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

Nigeria needs a change of direction, not a change of government. With Nigeria plunged into a full-blown crisis due to a worsening economic climate, a cross-section of Nigerians, desperate for a quick turnaround and certain that the Bola Tinubu administration has lost the plot, have started clamoring for a coup d’état. So loud has been the agitation, especially on social media, that Chief of Defense Staff Christopher Musa came out last week to warn those behind it that “the law will come after them,” and that “the armed forces of Nigeria are here to protect democracy.” It is an interesting paradox that the same generation of Nigerians who have consistently put their bodies on the line in defense of democracy are the ones now apparently demanding military intervention. The paradox is resolved as soon as it is realized that though seemingly divergent, both the hunger for democracy and the incipient yearning for khaki rule are united by the same impulse. That impulse is, not to put too fine a point on it, a government that delivers and is the thread that runs through the ongoing ferment in Nigeria and the spectacle in Western and Central Africa where, defying expectation, throngs of young people took to the streets to welcome assorted coupists. Nor is the impulse unique to young people in Africa. If, across Western democracies, the electorate appears to be souring on liberal democracy (“just half of Europeans aged 16-26 believe democracy is the best form of government”), populist appetite for strongman rule has noticeably increased in places like Hungary, the Philippines, El Salvador and, whisper it, among a key segment of the American electorate. While it is true that the Nigerian situation has some local wrinkles—for instance, there is no gainsaying that lingering resentment at the outcome of last year’s presidential election is an important subtext to the current discontent—this does not make it any less illuminating as an illustration of growing popular disenchantment with liberal democracy. Instructively, too, the concern on the streets has reverberated among the political elite, resulting in a trenchant, if misguided, insistence on a return to “African democracy.” Nigerians have good reason to be irate, having seen scant return on their emotional and physical investment in democracy since the inception of the Fourth Republic in 1999. Indeed, one reason the clamor for military rule has grown is precisely because an increasing number of people see no improvement in their material situation, and therefore little justification in defending a regime that, from their standpoint, has only favored a narrow band of elites. For the average Nigerian, the only difference between civilian and military rulers is in their accoutrements. While this diagnosis is beyond dispute, it cannot be emphasized enough that military rule is the wrong prescription, and in the Nigerian case would mark a tragic regression after twenty-five years of civilian rule. The reasons are not far-fetched. In the first place, since the security aspect of the current crisis owes largely to the failure of the armed forces to contain the Boko Haram insurgency and rampant banditry, handing over the reins of political power to an institution that could not even discharge its constitutional duty of protecting the territorial integrity of the country would be tantamount to rewarding failure. If the Nigerian military cannot do even that for which it was trained, how can it be expected to accomplish that for which it lacks the expertise, never mind the temperament? Furthermore, no matter the underlying frustration, the clamor for military intervention ultimately boils down to a refusal to face the arduous task of institution building. Nigeria faces a clear challenge: ensure that budding democratic institutions put down roots, and where such institutions are absent, inaugurate new ones. That this is nonnegotiable can be gleaned from the history of the advanced economies, and military intervention at this crucial moment will only interrupt a social process that the country must have to pass through. The desire for military intervention also calls to mind the fantasy of “developmental dictatorship,” specifically the idea that what will ultimately right the ship in Nigeria and other African countries in a similar position is the intervention of a beneficent dictator who, knocking a few heads together and dispensing with all the inconveniences of the rule of law in the process, puts the country on the path to development and promptly steps aside. In Nigeria, this fantasy—the utopia of “a shirtless (Jerry) Rawlings driving a bulldozer,” as a Nigerian commentator puts it—has always existed cheek-by-jowl with agitation for popular rule, accruing popularity during moments of economic and political stress. It is often forgotten that this Faustian bargain often leaves societies with a lot of dictatorship and very little development. Lastly, the fact that the majority of the people currently championing the return of the military were either too young or had not been born during the last military era in the country points to an all-important generational dimension. The chasm between members of this generation and Nigerians for whom the terror of military rule is eternally fresh is one of the drivers of political division and misunderstanding in the country. For every member of the younger generation legitimately chafing at the lack of progress under successive civilian administrations, there is a member of the older generation, particularly Nigerians in their fifties and sixties, who cannot forget that the first thing military rule will abolish, together with all the other political freedoms that young people have come to take for granted, is the right to protest about how one is governed. While elected representatives may be petitioned or pelted as the case may be, unelected soldiers cannot, since martial law is the exact antithesis of the rule of law. There is no denying that, on the whole, liberal democracy has failed Nigerians, making their sense of grievance understandable. That said, Nigerians cannot afford to cut their nose to spite their face. While the problems besetting the country cannot be solved by a single administration, a democratic government in which people argue, write at the top of their voices, debate, and sometimes throw the odd punch, offers the best prospect. If that system can work elsewhere, there is no reason why it should not work in Nigeria. Of the many desiderata for democratic flourishing, the most vital, and, as it happens the one that is glaringly absent in Nigeria, is a democratic temperament. If the experience of the advanced democracies teaches us anything, it is that this temperament is acquired ever so slowly and starts to burgeon only after a period of patient and deliberate cultivation. Taking the long view, Nigerian intellectuals should step in to educate Nigerians—especially members of the younger generation—about the evils of military rule.

Azerbaijan was expelled from the Council of Europe’s Parliamentary Assembly over its handling of the Nagorno-Karabakh conflict and its many democratic shortcomings. Geopolitical concerns and the urgency of natural gas cooperation are likely to prompt reengagement and repair strained relations. In a significant turn of events on 24 January, the Council of Europe’s Parliamentary Assembly (PACE) voted by 76 to 10 to expel the Azerbaijani delegation from the organisation. Anticipating the results of the vote, the Azerbaijani delegation preemptively withdrew from PACE in an attempt to save face. While the PACE report in the aftermath of the vote highlighted longstanding concerns regarding democratic processes, including issues with conducting free and fair elections, ensuring freedom of speech, and addressing human rights abuses, central to the expulsion were developments in the Nagorno-Karabakh region that angered some PACE members. Particularly, the PACE report criticized Azerbaijan’s lightning offensive in September 2023 that saw the country gain control of Khankendi (known as Stepanakert in Armenian), the capital of the region, leading to the mass exodus of all 100,000 Armenian residents to Armenia. Azerbaijan characterised this move as an “anti-terror operation,” a designation that has stirred controversy. In the lead-up to 7 February presidential elections, President Ilham Heydar oghlu Aliyev further escalated tensions with the Council of Europe by issuing threats to withdraw Azerbaijan from various European institutions, including the Council of Europe and the European Court of Human Rights. The elections, which resulted in Aliyev’s landslide victory, deepened the rift between Azerbaijan and Europe. Observers from the Organization for Security and Co-operation in Europe (OSCE) claimed that the elections “lacked genuine pluralism and critical voices were continuously stifled.” Garnering a staggering 92.4 percent of the votes, Aliyev’s victory was seemingly uncontested, with his opponents widely perceived as token candidates rather than serious contenders. The main opposition parties opted to boycott the elections altogether, citing an unfair political climate. Prior to the election, the Azerbaijani government intensified its crackdown on independent media outlets, exemplified by the detention of top editors from Abzasmedia, an independent news outlet, on trumped up charges. While recent events may suggest a significant downturn in Azerbaijan’s relations with Europe, they do not necessarily signify a permanent rupture in bilateral ties. For the past two decades, Azerbaijan’s relations with the EU have been characterised by tough bilateral negotiations rather than a one-sided affair dominated by EU’s agenda. Azerbaijan seeks close cooperation with the EU but on its own terms, aiming for a more balanced relationship that respects its sovereignty and interests. This stance has been facilitated by Azerbaijan’s increasing leverage on energy and geopolitical affairs, which has enabled it to push back against the EU’s unilateral policymaking. Thanks to Europe’s reliance on Azerbaijani natural gas and Azerbaijan’s secular and stable leadership, European policymakers have historically viewed it as a strategic ally in the volatile South Caucasus region. Throughout the 2000s, despite its authoritarian governance, Azerbaijan’s secular regime was considered an asset in Western geopolitical strategies, particularly in the US-led global war on terror and in managing tensions with Iran. In recent years, the relationship between the EU and Azerbaijan has taken on a somewhat conflicting character. On the one hand, there has been a noticeable trend of smooth and deepening cooperation in matters relating to energy. Azerbaijan’s strategic position as a significant energy supplier has fostered closer ties with the EU in the realm of energy security and resource diplomacy, a dynamic that has been propelled by Russia’s invasion of Ukraine in 2022. However, this cooperation stands in stark contrast to the simmering tensions and periodic conflicts over issues pertaining to democracy and human rights. Indeed, the EU’s efforts to promote democratic values and human rights have often clashed with Azerbaijan’s domestic policies, leading to friction and discord. As one scholar noted, “Azerbaijan has been a forerunner in resisting the EU’s agenda,” demonstrating a resilience that has tested the EU’s transformative power to its limits. In the wake of Russia’s invasion of Ukraine which has seen Russian exports to Europe cease entirely, and European gas prices surge to astronomical levels, the EU signed an MOU with Azerbaijan in July 2022 to double Azerbaijan’s gas exports over the next 5 years. During her visit to Azerbaijan for the occasion, European Commission President Ursula von der Leyen called Azerbaijan “a key partner in our efforts to move away from Russian fossil fuels,” elevating the strategic leverage of Azerbaijan vis-à-vis Europe. However, the EU’s gas situation began to stabilise by 2023 as liquefied natural gas (LNG) imports from the United States and Qatar surged, complemented by the expansion of renewable energy sources and nuclear power. This diversification strategy, coupled with efforts to enhance energy efficiency, contributed to a notable drop in gas prices to pre-war levels by February 2024. Last December, the Azerbaijani government announced that it was on track to double its gas exports to Europe by 2027. However, significant challenges persist, particularly regarding the actual commitment from European buyers to purchase the additional gas promised by Azerbaijan. As of now, the consortium overseeing gas exports from Azerbaijan has secured commitments for only 1.2 billion cubic meters per year, a far cry from the 10 billion cubic meters needed to achieve the stated goal of doubling exports. Azerbaijan’s reliance on leveraging gas exports as a means to gain influence over Europe is not a sustainable long-term strategy. In a region where Russia and Iran assert aggressive expansionist policies, Azerbaijan requires Western partners to effectively counterbalance them. With the impending conclusion of the Russian peacekeeping mission in 2025, and Azerbaijan’s desire to see them depart, aligning with Russia at the expense of Europe would not serve Azerbaijan’s best interests. Thus, there are indications that President Aliyev’s harsh anti-European rhetoric may have been more of a temporary populist manoeuvre rather than a fundamental shift in Azerbaijan’s approach to the EU. Azerbaijan not only relies on energy cooperation with the EU but also seeks to avoid being associated with Russia and Belarus within the European community of nations. Furthermore, Azerbaijan’s comparison of itself with its smaller neighbours, Georgia and Armenia, both of which have made significant strides towards European integration, underscores the reputational risks of distancing itself from European institutions. Recognising the need for damage control, the Azerbaijani government will be inclined towards reengaging with the EU and the European Commission. President Aliyev’s statements indicate a desire for Azerbaijan to re-join the PACE. Significant democratic progress is unlikely in Aliyev’s Azerbaijan. However, the regime might entertain releasing some of the recently jailed journalists as a cosmetic change in a bid to return to PACE.

Somalia and Turkey recently announced that they would expand the terms of a defence agreement first signed on 8 February 2024 to include the maritime sector. This came as tensions rose between Somalia and landlocked Ethiopia. Ethiopia is seeking access to the Red Sea through Somaliland, a breakaway state of Somalia. Federico Donelli, an international relations professor whose research covers Red Sea security and politics, puts this defence agreement into context. What’s the scope of the relationship between Turkey and Somalia? Turkey’s entry into Somalia in 2011 started out as a humanitarian partnership but soon turned into a strategic one. Its support since has been economic and infrastructural and has increasingly included the military. The Turkish government saw Somalia’s failed statehood and the lack of other major international stakeholders as an opportunity to increase its popularity across Africa. Turkey aimed to: - gain international visibility - test its ability to intervene in conflict and post-conflict scenarios - increase market diversification into east Africa - cultivate its image as a benevolent Muslim middle power by promoting Islamic solidarity. Several Turkish faith-based associations and NGOs already active in Africa became directly involved in development and relief projects. Major national brands, such as Turkish Airlines, promoted campaigns to raise funds for Somalia. Within a few years, Turkey’s involvement in Somalia was portrayed by the government and perceived by the Turkish public as a domestic issue. Turkey’s early efforts to bring Somalia back to the table of the international community were successful. With the reopening of Mogadishu’s port and airport in 2014, both managed by Turkish companies, the economic situation in Somalia improved compared to the previous decade. Turkish political elites began to present their involvement in Somalia as a success story. This is despite some remaining critical problems, including failing to root out the terrorist organisation Al-Shabaab. Turkey took responsibility for training the Somali National Army in partnership with other stakeholders, including the European Union and the United States. It opened a military base in Mogadishu in 2017. The base trains one of the army’s elite units, the Gorgor Brigades, and serves as a Turkish military outpost in the region. Al-Shabaab’s persistence has convinced Turkey that it needs to provide more active military support for Somalia’s development. Ankara also wants to protect its economic and political investments in Somalia. Finally, behind the Turkish deal with Somalia is the politics around the North Atlantic Treaty Organization (Nato). Over the past 12 months, Turkey has moved closer to the United States. It’s positioned itself as an effective ally in Africa to counteract the negative effects of France’s withdrawal – such as the increasing influence of Russia. Turkey’s commitment to Somalia follows its efforts in Libya. In both cases, Turkey has proven willing to take on the security burden that other Nato members, particularly Italy, have refused to meet. Turkey’s engagement in Somalia is, therefore, part of a broader foreign policy strategy to gain more autonomy in global politics. Increased relevance within Nato would help achieve this. What’s the context of the maritime defence pact between Turkey and Somalia? Turkey and Somalia began working on an agreement between November 2023 and January 2024. Turkey agreed to train and equip Somalia’s naval force and help patrol the country’s 3,333km coastline. Turkey’s defence sector has had increasing influence in Ankara’s foreign policy decisions. Turkey sees itself as an exporter of defence industry products, and as a partner in training special forces and police. African countries are among the main targets for the Turkish defence sector. Somalia, therefore, provides an opportunity to spread more Turkish production and items. In 2022, Turkey became, along with the United States, the main backer of a new offensive against Al-Shabaab. It provided logistical support to the Gorgor forces and air cover to the national army. This cooperation has led to the 10-year defence agreement, including maritime security, signed in February 2024. Turkey and Somalia have been working on the accord for some time, but recent regional events have undoubtedly affected the announcement’s timing. An Ethiopia-Somaliland memorandum of understanding in January 2024 is one such event. Turkey has good relations with Somaliland, but considers the territorial integrity of Somalia to be essential for its stability. At the same time, the Horn of Africa’s political dynamics are shifting. Mounting tensions between Ethiopia and Somalia have led to new coalitions involving regional and extra-regional players. It’s important not to oversimplify, but two factions are emerging. On one side are Ethiopia, Somaliland and the United Arab Emirates (UAE). On the other are Somalia, Egypt, Eritrea and Saudi Arabia. At first, Turkey sought to mediate between the factions to defuse tensions. But its agreement with Somalia reduces Turkey’s room for manoeuvre. Although the relationship with Ethiopian prime minister Abiy Ahmed appears to be unaffected, there could be negative repercussions, especially for the many Turkish economic interests in Ethiopia. What is the UAE factor? When it comes to the Horn of Africa, the UAE plays a pivotal role. Turkey and Somalia each have a relationship with the Emirates. From 2014 to 2020, Turkey engaged in bitter rivalry with the Emirates in the wider Red Sea area. This was driven by the two countries’ different visions for the region’s future. Relations improved from 2020. During the 2020-2022 war in Tigray, both Turkey and the UAE supported the Ethiopian government. But recent developments in the Horn of Africa, such as the UAE-backed Ethiopia-Somaliland deal, threaten to create new friction between Turkey and the Emirates. Turkey doesn’t have the political will or material capacity to sustain this. In the past three years, the UAE has supported the Turkish economy with direct investment, changing the balance of the relationship. The situation is similar for Somalia. From a commercial and security perspective, the Emirates is important in Somalia. The UAE manages two key Somali ports – Berbera and Bosaso. It’s also moving to take over Kismayo. And the Emirates has been one of Somali president Hassan Sheikh Mohamud’s principal backers. It would be risky for the Somali president to break ties with Abu Dhabi. What happens next? There is still much uncertainty about how the Ethiopia-Somaliland memorandum of understanding and the Turkey-Somalia defence cooperation agreements will be put into practice. What’s clear is that both the UAE and Turkey are becoming more active and influential in the region. And that African dynamics within and between states are closely intertwined with regional and global trends.

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

In retrospect, there was perhaps nothing surprising about Russia’s decision to invade Ukraine on Feb. 24, 2022. Vladimir Putin’s intentions were, after all, hiding in plain sight and signaled in the months running up to the incursion. What could not be foreseen, however, is where the conflict finds itself now. Heading into its third year, the war has become bogged down: Neither is it a stalemate, nor does it look like either side could make dramatic advances any time soon. Russia appears to be on the ascendancy, having secured the latest major battlefield victory, but Ukrainian fighters have exceeded military expectations with their doggedness in the past, and may do so again. But as a foreign policy expert and former journalist who spent many years covering Russia, I share the view of those who argue that the conflict is potentially at a pivotal point: If Washington does not continue to fully support President Volodymyr Zelenskyy and his military, then Ukraine’s very survival could be at risk. I believe it would also jeopardize America’s leadership in the world and global security. How the conflict develops during the rest of 2024 will depend on many factors, but three may be key: supplies, information and political will. The supplies race Russia and Ukraine are locked in a race to resupply its war resources – not just in terms of soldiers, but also ammunition and missiles. Both sides are desperately trying to shore up the number of soldiers it can deploy. In December 2023, Putin ordered his generals to increase troop numbers by nearly 170,000, taking the total number of soldiers to 1.32 million. Meanwhile, Ukraine is said to be looking at plans to increase its military by 500,000 troops. Of course, here, Russia has the advantage of being able to draw on a population more than three times that of Ukraine. Also, whereas Putin can simply order up more troops, Zelenskyy must get measures approved through parliament. Aside from personnel, there is also the need for a steady supply of weapons and ammunition – and there have been reports that both sides are struggling to maintain sufficient levels. Russia appears particularly eager to boost its number of ballistic missiles, as they are better equipped for countering Ukraine air defense systems despite being slower than cruise missiles. Increasingly, Moscow appears to be looking to North Korea and Iran as suppliers. After Kim Jong Un, the North Korean leader, visited Russia in 2023, the U.S. accused Pyongyang of supplying Russia with ballistic missiles. Iran, meanwhile, has delivered to Russia a large number of powerful surface-to-surface ballistic missiles and drones. Ukraine, meanwhile, is dependent on foreign military equipment. Supplies were stronger at the beginning of the war, but since then, Ukraine’s military has suffered from the slow, bureaucratic nature of NATO and U.S. deliveries. It wasn’t, for example, until the summer of 2023 that the U.S. approved Europe’s request to provide F-16s to Ukraine. Ukraine needs more of everything, including air defense munitions, artillery shells, tanks and missile systems. It is also running short of medical supplies and has seen hospital shortages of drugs at a time when rampant infections are proving resistant to antibiotics. Perhaps the biggest factor that remains in Russia’s favor when it comes to supplies is the onerous restrictions placed on Ukraine from the West, limiting its ability to attack Russian territory with U.S. or NATO equipment to avoid a wider war. For example, the Ukrainian military had a High Mobility Artillery Rocket System with a 50-mile range that could hit targets inside Russia, but it modified the range to keep the U.S. military satisfied that it would not cross a Russian red line. If this policy could be relaxed, that might be a game changer for Ukraine, although it would raise the stakes for the U.S. The information war The Ukraine conflict is also a war of messaging. To this end, Putin uses propaganda to bolster support for the campaign at home, while undermining support for Ukraine elsewhere – for example, by planting stories in Europe that cause disenchantment with the war. One outrageous claim in the early weeks of the war was that Zelenskyy had taken his own life. The rumor came from pro-Russia online operatives as part of an aggressive effort to harm Ukrainian morale, according to cybersecurity firm Mandiant. More recently, in France, stories appeared that questioned the value of assistance to Ukraine and reminded the public of the negative impact of Russian sanctions on the French. Stirring dissent in this way is a classic Putin play to raise doubts. And investigative reporting points toward a disinformation network being run out of the Kremlin, which includes social media bots deployed on Ukrainian sites spreading stories of Zelenskyy’s team being corrupt and warning that the war would go badly. Given that Putin controls the Russian media and is quick to crack down on dissent, it is hard to really know what Russians think. But one reputable polling agency recently reported strong support in Russia for both Putin and the war in Ukraine. Ukrainians, too, still support the fight against Russia, polling shows. But some war fatigue has no doubt lowered morale. There are other signs of domestic strain in Ukraine. At the end of 2023, tensions grew between Zelenskyy and his top military commander, General Valery Zaluzhny who had complained about weaponry. Zelenskyy ended up firing the military chief, risking political backlash and underscoring that not all is well in the top chain of command. Should disunity and war fatigue continue into the war’s third year, it could serious impair Ukraine’s ability to fight back against a resurgent Russian offensive. The politics of conflict But it isn’t just domestic politics in Ukraine and Russia that will decide the outcome of the war. U.S. politics and European unity could be a factor in 2024 in determining the future of this conflict. In the U.S., Ukraine aid has become politicized – with aid to Ukraine becoming an increasingly partisan issue. In early February, the Senate finally passed an emergency aid bill for Ukraine and Israel that would see US$60.1 billion go to Kyiv. But the bill’s fate in the House is unknown. And the looming 2024 presidential elections could complicate matters further. Former president Donald Trump has made no secret of his aversion to aid packages over loans, calling them “stupid,” and has long argued that Americans shouldn’t be footing the bill for the conflict. Recently, he has made bombastic statements about NATO and threatened not to adhere to the alliance’s commitment to protect members if they were attacked by Russia. And uncertainty about American assistance could leave Europe carrying more of the financial load. European Union members have had to absorb the majority of the 6.3 million Ukrainians who have fled the country since the beginning of the conflict. And that puts a strain on resources. European oil needs also suffer from the sanctions against Russian companies. Whether these potential war determinants – supplies, information and politics – mean that the Ukraine war will not be entering a fourth year in 12 months time, however, is far from certain. In fact, one thing that does appear clear is that the war that some predicted would be over in weeks looks set to continue for some time still.

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

After comments made by the US presidential candidate, Donald Trump, some Europeans are considering the possibility of acquiring nuclear weapons. They should think again. On 10 February, former United States President Donald Trump recounted a conversation with an unnamed European counterpart in which he stated that he “would not protect” them from a possible Russian attack because they failed to allocate two percent of their gross domestic product to defence, and thus fell short of North Atlantic Treaty Organization (NATO) spending targets. Such delinquency would lead Trump to “encourage [Russia] to do whatever the hell they want.” Given Trump is the probable Republican candidate at the election in November, and currently polling ahead of incumbent President Joe Biden, these comments have triggered concern among European leaders, including German Foreign Minister Annalena Baerbock, Polish Defence Minister Wladyslaw Kosiniak-Kamysz, as well as NATO Secretary General Jens Stoltenberg. These concerns were exacerbated on 9 February when Danish Defence Minister Troels Lund Poulsen warned that Russia might militarily challenge NATO’s mutual defence article within the next three to five years, considering “new knowledge.” Some are now calling for the expedited integration of European defence capabilities to the point of acquiring nuclear weapons. This conversation was initiated by European Union (EU) parliamentary vice president Katarina Barley who perceives a joint nuclear deterrent as part of Europe’s path toward to an eventual joint EU army. Her fellow social democrat, former German foreign minister Sigmar Gabriel concurs, as does German Finance Minister Christian Lindner. However, others – such as chancellor Olaf Scholz, Defence Minister Boris Pistorius, or Marie-Agnes Strack-Zimmermann, who chairs Germany’s parliamentary defence committee – deem a European nuclear option “unrealistic.” According to political scientist Karl-Heinz Kamp, “debate about European nuclear weapons is a very German debate.” Nonetheless, non-Germans have also chimed in, including the chair of the EU Military Committee Robert Brieger – who argues in favour of European nuclear weapons – and Stoltenberg, who opposes them. Until recently, discussion of a European nuclear deterrent was unthinkable. Current debate fluctuates between proposals for joint EU nuclear procurement, merging existing capabilities, and individual European states acquiring nuclear weapons. Indeed, there are many barriers to all of these options, including the Nuclear Non-Proliferation Treaty (NPT), and the ongoing stationing of American nuclear warheads on European soil. One suggestion might propose that the two existing European nuclear powers, namely the United Kingdom and France, could increase their stockpiles and integrate them into a joint framework. However, this is also unrealistic as the cost of these two powers expanding their stockpile would be exorbitant. For instance, Britain is already projected to spend 34 percent of its military budget on maintaining its existing nuclear arsenal. Moreover, it is unlikely that the UK would participate in an EU nuclear weapons program post-Brexit. European states would do well to consider Australia’s pursuit of nuclear-powered submarines through the AUKUS agreement to inform their own ongoing debate. While these submarines will not carry nuclear warheads, regional powers such as Indonesia did question AUKUS’ legitimacy, considering Australia’s commitment to non-proliferation. Certainly, the outright pursuit of nuclear warheads by the EU would be legitimately challenged in the same way. To acquire nuclear weapons, European states would have to withdraw from the NPT which would, no doubt, undermine the international rules-based order that they wish to preserve. Furthermore, it would be hypocritical of Europe to insist on non-proliferation, for instance toward Iran through the Joint Comprehensive Plan of Action (JPCOA) or other states which might wish to acquire nuclear weapons, such as Saudi Arabia or South Korea, but then become a proliferator itself. This would set a dangerous precedent, potentially perceived as a “go ahead” by other states who wish to acquire nuclear weapons. Similarly, it is questionable whether the US would tolerate nuclear proliferation in Europe. Certainly, the US has the means to prevent the pursuit of nuclear weapons, as seen in 2009 and 2010 when it allegedly employed the Stuxnet computer virus to sabotage Iranian enrichment centrifuges. Even if the US were to abstain from sabotaging European efforts, it would nonetheless constitute a rupture in the transatlantic alliance. That Trump would only be president for four years, were he to return to the White House, it is short-sighted to sacrifice the important postwar alliance structure which has hitherto guaranteed peace in Europe, in favour of a potentially calamitous undertaking. Furthermore, it is questionable whether the EU as a whole, with its slow-moving bureaucracy, could acquire nuclear weapons in a timely manner. This question would likewise apply if individual European states were to pursue independent nuclear capabilities, as none appear in a position to do so with expediency. While current discussions about European nuclear weapons emphasise the need to deter Russia, the reality is that such weapons cannot be acquired overnight. Their acquisition would likely take years, if not decades, and Europe must deter aggressors today. A fruitful caveat of these debates has been the suggestion to integrate European arms procurement. As the second anniversary of Russian’s invasion of Ukraine passes, Armin Papperger, the chief executive of Rheinmetall – one of Europe’s biggest defence contractors – warned that the continent requires at least a decade to be able to defend itself from a sophisticated aggressor. Presently, European governments procure arms individually through their respective national bureaucracies. A more efficient mechanism would be an integrated, EU-wide procurement processes, for instance through the Permanent Structured Cooperation (PESCO). Ultimately, such procurement integration could pave the way for a joint European defence force. US presidents have rightfully criticised Europe for not abiding by the two percent rule, as President Barack Obama did. However, European states have drastically improved in this regard. While only four NATO states met the two percent target in 2017, today eleven do, and another 18 members are inching closer to it. Next month, EU Commission President Ursula von der Leyen plans to present a new European defence industrial strategy that aims to increase defence spending, improve interoperability, and establish joint procurement of conventional arms. This shows that Europe can adapt – when the political will to do so exists. Ultimately, Trump’s comments, and the prospect of his return to the presidency, have triggered an overdue conversation in Europe. While a possible second Trump administration would be comparatively short-lived, Europe must consider how it plans to defend itself without the American nuclear umbrella. On the road toward greater integration, collective defence will be of paramount importance. However, European states, largely embodied by the EU, should shy away from a precarious nuclear option. Rather, its resources should focus on the procurement of conventional arms and ammunition, and not on expensive Cold War era weaponry.

Around 1.5 million Palestinian civilians are currently squeezed into the southern Gaza city of Rafah after repeatedly being forced by Israeli bombardment and ground assaults to evacuate further and further south. The town, which originally had a population of 250,000, is now host to more than half of Gaza’s entire population. They are sheltering in conditions the UN’s top aid official has called “abysmal”, with disease spreading and famine looming. In a military onslaught the International Court of Justice has ruled a plausible case of genocide, Israel has so far killed over 29,000 Palestinians in the Gaza Strip. Now there are increasing fears Israel’s expected ground assault on Rafah could push civilians across the border into Egypt’s Sinai Peninsula. Originally designated as a “safe zone”, Rafah is now being targeted by Israeli airstrikes, as well. Those fleeing the violence have nowhere safe to go. However, Egypt, the only country aside from Israel that has a border with Gaza, has rebuffed pressure to accept Palestinian refugees displaced by Israel. Reports have indicated that Israeli officials have tried to lobby international support to compel Egypt to accept refugees from Gaza. Egyptian President Abdel Fattah Al-Sisi, however, has been adamant in refusing to allow humanitarian corridors or the entry of large numbers of Palestinians into Sinai. He has called it a “red line” that, if crossed, would “liquidate the Palestinian cause”. In recent days, the UN’s High Commissioner for Refugees, Filippo Grandi, has validated Egypt’s position. Grandi said displacing Gazans to Egypt would be “catastrophic” for both Egypt and the Palestinians, who, he indicated, would likely not be allowed to return. Why Egypt is opposed to the idea There are a few reasons for Egypt’s opposition. The first is that Egypt does not want to be seen to be facilitating ethnic cleansing through the permanent resettlement of Palestinians outside of Gaza. In October, a leaked document from Israel’s Intelligence Ministry included recommendations to forcibly transfer of Gaza’s population of 2.3 million out of the territory and into tent cities in Egypt’s Sinai Desert. Government ministers Bezalel Smotrich and Itamar Ben-Gvir have also both openly advocated the expulsion of Palestinians from Gaza to make way for their replacement by Israeli settlers. Further, in January, a conference in Israel calling for this very plan was attended by 11 members of Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu’s cabinet and 15 additional members of parliament. While Netanyahu last month said Israel has “no intention of permanently occupying Gaza”, he hasn’t shut down talk from his ministers about it. When asked about the conference in January, for example, he said everyone was “entitled to their opinions”. Sisi is also conscious of the strong surge of sympathy the Egyptian public has demonstrated for the Palestinians and the support they have shown for his opposition to any displacement of people across the border. This is due to feelings of solidarity with the Palestinian struggle, as well as an awareness of the lessons of history. Recalling 1947-49, when an estimated 750,000 were either expelled or forced to flee their homes by Zionist forces during the war surrounding the creation of the state of Israel, Egypt doesn’t want to be seen to be enabling another Nakba, or “catastrophe”. The total number of refugees created by the Nakba now stands at around 6 million. According to the UN, about a third live in refugee camps, Israel having denied their right to return to their homeland. Significantly, in November, Israel’s minister for agriculture, Avi Dichter, declared: “We are now rolling out the Gaza Nakba,” adding, “Gaza Nakba 2023. That’s how it’ll end.” Egypt’s complicated relationship with Hamas Another key concern for Egypt is its security. If Palestinians were resettled in Sinai, it could make the Egyptian territory a new base from which to launch resistance operations. This could drag Egypt into a military conflict with Israel. In addition, Sisi has only just managed to clamp down on Islamist insurgents in North Sinai in recent years and is presumably concerned that an influx of refugees could be destabilising. Finally, Sisi likely believes Hamas could mount opposition to his regime. After overthrowing President Mohamed Morsi in a military coup in 2013, the Sisi regime cracked down on the Muslim Brotherhood and repressed all dissent. This extended to a demonisation of Hamas, which grew out of the Muslim Brotherhood’s Palestinian branch. Between 2014 and 2016, the Egyptian military bombed and flooded tunnels linking Gaza with Egypt, at the same time as accusing Hamas of colluding with the Muslim Brotherhood against the state. It has also enforced Israel’s blockade of the Gaza Strip. Having said that, the relationship is not straightforwardly antagonistic. Hamas and Egypt have co-operated on counterinsurgency operations against the Islamic State in Sinai. Egypt has also played a role in mediating current and past ceasefire negotiations between Hamas and Israel. However, the latest rounds of negotiations have gone nowhere, leaving Egypt to nervously ramp up its warnings around any Israeli moves on the border. Egypt and Israel have had a peace treaty since 1979, and their relationship has become stronger with Sisi in power. However, Egypt has threatened to suspend the peace treaty if Rafah is invaded. Where does this leave the people of Gaza? Netanyahu has vowed to push ahead with a ground incursion of Rafah in the coming weeks. Concurrently, Egypt has moved to fortify its border and, according to reports and satellite images, begun building a walled buffer zone of about 21 square kilometres in the Sinai. This suggests Egypt is preparing for a potential removal or exodus of Palestinians. While it isn’t entirely clear whether this is being done in co-ordination with Israel or as a “contingency” measure, the zone would condemn Gazans to yet another densely packed open-air prison with dire human rights implications. As much as states like Egypt and Jordan have strengthened their rhetorical opposition to Israel in the past few months, neighbouring Arab countries have done little to seriously pressure Israel to halt its military operations or significantly improve aid access to the Gaza Strip. In fact, Egypt’s intermittent closures of the Rafah crossing have delayed the entry of desperately needed aid into Gaza. There are also reports Egyptian authorities are demanding thousands of dollars in bribes from those desperate to leave via Rafah, deepening a sense of cynicism, despair and, ultimately, abandonment.

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