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When Hezbollah makes headlines, it’s usually in reference to its military entrenchment in southern Lebanon, its alignment with Iran, or its influence on the internal politics of Beirut. Rarely does the Western Hemisphere—let alone South America—enter the discussion. And when it does, the framing tends to follow a familiar arc: Hezbollah, in search of hard currency, has plugged itself into narcotics, smuggling, and money laundering networks across the continent, particularly in the Tri-Border Area of Paraguay, Brazil, and Argentina. This framing is not entirely wrong—but it is incomplete. The prevailing analysis treats Hezbollah’s South American activity as an opportunistic extension of its Middle Eastern operations: a way to fund the real action elsewhere (Sánchez-Azuara 2024). But this view underestimates the strategic thinking behind the group’s presence in the region. It also overlooks what Hezbollah has built. This is not a haphazard criminal sideline. It is a strategic redundancy network—a deliberately constructed system that enables Hezbollah to replicate key elements of its logistical, financial, and operational architecture outside the Middle East. In engineering, redundancy is the backbone of resilience. Critical systems—airplanes, power grids, even satellites—include backups not because failure is likely, but because failure must not be catastrophic. Hezbollah has applied this principle to its global infrastructure. In South America, it has established a parallel network that functions as an insurance policy. When borders close in the Levant, when sanctions bite into banks in Beirut, when surveillance escalates in Damascus or Baghdad, Hezbollah’s South American infrastructure absorbs the shock. It keeps the lights on. Quietly. Hezbollah’s footprint in South America must be reinterpreted in light of this logic. Its operations are not merely about funding jihad, nor do they reflect simple criminal diversification. Rather, they represent a strategic adaptation: a forward-looking response to growing constraints in the Middle East and a model of globalized insurgency capable of surviving geopolitical disruption. By embedding itself in regions with weak enforcement, complex diasporas, and pliable state actors, Hezbollah has created a system that mirrors and supplements its core operational capacities in Lebanon. The implications ripple outward to multinational corporations, humanitarian NGOs, diplomatic missions, and financial institutions operating in the Western Hemisphere. More Than a Militia: A Low-Burn Threat with High-Stakes Implications for South America Most strategic planning in the Americas does not seriously account for Hezbollah. But Hezbollah includes the Americas in its strategy—and has for years. Reports by the U.S. State Department, regional intelligence agencies, and investigative journalists have traced its fundraising and logistics operations as far back as the 1980s. The group’s involvement in the 1992 bombing of the Israeli Embassy and the 1994 attack on the AMIA Jewish cultural center in Buenos Aires shocked the region and revealed its operational reach. Yet even after those attacks, Hezbollah’s local infrastructure remained largely untouched. Over time, it adapted—becoming quieter, less kinetic, and more commercially embedded. Today, Hezbollah’s presence in the region extends beyond Argentina. Its operatives and facilitators maintain networks across Paraguay, Brazil, Venezuela, and increasingly, Panama and Chile. In some areas, the group benefits from corrupt municipal officials and overburdened law enforcement. In others, it leverages familial ties within Lebanese diaspora communities—many of which have resided in South America for generations and engage in wholly legitimate commerce. This duality allows Hezbollah to move seamlessly between legal and illegal domains, between visibility and invisibility. What is more, Hezbollah’s activities in South America illustrate a critical shift in how non-state actors pursue durability. The post-9/11 focus on active cells, kinetic operations, and centralized command has obscured the ways in which militant groups evolve under pressure. Hezbollah’s Latin American strategy reflects not just persistence, but future-proofing. It prepares the group to operate, fundraise, and survive—even if Lebanon’s political landscape collapses or U.S. and Israeli countermeasures grow more precise. This is what makes Hezbollah’s Latin American footprint so consequential—and so misunderstood. It does not need to launch attacks from Buenos Aires or Caracas to matter. Its function lies elsewhere: in logistics, in mobility, in backup planning. Its value is latent—until it isn’t. This article reexamines Hezbollah’s presence in South America as a strategic redundancy network—a global infrastructure designed to insulate the organization from volatility in its home region. It maps Hezbollah’s key nodes across the Tri-Border Area, Brazil, and Venezuela; analyzes how this network blends ideology, crime, and strategic depth; and assesses the risks these structures pose to multinational companies, diplomatic missions, and local governance. By shifting the analytical lens from terrorism-as-attack to terrorism-as-infrastructure, we gain a more accurate understanding of Hezbollah’s evolution. We also sharpen our ability to assess long-term risks that don’t always announce themselves through violence. The threat is not just in what Hezbollah does—but in what it has already built. To understand Hezbollah’s long game in South America, we must stop treating its regional footprint as a patchwork of illicit side hustles and begin seeing it for what it is: a modular system, designed to flex and absorb pressure. Its parts do not function in isolation. They interlock—geographically, financially, and politically—to provide resilience against external disruption (Fanusie and Entz 2017). The Tri-Border Area and Venezuela anchor this network. One provides operational depth; the other, state-enabled sanctuary. This networked approach reflects a deliberate organizational logic: decentralization without disintegration. Hezbollah doesn’t need to command every operation from Beirut to exert control. Instead, it builds regional capacities—trusted facilitators, revenue-generating enterprises, covert logistics—that can operate semi-autonomously while remaining ideologically and financially tethered to the core. The value lies in the system’s adaptability. South America’s legal pluralism, infrastructural gaps, and uneven political allegiances allow Hezbollah to embed itself in multiple jurisdictions, each contributing to a broader architecture of operational continuity. The redundancy isn’t accidental—it’s engineered to allow Hezbollah to absorb disruption without systemic collapse. At the confluence of Paraguay, Brazil, and Argentina lies the Tri-Border Area, a notorious gray zone where Hezbollah has operated with continuity for over three decades (Marinides 2021). Since the 1990s, the group has leveraged this region’s smuggling economy, its cash-based transactions, and its thin rule of law to generate income and obscure its footprints (Giambertoni March 2025; Singh & Lamar 2024). More than a staging ground, the region functions as a logistical twin to Hezbollah’s Levantine infrastructure: cash businesses, hawala systems, safe houses, and a deep bench of operatives linked by blood, marriage, and communal identity. The Lebanese diaspora, concentrated in cities like Ciudad del Este and Foz do Iguaçu, provides both legitimacy and opacity. While most community members engage in legal commerce, Hezbollah operatives exploit social and familial networks to build financial pipelines and conceal movement. Individuals like Assad Ahmad Barakat—an alleged financier whose web of import-export businesses stretched across Paraguay and Brazil—reveal the sophistication and scale of these operations (BBC 2018). But what makes the Tri-Border Area especially valuable is not just what Hezbollah can do there—it’s what it can replicate. This zone mirrors the group’s operational core: informal financial tools, plausible cover, limited state oversight. It offers a plug-and-play platform that persists even when international pressure tightens elsewhere. If the Tri-Border Area is Hezbollah’s logistical limb, Venezuela is its political lung—a place where the group doesn’t just operate despite the state but, increasingly, through it. Under the leadership of Hugo Chávez and now Nicolás Maduro, Venezuela has extended cover to Hezbollah-linked actors in ways that surpass tolerance and verge on partnership. Evidence abounds. In 2015, reports emerged that Venezuelan authorities had issued passports, national ID cards, and even birth certificates to individuals with suspected ties to Hezbollah and other extremist groups (Humire 2020). These documents grant mobility across Latin America and even into Europe. Meanwhile, direct flights between Caracas and Tehran—often operated by Iran’s Mahan Air, a U.S.-sanctioned airline with alleged ties to the Islamic Revolutionary Guard Corps—further illustrate the depth of coordination. Financial networks also interlace. Venezuelan state-owned banks, particularly under Chávez, were reportedly used to move funds on behalf of Hezbollah-aligned entities, sometimes in cooperation with Lebanese banks later implicated in terror financing (Testimony, U.S. Congress 2011). This alignment is less ideological than pragmatic: Hezbollah gains security, access, and mobility; Venezuela gains a partner in sanctions circumvention and international leverage. Crucially, Venezuela adds a layer of strategic camouflage to Hezbollah’s hemispheric model. While the TBA offers discretion, Caracas offers impunity (Berg 2022). The group can move assets, people, and ideas through Venezuelan channels under the guise of diplomatic exchanges or dual-national transactions. This is state-enabled redundancy: not merely a lack of enforcement, but the active insulation of Hezbollah’s operational flexibility. Together, these zones demonstrate that Hezbollah’s South American presence is not improvised—it is layered. When Argentine prosecutors expose a cell in Buenos Aires, networks in São Paulo remain untouched. When Brazil clamps down on a hawala chain, cash still flows through real estate deals in Caracas. The system is designed to endure partial failure, the way cloud computing routes around downed servers or insurgent groups retreat into sympathetic terrain. The architecture matters because it reveals the logic behind Hezbollah’s global adaptation. This is not a franchise operation outsourced to disconnected local actors. It is a strategic mesh that functions like a second operating system: invisible unless you’re looking for it, vital when the primary network goes offline. And increasingly, Hezbollah seems to assume that its primary network will face pressure—from war, collapse, sanctions, or surveillance. Its bet on South America is a bet on resilience: that geography, corruption, and complexity will give it space to breathe, to rebuild, to persist (Vianna de Azevedo 2018). If Hezbollah’s operations in South America offer strategic redundancy, then its model of action is what enables that redundancy to function. Hezbollah is no longer simply a militant group with a sideline in organized crime—it is a criminal-security complex, able to blend ideological loyalty, transnational finance, and illicit commerce into a coherent infrastructure. This hybridization is not an accident of globalization. It is an intentional adaptation: a convergence of warfighting, financing, and shadow governance designed to give the group longevity across regions and regimes. The group’s operations across South America exemplify this logic. Hezbollah traffics in cocaine not because it is drifting ideologically, but because narcotrafficking enables financial independence (Cengiz and Pardo-Herrera, 2023). It launders money through construction firms, front charities, and black-market trade not just to enrich itself, but to diversify revenue streams that are otherwise vulnerable to sanctions, asset freezes, and regulatory scrutiny. The criminal activity is not peripheral—it is integral. It funds social services in Lebanon, underwrites salaries, and maintains Hezbollah’s standing as both a state within a state and an actor without borders. Although Hezbollah’s operations in South America often emphasize logistics, finance, and redundancy, this does not mean the group has abandoned violent ambitions in the region. It has a bloody legacy. In more recent years, several planned attacks have been foiled. In 2023, Brazilian police stopped a Hezbollah-linked plot to assassinate Jewish community members in São Paulo (Ottolenghi 2024). In 2024, Peruvian police arrested Majid Azizi, who was linked to Iran’s Quds force and a plan to kill Israelis (Associated Press 2024). These incidents reinforce that Hezbollah’s South American presence is not merely infrastructural—it remains strategically capable of violence, should conditions allow or directives come from the group’s central leadership. Critically, Hezbollah’s integration into South America’s illicit economies also offers another layer of camouflage. In regions like the Tri-Border Area or peri-urban zones of São Paulo and Caracas, Hezbollah-linked actors look indistinguishable from the broader ecology of criminality—traffickers, smugglers, forgers, corrupt customs agents. This horizontal integration into shared logistics chains, financial systems, and market ecosystems makes it harder to isolate and disrupt Hezbollah’s footprint without simultaneously challenging broader organized crime structures. The result is a kind of strategic opacity: Hezbollah disappears not by hiding, but by blending in. For multinational corporations, humanitarian NGOs, and diplomatic missions operating in South America, this criminal-security complex presents a growing, if largely unacknowledged, threat. The risk does not lie in direct targeting—there is little evidence that Hezbollah seeks to attack Western firms or consulates on South American soil. Rather, the danger lies in proximity and entanglement (Giambertoni April 2025). Financial institutions may unwittingly process laundered money that ultimately funds Hezbollah’s activities. Logistics companies may contract with Hezbollah-linked freight operators (FinCEN 2024). NGOs operating in diaspora communities may encounter pressure, coercion, or exploitation. Extractive industries—especially in energy, mining, and infrastructure—face particular exposure (Chehayeb 2023). These sectors rely on subcontractors, regional supply chains, and informal agreements that can overlap with Hezbollah’s facilitation networks. The opacity of ownership structures in some Latin American business environments makes it difficult to know where one entity ends and another begins. A subcontractor in Brazil with access to port logistics might also be part of a shell company system that channels funds back to Beirut. A bonded warehouse in Ciudad del Este may function both as a legitimate import hub and a conduit for hawala-based financing tied to Hezbollah’s broader network. For diplomats, the risks are different but no less concerning. In states with fragile institutions or politicized security services—such as Venezuela or parts of Paraguay—Hezbollah-linked actors may enjoy informal protection from scrutiny. Intelligence-sharing becomes inconsistent. Local officials may be compromised. Embassies may be surveilled—not just by hostile governments, but by non-state actors with access to state resources (Giambertoni March 2025). In these contexts, the lines between criminal enterprise, political patronage, and extremist logistics begin to blur. These risks remain under-assessed. Most private-sector risk management strategies focus on regulatory compliance, physical security, and reputational threats. Few include Hezbollah in their risk matrix—particularly outside of the Middle East. Similarly, many Western diplomatic missions in Latin America treat terrorism as a foreign concern, rather than an embedded dimension of local security dynamics. This leaves a strategic blind spot: a low-visibility, high-impact network capable of exerting pressure not through acts of violence, but through slow, systemic infiltration of commerce, finance, and institutional space. Hezbollah’s strength lies not only in its weapons, but in its ability to move undetected through legal and illegal spheres (Realuyo 2023). Its South American network functions because it is underestimated—because it doesn’t look like a threat until it’s too late. For governments and global businesses alike, failing to recognize this hybrid model is not just an analytical error. It is a real vulnerability. Policy Recommendations If Hezbollah’s operations in South America represent a strategic redundancy network, then our policy responses must move beyond traditional counterterrorism frameworks. We can no longer afford to treat Hezbollah as a regionally bounded threat or assume that the absence of direct attacks in the Western Hemisphere equates to the absence of risk (Williams & Quincoses 2019). What’s needed is a recalibration of threat assessment tools—across intelligence, diplomacy, and corporate risk management—that recognizes Hezbollah’s global infrastructure as a durable, layered, and often latent system of power. Four policy recommendations are set out below. (1) Reframe Counterterrorism to Include Redundancy Networks. Current counterterrorism paradigms often emphasize active cells, plots, and kinetic capability. But Hezbollah’s South American presence thrives in the space between categories—not as an imminent military threat, but as a strategic platform for financing, mobility, and long-term resilience. Intelligence agencies and regional policymakers should explicitly include redundancy mapping in their threat assessments. This means tracing not only individual actors but also financial pipelines, logistics corridors, and diaspora-based facilitation networks.Tools developed to combat transnational organized crime—such as financial intelligence units, sanctions compliance structures, and asset-tracing software—should be integrated into counterterrorism workflows. This is particularly important in countries with weak institutional capacity. Regional partnerships, including within the Organization of American States, should prioritize shared methodologies for identifying overlapping illicit economies that enable both criminal and extremist actors to operate with impunity. (2) Build Strategic Partnerships with the Private Sector. Hezbollah’s infrastructure often intersects with legitimate commercial activities: shipping, construction, hospitality, real estate. As such, private sector actors—including banks, insurers, freight companies, and law firms—are essential stakeholders in any meaningful containment strategy. Governments should expand existing public-private initiatives, like those managed through financial transparency task forces and corporate compliance alliances, to include modules specific to extremist logistics and terrorism-financing risk in the Americas.This also means equipping multinational corporations with the right conceptual frameworks. Current risk matrices focus on political instability, cyber threats, and reputational harm. Few companies assess whether their contractors, vendors, or local partners may serve as inadvertent facilitators of a terrorist redundancy system. Governments can assist by anonymizing and sharing case studies, refining due diligence protocols, and funding third-party investigative work through credible local partners and NGOs. (3) Close Gaps in International and Interagency Coordination. Despite ample documentation of Hezbollah’s activities in the region, international coordination remains ad hoc and episodic. U.S., European, and Latin American enforcement agencies often operate on different threat models, timelines, and political sensitivities. For example, while the U.S. Treasury has sanctioned several Hezbollah-linked individuals and entities in Paraguay and Brazil, host governments have sometimes been reluctant to pursue follow-up action due to domestic constraints or regional geopolitics.To close these gaps, threat fusion centers and regional counterterrorism dialogues must prioritize cross-agency and cross-border approaches. This includes better integration of customs, immigration, and financial enforcement authorities—not just traditional intelligence bodies. Multilateral cooperation should also include non-traditional allies, such as financial technology platforms, compliance software firms, and investigative journalists, all of whom bring unique capabilities to mapping and disrupting Hezbollah’s hemispheric infrastructure. (4) Recognize the Role of State Complicity and Use Diplomatic Leverage Accordingly. Where Hezbollah has flourished, state complicity or neglect has often played a role. Venezuela’s documented provision of false identification documents and banking channels illustrates how strategic partnerships—whether ideological or transactional—can deepen terrorist networks’ resilience. The United States and its allies must tailor their diplomatic messaging and aid strategies accordingly, making clear that support for terrorist-enabling behavior comes with long-term costs.Sanctions regimes must be selective but targeted. Blanket restrictions can alienate host populations and drive illicit actors further underground, while targeted designations—such as those aimed at specific facilitators or entities—can disrupt network nodes without provoking state backlash. Where possible, quiet diplomacy should accompany enforcement, ensuring that pressure is matched by the offer of capacity-building or reputational incentives for cooperation. A smarter approach to Hezbollah’s South American infrastructure doesn’t require new tools so much as a new lens. This is not a traditional terrorist threat—it is a system of persistence, one that blends into markets, moves through paperwork, and grows in spaces where governance is uneven (Biersteker 2016). If left unchallenged, it will not just endure. It will adapt. Conclusion: The Quiet Power of a Backup Plan Hezbollah’s presence in South America is not incidental, improvised, or peripheral. It is engineered. For decades, the group has invested in a hemispheric infrastructure that does not rely on violence to assert its importance. Instead, it does something more dangerous in the long run: it endures. By embedding itself in transnational supply chains, black-market economies, diaspora communities, and state-permissive jurisdictions, Hezbollah has constructed a strategic redundancy network—a system designed not for visibility, but for survivability. This network operates on a different frequency from the one to which most counterterrorism frameworks are attuned. It does not seek attention. It does not announce itself through spectacular attacks. It functions in latency—ready to fund, shelter, transport, or regenerate Hezbollah’s central operations when other routes are disrupted. Like any sophisticated backup system, it exists precisely because failure elsewhere is assumed to be inevitable. The danger lies in underestimating this architecture. Policy models that focus solely on immediate threats—explosives, plots, active cells—miss the strategic significance of a group that is thinking in decades, not news cycles. Hezbollah has learned to operate across borders, sectors, and enforcement regimes. It has turned globalization into a defensive perimeter. And it has done so largely beneath the radar of both policymakers and corporate risk officers. To respond, we must broaden our conception of what constitutes a threat. Hezbollah’s South American operations do not simply reflect a terrorist group looking for cash—they reflect a networked actor preparing for disruption, building flexibility into its geography, financial systems, and political alliances. This demands more than sporadic sanctions or headline-driven crackdowns. It requires an integrated strategy that sees terrorist groups not only as fighters or financiers, but as strategic planners. The lesson of Hezbollah in South America is not that terrorism has gone quiet—it’s that it has gone infrastructure-first. If we continue to ignore the scaffolding in favor of the storm, we will continue to be surprised not by what Hezbollah does—but by how ready it is when the time comes. ReferencesBiersteker, Thomas J. 2016. “The effectiveness of United Nations targeted sanctions.” In Targeted Sanctions: The Impacts and Effectiveness of United Nations Action. Edited by Thomas J. Biersteker, Sue E. Eckert, and Marcos Tourinho. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.Berg, Ryan. “Venezuela’s Mystery Plane Shows Iran’s Strategic Penetration of Latin America,” U.S. Army, Training and Doctrine Command G-2, Foreign Military Studies Office, July 1, 2022.Cengiz, Mahmut, and Camilo Pardo-Herrera. “Hezbollah’s Global Networks and Latin American Cocaine Trade,” Small Wars Journal, April 26, 2023.Chehayeb, Kareem. “US sanctions Lebanon-South America network accused of financing Hezbollah.” Associated Press. September 12, 2023. https://apnews.com/article/lebanon-sanctions-hezbollah-ofac-c1e66bb0941ee01832aafbcc448856ceFanusie, Yaya J., and Alex Entz. “Hezbollah Financial Assessment,” Terror Finance Briefing Book, Foundation for Defense of Democracies, Center on Sanctions and Illicit Finance, September 2017.“FinCEN Alert to Financial Institutions to Counter Financing of Hizballah and its Terrorist Activities.” U.S. Treasury Financial Crimes Enforcement Network. October 23, 2024. https://www.fincen.gov/sites/default/files/shared/FinCEN-Alert-Hizballah-Alert-508C.pdfGiambertoni, Marzia. “Hezbollah’s Networks in Latin America.” RAND. March 31, 2025. https://www.rand.org/pubs/perspectives/PEA3585-1.htmlGiambertoni, Marzia. “Hezbollah’s Network on America’s Southern Doorstep.” RAND. April 1, 2025. https://www.rand.org/pubs/commentary/2025/04/hezbollahs-network-on-americas-southern-doorstep.html“‘Hezbollah treasurer’ Barakat arrested in Brazil border city.” BBC. September 21, 2018. https://www.bbc.com/news/world-latin-america-45610738Humire, Joseph B. 2020. “The Maduro-Hezbollah Nexus: How Iran-backed Networks Prop up the Venezuelan Regime.” The Atlantic Council. https://www.atlanticcouncil.org/in-depth-research-reports/issue-brief/the-maduro-hezbollah-nexus-how-iran-backed-networks-prop-up-the-venezuelan-regime/“Judge orders preventative detention for Iranian and 2 Peruvians in thwarted plot to kill Israelis.” Associated Press. April 24, 2024. https://apnews.com/article/peru-iran-killing-plot-detention-israeli-b89d6b69b182feafb96b44cbdefa190aMarinides, Demetrios. “Hezbollah in Latin America: A Potential Grey Zone Player in Great Power Competition.” William J. Perry Center for Hemispheric Defense Studies, National Defense University, September 2021.Ottolenghi, Emanuele. 2024. “Hezbollah Terror Plot in Brazil.” International Institute for Counter-Terrorism. https://ict.org.il/hezbollah-terror-plot-in-brazil/Realuyo, Celina B. “Rising Concerns about Hezbollah in Latin America Amid Middle East Conflict.” Weekly Asado. Wilson Center. December 1, 2023. https://www.wilsoncenter.org/blog-post/rising-concerns-about-hezbollah-latin-america-amid-middle-east-conflictSánchez-Azuara, Raúl. “Hezbollah, Entrenched in Latin America,” Diálogo Américas, March 15, 2024.Singh, Rasmi, and Jorge Lamar. “Underworld Crossroads: Dark Networks and Global Illicit Trade in the Tri-border Area Between Argentina, Brazil, and Paraguay.” Small Wars Journal. August 6, 2024. https://smallwarsjournal.com/2024/08/06/underworld-crossroads-dark-networks-and-global-illicit-trade-tri-border-area-between/Vianna de Azevedo, Christian. 2018. “Venezuela’s toxic relations with Iran and Hezbollah: An avenue of violence, crime, corruption and terrorism.” Revista Brasileira de Ciências Policiais 9(1): 43-90.Williams, Phil, and Sandra Quincoses. 2019. “The Evolution of Threat Networks in Latin America.” Jack D. Gordon Institute for Public Policy. Florida International University. https://gordoninstitute.fiu.edu/research/research-publications/evolution-of-threat-networks-in-latam.pdf

In a landmark advisory opinion, the International Court of Justice (ICJ) ruled on 23 July 2025 that all UN member states have legal obligations under international law to address climate change, which the court described as an existential threat to life on Earth. Powerful countries too must be held responsible for their current emissions and past inaction. Possibly in anticipation of such a ruling, Chris Wright, the US Secretary of Energy and former chief executive of Liberty Energy (an oilfield services company), published an article in The Economist a week earlier, arguing that “climate change is a by-product of progress, not an existential crisis”. Whereas the ICJ relied primarily on the IPCC reports, “which participants agree constitute the best available science on the causes, nature and consequences of climate change”, Wright’s view is based on a particular temporal logic.  According to the IPCC reports, most greenhouse gases come from burning fossil fuels, with additional emissions from agriculture, deforestation, industry, and waste. They drive global warming, which is projected to reach 1.5°C between 2021 and 2040, with 2°C likely to follow. Even 1.5°C is not considered safe for most nations, communities, and ecosystems, and according to IPCC, only deep, rapid, and sustained emission cuts can slow warming and reduce the escalating risks and damages. The 2024 state of the climate report, published in BioScience, presents even more worrying assessments. Among other things, the report cites surveys indicating that nearly 80% of these scientists anticipate global temperatures increasing by at least 2.5°C above preindustrial levels by the end of the century, and nearly half of them foresee a rise of at least 3°C.  Wright’s article suggests that the issue of amplifying doubt about climate change may have little to do with engagement with science but rather reflects a deeper temporal logic. This logic is rooted in a Whiggish account of progress to date, a resistance to the reality of the future and the desire for nostalgic restoration. I will explain these elements one by one. The first tier: Whiggism Wright disagrees with most scientific anticipations. His views are likely representative not only of the Trump II administration but also of conservative right-wing populism more generally. It is difficult to understand their climate denialism without an analysis of their views on time and temporality. The most important question concerns the reality of the future. At the first level, Wright provides a kind of textbook example of Whig history, portraying progress as linear, inevitable, and driven by liberal values. Herbert Butterfield introduced the idea of Whig history in his influential 1931 book The Whig Interpretation of History as a critique of a specific way of writing history that he regarded as flawed and intellectually dishonest. Focusing on inevitable progress distorts historical analysis by promoting simplified cause-and-effect reasoning and selective storytelling, emphasising present-day evaluation (and glorification) over understanding the real causes of historical change. In a Whiggish manner, Wright claims that the last 200 years have seen two big changes to the human condition: “human liberty” and affordable energy. As a result of these two things, life expectancy has nearly doubled, and the percentage of people living in extreme poverty has dropped from 90% to 10%. However, Wright’s argumentation is based on non-contextual and, in that sense, timeless representations of the world, despite its “progressivism”.  For example, consider the claim that extreme poverty has dropped from 90% to 10%. It is based on using a fixed dollar threshold, such as USD 2 per day, to measure poverty over 200 years. This is misleading because most people in the 19th century lived in largely non-monetised economies where subsistence needs were met outside of market exchange, and monetary income was minimal or irrelevant. These metrics also obscure shifting and context-bound definitions of basic needs; rely on incomplete historical data; and ignore the role of colonial dispossession and structural inequality in shaping global poverty. While it is true that life expectancy has doubled, largely due to improvements in hygiene and healthcare, the idea that extreme poverty has plummeted from 90% to under 10% also ignores the fact that the global population has grown eightfold, affecting the entire Earth system with devastating ecological and geological consequences. It further ignores that the rise in life expectancy and poverty reduction has come not only from liberalism or economic growth more generally but from ethical and political struggles and public health interventions. Often, these struggles have been fought in the name of socialism and won despite capitalist incentives, market mechanisms, and related political forces. The second tier: blockism At a deeper level, Wright’s views seem to presuppose what Roy Bhaskar calls “blockism”: the postulation of a simultaneous conjunctive totality of all events. This may sound abstract, but it has been a common assumption among many 20th-century physicists and philosophers that the universe forms a static, closed totality. This view stems from an atomist ontology, where individuals are seen as abstract, events follow regular patterns, time is viewed as spatial, and laws that can be expressed mathematically are considered reversible.  In such a conception, time appears as just another “spatial” dimension. According to the block universe model, the past, present, and future all exist equally and tenselessly. The universe is imagined as a four-dimensional geometric object, like a “block” of spacetime. Time is not something that “flows” or “passes”; instead, all moments are spatially extended points in a timeless whole. Blockism suggests that change and becoming are not truly real but are simply parts of our subjective experience.  The real challenge is to reconcile Whiggism and blockism. Wright is not a theorist and might not need to worry about the coherence of his ideas, but the issue is that Whiggism assumes movement, direction, and a normatively positive evolution of change, whereas the block universe denies real temporality: there is no becoming, no novelty, no agency – only timeless existence. Some versions of the block universe attempt to preserve development by proposing that the block grows. The “block” expands as new events are added to reality, but in this view, the present defines the upper boundary of the block, and the future is not truly real. This appears to be consistent with what Wright says about climate change. Everything he has to say about global warming is limited to one short paragraph: We will treat climate change as what it is: not an existential crisis but a real, physical phenomenon that is a by-product of progress. Yes, atmospheric CO2 has increased over time – but so has life expectancy. Billions of people have been lifted out of poverty. Modern medicine, telecommunications and global transportation became possible. I am willing to take the modest negative trade-off for this legacy of human advancement. From the ICJ’s perspective, this interpretation is dreadful, as the current impacts of climate change are already at odds with the rights of many groups of people. It also exhibits basic injustice, as many of the groups that suffer the most from these impacts have done next to nothing to cause the problem. However, here I am mostly concerned with the temporality of Wright’s claims. This temporality is a combination of Whiggism and blockism: so far, history has exhibited progress, but time and processes stop here, in our present moment. The third tier: nostalgia Wright’s view of time is not limited to an ultimately incoherent combination of Whiggism and blockism. There is also more than a mere hint of nostalgia. This is evident in the appeal of a Golden Age at the outset of his article: I am honoured to advance President Donald Trump’s policy of bettering lives through unleashing a golden age of energy dominance – both at home and around the world. The appeal to the Golden Age somewhat contradicts Whiggism. From a nostalgic perspective, it seems that society has been on a downward trajectory instead of progressing. In other words, regression must be possible. Within an overall Whiggish narrative, one can blame certain actors, such as the Democrats in the US political context, for causing moral and political decline.  A nationalist narrative of a “golden age” and a return to a better past (“making us great again”) is essentially connected to the denial of planetary-scale problems, such as climate change, that would clearly require novel global responses. Climate change from a real-time perspective By merging Whiggism with a block-universe ontology (either static or growing), one ends up with a pseudo-historicism that speaks of “progress” while erasing real time. In a way, such a view “performs change” through a highly selective historical narrative, while denying the ontological preconditions of real change. Real change – emergence, transformation, causation – requires a temporal ontology, where the future is real though not yet fully determined. Thus, there is no mention of global emissions that have continued to rise, their delayed effects, feedback loops, or emergent risks given multiple processes of intertwined changes. Are the basic IPCC models based on real historical time? IPCC models often treat the climate system as a bounded system with internally consistent and deterministic dynamics. The IPCC relies on modelling and uses Bayesian methods to assess uncertainties in climate projections. Bayesian statistics involve updating the probability of a hypothesis as more evidence becomes available, based on prior knowledge (priors) and new data (likelihoods). Such an approach tends to be conservative (based on moving averages, for example) and assumes the quantifiability of uncertainty. It may also convey illusory precision, especially when the underlying models or data are uncertain or incomplete. The IPCC models nonetheless indicate – in contrast to Wright – that the future is real, though the future is approached in a somewhat cautious and deterministic manner. However, many climate scientists go beyond the IPCC consensus by assuming that global heating may reach 2.5 °C or even above 3 °C degree warming by the end of the century.  From a critical scientific realist viewpoint, even such anticipations may be too circumspect. Assuming exponential growth (involving cascading events etc.) and given that recent data shows a rise from 1.0°C to 1.5°C in just 15 years (actual data taken on an annual basis, not moving averages), and using this as a basis for anticipating the future, we seem likely to reach the 2 °C mark in the 2040s and the 3 °C mark in the 2060s.  The plausibility of anticipations depends significantly on how the real openness of the future is treated. Anticipations are reflexive and can shape the future. Real time and historical change involves human freedom and ethics. The evolving universe, where time is real, is stratified, processual, and open-ended. Time involves genuine processes, real possibilities, agency, and emergent structures. Such characteristics indicate that the future is not predetermined but can be shaped by transformative agency.  To sum up, from a real historical time perspective, Wright’s combination of Whiggism, blockism, and nostalgia is a recipe for reactionary politics. Glorifying the present, thinking in a timeless way, and longing for a golden age of the past can play a major role in bringing about a dystopian planetary future.

Where is the "East" for Russia? This is the central question of the "pivot to the East" policy. Throughout Russian history, the debate over East and West has never ceased, embodied most clearly in the opposition between Slavophiles and Westernizers. Their discussion unfolded mainly within the framework of the "East–West" problem. However, it would likely be incorrect to view their debate through the lens of today’s understanding of East and West. The "East", as understood by the Slavophiles, was not Asia in the usual sense of the word—neither geographically nor culturally. The Slavophiles called for a "return to Asia," but by "Asia" they meant Slavic civilization in contrast to Europe, in other words, Russia itself—not the East Asian Confucian civilization led by China. They argued that Russia’s traditions and history were distinct from those of Europe and self-sufficient, and that Russia should follow its own path—one that is Slavic, not Asian. Moreover, the Slavophiles did not consider Russia part of Asian civilization. The views of Slavophiles and Westernizers on whether Russia belongs to Europe are diametrically opposed, but on the question of whether Russia belongs to Asia, their opinions coincide: neither considered Russia to be part of Asian civilization. Thus, the subject of their debate does not lie in choosing between Europe and Asia, but in choosing between Europe and Russia. In the context of their dispute, the "East" refers to the Asian part of Russia and Russia itself. Russian Eurasianism emerged in the 1920s and, according to its ideas, Russia has both European and Asian features but is neither Europe nor Asia. Instead, it represents a “closed and complete geographic, economic, and ethnic whole” [1]. In other words, from the point of view of Eurasianist philosophy, Russia was seen as a unique civilization — a notion that echoes Slavophile thinking. After the collapse of the USSR, neo-Eurasianism appeared in Russia, which includes various strands. Unlike classical Eurasianism, neo-Eurasianism goes beyond theoretical discussion and has a practical orientation. When the former Soviet republics began gaining independence, neo-Eurasianism also started to carry certain political and geopolitical meanings. The idea of Eurasia’s self-sufficiency was inherited from classical Eurasianism. Thus, neither Slavophilism, nor Westernism, nor Eurasianism actually turns to Asia. Westernism is by nature outward-looking and advocates integration with Europe. Slavophilism and Eurasianism are inward-oriented, calling for a return to one's roots. How, then, did the turn to the East happen if none of these major currents focused on Asia? Does this not present a contradiction? In fact, there is no contradiction. The essence of the debate among Russian intellectual traditions concerns the characteristics of Russian civilization and its development path, while the pivot to the East relates primarily to foreign relations and external policy. In the first case, it is about the spiritual East and West — or the civilizational and cultural East and West. In the second, it is about the East and West in terms of international relations, where specific countries and regions matter more than the civilizations they belong to. There is no conflict between these two planes: the first one emphasizes the civilizational position of the country, while the second concerns the direction of its foreign policy. Civilizational position and diplomatic position are not the same. The civilizational position of a country reflects its value system and spiritual orientation. The diplomatic position reflects key aspects of its foreign policy at a given moment. The civilizational aspect influences foreign policy, but it does not determine a permanent shift in foreign policy priorities. A country’s official foreign policy is shaped not only by its civilizational identity, but also by its actual political, economic, and security interests. The last factor usually plays a decisive role in a complex international environment. The civilizational position is also not necessarily closely tied to interstate relations. Although Russia belongs to European civilization, this does not mean that its relations with Western countries will necessarily be better or worse than with non-Western ones. In practice, many of Russia’s friendly relations are with non-Western countries, while it has very few friends among Western states. The historical context of Russia’s pivot to the East. Russia’s modern pivot to the East is not the first in the country’s history. It should be noted that throughout the history of Russian foreign policy, the meaning of the term “East” has changed from one era to another. As a rule, the East was understood to mean Asia — geographically separate from Europe and culturally different from it. However, in different contexts, the meaning of “East” varies significantly. Typically, the East refers to the Asian region surrounding Russia — not only geographically to the east of the country (such as China and East Asia), but also in a broader sense. Culturally, the East was perceived as a non-Christian region: the Ottoman Empire, the Caucasus, the Qing Empire, and the Central Asian khanates — all of these were outside the Christian cultural sphere. The Russian language includes a popular expression: “The East is a delicate matter.” This phrase comes from the main character of the Soviet film White Sun of the Desert, Red Army soldier Fyodor Sukhov. His line became a well-known saying used to describe the East. In this context, “the East” refers to Central Asia, which apparently was part of the “East” in the Russian mindset of the 1920s (i.e., the time in which the film is set). However, Central Asia is not part of the current concept of the “pivot to the East.” It is often said that Russia has turned to the East many times, but there is no consensus on when this first occurred. Even during the imperial period, the East was an important direction in Russian foreign policy — the Ottoman Empire and the Caucasus were an inseparable part of this eastern vector [2]. After the 16th century, Russia continued to focus on the East by developing relations with the Ottoman Empire, the Chinese Qing Empire, the Central Asian khanates, and others. Emperor Peter I not only “opened a window to Europe,” but also paid significant attention to the East. In 1716, he ordered a military expedition to Khiva and Bukhara, although it ended unsuccessfully [3]. From the late 17th century onward, ten Russo-Turkish wars were fought over more than 200 years. And although the Ottoman Empire was considered part of the East, the regions where the wars were fought — the Caucasus, Lower Volga, Crimea, Western Ukraine, Moldova, Bessarabia, Istanbul, and the Balkans — are today typically viewed as part of the West. These warm, fertile regions close to Europe cannot be called the East in the true sense of the word. Indeed, this was a major shift in Russian foreign policy, but it was not a pivot to the East — it was more accurately a pivot from the North to the South. Since the Middle Ages, the Grand Duchy of Moscow had exported furs and timber through the Baltic Sea in the north. However, this alone was not enough, and Russia came to understand that in order to become a powerful state, it needed to look southward and gain access to the Black Sea. The development of this southern foreign policy reached its peak during the reign of Catherine II (1762–1796) and continued up until the start of the Crimean War (1853–1856) [4]. Some researchers believe that Russia’s first true pivot to the East began in the late 19th century and was closely associated with the name of Count Sergei Witte. During the reigns of Emperors Alexander III (1881–1894) and Nicholas II (1894–1917), Witte held several high-ranking positions in government: Minister of Transport, Minister of Finance, Chairman of the Council of Ministers, and Chairman of the Committee of Ministers. Thanks to Witte’s efforts, the pivot to the East was formalized as an economic, trade-investment, and transport-logistics strategy. He supported the idea of building the Trans-Siberian Railway; under him, the construction of the Chinese Eastern Railway — stretching from northeastern China to Vladivostok — was planned and completed; and the Russo-Chinese Bank was created in connection with this project. Although Witte’s plans were not fully realized, he was the first to propose a clear eastern strategy. Some scholars argue that until the late 19th century, Russia did not have a clearly formulated strategy toward Asia. Many significant Russian actions in Central Asia and the Far East were not directed from the top but were undertaken independently on the ground. When these expansionist actions succeeded, the imperial government not only acknowledged them but also accepted their outcomes. For example, under the Treaty of Nerchinsk (1689) between Russia and China, the Amur River basin (Heilongjiang in Chinese) belonged to China. Even before the Crimean War, Russian troops were already present in that territory, taking control of settlements and establishing outposts. Although the imperial authorities understood that this violated the bilateral treaty and encroached on Chinese territory, Emperor Nicholas I (1825–1855) famously declared: “A Russian flag once raised must never be lowered.” [5] There is also an opinion that Russia’s first pivot to the East took place in the early years of the Soviet Union and was reflected in the foreign policy of People’s Commissar for Foreign Affairs Georgy Chicherin. The author is convinced that the first pivot of Russia to the East — in the modern sense of the term — occurred after the end of the Crimean War and continued until the Russo-Japanese War (1904–1905). The eastern strategy proposed by Sergei Witte emerged precisely during this period [6]. The main content of this first pivot to the East was territorial expansion and colonization of the East, while economic interests played a secondary role. Central Asia, the Far East, and the Caucasus were the primary directions. As a result, Russia took control of the Caucasus in the west, conquered all of Central Asia in the south, and expanded its influence eastward to the Pacific coast. Russia had already been present in Central Asia in the early 18th century, and by the time of the Crimean War had penetrated deeper into the region — for example, the Vernoye Fortress was built by Russian troops in 1854–1855, which became the foundation for the city of Verny (modern-day Almaty). After the Crimean War, in order to be able to deter a potential war with Britain in Central Asia, a strategy of southward advancement was adopted. This strategy involved the incorporation of parts of Central Asia, the conquest of Turkestan and the Central Asian steppes, and approaching the borders of Afghanistan. The development of this strategy was assigned by the emperor to Colonel N.P. Ignatiev [7]. During Russia’s advance in Central Asia, expansion and colonization became an end in themselves, while the goal of containing Britain faded into the background. From 1858, under the command of General M.G. Cherniaev — whom the press dubbed the "Yermak of the 19th century" — Turkestan was annexed, and the cities of Chimkent, Semipalatinsk, Tashkent, and others were captured. In 1867, the Turkestan Governor-Generalship was established, led by K.P. Kaufman, who had previously served as the Vilna Governor-General. In the following years, the Bukhara Emirate, the Khanates of Khiva and Kokand came under Kaufman’s control. At that point, the Russian conquests and colonization of Central Asia were effectively completed. China became the most important direction of this wave of the "pivot to the East." Several years after the Crimean War, taking advantage of the situation in which Beijing was occupied by British and French troops and internal unrest was growing, Russia forced the Qing government to sign a series of treaties. As a result, China lost over 1.5 million square kilometers of land in the northeast and northwest of the country. The person responsible for this was the Russian Empire’s envoy to China, N.P. Ignatiev. Russia’s advance eastward did not stop there. It crossed the Amur River, moved into northeast China, and attempted to annex all of Manchuria by realizing the idea of “Yellow Russia” [8] — turning this territory into a second Bukhara [9]. This idea ultimately failed, mainly because the great powers entered into disputes and conflicts over dividing spheres of influence in China. In 1896, the Russian Empire and the Qing government signed an alliance treaty (the Aigun Treaty), which included a clause on joint military actions against Japan if it attacked either side or Korea. The treaty also granted Russia the right to build a railway through northeastern Chinese territory — nominally for troop transport in wartime — but in reality it became a tool for implementing the idea of Yellow Russia. In 1897, Germany occupied the port of Qingdao. The Qing government turned to Russia for help. The Russian Empire refused, citing its obligation to help only in case of a Japanese attack, and instead used the opportunity to force the Qing to cede Port Arthur (Lüshun). In 1900, Russia joined the Eight-Nation Alliance and deployed troops in China, which was essentially an act of war. Russia occupied all of northeastern China, and in the 64 villages of Jiangdong, it carried out “numerous cleansings” of the Chinese population. The Russo-Japanese War broke out in 1904–1905 due to the rivalry between Russia and Japan over Manchuria and Korea. The main theater of military operations was northeastern China. After the war, Russia supported the independence of Outer Mongolia, as a result of which China lost control over this territory. It is evident that Russia and China view the history of their bilateral relations — and its key figures — in very different, even opposite ways. In the historical consciousness of the Chinese people, Russo-Chinese relations of that period are seen as part of the "century of humiliation," which brought suffering to China and left deep wounds in the hearts of the Chinese people. The complex history of Russian-Chinese relations includes both dark pages and times of friendship and mutual assistance — particularly the Soviet Union’s military support during the war against Japan (1938–1945) and the large-scale assistance provided after the founding of the PRC (1949). These pages, too, have a lasting place in China’s historical memory. In the nearly half-century that passed since Russia’s first pivot to the East, its expansion in this direction reached its peak, resulting in vast territorial gains and reaching the natural limits of expansion in the Far East and Central Asia. This process culminated in the formation of the eastern borders of the Russian Empire, which remained in place until the dissolution of the USSR in 1991. Modern Pivot to the East Russia's turn to the East now has different content and character. It is often linked to the Ukrainian crisis that broke out in 2014 and the conflict with the West. There is some truth in this, but not completely. The shift was driven by a set of factors: first, the shift of the global political and economic center to the Asia-Pacific region; second, Russia’s need to develop Siberia and the Far East; third, the influence of the international situation. In the early 21st century, the Asia-Pacific became home to many economic powers with growing political and economic influence. This attracted Russia’s attention and pushed it to develop closer ties with Asia-Pacific countries, strengthening its position in the region. This reason has been stated repeatedly by Russian President Vladimir Putin. The development of Siberia and the Far East is a key part of the “turn to the East” policy. All measures in this direction aim at this goal. In 2012, when Putin presented the strategy of turning East, he outlined the goal of developing Siberia and the Far East. These regions are rich in natural resources, which have been sought after since the days of tsarist Russia. This is important not only for the regions themselves but for the entire Russian state. Russia sees the potential of these regions and believes they will be a source of wealth and drive the country's prosperity in the 21st century. In this regard, Vladimir Putin set a priority for the entire 21st century — the development of the Far East. At the IX Eastern Economic Forum in September 2024, he again stressed the importance of developing Siberia and the Far East, saying the future of Russia largely depends on it. There is a gap in development between the western and eastern parts of Russia. A visible socio-economic divide causes problems for both the economy and national security. Siberia and the Far East are vast and rich in resources, but sparsely populated and economically underdeveloped, with outdated infrastructure and population decline. These regions border China, Japan, and South Korea — economically stronger, densely populated countries with high demand for resources. Russia believes that if it does not develop Siberia and the Far East, the economic and social gap between its western and eastern parts will grow, and the population in the eastern regions will shrink. These trends could later deepen regional imbalances and reduce the appeal of these territories for residents, weakening the influence of the political center and risking a loss of control. The Ukrainian crisis played a significant role in Russia’s geopolitical and territorial reorientation. All past turns to the East happened after setbacks in the European direction. The turn in the second half of the 19th century came after the defeat in the Crimean War, and early Soviet eastern development also began due to difficult relations with the West. In such cases, as European powers moved East, Russia, losing chances in the West, turned to the weaker East, which it could dominate more easily. This helped it look away from Europe’s pressure and gain in the East to offset losses in the West. The Ukrainian crisis became the most serious conflict between Russia and the West since the Cold War’s end. It changed their relations fundamentally. The West imposed strict and broad sanctions on Russia after the start of the conflict, cutting almost all political, economic, financial, technological, transport, cultural, sports, educational, and humanitarian ties — something that never happened before in Russia-Europe relations. Even during the Crimean War, Europe did not fully cut economic ties with Russia; trade continued through neutral countries. Now, a wall separates Russia from the West, dividing Europe in two, with almost all European countries on the other side. The shadow of war now looms between Russia and the West. Russia began focusing on the East to break the Western political blockade and replace lost markets and resources in Europe. But this only sped up the turn to the East; it did not cause it, since the policy began before the Ukrainian crisis. The turn to the East has been developed both as a scientific concept and a political strategy in academic circles for a long time. One viewpoint holds that the initiator of this idea was Yevgeny Primakov: in 1996, while serving as Minister of Foreign Affairs, he proposed a corresponding concept. In 2012, the Valdai International Discussion Club published an analytical report titled “Toward the Great Ocean, or the New Globalization of Russia,” which promoted the idea of Russia’s development in the direction of the Asia-Pacific region. The authors of this study — Professor S.A. Karaganov and T.V. Bordachev — are among the most active supporters of the turn to the East and later published a series of reports and articles on the topic to shape public opinion accordingly. Professor A.V. Lukin, a leading Russian expert on China, also published a work on the subject of the turn to the East back in 2014. Many other Russian researchers have written a large number of articles addressing this issue. The state policy of the “turn to the East” was proposed later than the concept itself but also before the start of the Ukrainian crisis. The idea of turning East emerged during the presidency of Dmitry Medvedev (2008–2012). In his 2010 address to the Federal Assembly, he stated that Russia faced the task of regional integration into the Asia-Pacific economic space and that expanding ties with countries in the region was taking on strategic importance. After Vladimir Putin returned to the presidency in 2012, the “turn to the East” strategy took its final form. As already noted, this direction began to be developed in 2012, and in his 2013 address to the Federal Assembly, President Putin used the phrase “Russia’s pivot to the Pacific Ocean,” which essentially means the same as the turn to the East. At different times, the term “turn to the East” has had different meanings in terms of goals and direction. Even within the same period, its content changed and was supplemented depending on circumstances. In Russian foreign policy, the turn to the East was initially seen as a supplement to the Eurocentric direction. Its main function was to reduce dependence on Europe without changing the structure of Eurocentric foreign policy. Until Medvedev’s presidency, this was the ideological content of the turn. Later, the eastern vector in Russia’s foreign policy became as important as the European one, aiming for symmetrical development. After 2012, the balance between the eastern and western directions became the central idea of the turn to the East. With the start of the Russia–Ukraine conflict in 2022, the ideological meaning of the turn was adjusted again. As the road to the West was blocked, the turn to the East (including to the Global South) became the only option. In this context, it started to represent the center of gravity and support for Russia’s foreign policy. The turn to the East no longer just balanced the European and Asian directions — it became the main direction of foreign policy, with Europe becoming secondary, at least for the time being. However, in Russian academic circles, there are also more absolutist views on this matter. Some believe that with the beginning of the Russia–Ukraine conflict, the 300-year journey of Russia through Europe, which began with Peter the Great, came to an end. The “window to Europe” closed for a long time, and Russia “returned home” — to the East. This conclusion was drawn a century and a half ago by the great writer Fyodor Dostoevsky: back in the 19th century, he argued that Russia had completed its historical path in Europe and should go its own way. But let us remember that in the early post-Soviet years, Westernism was extremely popular, and Russia rushed into the embrace of the West without hesitation (here the author understands “Westernism” more as admiration for the West). After the September 11 attacks, Russian-American relations quickly warmed, and optimistic forecasts were voiced: Russian society had chosen its path — the European one, and the easing of relations with the U.S. drove “the last nail into the coffin” of Eurasian values. Clearly, that scenario did not work out. Time will tell whether predictions about a final separation between Russia and Europe will come true. However, considering historical events, it seems unlikely. In 1697–1698, Peter the Great organized the Grand Embassy — a diplomatic mission to Europe, and after Russia’s victory in the Great Northern War (1700–1721), the country became a great power and from then on actively participated in European affairs, sometimes as a partner of European states, sometimes as an adversary, but always inseparable from Europe. The current confrontation with Europe is a result of the Russia–Ukraine conflict and sanctions. It is not expected to become the norm in Russia’s foreign policy, as it does not align with the patterns of international politics and economics. The present situation is caused by a political conflict, not by a loss of Europe’s importance to Russia. Europe still matters to Moscow in political, economic, and security terms. Russia and Europe remain connected by geography, culture, and religion. President Vladimir Putin has stated that Russia is still part of European civilization, and Europe is an important player — cutting ties with it would be politically unwise, economically undesirable, and impossible from a security standpoint. Russia–Europe relations may go through different phases, but Russia is a European country and cannot ignore Europe or abandon the development of its European direction. If given the opportunity, it will return to it. Russian scholars argue that both Europe and Asia are key directions in the country’s foreign policy. Russia has always approached both regions based on the need for a multi-vector foreign policy and diversified economic cooperation with its external partners. It is possible to predict that the end of the Russia–Ukraine conflict and the lifting of Western sanctions will be followed by a gradual normalization of relations. After that, business ties between Russia and Europe will slowly begin to recover, although this process may take a long time, and relations may not return to their pre-conflict state. As history shows, when Russia goes too far in one direction — West or East — it eventually turns the other way. The success or failure of the turn to the East can only be judged by the goals it sets for itself. It is no longer just a foreign policy and economic concept, but a comprehensive national development strategy. Therefore, its success should be assessed accordingly. Three key criteria can be identified: socio-economic development of the Far East and Siberia; the degree of Russia's integration into the Asia-Pacific economy; and the strengthening of Russia's discursive power in the Asia-Pacific. Progress in all three areas will indicate success, while setbacks will suggest stagnation or regression. These indicators must be evaluated based on long-term data — short-term results show only temporary trends and are not sufficient to judge the overall effectiveness of the strategy. The turn to the East is a long process, inevitably accompanied by difficulties and setbacks. Russian history shows that each shift in foreign policy direction has taken decades and gone through many ups and downs, sometimes even failures. Yet Russia has always stood up again, showing resilience in pursuing long-term goals. In today’s world, development happens at a faster pace. The completion of the turn to the East cannot wait another hundred years, but structural transformation will still take at least ten years, and success is not guaranteed. Much has been achieved over the past decade, but many challenges remain — most of them within Russia itself. Understanding the East holds intangible but important meaning. In the minds of Russians, especially Westernizers, the East and West are opposites. The West symbolizes civilization and progress, while Asia is seen as barbaric and backward. The word “Aziatchina” in Russian carries negative connotations linked to cultural backwardness, roughness, and lack of civility. Europe, by contrast, is viewed positively — for example, by Vissarion Belinsky: “Everything great, noble, human, and spiritual has risen, grown, flourished, and borne luxurious fruit on European soil.” This perception still exists to some extent and traditionally forms a cultural bias in Russia, especially against modern Asia. Because of this cultural barrier, Russia cannot fully become either a European or an Asian country. To truly become part of Asia, Russia must entirely and objectively rethink its understanding of it. The efficiency of Russian government agencies is extremely important, and that of local governments is even more so. Government institutions at all levels are key to implementing the turn to the East strategy. The enthusiasm and effectiveness of local officials play a large role in determining the success of the strategy. Bureaucratic red tape and apathy can ruin even the most promising programs, while weak governance and corruption can destroy any successful policy. Finding a rational and effective model for the development of Siberia and the Far East is a difficult task. The situation in these regions is unique. Chinese, Japanese, and Korean models do not suit Russian conditions. The global economy is currently undergoing changes, and Russia needs to adapt, take advantage of its strengths, and form its own development path. The internal turn to the East requires innovative development. The task is not simple — to ensure the prosperity of Siberia and the Far East while considering their rich natural resources, underdeveloped infrastructure, labor shortages, limited markets, and small-scale processing and scientific industries. Significant efforts are needed for Vladivostok — the capital of the Far Eastern Federal District — to stand out among Tokyo, Shanghai, Hong Kong, and other regional and global financial, tech, innovation, and logistics hubs. Excluding the energy and defense sectors, Russia will find it difficult to carve out a niche in the Asia-Pacific market, which already has a stable structure, well-defined labor division, and strong competition. Russia will need to demonstrate extraordinary competitiveness to enter the Asia-Pacific market successfully. Attracting foreign investment is an important tool for the development of Siberia and the Far East. However, its application requires greater openness to the outside world, a favorable investment climate, reliable legal guarantees, appropriate political measures, rational tax policy, efficient customs procedures, pragmatic labor policy, and a mentality that views foreign capital positively. State policy must be consistent and coordinated, and there must also be an increase in the awareness of the business community [population — translator's note] about market-based rules of economic cooperation. The Ukrainian crisis contributed to the turn to the East, but at the same time brought unforeseen challenges to its implementation. As a result of tough political and economic Western sanctions, foreign investment opportunities have been greatly reduced. Not only were Western investment channels blocked, but investment from other countries has also become severely limited. Scientific and technological cooperation with many countries cannot proceed due to the threat of Western sanctions. Bilateral trade also faces restrictions, and there are serious difficulties and problems with financial settlements. Changes in the global geopolitical and geoeconomic landscape after the start of the Russia–Ukraine conflict have affected the original concept of the “turn to the East.” First, the Ukrainian crisis narrowed the geographical scope of this process. Major Asian economic and technological powers — Japan and South Korea — played an important role in the turn to the East, but they imposed sanctions on Russia following the United States, and trade cooperation was suspended. As a result, Japan and South Korea are no longer considered part of the turn to the East, which has created challenges for the strategy. Second, the scale of some important projects associated with the turn had to be reduced. For example, the development of the Northern Sea Route. The Northern Sea Route is a key project in the context of the turn to the East: it is a transport artery connecting East Asia and Europe. It is much shorter than the sea route from East Asia to Europe via the Indian Ocean (Suez Canal), which allows for significantly lower shipping costs and shorter delivery times. With the acceleration of global warming, the navigational period — when the Arctic Ocean can be traveled without an icebreaker — is expected to increase. Completion of transport infrastructure along the Northern Sea Route would change the system of international shipping, bringing economic benefits to Russia and raising its geopolitical and geoeconomic significance. However, after the start of the Russia–Ukraine conflict, European sanctions against Russia blocked transport routes to Europe, putting the functioning of this corridor in question. Now, transportation operates only to Murmansk, which supports Russian-Chinese trade but causes difficulties on the European side. In addition, sanctions impact the construction of infrastructure and icebreaking ships. Despite this, in the long term, the value of the Northern Sea Route as a new Eurasian shipping corridor remains, though the restoration of this function should be expected only after an improvement in Russia–Europe relations. China in the context of the turn to the East Russia’s turn to the East does not mean a turn solely to China — the strategy also includes other Asia-Pacific countries such as India, Vietnam, and Southeast Asian states. Japan and South Korea are temporarily not considered due to sanctions. Russia aims to diversify its relationships in Asia while carefully balancing them with China, given its significant role in the current world order. The turn to the East does not carry emotional weight; it is a state strategy based on national interests and needs, not driven by affection for Asia or China. Some opinions — whether intentional or not — equate the turn to friendship with China, which is an emotional interpretation, though it is true that friendly ties help strengthen cooperation between Russia and China. Nevertheless, China is undoubtedly the main direction of Russia’s turn to the East. China is the world’s second-largest economy, second only to the U.S. in nominal GDP. It is a strategic partner of Russia and the world’s largest exporter. Border regions between the two countries require strengthened economic cooperation. Because of all these factors, China holds a central position in Russia’s eastern strategy. China has vast potential for economic collaboration. Trade relations between Russia and China are actively developing — China has been Russia’s top trading partner for 14 years, though there is still room to grow in bilateral trade. China is one of the largest markets for Russian energy exports: in 2023, Russia exported 107 million tons of oil and 8 million tons of LNG to China. By 2025, gas exports to China are expected to reach 38 billion cubic meters. China is also a key player in Arctic development and the Northern Sea Route. It is the second-largest shareholder in the Yamal LNG project, which involves dozens of Chinese companies. The Northern Sea Route requires significant infrastructure development and a fleet of icebreakers, as well as companies responsible for cargo management. China is involved in all these areas and has the capacity to play a major role in infrastructure development across Siberia and the Russian Far East. It is a global leader in fields such as artificial intelligence, ICT, digital economy, and e-commerce. Expanding bilateral cooperation in these areas is essential for regional development. China is also a major market for Russian agricultural, forestry, and seafood products. Due to geographic proximity, economic interaction between Northeast China and the Russian Far East has become very close, directly impacting the lives of local border populations. Despite the fact that the turn to the East is now an established state strategy, Russian public opinion on it is mixed. The once-popular “China threat,” particularly the fear of demographic expansion, has faded. While some fears remain, they are no longer dominant. These fears stem from various sources. One is deep-seated distrust of China and uncertainty about its intentions — concerns over whether China will be a friend or foe in the future, reflecting a lack of confidence in the long-term trajectory of relations. Another factor is the entrenched ideology of Westernism, which clashes with the turn to the East. Advocates of this worldview believe Russia’s future lies in the West and argue that China cannot provide technologies, equipment, or capital on par with the West. They see the pivot as a last resort after being shut out by the West, with little to gain from it. The greatest concern influencing public opinion is the fear of overdependence on China. Some believe it could result in Russia becoming China’s “junior partner,” a “raw material appendage,” or a vassal of China’s economy; that rising reliance on China’s energy market threatens Russia’s energy security; and that Russia may lose neutrality and freedom of maneuver in a possible conflict between China and Asian nations. At the Eastern Economic Forum in September 2024, a moderator even asked a Chinese delegate what was being done to ensure that Chinese businesses remained in China and did not enter Russia. The various sources of these viewpoints share a common background: the asymmetry in development between Russia and China. A key feature of modern Russian-Chinese relations — which have taken shape since the collapse of the USSR in 1991 — is that China’s growth has outpaced Russia’s. For the first time in over 300 years of bilateral ties (dating to the Treaty of Nerchinsk in 1689), China has surpassed Russia in national power. In 2023, Russia’s GNP was $2.02 trillion, while China’s reached $17.79 trillion — more than eight times higher. Russia’s per capita GDP is only slightly above China’s: $13,800 vs. $12,600. China’s armed forces outnumber Russia’s, are better equipped with modern weapons, and benefit from higher military spending. In 2022, China’s military budget was about $292.2 billion, compared to Russia’s $86 billion. While China’s budget is much smaller than the U.S.’s $877 billion, it still exceeds Russia’s by more than three times. Since the start of the Russia–Ukraine conflict, Russia’s military budget has increased annually, mainly to meet the needs of the special military operation. However, when measured in U.S. dollars, this increase has been less noticeable due to the sharp devaluation of the ruble. Adequate military spending is crucial to building a modern and capable army. Technological rivalry lies at the core of modern international competition. China is confidently leading the Fourth Industrial Revolution, which is radically transforming the global landscape. The country produces an enormous variety of goods and is often referred to as the “world’s factory.” It possesses strong investment potential and engages in active investment worldwide, especially in countries participating in the Belt and Road Initiative. Despite encountering challenges and difficulties, China’s steady development trend remains intact. Its capacities in investment, technology, and equipment continue to grow. Due to the vast size of the Chinese economy, the scale of Russian-Chinese economic cooperation is also significant, and its share in Russia’s foreign trade is inevitably increasing. This is a natural and non-negative process. It indicates that economic cooperation is becoming increasingly beneficial and important for both countries. Neither the Russian nor Chinese governments express concern about the scale of economic interaction. On the contrary, both sides believe the full potential of their economic cooperation has yet to be realized. China may not provide Russia with everything that Europe can, but likewise, Europe cannot offer what China can. Both Europe and China have their own economic strengths and weaknesses. Trends show that Chinese technologies can replace European products such as automobiles, high-speed rail, communication systems, alternative energy sources, computers, and mobile phones. Europe, in turn, can only substitute for certain Chinese goods. To gain economic benefits, it's not only investments, equipment, and technologies that matter, but also the ability to purchase essential goods and services from abroad, as well as to earn foreign currency through exports and service trade. In 2023, Russia earned $90.5 billion from energy exports to China, generating considerable economic benefits. Economic cooperation is a relationship of mutual dependence. In such relationships, countries both give and take. The more interdependent they are, the more their interests align and the greater the benefits. The level of interdependence varies between bilateral partnerships. While countries strive to diversify their foreign relations, economic interdependence does not necessarily lead to stagnation. A major trend in the global economy today is increasing interdependence between nations. Globalization, regional integration, and cooperation mechanisms are accelerating this process. Typically, countries seek to expand economic cooperation and deepen ties based on equality for mutual gain. There is indeed a power gap between large and small economies. The same trade volume can have very different weight in economies of different sizes. But this doesn’t imply inequality, nor does it mean that one country becomes the vassal of another. If economic relations between unequal economies were inherently unfair, true economic cooperation would not exist. China is the largest or main trading partner of more than 150 countries, all of which — except the U.S. — have smaller economies. If none of those countries became China’s vassal, then how could Russia, as the world’s fourth or fifth largest economy, become one? The issue of overdependence is complex and relative. On one hand, it can be positive — strengthening ties and increasing benefits. On the other, it can cause negative outcomes like loss of economic sovereignty or national security concerns. But what counts as “overdependence” is hard to define because each country’s relationships are unique. In some cases, economic independence is essential for security; in others, full autonomy isn’t pursued. For example, in the EU, the goal of multilateral relations is to create an economic community where overdependence isn’t considered a problem. Moreover, the conditions under which overdependence emerges can vary and are not always within a country’s control. Overdependence has negative consequences only when relations become antagonistic and countries “weaponize” their economic ties, turning them into tools of sanctions and conflict. The clearest example is the Western sanctions imposed on Russia after the start of the Russia–Ukraine conflict. However, this is not a typical situation in international economic relations. China holds the most prominent position in Russia’s foreign trade structure. In 2023, Russia’s total foreign trade turnover amounted to $710.2 billion, with trade with China accounting for $240 billion — more than 30%. The most important sphere of economic cooperation between the two countries is energy. In 2023, Russia exported 234 million tons of oil, of which 107 million tons (45%) went to China. The same year, Russia’s natural gas exports totaled 139 billion cubic meters, with 34 billion cubic meters (about 25%) going to China. However, these numbers are not stable. They reflect a sharp decline in Russia–Europe trade since the onset of the Russia–Ukraine conflict, a significant drop in Russia’s overall foreign trade, and a rapid rise in trade with China. Influential factors include dramatic changes in the structure of Russia’s energy exports, a reduction in natural gas exports in particular, structural shifts in trade flows, the relegation of the European vector to a secondary role, and the potential suspension of Russian gas supplies to Europe. Still, China remains far from the role once held by Europe in Russia’s foreign trade and energy exports. As great powers, both Russia and China strive to avoid excessive dependence on external players, especially in strategically important areas. This concern is naturally embedded in their national security thinking. In energy, Russia seeks to diversify its export markets, while China aims to diversify its import sources. At the same time, maintaining friendly and stable long-term relations is a necessary condition for developing mutual dependence in a positive and productive direction. Yet whether out of rational caution or political reasoning, the notion of “overdependence” does not accurately describe current Russia–China relations. Modern bilateral economic cooperation is based on objective conditions and internal needs, and most importantly, it brings significant benefits to both countries. After losing its European partners, Russia must urgently complete its pivot to the East and expand its presence in Asian markets — especially in the energy sector, which is of strategic importance. Russia’s current policy agenda prioritizes active development of cooperation with Asian countries, especially energy partners, rather than reducing its scale. Unlike ordinary goods, energy impacts national economic growth and population well-being. Supply and demand in energy create a two-way dependence, not a one-sided one. In this context, fears of overdependence are largely misplaced. Typically, exporters are more proactive than importers. Historically, it is the exporting country that has been more capable of using energy as a political instrument. China has no intention of being a “big brother” to any country, nor of having “little brothers.” This concept is inconsistent with both its political philosophy and policy. The idea of “older and younger brothers” does not align with modern Chinese political thinking. Russia is a proud nation that would never accept the status of a junior partner. China’s relations with its neighbors, regardless of the size of their economies, are based on equality and mutual respect. China never treats them condescendingly or claims seniority. So how could Russia — a global power — become China’s “little brother”? First published in the journal “Russia and the Asia-Pacific.”DOI: 10.24412/1026-8804-2025-2-162-185Trubetskoy, N.S. History. Culture. Language. Moscow: Progress, 1995. p. 258.History of Russian Foreign Policy. 18th Century. Moscow: International Relations, 1998. p. 48.History of the Civilizations of Central Asia. Beijing: China Foreign Translation and Publishing Corporation, 2006. Vol. 5, p. 270.Figes, O. The Crimean War: Forgotten Imperial Conflict. (Translated by Lü Pin and Zhu Zhu). Nanjing: Nanjing University Press, 2022. p. 26.Ayrapetov, O.R. On the Road to Collapse: The Russo-Japanese War 1904–1905. (Translated by Zhou Jian). Beijing: Social Sciences Academic Press, 2021. p. 51.Witte, S.Yu. Memoirs of Count Witte. (Translated by Xiao Yang and Liu Sisi). Beijing: China Legal Publishing House, 2011. 327 p.Ayrapetov, O.R. On the Road to Collapse: The Russo-Japanese War 1904–1905. (Translated by Zhou Jian). Beijing: Social Sciences Academic Press, 2021. p. 538.“Yellow Russia” — a project of the Russian Empire for the development of the northeastern lands of Qing China, which was halted with the beginning of the Russo-Japanese War in 1904. — Translator’s note.Ayrapetov, O.R. On the Road to Collapse: The Russo-Japanese War 1904–1905. (Translated by Zhou Jian). Beijing: Social Sciences Academic Press, 2021. p. 76.Toward the Great Ocean, or the New Globalization of Russia. Analytical Report of the Valdai International Discussion Club. Moscow: Valdai, 2012. 81 p.Lukin, A.V. Turn to Asia. Russian Foreign Policy at the Turn of the Century and Its Activation in the Eastern Direction. Moscow: Ves Mir, 2014. 640 p.Mezhuyev, B.V. “‘Island Russia’ and Russian Identity Politics. The Unlearned Lessons of Vadim Tsymbursky.” In: Russia in Global Affairs, 2017, no. 2, pp. 116–130.Modern dictionaries indicate that the use of units with the root “aziat-” as abusive is outdated, and the set of negative traits attributed to Asians is now described, according to Sklyarevskaya’s dictionary, as “assigned mistakenly or without sufficient grounds.” See: Vepreva, I.T., Kun Weikan. “The Lexeme ‘Aziatchina’ as a Verbalization of the Stereotypical Attitude Toward Asia.” In: Political Linguistics, 2024, no. 2, p. 47. — Translator’s note.In Search of Its Own Path: Russia Between Europe and Asia. 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Abstract This paper analyzes, from Immanuel Wallerstein's Analysis of the World – System, an introduction, the emergence of the modern world – system, the permanence of the colonial logic in the modern capitalist world-system from a decolonial approach. It examines how the center – periphery structure has determined the economic, political and epistemic dynamics at the global level. Through this approach we study how coloniality has influenced the construction of knowledge. It also analyzes the impact of this structure on the recognition of States and the negotiation of international treaties, showing how Western power has conditioned the legitimacy and autonomy of peripheral nations. It also addresses the persistence of the center-periphery logic in local relations, as well as in gender and racial inequality, highlighting the role of anti-systemic movements in the struggle against these structures. It concludes that, although colonial dynamics continue to operate through debt, extractivism and the imposition of political models, decolonial perspectives offer tools to make visible and resist them. Introduction This paper will analyze the dynamics of the current international system based on the work “World-Systems Analysis: An Introduction – The Rise of the Modern World-System” by Immanuel Wallerstein. In it, Wallerstein (2005) argues that the modern capitalist world-system has structured the global order since the 16th century, consolidating a hierarchical division between the center and the periphery. This division has not only shaped economic and political dynamics but has also established patterns of domination and dependency that persist to this day. The colonial expansion of European powers not only guaranteed access to resources and markets but also legitimized a system of exploitation based on racism and the hierarchization of colonized peoples. The decolonial perspective of Walter Mignolo (2013) will be adopted, which posits that this is a political and epistemic project aimed at dismantling the colonial matrix of power that sustains Western modernity. From this framework, the article will analyze how colonial logic continues to operate in the capitalist world-system through the economic and political subordination of the peripheries. It will also examine the impact of the colonial worldview on knowledge production during the 18th and 19th centuries, as well as the reproduction of the center–periphery dynamic in the recognition of states during the 20th century and in the negotiation of international treaties during the 21st century. Likewise, it will address how this dynamic manifests not only internationally but also within local structures, perpetuating inequalities expressed in labor, gender, and racial relations today. This work seeks to provide a critical perspective on the persistence of colonial logic in the modern capitalist world-system, emphasizing the need to rethink power structures from a decolonial perspective that makes visible and vindicates the subaltern voices that have been historically silenced. Development Colonial Logic in the Capitalist World-System In his work “World-Systems Analysis: An Introduction – The Rise of the Modern World-System”, Wallerstein seeks to understand the structure and dynamics of the world-system, taking the 16th century as the starting point —a period when the conquests of the territories we now know as the Americas took place. The colonial period clearly illustrates the core–periphery dynamic (Wallerstein, 2005), as the Spanish, British, and Portuguese empires engaged in the extraction of resources from their colonies, while colonized peoples endured oppression and racism to which they would be condemned for centuries. This oppression brought significant benefits to the modern world-system, as it enabled massive capital accumulation — but exclusively in the core. This was because the colonial process built peripheral economies around the needs of the core, forcing them into subordination to the interests of the global market, generating dependency and underdevelopment. Quijano and Wallerstein (1992) argue that “[…] ethnicity was the inevitable cultural consequence of coloniality. It delineated the social boundaries corresponding to the division of labor” (p. 585). Due to the colonial period, the modern capitalist world-system laid its foundations and strengthened its market-based economic model through racism and hierarchization — circumstances that have legitimized the exploitation and domination of non-European peoples throughout history. Control over the resources of peripheral states by core states has endured to this day, along with the imposition of Western production and consumption models that perpetuate inequality. The colonial period’s greatest legacy remains systemic violence and subalternity. On this basis, it is important to analyze this work from a decolonial perspective. For Walter Mignolo (2013), “decoloniality is not a concept, but a practice and a political, epistemic, and ethical project aimed at disengaging from the colonial matrix of power that sustains Western modernity” (p. 21). This perspective also draws on the notion of epistemic subalternity, which refers to the experiences and knowledge of colonized and subaltern peoples that are rendered invisible, devalued, or reduced to particular cases — without being considered an integral part of the world-system (Mora, 2008). Coloniality in the Construction of Knowledge At the end of the 18th century, the modern university emerged, dividing its studies into two faculties: sciences and humanities. In the 19th century, another division took place within the humanities, opening the space for the study of social sciences, which would later also be split — on one side, those leaning toward scientism, and on the other, toward the humanistic approach. This led to the creation of new disciplines: economics, political science, and sociology (Wallerstein, 2005). These new sciences built their worldview and knowledge construction from a Eurocentric and colonialist perspective, thus assigning labels to peoples different from their own. These new sciences categorized the study of the world’s peoples into three groups. First, civilized peoples — Western nations, considered as such because they believed their social and political organization systems were the most advanced. Second, the high civilizations — India, China, Persia, and the Arab world — classified in this way because they possessed writing, religion, language, and customs. They were regarded as civilized peoples but not modern, under the previously mentioned concept. This category gave rise to orientalist scholars, with a Eurocentric and exoticizing view. Finally, the so-called primitive peoples — those who, from the colonial perspective, lacked writing, religion, language, and customs. This perception of the “uncivilized other” was used to justify colonial processes in the periphery, which even today enable the reproduction of exploitative and racist practices. Segregation in the construction of knowledge, imbued with colonial and Eurocentric thought, is based on criticizing the behavior of these peoples and on what should be changed about them (Zapata, 2008). The Eurocentric conception asserts categorically that the modus vivendi of these peoples is not appropriate according to Western standards. Although this way of thinking has evolved over time, its essence remains the same and has led Western countries to grant themselves the power to change the way of life of these peoples through invasions, neocolonial processes, and violent interventions via military force or economic interference. The Center and the Periphery in the Recognition of States As previously mentioned, Europe established a correspondence between modernity and the West; this includes the institution of the nation-state as its derived product (Zapata, 2008). From the Eurocentric perspective, for civilizations to be considered nation-states, they must possess four characteristics: territory, population, government, and sovereignty. In Public International Law, sovereign states are the main subjects of international relations, and for a state to be recognized as such, it must be acknowledged by the majority of states that are part of the international system. The center–periphery concept operates both economically and politically, which can be observed when a new state seeks recognition from members of the international system. The recognition granted by a state from the center carries more weight than that from the periphery, since states in the center, with greater political and economic capacity, influence the decisions of their allies — both within the center and the periphery. This need for state recognition has been extremely beneficial for the modern capitalist world-system, as political and economic interdependence, along with the perpetuation of power in the countries of the center — particularly those belonging to the West — ensures that they act, whether in matters of state recognition, political agendas, or economic issues, entirely to their own advantage, disregarding the interests of “the other.” From a decolonial perspective, state recognition is a Western construct designed to maintain control over who meets the imposed criteria to belong to the Eurocentric international system. These criteria clearly do not align with the social organization of all non-Western civilizations but were conceived in such a way as to subordinate them to the needs of the world-system, which inevitably serves the interests of Western core states. This can be exemplified by the case of Taiwan. In 1971, the Kuomintang lost recognition from the government of mainland China, and starting in 1985, Taiwan’s government sought to strengthen diplomatic relations with states that already recognized it and to develop relations with those that did not, with the aim of obtaining their approval (Connelly, 2014). Despite the passage of time, recognition of Taiwan as a state by core countries seems inconvenient for them, likely due to the ongoing political dispute between Taiwan and China. As a result, only 14 peripheral states recognize it as such. Despite this, the Northeast Asian country maintains unofficial relations with 47 states and the European Union, for purely economic reasons. The Modern Capitalist World-System in International Treaties It is worth mentioning that the idea of the center–periphery permeates the negotiation of international agreements. As mentioned earlier, the so-called “primitive peoples” were civilizations that, from the Eurocentric perspective of knowledge, lacked writing, religion, languages, or customs. This idea persisted into the 20th century, as reflected in the Statute of the International Court of Justice, which in Chapter II, Article 38, states that “the Court, whose function is to decide in accordance with international law such disputes as are submitted to it, shall apply: […] the general principles of law recognized by civilized nations” (UN, 1945). The Eurocentric conception of a civilized nation in the postwar period was based on the type of government existing in each state. Thus, countries without a democratic political system were not considered civilized nations. This conception forced nations not to determine their own system of government, but rather to adhere to the one imposed by the Western international system in order to be accepted, disregarding their customs and traditions. A more current example of the imposition of Eurocentric ideas on systems of government is the signing of the Free Trade Agreement between the European Union and Mexico in 2000. Ratification of the trade agreement was conditioned on what they called the “democratic clause.” The agreement was not ratified by the Italian government until July 3 of that year, when the presidential elections resulted in the victory of Vicente Fox (Villegas, 2001). On the same day, the European Commission’s spokesperson, Gunnar Wiegand, said in his press release: “A historic vote has taken place in Mexico. The Commission congratulates the Mexican people for exercising their democratic rights in such a mature and exemplary manner” (Caracol Radio, 2000). The spokesperson’s mention of the Mexican people’s maturity refers to the notion that, in the past, the exercise of democracy had not possessed this quality — an observation made from a paternalistic and Eurocentric perspective. Had the election results been different, Mexico could have faced the possibility of the European Union “imposing sanctions as a reaction to the verification of interruptions in democratic processes, which, in addition to affecting development, constitute a threat to international peace and security” (Cordero Galdós, 2002, p. 128). The criticism of the imposition of the “democratic clause” centers on the recurring practice of requiring peripheral states to adapt to the political ideologies and economic needs of the core. The Reproduction of the Center–Periphery Dynamic at the Local Level As mentioned in the development of this work, the effects of colonialism persist across all systems and subsystems through the coloniality of power, knowledge, and being, the latter of which will be addressed later. This is manifested in global inequalities, the exploitation of natural resources in peripheral countries, and the persistence of racist and Eurocentric power structures. From Wallerstein’s perspective, the world-system is a historical structure which, although in constant transformation, reproduces power relations and inequalities over time through the domination of the core and the exploitation of the peripheries (Wallerstein, 2005). Thus, the world-system has evolved in several ways; one of these is the introduction of the term semi-periphery into the analysis. During the colonial period, there were only core and peripheral nations. Over the centuries, however, semi-peripheral states have emerged — nations that not only extract raw materials or engage in manufacturing but also have the capacity to produce cutting-edge technology (Wallerstein, 2005). This positions them in a more privileged place than peripheral countries in the international system. Yet, despite appearing to have overcome the systemic oppression that once kept them in the periphery, the colonial mindset within their institutions perpetuates their subordination to the core. Good examples of semi-peripheral states in Latin America are Mexico and Brazil. Both countries were victims of the exploitation and systemic violence of colonialism. This shaped the development of their societies and economies for centuries. Even after achieving independence and building productive and economic systems that placed them in the semi-periphery, their economic progress was built on a legacy of oppression and racism that continues to reproduce the abuses described. In this way, the concept of core and periphery permeates social and family subsystems. This can be observed in labor relations, where capitalists depend on the core–periphery or superior–subordinate relationship to sustain the production model. It is also evident in social relations, which Wallerstein refers to as anti-systemic movements. Society perpetuates the core–periphery principle by placing women and racialized communities in the periphery, while men — especially white men with power — occupy the core. Anti-systemic movements paved the way for the struggle against these inequalities, giving rise, for example, to feminist and Indigenous movements. These have led to the development of theoretical perspectives such as decolonial feminism, which adds analytical variables to the decolonial perspective. According to Yuderkys Espinosa, it emerges from “[…] a subaltern, non-hegemonic voice […] anti-colonial, anti-imperialist, anti-capitalist. […] Its aim is to question and oppose an imperial and racist rationale” (Barroso, 2014, p. 2). Conclusions The modern capitalist world-system has managed to sustain and expand itself thanks to colonial structures that, far from disappearing with decolonization processes, have mutated and perpetuated dynamics of domination and dependence. As discussed, the core–periphery logic has been key to the organization of the international system, not only in economic terms but also in the construction of knowledge, the legitimization of states, the negotiation of international agreements, and the imposition of political and social models from Western hegemony. The colonial legacy remains in the structural subordination of peripheral economies to the interests of the core, the imposition of international norms that favor core countries, and the persistence of racialized and gender-based inequalities within peripheral states themselves. This scheme has not only ensured capital accumulation in the core but has also limited the self-determination of historically colonized peoples, while normalizing their exclusion from political, economic, and epistemic spheres. At the international level, neocolonialism operates through mechanisms such as external debt, unequal trade agreements, and political interference in the internal affairs of peripheral states. In addition, extractivism and territorial dispossession continue to reproduce colonial logics, affecting both peripheral countries and Indigenous communities as well as other historically marginalized groups. In this sense, the modern capitalist world-system not only perpetuates economic exploitation but also reinforces power structures based on racism, sexism, and subalternity. However, as decolonial perspectives point out, the coloniality of power is not an immutable phenomenon. This approach questions the structures of power and knowledge inherited from colonization, seeking to deconstruct Eurocentric discourses and make visible the voices and experiences of the subaltern. Anti-systemic movements have sought to challenge these structures, reclaiming the agency of subaltern peoples and promoting the construction of alternatives that confront the colonial matrix of power. Particularly, decolonial feminism has emerged as a key critique of the intersection between patriarchy and coloniality, showing how women — especially racialized women — have been relegated to the periphery of the system. Thus, analyzing the world-system from a decolonial perspective allows us not only to understand the continuity of structures of domination but also to recognize the spaces of resistance and contestation that emerge within it. In conclusion, the decolonial perspective enables us to rethink the modern world-system from a critical standpoint, recognizing structural inequalities and the need to transform the power dynamics that perpetuate the domination of the core over the periphery. Decolonialism makes it possible to redefine notions of progress, development, and modernity from a perspective free from colonial stereotypes and hierarchies, recognizing the diversity of knowledge and worldviews of Indigenous peoples. It seeks to decentralize power by rethinking and decolonizing power relations between the core and the periphery, between the state and local communities, aiming for a more equitable distribution of resources and benefits. 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AbstractThe increasing presence of foreign fighters in the armed conflict in Ukraine has posed significant challenges to the application of International Humanitarian Law (IHL). These foreign fighters, often motivated by political, ideological, or religious reasons, do not neatly fit into traditional legal categories such as lawful combatants, civilians, or mercenaries. Their involvement on both sides of the conflict between those supporting either Ukrainian forces or Russian-backed groups, presents a complex issue that requires careful consideration within the context of IHL, which currently lacks clear provisions for addressing their legal status. This study focuses on the research question: Does the involvement of foreign fighters in the armed conflict in Ukraine comply with the principles of International Humanitarian Law? This issue is particularly important as it exposes significant gaps in IHL, revealing its inability to adequately address the complexities of modern armed conflicts involving non-state actors. Employing a juridical-normative approach, this study examines the application of IHL to foreign fighters in the Russia-Ukraine conflict, focusing on their rights, responsibilities, and accountability. The findings show that IHL lacks specific provisions to regulate the legal status of foreign fighters, relying instead on general human rights principles that fail to address their unique circumstances. This creates a legal vacuum, undermining both their protection and the enforcement of accountability for violations. The study concludes that targeted reforms in IHL are urgently needed to establish clear legal standards for the classification, protection, and prosecution of foreign fighters, thereby strengthening the overall humanitarian framework for contemporary armed conflicts.KeywordsForeign fighters, Russia, Armed conflict, Humanitarian law, Ukraine 1. Introduction The Russia-Ukraine conflict, which has been ongoing since Russia's annexation of Crimea in 2014, has escalated into a complex and devastating war. This conflict, deeply rooted in geopolitical tensions, has drawn the attention of the international community, not only due to the implications for regional stability but also for the growing role of foreign fighters. The involvement of foreign fighters in the conflict adds a new layer of complexity to the already volatile situation. These individuals, who join armed conflicts in foreign territories, are often motivated by political, ideological, religious, or financial reasons, and their presence in Ukraine raises serious legal, political, and humanitarian questions (Asya et al., 2024). The role of foreign fighters has become increasingly significant in modern warfare, with their participation often blurring the lines between combatants, civilians, and mercenaries (Anjelika et al., 2024)The primary challenge posed by the involvement of foreign fighters in Ukraine lies in the legal uncertainty surrounding their status under International Humanitarian Law (IHL). IHL, which governs the conduct of armed conflicts and seeks to protect individuals who are not actively participating in hostilities, does not provide clear guidelines for foreign fighters. These fighters, who do not represent a state or recognized party to the conflict, do not neatly fall into categories such as lawful combatants or civilians, making their legal status ambiguous. This creates a gap in the legal framework, complicating the application of IHL to their actions and raising critical questions about accountability, rights, and protections under international law (Alexander, 2023) (see Table 1, Table 2).   The significance of this study stems from the need to address these legal uncertainties and to understand how IHL can be adapted to regulate the involvement of foreign fighters in modern conflicts. Despite the growing prevalence of foreign fighters in conflicts around the world, the existing body of IHL has not sufficiently addressed their status or the challenges they pose to the protection of human rights and the enforcement of accountability (Paulussen, 2021). By focusing specifically on the Ukraine conflict, this study aims to fill a significant gap in current legal scholarship by analyzing the implications of foreign fighters' participation through the lens of IHL. The involvement of foreign fighters in the Ukraine conflict has profound implications not only for the legal treatment of these individuals but also for the broader geopolitical context (Idris & Mu'tashim, 2023). Their participation exacerbates tensions between Russia and Western countries, as foreign fighters supporting Ukraine often come from nations with opposing political interests to Russia. This dynamic further complicates diplomatic efforts aimed at resolving the conflict and maintaining international peace. Additionally, the presence of foreign fighters contributes to the growing trend of non-state actors engaging in warfare, challenging traditional notions of state sovereignty and complicating international efforts to regulate armed conflict (Lekatompessy et al., 2024). From a humanitarian perspective, the presence of foreign fighters increases the risks of violations of IHL and human rights, as these individuals may not be subject to the same legal frameworks as state actors. The lack of clear legal provisions for foreign fighters leaves them vulnerable to exploitation, abuse, and violations of their rights, while also creating a situation in which accountability for violations becomes difficult to enforce (Akbar & Sadiawati, 2023). This not only undermines the protection of civilians but also weakens the enforcement of humanitarian norms, further complicating the efforts of international organizations and states to address violations of IHL. This study is particularly important because it seeks to address the legal vacuum that exists concerning foreign fighters in the Ukraine conflict. By examining the application of IHL to foreign fighters, this research contributes to the broader field of international law by proposing a more comprehensive framework for regulating their involvement. Through this examination, the study aims to provide concrete recommendations for legal reforms within IHL that would better address the challenges posed by foreign fighters in modern armed conflicts. The rationale for this study lies in the growing recognition that IHL, as it currently stands, is insufficient to address the complexities of modern warfare, particularly when it comes to the participation of non-state actors like foreign fighters. As the world witnesses an increasing number of foreign fighters engaging in conflicts worldwide, it is essential to adapt international legal frameworks to these new realities. This study not only contributes to the understanding of IHL's limitations but also proposes practical legal reforms that could enhance its effectiveness in protecting human rights and ensuring accountability in future conflicts. The involvement of foreign fighters in Ukraine represents a critical point at which the gaps in IHL are laid bare. As such, this study holds significant relevance for policymakers, international legal scholars, and human rights advocates, as it highlights the urgent need for reform and provides insights into how IHL can evolve to better respond to contemporary challenges. By addressing the legal status and accountability of foreign fighters, this study aims to contribute to the development of a more robust and responsive international legal system that can effectively address the complexities of modern warfare and uphold humanitarian principles in the face of emerging threats. 1.1. Literature review Previous research by Akbar and Sadiawati (2023), titled "Analysis of the Russian Invasion of Ukraine in Terms of Humanitarian Law", focuses on examining violations of the 1949 Geneva Conventions during the invasion and emphasizes the role of the United Nations in promoting global peace. The study provides a comprehensive analysis of the international legal framework, particularly humanitarian law, in addressing war crimes and violations committed during the conflict. Similarly, Nasution and Raudia (2022, pp. 361–374), in their article "Analysis of Russian War Violations in the 2022 Ukrainian Conflict Based on the Perspective of International Humanitarian Law", discusses the breaches of humanitarian law committed by Russia during the conflict. Their study highlights key violations under international legal standards and emphasizes the need for accountability based on humanitarian law principles. Masri et al. (2024), in their study titled "Implementation of International Humanitarian Law in the Russia-Ukraine Conflict", explore the application of international humanitarian law (IHL) within the context of the Russia-Ukraine war. Their research delves into how IHL has been enforced and its effectiveness in mitigating harm during the conflict. While these studies extensively analyze IHL violations in the Russia-Ukraine war, they focus primarily on state actors, with limited attention to the role of foreign fighters. This paper fills this gap by analyzing the participation of foreign fighters, their classification under IHL, and the legal protections afforded to them. 1.2. Theoretical framework1.2.1. Theories of state sovereignty and territorial integrity The theory of state sovereignty and territorial integrity originates from classical thinkers like Bodin (2009), Hugo Grotius (1964), and Kant (1991). Bodin defined sovereignty as supreme authority free from external interference, while Grotius emphasized its role as a cornerstone of international law. Kant argued that territorial integrity was vital for peaceful inter-state relations. These principles were codified in Article 2(4) of the UN Charter (1945), prohibiting threats or force against a state's territorial integrity or political independence. In the Russia-Ukraine conflict, these principles are acutely relevant. Russia's annexation of Crimea (2014), support for separatists in Donetsk and Luhansk, and the 2022 invasion breach sovereignty and international law. Moerdijat (2022) highlights these violations' severity, while Pisano (2022) examines their destabilizing effects on regional geopolitics. Thus, this theory offers a legal and analytical lens to assess the conflict's ramifications for the global order. 1.2.2. Theories of international humanitarian law (IHL) The development of IHL stems from contributions by scholars like Jean Pictet, who stressed protecting individuals in conflicts, and Hugo Grotius, whose De Jure Belli ac Pacis advocated for war regulation through moral and legal principles. J.F. Murphy (1982) linked IHL with human rights, Antonio Cassese (2013) explored IHL's role in mitigating human rights violations during war, and Theodor Meron (2006) advanced civilian protections and war crime regulations. These foundations emphasize protecting non-combatants, limiting warfare methods, and clarifying states' obligations. In Ukraine, IHL faces challenges like the ambiguous legal status of foreign fighters. Akbar and Sadiawati (2023) highlight gaps in their protections, while the BBC (2023) reports on the Wagner Group's role in exacerbating violations, such as civilian attacks and disproportionate force. These challenges underscore the need for stricter adherence to IHL to mitigate humanitarian crises and uphold legal standards. 1.2.3. Theories of globalization in modern warfare Theories on globalization's impact on warfare are shaped by thinkers like Mary Kaldor (2013), who contrasts traditional "old wars" with "new wars" involving non-state actors, and Zygmunt Bauman (1998), who links globalization to interconnected dynamics reshaping warfare. Robert D. Kaplan (1994) connects globalization to growing socio-economic inequalities and asymmetric conflicts. These theories argue that globalization's technological, economic, and communicative aspects have transformed war by introducing non-state actors and advanced technologies. The Russia-Ukraine conflict illustrates globalization's role in modern warfare. The participation of foreign fighters, whether aiding Ukraine's International Territorial Defense Legion or Russia's Wagner Group, reflects globalization's influence. Mehra and Thorley (2022) note motivations like ideology and economics, while Chakyan Tang (2022) highlights both solidarity and challenges introduced by non-state actors. Globalization expands conflicts' scope and complexity, complicating regulation while reshaping modern warfare's nature. 2. Methodology This research employs a juridical-normative method using a legal approach to examine the Ukraine-Russia conflict within the framework of International Humanitarian Law (IHL) (Gunawan et al., 2023). The primary objective is to explore how the actions of the parties involved align with the established principles and norms of international law. A juridical-normative approach is used to systematically analyze laws, regulations, and legal principles applicable to the conflict, particularly focusing on how these norms are implemented or potentially violated by the involved actors. The study relies on qualitative normative research methods, which involve document analysis of legal texts and secondary sources to gain a comprehensive understanding of the legal framework governing the conflict. This includes examining court decisions, legal doctrines, international treaties (such as the 1949 Geneva Conventions), and other relevant international instruments. Secondary sources, such as legal theories and expert opinions, also form a key part of the analysis. Through this approach, the research offers a comprehensive analysis of compliance with, or violations of, the principles of International Humanitarian Law (IHL) in the conflict. The document analysis process, as the primary data collection method, incorporates legal hermeneutics to interpret and clarify the meaning of legal texts, ensuring an accurate understanding of their application in the context of the Ukraine conflict. Comparative analysis is also employed to examine how IHL principles have been applied in similar conflicts, providing a benchmark for evaluating their implementation or breach in this case. The analysis focuses on primary legal materials, including treaties, conventions, official communications, and resolutions from international organizations, to establish a foundational understanding of the legal framework. These are complemented by secondary legal materials, such as academic literature, legal commentaries, and expert opinions, which provide critical insights and context. This methodological combination ensures a robust and nuanced evaluation of how IHL principles are being upheld or violated, strengthening the validity and reliability of the findings. 3. Results and discussion3.1. Legal framework for foreign fighters The status of foreign fighters under International Humanitarian Law (IHL) remains contentious and ambiguous. While the Geneva Conventions and their Additional Protocols primarily regulate the conduct of state actors and recognized combatants, they offer limited guidance for non-state participants, such as foreign fighters. These individuals find themselves in a legal gray area, as the Geneva Conventions focus mainly on the protection of civilians and combatants who are part of a state's armed forces or organized resistance groups. Common Article 3 of the Geneva Conventions and Additional Protocol II extend limited protections to non-state actors involved in non-international armed conflicts, emphasizing humane treatment and prohibiting acts like torture or degrading treatment (M, 2001). However, these provisions do not explicitly address the legal status, rights, or obligations of foreign fighters who may not be formally part of an organized state or non-state armed force. Additional Protocol I further complicates this issue. For example, Article 47 of Protocol I explicitly excludes mercenaries from the status of combatants or prisoners of war (POWs), effectively denying them the legal protections afforded to lawful combatants (Geraldy Diandra Aditya, Soekotjo Hardiwinoto, 2017). This exclusion raises questions regarding the legal status of foreign fighters who may not fit neatly into the categories of lawful combatant, civilian, or unlawful belligerent. As a result, the legal position of foreign fighters in modern armed conflicts, such as the Ukraine-Russia conflict, remains unclear and potentially subject to exploitation or abuse. A table listing key international treaties, conventions, and resolutions relevant to foreign fighters could illustrate the legal tools available for regulating their conduct and holding them accountable. The table could include categories such as. 3.1.1. Legal status and responsibilities of foreign fighters Foreign fighters have become a notable element of modern conflicts, including in Ukraine, where individuals from various countries have joined both sides of the conflict. Their participation raises significant legal and ethical questions, particularly regarding their status under International Humanitarian Law (IHL) and the accountability for their actions. IHL, as defined by the Geneva Conventions and the Hague Conventions, does not explicitly mention "foreign fighters" but provides a legal framework for determining their status based on their activities and allegiance. Foreign fighters are typically categorized as either lawful combatants, unlawful combatants, or civilians, and their rights and responsibilities are governed by the laws of war (Hasan & Haque, 2023). a. Lawful Combatants, foreign fighters who join the armed forces of a state party to the conflict (e.g., Ukraine in the context of the Russian invasion) may be considered lawful combatants. As lawful combatants, they are entitled to the protections of IHL, including protection from being targeted and humane treatment if captured. They are subject to the laws of armed conflict, particularly the Geneva Conventions, and must adhere to principles such as distinction, proportionality, and the prohibition of unnecessary suffering. However, this status is contingent upon them being members of an organized military force that follows IHL regulations.b. Unlawful Combatans, foreign fighters who join non-state armed groups, such as mercenaries or irregular militias not recognized under IHL, are considered unlawful combatants. They are not entitled to the same protections as lawful combatants and may be prosecuted for violations of IHL, including acts that could constitute war crimes. The status of unlawful combatants often leads to challenges in terms of legal accountability, as their actions may not be adequately covered by state-based military tribunals or national courts. International efforts to hold foreign fighters accountable for violations such as the targeting of civilians or the use of prohibited weapons can be complicated by the lack of a clear framework for prosecuting non-state actors.c. Civilians, foreign nationals who participate in the conflict but do not take a direct part in hostilities are considered civilians and are protected by IHL. Their involvement in combat can alter their status, and they may lose their protection from direct targeting once they engage in hostilities. This creates a complex dynamic for the prosecution and accountability of foreign fighters, as their status may change based on their activities in the field. A table that compares the legal status of foreign fighters in different contexts could help clarify the varying rights and responsibilities under International Humanitarian Law (IHL). The table could include categories such as: Here is the map illustrating the geographical origins of foreign fighters in the Ukraine conflict, showing their involvement with either the Ukrainian or Russian side. This visual provides a global context to their participation. 3.2. Ukraine's historical struggle: Russia's colonialism and imperialistic attitudes The relationship between Russia and Ukraine stretches back for centuries, characterized by a complex and often turbulent history. From the medieval period to modern times, Ukraine has faced numerous instances of Russian dominance and interference, which has shaped its national identity and its ongoing struggle for independence. This historical context is essential to understanding Ukraine's motivations to fight, as it reflects a long-standing resistance to Russian colonialism and imperialism. In the 17th and 18th centuries, Russia began consolidating its control over Ukrainian territories, particularly after the Treaty of Pereyaslav in 1654, which marked the beginning of Ukrainian subordination to the Tsarist empire (Britannica, 2025). Over the centuries, Ukraine's autonomy was eroded, and it became an integral part of the Russian Empire, with many Ukrainians subjected to harsh policies of Russification. The suppression of Ukrainian culture, language, and national identity under Tsarist rule set the stage for future tensions. The most devastating chapter of this colonial history came under Soviet rule, which exacerbated the sense of Russian imperialism. The Holodomor, a man-made famine in the early 1930s, is one of the darkest episodes in Ukrainian history. Millions of Ukrainians perished as a result of Stalin's policies, which sought to enforce collectivization at the cost of the Ukrainian people. This tragedy has left a lasting scar on the collective memory of Ukraine, fueling a deep-seated distrust of Russia and reinforcing the narrative of Ukrainian victimhood under Russian imperialism. Even after the collapse of the Soviet Union in 1991 and Ukraine's declaration of independence, Russia has continually sought to exert influence over Ukraine, often invoking its imperial past to justify intervention. Russia's annexation of Crimea in 2014 and its ongoing military actions in eastern Ukraine are seen by many as a continuation of the imperialistic attitude that has defined Russia's relationship with Ukraine for centuries. Ukraine's motivation to fight in the current conflict is deeply rooted in its desire to protect its sovereignty and preserve its cultural and political independence from Russian influence. This struggle is not just a response to Russia's aggression but a continuation of a centuries-long fight for self-determination, dating back to the period of Tsarist colonialism and reinforced by the Soviet era. The ongoing war represents Ukraine's determination to break free from the chains of Russian imperialism and secure its future as an independent, sovereign nation. 3.3. International humanitarian law review of Russia's armed attack in Ukraine After the Russian annexation of Crimea, tensions in relations between Russia and Ukraine continued until February 2022. These tensions began when NATO sought to expand its membership into Eastern Europe by inviting Ukraine to join as a member (Andi Antara Putra & Dantes, 2022). NATO has expressed its commitment to Ukraine's future membership, stating: "We reaffirm that we will be in a position to extend an invitation to Ukraine to join the Alliance when Allies agree and conditions are met (NATO, 2024b)." This position underscores NATO's openness to Ukraine's membership, contingent upon unanimous agreement among current member states and Ukraine's fulfillment of specified criteria. While NATO has not issued a formal invitation to Ukraine, it acknowledges Ukraine's aspirations and is actively supporting its progress toward potential membership. This support includes enhancing interoperability and implementing democratic and security sector reforms (NATO, 2024a). This represents an escalation of tensions between Russia and Western countries, especially NATO, as Eastern Europe has become a critical arena for competing geopolitical interests. NATO's post-Cold War expansion, which saw the inclusion of former Eastern Bloc countries such as Poland, Hungary, and the Baltic states, has been interpreted by Russia as a direct encroachment on its sphere of influence and a threat to its security. This tension was further amplified by NATO's 2008 declaration that Ukraine and Georgia would eventually become members, which Russia perceived as a red line. The strategic importance of Eastern Europe, both as a buffer zone and as a transit corridor for energy resources, adds to the stakes for both NATO and Russia. Russia's aggressive actions, including the 2014 annexation of Crimea and its ongoing involvement in Eastern Ukraine, can be seen as attempts to counterbalance NATO's growing presence in the region. Conversely, NATO's military support to Eastern European nations underscores its commitment to collective defense and the deterrence of Russian aggression, further fueling the geopolitical rivalry. Geopolitical influence and efforts to strengthen military presence in the region are important factors in the dynamics of the ongoing conflict between Russia and Ukraine. Russia's insistence that it will not allow Ukraine to "break away," viewing it as a threat to its interests and security (Mamfaluthy, 2014), raises significant tensions with international law principles, particularly the respect for national sovereignty. The United Nations Charter guarantees every state the right to sovereignty, territorial integrity, and political independence, which includes Ukraine's right to determine its domestic and foreign policies without external interference. While Russia argues that Ukraine's potential NATO membership or Western alignment threatens its security, such concerns do not justify actions that violate Ukraine's sovereignty, such as the annexation of Crimea or support for separatist movements in Eastern Ukraine. Although international law permits states to take measures to protect legitimate security interests, these must align with legal norms and avoid infringing on the sovereignty of other states. Russia's actions contravene these principles, as reaffirmed by UN General Assembly resolutions recognizing Ukraine's territorial integrity. This tension highlights a clash between Russia's realpolitik approach to securing its strategic interests and the international legal obligation to respect the sovereignty and independence of other nations. In Putin's view, all countries that are members of NATO have the full right to organize and protect their territories from all threats, both from within and outside the country (Pradana & Ramadhoan, 2022). Putin's opinion reflects the view that NATO membership by countries surrounding Russia, including Ukraine, is perceived as a threat to Russia's security. This is reflected in concerns over the deployment of NATO military infrastructure near Russia's borders, which could be perceived as a direct threat to Russia's strategic interests. Putin has therefore insisted on taking measures he deems necessary to protect Russia's interests and sovereignty. This has led to increased tensions between Russia and Western countries that support Ukraine's membership in NATO. Russia's response to Finland's NATO membership contrasts sharply with its actions toward Ukraine, mainly due to the differing historical and cultural ties with each country. Finland views its NATO membership primarily as a defensive strategy, while Ukraine's relationship with Russia has deep historical and cultural roots. Finland's strong military, combined with NATO's collective defense principles, serves as a deterrent to Russian aggression, whereas Russia, already heavily engaged in Ukraine, avoids provoking NATO. This difference highlights that Russia's actions toward Ukraine are driven by regional dominance ambitions, rather than NATO expansion. Russia's intervention in Ukraine violates the principle of non-intervention, which is a fundamental tenet of international law. Non-intervention asserts that each state has the right to manage its internal affairs without external interference (Octavia & Husniyah, 2023). Article 2, paragraph 4 of the UN Charter emphasizes the importance of peaceful dispute resolution and the avoidance of armed conflict. Russia's actions also contravene the Declaration on Principles of International Law (A/RES/25/2625, 1970), which upholds the national sovereignty, territorial integrity, and political independence of states, emphasizing that disputes should be resolved peacefully and without violence (Mahfud, 2015; Rudy, 2011). Furthermore, Article 38 of the Statute of the International Court of Justice broadens the sources of international humanitarian law (IHL), allowing for inclusion of legal principles recognized by civilized nations, international organizations, and expert opinions, not limited to international treaties (Budisantosa, 2021). This further underscores the importance of respecting IHL and the sovereignty of states in the global legal framework. While the international treaties that are the main foundation of IHL are the Hague Conventionand the Geneva Convention (Pasorong et al., 2023). The Hague Convention regulates the laws of war governing the treatment of individuals and property in armed conflicts, while the Geneva Convention sets minimum standards for the treatment of war victims, including the protection of civilians, prisoners of war, and medical personnel. These two conventions form an important legal framework for safeguarding humanity during armed conflicts and have been the main basis for the formation of further IHL rules. IHL cannot cover all actions in international wars, but parties to armed conflicts are obliged to respect and uphold the basic principles of IHL these include (Danial, 2017). a. The Humanitarian Principle: Demands that actions in armed conflict should take into account the interests of humanity and avoid unnecessary suffering of individuals not involved in the conflict.b. Military Interests: Recognizes that military actions taken should be proportionate to the military objectives to be achieved and should minimize unnecessary losses.c. Proportionality: States that military actions must be in accordance with legitimate military interests and must be proportionate to the threat faced.d. Distinction: Stipulates that parties to a conflict must distinguish between individuals participating in the conflict (military) and those not participating (civilians), as well as between military and non-military objects.e. Prohibition of Unnecessary Suffering: Prohibits acts that cause unnecessary suffering or that are incompatible with legitimate military objectives.f. Separation of Ius ad Bellum and Ius in Bello: Distinguishes between the law governing the authority to use military force (Ius ad Bellum) and the law governing the behavior of the parties to the conflict (Ius in Bello). Russia's armed attack on Ukraine violated several fundamental principles of international humanitarian law (IHL). First, it breached the principle of state sovereignty by violating Ukraine's territorial integrity and political independence, contravening Article 2, paragraph 4 of the UN Charter, which prohibits the use of force against another state's territorial integrity. Second, the attack violated the principle of distinction, as there have been reports of civilian casualties from Russian military strikes, which should have been targeted at combatants and military objectives. Third, the strikes caused unnecessary suffering to the civilian population and infrastructure, violating the prohibition against unnecessary suffering in IHL. Overall, Russia's actions are considered serious violations of IHL and universally recognized humanitarian principles. 3.4. Foreign fighters in the context of international humanitarian law The conflict in Ukraine has brought attention to the complexities of international law, particularly regarding foreign fighters in armed conflicts. According to Common Article 3 of the Geneva Conventions, the conflict qualifies as a Non-International Armed Conflict (NIAC), which involves non-state armed groups like insurgents or separatists against state forces (Brits, 2017; Mehra & Thorley, 2017; Mehra & Thorley, 2022). However, the involvement of Russia complicates this classification, leading some to argue the conflict may be an International Armed Conflict (IAC) governed by the Geneva Conventions and the First Additional Protocol, which set standards for the protection of civilians and prisoners of war (Susetio & Muliawan, 2023). The Second Additional Protocol (APII) further outlines protections for civilians and individuals not directly participating in hostilities, providing essential legal instruments for the Ukraine conflict (Ismail, 2018). Despite the ongoing debate over the conflict's classification, IHL standards, including protections against torture and inhumane treatment, apply. These standards include principles such as proportionality and distinction, aiming to safeguard civilians and regulate military conduct (Gisel et al., 2020; Murray, 2019). The classification of the conflict is crucial in determining the application of IHL, especially regarding civilian protection, and distinguishing between military targets and non-combatants (Diakonia, 2022). The influx of foreign fighters, particularly through the International Territorial Defense Legion initiated by Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelensky, has further complicated the conflict. Since 2014, thousands of foreign fighters from 55 nations have joined the conflict, which could escalate tensions and potentially violate IHL if human rights abuses occur (Egle E. Murauskaite, 2022; Nigel Walker, 2023). The presence of foreign fighters raises significant questions regarding their legal status and responsibilities within the conflict. The term "Foreign Fighters" lacks a universally accepted definition in international law. The most authoritative definition originates from UN Security Council Resolution 2178, which references "foreign terrorist fighters." A foreign terrorist fighter is defined as an individual who travels to a country other than their own to engage in activities that support terrorism, including (Bramantyo, 2023). a. Committing acts of terrorism, characterized by violence or threats aimed at instilling fear or causing harm to civilians for political objectives.b. Planning or preparing acts of terrorism, such as target surveillance, recruitment, or weapon acquisition.c. Participating directly in acts of terrorism, providing logistical support, or harboring perpetrators.d. Receiving or providing terrorism-related training, which includes the use of weapons, explosives, or guerrilla tactics. The UN Security Council's approach to foreign fighters emphasizes counterterrorism, evident in the focus of Resolution 2178 on their roles in terrorism. However, this counterterrorism perspective has been adopted at the national level by various member states, shaping their responses to foreign fighters. Various definitions of "foreign combatants" have emerged in academic literature, with one prevalent definition describing individuals motivated by ideology, religion, or kinship to leave their country to join an armed conflict abroad (Van Poecke & Cuyckens, 2023). Key aspects of this definition include. 1) Motivation, foreign combatants are driven by ideological, religious, or familial factors rather than personal gain.2) Movement, they travel from their home country to engage in conflict in another nation.3) Active involvement, their participation extends to combat or related activities. The classification of "foreign combatants" specifically refers to individuals joining non-state armed groups in conflicts abroad, often motivated by ideological, religious, or kinship ties (Baker-Beall, 2023). This classification excludes mercenaries or volunteers driven by other factors. While national security and counterterrorism are frequently the focus of discussions about foreign fighters, categorizing them as terrorists does not negate the application of International Humanitarian Law (IHL), which applies equally to all belligerents, including foreign fighters. Their actions in armed conflicts should be evaluated according to IHL principles (Ho, 2019). The term "foreign terrorist fighters" may complicate legal proceedings by focusing primarily on counterterrorism rather than recognizing the nuances of foreign fighter involvement in armed conflicts. These individuals often participate in both non-state armed conflicts and terrorist activities (Karska & Karski, 2016). The distinction between "foreign fighters" and "mercenaries" is also important, as foreign fighters typically join armed groups for ideological reasons, whereas mercenaries are financially motivated (Floress, 2016; Dano, 2022). Russia's use of the term "mercenaries" may be intended to influence public perception and emphasize the economic aspects of their participation.  Article 47 of the 1977 First Additional Protocol (API) to the Geneva Conventions outlines the legal status of foreign fighters and the limitations on applying the Convention's provisions to individuals from non-signatory states. However, Article 47(2) reinforces that human rights protections remain in effect for foreign fighters, and the responsibilities of conflict parties under IHL are unaffected (Gregorious, 2023). As foreign fighter involvement in conflicts like Ukraine increases, challenges arise regarding their legal status and protections under IHL, necessitating careful consideration of both legal and humanitarian aspects in addressing these issues. 3.5. Human rights of foreign fighters in the context of international humanitarian law The ongoing conflict between Ukraine and Russia has resulted in severe material and psychological consequences for both the civilian population and combatants. Amidst this turmoil, the participation of foreign fighters has garnered significant attention, raising questions about their status and human rights within the framework of International Humanitarian Law (IHL). Despite their involvement in armed conflict, foreign fighters retain certain rights and protections under IHL, necessitating a thorough assessment of their legal status, actions during the conflict, and involvement in armed groups. Thus, the protection of their human rights must be carefully considered in accordance with the principles of IHL, which guarantee fair and humane treatment for all parties involved. 3.5.1. Concerns regarding due process and human rights violations The recent sentencing of three foreign fighters to death by the Supreme Court of the Donetsk Republic has raised serious concerns about adherence to international legal standards. These sentences were issued after proceedings criticized for being swift and unfair, raising alarms about violations of the right to a fair trial, including access to legal counsel and the right to present a defense. The United Nations Commission on Human Rights has previously reported violations in the region, indicating a troubling disregard for internationally recognized human rights norms. In response, the European Court of Human Rights (ECHR) intervened, directing Russia to halt the use of the death penalty and to respect the rights of foreign fighters. This underscores the critical need to uphold fundamental human rights, even amidst armed conflict, and to ensure that individuals engaged in hostilities receive basic protections recognized by international law. 3.5.2. The issue of citizenship and nationality The citizenship status of foreign fighters in the Ukraine conflict is complex due to varying national legal frameworks and policies regarding participation in foreign armed conflicts. Some countries have enacted laws revoking citizenship for involvement in terrorist activities or foreign conflicts, citing national security concerns, though critics argue these measures often lack transparency and due process, risking arbitrary deprivation of nationality. The revocation of citizenship leaves individuals in a legal limbo, vulnerable to prosecution or ill-treatment in other states. Statelessness, a common outcome of citizenship loss, exacerbates vulnerability by denying individuals access to basic rights like education, healthcare, and employment. This issue has significant implications for international human rights. The UN plays a key role in addressing these challenges by facilitating dialogue, monitoring compliance with international law, and advocating for human rights protections. Regional organizations, such as the EU, are also critical in promoting unified approaches and adherence to human rights standards in the treatment of foreign fighters. 3.5.3. Human rights protections under IHL The Geneva Conventions, particularly the Fourth Geneva Convention, emphasize the humane treatment of all individuals in conflict, including civilians and those detained. Article 3 requires non-participants in hostilities, such as civilians and prisoners, to be treated humanely, ensuring respect for basic human rights regardless of nationality or political affiliation. In light of citizenship revocation, states involved in armed conflict must assess their obligations under International Humanitarian Law (IHL) to avoid human rights violations. Revoking citizenship can undermine protections for prisoners of war (POWs), who are entitled to humane treatment, a fair trial, and protection from torture. Arbitrary revocation of nationality risks violating due process, leaving individuals stateless and vulnerable to ill-treatment. States must ensure that national security policies do not compromise fundamental rights. Upholding human rights is not just a legal requirement but a reflection of a state's commitment to justice. International organizations, such as the United Nations and regional bodies, have a crucial role in monitoring compliance and advocating for the rights of those affected by armed conflict. 3.5.4. Obligations of states and international accountability The right to return is a fundamental principle in international law, safeguarding individuals from arbitrary state actions that could lead to statelessness or human rights violations. This right is especially relevant for foreign fighters, who may face citizenship revocation upon returning from conflict zones, further exacerbating their vulnerabilities. The International Committee of the Red Cross (ICRC) stresses that states are obligated to investigate war crimes committed by their nationals and ensure accountability. Revoking citizenship and transferring legal responsibility to other states can create a culture of impunity and hinder accountability for war crimes. Denying the right to return can lead to further human rights abuses, including inhumane detention or exposure to violence in conflict zones. Article 12 of the ICCPR affirms that all individuals have the right to return to their own country, emphasizing that this right is not contingent on actions or affiliations. States must avoid arbitrary deprivation of nationality, particularly in conflict contexts, to preserve these rights. Adhering to International Humanitarian Law (IHL) and human rights standards is crucial to maintaining trust and accountability within the international community. A balanced approach that considers both security and humanitarian principles is necessary in addressing modern conflicts. 4. Research limitations While this study provides valuable insights into the legal frameworks surrounding foreign fighters in the context of the Russia-Ukraine conflict, it is important to acknowledge several limitations. First, the study is limited to a normative analysis of IHL, focusing primarily on the legal aspects of Russia's military aggression against Ukraine, without delving deeply into the political and social dynamics that also play a significant role in shaping the conflict. Second, the sources of data utilized are predominantly drawn from international legal documents and reports issued by international organizations, which may not fully capture the perspectives of all parties involved, particularly those who are underrepresented in global discourse. Third, while the study adheres to established international legal approaches, it faces challenges in assessing the practical application of IHL in the field, due to difficulties in obtaining sensitive or potentially biased information from diverse sources. Fourth, the research does not specifically address the role of third-party states supporting one of the conflicting parties, a dimension that could significantly complicate the interpretation of IHL. In light of these constraints, it is recommended that future research adopt a more holistic and inclusive approach to explore these complexities in greater depth. 5. Conclusion The ongoing conflict between Russia and Ukraine involves direct military engagements between Russian and Ukrainian forces, along with the participation of pro-Russian separatist groups in eastern Ukraine. Foreign combatants have also become a significant factor on both sides of the conflict. Individuals from various countries have joined the Ukrainian side, either as volunteers or part of organized military units, while Russia has provided support to pro-Russian factions, including involvement of Russian foreign combatants. The legal status of foreign combatants is unclear under International Humanitarian Law (IHL), which primarily addresses the rights and obligations of states, military forces, and civilians, leaving ambiguous the status of foreign combatants, whether they act on behalf of non-state armed groups or as independent volunteers. There is a need to avoid misusing terrorism laws that do not differentiate between foreign volunteers, combatants, and mercenaries, as this could undermine the core objectives of IHL, which include ensuring humane conduct in war. IHL's primary goal is to mitigate human suffering during war, not to prevent conflict. It aims to make warfare more humane, ensuring that all combatants, including foreign ones, enjoy the same human rights as nationals. Violations of these rights, such as deprivation of citizenship or the right to life, cannot be justified under any circumstances. As the conflict persists, all parties must respect IHL to safeguard the dignity of individuals and ensure justice and accountability in the conflict. CRediT authorship contribution statementKhoirunnisa Khoirunnisa: Conceptualization. Brian Matthew: Resources. Didi Jubaidi: Conceptualization. Agung Yudhistira Nugroho: Conceptualization.Data availability statementThe data used in this study were obtained from publicly available sources such as the Open Access Library, DOAJ (Directory of Open Access Journals) and , as indicated in the Data section of the article.Funding statementThis research was supported by a grant from xxxxxxxx which had no role in study design, data collection, analysis, interpretation of results, or writing of this article.Declaration of competing interestThe authors declare that there are no conflicts of interest associated with this publication. No financial, personal, or professional relationships with other individuals or organizations have influenced or could potentially influence the work presented in this manuscript.AcknowledgementsThe authors would like to thank all those who have provided technical support and valuable input during this research process.Khoirunnisa Khoirunnisa, Brian Matthew, Didi Jubaidi, Agung Yudhistira Nugroho, The Ukraine-Russia conflict: An international humanitarian law review of the involvement of foreign fighters, Social Sciences & Humanities Open, Volume 11, 2025, 101340, ISSN 2590-2911, https://doi.org/10.1016/j.ssaho.2025.101340.ReferencesAkbar and Sadiawati, 2023, M.N. Akbar, D. Sadiawati, Analysis of the Russian invasion of Ukraine in terms of humanitarian law, Jurnal Ilmiah Mizani: Wacana Hukum, Ekonomi, Dan Keagamaan, 10 (1) (2023), p. 160, 10.29300/mzn.v10i1.10760Alexander, 2023, A. 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ABSTRACT  This paper examines de-dollarization as a geopolitical industrial policy within the BRICS framework and its implications for Cuba, Venezuela, and Argentina. De-dollarization, a process aimed at reducing reliance on the US dollar, has gained momentum among BRICS nations as a response to economic sanctions, monetary sovereignty concerns, and external financial shocks, particularly following the 2008 global financial crisis. For Cuba and Venezuela, de-dollarization is necessary due to US sanctions, pushing them toward alternative  financial  mechanisms  through  BRICS  partnerships. Cuba’s  possible  de-dollarization  follows  increased ties with Russia, China, and Iran. Regarding Venezuela, despite its partial dollarization, Caracas seeks  to  strengthen  non-dollar  transactions  through  oil  trade. In  contrast,  under  President  Javier  Milei,  Argentina  has  rejected  BRICS  and  continues  to  debate  dollarization,  reflecting  the  country’s  historical  and economic ties to the US dollar. The study highlights that de-dollarization is a State-led, multilateral process influenced by external economic conditions and geopolitical alignments. While Cuba and Venezuela actively integrate with BRICS to reduce dollar dependence, Argentina’s approach remains uncertain, shaped by ideological and financial considerations. Keywords: De-dollarization, BRICS, Cuba, Venezuela, Argentina INTRODUCTION De-dollarization is almost a synonym of BRICS. The reduction  of  US  dollar  dominance  and  the  consequential dependence on it represent critical stakes for BRICS countries. Nonetheless, there are nuances and differences amongst BRICS members on monetary policies. Since the first summits (2009–2010), BRICS  asserted  the  Global  South’s  need  to  prioritize  trade  in  domestic  currency  and  refrain  from  US  dollar  pegging. For  initial  members  like  China  and  Russia,  as  well  as  newly  associated  countries  such  as  Iran  and  Cuba,  Western  sanctions  are  the  main  driver  for  de-dollarization. Instead,  for  Brazil,  India, and the majority of most recent BRICS partners  (primarily  from  Africa  and  Southeast  Asia),  de-dollarization  means  enhancing  their  monetary sovereignty,  fostering  domestic  currencies’  value,  and  avoiding  depending  on  US  institutions:  Treasury and Federal Reserve. De-dollarization pertains to  monetary  and  public  policies. Therefore,  it  is  a  state-led process. For this reason, it might be considered an industrial policy. It is necessary to outline that this article adopts the term geopolitical industrial  policy  for  a  State-led  economic  strategy  that,  unlike  inward-oriented  monetary  or  financial  policies, is deeply intertwined with the outward-looking dimension of foreign policy. Hence,  this  work  examines  de-dollarization  as  a  geopolitical  industrial  policy  within  the  BRICS  framework  and  its  implications  for  Cuba,  Venezuela,  and  Argentina. De-dollarization,  a  process  aimed  at  reducing  reliance  on  the  US  dollar,  has  gained momentum  among  BRICS  nations  as  a  response  to economic sanctions, monetary sovereignty concerns,  and  external  financial  shocks,  particularly  following the 2008 global financial crisis. For Cuba and  Venezuela,  de-dollarization  is  necessary  due  to  US  sanctions,  pushing  them  toward  alternative  financial  mechanisms  through  BRICS  partnerships. Cuba’s  possible  de-dollarization  follows  increased  ties  with  Russia,  China,  and  Iran. Regarding  Venezuela, despite its partial dollarization, Caracas seeks to  strengthen  non-dollar  transactions  through  oil  trade. In  contrast,  under  President  Javier  Milei,  Argentina has rejected BRICS and continues to debate dollarization, reflecting the country’s historical and economic ties to the US dollar. The study highlights that de-dollarization is a State-led, multilateral process  influenced  by  external  economic  conditions  and geopolitical alignments. While Cuba and Venezuela actively integrate with BRICS to reduce dollar dependence,  Argentina’s  approach  remains  uncertain,  shaped  by  ideological  and  financial  considerations. It is undebatable that there are differences between usual industrial policies and de-dollarization. Indus-trial policies look inward, are fashioned upon domes-tic  matters,  and  contradict, court,  multilateral  efforts. De-dollarization  is  a  geopolitical  industrial  policy that looks outward, focusing on the role of a given country in the world economy. Without multilateralism, a State pursuing de-dollarization would quickly become a pariah. As a geopolitical industrial policy,  de-dollarization  owes  its  rationale  to  external  shocks. It  is  safe  to  define  de-dollarization  as  exogenously  motivated. The  2008  global  financial  crisis (GFC) represented the critical external shock for  BRICS  members  to  escalate  their  de-dollarization objectives: “[E]specially  since  the  2008  global  financial  crisis,  central banks of many countries have been trying to diversify their portfolios to shift away from the US dollar through liquidating holdings of US Treasuries and increasing other assets including the euro, yen, renminbi and gold.” (Li, 2023, p. 9).  The 21st century wrought incentives to de-dollarization that finally sparked because of the GFC. However,  the  mainstream  doubts  surrounding  de-dollarization involve its feasibility. There are no tools to objectively  measure  the  status  of  de-dollarization  or its future outcomes. Notwithstanding limitations, de-dollarization  is  increasingly  attracting  Global  South economies. Specifically looking at Latin America,  this  work  outlines  how  de-dollarization  becomes  an  obligation  for  sanctioned  countries:  Cuba  and  Venezuela. The  two  ALBA  governments  mingled  with  BRICS  for  a  long  time,1  with  Havana  joining the forum in association and Venezuela almost on the same route, stopped by the Brazilian veto in the  Kazan  summit. Cuban  and  Venezuelan  de-dollarization finds in BRICS a multilateral opportunity.  The third country examined is Argentina since the government  of  Javier  Milei  refused  to  enter  BRICS  and  continuously  flirted  with  dollarizing  the  economy. From President Menem’s pegging to the US dollar (uno a uno) to the 2001 Corralito, Argentina’s recent economic history inevitably rests on currency issues (IMF, 2003). Unlike Venezuela, and on the contrary of Cuba (which is not part of the IMF), Argentina’s economic policies intertwine with Bretton Woods  institutions. That  might  be  the  reason  why  neoliberal Argentinian economists found in dollarization  a  solution  for  Buenos  Aires  (Cachanosky  et  al., 2023).  1. Force Majeure De-Dollarization for Cuba and Venezuela  Since  1999,  when  Fidel  Castro  and  Hugo  Chávez  coincided, de-dollarization meant an industrial foreign policy to antagonize US hegemony. In Cuba, de-dollarization  is  a  more  difficult  process  than  usual  assumptions  and  certainly  more  challenging  than  in  Venezuela. 2004  marked  the  year  when  the  US  dollar  was  officially  prohibited  on  the Caribbean Island, to reverse the dual currency  system  implemented  since  the  Special  Period  (Herrera  &  Nakatani,  2004). The  extra-territoriality  of  US  sanctions,  affecting  in  their  secondary effect  Cuba’s  trade,  led  Havana  to  a  de-dollarization fashioned upon the path that Deligöz (2024) identified  for  China  and  Russia. Besides  realpolitik  and  geopolitical  strategies,  Cuba’s  association  with  BRICS,  occurred  in  October  2024,  is  the  la-test  effort  to  de-dollarize. Venezuela’s  economic  crises and COVID-19 pushed Cuba into continuous indebtedness to survive, with US dollars reallowed but  still  at  limited  provision  due  to  Washington’s  restrictions  (Luis,  2020). To  give  account  of  its  urgencies,  in  a  few  months,  Havana  moved  from  apparent dollarization to initiatives for de-dollarization, thanks to BRICS. Over the summer, Primer Minister Manuel Marrero enabled USD payments in the  tourist  sector  (Gámez  Torres,  2024)  to  tackle  the balance of payments deficit with liquidity. For  a  country  obliged  to  rapidly  change  industrial  policies,  the  BRICS  opportunity  could  not  be  mis-sed. Cuba’s  reliance  on  Russia,  China,  and  Iran  may  materialize   a   complete   de-dollarization   that   can   favor  BRICS  projects  and  escape  US  sanctions. Of  course, the evident permanence of the bloqueo, regardless  of  who  runs  the  White  House,  is  the  main  driver for Cuba’s de-dollarization. A similar but quite nuanced situation applies to Venezuela as well. From the Bolivarian era inaugurated by President Chávez, de-dollarization  entangled  foreign  policy  objectives  even before US sanctions. The Sucre digital currency was  created  by  the  governments  of  Venezuela  and  Ecuador  as  the  main  ALBA  initiative  to  de-dollarize  commercial  transactions  among  Bolivarian  nations  (Benzi et al., 2016). ALBA-promoted Sucre was analogous to BRICS’ favoring of blockchains and digital currencies, limiting the USD to a reference value for the  bloc’s  transactions  (Mayer,  2024). US  sanctions  on Venezuela’s oil production, sparked under the first Trump Administration, meant a significant remotion of USD-denominated transactions for Caracas. Considering  ALBA’s  slow  progress  and  the  infeasibility  of fully adopting the Sucre, President Maduro had to look at BRICS for solutions. Despite  not  having  diplomatic  relations  with  Washington,  Venezuela  is  still  an  IMF  member. Ladasic points  out  that  “[a]s  Venezuela  joined  the  pack  of  countries  trading  oil  outside  of  USD  and  has  instead priced it in Chinese yuan, BRICS together with Venezuela  already  have  16%  needed  for  IMF  veto  power to use in a crisis” (2017, p. 100). The rentier characterization of the Venezuelan economy and its dependency  on  oil  exports  make  de-dollarization  a necessity. As per Cuba, unilateral policies are not enough. Venezuela’s  outcry  merged  with  inflation,  the  devaluation  of  the  bolívar,  and  a  paralysis  of  the  Venezuelan  Central  Bank  (BCV)  that  put  total  dollarization on the industrial-public policies’ table (Briceño  et  al.,  2019). Although  the  country  is  still  under  a  sort  of  de  facto  dollarization,  Venezuela’s  economic  resurrection  should  occur  together  with  a  de-dollarization  strategy. Failure  to  enter  BRICS  in the Kazan summit provides a temporary brake to Venezuela’s  de-dollarization,  but  the  prolific  trade  with China, Russia, Iran, and Türkiye will, in all cases, align Venezuela with BRICS policies. 3. Argentina: De-Dollarizing a Passion Economists  were  surely  interested  in  Javier  Milei’s  dollarization  claims. Less  than  a  year  into  his  government,  dollarization  seems  impossible  to  the  libertarian  president. Milei’s  negative  to  BRICS  demonstrates  that  de-dollarization  is  currently  not  considerable  for  Casa  Rosada. Nevertheless,  it  is  relevant to outline that Argentinian academia questioned  the  role  of  the  USD  and  studied  economic  policies  involving  de-dollarization. Corso  and  Sangiácomo (2023), in affiliation with the Central Bank of  Argentina  (BCRA),  argued  that  de-dollarization  might  help  in  relieving  the  extreme  inflation  saw  under  Alberto  Fernández’s  ruling. Other  authors  implied  that  the  Kirchners’  limitations  on  USD  access would lead to a gradual de-dollarization of the economy,  but  with  constraints  particularly  from  a  USD dominated housing market across Latin America  (Luzzi,  2013). If  under  the  Kirchners,  and  with  support of South American left-leaning geopolitics, de-dollarization  could  really  offer  a  pathway  for  the Argentine economy, with Milei that is barely an option. The  Argentine  relation  with  the  USD  does not hold a clear ideological cleavage. Argentinians’ passion for the dollar, as stressed by Bercovich and Rebossio (2013), embraced diverse political figures such as Perón, Aníbal Fernández (a prominent Kirchnerist politician), and Martínez de Hoz. The peso’s continuous  instability  legitimized  the  widespread  informal adoption of the USD, with first insight fore-seeable in the currency devaluation subsequent to the Great Depression (Díaz Alejandro, 1970). There is also a nationalistic meaning behind the peso, whose  national  heroes  imprinted,  from  Belgrano  to  Evita (Moreno Barreneche, 2023), portray a sentimental attachment to the banknotes that Argentinians do not want to erase. In sum, Argentina’s de-dollarization is as difficult as dollarization. Milei’s obsession for US hegemony inserts de-dollarization in a faraway scenario. Moreover,  Donald  Trump’s  victory,  who  promised  high tariffs to countries that unpeg from the USD (Butts,  2024),  constitutes  a  natural  barrier  to  de-dollarization. Its political viability might depend on an eventual Peronist succession to Milei. Argentina’s financial closeness  to  China,  and  a  possible  resume  of  BRICS  talks,  could  indicate  de-dollarization  as  a  future  last  resort. In this sense, de-dollarization within the BRICS framework might help Argentina in solving structural issues: Chronic external debt and dependency on Bretton Woods institutions. CONCLUSIONS De-dollarization is State-led and can be considered a  geopolitical  industrial  policy. Cuba,  Venezuela,  and  Argentina  show  that  de-dollarization  depends  on  geopolitical  calculus  and  economic  considerations. The incentives may be different, ranging from US sanctions to devaluation of the national currency. However,  unlike  dollarization,  de-dollarization  cannot  be  pursued  unilaterally. The  rise  of  BRICS  motivates  Global  South  countries  to  de-dollarize  under its guarantees. For Cuba and Venezuela, the association  with  BRICS  and  the  interdependence  with other sanctioned economies like Russia, China, and Iran, make de-dollarization an opportunity. Argentina’s  relation  with  the  USD  follows  its  turbulent  economic  history. Simultaneously,  there  is  passion  for  dollars and nationalism toward the peso banknotes. In this  context,  even  Milei  showed  that  dollarization  is  in  no way easier that de-dollarization. The currency issues affecting Argentina might not be resolved by neither of the two policies, but a future BRICS collaboration could bring de-dollarization again into the political debate. NOTES1  ALBA  references  the  Alianza  Bolivariana  para  los  Pueblos  de  Nuestra  América,  a  regional  organization  founded  by  Cuba  and  Venezuela,  including Bolivia, Honduras, Nicaragua, and several Caribbean islands. 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A., & Sangiácomo, M. (2023). Financial De-dollarization in Argentina: When the wind always blows from the East. BCRA Economic Research Working Paper No. 106. https://www.econstor.eu/handle/10419/297801.Deligöz, H. (2024). The Exorbitant Privilege of US Extra-territorial  Sanctions.  İnsan  ve  Toplum,  14(3),  29–52.  https://dergipark.org.tr/en/pub/insanvetoplum/is-sue/86942/1543025. Díaz Alejandro, C. F. (1970). Essays on the Economic His-tory of the Argentine Republic. 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In  A.  Kaufman  (Ed.),  Cultura  social  del  dólar  (pp.  11–19).  UBA  Sociales.  https://publicaciones.sociales.uba.ar/index.php/socialesendebate/article/view/3319.Mayer,  J.  (2024).  De-Dollarization:  The  Global  Payment  Infrastructure  and  Wholesale  Central  Bank  Digital  Currencies.  FMM  Working  Paper  No.  102.  https://www.econstor.eu/handle/10419/297865. Moreno  Barreneche,  S.  (2023).  El  dinero  como  soporte  material  de  la  disputa  por  el  sentido  de  la  nación:  Estudio  del  peso  argentino  desde  una  perspectiva  semiótica.  Estudios  Sociales:  Revista  Universitaria  Semestral,  64,  1–19.  https://doi.org/10.14409/es.2023.64.e0046. CONFLICT OF INTERESTThe  author  declares  that  there  are  no  conflicts  of  interest related to the article.ACKNOWLEDGMENTS Not applicable.FUNDING Not applicable.PREPRINT Not published.COPYRIGHT Copyright  is  held  by  the  authors,  who  grant  the  Revista  Política  Internacional  the  exclusive  rights  of  first  publication. Authors  may  enter  into  additional agreements for non-exclusive distribution of the  version  of  the  work  published  in  this  journal  (e.g.,  publication  in  an  institutional  repository,  on  a personal website, publication of a translation or as a book chapter), with the acknowledgment that it was first published in this journal. Regarding copyright, the journal does not charge any fee for the submission, processing, or publication of articles.

Abstract Buffeted by the headwinds of US unilateralism, Europeans and Canadians are bound together in a community of fate. As the US departs the field, Europe and Canada need to cooperate more. To avoid being abandoned, they need to avail themselves of Atlanticist power for mutual benefit. Rather than merely protecting a liberal–democratic zone of peace across the Western hemisphere, Europe and Canada need to project the power of the transatlantic security community to deter Russia from using war to precipitate a multipolar world order in which it becomes a global player. This article draws on the metaphor of transatlantic relations as a triangle: with the US, Europe and Canada at its angles. Canada is in an existentially precarious position: a more autonomous Europe would make Canada even more dependent on the American hegemon, which would heighten Canada’s risk of being absorbed by the US. Although that outcome is not in Europe’s interest, Europe and Canada have been disengaging for decades. Reversing this trajectory would come at a significant military cost but would be a political gain that would be difficult to measure, resulting in cooperation on energy security, critical minerals, defence and defence in depth. Yet, to achieve this strategic counterbalance, Europe and Canada need to protect abiding security and political interests: to keep the US in Europe and to keep the Russians out. KeywordsCanada, Europe, EU, Euro-Atlantic community, US, NATO, Energy security, Defence, Defence in depth, Transatlantic relations, Structural realism Introduction ‘Europe and Canada are trusted friends and partners. Today this relationship is more critical than ever. I look forward to working with you to defend democracy, free and fair trade, and our shared values’ (von der Leyen 2025). The words of the president of the European Commission, on the swearing in of Canadian Prime Minister Mark Carney, identify Europe’s common priorities with the ‘most European of non-European countries’. The words reinforce a reinvigorated Schicksalsgemeinschaft, a German term that denotes a community with a common fate. After decades of distraction by ‘Asia-Pacific’ imaginaries, Europe and Canada are rediscovering the inevitability of their common fate, in the Euro-Atlantic community. Traditionally, the North Atlantic triangle has comprised an Atlanticist Anglosphere: the UK, the US and Canada. This article instead draws on an age-old metaphor coined by celebrated Canadian historian John Bartlet Brebner (1966): a North Atlantic triangle that reflects transatlantic strategic and political cultures. The angles of this triangle consist of the US, Canada and Europe writ large, as manifest in but not limited to the EU. Europe and Canada share a common strategic fate that makes them interdependent. Both stand to benefit from cultivating their relationship, while both stand to lose should Canada become even more dependent on the US. Canada’s strategic amnesia is manifest in its having forgotten the lesson of leveraging Europe to hedge against the uncertainties of US unilateralism. This is reminiscent of what Brebner called the ‘bookkeeper’s puzzle’: how can Canada best manage relations with both the UK and the US so as (a) to be able to invoke the assistance of the former against the latter’s political (and perhaps military) pressure, while at same time (b) ensuring that the British desire for an Anglo-American rapprochement does not result in any ‘sacrifice’ of Canadian interests? Historically, Canada had managed relations with the easternmost angle of the triangle, the UK, to assure its assistance against political (and possibly existential military) pressure from the US. At the same time, in the interests of its sovereignty, Canada wanted to ensure that any rapprochement with the UK would not end up sacrificing Canadian interests. An offshoot of the bookkeeper’s puzzle applies to attempts by Canada to involve its allies from NATO in an expanded triangle to counterbalance the US politically and economically (Haglund 2025). The bookkeeper’s puzzle thus reflects a real fear of abandonment: in Canada of being abandoned by Europe, and in Europe of being abandoned by the US. The key to the puzzle is for Canada and Europe to retrench and harness their interdependence. But that is easier said than done, due in part to free trade with the US, which has reinforced the shift of Canada’s organisational focus from east–west to north–south. The new North Atlantic triangle Since the founding of NATO in 1949, European countries and Canada have come to depend disproportionately on the world’s largest defence and intelligence complex for their security and have had the world’s largest economy as their primary trading partner. The US shored up its Atlantic and Pacific rims by design: a favourable trading relationship with the US allowed Europe to prosper, while the US guaranteed and underwrote Europe’s security against the Soviet threat. With the end of the Cold War, however, European allies opted to reduce their defence posture significantly. By contrast, since the end of the Cold War, the US has invested US$500 billion per year more than Europe in defence (at today’s prices)—which comes to almost US$20 trillion more than Europe over 35 years. This explains why Europe depends on US capability—especially in cyber, space and intelligence. The US feels that this came at its expense: 64% of European defence is still underwritten by the US (NATO 2025), up from 52% over the past decade, nothingstanding NATO members’ 2014 Wales summit pledge to spend more on defence. Why are 340 million Americans defending 450 million Europeans? Moreover, the US perceives those allies as benefiting from asymmetric trade relations, which the Trump administration considers to be to the detriment of the US. That is, European allies have failed to heed the first purpose of NATO which, in the infamous words of its first secretary general, Lord Ismay, is ‘to keep the Americans in Europe’ (Rodman 1995). To keep ‘the Russians out’ of Europe is the second purpose Lord Ismay sets out for NATO (Rodman 1995). In line with Article 5 of NATO’s founding charter (North Atlantic Treaty 1949, art. 5), allies rely on the US as the guarantor to deter Russia from its ambition of becoming a global player in a multipolar world order, which Russia is prepared to bring about by force. France and the UK notwithstanding, only the US has the nuclear triad and second-strike capability to ensure credible extended nuclear deterrence. However, two world wars and the Cold War have shown that Europe needs Canada for defence in depth. The usual connotation of this military strategy is to contain a bad actor that has breached a layer of defence by providing a second layer of defence. In this case, it refers to Canadian territory as being a safe and like-minded industrial hinterland for resources and an industrial base for Europe to rely on in times of war, as it did during the world wars. During these, Canada provided surge capacity and defence in depth from day one, long before the US ultimately joined in. In both cases, Canada’s reliable contribution changed the outcome of the war: the Second World War might have turned out quite differently had Canada not helped the UK hold down the island fort. Along with prevailing historical, ethno-cultural, political and economic ties, Canada and Europe share geostrategic interests: in the Arctic with the Nordic countries, and in the Atlantic rim with the UK, France, Spain and Portugal. Although Canada is disproportionately exposed to the consequences of US unilateralism, for Canada, leveraging European power to counterbalance the US is controversial (Haglund 1999). Canada’s changing demographics and trade relationships have oriented Canada away from Europe as the obvious ally and partner in safeguarding Canadian sovereignty. Conversely, Europe has an interest in using its power to assure Canada’s independence so as to limit the latter’s potential overexposure to the hegemonic impulses of the American empire: given the size of Canada’s economy and population, US leverage over Canadian natural, economic and human resources would increase America’s structural leverage, over Europe and the world, by about 10% over today’s American power. Such a situation would ensure its unrivalled status as the premier global superpower, which China alone could not match. In theory then, Canadian sovereignty depends on counterbalancing the US using European power. In practice, since the Second World War, both Canada and Europe have been drafting behind the US, deepening their economic and military reliance on the US, and shifting their strategic gaze away from a Euro-Atlantic community that they have taken for granted. Fixated on the US, both parties have seemingly suffered from amnesia about their bilateral transatlantic geostrategic interdependency. As US geostrategic interests increasingly diverge from those of the EU and Canada, and the US becomes more consumed with domestic (electoral) priorities and structural shifts in geopolitical gravity towards the Indo-Pacific, the relationship between Canada and Europe stands at a cross-roads. To counterbalance the power politics of an emboldened US, Russia and China, Europe and Canada need one another to preserve and uphold the liberal–democratic rules-based international order. This is especially true since the US’s pivot in geopolitical orientation, priorities and resource allocation towards the Indo-Pacific to disrupt an expansionist China that is intent on upending the prevailing international order. The US response to China has been to secure control over critical resources and geostrategic approaches that could render it vulnerable, while ensuring that it remains the world’s largest economy. On the one hand, eyeing natural resources and critical minerals in its proximate vicinity, notably Canada and Greenland, puts the US on a confrontational course with Europe and European interests. On the other, the US is ‘rebalancing’ away from Europe, the European neighbourhood and the Euro-Atlantic community as its priorities, and resources, shift to the Indo-Pacific. As a result, the US is expecting Europe to take on (far) greater responsibility for securing its own political interests and military backyard. In response, some European leaders, notably France, have continued to advocate for greater ‘strategic autonomy’ for Europe—an approach that drew the ire of the first Trump administration and is likely to aggravate Euro-Atlantic tensions—while others, notably Germany, have favoured chequebook diplomacy. This term describes the use of economic aid and investment as a means of attraction as part of soft-power projection (Leuprecht and Hamilton 2020). As the least powerful of the G7, Canada has neither luxury. Without European allies by its side, Canada runs an extreme risk of being left out in the geostrategic cold, with deleterious consequences for both Canada and the EU (Nossal 2023). Within the Euro-Atlantic community, the EU and Canada have not just suffered from mutual benign neglect. In the post–Cold War era, and especially with the advent of the Global War on Terror, Europe’s value to Canada has been declining steadily. Canada’s primary strategic relationship is naturally with the US, with which it shares a continent: co-located with the world’s largest economy, which a free trade agreement has made it ever more dependent on, Canada’s economy and security have become overly reliant on the US. The EU and the vast majority of its member states are also highly—arguably overly—dependent on the security and economic umbrella of the US. The supposed ‘peace dividend’ after the Cold War made NATO members even more dependent on the US. With so great an emphasis on their strategic relationships with the US, the perpendicular Canada–EU edge of the new North Atlantic triangle has never received much attention. What was a sin of omission, is now a sin of commission, by both parties. Friends, without benefits Reorienting Canada–Europe relations—as desirable as it may be—is a tall order. However intellectually appealing and geopolitically necessary, there are many obstacles. First, political leaders on both sides of the Atlantic have neither prioritised bilateral Euro–Canadian relations, nor really taken note of them, whether out of disinterest or because there was no pressing need: to date, 10 EU member countries still have not ratified the Canada–Europe Trade Agreement. In both the Old and the New World, long-term thinking in politics and society is a popular topic of discussion in the salons of the capital cities, but rarely reaches the offices of decision-makers and their advisers. In the end, the untapped potential for more vital, productive and politically successful relations between Canada and Europe is inversely proportional to the actual political will and capital that elites are willing to expend, especially relative to their interest in the US. Second, realignments in international relations require not only a strategic basis but also complementary apparatuses that are willing and able to action new strategic direction. This does not bode well for either Canada or the EU. The Canadian foreign service suffers from a vast backlog of reforms in terms of its structures, vision and mission, which is indicative of a broad decline in the efficiency, effectiveness and objectivity of the Canadian civil service (Savoie 2024) and the steady erosion of the ability of Canada’s federal government to manage civil society. Former Canadian Prime Minister Justin Trudeau’s Senate Reform resulted in the worst of both worlds: it further aggravated the struggle between Ottawa and the provinces over power and resources, and failed to generate greater capacity and interest in foreign and security policy in Canada’s upper chamber. The senators he appointed were preoccupied with domestic policy, and ideologically disinclined towards provincial rights. Recent foreign policy has resulted in six Canadian foreign ministers over the course of a decade; poor preparation and engagement by ministers who tout Canada’s ‘convening power’ but have little actual legitimacy to convene, let alone deliver; and two failed candidacies for a non-permanent seat on the UN Security Council. The foreign services of the EU and its member states, too, seem more preoccupied with themselves—notably with identity politics—than with playing a measurable, active role in shaping bilateral and multilateral external relations. In both the EU and Canada, the visibility and political effectiveness of foreign affairs instruments underperform: spending is unstructured and not optimised for strategic effect. Yet, both sides share a dogmatically defiant adherence to the legacy of a liberal rules-based international order. Indications of upheaval in the transatlantic relationship date back at least to President Obama’s ‘pivot’ to Asia. Realists posit the international system as anarchic, with states competing against one another and striving for survival. That world of power and interest-driven politics stands in increasingly stark contrast to Europe’s and Canada’s liberal institutionalist and values-driven approaches to the world. Third, for a realignment of the Canadian–European relationship at the political level, the impetus must not only originate from their respective civil societies, but also be accepted and actively legitimated in societies whose demographic composition is undergoing rapid change. Yet, legitimation deficits loom large. The EU’s view of the North American subcontinent remains wedded to the bilateral relationship with the US. At the same time, due to the slow implementation of the Canada–EU Trade Agreement, the potential for economic cooperation with EU institutions and member states remains largely unrealised, despite the fact that it has long been far easier for Canada and European allies to work together than for either to work with the US. For example, the extremely low international mobility rate of Canadian students, which is in the single digits, and the relatively few EU students who study in Canada, foreshadow a lack of future bilateral networks for emerging young leaders to tap into (European Commission 2020). Overly rigid certification standards in Canada for European university degrees impede broader student exchanges, labour mobility and more extensive knowledge transfer. Nevertheless, academic networks, that is, joint projects by non-governmental organisations from the EU dedicated to political cooperation with and in Canada, such as that fostered by the local EU delegation in Ottawa, portend positive developments: for example, the Jean Monnet Chairs and a centre that parlays European interest in Canadian universities, and the Europe Canada Network (EUCAnet) which facilitates transatlantic knowledge sharing among experts. Similarly, in the private sector, Canadian chief executives are in short supply in the EU, and potential candidates more often than not prefer to stay in their home country, the US or the Anglosphere, rather than invest in a transatlantic management career and the associated bilateral networks. The fourth obstacle is a direct result of the meagre transatlantic civil society: the prevailing images Canada and Europe have of one another one the one hand, and the failure to ‘bridge’ the transatlantic imaginary on the other. On the one side is Canada, the cosmopolitan, tolerant and fun subcontinent with bears, lakes, mountains and maple syrup, which—post-colonial realities notwithstanding—is considered by most Europeans to be the better North America and which, with its playful lightness, often manages to escape the critical gaze, and not only that of Europeans. On the other side is ‘Fortress’ Europe, with its sprawling bureaucracy, and myriad unmanageable regulations and trade barriers, which seemingly only feigns openness. Perception could not be further from reality. Foreign policy is driven by national interest, yet despite a trajectory of convergence among Euro–Canadian interests, especially of late, for the EU and European countries, Canada remains a low priority: Canada ranks about sixtieth in terms of priority across European states, well behind all the EU member states, and behind many other large and mid-sized powers around the world. Fifth, despite the intent to build closer ties, fundamentally different economic gravitational pulls on both sides persist: owing to bilateral free-trade agreements and globalisation, over the past 30 years, Canada has gradually become more dependent on the US, while the integrative benefits of the EU’s common market have reduced incentives for member states to invest in bilateral relations with Canada. Sobering foreign trade figures for the EU and European states with Canada hold little prospect of change in the foreseeable future: Canada barely cracks the top 10 of European export markets, whereas the EU is actually Canada’s second most important trading partner—but at barely a tenth of Canada’s trade with the US. Finally, if bilateral EU–Canada cooperation is to deepen, parliaments on both sides need to be more proactive and deliberate in transforming the relationship: while political executives, the European Commission and Canada’s government of the day set the agenda, it is the legislatures that legitimate and sustain it. The European Parliament maintains a permanent liaison office in Washington, DC as well as a European Public Law Organization in London and in every member state, but not in Ottawa. The Canada–Europe Parliamentary Association needs to fashion new formats to invigorate and promote relevant political projects among the Canadian, European and national parliaments, perhaps modelled on the robust array of activities undertaken by the NATO Parliamentary Assembly. Strategic friends, with benefits Its position in the new North Atlantic triangle makes Canada an attractive partner for Europe. Rich in natural resources and critical minerals, Canada has the potential to rank among the world’s most prosperous countries. Canada’s three largest export industries are oil, natural gas and agriculture, along with vast resources in potash (for fertiliser) and uranium (nuclear power). Were Canada to build more pipeline capacity to export hydrocarbons, it would have the potential to make Europe (much) more energy and critical-minerals secure, more competitive and prosperous by contributing to lower European energy prices, and less reliant on the US, the Middle East and Russia, especially for liquified natural gas. Canada has the third-largest oil reserves in the world, produces some of the cleanest natural gas and ranks among the world’s top five exporters of agri-food. Yet, Canada’s pipeline infrastructure is overly reliant on the US, which means Canada has to sell the bulk of its oil to the US at a 25% discount on world market prices. Bringing down European energy prices is the most important contribution Canada could be making in standing with Ukraine: Canada’s failure to export hydrocarbons to Europe keeps European energy prices high, which effectively amounts to Canada subsidising Russia’s war of aggression on Ukraine. Europe procures negligible amounts of Canadian oil via US facilities in the Gulf of Mexico, and Canada exports no liquified natural gas to Europe at all, despite Europe now procuring 120 billion cubic metres a year, about half of which comes from the US. Besides an abundance of natural resources and critical minerals, as well as cheap, clean electricity, Canada is also rich in human resources and other intangible assets: it has a concentration of data centres and artificial intelligence infrastructure, it is home to some of the best public universities in the world, it has a more diverse and younger demography than any European ally, and its immigration strategy has historically favoured high skillsets and education. As a result, Canada has long had the most tertiary-qualified workforce among OECD countries (OCED 2022). Although Canada shares common interests, institutions (such as the North American Aerospace Defence Command, NORAD), a continental identity and ideas with the US, as a Westminster parliamentary democracy, its values and political culture are closer to those of Europe than those of the US (Hataley and Leuprecht 2019). Moreover, as the only country that is a member of both the British Commonwealth and La Francophonie, Canada shares key cultural–linguistic attributes with both the UK and France: within the G7, Canada thus offers a counterweight to the Anglo-Saxon world. Europe also remains Canada’s second most important strategic partner, after the US. Owing to its experiences in the two world wars, Canada has a vested interest in Europe’s territorial integrity, political stability, economic prosperity and social harmony, with its like-minded European allies helping Canada to offset US unilateralist propensities. To that effect, NATO is a vital multilateral organisation for Canada; arguably, it is the most important, giving Canada a voice alongside 30 European allies and the US. Although it would be a mistake to equate counterbalancing the US with participation in NATO, Canada has a vested interest in sustaining and preserving NATO for the purpose of bandwagoning with European members to do just that (Jockel and Sokolsky 2021). For this reason, the Canadian Armed Forces has long been postured as an expeditionary organisation, with its primary orientation towards Europe. Via NATO’s external borders, Canada’s boundary with Russia stretches from its border with Alaska via a (disputed) Arctic maritime flank close to 1,000 km in length, to a 1,215 km land boundary in Northern, Central and Eastern Europe. Canada has thus sustained military commitments along much of the Russian flank. The pattern of Canada’s military deployments also shows that the country has vested interests in the Balkans, Europe’s southern flank, in the Mediterranean, the Middle East and North Africa. However, in recent decades, Canada has let its military atrophy to the point where it struggles to meet basic commitments—to NATO, to NORAD and to defending its own northern interests—let alone make new ones. Yet, the US pivot to the Indo-Pacific has created an opportunity for Canada to support US and European interests by backfilling some US capacity across Europe’s central, eastern and southern flanks, thus shoring up NATO, which is of benefit and interest to all member states. Were the EU to become a more independent defence actor, this would pose a serious risk to Canadian sovereignty and Canada’s standing in the world. In theory, Europe has the industrial base and financial capacity to provide for its own defence, security and survival. This, however, comes at a cost, for which European allies have thus far proven unable to muster the political will, although the European Commission’s $800 billion ReArm Europe plan holds promise that political will may be changing. The lack of will is cause for concern in the US, since Europe’s NATO allies have been sourcing about 60% of their arms from the US market. When France tried to take the initiative to achieve greater strategic autonomy for Europe during the first Trump presidency, Trump’s then NATO ambassador promptly dispatched an aggressive cease-and-desist letter (Leuprecht and Hamilton 2020). Although the US has resisted getting entangled in alliances since its first president, George Washington, NATO offers the US important levers. Nowhere in the world does the US invest proportionately less in defence for a higher rate of return. Canada and Europe are better positioned to add value to US military, political and strategic interests, than to try to go it alone individually. As Keohane (1988) famously observed, for the US, NATO is a very efficient and effective collective decision-making mechanism, gathering 30 European countries plus Canada—including some of the world’s top spenders on defence—the UK, Germany and France. Combined, the non-US NATO members spend about US$600 billion on defence (as compared to the US$877 billion by the US). The importance of NATO as an information-sharing and coordination mechanism has grown substantially since the formulation of NATO’s 2022 Strategic Concept, which brought key partners in the Indo-Pacific into the fold, including Australia, Japan, South Korea and New Zealand. Together, these allies and partners spent roughly US$1.7 trillion of a total global defence expenditure of about US$2.44 trillion in 2023. Of course, aggregate expenditures are an inchoate measure of military capability and commitment. While the US can necessarily exert greater pressure on any one country bilaterally, the benefits of NATO decision-making and coordination far outweigh the transaction costs for the US to do so bilaterally across three dozen countries. The reason the US spends as much as it does on its military is to preserve its freedom of action. Ultimately, being able to act unilaterally means never having to rely on others. Nonetheless, even though dispensable, allies are convenient to have as they also bring soft power, money and moral legitimacy. Greater European strategic autonomy is of little interest to the US, outside the NATO framework. The US does, however, have an interest in greater complementarity, capability and effectiveness within the organisation: it wants allies to do more together, on their own, provided they deconflict with the US. As the only other non-European NATO member country, Canada necessarily shares the transatlantic orientation of the US. Canada’s defence relations with Europe thus offer the US a mechanism to fall back on should the EU strive for greater strategic autonomy without coordinating with NATO and, therefore, with US interests. The lesson that the US drew from the Second World War was that, as a superpower, it has global interests. To this end, US unilateralism took on the trappings of a more multilateral approach to global affairs. The US collaborated with European partners and Canada to build the foundations of the post-war security, trade and monetary infrastructure: NATO, the General Agreement on Tariffs and Trade, and the Bretton Woods Accord (which laid the foundations for the International Monetary Fund and the World Bank). This strategic collaboration brought North America and (Western) Europe historically unprecedented security, prosperity and stability. Over time, however, both the European members of NATO and Canada have forgotten that, multilateral trappings aside, the arrangement was born primarily out of US interest. In the aftermath of the two world wars, the US learned that territorial integrity, political stability, collective prosperity and social harmony in and of Europe were in the best interests of its aspirations as a global superpower. The claim to superpower status depended on a degree of control over Europe. Russia has long understood this; the US came to this realisation in the twentieth century; and for a China with global ambitions, this is a relatively recent realisation. For the US, NATO and extended nuclear deterrence are the means to this end; which is why Russia is intent on upending NATO, as both Russia and China aspire to be global players in a multipolar world, rather than regional players under a Pax Americana. Although Canada does not have nuclear arms, its position in North America necessarily means it has a role in assuring extended nuclear deterrence. Russia’s strategic approaches to North America, by way of the Arctic, pass through Canadian airspace. Canada’s gradual commitment to and spending on Arctic security and defence, including NORAD, therefore, are not just about homeland defence, but are also an investment in NATO by means of continental defence writ large (Leuprecht et al. 2018). North American continental defence assures uncompromised latitude for sovereign decision-making in Washington as well as Ottawa. An adversary that can threaten North America with intercontinental ballistic missiles or hypersonic missiles, for instance, could effectively curtail sovereign decision-making that reflects the best interests and legitimate democratic will of Americans or Canadians. That is, an adversary could overtly threaten Ottawa or Washington with an attack if confronted with a political choice that runs counter to its interests. This matters all the more since North American continental security is the bedrock of credible extended nuclear deterrence. An adversary that is able to call the nuclear triad, and especially the second-strike capability, into question would effectively undermine the US security umbrella that spans the Atlantic and Pacific rims. The states that currently rely on US extended deterrence would thus have an incentive to resort to nuclear proliferation to ensure their own survival. Since nuclear proliferation runs counter to European and Canadian interests in regional and global stability, this is one more reason for them to be more strategic about coordinating their contribution to the triangle. Ostensibly, the US does not need Canada to provide North American continental defence: the US has the capacity, capabilities and resources to go it alone. However, cutting Canada out of North American strategic defence would significantly reduce NATO’s leverage over collective defence. Europe and European allies would be left to deal with the US alone; Canada’s currency on the continent and across the Atlantic would be greatly diminished. The coincidence of NATO’s pivot to North American Arctic defence and Obama’s pivot to the Indo-Pacific is no accident. Certainly, there is an operational requirement to coordinate with NORAD on an integrated all-domain layered Arctic defence along NATO’s entire frontier with Russia. But this change also highlighted that NATO is, first and foremost, a political—not a military—alliance. Obama’s pivot necessarily meant less US attention paid to, input and interest in NATO; thus, it was in NATO’s best interest to show the flag in America’s backyard. NATO has not one but three pillars: Europe, North America and the transatlantic area. How we imagine the third matters for how the US imagines NATO’s role in the Atlantic: either, as popularised by Walter Lippman (1917), as an ‘ocean highway’ that by geography, culture and necessity connects two continental ‘communities’; or, in a triumph of politics over geography, as theorised by Alan Henrikson (1980), as a ‘lake’ and ‘inland sea’ that unifies rather than divides. Within the North Atlantic triangle, Canada can bridge the divide of a vast ocean, making it into a much more manageable inland sea. Canada’s geographic continental co-location with the US gives Europe limited, but strategically indispensable, leverage beyond Washington through which to influence the second and third pillars of NATO, using defence and diplomacy to counter US unilateralist proclivities. Conclusion For Canada to become even more (over)dependent on the US than it already is runs fundamentally counter to European interests. The EU has a vested interest in Canada maintaining sovereign control over its resources, political decision-making and defence. Conversely, the prospect of greater European strategic autonomy in defence outside of the NATO framework poses a potentially existential risk to Canada, rendering it more dependent on the US, and thus reducing its value to allies and partners and, by extension, its standing in the world. If this were to happen, Canada would face much higher transaction costs more akin to those of its partners in the Indo-Pacific, having to invest a lot more in foreign policy and defence for greatly diminished returns. Canadian sovereignty is a Trump card that the US is now playing to maximise its power and range of unilateral action in a world where its hegemony is under threat. Europe and Canada used to be discretionary friends. Now is the time to realise mutual benefits for strategic effect. Canada can support Europe’s interests in energy security, critical minerals, defence and defence in depth. In return, the EU can bolster Canadian political and economic sovereignty. Partnering with the EU is also the most efficient and effective way for Canada to gain greater independence from the US in defence and defence-industrial capacity. 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Abstract The paper considers the question of location in the development and governance of artificial intelligence in Africa. The discussion draws from ideas on locational advantage and the mix of factors that affect inequalities in AI development and how this influences the ability that countries have to shape AI norms, cultures and governance. It analyses policy documents and internet databases to highlight Africa’s place in AI development, the continent’s governance approach and the symbiotic relationship that explains the influence of advanced countries and tech corporations in the AI landscape. Based on this, it proposes the concept of the ‘politics of locationality’ to extend our understanding of how the power resident in AI systems is associated with their primary situatedness and how this reality, in turn, (re)produces imbalances and unequal opportunities for Africa in AI development and governance. It concludes with implications for Africa’s contribution to global AI cultures, design and governance at this time of pressing need for well-balanced AI policies. KeywordsAI governance, culture, ethics, inequality, locational advantage, politics of locationality Introduction The race for supremacy in AI development and governance has gathered pace among leading countries such as the US, European nations and China (Bradford, 2023). Many of the largest AI companies and models trace their origins to these countries and benefit from massive investments in computing, data and skills (Moorosi, 2024). By contrast, African countries mainly boast of AI startup ecosystems coordinated by technology hubs such as Kenya’s ‘Silicon Savannah’ (Eke et al., 2023) and African journalists have had to grapple with tools like ChatGPT, given the relevance of generative AI for media production (Gondwe, 2023). Although many of these experiences show Africa’s creative potential in the AI sector, as well as its growing market for AI technologies and tools (Okolo et al., 2023), there remain complex historical, cultural, political, legal, economic, labour and data factors that the continent faces in its drive towards AI development and governance. This mix of factors is a subject that scholars have considered to varying degrees (Muldoon and Wu, 2023; Png, 2022). I build on this by examining the question of locationality within that mix and how locationality helps to explain aspects of the symbiotic relationship between countries and platforms in shaping AI design and governance principles within a global context. My discussion sits at the intersection of critical media studies (Ott and Mack, 2014), digital geopolitics (Wong, 2021) and AI studies (Crawford, 2021), seeking to demonstrate why AI, understood as a political tool for constructing knowledge and generating maps of meaning, should be situated. This focus on situatedness further ties into studies on economic geography and locational advantage (Dunning, 1998; Iammarino and McCann, 2013), which explain why multinationals such as AI companies are more likely to choose certain locations as headquarters and how these locations are better placed to acquire greater leverage and power. It relates to the understanding that the location where a technology company is headquartered has considerable influence to shape that company’s decisions (Sargsyan, 2016), presupposing that advanced AI development confers locational advantage on the place where this development is primarily domiciled, making it a locus of power in shaping global AI ethics, norms and governance. This presupposition is what I interrogate by asking: How do issues around the location of AI development explain the impact that African countries have to shape AI design, cultures and governance in light of inequalities between advanced nations and the majority world? This question is crucial as it indicates which countries are better positioned as key definers of AI at a time when the design, norms, ethics, principles and governance of the technology are being concretised. It also leads to my argument on what I call the ‘politics of locationality’ as a concept to advance our understanding of how the primary situatedness of leading AI companies in advanced locations (such as the Global North) reveals inequalities in AI development and governance in the majority world. In this paper, advanced locations refer to the US, Europe and China – following Bradford’s (2023) description of them as the three digital empires, having the capacity not only to define the digital ecosystem in line with their cultures and priorities, but also shape the digital values of other countries that fall under their influence. The discussion that follows flows through a review of the literature, my methodology and findings, culminating in my argument on the politics of locationality. Locationality and the mix of factors in AI development Across the AI landscape, ethical principles are vital because they guide AI development, design and governance (Tidjon and Khomh, 2022). In Africa, some of the ethical and cultural values that researchers contend should guide AI development include ubuntu (communal humaneness), humanism and indigenous knowledge (Nayebare, 2019; Mhlambi and Tiribelli, 2023). Not enough of this has been realised, however, given that AI technologies on the continent remain a largely Western import (Eke et al., 2023). Nonetheless, home-grown African AI systems have been on the rise, evident in the creation of technology centres such as Kenya’s ‘Silicon Savannah’, Ethiopia’s ‘Sheba Valley’ and Nigeria’s ‘Yabacon Valley’ (Eke et al., 2023). The centres serve as ecosystems that provide leverage for AI startups that are supported by communities such as Data Science Nigeria and Deep Learning Indaba (Nuwer, 2024). Okolo et al. (2023) found that there are at least 102 of these startups in Africa. But they face challenges ranging from limited infrastructure for energy and computing-intensive technology and lack of expertise (Nuwer, 2024). These challenges presuppose that AI development on the continent is likely to lag behind global advancements – with implications for the influence that the continent has as a place from which AI norms, ethics and governance are shaped. The US remains a dominant player in shaping AI ethics and governance. Chan et al. (2021), for instance, observe that the US is predominant in the AI development space, in line with its economic and cultural dominance and China follows closely behind, pointing to a US-China tech war in digital geopolitics (Wong, 2021). China, in particular, has exported AI facial recognition and smart city technologies to Africa, serving as the continent’s largest foreign ICT investor (Lin, 2024), with increasing access to African datasets (Okolo et al., 2023) – a worrying trend. Also, investments in AI still concentrate in countries like the US and China, with only 1% of global venture capital flows into Africa (Moorosi, 2024). This means profits from AI development are typically reinvested in the leading countries, creating further disparities between them and the majority world (Chan et al., 2021). Although major tech companies (e.g. Google and Microsoft) have invested in Africa by establishing AI labs in African countries, Chan et al. (2021) note that it is common for staff working in these labs to be based in advanced countries. These major AI companies have also diversified their locational presence by outsourcing some operations through an international division of labour across Africa. But they tend to do so in exploitative ways such as hiring low-wage data annotators, highlighting the continent’s locational disadvantage (Ludec et al., 2023). What this points to is the relation of labour and capital, which further underscores Muldoon and Wu’s (2023) description of the global AI supply chain as colonial, since it is actualised through an international division of digital labour that extracts value from labour in the majority world for the benefit of Western technological companies. It also reinforces hegemonic knowledge production through Western values and knowledge that marginalise non-Western alternatives (Muldoon and Wu, 2023). This hegemonic knowledge production leads to questions on the role of the human in the machine, since AI is not based on abstract models, but is embedded in human agency and cultural values (Natale and Guzman, 2022). Additionally, this hegemonic knowledge production not only ties into discourses on power in critical media studies (Ott and Mack, 2014), but also on the relevance of AI for creative and cultural work (Lee, 2022) – as seen in the use of ChatGPT, which, African journalists say, is built on a poor and non-representative African corpus and perpetuates stereotypes of the continent (Gondwe, 2023). What the foregoing, therefore, indicates are the mix of historical, technological, economic, labour and cultural factors that underpin AI development and deployment in Africa’s locational context, with implications for governance outcomes. AI governance and digital regulation in Africa In terms of governance, state actors in Africa have drawn up policy and legal instruments at local levels and are only just taking part in global multistakeholder conversations. Examples of these multistakeholder fora include the AI Governance Alliance of the World Economic Forum (2025), where three African countries (Rwanda, South Africa and Kenya) are represented and the Global Partnership on Artificial Intelligence (2025), where Senegal is the only African country. It is unclear what influence African countries wield in multistakeholder bodies like these, but the indication is that inclusion is usually performative and exists for ‘virtue signalling and promotional purposes’ (Png, 2022: para. 17). At continental and regional levels, Plantinga et al. (2024) observe that African countries have increasingly turned towards AI strategies, but without considering how feasible these are to implement and their suitability to local contexts. There are also data localisation laws, which stipulate that data be stored and processed in the location where they are generated, with restrictions on data transfers across borders (Giovane et al., 2023). These laws, which point to the geographical relevance of data, have been introduced by at least 16 African countries, including Mauritius, Lesotho and Ivory Coast; they are also present in legal instruments on data protection, financial transactions, cybersecurity and telecommunications in several countries across the continent (CIPESA, 2022). Locationality is therefore the underlying principle in data localisation, underscoring the importance of data for AI control and governance. Sargsyan (2016: 2224), for instance, notes: ‘countries that host intermediaries’ data centres and offices have more opportunities to exercise influence over companies’ decisions and claim jurisdiction over data stored in their territory.’ What is crucial here is the presence of data centres which is vital for AI production, and African countries face challenges in relation to data, since the continent’s data centre landscape is nascent although growing (DCByte, 2023). When it comes to enforcement, only a few countries have been successful in imposing local laws and claiming jurisdiction over data stored in data centres, the most successful being the US (Sargsyan, 2016: 2231). This underscores the difficulties of AI policy implementation that African governments face, since, as CIPESA (2022) notes, there is barely any evidence that data localisation laws have been enforced in Africa. Where implementation has been more practicable is in the imposition of internet taxes on users in countries like Guinea, Benin, Uganda and Zimbabwe (Bergére, 2019). The infrastructure platforms through which governments enforce the taxes are local Internet Service Providers (ISPs) and telecommunication providers (Bergére, 2019). The same process finds expression in the imposition of internet bans in Africa – enforcement targets usage disruption and is done through local ISPs (Parks and Thompson, 2020). African countries ordinarily enjoy a positive balance of power in comparison with local ISPs. Also, the fact that major tech and AI companies can be banned from operating or delivering services in any African country points to the power that the state has to impose controls as a means of last resort. Users can also deploy collective action against AI companies (Fratini and Musiani, 2024). All these highlight the diverse ways in which power and governance are contested at local levels but say little about the place that Africa holds in contributing to and shaping AI ethics, governance and worldviews in the global sense. If, as Sargsyan (2016) notes, the location where a technology company is headquartered has significant powers to influence the decisions of the technology company, then what does Africa’s record in AI development imply for its ability to shape AI design, ethics, cultures and governance? This question is what I aim to answer in interrogating the relevance of the politics of locationality for AI in Africa. Method To this end, I draw from a methodological approach informed by textual analysis of AI policy documents and critical analysis of internet databases containing the location associated with AI companies/models. For the AI policy documents, I focussed on three domains. The first domain concerned the AI policies of African countries, where I selected the AI Strategies of four countries: Mauritius (Mauritius AI Strategy, 2018), Egypt (Egypt AI Strategy, 2021), Rwanda (Rwandan National AI Policy, 2022) and Nigeria [draft] (Nigerian AI Strategy, 2024), representing South, North, East and West Africa respectively. I also reviewed the African Union’s (2024) AI Strategy. Mauritius, Egypt and Rwanda are particularly relevant because they are the first three countries to introduce AI strategies in Africa. I chose AI strategies because they comprise one of the major emphases for policymakers on the continent (Maslej et al., 2024). I analyse the strategies based on themes, which I developed after reviewing and coding the texts. The second domain included the AI policies of leading global players in AI: the US, EU and China. Here, my analysis aimed to ascertain whether these policies mandate AI firms to develop their technologies in line with principles and standards upheld by the leading countries. The third domain included the policies of some of the largest AI companies/models: OpenAI and Gemini (for the US), Darktrace (for the UK) and UBTECH and Qwen (for China). My aim was to examine whether these AI companies/models subject their policies and practices to the countries or places where they are headquartered. For the database searches, I accessed and reviewed the following to ascertain the location of AI companies globally: Datamation (see Jungco, 2024), AI Directory (2024) and the Companies Market Capitalisation (2024). I also drew from sources such as Epoch AI (2024), the Emerging Technology Observatory’s (2024) AI Country Activity Tracker and the AI Index Report (Maslej et al., 2024). Overall, my goal was to assess Africa’s place in AI development in comparison with the leading countries in AI before considering the leverage that locationality affords to nations when it comes to AI design, ethics and governance – the underlying premise for the politics of locationality. Locational advantage and AI development in Africa While acknowledging the mix of factors that comprise AI development, my findings focus on locationality by considering the number of AI companies headquartered in Africa and elsewhere. Here, I found that most AI companies are headquartered in advanced countries, with many of the largest AI companies being in the US. These are companies that have significant capitalisation as listed on the Companies Market Cap to scale globally and invest in AI infrastructure and models that fundamentally impact societies. Jungco’s (2024) review shows that the overwhelming majority (80%) of these companies are based in the US (81 out of 101 companies). The closest to this was the UK, which had eight companies out of 101. India and Canada had three each; China and Germany had two each; and Israel and Hong Kong had one each. The same is true for data compiled by AI Directory (2024) and the Companies Market Capitalisation (2024). I compiled the three listings (Jungco, 2024; AI Directory and the Companies Market Cap) and removed duplicates. The combined list comprised 234 of the largest AI companies (see Table 1), ranging from Apple valued at $3.3 trillion to FR8Tech valued at $2.1 million. The outcome shows that at 73%, the US is the undoubted leader. It is followed by India (5.98%), the UK (5.56%), China (2.99%) and Canada (2.56%). There is no African country on the list.   There is a similar outcome for data on notable AI models, such as OpenAI’s ChatGPT, Alibaba’s Qwen and Meta’s Llama. Table 2 shows that, when isolating for AI models owned by organisations or entities that come from only one country, two-thirds (67.7%) of these notable AI models are traceable to the US. Again, no other country comes close; the closest countries are the UK, China, Canada and Germany. Maslej et al. (2024), in the AI Index, also show that foundation AI models, which are the basis for generative AI, are far more prevalent in the US. Again, there are no entries for Africa.   If Africa does not serve as a headquarter for the largest AI companies or models, what then can be said about AI startups? To answer this, I consulted the 2024 AI Country Activity Tracker, which presents data on the number of approved AI patents based on country locations, including patents for AI startups. The data, presented in Table 3, show that Africa is only ahead of the Middle East; even at this, Africa accounts for only 0.000006% or 157 of the 250,224 AI patents captured in the tracker. And only three African countries account for the continent’s figures: South Africa (139 patents), Morocco (17 patents) and Kenya (1 patent). Although this figure of 157 is slightly more than the 102 startups that Okolo et al. (2023) provided, the conclusions are similar: Africa has some way to go in making up for AI development in the future.   All these show that although Africa provides labour and data for AI companies globally and is poised to be a significant market as internet connectivity spreads (Access Partnership, 2024), it barely serves as a headquarter for AI companies, particularly the largest ones. This underscores Africa’s nascent standing in AI development and suggests that African countries will likely be constrained in their ability to shape wider AI ethics, cultures and governance. It perhaps explains why no African country has passed AI legislation into law (although some attempts are underway), with focus instead on AI task forces, national policies and strategies (Maslej et al., 2024). I turn next to the analysis of these strategies to examine the policy approach to AI development and governance in Africa. Analysing AI strategies in Africa My analysis of the AI strategies/policies of Mauritius, Egypt, Rwanda, Nigeria and the AU shows that they coalesce around four main themes: AI adoption for economic growth, AI partnership and collaboration, improving AI ethics and governance and strengthening local AI capacity. The focus on AI for economic growth is understandable, given that AI’s potential for economic transformation is a major attraction. This focus, which is present in all the strategies, highlights how AI can enhance economic development in various sectors (see in particular, the Mauritian Strategy). But more important, in the context of my discussion, are the inequalities in international cooperation and multistakeholder governance that the strategies point towards. To establish this, I refer to Pillar Two of the Nigerian AI Strategy, which underscores the need for partnership and collaboration among local and international stakeholders to leverage AI expertise and resources. The Rwandan AI Policy also recommends international partnerships and collaboration in AI development. But collaborations, especially with international private actors, highlight the need to evaluate where the major partners come from. These partners can collaborate with African countries and invest in AI, but they still operate primarily by rules set in their home countries, even if they also subscribe to laws in subsidiary countries (I establish this point in the next section). The exception would be collaboration within the continent, as can be found in the Egyptian and AU Strategies. The third theme, which focusses on ethics and governance, acknowledges the risks of AI and the need to mitigate them. It considers the importance of having AI principles such as fairness, transparency and accountability (see the Nigerian Strategy). The AU Strategy also mentions the need to guard against bias and risks to African values, indigenous knowledge and cultural heritage. This is connected to the AU’s Agenda 2063, which has a media and culture mandate to support inclusive and ethical AI through values such as ubuntu. But the plan to address these risks, for the most part, points to multistakeholder governance. The Egyptian Strategy, for instance, seeks to ‘actively contribute to global efforts and playing an active role in AI in different international fora’ (Section 5.1). Rwanda’s Policy also intends to ‘actively contribute to shaping responsible AI principles and practices in international platforms’ (Key Policy Recommendation 14). Likewise, the AU Strategy promotes a ‘multi-tiered governance approach’ (Section 2.4.1). They highlight a move towards greater inclusivity in international governance – hence the use of the word ‘actively’ in many of the strategies. My point, however, is that no matter how ‘actively’ African countries intend to influence AI cooperation, ethics and governance, there is a need to first reckon with Africa’s standing in AI development. Policymakers on the continent seem to have recognised this reality, and it is noticeable in their focus on strengthening local AI capacity. The AU Strategy, for instance, notes that Africa faces challenges around lack of computing platforms, limited data for training AI models and a scarce supply of AI skills, observing that, as of 2023, all the world’s supercomputers are located in only 30 countries. The Nigerian Strategy also recognises the need to build ‘affordable and localised infrastructure foundations and the compute capacity’ (Section 1.4.2) by making high-performance computing available. In Rwanda and Egypt, there is emphasis on AI training in schools. Evident here is a recognition that the continent lags behind in AI development, although it has a growing AI startup ecosystem and an unsaturated market for AI. It underscores the need to interrogate AI development, the locational advantages and disadvantages it represents and its links to governance inequalities. I argue that this should be a major consideration in Africa, based on what I describe as the politics of locationality. The politics of locationality Having established the foundational basis for my argument, I now define the politics of locationality as the way in which the power resident in Big Tech and AI systems is associated with their primary situatedness in places of advanced technological and AI development and how this underlying reality, in turn, (re)produces imbalances and unequal opportunities for AI development and governance faced by countries in the majority world, particularly Africa. The politics of locationality highlights the mix of advantages that countries such as the US, China and those in Europe where the largest AI companies are headquartered have. By contrast, African countries, despite advances that have been made in the AI startup ecosystem and state policy interventions, suffer from a range of disadvantages in locational, political, economic, cultural, data, labour and historical spheres. Addressing this mix of disadvantages is what the continent needs to become a location of influence from which the values, ethics and governance that circumscribe AI can be shaped. To expand on my argument, I refer to the AI policies of some of the largest companies and the guiding principles for AI that leading tech countries have drafted. Take OpenAI for instance. The OpenAI (2024) Terms of Use specify that dispute resolution between the company and users anywhere in the world would be coordinated by National Arbitration and Mediation, headquartered in New York. The law that governs the arbitration is the US Federal Arbitration Act. It adds that, ‘California law will govern these Terms’ and ‘claims arising out of or relating to these Terms will be brought exclusively in the federal or state courts of San Francisco, California’ (see Governing Law Section). This is not surprising, given that OpenAI is headquartered in San Francisco. Also, for Gemini (2024), owned by Google, the governing law of its User Agreement is the laws of New York, and the Agreement is seen as a ‘contract wholly entered into and wholly performed within the State of New York’ (see Governing Law Section). I found a similar pattern in the UK and China. In the UK, Darktrace (2024), an AI cybersecurity firm, notes that the governing law of its Master Services Agreement is the laws of England and Wales, except if the customer is located in the US, in which case the laws of California apply. In China, Section VII of the Terms of Use of UBTECH (2023), an AI robotics firm, states: ‘The establishment, effectiveness, performance, interpretation and dispute resolution of this [user] agreement are subject to the laws of the People’s Republic of China (excluding Hong Kong, Macau, Taiwan).’ The same goes for Alibaba’s Qwen (2023), which is covered by the Alibaba Cloud International Website Terms of Use, the governing law of which is that of Singapore, where Alibaba has its office in the Asia Pacific. Hence, I note that AI companies uphold the laws of the countries where they are headquartered, and they subject the governance of their technologies to these laws. AI companies have also come under sustained pressure to develop rules according to the values, ethics and standards of their host nations, thanks, in part, to the dictates of digital geopolitics and the competition for AI supremacy. The US, for instance, had the Biden Administration’s Executive Order on Safe, Secure and Trustworthy Artificial Intelligence (US Executive Order, 2023), through which it sought to promote an AI market that emphasises US innovation and leadership on AI (Section 2(h)) and the need to encourage international partners to support the voluntary commitments of US AI companies (Section 11(a)(ii)). But these voluntary commitments are underpinned by the need for US leadership and ‘to ensure that artificial intelligence is aligned with values shared by all Americans’ (proposed National AI Commission Act (2023), Section 3(g)(1)). The Biden Executive Order was replaced in January 2025 by the Trump AI Executive Order, aptly named, ‘Removing Barriers to American Leadership in Artificial Intelligence.’ All these underscore that a key intention of US policy is that the design of AI mirrors America’s geopolitical leadership, cultural norms, ethics and jurisprudence. A similar line of argument applies to Europe and China. In Europe, the first clause of the European Union (2024) AI Act says its purpose is to lay ‘a uniform legal framework’ for AI development and deployment ‘in accordance with Union values’ (Section 1) and it supports the ‘European human-centric approach to AI and being a global leader’ in AI development (Section 8). In China, there is the Generative AI Measures released in August 2023. The regulation includes a stipulation that generative AI technologies should not produce content that incite the ‘subversion of national sovereignty or the overturn of the socialist system’ (Henshall, 2023: para. 2). The same ethos is evident in China’s 2023 Management of Deep Synthesis of Internet information Services enacted by the Cyberspace Administration of China (2022). It mandates that in developing products such as AI, companies must abide by Chinese laws, correct political direction and value orientation. This was clearly evident in the January 2025 roll out of DeepSeek, a China-based AI assistant, which when asked about Tiananmen Square, refused to answer, saying it follows ‘ethical guidelines’ and added: ‘I respect the laws and cultural contexts in which I operate’ (author’s conversation with DeepSeek). It goes to show that expansive or restrictive design and deployment of AI technologies are subject to the value system prevalent in their originating countries. Hence, the politics of locationality sustains the different visions that leading tech countries have of AI in their battle for supremacy – visions that are not necessarily inclusive of African perspectives even though they find expression on the continent through pervasive deployment and usage. Conclusion In this paper, I have examined the importance of the location of AI companies and, by so doing, introduced the politics of locationality as a concept to extend our understanding and explain the standing that nations have in AI development and how this translates to the influence they wield in AI governance. My discussion showed that although Africa has a growing AI startup ecosystem, a burgeoning user market base and state influence in policymaking, the continent still faces a mix of disadvantages in historical, technological, political, legal, economic, labour and data spheres. This mix reveals the locational disadvantage that confronts Africa as a place from which AI ethics, cultures and governance can be shaped in the global sense. It relates to Hassan’s (2023) point on the ‘lack of African AI innovations that are rooted in the local context but [have] the potential to compete at the global scale’ (p. 1430). What I found was that AI companies that have global scale and presence are headquartered mainly in leading tech countries (the US, China and European nations) and have subjected themselves to the governing laws of these countries. Conversely, the laws and policies of leading tech countries mandate that these companies, among other things, embed the respective country’s ethos, values and cultures into AI systems. The link between AI systems and cultural values as outlined in this paper, therefore, points to the connection between media and cultural studies and AI. In particular, the paper highlights the importance of considering how AI is produced and shaped by cultural understandings, and how AI further projects, shapes and extends culture. It suggests the need for greater research emphasis on the connections between media, AI and culture, given that AI represents the intersection of human labour, machine learning, infrastructure (e.g. data centres), mineral resources (e.g. lithium), media inputs (vast troves of data: information, texts, pictures, videos, maps, and codes) and classification systems that all combine to transform AI models into mechanics of knowledge construction (Crawford, 2021). The outcome are mediated outputs (e.g. AI responses to prompts and automated decisions) – outputs that simultaneously represent and transform culture, even as they are shaped by it. Equally crucial and more important, in the context of this paper, is the need to consider the locationality of it all. By this I mean the globalised and complex interaction of locations in AI development and governance that potentially determines whose culture is elevated and whose culture is progressively silenced in a relationship defined by hegemony and inequality. Key to understanding this hegemony-inequality mix is the principle of locational advantage, which Iammarino and McCann (2013) describe as a two-way relationship between multinationals and their locational headquarters, noting that just as location is becoming increasingly vital for multinationals, so also are multinationals progressively more important for location (i.e. cities or countries). It underscores my argument on the politics of locationality, which shows that just as large AI firms need locations, such as the US or China, that have the right mix of advantages to serve as headquarters, so also do leading tech countries need and use these firms in setting the cultural and governance paradigm for AI technologies. This structural makeup reflects the imbalances in AI development, explaining why AI governance systems exist within institutional-heterogenous regimes that reproduce Global North dominance (Png, 2022). Addressing these imbalances is what African countries, supported by the AU, should focus on, and there are initial signs that African countries are starting to do this (as seen in the AI strategies). However, a bolder and more robust approach to AI development that is attuned to Africa’s unique sociopolitical context and economic evolution is needed to confront the imbalances tied to the politics of locationality. By so doing, Africa can be positioned to assume locational advantage, with important consequences for inclusive AI and the contribution of global majority countries to the cultures and values embedded in AI systems and the ethics and frameworks by which they are governed. AcknowledgmentsThe author extends appreciation to the editors and reviewers for their helpful and constructive comments, and also to the participants at the 2023 International Symposium on AI Cultures at the University of Turin for their feedback – all of which strengthened the article.Declaration of conflicting interestsThe author declared no potential conflicts of interest with respect to the research, authorship, and/or publication of this article.FundingThe author disclosed receipt of the following financial support for the research, authorship, and/or publication of this article: This work was supported by the Leverhulme Trust as part of an Early Career Fellowship. 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The structure of the Yemeni crisis (YK) developed step by step throughout the period after the unification in May 1990 of two republican states — the Yemen Arab Republic (YAR) and the People’s Democratic Republic of Yemen (PDRY) — into a unitary state. The rushed and unprepared process of merging the government bodies and armies of two countries with different political systems and ideologies, but related historical, cultural, and ethnic communities, coincided with major global changes: the transformation of the international system, the collapse of the USSR, and the Gulf War, which brought sanctions from the United States and Gulf monarchies against the young state, as well as the expulsion of nearly one million Yemeni labor migrants from these countries. After that, political Islam began to grow stronger across the region. Both countries entered unity carrying a heavy burden of internal social and political problems, hoping that unification would create a new model of development, and that a new source of income from oil exports — from fields recently discovered in the neighboring provinces of Marib and Shabwa — would speed up modernization and help solve these problems. But this did not happen — the democratic institutions, multi-party system, and the first direct presidential elections introduced by the new state’s constitution did not stop the return to power of the conservative coalition from the YAR era, and the oil reserves were not enough to repeat the success of wealthy oil-producing countries. However, the alliance between the General People’s Congress (GPC) and Islah quickly turned into rivalry just a few years after they defeated the former ruling party of the PDRY — the Yemeni Socialist Pa rty (YSP) — in 1994. A religious reform focused on spreading Salafism, led by the Islamist wing of Islah (Yemen’s branch of the Muslim Brotherhood), became a tool of political struggle. It challenged the regime of President Ali Abdullah Saleh (1947–2017), who personally oversaw the state’s security sector but gave Islah control over education and significant legislative functions. The reform led to growing tensions — first due to clashes with the Shafi’i traditions in the South, and then with Zaydi practices in the North. The aggressive spread of a proselytizing version of radical Salafism through a network of religious colleges (ma'ahid ilmiyya) under Islah’s supervision was seen by local communities as an official government policy. This created distance between society and the state. Dissatisfaction with the country’s social, economic, and political situation turned into conflicts of identity of a new kind, with no precedent in Yemen’s history. These conflicts had nothing to do with the traditional Sunni-Shia divide, as Yemen has long been home to two Islamic schools — the Shafi’i (about 60% of the population) and the Zaydi (about 40%) — that are close in theology and law (aqidah and fiqh). In public opinion, the situation was seen as a clash between true Islam rooted in authentic Yemeni traditions and a foreign, radical takfiri current that caused deep divisions. The consequences of this conflict in the South appeared in the idea of a “southern identity,” which replaced the idea of a united Yemeni identity that the republican regimes of the YAR and PDRY had promoted before unification. This idea became the base of the ideology of “southern nationalism,” which set the “southern” society against the “northern” or “Yemeni” one — describing the first as “advanced” and the second as “backward,” tribal, and fundamentalist, and therefore incompatible. Since 2009, political leaders of the South Yemeni separatist movement “Hirak” (Peaceful Southern Movement) have used the slogan of restoring the status quo — independence of the South within the 1990 borders of the PDRY — as the best way to peacefully solve the “southern question.” At the same time, in the northern Zaydi provinces of Yemen, the takfiri practices of the “reformers” caused a similar defensive reaction from Zaydi youth. Against the Salafi proselytism of the international school Dar al-Hadith in Dammaj (near the Zaydi stronghold of Saada since the 9th century), the Zaydi intellectual elite created the “Shabab al-Mu’min” movement, which praised the historical role of Yemenis in Islam. It was led by former MP from Saada province, Sayyid Hussein al-Houthi (1959–2004), who gave lectures in 2001–2002 that formed the base of a new form of political Islam known as “Hussism.” It was a mix of theology and political theory, trying to explain the problems of the Muslim world and offer solutions. Its roots were in Zaydi theology. The idea of the “Qur’anic path” led by a spiritual leader — the ‘alam al-huda — aimed to rebuild unity in the Muslim community (ummah), combining ideas from different Sunni and Shia political movements and adding an element of Yemeni nationalism. Despite its originality, it had some similarities with Khomeinism, Salafism, the Muslim Brotherhood, nationalism, and other ideologies, making it a subject of criticism and speculation, even from other Zaydis. It focused on the civilizational injustice of global politics. In this teaching, takfirism was seen both as a distortion of Islamic values and a tool of US and Israeli (Zionist) policies to block a peaceful solution to the Palestinian issue. After the US invasion of Iraq in 2003, Hussein al-Houthi saw this as a sign that the Arab-Muslim world should mobilize to defend itself from future invasions aimed at taking resources by removing identity. In domestic politics, the Houthi movement followed only legal methods: they called for removing the religious reform (and the Islah party) from state privileges, and excluding the security sector from US cooperation. This idea went against President Saleh’s policy of strategic partnership with the US, which started in 2001 when Yemen joined the global US-led counterterror campaign after 9/11. This partnership gave mixed results: it helped build anti-American feelings in society, even as it made Yemen seem more important regionally and gave Saleh’s relatives in the security agencies close contact with US partners. In 2004, President Saleh declared war on the Houthis after they refused to stop chanting their slogan in mosques in Sanaa: “Death to America! Death to Israel! Curse the Jews! Victory to Islam!” — which became a symbol of the movement and expressed its main ideas. The bloody and failed Saada wars of 2004–2010, and the death of their respected leader in 2004, weakened the regime and brought more armed tribes and other groups to join the Houthi resistance. This made them a strong local opposition force. A year before the peaceful uprising of 2011 that shook Saleh’s regime, the so-called “Houthi problem” had already become one of the country’s top national issues, next to the “southern question.” Experts described Yemen in the 1990s and 2000s as unstable. Many American political scientists saw it as a “fragile state,” a term used by the World Bank in the early 1990s. In the 2000s, Yemen gained the image of a global center of “terrorist threats” and became a testing ground for the military and political actions of US intelligence. The “fragile state” concept helped justify direct foreign intervention. At an international conference in London in January 2010 about Yemen, the focus was on security, not reform, as Yemenis had hoped. In 2011, Yemen became one of the key places hit by the wave of protests known as the “Arab Spring.” The idea of a “fragile state,” military spending, and the weakening of national sovereignty all led to the shift of conflicts into violent areas instead of using the democratic tools in the constitution. But the crisis in the relationship between society and the state, and among political actors, could also be seen as a natural immune response of a healthy cultural system — reacting to political problems: Islah still had support from the kingdom that backed the religious reform, while the US became more involved in Yemen’s security agencies despite public anger. Even though the protests in February 2011 were spontaneous and had no central leadership, they had the signs of a real social revolution. There were clear problems at both the top and bottom of society. The Yemeni revolution followed a unique peaceful transition plan — the Gulf Cooperation Council (GCC) Initiative, launched on 23 November 2011 under the UN Secretary-General’s special envoy. The plan gave the task of creating a new constitution to an inclusive National Dialogue (ND) in Sanaa (March 2013 – January 2014), which showed that civil society was alive and strong in Yemen — something not possible in a truly “fragile state.” The organizers of the ND focused its agenda on the two key issues — the “southern question” and the “Houthi problem” — showing that internal Yemeni problems were the main priority in the transition. The only outside part of the plan was the proposed reform to decentralize and federalize the state, seen as a solution to these problems. A unique part of Yemen’s transition was that President Saleh remained head of the ruling party (GPC) even after officially handing over the presidency to his deputy — interim president Abdrabbuh Mansour Hadi — in February 2012. An attack on Saleh in June 2011 turned the former partners and rivals — the GPC and Islah — into true enemies. This attack also left Islah’s leadership without support in 2014, as the Hashid tribal confederation (which included Saleh himself) no longer backed them. A new alliance formed in 2014, with the GPC and the Houthi movement “Ansar Allah,” combining “conservatives” and “revolutionaries.” This gave a political defeat to Islah, whose spiritual leader saw the revolution as the start of a coming caliphate. President Hadi signed the “Peace and National Partnership Agreement” on 21 September 2014, which the UN Security Council supported. It allowed him to shift his regime’s support from Islah to the new alliance and to form a new technocratic government under Khaled Bahah in December 2014. With this change, the foreign actors’ bets on Islah’s victory failed, and Ansar Allah became one of the expected winners of the transition, along with the GPC. Only in late January 2015 did interim president Hadi show signs of crisis by offering his resignation. But the UN envoy Jamal Benomar still believed in the peaceful plan until 24 March 2015, staying in the capital Sanaa, which was controlled by the new alliance, even after Hadi fled to the separatist-held city of Aden on 21 February 2015. The peaceful project fell apart dramatically in March 2015, and many actors offered different explanations. The idea of a “Houthi coup” (with no exact date) became official after the Arab Coalition launched its military intervention on 26 March 2015. This version was confirmed by UN Security Council resolutions and became part of the Yemeni discourse, now shaped more by the regional rivalry between Saudi Arabia and Iran than by Yemen’s own internal problems. Among the lessons of the transition process, along with proof of the effectiveness of the inclusive National Dialogue (ND), we can also point to the doubt it created about the expert community’s firm belief in decentralization and federalization of Yemen. The debate between Yemeni participants on this issue almost caused the conference to collapse, showing the deep disagreement between major Yemeni actors on how many federal regions there should be and how they should relate to the central government. Strong traditions of regionalism in the young Yemeni state raised real concerns that the result of this idea could be state collapse instead of unity (as seen in the countries the reform authors wanted to copy). By mid-2025, the Yemeni crisis (YC) had gone through four stages: two mentioned earlier — during President Saleh’s rule and the implementation of the Initiative — formed its internal (endogenous) stage; and two newer stages after the Arab Coalition (AC) intervention in March 2015 — the geopolitical (military) stage. The AC military campaign in Yemen lasted seven years before entering a phase of steady de-escalation in April 2022. The current “Palestinian” stage began in October 2023, when the YC shifted into a new kind of conflict — a combined armed conflict of supra-regional level (mixing regional and global elements). What makes it unique is its direct link to the situation in the Palestinian-Israeli conflict (PIC) zone and Israel’s war in Gaza. The leading actors in this stage were first the US and the UK, who formed a naval coalition in December 2023 to stop anti-Israeli Houthi actions, and later Israel itself. We recall the prophetic comparison of the YC to a “ticking bomb” made in summer 2015 by UN Secretary-General Ban Ki-moon, warning that it could explode unless stopped early through political settlement. By summer 2025, the YC had absorbed not only unresolved internal problems but also several layers of subregional and regional issues, becoming a military-political “ticking bomb” for the whole region. Discussions about the cause of the YC’s new military phase range from security threats to shipping in the Red Sea by the Houthis and threats to Israel by the “Axis of Resistance” led by Iran, to opposing claims that the US and Israel are to blame for aggressive actions and blocking a legal settlement to the Gaza war. But for our study of the YC’s structure, another point is more important — the ongoing failure to resolve the YC during all its earlier stages, mostly due to outside geopolitical interference. The new stage stands out because the line between Yemen’s internal and external problems has disappeared. It is now part of a larger ethnic and religious conflict in another part of the region. Still, this link, through an ideological concept born in Yemen, does not feel artificial. Houthism, long under pressure since 2004, has now returned as a form of political will of the population — worn out by war but still determined. This fact again shows how unsuitable military methods are for solving the Yemeni conflict. Another unusual aspect of this new geopolitical stage is the inconsistent way the Houthis are labeled as international terrorists — depending on the mood of the US administration. Regional actors also switch between accepting and ignoring this label based on the situation. The accusation creates a legal problem regarding the status of the second major actor in Yemen’s ruling coalition — the core of the GPC party, which recognized the constitution and formed a government in Sanaa in August 2016. This unrecognized government controls about 30% of the territory, where more than 70% of Yemen’s population lives. The equal participation of Ansar Allah and the GPC in fully restored state institutions leaves open the question of how the US defines the GPC’s role in terrorism, especially since the party, led by ex-president Saleh, was a US partner for nearly 10 years before 2011. In the Supreme Political Council — the top body of the Sanaa government — there are 10 members, five from each group. The head of the council has always been from Ansar Allah, but the posts of prime minister, foreign minister, and some military and security positions were mostly held by GPC members. Another problem is linked to UN Security Council Resolution 2216, which demands the Houthis give up heavy weapons and leave Sanaa — in other words, surrender. But since the ruling coalition in Sanaa is joint, it is unclear whether the same demand applies to the GPC, which traditionally controlled the army and security services. There is no doubt about the status of the internationally recognized government (IRG), which is officially accepted, even by Russia — although Russia criticized Resolution 2216 during discussions and did not vote for it. Still, there is a question about the realism of demanding the Houthis hand over all weapons (meaning the arsenal collected during Saleh’s time) to Hadi’s government in exile, which was located entirely in a neighboring country with a complex past in its relations with Yemen. The main reasons the YC shifted to a new phase in October 2023 likely include: 1) the outdated UN framework for conflict resolution; 2) the limited and misleading use of the “proxy war” model to explain a complex conflict involving the AC, framing it only as a Saudi-Iranian proxy war; 3) the competition of many foreign powers for geopolitical influence in Yemen while ignoring Yemenis' own right to sovereignty. Before the transition of the YC to the "Palestinian" phase, two approaches to its settlement had formed in the discourse on YC — the official one (but non-functional) and the pragmatic one (but not acceptable to several internal, and especially external, powerful actors). The specific nature of this division, reflecting the mixed endogenously-geopolitical nature of YC itself, lies in the attempts by powerful interest groups behind them to implement incompatible approaches through the same permanent special mission appointed by the UN Secretary-General. The first approach was set by UN Security Council Resolution 2216 (April 2015), which formally became the legal basis for the UN mission’s work and focused on a military solution to the “Houthi problem” — applying pressure on the unrecognized regime in Sana'a until the Houthis surrendered completely. The second approach, which emerged almost immediately after the war began in March 2015, came from the expert community. It largely agreed with the criticism of Resolution 2216 voiced by the Russian Permanent Representative to the UN Security Council (2006–2017) V. I. Churkin and was based on an understanding of Yemeni realities rather than the wishes of foreign actors. It has long served as the practical guide for the current head of the UN mission in Yemen, Hans Grundberg, and includes two main elements: a) assisting in the prompt end of foreign military intervention in YC; and b) launching a comprehensive political peace process in an inclusive Yemeni format under UN auspices. This scenario gave a “green light,” in particular, to the Omani track and the de-escalation regime that began in April 2022. The UN mission and Russian diplomacy actively supported its progress at every stage. The de-escalation regime and the Omani track of direct talks between Riyadh and Sana'a on the terms of ending the war became the main outcome of the years-long war in Yemen and one of the most important achievements of the reform policy of the Saudi Crown Prince Mohammed bin Salman. The new leader of the Kingdom began his involvement in YC as the commander of Operation “Decisive Storm” conducted by the AC, and in 2021–2022, thanks to him, Saudi Arabia became the initiator of the process to end the conflict based on its own model and using a regional format. Liberal reforms in Saudi Arabia, which affected the religious sphere starting in 2017, the threatening dynamics of the military conflict in Yemen, which hindered Saudi Arabia’s strategy to achieve leadership under the “Vision 2030” concept, and finally, the revision of approaches to the regional security system involving Iran — all came before this shift toward de-escalation in the YC zone. Its intellectual basis was a scholarly monograph published in 2022 by the respected King Faisal Center for Research and Islamic Studies (KFCRIS) in the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia titled “The Houthi Movement in Yemen: Ideology, Ambitions, and Security.” Most of the articles were written by well-known representatives of various Western schools of Oriental studies and Yemeni research centers. They reached a common conclusion that the concept of “proxy” does not apply to the Yemeni Houthis. According to them, this very construct contributed more to the development of relations between the Sana'a regime and Iran and the “Axis of Resistance” during the war years than it reflected any prior allegiance to Tehran’s interests before the conflict began. The authors agreed that the roots of Houthism lie both in Yemeni history and traditions and in the distressing modern political situation in the Middle East after the September 11 attacks, which, in the view of Sayyid Hussein al-Houthi and his brother — Sayyid Abdul-Malik al-Houthi, the current leader of Ansar Allah — was largely caused by US policy that threw the region into chaos. Of course, these “findings” in the monograph did not make the relationship between Saudi Arabia and Ansar Allah friendly, but removing the label of “enemy agent” from the movement allowed both sides to sit at the negotiating table and return the “Houthi problem” (among others) to the agenda of general YC settlement in the Yemeni format. The stable de-escalation regime received support from the UN mission but faced strong opposition from various competing centers of political influence (CPI), who feared losing status and were united in April 2022 into the Presidential Leadership Council (PLC) headed by the new president of the MPP — Rashad al-Alimi. The United States also supported their discontent out of fear that regional actors might take over the initiative in the Yemeni settlement. US President Biden’s Special Representative for Yemen, Tim Lenderking (2021–2025), repeatedly spoke of the leading role of the US, indirectly blaming the UN mission for its support of the Oman talks. A telling example is his statement at the Foreign Affairs Committee hearings in December 2022: “The Houthis’ last-minute demand to direct limited oil export revenues, received by the Yemeni government, to pay salaries of active Houthi combatants, even though the Houthis refused to commit to a ceasefire, prevented the UN from concluding a new truce agreement between the parties in October… These actions are an insult to the entire international community and completely unacceptable. ” The two official visits exchanged between Riyadh and Sana’a in April and September 2023, after the normalization of relations between Saudi Arabia and Iran with Beijing’s mediation in March, differed significantly in the atmosphere of negotiations: the enthusiasm clearly declined, increasing Sana’a’s uncertainty about the outcomes and timing. If the agreement on a "roadmap" within the framework of the Omani track — whose readiness was only announced by H. Grundberg on December 23, 2023 — had been reached earlier, a new escalation in YC might not have occurred at all or would have taken a much less aggressive form. The new stage of the military phase in YC covers the period from October 7, 2023, to May 6, 2025, and is divided into three phases. The de-escalation regime along the military contact line between AC and SA forces remained in effect, although in all other aspects of the process it noticeably deteriorated, pushing the humanitarian and economic situation to the brink of collapse. It should be noted that the initiative to link YC with the situation in the PIC zone came solely from the unrecognized regime in Sana’a and had nothing to do with the policy of Yemen’s official authorities — the MPP, which expressed itself in supporting resolutions of international summits, the Arab League (AL), and the Organization of Islamic Cooperation (OIC), condemning Israel for the genocide of Gaza’s Palestinian population but prioritizing the goal of preventing conflict escalation. Many members of the Presidential Leadership Council (PLC) sharply criticized the Houthis’ policy, describing them as a terrorist group, and their actions in the Red Sea against Israel as harmful to Yemen. This nuance should be taken into account, especially when encountering media headlines like “Yemen enters war with Israel,” which rather reflect the strong resonance of Sana’a’s policy in the Arab-Muslim world, coordinated with members of the so-called “Axis of Resistance.” The following refers specifically to the policy of the unrecognized regime — the initiator of the new stage. The push to move to a new phase in YC was triggered by the sudden raid of Hamas fighters on October 7 — “Al-Aqsa Flood” — and the large-scale, well-prepared Israeli army operation in Gaza “Iron Swords,” which led to near-total destruction of the city and raised the number of victims to about 9% of its population by June 2025. During the first phase from October 7 to December 18, 2023, the leaders of Ansar Allah took full control over shaping the domestic and foreign policy of the unrecognized Sana’a regime, achieving a significant breakthrough in unifying its ideological base on the Houthi doctrine. The Palestinian issue had already played a major role in the rhetoric of Ansar Allah leaders when condemning the military intervention in Yemen by Saudi Arabia and the UAE — which they called “unprovoked aggression,” staged by their common enemies — the US, Britain, and Israel (referred to as the “unholy trinity” in the regime’s rhetoric), aimed at preparing a strategic base in the Red Sea under the hostile New Middle East project. Now the topic of Palestine and Jerusalem became dominant. The solidarity campaign with the Palestinians under the name “Battle of the Promised Victory and the Holy Jihad” covered all areas of the unrecognized regime’s policy and filled the entire internal discourse. Weekly, well-organized mass marches with slogans from the Demonstration Organizing Committee, accompanied by public lectures and religious sermons by the movement’s leader Sayyid Abdul-Malik al-Houthi broadcast on screens, served as the official manifestation of the Yemeni people’s will and determination to stand firm in defending the rights of the Palestinian people. They included not only threats against enemies but also criticism of Arab and Islamic states’ policies for their “negligence,” and of the MPP, described as “anti-people.” In October–November 2023, the campaign of civilian solidarity with the people of Gaza was supplemented by military-political actions of the Houthi regime under the slogan directed to Hamas organizations, “You are not alone!” The unrecognized authorities blocked Israeli shipping through Bab-el-Mandeb, launched missiles toward the Israeli Red Sea port of Eilat, significantly disrupting its operations. At the same time, combat training courses were organized to prepare “hundreds of thousands of Yemenis” for voluntary entry into the war against Israel. Expressions of loyalty to the “leader of the revolution” — Sayyid Abdul-Malik al-Houthi — reached unprecedented levels, spreading across the military leadership at all levels. The head of the Supreme Political Council (SPC) of the Sana’a regime, Mahdi al-Mashat, emphasized that the countermeasures he introduced against Israel were tied exclusively to the war and blockade in the Gaza Strip, with no intention to obstruct freedom of navigation through the Bab-el-Mandeb strait for other companies and ships. Overall, the ban affected about 1–1.5% of the cargo flow. The second phase, from December 18, 2023, to January 19, 2025, covers the conduct of the “Poseidon Archer” military operation with the participation of the US-UK Maritime Coalition (USUKMC) during the Biden administration. In a joint statement from the US government and several of its partners dated January 3, 2024, referring to attacks on about 10 cargo ships using around 100 drones from Yemen’s shores, it stated: “... the attacks threaten the lives of innocent people around the world and pose a serious international problem requiring collective action. Nearly 15% of global maritime trade passes through the Red Sea, including 8% of global grain trade, 12% of maritime oil trade, and 8% of liquefied natural gas. International shipping companies continue to reroute their vessels around the Cape of Good Hope, resulting in significant costs and weeks-long delays in deliveries, ultimately putting at risk the transportation of essential food, fuel, and humanitarian aid worldwide. Let our message be clear: we call for an immediate end to these illegal attacks and the release of unlawfully detained ships and crews. The Houthis will be held accountable for the consequences if they continue to threaten lives, the global economy, and the free movement of trade along key regional waterways.” The strikes launched by USUKMC on January 11, 2024, aimed to “restore freedom of navigation” through the strait and deprive Sana’a of the military capability to continue its ship attacks. Israel was not mentioned, but within Yemen, the openly pro-Israel orientation of the campaign against the Sana’a alliance (SA) seriously complicated the MPP’s position. The operation ended on January 19, 2025, without achieving its objectives, following Biden’s departure from the presidency. U.S. partners in the EU and the region refused to operate under U.S. command. The EU’s “Aspides” operation focused on covering and escorting merchant ships. Among the Gulf countries, only Bahrain participated in the US-UK Maritime Coalition (USUKMC), providing a base for U.S. and British fleets and CENTCOM’s command headquarters. The U.S. invoked Article 51 of Chapter VII “Action with respect to threats to the peace, breaches of the peace, and acts of aggression” of the UN Charter (the right of self-defense) to justify its aggression in Yemen. The legal side of the USUKMC operation was extensively criticized by the Russian Ministry of Foreign Affairs and Russia’s Permanent Representative to the UN Security Council, V.A. Nebenzya. In his detailed letter to UN members dated January 22, 2024, he presented Russia’s position, describing the actions of the U.S. and Britain as a blatant violation of international law and a threat to peace. Russia did not support the Houthi threats to navigation but, amid the even more explosive situation in Gaza — which the Houthi countermeasures aimed to contain — proposed that both issues be resolved simultaneously through balanced, comprehensive solutions. This approach was also shared by most regional actors, who were primarily concerned about threats to shipping posed by the USUKMC military campaign in the Red Sea itself. According to the 2024 annual report of the Suez Canal Authority, revenue from ship traffic fell by 60%, depriving Egypt of about $7 billion (compared to a 2–3% drop before the formation of the “Guardian” coalition). Almost every quarter during the military phase of the “Palestinian” stage, the Houthis demonstrated new types of weapons and improved tactics for attacking maritime targets, including both commercial and military ships of the U.S. and Britain, which were added to Sana’a’s blacklist after the aggression began. This development triggered threats toward Iran, accused of supplying weapons to the Houthis while bypassing all checkpoints established since March 2015 — long controlled by the U.S. and British navies. On July 20, 2024, Israeli aviation joined the USUKMC “Archer” operations — one day after a Yemeni drone exploded in Tel Aviv. In the second half of the year, Israel launched three more attacks, coordinated with USUKMC combat operations. Meanwhile, strikes on Israeli territory from Yemen intensified. From October 2023 to mid-January 2025, Sana’a media reported 92 air raids on various targets in Israel, including the Haifa port on the Mediterranean (jointly with Iraqi resistance forces) and Ben Gurion International Airport in Tel Aviv. During this period, the Houthis also attacked 24 Israeli ships. They carried out 78 combat operations against the U.S. Navy, attacked 30 American commercial vessels, and 13 British ships. Attacks on Israeli territory involved cruise and ballistic missiles, some with hypersonic capabilities that pierced Israel’s defense systems, as well as large numbers of drones. According to incomplete data, during the first year of the “Archer” operation, USUKMC launched 1,200 strikes on Yemen. The combat experience gained by U.S. forces in the war with Yemen in the Red and Arabian Seas was recognized by many experts as instructive, becoming a subject of close study of a conflict in which drones worth up to $20,000 were countered by air defense missiles costing $1–4.5 million each. The change of administrations in the White House triggered a pause in the Gaza war on January 19, 2025, and a simultaneous halt in Houthi attacks on all ships in the Red and Arabian Seas. However, the arrival of President Trump was accompanied by a major escalation of the U.S. military operation, which was named “Furious Rider.” Trump's designation of the Houthis as a Foreign Terrorist Organization (FTO) on January 22, 2025, coincided with the pause in hostilities and contradicted the call from UN mission head H. Grundberg for a full ceasefire in the Red Sea, citing Yemen’s dire humanitarian situation. At the UN Security Council briefing on February 13, 2025, he began his speech with a call for deescalation. However, on March 15, 2025, the U.S. resumed heavy bombing of Yemen just before the truce in Gaza collapsed due to Israeli actions. The Washington Times wrote: “President Trump warned the Iran-backed terrorist group that it must stop all attacks on commercial shipping in the Red Sea, or ‘you will face a hell like you’ve never seen before.’” The new wave of daily, unprecedentedly intense strikes on Yemen under the “Furious Rider” operation continued from March 15 to May 6, 2025. The beginning of the operation was marked by a loud political scandal — “Signalgate” — related to the leak of confidential information about the planned U.S. military operation in Yemen. The leak was published in an article by The Atlantic’s editor-in-chief Jeffrey Goldberg, who had accidentally joined a messenger chat created by National Security Secretary Mike Watts, who was later dismissed over the incident. The operation involved the aircraft carrier USS Harry S. Truman (CVN-75), which lost three F-18 jets in multiple incidents, each valued at $67 million. The U.S. also lost over a dozen heavy MQ-9 Reaper drones, each worth $30 million, shot down over Yemen. The cost of the U.S. operation in Yemen is estimated at around $7 billion. In late April 2025, British aircraft rejoined the “Rider” operation. On May 5, Israeli aircraft carried out its first large-scale strike of the campaign on sensitive infrastructure and residences of Ansar Allah’s political and military leaders, continuing attacks even after President Trump declared the operation over. At an investment forum in Riyadh in mid-May, the American president gave the following comment on his decision: “In recent weeks, after repeated attacks on American ships and on the freedom of navigation in the Red Sea, the U.S. military carried out more than 1,100 strikes on the Houthis in Yemen. As a result, the Houthis agreed to stop. They said, ‘We don’t want this anymore.’ You’re hearing this from them for the first time. They’re tough guys, they’re fighters. But just a few days ago, we asked them to stop attacking commercial ships. They had no intention whatsoever of targeting trade vessels or anything American, and they were very happy that we stopped. But we had 52 days of thunder and lightning like they’d never seen before. It was fast, fierce, decisive, and an extremely successful use of military force. Not that we wanted it, but they were hitting ships. They were firing at you. They were firing at Saudi Arabia. We were not.” The prospects for further development of the YC remain unpredictable. The linkage of YC with the PIC remains in effect. YC has transitioned into a format of direct confrontation between SA and Israel. A new war front was opened by Israel's attack on Iran on January 13, 2025, and the twelve-day war that followed — ending with a U.S. strike on Iran’s nuclear facilities and Iran’s retaliatory strike on a U.S. Air Force base in Qatar — sparked Sana’a’s willingness to support Iran while continuing to tie YC to the situation in Gaza and maintain the blockade of Israeli shipping through the Bab-el-Mandeb Strait. Russia’s position throughout all phases of the second stage of the military phase was consistently focused on political resolution of YC. On May 14, 2025, Russia’s Permanent Representative to the UN, V.A. Nebenzya, stated that during the nearly two-month confrontation between the U.S. and the Houthis, the death toll had exceeded 200 people, with several hundred more injured. Strikes were carried out almost nightly on the territory of sovereign Yemen, targeting not only military but also civilian infrastructure, with no result — neither the suppression of Ansar Allah’s military capabilities nor their abandonment of their course of action. Welcoming the cessation of U.S. attacks on Yemen, the Russian envoy remarked: “Better late than never, as the saying goes. It seems that Washington has finally acknowledged the futility of the military approach, something we have pointed out repeatedly… This could have been a first step toward general de-escalation around Yemen. But unfortunately, it is not yet the case, because Israel has now begun relay-style bombardments of Yemen.” The U.S.-UK coalition’s military campaign in Yemen bore all the hallmarks of a large-scale neocolonial military adventure. It immediately took the form of a demonstration of military superiority, hardly differing in method or tactics from earlier AC operations, when nearly 250,000 strikes were launched on Yemen from March 2015 to April 2022. The USUKMC's failures to organize a ground operation — necessary for military victory — also echoed past lessons. The AC’s refusal to participate in favor of maintaining the de-escalation regime, and the conditional agreement by Yemeni CPIs in the MPP to join only if supplied with U.S. arms (thus endangering their patrons from the AC), yielded no results. Moreover, the Palestinian backdrop of the new phase raised the risk that all of the accumulated military power of SA’s enemies might eventually pivot against Israel’s allies. The second stage of the geopolitical phase of the crisis cannot be considered fully complete, yet it may transform into a third one if Israel attempts to seize the initiative. * Organization designated as terrorist and banned in the Russian Federation.References:Bokov T.A. The Yemeni Houthi Movement: Causes of Origin, Formation and Development. Dissertation abstract. St. Petersburg, 2023. P. 162.In January 2021, outgoing president D. Trump designated the Houthis as an international terrorist group, which was reversed by incoming president J. Biden in February. In January 2024, the group was re-designated, and Trump began his new term in January 2025 by raising the threat level of the Houthis to a “Foreign Terrorist Organization” (FTO).The Huthi Movement in Yemen: Ideology, Ambition and Security in the Arab Gulf / Abdullah Hamidaddin. London: I.B. Tauris, 2022.The book’s editor was Dr. Abdullah Hamidaddin, Assistant Secretary General of the Center. Contributors included B. Haykel (Princeton), M. Brandt (ISA, Austria), E. Ardemagni (ISPI, Italy), among others.The same article served as the legal reference for launching the AC’s “Decisive Storm” operation in March 2015.United Nations S/2024/90 Security Council Distr.: General 22 January 2024 — Letter dated 22 January 2024 from the Permanent Representative of the Russian Federation to the United Nations addressed to the President of the Security Council.MQ-9 Reaper — remotely piloted UAV, medium-altitude and long-endurance. Primarily used for reconnaissance, surveillance, targeting, and strikes.

Abstract This paper examines whether the European Union (EU) can supplant the United States (US) as a benign hegemon in the contemporary international system. It discusses the concept of a benign hegemon, traditionally associated with the US, characterized by military and economic dominance exercised with liberal values, multilateralism, and the promotion of global security and prosperity.  The analysis highlights the limitations of US hegemony, including military overextension, economic challenges, and a decline in soft power, particularly in regions such as the Middle East. Conversely, the EU's global ambitions are examined, with a focus on its peace efforts, trade agreements, development aid, and multilateral engagement. However, the EU's internal divisions, lack of unified foreign and defense policy, and historical perceptions of coercion limit its ability to act as a benign hegemon. The analysis concludes with a proposition that the EU's unique nature and current constraints suggest it cannot fully assume the US's role, raising questions about the viability of benign hegemony in today's context. Key Words: SAFE, EU, US, Benign Hegemon, Geopolitics Introduction In the recent two pieces, we looked at Security Action for Europe (SAFE) and its potential consequences regarding the role and nature of the EU as a military power {link}, and Ukraine's integration into European defence cooperation, highlighting its unique status as a semi-integrated security partner (SISP) despite not being an EU member. {link}, This article will examine the transatlantic relations and specifically address the question of whether the EU could replace the US as a benign hegemon. According to popular sources, a "benign hegemon" refers to a dominant power that exercises its influence in a manner that is generally considered beneficial. This notion is contemporary and is almost always used referring to the United States (US). Accordingly, the US has used its influence to provide global security and stability without being overly aggressive or coercive. The concept is rooted in hegemonic stability theory, which posits that a single dominant state is necessary to maintain the stability of the international system.[i] Scholars define a benign hegemon as one that provides the necessary power to uphold the international order. This involves advancing its interests while promoting global security and prosperity through multilateral treaties and international organizations, safeguarding national sovereignty via alliance networks and the UN Security Council, and fostering unrestricted market capitalism through trade deals and bodies such as the World Trade Organization and the International Monetary Fund.[ii] Moreover, a benign hegemon is typically defined as a hegemonic power that, in addition to possessing overwhelming military and economic power, utilises its influence to promote more liberal principles within the international system. This includes pursuing liberal international values such as economic development, liberal and democratic political structures, and fostering a community of civilised states that resort to war only as a last resort and never against each other. The United States, as the hegemonic power after the Cold War, is often described as benign because its influence is broadly progressive, aiming to create a liberal world order based on free markets, free speech, free elections, and the exercise of free will unencumbered by the state. While the US maintains traditional geopolitical objectives, it also attempts to refashion the operational ground rules of the international system itself, promoting free trade, human rights, democratisation, and a global cultural infrastructure based on US technological companies. This combination of overwhelming power and a liberal agenda is what characterises a benign hegemon.[iii] Furthermore, experts often cite the US's "liberal grand strategy" as constructing a relatively benign and highly institutionalised multilateral system based on open markets, free trade, and the provision of public goods, such as collective security and an open international trading regime.[iv] This system is viewed as enabling other countries to prosper economically in a secure environment, with examples such as the rebuilding and subsequent success of Japan and Germany. However, the concept of benign hegemon is contested, with some arguing that the US lacks the resources to be a genuine global hegemon, as noted by John Mearsheimer and Joseph Nye, who suggest it cannot achieve all security, political, and economic goals alone. This argument highlights the complexity of assessing whether the US's actions are truly benign, especially given its military and financial reach.[v] Historical Context The US's role as a potential benign hegemon has been prominent since the end of World War II, particularly after the fall of the Berlin Wall in 1989, when it occupied a hegemonic position within world politics Historical instances include its leadership in establishing the Bretton Woods system, the International Monetary Fund, the World Bank, and security alliances like NATO, which aimed to stabilise the global economy and provide collective defense. The US also played a key role in democratising post-war Europe and Japan, furthering its image as a stabilising force. On the positive side, the US led through consent, with high global approval ratings and multilateral actions, such as Bush Sr.'s Gulf War coalition and Obama's Libya UN action, which are claimed to be foundational to the liberal order since World War II. On the negative side, actions like the Iraq War, drone attacks, and government overthrows in Latin America and the Middle East are cited as evidence of coercion and imperialism, undermining the benign label. Scholars focusing on the Middle East note that despite its hegemonic role, the region has experienced significant violence and instability, with US interventions such as the 2003 Iraq War and the 2011 Libya seen as sources of disorder rather than stability. This challenges the notion of benign hegemony, suggesting unipolarity (power dominance without ideological consensus) better explains US actions in the region.[vi] US hegemony and its limitations The concept of American hegemony has been a cornerstone of international relations since the end of World War II. However, in recent decades, the limitations of American hegemony have become increasingly apparent across military, economic, and cultural domains. Given the recent developments in the Middle East (war in Gaza and incursions between Israel and Iran), it seems logical to examine the limitations of US hegemony in the context of the region. Several factors contribute to the decline in American influence in the Middle East. Firstly, the failure of political reconstruction efforts in Iraq after the US-led invasion and overthrow of Saddam Hussein shifted America's position in the region from advantageous to disadvantaged and exposed the limits of American hegemony. Secondly, war-weariness within the United States affects the ability to sustain prolonged involvement and influence in the region. Thirdly, there is a relative neglect of the Arab-Israeli peace process, which undermines American credibility and effectiveness in the region. Fourthly, the impact of US regional policies on the influence of Iran, which has grown stronger partly as an unintended consequence of the Iraq war. Next, the emergence of a new regional power struggle between an Iranian-led bloc of mainly Shia actors and a Sunni bloc led by Arab states such as Saudi Arabia and Egypt. The rise of Islamist militias and political groups like Muqtada al-Sadr's supporters in Iraq, Hezbollah in Lebanon, and Hamas in the Palestinian territories, which were advantaged by early elections promoted by the US before adequate security and political institutions were in place. Next, the Bush administration's distancing from the Israeli-Palestinian peace process contributed to the rise of Hamas and further undermined moderate Palestinian leadership. Lastly, the diminished fear of American power by adversaries such as Iran, which refused negotiations and disregarded weak UN sanctions, and the uncertainty of America's Arab allies about the reliability of the US as a partner.[vii] Generally speaking, one of the most significant limitations of American military dominance is the issue of overextension. The US has maintained a global military presence, with bases and troops stationed across the world. However, this overextension has led to military fatigue and resource depletion. The wars in Afghanistan and Iraq, for instance, have strained the US military, leading to a decline in its ability to project power effectively.[viii] The rise of other military powers, particularly China, has also challenged the United States' military dominance. China's rapid military modernisation, including advancements in technology and naval capabilities, has narrowed the gap between the two superpowers. This has raised concerns about the US's ability to maintain its military superiority in the Asia-Pacific region and beyond. [ix] Maintaining military dominance is costly, and the economic burden of sustaining a global military presence has taken a toll on the US economy. The high defence budget has led to trade imbalances and deindustrialisation, weakening the economic foundations of American hegemony.[x] The US economy has faced significant challenges, including deindustrialisation, financialisation, and rising competition from China. The shift of manufacturing activities to countries with lower labour costs has weakened the US industrial base, while the rise of China as a global economic powerhouse has challenged American economic influence.[xi] Globalisation has created a more interconnected world economy, reducing the US's ability to dictate economic policies unilaterally. The rise of emerging economies, particularly in Asia, has shifted the balance of economic power, making it difficult for the US to maintain its hegemony in global trade and finance.[xii] The dominance of the US dollar in the global financial system is facing challenges. The rise of alternative currencies and the increasing use of cryptocurrencies have threatened the dollar's hegemony. Additionally, countries like Russia and China are reducing their dependence on the dollar, further eroding its global dominance.[xiii] American cultural influence, once a cornerstone of its global hegemony, is facing resistance. The rise of non-Western cultural formations, particularly in Asia and the Middle East, has challenged the dominance of American media, entertainment, and values. This has led to a decline in the global appeal of American culture.[xiv] The US's soft power, which was once a key component of its hegemony, has declined in recent years. The country's unilateral policies, military interventions, and domestic challenges, such as racial tensions and economic inequality, have eroded its moral authority and global influence.[xv] What is the EU hoping to achieve as a global player? A thorough analysis of available up-to-date documents issued by the EU itself suggests several key areas of interest to the organisation as a key global player. First and foremost, the EU is committed to fostering peace, preventing conflicts, and strengthening international security. It supports a rules-based international order with the United Nations at its core, advocating for multilateralism and the rule of international law.[xvi] The EU has actively engaged in conflict resolution, such as promoting a two-state solution in the Israeli-Palestinian conflict and supporting ceasefires in regions like Gaza.[xvii] It also invests significantly in the defence of Ukraine to counter Russian aggression, viewing this as critical to maintaining European and global stability.[xviii] As the world's largest trading power, the EU seeks to use its economic strength to boost prosperity, enhance its trading power, and foster mutually beneficial partnerships. The EU's economic influence is a key pillar of its global power strategy, as evidenced by recent agreements. In April 2025, the EU-Central Asia summit agreed on a strategic partnership aimed at strengthening economic ties between the EU and Central Asia.[xix] A month later (May 2025), the EU and Singapore signed a landmark Digital Trade Agreement, enhancing the EU's digital trade capabilities.[xx] Overall, the EU has over 40 trade agreements with 70 countries. These agreements fall into three distinct categories: Economic Partnership Agreements (EPAs), Free Trade Agreements (FTAs), and Association Agreements (AAs). The EU also enters into non-preferential trade agreements, as part of broader deals such as Partnership and Cooperation Agreements (PCAs).[xxi] The EU provides significant development aid, which, when including the UK, is two-thirds greater than that of the US and is mainly supplied as grants rather than loans. According to the EU, this highlights its commitment to promoting human rights and sustainable development. The EU has built a dominant position in global development. It accounts for half of all aid worldwide, but the plethora of different programmes disguises its profile in this regard. [xxii] The EU aims to establish strong, well-managed partnerships with countries and regions beyond its immediate neighbourhood, particularly with middle powers (e.g., Brazil, Egypt, Indonesia, Mexico, Saudi Arabia) and pivotal regions (e.g., Africa, Central Asia, Southeast Asia). This is crucial for maintaining its influence in a multipolar world.[xxiii] In that respect, the EU is committed to reforming multilateral institutions, such as the UN, the IMF, and the World Bank, to ensure more equitable representation and effectiveness. It also aims to play a leading role in shaping the future of global forums, such as the G-20. Initiatives such as the "Golden Gateway" (€300 billion by 2027, launched in late 2021) and "Team Europe" for post-COVID investments are part of the EU's strategy to counterbalance China's Belt and Road Initiative and engage more effectively with developing countries.[xxiv] The EU focuses on addressing global challenges, including climate action, migration, and economic development. It wants to ensure that its climate policies, such as the Carbon Border Adjustment Mechanism, do not hinder the development of Southern countries and offers compensation through initiatives like the Global Gateway and climate funds.[xxv] In 2021, the EU was the top partner for 80 countries and provided 43% of global official development assistance, underscoring its commitment.[xxvi] Migration reform is another priority, with the EU aiming to facilitate legal immigration pathways, including work visas, circular migration, and resettlement schemes, to address irregular entries and support global development.[xxvii] In this respect, the Council of the European Union adopted the EU's Pact on Migration and Asylum in May 2024. According to the EU, "the asylum and migration pact will ensure a fairer and stronger migration system that makes a concrete difference on the ground. These new rules will enhance the effectiveness of the European asylum system and foster greater solidarity among member states. The European Union will also continue its close cooperation with third countries to tackle the root causes of irregular migration".[xxviii]   The EU aspires to be a more assertive player in global security, potentially reevaluating its role in NATO and taking on greater responsibility as a security guarantor, particularly in regions such as Africa. It recognises the need for a foreign policy that is both humble (acknowledging the need to do more to have an impact) and ambitious (aiming for strong partnerships to promote its interests and objectives). The EU faces challenges from disinformation campaigns by Russia and China, as well as historical resentment from centuries of European dominance. To address this, Brussels is scaling up its diplomatic engagement and communication efforts, including task forces for regions such as sub-Saharan Africa and communication hubs like the one in Beirut (Carnegie Endowment for International Peace - The EU and the Global Battle of Narratives, citing EEAS Disinformation Speech). The EU aims to repair its image and rebuild trust abroad by positioning itself as a force for reform and a reliable partner for developing nations.[xxix] The EU finds itself squeezed between the United States and China, with its interests increasingly aligned with those of the US, yet also needing to assert its independence. The US's "pivot to Asia" has given the EU more freedom on specific international issues, but it also underscores the need for the EU to strengthen its global role.[xxx] The EU must also clarify its position vis-à-vis the Global South, ensuring that its policies are perceived as supportive and beneficial to developing nations, particularly in areas such as trade, climate, and security. Can the EU ever become a benign power? The answer to this question turns out to be negative, at least as long as we adhere to the criteria used so far. Below, the reader will find a list of reasons supporting the above-proposed statement. First, the EU is still not a unified entity, especially regarding its foreign, security, and, even more so, defence policy. It remains a collection of 27 semi-independent states, some, such as Germany, being more independent than others, notably the Benelux countries (Belgium, the Netherlands, and Luxembourg). Ultimately, the EU's ability to achieve its declared foreign and security objectives depends on the political dynamics and appetite for further integration among member states. For example, the latest proposed 18th package of Russian sanctions was blocked by Hungary and Slovakia, and Brussels has limited options for action, at least for now.[xxxi] The EU's vast asymmetry in power with its neighbors can lead to perceptions of dominance and coercion, even if the EU does not intend to be seen that way.[xxxii] One does not have to look far, but consider the latest (since 2015) waves of immigration. In northern Africa, as well as in some parts of the Middle East, South Asia, and South America, the EU member states are predominantly seen as former colonial powers. There appears to be a shared sense of entitlement towards the EU and its member states regarding its imperial past, which was often anything but benign. Importantly, this does not refer to central and Eastern European members of the EU.[xxxiii] While the EU remains an economic (albeit comparatively declining) and normative power (at least this is what it likes to self-identify), it lacks the military capacity to project its influence in the same way that traditional hegemons have. It is also doubtful that even if the SAFE instrument is fully realized in the next couple of years, the EU member states will have the industrial and human capacity to match the great powers, such as the US, Russia, Turkey, Iran, or, most of all, China.  A quick juxtaposition of current defense spending, population numbers, population growth forecasts, and economic output forecasts tells us all we need to know in this regard. The answer is bitter for the EU; it is likely to matter less and less. On top of that, let's look at the notion of “benign”. What does it even mean? Perhaps the term is entirely false; maybe even the US does not now fulfill the “benign” requirements, at least not in the way it has been defined (as in the introduction). Perhaps, there has never really been a “benign hegemon,” and the EU should not even try to fill these shoes. As usual, there are more questions than answers. Whatever the EU becomes via SAFE, it will probably stand for, not the first time, as new and an “undefiable animal” – sui generis (of its kind) as the EU academics usually posit. The concept of the EU as a benign hegemon is complex and contested. While the EU does promote its values and norms through various means, the extent to which its influence is truly benign is debatable. The EU's internal divisions and its neighbors' perceptions of its power dynamics play a crucial role in shaping the reality of its regional role. Can the EU become a benign power in the future? The author of this analysis is rather negative. Especially, if the EU does not address the challenges as explored here: https://worldandnewworld.com/safe-europe-military-power-3/ and https://worldandnewworld.com/ukraine-european-defence-cooperation/   [1] Although not official, some discussions suggest animals like the Golden Eagle as potential symbols due to its historical significance in Europe, including its use in the Roman Empire and modern Germany.[i]   See more: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hegemonic_stability_theory[ii]Keay, L. (2023). Surviving the End of US Hegemony. The International Spectator. https://www.iai.it/en/pubblicazioni/c05/surviving-end-us-hegemony[iii]  Catley, B. (1997). Hegemonic America: The benign superpower? Contemporary Southeast Asia, 18(4), 377-399. ISEAS - Yusof Ishak Institute. https://www.jstor.org/stable/25798354[iv]   Catley, B. (1997). Hegemonic America: The Benign Superpower? Contemporary Southeast Asia, 18(4), 377–399. http://www.jstor.org/stable/25798354[v]Mearsheimer, J. J. (2016). Benign Hegemony. International Studies Review, 1(3). https://www.mearsheimer.com/wp-content/uploads/2019/06/Benign-Hegemony.pdf [vi] Gause, F. G. (2025). Hegemony, Unipolarity and American Failure in the Middle East. POMEPS Studies, 54, 41–47. https://pomeps.org/pomeps-studies-54-america-and-the-middle-east[vii] Wittes, T. C. (2007, March 22). American hegemony: Myth and reality. The Brookings Institution. Retrieved June 26, 2025, from https://www.brookings.edu/articles/american-hegemony-myth-and-reality/[viii] Bello, W. (2024). Overextension and Globalization: The Dynamics of Hegemonic Decline. Critical Sociology. https://doi.org/10.1177/08969205241266982[ix] Asuquo-Ekpo, B. (2024). China’s Economic, Military, Science and Technological Emergence in International Politics: Implications for United States’ Hegemony. World Journal Of Advanced Research and Reviews, 22(3), 804–814. https://doi.org/10.30574/wjarr.2024.22.3.1791[x]Lau, J. (2023). American Imperialism (pp. 185–194). 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Amerika Serikat sebagai Negara Adikuasa: Pengaruh dan Dominasi dari Akhir Abad ke-20 hingga Awal Abad ke-21. 1(3), 157–161. https://doi.org/10.57251/polyscopia.v1i3.1368[xvi] A global Europe: leveraging our power and partnership. (n.d.). European Commission, A Global Europe. Retrieved June 30, 2025, from https://commission.europa.eu/priorities-2024-2029/global-europe_en[xvii] European Commission (2025, April 14). Commission announces multiannual programme for Palestinian recovery and resilience worth up to €1.6 billion. European Commission, Press Release. https://ec.europa.eu/commission/presscorner/detail/en/ip_25_1055[xviii] European Union (n.d.). EU support for Ukraine. European Union. Retrieved June 30, 2025, from https://european-union.europa.eu/priorities-and-actions/eu-support-ukraine_en[xix] European Commission (2025, April 4). Joint press release on the EU-Central Asia Summit. 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