Military Site in UAE, Leak Says’,Washington Post, April 26, 2023. 64. Sam Fleming, Henry Foy, Felicia Schwartz, James Politi, and Simeon Kerr, ‘West Presses UAE to ClampDown on Suspected Russia Sanctions Busting’, Financial Times, March 1, 2023. 65. Dion Nissenbaum, Dov Lieber, and Stephen Kalin, ‘Saudi Arabia Seeks Pledges, Nuclear Help for Peacewith Israel’, Wall Street Journal, March 9, 2023; Michael Crowley, Vivian Nereim, and Patrick Kingsley,‘Saudi Arabia Offers its Price to Normalize Relations with Israel’, New York Times, March 9, 2023. 66. Anon., ‘Great Expectations: The Future of Iranian-Saudi D´etente’, International Crisis Group, June13, 2024. 67. Amrita Jash, ‘Saudi-Iran Deal: A Test Case of China’s Role as an International Mediator’, GeorgetownJournal of International Affairs, June 23, 2023. 68. Badr bin Hamad Al Bu Said, ‘“Small States” Diplomacy in the Age of Globalization: An OmaniPerspective’, in Gerd Nonneman (ed.), Analyzing Middle East Foreign Policies and the Relationshipwith Europe (London: Routledge, 2005), 258. 69. Giorgio Cafiero, ‘Oman Keeps Trying to Dial Down Tensions in the Middle East’, Stimson Centre,February 2, 2024. 70. Samy Magdy, Adam Geller, and Aamer Madhani, ‘To Secure Gaza Ceasefire, Dealmakers OvercameEnemies’ Deep Distrust’, Associated Press, January 22, 2025. 71. Mirdef Alqashouti, ‘Qatar Mediation: From Soft Diplomacy to Foreign Policy’, in Mahjoob Zweiri andFarah Al Qawasmi (eds.), Contemporary Qatar: Examining State and Society (Singapore: Springer,2023), 73. 72. Diana Galeeva, ‘Saudi Arabia as a Global Mediator: From the Ukraine to Gaza War’, Menara Magazine,March 24, 2025. 73. Kristian Coates Ulrichsen, ‘Saudi-Israeli Normalization and the Hamas Attack’, Arab Center Wash-ington, October 11, 2023. 74. Ben Church, ‘F1 Organizers Insist Saudi Arabian Grand Prix Will Go Ahead Despite Houthi Attack onNearby Oil Facility’, CNN, March 26, 2022. 75. Ahdeya Ahmed Al-Sayed, ‘Better Late than Never: Bahrain’s Attitude Towards the Red Sea DefenseCoalition’, The Washington Institute, Fikra Forum, December 29, 2023. 76. Nikolay Kozhanov, ‘Why Gulf Arab States Are Not Intervening in the Red Sea’, Amwaj Media, February27, 2024.

Energy & Economics
Antipolo City, Philippines - June 1, 2020: RIder use motorcycle to deliver multiple tanks of LPG or liquified petroleum gas to a customer..

Philippines bets on natural gas to accelerate renewable energy

by Gaea Katreena Cabico

한국어로 읽기 Leer en español In Deutsch lesen Gap اقرأ بالعربية Lire en français Читать на русском Climate campaigners label law paving way for natural gas promotion an “insult” as fishers warn of environmental devastation Wilma Abanel is worried about falling fish numbers in the waters she has long relied upon for a living. The Verde Island Passage is a biodiversity hotspot off the coast of Luzon Island in the Philippines. Abanel attributes the decline in the passage to the growing number of liquefied natural gas (LNG) facilities, which she says are damaging marine sanctuaries. “In the past, before the plants were built, our catches were plentiful and we didn’t worry about our daily expenses. We also had no problems sending our children to school,” Abanel said. “But when these plants started to increase, we faced a big problem because it’s not just our livelihood and income that are affected here. More than anything, it’s the destruction of the environment and the impact on our health,” she added. LNG is a natural gas that has been cooled into a liquid that is easier and safer to store and transport over long distances. Once LNG arrives at import terminals, it is warmed up and converted back into gas. From there, the gas is sent through pipelines to homes or power plants, where it is burned to generate electricity. In early January, President Ferdinand Marcos Jr signed the Philippine Natural Gas Industry Development Act, to promote the development of the country’ natural gas as a “safe, efficient, and cost-effective” fuel for power plants and an “indispensable contributor” to energy security. The new law aims to promote natural gas as a “transition” fuel to intermittent renewable energy. Through the measure, the Philippines is not only positioning itself as a key LNG importer but also prioritising locally sourced gas to reduce reliance on foreign supply. Senator Pia Cayetano, who authored the law, explained that securing a steadier local supply would reduce the country’s vulnerability to price fluctuations caused by geopolitical conflicts like Russia’s war in Ukraine. She pointed out that natural gas exploration has declined significantly over the decades. More than 150 wells were drilled in the Philippines in the 1970s, but none have been since 2019, she said. The exploration efforts of Philippine petroleum company PXP Energy Corp, in Reed Bank, a resource-rich area in the West Philippine Sea, have been stalled for years due to a maritime dispute with China, which claims the area as its own. Since 2001, the Malampaya gas field off the western province of Palawan has been providing fuel to power plants that produce roughly a fifth of the country’s electricity. It is expected to run dry by 2027, forcing the Philippines to seek alternative energy sources.  “Malampaya was supposed to be the first of many producing gas fields in the Philippines, but it turned out to be the only one,” Cayetano said in a release. “The country needs more Malampayas: we barely have one left.” However, energy analysts and environmental advocates argue that doubling down on natural gas could still force the country to depend on fossil fuels and further delay the transition to clean energy. Krishna Ariola, an energy campaigner with the Center for Energy, Ecology, and Development, a Philippine think-tank, said: “The [law] is a clear indicator that this is a detour from what was committed by the president with regards to renewable-energy commitments in his previous State of the Nation Addresses. This just looks like a bridge to nowhere.” In his previous addresses, Marcos said the government is actively promoting renewable energy to help the Philippines reach its goal of increasing the share of clean energy in the power mix to 35% by 2030 and 50% by 2040. Problem, not solution The role of natural gas in powering the Philippines is “driving this idea that we need to quickly replace” domestically produced natural gas with LNG,” said Sam Reynolds, an energy finance analyst with the Institute for Energy Economics and Financial Analysis (IEEFA). Although burning natural gas releases considerably less carbon dioxide than coal or oil, critics point out that it remains a major source of planet-warming emissions. It can also release methane, a greenhouse gas more than 10 times as potent as carbon dioxide over a 20-year period, during extraction, transport and processing. Relying on LNG can also lock nations into long-term fossil-fuel infrastructure like import terminals and gas-fired power plants. To limit warming to 1.5C, the world needs to rapidly phase out fossil fuels, including LNG, and fully transition to renewables, scientists stress. Verde Island Passage, where Abanel fishes, hosts five of the six operating gas plants in the Philippines, along with two LNG terminals, and over a dozen other proposed projects. The passage is situated in the Coral Triangle, a region spanning six countries in Southeast Asia and Melanesia that harbours 76% of the world’s known coral species and over 2,000 species of coral reef fish. There are 19 LNG terminals in the Coral Triangle. A report by US nonprofits Earth Insight and SkyTruth warned that expanding gas infrastructure increases the risk of harm from water pollution, heightened shipping traffic, and oil spills, all of which threaten marine ecosystems and local livelihoods. According to the report, over 100 offshore oil and gas blocks are currently producing in the Coral Triangle, with over 450 additional blocks being explored for future extraction. If all existing blocks were to go into production, approximately 16% of the biodiverse region would be directly impacted by oil and gas development. “The Philippines has the second-highest number of oil slicks from transiting vessels in the Coral Triangle. With a large amount of oil and gas blocks in the exploration phase, there is still an opportunity to change course and defend its many sensitive habitats,” the report noted. Under the new legislation, the Philippine Department of Environment and Natural Resources (DENR) is ordered to establish national standards for methane emissions and other pollutants from the natural gas industry not regulated by existing laws. The DENR must also determine and monitor compliance with the environmental standards for the siting, construction, operation and maintenance, expansion, rehabilitation, decommissioning, and abandonment of natural gas facilities. The path from fossil fuels On the day he returned to the White House, Donald Trump lifted a freeze on processing export permits for new LNG projects. IEEFA’s Reynolds said the move’s impact on the Philippines would be minimal, but would add to the “volatility of LNG even more”. “We’re already seeing that play out with China. LNG becomes the target of trade bullying and retaliation, and it creates, overall, a much more uncertain environment,” said Reynolds. “I think that’s going to be very important for the Philippines to consider. Much of its LNG is coming from the United States but to what extent does Trump even exacerbate some of the challenges that the fuel was already facing?” he added. China is the world’s largest buyer of LNG, while the US is the largest exporter. But China has not imported any LNG from the US since February when Trump announced tariffs on the country, reports Nikkei Asia. Many US LNG contracts are set to begin in the coming years but much of this supply may not reach China due to the tariffs, said Reynolds. So Reynolds thinks China will resell increasing volumes of the US LNG they are contracted to buy. “I think that could drive a larger push into Southeast Asia on behalf of Chinese traders.” China National Offshore Oil Corp, the largest offshore oil and gas producer in China, is already supplying LNG to Filipino energy provider First Gen Corporation. As the world warms and the Philippines continues to face devastating climate disasters, gas should have no place in the country’s energy future, environmentalists and clean energy advocates argue. They say the Philippines, one of the most climate-vulnerable nations, must instead prioritise renewable energy. The timing of the law’s passage “can almost be interpreted as an insult to the many who have suffered and continue to suffer from recent climate disasters,” said Jefferson Chua, campaigner at Greenpeace Philippines, referring to the six consecutive tropical cyclones that hit the country in late October and November 2024. “The president must use his significant influence to reverse this decision and improve the policy and infrastructure environment for renewable energy. His administration must mandate a net-zero target that would ensure the phase out of coal, oil and gas and start enabling the transition of energy systems towards a massive uptake of renewables,” he added. CEED’s Ariola said renewable energy should be the country’s “exit plan” from fossil-fuel dependence. “Without the Philippine government tapping our massive potential for renewable energy, we will always be in a revolving door with fossil fuels,” she said. “The industry will keep going back between coal and gas and probably, in the future, other false solutions, unless we’re able to displace them. Unless we allow renewable energy to become dominant.” Abanel, the fisher from Batangas, could only plead for the gas infrastructures in her community to cease operation and for the government to protect Verde Island Passage. “The life of Verde Island Passage is intertwined with our survival. If it gets destroyed, we’ll have nothing left,” she said. This article was originally published on Dialogue Earth under the Creative Commons BY NC ND licence.

Diplomacy
Ursula von der Leyen & Emmanuel Macron - Choose Europe for Science event at La Sorbonne - 2025

Opinion – European Credibility and the Illusion of Normative Power

by Joseph Black

한국어로 읽기 Leer en español In Deutsch lesen Gap اقرأ بالعربية Lire en français Читать на русском On 30 May 2025, French President Emmanuel Macron delivered a speech at the Shangri-La Dialogue in Singapore – Asia’s premier security summit – and his comments were unusually blunt. He warned that the West – Europe and the US – risk losing credibility over the wars in Ukraine and Gaza, and unless these conflicts are resolved with integrity and consistency, the broader rules-based international order and Europe’s place in it will unravel. Macron’s concern wasn’t just about the tactical consequences of geopolitical instability, but something deeper: the symbolic and normative weight Europe claims to carry in global affairs. His comments mark a turning point, one that exposes the crisis of coherence at the heart of the European Union’s foreign policy – and the growing tension between the EU’s aspirational identity as a “normative power” and the harsh realities of a world governed by realpolitik. For over two decades, the EU has presented itself as a values-based actor, using diplomacy, development aid, legal harmonisation and multilateralism rather than coercion to wield influence. The concept of the EU as a “normative power” – famously coined by Ian Manners – is based on the idea that Europe seeks to shape global affairs by promoting norms such as human rights, democracy and international law. But the simultaneous occurrence of two deeply symbolic and contested wars – Russia’s invasion of Ukraine and Israel’s bombardment of Gaza – makes it increasingly hard for the EU to maintain this self-image without being accused of hypocrisy and selective morality. Nowhere is this more obvious than in the gap between Europe’s response to Ukraine and Gaza. In Ukraine, the EU has mounted one of the largest and most united responses in its history: military aid, sanctions, diplomatic isolation of Russia and open arms for Ukrainian refugees. In Gaza, the response has been fragmented, inconsistent and – by many accounts – morally ambiguous. Some European states like Ireland and Spain have called for recognition of Palestinian statehood and condemned Israeli actions, others have hesitated or doubled down on support for Israel in the name of counterterrorism and alliance politics. This has not gone unnoticed in the Global South, where Europe’s normative claims are increasingly seen as hollow, if not ridiculous. Macron’s talk of credibility reflects an elite awareness that Europe’s legitimacy is no longer taken for granted outside its borders. The credibility crisis he describes is not just about diplomacy – it’s about identity. If the EU says territorial integrity is sacred in Ukraine, how can it do nothing when the same principles are being flouted elsewhere? If the Union says human rights are universal, can it be silent – or ambiguous – on the civilian casualties in Gaza? These are not questions asked by foreign policy analysts; they are asked in international forums, in Asian capitals courted by Brussels and in the protests that fill European streets. The more the EU fails to match its words with its actions, the more its normative brand erodes. But there’s another layer to Macron’s intervention that needs to be looked at. His comments on “strategic autonomy” and not being caught in the crossfire of the US-China rivalry suggest Europe is dealing with more than just a credibility crisis. It’s facing a strategic choice that will redefine its global role: whether to double down on the postwar transatlantic compact or to chart a more independent course that allows it to mediate between blocs in a multipolar world. Macron’s consistent advocacy of strategic autonomy (however controversial) means he recognises the EU can’t outsource its geopolitical relevance to Washington indefinitely, especially with the return of Donald Trump to the White House. This dilemma is made worse by the structural weaknesses within the EU itself. The Union’s foreign policy is crippled by institutional fragmentation, national interests and a consensus-based decision-making process that often leads to lowest-common-denominator positions. While the EU was impressive in its initial unity on Ukraine, the Gaza crisis has shown the limits of that unity when values collide with political alliances or domestic political considerations. This is not just a crisis of perception but of capacity. Can the EU actually be a geopolitical player when its member states can’t even agree on what is legitimate force, occupation or humanitarian necessity? The illusion of normative power, then, is not just an external branding problem – it is an internal governance challenge. For Europe to maintain credibility abroad, it must first reconcile its internal contradictions. That means rethinking the balance between values and interests, between ideals and strategic imperatives. It may also require a degree of institutional boldness: deeper integration in foreign and security policy, a greater role for the High Representative, or a shift toward qualified majority voting in foreign affairs. At the same time, Europe must also acknowledge the changing global landscape in which it seeks to operate. In a world no longer dominated by Western hegemony, the EU’s normative influence depends not only on its coherence but on its ability to listen and engage with actors in Asia, Africa, and Latin America as equals rather than as recipients of European lectures. Macron’s call for a “positive new alliance” between Europe and Asia, one that resists domination by any superpower, hints at a potential path forward. But such an alliance will only be credible if Europe demonstrates that it is willing to apply its principles even when inconvenient—especially when those principles are tested not just by adversaries but by allies. In the end, Macron’s speech serves as a mirror held up to the European project itself. It reflects both its aspirations and its anxieties, its potential and its paradoxes. Whether Europe can move beyond this moment of crisis to forge a foreign policy that is both principled and strategic remains uncertain. What is clear, however, is that credibility cannot be commanded—it must be earned. And in an era of increasing global scrutiny, that will require more than rhetoric. It will require resolve. The text of this work is licensed under  a Creative Commons CC BY-NC 4.0 license.

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

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

by Saadia M. Pekkanen

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

Divided Arctic in a Divided World Order

by Rasmus Gjedssø Bertelsen

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

Defense & Security
Black Sea marked with Red Circle on Realistic Map.

War in the Black Sea: The revival of the Jeune École?

by Tobias Kollakowski

한국어로 읽기 Leer en español In Deutsch lesen Gap اقرأ بالعربية Lire en français Читать на русском ABSTRACT This article analyses the naval dimension of the Russo-Ukrainian War in order to examine in which ways Ukraine’s approach to naval warfare in the Black Sea fits with Jeune École concepts – one of the leading naval strategic schools of thought. Having elaborated on the considerable success Ukraine has been able to achieve by applying a Jeune École approach and having explained the limits of Jeune École thinking in the conflict at sea, the article argues that Ukraine should be careful when considering to evolve the war at sea into a symmetrical conflict between conventional fleets.ARTICLE HISTORY Received 7 July 2024; Accepted 18 February 2025KEYWORDS War in the Black Sea; Jeune École; Russo-Ukrainian War; naval strategy; Ukrainian Navy The war that has been raging in the Black Sea since February 2022 is not a clash of titans. Its predominant characteristic are not naval battles between conventional fleets but, on the contrary, the absence of such engagements. Furthermore, as subsequent sections will further detail, most of these actions take place in the littoral. While the maritime dimension of the full-scale Russo-Ukrainian War has joined the Indo-Pakistani Naval War of 1971 and the 1982 Falklands War as among the most destructive naval wars since the end of WW2, the way in which it is waged involves coastal-defence batteries, pin prick attacks by uncrewed aerial systems (UAS), air-launched missile strikes and an asymmetric campaign carried out by uncrewed surface vehicles (USV). Not least important, the divergence between asymmetric and conventional naval warfare has not only informed the ways in which military actions have been carried out. Rather, it goes to the heart of a much larger debate over Ukraine’s fleet design and naval strategy. In this debate between adherents of a blue-water school of thought and advocates of the so-called ‘mosquito fleet’, both fractions have argued over the most appropriate develop- ment of the Ukrainian Navy and its future capabilities. To adopt an analytical framework that is well-suited to the nature of the conflict, both lethal and inter- state in the Black Sea and intellectual and within Ukraine’s military establishment, this article refrains from applying theories connected to prominent theoreticians associated with the blue-water school of thought (the ‘Old School’),1 such as Alfred Thayer Mahan, Philip Howard Colomb or Sir Julian Corbett.2 Literature on contem- porary naval strategy has indeed adopted concepts associated with these schools of thought, for example in the case of Japan (Corbett), the People’s Republic of China and India (Mahan).3 While blue-water concepts may prove beneficial when interpreting the oceanic ambitions and strategies of Asia’s mightiest naval powers, this article instead refers to Jeune École (Young School) naval strategic school of thought – one of the leading schools of thought in naval theory developed by 19th century French naval theoreticians and practitioners. As argued throughout this article, concepts and controversies affiliated with Jeune École (JÉ) are well-suited to explain the developments, circumstances and debates concerning the maritime theatre of the Russo-Ukrainian War. Scholars and experts have recently paid considerable attention to the mar- itime dimension of the Russo-Ukrainian War. Seth Cropsey, for example, argues that access to, and control of, the Black Sea is critical to the outcome of the war and Brent Sadler elaborates on lessons identified from the War in the Black Sea for a potential war involving Taiwan.4 Furthermore, scholars have examined the circumstances and implications of the transformation of a maritime gray zone conflict into a conventional war and the impact of the Russo-Ukrainian War on maritime commerce and the regional naval balance of power.5In a recent study, Md. Tanvir Habib and Shah Md Shamrir Al Af have also usefully explored Ukraine’s innovative usage of naval drones, tracing the lessons, conditions and implications of Ukraine’s approach to the War in the Black Sea and arguing in favour of the adoption of maritime asymmetric warfare strategies and capabilities by smaller countries.6 However, while deeply engaging in the discussion on asymmetric warfare Habib’s and Md Al Af’s analysis does not address the ‘Young School’ of naval strategic thought or matters of naval theory more generally. In contrast to the above-mentioned authors, in his review of the book Vaincre en mer au XXIe siècle, Michael Shurkin does take note of the fact that naval drones ‘perhaps breathe new life into the old vision of the Jeune École’ when he addresses the fact that the authors have not included the Russo-Ukrainian War due to the date of publication. However, given the nature of his article as a book review, Shurkin doesn’t elaborate on this idea.7 This article differs from the existing literature by embedding the War in the Black Sea and differing perceptions on the development of the navy and the appropriate fleet design within larger strategic debates discussed in naval theory. As elaborated in section six of this paper, a traditional assumption expressed by many authoritative voices has it that a JÉ approach is not a viable approach to wage war at sea, especially against an opponent enjoy- ing a much greater superiority in available means. Based on the examination of the case study of the Russo-Ukrainian War, this article shows how many debates surrounding the original 19th century JÉ also apply to the ongoing war in the Black Sea and demonstrates that Ukrainian success at sea and at the coast is closely linked with JÉ thinking. Given the length of the conflict and the great number of events at sea and onshore involving a broad range of topics, a comprehensive summary of the conflict at sea would go far beyond the scope of a single article. Consequently, maritime-related devel- opments are only covered as far as relevant for this article’s research design and to support or dismiss concepts associated with the JÉ naval strategic school of thought. This also means that this paper covers comparatively little on the actual conduct of naval operations. For the level of interpretation as applied in this article, tactics and operations are largely irrelevant. Ultimately, the debate on anti-access and area denial (A2/AD), a topic that has been covered in great depth within the two recent decades,8 has been largely omitted from this article. The reason is as follows. There is some conceptual overlap between the JÉ and the A2/AD debate – especially con- cerning the JÉ’s rebirth in form of the Soviet Molodaya Shkola (Young School). While JÉ could only influence naval policy in France for a few years at the end of the 19th century, elements of JÉ thinking gained prominence approxi- mately three decades later in the newly-established Soviet Union. Taking into consideration the harsh economic situation and the disastrous state of the navy in the early USSR and denouncing blue-water ‘Old School’ thinking as imperialist, advocates of the Molodaya Shkola favoured a naval strategy based on an inshore defence made up of small surface vessels, submarines, mines, coastal artillery and land-based aviation. In contrast to the Molodaya Shkola’s approach to use asymmetric means to counter conventionally super- ior navies that was effectively similar to the French JÉ, there were some differences between the two schools. Probably, the most significant differ- ence concerned the JÉ’s focus on offensive commerce raiding.9 However, whereas denying enemy major surface combatants access to one’s own littoral by employing small heavily armed craft qualifies as being very much in line with A2/AD, JÉ and Molodaya Shkola thinking, the same cannot be said for the extensive use of land-based systems. For example, the traditional ‘Central Mine and Artillery Position’ [RUS: TS͡ entral’naia͡ minno-artilleriĭskaia͡ pozits͡ iia͡ ], the stationary SSC-1 Sepal10 of the Cold War era and the contemporary Russian SSC- 5 Stooge [RUS designation: Bastion] and SSC-6 Sennight [RUS designation: Bal] coastal defence missile systems or Ukraine’s R-360 Neptune anti-ship missiles11 all count as essential elements of the A2/AD discourse. Conceptually, however, they fit much better into ‘coastal defence theory’ and the ‘brick-and-mortar school’ rather than the JÉ.12 Trying to cover all the facets of the naval dimension of the Russo-Ukrainian War would blur the conceptual lines between the differ- ent naval strategic schools of thought. It would deviate this article ever further away from its selected theoretical framework: the original 19th century ideas associated with JÉ thinking. This article comprises seven parts. Part one briefly summarises the princi- pal ideas of the 19th century JÉ as the analytical framework for interpreting Ukraine’s approach to the War in the Black Sea. The second section examines how Ukraine, having successfully withstood the initial Russian offensive, waged naval war against the Russian Black Sea Fleet (BSF) and how the conduct of warfare fits within JÉ thinking. Having elaborated on derivations from JÉ theory as far as commerce warfare is concerned, parts three and four elaborate on the limitations of the applicability of the theory. As shown at different points throughout the article, many essentials of the debate are remarkably similar despite a time difference of 150 years. The fifth section elaborates on the ways in which Ukraine attacks Russia’s maritime critical infrastructure and argues that Ukraine’s approach blends well with the JÉ strategic school of thought. Towards the end, the article presents ongoing debates on Ukraine’s naval future which once again reveal the long-standing aversion of naval leaders to embrace JÉ ideas. While the article does address certain aspects of the Russo-Ukraine War at various points throughout the text, it is in these concluding sections that the debate between ‘Old School’ proponents and the fraction advocating the development of the ‘mosquito fleet’ is illustrated. Readers only interested in this element of the academic discussion may wish to fast-forward to section six. Ultimately, the article argues that essential elements of JÉ thinking have demonstrated their worth as a viable naval strategy, at least on the narrow seas, and should receive more positive appreciation by inferior conflict parties. The origins of Jeune école During the 19th century, French naval thinkers had to tackle the issue of British naval supremacy that rested on a battle fleet vastly superior to its French counterpart while being confronted with the financial and industrial capacities of the British Empire and a redistribution of the military budget prioritising continental warfare as a result of the 1870–71 Franco-German War.13 As a result, JÉ proposed an approach to naval warfare that seeks to avoid the enemy’s fleet and targets the enemy’s sea lines of communication. For this purpose, Baron Richild Grivel, one of the forerunners of JÉ, had already proposed commerce raiding as the ‘the most economical for the poorest fleet’ and ‘at the same time the one most proper to restore peace, since it strikes directly [. . .] at the very source of the prosperity of the enemy’.14 The ideal unit to conduct such a kind of warfare was the cruiser. Drawing conclusions from the Napoleonic Wars, Grivel points out that the immense resources Napoleon had spent in constructing ships of the line (FRA: vaisseaux) would have been much better invested in the construction of quick and well-armed ships capable of waging ‘partisan warfare’.15 Furthermore, late 19th century technological advances played a major role in the calculations of JE supporters. Torpedoes, mines, and submarines made major surface combatants much more vulnerable,16 while the introduction of steam propulsion made naval battles between unlike opponents rather improbable.17 In combination, these developments led Admiral Théophile Aube, a founding father of JÉ, to the conclusion that the ship of the line was not the desired naval vessel for the future.18 When Aube became Naval Minister in 1886, the ideas of JÉ, focusing on means to wage asymmetric warfare,19 were, though only for a relatively short period, practically implemented: Aube halted battleship production, prioritis- ing the acquisition of cruisers, torpedo boats, and gunboats and ordering the construction of the Gymnote, the first French torpedo-equipped submarine.20 Still, there was substantial resistance against JÉ even during its heydays not least because of legal considerations. French naval officers, such as Commander Heuette and Admiral Bourgois, were strongly opposed to the blatant violations of international law JÉ was proposing as it demanded reckless and merciless commerce raiding (FRA: guerre de course).21 Fast, small and numerous – how Ukraine crippled the black sea fleet At the end of March 2022, it had become clear that Russia’s gambit for a quick offensive victory over Ukraine had ended in disaster. At sea, the Russians had achieved some success, among others achieving sea control and capturing Snake Island close to the Ukrainian shoreline, but had failed to carry out a decisive landing operation in the northwestern Black Sea. However, a few weeks after the beginning of the invasion, in April 2022, the Ukrainians employed their land- based sea denial capabilities and following attacks against Russian warships, most notably the cruiser Moskva, by Ukrainian coastal defence forces, the BSF’s position off Ukraine’s Black Sea coast could no longer be sustained.22 Subsequently, Ukraine went on the offensive. As a forward position, main- taining a presence on the island and re-supplying the deployed forces proved particularly difficult for the Russians as Ukrainian forces shelled the island from the Ukrainian coast and targeted vessels carrying out resupply runs to the island. According to different sources, the BSF suffered the loss of several smaller units as, among others, strikes carried out by Bayraktar UAS targeted Russian patrol boats and auxiliary vessels operating in proximity to Snake Island.23 In May 2022, the Russians claimed to have shot down 30 UAS in the Snake Island region in three days.24 Even if these numbers were correct, the effects that relatively cheap, mass-produced drones could exert on Russian equipment at land and at sea, which was expensive and hard to replace, was devastating. After a struggle that had lasted for several months, the Russian military finally withdrew its troops from Snake Island by 30 June 2022.25 Following the withdrawal of BSF from the northwestern Black Sea, the Ukrainians launched an extensive sea denial campaign throughout the entire Black Sea region. Over the next years, numerous Russian warships were reported having been attacked and sometimes fatally damaged by Ukrainian USVs. Examples include the alleged destruction of the corvettes Ivanovets (January/ February 2024) and Sergey Kotov (attacked in September 2023/supposedly sunk in March 2024) and the tank landing ship Tsezar Kunikov (February 2024).26As Habib and Md Al Af argue, the employment of such an asymmetric approach was critical for Ukraine’s ability to withstand the Russian invasion at the time of writing. Asymmetric capabilities both in the air, at sea and on land have made significant contributions to denying the Russians a quick, decisive victory and have pro- tracted the conflict.27 The BSF reacted in various ways, among others, by use of electromagnetic warfare and adding fire power to their naval assets.28 Still, even while Russian naval forces were seeking to adapt, losses were accumulating. After two years of war, naval expert Igor Delanoë assessed, ‘the BSF has not been able to overcome all the difficulties emanating from an asymmetric warfare at sea caused by the Ukrainians’ employment of naval drones and cruise missiles’.29 Already as early as August 2022, British intelligence assessed that Russian patrols were ‘generally limited to waters within sight of the Crimean coast’.30 As elaborated in the following sections, however, neither was navigating close to the shore nor staying in port going to be a viable naval strategy for the Russians. Ukrainian drone tactics involved attacks by swarms of fast USVs that were continuously improved and specialised.31 As in the case of UAS attacks, by employing comparatively cheap USVs Ukraine benefited from a great advan- tage in terms of cost-efficiency when targeting expensive assets such as warships.32 ‘Speed and numbers’, in the words of Røksund the ‘mantra’ of JÉ, 33 stood at the heart of Ukraine’s approach to naval warfare. It is therefore little wonder that Ukrainian scholars themselves have also drawn compar- isons with the Molodaya Shkola school of thought. Ukrainian military journal- ist and historian Oleksandr Vel’mozh͡ ko, for example, points out,In fact, I see here a new ‘edition’, so to speak, of the ‘young school’ - the theory of creating naval forces on the basis of small mine-torpedo, missile, or other currently high-tech weapons that would cost relatively cheap and could be used against large warships.34 Furthermore, various videos released by Ukrainian security agencies show attacks under conditions of low visibility, especially at night, when the drones could take full advantage of their small signatures.35 Immediately, nighttime torpedo boat attacks against bigger and much more heavily armed comba- tants – one of the JÉ’s leitmotif’s [FRA: ‘de nuit, l’avantage est pour les torpilleurs’ – at night, the advantage is for the torpedo boats] – come to mind.36 Essentially, the means and ways which Ukraine applied to erode the BSF’s strength resembled JE thinking at its core. While the asymmetric ways in which Ukraine has countered Russian conven- tional superiority at sea have proven to be exceptionally successful and can serve as a 21st century role model for a JÉ style of naval warfare, the second pillar of JÉ’s warfare concept – offensive commerce raiding – requires elaboration. Firstly, apart from very few instances reported by the Russian conflict party right at the outbreak of hostilities – Russia claimed that Ukrainian missiles had hit the mer- chantmen SGV Flot and Seraphim Sarovsky – Ukraine has abstained from carrying out attacks against Russian civilian shipping. As Raul Pedrozo argues, unless there were specific conditions (see the following section) which qualified both Russian merchant vessels as legitimate military targets, attacks on these vessels would have been inconsistent with the law of naval warfare.37 Whatever the conditions surrounding the alleged attacks against these two civilian ships during the first 24 hours of the war, as far as analysts can tell from publicly accessible information about the war at sea, they were isolated incidents. By no means did Ukraine pursue a naval strategy in which the deliberate targeting of enemy civilian vessels played any role. Secondly, on 5 August 2023, Russian sources reported that the Russian tanker Sig had been struck by Ukrainian forces close to Crimea – a claim that was later confirmed by the Ukrainian conflict party.38 According to various sources, how- ever, Sig was carrying fuel for military purposes to Syria.39 Thus, in this particular case, it was ‘integrated into the enemy’s war-supporting effort’ and ‘due to its behaviour fulfilled the requirements of a military objective’ which also includes ‘transporting war material or transporting or supplying troops’. Consequently, Sig lost its protected status as a merchant vessel and became a legitimate target.40 Thirdly, it is true that on 20 July 2023 the Ukrainian Ministry of Defence published a warning that from 21 July, all vessels headed to Russian ports or Russian-occupied Ukrainian ports may be considered as those carrying military cargo.41 Subsequently, this declaration was also reinforced by remarks made by various Ukrainian senior representatives in the context of the drone strike on tanker Sig who claimed that (every) Russian ship sailing in the Black Sea was now a legitimate target.42 However, the situation surrounding these declarations needs to be taken into consideration. In the context of the termination of the U.N. Grain Initiative and before the Ukrainians, the Russian Ministry of Defence had released a statement which declared that from ‘Moscow time on 20 July 2023, all vessels sailing in the waters of the Black Sea to Ukrainian ports will be regarded as potential carriers of military cargo’.43 Furthermore, at the time, Russia also targeted Ukrainian ships, ports and infrastructure connected with the export of grain.44 As Oleg Ustenko, an economic adviser to Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelenskyy, points out, Ukraine’s ‘move was retaliation for Russia withdrawing from the U.N.-brokered Black Sea grain deal and unleashing a series of missile attacks on agricultural stores and ports’.45 The attack on the port of Novorossiysk had immediate effects on the movement of shipping and the calculation of war risk premiums (marine insurance).46 When both sides had given the opponent a taste of what a potential war on commercial shipping could look like, the smokescreen dispersed. Ukraine abstained from carrying out its threats. Thus, rather than interpreting Ukrainian activities within the framework of JÉ, theories on (non-nuclear) deterrence and strategic communication are much better suited to explain the events concerning civilian shipping in July and August 2023. Nothing remotely resembling a guerre de course-strategy had occurred. Why was this the case, especially in light of the enormous costs Ukraine could cause to Russian seaborne trade in comparison with the small investment associated with a few USVs? Legal constraints associated with the protection of mer- chant ships need to be primarily mentioned in this context.47  Limits to Jeune école – the legal and political dimension Although a comprehensive discussion of the law of naval warfare goes beyond the aims of this article, it is useful to recapitulate a few legal aspects concerning the war at sea. As a matter of principle, hostile merchant vessels do not qualify as legitimate military targets.48 The 1936 London Protocols awarded further protection to the status of merchant ships and clarified the rules of submarine warfare. They state, In particular, except in the case of persistent refusal to stop on being duly summoned, or of active resistance to visit or search, a warship, whether surface vessel or submarine, may not sink or render incapable of navigation a merchant vessel without having first placed passengers, crew and ship’s papers in a place of safety.49 To act in accordance with the law of armed conflict Ukraine would have had to seize Russian merchant vessels as prises and/or proclaim a maritime block- ade against the Russian Federation. In doing so, the Ukrainian Navy would have to enforce this blockade and, as a consequence, could/should have employed a belligerent’s right of visit and search.50 In order to interdict maritime traffic to the Russian coast and given the illegality of non- enforced blockades, both approaches – seizing individual enemy merchant ships and blockading the coastline – would require Ukrainian naval (and/or air) force (surface combatants) detecting civilian vessels, ascertaining their character and cargo and seizing vessels.51 Thus, as Ukraine lacked the surface units and the necessary sea control to seize ships, to enforce a blockade that requires ‘ensuring vessels trying to pass the blockade with sufficient probability’ and to exercise the belligerent’s right of visit, there were basically no options available to Ukraine to take actions against merchant shipping bound for Russian ports, if Ukraine was to act in accordance with the law of naval warfare.52 There are certain conditions when a merchant ship loses its protected status and becomes a legitimate military target, for example, when acting as naval auxiliaries, resisting capture or the belligerent’s right of visit and search or carrying out intelligence or communications functions.53 However, these conditions would not apply to a hypothetical scenario in which Ukraine would wage economic warfare against merchant shipping. Neither were merchant vessels bound for Russian ports sailing in convoys nor could merchantmen sailing towards Russian Black Sea ports generally be considered ‘integrated in Russia’s [and Ukraine’s] war effort’. All the conditions under which merchant ships may be eligible to attack during armed conflicts would not apply. While attacks on unarmed merchant vessels – especially for the weaker side – remains a tempting option in the 21st century as much as it was in the 19th century, the fear to commit blatant breaches of international law have had a discipling effect throughout the centuries. As outlined in section two of this article, the disapproval of the illegal ways of warfighting at sea that had been proposed by JÉ have been as old as this school of thought itself. In addition to the legal constraints that apply to commerce raiding, both sides’ decision not to follow the path leading to unrestricted economic warfare at sea should also be interpreted within the political context. For Ukraine acting in accordance with the law of armed conflict was significant as its support by the global community of liberal-minded states was shaped by these states’ normative understanding of the rules-based world order and international politics.54 Furthermore, both Ukraine and Russia were important exporters of various raw materials and food – particularly as far as the countries of the Global South were concerned. For example, in 2020, 15 countries in Africa imported over 50% of their wheat products from Ukraine or Russia. The impact of the war on the continent was profound as Africa suffered from a shortage of approximately 30 million tons of grains and serious inflation.55 Against this background, it seems clear that the targeting of merchant ships loaded with cargo desperately needed by the most vulner- able regions in the world would have only come at a tremendous political cost for the war parties. As Timothy Heck sums it up, Both the Ukrainians and the Russians wanted the benefits of international commerce and, diplomatically, to gain/earn/keep the goodwill of recipient nations by allowing regulated commercial traffic to escape the war zone.56 Again, similarities with the 19th century debates concerning JÉ are striking. Already in the 1880s influential opponents to JÉ, such as Admiral Bourgois, had criticised that tactics proposed by JÉ and illegal acts of naval warfare would rally neutral countries against France – the last thing an inferior French Navy in a military confrontation with Britain needed.57 While both sides largely refrained from directly targeting merchant ship- ping apart from a few exceptions, strikes against maritime critical infrastruc- ture and onshore facilities, which enabled both maritime commercial and naval operations at sea, evaded many of these constraints. Indeed, as each side intended to attrit the opponent’s ability to use the sea for one’ s own purposes, repeated attacks by various weapon systems against a wide range of maritime targets ashore became another principal characteristic of the Russo-Ukrainian War.  The degradation of Russia’s geostrategic position at the Black Sea Having elaborated on the applicability and the limits of the JÉ approach on the war at sea, the following section takes into consideration the second component of the systematic destruction of Russian naval capabilities in the Azov-Black Sea region: the targeting of Russian maritime infrastructure ashore and in port. In October 2022, a large-scale Ukrainian drone attack against Russian littoral positions attracted wide attention when several unmanned aerial vehicles and autonomous surface vehicles attacked the port of Sevastopol.58 Over the course of the next years, Ukraine repeatedly attacked Russian naval assets stationed on Crimea ashore and at the coast of the peninsula. Examples include strikes against Russian naval aviation at Saky airfield in August 2022, against various targets in the port of Sevastopol in March 2024 – apparently impacting the Ropucha-class tank landing ships Azov and Yamal – or against the Karakurt-class corvette Tsiklon in May 2024.59 Shortly after attacks against Russian infrastructure on Crimea had been reported, reports about Ukrainian strikes against Novorossiysk were pub- lished. In November 2022, a Ukrainian sea drone was reported having struck the Sheskharis oil terminal in Novorossiysk at night.60 As later reported by the newspaper Ukrainska Pravda, the following July, at a presidential meeting, Ukraine’s leadership had decided to launch strikes against Russian port infra- structure as a retaliatory measure for Russian missile and drone attacks on Ukrainian ports in the aftermath of the termination of the grain initiative.61 Subsequently, in early August 2023 movement of vessels was temporarily halted at the Port of Novorossiysk following a Ukrainian drone attack and the Russian tank landing ship Olenegorsky Gornyak suffering serious damage caused by a USV attack.62 Ukrainska Pravda reports on the moment when the Ukrainian drone operators came across various merchantmen while navigat- ing their USVs towards Novorossiysk. ‘Somewhere en route the operators saw a tanker. They asked if it could be perceived as a target. No tankers! If we hit a tanker in neutral waters, then we’ll be branded as some kind of terrorists. Your target is the port. (. . .) ’ a head of the mission said.63 Although this statement was reported by a conflict party and cannot independently be verified, it supports the argument made in the previous section about the limits of the JÉ approach in the case study of the Russo- Ukrainian War as far as the targeting of civilian shipping is concerned.64 Furthermore, and also exactly as in the case of the war on the open sea, the conflict parties had to consider third party opinions. As Ukrainska Pravda reports, following the Ukrainian strike against the port of Novorossiysk, ‘the Country’s Leadership received Warnings from partners at all levels’.65 In 2024, Ukrainian strikes against critical maritime infrastructure continued. In May, for example, Ukrainian attacks were reported on Novorossiysk’s seaport, an oil refinery in Tuapse and the Sevastopol Bay area.66 In early April 2024, Ukrainian Military Intelligence (HUR) published footage of a strike against an oil pipeline in Rostov Oblast that supposedly was used to transport oil products to the local oil depot for tankers in the Azov Sea. According to HUR, ‘the loading of tankers with oil products has been suspended indefinitely’.67 While the claim cannot be confirmed, the concept of striking the production and transport facilities before transportation rather than the merchant ships transporting the cargo highlights approaches to deal with the limits on economic warfare in the maritime dimension as detailed above. Although the BSF had to redeploy further to the eastern part of the Black Sea and Russia attempted to set up maintenance infrastructure further east, Ukraine continuously expanded the range of target locations and has thus been gradually degrading the Russian ability to make use of the sea. In the words of a retired U.S. admiral, ‘If you’re on a Russian naval ship, you’re not safe anywhere in the Black Sea’.68 As another element of Ukraine’s strike campaign, Ukraine has also targeted objectives whose destruction had a long-term impact on Russian naval capabilities and its war-making potential. For example, in July 2022 and in September 2023, Ukraine was reported having struck the naval staff/the headquarters of the BSF in Sevastopol – the latter attack causing devastating effects.69 As far as attacks against Russia’s industrial base and logistical infrastructure are concerned, examples include Ukrainian attacks against the Zaliv shipyard in Kerch, Crimea on 4 November 2023, which reportedly damaged the not yet commissioned Karakurt-class corvette Askold, and the strike against the Ropucha-class tank landing ship Novocherkassk that left the ship sunk at the bottom of the harbour. The strike has thus, extremely likely, rendered one of the main berths of the Feodosia port, which had been in use as an important logistical hub, unusable.70 A particularly devastating strike was carried out on 13 September 2023 when a Ukrainian missile strike hit dry docks of the Sevmorzavod shipyard, maintenance facilities of the BSF, in effect causing extensive damage to the Ropucha-class tank landing ship Minsk and the Kilo-II-mod-class conventional submarine Rostov-on-Don and consequently severing ‘Sevastopol’s ability to undertake maintenance and repairs of Black Sea Fleet vessels, at least until the dry docks at the Sevmorzavod facility (. . .) can be returned to regular use’, as Thomas Newdick points out.71 As the second year of the war was approaching its end, independent experts and Ukrainian military representatives were pointing at serious maintenance support issues confronting the BSF in the future as adequate repair infrastructure in this maritime theatre became a scarce resource.72 In combination, the accumulation of all these strikes over the long term had a serious attrition effect on Russia’s ability to utilise the sea for its purposes. This concerned primarily the military dimension but, as the war progressed and Ukrainian strikes against refineries and port infrastructure accumulated, also gradually the commercial dimension. British representa- tives assessed that 13% to 14% (December 2023) and subsequently 25% (February 2024) of Russia’s Black Sea combatant fleet had been destroyed.73 Moreover, on 26 March 2024, Ukraine’s navy spokesman Dmytro Pletenchuk released Ukraine’s assessment that up to that point in time, approximately a third of the BSF had been destroyed or disabled. 74 After more than two years of war, the strength and presence of the BSF had diminished consider- ably and British Defence Minister Grant Shapps considered the BSF ‘function- ally inactive’ – an assessment further substantiated by the UK Defence Intelligence update the following month75 The BSF has largely withdrawn its ships and submarines from Sevastopol further eastwards to Novorossiysk. Since the removal of the BSF commander in March 2024, the fleet has been the least active since the war began.76 How do these strikes against Russian targets in port and ashore fit within the JÉ school of thought? Firstly, while not a principal feature that is com- monly associated with JÉ naval strategy,77 the foundational literature written by the originators of JÉ does mention attacks on an enemy’s coastal facilities. This primarily includes bombardment of civilian coastal settlements for the purpose of terror but also includes military facilities when the opportunity arises. Aube, for example, writes: The masters of the sea will turn the power of attack and destruction, in the absence of adversaries evading their blows, against all the cities of the littoral, fortified or not, peaceful or warlike, burn them, ruin them or at least ransom them without mercy.78 Equally connecting strikes against military facilities at the coast with this naval strategic school, journalist and JÉ theoretician, Gabriel Charmes, argues,: The bombardment of Alexandria further showed that, if the heavy artillery of a battleship risked being quickly reduced to impotence by the resistance of the forts, the only weapon which could cause them serious damage was small artillery carried on fast ships.79 Secondly, if attention is paid to the connotated message the founding fathers of this naval school of thought tried to convey, a good argument can be made that Ukraine’s targeting of Russian infrastructure at the coastline fits well with a JÉ approach. Ukrainian strikes consist of numerous fast strikes and well- placed pin prick attacks that outmanoeuvre enemy defences and hit unex- pectedly. They are not built on sea control and air superiority because Ukraine did not enjoy dominance of these domains. Thus, the strikes were not ‘decisive’ in a Mahanian sense but rather the modern adoptions of concepts already presented by Admiral Aube during the 1880s. With the extreme mobility that steam gives to all warships, whatever the special weapon with which they are equipped, with the speed and security of informa- tion that the electric telegraph allows, with the concentration of force that is ensured by the railway, on the one hand side, no point on the coast is safe from attack.80 If one were to exchange the concept of steam power with modern forms of power generation, the telegraph with modern ISR and command and control systems and the railway with all forms of transportation available at the beginning of the 21st century, Aube’s article could very well describe a military scenario of the Russo-Ukrainian War. Repeated attacks against – and thus attrition of – the opponent’s naval geostrategic position could seriously degrade the opponent’s ability to operate, sustain and reinforce a fleet over a longer time period without having to destroy the opposing fleet in a symmetrical battle is essentially the quintessence of JÉ thinking. Granted, in Aube’s age, it would have been difficult to imagine how non- conventional means could assemble the necessary amount of firepower to cause the substantial damage to the opponent’s position as shown by the War in Ukraine. But since the development of weapon systems of ever greater ranges, a stakeholder’s position may be vulnerable to repeated attacks by an opponent even if the opponent has not been able to establish sea control and is using asymmetric styles of warfare. To sum up, technological advances have enabled the inferior side to pursue a naval strategy that contributed to driving down the opponent’s fleet’s capabilities without actually seeking a symmetrical engagement with his fleet. This, of course, is completely in line with JÉ thinking – a so-called ‘material school’ of naval strategic thought.81 Thus, in contrast to the deliberate targeting of merchantmen, in the case of attacks against Russian maritime infrastructure the Ukrainian approach can be interpreted as continuing and complementing JÉ thinking. The way ahead: Old school or young school? Ukraine’s asymmetric approach to naval warfare and the adoption of ideas associated with JÉ have secured Ukrainian successes in the maritime domain few experts could have predicted at the beginning of the hostilities.82 It is not exaggerated to claim that the significance of these events is historical. Generally speaking, many scholars and historical studies have not been particularly positive in their verdicts about JÉ as a viable strategic school of thought. As Arne Røksund elaborates, even when Théophile Aube was Minister of Marine (1886–1887), he could not overcome the French admiralty’s resistance to giving up entirely on battlefleets. The same holds true for the second generation of JÉ proponents during the latter 1890s.83 By the time De Lanessan was appointed Minister of Marine in 1899, ideas about great quan- tities of fast but mostly smaller vessels gave way for naval concepts based on comparatively fewer warships of high quality as ‘the French Navy should concentrate on what he regarded as core elements of a first-rank navy’.84 Subsequently, as Røksund, recapitulates, ‘The French Navy did not fight any war following the theory of the Jeune école.’85 Ian Speller comes to a similar conclusion as he underlines that  Even in France there was never a consensus in favour of their [Jeune École’s – author’s note] policies, and French naval policy remained divided (. . .) Ultimately, the Jeune École failed in their attempt to bring radical change to French naval policy.86 Similar to the fate of the French original, the Soviet Molodaya Shkola was replaced rather quickly by grand visions of ‘Stalin’s Big Ocean-going Fleet’ deemed more adequate for Soviet great power status.87 Of what relevance could JÉ ever be when – referring to a leading British naval historian – there has never been a historical example when the approach proposed by this strategic school of thought has ever worked in practice.88 Such criticism was very much in line with the writings of another prominent naval practitioner and theoretician: Admiral Gorshkov, Chief of the Soviet Navy. According to Gorshkov, the naval strategy pursued by the German naval leadership during WW2 had failed because it left the U-boats alone in their fight against the Allied navies without support by other subbranches of the navy. Without the danger of German naval and naval air forces attacking their surface vessels, Allied navies could focus on anti-submarine warfare and ‘the priority devel- opment of only one warfare branch, the subsurface forces, ultimately had to lead to a drastic limitation of the German fleet’s spectrum of tasks when fighting against the enemy’s fleets’, was his argument.89 As a consequence, Gorshkov strongly argues in favour of a balanced fleet which could potentially even defeat a numerically superior but unevenly developed opponent.90 In contrast, the war in the Black Sea has demonstrated that a JÉ approach can actually succeed in neutralising a superior, opposing naval force, at least in a narrow sea.91 Given recent events, the critical perception of JÉ should be carefully re-evaluated. Apart from the historical point of debate that the German military leadership had to fight WW2 with a different fleet than the ‘balanced fleet’ of the Z-Plan that it had originally envisioned but that had not been realised in time, there is also a conceptual issue worth debating from a strategic studies perspective. As various experts and, in fact, the German naval leadership,92 have repeatedly touched upon, the German Navy was doomed to lose the war at sea due to the greater strategic conditions (e.g., fleet sizes, war-making potential including shipbuilding capacity etc.) under which it had to fight WW2.93 If there was no winning condition in a conventional naval war, however, and if, consequently, the sense in carrying out the conflict at sea was not to ‘rule the waves’ but to cause the maximum amount of damage and bind a large Allied force in a way as resource-efficient as possible it has to be critically examined whether a JÉ may have actually been the smartest approach the German Navy could have chosen.94 As elaborated below, similar strategic calculations should be taken into consid- eration when debating the case of Ukraine and the War in the Black Sea. Commerce raiding, another feature of the JÉ approach, has equally been dismissed as futile. As far as targeting of individual merchant ships is con- cerned, the blue-water prophet himself, Alfred T. Mahan viewed this style of warfare as ‘the weakest form of naval warfare’95 and criticises ‘A strong man cannot be made to quit his work by sticking pins in him’.96 A hundred twenty years after Mahan, this assessment also may have lost some of its persuasive power. At the beginning of the 21st century, global sea-based commerce has become very sensitive to changes in the security environment and much more risk averse. Furthermore, the differentiation between flag states, ship owners, cargo owners, crews and charterers has greatly reduced ‘national interest’ within maritime commerce. As a consequence, the outbreak of hostilities in the northwestern Black Sea at the beginning of the Black Sea has – not discounting other factors, such as the closing of ports and Ukrainian authorities prohibiting merchant ships from leaving ports – led to a drastic collapse of merchant shipping to and from Ukraine.97 Similarly, the drastic effects of the 2023 attack against the port of Novorossiysk and the Sig on the maritime commercial sector have already been mentioned. Against this background, it seems extremely likely that if Ukraine struck or sank even a small number of merchantmen destined to call in ports such as Novorossiysk, Taganrog, Taman or Tuapse this would have devastating effects for Russian sea-based transportation in the entire Azovo-Black Sea basin. However, as already noted, as far as commerce warfare is concerned, the limiting factor was less of operational and more or of legal and political nature. While some of the aspects of warfighting associated with JÉ were already considered immoral and contrary to international law during the 19th century, the weight of politico-legal circumstances and the necessity to fight a ‘just war’ are even more significant during the 21st century. This is particu- larly true for Ukraine which depends on the support of the Global West – a value-driven community. In summary, an approach to warfare closely associated with JÉ has awarded Ukraine great successes for more than two years of war in the Black Sea. But as Ukraine has to fight the war at sea solely based on a sea denial approach, the country is also faced with severe limitations. Any opera- tion that requires sea control as a precondition is effectively beyond Ukrainian means if not in immediate proximity of the Ukrainian coastline such as the reported landings of Ukrainian soldiers on drilling platforms.98 Keeping all these more abstract considerations in mind, the debates on (applied) naval strategy that are currently ongoing in Ukraine become much more comprehensible. Following – from Kyiv’s point of view – a successful campaign at sea, in which the reinforced BSF was pushed out of the western Black Sea and suffered considerable losses, a debate is taking place about the future devel- opment of Ukrainian Navy and Ukraine’s approach to warfighting in the maritime dimension. On the one hand, there are the proponents of building a symmetrical naval force. The ‘Doctrine of the Naval Forces of Ukraine’ that was released in 2021 was an ambitious strategic document. As far as the ‘expansion of the fleet composition through the construction and modernisa- tion of the existing fleet composition’ was concerned, the doctrine detailed ‘new generation missile boats, landing ships of various classes, patrol ships and boats for the protection of the territorial waters and the EEZ, uncrewed underwater vehicles, new types of supply vessels of various types’ and ‘the construction of new mine warfare vessels and small submarines’.99 Most breathtaking, the ‘Doctrine of the Naval Forces of Ukraine’ defined capabil- ities for ‘sea control on the open ocean’ as the number one priority for the development of the Ukrainian Navy in the period following 2030.100 It is also in this context that Ukraine’s interest in procuring frigates through the UK capability development initiative and developing the design of the Volodymyr Velykyi-class corvettes have to be interpreted.101 Taking into consideration the point from where the Ukrainian Navy had to restart in 2014, these acquisition goals were bold to say the least. More than two years into the war, visions about the future of the Ukrainian Navy have lost nothing of their grandness. According to this school of thought, among other things, the air defence capability of the Ukrainian Navy is to be strengthened, long-range strike capabilities are to be acquired, surface comba- tants of different classes are to be put into service and amphibious forces are to be set up in the form of additional naval infantry brigades with landing vehicles.102 This expansion of capabilities is intended to gradually create the conditions for achieving sea control. Having established sea control, Ukraine would be in a position to conduct amphibious operations on its own and even think about establishing a naval blockade of the Russian Black Sea coast. The construction of Milgem project corvettes for the Ukrainian Navy at the RMK Marine Shipyard in Istanbul103 and capabilities gained through the British-Norwegian Maritime Capability Coalition104 are important steps in this direction. On the other hand, another faction opposes the above-mentioned views. Proponents of this second philosophy of warfare emphasise that Ukraine has been able to wage the war at sea so successfully because it has used an asymmetrical approach. According to their view, it is important to maintain this approach and Ukraine should under no circumstances aim to fight a symmetrical naval war with the Russian fleet. The Ukrainian fleet design should therefore be based on a so-called mosquito fleet – a fleet consisting of small naval assets applying asymmetrical doctrine.105 This argument is not new. Already Ukraine’s 2018 ‘Strategy of the Naval Forces of the Armed Forces of Ukraine 2035’ elaborates, Recovery of the surface forces during the first two stages of the Strategy will be executed due to the boats of the ‘mosquito fleet’. This solution is the most realistic in terms of cost-effectiveness ratio. Due to its speed, manoeuvrability and armament, such boats are capable of performing practically the whole spectrum of tasks that are inherent to classical surface ships, but they have smaller sea worthiness and operational range from the coast.106 Although Ukrainian strategic documents repeatedly referred to the term ‘mosquito fleet’, the official Ukrainian naval discourse did not explicitly mention JÉ terminol- ogy. This detail stands in contrast to the above-mentioned remarks about the Molodaya Shkola by Ukrainian civilian commentators. It is also, on first sight, surprising given the actual approach to warfare in the Black Sea region that Ukraine – although not primarily the Ukrainian Navy as mentioned further below – has chosen which has paralleled what the JÉ espoused. However, as Admiral (ret.) Ihor Kabanenko, former deputy minister of defence of Ukraine, points out, ‘this term [Molodaya Shkola – author’s note] is not widely used in Ukraine – apparently, because our experts mostly look to the UK and the US and therefore appeal to the old school of sea power and sea mastery [Soviet/Russian/Ukrainian terminological equivalent of the English term “command of the sea”107 – author’s note], missing out on important experience of waging war in the continental sea’.108 The relative silence on JÉ within the official Ukrainian naval discourse is even less astonishing if the development since 2020, approximately, is taken into consideration. As Kabanenko argues, at some point around the turn of the third decade of the 21st century, Ukrainian naval strategy changed course and while abandoning ideas associated with a mosquito fleet, the ‘later document [the 2021 Doctrine – author’s note] instead calls for ambitious symmetric decisions and actions’ in turn stretching budgetary resources and making very costly, long-term investments.109 What had happened? In June 2020, Oleksiy Neizhpapa was appointed Commander of the Ukrainian Navy.110 Neizhpapa – an ‘Old School’ commander – favoured conventional naval forces.111 Talking at the launch of the UK/Norway/Ukraine Maritime Capability Coalition at Admiralty House in London in December 2023, Neizhpapa clung to his visions of a long-term plan for a capable conventional fleet until 2035 and clearly expressed that a powerful and capable navy is not only a tool to deter Russian aggression from the sea, but also a guarantee of the prosperity of our country and security in the region.112 It is thus not a surprise that the 2021 strategic document of the Ukrainian Navy took a sharp turn. Furthermore, as various sources point out, Ukraine’s most successful maritime assets, naval drones, have been predominantly although not exclusively operated by the civilian (SBU) and military (HUR) intelligence services rather than the navy.113 Many Ukrainians who adhere to the second faction view these grand fleet ambitions critically. As Captain (ret.) Andrii Ryzhenko argues, the cost of building up a conventional fleet as envisioned by the Ukrainian naval leadership would be extremely expensive. Such resources could be spent much wiser, especially, if the fact that Ukraine’s current naval strategy that enables effective sea denial operations is taken into consideration.114 Essentially, the ideas supported by Kabanenko, Ryzhenko and other proponents of this school of thought can be attributed to the long-standing tradition of JÉ thinking. In contrast, whereas throughout this article this author has argued that means and ways which Ukrainian security organs applied to erode its Russian opponent closely resembled a JÉ style of naval warfare, this evaluation is descriptive not prescriptive. Unlike civilian experts, such as Vel’mozh͡ ko, who have equally compared Ukraine’s approach to the War in the Black Sea with Young School thinking, there is no evidence supporting that Ukraine’s post-2020 naval leadership was deliber- ately pursuing a JÉ-informed strategy. On the contrary, available evidence points in the direction that for the decision-makers at the time of the Russian full-scale invasion of Ukraine the JÈ was not a source of direct inspiration. In fact, Ukraine’s naval leaders were informed by Old School thinking and capabilities for conventional, symmetric naval warfare were favoured. Revival of Jeune École? The discussion of attacks on merchant shipping has shown that if Ukraine really wanted to interfere with Russian merchant shipping or potentially even enforce a blockade itself, it would have to acquire a fleet consisting of at least some surface combatants. It is highly questionable that under the conditions of (this) war such an aim can be accomplished. Already before the full-scale invasion in February 2022, various experts criticised Ukraine’s apparent shift in naval strategy and the country’s ambitious plans to create a balanced fleet capable of, among others, conducting offensive maritime operations which they deemed unrealistic and a waste of resources arguing instead for the establishment of an effective mosquito fleet.115 Given that Ukraine is fighting an existential struggle in a mostly land- dominated theatre of war, Ukraine should carefully assess how many resources it would want to invest in capabilities in the maritime domain. Ultimately, Russia retains significant long-range strike capabilities as demon- strated by the strike campaign which the Russian military has been waging against Ukraine’s energy infrastructure since autumn 2022.116 So far, one of the great advantages Ukraine’s Navy has enjoyed over the course of this war has been that its mosquito fleet was difficult to track and neutralise by the enemy. Introducing large, tangible objects – naval vessels – into the arsenal of the Ukrainian military would deprive Ukraine of this advantage and make the life for the Russian targeting process a lot easier. Furthermore, given Ukraine’s geographic and geopolitical situation it has to be critically questioned whether Anglo-Saxon ‘Old School’ blue-water theories are the best fit for the Ukrainian Navy. As Gorshkov argues, it is ‘wrong to attempt to build a fleet according to the model and example of the strongest naval power’ as ‘every country has its specific needs for naval forces.’117 Thus, Ryzhenko is correct to emphasise time and again the necessity to pursue an asymmetric strategy at least as far as the enclosed theatre of the Azov-Black Sea-region is concerned. In his words,  Ultimately, small, fast, maneuverable and well-armed boats as well as unmanned aerial and surface vehicles comprising a well-equipped ‘mosquito fleet’ could quickly and efficiently strengthen the Ukrainian Navy and improve the chances to execute successful operations within confined and contested areas where, for now, Russia enjoys dominance in the air and sea. 118 Considering the fate of the JÉ and the Soviet Molodaya Shkola, the – one could almost say libidinal – desire of naval leaders to aim beyond the stage of JÉ weapons and doctrine and acquire a conventional fleet (in the old days a battlefleet) has been prevalent. More than 130 years after Aube, Grivel and the other founding fathers of JÉ, the temptation remains strong. Ironically, even in pursuing an actual war-winning JÉ-based strategy Ukrainian decision- makers are still tempted to revert to warfare capabilities associated with classical naval warfare. The Ukrainian naval leadership should consider care- fully before continuing to steer down this waterway. NOTES 1 Ian Speller, Understanding Naval Warfare, 2nd ed. (London and New York, NY: Routledge, 2019), 43ff. 2 See, for example, these authors’ most prominent works: Alfred Thayer Mahan, The Influence of Sea Power upon History 1660–1783 (Boston: Little, Brown, and Company, 1890); Philip Howard Colomb, Naval Warfare: Its Ruling Principles and Practice Historically Treated (London: W. H. Allen & Co., Ltd., 1891); Julian Corbett, Some Principles of Maritime Strategy (London: Longmans, Green and Co., 1911). Corbett has indeed also addressed several elements of naval warfare which are essential to the JÉ school of thought. For example, Corbett argues ‘The vital, most difficult, and most absorbing problem has become not how to increase the power of a battle-fleet for attack, which is a comparatively simple matter, but how to defend it. As the offensive power of the flotilla developed, the problem pressed with an almost bewildering intensity. With every increase in the speed and sea-keeping power of torpedo craft, the problem of the screen grew more exacting’ (Corbett, Some Principles of Maritime Strategy, 122). Due to limitations in aim and scope, this article limits itself to literature and theoreticians associated with the JÉ. Interpreting the War in the Black Sea from a Corbettian perspective may be an area for further research. 3 James R. Holmes and Toshi Yoshihara, Chinese Naval Strategy in the 21st Century: The Turn to Mahan (London and New York, NY: Routledge, 2008); David Scott, ‘India’s Drive For A “Blue Water” Navy’, Journal of Military and Strategic Studies, Winter 2007–08, 10/2 (2008); and Alessio Patalano, Post-War Japan As a Sea Power: Imperial Legacy, Wartime Experience and the Making of a Navy (London: Bloomsburry, 2016). 4 Seth Cropsey, ‘Naval Considerations in the Russo-Ukrainian War’, Naval War College Review, 75/4 (2022), Article 4; and Brent Sadler, ‘Applying Lessons of the Naval War in Ukraine for a Potential War with China’, The Heritage Foundation, 5 January 2023, https://www.heritage.org/asia/report/applying-lessons-the-naval-war-ukraine-potential-war-china. 5 Borys Kormych and Tetyana Malyarenko, ‘From Gray Zone to Conventional Warfare: the Russia-Ukraine Conflict in the Black Sea’, Small Wars & Insurgencies, 34/7 (2023), 1235–70; Silviu Nate et. alii, ‘Impact of the Russo-Ukrainian War on Black Sea Trade: Geoeconomic Challenges’, Economics & Sociology, 17/1 (2024), 256–79; and Nick Childs, ‘The Black Sea in the Shadow of War’, Survival, 65/3 (2023), 25–36. 6 Md. Tanvir Habib and Shah Md Shamrir Al Af, ‘Maritime asymmetric warfare strategy for smaller states: lessons from Ukraine’, Small Wars & Insurgencies 36/1 (2025), 29–58. 7 Michael Shurkin, ‘Plus Ça Change: A French Approach to Naval Warfare in the 21st Century’, War on the Rocks, 13 Oct. 2023, https://warontherocks.com/2023/10/plus-ca-change-a-french-approach-to-naval-warfare-in-the-21st-century/. 8 Andrew F. Krepinevich and Barry Watts, ‘Meeting the Anti-Access and Area-Denial Challenge’, Center for Strategic and Budgetary Assessments, 20 May 2003, https://csbaonline.org/research/publications/a2ad-anti-access-area-denial; Stephan Frühling and Guillaume Lasconjarias, ‘NATO, A2/AD and the Kaliningrad Challenge’, Survival, 58/2 (2016), 95–116; and Douglas Barrie, ‘Anti-Access/Area Denial: Bursting the “no-go” bubble?’, IISS Military Balance Blog, 29 Mar. 2019, https://www.iiss.org/blogs/military-balance/2019/04/anti-access-area-denial-russia-and-crimea. 9 Bryan Ranft and Geoffrey Till, The Sea in Soviet Strategy, 2nd ed. (Basingstoke: MacMillan Press, 1989), 94,95; Mikhail Monakov and Jürgen Rohwer, Stalin’s Ocean-Going Fleet: Soviet Naval Strategy and Shipbuilding Programs, 1935–53 (Abingdon: Frank Cass, 2001), 20ff. and Geoffrey Till, Seapower: A Guide for the Twenty-First Century, 4th ed. (London and New York, NY: Routledge 2018), 94,95. 10 The Land-Based Variant of the SS-N-3 Shaddock. 11 R-360 Neptune Anti-Ship Missiles are Believed to have Critically Damaged the Russian Cruiser Moskva in April 2022. Ellen Uchimiya and Eleanor Watson, The Neptune: The Missiles that Struck Russia’s flagship, the Moskva, CBS News, 16 Apr. 2022, https://www.cbsnews.com/news/moskva-ship-sinking-russian-flagship-neptune-missiles/. 12 Till, Seapower, 93; Beatrice Heuser, The Evolution of Strategy: Thinking War from Antiquity to the Present (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press 2010), 225,226. 13 Arne Røksund, The Jeune École: The Strategy of the Weak (Brill, 2007), iX; Martin Motte, Une Éducation Géostratégique. La Pensée Navale Française de la Jeune École à 1914 (Paris:: Economica, 2004), 99. 14 Richild Grivel, De la guerre maritime avant et depuis les nouvelles Inventions (Paris: Arthus Bertrand and J. Dumaine 1869), 7. 15 Ibid., 259. 16 Till, Seapower, 91. 17 Røksund, The Jeune École, 6. 18 Hyacinthe Laurent Théophile Aube, ‘La guerre maritime et les ports militaires de la France’, 320, Revue des Deux Mondes, March 1882, 314–46. 19 Till, Seapower, 91. 20 Røksund, The Jeune École, xii. 21 Ibid., 29–31, 121. 22 Defense Express, ‘First Target of Ukraine’s Neptune Missile’, 12 Jan. 2024, https://en.defence-ua.com/events/first_target_of_ukraines_neptune_missile_how_the_moskva_flagship_killer_scored_its_first_hit_and_prevented_amphibious_assault-9162.html. 23 Hannah Ritchie, ‘Ukrainian Drone Destroys Russian Patrol Ships off Snake Island, says Defense Ministry’, CNN, 2 May 2022, https://edition.cnn.com/europe/live-news/russia-ukraine-war-news-05-02-22#h_a73ac98f2400af01f729e23a7e01ae88; and AFP, ‘Ukraine Says Sank Russian Landing Craft at Snake Island’, The Moscow Times, 11 May 2022, https://www.themoscowtimes.com/2022/05/07/ukraine-says-sank-russian-landing-craft-at-snake-island-a77614. 24 Tass, ‘Kiev loses 30 drones in attempt to seize Snake Island – Russian Defense Ministry’, 10 May 2022, https://tass.com/defense/1449051?utm_source=google.com=organic=google.com=google. com/amp/amp/amp. 25 Deutsche Welle, ‘Russia Pulls Back Forces from Snake Island – as it Happened’, 30 June 2022, <https://www.dw.com/en/ukraine-russia-pulls-back-forces-from-snake-island-as-it-happened/a−62,309,716>. 26 Robert Greenall, ‘Ukraine “hits Russian Missile boat Ivanovets in Black Sea”, BBC, 1 Feb. 2024, https://www.bbc.com/news/world-europe-68165523; Tom Balmforth and Yuliia Dysa, ‘Ukraine attacks Russian Warships in Black Sea, Destroys Air defences in Crimea, Kyiv says’, Reuters, 14 Sept. 2023, https://www.reuters.com/world/europe/ukraine-destroys-russian-air-defence-system-near-crimeas-yevpatoriya-source-2023-09-14/; and Sergeĭ Koval’, ‘U beregov kryma potoplen rossiĭskiĭ raketnyĭ kater. Chto o nem izvestno?’, Krym Realii, 01 Feb. 2024, https://ru.krymr.com/a/krym-potoplen-ros-raketnyy-kater/32801464.html. 27 Habib and Md Al Af, ‘Maritime asymmetric warfare strategy for smaller states’, p. 34. 28 Andrew E. Kramer, ‘In a Tough Year on Land, Drones Give Ukraine Some Success at Sea’, 20 Dec. 2023, New York Times, https://www.nytimes.com/2023/12/20/world/europe/ukraine-drones-sea.html. 29 Igor Delanoë, ‘Russia’s Black Sea Fleet in the “Special Military Operation” in Ukraine’, 7 Feb. 2024, https://www.fpri.org/article/2024/02/russias-black-sea-fleet-in-the-special-military-operation-in-ukraine/. 30 UK Ministry of Defence, ‘Latest Defence Intelligence update on the situation in Ukraine − 16 Aug. 2022’, X, 16 Aug. 2022, https://x.com/DefenceHQ/status/1559411321581572098. 31 Kramer, ‘In a Tough Year on Land’; Roman Romaniuk, Sam Harvey and Olya Loza, ‘Sea drones, Elon Musk, and high-precision missiles: How Ukraine dominates in the Black Sea’, Ukrainska Pravda, 1 Jan. 2024, https://www.pravda.com.ua/eng/articles/2024/01/1/7435326/. 32 Joshua Cheetham, ‘Sea drones: What are they and how much do they cost?’ BBC, 13 Sept. 2023, https://www.bbc.com/news/world-europe−66,373,052. 33 Røksund, The Jeune École, 139. 34 Oleksandr Vel’moz͡hko, ‘Rosiĭs’kyĭ flot znovu vidstupai͡e u bazi (VIDEO)’, Pivdennyĭ Kur’i͡er, 10 Dec. 2022,https://uc.od.ua/news/navy/1248235. 35 Greenall, ‘Ukraine ‘hits Russian missile boat Ivanovets in Black Sea’; and Milana Golovan, ‘MAGURA V5 drones attack Tsezar Kunikov ship: Russian occupiers release first-person video footage’, LIGABusinessInform, 6 Mar. 2024, https://news.liga.net/en/politics/video/kak-drony-magura-v5-atakovali-tsezarya-kunikova-okkupanty-pokazali-video-ot-pervogo-litsa. 36 Un ancien officier de marine, ‘Torpilleurs et Torpilles’, 47, La Nouvelle revue, 7/32 (January-February 1885), 42–71. 37 Raul Pedrozo, ‘Maritime Exclusion Zones in Armed Conflicts’, International Law Studies 99/526 (2022), https://digital-commons.usnwc.edu/cgi/viewcontent.cgi?article=3018&context=ils, 531. 38 Interfaks, ‘Tanker Povrezhden Na Podkhode K Kerchenskomu Prolivu, Predpolozhitel’No,Morskim Dronom’, 5 Aug. 2023, https://www.interfax.ru/russia/914933; and Romaniuk, Harvey and Loza, ‘Sea drones, Elon Musk, and high-precision missiles’. 39 Sofiia Syngaivska, ‘Russia Uses Civilian Vessels for Military Purposes, Including Recently Attacked Sig Merchant Tanker’, 10 Aug. 2023, https://en.defence-ua.com/news/russia_uses_civilian_vessels_for_military_purposes_including_recently_attacked_sig_merchant_tanker-7590.html; and Daria Shulzhenko, ‘Ukraine’s security chief: Attacks on Russian ships, Crimean bridge ‘logical and legal’, The Kyiv Independent, 5 Aug. 2023, https://kyivindependent.com/sbu-head-says-attacks-on-russian-ships-crimean-bridge-are-logical-and-legal/. 40 Udo Fink and Ines Gillich, Humanitäres Völkerrecht (Baden-Baden: Nomos, 2023), 212; Interview with a legal advisor for Law of Naval Operations on 11 June 2024. 41 Ministerstvo oborony Ukraïny, ‘Zai͡ava Ministerstva oborony Ukraïny’, Facebook, 20 July 2023, https://www.facebook.com/MinistryofDefence.UA/posts/pfbid02fGmqenfANV5TABt16PgMpJRT7k5sbkeUhkEAsbkeUhkEAVZuvxxS2dgPkH2qAR7yl. 42 Sluz͡hba bezpeky Ukraïny, ‘golova SBU Vasil’ Mali͡uk prokomentuvav neshchodavni ataky nadvodnymy dronamy na korabli rf,‘ 5 Aug 2023, https://t.me/SBUkr/9185; Gabriel Gavin, ‘Ukraine declares war on Russia’s Black Sea shipping’, Politico, 8 Aug. 2023, https://www.politico.eu/article/ukraine-declares-war-on-russia-black-sea-shipping/. 43 Lloyd’s List, ‘Russia warns that Ships Heading to Ukraine are now a Military Target’, 20 July 2023, https://www.lloydslist.com/LL1145965/Russia-warns-that-ships-heading-to-Ukraine-are-now-a-military-target. 44 Shaun Walker, ‘Odesa suffers “Hellish Night” as Russia Attacks Ukraine Grain Facilities’, The Guardian, 19 July 2023, https://www.theguardian.com/world/2023/jul/19/odesa-suffers-hellish-night-as-russia-attacks-ukraines-grain-facilities; UK Foreign, Commonwealth & Development Office and James Cleverly, ‘New intelligence shows Russia’s targeting of a cargo ship’, 11 Sept. 2023, https://www.gov.uk/government/news/new-intelligence-shows-russias-targeting-of-a-cargo-ship. 45 Gavin, ‘Ukraine declares war on Russia’s Black Sea shipping’. 46 Michelle Wiese Bockmann, ‘Western Tankers Abandon Black Sea crude markets after Ukraine drone attacks’, Lloyd’s List, 07 Aug. 2023, https://www.lloydslist.com/LL1146178/Western-tankers-abandon-Black-Sea-crude-markets-after-Ukraine-drone-attacks. 47 Interview with an authoritative Ukrainian source in May 2024. 48 Louise Doswald-Beck (ed.), San Remo Manual on International Law Applicable to Armed Conflicts at Sea (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1995) [SRM], paragraphs [59]-[61]; Andreas von Arnauld, Völkerrecht (Heidelberg: C.F. Müller, 2019), 577. 49 International Committee of the Red Cross, ‘Procès-verbal relating to the Rules of Submarine Warfare set forth in Part IV of the Treaty of London of 22 April 1930. London, 6 November 1936’, https://ihl-databases.icrc.org/assets/treaties/330-IHL-45-EN.pdf. 50 SRM paragraphs [93]-[104]; Robert Kolb and Richard Hyde, Introduction to the International Law of Armed Conflicts (Oxford and Portland, OR: Hart Publishing, 2008), 252. 51 Kolb and Hyde, Introduction to the International Law of Armed Conflicts, 252; James Kraska and Raul Pedrozo, International Maritime Security Law (Leiden: Brill, 2013), 888; Arnauld, Völkerrecht, 578. 52 Arnauld, Völkerrecht, 578. Offensive mine warfare is not considered in this article (Conversation with Dr Marc De Vore, University of St. Andrews, at the Finnish National Defence University in Helsinki on 13 February 2025). 53 SRM, paragraph [60]. For a discussion, see, Kraska and Pedrozo, International Maritime Security Law, 868. 54 UK Foreign, Commonwealth and Development Office, ‘G7 Foreign Ministers’ Meeting communiqué (Capri, 19 April, 2024) – steadfast support to Ukraine’, 19 Apr. 2024, https://www.gov.uk/government/publications/g7-foreign-ministers-meeting-communiques-april-2024/g7-foreign-ministers-meeting-communique-capri-19-april-2024-steadfast-support-to-ukraine. 55 Bitsat Yohannes-Kassahun, ‘One Year Later: The impact of the Russian conflict with Ukraine on Africa’, United Nations Africa Renewal, 13 Feb. 2023, https://www.un.org/africarenewal/magazine/february-2023/one-year-later-impact-russian-conflict-ukraine-africa. 56 Timothy Heck, speech given at the Kiel International Seapower Symposium 2024 on 28 June 2024. 57 Røksund, The Jeune École, 27. 58 Tim Lister, ‘A Russian naval base was targeted by drones. Now Ukrainian grain exports are at risk’, CNN, 31 Oct. 2022, https://edition.cnn.com/2022/10/31/europe/sevastopol-drone-russia-ukraine-grain-intl-cmd/index.html. 59 Shephard News, ‘UK says Saky explosions leave Russian Navy Black Sea aviation fleet ‘significantly degraded’, 12 Aug. 2022, https://www.shephardmedia.com/news/defence-notes/uk-says-explosions-leave-russian-navy-black-sea-aircraft-significantly-degraded/; Cameron Manley, ‘Ukraine says it has taken out another 2 warships in Russia’s Black Sea fleet’, Business Insider, 24 Mar. 2024, https://www.businessinsider.com/ukraine-taken-out-another-2-ships-russias-black-sea-fleet-2024–3; and Nate Ostiller and The Kyiv Independent news desk, ‘General Staff confirms Russian missile ship Tsiklon struck in occupied Crimea’, The Kyiv Independent, 21 May 2024, https://kyivindependent.com/general-staff-confirms-russian-missile-ship-zyklon-struck-off-occupied-crimea. 60 HI Sutton, ‘Ukraine’s Maritime Drone Strikes Again: Reports Indicate Attack On Novorossiysk’, Naval News, 18 Nov. 2022, https://www.navalnews.com/naval-news/2022/11/ukraine-maritime-drone-strikes-again-reports-indicate-attack-on-novorossiysk/. 61 Romaniuk, Harvey and Loza, ‘Sea drones, Elon Musk, and high-precision missiles’. 62 Lloyd’s List, ‘Ukraine attacks Russian port of Novorossiysk’, 4 Aug. 2023, https://lloydslist.com/LL1146152/Ukraine-attacks-Russian-port-of-Novorossiysk; UK Ministry of Defence, ‘Latest Defence Intelligence update on the situation in Ukraine − 05 August 2023’, X, 5 Aug. 2023, https://x.com/DefenceHQ/status/1687697529918373889?ref_src=twsrc%5Etfw%7Ctwcamp%5Etweetembed%7Ctwterm%5E1687697529918373889%7Ctwgr%5E751b5a68b67ea91d2ca704e56fc3a0c7c88c3053%7Ctwcon%5Es1_&ref_url=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.forces.net%2Frussia%2Frussian-war-ship-damaged-significant-blow-russias-black-sea-fleet-mod-says. 63 Romaniuk, Harvey and Loza, ‘Sea drones, Elon Musk, and high-precision missiles’. 64 It can certainly be argued that states do not always comply with international humanitarian law. The Second World War provides numerous examples including in the field of commerce raiding. However, the Manichaean distinction between Russia, the aggressor violating public international law, and Ukraine, which is legitimately defending itself, is essential to Kyiv’s political strategy. Against this background, consideration of international law is fundamental for Ukraine’s naval warfare and this study. 65 Romaniuk, Harvey and Loza, ‘Sea drones, Elon Musk, and High-Precision Missiles’. 66 Alona Sonko, ‘Aerial Shots Detail Drone Damage at Novorossiysk Port’, The New Voice of Ukraine, 19 May 2024, https://english.nv.ua/nation/satellite-images-show-aftermath-of-may-17-attack-on-novorossiysk-seaport−50,419,745html. 67 Martin Fornusek, ‘Military intelligence: Oil Pipeline Blown up in Russia’s Rostov Oblast’, The Kyiv Independent, 06 Apr. 2024, https://kyivindependent.com/military-intelligence-oil-pipeline-in-russias-rostov-oblast-on-fire/. 68 Jack Detsch, ‘Russia’s Home Port in Occupied Crimea Is Under Fire’, Foreign Policy, 13 Sept. 2023, https://foreignpolicy.com/2023/09/13/crimea-ukraine-russia-war-attack-black-sea-fleet/. 69 Interfaks, ‘Chislo postradavshikh pri atake na stab Chernomorskogo flota vyroslo do shesti’, 31 July 2022, https://www.interfax.ru/russia/854608; Maria Kostenko, Tim Lister and Sophie Tanno, ‘Ukraine says strike on Russia’s Black Sea Fleet HQ left Dozens Dead and Wounded ‘Including Senior Leadership’, CNN, 23 September 2023, https://edition.cnn.com/2023/09/23/europe/special-ops-black-sea-strike-dozens-dead-intl-hnk/index.html. 70 The Maritime Executive, ‘Ukraine Strikes Another Naval Shipyard in Russian-Occupied Crimea’, 05 Nov. 2024, https://maritime-executive.com/article/ukraine-strikes-another-naval-shipyard-in-russian-occupied-crimea; Defense Express, ‘Destruction of Russian Novocherkassk Ship has Blocked One of Logistic Channels to Crimea (Satellite Photo)’, 12 Apr. 2024, https://en.defence-ua.com/analysis/destruction_of_russian_novocherkassk_ship_has_blocked_one_of_logistic_channels_to_crimea_satellite_photo−10,152html. 71 UK Ministry of Defence, ‘Update on Ukraine’, X, 15 Sept. 2023, https://x.com/DefenceHQ/status/1702561936179630440?ref_src=twsrc%5Etfw%7Ctwcamp%5Etweetembed%7Ctwterm%5E1702561936179630440%7Ctwgr%5E64b3d174bc910eae91016ef92e9b0b07e88b9194%7Ctwcon%5Es1_&ref_url=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.twz.com%2Frussian-submarine-shows-massive-damage-after-ukrainian-strike; Thomas Newdick, ‘Russian Submarine Shows Massive Damage After Ukrainian Strike’, The Warzone, 18 Sept. 2024, https://www.twz.com/russian-submarine-shows-massive-damage-after-ukrainian-strike. 72 Craig Hooper, ‘Why Ukraine’s Strike On Sevastopol Naval Infrastructure Is A Big Deal’, Forbes, 14 Sept. 2024, https://www.forbes.com/sites/craighooper/2023/09/13/why-ukraines-strike-on-sebastopol-naval-infrastructure-is-a-big-deal/; Mike Eckel, ‘Russia’s Navy Has A Dry Dock Problem. Again’, Radio Free Europe/Radio Liberty, 16 Sept. 2023, https://www.rferl.org/a/russia-navy-dry-dock-problem-ukraine-/32595547.html. 73 UK Foreign, Commonwealth & Development Office and Nicholas Aucott, ‘Russia is Diminished in The eyes of The International Community through its Own Actions: UK Statement to the OSCE’, 06 Dec. 2023, https://www.gov.uk/government/speeches/russia-is-diminished-in-the-eyes-of-the-international-community-through-its-own-actions-uk-statement-to-the-osce; Sinéad Baker, ‘Putin doesn’t really want a war with NATO because “Russia will lose and lose quickly”, UK military chief says’, Business Insider, 28 Feb. 2024, https://www.businessinsider.com/putin-doesnt-want-nato-war-russia-would-lose-quickly-uk-2024–2?r=US&IR=T. 74 AP News, ‘Ukrainian navy says a Third of Russian warships in the Black Sea have been Destroyed or Disabled’, 26 Mar. 2024, https://apnews. 75 Mia Jankowicz, ‘Russia’s Black Sea Fleet is “Functionally Inactive” After being Pummeled Hard by Ukraine, UK says’, Business Insider, 25 Mar. 2024, https://www.businessinsider.com/russia-black-sea-fleet-functionally-inactive-after-ukraine-strikes-uk-2024–3.: 76 UK Ministry of Defence, ‘Latest Defence Intelligence update on the situation in Ukraine − 18 April 2024’, X, 18 Apr. 2024, https://x.com/DefenceHQ/status/1780878487068242335/photo/3. 77 Speller takes only brief note of Attacks Against Enemy Ports whereas Geoffrey Till doesn’t mention them at all. The Commerce Raiding Component of Jeune ÉCole has been awarded much greater attention. Speller, Understanding Naval Warfare, 57–60; Till, Seapower, 91–93. 78 Aube, ‘La guerre maritime’, 331. 79 Gabriel Charmes, La Réforme de la Marine (Paris: Calmann Lévy, 1886), 56–57. 80 Aube, ‘La guerre maritime’, 332. 81 Shurkin, ‘Plus Ça Change’. For Further Literature on The Subject of the ‘Material School’ see, Kevin McCranie, Mahan, Corbett, and the Foundations of Naval Strategic Thought (Annapolis, MD: Naval Institute Press, 2021), 55ff. 82 Gustav Gressel, ‘Waves of ambition: Russia’s military build-up in Crimea and the Black Sea’, European Council on Foreign Relations, 21.09.2021, https://ecfr.eu/publication/waves-of-ambition-russias-military-build-up-in-crimea-and-the-black-sea/; Tayfun Ozberk, ‘Analysis: Russia To Dominate The Black Sea In Case Of Ukraine Conflict’, Naval News, 30 Jan. 2022, https://www.navalnews.com/naval-news/2022/01/analysis-russia-to-dominate-the-black-sea-in-case-of-ukraine-conflict/; Welt, ‘Militärexperte Gressel: Darum hat die ukrainische Armee kaum eine Chance gegen Russen’, 24 Jan. 2022, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aNzUf3zllJ4. 83 Røksund, The Jeune École, 84, 132. 84 Ibid., 166. 85 Ibid., 228. 86 Speller, Understanding Naval Warfare, 60. 87 Monakov and Rohwer, Stalin’s Ocean-Going Fleet, 62–109, 221–4. 88 Andrew Lambert in December 2018. M.A. Seminar Navies and Seapower offered by the War Studies Department at King’s College London 2018–2019. 89 Sergej G. Gorschkow, Die Seemacht des Staates (Berlin: Militärverlag der Deutschen Demokratischen Republik 1978) [Morskai͡a Moshch‘ gosudarstva. Voenizdat 1976], 172, 355. 90 Ibid., 341, 372. 91 The author is aware of the ongoing debate on the extent to which the technological developments – especially the use of uncrewed systems – which have shaped the War in the Black Sea can be generalised. Jacquelyn Schneider and Julia Macdonald, for example, examine the relation between autonomous/uncrewed systems and revolutions in military affairs and come to the conclusion that ‘these systems may be most revolutionary is in cost mitigation—both political and economic.’ In contrast, Oleksandr Vel’moz͡hko does acknowledge the advantages, such as mass-production and cost-efficiency, inherent to a ‘young school’–inspired navy consisting of high-tech small crafts but also points at serious disadvantages connected with such systems, for example their inability to operate on the open ocean and their high vulnerability. Duncan Redford further elaborates on the limitations concerning the use of unmanned surface vehicles, among others, arguing that ‘environmental conditions in the Baltic and High North are such that they are highly likely to severely restrict the use of’ Ukrainian style one-way attack USVs. Jacquelyn Schneider and Julia Macdonald, ‘Looking back to look forward: Autonomous systems, military revolutions, and the importance of cost’, 162, Journal of Strategic Studies, 47/2 (2024), 162–184; Vel’moz͡hko,‘Rosiĭs’kyĭ flot znovu vidstupai͡e u bazi (VIDEO)’; Duncan Redford, ‘Maritime Lessons from the Ukraine-Russia Conflict: USVs and the Applicability to the Baltic and High North’, #GIDSstatement 11/2024, (14 Oct. 2024), https://gids-hamburg.de/maritime-lessons-from-the-ukraine-russia-conflict-usvs-and-the-applicability-to-the-baltic-and-high-north/. 92 For example, in September 1939, in December 1940 and October 1942. Bernd Stegemann, ‘Vierter Teil: Die erste Phase der Seekriegsführung’, 162, in: Klaus A. Maier, Horst Rohde, Bernd Stegemann and Hans Umbreit (eds.), Das Deutsche Reich und der Zweite Weltkrieg Vol. II (Stuttgart: Deutsche Verlagsanstalt 1979), 159–188; Werner Rahn, ‘The Atlantic in the Strategic Perspective of Hitler and his Admirals, 1939–1944’, 160, 164, in: N.A.M. Rodger, J. Ross Dancy, Benjamin Darnell and Evan Wilson (eds.), Strategy and the Sea: Essays in Honour of John B. Hattendorf (Woodbridge: The Boydell Press 2016), 159–168. 93 Michael Salewski, Die deutsche Seekriegsleitung 1935–1945 Vol. I (Frankfurt am Main und München: Bernard & Graefe 1970), 128; Stegemann, ‘Vierter Teil: Die erste Phase der Seekriegsführung’, 162; Rahn, ‘The Atlantic in the Strategic Perspective of Hitler and his Admirals, 1939–1944’, 160, 164. 94 See Adolf Hitler on 31 May 1943: ‘The number of resources that submarine warfare would tie up, even if it were no longer to achieve great success, is so extraordinarily large that I cannot allow the enemy to free up these resources’ Gerhard Wagner (ed.), Lagevorträge des Oberbefehlshabers der Kriegsmarine vor Hitler 1939–1945 (München: J.F. Lehmanns Verlag, 1972), 510. 95 Craig Symonds, ‘Alfred Thayer Mahan’, 33, in: Geoffrey Till (ed.), Maritime Strategy and the Nuclear Age (London and Basingstoke: MacMillan Academic and Professional Ltd, 1990)) [1984], 28–33. 96 Alfred Thayer Mahan, Lessons of the War with Spain and other Articles (Boston: Little, Brown, and Company, 1899), 300. 97 Elisabeth Braw , ‘The Invasion of Ukraine Is Causing Crisis at Sea’, Foreign Policy, 7 March 2022, https://foreignpolicy.com/2022/03/07/ukraine-shipping-supply-war/; Interview with a Representative of an anonymous maritime stakeholder that was heavily affected by the War in Ukraine on 25 October 2023. 98 Paul Adams, ‘Ukraine Claims to Retake Black Sea Drilling Rigs from Russian Control’, BBC, 11 Sept. 2023, https://www.bbc. com/news/66779639. 99 Instytut Viĭs’kovo-Mors’kykh Syl, ‘Doktrina: Viĭs’kovo-Mors’ki Syly Zbroĭnykh syl Ukraïny’, January 2021, 79, https://ivms.mil.gov.ua/wp-content/uploads/2021/12/doktryna_vijskovo-morski-syly-zbrojnyh-syl-ukrayinydiv.pdf. 100 Ibid., 76. 101 Militarnyi, ‘Frigates for Ukrainian Navy: the construction agreement was included into contract with the United Kingdom’, 25 Nov. 2021, https://mil.in.ua/en/news/frigates-for-ukrainian-navy-the-construction-agreement-was-included-into-contract-with-the-united-kingdom/. 102 Vitaly Semenov, ‘Prospects for the Development of the Naval Forces of the Armed Forces of Ukraine Until 2035’, Forum: ‘State Maritime Strategy. 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