Provider of in-depth & balanced analysis on hot issues around the world

Introduction: The Culmination Points The war in Ukraine has been raging for 19 months and is yet to exhibit a conclusive imbalance of forces and means. This is good news for Ukraine, who was expected to surrender within days, and an unprecedented embarrassment for Russia, who planned for a Crimea 2.0. What we are witnessing today is undoubtedly the result of a cluster of Russian intelligence failures, both in terms of reconnaissance and operational support. A lot has been written about the general errors in autocratic intelligence management, as well as Russia’s resistance to modern tactical realities such as crowdsourcing open-source intelligence (OSINT), but few have considered the overall weakness of the underlying strategic intelligence assets. For Russia, a loyal collaborator network, the Russian Orthodox Church (ROC), and certain advanced cyberwarfare were central to preparing the ground for a quick surrender. All of these, however, reached their culmination points after the initial intervention in Ukraine 8 years prior. The culmination point of attack is a well-known Clausewitzian military concept describing the inevitable equilibrium reached as a result of the defender’s counterbalancing activities and the attacker’s consequent loss of initial superiority. At this point, the attacker is still able to hold the defence, yet continuing the offensive in the same manner would mean defeat. In Russian doctrine, the same laws apply to a clandestine battlefield, where the culmination point is reached with the exposure of one’s true goals, means, and methods. Intelligence operations that fail to adapt to the operating environment and enemy responses naturally become counterproductive to the attacker’s strategic goals. The annexation of Crimea was an example of a successful deployment of clandestine means at the height of their strategic influence. The operation has been described as a clever adaptation of tactics after being cornered by the failure of Russia’s original active measure campaign in 2013. However, the aftermath of that operation brought the remaining Russian influence assets to their culmination point, thus calling for a clear change of strategy. The Kremlin’s political-strategic goal – ever since Ukraine’s declaration of independence – has been to subordinate it to Moscow’s will. In pursuit of that, Moscow has attempted to instal various puppet entities into Ukraine’s political system, starting with the illegitimate “Donbas people’s republics” in 2014. Eight years and two Minsk Agreements later, the Kremlin had not achieved the desired results and decided to extend the puppet network into Kyiv’s central government. Similarly to Crimea, a successful power transfer merited a quick (and preferably bloodless) surrender of the government. Setting the stage for a Crime-type power transfer was, therefore, the venerable goal of the Russian intelligence services in the leadup to the invasion. The Federal Security Service’s (FSB, Federal’naya Sluzhba Bezopasnosti) 5th Directorate – tasked with combatting dissent in Russia’s “near abroad” – carried the heaviest weight in preparing Ukraine for invasion. Some western security officials would even hold the FSB accountable for the trickle-down failures of the Main Directorate of the General Staff of the Armed Forces (GRU, Glavnoye Razvedyvatelnoye Upravlenie) and Russian military intelligence, who were forced to work with flawed base information regarding the potential for Ukrainian resistance. Adding to this the obsoleteness of Russia’s agent network, Orthodox authorities, and cyberwarfare upon which its success largely relied, the invasion was doomed to fail from the start. 1. A Network Without Collaboration The primary covert asset – required for a swift occupation of Ukraine – was a reliable Russian agent network on the ground to provide strategic intelligence and prepare the information conditions enabling a smooth power transfer. Such a cultivation of the soil for a Russian takeover started already in the 1990s, eventually unleashing a competition for the most impactful ground presence among the Russian intelligence services. According to Bellingcat’s lead investigator, Christo Grozev, Russia’s internal security service and military intelligence, in particular, have been competing to set up the most far-reaching fifth column in Ukraine. In pursuit of that, both the FSB and the GRU have targeted not only Ukrainian politicians, activists, and security officials but also the judiciary, journalists, and former Yanukovych associates. By 2014, Russia’s agents of influence had provided enough leverage to convert existing political divisions, weak institutions, and high- levelcorruptionintoaquicksurrenderof Crimea and Donbas. Researchers from the Estonian Academy of Military Sciences identified the saboteur network’s systematic spreading of panic and propaganda as a key factor enabling Russian success in Donbas. It entailed fake news that alleged heavy Ukrainian casualties and the untrustworthiness of the government in Kyiv. Separatist collaborators, together with professional Russian intelligence officers, stood at the centre of these information operations. Such officers would, for instance, arrive at conflict hotspots, alongside the “journalists” specialised in propaganda, and fabricate the developments to appear unfavourable to Ukrainian resistance. It meant that by the start of the physical confrontation in Donbas, the region had been thoroughly primed for Russian intervention and that incoming troops had no trouble convincing Ukrainians to surrender entire settlements without resistance. Weeks prior, a similar scenario had unfolded in Crimea, with the collaborator network enabling deep deception and fast evolution of events on the ground. At the height of that unprecedented operation, the appearance of Russian troops without insignia made it difficult for Ukrainian counterintelligence to diagnose and respond to the situation, not to mention the paralysing confusion in local civilian masses. The covert operation ran smoothly, owing its success to widespread collaboration from the local police, security service, political, and criminal elites, whom the Russians had managed to infiltrate and corrupt. The efficient informational cover and timely intelligence provided by the collaborator network allowed Russian forces to swiftly seize key strategic positions on the peninsula and thus deny grassroots resistance by deception. However, what the Kremlin may not have realised in 2022 was that underlying the success in Crimea were extremely favourable political conditions and the complete novelty of the chosen approach, which could not be replicated in other operations. Moscow’s human intelligence (HUMINT)-enabled and deceptive diversion operation in Ukraine, therefore, reached its culmination point in 2014. At that moment, Russia still retained enough plausible deniability to avoid direct proportional consequences, but the opposing security communities became hyper- focused on the “hybrid” elements in Russian offensive operations, thereby suggesting exposure of the Kremlin’s covert methods. The operation’s political technologist, Vladislav Surkov, was sanctioned by the US immediately after the annexation, despite the frantic efforts of his aides to deny his involvement to the Western public. Experts interpreted Surkov’s careless reaction as a mere bluff. Notwithstanding the evident exposure of the covert operation, Russia’s game plan for a successful military intervention in 2022 remained unchanged. As the most comprehensive post-mortem of the intelligence failure details, the Russian asset network was meant to paralyse the Ukrainian state and condition Ukrainian officials to accept a pro-Russian course; the next step would be provoking mass protests against the government’s sudden inability to serve Ukrainian national interests. The systematic spreading of false narratives regarding the protests would help fracture Ukrainian resistance and provide a moral justification for an invasion. Analogous to the 2014 operations, Moscow’s agents on the ground were supposed to maintain pro-Russian sentiments in the contested territories until Russian forces secured critical strategic positions. The main goal of the GRU’s ground network was to ensure the physical passage of Russian troops and members of the FSB’s planned puppet government. A principal role in this was to be played by one of the GRU’s most crucial assets and a member of the Ukrainian Parliament, Andriy Derkach, recruited in 2016. By the time of the invasion, Derkach and his assistant Igor Kolesnikov had been put at the centre of the entire network. However, at the final preparatory and initial active stages of the invasion, multiple malfunctions occurred, signalling a premature burnout. • The first setback was the sanctioning of Andriy Derkach in 2020 for his interference in the 2016 US presidential election. In addition to provoking mass protests and misleading Ukrainian counterintelligence, Derkach was to lead the dissemination of disinformation about the dangers associated with Ukrainian nuclear energy production – all of which failed to materialise after his landing on the blacklist. Complete exposure of Russia’s intended psychological operations became clear weeks prior to the invasion when the UK and US had strategically declassified comprehensive intelligence about Moscow’s plans to politically subvert Ukraine. Remarkably, the Security Service of Ukraine (SBU, Sluzhba Bezpeky Ukrainy) had apparently been aware of the Derkach network – and allegedly neutralised it at the beginning of the invasion by detaining Kolesnikov, identified as the key manager of funding. • The second setback partly followed from the first. Such public and attributed disclosure of Russian psychological operations gained superiority for the Ukrainian narrative and mobilised a resolute international alliance (even though Ukrainian officials had been initially denying the possibility of a Russian attack). Moreover, in the face of Russian aggression, domestic public opinion was uniformly in favour of EU and NATO integration. This should have been interpreted as a clear sign that the lack of societal cohesion and international support no longer formed a weakness to exploit. Unlike in 2014-15, there were indicators that the West would intervene. However, the FSB chose to conduct its own polls, overseen by a former Yanukovych aide in charge of sleeper agents, and then interpreted the numbers to support the armed intervention. As RUSI researchers have explained, the invasion was likely based on the premise that those institutions in which the population showed the most trust – i.e., the military and the civil society organisations – could also be easily neutralised by the Russian network on the ground in Ukraine. Battlefield success during the initial stages of the invasion, therefore, relied on similar influence and diversion tactics as in 2014. In grave contrast to the former, the invading troops instead found the local population in the contested territories assisting the Ukrainian intelligence services to sabotage Russian positions. Hence, sticking to the methods of 2014 was counterproductive for the agent network of 2022. • This led to the third setback: the questionable loyalty of Russian junior agents and informers in Ukraine. The FSB’s strengths in the Ukrainian theatre came with a considerable expansion of its operations and the establishment of a “curator system,” whereby over 120 FSB curators would manage around 5-10 asset relationships. It involved a shift from targeting exclusively the highest- ranking officials in 2014 to virtually everyone associated with influential people, down to their service personnel in 2022. A key characteristic of this approach was that assets were recruited on a flexible, temporary, and project basis, which sometimes did not align with their professions and, therefore, took a toll on the assets’ quality and loyalty. In the words of the SBU’s reserve Major General Viktor Yahun, the expanded spy network in Ukraine was corrupted by its own structure. As assets got tangled in a “circle of responsibility” to cover comrades and improve their own results, the intelligence reaching the decision- makers at the top was being tailored to support the illusion of an easy Russian victory. The status of Putin’s favoured service, earned by the successes of 2014, also deepened patrimonialism within the curators themselves, whose tool to advance one’s career was to validate the Kremlin’s pre-decided policies. The GRU was facing the same problem: most of the influence agents they had recruited would not cooperate directly with their curators after “D-Day,” suggesting that they may have never been supportive of an operation of this kind. In this regard, Christo Grozev brings a noteworthy example of an asset inside the SBU that the GRU had to execute to preserve its credibility among other collaborators. The structure and modus operandi of the Kremlin’s agent network in Ukraine, therefore, suggests that it was expected to behave similarly as did in 2014 – i.e., to condition both the authorities and the local communities to surrender without resistance. However, as one puts all the setbacks together a clear picture emerges: once a functioning asset network had been reduced to ashes by the start of the invasion. 2. A Church Without Faith The collaborator network was interconnected with the ROC – a de-facto state institution that, in the words of Russian religious scholar Sergey Chapnin, “less and less resembles a church in the traditional understanding of this word.” It is rather a multifaceted influence asset of the Russian state that has prematurely culminated first on the strategic and then on the operational level. The ROC attains its strategic significance from its special status as a formally depoliticised extension of the state’s hand – its main function ever since Peter the Great’s imperialistic reforms. Stalin’s revival of the church during WWII and the recruitment of its priests as the People’s Commissariat for Internal Affairs (NKVD, Narodnyi komissariat vnutrennikh del) agents set up a patrimonial security structure that outlasted the collapse of the USSR. Up to date, Patriarch Kirill, the current leader of the ROC, continues to emphasise the close relationship between the church and the state. A deep dive into its history shows that in 1992, the church’s public discourse began to glorify Russian combat soldiers as saints. Indeed, in the context of war, there is no asset as useful as one that can justify and encourage dying en masse for the Motherland. However, events took a downturn for the ROC on the eve of the Crimean annexation. Leaked emails from the operation’s leading architect, Vladislav Surkov, revealed that the ROC had failed its grand strategic mission already in the leadup to the Ukrainian Euromaidan, making the annexation the last resort rather than a demonstration of power. This happened as the Kremlin sought to use the church as a tool to steer Ukrainian public sentiments towards “Eurasia” but, after various propaganda campaigns, found all the Orthodox churches in Ukraine still formally favouring integration with the EU. Having failed to influence the general direction of Ukraine, the ROC, nevertheless, maintained substantial social authority in the target country. The FSB’s polls found that ahead of the invasion, the church was still highly regarded by over half of the Ukrainian population. The deep intelligence infiltration of the Moscow Patriarchate’s domains allowed the church to remain the main cover organisation for Russian operations since the 1990s. The ROC’s impact was the most visible in Ukrainian domestic politics, where its presence secured Russia’s claims to Ukrainian territory by cultivating a “religious nationalist” political faction, promoting the narrative of inherent religious unity between the two nations. Drawing on this uncontested institutional authority, the real value of the ROC was in enabling the Kremlin to uphold an elected pro-Russian representation in the Verkhovna Rada of Ukraine throughout multiple election cycles. What was left of the ROC’s strategic influence on Ukraine’s political and religious divisions peaked just before the start of the conflict in 2014. The culmination point was reached with the annexation of Crimea when the church first came under fire. Yet, it was still able to escape blame and distance itself by portraying the Russian intervention as a religious dispute within the context of a “Ukrainian civil war.” Since no creative adaptations to the strategy followed, the increasing public questioning of the ROC’s loyalties after the annexation took a toll on its influence, eventually leading to a formal secession of the Ukrainian church from the Moscow Patriarchate in 2019. It delivered a fatal blow to the ROC as its main reason for existence had become the “one Orthodox nation” myth used to maintain control over Ukraine. Whereas the ROC’s central strategic narrative had simply failed to make an impact before the occupation of Crimea, after the annexation, it was outright swept out of existence. Beyond political strategies, the ROC also had an operational role in capturing Ukraine. In the 2014 battles, for instance, priests were found fighting among separatist ranks in Donbas and operating torture chambers on the premises of religious facilities. Paramilitaries with a distinct Orthodox identity made a significant contribution to the separatist war effort, especially wing to the participation of local “Kazak” units familiar with the landscape. In the ongoing war, Estonian Foreign Intelligence recognised the ROC’s provision of multifunctional safehouses to be a critical constituent of the Russian ground network. Even more importantly, it was the ROC’s associates who provided the most valuable HUMINT if compared to the otherwise underperforming network. Naturally, the church’s special status as a religious institution, with a mandate to oppose the Kremlin, grants it the most auspicious position to conduct social network analysis and gather overall situational awareness. Christo Grozev also admits that church associates constitute a pool of trustworthy pro-Russian “spies and gunners” who assist with the actual conduct of hostilities. In continuation of the 2014 efforts, ROC priests were again among the most important local agents promoting the invaders and reporting the non-conformists to the Russian occupant forces. The ROC’s operational community manage- ment duties maxed out during the initial phases of the occupation in 2022, with the loss of plausible deniability regarding its involvement. Following the secession of the Ukrainian Orthodox Church during Poroshenko’s presidency, the ROC’s positions began to deteriorate, while the reach of malicious Russian networks and influence tools embedded in it was reduced. It had, nevertheless, enjoyed relative immunity up until the invasion due to the Ukrainian government’s political fear of limiting religious freedom and offending the remaining Ukrainian patriots among the ROC’s followers. However, uncovering the extent of Russian war crimes during the Ukrainian counteroffensive left the ROC no more room for denial and resulted in a systematic targeting of the church and its associates. It was at this point that the maintenance of the ROC as an operational asset became counterproductive. Ukrainian counterintelligence soon confiscated its physical property and made sure to expose all suspicious findings to the media. Statistics show that most believers consequently began to see Russian Orthodox priests primarily as intelligence agents; a tectonic shift in formal allegiance to the Ukrainian Orthodox Church has occurred, thereby dealing a final blow to the ROC’s legitimacy in Ukraine. 3. Attack Without Leverage The final asset – crucial to shaping sentiments on the ground and complementing Russian military strikes – was state-sponsored cyberattacks on Ukraine’s critical infrastructure. One particular GRU cyber unit named “Sandworm” was the prime actor associated with this task since the beginning of the war in Ukraine. After hacking various news and government websites to spread disinformation and encourage the population to surrender to occupation authorities, the GRU’s cyber strategy culminated with a large-scale attack on Ukrainian critical infrastructure in December 2015, leaving thousands of civilians without power for a prolonged period. This was another classic attempt to undermine societal trust in Ukraine’s capabilities to withstand aggression and provide for its citizens. For external observers, Sandworm’s attack constituted both an escalation from previous disruptive incidents and the first successful sabotage of a state’s energy infrastructure by a covert cyber campaign. The West – while acknowledging the campaign’s highly sophisticated and systematic nature – was left dumbfounded by Russia’s technical capability and fearful of Moscow’s potential to politically subvert Ukraine. That ominous precedent exemplified to multiple stakeholders and observer states the necessity of securing their power grids from hostile foreign state actors. The 2015 attack became Sandworm’s culmination point: Ukraine was severely affected but recovered fast amidst the international attention. The GRU managed to hit the target’s weakness in a highly unexpected manner while initially retaining an umbrella of deniability, plausible enough to avoid legal repercussions. In theoretical terms, a retreat – or change of strategy – at that point was warranted to avoid burnout. However, the GRU approached the attack rather as reconnaissance by combat – i.e., a subtype of reflexive control aimed at gaining intelligence on the target’s capabilities and potential responses by way of attack. Having witnessed Ukraine’s inability to resist or respond to such incidents, Sandworm carried out occasional attacks in the following years. Continuing the cyber campaign without any modifications became counterproductive when private companies and other external entities entered the game on Ukraine’s side. By 2022, highly capable private actors such as Microsoft had already pre-emptively intervened and offered real-time assistance to Ukraine in countering Russian cyberattacks throughout the invasion. Likewise, the Starlink communications technology not only derailed Russian attempts to disturb Ukrainian command and control but became a lifeline for civil resistance. In a direct affront to Russia’s cyber campaign’s goals, the donated Western technology enabled sophisticated intelligence collection and fire support operations capability for the Ukrainian forces. The turn of tables became apparent with two main events. • First, in the beginning, stage of the invasion, Sandworm launched large- scale wiper attacks on Ukraine’s critical digital infrastructure, with Viasat, a military communications provider, among its targets. As in the old playbook, the goal was to undermine Ukraine’s political will and collect intelligence on all levels. While significant tactical complications for the target followed, the attack failed to affect Ukraine’s societal and military morale as planned. On the contrary, the Ukrainian Armed Forces managed to leverage the public for intelligence value, further strengthening societal resilience. • Second, reassured by the 2015 experience, Sandworm attempted another ambitious cyberattack on the Zaporizhzhia nuclear power plant a few months into the invasion, aiming to leave millions without energy. However, this time, the aid provided by Ukraine’s private supporters enabled a complete denial of the fatal attack or any force-multiplying effects to entail. Furthermore, the resemblance of the offensive software to the 2015 attack facilitated a faster neutralisation of the cyberweapon. Russia’s efforts again failed to account for the greatly enhanced resilience that Ukraine’s digital infrastructure would display after learning from the initial shock attack. The Ukrainian side, on the contrary, demonstrated an understanding of the GRU’s modus operandi and gained silent battleground superiority by capitalising on the initial exposure of Sandworm. Conclusion: The Common Denominator There was one common denominator between Andriy Derkach, the ROC leadership, and Sandworm: they were all products on the Kremlin’s covert action shelf whose expiry date had passed almost a decade ago (although they may still often come up to describe Russia’s hidden strategy to condition Ukraine into a quick surrender). What started as a markedly successful leveraging of covert assets in support of territorial gains and political concessions in 2014 culminated with a complete strategic blunder that was the 2022 invasion. A premature culmination of those three strategic assets is one way to explain the outcomes. After the successful annexation of Crimea and destabilisation of Donbas, the FSB expanded its Ukraine operations but failed to realise that the loyalty and public sentiments that triumphed in 2014 would not be the default in 2022. The GRU’s efforts against Ukraine were exposed both on the ground and in cyberspace, which helped Ukraine gain external support and build up resilience against the two types of subversion. In the meantime, the FSB and the GRU were heavily relying on the ROC, which had been gradually losing all leverage in Ukraine after the 2019 schism and the 2022 exposure of its direct involvement in the conflict. On the one hand, the turn of events suggests that Russia’s tools and theories of hybrid warfare may be neither as sophisticated nor effective as feared after the annexation of Crimea. The flip side of this implies that the current war will rely more on Russian biomass and hard power, especially now when assets of influence and non-military subversion have been exhausted. On the other hand, our understanding of Russia’s performance in this regard may be somewhat biased since we are, by definition, only able to analyse intelligence failures – not achievements. Another aspect to consider is the continuing revelations of Russia’s successful meddling in democratic political processes abroad, which suggests that some Russian covert assets outside of Ukraine may yet reach their culmination points. The central questions are if and what the Kremlin learns from the strategic failures in Ukraine, as well as whether it becomes more open to the structural improvements needed.

BOTTOM LINE • Taiwan’s presidential election is scheduled for January 13, 2024. • A down-to-the-wire effort by two of the three opposition candidates to unite against front-runner William Lai Ching-te failed dramatically, while the third candidate made a grand last-minute exit. • Disarray among the opposition will not necessarily guarantee Lai’s election, with the latest polls showing him barely ahead of his two remaining challengers. • Both challengers, though averring their preference for a strong relationship with the United States, favor warmer relations with Beijing in a manner that may portend some degree of willingness to accept unification with China that would adversely impact US and Japanese security interests • Chinese efforts to influence the vote have included military intimidation, veiled threats of invasion, and disinformation. On Saturday, January 13, 2024, Taiwan will go to the polls to choose itsa next president and 113 seats in the country’s unicameral Legislative Yuan (LY). Current president Tsai Ing-wen is term-limited and at first four, now three, contenders are seeking to succeed her, making this the most contested election since 2000. What’s at Stake for the United States The United States is significantly involved in one war in the Middle East, another in Eastern Europe, and is hence at pains to avoid confrontation in Asia. It has sent two aircraft carrier groups and ammunition to support Israel as well as large quantities of weapons to the Ukrainian government, leaving concerns in both America and Taiwan about how much assistance it could give the country should Xi Jinping decide to attack. Given China’s avowed desire to annex the island by force if Taiwan’s citizens do not agree to unification amicably, and Beijing’s strong reaction to anything that it construes as moves to further legitimize Taiwan’s de facto independence, the Biden administration prefers a Taiwanese president who will avoid both actions that could prompt an attack and measures that would bring the island under Beijing’s control. More than democracy and human rights are at issue: Since Taiwan sits astride sea lanes that are vital for international commerce and security, ceding the country to China would enhance Beijing’s control of both. An estimated 40 percent of world trade passes through the South China Sea, which China has increasingly asserted its control over. Japan, a US treaty ally, has what is arguably an even greater stake in stability in the Taiwan Strait since a Taiwan under Chinese control would bring its territorial waters perilously close to Japan as well as potentially adversely impact the shipping that is so vital to its economy. China also contests control of areas of the East China Sea with Japan. Since Okinawa hosts the only US bases within 500 miles (the unrefueled combat radius of US fighters) from Taiwan, China might well strike those bases at the outset of a conflict. Japanese leaders have explicitly said that a Taiwan emergency is a Japanese emergency and therefore an emergency for the Japan-US alliance. The Dramatis Personae Lai Ching-te (English name William Lai) is Taiwan’s incumbent vice-president and the nominee of the Democratic Progressive Party (DPP). Born in 1959 and the son of a coal miner, he is a medical doctor with expertise in spinal cord injuries, though he has dedicated his later career to politics. Regarded as a lackluster campaigner, he can however point to his extensive record in office as a legislator, then premier, and most recently as vice-president. Hou Yu-ih, born in 1957 and the son of pork sellers, represents the Kuomintang (KMT) or Chinese Nationalist Party. After graduating from the Central Police Agency and obtaining a doctoral degree in crime prevention and corrections, he had a long career in law enforcement before becoming deputy mayor and later mayor of New Taipei City. Hou says that his background in police work is excellent preparation for service as president. Ko Wen-je, born in 1959, is a medical doctor known for his expertise in organ transplants before going into politics. Ko successfully ran for mayor of Taipei as an independent, though with the endorsement of the DPP. In 2019, Ko founded the Taiwan People’s Party (TPP) as a challenge to the KMT and DPP. Terry Gou (Chinese name Guo Tai-ming) was born in 1950. A late entry into the race and formerly a KMT member who twice sought and was twice refused the party’s endorsement for nominee, he then announced he would run as an independent backed by the $7 billion fortune he made as founder of Hon Hai Precision Industries. Hon Hai, known abroad as Foxconn, is the world’s largest contract manufacturer of electronics. His parents, from Shanxi, fled to Taiwan in 1949, with his policeman father having fought for the KMT during the war. Gou believes that his extensive business experience makes him ideally suited for the presidency. Where They Stand All candidates face the dilemma of having to solicit the support of voters who overwhelmingly reject unification with China while not antagonizing China with its oft-repeated vow to achieve the “sacred task” of unification by whatever means. A poll released in late November showed almost no support for this: only 0.7 percent of respondents replied that they supported independence as soon as possible with 11.5 percent advocating maintaining the status quo while working toward unification. By contrast, 35.8 percent supported maintaining the status quo while working toward independence and 44.3 percent favored forever maintaining the status quo. On other issues, as do politicians worldwide, they must be wary of making promises they will find difficult to deliver on if elected. Lai, who has previously described himself as an advocate of Taiwanese independence, is careful to qualify the statement by adding that, since Taiwan is already an independent sovereign state known as the Republic of China, there is no need for a declaration of independence. He has rejected the so-called 1992 Consensus and pledged to continue Tsai Ing-wen’s non-confrontational policies. The 1992 Consensus refers to the outcome of a meeting in Singapore between the allegedly unofficial representatives of the Chinese Communist Party and the KMT, which then governed in the name of the Republic of China. Members of the opposition party objected. The Consensus, a term that did not exist until 2000, eight years later, holds that each side agreed that there is but one China and that Taiwan is part of China, but that each side has its own understanding of what China is: for the CCP, it is the People’s Republic of China; for the KMT, it is the Republic of China. KMT supporters continue to accept the latter definition, while the opposition DPP reject it, arguing that Taiwan is a sovereign state independent of the PRC. In 2010, newly elected president Tsai Ing-wen offered a concession in that she accepted the historical fact of the conference, but Beijing immediately rejected it as “an incomplete test paper.” The only one of the four candidates to support gay marriage, which has been legal in Taiwan since 2019, Lai wore a rainbow-colored scarf and spoke at a large parade in October to celebrate the law, declaring that equal marriage was not the end but the starting point for diversity. None of the other three presidential candidates attended, although the KMT’s youth wing did, with its members shouting that their party also supported equality as they passed by Lai. Hou Yu-ih accepts the 1992 Consensus, though adds that he objects to both a formal declaration of Taiwan’s independence and China’s offer to rule the country under Beijing’s interpretation of the one-country, two-systems formula. In a Foreign Affairs article that was obviously aimed at a US audience, Hou stressed the importance of urging both sides of the Taiwan Strait to jointly promote democracy, human rights, and mutual trust. He accepts, however, the need for deterrence against invasion and that Taiwan must deepen collaboration with the United States in areas such as intelligence sharing and regular joint training exercises. Hou has vowed to defend the Republic of China if it were attacked. It is significant that he did not use the word Taiwan, thereby implicitly endorsing his party’s position on the One China policy. On healthcare, Hou has promised to raise spending levels on national health insurance to 8 percent from its current 6.5 percent. Observers were puzzled at his choosing to emphasize this policy against two rivals who are medical doctors. Lai immediately countered that rather than announce a spending target, Hou should explain specifically what areas should be targeted for improvement and then suggested several that he, Lai, would pursue. Ko Wen-je emphasizes his pragmatism and rationality. On cross-strait relations, he advocates a middle-of-the-road approach that is neither anti-China nor overly pro-China. Ko has called for regular security talks among senior officials from Japan, Taiwan, and the United States regarding China’s intimidation of Taiwan. He argues that cutting off communication with China increases the risk of war and has expressed willingness to sign economic agreements with Beijing while also advocating that Taiwan follow the United States in de-risking. Agreements would be reviewed and referred to the Legislative Yuan for ratification—a backhanded reference to former president Ma Ying-jeou’s effort to push through a trade agreement with China that aroused a massive protest and closed down the Legislative Yuan for weeks. Ko has called on China to propose a new framework for engagement with Taiwan that explains what Beijing has to offer, telling inquisitive foreign reporters that “it’s their obligation [to do so] not mine” and adding that Beijing must also define exactly what it means by One China, whether it be political or economic. While economic cooperation with China is negotiable, he claims that politically there is “nothing we can do,” though he has said elsewhere that confrontation can be eased through dialogue and cultural, sports, and economic exchanges. Ko has also proposed turning the small offshore island of Jinmen, also known as Kinmen, into an experimental zone for peace between Taiwan and China. Critics immediately pointed out that, apart from being unconstitutional, Ko has not explained whether he would countenance suspending Jinmen’s elections, regulating its residents’ freedom of speech due to Beijing’s censorship and insistence on “internet sovereignty,” or imposing social controls on them to conform with Chinese practice. Terry Gou, whose Foxconn has over a million employees in its factories in China, has denounced the Taiwan independence movement while calling for de-escalating Sino-American tensions. He accepts the 1992 Consensus and advocates positioning Taiwan as equidistant from both the United States and China. As of now, it is “like prey on a tightrope”: If either America or China increases tensions even a little bit, Taiwan “will die a horrible death.” Critics believe that Foxconn’s heavy presence in China would make him vulnerable to pressures from Beijing; Gou responded that he has not managed the company’s operations since 2019 and in fact resigned from Foxconn’s board of directors in September 2023. Denying that he has ever been controlled by China, Gou vowed to reply “yes, do it!” if Beijing threatens Foxconn’s assets. As if to test his mettle, two months later, China announced an investigation into the tax and land use of Foxconn subsidiaries in several provinces, without supplying details. Foxconn management replied that it would “actively comply” with the investigators. Gou is an avowed opponent of gay marriage. Now no longer formally a candidate, he has vowed to keep advocating for these policy views. Taiwan does not possess indigenous fuels, so the energy issue is highly controversial. Opponents of nuclear energy argue that a Fukushima-type meltdown would devastate the much smaller and similarly earthquake-prone island. Proponents point out that without nuclear power, Taiwan would become still more vulnerable if it completely depended on imports to keep its heavily trade-dependent economy healthy. Due to a 2016 government decision to phase out nuclear power by 2025, usage has declined from over 20 percent to about 9 percent at present. Most citizens voted in 2021 to reject finishing a partially built plant whose completion has been suspended for three decades. Only Lai has vowed to make Taiwan a nuclear-free country by 2025, although he has not ruled out retaining some nuclear capability in case of emergencies like a Chinese invasion or blockade. All three other candidates claim that the nuclear-free homeland policy has failed, with Hou explicitly saying that he would revive nuclear power, including restarting two already decommissioned units, extending the operational period of a third, and evaluating whether to revive an abandoned fourth nuclear power plant. While warning of power shortages, no candidate has addressed the questions of safety or of finding a long-term solution for storing nuclear waste. Who’s Ahead? Taiwan, perhaps one of the most extensively polled countries in the world, has so many organizations collecting data that the Taiwan News regularly reports a poll of polls. Lai has been the consistent front-runner. Except for briefly exceeding 40 percent after a stopover trip to the United States en route to Paraguay, he until recently polled in the mid-thirties, with Ko and Hou in the mid-to-high twenties and Guo in the low teens. But Lai’s lead has been eroding. More concerning to the DPP, at the end of October Ko and KMT head Eric Chu reached an uneasy agreement—notably, Hou was not present— to share candidates in some constituencies in order to get a majority in the Legislative Yuan. If this succeeds and Lai is elected, the coalition could block Lai’s initiatives, leading to gridlock, as indeed happened during Chen Shui-bian’s presidency. It would also encourage Beijing to court them, as it has done during previous DPP administrations. Since the DPP has been in power for eight years, it has a track record that its opposition and non-committed voters can criticize. Rural citizens interviewed by a Canadian researcher believe that the party has forgotten about them while urbanites complain about inflation and lack of affordable housing and point out that wages have remained stagnant despite healthy growth rates. The youth vote, which had previously been a mainstay of DPP strength, has shown signs of shifting to the TPP. Many, including supporters of the party, believe that a social justice program is badly needed. They accuse the DPP of positioning itself as a progressive party but not behaving like one, urging it to enact policies that meaningfully tax the rich and invest the money in green technology, infrastructure, and innovation. The opposition has said that a DPP victory would mean war with China. Chinese Efforts to Influence the Election Beijing’s least favorite candidate is surely Lai. Rather than overtly interfere, a strategy that backfired badly in the 1996 election, it has tried a mixture of sticks and carrots. Sticks include Chinese fighter jets so regularly crossing the median line in the Taiwan Strait that a new normal now exists, ominous warnings from high military figures, and covert attempts such as disinformation. Carrots include hosting youth delegations to visit China, and a plan to make Fujian province a zone for integrated development with Taiwan, including encouraging Taiwanese firms to list on Chinese stock exchanges and supporting innovative ways of cross-strait capital cooperation. Entry and exit visas for “Taiwan compatriots” are being eased. While such initiatives are above board, some others are not. In late October, Taiwan’s Ministry of Justice Investigation Bureau seized $354.6 million in illegal remittances to candidates regarded as sympathetic to China. Among the conduits were businesspeople, contributions to temple charity events, dummy accounts through unregistered banks, and cryptocurrency. It is difficult to tell how successful these tactics are, with anecdotal evidence indicating that while some people are intimidated by China’s threats, others respond negatively. Taiwanese are well aware of the fate of Hong Kong, where the party-state ruthlessly quashed civil liberties in contravention of the promises it was treaty-bound to honor and often used as a cautionary tale to those few who view unification more favorably. Unexpected Last-Minute Developments At the meeting to discuss cooperation on fielding candidates for the Legislative Yuan, Ko and Hou also discussed having one of them agree to become vice-president while the other would be the presidential nominee. Assuming—a big if—that most of the supporters of one would agree to vote with supporters of the other, they would comfortably beat Lai. The possibility of an alliance at the top was always risky: In addition to each man having a healthy ego that would make subordinating himself to the other difficult, Ko was on record as saying that the things he hates most are “mosquitoes, cockroaches and the KMT.” He founded the TPP as a counterweight to both KMT and DPP, attracting many supporters, particularly among the young, who were disenchanted with the two. While some of the young voters might accept an alliance, others would likely feel betrayed. Whether Ko or Hou would get top billing, they pledged to abide by the opinion polls on who was the stronger. After much discussion, the two settled on accepting six of the nine major polls, but then disagreed on who was ahead based on differing interpretations of the margins of error. Former president Ma Ying-jeou then stepped in to mediate, summoning Ko and Hou to his office on November 24, the deadline for filing for the election. Only Hou appeared, waiting several hours fruitlessly. Ko later agreed to meet at a hotel and even then arrived late as a gaggle of media waited impatiently outside. The result was a dramatic failure with the candidates sniping at each other live on the country’s television networks: They will run separately. The event even upstaged Terry Gou’s also dramatic departure wherein the typically flamboyant Gou announced that although he “might be forgotten by the people,” he had chosen to sacrifice himself for the greater good, showing his “utmost dedication to his homeland.” With barely five weeks before the election, analysts have scrutinized the newly announced vice-presidential picks of the remaining three candidates. Lai has chosen Hsiao Bi-khim, the highly regarded woman who has served as Taiwan’s de facto ambassador to Washington for the past several years. But whether and by how much the choice will increase Lai’s popularity remains to be seen. Beijing has denounced Hsiao as a “diehard secessionist” and says the decision could “mean war for Taiwan,” which could scare some voters. Asked about this at a television interview soon after her selection, Hsiao responded carefully, saying that all Taiwanese reject war and that any candidate “must approach [relations with China] with utmost responsibility.” Hou’s choice for vice-president, the avowed pro-unificationist media executive Jaw Shaw-kong, also has negatives as well as positives. Presumably chosen to appeal to the KMT’s conservative base, Jaw is apt to alienate more moderate KMT members and voters who fear unification. His more assertive personality and markedly different view of unification raise the possibility of friction between him and Hou. Kou’s vice-presidential pick, Cynthia Wu, is likewise problematic. With very little political experience, she has been an executive of a family-founded major life insurance company that has been fined for speculation and questionable land deals. This undercuts the TPP’s claim to be the party that represents the interests of the young and underprivileged. Meanwhile, polls show Lai’s lead over Hou shrinking to about one point, with Ko less than four points behind Hou. At this point, the election is too close to call. Expect the Unexpected? Should it have to live with Lai, Beijing’s least bad scenario would be a divided Legislative Yuan, which would enable it to work with the opposition, as it also has done with previous DPP-led administrations. Assuming, as is likely, that Lai can be trusted to keep his promise to continue his predecessor’s nonconfrontational policies, he is certainly Washington’s preferred candidate. But, as evidenced by the events of the past few weeks, Taiwan’s politics are full of surprises: Neither the United States nor China can be sure that the election will go in its preferred direction. Dealing with democracies is inherently uncertain, for both autocracies and other democratic countries.

Last week’s decision by the governments of Germany and France to postpone their joint biannual Cabinet meeting sent waves of comments about the future of the bilateral partnership.Some media in both countries even went as far as predicting the possible demise of French-German cooperation. Yet, at the same time, they largely ignored that President Emmanuel Macron and Chancellor Olaf Scholz will still meet this Wednesday, over a working lunch aimed precisely at dispelling misunderstandings between the two parties.In the midst of the confusion and the perplexity that have followed the postponement of the Cabinet meeting, it would be futile to deny problems in today’s relations between Germany and France. Too many grievances have been aired recently between the two capitals to pretend that all is fine. But are we really witnessing the chronicle of a death foretold or is it more a partnership in need of profound revision?For many observers, the piling up in the last months of diverging views between the two nations in so many areas—defense projects, the gas price ceiling, the sub-Mediterranean pipeline, state subsidies to enterprises, Chinese investments in Europe—has not only brought the cooperation between Berlin and Paris to a standstill, as illustrated by the postponed Cabinet meeting; it has also epitomized the vulnerability of a partnership that critics say has lost its efficiency and perhaps its purpose.According to these same commentators, the belief in necessary and useful French-German cooperation should be questioned when a new balance of power is emerging inside an enlarged EU and at a time when Germany itself is experiencing major changes in the very foundations of its economy and foreign policy.With a fundamentally transformed Europe comes the perception of a Franco-German partnership that is structurally flawed and increasingly outdated.Naturally, official voices on both sides of the Rhine are contesting this interpretation. And some well-versed commentators on French-German politics are quick to underline that relations between Paris and Berlin have never been a smooth affair.The coming into office of new governments alternatively in each capital has traditionally brought laborious periods of adjustment. Today, the so-called traffic light coalition in Germany is no exception and requires time to adapt.More substantially, deep divergences in the two countries’ interests have been there from the start. In fact, they are at the heart of the Franco-German partnership and can even be considered its raison d’être. It is precisely because former French president Charles de Gaulle and then German chancellor Konrad Adenauer understood early on the depth of divergences in their national interests that they decided in 1963 to work on an enduring partnership.From the opposition over the completion of the EU’s Common Agricultural Policy to the birth of the euro or the new voting rights that favored Germany, the European integration process has seen Paris and Berlin overcoming time and again their deep-rooted differences to shape bilateral compromises that could be endorsed by all European states.If anything, the existential merit of the Franco-German partnership has been precisely to understand that the diverging interests between the two countries usually embodied the overall substance of the discussion at the European level.Agreements between Berlin and Paris therefore paved the way to solutions acceptable to all European partners. No doubt this prominence has stirred complaints from union members but, when faced with a collapse of French-German collaboration, the same members were the first ones to call for fence-mending between the two countries.This contribution of the Franco-German partnership to the EU’s progress still stands the test of time. Additionally, the enlarged EU has little to do with the reasons behind today’s grudges between Paris and Berlin.If there is one major complaint addressed in Paris to the Scholz government, it is that of a selfish Germany displaying too little solidarity for its EU partners.As for the criticisms addressed to France, they seem equally to blame French traditional eagerness to lead defense projects and distance Europe from U.S. leadership.So, what is missing today in the collaboration between Berlin and Paris that can explain that feeling of under-delivery? Perhaps it is the more substantial and free-flowing conversation at all levels of state institutions to build a deeper understanding between the two sides.Contacts at the highest political level are indispensable, but they are not enough to get messages through and have decisions implemented. More efficient working methods need to be applied with team leaders appointed on specific cooperation projects to keep them under constant review and deliver tangible results according to plans.At the same time, France and Germany should pay more attention to their Central and Eastern European partners’ concerns and misgivings. For that purpose, the Weimar Triangle—a format between France, Germany, and Poland—could be more often used and eventually enlarged.Accusations of “Franco-German imperialism” in some Eastern European capitals are exaggerated, but the misunderstanding they articulate must be heard.In the end, it is a revival of the partnership between France and German that is needed today—not a drifting apart of the two countries.

In the same way that it is difficult to say whether a single event in the last few decades marks Russia’s decisive breaking away from democratic path of development, it is difficult to say the same about the events of the last decade in Georgia. Nevertheless, this breaking away has taken place, although Estonia, the European Union, the United States, all Georgia’s Western friends have made powerless attempts to keep Georgia on track.Many observers think the turning point was July 2021, when Georgian Dream, the political party that has been in power since 2012, and is controlled by oligarch Bidzina Ivanishvili, unilaterally revoked an agreement with the opposition on Georgia’s political organisation and the future development of its governance.This agreement was signed on 19 April 2021. It was mediated by the European Union, represented by President of the European Council Charles Michel during the last stage of the negotiations, and the Ambassador of the USA in Tbilisi. The agreement provided for ending the opposition’s boycott of the parliament (the opposition had been boycotting the work of the parliament since the parliamentary elections held in October 2020, because they considered the elections dishonest), releasing of important political prisoners (like Chairman of the United National Movement Nika Melia), strengthening the role of opposition in the parliament, judicial reform, pausing the appointments to the Supreme Court until elections, and election reform, including (partial) depoliticisation of the Central Election Commission.Although part of the opposition did not join the agreement, the EU considered it an important step in saving Georgia’s democracy. Charles Michel said at the signing ceremony, “This agreement is the starting point for your work towards consolidating Georgia’s democracy and taking Georgia forward on its Euro-Atlantic future.”Georgia’s ‘Yanukovych moment’On 28 July 2021, the Georgian Dream announced that they would unilaterally leave the agreement, accusing the opposition of the situation. Before that, the Government had appointed several judges to the Supreme Court in contravention of the 19 April agreement, earning the discontent of the EU and the Embassy of the US.A number of politicians saw the annulment of the agreement as Georgia’s “Yanukovych moment”, a turning point like the refusal to sign the EU association agreement by former Ukrainian President Viktor Yanukovych who chose to pursue the policy of Moscow. It is possible to see similarities here, but the blurring of Georgia’s course towards the West, the decline of Georgia’s success story began much earlier. Actually, by July 2021, the relations between Europe and the Government of Georgia had been worsening for years. Although Europe did not want to admit it, and does not want to admit it up to now, the beginning of Georgia’s big troubles is connected with the coming to power of Bidzina Ivanishvili at the elections of 2011. This in its turn is directly connected with the Russian-Georgian war of 2008 and the course chosen by the West for resolving the post-conflict situation.As we remember, the ceasefire agreement between Russia and Georgia in August 2008 was mediated by the then President of France Nicolas Sarkozy. A six-point peace plan was signed, where Russians committed to withdraw all their armed forces to the positions held before 8 August, to allow international monitoring of the region, to grant access to humanitarian aid, and to open international discussions on the modalities of security and stability of South Ossetia and Abkhazia. In reality, the commitment to return armed forces to their usual quarters was met only by Georgia. Instead, a few weeks later Russia recognised the “independence” of South Ossetia and Abkhazia.Understandably, the dominating interest of the West was to pacify, to “diffuse” the conflict – even Sarkozy’s ceasefire agreement was called a plan to diffuse the conflict in official EU documents. And with this, diffusing of Georgia’s democracy began.Although Europe did not want to admit it, and does not want to admit it up to now, the beginning of Georgia’s big troubles is connected with the coming to power of Bidzina Ivanishvili at the elections of 2011.Russia’s military objectives in Georgia were about security policy as much as domestic policy: reversing Georgia’s course towards the West, ending Georgia’s aspirations to NATO membership, and bringing about a government in Georgia that would be more or less in line with Russia’s interests. In the opinion of the majority of the great powers, it seemed to be in the interests of the West to have a Georgia that would not cause a new conflict with Russia. Since the government of Mikheil Saakashvili (President in 2004–2013) had no intention of changing the country’s NATO course or of seeking a compromise with Russia on the issue of Georgia’s sovereignty, the result was a situation in which Saakashvili was controversially in the way of both Western peacemakers and Vladimir Putin.With the wisdom we have today, many have admitted that the West’s weak reaction to the annexation of Crimea encouraged Putin to take the next steps. Less has been spoken about the even weaker reaction to Russia’s invasion against Georgia.In the summer of 2008, too, the Russian escalation was visible to Western intelligence services: aggressive rhetoric, Putin’s threats in Munich and Bucharest in spring 2008 (“We’ll do you Kosovo”), troop build-up, and so on. Yet the main interest of the West in the aftermath of the war, about which Georgia repeatedly warned in the summer of 2008, was to calm down the situation and Saakashvili and save the face of the Russians, i.e., not to blame them.An example of this policy is the so-called Tagliavini Report, commissioned by the European Union, which had to analyse the causes of the war and assess the responsibility of the parties. The Report found that both sides were guilty, Georgia should not have “started” and Russia “overreacted”. In the background, there was the dissolution process usual at the time, where Brussels said to the Georgian government something like this: put up with this report, we can’t make Putin angry and we have to blame you a bit, but you can get four billion in aid from us and we’ll go on being friends.Mistakes of the WestIn March 2009, Barack Obama’s administration announced a “reset policy” in the US-Russia relations. In other words, seven months after an act of aggression against a sovereign state, in which part of the blame was placed on the victim of the aggression to pacify the aggressor, Washington gave a signal to Moscow that all was forgotten, or at least forgettable. And forgivable.At a post-war meeting between Russia and the United States, where the conflicts between the two countries were discussed, the final communiqué contained a point that the only serious disagreement was the issue of Georgia. Tbilisi was happy with it, not realising that the reset policy in the US-Russia relations is more important than the security interests of a small country.Ivanishvili’s rise to power in Georgia belongs, at least contextually, to the policy of reset and saving of Putin’s face. In 2011, the Russian reputation makers, and possibly the US ones too, had so successfully spread the tales about Saakashvili’s madness, the Germans and the French were so “tired” of Saakashvili’s aggressiveness, that everyone – Washington, Brussels and Moscow – breathed a sigh of relief when “that madman” lost the elections. When Urmas Reinsalu, who was the Minister of Defence of Estonia at the time, drew attention to Ivanishvili’s Russian connections in the Wall Street Journal, it caused a widespread outrage in both the US and Estonian foreign ministries.Distancing from the Western orbitSince the defeat of the Saakashvili’s government in the elections of 2011, Georgia has been ruled by in the style of oligarchic party government for, to put it simply, two periods. In the first period, which lasted until around the 2018 presidential elections, at some levels until Joe Biden was elected US President in 2020, the Georgian Dream was at least formally pro-Western, kept NATO and the EU course, and the relations with Russia were cool on the surface. At the same time, several important steps were taken that did not bring about any special setbacks in Brussels, but were most probably welcomed in Moscow.Already in 2012, the systematic harassment, imprisonment and driving to exile of Saakashvili-era politicians began. The West found that it had to be tolerated to a certain extent. Most of Russia’s agents were released from prison. Visa freedom with Russia was restored, and it was done unilaterally. It is in force also now – all who have Russian passport can go to Georgia without a visa for a year.From election to election, the use of taxpayers’ money in the campaign of the ruling party became more dominant; essentially, the Georgian voter has had no real opportunity for free elections since 2011. Formally it is possible, but due to the biased media picture, massive pushing from the authorities and sometimes also physical harassment of the opposition, it is in fact impossible.Seven months after an act of aggression against a sovereign state, in which part of the blame was placed on the victim of the aggression to pacify the aggressor, Washington gave a signal to Moscow that all was forgotten, or at least forgettable.Ivanishvili’s clan also started taking over the economy. Initially, this was seen as almost inevitable; under Saakashvili, too, the government had its favourites, and when they were pushed aside, the majority of the voters really had nothing against it.Georgia’s quiet distancing from the Western orbit became more apparent in 2014. The reactions of the government of Georgia to the annexation of Crimea and Russia’s aggression in Donbass were extremely reserved. There were no contacts between Kyiv and Tbilisi, while the whole East Europe, Georgia’s old friends were doing all they could to support Ukraine. The first phone call between Prime Minister of Georgia Bidzina Ivanishvili and President of Ukraine Petro Poroshenko after the annexation of Crimea took place in 2015, when Ivanishvili demanded the extradition of Saakashvili, who was working as an adviser to the Ukrainian government, to Georgia.Ukraine and Georgia essentially parted ways from 2014. The former tandem, who tried to get into NATO together and were mentioned in the final document of the Bucharest Summit in 2008, have since then been in somewhat different camps at official level. At the same time, a number of the Saakashvili-era Georgian officials have found employment at the Ukrainian government, working in the areas of law enforcement, anti-corruption and judicial reform. Since 2014, an entire unit of Georgian volunteers has been fighting in Ukraine, and it was on the basis of the Georgian Legion that the Ukrainian International Legion was created in February this year. At the same time, since the beginning of the new phase of the war, the Georgian government has prevented Georgian volunteers from going to war in Ukraine.Ivanishvili as the grey cardinalThe internal political situation that prevailed in Georgia after transition of power in 2011 changed at the beginning of 2021 at the latest. Maybe the historians will one day find out what exactly caused this change. Probably, it came about due to both domestic and foreign policy factors.On the one hand, the domestic political situation had been becoming increasingly tense, the opposition was increasingly critical. The opposition does not recognise the results of the parliamentary elections of October 2021, and since then, part of the opposition has been boycotting the parliament.Europe was increasingly dissatisfied with the stalling of reforms, and the government may have felt that a heavier hand was needed to stay in power. At the same time, after Joe Biden’s election victory, Putin probably began to actively prepare for war in Ukraine as well as to neutralise potential opponents of war from neighbouring countries.2021 began with Ivanishvili’s declaration that he was resigning from politics. Formally, he has not held any political office since then, but no one who knows Georgia seems to think that he does not continue to control the country.Decline of Georgian democracyWith the resignation of Prime Minister Giorgi Gakharia in February 2021, a new and significantly more aggressive period began in Georgia. Gakharia, who has now also left the Georgian Dream to form his own political party, ostensibly resigned because he did not agree with the decision of the Georgian Dream to jail opposition leader and chairman of the United National Movement Nika Melia. Ivanishvili, who formally is not involved in politics, replaced Gakharia with his old ally and confidant Irakli Garibashvili. Garibashvili was the Prime Minister also in 2013–2015, but resigned due to his extreme unpopularity both in Georgia and in the West.Melia was sent to prison; in May 2021, the principal owner and head of the opposition-minded Mtavari TV Nika Gvaramia was also jailed. The founder of this TV channel and opposition politician Giorgi Rurua was already waiting for him there. Since then, the decline of Georgian democracy has become faster. The government is imposing control over the judiciary and constitutionally independent institutions (such as the national ombudsman and the election commission), the special services are taping opposition politicians and journalists and publishing the tapes selectively in the media, the government is harassing civil society.Georgia has officially taken the position that it will stay out of the war and accuses the USA of trying to draw Georgia into the war against Russia.Rapid deterioration of relations with the European Union began, culminating in the withdrawal from the so-called Michel’s agreement. The government also began to condemn openly, aggressively and offensively the restrained criticism of Georgia by both Europe and the USA. When the European Union announced after July 2021 that Georgia would no longer qualify for a loan meant for judicial reform, the Prime Minister of Georgia said that Georgia would refuse the loan and was not interested in criticism from Europeans. “But who exactly is the European Union?” asked the Minister of Defence of Georgia when a journalist interviewed him about the EU’s criticism towards the government of Georgia in September 2021. In the summer of 2021, it was found that the Georgian secret services had secretly also recorded the phone calls of Western diplomats. The representative of the Georgian government called the outrage expressed over this “overstepping the boundaries of the Vienna Convention”.The future will be decided in UkraineAfter 24 February 2022, the situation has changed for the worse. Georgia has officially taken the position that it will stay out of the war and accuses the USA of trying to draw Georgia into the war against Russia. There is a nearly constant public and hostile exchange of words between the US ambassador and the representatives of government and parliamentarians of Georgia.On the other hand, at the beginning of the war, Russia lifted several sanctions on Georgian agricultural products. Business between Russia and Georgia is thriving: Georgian goods are flowing to Russia and Georgian ports service Russian goods. According to Transparency International, more than 6000 companies with Russian owners have been registered in Georgia since the beginning of the war in Ukraine. Recently, a group of Ukrainian parliamentarians accused Georgia of helping Russia evade sanctions. In June, an adviser to Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelenskyy made a proposal to the US Congress to impose sanctions on Ivanishvili for violating the policy of sanctions against Russia.With such a policy, the government of Georgia has probably lost quite a lot of its already low support among the Georgian voters. Public support for Ukraine is general among Georgians, and the biggest demonstrations held this year have been against the war.The European Union took its first bold step in June, when the Summit decided to grant the status of candidate country to Ukraine and Moldova, but not to Georgia. The government’s criticism of Europe in reaction to this decision most probably did not convince the Georgians. An absolute majority of the Georgian people still support the accession to both the EU and NATO.

Russia’s war on Ukraine has pushed the climate crisis off the agenda. But we need a ceasefire and global demilitarisation for a 1.5°C world War brings death and destruction – not least to the environment and climate. Russia’s invasion of Ukraine offers a depressing reminder of that fact, and further increases the military sector’s already enormous global CO2 footprint. In addition, the eastern Ukrainian cities where fighting is taking place are home to fossil fuel infrastructure such as chemical factories, oil refineries, and coal mines, the bombing of which produces a cocktail of toxic substances that has devastating environmental impacts. Efforts to arm the two sides, moreover, are consuming materials and resources that could otherwise go towards tackling the climate crisis. Based on the global C02budget, humanity has less than eight years to ensure it still hits its 1.5-degree warming target. To do so, we need to urgently implement reforms in all areas, to bring about ‘systemic change’, as the IPCC report from early April puts it. The military sector barely gets a mention in this almost 3,000-page document, however, with the word ‘military’ coming up just six times. You might thus conclude that the sector is of little relevance to the climate emergency. The reality is rather different. Using military hardware results in huge quantities of emissions. In the war in Ukraine, 36 Russian attacks on fossil fuel infrastructure were recorded in the first five weeks alone, leading to prolonged fires that released soot particulates, methane and C02 into the atmosphere, while oil infrastructure has been ablaze on the Russian side too. The oil fields that were set on fire in 1991 during the second Gulf War contributed two per cent of global emissions for that year. While greenhouse gas emissions are one of the most significant impacts of war, the quantity emitted depends on the duration of the conflict and on what tanks, trucks, and planes are used. Another is the contamination of ecosystems that sequester CO2. Staff from Ukraine’s environment inspectorate are currently collecting water and soil samples in the areas around shelled industrial facilities.Military emissionsThe ramifications for the climate can be catastrophic in scale. According to a study by the organisation Oil Change International, the Iraq War was responsible for 141 million tonnes of C02equivalent emissions between its outbreak in 2003 and the report’s publication in 2008. By way of comparison: some 21 EU member states emitted less CO2equivalent in 2019, with only six states topping that figure. Post-war rebuilding also produces significant emissions. Estimates suggest that reconstruction in Syria will lead to 22 million tonnes of CO2 emissions. The rebuilding in Ukraine, too, will consume vast amounts of resources. At the World Economic Forum in Davos, President Volodymyr Zelensky stated that at least 5 billion US dollars of reconstruction funding was needed per month. Every effort should thus be made to achieve an immediate ceasefire – both for the sake of the climate and to avoid further human suffering. Emissions from armed forces and military equipment cause considerable environmental harm around the globe. And yet, bowing to pressure from the US, military CO2 emissions were excluded from climate treaties such as the Kyoto Protocol of 1997 and the Paris Agreement of 2015. As a result, they do not form part of their binding agreements and are neither surveyed systematically nor published transparently. The consequent lack of data means we can only make vague estimates as to the military sector’s impact on global heating. According to a study by Neta Crawford, co-director of the Costs of War project at Brown University, the US defence ministry alone is a bigger contributor to the climate crisis than individual countries such as Sweden or Portugal. This makes it the largest institutional source of greenhouse gases in the world. Globally, the military sector is estimated to generate around six per cent of all CO2emissions.Germany’s roleWith its new €100bn fund for the military, Germany seems willing to countenance further far-reaching climate impacts. This military investment will tie up financial and intellectual resources, making it highly unlikely that the 1.5-degree target can be achieved. That countries wish to better protect themselves against potential Russian aggression is understandable. But the public debate around this issue needs to balance an uncertain increase in security against a reduction in our ability to fight climate change. The German military was already responsible for around 4.5 million tonnes of CO2 equivalent emissions in 2019, significantly more than the 2.5 million tonnes contributed by civilian aviation within Germany. This is now set to increase. Just one of the F-35 jets ordered from Lockheed Martin emits around 28 tonnes of CO2 equivalent per tank of fuel. For comparison: the average annual emissions footprint in Germany is 11.2 tonnes per head. The income from the sale of fossil fuels provides ongoing funding for Russia’s war of aggression. From 24 February to 24 April 2022, the country’s fossil fuel exports via sea routes and pipelines had an estimated value of €58bn. The EU accounts for 70 per cent of that total, or €39bn, while Germany is the largest single importer of Russian fossil fuels at €8.3bn worth. Our fossil fuel dependency is thus a factor in both the climate crisis and the invasion of Ukraine. And yet representatives of politics and business are using the war as an excuse to delay the necessary socio-ecological transformation. While corporations still stuck in the fossil fuel age – such as BP, Shell, and Saudi-Aramco – are posting record profits, the climate crisis continues apace. The likes of Rheinmetall and NATO chief Jens Stoltenberg may champion climate-neutral warfare using eco-friendly tanks and hydrogen fuel, but this is surely not the answer. Western armed forces, security experts, and arms manufacturers are well aware of the significane of climate change, as evidenced by the numerous security strategies, policy statements, and sustainability reports published on the subject in recent years. These outline ways to adapt to a changing climate while ensuring the doctrines of growth and hegemony are nonetheless defended against any and all resistance.Ceasefire nowTogether with the EU and NATO, Germany is preparing for scenarios such as war, environmental disaster, and influxes of refugees in order to ensure its foreign policy will still be fit for purpose and its security interests protected. A cynical approach given that the worst affected – those who, as some see it, Germany needs protecting from – will be those who have contributed least to global warming. And one that seems even more absurd when you consider that the environmental destruction brought about by military investment and resource-related conflicts will help to further heat the climate. At the same time, steps are being taken to reduce dependence on fossil fuels. Nonetheless, a Greenpeace report published last year demonstrates that the majority of all EU military missions have links to the protection of oil and gas imports. This dangerous relationship between fossil fuels, military missions, and war needs to end. More arms mean more damage to the climate, not greater security. Rising defence budgets among NATO states will simply convince Russia and China to increase military investment in turn. At $2.1 trillion, global arms spending has already reached record levels. As the war in Ukraine goes on, the biggest challenge of the 21st century – the climate crisis – has slipped down the agenda. We mustn’t forget, though, that efforts to tackle that crisis can only succeed if all countries – including Russia – work together. The immediate demand is for a ceasefire, followed by measures to build trust, such as international disarmament treaties. Moreover, Russia will need outside help if it is to transition to a climate-friendly energy industry. What’s required is a fundamental socio-ecological transformation, with policy-making dictated by the needs of all. That may seem inconceivable at present, but what’s the alternative? Unchecked global warming would be catastrophic for the planet’s entire population.

With China’s rise and Russia’s war, the unipolar moment after the triumph of the West in the Cold War is over. Five scenarios for a new world order. With the invasion of Ukraine, Russia effectively destroyed the European peace order. Now, Europe needs to find ways to contain its aggressive neighbour, while its traditional protector, the United States, continues its shift of focus to the Indo-Pacific. This task, however, becomes impossible when China and Russia are driven into each other’s arms because, if anything, the key to end the war in Ukraine lies in Beijing. China hesitates to be dragged into this European war as bigger questions are at stake for the emerging superpower: Will the silk road be wrecked by a new iron curtain? Shall it stick to its ‘limitless alliance’ with Russia? And what about the territorial integrity of sovereign states? In short: for China, it is about the world order. The unipolar moment after the triumph of the West in the Cold War is over. The war in Ukraine clearly marks the end of the Pax Americana. Russia and China openly challenge American hegemony. Russia may have proven to be a giant with clay feet, and has inadvertently strengthened the unity of the West. But the shift of the global balance of power to East Asia is far from over. In China, the United States has encountered a worthy rival for global predominance. But Moscow, Delhi, and Brussels also aspire to become power hubs in the coming multipolar order. So, we are witnessing the end of the end of history. What comes next? To better understand how world orders emerge and erode, a quick look at history can be helpful.What is on the menu?Over the course of the long 19th century, a great power concert has provided stability in a multipolar world. Given the nascent state of international law and multilateral institutions, congresses were needed to carefully calibrate the balance between different spheres of interest. The relative peace within Europe, of course, was dearly bought by the aggressive outward expansion of its colonial powers. This order was shattered at the beginning of the World War I. What followed were three decades of disorder rocked by wars and revolutions. Not unlike today, the conflicting interests of great powers collided without any buffer, while the morbid domestic institutions could not mitigate the devastating social cost of the Great Transformation.    With the founding of the United Nations and the Universal Declaration of Human Rights, the foundations of a liberal order were laid after the end of World War II. However, with the onset of the Cold War, this experiment quickly ran into a quagmire. Pinched between two antagonistic blocs, the United Nations was in a deadlock for decades. From the Hungarian Revolution over the Prague Spring to the Cuban missile crisis, peace between the nuclear powers was maintained through the recognition of exclusive zones of influence. After the triumph of the West in the Cold War, American hyperpower quickly declared a new order for a now unipolar world. In this liberal world order, rule-breaking was sanctioned by the world’s policeman. Proponents of the liberal world order pointed to the rapid diffusion of democracy and human rights around the globe. Critics see imperial motifs at work behind the humanitarian interventions. But even progressives place great hopes in the expansion of international law and multilateral cooperation. Now that the West is mired in crises, global cooperation is again paralysed by systemic rivalry. From the war in Georgia over the annexation of Crimea to the crackdown in Hong Kong, the recognition of exclusive zones of influence is back in the toolbox of international politics. After a short heyday, the liberal elements of the world order are jammed again. China has begun to lay the foundations of an illiberal multilateral architecture.How will great power competition play out?In the coming decade, the rivalries between great powers are likely to continue with undiminished vigour. The ultimate prize of this great power competition is a new world order. Five different scenarios are conceivable.  First, the liberal world order could survive the end of the unipolar American moment. Second, a series of wars and revolutions can lead to the total collapse of order. Third, a great power concert could bring relative stability in a multipolar world but fail to tackle the great challenges facing humanity. Fourth, a new cold war may partly block the rule-based multilateral system, but still allow for limited cooperation in questions of common interest. And finally, an illiberal order with Chinese characteristics. Which scenario seems the most probable? Many believe that democracy and human rights need to be promoted more assertively. However, after the fall of Kabul, even liberal centrists like Joe Biden und Emmanuel Macron have declared the era of humanitarian interventions to be over. Should another isolationist nationalist like Trump or others of his ilk come to power in Washington, London, or Paris, the defence of the liberal world order would once and for all be off the agenda. Berlin is in danger of running out of allies for its new value-based foreign policy. In all Western capitals, there are broad majorities across the ideological spectrum that seek to up the ante in the systemic rivalry with China and Russia. The global reaction to the Russian invasion shows, however, that the rest of the world has very little appetite for a new bloc confrontation between democracies and autocracies. The support for Russia’s attack on the sovereignty and territorial integrity of Ukraine – values especially smaller countries unwaveringly adhere to – should not be read as sympathy for a Russian or Chinese-led order, but as deep frustration over the US empire. Seen from the Global South, the not-so-liberal world order was merely a pretext for military interventions, structural adjustment programmes, and moral grandstanding. Now, the West comes to realise that in order to prevail geopolitically, it needs the cooperation of undemocratic powers from Turkey to the Gulf monarchies, from Singapore to Vietnam. The high-minded rhetoric of the systemic rivalry between democracies against autocracies is prone to alienate these much-needed potential allies. But if even the West were to give up on universalism of democracy and human rights, what would be left of the liberal world order? Are the great power rivalries that play out in the background of the war in Ukraine, the coups in Western Africa and the protests in Hong Kong only the beginning of a new period of wars, coups, and revolutions?  The ancient Greek philosopher Thucydides already knew that the competition between rising and declining great powers can beget great wars. So, are we entering a new period of disorder? Not only in Moscow and Beijing, but also in Washington, there are thinkers that seek to mitigate these destructive dynamics of the multipolar world through a new concert of great powers. The coordination of great power interests in fora from the G7 to the G20 could be the starting point for this new form of club governance. The recognition of exclusive zones of influence can help to mitigate conflict. However, there is reason for concern that democracy and human rights will be the first victims of such high-powered horse-trading. This form of minimal cooperation may also be inadequate to tackle the many challenges humankind is facing from climate change over pandemics to mass migration. The European Union, an entity based on the rule of law and the permanent harmonisation of interests, may have a particularly hard time to thrive in such a dog-eat-dog world. Not only in Moscow, some fantasise about a revival of imperialism that negates the right to self-determination of smaller nations. This dystopian mix of technologically supercharged surveillance state on the inside and never ending proxy wars on the outside is eerily reminiscent of George Orwell’s 1984. One can only hope that this illiberal neo-imperialism is shattered in the war in Ukraine. The Russian recognition of separatist provinces of a sovereign state have rung the alarm bells in Beijing. After all, what if Taiwan follows this model and declares its independence? At least rhetorically, Beijing has returned to its traditional line of supporting national sovereignty and condemning colonialist meddling in internal affairs. There are debates in Beijing whether China should really side with a weakened pariah state and retreat behind a new iron curtain, or would benefit more from an open and rules-based global order. So, what is this ‘Chinese Multilateralism’ promoted by the latter school of thought? On the one hand, a commitment to international law and cooperation to tackle the great challenges facing humankind, from climate change over securing trade routes to peacekeeping. However, China is only willing to accept any framework for cooperation if it is on equal footing with the United States. This is why Beijing takes the United Nations Security Council seriously, but tries to replace the World Bank and the International Monetary Fund with its own institutions such as the Asian Infrastructure Investment Bank. If Chinese calls for equal footing are rejected, Beijing can still form its own geopolitical bloc with allies across Eurasia, Africa, and Latin America. In such an illiberal order, there would still be rule-based cooperation, but no longer any institutional incentives for democracy and human rights.Hard choices: what should we strive for?Alas, with a view of containing an aggressive Russia, a rapprochement with China may have its merits. For many in the West, this would require an about-face. After all, the recently fired German admiral Schönbach was not the only one who wanted to enlist Russia as an ally for a new cold war with China. Even if Americans and Chinese would bury the hatchet, a post-liberal world order would pose a predicament for Western societies. Is the price for peace really the right to self-determination of peoples? Is cooperation to tackle the great challenges facing humankind contingent on the rebuttal of the universality of human rights? Or is there still a responsibility to protect, even when the atrocities are committed in the exclusive zone of influence of a great power rival? These questions go right to the West’s normative foundation. Which order will prevail in the end will be determined by fierce great power competition. However, who is willing to rally around the banner of each different model differs significantly. Only a narrow coalition of Western states and a handful of Indo-Pacific value partners will come to the defence of democracy and human rights. If this Western-led alliance of democracies loses the power struggle against the so-called axis of autocracies, the outcome could well be an illiberal world order with Chinese characteristics. At the same time, the defence of international law, especially the inviolability of borders and the right to self-defence, are generally in the interest of democratic and authoritarian powers alike. An alliance for multilateral cooperation with the United Nations at its core finds supports across the ideological spectrum. Finally, there could be issue-based cooperation between different centres. If ideological differences are set aside, hybrid partners could cooperate, for instance, in the fight against climate change or piracy, but be fierce competitors in the race for high-tech or energy. Thus, it would not be surprising if the United States were to replace their ‘alliance of democracies’ with a more inclusive coalition platform. Politically, Germany can only survive within the framework of a united Europe. Economically, it can only prosper in open world markets. For both, a rules-based, multilateral order is indispensable. Given the intensity of today’s systemic rivalry, some may doubt its feasibility. However, it is worth remembering that even at the heyday of the Cold War, within the framework of a constrained multilateralism, cooperation based on common interests did occur. From arms control over the ban of the ozone-killer CFC to the Helsinki Accords, the balance sheet of this limited multilateralism was not too bad. In view to the challenges facing humankind, from climate change over pandemics to famines, this limited multilateralism may just be the best among bad options. For what is at stake is the securing of the very foundations of peace, freedom, unity, and prosperity in Europe. 

A famous quote from Desmond Tutu – ‘if you are neutral in situations of injustice then you are choosing the side of the oppressor’ – has been widely used and abused since Russia’s invasion of Ukraine. In numerous fora, it has been deployed to harangue countries into abandoning their neutrality and lining up behind NATO. Never mind that the oppressor to which Tutu referred was apartheid South Africa, a regime actively supported by the Atlantic military alliance. In both Russia and the West, the current moment is characterized by a constantly replenished amnesia. Last month, Finland and Sweden opted to repeal their longstanding neutrality policies. Both countries submitted applications to join NATO, in a move that was rightly described as historic. Finland has been neutral since it was defeated by the Soviet Union during World War II – signing a Treaty of Friendship, Cooperation and Mutual Assistance with the Soviets in 1948. Sweden, meanwhile, fought numerous wars with Russia between the sixteenth and eighteenth centuries but managed to stay out of any further conflict after 1814. Joining NATO discards a centuries-old tradition that has come to define the country’s national identity. Press coverage of the push for NATO membership has been euphoric. While Sweden has witnessed a limited but still lively debate, in Finland there has been little space for public dissent. Earlier last month, the cover of Finland’s most-read newspaper, Helsingin Sanomat, featured an illustration of two blue-and-white figures (the colours of the Finnish flag) rowing a Viking longship towards an illuminated horizon where the four-pointed NATO star is seen rising like the sun. The wooden ship is depicted leaving behind a dark, hulking structure decorated with a red star. The symbolism couldn’t be clearer. Or perhaps it could. Several weeks ago, the online version of Sweden’s Dagens Nyheter featured pop-up animation of the NATO emblem morphing into a peace sign.Questioning a unanimous support for NATO membershipIn this media environment, it is perhaps unsurprising that support for NATO membership is high: about 60 per cent in Sweden and 75 per cent in Finland. But a closer look at the demographics reveals some cracks in the pro-NATO narrative. For the Atlanticist press, ‘the NATO question’ represents a generational shift, with young people supposedly eager to join against the wishes of their parents, who, we are told, are hopelessly wedded to an outmoded position of Cold War non-alignment. ‘Having been firmly opposed to any NATO move only weeks ago’, wrote former Swedish Prime Minister turned liberal thinktank groupie Carl Bildt, the political class ‘will now face a contest between an older generation and younger ones looking at the world with fresh eyes.’ In reality, though, the opposite is true: the demographic most opposed to NATO membership in Sweden is young men, aged 18-29. And little wonder. They are the segment of the population that would be called upon to join any future military excursion. Contrary to the assumption that Russian aggression has shocked Swedes into unanimous support for the alliance, opposition appears to be on the rise. On 23 March, 44 per cent of young people surveyed were for NATO and 21 per cent against. In the middle of May, 43 per cent of them were for NATO and 32 per cent against: a double-digit leap. Support for membership rises with each age bracket, with the elderly most staunchly in favour. The latest polls from Finland tell a similar story. Polling by Helsingin Sanomat describes the typical NATO supporter as educated, middle-aged or older, male, working in a management-level position, earning at least €85,000 a year and politically on the right, while the typical NATO-sceptic is under the age of 30, a worker or a student, earning less than €20,000 a year and politically on the left.Valuing business leader over the general publicSome of the most ardent supporters of NATO membership can be found among Sweden and Finland’s business leaders. In April, Finnish President Sauli Niinistö hosted a ‘secret NATO meeting’ in Helsinki. Among those in attendance were Swedish Minister of Finance Mikael Damberg, top-ranking military officials and powerful figures in the Swedish and Finnish business communities. Chief among them was the billionaire Swedish industrialist Jacob Wallenberg, whose family holdings add up to one third of the Stockholm Stock Exchange. Wallenberg has been NATO’s most enthusiastic cheerleader among Swedish executives. He is a regular participant in the Bilderberg Meeting, an elite group dedicated to spreading the gospel of Atlanticism and free markets. In the weeks leading up to Sweden’s decision to apply for NATO membership, the Financial Times predicted that the Wallenberg dynasty’s stance on Swedish accession would ‘weigh heavily’ on the ruling Social Democrats, over whom he is thought to hold considerable sway. At the Helsinki summit, Swedish government officials were warned that their country would become less attractive for foreign capital if it remained ‘the only state in Northern Europe outside of NATO’. This, along with significant cajoling from Finland, was one of the decisive factors that led Minister of Defence Peter Hultqvist to change tack and swing behind the alliance. Sweden’s Expressen reported that the meeting suggested the business community holds far greater power over foreign policy decisions than previously thought. It’s not hard to see why business are so invested. Swedish defence industry giant Saab is expecting major profits from NATO membership. The company, whose majority shareholder is the Wallenberg family, has seen its share price nearly double since the Russian invasion. Chief Executive Micael Johansson has said that Sweden’s NATO membership will open new possibilities for Saab in the areas of missile defence and surveillance. The company is expecting dramatic gains as European countries raise their defence spending, and first quarter reports reveal that operating profits have already risen 10 per cent over last year, to $32 million. The considerable influence of business leaders on the NATO question contrasts with that of the general public. Though Sweden has held referenda on every major decision in recent history – EU membership, the adoption of the euro – it will not consult its citizens on NATO. The most prominent politician to call for a vote is Left Party leader Nooshi Dadgostar, but her requests have been flatly rejected. The government, fearing that NATO membership could be voted down once wartime hysteria wears off, has instead taken a ‘shock doctrine’ approach, ramming the policy through while Ukraine is still in the headlines and the public is afraid. They have also said that a referendum would require extensive organization and could not be held for some months. This means the issue of NATO membership would feature in the September election campaign: a scenario the Social Democrats are determined to avoid. In Finland, however, there is little mainstream opposition to NATO. The issue has been tinged by nationalist sentiment, and opponents of membership are accused of not caring about their country’s security. Parliament voted overwhelmingly in favour of membership last month, with 188 for and only eight against. Of those eight, one was from the right-populist Finns Party, another was a former member of the same outfit, and the remaining six were from the Left Alliance. The other ten Left Alliance MPs, though, voted in favour. One of the party’s representatives went so far as to propose new legislation that would criminalize attempts to influence public opinion on behalf of a foreign power: a precedent that could in theory leave NATO-critics exposed to prosecution.Kurdish activists or NATO membership?Recep Tayyip Erdoğan has slowed some of this break-neck momentum. Calling Finland and Sweden ‘incubators’ for Kurdish terror, the Turkish president has vowed to block the two Nordic countries’ accession to NATO until they meet his demands. (The alliance requires unanimous approval from all member states for a new country to join). Erdoğan has blasted Finland and Sweden over their refusal to extradite 33 members of the PKK and Gülenist movement, blaming the latter for a bloody coup attempt in 2016. He has also demanded that Sweden lift an arms embargo that it imposed in response to Turkey’s incursions in Syria in 2019. Kurdish issues have recently had an outsize presence in Swedish politics. When the Social Democrats lost their parliamentary majority last year, Prime Minister Magdalena Andersson was forced to negotiate directly with a Kurdish MP and ex-peshmerga fighter named Amineh Kakabaveh, whose vote would decide the fortunes of the government. In exchange for keeping it afloat, Kakabaveh demanded that Sweden lend its support to the YPG in Syria, and the Social Democrats acceded. Now, as of last month, Kakabaveh has chided Andersson for ‘giving in’ to Erdoğan and threatened to withdraw her support for the government. The Social Democrats may have avoided making the autumn elections an unofficial referendum on NATO membership, but their government remains extremely weak, and will face intense scrutiny in the months ahead. Many fear that it will strike a private deal with Erdoğan to sacrifice Kurdish activists and Turkish dissidents if he agrees to wave through its NATO bid. Meanwhile, Croatia’s increasingly audacious president, Zoran Milanović, has erected another, smaller obstacle: promising to block Sweden and Finland’s membership unless Bosnia and Herzegovina’s election law is changed so that Bosnian Croats are better represented.Abolishing socialist institutions for a US-led power blockThe media, both foreign and domestic, have frequently described Finland and Sweden’s accession as ‘joining the West’ – picking a side in the Huntington-esque civilizational struggle. This rhetoric is nothing new. Shortly before Montenegro joined the alliance in 2017, the country’s long-reigning premier Milo Đukanović said that the division was not ‘for NATO or against NATO’, it was ‘civilizational and cultural’. Yet it is especially odd, and revealing, to encounter this same auto-orientalism in Scandinavia. One right-wing commentator recently wrote that by joining NATO, Sweden was at last becoming a ‘normal Western country’. He then paused to consider whether the government would soon abolish the Systembolaget, or state liquor monopoly. Here we get a sense of what ‘joining the West’ really means: binding oneself to a US-led power bloc and simultaneously doing away with any nominally socialist institutions – a process that has already been underway for decades. The abandonment of principled neutrality as a moral option follows the changing meaning of internationalism, especially for the left in the Nordic countries. During the Cold War, the Swedish Social Democrats expressed the principle of international solidarity through their support for national liberation movements in the so-called Global South. No figure better embodied this spirit than Olof Palme, who posed for photos smoking cigars with Fidel Castro and famously excoriated the US aerial bombardment of Hanoi and Haiphong, comparing it to ‘Guernica, Oradour, Babi Yar, Katyn, Lidice, Sharpeville [and] Treblinka’. During the breakup of Yugoslavia in the 1990s, however, such ‘active internationalism’ was reconceptualized as ‘responsibility to protect’ certain non-Western victims of aggression. By the same logic, states are now expected to band together in an ‘alliance of democracies’ to confront tyranny and terrorism – through regime change where necessary. But the decision to join NATO does not just rely on a hollowed-out discourse of solidarity; it is also presented as a vital act of self-interest – a defensive response to the ‘Russian threat’. In Sweden’s case, we are asked to believe that the country is currently facing greater security risks than during both World Wars, and that the only way to address them is to enter a beefed-up military alliance. Although Russia is supposedly struggling to make headway against a much weaker opponent in Ukraine – unable to hold the capital, hemorrhaging troops and supplies – we are told that it poses an imminent threat to Stockholm and Helsinki. Amid such confected panic, genuine threats to the Nordic way of life have gone ignored: the withering away of the welfare state, the privatization and marketization of education, rising inequality and the weakening of the universal healthcare system. While rushing to align with ‘the West’, the Swedish and Finnish governments have shown considerably less urgency in tackling these social crises.