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Defense & Security
Crisis in Venezuela

Venezuela: the attack shaking the hemisphere

by Sahasranshu Dash

The U.S. naval strike on Venezuela reveals the return of unilateral military coercion, exposing the decline of the liberal international order. On the 3rd of September, the United States launched a naval strike off the coast of Venezuela, killing eleven individuals whom Washington had identified as drug traffickers. Concurrently, President Donald Trump also announced a $50 million bounty on President Nicolás Maduro and ordered an additional naval surge in the region, presenting the move as part of an anti-narcotics campaign. But this framing conceals a much deeper reality: this is the most dramatic demonstration yet of Washington’s return to unilateral military coercion—occurring at a time when the liberal international order lies in disarray. This attack is not an isolated episode. It represents the culmination of overlapping trends: Venezuela’s internal collapse, the erosion of multilateral constraints on U.S. power, and the resurgence of a worldview that equates might with right. Indeed, it signals that the norms that shaped international politics after 1945 now hang by a thread. A Crisis of Venezuela’s Own Making To be sure, Venezuela’s situation is largely self-inflicted. Once a showcase of Latin American prosperity, the country fell victim to its own overdependence on hydrocarbons. When oil prices plummeted during the 2010s and production faltered under severe mismanagement, economic fundamentals collapsed. Hyperinflation reached astronomical levels, and essential goods vanished. The humanitarian consequences have been catastrophic. More than seven million Venezuelans have fled since 2015, and today, Venezuela remains in a twilight zone. Neither a failed state nor a functional one, it is a petrostate in freefall, caught between great power rivalries and criminal networks. Why Force Remains a Mirage In this context, Trump’s resort to military action may seem decisive, but history warns otherwise. Regime change by force has proven to be a dangerous illusion. From Iraq in 2003 to Libya in 2011, interventions launched with promises of quick success ended in state collapse and prolonged chaos. The lesson is unequivocal: dismantling regimes is far easier than rebuilding nation-states. Venezuela is no exception. Its dense forests, rugged terrain, and porous borders provide ideal ground for guerrilla warfare. Armed groups—from remnants of Colombia’s civil war to regime-aligned militias—would thrive in an insurgency, evoking the Vietnam analogy: a technologically superior power mired in the swamps of asymmetric conflict. Beyond battlefield risks lies a structural vacuum. Venezuela’s bureaucracy has been decimated. Technocrats and civil servants have fled. The opposition, fragmented and discredited, lacks both credibility and institutional capacity. Removing Maduro without a credible plan for postwar governance would ignite civil war, deepen anarchy and require prolonged foreign occupation—likely funded by Venezuela’s oil reserves—perpetuating the resource curse under a new guise. This is precisely the nightmare outlined by analysts such as Sean Burges and Fabrício Bastos, who warned back in 2018 that intervention would “waste valuable time” while worsening institutional fragility. They emphasized that Maduro’s survival rests on elite-military pacts—disrupting these could plunge Venezuela into even deeper violence. And even if regime change were to succeed, the absence of institutions implies that reconstruction would necessitate decades of sustained external control. The Sovereignty Taboo and Regional Backlash Moreover, Latin America’s diplomatic DNA is steeped in the principle of non-intervention. This is not an abstract ideal—it reflects a collective historical memory of U.S. occupations, from early 20th-century interventions in the Caribbean to covert operations throughout the Cold War. The Organization of American States (OAS) has repeatedly rejected endorsing regime change driven from abroad, to avoid setting a precedent that could justify interference elsewhere. Even if Washington sought to project a façade of regional leadership, the reality is clear—no Latin American state possesses the logistical depth or strategic expertise to spearhead a mission of that scale. The United States would retain operational control and bear responsibility for the inevitable quagmire. The Putin Parallel and Trump’s Contradictions Talk of military intervention also lays bare a glaring hypocrisy. Washington condemned Vladimir Putin’s 2022 invasion of Ukraine as a violation of national sovereignty, yet now replicates the same logic. The rhetorical parallels are inescapable—Trump frames Venezuela as an existential “narcoterrorist” threat—chillingly similar to Putin’s February 2022 speech describing Ukraine as an artificial entity and a danger to Russian security. Both narratives dress raw power and neo-imperialism in the garb of necessity. The irony deepens with Trump and Putin’s recent meeting in Alaska. Far from signaling firmness against authoritarian revanchism, the summit leaned towards a position of accommodation toward Moscow internationally. This, as Washington resorts to aggression in its own hemisphere. Trump’s flirtation with Putin in his first term—along with his attacks on NATO and delays in supplying military aid—cruelly undermined Ukraine. Today he risks imposing a Kremlin-dictated peace on Kyiv while violently intervening in Venezuela—and possibly soon, as he has ominously hinted at in recent months, in Panama. The Great Dismantling The belligerent strikes of the 3rd of September merely exemplify Trump’s systematic dismantling of liberal internationalism. Over two terms, multilateral partnerships have been destroyed, human rights offices shuttered and governance turned into a blunt instrument of coercion. Diplomacy has given way to arbitrary deals and tariffs. Persuasion, to open force. What emerges is a world unmoored from the normative anchors of the post-1945 order—a world where sovereignty is negotiable, law is malleable, and might is right. In this sense, Venezuela may now stand as the gravestone of that old order—an era in which the United States, once its chief architect, embraces the ethos of revisionism it once claimed to oppose. The future is not anarchic but hierarchical—a system of spheres of influence ruled by brute force, transactional bargains, and fading ideals of human rights and collective security. The art of the deal? No—an age of impunity.

Diplomacy
Boy holding Europe or European(EU) Flag from the open car window on the parking of the shopping mall. Concept

Legitimacy of differentiated integration in the European Union

by Thomas Mehlhausen , Adrian Wagstyl , Robert Grzeszczak

ABSTRACT This article discusses the legitimacy of differentiated integration in the European Union (EU). By dovetailing three sources of legitimacy, i.e. legal, social and political justification, we plait various strands of literature in an interdisciplinary, multi-facetted and systematic approach. We distinguish between the two extreme ideal types of differentiation, i.e. multi-speed Europe and Europe à la carte. In our analysis, we take normative intergovernmentalism and supranationalism by considering the legitimacy effects of differentiation for EU citizens and member states. We plead for an interdisciplinary approach by hypothesising a virtuous and a vicious circle of differentiation for further EU integration. We argue that differentiation as such does not help to solve problems due to the heterogeneity of member states` preferences but tends to postpone conflicts, thereby prompting further challenges for European integration rather than easing them.KEYWORDS:Integration, disintegration, differentiation, interdisciplinary, Europe à la carte, multi-speed Europe 1. Introduction Differentiation has been vital to European integration in the previous decades. It served to reconcile disparate preferences among member states pertaining to the deepening European integration. Initially, differentiated integration (DI) was expected to be a temporary deviation from uniform integration, prompting other states to join later. And indeed, there have been rather unlikely cases of member states eventually attempting to join the vanguard, such as the Danish entry to the European Security and Defence Policy in June 2022 in response to Russia's attack on Ukraine. Despite some cases of continuous integration, DI proved to be a persistent feature of the EU´s evolving institutional architecture (see Radunz & Riedel, Citation2024). Even though DI constitutes a decision of member states to integrate further in small groups, it raises the question of whether it can provide for appropriate solutions for numerous common challenges in the EU. Should DI become the standard procedure for finding compromises, whereas uniform solutions remain rare exceptions? Is it fair for both the vanguard and the outsiders if deepening takes place asynchronously? In short, the article addresses the question of how legitimate is DI in the EU. The bulk of literature on the democratic legitimation of the EU has long paid little attention to differentiation (Moravcsik, Citation2002, Follesdal & Hix, Citation2006, Müller, Citation2016; Craig, Citation2021; but see De Witte et al., Citation2017; Heermann & Leuffen, Citation2020) while contributions to DI have been largely conceptual (Stubb, Citation1996, Holzinger & Schimmelfennig, Citation2015, Klose et al., Citation2023) or explanative (Lavenex & Krizic, Citation2022; Schimmelfennig et al., Citation2023a, Citation2023b Schimmelfennig & Thomas, Citation2020;). We do not contribute to this literature but seek to dovetail different existing strands of research by proposing a systematic approach to the legitimacy of DI in the European Union. We do not present primary sources but take stock of existing studies and develop a multifaceted heuristic to approach the phenomenon of DI legitimacy. Our approach complements existing analyses of DI by explicitly integrating legal, social and political dimensions in a single interdisciplinary framework. When studying legitimacy, we take an interdisciplinary perspective by distinguishing between legal, social and political sources to justify DI. In conclusion, we plead for more research into their interplay.Footnote1 We proceed as follows. First, we define DI and derive from a plethora of conceptions the two most disparate ideal types of multi-speed Europe and Europe à la carte. Second, we discuss differentiation along its legal, social and political sources for justification. Finally, we argue that differentiation needs to be vindicated based on all three sources. After all, differentiation as such does not help to solve problems due to the heterogeneity of member states preferences but tends to postpone conflicts, thereby prompting further challenges for European integration rather than easing them. 2. Models of EU differentiation In a basic understanding, European integration becomes differentiated as soon as at least one member state does not fully participate in a common policy field. The more policy fields this concerns, the more the EU is differentiated vertically, the more member states abstain from further deepening the more it is differentiated horizontally (Schimmelfennig et al., Citation2015). In the following, we focus on formal and internal DI, i.e. among EU member states, and neglect forms of external DI, which also embraces non-members (Cianciara & Szymanski, Citation2020) and informal DI (Genschel et al., Citation2023; Kovar & Katerina, Citation2022). Yet, DI remains a highly ambiguous term. Empirically, Frank Schimmelfennig and Thomas Winzen (Citation2020, p. 48) count as many as 230 cases of (primary law) differentiation in EU history. Conceptually, Alexander Stubb (Citation1996) observes more than 30 alternative labels for forms of asynchronous integration. To deal with this plethora of competing descriptions of various forms of differentiation, Stubb proposed in his seminal work three Weberian ideal types, which are by definition rarely fully matched in reality: In multi-speed Europe, a core group of member states pursues common objectives to be later caught up by other member states. In variable geometry, the EU irreversibly separates between a core and a periphery. In Europe à la carte, member states are free to pick-and-choose while pursuing a minimum number of common objectives. Katharina Holzinger and Frank (Citation2012) criticise this threefold conceptualisation as not being analytically distinct and incomplete given the lack of purely functional conceptions. They single out six dimensions, along which DI models may vary: (1) permanent v. temporary differentiation, (2) territorial v. purely functional differentiation, (3) differentiation across nation states v. multi-level differentiation, (4) differentiation within v. outside the EU treaties, (5) decision-making at EU v. regime level and (6) only for member states v. also for non-member states. They then assign ten models to these different categories. Although we acknowledge this categorisation is much more nuanced and consistent than Stubb’s ideal types, we will nonetheless restrict our discussion of the legitimacy of DI to the most extreme models, i.e. multi-speed Europe and Europe à la carte. First, they are associated with the most extreme finalité conceptions. Second, these two models differ with regard to four out of six categories (1, 4, 5 and 6) as proposed by Holzinger and Schimmelfennig. Third, they both appear to resonate well among political actors, as we show in a German-Polish case study (Mehlhausen et al., Citation2024). Multi-speed Europe: In this model, all member states must commit to common goals of further integration, which every may accomplish at individual speeds. Asynchronous integration would be merely temporary since every state is expected to catch up eventually. Due to its flexibility, this mode of constitutional transformation is likely to overcome deadlocks and propel further integration. It is why decisions would still be reached by the community method based on EU treaties and would apply to the entire EU, at least prospectively. Prime examples of multi-speed Europe would be the pre-ins in the European Monetary Union: All member states, which accessed the EU in 2004 and 2007 committed to introducing the Euro as soon as they meet the accession criteria. Europe à la Carte: In such an approach, any member state is entirely free to decide to cooperate with other member states more closely in selected policy fields. Given the heterogeneity of preferences among EU member states, such a pick-and-choose approach likely result in numerous islands of integration and, most likely, set free disintegrative dynamics. Due to membership incongruence across policy fields, supranational bodies are no longer representative. It fosters intergovernmental decision-making in coalitions of the willing within or beyond EU treaties. A prime example in the European Monetary Union is Danish opt-outs combined with prospective opt-ins at a later moment. 3. Legitimacy of differentiation integration Legitimacy is at the core of any political rule. The more legitimate a political order, the higher its efficacy and the lower its control and compliance costs, since citizens voluntarily follow collectively binding decisions. In short, legitimacy is the precondition of both efficient and liberal governance (Scharpf, Citation2004, p. 5). Many conceptions exist as to what legitimacy means. To take account of the multifaceted nature of this pivotal term, we propose to distinguish three sources of legitimacy (cp. Beetham, Citation1991, pp. 4–8; Føllesdal, Citation2004, pp. 8–9; Wimmel, Citation2009, pp. 192–194): a legal, a social and a political one. This especially resonates with Beetham’s (Citation1991, pp. 3–15) distinction of legitimacy as legal validity, moral justifiability and belief in legitimacy, but it does not overlap with it. Legal justification rests on the juridical basis applying to a specific legal entity. Political action is legally legitimate only insofar as it adheres to positively stated rules. In the context of the EU, it determines whether decisions taken by the EU institutions or member states have a legal basis in the Treaties. From this perspective, the EU law permits or does not permit a given action. Notably, an action must be clearly specified in EU primary law to be taken by EU institutions or member states, especially in the context of differentiated integration. Given the current state of EU law and CJEU case law, the doctrine of implied competence has no basis in this area. Social justification refers to the citizens’ belief in legitimacy (‘Legitimitätsglaube’) (Weber, Citation1964). The higher the support of a polity, its politics or single policies, the better political rule can be vindicated socially. In contrast to Føllesdal (Citation2004) and Wimmel (Citation2009), we restrict our analysis to the citizens´ attitudes in terms of opinion polls and neglect their compliance with political rules since we regard the cognitive level causally prior to the behavioural level. Compliance constitutes the link between citizens` attitudes and its effects on the political order. Political justification relies on shared values, the adherence to which is widely regarded as a duty for community members. The more these values resonate among community members, the more imperative their implications for political action are in following norms and principles. An unequivocal and repeated breach of such norms or principles has severe ramifications for the collective identity and its cohesion (Mehlhausen, Citation2015). In the context of European integration, the value arguably most debated has been the EU’s democratic nature. Moreover, any evaluation of legitimacy must state its legitimacy standard. Evaluating the EU`s democratic legitimacy depends on whether we compare it to international organisations, nation states or conceptions of democracy (Wimmel, Citation2009, pp. 192–194). We propose adopting two normative standards to analyse how far European integration can be justified. Normative intergovernmentalism rests on the notion of states` sovereignty being the foundation of international organisations. Its application to the European Union can be justified by the fact that member states are its constituents as ‘masters of the treaties’. Beyond the nation state, governments are seen as bearers of democratic legitimacy since public discourses, election campaigns and collective identities are predominantly shaped within nation states (Scharpf, Citation1999, Citation2004). Normative supranationalism considers citizens and, thus, popular sovereignty as the ultimate source of democratic legitimacy. European citizenship and the supremacy of EU law serve as arguments for applying such a cosmopolitan approach to the EU (Eriksen, Citation2019, pp. 163–186). In our analysis, we will adopt both standards to assess the legal, social and political justification of DI. We proceed in this order since European integration – in contrast to revolutionary constitutionalisation – has been initiated by EU treaties (legal dimension), instilling incrementally a weak European collective identity (social dimension) and eventually raising normative questions of its legitimation (political dimension). Although these three sources of legitimacy are presented separately for analytical clarity, they are interdependent in practice. 3.1. Legal sources of legitimacy When defining legal justification, we follow the concept of integration through law (ITL), according to which law is perceived both as an instrument and subject of European integration (Byberg, Citation2017; Mac Amhlaigh, Citation2012). In the first dimension, the EU legal system consists of the EU Treaties and the case-law developed by the Court of Justice of the European Union (CJEU). ITL propels European integration through common legal rules and fundamental principles, e.g. the principle of direct effect or the principle of primacy of EU law. In the second dimension, the emphasis is put on national legal systems subject to harmonisation coordinated by a central authority, e.g. the European Commission. We argue that if any mode of differentiation shall be justifiable within the EU legal order, it must be based on the EU primary law. Legal justification, defined as such, is inextricably intertwined with the notion of the uniformity of EU law. On the one hand, this principle envisions that the EU constitutes a new legal order, separate from international law (judgement of 5 Feb. 1963, C-26/62, EU:C:1963:1), establishing its basis for action. Accordingly, integration is governed by the EU Treaties and can only derive justification from them. On the other hand, the principle of uniformity obliges the national courts and the public administrations of member states to disapply any domestic provisions contrary to EU law (judgement of 9.03.1978, Simmenthal SpA., EU:C:1978:49). This is of profound significance for the existence of the EU as a legal system, which must be uniform and equally applied in all member states. In addition to guaranteeing the effectiveness of EU law, legal uniformity entails the principle of equality of member states, since all shall set aside national legislation, which might prevent EU law from having full force and effect. Accordingly, each member state has the same rights and obligations under the Treaties and cannot derogate from their enforcement. From a legal perspective, differentiation is thus justified only insofar it does not, in the long term, undermine the uniformity of EU law and equality of member states and EU citizens. Moreover – based on art. 20 (1) TEU – we claim that any differentiation instrument must aim to further the objectives of the Union, protect its interests and reinforce its integration process. The legal basis for DI is mainly contained in the primary law. In particular, the Treaties lay down clear conditions for member states that wish to pursue it through the mechanism of enhanced cooperation (art. 326-334 TFEU). First, it is permitted only within the shared competences of the EU. Second, it is approved by the EU institutions and must not undermine key EU policies (e.g. the competition law or the freedoms of the internal market). Third, to avoid long-term fragmentation, enhanced cooperation must remain open to all member states. On the other hand, primary law also recognises individual opt-outs, which exclude a member state from selected policy areas (e.g. the euro area). These are always subject to intergovernmental negotiations. As such, they should not be regarded as the guiding logic of European integration but are simply documenting the exceptions to the rule. The central tenets of a multi-speed Europe are legally justified within the current EU legal framework. In theory, forms of cooperation between member states based on this ideal type are permissible under the Treaties as long as they do not undermine the uniformity of EU law and the equality of member states. Regarding these principles, enhanced cooperation provides for temporary differentiation in the application of the laws established within its framework, provided that the project is inclusive and fosters uniform integration in the long term. Europe à la carte, on the other hand, stands in contrast to the principles of legal uniformity and equality of member states. First, it is difficult to imagine that a uniform application of EU law is upheld when the Union is divided into numerous islands of integration. Second, if member states are allowed to opt in and out of common policies, there is no equality before EU law between them, as each has different rights and obligations. Even though there is some manifestation of this vision in the primary law in the form of opt-outs, these should be merely regarded as a mechanism of last resort to break serious political stalemates during treaty negotiations. As all member states have agreed in the Treaties to continue the process of creating an ever-closer union, the pick-and-choose approach has no legal justification as a general instrument of differentiation. Adherence to the doctrine of uniform interpretation and application of EU law has a profound effect on the functioning of the EU and its member states, and on the legal status of their citizens. In general, the more uniform the application of EU law, the better the protection of citizens’ rights under it. Moreover, a common understanding of EU law in the member states increases legal certainty for EU citizens, as it is possible to predict how national authorities across Europe interpret it. Since the concept of a multi-speed Europe is based on the premise that uniform application of EU law is the ultimate goal, it has a much higher justification from the perspective of the legal status of EU citizens than Europe à la carte. Theoretically, even though the scope of application of EU law enshrining citizens’ rights may slightly differ across the EU due to the varying participation of member states in multi-speed projects, they all still participate in core EU policies (e.g. the internal market) and ultimately aim for a homogeneous EU. It does not mean, however, that the ideal type of a multi-speed Europe fits perfectly into the logic of the existing Treaties. Instead, its acceptance arises from the need to find a compromise between EU principles and political realities in the member states. In contrast, the completion of a Europe à la carte would arguably lead to a differentiation of the legal status of EU citizens depending on their country of origin, e.g. the freedom of movement applying only to nationals of certain member states. In addition, this finalité conception may significantly decrease the legal certainty of EU citizens, as there is little or no common denominator between member states in the application of EU law. It would, therefore, be difficult for citizens to anticipate the outcome of a legal dispute concerning their rights in different national jurisdictions within the EU. Therefore, the answer to the question of whether DI is legally justified is highly theoretical and speculative. Regarding Europe à la carte, we do not find any direct justification in the EU primary law for this finalité conception. It contradicts the EU principles of uniform integration, which guarantees a coherent legal system, ensuring equal rights and obligations of all member states and EU citizens. The pursuit of such an approach would entail a substantial revision of the Treaties. In contrast, the concept of a multi-speed Europe respects the uniformity of EU law and equality of member states and EU citizens in the long term. Nonetheless, even multi-speed Europe requires vigilant legal oversight to prevent permanent deviations from uniformity and to ensure compliance with Article 20 TEU objectives. In addition, some multi-speed projects have already been initiated under the Treaty-based procedure of enhanced cooperation (e.g. concerning the divorce law, patents and the financial transaction tax). On the other hand, any of the scenarios do not fit into the logic of the existing Treaties, as uniform integration is the preferred mode. 3.2. Social sources of legitimacy Social justification refers to the citizens’ approval of political rule by their democratically elected representatives. In a democracy, political decisions are expected to broadly reflect the citizens’ preferences by means of free and fair elections, channels of direct democracy, and a high responsiveness of political representatives. Further European integration is widely accepted to hinge on public support (Hobolt & de Vries, Citation2016 Leuffen et al., Citation2020;). The social justification of EU differentiation raises the question to what extent its citizens approve of differentiation. Nevertheless, we need to specify the model of differentiation we refer to and the exact group of people we address when speaking of citizens. On the one hand, outcomes of opinion polls vary considerably depending on the specific differentiation concept and wording applied (Schüssler et al., Citation2021, p. 19; Stahl, Citation2021). On the other hand, we might address either EU citizens, regardless of their national affiliation, or EU member citizens in terms of state people. In short, we may apply either normative intergovernmentalism on the attitudes of EU member states` citizens or normative supranationalism on the dispositions of EU citizens, each time distinguishing between the competing models of multi-speed Europe and Europe à la carte. Normative intergovernmentalism focuses on EU member states’ people, whose national representatives are held accountable by their electorate. Approval rates for multi-speed Europe vary across space and time. A positive perception of differentiation is consistently and substantially much higher among Northern than Southern member states. Based on Eurobarometer 86.1 fielded in September and October 2016 (Leuffen et al., Citation2020, p. 9; similar Schüssler et al., Citation2021, p. 17; Stahl, Citation2021, p. 10f.), we observe that support for DI among citizens in Southern Europe is about 21 percentage points lower than in Northern Europe and remains largely stable even when testing against individual-level covariates. The concept of Europe à la carte is more controversial among EU member states. Attitudes among citizens in EU member states vary considerably, with no apparent pattern between Southern and Northern member states and net contributors and recipients. For example, in their analysis of eight EU member states, Schüssler et al. (Citation2021, p. 12) find that in Germany and Ireland citizens disapprove of such a pick-and-choose approach while those in Denmark, Netherlands, Poland, Greece, France and Italy are supportive. Similarly, Anna Stahl (Citation2021, p. 10) sees Southern member states divided on the possibility of building coalitions of the willing. Which implications does this have for the social justification of differentiation? The regional cleavage regarding multi-speed Europe correlates with the divide between EU budget net contributors and recipients and is likely to be the result of the Eurozone crisis (Leuffen et al., Citation2020, p. 2). Should such tensions occur due to citizens’ anxiety about being left behind or permanently discriminated (Schüssler et al., Citation2021, p. 19), the EU could take appropriate measures to alleviate such concerns. If an asynchronous approach is taken simply due to economic asymmetries, redistributive funds could help those member states less off to swiftly catch up with the avant-garde. This could lead to higher public support for (differentiated) integration in these states. In contrast, Europe à la carte likely drive a wedge between member states. A systemically applied pick-and-choose approach would hardly be acceptable as a modus vivendi for European integration in key policy fields. Not only is it hard to discern any patterns regarding which political measures might be addressed to raise public support. Also, resistance appears to be of rather principled nature. Schüssler et al. (Citation2021, p. 13) argue that Germany’s disapproval seems to be the expression of ‘a greater normative-cultural preference towards a unified Europe’. And yet, if sparsely granted, opt-outs or pre-ins could serve as a (permanent or temporary) compromise between full membership and no membership and bring those in favour and against further integration closer again (Schraff & Schimmelfennig, Citation2020). Normative supranationalism considers EU citizens to be the only constituents of the EU (Eriksen, Citation2019). Most EU citizens are in favour of either model of differentiation. While approval rates for multi-speed Europe have mostly reached an absolute majority in the past years (Leuffen et al., Citation2020, p. 8), support for Europe à la carte remains only slightly short of such a majority, with 19 per cent more supporters than opponents (Schüssler et al., Citation2021, p. 13). Leuffen et al. (Citation2020) used Eurobarometer data from 2011 and 2017 and Schüssler et al. (Citation2021) present own data from early 2021. Schüssler et al. (Citation2021) use the term two-tier Europe but it does not differ semantically from our understanding of multi-speed Europe. Yet, this does not imply that differentiation is undisputed among EU citizens. On the one hand, every differentiation model is associated with diverging expectations regarding further integration. Proponents of multi-speed Europe display integrationist dispositions, while advocates of Europe à la carte take a nationalist stance and reject further integration (Schüssler et al., Citation2021, p. 15; De Blok & de Vries, Citation2023). The choice for specific forms of differentiation appear to mainly reflect integration preferences: Those critical of further integration endorse Europe à la carte as the model in which each member state is allowed to stay behind. Those favouring multi-speed Europe would see it as a compromise of deeper integration and a guarantee for a uniform structure in the long term. In other words, if differentiation is perceived as the only way forward, in a multi-speed Europe divisions would be only temporary. There is no broad majority for differentiation per se, but there are two camps opposed to each other with different finalité conceptions of European integration (De Blok & de Vries, Citation2023, p. 19). On the other hand, the support for each differentiation model is associated with certain ideological dispositions. Leuffen et al. (Citation2020, p. 11) argue that economic liberals, who prefer freedom of choice and autonomy over social equality and solidarity, tend to support differentiation, whereas economic egalitarians are generally more sceptical regarding an asynchronous approach. Schüssler et al. (Citation2021, p. 15) further qualify this by distinguishing between alternative models. They find that economic liberals prefer à la carte over multi-speed Europe. In contrast, economic egalitarians tend to endorse the latter. In sum, the high support of both models suggests that differentiation is generally accepted as an appropriate strategy to deal with stalemates in the EU. Nevertheless, EU citizens know the consequences of alternative forms of differentiation. In the long run, public support for differentiation will likely reflect opposing views on certain values and EU finalité notions. The answer to the question of which effects further differentiation would have on the attitude of citizens in the EU must be nuanced. Depending on their nationality and ideological beliefs, support for differentiation varies across the competing models. Regardless of the evaluation standard, multi-speed Europe is expected to cause less potential for conflict than Europa à la carte due to higher overall approval rates, smaller variance in public support and presumably merely temporal national divisions due to the Eurozone crisis. Even though there is a relative majority for both differentiation models when juxtaposed to uniform integration, it seems likely that any form of differentiation would deepen the frontlines between proponents and opponents of further integration. Therefore, differentiation is about to release centrifugal rather than centripetal effects for the future of European integration and may enhance politicisation regarding the future of the EU rather than reduce it (De Blok & de Vries, Citation2023, p. 5). 3.3 Political sources of legitimacy The political justification of differentiation raises the question of whether DI provides plausible arguments for justifying the political order of the European Union. The values it commits to are enshrined in article 2 of the Treaty on the European Union. In the following, we focus on democracy as one of the EU fundamental values. In line with Fritz Scharpf (Citation1999, Citation2004) we distinguish between an input and an output dimension of political justification (see also Schimmelfennig et al., Citation2023a). The input dimension indicates the extent to which the outcome of a political decision matches the citizens’ preferences. In a democracy, this is usually ensured by direct and indirect participation, i.e. through referenda and elections. In order to generate well-informed and reflected preferences in terms of an enlightened understanding of the consequences of a policy (Dahl, Citation1989, p. 307) citizens have to engage in public debates before they vote for the adoption of a policy or a representative. However, should individual preferences be disregarded through majority voting, only the prevalence of a collective identity might convince those being outvoted to accept the decision. For this, individual preferences need to aim at a collective good so that a willingness to act in solidarity evolves (Scharpf, Citation2004, p. 8). The output dimension concerns the requirements of those in power. First, in liberal democracies, the prevention of an abuse of power is guaranteed through checks and balances. Due to a high number of veto players involved, power concentration and, thus, the abolition of democracy itself becomes unlikely. Second, the elected representatives provide a problem-solving capacity to enhance security and welfare (Scharpf, Citation2004, p. 8). The effectiveness of decision-making in a political order indicates the number of social goods the political system can generate. So, what effects could differentiation have on the EU's input and output dimensions? At first glance, it enhances the EU’s political justification in both respects compared to a situation, where no differentiation is allowed. On the one hand, the renunciation from a uniform approach appears in specific policy fields to be a fair solution when the heterogeneity of collective preferences leads to stalemates (von Ondarza, Citation2013, p. 15). Differentiation could serve as a means to respect the preferences of both those member states, which want to move forward, and those, which do not. On the other hand, the output should increase for the avant-garde, which move ahead. It might convince those left behind to catch up in due time. Therefore, the effectiveness of a political order should increase due to differentiation as a mutually acceptable means to overcome stalemates, particularly in crises with high expectations of any agreement. Nonetheless, asynchronous integration comes at a price. Irrespective of the specific differentiation model, an asynchronous approach has its pitfalls. European integration can be understood as a means to manage externalities as a product of structural interdependence between its member states (Eriksen, Citation2019, Citation2022; Lord, Citation2015, Citation2021). From a club theoretical perspective, the European Union is meant to provide club goods to which only its members are entitled. In contrast to private goods, club goods are only partially rival but differ from pure public goods in that they are divisible and excludible (see Cornes & Sandler, Citation1986 Olson, Citation1965;). Producing club goods likely generate negative externalities for non-members who are denied access. With regard to the input dimension, asynchronous integration might thus cause a serious breach of democratic self-rule when negative externalities force member states, which do not participate in a differentiated policy field, to adopt rules they cannot shape. A politically differentiated EU deprives some of the citizens of their right to co-determine decisions, the effects of which they cannot avoid. Dominance occurs when the citizens do not have equal opportunity to wield political influence; when they are subjected to laws they cannot amend. (Eriksen, Citation2019, p. 122) If freedom means non-domination (Pettit, Citation1997; Mehlhausen, Citation2015, p. 144f.), an incongruence between those who are governed and those who govern violates the very core of modern democracy. Eriksen (Citation2019, p. 127; see also Keleman, Citation2021, p. 678) points out that dominance is twofold: Not only is there a lack of correspondence between citizens and decision-makers (input congruence), but also is there a gap between the territory that rules are made for and the territory within which they de facto apply (output congruence).Dominance is even more concerning if member states cannot join the avant-garde. Such ‘discriminatory differentiation’ can be deemed unfair in comparison to ‘exemptive differentiation’ (Schimmelfennig, Citation2014), when member states do not want to join: For John Rawls (Citation1971), claims can be deemed fair, if they are based on prior decisions and not circumstances (Kymlicka, Citation1990). Within the European Union, the unequal distribution of resources, particularly the structural interdependence, are sound arguments for mutual obligations including compensation (Beitz, Citation1979, pp. 141–142). For example, Romania and Bulgaria are not allowed to join Schengen as they are not seen as sufficiently prepared to fulfil the accession criteria (discriminatory differentiation). In contrast, the Danish population voted down the Maastricht Treaty in 1992 and accepted it a year later once Denmark opted out of the EMU (exemptive differentiation). It was their own volition to prefer the externalities of staying outside over EMU obligations. If member states even prefer multi-speed Europe to opt out (see Jensen and Slapin, Citation2012), however, negative externalities are justified. There are also dilemmas regarding the output dimension. European integration also causes positive externalities that allows non-members to avoid participation costs through free-riding, e.g. when not participating in punitive actions against third actors. For example, the decision of eleven member states to introduce a finance transaction tax as enhanced cooperation might be advantageous for member states staying outside since this increases their competitiveness in the capital market. Even more concerning are the consequences of the vicious circle of enhancing the output at the expense of the input dimension: The more the EU’s political structure is scattered due to vertical differentiation (polity), the less European citizens understand its decision-making process (politics) and develop a collective identity. This further reduces the chances of ambitious political projects (policies) such as Social Europe, which will produce winners and losers and necessitate solidarity among EU citizens. Beyond these considerations regarding the process of differentiation as such, each specific model of differentiation is linked to specific challenges of political justification. Multi-speed Europe ensures that divisions in the EU due to differentiation are merely temporary. It is the reason why the input dimension remains comparably high: Both elections to the European Parliament and forms of direct democracy, such as European Citizens Initiatives, are based on the premise of the equality of EU citizens. As long as the pre-ins catch up with the avant-garde in due time, differentiation should be a manageable obstacle to developing a European collective identity, since the eventual goal of unity remains. However, the postponement of the obligation to implement a certain policy leads with increasing time to a potential generational conflict among those states expected to catch up with the avant-garde. First, in these states future generations are deprived of the right of self-determination, since decisions of previous governments bind them. For example, the ‘pre-ins’ such as Poland, Czechia and Hungary accepted the full implementation of the EMU as a condition to enter the EU in 2003, but have not yet introduced the Euro. The agreement legally binds the younger generations in these countries, while those in other member states can stay outside (Denmark) or leave the Eurozone (Euro countries) without contradicting binding law. Second, the longer the temporal gap between the decision to join a particular policy and the moment of accession persists, the more severe becomes dominance by either the pre-ins or the avant-garde. On the one hand, if the avant-garde is allowed to deepen a policy further without the consent of the pre-ins (exclusive differentiation), those states later entering the policy must accept an institutional structure they had never had the opportunity to shape. In 2011, Poland, as a pre-in and rotating EU Presidency, was forced to leave the Ecofin Council when it was to decide how to deal in the Euro crisis (Gostyńska & Ondarza, Citation2012). On the other hand, entitling the pre-ins with the same rights as the avant-garde (inclusive differentiation) seems unfair as long as there is no guarantee that the pre-ins will eventually join the Eurozone. In Poland, for instance, neither the government nor the majority of the opposition plans to introduce the Euro soon (Mehlhausen et al., Citation2024). In such a scenario, the pre-ins’ full participation could eventually lead to their permanent control of the avant-garde. With regard to the output, the competences of EU institutions are not undermined through differentiation and provide a high level of checks and balances. The production of social goods is likely to be higher than in uniform integration since member states reluctant or unprepared to take part in the integration of a policy field might refrain from lodging a veto if they can postpone the costs of immediate accession into the distant future (see Plümper et al., Citation2007). Yet, unanimity on common goals is still likely to produce compromises based on the smallest common denominator, since the hesitant member states have to accept that they will adopt the policy at some time in the future and might face negative externalities in the meantime. Therefore, stalemates might not be as likely as in uniform integration in this model but are still probable. In sum, as long as the member states left behind catch up quickly with the avant-garde, this ideal type has little impact on the EU as a polity. However, the potential of differentiation to enhance the EU’s effectiveness in dealing with the heterogeneity of preferences in an EU-27 is limited by the requirement to find consensus among all EU member states on common integration goals. Europe à la carte: Due to its flexibility in forming coalitions of the willing to integrate any policy regardless of other member states, the main promise of this ideal type is to adjust the EU’s institutional structure to the individual preferences of its member states. Therefore, the key incentive is to maximise the EU’s output by enhancing the production of social goods as long as the political will for it among a number of member states prevails. This, in turn, allows for a high input by ensuring that any member state may stay outside to guarantee that the preferences of member states will be respected. Still, such a pick-and-choose approach severely affects the EU as a polity. Concerning its input dimension, participation in referendums and the elections to the European Parliament lose its justifying power, the lower the congruence between EU citizenry and the territory within which policies in such differentiation mode would apply. Moreover, the more scattered the institutional structure mirroring the heterogeneous preferences of EU member states, the less likely it is that EU citizens will develop a European collective identity. Regarding the EU’s output, cherry-picking limits the scope of integration and induces instability. On the one hand, the lack of European solidarity (Kleger & Mehlhausen, Citation2013) remains an obstacle to integrating ‘sensitive’ or redistributive policy fields, such as social, labour or tax policies. On the other hand, differentiation reduces checks and balances. The decreased representativeness of the European Parliament in a growing number of incongruent islands of integration facilitates intergovernmental decision-making and, thus, a dominance of member states’ preferences. Not only does this reduce the number of potential veto players, but it also undermines the stability of the EU when rival coalitions struggle over power in an increasingly fragmented EU (Eriksen, Citation2019, p. 152). In other words, the political structure of Europe à la carte tends to reproduce itself as it cements the trend towards a rather loose and regulative international organisation rather than a federal polity in the making. 4. Conclusions The article has aimed to unearth the legitimacy resources and deficits of DI from a legal, social and political perspective. Our findings have also implications for policymakers. Any form of DI must remain exceptional, treaty-based, and oriented toward eventual uniformity to safeguard the legal certainty of EU citizens and the integrity of EU law. In general, any differentiation allows compromises, which adjust the institutional structure to the disparate interests of EU member states. However, such deviations from uniform integration are likely to produce new challenges for European integration. From the legal vantage point, European integration can only be deemed legitimate if it respects the uniformity of EU law and the equality of member states and EU citizens. While multi-speed Europe generally satisfies these criteria in the long-term, Europe à la carte does not. From a sociological perspective, differentiation not only makes the EU more opaque but is also highly controversial. Even if an absolute or nearly absolute majority of EU citizens approve of multi-speed Europe and Europe à la carte respectively, citizens appear to be divided over the specific model rather than supportive of DI as general. We assume that ongoing DI will cause a growing rift among EU citizens. From a political perspective, the democratic legitimacy would only be enhanced with increasing differentiation at first glance due to a better match between national preferences and further integration as well as a provision of additional social goods. In the long run, however, Europe à la carte, would undermine European solidarity, prevent cooperation in more ambitious policy fields with substantive redistributive effects and entail free-riding and negative externalities. Even multi-speed Europe could cause such effects and severe intergenerational frictions within pre-in member states, the longer the delay prevails. From the perspective of normative intergovernmentalism, which assumes that the member states are the EU`s constituencies, Europe à la carte appears to be preferable. Such an approach to European integration would, par excellence, mirror the national preferences of EU member states. Given the decreasing representativeness of supranational bodies, intergovernmental decision-making would appear ever more legitimate in a loose and fluid confederation of European states. In the long run, however, it remains to be seen whether particular national interests can indeed be pursued in such a political setting with low legal certainty, little predictability due to high volatility of coalitions and shrinking bargaining power on the global scene. From the perspective of normative supranationalism, which considers the EU’s citizens as its constituencies, only multi-speed Europe would ensure legal certainty in the long term, the representativeness of supranational bodies and the perspective of continuous integration. A crucial prerequisite would be that the temporal deviation from uniform integration does not take decades but rather a few years at best and that the EU takes adequate measures to return as soon as possible to uniform integration by assisting member states to join in. Otherwise, social support might dwindle, undermining the implicit vision of a federal state in the making. In this regard, a promising approach represents the theory of demoicracy (Bellamy et al., Citation2022 Cheneval & Schimmelfennig, Citation2013;), which proposes a third, synthetic standard to assess the legitimacy of the European Union. Whichever model the EU adopts, it faces a dilemma: When aspiring multi-speed Europe, further integration might nurture the creation of a solid European identity, which is a prerequisite for substantial progress in European integration. However, negotiations among member states would be bound to be based on the smallest common denominator. The alternative of a Europe à la carte promises more flexibility and a growing number of multilateral initiatives. In the long run, however, this undermines the very basis for any ambitious initiatives. Moreover, even though we treat each strand of justification separately, we expect various spill-over effects. We hypothesise two scenarios. On the one hand, from the perspective of normative intergovernmentalism we might expect a virtuous circle: a better match of member states citizens (political legitimacy) could lead to their increasing support (social legitimacy), causing centripetal effects on increasing integration. On the other hand, from the vantage point of normative supranationalism, a vicious circle seems also possible: decreasing legal certainty (legal legitimacy) and transparency of decision-making (political legitimacy) might have an adverse influence on EU citizens’ support (social legitimacy) with centrifugal impact on increasing disintegration (Malang & Schraff, Citation2023). Unlike prior work focusing narrowly on legal permissibility or political feasibility, this article highlights the interplay of normative standards shaping the legitimacy of DI in EU law and practice. More empirical and interdisciplinary research is however needed to ascertain what dynamic DI unleashes in the EU in which policy fields (Schimmelfennig & Thomas, Citation2023; Vergioglou & Hegewald, Citation2023). The two extreme alternatives of multi-speed Europe and Europe à la carte constitute fragmented forms of traditional finalité conceptions, i.e. either a state-like polity (United States of Europe) or a flexible international organisation (Europe of Nations). Multi-speed Europe and federal visions share the political objectives and the need to subordinate national interests to European ones, with the former allowing for more flexibility. Europe à la carte and confederal finalité conceptions share the idea of intergovernmental decision-making based on national sovereignty and unanimity but differ in their horizontal extension. Consequently, pro-European parties favour multi-speed Europe, whereas Eurosceptics prefer Europe à la carte (Mehlhausen et al., Citation2024; Moland, Citation2024). DI seems to be unable to overcome profound discrepancies of finalité conceptions among member states as the tensions between national autonomy and European governance remains (see Lord, Citation2021). Rather, DI postpones them while creating new challenges such as an intergenerational democracy deficit. Even though allowing short-term solutions in deadlocked negotiations, further challenges arise from a legal, social and political perspective. In sum, DI should be regarded as a means of last resort and at best a temporary deviation from uniform integration. For those in favour of normative intergovernmentalism, Europe à la carte would be one among many forms of accepted international cooperation. In contrast, those preferring normative supranationalism might seek instruments to use multi-speed Europe to promote uniform integration, e.g. by introducing certain funds setting incentives and providing resources for those states, which are supposed to catch up. For further EU enlargements, DI has also significant implications. Candidate states are likely to prefer uniform integration since the full accession is associated with the complete set of rights. Whichever DI model prevails within the EU, candidate states have less incentives to adopt the acquis communautaire since they are excluded from a number of social goods. Multi-speed Europe entails the promise of joining these at a certain time, while Europe à la carte does not. 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Diplomacy
Fono aoao faitulafono a samoa the National Legislative Assembly of Samoa

Samoa’s 2025 Election: Change, Continuity and Predictable Uncertainties

by Richard Herr OAM

What started as predictions of a nail-bitingly close election in Samoa turned into a stunning landslide for FAST party leader La’auli Leuatea Schmidt—a politician facing ten criminal charges who had been expelled from his own government just months earlier. The August 29 snap election delivered one of the Pacific’s most dramatic political comebacks, leaving Samoa’s first female Prime Minister with just three seats and raising serious questions about democracy and accountability in the island nation. A Decisive Victory Against All Odds Expectations that Samoa’s 29 August snap election would deliver a close, perhaps even indecisive, result lasted less than nine hours after the close of voting.  Final counting showed that the Fa’atuatua i le Atua Samoa ua Tasi (FAST) party had scored a comprehensive victory.   The flow of ballots to FAST was so decisive that it begs the question of what explains such a stunning result for a party formed just before the 2021 election, which was beset by an internal split so acrimonious that it caused the snap election and was headed by a politician facing ten police charges. Going into the election, FAST, led by party founder La’auli Leuatea Schmidt, had held 20 seats but had captured 30 of the 51 seats in the Legislative Assembly through effective social media and “roadshow” campaigning.  The Human Rights Protection Party (HRPP) hoped to turn around the 2021 loss that ended nearly four decades of political dominance.  However, losing four seats, HRPP leader, Tuilaepa Sailele Malielegaoi, only delivered the 14 seats down from 18 held previously.  The Fall of Samoa’s First Female Prime Minister The election was a stunning fall from grace for Samoa’s first female prime minister, Fiamē Naomi Mata’afa.  Her Samoa Uniting Party (SUP), which did not exist when the election was called, only won 3 seats, including hers.     Ironically, the creation of the SUP may have been the key underlying reason for the FAST win.  SUP was created as a vehicle for the minority government, composed of the 14 ministers who remained loyal to Fiamē after the schism within the governing FAST, when the PM sacked La’auli for refusing to stand down during a police investigation. He retaliated by expelling her and several other ministers from the party. The Scapegoating Strategy That Worked It was the brave decision by the 15 members of Fiamē’s minority government to contest the election together under the new party label that significantly contributed to FAST’s electoral success.  Fiamē’s government was blamed, inter alia, for cost-of-living pressures, infrastructure failures, particularly a collapse in the electricity supply and a dengue outbreak during the campaign.    Due to Fiamē’s caretaker government running under the new SUP banner and to artful campaign gaslighting by FAST,  FAST was largely successful in deflecting blame for its role in setting policy for virtually all of the four years before the snap election.  It is difficult to know how FAST would have fared had the election been fought without the split in the party.  Nevertheless, it was clear from the campaign that anti-government sentiment was directed against SUP rather than FAST, and FAST benefited from this scapegoating in terms of electoral support.  The Mathematics of Power Just how broadly the incoming FAST Government will be able to utilise its majority may depend on the choice the four elected Independents make upon entering the new Legislative Assembly.  If past is prologue, most will re-align themselves as FAST  members on entering the Assembly as they are allowed to do.  Historically, this has been relatively common across Samoan politics because villages want their member to join with the winning side to enable them to enjoy influence and the rewards of government largesse. Having a two-thirds super majority in Parliament enabled an earlier HRPP government to make the constitutional changes as easily as passing a statute.  These constitutional amendments set Samoa on the path to transitioning from a parliamentary democracy to a party democracy and contributed to the constitutional crisis in 2021. Unfinished Business: Court Challenges and Women’s Representation However, there are at least two more scenarios to play out before the 2025 snap election has entirely run its course. Challenges to successful candidates are so common that the special elections’ court (essentially a court of disputed returns) has set a November time limit in its calendar for hearing candidate challenges.  After the 2021 election, 20% of the seats were challenged and went to trial.  Challenges can arise from electoral violations such as bribery, treating and vote buying that are the standard forms of electoral corruption elsewhere.   However, Samoa has its own unique violations arising in Samoa’s fa’amatai (chief-based) political system.  Customary practices entrenched in electoral law, such as monotaga (village service), which is required for eligibility to stand, can appear subject to arbitrary partisan decisions by village authorities.  Challenges based on customary obligations are both common and complex.     The second scenario can also be determinative in the final number of members who take a seat in the Maota Fono (parliament house). Still, it only comes into play after the candidate challenges have been resolved.  A 2013 constitutional amendment requires that women constitute at least 10% of the seats in Parliament. The percentage figure adopted for the amendment was based on the calculation that only one in ten matai (chief) titles were held by women. If the declared contests for the country’s 51 parliamentary seats do not elect six women members, the results are reviewed to fill as many additional seats from the highest polling losing women candidates. The results in the 2021 election between HRPP and FAST were so tight that a court case ensued to determine the point in the electoral process at which a determination would be made to activate the constitutional provision.  At that time, when or if an additional women’s seat was needed, it could have flipped which party formed the Government.  Five women have been elected in 2025, making an additional seat necessary, but this will not be filled, if necessary, only after the final gender balance has been settled following the court challenges and any subsequent by-elections.   The final result may not be known definitively until November, when the number of seats in the Parliament and the party distribution in the Assembly are resolved.  Political Consequences and Future Uncertainties The size of the FAST win makes it highly unlikely that there is any threat to a La’auli-led Government, but the ease with which the constitution can be amended could be at issue.  Other political consequences of the election are clearer now. The SUP has not reached the threshold of eight to be recognised under standing orders as a parliamentary party.  Thus, Fiamē will only have the status of a private member on the floor of the Assembly, and, historically, Samoa’s procedures have not been kind to private members.  Importantly, Fiamē’s absence from the regional stage will be felt by the wider international community, as she was a proven and respected regional leader.  La’auli has seemed disinterested in taking on this role.   For HRPP’s Tuilaepa, this second electoral defeat may be consequential.  There is a question as to whether he will remain in his leadership position. Some feel that defeat in two successive elections should see him replaced, especially as he would be 85 at the next election. La’auli’s Position and Governing Challenges La’auli’s standing within the party he founded and led to the upset victory in 2021 could scarcely be higher.  He more than weathered the split in FAST; he provoked and proved that 2021 was not an aberrant election but a realigning one.  A practical limiting factor for La’auli on spending the political capital of his success may be ministerial inexperience.  La’auli’s incoming government will be bereft of experienced talent, as the largest share of 2021 FAST ministers defected to SUP in the FAST party split. If there is any threat to his leadership, it is more likely to come from outside the party.  The rift between La’auli and Fiamē was driven by the PM’s demand that La’auli stand down during a police investigation into criminal action against him.  Fiamē sacked him from the ministry when he refused. With Trumpian echoes, La’auli’s critics, including Tuilaepa, claimed his move against Fiamē was to take over the prime ministership to avoid prosecution.  La’auli will now be the prime minister, and many will be watching to see what happens to the case against him.  Despite the predictable uncertainties in the immediate future as the election results are bedded down, there is a noticeable sense of relief that the parliamentary infighting is over.  This article is published under Creative License and may be republished with attribution.

Diplomacy
Magnus Brunner & François Bayrou - 2025

France at a political impasse after the fall of the French government

by Anja Czymmeck

Anger, frustration and no confidence For the first time in the history of the Fifth Republic, a French government has been toppled following a vote of confidence based on Article 49.1 of the constitution. On September 8, the National Assembly refused to trust the cabinet of Prime Minister François Bayrou - a historic turning point in French politics. The Élysée Palace announced that President Emmanuel Macron had "taken note" of the government's failure and would "appoint a new prime minister in the coming days". While strikes and blockades have been announced for September 10 and 18, which are intended in particular to express the dissatisfaction of the French with regard to their purchasing power and further economic cuts, the question arises as to how Macron intends to maneuver France out of the political impasse and survive until the 2027 presidential elections. Clear vote, divided bourgeois-conservative camp Prime Minister François Bayrou's government clearly lost the confidence of parliament with 364 votes against, only 194 in favor and 15 abstentions. The result reflects a broad rejection of the government in almost all political camps. MPs from the Rassemblement National (123 votes), the populist left-wing La France Insoumise (LFI) (71), the Socialists (66), the Greens (38), the Communists (17) and the parliamentary group of former Les Républicains leader Eric Ciotti voted unanimously against the cabinet, Union des droites pour la République (15), as well as the majority of the opposition group Liot (Libertés, indépendants, outre-mer et territoires) (15 of 23 MPs), which unites several MPs from the center-left, center and center-right spectrum. Even six non-attached MPs did not express their confidence in Bayrou. The disagreement within the conservative Républicains parliamentary group was remarkable with regard to the government participation to date. While many parliamentary groups took a united stance, the Républicains were very divided: 13 of their MPs voted against confidence, 27 in favor and 9 abstained. In the run-up to the vote, parliamentary group leader Laurent Wauquiez had given MPs a free choice and expressed so much criticism in his speech before the vote that it was easy to forget that his party provides some of the ministers. On the government side, in addition to almost all MPs from the presidential camp Ensemble pour la République (90 out of 91 votes), the partners from the MoDem alliance (36 votes) and Horizons (34 votes) also voted in favor of confidence. Support also came from 27 Républicains MPs, four members of the Liot group and three non-attached MPs. In addition to the nine LR MPs, abstentions came from four Liot members, one non-attached MP and Violette Spillebout from the presidential majority. Reactions of the parties and options for action The fall of Prime Minister François Bayrou reflects the ongoing political instability in France. Head of state Emmanuel Macron, who is being held responsible for the crisis even within his own camp due to the dissolution of the National Assembly in the summer of 2024, is under pressure to put forward a new candidate for the post of prime minister. All parties appear trapped in their positions and show little willingness to compromise.   Emancipation of the presidential majority from head of state Emmanuel Macron Former Prime Minister and current leader of the Ensemble pour la République parliamentary group, Gabriel Attal, criticized a "state of permanent instability", which in his opinion could not be remedied by early elections. Dissolving the National Assembly would be "the worst solution", he explained. The real challenge does not lie with the electorate: "The French voted a year ago. The problem is not the citizens, but a political class that is incapable of agreeing on a common path." Gabriel Attal, therefore reiterated his wish on September 9 that President Emmanuel Macron should first appoint a "negotiator" before a decision is made on the appointment of the prime minister. According to Attal, this person should "not come from direct active politics“ but should be able to "bring all the players to the table". While the Élysée Palace announced that President Macron would appoint a new prime minister "in the coming days", Attal emphasized that the only relevant deadline was 31 December - the date by which the budget for 2026 must be adopted and the draft of which must be submitted to parliament by 7 October at the latest. People close to President Emmanuel Macron assume that he will not appoint anyone he does not know well or whose convictions do not match his own. The appointment of a minister from the Bayrou government is therefore not completely out of the question.  The names of Defense Minister Sébastien Lecornu, a close confidant of Macron, and Catherine Vautrin, Minister of Labor and Health, whom Macron almost appointed as Prime Minister in 2022, but then opted for Elisabeth Borne, have been mentioned. The name Gérald Darmanin is also mentioned particularly often, who, as Minister of Justice and former Minister of the Interior, originally came from the ranks of the Républicains. However, his appointment could quickly meet with resistance from the left. The name of the current President of the National Assembly, Yaël Braun-Pivet, is also circulating. Fall of the president as a logical consequence of the election result for the left-wing populist France Insoumise The leader of La France Insoumise (LFI), Jean-Luc Mélenchon, called the result of the confidence vote a "clear victory" and declared that Emmanuel Macron was now "on the front line against the people". The founder of the far-left party called for the head of state to resign immediately. Immediately afterwards, LFI parliamentary group leader Mathilde Panot announced the filing of an impeachment motion against the President of the Republic. There is no willingness on the part of LFI to enter into talks to propose a prime minister together with the former allies of the Nouveau Front Populaire, namely the Socialists. "The only government we will support is our own, the one based on a program of change," Mathilde Panot emphasized on 2 September. A government with socialist representatives, should it come into being, could not expect the support of La France Insoumise. The Socialists see their chance The leader of the Socialist Party, Olivier Faure, is in favor of President Emmanuel Macron appointing a prime minister from the left-wing camp. His name was already mentioned as a potential candidate before the vote of confidence, and he signaled his willingness to be available. When asked how the Socialist Party would react to the possible appointment of a prime minister close to Macron, such as Sébastien Lecornu or Catherine Vautrin, Faure avoided giving a clear answer. "I'm not going to take part in speculation about what I would do with this or that person. At the moment, it's about laying claim to government responsibility and creating the conditions for this," he explained. Given the 66 MPs that the Socialist Group has at its disposal, it would have a central role to play in the current composition of the National Assembly. "What we need today is change," Faure continued. "We must finally open up a political perspective to citizens who are clearly expressing their dissatisfaction - one that does not consist of merely continuing what we have been experiencing for years." If the next prime minister does not come from the left-wing camp, the question arises as to whether Emmanuel Macron will at least facilitate a dialog with them in order to avoid a renewed rejection by the Socialists and the person sought would also have to be "acceptable" to the bourgeois-conservative camp, which is likely to be difficult. Bernard Cazeneuve, former Prime Minister under François Hollande, is considered a possible candidate from the ranks of the Socialists. However, his distance from the party makes broad support from the left difficult. His name was already under discussion after the dissolution of parliament in June 2024 - but Macron decided not to nominate him. Other names that have also been mentioned include Finance Minister Éric Lombard, a former member of the Socialist Party, and Raphaël Glucksmann, leader of the social democratic Place publique. The Rassemblement National calls for new elections During the debate on the vote of confidence in the National Assembly, Marine Le Pen called on Emmanuel Macron to dissolve the National Assembly and called for new elections. Marine Le Pen said: "Dissolution is an obligation for him [Emmanuel Macron]". In the event that a new prime minister is appointed from the presidential majority or the left-wing camp, the leader of the right-wing populist party, Jordan Bardella, announced that his parliamentary group would refuse to trust him. With regard to the impeachment proceedings announced by France Insoumise against Emmanuel Macron, Jordan Bardella sharply criticized Jean-Luc Mélenchon. He accused him of seeking "disorder, the collapse of the country and the destruction of social cohesion". At first glance, the party's position appears contradictory, as the leader of the parliamentary group, Marine Le Pen, has been declared provisionally ineligible, although her legal remedies have not yet been exhausted. Le Pen has already announced that she will submit a Question Prioritaire de Constitutionnalité (QPC) in the event of early parliamentary elections, which will question the constitutionality of the provisional ineligibility. Disagreement among the Républicains about their own role in the party structure Bruno Retailleau, leader of the Républicains and still Minister of the Interior, emphasized the urgent need to appoint a new Prime Minister immediately. In view of upcoming demonstrations and a "particularly sensitive September for riots", there should be no vacancy of power. "We need a prime minister who embodies the power of government as soon as possible. This is of crucial importance - especially with regard to safeguarding public order," Retailleau emphasized. Retailleau made it clear that the bourgeois-conservative camp would not accept the appointment of a prime minister from the ranks of the Socialist Party under any circumstances. For him, it is clear: "There is no question of accepting a government that includes ministers from the left or even France Insoumise." This is the only way to ensure a clear demarcation from the left-wing opposition. Retailleau thus sets himself apart from parliamentary group leader Laurent Wauquiez, who warns against premature condemnations and does not seek "automatic censorship" against a government with socialist participation. He only considers a rejection to be justified if the executive actually "includes ministers from La France Insoumise or implements the program of the Nouveau Front Populaire." The preferred candidate of parliamentary group leader Wauquiez is Xavier Bertrand, who briefly left the party and was an unsuccessful candidate in the 2022 presidential elections, but then returned to the party and has been the president of the regional council in the Haut-de-France region since 2016. Conclusion and outlook The pressure on the Élysée Palace is increasing and the various political parties are pursuing different strategies - either they are pushing for a dissolution (of the National Assembly) or for the resignation (of the President). For some of them, political stability no longer has any value and the will to reform does not appear to be sustainable; on the contrary, reforms that have already been implemented, such as pensions, are to be reopened and renegotiated. In the meantime, the voices calling for electoral law reform are becoming louder again - radical voices even see the end of the Fifth Republic. However, it is also clear that the constitution of the Fifth Republic and its institutions are not responsible for the political polarization, but rather the current majority situation.  The tripartite division of the political landscape reflects the feelings of French voters, which, according to polls, would not change significantly even if new elections were held. It remains to be hoped that the democratic parties in the center can pull themselves together to form a government with a clearly defined work plan that can pull the country out of the crisis. This would require a willingness to compromise and negotiate across party lines without the involvement of the extremes. Unfortunately, the current signals from the party leaders give little hope of an agreement in the interests of France's political (and economic) stability. The country is facing turbulent days, not only because of the desperate search for a stable government, but also because of the waves of protests announced by trade unions and left-wing groups that threaten to paralyze the country. The text of this work is licensed under the terms of "Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 4.0 international", CC BY-SA 4.0 (available at: https://creativecom mons.org/licenses/ by-sa/4.0/legalcode.de)

Diplomacy
President of Russia Vladimir Putin meeting with North Korean leader Kim Jong-un (2025)

Why Xi, Putin and Kim on One Stage Matters

by Roie Yellinek

Beijing’s Victory Day parade in Tiananmen Square was designed to dazzle: ranks of uniformed troops, formations of aircraft, and an arsenal of new systems meant to underscore China’s rapid military modernization. But the most consequential image was not a missile or a stealth jet. It was a tableau of three leaders—Xi Jinping at the center, flanked by Vladimir Putin and Kim Jong Un—watching the spectacle together. The scene, widely broadcast and photographed, turned a commemorative event into a geopolitical marker. It was less a snapshot than a signal: the public normalization of a deepening alignment among China, Russia, and North Korea, at a moment when Western democracies are struggling to sustain cohesion on core strategic questions. The parade itself offered the familiar mixture of hardware and narrative. Coverage highlighted the unveiling or public confirmation of advanced systems across domains: upgraded intercontinental missiles, new submarine-launched ballistic missiles, hypersonic and anti-ship capabilities, long-range bombers, early warning aircraft, and a broad stable of unmanned platforms, including undersea vehicles and “loyal wingman” drones. Chinese media presented these developments as evidence of a “world-class” People’s Liberation Army (PLA) moving beyond legacy constraints and into truly multi-domain operations, with information, space, and cyber now integrated alongside land, sea, and air. Independent reporting catalogued the breadth of systems and emphasized a narrative of credible deterrence and strategic depth rather than mere choreography. Yet the more instructive message was political. The presence of Putin and Kim, alongside other leaders, was not a mere ceremonial occurrence. Each leader arrived with clear incentives to be seen at Xi’s side, and each gained by lending visual weight to Beijing’s story. For Moscow, the image reinforced the claim that Russia is not isolated, that it retains powerful partners and is embedded in a wider non-Western coalition. For Pyongyang, the moment was even more significant: an opportunity to step out of diplomatic isolation and be recognized publicly as a member of a consequential strategic grouping. For Beijing, hosting both leaders signaled that China can convene and coordinate—projecting status, reassuring sympathetic governments, and unsettling adversaries by hinting at a tighter web of cooperation among U.S. rivals. The convergence behind the optics has been building for years, and could have happened only on Chinese soil. China and Russia have expanded their coordination across energy, defense, and diplomatic, even as they preserve maneuvering room on sensitive issues. North Korea’s accelerating exchanges with Russia, alongside growing political warmth with Beijing, provide a third leg to this emerging tripod. None of this amounts to a formal alliance with mutual defense obligations. But it does resemble a strategic alignment held together by shared interests: resisting a U.S.-led order, blunting sanctions pressure, reducing vulnerability to Western technology restrictions, and demonstrating that alternatives exist to dollar-centric finance and Western supply chains. The choreography on the rostrum did not create this alignment; it made it more legible and clear. Memory politics is a key component of that legibility. Beijing’s decision to anchor the parade in the commemoration of victory over Japan allows contemporary power projection to be cloaked in a unifying moral narrative. China increasingly leverages World War II memory in diplomacy—shaping a “memory war” that reframes the post-1945 order and what is seen from China as its rightful place within it. Russia’s long-standing use of the “Great Patriotic War” plays a parallel role, justifying current policies through selective historical continuity. North Korea’s revolutionary mythology fits easily into this narrative architecture. By standing together at an anniversary of anti-fascist victory, the three leaders signaled an ideational convergence that complements their material cooperation: a claim to moral legitimacy as guardians of an alternative international vision. The military dimension of the parade, while not the core of this argument, still matters. Displays of a maturing triad—land-based ICBMs, submarine-launched systems, and an air-launched nuclear component—aim to convey survivable second-strike capacity. The public presentation of hypersonic and anti-ship systems is meant to complicate adversary planning in the Western Pacific. The range of unmanned platforms suggests an intent to saturate domains with relatively low-cost, attritable assets, improving persistence and compressing the sensor-to-shooter loop. It is prudent to treat parades cautiously: not all showcased systems are fully operational or fielded at scale, and performance claims are difficult to validate. But as an indicator, the breadth and integration of platforms reflect a planning culture committed to joint operations and “intelligentized” warfare, where AI-enabled targeting and decision support are not theoretical ambitions but programmatic priorities What, then, does the image of Xi–Putin–Kim actually change? First, it clarifies expectations. Observers no longer need to infer the trajectory of this triangular relationship from scattered bilateral overtures. The three leaders have chosen to make their alignment visible. Visibility creates deterrent value, raising the perceived costs of coercing any one member, and it can also facilitate practical cooperation: intelligence sharing, diplomatic coordination at the UN and other fora, synchronized signaling during regional crises, and mutually reinforcing sanctions-evasion practices. Second, it complicates Western planning. Even if Beijing keeps caution around direct military assistance in Europe or the Korean Peninsula, diplomatic top-cover, economic buffering, and technology flows short of lethal aid can still alter the correlation of forces over time. Finally, it resonates across the Global South. Many governments seek strategic autonomy and resist being forced into binary choices. The parade’s optics supplied a ready-made narrative for those who argue that the international system is already multipolar and that non-Western coalitions can deliver security and development without Western tutelage. The contrast with Western coordination was strikingly evident. In the transatlantic community, support for Ukraine remains substantial; however, debates about resource levels, war aims, and timelines have intensified. In the Indo-Pacific, there is a growing alignment on deterring coercion in the Taiwan Strait and the South China Sea; however, national economic interests and differing risk tolerances result in uneven policies toward China. Across Europe and North America, electoral politics continue to inject volatility into foreign policy, complicating efforts to sustain long-term, bipartisan strategies. None of these frictions amounts to collapse, and there are genuine Western successes in coalition-building—from NATO enlargement to evolving minilateral formats in the Indo-Pacific. However, an analytically honest reading of the moment acknowledges that the authoritarian trio in Beijing has projected a unity of purpose that Western capitals currently struggle to match consistently. Three implications follow. The first is narrative competition. If Beijing, Moscow, and Pyongyang can turn a commemorative event into a global story about legitimacy and resilience, they will continue to use history as a strategic resource. The appropriate Western response is not to cede the narrative field but to invest in historically grounded, forward-looking messaging that explains the link between rules-based order and practical benefits—trade reliability, crisis management, and sovereignty protection—for diverse audiences. The second is coalition maintenance. Western policymakers will need to prioritize “coalition hygiene”: aligning export controls and investment screening where it matters most; building redundancy into critical supply chains; closing divergences in sanctions enforcement; and coordinating messaging so that tactical differences do not obscure strategic alignment. This requires political discipline more than new institutions. The third is theater integration. As the Beijing image suggested a cross-regional understanding among three adversarial capitals, allied planning must better account for cross-theater linkages—how actions in Europe affect deterrence in Asia, and vice versa—and ensure that resource allocations and industrial policies reflect genuinely global prioritization. It is important not to overstate. The emerging alignment among China, Russia, and North Korea is asymmetric and interest-based, not a tightly binding alliance. Beijing’s global economic integration imposes constraints that Moscow and Pyongyang do not share. Russia and North Korea each bring liabilities that China will manage carefully. Frictions—over technology, pricing, and regional equities—will persist. But the threshold crossed in Beijing is nonetheless meaningful. These governments judged that the benefits of public proximity now outweigh the costs. That judgment, once made, is difficult to reverse quickly; it tends to generate its own momentum through bureaucratic follow-through and sunk reputational costs. One image cannot rewrite the balance of power. It can, however, crystallize a trend and concentrate minds. The sight of Xi, Putin, and Kim standing together did exactly that. It captured an authoritarian convergence rooted in shared grievances and converging strategies, and it highlighted the challenge facing democracies that wish to preserve an open and stable order: maintaining the patience, unity, and policy discipline to act together. The test for the West is less whether it recognizes the signal—most capitals do—than whether it can convert recognition into sustained, collective action. If Beijing’s parade was a demonstration of choreography and intent, the appropriate answer is not a counter-parade, but the quieter work of alignment: aligning narratives with interests, interests with instruments, and instruments with partners. That work is not glamorous. It is, however, what turns a photo into policy.

Energy & Economics
At Singapore 2023 075

A Post-Humanist Perspective of Singapore's Ecomodernist Leadership

by Sasha Maher , Rhiannon Lloyd , Lydia Martin

Abstract Green growth has become doxa in the political economic governance of climate change. This is despite the lack of empirical evidence of its success and concerns that it reifies a business-as-usual dynamic. The question arises: why have practices of ‘green leadership’ maintained a hegemonic hold on how nation states respond to climate change? This provocation examines this question through an analysis of Singapore's policy ambition to become Asia's climate services leader. It draws on post-humanism to suggest that the form of ecomodernist leadership exhibited by Singapore not only perpetuates the status quo but (re)affirms the problematic anthropocentrism underpinning their approach. We demonstrate this through analysis of recent policy, media and private sector documents. Finally, we argue that a focus on Singapore matters because of its influence in the region and networked position globally. Introduction Singapore has emerged as a leader of green growth since gaining independence from Malaysia in 1965. Governed by the People's Action Party (PAP) since 1959, the city-state has pursued a developmental strategy focused on economic growth and wealth accumulation, despite its lack of natural resources. This strategy encompassed value-added manufacturing, high-tech research and financial services, propelling Singapore from a modest per capita GDP in 1965 of USD $516 to a substantial figure of USD $82,807 in 2022 (World Bank, 2022). However, this rapid development brought with it cumulative environmental challenges, including high Green House Gas (GHG) emissions, air pollution, ecosystem degradation and biodiversity loss (Goh, 2001). In response, Singapore reframed these issues as economic opportunities, effectively folding an ecomodernist or green growth approach into its development agenda (Dent, 2018; Hamilton-Hart 2006, 2022). This shift was significantly influenced by Lee Kuan Yew, Singapore's first Prime Minister, whose vision of a ‘Garden City’ involved a massive, ongoing tree-planting initiative. This initiative was not just an ecological project but a strategic move to attract foreign investment by showcasing Singapore as a modern, liveable city, thereby aligning nature conservation with economic development (Schneider-Mayerson, 2017). Building on Prime Minister Lee Kuan Yew's leadership, Singapore has continued to adopt ecomodernist policies, promoting concepts such as sustainability as essential for maintaining its competitive edge in the global arena. The state's stance on climate change illustrates this approach: initially seen as a threat and often couched as an enemy in official discourse, climate change has been transformed into an opportunity for growth. This perspective is epitomised in the annual three-day Ecosperity conference, an elite gathering emphasising the synergy between ecological sustainability and economic prosperity. However, this green growth approach has faced criticism for prioritising human needs over ecological integrity (Dent, 2018; Schneider-Mayerson, 2017; Wong, 2012), suggesting that Singapore's model of ‘green’ leadership may not be sufficient for addressing the root causes of climate change and other environmental challenges. We are similarly concerned at Singapore's leadership stance towards climate change. The latest rendition of this is its ambition to become Asia's climate finance ‘leader’ and a hub of carbon trading. Not only does Singapore's green growth approach narrowly cast complex environmental issues as technical problems requiring technical solutions but it renders nature as an object to be used for human development. This anthropocentrism negates non-human agency, instrumentalises nature and limits the radical change necessary as others have noted (Böhm and Sullivan, 2021; Ergene, Banerjee and Hoffman, 2021; Nyberg and Wright, 2023). In the following provocation, we draw on post-humanist critique of anthropocentrism to give a brief overview of green growth (Braidotti, 2013, 2019; Calás and Smircich, 2023). Second, we outline Singapore's emissions profile and latest policy response. We then surface three themes which are indicative of how Singapore's green leadership frames nature as non-agentic and subservient to humans. These themes are: ‘nature as risk producer’, ‘nature as instrument’ and ‘nature's demise as opportunity’. Anthropocentrism and Green Growth The discourse on greening capitalism emerged in the mid-2000s as initiatives by the United Nations Environmental Program, OECD and World Bank. At the Rio + 20 Conference these three organisations released publications promoting green growth with titles that evoked mutual compatibility such as Inclusive Green Growth: The Pathway to Sustainable Development and Toward a Green Economy: Pathways to Sustainable Development and Poverty Eradication. Subsequently, the United Nations Framework Convention on Climate Change enshrined green growth in the 2015 Paris Agreement in Article 10, paragraph 5, ‘Accelerating, encouraging and enabling innovation is critical for an effective, long-term global response to climate change and promoting economic growth’ (United Nations UNFCCC, 2015: 27). Since then, the prevalence of green growth ideas has accelerated and diffused globally, taken up by states supranational organisations and non-states actors. It has remained a key policy theme at influential climate governance fora. For example, at the recent Green Swan 2023 conference, keynote Sir Nicolas Stern confidently declared that ‘there's no conflict between action on climate change and economic growth. Actually, it's the opposite. Action on climate change will drive economic growth’. Omitted from Sterns's assertion is recognition of the ‘coupling’ effect whereby economic growth has also led to the exploitation of non-humans and a concomitant climate crisis. Green growth approaches view nature as the means to create economic development as measured by GDP. The key assumption is that ‘the environment’ and humans as consumers or workers (see Mildenberger 2020) will both equally benefit through this process of instrumentalisation. The method to achieve the ‘decoupling’ of emissions (or ecological destruction) from GDP is via the application of technologies, investment, markets and innovation. Implementation of these methods will ostensibly redirect capital and production towards the efficient use of resources without disrupting consumption patterns and minimising ‘harm’ to nature. Nature in this framing is characterised as both threatening to humans (‘risk producer’) and simultaneously vulnerable (‘object at risk’). In either case, human beings are presupposed as the agents who will restore the orderliness of life; an orderliness where humans are the dominating species (Ruuska, Heikkurinen and Wilen, 2020) and the state of vulnerability is erased (Schwartz, 2019). At its core green growth is founded on the notion of efficiency gains, but as others (Hickel, 2021; Hickel and Kallis, 2019; Jackson, 2021) have noted, empirically there is no evidence that relative or absolute decoupling will arrest and restore the planet nor reduce carbon emissions permanently to levels that could keep global warming below 1.5 degrees. Efficiency has limitations and at some point, input is required to continue to grow which makes ongoing decoupling in the long-term unsustainable. This calls for an urgent rethinking of policy and the opening up of alternative possibilities such as degrowth or post-growth (Jackson, 2021). However, shifting the paradigm away from wealth accumulation and material prosperity would alter production and consumption patterns. As Hickel and Kallis (2019) remark, this type of transformation would not be politically expedient: ‘The assumption is that it is not politically acceptable to question economic growth and that no nation would voluntary limit growth in the name of the climate or environment; therefore, green growth must be true, since the alternative is disaster’ (2019: 484). Green growth may not only be implausible but it also dangerously reifies dualistic thought-structures that universalises and positions humankind as the privileged, superior species, a tendency which has underpinned the exploitative and extractive relationship between humans and nature that has driven climate change. It also ferments a ‘politics of resignation’ in which citizens tacitly accept harmful externalities (Benson and Kirsch, 2010). In line with post-humanist thought, we perceive nature through a relational lens. From this perspective, ‘nature’ is not a separate entity that exists apart from and below ‘culture’ (e.g., humans, organisations and nation states). Rather nature is understood to be a dynamic, open-ended and interactive ‘living system’ that encompasses all forms of life and matter (Braidotti, 2016). This relational framing of nature is positive in that it attributes agency and vitality to all life and not exclusively to humans and their doings (Braidotti, 2013). In short, more-than-human natures such as the ‘natural environment or ‘atmosphere’ are not tractable or deadened backgrounds for human action but are creative forces that shape life, including our own. In taking this ontological position, post-humanism surfaces and critiques anthropocentric assumptions evident in culture and society (Braidotti, 2013), providing a unique standpoint from which to deconstruct and challenge green growth. Singapore the Green City-StateEmissions Profile Singapore's GHG emissions for 2021 totalled 53 MtCO2e (National Climate Change Secretariat, 2021). In 2000, emissions were 38 MtCO2e and continues to increase over time. These emissions cover direct or primary emissions (Scope 1, 2): energy (39.2%), industry (44.4%), transport (14.2%), building (0.9%), households (0.4%), waste and water (0.6%) and others (0.2%). Secondary or indirect emissions (Scope 3) created within the energy sector from Liquid Natural Gas (LNG) at 94% are mostly in industry (16.6%), buildings (12.6%), household (6.6%) and transport (2.2%). Industry emissions amount to over 60% of Singapore's total emissions of which 75% are from the combustion of fossil fuels by the refining and petrochemicals sector (Tan, 2019). Singapore ranks 27th out of 142 countries in terms of emissions per capita but excluded from official statistics are the emissions from bunkering/marine fuels sales which was 148 MtCO2e in 2020 (The International Council of Clean Transportation, 2022). The rationale for the exclusion is that the UNFCC does not require GHG inventories to include emissions from shipping nor aviation. In 2021 Singapore set a new National Determined Commitment target of limiting GHG emissions in 2030 to 60 MtCO2e from 65 MtCO2e. It also brought forward its emission peak year to sometime ‘before 2030’ and confirmed its target to reach net zero emissions ‘as soon as viable in the second half of the century’ (National Climate Change Secretariat, 2022). Singapore's main mitigation actions were outlined in its long-term low-emission development strategy. These comprise three areas: (a) to transform industry, economy and society; (b) to draw on carbon capture, utilisation and storage and low-carbon fuels; and (c) international collaboration to build carbon markets, carbon storage and regional electricity grids. A key policy lever is Singapore's progressive carbon tax rate which covers 43% of emissions according to Climate Action Tracker (2022). The rate was increased from $5 SGD/tCO2e in 2019 to $25/tCO2e in 2024 and will reach $50–80/tCO2e by 2030. Carbon tax-liable companies are permitted to use carbon credits to offset up to 5% of emissions. However, these credits can only be obtained via the Singapore government's International Carbon Credit Framework under Article 6.2 of the Paris Agreement and not the voluntary carbon market. The tax works on multiple fronts: it drives demand to create a carbon market, derisks companies to increase investor confidence and incentivises decarbonisation efforts in Singapore and in credit producing host countries. Singapore's other mitigation efforts consist of energy efficiency and resource optimisation across industry, households, buildings, waste management and public transport. Green Finance Leader Singapore is positioning itself as Asia's hub for carbon trading. The government outlines this in its most recent master plan for addressing climate change: Singapore Green Plan 2030 (SGP). Launched in 2020, SGP 2030 aims to centre the city-state as a regional ‘leader’ in climate action and sustainable development, aligning with global commitments such as the UN's 2030 Agenda and the Paris Agreement. The plan represents a collective effort across five key ministries, guided by the Inter-Ministerial Committee on Climate Change. It focuses on five pillars: City in Nature, Sustainable Living, Energy Reset, Green Economy and Resilient Future, striving for efficient resource use, low-carbon energy adoption and innovation-driven change. Key initiatives include enhancing green spaces, promoting water conservation, expanding clean public transport and mandating clean energy vehicles by 2030. The Green Economy pillar of the SGP is particularly significant, framing environmental challenges as opportunities for economic growth. This involves incentivising carbon capture technologies and establishing Singapore as a carbon services and trading hub through the Green Finance Action Plan 2022 (Monetary Authority of Singapore, 2022). The plan aims to create a robust green financial ecosystem, making Singapore a global centre for green finance. This includes developing markets for sustainable economic solutions, such as green bonds and insurance products. A study commissioned by the government in 2021 highlighted Singapore's potential to become a carbon trading hub, estimating its value between USD 1.8 billion to USD 5.6 billion by 2050 (Carvalho et al., 2021). As part of its green leadership plan Singapore is also entering into strategic partnerships under Article 6.2 with ‘carbon-rich’, developing countries. It has signed agreements with Vietnam, Bhutan, Paraguay, Papua New Guinea, Fiji, Rwanda, Costa Rica, Ghana, Senegal, Dominican Republic, Colombia, Chile, Cambodia, Indonesia, Kenya, Mongolia, Morocco, Peru and Sri Lanka. It also recently signed a Green Economy Agreement with Australia with the aim to generate demand and facilitate the trading of Australian carbon credits. The aim of these Article 6.2 agreements is to facilitate the trading of Internationally Transferrable Mitigation Outcomes or carbon credits which are generated from the reduction of emissions in one country (e.g., PNG) which is then bought by a second country (e.g., Singapore, New Zealand). However, Singapore's interest extends to the role these partnerships play in helping to establish a trading market in Singapore. In its agreements, Singapore asserts that ‘when completed carbon tax liable companies in Singapore will be able to purchase carbon credits from eligible projects to offset up to 5% of their taxable emission’ (National Climate Change Secretariat, 2023). Article 6.2 partnerships not only help reduce costs for Singapore companies but bring to market a portfolio of credit sellers for trading on Singapore's new trading platform, Climate Impact X. Ecomodernist Themes of Nature A post-humanist perspective on Singapore's ambition to transform into a climate leader surfaces three ecomodernist or green growth themes. These themes are: ‘nature as risk producer’, ‘nature as instrument’ and ‘nature's demise as opportunity’. Across these themes, it is implied that humans take priority and should utilise nature to achieve economic growth. A conventional approach would ignore this dualism and support the instrumentalisation of nature without awareness nor concern that this thought-structure plays a key part in producing climate change. In official organisational documents and speeches regarding Singapore's ambitions to create a global carbon trading hub, Singapore is presented as a model city and a vanguard in terms of environmental actions. Reference is also frequently made to the ‘founding father’, and visionary environmental leader, Prime Minister Lee Kuan Yew. Nature as Risk Producer Politicians, officials and industry often, if not always, portray climate change as the result of nature being ‘out of place’ and consequently hostile towards the vulnerable nation-state (Douglas, 1966; Ruuska et al., 2020). For example, below is an extract from the SGP which sets up the catastrophic framing, and two quotes from Prime Minister Lee Hsien Loong followed by Grace Fu Minister for Sustainability and the Environment at the COP28: Climate change is an existential threat of our times. It has brought rising sea levels and extreme weather patterns…Singapore, as a low-lying island state, is particularly vulnerable. Our weather is getting warmer, rainstorms heavier, and dry spells more pronounced (Singapore Government). Singapore [is] a low-lying, alternative-energy disadvantaged island-state. We therefore appreciate the inherent challenges in climate transitions. However, we believe that new technologies, new financing models and new markets offer us hope (Ministry of Foreign Affairs Singapore, 2023). Singapore is a small city-state, lacking in renewable energy. We are a low-lying island that is acutely vulnerable to the threat of rising sea levels. We are an urbanised city near the equator, susceptible to rising temperatures (Ministry of Sustainability and the Environment Singapore, 2023). The narrative that nature is a risk producer is a form of spatial anthropocentrism in which Earth and beyond are considered the rightful and exclusive spaces for humans (Ruuska et al., 2020). If nature was tame and in its proper docile place, then humans would not be at risk. The reasonable response to this logic is to put nature back in its place by constructing hard engineering solutions, such as sea walls and defending infrastructure that deliver services to humans (e.g., water, electricity, transport, telecommunication), alongside the use of soft solutions to absorb the costs of rebuilding, for example, via flood insurance. Nature as Green Growth Tool The case of Singapore demonstrates that the objectification of nature is a prerequisite to instrumentalisation. Our second theme – nature as a green growth tool – is evident in Singapore's continuation of its long-standing Garden City strategy: nature to be altered to ensure the material prosperity of the populace and thus maintain PAP's political legitimacy (Barnard and Heng, 2014; Hamilton-Hart, 2006, 2022; Schneider-Mayerson, 2017). For example, in the SGP, former Prime Minister Lee Kuan Yew is quoted as follows: Over 100 years ago, this was a mudflat, swamp. Today, this is a modern city. Ten years from now, this will be a metropolis. Never fear (Singapore Government). The SGP then follows this quote from Prime Minister Lee by stating that,…Having advanced from mudflats, to metropolis, we will turn our metropolis into a global city of sustainability (Singapore Government). Today, Singapore is a City in a Garden, and is one of the greenest cities in the world. We set aside large nature reserves, with about a third of our island covered by trees. We knew public cleanliness and hygiene were important to prevent diseases in our hot and humid urban environment and took tough measures to enforce them (Singapore Government). There is a direct link made between using nature as a tool and nation building. As a consequence of this argument, any opposition to Singapore's ‘global’ ambitions could be viewed as a threat to the state, unpatriotic and regressive. The use of nature as instrument for green growth is most stark under the Green Economy pillar. Nature's Demise as Opportunity The third theme evident in Singapore's attempts to position itself as a ‘green leader’ also concerns the instrumentalisation of nature but takes it a step further, with nature's destruction as a result of anthropogenic climate change being presented as a means to stimulate economic development. In the SGP, four of the pillars focus on efficiency and optimising production and consumption of natural resources. However, the Green Economy pillar not only seeks to capitalise on nature but intends to prosper from its demise. The discourse on the climate crisis is rewoven as a narrative about ‘seizing’ opportunities from the climate crisis and the ensuring there is pressure on states and corporates to act. Similar to disaster capitalism, the impacts of climate change are a new business venture for Singapore to advance its developmentalist approach. Below are instances of this discourse: As the world transits to a low-carbon future, there are many exciting new opportunities in the green economy. For instance, the increasing demand for green financing and carbon services will create good jobs and new opportunities for our enterprises (Ministry of Trade and Industry Singapore, 2022). Singapore's Green Plan aims to harness sustainability as ‘a new engine of growth’ …Under the plan, the Singaporean government will lead and drive all economic actors to make the transition toward more sustainable economic models, including establishing the country as a hub for green finance, carbon trading and sustainability consultancy (Wangkiat, 2021). We must seek out new areas of cooperation. This will allow us to deepen collaboration while also strengthening our relevance as a global business hub. Sustainability is one area where there are interesting opportunities for growth and strong potential for international collaboration. Green financing, carbon services, and trading are some examples of the new industries that we can look forward to in the green economy (Ministry of Trade and Industry Singapore, 2023). Singapore is unequivocal in highlighting the competitive advantage that the climate crisis holds for the state. This intensification of the instrumentalism of its Garden City strategy serves not only to commodify but also to financialise climate change. As Ergene, Banerjee and Hoffman (2021: 1320) remark, ‘The Anthropocene is not a story of unintended consequences but is a direct result of a political economy that privileges wealth accumulation at the expense of environmental destruction’. The growth imperative inherent in capitalism relies on the appropriation of nature's ‘resources’ at a low-cost despite ecological consequences. Capitalism seeks to exploit ‘cheap’ resources, including land, labour and energy. This pursuit of cheap inputs is founded on the ontological separation between humans and nature, and the devaluing of nature and some humans compared to others. Capitalism unleashes ‘a “metabolic rift” in the relationship between humans and the earth, resulting in an environmental crisis that now threatens the very basis of life on the planet’ (Wright et al., 2018: p. 459; see also Foster, 2012; Nyberg et al., 2022). Conclusion The three themes explored above underscore how Singapore continues to conceptualise nature as ‘other’. The current understanding of ‘green leader’ and what is legitimate and required in order to be considered ‘green’ maintains a primarily economically centred political agenda. This ‘ecomodernist leadership’ regime is preoccupied by quantitative measures of a known and knowable nature. In short, being ‘green’ requires the improvement of these numbers in directions agreed as beneficial to both the economic and environmental systems they reflect and relate to. Such instrumentalism provides one means towards green futures, but we would argue that this dangerously reifies the dualistic exploitative relations that underpin climate change (e.g., Moore, 2016). Green growth and other notions of ‘greening’ (e.g., Green Economy, Green Finance) do not alter the problematic of anthropocentrism but rather propagate and support a Promethean logic (Dryzek, 2022). So, although Singapore's portion of global emissions is small at 0.1%, we would suggest that Singapore's contribution to climate change extends beyond this number due to its green leadership stance and practices. 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Diplomacy
egypt between Israel and Palestine.  Israel egypt Palestine

Egypt's war in Gaza: a delicate balancing act

by Baudouin Long

For several years, Egypt – which recently announced that Hamas had accepted a ceasefire proposal negotiated in Cairo – has been playing a mediating role in the conflict in Gaza. As the only Arab country sharing a border with the Palestinian enclave, Egypt pursues strategic objectives that combine security concerns and domestic constraints – goals that are under pressure from Israel's expansionist policy. In the absence of a diplomatic solution, the situation in Gaza could have unpredictable consequences for the regime of Abdel Fattah Al-Sisi, whose options, in the face of public opinion, remain limited to avoid the accusation of indifference and to mask its impotence against Tel Aviv. On August 18th, the announcement of a ceasefire accepted by Hamas, negotiated in Cairo based on a U.S. plan, highlighted the mediating role played by the Egyptian authorities in the war waged by Israel in Gaza. This role remains essential, even though Qatar's actions have often received more media attention due to the emirate's proximity to Hamas. A key and historical role as a mediator  Without going back to the creation of the Palestine Liberation Organization (PLO) or the Egyptian-Israeli peace agreements of 1979, Cairo has long been an essential player in the Israeli-Palestinian conflict due to its negotiation capacity between Israel and the Palestinians. Hosni Mubarak's Egypt (1981-2011) played a major role in most agreements concluded between the PLO and Israel after Oslo (1993) and was active in maintaining a channel of discussion with Israel during the Second Intifada (2000-2005). After Hamas's victory in the Palestinian legislative elections of 2006 and its takeover of Gaza in 2007, Egypt intervened in bilateral negotiations both between Hamas and Fatah and between Hamas and Israel during the conflicts of 2008-2009, 2012, 2014, and 2021, in which the victims were mostly civilians. The rise to power of Abdel Fattah Al-Sisi in 2014, following the overthrow of President Mohamed Morsi (2013), who was from the Muslim Brotherhood, created tensions with Hamas, which is close to the Islamist movement. Adjustments were necessary, but Egyptian intelligence maintained a discreet connection with Hamas and continued to carry out mediation missions with Israel or with Mahmoud Abbas's Palestinian Authority. Since October 7, 2023, alongside Qatar and the United States (the only actor able to pressure Israel), Egypt is once again at the heart of negotiations, whether they take place in Doha or Cairo. A first agreement under the sponsorship of the three states was reached in January 2025. Previously, in December 2024, Egypt had negotiated an agreement between Fatah and Hamas to establish an autonomous administration at the end of the war. A red line against Israeli expansionism?  In recent days, in light of Israel's expansionist policy, Egypt has made numerous statements regarding the situation in Gaza. The authorities in Cairo have expressed support for the establishment of an international peacekeeping force mandated by the UN, while denying rumors that they had proposed a transfer of Hamas's weapons to Egypt. In Rafah (Egypt), in an interview with CNN, Foreign Minister Badr Abdelatty reaffirmed the rejection of a massive relocation of Palestinians, which he described as a 'red line.'  Earlier, President Al-Sisi had crossed a rhetorical threshold by denouncing a 'war of famine and genocide' and reiterated his refusal of any relocation plan. Egypt is also supporting the South African complaint to the International Court of Justice for violation of the Genocide Convention, without joining the stakeholders. These statements come in a dual context of a blockage of negotiations and an acceleration of Israeli operations, with Israeli territorial ambitions that could signify the end of any possibility for a two-state solution and a massive displacement of people outside of Palestine, particularly towards Egypt. The ceasefire negotiated in Cairo by Egyptian and Qatari mediators largely echoed the plan of Donald Trump's special envoy, Steve Witkoff, and thus represents a real advancement compared to the situation in early June, when the United States, along with Israel, had rejected the proposal made by Hamas to implement a truce. An advancement that, however, has not resulted in a breakthrough: a week later, Israel has still not responded to the negotiators' proposal. The announcement of the ceasefire accepted by Hamas comes as the Israeli security cabinet approved, on August 8, a plan to take control of Gaza and as the UN, after several warnings, declared a state of famine in the Gaza Strip. Various Egyptian statements also resonate with the vision of a 'Greater Israel' recently put forward by Benjamin Netanyahu, referring to the biblical borders of Israel that include territories currently belonging to Jordan, Lebanon, and Syria, as well as part of the Sinai Peninsula. The idea of relocating the Palestinian population outside of Gaza is not new, although it has been rather marginal until now. Recently, Netanyahu has publicly considered relocating Gazans to Arab countries or Africa (negotiations in this regard have been mentioned several times). The Sinai, a key security issue for Egypt  Egypt, which shares a 14-kilometer border with the Palestinian enclave, the "Philadelphian corridor," is also a security player because it plays a key role, almost literally, in the blockade imposed by Israel on the Gaza Strip (both in terms of its maintenance and/or its easing).  In this regard, Abdel Fattah Al-Sisi's Egypt is not spared from criticism that denounces its inaction while, on the other side of the border, the war waged by Israel increasingly resembles ethnic cleansing, if not genocide.  The grievances are numerous and particularly concern the blocking of supplies at the Rafah crossing into Palestinian territory, the security treatment reserved for Gaza refugees – about 100,000 Palestinians have sought refuge in Egypt since the beginning of the war, paying high fees to the Hala company, which specializes in the 'coordination' of the Rafah crossing – as well as the security management of pro-Gaza protests, both in Cairo and in Sinai. It should be noted that Egypt administered Gaza from 1948 to 1967, before the strip came under Israeli control. Since then, Cairo's stance towards Gaza has always been deeply influenced by the situation in Sinai, a large desert area where the border between Egypt and Gaza is located. Occupied by Israel in 1967 following the Six-Day War (at the same time as the Gaza Strip), Sinai was recovered by Egypt in 1982. Underdeveloped territory with inadequate infrastructure, Sinai has been, for decades, a trafficking zone between Egypt, Israel, and Gaza.   As can be seen on this map, it is in the extreme northeast of the Sinai Peninsula that the border between Egypt and the Gaza Strip is located. Peter Hermes Furian/Shutterstock After 2011, a local jihadist movement, which joined the Islamic State in 2014, thrived there before being gradually contained by the Egyptian army after a "dirty war" that resulted in several thousand casualties (more than 3,200 deaths among security forces, while the number of civilian casualties is unknown). Sisi proclaimed victory in 2023, with operations ending between 2019 and 2020. For Cairo, the management of Gaza is primarily a security issue. It involves containing trafficking, preventing the infiltration of armed groups more radical than Hamas, the most active of which is the Islamic Jihad, and avoiding an influx of Palestinian refugees, due to its logistical inability to organize such reception. Beyond the logistical question, Egyptian leaders fear a situation that could turn into a de facto state. They have in mind the Lebanese and Jordanian precedents, where the settlement of Palestinian refugees led to the events of Black September in the Hashemite Kingdom and to the civil war in the Land of the Cedar. This position is longstanding. As early as 2008, the forced entry of thousands of Palestinians into Sinai was perceived as a transgression of national sovereignty, a repetition of which must be avoided "at all costs."  Nevertheless, Egypt denies participating in the blockade or being inactive in the face of the tragedy experienced by the Palestinians. President Sisi himself responded to these accusations, reminding that it is Israel that has bombed the Rafah crossing multiple times and controls the Palestinian side of Rafah. Israel, which withdrew from Gaza in 2005, regained control of the Philadelphia corridor in May 2024. Egyptian media, echoing the government's talking points, emphasize the humanitarian convoys sent from Egypt: over 45,000 trucks, accounting for 70% of humanitarian aid, have reportedly supplied Gaza since October 2023 (noting that the crossings can only occur with Israel's agreement and under its security conditions). Between external constraints and internal pressures On the Palestinian issue, Egypt advocates for the establishment of a Palestinian state within the framework of a two-state solution. This is a historical positioning, defined by Anwar El-Sadat in his speech to the Knesset in November 1978. It translates into diplomatic actions, but since 2008, each Israeli war in Gaza highlights the limited scope of Egyptian engagement. However, for Sisi, this engagement comes with domestic constraints. The desperate situation of Gazans resonates widely in Egypt as well as throughout the region and provokes a strong sense of solidarity. Here too, the Egyptian government is caught in its contradictions. For many Egyptians, Hamas is not so much a terrorist movement as a resistance movement against Israel: indeed, even Cairo has not classified it as a terrorist organization, unlike the Egyptian Muslim Brotherhood. On one hand, the Egyptian authorities repress any demonstration that they do not organize themselves and that could challenge the regime. There is a mistrust of the street that refers to the importance of mobilizations supporting Palestinians in the militant trajectory that led to the 2011 revolution. On the other hand, the president and the government must take into account public opinion’s sensitivity and show that they are not powerless. In this regard, accepting the relocation of Palestinians in Sinai would make them accomplices in the eyes of Egyptians. In any case, Egypt's role seems hardly able to go beyond humanitarian aid and diplomatic negotiations. Peace with Israel remains a pillar of Egyptian foreign policy. Cairo will not jeopardize its bilateral relationship with Israel to the point of threatening to enter into armed conflict with it. Not only for economic reasons, or because part of Egypt's gas supplies depend on Israel – even if these can represent a leverage. In many aspects, the alliance with Israel is crucial for Sisi: beyond the support that Netanyahu was able to provide him by pleading his case in Washington after the coup against Morsi (2013), the Hebrew state is an economic partner, but also a security partner in the fight against jihadist groups still present in the Sinai. While red lines are stated, no real threat has been made.  However, rumors from government sources had circulated in February 2024: they spoke of the threat of a suspension of the peace treaty in the event of an Israeli invasion of Rafah. Alas, Israeli troops have occupied the border area since May 2024 without Egypt reacting in any way other than verbally. It seems particularly unlikely that the Egyptian army could be mobilized to intervene outside of a UN framework and without Israel’s consent. Diplomacy so as not to appear either indifferent or powerless?  It will be understood, therefore, that Egypt's recent statements are part of a long-term policy and do not indicate a change in direction. Israel's expansionist policy puts Egypt's strategic objectives under tension: the establishment of a Palestinian state as part of a two-state solution, the preservation of Egypt's sovereignty in Sinai and its security, and finally, the support of Egyptian public opinion.  While Israel responded to Cairo's announcement by mobilizing 60,000 reservists to carry out its plan to occupy Gaza, the question of the sustainability of this balancing act arises and exposes Cairo to reality. Alone, Sisi's regime can do nothing against Israel. While it is unlikely that the Egyptian president will take the risk of opposing militarily, he seems destined to appear indifferent or powerless. A humiliation on the Gaza issue could be costly for the autocrat internally and have dramatic consequences for the region. Therefore, Egypt is left with only the diplomatic path to get out of the rut. First, negotiate a ceasefire and then find an alternative solution to the Israeli occupation of Gaza. The latter could require Egypt's return to the Gaza Strip. But is Egypt really ready to play its part in a solution for Gaza beyond diplomatic negotiations?

Diplomacy
President Vladimir Putin, Prime Minister Narendra Modi and President Xi Jinping together at SCO Summit

India’s strategic reset in Tianjin

by Harsh V. Pant , Atul Kumar

The 2025 Shanghai Cooperation Organization (SCO) Summit in Tianjin turned out to be the largest gathering in the institution’s history, convening 20 foreign leaders and 10 heads of international organisations, including United Nations Secretary-General António Guterres. More than a display of institutional breadth, the summit served as a stage for geopolitical signalling, most visibly through the joint presence of the leaders of China, India, and Russia. Their highly choreographed meetings were designed for maximum optics and deployed as deliberate instruments of international messaging, reflecting the emergence of a multipolar world. For Russian President Vladimir Putin, the summit provided an opportunity to engage closely with both India and China while demonstrating that Moscow is not bereft of partners. Chinese President Xi Jinping aimed to use the occasion to burnish his credentials as the architect of an emergent political and economic order. Indian Prime Minister Narendra Modi, however, conveyed a distinct and calculated message — that Indian foreign policy is rebalancing its strategic relations with the world’s major powers and restoring its posture to the centre. In doing so, New Delhi is translating its long-proclaimed doctrine of multi-alignment into practice, positioning itself as a pivotal actor in an increasingly multipolar system. Strategic Leverage  Since the end of the Cold War, Indian foreign policy has been adjusting by building its ties with the West in general and the US in particular. To illustrate in just one domain, New Delhi has purchased an array of advanced US systems, including C-17 and C-130 strategic airlift aircraft, P-8I maritime patrol planes, Chinook, Apache, and MH-60R helicopters, F404/414 engines, and MQ-9 drones, transactions that together totalled $24 billion between 2000 and 2024. This surge in US acquisitions has coincided with a marked decline in Russian influence: Moscow’s share of India’s arms imports fell from 76 per cent during 2009–2013 to just 36 per cent over the past five years. India’s pivot toward the US, and its rapid defence and economic diversification have kept Beijing on edge. During the Cold War, China extracted substantial strategic and economic benefits while playing a swing-state role between Washington and Moscow. Today, Chinese observers worry that India may play a similar role as its vaunted strategic autonomy has given way to a de facto US alignment, visible in defence procurement, economic cooperation, and a network of mini-laterals aimed at constraining Beijing. However, this narrative has softened somewhat after President Trump imposed a 50 per cent tariff on Indian exports, introducing a note of friction into the US-India equation. Against this backdrop, New Delhi and Beijing, cautiously engaging since the 2024 Kazan Summit, have stepped up their rapprochement efforts. At their bilateral meeting in Tianjin, both sides signalled a clear desire to restore stability and predictability: The focus on peace along the border and rebuilding mutual trust was unmistakable. Mr Xi emphasised strengthened communication, expanded exchanges, and multilateral cooperation, all aimed at returning bilateral relations to a pre-2020 baseline. Mr Modi, visiting China after seven years, framed a peaceful border as essential to the smooth development of the broader relationship. He also ensured that counterterrorism remained front and centre at the SCO, with the final Tianjin Declaration explicitly and emphatically condemning the Pahalgam terror attack in India. Structural Tension Vs Strategic Triangulation Beneath the polished optics, the India-China standoff remains unresolved. Around 60,000 troops on each side still face off along the Line of Actual Control, and Tianjin offered no concrete road map for demobilisation or border delimitation. Disputes over Pakistan, Tibet, and Taiwan persist, a reminder that diplomacy cannot paper over deep strategic fissures. Strategic triangulation adds another layer of complexity. Both capitals have long leveraged ties with third powers to boost bargaining power and extract economic or diplomatic advantage. Beijing seeks a show of unity with India against Washington’s tariffs but remains wary: If New Delhi secures a better deal, alignment with the US is always on the table. Institutionally, the SCO continues to lag behind Brics in global visibility, yet its operational significance is rising. China’s trade with SCO members hit $512.4 billion in 2024, doubling the 2018 level. Therefore, Mr Xi’s advocacy for a “new type of international relations”, coupled with initiatives such as the SCO Development Bank and multilateral cooperation in energy, infrastructure, artificial intelligence, and the digital economy, reflects a strategic calculus: to insulate Beijing from the volatility of Washington while steering the engines of future economic growth. Ultimately, the India-China meeting in Tianjin exemplified a nuanced balancing act: cooperation where feasible, vigilance where imperative, and a stark reminder that even as optics improve, the underlying geopolitical chessboard remains fiercely contested. Conclusion Mr Modi’s Tianjin visit and his meeting with Mr Xi signalled New Delhi’s growing international leverage. The summit remains low on concrete agreements, but it revitalised efforts to normalise ties and restart Chinese investment in India. Therefore, visa restrictions are loosening, direct flights are set to resume, and barriers to Chinese exports of fertiliser, machinery, and rare earths are gradually falling. Beneath the diplomatic optics, however, structural competition between India and China persists. Nevertheless, New Delhi is carefully striving to avoid overreliance on Washington, resisting a return to single-nation dependency. The India-China-Russia camaraderie on display in Tianjin sends a deliberate signal: Indian foreign policy will not be shy to reclaim its centrist, multi-aligned stance, leveraging strategic autonomy to navigate a complex, multipolar world. This commentary originally appeared in Business Standard.

Energy & Economics
Glass world bank building. Financial concept. Golden inscription bank. Banking. 3D render.

Closing the global financing gap in social protection: A World Bank perspective

by Iffath Sharif

Universal social protection coverage is off-track Time and time again we see the importance of universal social protection. It is a first line of defense to avoid deepening poverty in crises and helps overcome systemic poverty by empowering people to become economically self-reliant and invest in themselves and their children. Still over 3.4 billion people live without social protection coverage (International Labour Organization (ILO), 2021)1 and most of them live in low-income countries (LICs) and lower-middle-income countries (LMICs). Social protection spending relative to gross domestic product (GDP) is 4.5 times lower in LICs than in high-income countries, with little change from a decade ago. Moreover, globally, only about 25% of financing goes for the poorest 20% of the population (Tesliuc et al., 2025). Low coverage and stagnant financing stand in stark contrast to increasing risks that disproportionately affect people living in poverty, including from climate change and growing conflict and fragility. For uncovered households, the impact of any single shock can mean having to skip meals, sell off valuable assets, and pull children out of school, all with lifelong impacts. To accelerate progress against these challenges, the World Bank has set an ambitious new target to extend social protection coverage to an additional half a billion extremely poor and vulnerable people by 2030. Achieving this goal will require collective action to address the global fiscal deficit in social protection spending. Financing reform to double down on our social protection coverage Reaching half a billion people with social protection will entail continuing to work with over 70 governments, leveraging our knowledge and learning through building new evidence, facilitating cross-country peer-to-peer exchange, and close collaboration with development partners. There will also be a need to make meaningful use of the World Bank’s existing social protection financing of US$29 billion to continue investments in digital delivery systems to make spending in social protection more efficient. Such foundational investments can help to leverage labor market and fiscal reforms and complementary financing to reach our goal. Five specific actions could increase social protection financing to reach more people. Improve effectiveness of current social protection spending A top priority is to ensure that existing social protection budget resources are spent effectively. We must redouble efforts to ensure that resources reach those who need them most, and investing in delivery systems that improve the quality and cost-effectiveness of services. There is strong potential for existing social protection funding to make substantial gains against poverty. For emerging and developing economies (EDEs) with extreme poverty headcount below 10%, improved pro-poor targeting of existing social assistance budgets could virtually eliminate extreme poverty in these countries. And even in LICs and LMICs with extreme poverty rates from 20% to 80%, existing budgets could significantly decrease the total income shortfalls of the poorest 20% of the population. As of 2022, the income shortfall of the extreme poor in EDEs was estimated at US$163 billion (in USD 2017 purchasing power parity [PPP]). Improving the efficiency of existing social assistance spending to technically and politically feasible levels could reduce this shortfall to US$120 billion (Tesliuc et al., 2025). With increasing fiscal constraints, prioritizing high return investment is more important now than ever. Government-led Economic Inclusion (EI) programs are one such option, with long-run benefits that significantly outweigh initial costs. Niger’s EI program demonstrated a benefit-cost ratio of 127% 18 months after implementation, while in Zambia, the program costs break even with their returns in just 12 months. Assuming sustained impacts, both Niger and Zambia show positive returns on investment, at 73% and 36%, respectively (Bossuroy et al., 2022; Botea et al., 2023). How benefits reach people matters too. Digitalization of delivery systems, for example, can improve the efficiency of existing spending. In Liberia, the cash transfer program struggled with physical cash payments that took around 17 days on average and cost nearly US$8 per transfer. Now, the introduction of mobile payment has reduced delivery costs to US$2.5 per transfer and reduced the timeframe for delivery of missed payments substantially (Tesliuc et al., 2025). Prioritize progressive spending, and realize climate benefits in the process Globally, generalized subsidies on fossil fuels, agriculture, and fisheries exceed US$7 trillion (roughly 8% of global GDP); they are regressive, inefficient, expensive, and environmentally unsound (Arze del Granado et al., 2012; Damania et al., 2023). In the Middle East and North Africa, those subsidies are over five times higher than spending on cash transfers and twice as high as social assistance (Ridao-Cano et al., 2023). Redirecting inefficient fuel subsidies to social protection using dynamic and digital social registries could lead to more effective and better-targeted benefits. This also has the advantage of discouraging fossil fuel usage, thereby contributing to national and global climate goals. Egypt showcases the potential impacts of successful subsidy reform. One year after beginning to phase out fuel subsidies, the government used the resources saved to double the health budget, increase education spending by 30%, and launch a new national cash transfer program. The cash transfer program, Takaful and Karama, now reaches almost 20% of the population with targeted and effective assistance (El Enbaby et al., 2022). Continued investment in digital systems by Egypt helped to scale up this support, ensuring that those in need receive resources and services directly while minimizing wasteful expenditure on fuel subsidies. Increase the domestic tax base for social protection spending When efficiency gains and reallocation are insufficient, countries can enact appropriate tax reforms to increase domestic revenues toward adequate social protection coverage. Policy recommendations include broadening the tax base through appropriate tax reforms including a thorough fiscal incidence analysis, enhancing the progressiveness and effectiveness of the tax system, and supporting domestic revenue mobilization (World Bank, 2022). Bolivia, Botswana, Mongolia, and Zambia increased their revenue base with new taxes on natural resources that were earmarked for social protection and Brazil did likewise with a tax on financial transactions (Bierbaum and Schmitt, 2022). Efforts to increase domestic resources to broaden social protection coverage also require ringfencing progressive public spending. Social protection programs often face fierce competition across different government priorities for limited resources. Fiscal reforms therefore must come with the political will to prioritize social protection budget allocations. Citizen engagement can help: with support from United Nations International Children's Emergency Fund (UNICEF) and ILO, Mozambique adopted Social Action Budget Briefs to monitor social protection budget allocations against national strategic objectives (Bierbaum and Schmitt, 2022). Demonstrate impact to leverage climate financing Already the World Bank has investments of almost US$21 billion across 91 social protection programs with activities that help poor people respond better to the risks of climate change. We must continue to demonstrate how social protection supports poor and vulnerable people in adapting to climate change. In Ethiopia, the Productive Safety Net Program (PSNP) public works activities have reduced surface run-off, increased water infiltration, raised groundwater levels, enhanced spring yields, and increased stream base flows and vegetation coverage. Furthermore, by leveraging economic inclusion activities, the PSNP program has led to positive environmental impacts and promoted livelihood diversification and enhanced productivity, thereby decreasing people’s vulnerability to climate change. And we must continue to build the evidence that pre-emptive social protection investments and strengthening social protection systems are the best response to future shocks and crises – improving outcomes for people and the effectiveness of financing. In Pakistan, the Benazir Income Support Program (BISP), the country’s largest government-led cash transfer program, was scaled-up to provide 2.8 million families with roughly US$100 within a week of the 2022 floods. Rapid action was possible by leveraging information from the disaster risk management authorities linked to the geocoded data in the national social registry. Leverage partnerships for more effective collective action For LICs and fragility, conflict, and violence (FCV)-affected countries in particular, international support will continue to play an important role to complement efficiency gains and domestic spending. High fragmentation in donor financing calls for increased coordination in aid delivery (Watkins et al., 2024). By 2030, an estimated 59% of poor people worldwide will be concentrated in FCV-affected countries (World Bank, 2024) and humanitarian interventions play a critical role in saving lives in these settings. However, the lack of predictability and sustainability often misses opportunities to build resilience, human capital, and productivity effectively. Somalia, Ethiopia, and Yemen, among others, offer encouraging examples of collaboration in supporting and working through existing country systems (Al-Ahmadi and De Silva, 2018). In Somalia, humanitarian financing dwarfs development aid: US$1.1 billion and US$869 million, respectively, in 2018. The Somalia Baxnaano Program aims to align humanitarian and development efforts by supporting national social protection systems. Through partnership with the government, the British Foreign, Commonwealth & Development Office (FCDO), UNICEF, World Food Programme (WFP), and the World Bank, the program reached 181,000 households with cash transfers in 2021 and provided 100,000 households with emergency transfers in response to concurrent shocks in 2020 (Al-Ahmadi and Zampaglione, 2022). Countries at all income levels will benefit from promoting a larger role for the private and financial sectors to increase available financing. One option we are exploring in that context is the potential of innovative financing mechanisms, such as impact bonds, sovereign wealth funds, debt swaps, and Payment for Ecosystem Services (PES) (Watkins et al., 2024). Coordination on the knowledge agenda will be crucial to make the most effective use of available resources. We must leverage, share, and coordinate analysis, evidence, data, technical assistance, and implementation support across national stakeholders and international partners. It is critical that we work together to build the evidence base for effective social protection at the global, national, regional, and local levels, scaling up what works, and reforming what does not. Financing reform for shared prosperity There is no one-size-fits-all solution to the massive social protection financing challenge. We need to carefully analyze how to make the best use of scarce social protection resources, whether at the global, national, or local level. We also need to leverage more resources – both domestically and through partners and the private sector – to invest in social protection responses to the permacrises that we face, with climate and fragility high among these challenges. Partnerships, knowledge sharing, and collaboration are key to learning, scaling up and expanding what works and improving what does not. Overall, strengthening and expanding social protection systems are critical as we work together to end extreme poverty on a livable planet. FootnotesDisclaimer The findings, interpretations, and conclusions expressed in this paper are entirely those of the authors. They do not necessarily represent the views of the World Bank, its executive directors, or the governments they represent.1. The estimated population of the 144 World Bank client countries is 6.8 billion.ReferencesAl-Ahmadi AA, De Silva S (2018) Delivering social protection in the midst of conflict and crisis: The case of Yemen. Social protection and jobs discussion paper, no. 1801. Washington, DC: World Bank. Available at: http://hdl.handle.net/10986/30608License:CCBY3.0IGOAl-Ahmadi AA, Zampaglione G (2022) From protracted humanitarian relief to state-led social safety net system: Somalia Baxnaano Program. Social protection and jobs discussion paper, no. 2201. Washington, DC: World Bank. Available at: http://hdl.handle.net/10986/36864License:CCBY3.0IGOArze del Granado FJ, Coady D, Gillingham R (2012) The unequal benefits of fuel subsidies: A review of evidence for developing countries. World Development 40(11): 2234–2248.Bierbaum M, Schmitt V (2022) Investing more in universal social protection. Filling the financing gap through domestic resource mobilization and international support and coordination. Working paper no. 44. International Labour Organization (ILO). Available at: https://www.ilo.org/publications/investing-more-universal-social-protection-filling-financing-gap-throughBossuroy T, Goldstein M, Karimou B, et al. (2022) Tackling psychosocial and capital constraints to alleviate poverty. Nature 605: 291–297. Available at: https://doi.org/10.1038/s41586-022-04647-8Botea I, Brudevold-Newman A, Goldstein M, et al. (2023) Supporting women’s livelihoods at scale: Evidence from a nationwide multi-faceted program. SSRN scholarly paper. Rochester NY. Available at: https://papers.ssrn.com/abstract=4560552Damania R, Balseca VE, De Fontaubert C, et al. (2023) Detox Development: Repurposing Environmentally Harmful Subsidies (English). Washington, DC: World Bank Group. http://documents.worldbank.org/curated/en/099061523102097591/P1753450ec9e820830aba2067262dab24bfEl Enbaby H, Elsabbagh D, Gilligan D, et al. (2022) Impact evaluation report: Egypt’s Takaful cash transfer program. IFPRI ENA regional working paper no. 40. Available at: https://ebrary.ifpri.org/utils/getfile/collection/p15738coll2/id/136395/filename/136607.pdfInternational Labour Organization (ILO) (2021) World Social Protection Report 2020-22. Available at: https://www.ilo.org/resource/news/more-4-billion-people-still-lack-any-social-protection-ilo-report-findsRidao-Cano C, Moosa D, Pallares-Miralles M, et al. (2023) Built to Include: Reimagining Social Protection in the Middle East and North Africa. Washington, DC: World Bank. Available at: http://hdl.handle.net/10986/40227Tesliuc ED, Rodriguez A, Claudia P, Rigolini J (2025) State of Social Protection Report 2025: The 2-Billion-Person Challenge. Washington D.C.: World Bank Group.Watkins K, Nwajiaku-Dahou K, Kovach H (2024) Financing the fight against poverty and hunger – Mobilising resources for a Sustainable Development Goal reset. ODI report, ODI, London, 24 July.World Bank (2022) Charting a Course Towards Universal Social Protection: Resilience, Equity, and Opportunity for All. Washington, DC: World Bank Group. Available at: http://hdl.handle.net/10986/38031World Bank (2024) The Great Reversal: Prospects, Risks, and Policies in International Development Association (IDA) Countries. Washington, DC: World Bank Group.

Defense & Security
LNG plant based on gravity type with a gas carrier. The Arctic LNG-2 project. Utrennoye deposit, Yamalo-Nenets Autonomous Region, Russia. 3d rendering

Securing the ‘great white shield’? Climate change, Arctic security and the geopolitics of solar geoengineering

by Nikolaj Kornbech , Olaf Corry , Duncan McLaren

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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