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Over time, the bilateral relationship between Mexico and the United States has gone through multiple stages and transitions, reflecting both moments of collaboration and episodes of deep antagonism. At certain points, both countries have succeeded in consolidating frameworks of cooperation in specific areas, such as the peaceful resolution of the El Chamizal territorial dispute in 1967 or the promotion of academic exchange through the Fulbright-García Robles Scholarship Program. However, this interaction has also been marked by significant conflicts, most notably the war of 1846–1848. This confrontation, whose outcome was unfavorable for Mexico, culminated in the signing of the Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo, through which the country was forced to cede more than half of its territory. This episode left a deep imprint on Mexico's collective memory. The shared history thus reveals a complex and constantly evolving dynamic. The geographical proximity between Mexico and the United States, with a land border exceeding 3,000 kilometers, requires both governments to adjust their priorities to respond to shared challenges in areas such as security, trade, investment, migration, and other strategic issues. This border condition generates a constant bilateral dynamic, in which national priorities must be harmonized with bilateral and regional interests. From a theoretical perspective inspired by Robert Keohane and Joseph Nye, Dr. Rafael Velázquez Flores argues that this relationship is configured as an asymmetric and multifaceted interdependence. Within this framework, Mexico seeks to expand its decision-making capacity in an environment characterized by structural power imbalances. For his part, Dr. Jorge Schiavon contends that the bilateral agenda operates within a logic of complex interdependence, in which the dense network of institutions and the multiple economic, social, and political ties restrict the ability of either country to act unilaterally. One of the most evident manifestations of the interdependence that characterizes the North American region was the signing of NAFTA in 1992, which came into effect two years later and was transformed into the USMCA in 2018 following a deep renegotiation process. This economic integration mechanism, though less ambitious than the European Union’s model, has strengthened trade and production ties in the region, generating reciprocal benefits. On one hand, U.S. companies have consolidated preferential access to inputs from Mexico, which has boosted key sectors such as automotive, electronics, and agribusiness. Through stricter rules of origin, the agreement has encouraged greater domestic production of components within the United States, protecting industries in strategic states such as Michigan, Texas, and Ohio. In this context, Mexico became the United States’ main trading partner in 2023, with imports valued at $475 billion, surpassing both China and Canada. On the other hand, Mexico regards the United States as its main trading partner, which as of April 2025 accounted for over 80% of its exports and more than 40% of its total imports. The preferential access established by the USMCA has enabled the Mexican economy to position itself as a strategic supplier of goods and services to the U.S. economy, with particular significance in sectors such as automotive, electronics, manufacturing, and agribusiness. The stricter provisions on rules of origin in the automotive sector have encouraged deeper regional integration, leading plants located in Mexico to expand their role in component production and assembly processes. Although the automotive sector captures a large share of the benefits, other industries have also experienced significant growth. As a result, Mexico has become the United States’ main agricultural supplier and has strengthened its presence in sectors such as pharmaceuticals, chemicals, and capital goods, including machinery, electrical equipment, and computing devices.     As shown in Table 1, the United States and Canada occupy the top two positions as destinations for Mexican exports. Based on data from April 2025, the U.S. market imported nearly $45 billion worth of goods from Mexico. Regarding Mexican imports during the same period, the United States ranked first as Mexico’s main trading partner, exceeding $21 billion, with China in second place at just over $10 billion. In this context, it is worth noting that, as shown in Table 2, Canada ranked 10th as a source of Mexican imports. This scenario highlights that the economic integration between Mexico and the United States goes beyond the exchange of goods: both countries have built an integrated and highly specialized production network that generates millions of jobs while fostering growth in the North American region.     On the issue of migration, Mexico and the United States maintain a deep interdependence that permeates the bilateral agenda not only in socioeconomic matters but also in security-related issues. In 2023, approximately 10.6 million Mexican-born immigrants were legally residing in the United States, representing 23% of the total foreign-born immigrant population. At the same time, according to the Pew Research Center, around 4 million Mexicans were living without legal status — down from a peak of 6.9 million in 2007. Thus, the Mexican presence in the U.S. continues to have a dual impact: it contributes labor and demographic stability to the American economy while also generating a steady flow of remittances and transnational ties that support regional development in Mexico and strengthen binational relations. In fact, the Bank of Mexico estimated that remittances sent from the United States to Mexico exceeded $62 billion in 2024 — far surpassing Mexican exports of petroleum products, which amounted to approximately $30 billion that same year. In the current scenario of complex interdependence between Mexico and the United States, the re-election of Donald Trump has introduced a climate of tension that has weakened traditional channels of bilateral dialogue and cooperation. The Republican administration has replaced structured diplomacy with a rhetoric characterized by threats, misperceptions, and a widespread atmosphere of uncertainty. Although President Trump’s confrontational strategy is not limited to Mexico — as it stems from the narrative that the international community has excessively and asymmetrically taken advantage of its relationship with Washington — his administration has intensified the portrayal of Mexico as a key factor behind various domestic grievances in the United States. Irregular migration, drug trafficking, and the trade imbalance have become recurring issues through which the White House channels internal demands, reinforcing a narrative of confrontation. This dynamic undermines the institutional mechanisms of bilateral understanding and places at risk the progress made in economic cooperation, security, and cross-border governance. Since the beginning of his second term, President Trump has implemented a series of unilateral actions that intensify his restrictive immigration agenda. On the very day of his inauguration, he declared a national emergency at the southern border and signed multiple executive orders that eliminated access to asylum, suspended the refugee resettlement program, and reinstated the “Remain in Mexico” policy. He also delegated border control functions to the Department of Defense and authorized the deployment of the military and National Guard to perform tasks traditionally carried out by civilian agencies. Through the 1798 Alien Enemies Act, he ordered expedited deportations, including those targeting unaccompanied minors. U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) has carried out mass raids, even in sanctuary cities, schools, and hospitals. This institutional offensive has intensified the criminalization of undocumented individuals, while the use of military forces in urban areas has undermined legal certainty and created an atmosphere of insecurity that fractures social cohesion and amplifies collective fear. In the commercial sphere, President Donald Trump has promoted executive orders imposing tariffs on Mexican exports of steel, aluminum, and automobiles, justifying such measures with arguments related to the trade deficit, irregular migration flows, and efforts to combat fentanyl trafficking. Although his administration has temporarily suspended some duties on products covered by the USMCA, these unilateral decisions have heightened uncertainty in the bilateral relationship by contradicting commitments made under the agreement. Constant threats to expand tariffs to goods not included in the treaty, along with the use of extraordinary powers to impose trade restrictions, have eroded the climate of trust between the productive sectors of both countries. In response, the Mexican government has pursued diplomatic actions and dialogue mechanisms aimed at ensuring the proper implementation of the USMCA and establishing safeguards to reduce the risks posed by protectionist measures that affect the stability and predictability of regional trade. In the current context, President Trump has disregarded the strategic importance of the United States’ historic allies and trade partners by adopting measures that have eroded trust not only with Mexico but also with other key partners such as Canada and the European Union. This situation has confronted the Mexican government with a complex challenge: preserving the stability of its most important economic relationship while also maintaining a strong consular protection policy. To this end, Mexico operates one of the world’s largest consular networks, with 53 consulates distributed throughout U.S. territory. The work of the Mexican Foreign Service is essential in this scenario, as it strengthens diplomatic dialogue and underscores to Washington that Mexico shares democratic and economic values with the United States. Recognizing mutual interdependence is vital: the prosperity and stability of both countries are intertwined, and a strong bilateral relationship is a key component of sustained economic growth in North America as a whole. Although it is uncertain what future decisions President Trump may make, the Mexican government must prioritize dialogue and political coordination as underlying strategies of its foreign policy, avoiding any confrontational maneuvers, as these only undermine the bilateral relationship. President Claudia Sheinbaum’s administration faces the critical task of accurately identifying the priorities of the U.S. government to act proactively with clarity and consistency. Mexico cannot allow its foreign policy to be reduced to merely reacting to unilateral initiatives marked by aggressive rhetoric and uncertainty. In this context, the Mexican Foreign Service must firmly exercise its well-established negotiating capacity to consolidate Mexico’s position as a reliable neighbor and a key actor in the regional economic structure. The bilateral relationship must clearly convey that the prosperity of the United States is closely linked to Mexico’s stability and growth — an interest grounded in a shared logic of structural interdependence.

In August 2021 the world watched as thousands of people, both Americans and Afghans, crowded onto airplanes at the Kabul airport to escape the return of the Taliban. By the end of August 2021, the United States had evacuated over 200,000 people. On August 15, 2021, Afghan president Ashraf Ghani fled the country, and the Taliban seized control of Kabul calling themselves the Islamic Emirate of Afghanistan. The collapse of the Islamic Republic was predicated on the United States-Taliban deal that was signed in February of 2020. Most people assumed the Taliban would be unable to govern Afghanistan and that their government would not last. After all they were rural tribal people with a fundamental belief in a primitive version of Islam, and their control of Afghanistan from 1996 to 2001 was in many ways a disaster. But, the Taliban have now led the country for four years, with no end in sight. Arguing that they are following basic Islamic law regarding the proper place for women in society, the Taliban have severely restricted the rights of women, restrictions more severe than in any other Islamic country. The treatment of women is the major reason the Taliban has not been recognized as the legitimate government of Afghanistan by many nations (Drury, 2025). The Taliban have also been denied a seat in the United Nations, again largely because of their treatment of women (Lederer, 2025). Recently the International Criminal Court has issued arrest warrants for two Taliban leaders, Haibatullah Akhundzada, the supreme leader of Afghanistan, and Abdul Hakim Haqqani, the chief Justice in the Afghan supreme court, for their treatment of women and girls in Afghanistan (Ayre, 2025). Not only are women not allowed to attend school beyond six grade, but they are not allowed to travel outside of their homes without a male companion. Women traveling outside the home must wear a veil that covers their full body. The Gender Inequality Index, a metric developed by the United Nations Development Program as a composite measure of a women’s place in society, is based on three dimensions: reproductive health, empowerment, and labor market participation. It ranks Afghanistan one of the lowest the world in terms of the treatment of women in government, education, health and political participation (UNDP, Gender Inequality Index, 2025). Gender based violence has also increased. Afghan women experience a high rate of harassment when they leave their homes. Incidents of stoning and verbal harassment have been widely reported. This harassment and abuse is condoned by the Taliban’s Ministry for the Propagation of Virtue and the Prevention of Vice, a Taliban government agency that, among other things, dictates where women can go or not go, what women must wear, and how they must behave. Women who do not follow the rules of this Ministry are chastised, harassed, and often beaten. When women are arrested, they often face verbal abuse and torture (Ahmadi, 2023). Afghan women also often have no say in who they marry and many of these forced marriages are a result of poverty which drives fathers to marry off their daughters, often at a young age (Nariman, 2025). There are very few female doctors or nurses in Afghanistan. Because men are prohibited from treating women, let alone seeing them without their veil, women are often unable to access basic medical services. Maternal mortality rates are high compared to other countries. With poor medical help available for pregnant women, it is estimated that approximately 24 women die each day in Afghanistan due to pregnancy related causes. Most of these deaths are the results of complications during childbirth (Gluck, 2023). Because of the lack of medical support, the infant mortality rate for Afghanistan is 62 deaths per 100,000 live births, one of the highest in the world (CIA, 2024). Afghanistan has always been a poor country with high levels of poverty. Since the Taliban takeover poverty has drastically increased, particularly in the rural areas. It is estimated that over 90 percent of the population of Afghanistan is facing poverty and food insecurity (Programme W. F., 2024). The United Nations Development Project estimates that approximately 85 percent of the Afghan population live on less than one dollar per day (UNDP, 2024). The increase in poverty is in part because donors who had previously supported Afghanistan have halted their support. By 2025, Afghanistan had lost about 26 percent of its gross domestic product as many of these international development projects closed, pushing many Afghans out of work and into poverty (Smith, 2024). With the return of President Trump in 2025, the United States stopped all aid to Afghanistan, worsening the situation. Food scarcity falls most heavily on girls, as poor families make the hard choice of feeding boys before the girls. The mortality rate among girls is 90 percent higher than among boys (Bank, 2023). The increasing level of poverty is exacerbated by the large number of Afghan refugees who are being forcefully repatriated from the countries where they had sought exile, mostly from Pakistan and Iran, but also in some cases from European countries and other countries where they sought refuge. The United Nations High Commission for Refugees estimates that over 96,000 Afghans were forcefully deported back to Afghanistan in April of this year alone, and that over 3.4 million Afghan refugees have been deported from Iran and Pakistan since 2023 (UNHCR, 2025). Most of these returning refugees have no home or job to return to. Although the UNHCR sometimes gives returning refugees a small amount of money as they return, most return to poverty and in many cases without homes. These returning refugees most often settle in areas around major cities, especially Kabul, Kandahar, and Herat, creating a large population of unemployed and impoverished families. The returning refugee problem has been exacerbated by the decision by Iran to expel all Afghans. This is apparently a result of the growing Iranian conflict with Israel (Haqiqatyar, 2025). It is not clear why Iran is expelling Afghans, many of whom had been in Iran for decades. It has been suggested that Iran felt that the Afghan’s were sympathetic to Israel and/or the United States and were acting as spies, although there is no evidence of this. It is estimated that over 6 million Afghans had been living in Iran. The United Nations High Commission of Refugees reports that this year over 1.4 million Afghans have returned from Iran (UNHCR, 2025). Many former Afghan government officials have fled Afghanistan or have been killed as political dissent is not allowed and political parties or ideologies that do not support the Taliban are forbidden. Those who have stayed have largely been quiet. The media is controlled by the Ministry of Information and Culture. This includes the control of newspapers, radio, and television. Most reporters and journalists have fled and female journalists are not allowed (Mercier, 2025). Although there is some opposition to the Taliban government, especially by the National Resistance Front, they have accomplished little and do not pose a serious threat to the Taliban (Bowes, 2024). Other groups such as al-Qaeda and the Islamic State, while present in Afghanistan do not pose a serious threat to the Taliban. These shifts have resulted in a marked drop in fighting, which has brought a form of security to the country. Even though the US travel advisory for Afghanistan remains at ‘level four: do not travel’, in fact tourism, although limited, is beginning. The Taliban government encourages tourism because it brings in much needed foreign currency. The Afghan Ministry of Information and Culture, which oversees tourism, reports that there are at least 350 tourism companies operating in Afghanistan (Lateef, 2025). Humanitarian agencies working in rural areas report that it is now possible to travel into remote areas of Afghanistan, areas that were previously either too dangerous to travel to or too remote. This is in part because the Taliban have embraced the Afghan rural population, and while there still areas that may be dangerous to travel to, much of the anti-government sentiment in the rural area is gone (Smith, 2024). Travel outside of Kabul has also improved as roadblocks have been dismantled, bridges repaired, and roads repaved. While there have been reports of petty corruption at the local level in Afghanistan, corruption under Taliban rule has dramatically reduced. Pre 2021, numerous Afghan government officials, as well as American contractors, made fortunes by funnelling off billions of dollars earmarked for public projects. The corruption took place at all levels so that anything one wanted to do involved a bribe. Corruption was especially found in customs and border checkpoints. It is estimated that during the Republic over 1.4 billion dollars were illegally collected at border checkpoints annually (SIGAR, 2016). Much of this corruption has been eliminated under Taliban rule. Finally, before the Taliban takeover, Afghanistan was the world’s top producer of opium which is used to make Heroin. The Taliban imposed a ban on growing opium in the spring of 2022, with the exception that farmers were allowed to harvest their standing crop. It is estimated that in 2024 about 12,800 hectares of poppies were grown, down from before the ban when farmers planted over 233,000 hectares (Mishra, 2024). However, largely because of economic difficulties, farmers are beginning to grow opium again, even if it is forbidden by the government in Kabul (Mishra, 2024). In sum, despite dire predictions of many the Tailban have managed to stay in power for four years and now seem to exercise firm control of Afghanistan. As explored in this article, they have apparently done some things well and some things poorly – and the international community should expect to see Taliban rule as a fixture in Afghanistan’s near term future. Works CitedAhmadi, B. (2023, December 7). How the Taliban Enable Violence Against women. Retrieved from United States Institute of Peace: https://www.usip.org/publications/2023/12/how-taliban-enables-violence-against-womenAyre, M. (2025, July 8). France24. Retrieved from ICC issues arrest warrant for Taliban leaders over persecution of Afghan women: https://www.france24.com/en/asia-pacific/20250708-icc-issues-arrest-warrants-for-taliban-leaders-over-persecution-of-afghan-womenCIA. (2024). Infant Mortality Rate. Retrieved from World Factbook: https://www.cia.gov/the-world-factbook/field/infant-mortality-rate/Committee, I. R. (2022, December 22). Afghanistan: An entire [opulation pushed into poverty. Retrieved from International Rescue Committee: https://www.rescue.org/article/afghanistan-entire-population-pushed-poverty#:~:text=Humanitarian%20risks%20in%202023,rationing%20and%20other%20coping%20strategies.Committee, I. r. (2023, August 22). Afghanistan: An entire population pushed into Poverty. Retrieved from International Rescue Committee: https://www.rescue.org/article/afghanistan-entire-population-pushed-povertyDrury, F. a. (2025, July 3). Russia becomes first state to recognize Afghanistan’s Taliban government. Retrieved from BBC: https://www.bbc.com/news/articles/c78n4wely9doFact, W. (n.d.).Glass, N. (2023, June 22). the Crisis of Maternal and Child Health in Afghanistan. Retrieved from Conflict and Health Biomedcentral: https://conflictandhealth.biomedcentral.com/articles/10.1186/s13031-023-00522-zGluck, C. (2023, October 25). Midwifery programme Takles Afghansitan’s High Maternal and Infant Mortality Rates. Retrieved from UNHCR: https://www.unhcr.org/us/news/stories/midwifery-programme-tackles-afghanistan-s-high-maternal-and-infant-mortality-rates#:~:text=Afghanistan%20has%20one%20of%20the,day%20in%20childbirth%20or%20pregnancy.Haqiqatyar, H. a. (2025, July 7). They threw us out like garbage. The Guardian.Intelligence, C. (n.d.).Lateef, S. (2025, July 8). Afghans invite US tourists to visit four years on the fall of Kabul. Retrieved from The Telegraph: https://www.yahoo.com/news/afghans-invite-us-tourists-visit-113907380.htmlLederer, E. (2025, July 7). UN Adopts resolution on Afghansistan’s Taliban rule. Retrieved from ABC News: https://abcnews.go.com/US/wireStory/adopts-resolution-afghanistans-taliban-rule-us-objections-123552000Mackintosh, T. (2024, May 17). Three Spanish tourists killedin central Afghanistan gun attack. Retrieved from BBC: https://www.bbc.com/news/articles/c9wzvlz40wpoMercier, C. (2025, Febuary 2). Afghanistan: the disturbing, escalating censorship suffocating the freee press. Retrieved from Reporters without Borders: https://rsf.org/en/country/afghanistanNariman, A. (2025, June). Taliban Bride. Retrieved from aeon: https://www.amnesty.org/en/location/asia-and-the-pacific/south-asia/afghanistan/report-afghanistan/Program, U. N. (n.d.).Programme, U. N. (2025). Gender Inequality Index. Retrieved from United Nations Development Programme.Sleiman, K. (2023, March 16). Afghanistan: Journalist Hosein Naderi killed in bombing of press event. Retrieved from International Press Institute: https://ipi.media/afghanistan-journalist-hosein-naderi-killed-in-bombing-of-press-event/Smith, G. (2024, August 14). Afghanistan Three Years after Taliban Takeover. Retrieved from International Crisis Group: https://www.crisisgroup.org/asia/south-asia/afghanistan/afghanistan-three-years-after-taliban-takeoverSmith, G. (2024, August 14). Afghanistan three Years after theTaliban takeover. Retrieved from International Crisis Group: https://www.crisisgroup.org/asia/south-asia/afghanistan/afghanistan-three-years-after-taliban-takeoverUNDP. (2024, January 10). Approximately 85 percent of Afghans live onless than one dollar a day. Retrieved from United Nations Development Project: https://www.undp.org/stories/approximately-85-percent-afghans-live-less-one-dollar-day#:~:text=Afghans%20are%20dealing%20with%20extreme,from%20education%20and%20most%20jobsUNDP. (2025, May 6). Gender Inequality Index. Retrieved from Gender Inequality Index: https://hdr.undp.org/data-center/thematic-composite-indices/gender-inequality-index#/indicies/GIIUNHCR. (2025, June 28). UNHCR sees sharp increase in adverse circumstances from Iran to Afghanistan. Retrieved from UNHCR: https://www.unhcr.org/us/news/press-releases/unhcr-sees-sharp-increase-afghan-returns-adverse-circumstances-iran-afghanistan

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.

A Sobering Anniversary Fifty years of diplomatic relations – and little to celebrate: The 25th EU-China Summit, held in Beijing on July 24, was overshadowed by deep disagreements. From trade disputes to China’s stance on Russia’s war in Ukraine, expectations on both sides were low. While there were symbolic gestures and limited agreements on climate and critical minerals, the meeting highlighted more divergence than convergence. Xi Jinping appeared self-assured; the EU delegation emphasized clarity and unity – but left without substantive concessions. Abstract: The 25th EU-China Summit marked a symbolic milestone – 50 years of diplomatic relations – yet took place in an atmosphere of growing mistrust and confrontation. Geopolitical tensions, an ever-growing trade imbalance, and China’s ongoing support for Russia’s war in Ukraine dominated the agenda. The EU delegation, led by Commission President Ursula von der Leyen and Council President António Costa, sought to recalibrate the relationship and push for concrete outcomes, particularly in trade and global security. Yet Beijing showed little willingness to make concessions. Although both sides agreed on a climate communiqué and a mechanism to address export restrictions on critical raw materials, progress remained limited. China framed the summit as a platform for global cooperation, while the EU left with a renewed sense of caution. Still, the in-person dialogue – the first since 2023 – was seen as diplomatically necessary. For Brussels, the message was clear: without a shift in China’s geopolitical posture, especially towards Russia, meaningful improvement in relations remains elusive. 1. Background The fundamental importance of the relationship was repeatedly emphasized in the run-up to the summit; the EU and China account for nearly 30 percent of global trade in goods and services. Even though there was a slight decline in 2024, bilateral trade still amounted to over 700 billion euros. China is the EU’s second-largest trading partner after the United States.[1] At the same time, discordant tones have increased in recent years: the flooding of the European market with subsidized goods from China, the resulting growing trade imbalance between the two sides, the limitation of market access for European goods, as well as export restrictions on rare earths, are causing dissatisfaction on the European side. While Brussels initially proclaimed at the start of the first von der Leyen Commission that China was—depending on the topic—a partner, competitor, or rival, in recent years the focus has increasingly shifted to competition and rivalry—also due to concerns about excessive dependence on Beijing. The EU’s decision to impose countervailing duties on electric vehicles, in turn, triggered corresponding reactions from China. Politically as well, China’s de facto support for Russia in the war of aggression against Ukraine has significantly changed the EU’s perception of China over the past three years—not to mention concerns about China’s actions toward Taiwan, its support for authoritarian regimes around the world, and its attempts to increasingly shape and shift the discourse in multilateral organizations in its own favor. The statement made in June by Chinese Foreign Minister Wang Yi that China could not afford a Russian defeat, as this would mean that the USA and its Western allies would then turn their attention to Asia[2], reinforced the conviction in Brussels that China supports Russia in the conflict not only in words but also in deeds. Just a few days before the summit, the EU imposed sanctions on Chinese banks for violations of sanctions against Russia, to which China responded with threats of retaliatory measures.[3] In the weeks leading up to the summit, little suggested a resolution to these points of contention. The tougher stance taken by Washington toward both sides in recent months also did not lead to a reduction in dissonance. At the same time, the EU finds itself increasingly under pressure to navigate a balancing act between the strategic interests of the USA and China. China is courting with investments in favor of more “strategic autonomy,” while the USA is pushing for a hard line against Beijing, for example through export controls on critical raw materials. At the G7 summit in Canada, President von der Leyen accused China of using its dominance in raw materials as a weapon against competitors.[4] Beijing rejected the criticism. In Brussels, the fight against climate change is seen as the only somewhat consensual topic, although in the field of green tech—such as electric vehicles or photovoltaics—China is a competitor that challenges the EU. As the controversial vote on tariffs for electric vehicles also showed, EU member states are not always united when it comes to China.[5] Some primarily view China as an important economic partner, others struggle with China’s punitive tariffs, still others see the country as an authoritarian center of gravity that, through support for Russia or through cyberattacks, threatens their own security. Most recently, alongside Hungary—which has been regarded for years as one of Beijing’s closest partners in the EU—the socialist government of Spain also stood out with a charm offensive toward China. The difficulties in the relationship with China have prompted the EU—especially in the new legislative term—to noticeably diversify its economic and political foreign relations: directly before the EU-China summit, closer cooperation was agreed with Japan—also with the goal of reducing strategic dependence on China.[6] 2. Expectations for the Summit On the Chinese side, expectations for the summit were limited from the outset—at least in terms of making their own concessions. In its official communications, Beijing adopted an unusually sharp tone in the lead-up. The spokesperson of the Chinese Ministry of Foreign Affairs, Guo Jiakun, warned the EU not to harm the interests of Chinese companies. Otherwise, China would take measures to protect their rights. At the same time, Guo criticized the new EU sanctions against Russia, which also affect Chinese banks. The normal exchange between Chinese and Russian companies must not be disrupted. Beijing continues to reject the EU’s formula “partner, competitor, systemic rival”—as well as, from the Chinese perspective, unfounded accusations related to the war in Ukraine.[7] This clear defensive posture is also reflected in the public debate. In state-controlled social media, the summit was sometimes mockingly commented on in advance: the Europeans, it was said, would be begging for rare earths on their knees while a strong China benevolently dictated the rules of the game. This self-portrayal reflects a growing sense of self-confidence in Beijing—and at the same time sends a signal: China does not see itself as a supplicant, but as a shaper. Specifically, Beijing hopes for a withdrawal of the new EU import tariffs on Chinese electric vehicles, for which, according to the Chinese side, they are in the final stages of “price negotiations.” From the perspective of European officials, however, the process has been stagnating for months. Further points of friction lie in China’s response to European sanctions—such as the recent imposition of punitive tariffs on French cognac and new restrictions on the procurement of medical equipment. The looming action against European milk and pork exports also fits into this pattern. At the same time, Beijing highlights the fruits of decades of cooperation: bilateral trade has grown from 2.4 billion to nearly 786 billion US dollars over the past 50 years, and mutual investments have reached nearly 260 billion. President Xi Jinping therefore called on the EU to maintain “open cooperation.” “Decoupling” or even “building walls” would only lead to isolation, he warned. China is therefore insisting on further market access in Europe—particularly in key areas such as automobile manufacturing, high-tech, and medical technology—and sees itself increasingly discriminated against by European protective measures. The preliminary reporting on the meeting in state media, however, was predictably conciliatory. The focus was primarily on powerful imagery, portraying China as a responsible actor on the global stage. In a report by the state news agency Xinhua shortly before the summit, it was stated that the meeting offered an opportunity to “consolidate the common interests of China and Europe in a time of global upheaval.” China Daily also struck a cooperative tone on July 24 and warned against endangering the relationship “through protectionist reflexes or foreign policy proxy conflicts.” Europe, the paper said literally, must decide whether it will “continue to make independent strategic decisions—or blindly follow Washington’s course.”[8] What remains unmentioned in China’s narrative is that many of these shared goals currently exist primarily on paper. Accusations regarding competition-distorting subsidies, China’s role in the war in Ukraine, or restrictions on European companies are at best dismissed as misunderstandings. From Beijing’s perspective, the summit appeared to be primarily a diplomatic showcase—rather than a venue for tangible rapprochement. 3. Expectations of the EU Whoever on the EU side may have expected major breakthroughs in light of the anniversary was likely disillusioned by early July at the latest: the reduction of the summit, originally scheduled for two days, to just a single day was an initial dampener; the statements from Chinese ministerial officials and top EU personnel in the weeks leading up to the summit did not suggest that anything fundamental would change regarding the divergences in foreign, economic, and trade policy. The EU is seeking a rebalancing of the relationship. According to Commission President von der Leyen ahead of the summit, the relationship had reached a turning point and now required concrete solutions. Among the EU’s top priorities in the economic sphere are: the rollback of China’s punitive tariffs, measures to reduce the massive trade deficit and counter the redirection of Chinese overcapacities toward the European market, the creation of a level playing field, and export licensing requirements for critical raw materials.[9] In the weeks prior to the summit, there were no signs of Chinese willingness to accommodate any of these demands. Expectations were equally low with regard to geopolitical conflicts, even though the EU’s High Representative had again clearly appealed to China in early July to end its support for Russia. Observers no longer expected a comprehensive joint communiqué ahead of the summit; at most, a joint statement on climate policy with regard to COP30 in Belém, Brazil, was still considered possible. The prevailing opinion: the primary goal was to contain the worsening of relations. Some observers still hoped for minor progress on economic issues. At least there were some diplomatic signals from Beijing in the run-up to the EU-China summit. For example, Mikko Huotari, Director of the German think tank Merics, was allowed to travel to China for the first time in four years. Merics had been subjected to a travel ban in 2021 as part of Chinese counter-sanctions against the EU over its human rights criticism regarding Xinjiang. The lifting of sanctions against individual (former) EU parliamentarians was also interpreted in Brussels as a positive political signal.[10] However, a full lifting of the sanctions is still pending, and travel currently remains possible only under certain conditions—such as by invitation from Chinese institutions, without a guarantee of academic freedom. Observers emphasized that these relaxations were “low-cost” concessions for China. 4. Outcomes of the Summit The low expectations ahead of the summit were at least not disappointed.[11] In their choice of words before and after the summit, both sides made efforts to maintain a respectful tone. Commission President von der Leyen and European Council President Costa did address the well-known critical issues (the need for concrete solutions to recalibrate trade relations, market access for European companies, an end to China’s material support for Russia’s war), but at the same time emphasized the immense importance of the relationship, the shared responsibility for a rules-based international order, and expressed respect for China’s tremendous achievements over the past years and decades.[12] Xi Jinping, on the other hand, did not directly address the divergences between the two sides at all, but instead highlighted the importance of mutual respect, the consolidation of cooperation, an open approach to differences of opinion, and collaboration at the multilateral level. Contrary to some particularly pessimistic forecasts, there were two reasonably concrete outcomes at the summit: First, a supply mechanism for rare earth exports is to be established in order to address supply issues faced by European companies. This would allow companies to contact the EU directly to clarify the causes of delayed exports of critical raw materials.[13] It remains unclear exactly what this mechanism will look like in practice. Second, both sides agreed on a communiqué on climate policy, in which both reaffirmed their cooperation in the climate sector, including on the reduction of greenhouse gases. The communiqué expresses support for the Paris Agreement and the UN Framework Convention on Climate Change. Both sides commit to fair and effective implementation in line with national circumstances. The goal is to advance a just global climate transformation, to support Brazil at COP30, and to improve global access to green technology. By COP30, both sides agreed to present new climate targets for 2035 and to expand cooperation in areas such as the energy transition, methane reduction, and low-carbon technologies.[14] Small steps forward were also made toward closer cooperation in emissions trading, the circular economy, financial regulation, drug control, and geographical indications. A new roadmap for regional policy (2024–2029) was adopted. On the sidelines of the summit, a roundtable was also held with around sixty representatives of European and Chinese companies. In its post-summit remarks, the EU expressed concern about China’s opaque data protection rules and cyberattacks. It also voiced concern about the situation in Xinjiang, Tibet, and Hong Kong, as well as the persecution of human rights defenders. Furthermore, the EU expressed concern about tensions in the Taiwan Strait and the East and South China Seas. It rejected any unilateral violent changes to the status quo and called for peaceful solutions in accordance with international law.[15] 5. Outlook Despite all divergences, the tone in public communication remained at least respectful. However, the summit yielded hardly any tangible progress—particularly in the trade issues central to Brussels. As expected, the EU departed without any concrete commitments. Whether the announced mechanism for rare earth exports will provide substantial added value remains to be seen. From the EU's perspective, the summit confirmed one thing above all: the increasingly skeptical—at times alarmed—view of China remains unchanged. Beijing showed no willingness to make substantial concessions. Instead, the Chinese leadership demonstrated confidence and conveyed the message that it need not act in advance toward a weakened Europe. At the same time, the EU succeeded in clearly articulating key concerns—particularly the expectation that Beijing should use its influence on Moscow to enable progress toward peace negotiations. The clear message: China’s relationship with Russia will play a decisive role in future EU-China relations. One positive aspect from Brussels’ point of view: the appearances of Commission President von der Leyen, Council President Costa, and Estonian Prime Minister Kallas came across as coherent and well-coordinated—an important signal of European unity in difficult times. In addition, according to von der Leyen, the Chinese leadership has begun to address domestic industrial overcapacities under the term “involution.” The latter was regarded as another positive development from a European perspective. Until now, Chinese representatives had consistently denied in talks that the massive overcapacities posed any problem, according to media reports from EU circles.[16] Now, President Xi Jinping and Premier Li Qiang have declared their intent to counteract this trend—against what they perceive as a destructive price war in sectors such as steel, electric mobility, and solar panels. The leadership uses the term “involution” to describe the increasingly intense competition caused by price dumping. Even though some observers hailed the joint climate communiqué as a success, from the EU’s perspective it should be clear: in the field of green tech, China causes massive market distortions through state subsidies and targeted industrial policy—with the goal of creating new global dependencies. Nevertheless, it is undoubtedly important that the summit took place. One must assume that the political system in China—similar to Russia or the Trump administration—functions like an echo chamber; that Xi Jinping likely hears little internal criticism. “That’s why it’s important that the EU leadership tells him directly where the shoe pinches,” emphasized Jörg Wuttke, longtime president of the European Chamber of Commerce.[17] At the same time, it speaks volumes about the state of the relationship when even the mere act of speaking with the EU’s second most important trading partner is regarded as a success of the summit. References[1] https://policy.trade.ec.europa.eu/eu-trade-relationships-country-and-region/countries-and-regions/china_en[2] Exclusive | China tells EU it does not want to see Russia lose its war in Ukraine: sources | South China Morning Post[3] Neue Russland-Sanktionen: China droht EU mit Gegenmaßnahmen | tagesschau.de[4] Präsidentin von der Leyen beim G7-Gipfel[5] https://www.kas.de/en/web/mned-bruessel/global-europe-illustrated/detail/-/content/global-europe-illustrated-eu-member-states-voting-on-tariffs-ev-china[6] AGENCE EUROPE - Faced with economic and security challenges, EU emphasises i...[7] Vgl. China.Table: EU-Gipfel: Pekinger Außenministerium schlägt härtere Töne an, 23.07.2025.[8] Link zu Chinadaily[9] Handelskonflikt: China verursacht Rohstoffkrise – Erste Firmen drosseln Produktion[10] Sanctioned German China expert visits Beijing in sign of easing restrictions | South China Morning Post[11] Andere Zusammenfassungen finden sich hier: https://agenceurope.eu/en/bulletin/article/13687/1 oder in diesem Thread: https://x.com/fbermingham/status/1948242830595391697[12] EU warns China to push Putin to end war as relations hit ‘inflection point’ – POLITICO, die Pressekonferenz ist auch hier zu finden: https://newsroom.consilium.europa.eu/permalink/264159 , https://newsroom.consilium.europa.eu/permalink/264160[13] EU-China-Gipfel: Probleme bei Seltenen Erden gelöst?[14] Joint EU-China press statement on climate[15] 25th EU-China summit - EU press release - Consilium[16] Vgl. China.Table: EU-China-Gipfel: Peking will gegen Überkapazitäten vorgehen, 25.07.2025.[17] Experte Wuttke über EU-China-Gipfel: "Xi will Europa dominieren"

Abstract The so-called Anglophone Caribbean has historically been an area of strategic importance for Cuban foreign policy. With more than half a century of history, Cuba-CARICOM ties constitute a successful example due to their comprehensiveness, strength, dynamism, and concrete results in terms of political coordination and cooperation. However, in a complex and changing international context, various elements constitute threats to the effective execution of Cuban foreign policy toward the subregion, mostly linked to structural difficulties facing Caribbean states and their integration into the international economy, as well as the effects of the blockade and the policy of economic suffocation implemented by the United States against Cuba, which has intensified with Trump's arrival as president. Likewise, there are opportunities that can be seized to preserve the privileged historical relationship that Cuba maintains with this subregional bloc. Introduction The Caribbean has historically been a region of strategic importance for Cuba's foreign policy, primarily because it constitutes its natural environment and setting, to which it belongs not only for geographical reasons but also due to historical and cultural ties. Cuba's connections with the so-called non-Hispanic Caribbean even predate the consolidation of the Cuban nation, considering the constant influence of intra-Caribbean migratory flows during the colonial era. This intensified with the massive arrival of laborers — mainly Haitians and Jamaicans — to the largest of the Antilles during the early decades of the 20th century, a migration flow that continued until the 1950s. Cuba shares with Caribbean nations a historical legacy linked to the tragic scourge of slavery, associated with the plantation economy. This involved, on one hand, the forced migration of a large African population, and on the other, a series of similar characteristics in terms of socio-economic structures — although the differences among the various European colonial powers present in the region should not be overlooked. After the triumph of the Cuban Revolution in 1959, Cuba's ties with the non-Hispanic Caribbean went through various phases, particularly since 1972, when four newly independent Caribbean nations (Barbados, Jamaica, Guyana, and Trinidad and Tobago) collectively decided to reestablish diplomatic relations with Cuba. This decision ignored the OAS agreements of July 1964, which had mandated the political, diplomatic, and economic severance of relations between the governments of the continent and the Island. It was during the 1990s and into the 21st century that the most solid foundations were laid for articulating a coherent, harmonious, and coordinated projection that acknowledges the real importance of the Caribbean subregion for the objectives of Cuban foreign policy. The results achieved thus far in terms of coordination, political dialogue, and cooperation have led several authors to describe Cuba's policy toward the Caribbean as one of the most dynamic and effective aspects of the Island’s foreign outreach in recent years. The aim of this paper is to provide an updated analysis of the Cuban government’s external projection toward the Caribbean, focusing on the threats and opportunities that, in the foreseeable future, may impact the country’s interactions with this subregion under the leadership of President Miguel Díaz-Canel Bermúdez. It is important to clarify that, from a methodological standpoint, this paper focuses primarily on the group of countries that make up the Caribbean Community (CARICOM), most of which are island nations, although three are located on the mainland (Belize, Guyana, and Suriname). As noted by scholar Milagros Martínez Reinosa in her work “Cuba’s Relations with the Caribbean,” this is a “group of nations with marked differences, determined by their respective geographic and population characteristics, by the colonial powers that divided up this part of the world, and by the unique socio-economic development of each. This group, in which the so-called English-speaking insular Caribbean predominates, includes (…) different economic systems and forms of political organization, with varying levels of development, economic potential, and geographic size” (Martínez, 2011, p. 203). Development Historical Analysis of Cuba’s Foreign Projection Toward the Caribbean It is well known that, in the historical period following the triumph of the Cuban Revolution, significant progress was made in the Caribbean’s decolonization processes. Gradually, and with particular characteristics in each case, several countries achieved independence: Jamaica (1962), Trinidad and Tobago (1962), Guyana (1966), Barbados (1966), The Bahamas (1973), Grenada (1974), and Suriname (1975). Later, others followed: Dominica (1978), Saint Vincent and the Grenadines (1979), Saint Lucia (1979), Belize (1981), Antigua and Barbuda (1981), and Saint Kitts and Nevis (1983). At the same time, the first steps were taken toward economic integration in the subregion, marked notably by the signing of the Treaty of Chaguaramas in 1973. This treaty established the Caribbean Community and set the goal of creating the Caribbean Common Market, both known by the acronym CARICOM. These agreements aimed to advance economic cooperation and integration, as well as to establish a degree of coordination in foreign policy among the governments of the member states. All of this laid the groundwork for building a subregional institutional framework, giving these small states greater negotiating power and the ability to act jointly, both within international organizations and within the Inter-American System itself. One of the most representative examples of the emerging political coordination among these countries was the previously mentioned establishment of diplomatic relations with Cuba by the governments of Barbados, Jamaica, Guyana, and Trinidad and Tobago in December 1972. This event marked the beginning of a new era in the foreign policy of the revolutionary Cuba, enabling cooperation and mutual support with the newly independent Caribbean states. However, in 1983, the U.S. invasion of Grenada — which was supported not only by the OAS but also by members of the Organization of Eastern Caribbean States (OECS), along with Barbados and Jamaica — somewhat deteriorated Cuba’s relations with the subregion. Beginning in the early 1990s, a new, more dynamic and productive period began in Cuba’s relations with the Caribbean. In 1993, the Cuba-CARICOM Joint Commission was established, and throughout the decade, Cuba gradually intensified its engagement with CARICOM member states — particularly following the creation, in 1994, of the Association of Caribbean States (ACS). This organization included all Caribbean island states, along with Central America, Mexico, Colombia, and Venezuela. The ACS provided a particularly favorable space for Cuba’s foreign policy outreach in the region, as it was outside the sphere of influence of the United States and offered conditions that allowed the Cuban government to assume a leadership role and promote a regional dynamic focused on cooperation. Cuba’s strategic projection toward the Caribbean reached a high point with the holding — at the initiative of the Cuban government — of the First CARICOM-Cuba Summit, held in Havana in December 2002, marking the 30th anniversary of the establishment of diplomatic relations with Barbados, Guyana, Jamaica, and Trinidad and Tobago. At this historic meeting, attended by all CARICOM heads of government, common goals and guidelines were set to shape relations between Cuba and the subregional bloc. During the summit, a Trade and Economic Cooperation Agreement was signed —previously negotiated two years earlier during the Joint Commission meeting in Santiago de Cuba. The agreement aimed to promote trade in goods and services, establish financial arrangements to facilitate commerce, encourage market access, foster the creation of joint ventures, protect investments, and promote information exchange. This agreement was later updated in 2006 to reflect new economic and commercial realities. From that point on, the Cuban Ministry of Foreign Affairs began implementing the so-called Comprehensive Caribbean Plan (PIC, in Spanish), which integrated all actions directed toward the region with the explicit goal of contributing to the fundamental objectives of Cuba’s foreign policy (Martínez, 2011, p. 217). In the years immediately following, ties were rapidly strengthened at the highest levels, both bilaterally and with CARICOM. Some have described as an “avalanche” the large number of official visits to Cuba by Caribbean heads of government between 2002 and 2005 (the year of the Second CARICOM-Cuba Summit), reflecting the success of Cuba’s political-diplomatic outreach in the region and the high priority the Caribbean had acquired in its foreign policy agenda. This period also saw a sustained increase in Cuban cooperation in areas such as health, education, sports, culture, and more. At the Third Summit, held in 2008, cooperation was reaffirmed as the central and leading element in Cuba’s intergovernmental relations with the Caribbean, with expanded and deepened assistance across a wide range of fields —many of them supported by the Bolivarian Government of Venezuela. At the same time, the emergence of political coordination and cooperation initiatives such as ALBA-TCP and Petrocaribe — and the subsequent inclusion of some CARICOM countries in the former — multiplied opportunities for interaction, political alignment, and regional coordination. Similarly, both sides have maintained close coordination in various international forums, including the UN General Assembly, UNCTAD, WIPO, UNIDO, FAO, WTO, the Non-Aligned Movement (NAM), the G-77+China, and the Alliance of Small Island States (AOSIS). This international collaboration has been strengthened by the clear political will and the ability of both parties to resolve differences constructively. CARICOM’s solidarity with Cuba has been particularly notable in its unanimous stance against the U.S. embargo. To date, eight CARICOM-Cuba Summits have been held, the most recent one taking place in Barbados, attended by Cuban President Miguel Díaz-Canel Bermúdez. On that occasion, he also made an official visit to Barbados and toured two other countries —Saint Vincent and the Grenadines and Grenada. According to recent figures, there are currently more than 850 Caribbean scholarship students in Cuba, with over 6,000 having graduated. Additionally, more than 2,000 Cuban professionals are currently providing services in CARICOM countries. Cuba’s Foreign Projection Toward the Caribbean in the Current Context: Threats and Opportunities For Cuba, maintaining strong relations with CARICOM remains a priority. From a political standpoint, it is strategically important to preserve a close and positive relationship with the countries that make up this subregional organization, as they often achieve high levels of consensus on key international issues. As a relatively large bloc in terms of membership, this often translates into an equal number of votes in international organizations. This is particularly relevant considering the transformations the international system has undergone in the 21st century — marked by the gradual decline of U.S. global leadership, the emergence of an increasingly multipolar world, the shift of economic and commercial dynamism toward the Asia-Pacific region, and the growing influence of new information technologies, among other factors. These changes pose significant challenges to the Cuban government’s foreign outreach and have also influenced the implementation of U.S. foreign policy in the region, on one hand, on curbing the progress of resistance movements to its model of regional domination, and on the other, on trying to counter the growing influence of extra-regional powers in the hemisphere. Currently, all independent Caribbean states maintain diplomatic missions in Havana, and Cuba does the same in each of those countries. This makes Cuba a key and prominent actor in the region and highlights the importance CARICOM member states place on their relationship with Cuba. Within the Caribbean Community there is a strong consensus on condemning the U.S. embargo and recognizing Cuba’s cooperation efforts — reflected in joint declarations across both global and regional multilateral organizations. However, economic relations between Cuba and CARICOM have significantly lagged the levels achieved in the political and cooperation spheres. Despite the existence of a Trade and Economic Cooperation Agreement that includes broad tariff preferences (ALADI, 2011), trade volumes remain very low and are highly concentrated in a few countries —such as Trinidad and Tobago ($57.9 million), Jamaica ($3.2 million), Guyana ($507,000), and Suriname ($84,000). Altogether, total trade amounts to approximately $61 million (National Office of Statistics and Information—ONEI, 2024, pp. 233–236). The underdevelopment of economic ties is not primarily due to a lack of willingness on either side to implement coordinated actions but rather stems from more complex causes related to the economic structures of Caribbean islands and how they are integrated into the global economy. It is also important to consider that both Cuba and most CARICOM members are classified as Small Island Developing States (SIDS), a condition that presents shared development challenges. Factors such as limited economic and geographic size, high levels of openness and dependence on the international economy, low diversification, transportation and connectivity issues, and high exposure to the effects of climate change and extreme weather events, among others, represent significant obstacles to the development of multifaceted ties between Cuba and the Caribbean — particularly in the area of economic and trade relations (Laguardia, 2022, p. 179). Threats The arrival of the Republican administration led by Donald Trump to the U.S. government undoubtedly represents a threat to Cuba’s relations with the Caribbean and, more broadly, to its foreign projection toward the region. The appointment of controversial figures closely linked to the anti-Cuban far-right in the U.S. — such as Marco Rubio and Mauricio Claver-Carone as Secretary of State and Head of Latin American and Caribbean Affairs at the State Department, respectively — forecasts an extremely difficult scenario for Cuba. This will greatly hinder the long-sought development of economic and trade ties with CARICOM, due to the tightening of the blockade, the potential implementation of additional unilateral measures, and Cuba’s reinstatement on the list of State Sponsors of Terrorism. It is undeniable that the blockade — significantly reinforced in recent years and expanded in its extraterritorial reach — currently stands as one of the major obstacles to elevating Cuba-CARICOM economic relations to the same level as their political ties. This remains a clear objective within Cuba’s foreign policy approach to the region. Broadly speaking, the blockade and the aggressive U.S. policy prevent Cuba from operating under normal conditions in the international market by limiting access to credit and financing, disrupting financial operations, reducing export revenues, and creating an intimidating environment for potential foreign investors. All these factors have worsened the Island’s economic crisis and intensified issues such as declining export capacity and foreign currency shortages, directly impacting Cuba’s trade with the rest of the world, including the Caribbean. These challenges are compounded by logistical limitations that hinder intra-Caribbean trade. Furthermore, the lack of mutual understanding of institutional and bureaucratic systems remains a significant barrier to expanding economic ties (Marín, Martínez, & Laguardia, 2024). Nonetheless, even under current complex conditions, there are still possibilities and spaces to develop broader and deeper economic relations, based on the principle of identifying areas of complementarity and leveraging mutual strengths and opportunities. In this regard, the internationally recognized scientific achievements of Cuba’s biotechnology and pharmaceutical sectors, along with a wide catalog of high-quality, advanced technology products, offer a valuable opportunity to increase exports to the region while also strengthening the healthcare systems of CARICOM countries. Additionally, other biotech products developed by Cuban companies and institutions —applicable in agriculture and livestock — could contribute to CARICOM’s efforts to achieve greater levels of food sovereignty. Likewise, the emerging private sector of small and medium-sized enterprises (SMEs) in Cuba has gained increasing importance in the national economy, particularly in foreign trade, and shows strong potential to help boost commercial exchange and business between Cuba and the Caribbean nations. On the other hand, another threat to Cuba’s foreign projection toward the region —particularly regarding the development of its economic relations — comes from the financial limitations caused by the inclusion of several Caribbean states on blacklists of tax havens, as well as their classification as middle-income countries. This classification prevents them from applying for development aid and other preferential financing. All of this adds to the challenges Cuba already faces because of the U.S. blockade. Another significant threat is the intensification of the effects of climate change, particularly the increasing occurrence of extreme weather events. These phenomena damage ecosystems and biodiversity, destroy agriculture, reduce tourism revenues, contribute to food insecurity, damage infrastructure, and create a constant need for budgetary spending and public debt, among other harmful impacts. Also, we also consider as a threat, — particularly over the past decade — the decline of Venezuela’s economic capacity to meet the energy demands of CARICOM countries and to support other cooperation projects in the Caribbean, especially under initiatives such as ALBA-TCP and Petrocaribe, in which Cuba played an important role. Additionally, there is the ongoing conflict over the Essequibo region, where there is strong consensus among CARICOM countries in support of Guyana’s position. This places Cuba in a complex position regarding how to approach the issue — an issue also used by the United States to exert pressure on Venezuela. Compounding this is the campaign promoted by the U.S. and its regional allies against the government of President Nicolás Maduro in the context of the Venezuelan elections and his inauguration, which has triggered a wide-ranging political, diplomatic, and propaganda offensive. While some Caribbean states have aligned with U.S. positions, it is worth noting that the majority have remained outside of this campaign. For CARICOM member states, the United States remains the primary “provider” of security. The need for cooperation and coordination in security matters with the U.S. is undeniable, especially given shared challenges such as cross-border criminal flows, the Caribbean’s status as the U.S. “third border,” economic dependency, and the need for aid and financing among CARICOM countries. This power asymmetry means that the U.S. uses security as a tool of pressure, which represents a constant threat to Cuba’s relations with the bloc — particularly under the new U.S. administration, which has prioritized migration and drug trafficking and embraces Monroe Doctrine-style views regarding inter-American relations. Another threat we identify is the weakening of regional mechanisms such as the ACS. Despite Cuba’s consistent efforts, the ACS has largely failed to meet its founding objectives since its establishment in 1994: to create a common economic space, preserve the Caribbean Sea, and promote the sustainable development of its member states – although there have been some positive experiences in cooperation on climate change mitigation and disaster risk prevention. Opportunities One key opportunity lies in the development of close coordination and the building of broad consensus on issues of shared interest and broader relevance on the multilateral agenda. This applies both within United Nations bodies and forums, as well as in platforms like the G77+China and the NAM. These spaces have demonstrated mutual support for various common demands and proposals, including: reparations for slavery; the principle of common but differentiated responsibilities regarding climate change; the reform of financing eligibility criteria; the Bridgetown Initiative as a proposal for reforming the global financial architecture; the lifting of the U.S. blockade on Cuba; recognition of Cuba’s international cooperation — particularly in the health sector; and the removal of Cuba from the U.S. list of State Sponsors of Terrorism, among others. Another ongoing opportunity for Cuba’s foreign policy projection lies in its respectful and diplomatic engagement, which has allowed Cuba to act as a political and diplomatic bridge between the Caribbean and the rest of Latin America. This role facilitates relationships that remain limited due to differing political and communicational frameworks, as well as stark economic asymmetries. This bridging role has been particularly evident in the Community of Latin American and Caribbean States (CELAC), where Cuba’s efforts supported the inclusion of a permanent CARICOM representative in the organization's leadership troika and ensured the incorporation of Caribbean concerns in CELAC’s joint declarations and statements. Another external opportunity is the growing interest of global powers and extra-regional actors in the Caribbean, most notably the People’s Republic of China. China has vast potential in economic and trade relations with the region, especially considering that CARICOM countries offer several attributes attractive to Chinese investors. China’s high demand for Caribbean products has driven its interest not only in production but also in developing transport infrastructure across the region to secure supply chains and reduce costs. In this context, the membership of Cuba and several Caribbean nations in the Belt and Road Initiative presents both an advantage and an opportunity. Cuba maintains a strong, strategic, high-level political and diplomatic relationship with China and can be considered as China’s principal ally in the region. This places Cuba in a unique position to play an important role in expanding China’s political engagement with CARICOM, particularly given that five CARICOM countries — Saint Lucia, Saint Kitts and Nevis, Saint Vincent and the Grenadines, Belize, and Haiti — still maintain diplomatic ties with Taiwan. In other words, Cuba could further leverage its privileged relationships with both parties to continue fostering political rapprochement, help expand economic and trade links with the subregion, and participate in various development projects with Chinese capital through a triangular cooperation. In this framework, Cuba can contribute with its expertise, knowledge, and highly qualified human capital in fields where many Caribbean nations lack capacity. At the same time, Cuba’s admission as an associate member of the BRICS represents an opportunity that opens promising prospects for cooperation, investment, and access to financing — within a framework that promotes a multipolar vision of the world, composed of several of the largest and most dynamic economies on the planet. In addition to its strategic geographic location as the “Key to the Gulf,” which facilitates access to major markets in Latin America and the Caribbean, Cuba can contribute to BRICS with an influential and privileged political relationship with Caribbean countries, built over 50 years. This could help foster a strategic partnership between BRICS and the Caribbean. Likewise, Cuba’s historical cooperation ties and its high-level political and diplomatic dialogue with the African bloc — as well as with other countries of the so-called Global South — also represent an opportunity, as they can help bridge the Caribbean with these extra-regional actors, enabling coordination on common positions in multilateral arenas and fostering economic ties. In the case of Africa, CARICOM has aimed in recent years to strengthen relations with the continent, starting with the first summit between both blocs held virtually in 2021. This goal is clearly reflected in the signing of a Partnership Agreement by 12 of the 15 CARICOM member states with the African Export-Import Bank (Afreximbank), which has approved over $1.5 billion in investments for the Caribbean (Afreximbank, 2024). Moreover, cooperation between Cuba and CARICOM still offers a wide range of untapped opportunities, aligned with the specific needs and advantages of each party. As previously mentioned, Cuba has a highly skilled human workforce that can benefit the region. In this regard, triangular cooperation becomes a key mechanism for accessing funding from governmental and multilateral sources. The growing interest in the Caribbean by various powers — both Western and non-Western — also represents an opportunity to attract resources for key areas such as climate change mitigation, energy transition, and digitalization, where Cuba can participate with its trained professionals and developed capabilities (Marín, Martínez, & Laguardia, 2024, p. 10). Conclusions Cuba–CARICOM relations, with more than half a century of history, stand as a successful example of strategic comprehensiveness, coherence, and tangible achievements in political and cooperation matters. However, they still face the challenge of producing similar results in the economic and trade sphere, where progress has been limited. The main obstacles to achieving this goal are linked to the structural conditions and constraints of Caribbean economies and their integration into the global economy, as well as to the effects of the U.S. blockade and the economic strangulation policies implemented against Cuba. The worsening of Cuba’s economic crisis — driven by the tightening of the blockade, the imposition of new sanctions, and its continued inclusion on the State Sponsors of Terrorism list under a likely more aggressive policy by the new U.S. administration — poses a threat to the achievement of Cuba’s goals in the Caribbean. At the same time, the positive outlook generated by Cuba’s admission as an associate member of the BRICS presents an opportunity to develop a possible strategic alliance between the bloc and the Caribbean — supported by the privileged, trusting, and cooperative relationship that Cuba has built with Caribbean countries over more than 50 years. Cooperation has been the cornerstone of Cuba’s relations with the Caribbean, and despite challenges, it has remained intentional and prioritized. However, more efforts should be made to leverage other areas in which Cuba possesses expertise and highly qualified human capital. The potential of triangular cooperation, along with the growing interest of key international actors in the Caribbean, could represent a valuable opportunity for Cuba to maintain and expand its cooperation efforts in the region. References Cabrera Agudo, M. (2011). Las políticas de seguridad de CARICOM en torno al crimen trasnacional organizado: incidencia de los intereses estadounidenses de seguridad nacional (2001-2011). Buenos Aires: CLACSO.Cabrera Agudo, M. (2013). La concertación política en el marco de CARICOM: focos de ruptura y espacios para la construcción de consensos. Cuadernos del Caribe, 16(1), 67-79.Caribbean Community Secretariat. (2022). Annual Report of the Secretary-General 2022. Guyana.CARICOM Secretariat. (2014). Strategic Plan for the Caribbean Community 2015–2019: Repositioning CARICOM. Turkeyen, Guyana.Departamento de Estado de Estados Unidos. (2020). U.S. Strategy for Engagement in the Caribbean. Caribbean 2020: A Multi-Year Strategy To Increase the Security, Prosperity, and Well-Being of the People of the United States and the Caribbean. Recuperado de: https://www.state.gov/u-s-strategy-for-engagement-in-the-caribbean/Departamento de Estado de Estados Unidos. (5 de julio de 2023). Secretary Blinken’s Remarks at the CARICOM Plenary. Recuperado de: https://2021-2025.state.gov/secretary-antony-j-blinken-at-the-caricom-plenary/Departamento de Estado de Estados Unidos. (febrero de 2025). Integrated Country Strategies (países miembros de CARICOM). Recuperado de: https://2021-2025.state.gov/office-of-foreign-assistance/integrated-country-strategies/Departamento de Estado de Estados Unidos. (16 de noviembre de 2023). Cooperación entre EE. UU. y el Caribe para detener el tráfico de armas de fuego. Recuperado de: https://2021-2025.state.gov/translations/spanish/cooperacion-entre-ee-uu-y-el-caribe-para-detener-el-trafico-de-armas-de-fuego/Departamento de Estado de Estados Unidos. (1 de marzo de 2024). Compromiso entre Estados Unidos y el Caribe (traducción al español). Recuperado de: https://2021-2025.state.gov/translations/spanish/compromiso-entre-estados-unidos-y-el-caribe/Díaz Vázquez, J. (2017). Las relaciones económicas de China con los países del Caribe. En J. Laguardia Martínez (Ed.), Cuba en sus relaciones con el resto del Caribe. Continuidades y rupturas tras el restablecimiento de las relaciones diplomáticas entre Cuba y los Estados Unidos (pp. 243-256). Buenos Aires: CLACSO.García Lorenzo, T. (2005). La economía y la integración de la comunidad del Caribe: Encuentros y desencuentros (Tesis doctoral). Universidad de La Habana.Girvan, N. (2012). El Caribe, dependencia, integración y soberanía. Santiago de Cuba: Editorial Oriente.Girvan, N. (2017). El pensamiento de la Dependencia en el Caribe Anglófono. En F. Valdés García (Ed.), Antología del pensamiento crítico caribeño contemporáneo (pp. 459-499). Buenos Aires: CLACSO.Griffith, I. (1997). El narcotráfico como una cuestión de seguridad en el Caribe. En P. Milet (Ed.), Paz y Seguridad en las Américas. Chile: FLACSO.Griffith, I. (2002). Security, Sovereignty, and Public Order in the Caribbean. Security and Defense Studies Review, 1-18.Laguardia Martínez, J. (2022). La IX Cumbre de las Américas y su impacto en el Caribe. VII Conferencia de Estudios Estratégicos.Laguardia, J., Marín, C., & Martínez, M. (2024). 50 años de relaciones Cuba – CARICOM: avances, retos y posibilidades. Cuadernos del pensamiento crítico latinoamericano, CLACSO.Oficina Nacional de Estadística e Información (ONEI). (2024). Anuario Estadístico de Cuba 2023. Edición 2024. La Habana.Regueiro, L., & Marín, C. (2023). Consensos y disensos en la Política Exterior de CARICOM. Caribes, (9), 8-32.Romero, A. (2016). Los desafíos de la reconfiguración regional. Anuario de Integración, 65-85.Sanders, R. (2022). US-Caribbean Relations in Biden Administration. Florida: Kimberly Green Latin American and Caribbean Center, FIU.Suárez Salazar, L. (2019). Cuba y Estados Unidos en el Caribe insular y continental: misiones en conflicto. En N. López Castellanos (Ed.), Geopolítica e integración en el Gran Caribe. Alcances y desafíos (pp. 167-187). México: UNAM.Suárez Salazar, L. (2021). Presentación y Prefacio del libro: Revolución Cubana. Algunas miradas críticas y descolonizadas. Revista Política Internacional, 160-168.Suárez Salazar, L., & García Lorenzo, T. (2008). Las relaciones interamericanas: continuidades y cambios. CLACSO.

Abstract Recent changes in US foreign policy and strategic posture have forced Europe to think about meeting its security needs without US support. One issue that requires a particular focus is the question of how to deter and defend against Russia in a conventional war. This article attempts a high-level assessment of European military capability and considers whether existing military doctrine is adequate. It argues that Europe should maintain its focus on NATO’s manoeuvrist mode of war fighting and identifies key capability gaps that need to be filled for (a) a coalition of the willing and (b) Europe as a whole to be able to fight in this way. It cautions against an unduly defensive, attritional method of fighting, based on conscript armies, as playing to Russia’s strengths instead of our own. Introduction War has come back to Europe and so has the need to think about how to fight it. Between 24 February 2022 and 21 January 2024, we put the need to rethink our defence to one side, because the Biden administration allowed us the luxury of being able to repurpose Cold War institutions (most obviously NATO), deterrence and habits to support Ukraine and dissuade Russia from another overt attack. This was a mixed blessing, because while it saved us the need to put our societies and economies on a war footing, it also blinded us to the need to build something new. The old system was not the best to contend with Russia’s aggression. While the US had only half an eye on Europe—with the rest of its focus on China—Western Europeans continued to free-ride on American resources. Neither Germany’s Zeitenwende, nor the aspersion cast by Emanuel Macron that ‘NATO is brain-dead’ (Macron 2019) translated into larger defence budgets, increased orders for ammunition, the conversion of civilian manufacturing to military use or the running of plants in shifts to replenish stockpiles. Only the Nordics, Baltics and Poland really moved to a war footing, and even their restructuring suffered from a desire, exposed as wishful thinking by Trump’s victory in November 2024, to keep the US involved. Now, with the US being led by an unstable pro-Russian Donald Trump and an anti-European JD Vance, the choice has been made for us. Steps are already being taken to prepare Europe’s industrial base, whether it is the creation of a European defence commissioner, Germany’s removal of its debt brake or initiatives such as the EU’s proposed Security Action for Europe (SAFE) financing instrument. But our political elite also needs to educate itself beyond these industrial and economic matters. War has once again become an essential part of what every responsible political leader needs to know. As it had been until 1945, if not 1989, some understanding of the military arts has, unfortunately, again become indispensable for European statespeople. This article will start by outlining certain concepts to help inform our debate about how we defend ourselves against Russia. It will relate them to the state of our military equipment, and pose questions about how we should fight with what we have, and how we should make more of what we need to fight in the way that gives us the maximum advantage over Russia. It will ask what elements of the existing NATO way of war should be kept, and which ought to be replaced, as a new European way of war—a European ‘doctrine’—is developed. And it will identify the key gaps in capability that need to be filled to apply such a doctrine in two scenarios: one where most of Europe confronts Russia (excluding neutrals, such as Ireland or Austria; potentially hostile states, such as Hungary and Slovakia; and Greece and Turkey, which deploy military resources to deter a conflict between themselves), and another where the burden is taken up by a coalition of the willing. This coalition is drawn up narrowly to constitute the Nordic–Baltic Eight (NB8),1 the UK, Poland and Ukraine. Other countries, for example, Czechia and the Netherlands, would currently be considered part of this coalition, but their contributions have, conservatively, been excluded for the purpose of this assessment. This article does not assume that the European military effort should replicate the American one (for the cost of replication, see Wolff 2025). Instead it seeks to assess how Europe would deter and defeat Russia in ways that exploit our advantages against the Russian military. We do not need to replace the Americans one-for-one, but nor should we replicate Russia’s relatively low-technology and low-skill warfare. That would be to give up the strongest advantages our free and technologically advanced societies provide. Centre of gravity The first concept we need to outline is the ‘centre of gravity’: the phrase, whose application to war we owe to Clausewitz (1918, 270), refers to that feature of a belligerent that will cause it to change its behaviour when subject to pressure. The aim of military strategy, he argued, was not necessarily the destruction of the enemy’s forces, still less their population, but the application of force to their centre of gravity in order to achieve your war aim. With this in view, the most important question for European military planners is, where is Putin’s, or Russia’s, centre of gravity? This question will occupy our strategists’ minds for the foreseeable future: its answer includes determining whether it is Putin, or some other group in the Russian elite, such as the military, energy producers or business oligarchs, on whom pressure should be applied, and if so what pressure is required. Under what conditions would Putin sue for peace, or be replaced by someone who would, if Russia extended its war to conventional military aggression against Europe? Only once these conditions have been identified, is it then relevant to ask how they might be brought about. This consideration of centre of gravity begs an important question: how is Russia to be deterred from attacking Europe? How can sufficiently severe consequences be imposed on Russia, bearing in mind that the loss of almost 400 aircraft (Minfin.com.ua 2025) and several thousand tanks, and close to a million men killed and wounded have not been enough to push Putin to retreat from Ukraine? It is, however, necessary to pose this question, because there is a temptation to avoid it by focusing on ‘deterrence by denial’. This idea would be to defend ourselves in the manner in which the Chinese are thought to defend themselves against the US: by preventing US forces from landing in China by attacking its large, expensive ships. This does not apply to the Russian case for two reasons: first, Russia is willing to sacrifice men and equipment in human-wave assaults; the only equipment it seems to have decided to preserve is its air force. Second, Russia has a land border with Europe, so it does not need to attack using small numbers of vulnerable ships. Denial is extremely difficult against human-wave attacks, as US forces found in Korea, and Iraqis found in the Iran–Iraq war when revolutionary Iran employed them. (See Meyer zum Felde 2024 for a deterrence by denial–focused approach.) Order of battle A second concept is the ‘order of battle’: what are the forces arranged on either side of a conflict and how do they measure up to each other? As well as military units, it is worthwhile also considering the broader elements of societal strength—economic, political and cultural—that each side has, and how these contribute to the war effort. For example, our open societies leave us more vulnerable to hybrid attacks and disinformation, but on the other hand supply great strength and flexibility. Democratic societies do not wait for the government to tell them what to do, but organise social defence in ways that dictatorships find more difficult; the market economy possesses enormous flexibility that centrally planned systems do not; and an entrepreneurial can-do culture can also produce superior military performance through the concept of ‘mission command’ (see below). But the first question is who would be fighting? Sometimes pieces are written as if it would only be Britain and France confronting Russia (Barker et al. 2025), but borders have shifted since the Cold War: Eastern Europe, including the highly capable Polish and Finnish militaries, as well, of course, as Europe’s strongest army, Ukraine’s, would be arrayed against Moscow, not operating under its orders. Europe’s total military-age population is considerably greater than Russia’s. If Austria, Hungary, Ireland and Slovakia are excluded for political reasons, and Greece and Turkey as well, because they will wish to preserve resources in case a conflict breaks out between them, ‘Europe’ has 89.5 million military-age men and 88 million military-age women, compared to Russia’s 31 million military-age men and 33 million military-age women.2 The question of how such forces are recruited and generated, particularly in the economically more successful parts of Europe, is of course relevant, but the sheer capacity to provide sufficient personnel is not in doubt. It is useful to consider the matter of mobilisation. Russia was in transition from a conscript to a professional army when it launched its attack on Ukraine. It still mobilises 160,000 men per year, mostly to fill rearguard positions and free up front-line deployment for professional troops. This is equivalent to 17% of the annual cohort of young men.3 Europe (as defined above) could generate similar forces without much difficulty. A one-year cohort of the European population includes 2.7 million men and 2.5 million women. Even if it limited itself to calling up men, it would only need to recruit 6% of the population. Such a number would be feasible with a voluntary reserve service programme, and would not require universal conscription. Considering the countries most at risk of Russian aggression, and most likely to need to defend against it, presents a starker picture. The NB8 plus Poland and the UK between them have an annual cohort of 7.7 million men and 7.3 million women. If the male population of these countries took part in military service at the same rate as Russians, this would generate 130,000 personnel, requiring an additional 30,000 female personnel to match Russian numbers. This would require a female reserve participation rate of 4%, which is an achievable figure. For example, at least 25% of Norway’s annual conscription quota comprises women. Despite a recent surge in calls to reintroduce universal military service in Europe, this is not necessarily advisable in all countries. Training a large cohort of conscripts takes resources away from exercises and advanced training for professional officers. While it may be justified for small nations on the front line, it is not the best use of resources for larger countries. The required manpower needs can in most cases be met by a selective reserve system. European stocks of platforms (as distinct from ammunition stocks, which are dangerously low) are also not outrageously out of balance with the requirement for a mission against Russia, though this is partly due to Ukraine’s destruction of Russian equipment since 2022. The following (table 1) compares stocks of fighter jets, main battle tanks and artillery pieces across several groups of European countries (some including Ukraine) versus Russia. This analysis is necessarily somewhat crude, as it excludes infantry fighting vehicles, mortars and other equipment. It also completely sets aside analysis of naval forces. Its fighter aircraft figures comprise fourth-generation fighters, old fighters (predating the fourth generation or the Warsaw Pact) and F35s.4 Finally, these figures do not take future production (either European or Russian) or the evolution of land and air drones into account (International Institute for Strategic Studies 2024).   Source: International Institute for Strategic Studies (2024). Note: This table compares the main platforms (fighter jets, main battle tanks and artillery pieces, including rocket artillery) that various European countries have at their disposal. Countries are placed in different categories and then compared against Russia. Each category also appears in two variants: one including Ukraine, and one that does not include Ukrainian forces. The ‘NB8+ coalition’ is the NB8 plus the UK and Poland. Non-neutral Europe means EU members plus the UK and Norway, but minus Ireland, Austria, Hungary and Slovakia. Using this table one can see, for example, that the NB8+ coalition has 542 fewer fighter jets at its disposal than Russia but essentially the same number of main battle tanks. With the exception of the scenario in which only the NB8+ coalition and Ukraine face off against Russia, Europe currently has approximately the required numbers of platforms to resist a Russian attack (bearing in mind a deficit in artillery pieces if Ukraine is not included). This leads to the following conclusions: • Ukraine needs to be considered an integral part of European defence against Russia, and its defeat would allow Russia to focus its forces on EU territory.• The coalition faces a notable air-power shortage in confronting Russia. While it has enough planes to deter Russian use of its aerospace, it does not have sufficient equipment to attempt to establish air superiority.• At an overall European level the priority should not be buying new platforms. Platform acquisition should be part of any rearmament plan, but priorities should be determined by the specific needs of a campaign against Russia, with importance given to filling the key gaps needed to conduct such a campaign. Platforms, ammunition and network-centric warfare The analysis above is only a first approximation of military strength. It considers only equipment and mobilisation potential, rather than force generation, and concentrates on land and air forces, setting aside the navy because a Euro-Russian conventional war would largely be fought on land. (The air force calculations do include naval aviation equipment, however, as these could be brought to bear). It also deals only with the main ‘platforms’: main battle tanks, fighter planes and artillery pieces, ignoring armoured personnel carriers and infantry fighting vehicles, engineering and support equipment, and, most importantly, ammunition. Simply replicating Russian numbers of platforms without considering communications, software and unmanned systems risks equipping ourselves to fight the last war (Tallis 2025). The spectrum that runs between a platform, which serves to move weapons systems into a place where they can be fired, and a piece of ammunition, fired from a platform, is another dimension of analysis. For example, during the Second World War the distinction was clear: an artillery shell was ammunition; an artillery piece a platform. But how should one categorise a cruise missile, which could be launched from a plane (so it appears to be ammunition launched from a platform), or directly from land, in which case it could arguably be a platform on its own? What is the difference between a cruise missile and a long-range drone? The war in Ukraine has seen the rapid development of short-range single-use drones that behave, in some ways, like super-intelligent artillery shells; and actual shells have incorporated guidance systems, and even propulsion systems, so that they have become what are known as ‘loitering munitions’. The point here is that strength is not just measured by platforms, but by the things that can be delivered to the battlefield with them (or independently of them), and an assessment of military strength needs to include an understanding of stocks of ammunition, the ability to replenish it and to fire it at where it is needed. This brings us to the idea of networks. War has always given the advantage to the side that could bring force to bear in a coordinated fashion while itself avoiding being the target of a coordinated enemy attack. The latest iteration of this is known as ‘network-centric warfare’, which, in its ideal form, means that every participant in the battle, from planes and ships all the way down to individual soldiers and drones can observe the ‘battlespace’ and communicate information about it to the right layer of command. Using this information, commanders, assisted by artificial intelligence, can decide where ‘effect’ is to be concentrated to bring about maximum damage to the enemy, more quickly than it can cause damage. This capability is not necessarily confined to the most expensive high-tech armies. Ukraine has shown how off-the-shelf electronic components can be added to existing systems to improve them (for example, to allow its artillery to concentrate fire on a single target despite the artillery systems themselves being dispersed). Precision If in the popular imagination precision weapons are used mainly to reduce collateral damage (and this was indeed their main use during the campaigns against terrorist groups in the first two decades of this century), in high-intensity war their advantage is that they conserve resources and time. Even if an individual precision artillery shell is more expensive, it is more useful to be able to use one or two guided shells to hit a target than 30 or 40 unguided ones. Not only is less ammunition used, but fewer troops are needed to operate it, and the wear and tear on the artillery pieces is considerably less. Precision results in greater ‘effect’ from the inputs to the process. Though sometimes presented as its opposite, precision should be understood as a way of delivering ‘mass’; this concept, also from Clausewitz (1918, 98), refers to the quantity of force that can be brought to bear against an enemy at a particular time. It matters because fighting is not a continuous linear process where the amount of force one applies has an effect in proportion to its quantity—in war having more power at one place at the right time means you will win the battle and the enemy will be weaker for the next one. The slightly stronger force can often inflict damage on the weaker one in a way that is disproportionate to the difference in their strength. To take a simple example for the purposes of illustration, suppose we start with 100 tanks, and so do they. Thanks to our commander’s skill we are able to concentrate 50 of our tanks against 40 of theirs. We lose 10 tanks, they lose 35. Now we have 90 tanks, they have 65. In this example our ability to get those extra 10 tanks in the right place has given us an advantage that can be pressed further in the next battle. It is these facts that underpin the approach that NATO, and the West more broadly, has applied to fighting. Although Western democracies have been able, due to their superior economic systems and technological advantage, to outproduce their enemies, winning a war of attrition is not where they consider their advantage to come from. Instead they emphasise their speed of movement and thought, and their ability to confuse their enemies, tricking them into dividing or misdirecting their forces, and then pouncing at the right moment; this is the ‘manoeuvrist’ creed of war, in which we fight smart and overcome the enemy by more than brute force. It is important not to draw the distinction between attrition and manoeuvre too crudely. Manoeuvre warfare is easier when you have more and better kit, and your leaders are informed by better intelligence obtained through technological as well as human sources. It also takes advantage of the characteristics of free societies. Manoeuvre warfare is strengthened by ‘mission command’: the notion that subordinate officers are given the ability to decide exactly how to fulfil their orders. This gives Western militaries a flexibility that is absent from the armies of dictatorships, in which such freedom is rarely granted,5 but of course this depends on officers and soldiers being sufficiently well-trained, and possessing a good enough level of general education, to operate independently. It is the best way for us, as free and well-educated peoples, to fight—it is not necessarily the best for everyone. A manoeuvrist force, is, as the name suggests, on the move. It is constantly advancing, communicating its changing position, attempting to bypass and confuse the enemy. It operates at a high tempo in order to overwhelm the enemy mentally as well as physically, and the ability to sustain this type of fighting informs training, equipment command and intelligence: ‘the key to winning battles is to have greater forces at the key location than does the enemy. The trick is to outwit the enemy and thus out-concentrate him at the right time’ (Warden 1998, 79). This matters for learning the right lessons from Ukraine’s fight for survival. Ukraine has only been able to master some of the lessons of manoeuvrist warfare. It has been hampered by its limited capacity in the air, which slows it down and makes it hard to break Russian lines except with artillery and long-range fire (such as the famous HIMARS rockets). It is in transition from Soviet- to Western-style command. But it has also shown tremendous capacity to innovate, particularly in its use of drones to hold a defensive line. Ukraine’s tremendous first-person drone capacity allows it to stop Russian attacks while risking far fewer troops (drone operators work behind the lines, where they are at much lower risk than the men in the trenches) and even compensate for artillery.6 These principles feed into NATO’s existing doctrine (NATO 2022), which involves identifying the enemy’s centre of gravity, achieving air superiority to deliver firepower against its command and control nodes, and then overcoming its disoriented forces at speed. It relies on synthesising intelligence through networks of sensors and exploiting the information they provide to deploy massed precision against them. Such operations, however, require certain capabilities that depend on equipment and structures provided mostly by the US. The first of these is NATO’s command structure. NATO’s armies have a single command structure that conducts exercises together. At the top is the Supreme Allied Commander (American) and the Deputy Supreme Allied Commander (European). American units are integrated throughout the force structure. European forces will need to plan, exercise and be ready to fight without these American elements—it is not merely a matter of detaching them. The second is the intelligence and planning capability to carry out those war plans and adapt to the evolving battle. These integrate intelligence gathered from sensors, satellites and human sources, and artificial intelligence is increasingly involved in its processing as extremely large amounts of data must be handled quickly and secretly. As well as certain sensors (satellites and aircraft), the US’s processing software is also vital here, though Europeans have equivalent capabilities at reduced scale. Third are the sensors, software and missiles needed to suppress enemy air defences (SEAD). SEAD missions are a prerequisite for establishing air superiority against adversaries that possess sophisticated air defence systems, such as Russia. Indeed, the failure of Russia’s SEAD missions in Ukraine, and Ukraine’s ability to deter Russian aviation, may also indicate that an effective air defence is easier to mount than had been thought.7 Europe, however, currently lacks the ability to make the latest generation of anti-radiation missiles (which target enemy radar) essential to the success of SEAD. India’s poor performance against Pakistan, where it appears to have attempted to conduct deep strikes against its rival without conducting SEAD, underlines the importance of these capabilities (Economist 2025). It will take some years to develop them, and this needs to be prioritised. A full discussion of the requirements for successful SEAD against Russia can be found in Bronk and Watling (2025). Finally there is the question of Russia’s nuclear threats. Though the UK and France possess ‘strategic’ nuclear arsenals, these, because they threaten the complete destruction of the world, can only credibly deter the most extreme sort of attack. Russia and the US both have low-yield or ‘tactical’ nuclear weapons, and Russia has regularly threatened to use them. These threats would significantly complicate elements of a European campaign to deter Russia, which might involve actions such as seizing Kaliningrad or advancing from Finland towards the environs of St Petersburg. Europe needs the ability to restrict Russia to conventional weapons in such circumstances. Though such deterrence does not have to be supplied using tactical nuclear weapons of our own (Hoffmann 2021), these would be the most straightforward instrument for this purpose. As the UK’s nuclear weapons systems are submarine launched (and use American missiles), France’s arsenal would have to be expanded to provide this capability, and be able to be deployed closer to the front as, for example, Donald Tusk has hinted.8 Conclusion and recommendations Fighting without the Americans does not necessarily mean we need to replace exactly what they used to supply. Instead we need to understand the mission required, which is to deter Russia by credibly showing how Russian forces would be defeated, in the field, should Putin attempt to attack us. In an ideal world this credible threat would cause the military to remove Putin should he attempt further adventurism against Europe, but we cannot rely on such an eventuality. This means that we have to think carefully about how we would fight and sustain political support for a major European war. The good news is that provided that the bulk of Europe is willing to contribute, we have the resources and equipment needed to defeat Russia. Upgrades, in particular in SEAD capability and tactical nuclear weapons, need to be made, but they are not out of reach. In addition, we have a solid basis in military doctrine that can be used to organise a campaign that takes advantage of our military cultures and technological lead. The less good news is that the countries that can be guaranteed to make up a ‘coalition of the willing’ (the NB8 plus Poland, the UK and Ukraine) would currently struggle to mount an offensive campaign on their own. They would, in particular, struggle to field a sufficiently large air force to win air superiority over Russia, though they have enough aircraft to deny Russia air superiority of its own. This would limit their ability to put manoeuvrist doctrine into practice, and, notwithstanding advances in drone warfare pioneered by the Ukrainians, could cause them to fall back to static defence and attritional warfare, as illustrated by the proposed Baltic Defence Line. Such an approach would stretch the human resources of a coalition of the willing extremely thin. It is perhaps ironic that Europe as a whole could win a war of attrition against Russia, but it also would not have to, as it could prosecute a campaign of manoeuvre against the Russian military and Putin’s state. Accordingly my recommendations are laid out below. Europe should focus on what it needs to defeat Russia, rather than what would be required to replace the American commitment to NATO. Nevertheless, it should not, as a whole, revert to using conscript-based armies designed to fight a war of attrition against Russia. These give up the greatest advantages of technologically advanced free societies and would leave us fighting the kind of war Russia would want us to fight. Certain small front-line states might need to make different calculations. Universal military service might be required so that they can, in extremis, mount a defensive campaign—for example, if Finland and the Baltic states were required to fight on their own without support from European allies. This highly extreme scenario is sufficiently unlikely that it should not form the basis of other countries’ military planning. The core ‘coalition of the willing’—the Nordic countries, the Baltic states, plus Poland, the UK and Ukraine—could defend themselves against Russia, and with some effort would be able to conduct an offensive campaign to bring about Russian defeat. They would need, however, to make important improvements to their defence. The coalition would require an integrated command structure and a programme of exercises. The expansion of the UK-led Joint Expeditionary Force and the UK’s command headquarters would be a suitable nucleus for such capability. The coalition would face a manpower deficit compared to Russia, and matching Russian mobilised reserve levels would be a challenge. The coalition could, however, match Russian mobilisation levels with a Swedish- or Norwegian-style selective military service programme for young men and women (it could achieve sufficient coverage for defensive purposes by recruiting 16% of men and 6% of women each year). The coalition is also severely short of aircraft with which to pursue an air superiority campaign against Russia. Though it would fare better than Ukraine on its own, increasing the size of the coalition’s air forces must be a priority, and the risk of over-dependence on the F35 needs to be considered. Though ‘kill switches’ are a myth, a sovereign spare parts supply chain (as Finland is creating) and sovereign intelligence software (as used by Israel) are required to reduce the risk of US unreliability. The coalition would also need to consider replacing the F35’s intelligence and command capabilities with replacements that could operate on European aircraft, such as the Gripen or Rafale. The lack of stealth capability would also hamper the coalition’s air forces until a sixth-generation fighter could be developed. Europe as a whole has forces of the necessary scale to conduct operations against Russia. Its shortfalls in ammunition production and inefficiencies due to the diversity of its equipment have been covered elsewhere. Some inefficiency is likely to persist as long as Europe remains a relatively decentralised continent, but it is likely to be better to bear the extra cost now, than waste time with the ambitious political integration projects required to eliminate it quickly. Europe as a whole would need to develop its own command structure. At this level it may be possible to repurpose NATO’s Supreme Headquarters Allied Powers Europe (SHAPE) using the Berlin Plus process, though care would need to be taken to avoid a potentially hostile US, as well as unfriendly NATO members, such as Hungary, blocking operations. As urgent as ammunition production (a category that includes missiles as well as artillery) is the manufacture of equipment to conduct SEAD campaigns. Reviving European capacity to produce anti-radiation missiles and in intelligence capability to uncover targets for them should be a matter of the highest priority. The final priority area is the expansion of Europe’s tactical nuclear capability. Though the French and British strategic arsenals can provide the ultimate deterrence against Russia, tactical, or low-yield, weapons are needed to deter Russia from threatening European forces with its tactical nuclear weapons. As the British programme is not suitable, these would have to be based on the French programme, and questions related to how this expansion would be paid for, and how tactical nuclear use would be authorised, would need to be addressed. Footnotes1. Iceland, Norway, Sweden, Denmark, Finland, Estonia, Lithuania and Latvia.2. These estimates are based on Eurostat data for the EU member states, the Office for National Statistics population projections for the UK and the most recent available data for Russia, which is based on UN data not currently available but which have been reported on Wikipedia. The Russian data are from 2012, so these overestimate Russian demographic strength slightly. The military age calculation aggregates the standard five-year demographic groups between 20 and 49. Obviously a military may mobilise younger and older people as well, but the comparison remains valid.3. In this case, by taking the 10-year sample of 15–24-year-olds and dividing it by 10 to smooth out fluctuations. Again, because of declining Russian demographics (even without accounting for losses due to the war), this is likely to be an underestimate of the proportion mobilised (because the total number of 18-year-old men is lower than the statistics indicate).4. F35s are easily the most advanced fighter available, and the only one reliably able to penetrate Russian air defences before suppression of enemy air defence missions have been accomplished. The deterioration in relations with the US, however, poses questions about the ongoing reliability of the supply chain associated with them. Though ‘kill-switches’ are a myth, European countries will need to maintain their own spare parts supply and software upgrade path if they are to gain the most out of the aircraft in the long run. Finland, for example, is establishing its own sovereign spare parts supply, and Israel has a sovereign software intelligence solution on its F35s.5. An exception was the Wehrmacht, which inherited mission command from the Prussian Army; however, its generals found themselves micromanaged by Hitler, which (fortunately) affected their performance.6. These small drones are very different from those deployed in the early stages of the war such as the Bayraktar TB2 or Western drones such as the Reaper. They are much closer to ammunition than platforms, and (in good weather, at least) replace artillery or close air support.7. It could also indicate that Russian aviation is not as good as had been thought, but it would be dangerous to plan on that assumption.8. Author’s conversation with a Polish official who wished to remain anonymous.ReferencesBarker K., Smialek J., Erlanger S. (2025). Europe prepares to face Russia as Trump’s America steps back. New York Times, 24 February.Bronk J., Watling J. (2025). Rebalancing joint fires to deter Russia. Royal United Services Institute Occasional Paper. London, 15 April. https://static.rusi.org/rebalancing-european-joint-fires-to-deter-russia.pdf. Accessed 15 April 2025.Clausewitz K. von. (1918). On War. Trans. Graham J. J. (London: K. Paul Trench, Trubner & Co.)Dalaaker A. (2017). Statement by Norway on gender equality in the military – universal conscription. Organisation for Co-operation and Security in Europe. 8 March. https://www.osce.org/files/f/documents/b/9/304861.pdf. Accessed 9 April 2025.Economist. (2025). Chinese weapons gave Pakistan a new edge against India. 15 May. https://www.economist.com/asia/2025/05/15/chinese-weapons-gave-pakistan-a-new-edge-against-india. Accessed 16 May 2025.Hackett M., Nagl J. (2024). A long hard year. Russia–Ukraine war lessons learned 2023. Parameters, 54(3), 41–52.Hoffmann F. (2021). Strategic non-nuclear weapons and strategic stability – promoting trust through technical understanding. Fondation pour la recherche strategique. https://frstrategie.org/sites/default/files/documents/programmes/Programme TNP - P5/2021/202103.pdf. Accessed 9 April 2025.International Institute for Strategic Studies. (2024). The military balance. London: Routledge.Meyer zum Felde R. (2024). Kann sich Europa konventionell gegen eine militärische Bedrohung durch Russland behaupten? Sirius, 8(3), 267–83.Minfin.com.ua. (2025). Casualties of the Russian troops in Ukraine. Updated daily. https://index.minfin.com.ua/en/russian-invading/casualties/. Accessed 5 March 2025.Nagl J., Crombe K. (2024). A call to action: Lessons from Ukraine for the future force. Carlisle, PA: US Army War College Press.NATO. (2022). Allied joint doctrine. December. https://www.gov.uk/government/collections/allied-joint-publication-ajp. Accessed 9 April 2025.Tallis B. (2025). Emerging defence: Offset and competitive strategies for Europe. Democratic Strategy Initiative. https://www.democratic-strategy.net/_files/ugd/dcfff6_ca54854b6dc7499e829a5fa4d7b01b74.pdf. Accessed 16 March 2025.Warden J. (1998). The air campaign: Planning for combat. Washington, DC: National Defence University Press.Wolff G., Burlikov A. (2025). Defending Europe without the US: First estimates of what is needed. Bruegel, 21 February. https://www.bruegel.org/analysis/defending-europe-without-us-first-estimates-what-needed. Accessed 9 April 2025.

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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In Latin America, Cuba, Nicaragua, and Venezuela are not alone in their support for Russia and its invasion of Ukraine. In many cases, support has been disguised as an interest in peace or a neutral stance towards the conflict, as seen in the cases of Colombia, Mexico, and Brazil. While we find manifold diplomatic approaches toward Russia and Ukraine in Latin America, the underlying motivations can be understood in terms of support or rejection. While a majority of nations reject the invasion, considering it a threat to territorial sovereignty and self-determination, others have been reluctant to place any blame on Russia. More broadly, there has been less of an ideological bloc and more of an anti-imperialist or anti-colonial sentiment, with a few exceptions, such as Gabrie Boric from Chile who has publicly repudiated Russia’s aggression against Ukraine. His opposition is a departure from other Latin American leftist leaders like Luiz Inácio Lula da Silva and Gustavo Francisco Petro who have been more critical of Volodymyr Zelensky than Vladimir Putin. However, we can still identify three distinctive approaches to the crisis: 1) geopolitical, 2) economic, and 3) historical. The region has a keen interest in keeping its doors open to Russia. BRICS members like Brazil have managed to maintain their alleged neutrality in the pursuit of peace—even as President Lula has explicitly supported  Putin—while simultaneously protecting their economic interests. Others like Colombia and Mexico have shielded their unwillingness to condemn Putin’s invasion of Ukraine in an apparent push for peace. On the economic front, attitudes towards Russia are more tenuous given that Russia’s capability for foreign direct investment has been significantly reduced by the brunt of the war, along with the impact of the economic sanctions that followed their aggression. To be sure, Russia’s investments in the region have been winding down for some time, with a decreasing profile in areas such as energy, oil, and gas, as well as software and IT. However, the economic ties are more significant in the cases of Cuba, Nicaragua, and Venezuela—where they are joined more by their subjection to economic sanctions, and therefore the necessity to evade the consequences of economic isolation. There are specific areas key to this alliance: Russian fertilisers, along with oil and diesel, are critical to bypassing Western sanctions. Meanwhile, historical ties are more consequential than is commonly understood. Misinterpretations of Russia’s Soviet past by leftist-governed Latin American countries and longstanding social and cultural commonalities partially explain the continued support from diverse leaders such as Lula and Jair Bolsonaro in Brazil. These ties, rooted in shared anti-colonial sentiments and cultivated over decades, and regardless of ideological shifts, illustrate Russia’s multifaceted regional influence. This context underscores the fact that Russia’s regional impact transcends ideological lines, with both left and right-wing governments either explicitly supporting Russia or criticising Ukraine’s NATO aspirations to justify Russia’s aggression. The return of Donald Trump to the White House has prominent leaders of the Latin American left aligning with the new administration, resulting in significant consequences for the region. The new US administration’s criticism of Kyiv resonates with positions held by Brazil, Mexico, Colombia, Cuba, and Nicaragua. Despite ideological differences, their alignment emerges from a mix of political affinities, geopolitical strategies, and historical connections. Putin’s explicit defiance of Donald Trump’s negotiation efforts raises questions about Latin America’s influence over the conflict, largely due to its initial reluctance to adopt a decisive stance against Putin. The lonely voice condemning Putin’s war of attrition continues to be Chilean President Gabriel Boric, in stark contrast to Lula DaSilva and Gustavo Petro, who remain in Putin’s corner, making it unlikely they can be viewed as honest brokers in a peace initiative. Trump’s policies have prompted Brazil and Colombia to voice limited concerns about US plans for Ukraine, although still refraining from outright condemnation of Russia. This stance appears less a genuine support for Ukraine and more an opposition to US involvement in peace processes, even blaming Ukraine as partially responsible. Meanwhile, ideology alone has proven insufficient to prompt unified condemnation of Russia or widespread support for Ukraine in Latin America. Previous efforts by the Biden administration to secure regional military assistance for Ukraine were met with firm rejection and reluctance. This distancing, interpreted as tacit support for Russia, contributes to concerns about increasing authoritarian tendencies in the region, reflecting a diminished commitment to emerging democracies in crisis. Effectively abandoned by the international community, Ukraine faces negotiations with nations seeking its valuable earth minerals in exchange for protection, essentially framing it within a debt relief context. The absence of significant Latin American critique of this neocolonial approach underscores a troubling shift where sovereignty and self-determination appear increasingly disposable, contingent upon geopolitical interests and contexts. Maria I. Puerta Riera is a Visiting Professor of Political Science at Valencia College in Orlando, FL., where she teaches U.S. Government and International Politics. She holds a PhD. in Social Sciences, with her research focusing on the crises of democracies in Latin America. She has a special interest in Venezuela, Cuba, and Nicaragua, and is currently working on the effects of the illiberal regimes of China and Russia and their use of sharp power in the region. This article is published under a Creative Commons License and may be republished with attribution.