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

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

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

Abstract The Arctic has been identified by scientists as a relatively promising venue for controversial ‘solar geoengineering’ – technical schemes to reflect more sunlight to counteract global warming. Yet contemporary regional security dynamics and the relative (in)significance of climate concerns among the key Arctic states suggest a different conclusion. By systematically juxtaposing recently published schemes for Arctic geoengineering with Arctic security strategies published by the littoral Arctic states and China, we reveal and detail two conflicting security imaginaries. Geoengineering schemes scientifically securitise (and seek to maintain) the Arctic’s ‘great white shield’ to protect ‘global’ humanity against climate tipping points and invoke a past era of Arctic ‘exceptionality’ to suggest greater political feasibility for research interventions here. Meanwhile, state security imaginaries understand the contemporary Arctic as an increasingly contested region of considerable geopolitical peril and economic opportunity as temperatures rise. Alongside the entangled history of science with geopolitics in the region, this suggests that geoengineering schemes in the Arctic are unlikely to follow scientific visions, and unless co-opted into competitive, extractivist state security imaginaries, may prove entirely infeasible. Moreover, if the Arctic is the ‘best-case’ for geoengineering politics, this places a huge question mark over the feasibility of other, more global prospects. Introduction ‘The Arctic region plays a key role in the global climate system acting as a carbon sink and a virtual mirror’ (Carnegie Climate Governance Initiative (C2G), 2021: 1) – thus reads a typical introduction to the rationale for solar geoengineering (SG) in the Arctic. To most, SG – any large-scale intervention that seeks to counteract anthropogenic global warming by reflecting sunlight – is still an obscure idea. However, it is quickly gaining traction among some groups of climate scientists, entrepreneurs and even some governments as climate impacts provoke an ever-increasing sense of alarm and urgency. Debates concerning potential governance of SG routinely acknowledge its potential international governance challenges, but have tended to leave security dimensions mostly unexamined (but see Nightingale and Cairns, 2014), usually by framing the challenge primarily in terms of coordinating efforts and dealing with potentially unwanted side effects (Corry et al., forthcoming). While climate change itself is often understood as a potential security threat, it has not yet motivated exceptional or decisive state action, but rather seems to produce a series of routine practices through which ‘climate change is rendered governable as an issue of human security’ (Oels, 2012: 201). Geoengineering could potentially change this situation. The potentially high-leverage, transboundary nature of large-scale SG has led to suggestions that it would involve disagreements over the methods and intensity of interventions (Ricke et al., 2013) and could lead to international conflicts, not least from uni- or ‘mini’-lateral deployment (Lockyer and Symons, 2019). In addition, with its potential to make climatic changes and catastrophes attributable to (or able to be blamed on) the direct and intentional actions of states, SG could also make the rest of climate politics a more conflictual field (Corry, 2017b). Other scholars have examined geoengineering itself through a human security frame – recently developed as ‘ecological security’ with ecosystems as the main referent object (McDonald, 2023), where the insecurity arising from climate change is seen to go beyond the particularity of state interests. This casts geoengineering as a potential ecological security measure, or even as a potentially ‘just’ one, if it would protect groups otherwise vulnerable to climate threats (Floyd, 2023). However, the entanglement of geoengineering, even if framed as an ‘ecological security’ measure, with national and international security dynamics, would remain a distinct risk, in similar ways to how humanitarian aid and development have become entangled with, and for some historically inseparable from, security (Duffield, 2007). In this article, we seek to move beyond theoretical speculation about the International Relations of geoengineering abstracted from historical or regional security dynamics, using a case study of the Arctic to investigate how geoengineering might (not) enter this political space and to derive conclusions of broader relevance to the international debate. We make use of the empirical richness revealed by schemes for Arctic geoengineering to identify how security imaginaries – ‘map[s] of social space’ (Pretorius, 2008: 112) reflecting common understandings and expectations about security – are already implicit in scientific and technical visions of geoengineering. We contrast these scientific security imaginaries with current state security imaginaries that play a dominant role in the anticipation of Arctic futures more generally. As we will show, scientific security imaginaries consider the Arctic as a best case for geoengineering in terms of political feasibility. This allows for analytical inference based on critical case selection (Flyvbjerg, 2006): if even in the Arctic these scientific security imaginaries have little compatibility with current state security imaginaries, geoengineering faces major obstacles of political feasibility in other regions and globally, unless deployed in pursuit of security rather than global environmental protection. Many different ideas for SG have been explored as ways to cool the Arctic. These include marine cloud brightening (MCB): spraying salts from sea vessels to make marine clouds more reflective (Latham et al., 2014) or covering ocean or ice surfaces with reflective materials (Field et al., 2018). Related ideas involve using wind power to pump water onto ice to help thicken it (Desch et al., 2017), underwater ‘curtains’ to protect ice from warmer water streams (Moore et al., 2018) or reintroducing large animals to graze and trample so that dark boreal forest is replaced by reflective snow-cover, protecting permafrost (Beer et al., 2020).1 The technique of stratospheric aerosol injection (SAI) – spraying reflective aerosols like sulphur or calcite into the stratosphere – is also included as an option by some organisations working with Arctic geoengineering2 or explored in simulations or other research (Jackson et al., 2015; Lane et al., 2007; Robock et al., 2008). In practice, however, aerosols distributed in or near the Arctic would likely spread over much of the Northern hemisphere, and model studies of Arctic-targeted SAI generally conclude that is it not a desirable option due to particularly severe negative side effects outside the Arctic (Duffey et al., 2023). While geoengineering scientists seek to distance their work from geopolitical concerns (Svensson and Pasgaard, 2019), scientific research in the Arctic – even that involving cooperation between Cold War adversaries – has long been deeply entangled with state security objectives and military interests (Doel et al., 2014; Goossen, 2020). Similarly, weather modification schemes have a history of (largely failed) entanglement with military purposes (Fleming, 2010), while climate modelling evolved partly through and with military scenario-making (Edwards, 2010). Climate modelling occupies a more civilian location in multilateral institutions now but still shares its particular way of seeing the climate – as a space of geophysical flows – with a military gaze (Allan, 2017). More importantly, the interrelated environmental, economic and geopolitical interests in opening up the Arctic that are emerging with global warming make for a particular set of contradictions and tensions in the region that we argue will be much more likely than global environmental concerns to determine what role (if any) geoengineering could or would play. Arctic SG ideas are emerging largely oblivious to this context, which is understandable, but makes for an interesting comparative analysis that, as will we show, raises questions concerning the overall feasibility of SG in the Arctic, especially deployment of it in line with scientific imaginaries. Since scientific literature tends to be central to governance-oriented assessments of SG (e.g. National Academies of Sciences, Engineering, and Medicine, 2021), a mismatch between assumptions has potentially serious policy implications, not least in terms of overall feasibility, which in turn augments risks of such schemes failing and contributing to mitigation deterrence (when they were hoped or planned for, delaying emissions reductions (McLaren, 2016)). Attention to the geopolitical complexities of Arctic geoengineering could prevent scientific work being translated into policy prescriptions in unintended ways or having unexpected effects – if the complexities can be foregrounded when interpreting such work and be considered in designing future research. Approach We analyse both Arctic geoengineering schemes and state strategies for the Arctic as security imaginaries. This concept draws on Charles Taylor’s (2004) notion of the social imaginary, ‘the ways people imagine their social existence, how they fit together with others, how things go on between them and their fellows, the expectations that are normally met, and the deeper normative notions and images that underlie these expectations’ (p. 23). Imaginaries, in this sense, are worldviews – sets of assumptions that may or may not correspond to social reality but affect it in significant and material ways. They are not simply subjective constructions to be weighed against some objective reality, but (often competing) ways of constructing and institutionalising the world. Following Pretorius (2008), a security imaginary is then ‘that part of the social imaginary as “a map of social space” that is specific to society’s common understanding and expectations about security and makes practices related to security possible’ (p. 112). Regrettably, social imaginaries are often theorised through ‘internalism’: as if a society is determined by factors originating within that society alone (Rosenberg, 2016).3 This makes it difficult to explain why different societies often have similar security imaginaries. By breaking with internalism, national imaginaries can be understood as inherently international in the sense that they are deeply affected by coexistence with other societies. For Pretorius (2008), ‘the security imaginary is . . . open to influence from perceptions, beliefs and understandings of other societies about security’ due to ‘trans-societal exchanges’ such as travel (p. 112). But in a deeper way, the mere existence of multiple societies is fundamental to the whole idea of (national) security (Rosenberg, 2016). In addition, if the Arctic is considered a ‘regional security complex’ (Lanteigne, 2016) such that the security imaginary of societies in a region ‘cannot be reasonably analysed or resolved independently of each other’ (Buzan and Wæver, 2003: 44), then relations between societies become constitutive, even, of security imaginaries of that region. Scientific communities – in this case geoengineering researchers – can produce a different ‘map of social space’ from national ones, since the groups (in one version ‘epistemic communities’ (Haas, 1992)) producing these are not necessarily national, and use different tools and concepts than national security communities. At the same time, scientists are rarely unaffected by their backgrounds, and their technical and conceptual tools for producing such a ‘map’ reflect traces from state priorities and international structures, including colonial legacies (Mahony and Hulme, 2018). State and scientific security imaginaries are thus distinct but not separate, and as we shall see, they can clash or draw upon each other, often implicitly. The security imaginary concept captures three important characteristics of our empirical materials. First, geoengineering ideas and state security strategies are performative (rather than purely descriptive) in their anticipation of (Arctic) futures (Anderson, 2010). Second, they are based on understandings of social order which merge factual and normative claims – what is and what should be (Taylor, 2004). Third, they construct threats and necessary responses in terms of the security of that social order, irrespective of whether those threats are of a military nature or otherwise (e.g. a climatic threat); in other words, they can securitise a variety of referent objects (Buzan et al., 1998). In investigating scientific and state security imaginaries, we focus on the difference in the construction of two objects: climate and the international order. We ask: how is the ‘Arctic climate’ articulated and made legible in relation to the planetary climate and other factors, and further, how is the Arctic climate problematised and related to concerns of desirable or undesirable futures? What political, economic and international infrastructures are presumed? In sum, what threatens and what defends Arctic and international order? To explore the security imaginaries of Arctic geoengineering, we gathered materials that construct Arctic futures through searches in the peer-reviewed literature with the search terms ‘Arctic’ and ‘geoengineering’ using , as well as search hits on the term ‘Arctic’ in the archive of the Climate Engineering Newsletter run by the Kiel Earth Institute,4 which also covers grey literature and press coverage on the topic.5 We manually excluded texts exclusively focused on carbon removal forms of geoengineering, except those with positive effects on the surface albedo. For the state security imaginaries of the Arctic, we consulted policy documents and other official government publications looking for the most recent policy statement in each of the littoral states: Canada, the United States, Russia, Norway and Denmark (which controls the security and foreign policy of Greenland) concerning their respective Arctic security strategy.6 Public documents are often used as data in security studies as testaments to state preferences or intentions, despite the often performative character of such documents. Such documents generally attempt to portray the institutions that produce them as competent and coherent – and of value to particular external audiences. As such they are potentially unreliable as sources for underlying intentions, levels of capacity and commitment behind policy goals. However, as documents set out to perform a future which is seen as desirable – either by the authors themselves or the audiences they appeal to – they are a useful guide to the underlying assumptions of social and international order guiding Arctic security politics – the state security imaginaries, in other words. We therefore study them for their performative content, with particular emphasis on the intended audiences and messages (Coffey, 2014). Similarly, geoengineering publications also perform a material and political Arctic future to advance scientific or research agendas, and we therefore analyse the underlying imaginary of their desired futures, without prejudice to the climatological or technical feasibility of the envisioned schemes. However, as the imaginaries of many researchers typically invoke global benefits from Arctic geoengineering, in particular through preventing tipping events, it bears mentioning that recent literature questions these benefits. Research indicates that that some techniques (ice restoration in particular) would have limited impacts on the global climate (Van Wijngaarden et al., 2024; Webster and Warren, 2022; Zampieri and Goessling, 2019), and a recent comprehensive review finds only limited support for the claim that Arctic sea ice is a tipping element in the climate system (Lenton et al., 2023: 58–60, 66–68). Even so, it should not be assumed that scientific considerations alone will drive decisions to geoengineer the Arctic, and the growing interest in these ideas makes it important to examine their political imaginaries. Finally, we must acknowledge the highly consequential difference in the power to securitise between the actors which produce the imaginaries. The state apparatuses producing the state security imaginaries are more aligned with, and therefore more likely to influence, actors with the power to securitise (Floyd, 2021). We read both sets of imaginaries in this light. The ‘great white shield’: scientific security imaginaries In geoengineering studies and policy papers, the Arctic is foremost understood as a part of the global climate system (Corry, 2017a), with focus placed on potential tipping points in terms of alarming above-average warming, the sea ice albedo feedback and the potential release of methane and carbon dioxide from thawing permafrost or undersea clathrates. These may push the Earth into feedback cycles of further warming. The Arctic is therefore seen as a ‘great white shield’ for the global climate, but a fragile one: ‘the weakest link in the chain of climate protection’ (Zaelke, 2019: 241). Many of those advocating exploration of Arctic geoengineering argue that emissions cannot be reduced in time to prevent tipping points. One paper contends that cryospheric tipping points ‘are essentially too late to address by standard political processes [for climate management]’ (Moore et al., 2021: 109). This pessimistic assessment spawns a complementary opposite: hopes that geoengineering might prove especially feasible and desirable in the Arctic, with associated aspirations for near-term experimentation and potential deployment. One researcher coined the term ‘Arctic Premium’, arguing that the particular climatic characteristics of the region will enable ‘a dividend for regionally based climate interventions that could be less expensive, more effective and achieve faster results than if they were targeted over the whole earth’ (Littlemore, 2021: 2) – the Arctic imagined as an effective and relatively accessible lever for operating on the global climate system as a whole.7 While regional benefits such as the preservation of ice-dependent Indigenous ways of life are sometimes mentioned (Moore et al., 2021: 110), this tends to occur when regional benefits align with what are understood as global climatic interests. This instrumental attitude can also be seen in proposals that, echoing some of the early literature on SG (Lane et al., 2007; Robock et al., 2008), see the Arctic as a testing ground. These include ‘SCoPEx’, which would have tested SAI equipment over Indigenous Sámi land, and the suggested use of the Sermeq Kujalleq glacier in Greenland – Inuit territory – as a prototype for more substantial glacial geoengineering in the Antarctic. The Sermeq Kujalleq proposal is justified on the basis of ‘fewer global environmental impacts’, despite the considerable amount of local socio-environmental impacts and acknowledgement that ‘the reactions of local people would be mixed’ (Moore et al., 2018: 304). In a quote that sums up the assessment of most researchers Bodansky and Hunt (2020) argue that ‘as bad as Arctic melting is for the Arctic itself, its global effects are more concerning’ (p. 601). The concern with global effects infuses scientific security imaginaries with urgency. The ostensible ‘speed’ (Zaelke, 2019: 244) of SG is contrasted with the slowness of politics, emissions reductions and large-scale carbon removal.8 In many cases, such invocations of urgency lead to claims that geoengineering is necessary: that ‘excluding polar ice restoration could make the 1.5° C goal impossible to achieve’ (Field et al., 2018: 883) or that ‘more and more people see geoengineering as a necessity more than an option, making it a matter of when rather than if’ (Barclay, 2021: 4). One proposal notes that ‘these are expensive propositions, but within the means of governments to carry out on a scale comparable to the Manhattan Project’ (Desch et al., 2017: 121); others also specify funding by rich states as the way to move forward on research and deployment (Moore et al., 2021). The urgent threat of Arctic climate change is seen as a job for decisive state action, and thus, it is argued to be salient in so far as it appears as a universal threat to state interests. At the same time, the causes of climate change are downplayed and depoliticised across the literature. Attributing climate change to emissions from ‘human societies’ (Beer et al., 2020: 1), the literature frames out the vastly unequal responsibility for climate change and the social and economic dynamics driving historical and continued emissions.9 One policy paper neglects social causes of climate change altogether, contrasting geoengineering only to ‘conventional mitigation policies’ (Bodansky and Hunt, 2020: 597) and ‘decarbonisation of the global economy’ (p. 616). In this way, Arctic climate change is constructed as a global security threat, seen as stemming from the ‘tight couplings within global systems, processes, and networks’ (Miller, 2015: 278) rather than the actions of any specific group of humans, and as a threat to global ‘human security’ and therefore not subject to the division and distrust of international politics. In this, the imaginary resembles much liberal environmentalism in International Relations, characterised by a ‘global cosmopolitanism’ which does not seriously engage with inequalities of power and intersocietal difference (Chandler et al., 2018: 200). This imaginary is probably adopted to construct scenarios for technical research, since it fits neatly with modelling tools that produce visions of geoengineering in purely technical Earth system terms. But the liberal imaginary also shapes assessments of political feasibility and could impinge on the technical design of geoengineering schemes, including in ways that can be hard to unpick when the research enters the political sphere. Most publications entirely omit considerations of state security, including some papers that focus on governance (Bodansky and Hunt, 2020; Moore et al., 2021). The mentions of security that do exist are brief and vague: C2G (2021) notes that ‘evidence suggests potential security issues may arise’ (p. 2) in the case of SAI. Another paper notes as an example of ‘geo-political . . . friction’ that ‘Arctic regions such as Russia, Alaska and the Canadian Yukon would be providing a global public good . . . which would add a major new dimension to international relations’ (Macias-Fauria et al., 2020: 10), suggesting that geoengineering can be adequately grasped through rationalist decision frameworks where global public goods offer non-rival and universal benefits, which is disputed (Gardiner, 2013). In the research, the omission of geopolitics is justified by relegating it as a problem which only concerns the ostensibly more controversial techniques such as SAI deployed globally. There is a hope that ‘Arctic interventions pose less of a governance challenge than global climate interventions’ (Bodansky and Hunt, 2020: 609). This rests on the twin claim that the physical effects of Arctic interventions will be more limited and therefore less risky and that the Arctic’s political environment is more conducive to geoengineering than the ‘global’ polity as a whole. In terms of physical effects, many Arctic interventions are argued to be ‘low-risk’ (Barclay, 2021: 4) due to fewer and less severe environmental side effects. What Zaelke (2019) calls ‘soft geoengineering’ (p. 243) approaches are presented as ‘more natural’ (Littlemore, 2021: 2) than the most commonly considered SG techniques such as SAI or MCB which involve physical and chemical manipulation of the atmosphere.10 In particular, efforts to restore sea ice without atmospheric interventions are promoted highlighting the ostensibly more ‘natural’ character of their intervention (Field et al., 2018: 899). ‘Unlike other [SG] methods, thickening sea ice is attractive because it merely enhances a naturally ongoing process in the Arctic’, claims one proponent (Desch et al., 2017: 112). Efforts at ecological intervention in ecosystems to halt permafrost thaw are also described as ‘a return to a more “natural state”’ (Moore et al., 2021: 111). ‘Soft’ geoengineering concepts are in many cases linked to discourses of conservation, with the sometimes-explicit expectation that this will make them more benign and less politically controversial: ‘Since it is rooted in the preservation of the existing state rather than introducing new and undeniably controversial elements into the atmosphere, it likely presents easier governance challenges’ (Moore et al., 2021: 116). Such distinctions between ‘natural’ and ‘unnatural’ interventions may well facilitate cooperation around some methods, but notions of ‘natural’ are also situated, making distinctions inevitably difficult to maintain in practice. While aiming to preserve select parts of the Arctic environment (such as land ice, sea ice or permafrost), geoengineering interventions will likely also introduce significant changes and risks to Arctic ecosystems (Miller et al., 2020; Van Wijngaarden et al., 2024).11 In this way, ostensibly ‘natural’ Arctic interventions would lead to unprecedented anthropogenic – and for others therefore ‘unnatural’ – impacts on ecosystems in the Arctic and possibly beyond, since remote impacts are plausible but not yet well understood.12 This reveals an imaginary prevalent among proponents of Arctic geoengineering, where a distinct construction of ‘natural’ emerges to bridge aspirations of technical manipulation of the climate with what scientists see as palatable to (or believe to be) social ideals of ‘nature’. In addition, the adjectives used to describe ‘soft’ geoengineering – ‘targeted’ (Moore et al., 2021: 108), ‘localized’ (Latham et al., 2014: 3), ‘reversible’ (Barclay, 2021: 4) and ‘intelligent’ (Field et al., 2018: 900), all point to an imaginary where aspirations towards the ‘natural’ are combined with expectations of fine-grained, scientifically calibrated control. As Zaelke (2019) explicitly suggests, ‘in other words, we have control over soft geoengineering’ (p. 243) – the ‘we’ here left ambiguous. The idea of having a relatively large degree of control originates in restraint vis-a-vis ‘global’ SG, in that it recognises large risks from attempting to control the global climate system as such. But this sense of fine-grained control may also encourage more Promethean dreams of a ‘designer climate’ (Oomen, 2021), as speculation over future possibilities of ‘fine-tun[ing] the flows of heat, air and water’ using localised MCB indicates (Latham et al., 2014: 10). In terms of the Arctic’s political environment, discourse on the feasibility of geoengineering reveals further elements of a liberal imaginary, relying on (existing or imagined) international law and institutions, distributive justice and consequentialist ethics (Baiman, 2021; Barclay, 2021), a focus on cost minimisation (Desch et al., 2017; Field et al., 2018) and market-based approaches such as payments for ecological services (Moore et al., 2021) or carbon credits (Macias-Fauria et al., 2020) in the implementation of geoengineering schemes. Taken together, such measures rather well resemble a ‘liberal cosmopolitan framework through the advocacy of managerialism rather than transformation; the top-down coercive approach of international law; and use of abstract modernist political categories’ (Chandler et al., 2018: 190). Distributive notions of justice and consequentialist ethics are arguably also at the root of claims that local populations in the Arctic, including its Indigenous peoples, may be uniquely receptive to geoengineering schemes. While many advocate public engagement (Desch et al., 2017; Macias-Fauria et al., 2020) and stress that ‘Northern people who use and depend upon the existing landscape need a strong voice’ (Littlemore, 2021: 3), there is a general expectation that such engagement will not be prohibitively conflictual. One policy scholar suggested that ‘given that Northern people are already seeing the effects of climate change, the North may be a place for a more pragmatic, constructive, and legitimate deliberative discussion on Arctic interventions’ (Ted Parson, quoted in Littlemore, 2021: 5). Other researchers have concluded that using SAI would conserve ‘indigenous habits and lifestyles’ in the Arctic (Chen et al., 2020: 1) as a direct consequence of reducing permafrost thaw. These assumptions were strained by the SCoPEx controversy, where the Sámi Council strongly opposed the experiment planned in their territory (Cooper, 2023). Equally, Arctic populations (Indigenous and non-Indigenous) have varied interests that cannot be assumed to be oriented to preventing or reversing Arctic climatic change, some seeing new opportunities for economic development and potentially political independence in the case of Greenland (Jacobsen, 2020). Political feasibility of geoengineering plans is often assessed through legal analyses that weigh up specific techniques and target environments in relation to existing treaties and other legal regimes (Barclay, 2021; Bodansky and Hunt, 2020). Some place hope in techniques such as permafrost/glacier preservation that may be deployed within the bounds of a single nation’s territory, which would, in their view, sidestep the need for international governance altogether: ‘for example, Russian and Canadian policies could change the carbon released from thawing permafrost. Similarly, Greenland’s ice sheet would be the primary responsibility of the Greenlanders’ (Moore et al., 2021: 109). While such techniques might be localised in effect, and only intended to slow climate feedback effects such as the rate of ice loss, inclusion of such measures in market credit schemes, as attempted by the Real Ice project,13 could prove controversial and under some conditions undermine any SG-based climate effect (Fearnehough et al., 2020: Chapter 3). For cross-border geoengineering schemes, the Arctic Council14 is in some cases highlighted as a favourable site for governance (Desch et al., 2017). One paper calls it an ‘obvious institution’ for international governance of Arctic geoengineering in general, contending that ‘because of its relatively small size, the Arctic Council has been a relatively effective forum to develop regional policies relating to the Arctic’ (Bodansky and Hunt, 2020: 610). However, in a later article, one of the authors described the Arctic Council as ‘an informal institution that lacks any regulatory powers and shows no signs of being up to the task of taking significant action’ on Arctic climate change (Bodansky and Pomerance, 2021: 2). Moore et al. (2021) similarly contend that ‘the Arctic Council is not a true international organization with rule-making power’ (p. 113). Yet Moore et al. (2021) still argue the Arctic is a politically tractable space for geoengineering due to the low number of states that would need to come to an agreement – in contrast to global SG which ‘would ideally need at least near-global consensus’ (p. 109). This reveals an important complexity in the concept of globality that permeates the geoengineering imaginaries. While the Arctic, as we showed above, is instrumentalised for a global community – operated on to mitigate climatic effects across the planet – it is also differentiated from ‘global interventions’ that take the global Earth system as their direct object of intervention (Bodansky and Hunt, 2020: 597). As Moore et al. (2021) state explicitly, ‘targeted geoengineering is done on regional scales but aims to conserve the various parts of the global climate and earth system’ (p. 109). The politically salient objects are imagined to be the methods of intervention, spatially bounded in the Arctic region while the intended global climatic effects are in effect rendered unproblematic and therefore without need for governance. Arguably this reflects a common assumption that governance is only relevant in the case of ‘adverse or unintended effects’ (Barclay, 2021: 5) – the intended effect of albedo modification implicitly understood as an unambiguous global public good. On a technical level, this assumption is questionable – since remote consequences of Arctic geoengineering are not yet well understood. But more crucially, the assumption projects exactly those liberal rationalist norms which are argued to be especially present in the Arctic on to the wider geopolitical context. The specific imaginary constructed to justify regional geoengineering interventions as politically feasible while still being part of a global solution to climate change cannot work without a general liberal imaginary of international politics. Otherwise, the global effects of regional interventions would threaten to undo the validity of the ‘regional feasibility’ argument. Arctic state security imaginaries The history of scientific research in the Arctic reveals the liberal security imaginaries underlying Arctic geoengineering to be a relatively recent phenomenon. Doel et al. (2014) describe the intertwinement of 20th-century Arctic research projects and three broad state goals, shared to varying degrees by all littoral states: national security, exploitation of natural resources and extension of territorial sovereignty to disputed areas. When intercontinental and submarine-launched ballistic nuclear missiles were introduced from the late 1950s, the Arctic became a ‘buffer zone’ between the Cold War powers, experiencing a continuous period with low military activity and absence of conflict that likely paved a way for increased cooperation after the Cold War, with Mikhail Gorbachev famously declaring the Arctic a ‘zone of peace’ (Gjørv and Hodgson, 2019: 2). The Arctic came to be seen as an ‘exceptional’ region in the post-Cold War period, where institutionalised multilateral cooperation on regional issues, particularly environmental and scientific activities, could blossom (Lackenbauer and Dean, 2020). In this section, we examine recent state strategies and developments in the Arctic to assess the contours of the current leading security imaginary among Arctic states. The key characteristic of Arctic exceptionalism is that geopolitical conflicts and tensions from outside the Arctic are excluded from affecting cooperation on internal Arctic issues and that, as a corollary, specifically ‘Arctic issues’ are compartmentalised: ‘Actors . . . can talk about everything except contentious issues, not least military security’ (Gjørv and Hodgson, 2019: 3, original emphasis). However, this compartmentalisation is hard to find in recent state assessments. The US emphasised in 2019 that ‘The Arctic remains vulnerable to “strategic spillover” from tensions, competition, or conflict arising in these other regions’ (United States Department of Defense (USDOD), 2019: 6). In 2020, the Danish Minister for Foreign Affairs spoke of ‘a new security-political dynamic in the region. Disagreements and conflicts originating in other areas of the world are also being expressed in the Arctic’ (Kofod, 2020: 1).15 For the four North Atlantic Treaty Organization (NATO) members in the Arctic littoral, such concerns were obviously directed at the only non-NATO state: Russia (even before the invasion of Ukraine). Denmark expressed concern over ‘the Russian build-up of military capabilities’ (Kofod, 2020: 2); Norway stated that ‘Russian build-up of forces and military modernisation can challenge the security of Norway and allied countries directly’ (Royal Ministry of Foreign Affairs (RMFA), 2020: 23) and cited the Russian annexation of Crimea as a key moment in increased tensions and deteriorating optimism regarding peaceful cooperation in the Arctic (RMFA, 2020: 10). Russia, for its part, described ‘military buildup by foreign states in the Arctic and an increase of the potential for conflict in the region’ as a ‘challenge’ (Office of the President of the Russian Federation (OPRF), 2020: 5). Among the NATO states, these assessments have for several years been accompanied by a call for deeper military cooperation. Denmark has pledged to ‘support NATO’s role in the Arctic and the North Atlantic’ (Ministry of Foreign Affairs of Denmark, 2022: 23), a change from previous strategy documents which stressed that ‘enforcement of the realm’s sovereignty is fundamentally the responsibility of the realm’s authorities’ (Ministry of Foreign Affairs of Denmark, Greenland and the Faroe Islands, 2011: 20). Canada aims to ‘increase surveillance and monitoring of the broader Arctic region’ in collaboration with the United States, Denmark and Norway (Government of Canada, 2019: 77), while Norway in 2021 negotiated a deal with the United States to allow it access to two Arctic military installations – the Ramsund Naval Base and the Evenes Airfield. Trust has only deteriorated further since Russia’s full-scale invasion of Ukraine in 2022. All Arctic Council member states except Russia announced they would suspend participation in council meetings because of the invasion, subsequently announcing a ‘limited resumption’ of projects without Russian participation (Global Affairs Canada, 2022). The recent US Arctic strategy describes ‘increasing strategic competition in the Arctic . . . exacerbated by Russia’s unprovoked war in Ukraine’ (The White House, 2022: 3) and claimed that ‘Russia’s war of aggression against Ukraine has rendered government-to-government cooperation with Russia in the Arctic virtually impossible at present’ (The White House, 2022: 14). Russia interprets Arctic politics on similar terms; the Arctic ambassador has stated that the Finnish and Swedish bids to join NATO ‘will of course lead to certain adjustments in the development of high altitude [sic] cooperation’ (quoted in Staalesen, 2022). This dynamic of de-exceptionalisation, where the Arctic is increasingly reintegrated into great power politics, is the contemporary context in which the littoral states interpret the region’s present and future climatic changes. The state goals associated with early and mid-20th century Arctic science are reappearing as a background for envisioning the impact of climate change. Of the three goals identified by Doel et al. (2014), assertion over disputed territories is arguably of lesser importance today. All states have indicated a willingness to settle territorial continental shelf disputes via international law, and such statements are generally accepted by commentators as genuine (Østhagen, 2018). But the goals of military national security and extraction of natural resources are growing in salience, and changing in character, as the ice melts and the permafrost thaws. In contrast to the geoengineering literature, climate change is rarely addressed as a primary threat in state policies but described in more restricted terms. Adaptation problems from ‘sea-ice loss, permafrost thaw and land erosion’ (Government of Canada, 2019: 63) are emphasised, and both Canada (Government of Canada, 2019: 18) and Norway (RMFA, 2020: 14) describe climate change as a cultural threat to Indigenous peoples. Nonetheless, the task of emission reductions does not figure as a specifically Arctic objective (e.g. RMFA, 2020: 14). In this way, climate change figures less as a problem that must urgently be dealt with and more as an unavoidable condition of Arctic politics. In the context of military security objectives, climate change is understood primarily as a driver of increased navigability and accessibility of the Arctic. The US Navy anticipates an increasingly ice-free ‘blue Arctic’, where ‘peace and prosperity will be increasingly challenged by Russia and China, whose interests and values differ dramatically from ours’ (United States Department of the Navy, 2021: 2). Cold War-era interpretations of the Arctic’s geographical significance are being reinvigorated: Canada stresses the importance of maintaining air and missile capabilities in its Arctic region due to its location along the shortest path from Russian to US territory (Government of Canada, 2019: 77). And as the region becomes more accessible, it rises in strategic importance. The US Department of Defense presents the Arctic as ‘a potential corridor – between the Indo-Pacific and Europe, and the U.S. homeland – for expanded strategic competitions’ (USDOD, 2019: 6) and stresses that ‘maintaining freedoms of navigation and overflight are critical to ensuring that . . . U.S. forces retain the global mobility guaranteed under international law’ (USDOD, 2019: 13). The increased accessibility of the Arctic also brings new hopes of further use of the region’s natural resources as a vehicle for economic growth (Keil, 2014). Such goals have become intertwined with development discourses and policies that focus on lack of modern infrastructure, low employment and population decline and, in this way, align the economic objectives of faraway capitals with local concerns. Canada aims to ‘close the gaps and divides that exist between this region, particularly in relation to its Indigenous peoples, and the rest of the country’ (Government of Canada, 2019: 36) and presents these gaps in a consumerist national imaginary where being ‘full participants in Canadian society’ means having ‘access to the same services, opportunities and standards of living as those enjoyed by other Canadians’ (Government of Canada, 2019: 36). The Russian government frames its Arctic policy goals in terms of avoiding a dystopia of a depopulated region lacking economic growth, and such fears are directly presented in security terms: ‘population decline’ and ‘insufficient development’ of infrastructure and business are named ‘primary threats to national security’ (OPRF, 2020: 4–5). In Norway, Northern depopulation is presented as a key concern to be addressed through investment in public education and business infrastructure (RMFA, 2020: 11). The emphasis in such ‘development’ is on natural resources such as fossil fuels and rare earth minerals, trans-Arctic shipping routes and tourism. Russia is particularly clear in its focus on fossil fuels; ‘increasing oil and gas extraction rates, advancing oil refining, and producing liquefied natural gas and gas-chemical products’ are considered ‘primary objectives for the economic development of the Arctic zone’ (OPRF, 2020: 7). The development of the Northern Sea Route as a ‘competitive national transportation passage in the world market’ is named a ‘primary’ Russian national interest (OPRF, 2020: 4). Other states also emphasise ‘new economic opportunities, for example in the form of new maritime routes and extraction of natural resources’ (Kofod, 2020: 1). In some states, the role of fossil fuels in extractive ambitions is arguably receding. In its previous Arctic strategy, the US anticipated the Arctic’s role in ‘future United States energy security’ through its ‘proved and potential oil and gas natural resources that will likely continue to provide valuable supplies to meet U.S. energy needs’ (The White House, 2013: 7). Now, ‘the Arctic’s significant deposits of in-demand minerals essential to key technology supply chains’ (The White House, 2022: 6) have ostensibly replaced fossil fuels as the main extractive interest. Yet such shifts leave intact visions of major extractive operations dependent on (or facilitated by) a warming Arctic. More generally, there is an assumption of compatibility between interests in extractivism and economic growth and climate and environmental policies. Imagined futures contain ‘safe and environmentally-responsible shipping’ (Government of Canada, 2019: 49), ‘the sustainable use of natural resources’ (OPRF, 2020: 9) and ‘sustainable tourism’ (Ministry of Foreign Affairs of Denmark, Greenland and the Faroe Islands, 2011: 24). Technological innovation is, unsurprisingly, anticipated as the main way to realise the sustainability of these activities. In contrast to this assumed compatibility with environmental objectives, the economic opportunities are portrayed as in need of protection against interests from other states. The US expresses commitment to protect ‘freedom of navigation’ in the Arctic against perceived Russian threats, alleging that Russia ‘is attempting to constrain freedom of navigation through its excessive maritime claims along the Northern Sea Route’ (The White House, 2022: 6). As described above, this interest in freedom of navigation is partly military, but also acts to protect an economic order. The US argues for ‘a shared interest in a peaceful and stable region that allows the Arctic nations to realise the potential benefits of greater access to the region’s resources’ (USDOD, 2019: 4), underpinned by US military power. Russia, for its part, has named ‘actions by foreign states and (or) international organizations to obstruct the Russian Federation’s legitimate economic or other activities in the Arctic’ a ‘primary challenge to national security’ (OPRF, 2020: 5). Here, China is also constructed by Western states as an economic security threat. While under the President Biden, the US threat perception in the Arctic appears to have shifted to an almost exclusive focus on Russia (The White House, 2022); the prior Trump administration indicated strong concerns that ‘China is attempting to gain a role in the Arctic in ways that may undermine international rules and norms, and there is a risk that its predatory economic behavior globally may be repeated in the Arctic’ (USDOD, 2019: 6), a sentiment shared by Denmark and Norway (Ministry of Foreign Affairs of Denmark, 2022: 23; RMFA, 2020: 11). China is certainly explicit about its ambitions in the Arctic, which it portrays as an increasingly ‘global’ space. It argues that due to the changing environment and increased accessibility, ‘the Arctic situation now goes beyond its original inter-Arctic States or regional nature’, and the stress on ‘global implications’ is used to justify China’s identification as a ‘Near-Arctic State’ and ‘important stakeholder in Arctic affairs’ (english.gov.cn, 2018). Yet contrary to the impression given by Western states, Chinese material and institutional visions for the future are strikingly similar to those of the littoral states: development of shipping routes, materials extraction and tourism under promises of sustainable development and governed by international law (english.gov.cn, 2018). Hence, the mistrust expressed by other states does not concern explicit differences in visions of Arctic futures. Rather, the imaginary of economic development is securitised along the lines of geopolitical blocs, with economic cooperation across these blocs rendered problematic. Implications for the security politics of solar geoengineering Our analysis has revealed stark differences between scientific security imaginaries in the geoengineering literature and the security imaginaries of Arctic states. First, climate change is constructed as a concern in different ways. In the scientific imaginaries, climate change, and especially the prospect of Arctic tipping points, are front and centre. The Arctic is primarily interpreted through its climate-restorative potential, as imagined through computational Earth system models that imagine futures of controlled Arctic climates – and by extension, controlled global climates. By contrast, state imaginaries of the Arctic are not oriented towards preventing climate change but anticipate a mixture of desirable and undesirable outcomes from rising temperatures, which are seen as an inevitable background for the region’s future. Responses to climate change – such as increased demand for rare earth minerals – are becoming issues of concern and questions of security, more so than climate change itself (cf. McLaren and Corry, 2023), which stands as an unquestioned precondition for other strategic decisions. Whether the Arctic should be a venue of increased activity is not in doubt. This stands in sharp contrast to ideas of geoengineering which presuppose that hindering accessibility in the region for economic and military purposes, for example, by restoring sea ice, would be acceptable to all states involved. Second, the scientific security imaginaries exhibit a liberal institutionalist understanding of international politics and rely on a view of the Arctic as a global commons to be leveraged for the needs of an ostensible global humanity. In this, imaginaries of Arctic geoengineering do not differ from their planet-scaled counterparts (McLaren and Corry, 2021), except perhaps in the immediacy of imagined experimentation and deployment. Yet the Arctic case contains a unique contradictory claim. Geoengineering in the Arctic is justified partly by claims that it would be more politically tractable, drawing on discourses of Arctic exceptionalism that see it as a special region where inter-state cooperation on common interests can be shielded from exterior geopolitical dynamics and conflicts. But while the envisaged methods of geoengineering are bounded in the Arctic, they still aim to achieve global climatic effects.16 Prospective geoengineers thus make two further assumptions: that effects outside the Arctic are overall benign and/or that governance is only relevant in the case of unfavourable effects. The latter relies on a liberal rationalist imaginary of world politics, where costs and benefits are readily identified and acted upon, coordinated by institutions if required, undermining the initial presumption that the Arctic can be shielded from global conflictual geopolitics. Especially with the Russian invasion of Ukraine, this idea of Arctic exceptionalism is also increasingly obsolete – the Arctic is undergoing de-exceptionalisation, as indicated by the de facto collapse of the flagship of Arctic multilateralism, the Arctic Council. Schemes that envision deployment of Arctic geoengineering as market-driven are also likely to be less immune to geopolitical obstacles than their developers imagine. Such interventions assume an international order governed by multilateral institutions including markets for carbon removals or ‘cooling credits’. But even for those states which subscribe to similar liberal aspirations, this order is subject to uncertainty, in the Arctic and elsewhere, and is consequently understood as something which must be secured. The mistrust from Western states about China’s interests in the Arctic, although ostensibly similar and compatible with Western aspirations of Arctic futures, highlights the current and increasing uncertainty over the future of such a Western-dominated liberal economic order. Taken together, these differences reveal a deep disjuncture between the security imaginaries of Arctic geoengineering and state strategies. Given the relative strength of state security actors and institutions compared to environmental ones, the political feasibility of Arctic geoengineering appears to preclude a purely environmental logic driving development and/or deployment. It raises the question of which rationales and scenarios would become subject to modification – or disappear completely – to take account of economic, geopolitical, security and other aims. In this light, it is notable that there is one point of convergence between the state and scientific security imaginaries: technological solutionism. States might conceivably adopt geoengineering to partly mitigate Arctic warming (or ice degradation) while still leaving the environment accessible enough for increased resource extraction, transcontinental shipping and tourism. However, such a scenario – a form of mitigation deterrence (McLaren, 2016) – is hardly an expression of the scientific security imaginary, which, having securitised Arctic tipping points as a threat to a global humanity, sees the protection and restoration of the Arctic climate as the overarching priority. Furthermore, far from prospective geoengineers’ expectations that envision the interventions as supported by local and Indigenous populations, this scenario would further instrumentalise the Arctic to the ends of interests outside the region, which clearly amounts to a continuation and intensification of the neo-colonialism that characterises many parts of the Arctic to this day (Greaves, 2016). As clearly indicated by Sámi-led opposition to SCoPEx and opposition to the Arctic Ice Project led by Arctic Indigenous organisations,17 many Arctic Indigenous persons consider SG incompatible with their understandings of sustainability. As a case study, the Arctic provides more general lessons for SG and security. The region has attracted the attention of geoengineering researchers in part because they understand it as a political best case, and the legacy of multilateralism and science diplomacy in the region might seem to support such an assessment. However, even in a such a best case, the underlying imaginaries of geoengineering clash directly with the political ambitions of the states which would need to support, if not implement, the geoengineering interventions. In other words, SG is unlikely to be implemented for the purposes envisioned in scientific circles, in the Arctic context or elsewhere, least of all in the kind of globally ‘optimal’ manner envisaged in computer model experiments. Should further climatological research reveal SG to be technically feasible and climatically desirable – a question not yet settled – the technology would enter the quagmire of an increasingly competitive and conflictual planetary geopolitics and would need to be integrated with state policies that, for the moment, show no signs of adopting climate change as a primary issue. Our conclusions also have implications for McDonald’s (2023) contemplation of geoengineering albeit only ‘in the service of ecological security: a concern with the resilience of ecosystems themselves’ (p. 566). While McDonald acknowledges the problem of finding political purchase for making nature itself the object of security, he does not explore in detail the particular form geoengineering would take as a security measure. Here, we have studied the work of researchers and others who, arguably, invoke ecological security through appeals to necessity or emergency with Arctic ecosystems as the referent object. Through their work to develop geoengineering from general principles into workable interventions (i.e. which technique would be used, how it would be designed, who would be deploying it and where and with what purpose), they appeal to particular understandings of international security. This demonstrates how even attempts to make nature itself the referent object of security in practice depends on understandings about human societies – here theorised as imaginaries. Importantly, these scientific security imaginaries do not appear to align with state security imaginaries. In drawing our conclusions, we do not suggest that state imaginaries alone will determine the future of Arctic geoengineering. We afford them more power relative to the scientific imaginaries, since the former are backed by considerably more institutional, material and discursive power. But imaginaries are dynamic entities subject to change in unpredictable ways. There are prior examples of scientific cooperation between nations under geopolitical strife, including in the Arctic during the Cold War (Bertelsen, 2020), and a scenario where technical cooperation on SG leads to ‘spillover effects’ inducing restorative and sustainable forms of peacebuilding has been suggested as a hypothesis to be investigated (Buck, 2022). Still, there is also a long and consistent history of science being a proxy for and entangled with geopolitics and economics in the region (Doel et al., 2014; Goossen, 2020), and our analysis of Arctic de-exceptionalisation suggests that ‘geoengineering peacebuilding’ is getting increasingly unlikely as tensions continue to rise. A different vein of uncertainty concerns the internal contradictions of state security imaginaries – between the willingness to seize new opportunities for resource extraction and shipping, and other policy goals of environmental protection and national security. How these contradictions are managed, and which aspects are ultimately prioritised, will play a key role in forming the future of the Arctic (cf. Albert and Vasilache, 2018) and in deciding the opportunities for and political desirability of geoengineering interventions. Therefore, while analysing imaginaries can only take us so far in anticipating the security implications of SG, they provide an important foundation for conceptualising the very problems at stake in this anticipation. As climate impacts intensify and the incentives for geoengineering deployment increase – whether as a technocratic ‘climate policy option’ (Irvine and Keith, 2021), as a way of defending empire (Surprise, 2020) or “fossil fuel-dependent ‘ways of life’” (McLaren and Corry, 2023: 1), the imaginaries outlined in this article will be increasingly likely to collide, in the Arctic and elsewhere. AcknowledgmentsThe research for this article was part of the International Security Politics and Climate Engineering (ISPACE) project hosted at the Department of Political Science, University of Copenhagen. The authors thank the three anonymous reviewers for their insightful comments and suggestions and are grateful for comments given to an initial presentation of the research idea at the International Congress of Arctic Social Sciences (ICASS X) in June 2021. N.K. thanks the Copenhagen Center for Disaster Research for hosting him while conducting the analysis for this article in 2022.FundingThe author(s) disclosed receipt of the following financial support for the research, authorship, and/or publication of this article: This research was carried out with funding from the Independent Research Fund Denmark (Danmarks Frie Forskningsfond).Footnotes1. The latter approaches may also be categorised as ‘nature-based solutions’ or adaptation. In this sense, they are hybrid measures, and we include them here because they also directly or indirectly affect the radiation balance.2. See Centre for Climate Repair. Available at: https://www.climaterepair.cam.ac.uk/refreeze (accessed 5 March 2024).3. For an influential example of internalism, see Jasanoff (2015).4. Now, the ‘carbondioxide-removal.eu’ newsletter. Available at: https://carbondioxide-removal.eu/news/ (accessed 1 August 2023).5. Searches were conducted in the spring of 2022.6. We later chose to include China’s Arctic policy for important additional context.7. In terms of technical effectiveness, some estimates in fact suggest interventions in the Arctic may be less effective than at lower latitudes (Duffey et al., 2023).8. For the latter, see Desch et al. (2017).9. There are some limited exceptions (Baiman, 2021; Moore et al., 2021).10. Although many invocations of soft geoengineering explicitly exclude SAI and MCB, arguments that employ the core distinction between global, risky approaches and more targeted benign ones have also been used to justify Arctic-specific MCB, due to the ‘vastly reduced levels of seeding’ making negative side effects ‘vastly reduced or eliminated’ (Latham et al., 2014: 9). The former UK Chief Scientific Advisor David King has also recently referred to MCB as ‘a biomimicry system’ (The Current, 2022). While much rarer, arguments about reduced side effects have also been applied to Arctic-targeted SAI (Lee et al., 2021).11. Van Wijngaarden et al.’s full review of environmental risks is found in their supplemental compendium (https://doi.org/10.5281/zenodo.10602506).12. We thank an anonymous reviewer for the insight on remote impacts. In the extreme case, strong Arctic cooling without proportional cooling of the Antarctic would create a change in hemispheric heat balance which would most likely shift the Intertropical Convergence Zone southwards, leading to severe decreases in rainfall across the Sahel, parts of the Amazon and Northern India; however, this risk is usually discussed as an outcome of SAI specifically, due to its higher cooling potential (Duffey et al., 2023).13. 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On March 4, the U.S. Department of Justice charged ten Chinese nationals with carrying out massive hacks against government agencies, media outlets, and dissidents in the United States and around the world. They allegedly acted on behalf of the Chinese company i-Soon, under contract from the Beijing government. Two officials from China’s Ministry of Public Security (MPS) were also indicted, identified as the ones “directing the attacks.” According to documents held by the U.S. justice system, China’s domestic intelligence services (MPS) and foreign intelligence (Ministry of State Security, MSS) relied on a vast network of private companies and domestic contractors to hack and steal information, thereby masking the Chinese government’s direct involvement. In some cases, the MPS and MSS paid private hackers to target specific victims. In many others, the attacks were speculative: hackers identified vulnerable computers, breached them, and extracted information that was later sold — either directly or indirectly — to the Chinese government. The Growth of Chinese Cyberespionage and Its Main Areas of Operation This is not an isolated case. Over the past decade, the People’s Republic of China’s (PRC) hacking program has expanded rapidly. In 2023, then-FBI Director Christopher Wray stated that it was larger than that of all other world powers combined. This increase in power and sophistication has led to success in three key areas: political interference, sabotage of critical infrastructure, and large-scale intellectual property theft. Beijing integrates computer networks, electronic warfare, economic, diplomatic, legal, military, intelligence, psychological, and military deception resources, along with security operations, to weaken states, make them economically dependent on China, and more receptive to a “new authoritarian world order with Chinese characteristics.” For this reason, unlike traditional interpretations, Chinese state-sponsored hacking should be understood within a broader context — where control over technology, strategic infrastructure, and global supply chains is part of “trans-military” and “non-military” warfare operations, as described by two People’s Liberation Army (PLA) colonels in the 1999 book “Unrestricted Warfare”. This approach is known as liminal warfare — an escalating conflict in which the spectrum of competition and confrontation with the West is so wide that the battlefield is, quite literally, everywhere. Cyberespionage as a Tool of Electronic Warfare In electronic warfare, hacking is used for sabotage during times of crisis or conflict. These actions are led by the People’s Liberation Army (PLA), the armed wing of the Chinese Communist Party. In 2023, it was discovered that a hacker group linked to the PLA, known as “Volt Typhoon”, had infiltrated a wide range of critical infrastructure in the U.S. for years, including ports, factories, and water treatment plants — both on the mainland and in strategic locations like Guam. “Volt Typhoon is a military operation with political and potentially military strategic purposes,” explained Ciaran Martin, former director of the UK’s cybersecurity agency. Led by the PLA’s cyber unit, the operation involved installing readiness capabilities — “digital traps,” as some call them — within critical U.S. infrastructure. In addition to a sustained attack in 2023 on a power company in Massachusetts, which aimed to extract sensitive data about its operational technology (OT) infrastructure, “Volt Typhoon” gained notoriety for multiple attacks on telecommunications systems in the U.S. and other critical infrastructures globally. One of its subunits, “Voltzite”, targeted the Littleton Electric and Water Departments, prompting the FBI and cybersecurity firm Dragos to respond jointly and publish a detailed report on the attack and its mitigation. Intellectual Property Theft Through Cyberespionage The most damaging channel for intellectual property theft is cyberespionage. These intrusions allow Chinese companies — sometimes with direct support from the Communist Party or the state — to access information on operations, projects, and technology from foreign firms. China has used state-backed and coordinated cyberespionage campaigns to steal information from companies in strategic sectors such as oil, energy, steel, and aviation. These actions serve both to acquire science and technology and to gather intelligence useful for future attacks on military, government, or technical systems. In the United States, there have been numerous precedents: • In 2014, five PLA hackers were indicted for economic espionage.• In 2017, three hackers linked to the Chinese firm Boyusec were charged with stealing confidential business information.• In 2018, two Chinese nationals were indicted for intellectual property theft.• In 2020, two hackers connected to the MSS were charged with targeting COVID-19 research. Among these, the 2018 indictment stands out as part of a broader U.S. effort to raise awareness about Chinese cyberespionage. On that occasion, Chinese hackers carried out a campaign known as “Cloud Hopper”, which involved a supply chain attack on service providers like Hewlett Packard and IBM. The defendants worked for Huaying Haitai and collaborated with the Tianjin State Security Bureau of the MSS. In 2017, the U.S. Commission on the Theft of American Intellectual Property estimated that such crimes cost the U.S. economy up to $600 billion annually — a figure comparable to the Pentagon’s defense budget and greater than the combined profits of the 50 largest companies in the Fortune 500. Beyond the United States: The Global Impact of Chinese Cyberespionage In June 2024, Dutch military intelligence (MIVD) warned that Chinese cyberespionage was broader than previously believed, affecting Western governments and defense companies. A 2023 cyberattack on the Dutch Ministry of Defense reportedly affected at least 20,000 people within a few months. In 2018, the Czech Republic’s National Cyber and Information Security Agency (NUKIB) issued a warning about risks linked to China. Since then, the country has strengthened its capabilities and controls against Beijing and has worked on mechanisms to counter foreign information manipulation. According to U.S. prosecutors, dozens of European parliamentarians have been targeted by Chinese attacks. In March 2024, the U.S. Department of Justice indicted hackers linked to the MSS for attacking “all EU members” of the Inter-Parliamentary Alliance on China (IPAC), a coalition critical of Beijing. In 2021, the hackers sent over a thousand emails to around 400 accounts linked to IPAC, attempting to spy on their internet activity and devices. In addition, ASML, the Dutch leader in semiconductor lithography, suffers “thousands of security incidents per year,” including several successful infiltration attempts by Chinese actors. Research centers like Imec (Belgium) are also frequent targets. Belgium has expelled Chinese researchers suspected of espionage. The European Union has reinforced security and identified advanced semiconductors as one of four critical technologies requiring risk assessments and enhanced protection. Notably, APT41 is one of the most active and sophisticated Chinese cyberespionage groups, based in the PRC and linked to the MSS. According to Google’s Threat Intelligence Group, APT41 combines state espionage with ransomware attacks — malicious programs that encrypt files and demand financial ransom to restore them — making attribution more difficult. Unlike other PLA-aligned groups whose operations are region-specific, APT41 acts globally, attacking strategic sectors in the U.S., Europe, Latin America, and the Caribbean. It also carries out financially motivated operations, particularly in the gaming industry. Mandiant, a global cybersecurity leader, highlights APT41’s technical capabilities: it frequently exploits zero-day and n-day vulnerabilities and uses techniques like phishing, social engineering, and SQL injections. Since 2020, APT41 has conducted large-scale campaigns against over 75 companies in more than 20 countries. It is responsible for compromising supply chains, such as in the “ShadowHammer” campaign targeting ASUS, which affected over 50,000 systems in 2018. APT41 is also linked to the use of “MESSAGETAP” malware in telecommunications networks. The Role of Chinese Universities in Cyberespionage Chinese universities also collaborate with the PLA and MSS in state-sponsored cyberespionage operations. Shanghai Jiao Tong University works directly with the Chinese military on such operations. Zhejiang University and the Harbin Institute of Technology are key centers for recruiting hackers. Xidian University offers students hands-on experience at provincial MSS offices and previously maintained ties with the Third Department of the PLA’s General Staff before its reorganization in 2015 into the Network Systems Department. One of its graduate programs is co-directed with the Guangdong Office of the Chinese Information Technology Security Evaluation Center (ITSEC), an MSS-run office that leads an active team of contractor hackers. Southeast University also maintains links with security services and co-manages the “Purple Mountain Lab” with the PLA’s Strategic Support Force. There, researchers collaborate on “critical strategic requirements,” operating systems, and interdisciplinary cybersecurity studies. The university also receives funding from the PLA and MSS to develop China’s cyber capabilities. The Cybersecurity undergraduate program at Shanghai Jiao Tong University (SJTU) is taught at a PLA information engineering base. Within this program, SJTU claims to work on “network and information systems testing and evaluation, security testing for connected smart networks, APT attack and defense testing, and key technologies for cyber ranges.” Universities associated with the MSS for talent recruitment include the University of Science and Technology of China, Shanghai Jiao Tong University, Xi’an Jiao Tong University, Beijing Institute of Technology, Nanjing University, and the Harbin Institute of Technology. In addition, some cybersecurity firms — such as Beijing TopSec — collaborate with the PLA in hacking campaigns, operator training, and developing future hackers. This article was originally published by Agenda Digitale and later by Expediente Abierto, who granted us permission for its translation and republication.

Abstract European states currently lack a clear joint strategy on China and a coordinated approach to US–China competition. This article offers a novel perspective on the challenges for European approaches to this issue due to an omnipresent transatlantic component and the risk of an alliance dilemma. Illustratively focusing on France, Germany and the UK, it demonstrates that Europeans are facing a transatlantic alliance dilemma with the risks of abandonment and entrapment. It argues that Europe needs to strike a balance between its dependence on Washington, especially with regard to European security, while fearing entrapment by the US approach towards Beijing as it aims to maintain economic ties with China. The article concludes that the ramifications of this dilemma can be mitigated through a distinctly European approach to China, strengthening European coordination on China and bolstering European strategic autonomy. As a conceptual piece rather than a full empirical analysis, this article therefore unpacks the strategic challenge and lays the groundwork for further empirical works on the topic. Introduction Strategic competition between the US and China plays out in many realms of international affairs, ranging from global trade to security in the Indo-Pacific. European states are directly affected by this dynamic as they maintain critical ties with both sides. Albeit allies of the US through NATO, Europeans have been reluctant to align with the US on its approach to the Indo-Pacific and China, which is currently characterised by the quest to win the strategic competition with Beijing in all areas of international affairs (see Leoni 2023). Furthermore, Europe maintains close economic ties with Beijing, and imports from China to the EU have most recently increased (Lovely and Yan 2024). European governments certainly do not pursue an approach of maintaining equidistance between the US and China: not only do they regularly emphasise their strategic proximity to Washington, but more recent events, such as the willingness of European allies to publicly adopt the wording of the communiqué from NATO’s Washington summit (NATO 2024) describing China as an ‘enabler of Russia’s war effort in Ukraine’, clearly demonstrate that the tone is changing in European capitals (Politi 2023). However, Europeans still tend to emphasise China’s role in global affairs and the importance of including it in multilateral cooperation formats. With the re-election of Donald Trump as US president, European policy on China and its approach to US–China competition will increasingly be a focus of the US administration. While the exact approach of the new US government still remains to be defined, there are good reasons to anticipate a more hawkish China policy from Washington, through which the US might seek not only to further compete with China, but to actually win this competition (see Pottinger and Gallagher 2023). When designing their approaches towards China—which, among the key European states, only Germany has done so far, with the publication of its China strategy in 2023—Europeans always face a transatlantic elephant in the room. US–China competition, a structuring feature of international relations shaping the global order today through the increasing emergence of geopolitical blocs (see Leoni and Tzinieris 2024), and China’s rising global influence in almost all areas of international affairs—ranging from climate to economics, the rules-based order and security—are forcing European states to reflect on their approach vis-à-vis Beijing (for a full discussion, see Oertel 2023; García-Herrero and Vasselier 2024). As NATO members, European states also need to adapt their strategy in light of the partnership with the US as their key ally. This article argues that European approaches towards China, as shown in the examples of France, Germany and the UK, have a distinctly transatlantic component. It illustrates how these three European states find themselves in an alliance dilemma with the US, and how the risks associated with alliances also define European approaches to China and US–China competition more broadly. As the US administration regularly refers to China as a ‘challenge’ (US Department of Defense 2022), this article alludes to this formulation through the coining of the term ‘transatlantic China challenge’ to describe the strategic challenges Europeans are facing with regard to defining their approach vis-à-vis China and US–China competition more broadly. It offers a conceptual understanding of the strategic challenges for Europe in this context and thereby constitutes a basis for a more thorough empirical analysis. The alliance dilemma and European strategy in US–China competition Originating in realist international relations theory, the alliance dilemma generally describes a situation in which states face risks resulting from joining an alliance. As demonstrated by Snyder (1984), smaller allies especially face a parallel risk of abandonment and entrapment by a hegemon, that is, the dominating power, after joining an alliance. Abandonment, in these circumstances, implies that the hegemon has no further interest in defending or supporting the smaller allies, whereas entrapment refers to a situation in which a state is ‘dragged into a conflict over an ally’s interests that [it] does not share, or shares only partially’ (see Snyder 1984, 466–8). In the context of alliances, a small state is ‘the weaker part in an asymmetric relationship, which is unable to change the nature or functioning of the relationship on its own’ (Wivel et al. 2014, 9), and hence has more limited space for action than the great powers (Wivel and Thorhallsson 2018, 267). This definition arguably applies to Europe in its partnership with the US, as demonstrated by the excessive military and economic dominance of the US as compared to the European states (see Stockholm International Peace Research Institute n.d.; International Monetary Fund 2025). The re-election of Trump as US president now presents the risk of an increased alliance dilemma for Europeans. On the one hand, Trump has announced several times that he does not value the alliance commitments within NATO and potentially would not defend European allies (Sullivan 2024), threatening Europe with abandonment. This scenario is being taken seriously in European capitals, and reflections on how ‘defending Europe with less America’ (Grand 2024) could shape up have gained traction, especially in 2024. Similarly, defence initiatives within the EU to enhance the European contribution to the continent’s security have leapt forward in recent years (see Scazzieri 2025). On the other hand, even the Biden administration had pushed Europe to align with the US approach on China (see Lynch et al. 2023). However, France and Germany in particular, as the big EU member states, have been hesitant to do so, as reflected in France’s opposition to the opening of a NATO liaison office in Tokyo (McCurry 2023) and Germany’s vote against tariffs on Chinese electric vehicles, fearing reprisals from Beijing (Demarais 2024). Trump’s foreign policy might be strongly characterised by issue linkage, which means that policies in one area will be linked to those in another area. Through this strategy, the new US administration might force Europeans into alignment and thereby entrap them, making them accept policies they are not eager to support (see Barkin and Kratz 2025). The exact policies of the Trump administration vis-à-vis European allies remain to be seen, but it is not hard to imagine a scenario in which abandonment and entrapment could emerge or increase, namely when the threat of abandonment is used to entrap allies and force them to support certain policy decisions. The alliance dilemma could play out for Europeans specifically when designing their approaches towards China (see Barkin and Kratz 2025) and formulating their response to US–China competition more generally. As noted above, among the big European states, only Germany has formally adopted a strategy on China, in 2023 (The Federal Government of Germany 2023). However, China and the response to US–China competition takes a prominent place in France’s Indo-Pacific Strategy and its strategy review (Government of France 2021; Secrétariat général de la défense et de la sécurité nationale 2022), and the UK systematically included the dimension of strategic competition in its Integrated Review and its refresh (Government of the United Kingdom 2021, 2023) and has announced an ‘audit’ of its China policy under the new government (Taylor 2024). While these strategies emphasise their individual approaches towards China and the risks stemming from US–China competition, the US has increasingly pressured Europe to align with its approach (Lynch et al. 2023) and can be expected to continue this pressure (Barkin and Kratz 2025). Through the potential issue linkage of security (openly questioned by President Trump) and China policy, Europe therefore finds itself in a new form of alliance security dilemma. European approaches to US–China competition: strategic hedging How can Europe respond to the alliance dilemma of the risks of abandonment and entrapment when it comes to its approaches to China? Reviewing the theoretical literature on the alliance dilemma, one can imagine different strategies. According to Snyder, members of alliances can choose between strategies that strengthen or weaken their commitment to the alliance. To demonstrate commitment, actions could include reassurances for the ally or demonstrations of loyalty, whereas actions to weaken the commitment to the alliance could consist of restraining the ally (mostly to reduce the risk of entrapment in a conflict), increasing bargaining power over the ally or preserving options for realignment outside the existing alliance (for a full discussion, see Snyder 1984, 466–9). Alternative strategies include hiding from cooperation, that is, ‘seeking to maximize autonomy by opting out of specific aspects of the cooperation or by setting up “bastions” in the cooperation’, or bandwagoning, through which states pursue strategies of adaptation ‘to the more powerful actors in the cooperation’ (Pedersen 2023, 442). At the moment, it seems that France, Germany and the UK ‘drive on sight’ rather than approaching the question holistically. The following analysis aims to unpack how the three European states see US–China competition, the risk of the alliance dilemma and how these reflections have played out so far in their strategies. The strategies of France, Germany and the UK on China demonstrate that their approaches are influenced by a distinctly transatlantic component and reflect the transatlantic alliance dilemma. This is visible in their (1) high awareness of the risks stemming from great power competition, (2) approaches to managing the risk of short-term abandonment, and (3) hedging to mitigate the medium- and long-term risks of abandonment and entrapment. The empirical evidence for this analysis was gathered through a qualitative analysis of European strategic documents, statements and policy decisions taken mostly during the period of the Biden administration. However, in light of the risk of a scaling-up of the alliance dilemma under the Trump administration, sources and evidence accessible by the end of January 2025 were included to illustrate the European approaches. In addition to publicly available documents and the sources mentioned above, this paper draws on conversations with policymakers and experts under the Chatham House rule. Mitigating risks from US–China competition: multilateralism instead of alignment That France, Germany and the UK are close allies with the US is clearly visible in their respective strategies on China, not least because of references they make to the importance of the alliance and their descriptions of their own positions between the two great powers. Overall, France, Germany and the UK share the perception of US–China competition and the emergence of blocs as potentially harmful to their interests. As a consequence, all three call for an inclusive multilateral order instead of falling into a logic of blocs, as the increasing competition is seen as a risk for Europe (Secrétariat général de la défense et de la sécurité nationale 2022, 9–15; The Federal Government of Germany 2020, 24–6; Government of the United Kingdom 2023, 22–6). The response of all three European powers to the emergence of blocs is multilateralism: instead of clearly aligning with the US, the French, German and British strategies call for building broader multilateral coalitions, which should, eventually, also include China (The Federal Government of Germany 2020, 23–6; Government of the United Kingdom 2023). The tone in Paris, Berlin and London towards Beijing has clearly changed over recent years; accordingly, the European capitals were also willing to support strong wording on China in the 2024 NATO summit declaration, which describes China as a ‘critical enabler’ of Russia’s ongoing war against Ukraine (NATO 2024). Albeit also recognised as a critical partner for key issues such as climate policy and trade, European states openly describe China as a ‘systemic rival’ and occasionally call out China’s behaviour, as they did, for example, in the case of a note verbale on the South China Sea (UN 2020). Nevertheless, Europe has not (yet) given in to US pressure to align with Washington’s more confrontational approach towards China (Etienne 2024). Even if European states and Washington have moved closer to each other, especially on economic security (Meyers and Reinsch 2023), the European positions on US–China competition demonstrate that Europeans are not willing to fully endorse or follow Washington’s approach—not least because European imports from China have increased in recent years (Lovely and Yan 2024). Managing the risk of short-term abandonment Since Trump’s election, the risk of abandonment by the US has been seen as increasingly high in Paris, Berlin and London.1 This is not least because Trump has openly questioned his willingness to adhere to Article 5 of the North Atlantic Treaty in the case of an armed attack on Europeans (Sullivan 2024). Europeans are especially concerned about issue linkage in this context, meaning that demands in a policy area other than security could be used as a condition. Concretely, Trump could use the threat of abandonment as leverage to compel Europe to align with the US on China policy.2 Barkin and Kratz (2025) suggest that Europe adopt a ‘carrot and stick’ approach, whereby Europe could start with an offer to the US: buying more liquified natural gas, defence goods and agricultural products from the US could mitigate the risk of abandonment. However, there is awareness among European states that coercion from the US to align on US–China policy, especially when linked to the threat of abandonment, might best be mitigated through enhancing European military capabilities—which would still leave the continent exposed to these threats, though to a lesser extent.3 Addressing the risk of medium- and long-term abandonment and entrapment: transatlantic hedging However, the risk of at least partial abandonment is not a new challenge for European strategy, and had already infused earlier strategic thinking. The shift of US strategic priorities away from Europe and to the Indo-Pacific has already been demonstrated in the allocation of resources to the different theatres. Moreover, European states have increasingly become aware that US forces will be withdrawn from their territories in the future and have concluded that they will have to step up their own commitment to European security (see Grand 2024). In parallel, there is an awareness in European capitals that showing more interest in the Indo-Pacific and giving more importance to policy on China is also a way for Europeans to demonstrate an understanding of their ally’s strategic priorities.4 Accordingly, the approaches of France, Germany and the UK to China and the Indo-Pacific also have to be understood as a commitment to the priorities of the US in order to keep this ally engaged in the European theatre and mitigate the risk of abandonment; however, European states abstain from fully aligning with the US approach, as their capabilities and strategic goals are perceived as diverging from those of the US. In this way, Europe aims to avoid entrapment over the medium term through slightly distancing itself from US policy. While all three European states also call for de-risking from China and diversification of their supply chains, maintaining strong economic ties with Beijing is a key component of their respective approaches—which contrasts with the US calls for decoupling. Furthermore, these states have never formally endorsed the US policy on China (Etienne 2024). Nevertheless, enhancing European capabilities would not only send a signal to Washington, but also qualify as hedging, understood as an ‘insurance policy’ to avoid a deterioration in US–Europe relations if the US opted for abandonment, or even as part of a move towards emancipation to reduce strategic dependencies on Washington (see Fiott 2018, 4–6). Conclusion: a transatlantic China challenge Designing their approaches to China and to US–China competition more broadly constitutes a complex strategic dilemma for European states. Paris, Berlin and London do not fully align with Washington’s approach, and it remains to be seen whether they will be willing to do so under the second Trump administration. To manage the risk of abandonment and entrapment, European states pursue different individual approaches to strategic hedging: their strategies on China and US–China competition are designed in a way that allows them to mitigate the risk of abandonment which might stem from significant transatlantic divergence, and to avoid automatic entrapment through their slight distancing from the US approach. From a theoretical perspective, this article has demonstrated that the alliance dilemma, along with the parallel fear of abandonment and entrapment by the US, is a major factor accounting for Europe’s limited strategies on China and its hedging behaviour. This article offers a conceptual analysis of the structural forces explaining European strategies, but other strategic cultures and relationships with the US could offer important complementary insights. To further analyse how individual European states design their strategies vis-à-vis China in light of the alliance dilemma and potential domestic constraints and specificities, neoclassical realism could offer an interesting analytical concept. This approach posits that structural forces set the parameters for foreign policy and treats domestic factors, including strategic culture, as intervening variables (see Rose 1998). Accordingly, it appears well suited for foreign policy analysis, and has indeed gained popularity in the field in recent years (see, for example, Martill and Sus 2024; Meibauer et al. 2021; Weber 2024). Empirically, this article constitutes a conceptual starting point rather than an exhaustive analysis of the strategy-making processes of European states with regard to China and US–China competition and makes a more comprehensive assessment desirable. The findings of this article have broader implications for policymaking. First, they demonstrate the necessity for Europe to determine its place in the increasing US–China competition. European coordination on the respective approaches vis-à-vis the US—especially in light of potential coercion to align—and China is of paramount importance to ensure that foreign policy strategies are mutually reinforcing and not undermining European objectives. Second, the article demonstrates that Europe currently responds to the ‘transatlantic China challenge’ through transatlantic hedging: while this strategy seems to be promising in the short term, it is questionable to what extent the strategy is sustainable and could help European states to navigate the parallel challenges of abandonment and entrapment. Unless Europe decides to fully align with the US—and it is questionable whether this decision would be in its interest—European states would be well advised to develop a sustainable long-term approach to China. A transatlantic dialogue on China, in which Europe and the US openly discuss synergies and divergences, could help prevent misunderstandings and decrease the risk of coercion or issue linkage due to a misreading of European approaches in Washington. Third, as the risks of (at least partial) abandonment and entrapment are systemic challenges due to the current composition of the transatlantic alliance, a logical step for European states to decrease their dependence on the US as the hegemon in the alliance would be to significantly strengthen European capabilities. Stronger military capabilities could help mitigate the ramifications of abandonment, and the aforementioned distinctly European strategy could allow Europe to avoid strategic entrapment in relation to China imposed by Washington. As Europe remains the junior partner in the transatlantic alliance, the parallel risks of abandonment and entrapment, as well as issue linkage, are highly likely to influence its approaches towards China in the long term, but there are certainly ways to render this ‘transatlantic China challenge’ less challenging. ORCID iDGesine Weber https://orcid.org/0009-0008-2643-0400Footnotes1. Conversation with French, German and British experts in Berlin, January 2025.2. Conversation with French, German and British experts in Berlin, January 2025.3. Conversation with French, German and British experts in Berlin, January 2025; conversation with European experts and officials in Paris, January 2025.4. Conversation with officials from Germany and France in Paris, November 2024; conversation with French, German and British experts in Berlin, January 2025.ReferencesBarkin N., Kratz A. (2025). Trump and the Europe–US–China Triangle. Rhodium Group, 16 January. https://rhg.com/research/trump-and-the-europe-us-china-triangle/. Accessed 18 January 2025.Demarais A. (2024). Divided we stand: The EU votes on Chinese electric vehicle tariffs. European Council on Foreign Relations, 9 October. https://ecfr.eu/article/divided-we-stand-the-eu-votes-on-chinese-electric-vehicle-tariffs/. Accessed 25 January 2025.Etienne P. (2024). 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Abstract This paper examines the evolving concept of European Union Strategic Autonomy (EU-SA) within the context of contemporary geopolitical challenges, with a particular focus on EU-Russia and EU-China relations. EU-SA reflects the EU's aspiration to act independently in foreign policy, security, defence, and economic affairs, moving from a rule-taker to a rule-maker in global politics. The study outlines the historical development of EU-SA from 2013 to the present, highlighting key milestones such as the Strategic Compass and the impact of the Ukraine War, which accelerated efforts toward defence collaboration, energy independence, and economic resilience. It explores the transatlantic dynamics, noting growing uncertainties in the U.S. commitment to NATO and the resulting push for a more autonomous European defence posture. Additionally, it addresses the complex EU-China relationship, marked by both cooperation and competition, as well as the strained EU-Russia ties amid ongoing conflict. The paper concludes by questioning the economic feasibility and political risks of deeper EU strategic autonomy, especially regarding security centralisation and Germany's leadership role. Key Words: EU, Strategic Autonomy, Security, Geopolitics, U.S, China, Russia Introduction At the 2025 North Atlantic Treaty Organisation (NATO) Summit in The Hague, member states (Allies) committed to investing 5% of their Gross Domestic Product (GDP) annually in core defence requirements and defence- and security-related spending by 2035. They will allocate at least 3.5% of GDP annually, based on the agreed-upon definition of NATO defence expenditure, by 2035 to resource core defence requirements and meet the NATO Capability Targets. Allies agreed to submit annual plans that show a credible, incremental path to achieving this goal.[1] At the same time, Spain secured a special compromise, committing to meet core requirements with just 2.1% of GDP, making it the only exception to the broader 5% target. Previously, in 2014, NATO Heads of State and Government had agreed to commit 2% of their national GDP to defence spending, to help ensure the Alliance's continued military readiness. This decision was taken in response to Russia's illegal annexation of Crimea, and amid broader instability in the Middle East. The 2014 Defence Investment Pledge was built on an earlier commitment to meeting this 2% of GDP guideline, agreed in 2006 by NATO Defence Ministers. In light of the increase in defence spending, given that 23 out of 32 NATO Allies are EU member states, the idea of European Union strategic autonomy (EU-SA) comes to mind. This paper will explore the issue of EU-SA with a specific reference to EU-Russia and EU-China relations.[2] A Brief History of EU Strategic Autonomy European Union strategic autonomy is an evolving concept that reflects its ambition to act independently in strategically important policy areas, including foreign policy, security, defence, and economic relations. Strong strategic autonomy, according to Barbara Lippert, Nicolai von Ondarza and Volker Perthes, means being able to set, modify and enforce international rules, as opposed to (unwillingly) obeying rules set by others. The opposite of strategic autonomy is being a rule-taker, subject to strategic decisions made by others, such as the United States, China, or Russia.[3] The concept was first prominently discussed in the context of defence in 2013 and has since expanded to encompass a broader range of policy areas. Historically speaking, one can identify numerous phases during which EU-SA evolved. - 2013-2016: During this period, EU-SA focused on security and defence, with initiatives like the Permanent Structured Cooperation (PESCO) and the European Defence Fund, aiming to strengthen the EU's defence capabilities.[4]  - 2017-2019: During this period, the EU-SA shifted its focus to defending European interests in a hostile geopolitical environment, influenced by events such as Brexit, the Trump presidency, and China's growing assertiveness.- 2020: The COVID-19 pandemic highlighted economic vulnerabilities, prompting a focus on mitigating dependence on foreign supply chains, particularly in critical sectors like health and technology.- Since 2021: The scope widened to virtually all EU policy areas, including digital, energy, and values, with terminology evolving to include "open strategic autonomy," "strategic sovereignty," "capacity to act," and "resilience".- 2022: The Ukraine War and Accelerated Implementation. Russia's invasion of Ukraine catalysed concrete actions toward EU-SA, notably in defence, energy independence, and economic resilience. The European Council's Versailles Declaration (March 2022) expressed strong political will to increase EU-SA, calling for collaborative investments in defence, phasing out dependency on Russian energy, and reducing reliance on critical raw materials, semiconductors, health, digital technologies, and food imports.[5] - The Strategic Compass for security and defence policy (endorsed March 2022) outlines a roadmap to 2030, emphasising strengthened EU defence capacities. Among others, it includes: o   Establishment of a strong EU Rapid Deployment Capacity of up to 5000 troops for different types of crises.o   Ready to deploy 200 fully equipped Common Security and Defence Policy (CSDP) mission experts within 30 days, including in complex environments.[6]o   Conducting regular live exercises on land and at sea.o   Enhanced military mobility.o   Reinforcement of the EU's civilian and military CSDP missions and operations by promoting a rapid and more flexible decision-making process, acting more robustly and ensuring greater financial solidarity.o   Making full use of the European Peace Facility to support partners.[7] According to the EU itself, the EU-SA is not a zero-sum game, but rather a sliding scale between complete autonomy and full dependency, with different results for different policy areas. What is more, when compared to the famous Maslow's hierarchy of needs (European Parliament briefing's language), the EU is not only perceived as an economic power, but it is also seen as a normative power. Therefore, the EU is recognised for its core values of democracy, human rights and the rule of law. Ultimately, Maslow's “self-actualisation” could mean the achievement of an EU in which citizens recognise their European identity and which has realised its full autonomous policy potential.[8]   As if this is not enough, the same source introduces the concept of the 360° strategic autonomy wheel, which reportedly illustrates policy areas in which the EU aims for greater strategic autonomy, as well as the connections between them. Mutual influence between policy areas can happen across the wheel, but is particularly strong in adjacent areas. Military action, for example, can cause migration, health is linked to food quality, energy policy influences the climate, and misinformation undermines democracy. The wheel can help to understand links, set priorities and view potential conflicts. More autonomy in the digital green economy will, for example, require vast quantities of “rare earth” materials, making the EU more (instead of less) dependent on imports. Reductions in energy consumption achieved through the digitalisation of the economy (for example, by reducing transport) will be partly offset by the increase in energy consumption by electronic devices and data centres.   Global Context The significance of EU-SA lies in ensuring the EU's political survival and global influence in a multipolar world where its relative power is diminishing. The EU's long-term economic outlook is bleak: its share of global GDP, now at 17% (at current prices), could nearly halve by 2050. According to the World Economic Forum, this economic backsliding not only threatens Europe's ability to fund its social model but also risks weighing on the bloc's global influence, leaving it even more dependent on the U.S. and China.[9] Moreover, the COVID-19 pandemic highlighted the conflictual nature of economic interdependence, as reliance on foreign supply chains for critical goods exposed vulnerabilities. Soft power has become an instrument of hard power, necessitating autonomy in trade, finance, and investment.  The U.S.'s strategic pivot to Asia, the exclusion of Europe in conflicts like Nagorno-Karabakh, Libya, and Syria (termed Astanisation[10], which favours Russia and Turkey), the sidelining of the EU in EU-Russia negotiations regarding the war in Ukraine, and China's state-led economic model have all pushed the EU towards the sidelines. Transatlantic divide Security is a critical dimension, with significant uncertainty surrounding the U.S. commitment to NATO under the Trump administration. Reports indicate Trump has questioned NATO's Article 5 guarantees, with actions like withdrawing military personnel from a Ukraine aid hub in Poland on April 8, 2025, and proposing to stand down 10,000 light infantry troops in Poland, Romania, and the Baltic states by 2025.[11] This has led to fears of a "NATO-minus" scenario, where the EU must fill security gaps without full U.S. backing. In response, the EU is pushing for greater strategic autonomy in defence. Initiatives like ReArm EU are mentioned, with calls for the EU to develop a stand-alone, integrated military capacity to stabilise the global economy. As Jean-Pierre Maulny, Deputy Director of the French Institute for International and Strategic Affairs (IRIS), adequately observes "The risk is now clear: a form of bilateral agreement between the United States and Russia, benefiting the interests of both countries, could leave Ukraine severely weakened and an easy prey for Moscow, thereby weakening other European countries consequently. As a consolation prize, we will have to ensure Europe's conventional security, as U.S. Secretary of Defence Pete Hegseth announced to Europeans at the opening of the NATO ministerial meeting held in Brussels on 12–13 February 2025. This situation will place Europeans in a terrible dilemma: Either they do not wish to provide security guarantees to Ukraine and risk completely discrediting themselves in the eyes of powers such as the United States, Russia, and China, as Europeans will have demonstrated that they are unable to defend the continent, while also creating a significant long-term risk to Europe's security. Alternatively, they could provide security guarantees to Ukraine, accepting the financial burden that would impact the European Union's long-term competitiveness. In light of this situation, some advocate for the establishment of a European pillar within NATO. If one considers that the United States is negotiating peace in Europe without and against the Europeans, and that they no longer wish to defend Europe with conventional military means (will they respect the NATO Defence Planning Process?), Europeans should take on Europe's security fully. This would mean taking control of NATO. It will also be easier to make NATO and the European Union work together with a more Europeanised organisation".[12] Economically, there are several issues that contemporary demand addresses, but the most pressing is, of course, the Tariffs. The U.S. and European Union are running out of time to strike a deal on trade tariffs. Negotiations have been slow since both the U.S. and EU temporarily cut duties on each other until July 9. If an agreement is not achieved by then, full reciprocal import tariffs of 50% on EU goods, and the bloc's wide-spanning countermeasures are set to come into effect.[13] According to Almut Möller, Director for European and Global Affairs and head of the Europe in the World programme (European Policy Centre), "for the first time in decades, Europeans can no longer rely on a benign partner on the other side of the Atlantic, leaving them dangerously exposed and acutely vulnerable, including on the very foundations of liberal democracy. Until recently, the U.S. dominated a world order that provided a favourable environment for the EU to extend its membership, further develop, and leverage its strengths, particularly as a trading power, without having to worry much about geopolitics. Suddenly, liberal Europe looks very lonely, and is struggling to keep up with a world of change".[14] Other problems arguably include digital regulation and data protection, antitrust policy and digital taxation, fiscal policy and social protection, geopolitical rivalries, China's rise, and competition and trade policy. EU–China conundrum Both the EU and the U.S. are concerned about China's growing economic and technological influence, but they have differing approaches to addressing this challenge. The EU has sought to maintain a balance between cooperation and competition with China, while the U.S. has adopted a more confrontational approach.[15] These differences have led to tensions in areas such as trade policy and technology regulation. For example, the EU has been critical of the U.S.'s unilateral approach to addressing China's trade practices, while the U.S. has accused the EU of being too lenient towards China. These disagreements have made it difficult to achieve a coordinated transatlantic response to China's rise.[16] According to German experts, the balance of power between China and the EU and its member states is developing increasingly asymmetrically to Europe's disadvantage. Only in trade policy – and partially in investment – can the EU maintain its position in a manner respected by China.[17] Europe holds significant importance for China across various dimensions: economically, as its top supplier and second-largest export destination; technologically, as a source of advanced technology; institutionally, as a model to emulate; politically, to advance its objectives concerning other nations, particularly the United States; and selectively, as a collaborator in areas like global health and regional stabilisation. Unlike Russia and the United States, China perceives a vital interest in the EU's continued existence and unity within a multipolar world; yet, it employs a "divide and rule" strategy. China selectively rewards or penalises individual EU countries based on their political and economic significance and their compliance with China's expectations on key issues. These issues include arms sales to Taiwan, meetings with the Tibetan Dalai Lama, and positions on the Uighurs, human rights in China, and the South China Sea. China engages with Europe on multiple levels — political, economic, technological, cultural, and academic — using various political channels (such as strategic partnerships with the EU and individual EU member states), dialogue formats (like the 16+1 format with sixteen Central and Eastern European countries), and high-level bilateral intergovernmental consultations with Germany, France, and the United Kingdom. China's hopes that the European Union would emerge as an independent and comprehensive player in global politics, serving as a counterbalance to the United States, have diminished. However, China would be supportive of any European efforts towards achieving strategic autonomy, provided it does not translate into a confrontational approach towards China itself. In contrast, Europe's political priorities—such as ensuring peace and stability in East Asia, China's role in global stability, development, environmental issues, climate change, and non-proliferation, as well as improving human rights in China — are often considered secondary and are not actively pursued by all EU member states. Europe lacks a unified and assertive foreign policy stance regarding the geopolitical rivalry between the United States and China for dominance in the Asia-Pacific region. There is also an absence of a clear position on China's authoritarian vision of order. Even in trade and investment disputes, Europe struggles to establish a unified approach to resolving these issues. The EU member states are too diverse in terms of size, profiles, and interests in their dealings with China: Economically, there is a divide between countries that are appealing industrial and technological partners for China and those that compete for favour in Beijing. Some nations have a clear interest in global governance. Additionally, the United Kingdom and France maintain their respective military presences in the Asia region. In this context, ReArm EU and its financial instrument SAFE (analysed here https://worldnewworld.com/page/content.php?no=5384 ) have the potential to provide the EU with meaningful strategic autonomy and invite genuine geopolitical actorness. EU–Russia conundrum Since Donald Trump took office as the U.S. president, the coordination of transatlantic policies regarding Russia has largely disintegrated. The White House's openness to a comprehensive "deal" with Russian President Vladimir Putin contrasts with Congress's attempts to limit Trump's foreign policy options with Russia, resulting in the marginalisation of coordination with European allies. This situation is further complicated by Washington's increasing reliance on extraterritorial sanctions, a trend that began before Trump's presidency. Consequently, according to European foreign and security experts, Europe must achieve greater strategic autonomy in its dealings with Russia. However, this relationship is particularly strained by significant conflicts of interest. Russia's invasion of Ukraine significantly disrupted the previously peaceful and liberal democratic relations among European nations. Putin's "special military operation" compelled the EU to introduce seventeen (so far) escalating economic sanction packages aimed at undermining the Russian economy and ultimately limiting Russia's capacity to continue the war. In a gesture of solidarity with Ukraine, the EU has also allocated billions of euros to both EU member states and Ukraine to avert a humanitarian disaster and ensure the provision of essential needs for Ukrainians fleeing the conflict.[18] After three and a half years from the outset of the war, Russia continues to pose a complex challenge that the EU and European nations cannot address independently in the foreseeable future. If the U.S. security guarantee weakens before Europe can bolster its own capabilities, the EU could face new vulnerabilities that Russia might exploit along its external borders, such as in the Baltic states, and elsewhere. Currently, the EU and its member states lack sufficient means to deter Russia from pursuing its interests aggressively and recklessly in the shared neighbourhood.[19] Critics, on the other hand, argue that calls for EU strategic autonomy, particularly the creation of a European Army and a significant increase in military spending, are a double-edged sword. First, the primary official rationale is that the EU must prepare itself for a possible attack on EU member states by Russia. The legacy media are full of European leaders claiming that Russia will sooner or later attack Europe.[20] Yet, this claim is not substantiated with much evidence. The proponents of the European army completely disregard numerous doubts surrounding the 2013/2014 "Euromaidan" and the role of the CIA in the events.[21] Second, according to the Office of the High Commissioner for Human Rights (OHCHR) 's estimations, the total number of conflict-related casualties in Ukraine from April 14, 2014, to December 31, 2021, stood at 51,000 – 54,000. These numbers are broken down as follows: 14,200 - 14,400 killed (at least 3,404 civilians, estimated 4,400 Ukrainian forces, and estimated 6,500 members of armed groups), and 37,000 - 39,000 injured (7,000 – 9,000 civilians, 13,800 – 14,200 Ukrainian forces and 15,800 - 16,200 members of armed groups).[22] In short, the situation was chaotic, with many casualties among civilians. Third, it was allegedly Europeans who torpedoed a first chance of peace negotiations as early as April 2014 in Istanbul.[23] Fourth, many European leaders seem to be utterly oblivious to the fact that the prolongation of the war adds to the destruction of Ukraine and Ukrainian society, deaths and emigration. Last but not least, given the fact that it is Germany that calls for both the European Army and the federalisation of Europe (with some assistance from France), one should be extra careful given the role of Germans during the WWII and the fact that neither has there been any official peace treaty with Germany nor have they recompensated countries such as Poland. Conclusion Strategic autonomy may be a necessity for Europe, given the dynamics of transatlantic relationships. The questions, however, that have to be pondered (and it does not seem that anyone in the legacy media or mainstream academia is ready to ask them) are numerous. Who will pay for that? Can Europeans afford such expenses under the current economic circumstances, and even worse economic prospects? Is the centralisation of security and military a Pandora's box? Should Europeans allow Germany (of all EU member states) to take special responsibility for this project? Isn't the pro-war rhetoric of Western political leaders making relations with Russia even more tense and dangerous, in other words, leading to escalation? History has solemnly proven that when left to their own devices, the Europeans inevitably create disastrous conflicts that have lasting consequences for generations. The American pivot to Asia and the consequent withdrawal from Europe may therefore have tragic ramifications for the European continent. References[1] Defence expenditures and NATO’s 5% commitment. (2025, June 27). North Atlantic Treaty Organization. https://www.nato.int/cps/en/natohq/topics_49198.htm[2] NATO and the EU have 23 members in common: Belgium, Bulgaria, Croatia, Czechia, Denmark, Estonia, Finland, France, Germany, Greece, Hungary, Italy, Latvia, Lithuania, Luxembourg, the Netherlands, Poland, Portugal, Romania, Slovakia, Slovenia, Spain and Sweden. See more at: https://www.consilium.europa.eu/en/policies/eu-nato-cooperation/#0[3] Lippert, B., von Ondarza, N., & Perthes, V. (2019, March). European Strategic Autonomy. Actors, Issues, Conflicts of Interests. Stiftung Wissenschaft Un Politic. Deutches Institut für Politik Und Sicherheit. https://www.swp-berlin.org/ doi:10.18449/2019RP04/#hd-d14204e263[4] Damen, M. (2022, July). EU strategic autonomy 2013-2023: From concept to capacity (EU Strategic Autonomy Monitor). European Parliamentary Research Service. https://www.eprs.ep.parl.union.eu[5] Informal meeting of the Heads of State or Government Versailles Declaration. (2022, March 10–11). Stiftung Wissenschaft Un Politic. Deutches Institut Fur Politik Und Sicherheit. https://www.consilium.europa.eu/media/54773/20220311-versailles-declaration-en.pdf[6] See more at: https://www.eeas.europa.eu/eeas/csdp-structure-instruments-and-agencies_en[7] See more at: https://fpi.ec.europa.eu/what-we-do/european-peace-facility_en[8] Damen, M. (2022, July). EU strategic autonomy 2013-2023: From concept to capacity (EU Strategic Autonomy Monitor). European Parliamentary Research Service. https://www.eprs.ep.parl.union.eu[9] Open but Secure:  Europe’s Path to Strategic Interdependence. INSIGHT REPORT. (2025). World Economic Forum. https://reports.weforum.org/docs/WEF_Open_but_Secure_Europe%E2%80%99s_Path_to_Strategic_Interdependence_2025.pdf[10] In reference to the Astana format on Syria) which leads to the exclusion of Europe from the settlement of regional conflicts in favour of Russia and Turkey. See more: https://www.eeas.europa.eu/eeas/why-european-strategic-autonomy-matters_en[11] Tilles, D. (2025, April 8). US to withdraw military from Ukraine aid hub in Poland. Notes from Poland. https://notesfrompoland.com/2025/04/08/us-to-withdraw-military-from-ukraine-aid-hub-in-poland/[12] Maulny, J.-P. (2025, February 13). United States – Europe: Our Paths Are Splitting. The French Institute for International and Strategic Affairs (IRIS). https://www.iris-france.org/en/united-states-europe-our-paths-are-splitting/[13] Kiderlin, S. (2025, June 18). These are the sticking points holding up a U.S.-EU trade deal. CNBC. https://www.cnbc.com/2025/06/18/these-are-the-sticking-points-holding-up-a-us-eu-trade-deal.html#:~:text=The%20EU%20and%20US%20flags,Poland%20on%20March%206%2C%202025.&text=Afp%20%7C%20Getty%20Images-,The%20U.S.%20and%20European%20Union%20are%20running%20out%20of%20time,($1.93%20trillion)%20in%202024?[14] Möller, A. (2025, February 26). Europe in the World in 2025: Navigating a perilous world with realism and ambition. European Policy Centre. https://www.epc.eu/publication/Europe-in-the-World-in-2025-Navigating-a-perilous-world-with-realism-625da4/#:~:text=2025%20will%20be%20a%20year,with%20a%20world%20of%20change[15] Bradford, A. (2023). When Rights, Markets, and Security Collide (pp. 221–254). Oxford University Press. https://doi.org/10.1093/oso/9780197649268.003.0007[16] Portanskiy, A. (2023). UE - US: new barriers to trade. Современная Европа. https://doi.org/10.31857/s020170832304006x[17] Lippert, B., von Ondarza, N., & Perthes, V. (2019, March). European Strategic Autonomy. Actors, Issues, Conflicts of Interests. Stiftung Wissenschaft Un Politic. Deutches Institut für Politik Und Sicherheit. https://www.swp-berlin.org/ doi:10.18449/2019RP04/#hd-d14204e263 [18] Klüver, L. (2025, April 18). Putin’s War on Ukraine: What can the EU actually do? European Careers Association. https://ecamaastricht.org/blueandyellow-knowyourunion/putins-war-on-ukraine-what-can-the-eu-actually-do#:~:text=Similarly%2C%20the%20Strategic%20Compass%2C%20the%20most%20recent,its%20interests%20and%20promote%20its%20values%20internationally.[19] Lippert, B., von Ondarza, N., & Perthes, V. (2019, March). European Strategic Autonomy. Actors, Issues, Conflicts of Interests. Stiftung Wissenschaft Un Politic. Deutches Institut für Politik Und Sicherheit. https://www.swp-berlin.org/ doi:10.18449/2019RP04/#hd-d14204e263 [20] ochecová, K. (2025, February 11). Russia could start a major war in Europe within 5 years, Danish intelligence warns. Politico. https://www.politico.eu/article/russia-war-threat-europe-within-5-years-danish-intelligence-ddis-warns/[21] Katchanovski, I. (2024). The Maidan Massacre in Ukraine The Mass Killing that Changed the World. Palgrave Macmillan. https://doi.org/https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-67121-0[22] Office of the United Nations High Commissioner for Human Rights. (2022, January 27). Conflict-related civilian casualties in Ukraine: December 2021 update. United Nations Human Rights Monitoring Mission in Ukraine. https://ohchr.org[23] Johnson, J. (2022, May 6). Boris Johnson Pressured Zelenskyy to Ditch Peace Talks With Russia: Ukrainian Paper. Common Dreams. https://www.commondreams.org/news/2022/05/06/boris-johnson-pressured-zelenskyy-ditch-peace-talks-russia-ukrainian-paper

Abstract The Ukraine war has reshaped the global geopolitical landscape, positioning Europe, America, Russia and China as key players on a new global chessboard. Europe is grappling with the dual challenge of ensuring regional security and managing the economic fallout from the conflict. America’s evolving global relationships are marked by a burden-shift with Europe, diplomatic efforts to further deter Russian aggression and a strategic rivalry with China. For Russia, the invasion of Ukraine is a bid to reassert its influence, but it faces severe international sanctions and military setbacks, constraining its strategic ambitions. And China is navigating a complex balancing act between supporting Russia and maintaining its economic ties with the West. This complex interplay of alliances and rivalries underscores the shifting dynamics of global power and the urgent need for diplomatic solutions to ensure stability and peace. Introduction On 27 March 2025 a Summit on Peace and Security for Ukraine was organised by President Emmanuel Macron in cooperation with British Prime Minister Keir Starmer. It was held in Paris. This summit was part of an ongoing series of political and operational meetings that the UK and France have been organising alternately over several weeks, aimed at contributing to a sustainable and just peace in Ukraine. This particular summit saw the participation of 31 countries, including non-EU nations such as the UK, Norway, Canada and Iceland, as well as high-profile figures such as the NATO secretary general, the president of the European Commission and the president of the European Council. Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelensky also attended. The increased frequency of meetings among this wide-ranging ‘coalition of the willing’ is recognition, in Europe’s eyes, of the immediate need to establish and permanently guarantee security and peace in the long term for Ukraine. It is evident that the unconditional ceasefire that Ukraine had declared its readiness to enter into on 11 March in Saudi Arabia has since evolved into a proposal for a limited ceasefire with additional conditions and demands from Russia. Moscow is employing delaying tactics, and there is a growing realisation, even within the US, that Russia is not genuinely interested in ending the war. Europe’s novel security approach: ‘Peace through strength’ This fear of a prolonged conflict in Ukraine, and the perceived risk of war between Europe and Russia, has pushed the European Commission to propose a way forward in its Joint White Paper for European Defence Readiness 2030 (European Commission 2025), which can be encapsulated by the motto ‘peace through strength’. This approach entails rapidly increasing military support for Ukraine, including the provision of more ammunition, artillery, air defence systems, drones and training. Additionally, it involves enhancing the capabilities of European countries by them investing more in their own defence, simplifying administrative processes and fostering better industrial cooperation, including with the Ukrainian defence industry. The European Commission has also outlined the financial instruments that have been established in record time to address these specific challenges. The primary objective of these financial instruments is to bolster European defence spending, with the EU targeting a total of €800 billion. This includes €150 billion in loans available to member states through a new Security Action for Europe (SAFE) instrument and up to €650 billion from national defence budgets, corresponding to an expenditure of 1.5% of GDP that can be excluded from national budgets by activating the ‘national escape clause’ of the EU’s Stability and Growth Pact. Additionally, private financing and funds from the European Investment Bank will be mobilised for investments in priority capabilities. Furthermore, the EU has identified several priority capabilities for investment. In the short term, joint EU purchases should focus on missiles and artillery systems. In the medium term, the goal is to develop large-scale EU systems in integrated air and missile defence, military mobility and strategic enablers. NATO standards will continue to serve as the foundation, and it is crucial that these standards are shared with the EU. Finally, ‘peace through strength’ also includes the further European integration of Ukraine, with Brussels clearly considering Ukraine the EU’s first line of defence. The Commission’s Joint White Paper and a parallel initiative launched by High Representative Kaja Kallas both aim to bolster military support for Kyiv and stress the importance of defence procurement both with and within Ukraine. Despite the commendable pace and scope of the numerous recent initiatives undertaken by the EU, it is imperative to recognise that these commitments must still be translated into tangible actions. The European Commission remains hopeful that the proposals delineated in the Joint White Paper can be actualised during the Polish Presidency, with the aim of reaching concrete decisions by the European Council meeting scheduled for 26–7 June. However, considering the ongoing deterioration of the European security landscape, it could be argued that this deadline lacks the requisite sense of urgency needed to address the pressing challenges ahead. European peace through strength—but not without the US While Europe is building its rise as a security, defence and military actor, there is a consensus among most EU member states that these efforts should not happen to the detriment of NATO and that there is a need to maintain solid US involvement in European security. Strength is not merely a matter of political initiatives but also of demonstrating a clear readiness to engage militarily. There must be a deterrent effect from military power, particularly in anticipation of potential new Russian offensives once Moscow rebuilds its troops and supplies during a future ceasefire or peace deal. And military power is exactly where Europe—willing or not—will still need to rely on the transatlantic partnership for a foreseeable while, due to its current overreliance on strategic US military and intelligence assets. Moreover, the new administration in Washington has manoeuvred fast to have a clear say on the future of European security. It is the US—not Europe—that is leading the diplomacy on a ceasefire or peace deal in Ukraine. And while Europe, in reaction, is focusing on shaping future security guarantees for Ukraine—or even pushing for boots on the ground through a ‘coalition of the willing’—both of these European endeavours hinge, first, on the success of US diplomacy to reach a deal with Russia; and second, on US logistical and intelligence support for the proposed troops on the ground. Without these, most of the ‘willing nations’ may withdraw their commitments. The situation is further complicated by the shortage of operational European troops: for instance, the UK has an expeditionary force, but relies heavily on its air and naval power; France has some units, but in insufficient numbers; and Germany’s contribution remains uncertain. In this context, a European plan to help Ukraine win and maintain peace should not compromise NATO’s resilience and should therefore be developed in close coordination with the alliance, particularly in terms of planning and interoperability. And as Europe is now spending on defence, it should do so while ensuring that its expenditures align with NATO capability objectives. Moreover, military strength is not the only domain in which Europe should continue to keep an eye on the US. Europe notably believes that it is imperative to increase pressure on Russia through sanctions. The EU is unequivocally clear that there can be no consideration of easing sanctions; on the contrary, some member states even advocate for intensifying them. The challenge for Europe, however, remains to emphatically convey this message to the Americans, as any decision by the US to ease sanctions—as requested by Russia—would undermine the most critical form of pressure against Russia. Some EU member states have already raised concerns about the future of European sanctions policy, highlighting the need for new methods to enforce sanctions, particularly if certain EU member states more friendly to Russia decide to obstruct them in the future. Putin’s patient game of chess Meanwhile, President Vladimir Putin has clearly asserted a degree of dominance in the ongoing diplomatic negotiations. He has set preliminary conditions for a ceasefire, made a limited commitment regarding energy infrastructure and subsequently undermined the credibility of his own commitment with new attacks on Ukraine. Despite this, Putin’s demands concerning Western military supplies and intelligence-sharing reveal that Ukrainian attacks on Russian critical infrastructure are causing significant damage and irking the Russian president. Putin’s demands, including the reduction of Ukraine’s military capabilities, the transfer of entire Ukrainian regions to Russian control and the replacement of President Zelensky, are, naturally, unacceptable to Ukraine. These demands also pose the most significant risk to the West: if Russia were to succeed in installing a pro-Russian leader in Kyiv and controlling the Ukrainian military, it would alter the entire power and military balance in Eastern Europe. Should President Trump agree to this, it would likely cause a further deterioration in US–EU relations too. Achieving a middle-ground in any US–Russia agreement for Ukraine currently still poses a formidable challenge. Moscow therefore perceives that it has the momentum in its favour, despite Russia’s inability to achieve any strategic breakthroughs in Ukraine. The financial and human costs of this conflict for Moscow are substantial, while it is making minimal territorial gains. However, while Ukraine has successfully liberated 50% of the territory that was previously occupied by Russia, the Kremlin nevertheless still occupies approximately 20% of Ukrainian territory. Moscow has also likely observed in the US a desire to shift towards finding a consensus and a willingness to negotiate in a transactional manner. Moreover, the recent suspension of US intelligence and military support has already had immediate repercussions on Ukraine’s strength. It has weakened Ukraine’s ability to bring this war to a conclusion and could potentially lead to a temporary ceasefire that would de facto result in the creation of a ‘frozen conflict’—an outcome which Russia would not necessarily view unfavourably. A friendly US visit to Europe . . . On 3 and 4 April 2025, US Secretary of State Marco Rubio participated for the first time in a NATO foreign ministerial meeting. Rubio’s visit to NATO headquarters was notably smoother and more amicable than the visit of his colleague at the Department of Defense, Pete Hegseth, for the defence ministerial meeting in February 2025. Rubio, a seasoned diplomat, adroitly conveyed the message that European allies must significantly increase their defence spending, advocating for allocations of up to 5% of their GDP. He acknowledged the difficulty of this demand but emphasised that it could be achieved incrementally, provided the allies concerned showed a clear and consistent direction of progress. In a similar vein, Rubio addressed the situation in Ukraine, commending the resilience and fighting spirit of the Ukrainian people. He articulated President Trump’s recognition that a military solution in Ukraine is unattainable for both Ukraine and Russia, necessitating a negotiated settlement. Rubio underscored that peace negotiations inherently require compromises from all parties involved. He acknowledged that Ukraine has already made significant concessions, whereas Russia has yet to reciprocate. According to Rubio, Russia is testing President Trump’s resolve, but he also acknowledged that Putin faces severe consequences if he does not promptly agree to a ceasefire, indicating that the timeline for such an agreement is measured in weeks, not months. Rubio concluded by asserting that a peace agreement would be unattainable without European involvement. Rubio also expressed broad support for the EU’s defence initiatives, including the EU Joint White Paper and the ReArm programme. He praised the EU’s efforts to encourage its member states to meet their NATO commitments and to strengthen the industrial base, provided that the non-EU defence industry, particularly American firms, is not unduly excluded. Despite the positive reception of Rubio’s visit to Europe and NATO, there remains an underlying uncertainty about whether other influential figures within President Trump’s Make America Great Again movement share Rubio’s views. The path to achieving a cohesive and effective alliance strategy is fraught with challenges, and it remains uncertain whether NATO will navigate these obstacles successfully and emerge intact. . . . but Washington’s priority is the Asia–Pacific region Above all, the NATO foreign ministerial meeting of early April showed again that the US felt fundamentally displeased with the Western approach to China over the past several decades. The prevailing assumption—that a capitalist and economically prosperous China would inevitably evolve to resemble Western democratic nations—was a misguided and overly optimistic expectation. This erroneous belief has permitted Beijing to engage in deceptive trade and military practices for the past 30 years without facing significant repercussions. Today the US is clearly concerned about the way China has strategically weaponised its industrial capabilities by seamlessly integrating its civilian and military sectors through a dual-use strategy that is particularly evident in critical economic and high-tech domains, such as artificial intelligence. By blurring the lines between civilian and military applications, China has been able to enhance its technological and industrial base, thereby posing a multifaceted challenge to global security. Moreover, for the US, the presence of North Korean soldiers in Ukraine serves as a stark indicator of the interconnected nature of the threats emanating from the Indo-Pacific and European regions. For Washington, the collaborative efforts of adversarial states such as China, Russia, Iran and North Korea in Ukraine and other geopolitical theatres necessitate a similarly unified and strategic approach from democratic like-minded nations to strengthening their alliances and enhancing their collective security measures in response to the evolving geopolitical landscape. Interconnected theatres of confrontation China’s alleged support for the Russian war effort in Ukraine and the military cooperation between Russia and North Korea, and Russia and Iran, clearly illustrate the interconnectedness of security dynamics between Europe, the Asia–Pacific region and the Middle East. The ongoing conflict in Ukraine represents a pivotal moment for the stability of the international system, impacting not only Europe but also other parts of the world. Contrary to the characterisation of the conflict in Ukraine as merely a ‘European war’ a few years ago, the war there is now considered by the West to be a globalised conflict with profound international implications. This perspective is widely accepted among the NATO allies, which recognise the growing interconnection between the three theatres of conflict. This attitude is also increasingly reflected in the enhanced dialogue between NATO and the Indo–Pacific Four partners—Australia, New Zealand, Japan and the Republic of Korea. This cooperation is today seen by allies as mutually beneficial and necessary. Beyond exchanges of intelligence, particularly on the challenges posed by China, support for Ukraine dominates the partnership, alongside the joint battle against hybrid threats, progress on cybersecurity and the strengthening of maritime security. It is widely expected that NATO allies will seek to further strengthen this cooperation at the 2025 NATO summit in The Hague. Among NATO members there is, furthermore, a growing consensus on the need to be firm with China. Allies agree on the necessity of sending a stronger message and taking determined and united actions in terms of deterrence, including at the hybrid and cyber levels, as well as on imposing sanctions against Chinese economic operators involved in China–Russia cooperation in Ukraine. While Russia remains the primary long-term threat to the NATO realm, there is recognition that China poses a significant problem that must be addressed in its full magnitude, particularly in the context of China–Russia cooperation. It is essential to act firmly and in a united way to increase the costs of cooperation with Moscow for Beijing while keeping open the necessary avenues of engagement. Any dissonance between Europe and the US on this issue might otherwise become the root cause of the next big crisis of trust in the transatlantic relationship. China versus a Russian–American rapprochement Russia is not fighting its Ukraine war alone. It is receiving help from allies including China, Iran and North Korea. Moreover, the war in Ukraine is not just about Ukraine’s future. It is also part of a larger global struggle, with Russia seeking position alongside China in a reconfigured world order that is more multipolar and less centred on the US. In this respect, China may be inclined to silently assist Russia in opposing a proposed ceasefire or peace plan for Ukraine put forward by President Trump. Beijing likely recognises that by resolving the conflict in Ukraine and fostering better relations with Russia, Trump’s ultimate objective is to reallocate US diplomatic, military and economic resources to address the growing global influence of China and its impact on US national interests. In this respect Putin appears keen to keep President Xi Jinping informed about American attempts at rapprochement and ongoing negotiations concerning Ukraine. Historically, the ‘good relations’ between China and Russia are relatively recent; the stability of this relationship is attributed to the resolution of their border disputes, their complementary economies and their non-interference in each other’s ideological systems. But Moscow treads carefully as it knows it is the junior partner in the relationship. Moreover, the prospect of an American–Russian rapprochement is not viewed by either Moscow or Beijing with any real sense of threat. Ultimately Russia’s offerings to the US are limited; it has also been asserted that any rapprochement would not have an effect on Moscow–Beijing relations, as Sino-Russian ties are not dependent on any third party. Furthermore, regarding the Ukraine war, China maintains that it is ‘not a party’ to the conflict (DPA 2024). China upholds the principles of the sovereignty and territorial integrity of Ukraine while acknowledging Russia’s legitimate security concerns. In the eyes of Beijing, these principles must be reconciled to end the war. Additionally, China opposes unilateral sanctions on Russia but, due to its significant trade ties with the EU and the US, it accepts the Russian sanctions and their secondary effects on the Chinese economy. The ongoing negotiations on Ukraine are perceived by China as creating crucial momentum for achieving peace through dialogue, which should not be an opportunity missed. The American initiative is seen as a continuation of previous efforts, including the Chinese Peace Plan for Ukraine of 2023, the Ukraine Peace Summit 2024 in Switzerland and the Sino-Brazilian Six-Point Plan, also in 2024 (Gov.br 2024). China calls for non-escalation and direct negotiations, noting the signs of the exhaustion of manpower and resources on both the Russian and the Ukrainian sides. Despite China’s apparently laconic stance vis-à-vis the relationship, an American–Russian rapprochement could cause some concerns for Beijing. Economically, Moscow is less relevant to Beijing than Washington or Brussels. However, Russia holds fundamental strategic value due to its extensive land border with China. In the event of an American–Chinese rivalry escalating into direct conflict, Russia could become a lifeline for Beijing, especially if accompanied by a successful American blockade. These potential risks and scenarios, which seem increasingly likely over time, may serve as a significant incentive for China to obstruct the warming of relations between Moscow and Washington. References DPA (2024). China is not a party to Ukraine war, Xi tells Scholz in Beijing. aNews, 16 April. https://www.anews.com.tr/world/2024/04/16/china-is-not-a-party-to-ukraine-war-xi-tells-scholz-in-beijing. Accessed 15 April 2025. European Commission. (2025). Joint White Paper for European defence readiness 2030. JOIN (2025) 120 final (19 March). https://eur-lex.europa.eu/legal-content/EN/TXT/?uri=CELEX:52025JC0120. Accessed 15 April 2025. Gov.br. (2024). Brazil and China present joint proposal for peace negotiations with the participation of Russia and Ukraine. 23 May. https://www.gov.br/planalto/en/latest-news/2024/05/brazil-and-china-present-joint-proposal-for-peace-negotiations-with-the-participation-of-russia-and-ukraine. Accessed 15 April 2025. This article is distributed under the terms of the Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 License (https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/)

한국어로 읽기 Leer en español In Deutsch lesen Gap اقرأ بالعربية Lire en français Читать на русском Abstract Cyberspace has become a crucial area for the governance and sovereignty of states, especially in the case of China which has developed a comprehensive digital governance strategy. The Chinese government prioritized the construction of a technological infrastructure including Artificial Intelligence and Cloud Computing to strengthen its control over Cyberspace and ensure National Security. Introduction The term cyberspace was coined by writer William Gibson in his science fiction novel “Neuromancer” (1984), in which he described it as a consensual virtual reality. Since then, the concept has transcended fiction to become a tangible domain. Cyberspace can be defined as a digital environment created by the global interconnection of computer systems, networks, and devices, where information flows and human interactions take place virtually. It has undergone significant evolution since its inception. In the 1980s and 1990s, it was mainly limited to academic and military networks in the United States, such as ARPANET. With the arrival of the Internet, cyberspace expanded rapidly, incorporating millions of users and giving rise to new forms of communication such as email and online forums. The gradual proliferation of mobile devices and social networks has transformed cyberspace into an omnipresent and integral part of everyday life. In terms of communication and connectivity, it revolutionized the way people communicate by eliminating geographical and temporal barriers. Cryptocurrencies and Fintech [1] are examples of how cyberspace has transformed the economy, creating new opportunities. Regarding its interconnection with culture and entertainment, the digitalization of culture has given rise to new forms of creation and consumption such as music and video streaming, online gaming, and digital art. Cyberspace: A Strategic Domain Cyberspace has become a strategic battlefield for the hemisphere. In China, cyberspace is seen as an essential component of national security and economic development. The Chinese government has implemented strict policies to regulate cyberspace, including the Great Firewall of China, which controls the flow of information and protects digital infrastructure. In the 10th Five-Year Plan (2001–2005), promoting the information technology sector, increasing internet accessibility, and encouraging the use of digital technologies were established as national priorities. At the Chinese Communist Party Congress in 2002, information was recognized as essential for the growth of comprehensive national power; consequently, in 2005, the National Strategy 2006–2020 for Information Development was published. Regarding the treatment, study, and control of cyberspace, the People’s Liberation Army has always granted crucial importance to information and its technical infrastructure for collection, protection, and distribution, given its duty to safeguard national interests. This is demonstrated by an article written by then-Colonel Wang Baocun in the “PLA Daily” in April 1998: “The opportunity created by the new military revolution is once-in-a-lifetime. Our army enjoys many favorable conditions for informatization. Our country has achieved rapid informatization and has the potential energy to extend this work to the military. An important feature of the current Military Revolution is that local informatization begins earlier and develops faster than in the armed forces and is more technologically advanced. After generating sufficient potential energy, the work will extend to the military and trigger a massive military transformation.” (Expósito, 2022) While for most of the so-called West, and thus also for the United States, there are five domains — land, sea, air, space, and cyberspace — Chinese specialists conceive of cyberspace as the interaction of two distinct realms: the electromagnetic spectrum and informatization. In recent decades, China has emerged as a global power in the scientific and technological sphere, consolidating its position through a comprehensive strategy that links the development of science with the expansion of cyberspace. Since the implementation of the "Made in China 2025" Plan, the government has prioritized technological innovation as the engine of development, focusing on areas such as AI, big data, and cybersecurity, positioning China as a leader in the Fourth Industrial Revolution. Launched in 2015, this is an industrial strategy that aims to transform China into a high-tech manufacturing power. The goal is to reduce dependency on foreign technologies and promote local innovation in key sectors such as robotics, AI, electric vehicles, and biotechnology. The Internet of Things (IoT) is an essential component that complements it, enabling the creation of smart factories and more efficient supply chains. “Internet Plus”, also launched in 2015, promotes the integration of the internet with traditional sectors such as agriculture, logistics, and financial services. It seeks to drive the digitalization of the economy and promote the use of emerging technologies like IoT, big data, and cloud computing. The Internet of Things (IoT) is fundamental to Internet Plus, as it facilitates connectivity between devices and systems, enabling the creation of interconnected digital ecosystems. The proliferation of connected devices allows the IoT to support the development of advanced communication platforms such as WeChat and Alipay, which integrate multiple services into a single application. The relationship between these initiatives lies in the fact that IoT acts as a bridge between “Made in China 2025” and “Internet Plus”, enabling the convergence of advanced manufacturing and the digitalization of the economy. On one hand, “Made in China 2025” uses the Internet of Things to modernize industry and improve productivity. On the other hand, “Internet Plus” leverages IoT to create new data-driven services and business models. This synergy has allowed China to position itself as a global leader in technological innovation. The relationship between science and cyberspace has been strengthened thanks to massive investment in research and development (R&D). The country has allocated significant resources to training talent in STEM disciplines (science, technology, engineering, and mathematics) and has established centers of excellence in technological innovation, which have enabled the development of AI algorithms applied in sectors such as medicine, logistics, and defense. On the international stage, the People’s Republic of China has adopted a cooperative approach, actively participating in international cybersecurity organizations and promoting initiatives such as the Digital Silk Road, which aims to foster technological development in other nations. The future of the relationship between science and Chinese cyberspace is marked by emerging trends that promise to further transform society. The adoption of technologies such as 5G and Blockchain [2] is redefining how people interact with the digital world. At the same time, as the Asian nation faces the challenge of balancing technological growth with sustainability and social equity, it is developing cyber power strategy as one of the fundamental pillars of its government policy. This strategy is understood as the need to build a robust digital infrastructure that advances quantum technology, A), and their derivatives, aiming for the greatest possible development of all areas involved in the defense of cyberspace. China has positioned itself as a global leader in AI, with companies like Baidu, Alibaba, and Tencent at the forefront of research. In the field of big data, it has leveraged its vast population and the proliferation of connected devices to collect and analyze massive amounts of information, improving efficiency in sectors such as transportation and urban planning. Cyberspace is vulnerable to threats such as cyberattacks, digital espionage, and cyber warfare. In response to these risks, quantum computing offers tools to strengthen cybersecurity. In today’s digital era, quantum computing and cyberspace have become two foundational pillars for technological development and national security. China, as one of the global powers in technological innovation, has invested significantly in both areas, recognizing their potential to transform the economy, defense, and society. Quantum Computing: A New Technological Paradigm Quantum computing represents a revolutionary leap in information processing capabilities. Unlike classical computers, which use bits to represent data as 0 or 1, quantum computers employ qubits, which can exist in multiple states simultaneously thanks to the phenomenon of quantum superposition. This allows for solving complex problems in a very short time, unlike traditional computers, which would require much longer periods. China is increasing its role as a global leader in the research and development of quantum computing. In 2020, the country achieved a historic milestone by demonstrating quantum supremacy with its Jiuzhang computer, capable of performing calculations in minutes that would take the most advanced supercomputers thousands of years. Not only China has placed itself at the forefront of quantum technology, but it also has carried deep implications for cyberspace. Regarding its advancements in this area, China has achieved significant milestones, such as the development of long-distance communication networks — one example being the Beijing–Shanghai backbone network [3]. The link between these elements is manifested in several key areas: 1. Quantum Cryptography and Cybersecurity One of the most significant impacts of quantum computing on cyberspace is its ability to revolutionize cryptography. Quantum algorithms have the potential to break current encryption systems, which form the basis of online security. This poses a threat to critical infrastructure, financial transactions, and secure communications. In response to this challenge, China has invested in the development of quantum cryptography, particularly in Quantum Key Distribution (QKD). In 2016, China launched the world’s first quantum satellite, “Micius”, which demonstrated the feasibility of secure long-distance quantum communication. This advancement lays the foundation for a global communication network immune to traditional cyberattacks. 2. Artificial Intelligence and Data Analysis Quantum computing has the potential to accelerate the development of AI and the analysis of large volumes of data. In cyberspace, this translates to greater capacity to detect patterns, predict threats, and optimize networks. The People’s Republic of China, already a leader in AI, has the potential to use quantum computing to strengthen its dominance in cyberspace, both nationally and internationally. Quantum networks enable the transmission of information with unprecedented security levels, reinforcing China’s leadership by strengthening its position in cyberspace and promoting its technological standards internationally. Quantum computing also offers strategic advantages. It could be used to develop more sophisticated cyberweapons capable of disabling enemy systems. It also holds the potential to enhance cyber defense, protecting critical infrastructure from attacks. China has integrated quantum computing into its national defense strategy, recognizing its importance in maintaining superiority in cyberspace. 3. Challenges and Ethical Considerations The global technological race among powers such as the United States is one of the key variables in this challenge and could exacerbate geopolitical tensions. There are ethical concerns about the use of quantum computing in cyberspace. The power of this technology has already been used for malicious purposes such as espionage, cyberattacks, or information manipulation, especially by powers adverse to China. As quantum technology advances, there is growing integration between its components and cyberspace, driving innovation in fields such as secure communication, artificial intelligence, and national defense. China's success in these areas will have global implications, redefining the future of technology and security in this century, toward essential economic, political, and social development goals. China has recognized the importance of cyberspace as a modern battlefield and has developed regulations and strategies to protect its interests in this domain, establishing laws that require companies and organizations to implement strong security measures and report cybersecurity incidents. In this regard, the transformative potential of quantum computing for national defense and security is acknowledged. Quantum technology has been applied to conflict simulation and the analysis of complex scenarios in the military sphere. The rapid development of the IoT presents challenges. The interconnection of devices creates vulnerabilities that can be exploited through cyberattacks on power grids, transportation systems, and more, which could have devastating consequences. China recognized these risks and implemented measures to strengthen cybersecurity. In 2017, the government enacted the Cybersecurity Law, which establishes strict requirements for data protection and network security. On the communication front, authorities have made efforts to promote not only the country’s technological capabilities, but also elements of Chinese culture. Platforms such as TikTok (known domestically as Douyin) have gained global popularity, becoming vehicles to counter negative narratives in Western media. This approach has resonated in other countries, especially in the so-called Global South, with which China has established strategic technological partnerships. 4. Cyberspace and Chinese Cyber Sovereignty Cyber sovereignty refers to the notion that each nation has the right and responsibility to exercise control over its cyberspace, protecting its digital infrastructure, regulating the flow of information, and defending its national interests in the digital realm. For China, this concept is fundamental to its Internet governance approach and aligns with a vision of a regulated and secure Internet. In summary, cyber sovereignty is defined as a condition in which the state has authority over cyberspace within its borders, including the ability to regulate Internet access, control online content, and protect digital infrastructure. It is based on the premise that cyberspace is a strategic domain that must be managed to ensure national security, social stability, and economic development. Its key principles include: State control: The Chinese government exercises strict control over Internet infrastructure and online content.National security: The protection of cyberspace is considered an extension of national defense.Content regulation: Measures are implemented to filter information deemed harmful or contrary to state interests.Technological autonomy: China seeks to reduce dependence on foreign technologies and promote the development of local solutions. Legal and Political Framework The Cybersecurity Law (2017) establishes regulations for data protection, infrastructure security, and online content regulation. Regarding the practical applications of China’s cyber sovereignty, one key element is the ability to exercise surveillance, i.e., the use of advanced technologies to monitor and control the flow of information. Promotion of local platforms: Encouragement of Chinese alternatives to global services (e.g., WeChat instead of WhatsApp, Baidu instead of Google).Development of technological standards: Creation of domestic standards for technologies like 5G and the Internet of Things, aiming to reduce dependence on international norms. International Implications Alternative governance model: China promotes its cyber sovereignty approach as an alternative to the Western model of an open and free Internet.Global influence: Through initiatives like the Digital Silk Road, China offers other countries the opportunity to adopt its model of digital governance and technologies.International tensions: Disputes with other countries over the control of critical technologies and influence in global cyberspace.Balance between security and innovation: Strict control may limit creativity and entrepreneurship in the tech sector. Cyber sovereignty is a key link in China’s digital strategy, reflecting its state control and national security approach to cyberspace. This concept has enabled the Asian nation to develop a unique model of digital governance, characterized by regulation, promotion of local technologies, and projection of global influence. Internet Governance China has adopted a unique approach to Internet governance, based on the principle of national sovereignty. Unlike the open Internet model promoted by the United States, the Asian country advocates a model in which each nation has the right to regulate and control its own Internet infrastructure. This approach is reflected, among other aspects, in the adoption of policies that restrict access to foreign websites, to protect content aligned with national interests. China has also promoted international initiatives to establish digital governance norms that support its vision of cyber sovereignty. One example is the “Code of Conduct for International Information Security”, presented to the United Nations (UN), which advocates for the respect of national sovereignty in cyberspace and non-interference in the internal affairs of other countries. In response to perceived threats from the United States and other powers, China has strengthened its cyber defense capabilities. One of the most significant initiatives has been the creation of a unit within the People’s Liberation Army specializing in cyber operations. China has denounced the surveillance activities of the United States National Security Agency (NSA). The rivalry driven by the U.S. stems from China’s accelerated development in network technologies and the rise of companies like Huawei, global leaders in technology. The Asian country has sought to counter U.S. influence in cyberspace through strategic alliances with other nations while pursuing diplomatic and technological balance. It has collaborated with Russia on joint cybersecurity policies and has promoted its vision of Internet governance in international forums such as the Shanghai Cooperation Organization (SCO). The U.S. aggressiveness in the digital realm, aimed at countering China’s rise, could lead to a fragmentation of information technology, particularly in terms of data transmission, where different regions might adopt contradictory standards and regulations. This scenario, known as the “Balkanization of the Internet,” would bring negative consequences for innovation and international cooperation. For this reason, China strives — through its domestic policies and within international forums — to maintain a balance in the use of global cyberspace and in the effective approach to managing digital technologies. While some politicians and academics (Friedberg, Pillsbury) argue that China’s economic and military power will lead to an irrational use of cyberspace, others (Shambaugh, Steinfeld) maintain that China is increasingly integrated into international institutions and the global economy. They also emphasize the Chinese government's growing and sustained concern for international stability. Chinese authorities have had the opportunity to assert that, aside from the United States' aggressive stance, there are common interests between both nations regarding the defense of cyberspace and cybersecurity. For both countries, maintaining cybersecurity is vital for stability and social development. Their strategic approaches are based on serving their national interests, which is why both governments present their respective cyberspace strategies as models to emulate. Both, China and the United States, consider that strategic information must be handled with great care to ensure the proper functioning of public administration and national security. China supports the U.S. perspective on a cybersecurity governance model based on a multistakeholder approach, involving government, private, civil, and military actors in the implementation and execution of responsibilities. Certain reactionary sectors in the United States have worked to prevent possibilities for mutual understanding. In 2018, the U.S. Department of Justice launched the “China Initiative”, aimed at countering what was perceived as economic espionage and intellectual property theft, allegedly carried out primarily by U.S. citizens of Chinese descent. This initiative had several geopolitical consequences: Tension in U.S.–China relations: Considered a discriminatory measure, seen as an attempt solely to contain China's economic and technological rise.Impact on bilateral cooperation: It increased distrust, negatively affecting areas of collaboration such as trade, investment, and joint work in science and technology.Concerns about civil rights: It was criticized by human rights groups and academics for targeting Americans of Chinese descent, creating an atmosphere of fear and self-censorship among Chinese-origin researchers and scholars. In some cases, this led to the loss of international collaborations. In 2021, President Joe Biden’s administration announced the end of the initiative, acknowledging its inappropriateness and the criticism it had drawn. However, in 2023, new accusations emerged involving Chinese nationals, allegedly responsible for flying "spy balloons" over U.S. military installations. A defamatory campaign sought to fuel Sinophobia, and media outlets once again contributed to this narrative. While the Chinese Ministry of Foreign Affairs denied involvement, in the United States, the president convened the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff and mobilized several strategic components, including the U.S. Cyber Command (US CyberCom). Several U.S. intelligence analysts, including Christopher Johnson, admitted that the United States conducts espionage against China. The wave of Sinophobia was intended to justify to the public the U.S. efforts to obtain vital information about China’s strategic interests, especially those linked to digital transformation and cyberspace. In 2024, the U.S. government announced that by 2025 it would double tariffs on Chinese semiconductors, while continuing to accuse Beijing of forcing technology transfers and stealing intellectual property. Final Considerations Cyberspace and digital governance are part of a broader war rooted in the cultural dimension of contemporary hegemonic power, which is heightened by the existing links between media and culture and their influence on relationships of domination. A Cold War persists in the form of a battle for individuals' minds, underscoring its ideological nature (Expósito, 2022). With the advance in science, psychological warfare has evolved, largely due to the development of new information and communication technologies. Faced with strong U.S. interference, psychological warfare is closely linked to the justification for dominating cyberspace, interpreted also as political warfare — understood as crisis diplomacy, war of nerves, or dramatic intimidation diplomacy. Through these strategies, the United States seeks to counter China’s remarkable progress in commercial economic development, particularly in the technological sphere. To support these efforts, the U.S. intelligence directorate hires public relations consultants responsible for conducting complex psychological operations in the informational and media domain. One of their main tasks is to validate and frame information production for propaganda purposes, where military communication strategies and tactics are intertwined with and become part of media operations, in which media outlets function as oligopolistic enterprises. According to U.S. intelligence agencies, information is treated as a content-seeking tool used to persuade public opinion, regardless of its truthfulness (for example, the repeated accusations of alleged Chinese spies operating within the United States). Communication is viewed as a vehicle for promoting the communicator’s interests — in other words, an effective way to ensure that a message, with a purely propagandistic purpose, aligns with political interests, serving the agenda of the executive branch and transnational media corporations in the United States, while also considering the specific interests of the State Department and the Department of Defense. With a “prepackaged” message, cyberspace — a concept not yet fully understood by the average citizen — is presented as a stimulus for the development of various cyberspace-related programs in the U.S., such as Cicada, Tripwire, among others. As a result, the People’s Republic of China becomes the subject of a U.S. social experiment, through which this subject — often portrayed through manipulated or falsified narratives — facilitates the enrichment of the aforementioned large transnational media corporations, one of the methods employed by the United States to maintain its hegemony. U.S. authorities, working in tandem with the corporate sector, continue to advocate — so far without the expected success — for the transition of network informatization to the multi-domain sphere, extending from Earth to space and cyberspace. This transition requires a close interconnection of all elements involved, and corresponding training of technical and logistical personnel. The restrictions imposed by the United States on China’s semiconductor industry are clearly aimed at obstructing China’s technological development, as the Asian nation still depends, to some extent, on certain components manufactured in the U.S. or by its allies. Accordingly, the restrictions enforced through the 2022 CHIPS and Science Act limit China’s access to advanced chip manufacturing technologies, such as Extreme Ultraviolet Lithography (EUVL) equipment, essential for producing next-generation semiconductors. It is important to note that chips and Chinese cyberspace are closely interrelated, as chips are fundamental components of the technological infrastructure that sustains cyberspace. In short, they are the technological foundation that enables the operation, expansion, and security of Chinese cyberspace, and their development is strategic for China’s autonomy and competitiveness in the global digital arena. The link between the communication sphere and cyberspace in the People’s Republic of China reflects its development model and its governance vision, aimed at promoting social cohesion. Through the use of advanced technologies and the implementation of policies, China has managed to maintain a high level of control over its digital environment, thereby promoting its national interests. China’s security and defense strategy in relation to cyberspace reflects its aspiration to become a global digital power. By adopting an approach based on national sovereignty, China seeks to protect its interests and counter threats posed by the United States and other powers. In an increasingly interconnected world, it is essential that nations find ways to cooperate in the field of cybersecurity, by establishing standards and norms that promote stability and trust in cyberspace. As one of the leading digital powers, China maintains its commitment to playing a crucial role in balancing the international order. The relationship between quantum computing, cyberspace, and China’s military security and defense regulations is complex and multifaceted. Quantum computing has the potential to revolutionize how information is processed and how security is ensured. China has been a pioneer in integrating quantum computing into its security and defense strategies, which has important implications for global security. The “Internet Plus” initiative served as a key catalyst for China's digital transformation, positioning the country as a global leader in technological innovation. By highlighting the close interdependence between cyberspace and quantum computing, it becomes evident how emerging technologies are transforming the world. China has demonstrated a strong commitment to the development of quantum computing, recognizing its potential to strengthen its position in cyberspace and its global implications that will reshape the future of technology and security in the 21st century. For years now, cyberspace has become part of the obscure content used in propaganda spread by what is referred to as the mainstream press. It is used not only as a critical domain to be protected for the sake of national sovereignty and security, but also as a media spectacle, a staged platform in which the press is employed to convey messages desired by the political and economic executives of countries such as the United States. In such cases, in addition to the legitimate need to protect cyberspace as an intrinsic component of political and social stability, it is also used as a justification for massive financial allocations, supposedly in the name of national integrity, which in reality flow into the coffers of the Military-Industrial Complex. Notes [1] A company that uses technology to offer financial services in an innovative, efficient, and accessible way. The term comes from the combination of the words “finance” and “technology.”[2] Blockchain is a distributed ledger technology that allows information to be stored securely, transparently, and in a decentralized manner. It consists of a chain of blocks linked together, where each block contains a set of verified transactions or data. These blocks are connected through cryptographic techniques.[3] An important high-speed rail line in China that connects the cities of Beijing and Shanghai. Known as the High-Speed Railway, it is one of the busiest and most strategic routes. It was inaugurated on June 30, 2011 and covers an approximate distance of 1,318 km. References Expósito, J. (2022, enero 19). China en el ciberespacio. Revista Ejércitos. http://www.ejercitos.comFriedberg, A. L. (2011). A Contest for Supremacy: China, America and the Struggle for Mastery in Asia. Nueva York: W.W. Norton.Lewis, J. A. (2022). Chinas Cyber Strategy: A Comprehensive Analysis. Center for Strategic and International Studies. En www.centerforstrategicstudiesMinisterio de Defensa Nacional de la República Popular China (2023). Libro Blanco de Defensa Nacional. Beijing: Editorial del Pueblo.Patiño Orozco, G. A. (2021). Una comparativa de los esquemas de ciberseguridad de China y Estados Unidos. OASIS, 34, pp. 107-126. https://doi.org/10.18601/16577558.n34.07Perera Pena, E. “El llamado globo chino y algunas de sus derivaciones estratégicas”. En Revista Cuadernos de Nuestra América. CIPI. La Habana. Cuba. ISSN: 2959-9849.Pillsbury, M. (2015). The Hundred Year Marathon. Chinas Secret Strategy to Replace Americas as the Global Superpower. Nueva York: Henry Holt.Segal, A. (2020). The Hacked World Order: How Nations Fight, Trade, Manueuver, and Manipulate in the Digital Age. New York. Public Affairs.Shambaugh, D. (2013). China Goes Global. The Partial Power. Nueva York: Columbia University Press.Spanish.news.cn 16.3.2023. Libro Blanco. China explora activamente nuevos modelos de “ciberjusticia”. En: www.spanish.xinhunet.comSteinfeld, E. S. (2017). Teams of Rivals: China, the United States, and the Race to Develop Technologies for a Sustainable Future. In J. DeLisle, and A. Goldstein, Chinas Global Engagement: Cooperation, Competition, and Influence in the 21st Century (pp.91-121). Washington: Brookings Institution Press.Zhang, L. (2021). Chinas Quantum Supremacy. Beijing: Tsinghua University Press. Cuadernos de Nuestra América. No. 014 | Nueva Época 2025, Centro de Investigaciones de Política Internacional (CIPI). Under CC BY-NC 4.0 

한국어로 읽기 Leer en español In Deutsch lesen Gap اقرأ بالعربية Lire en français Читать на русском A leaked phone call, renewed clashes, and political brinkmanship have transformed a long-standing border dispute into a test of the Thai PM’s leadership, Cambodia’s assertiveness, and ASEAN’s credibility as a mediator in conflicts. Thailand finds itself in the eye of a growing political and diplomatic storm. What began as a deadly border clash in late May—with the killing of a Cambodian soldier in the contested Chong Bok region—has rapidly escalated into a full-blown national crisis culminating in a Thai Constitutional Court asking Prime Minister Paetongtarn Shinawatra to step down on 1 July. The skirmish reignited deep-rooted tensions over unresolved territorial claims and historical rivalries, but a leaked phone call lit the fuse. On 18 June, Cambodian Senate President and former Prime Minister Hun Sen released a 17-minute, 6-second phone call with Thai PM Paetongtarn on social media—unfiltered and explosive. The recording, confirmed as authentic by Paetongtarn after a public apology, included remarks that appeared critical of Thai military leadership and referenced her Cambodian counterpart as ‘uncle’, sparking outrage and shaking the foundations of her fragile coalition. The political fallout was immediate as the Bhumjaithai Party, a key coalition partner with 69 seats, pulled out the same day, triggering a government crisis. Calls for fresh elections erupted, protests spread nationwide, and ethics complaints flooded. Senate President Mongkol Surasajja responded by filing a petition with the Constitutional Court, questioning the PM's fitness to govern and requesting her removal due to alleged ethical misconduct and constitutional violations. In a firmer move on 24 June, Thailand sealed all land border crossings with Cambodia, allowing only students, medical cases, and urgent humanitarian travel. All other movements—tourism, trade, and casual transit—have been suspended indefinitely. Still, Paetongtarn has refused to back down. Calling for national unity and holding on to sovereignty, she remained defiant. She called the leak by the Cambodian counterpart a breach of diplomatic etiquette and trust, prompting Thailand’s Foreign Affairs Ministry to hand a letter of protest to the Cambodian ambassador. In a firmer move on 24 June, Thailand sealed all land border crossings with Cambodia, allowing only students, medical cases, and urgent humanitarian travel. All other movements—tourism, trade, and casual transit—have been suspended indefinitely. The crisis deepened further on 1 July, with Thailand’s Constitutional Court ordering Paetongtarn to step aside for up to 15 days while it examines the mounting allegations against her. Deputy Prime Minister Suriya Jungrungruangkit has been appointed to serve in an acting capacity during this period. With tensions simmering at home and diplomacy fraying abroad, understanding the evolving dynamics between Thailand and Cambodia and their implications is essential at this juncture. Historical Background of Border Tensions  Historically, Thailand and Cambodia have shared a dispute over a small section of the 817 km land boundary, particularly concerning the area around the Preah Vihear Temple,  which the Thais call Phra Viharn. The dispute's origins can be traced back to the 20th century under French colonial rule, when Thailand (then Siam) signed a border treaty demarcating the northern frontiers between the two. In the years leading up to 1953, when Cambodia gained independence from France, the region changed hands many times. After its independence, Thai troops occupied the region in 1954. In response, Cambodia brought the dispute before the International Court of Justice (ICJ), which, in 1962, ruled in favour of Cambodia. However, Thailand did not accept the ICJ’s judgment, challenging the interpretation of the 1907 map presented as evidence. Thailand specifically maintained that it had never officially recognised the 1907 map, even though it had been used over an extended period, and asserted that the ICJ’s judgment applied solely to the immediate temple grounds, not the broader border region. In 2013, at the request of the Cambodian government, the ICJ reiterated its 1962 judgement, highlighting Cambodia’s sovereignty over the entire temple complex and urging Thailand to withdraw its troops from the area. The dispute gained renewed attention when Cambodia sought to register Preah Vihar as a UNESCO World Heritage Site in 2008, and again in 2011 when about 40 people were killed after troops on both sides exchanged fire.  The boundary issue has resurfaced repeatedly at various points, leading to routine diplomatic breakdowns between the countries. For instance, in 2008 and 2011, Cambodia and Thailand were at loggerheads over the border issue. The dispute gained renewed attention when Cambodia sought to register Preah Vihar as a UNESCO World Heritage Site in 2008, and again in 2011 when about 40 people were killed after troops on both sides exchanged fire.  Present-day Calculations   While the phone call has been a flashpoint of contention, raising questions about Thai governance, it was framed by the Thai PM as a negotiation tactic driven by a deep-seated desire to see peace prevail. However, sidestepping official diplomatic channels has made her vulnerable to political backlash and damaged her reputation. Unlike formal state visits or official talks, private conversations lack diplomatic protections, leave no official record, and offer no framework for managing the fallout. Once exposed, they can quickly be turned into tools for political attack. That is precisely what ensued. Facing mounting criticism, Paetongtarn has shifted from a conciliatory approach to firmer action. Casinos in Phnom Penh and other Cambodian border towns, which form a significant part of the country's tourism industry and attract Thai visitors, are now under scrutiny. On 23 June, citing national security concerns, Thailand announced a ban on the movement of vehicles, tourists, and traders through land border checkpoints across seven provinces bordering Cambodia. Paetongtarn also announced her government’s intention to collaborate with international partners and regional bodies to combat cybercrime networks in Southeast Asia. Earlier this year, Thailand took action against Myanmar-based scam centres by cutting electricity, internet, and gas supplies to border towns where online scam operations were based. A similar approach is now being extended to Cambodia, with essential cross-border supplies to suspected scam hubs set to be blocked. To stabilise the fragile coalition, the government has initiated a cabinet reshuffle to redistribute key ministerial roles and restore political balance. Compounding this political turbulence are anti-government protesters and royalists who have been holding demonstrations, asking for the resignation of the PM. The crisis has thus become more than a bilateral dispute. It is now a test of Thailand's coalition stability, the prime minister's credibility, and the balance between civilian and military relations. While diplomatic channels remain open, Thailand's capacity to navigate the crisis will continue to be constrained by its domestic political fragility. The crisis has thus become more than a bilateral dispute. It is now a test of Thailand's coalition stability, the prime minister's credibility, and the balance between civilian and military relations. On the other hand, Cambodia has reciprocated with various measures, such as taking legal recourse, reciprocating through political actions, and showing a strong military posture. Cambodia has again approached the ICJ, claiming a sovereign right over the temple's territorial areas, despite Thailand's request to resolve the issue bilaterally. Speaking on the issue, Hun Sen said that “our position to go to the ICJ has not changed”, declaring his intent to resolve the dispute over the Ta Moan Thom, Ta Moan Tauch, Ta Krabei temples and the emerald triangle area through the ICJ. This is an attempt by Cambodia to draw attention to the legal dimension of the dispute, highlighting Thailand’s unwillingness to accept ICJ judgements and its alleged violation of international law. Furthermore, while visiting the frontlines, Cambodian PM Hun Manet (also the son of Hun Sen) inspected the situation and called for ‘resolving border disputes peacefully.’ However, Hun Sen took a stronger position, instructing the military to dig trenches and prepare for both defensive and offensive operations. He has also escalated the confrontation into the political arena, reportedly threatening to “expose” former Thai Prime Minister Thaksin Shinawatra, signalling his capacity to destabilise Thailand’s domestic politics. Apart from this, the country has stopped imports of oil, gas, fruits and vegetables from Thailand, and has stopped using the Thai internet services. The Cambodian Foreign Minister has also advised citizens to avoid travelling to Thailand. This border episode presents Cambodian PM Hun Manet with an opportunity to consolidate his domestic political support. The decision to pursue the dispute at the ICJ aligns with this political strategy, as do Hun Sen’s more assertive political tactics.  Implications of the Border Tensions  The resurgence of border tensions between Thailand and Cambodia has significant bilateral and regional implications. Bilaterally, the crisis has strained diplomatic relations and disrupted essential cross-border trade, harming vulnerable border communities. For Thailand, this comes during political instability, where internal coalition politics and tensions between military and civilian actors shape foreign policy. The controversy may erode regional confidence in Thailand's diplomatic posture, particularly its ability to manage neighbourly ties with ASEAN constructively. While the upcoming ASEAN Foreign Ministers’ meeting in July may address this issue, the prospects for diplomatic intervention remain uncertain. For Cambodia, while the government has shown diplomatic restraint and a willingness to engage through the Joint Boundary Commission, it has also responded forcefully by halting Thai imports and asserting its sovereignty. The move to potentially internationalise the dispute through the ICJ may further test ASEAN's non-interventionist norms. Regionally, the tensions challenge ASEAN's capacity for conflict resolution and border management, especially as its centrality is often undermined by its consensus-driven inaction and a non-interventionist outlook. The crisis underscores the bloc's limitations in de-escalating intra-regional disputes. While the upcoming ASEAN Foreign Ministers’ meeting in July may address this issue, the prospects for diplomatic intervention remain uncertain. With no formal ASEAN mediation, unresolved historical disputes continue to overshadow cross-border cooperation in Southeast Asia. As infrastructure connectivity and regional integration deepen, such tensions reveal the fragility of ties when nationalism, strategic missteps, and domestic politics converge. Whether Thailand and Cambodia can prevent this flare-up from turning into a renewed phase of prolonged conflict depends on the durability of their diplomatic mechanisms—and their political will to prioritise dialogue over posturing.