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Defense & Security
Black Sea marked with Red Circle on Realistic Map.

War in the Black Sea: The revival of the Jeune École?

by Tobias Kollakowski

한국어로 읽기 Leer en español In Deutsch lesen Gap اقرأ بالعربية Lire en français Читать на русском ABSTRACT This article analyses the naval dimension of the Russo-Ukrainian War in order to examine in which ways Ukraine’s approach to naval warfare in the Black Sea fits with Jeune École concepts – one of the leading naval strategic schools of thought. Having elaborated on the considerable success Ukraine has been able to achieve by applying a Jeune École approach and having explained the limits of Jeune École thinking in the conflict at sea, the article argues that Ukraine should be careful when considering to evolve the war at sea into a symmetrical conflict between conventional fleets.ARTICLE HISTORY Received 7 July 2024; Accepted 18 February 2025KEYWORDS War in the Black Sea; Jeune École; Russo-Ukrainian War; naval strategy; Ukrainian Navy The war that has been raging in the Black Sea since February 2022 is not a clash of titans. Its predominant characteristic are not naval battles between conventional fleets but, on the contrary, the absence of such engagements. Furthermore, as subsequent sections will further detail, most of these actions take place in the littoral. While the maritime dimension of the full-scale Russo-Ukrainian War has joined the Indo-Pakistani Naval War of 1971 and the 1982 Falklands War as among the most destructive naval wars since the end of WW2, the way in which it is waged involves coastal-defence batteries, pin prick attacks by uncrewed aerial systems (UAS), air-launched missile strikes and an asymmetric campaign carried out by uncrewed surface vehicles (USV). Not least important, the divergence between asymmetric and conventional naval warfare has not only informed the ways in which military actions have been carried out. Rather, it goes to the heart of a much larger debate over Ukraine’s fleet design and naval strategy. In this debate between adherents of a blue-water school of thought and advocates of the so-called ‘mosquito fleet’, both fractions have argued over the most appropriate develop- ment of the Ukrainian Navy and its future capabilities. To adopt an analytical framework that is well-suited to the nature of the conflict, both lethal and inter- state in the Black Sea and intellectual and within Ukraine’s military establishment, this article refrains from applying theories connected to prominent theoreticians associated with the blue-water school of thought (the ‘Old School’),1 such as Alfred Thayer Mahan, Philip Howard Colomb or Sir Julian Corbett.2 Literature on contem- porary naval strategy has indeed adopted concepts associated with these schools of thought, for example in the case of Japan (Corbett), the People’s Republic of China and India (Mahan).3 While blue-water concepts may prove beneficial when interpreting the oceanic ambitions and strategies of Asia’s mightiest naval powers, this article instead refers to Jeune École (Young School) naval strategic school of thought – one of the leading schools of thought in naval theory developed by 19th century French naval theoreticians and practitioners. As argued throughout this article, concepts and controversies affiliated with Jeune École (JÉ) are well-suited to explain the developments, circumstances and debates concerning the maritime theatre of the Russo-Ukrainian War. Scholars and experts have recently paid considerable attention to the mar- itime dimension of the Russo-Ukrainian War. Seth Cropsey, for example, argues that access to, and control of, the Black Sea is critical to the outcome of the war and Brent Sadler elaborates on lessons identified from the War in the Black Sea for a potential war involving Taiwan.4 Furthermore, scholars have examined the circumstances and implications of the transformation of a maritime gray zone conflict into a conventional war and the impact of the Russo-Ukrainian War on maritime commerce and the regional naval balance of power.5In a recent study, Md. Tanvir Habib and Shah Md Shamrir Al Af have also usefully explored Ukraine’s innovative usage of naval drones, tracing the lessons, conditions and implications of Ukraine’s approach to the War in the Black Sea and arguing in favour of the adoption of maritime asymmetric warfare strategies and capabilities by smaller countries.6 However, while deeply engaging in the discussion on asymmetric warfare Habib’s and Md Al Af’s analysis does not address the ‘Young School’ of naval strategic thought or matters of naval theory more generally. In contrast to the above-mentioned authors, in his review of the book Vaincre en mer au XXIe siècle, Michael Shurkin does take note of the fact that naval drones ‘perhaps breathe new life into the old vision of the Jeune École’ when he addresses the fact that the authors have not included the Russo-Ukrainian War due to the date of publication. However, given the nature of his article as a book review, Shurkin doesn’t elaborate on this idea.7 This article differs from the existing literature by embedding the War in the Black Sea and differing perceptions on the development of the navy and the appropriate fleet design within larger strategic debates discussed in naval theory. As elaborated in section six of this paper, a traditional assumption expressed by many authoritative voices has it that a JÉ approach is not a viable approach to wage war at sea, especially against an opponent enjoy- ing a much greater superiority in available means. Based on the examination of the case study of the Russo-Ukrainian War, this article shows how many debates surrounding the original 19th century JÉ also apply to the ongoing war in the Black Sea and demonstrates that Ukrainian success at sea and at the coast is closely linked with JÉ thinking. Given the length of the conflict and the great number of events at sea and onshore involving a broad range of topics, a comprehensive summary of the conflict at sea would go far beyond the scope of a single article. Consequently, maritime-related devel- opments are only covered as far as relevant for this article’s research design and to support or dismiss concepts associated with the JÉ naval strategic school of thought. This also means that this paper covers comparatively little on the actual conduct of naval operations. For the level of interpretation as applied in this article, tactics and operations are largely irrelevant. Ultimately, the debate on anti-access and area denial (A2/AD), a topic that has been covered in great depth within the two recent decades,8 has been largely omitted from this article. The reason is as follows. There is some conceptual overlap between the JÉ and the A2/AD debate – especially con- cerning the JÉ’s rebirth in form of the Soviet Molodaya Shkola (Young School). While JÉ could only influence naval policy in France for a few years at the end of the 19th century, elements of JÉ thinking gained prominence approxi- mately three decades later in the newly-established Soviet Union. Taking into consideration the harsh economic situation and the disastrous state of the navy in the early USSR and denouncing blue-water ‘Old School’ thinking as imperialist, advocates of the Molodaya Shkola favoured a naval strategy based on an inshore defence made up of small surface vessels, submarines, mines, coastal artillery and land-based aviation. In contrast to the Molodaya Shkola’s approach to use asymmetric means to counter conventionally super- ior navies that was effectively similar to the French JÉ, there were some differences between the two schools. Probably, the most significant differ- ence concerned the JÉ’s focus on offensive commerce raiding.9 However, whereas denying enemy major surface combatants access to one’s own littoral by employing small heavily armed craft qualifies as being very much in line with A2/AD, JÉ and Molodaya Shkola thinking, the same cannot be said for the extensive use of land-based systems. For example, the traditional ‘Central Mine and Artillery Position’ [RUS: TS͡ entral’naia͡ minno-artilleriĭskaia͡ pozits͡ iia͡ ], the stationary SSC-1 Sepal10 of the Cold War era and the contemporary Russian SSC- 5 Stooge [RUS designation: Bastion] and SSC-6 Sennight [RUS designation: Bal] coastal defence missile systems or Ukraine’s R-360 Neptune anti-ship missiles11 all count as essential elements of the A2/AD discourse. Conceptually, however, they fit much better into ‘coastal defence theory’ and the ‘brick-and-mortar school’ rather than the JÉ.12 Trying to cover all the facets of the naval dimension of the Russo-Ukrainian War would blur the conceptual lines between the differ- ent naval strategic schools of thought. It would deviate this article ever further away from its selected theoretical framework: the original 19th century ideas associated with JÉ thinking. This article comprises seven parts. Part one briefly summarises the princi- pal ideas of the 19th century JÉ as the analytical framework for interpreting Ukraine’s approach to the War in the Black Sea. The second section examines how Ukraine, having successfully withstood the initial Russian offensive, waged naval war against the Russian Black Sea Fleet (BSF) and how the conduct of warfare fits within JÉ thinking. Having elaborated on derivations from JÉ theory as far as commerce warfare is concerned, parts three and four elaborate on the limitations of the applicability of the theory. As shown at different points throughout the article, many essentials of the debate are remarkably similar despite a time difference of 150 years. The fifth section elaborates on the ways in which Ukraine attacks Russia’s maritime critical infrastructure and argues that Ukraine’s approach blends well with the JÉ strategic school of thought. Towards the end, the article presents ongoing debates on Ukraine’s naval future which once again reveal the long-standing aversion of naval leaders to embrace JÉ ideas. While the article does address certain aspects of the Russo-Ukraine War at various points throughout the text, it is in these concluding sections that the debate between ‘Old School’ proponents and the fraction advocating the development of the ‘mosquito fleet’ is illustrated. Readers only interested in this element of the academic discussion may wish to fast-forward to section six. Ultimately, the article argues that essential elements of JÉ thinking have demonstrated their worth as a viable naval strategy, at least on the narrow seas, and should receive more positive appreciation by inferior conflict parties. The origins of Jeune école During the 19th century, French naval thinkers had to tackle the issue of British naval supremacy that rested on a battle fleet vastly superior to its French counterpart while being confronted with the financial and industrial capacities of the British Empire and a redistribution of the military budget prioritising continental warfare as a result of the 1870–71 Franco-German War.13 As a result, JÉ proposed an approach to naval warfare that seeks to avoid the enemy’s fleet and targets the enemy’s sea lines of communication. For this purpose, Baron Richild Grivel, one of the forerunners of JÉ, had already proposed commerce raiding as the ‘the most economical for the poorest fleet’ and ‘at the same time the one most proper to restore peace, since it strikes directly [. . .] at the very source of the prosperity of the enemy’.14 The ideal unit to conduct such a kind of warfare was the cruiser. Drawing conclusions from the Napoleonic Wars, Grivel points out that the immense resources Napoleon had spent in constructing ships of the line (FRA: vaisseaux) would have been much better invested in the construction of quick and well-armed ships capable of waging ‘partisan warfare’.15 Furthermore, late 19th century technological advances played a major role in the calculations of JE supporters. Torpedoes, mines, and submarines made major surface combatants much more vulnerable,16 while the introduction of steam propulsion made naval battles between unlike opponents rather improbable.17 In combination, these developments led Admiral Théophile Aube, a founding father of JÉ, to the conclusion that the ship of the line was not the desired naval vessel for the future.18 When Aube became Naval Minister in 1886, the ideas of JÉ, focusing on means to wage asymmetric warfare,19 were, though only for a relatively short period, practically implemented: Aube halted battleship production, prioritis- ing the acquisition of cruisers, torpedo boats, and gunboats and ordering the construction of the Gymnote, the first French torpedo-equipped submarine.20 Still, there was substantial resistance against JÉ even during its heydays not least because of legal considerations. French naval officers, such as Commander Heuette and Admiral Bourgois, were strongly opposed to the blatant violations of international law JÉ was proposing as it demanded reckless and merciless commerce raiding (FRA: guerre de course).21 Fast, small and numerous – how Ukraine crippled the black sea fleet At the end of March 2022, it had become clear that Russia’s gambit for a quick offensive victory over Ukraine had ended in disaster. At sea, the Russians had achieved some success, among others achieving sea control and capturing Snake Island close to the Ukrainian shoreline, but had failed to carry out a decisive landing operation in the northwestern Black Sea. However, a few weeks after the beginning of the invasion, in April 2022, the Ukrainians employed their land- based sea denial capabilities and following attacks against Russian warships, most notably the cruiser Moskva, by Ukrainian coastal defence forces, the BSF’s position off Ukraine’s Black Sea coast could no longer be sustained.22 Subsequently, Ukraine went on the offensive. As a forward position, main- taining a presence on the island and re-supplying the deployed forces proved particularly difficult for the Russians as Ukrainian forces shelled the island from the Ukrainian coast and targeted vessels carrying out resupply runs to the island. According to different sources, the BSF suffered the loss of several smaller units as, among others, strikes carried out by Bayraktar UAS targeted Russian patrol boats and auxiliary vessels operating in proximity to Snake Island.23 In May 2022, the Russians claimed to have shot down 30 UAS in the Snake Island region in three days.24 Even if these numbers were correct, the effects that relatively cheap, mass-produced drones could exert on Russian equipment at land and at sea, which was expensive and hard to replace, was devastating. After a struggle that had lasted for several months, the Russian military finally withdrew its troops from Snake Island by 30 June 2022.25 Following the withdrawal of BSF from the northwestern Black Sea, the Ukrainians launched an extensive sea denial campaign throughout the entire Black Sea region. Over the next years, numerous Russian warships were reported having been attacked and sometimes fatally damaged by Ukrainian USVs. Examples include the alleged destruction of the corvettes Ivanovets (January/ February 2024) and Sergey Kotov (attacked in September 2023/supposedly sunk in March 2024) and the tank landing ship Tsezar Kunikov (February 2024).26As Habib and Md Al Af argue, the employment of such an asymmetric approach was critical for Ukraine’s ability to withstand the Russian invasion at the time of writing. Asymmetric capabilities both in the air, at sea and on land have made significant contributions to denying the Russians a quick, decisive victory and have pro- tracted the conflict.27 The BSF reacted in various ways, among others, by use of electromagnetic warfare and adding fire power to their naval assets.28 Still, even while Russian naval forces were seeking to adapt, losses were accumulating. After two years of war, naval expert Igor Delanoë assessed, ‘the BSF has not been able to overcome all the difficulties emanating from an asymmetric warfare at sea caused by the Ukrainians’ employment of naval drones and cruise missiles’.29 Already as early as August 2022, British intelligence assessed that Russian patrols were ‘generally limited to waters within sight of the Crimean coast’.30 As elaborated in the following sections, however, neither was navigating close to the shore nor staying in port going to be a viable naval strategy for the Russians. Ukrainian drone tactics involved attacks by swarms of fast USVs that were continuously improved and specialised.31 As in the case of UAS attacks, by employing comparatively cheap USVs Ukraine benefited from a great advan- tage in terms of cost-efficiency when targeting expensive assets such as warships.32 ‘Speed and numbers’, in the words of Røksund the ‘mantra’ of JÉ, 33 stood at the heart of Ukraine’s approach to naval warfare. It is therefore little wonder that Ukrainian scholars themselves have also drawn compar- isons with the Molodaya Shkola school of thought. Ukrainian military journal- ist and historian Oleksandr Vel’mozh͡ ko, for example, points out,In fact, I see here a new ‘edition’, so to speak, of the ‘young school’ - the theory of creating naval forces on the basis of small mine-torpedo, missile, or other currently high-tech weapons that would cost relatively cheap and could be used against large warships.34 Furthermore, various videos released by Ukrainian security agencies show attacks under conditions of low visibility, especially at night, when the drones could take full advantage of their small signatures.35 Immediately, nighttime torpedo boat attacks against bigger and much more heavily armed comba- tants – one of the JÉ’s leitmotif’s [FRA: ‘de nuit, l’avantage est pour les torpilleurs’ – at night, the advantage is for the torpedo boats] – come to mind.36 Essentially, the means and ways which Ukraine applied to erode the BSF’s strength resembled JE thinking at its core. While the asymmetric ways in which Ukraine has countered Russian conven- tional superiority at sea have proven to be exceptionally successful and can serve as a 21st century role model for a JÉ style of naval warfare, the second pillar of JÉ’s warfare concept – offensive commerce raiding – requires elaboration. Firstly, apart from very few instances reported by the Russian conflict party right at the outbreak of hostilities – Russia claimed that Ukrainian missiles had hit the mer- chantmen SGV Flot and Seraphim Sarovsky – Ukraine has abstained from carrying out attacks against Russian civilian shipping. As Raul Pedrozo argues, unless there were specific conditions (see the following section) which qualified both Russian merchant vessels as legitimate military targets, attacks on these vessels would have been inconsistent with the law of naval warfare.37 Whatever the conditions surrounding the alleged attacks against these two civilian ships during the first 24 hours of the war, as far as analysts can tell from publicly accessible information about the war at sea, they were isolated incidents. By no means did Ukraine pursue a naval strategy in which the deliberate targeting of enemy civilian vessels played any role. Secondly, on 5 August 2023, Russian sources reported that the Russian tanker Sig had been struck by Ukrainian forces close to Crimea – a claim that was later confirmed by the Ukrainian conflict party.38 According to various sources, how- ever, Sig was carrying fuel for military purposes to Syria.39 Thus, in this particular case, it was ‘integrated into the enemy’s war-supporting effort’ and ‘due to its behaviour fulfilled the requirements of a military objective’ which also includes ‘transporting war material or transporting or supplying troops’. Consequently, Sig lost its protected status as a merchant vessel and became a legitimate target.40 Thirdly, it is true that on 20 July 2023 the Ukrainian Ministry of Defence published a warning that from 21 July, all vessels headed to Russian ports or Russian-occupied Ukrainian ports may be considered as those carrying military cargo.41 Subsequently, this declaration was also reinforced by remarks made by various Ukrainian senior representatives in the context of the drone strike on tanker Sig who claimed that (every) Russian ship sailing in the Black Sea was now a legitimate target.42 However, the situation surrounding these declarations needs to be taken into consideration. In the context of the termination of the U.N. Grain Initiative and before the Ukrainians, the Russian Ministry of Defence had released a statement which declared that from ‘Moscow time on 20 July 2023, all vessels sailing in the waters of the Black Sea to Ukrainian ports will be regarded as potential carriers of military cargo’.43 Furthermore, at the time, Russia also targeted Ukrainian ships, ports and infrastructure connected with the export of grain.44 As Oleg Ustenko, an economic adviser to Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelenskyy, points out, Ukraine’s ‘move was retaliation for Russia withdrawing from the U.N.-brokered Black Sea grain deal and unleashing a series of missile attacks on agricultural stores and ports’.45 The attack on the port of Novorossiysk had immediate effects on the movement of shipping and the calculation of war risk premiums (marine insurance).46 When both sides had given the opponent a taste of what a potential war on commercial shipping could look like, the smokescreen dispersed. Ukraine abstained from carrying out its threats. Thus, rather than interpreting Ukrainian activities within the framework of JÉ, theories on (non-nuclear) deterrence and strategic communication are much better suited to explain the events concerning civilian shipping in July and August 2023. Nothing remotely resembling a guerre de course-strategy had occurred. Why was this the case, especially in light of the enormous costs Ukraine could cause to Russian seaborne trade in comparison with the small investment associated with a few USVs? Legal constraints associated with the protection of mer- chant ships need to be primarily mentioned in this context.47  Limits to Jeune école – the legal and political dimension Although a comprehensive discussion of the law of naval warfare goes beyond the aims of this article, it is useful to recapitulate a few legal aspects concerning the war at sea. As a matter of principle, hostile merchant vessels do not qualify as legitimate military targets.48 The 1936 London Protocols awarded further protection to the status of merchant ships and clarified the rules of submarine warfare. They state, In particular, except in the case of persistent refusal to stop on being duly summoned, or of active resistance to visit or search, a warship, whether surface vessel or submarine, may not sink or render incapable of navigation a merchant vessel without having first placed passengers, crew and ship’s papers in a place of safety.49 To act in accordance with the law of armed conflict Ukraine would have had to seize Russian merchant vessels as prises and/or proclaim a maritime block- ade against the Russian Federation. In doing so, the Ukrainian Navy would have to enforce this blockade and, as a consequence, could/should have employed a belligerent’s right of visit and search.50 In order to interdict maritime traffic to the Russian coast and given the illegality of non- enforced blockades, both approaches – seizing individual enemy merchant ships and blockading the coastline – would require Ukrainian naval (and/or air) force (surface combatants) detecting civilian vessels, ascertaining their character and cargo and seizing vessels.51 Thus, as Ukraine lacked the surface units and the necessary sea control to seize ships, to enforce a blockade that requires ‘ensuring vessels trying to pass the blockade with sufficient probability’ and to exercise the belligerent’s right of visit, there were basically no options available to Ukraine to take actions against merchant shipping bound for Russian ports, if Ukraine was to act in accordance with the law of naval warfare.52 There are certain conditions when a merchant ship loses its protected status and becomes a legitimate military target, for example, when acting as naval auxiliaries, resisting capture or the belligerent’s right of visit and search or carrying out intelligence or communications functions.53 However, these conditions would not apply to a hypothetical scenario in which Ukraine would wage economic warfare against merchant shipping. Neither were merchant vessels bound for Russian ports sailing in convoys nor could merchantmen sailing towards Russian Black Sea ports generally be considered ‘integrated in Russia’s [and Ukraine’s] war effort’. All the conditions under which merchant ships may be eligible to attack during armed conflicts would not apply. While attacks on unarmed merchant vessels – especially for the weaker side – remains a tempting option in the 21st century as much as it was in the 19th century, the fear to commit blatant breaches of international law have had a discipling effect throughout the centuries. As outlined in section two of this article, the disapproval of the illegal ways of warfighting at sea that had been proposed by JÉ have been as old as this school of thought itself. In addition to the legal constraints that apply to commerce raiding, both sides’ decision not to follow the path leading to unrestricted economic warfare at sea should also be interpreted within the political context. For Ukraine acting in accordance with the law of armed conflict was significant as its support by the global community of liberal-minded states was shaped by these states’ normative understanding of the rules-based world order and international politics.54 Furthermore, both Ukraine and Russia were important exporters of various raw materials and food – particularly as far as the countries of the Global South were concerned. For example, in 2020, 15 countries in Africa imported over 50% of their wheat products from Ukraine or Russia. The impact of the war on the continent was profound as Africa suffered from a shortage of approximately 30 million tons of grains and serious inflation.55 Against this background, it seems clear that the targeting of merchant ships loaded with cargo desperately needed by the most vulner- able regions in the world would have only come at a tremendous political cost for the war parties. As Timothy Heck sums it up, Both the Ukrainians and the Russians wanted the benefits of international commerce and, diplomatically, to gain/earn/keep the goodwill of recipient nations by allowing regulated commercial traffic to escape the war zone.56 Again, similarities with the 19th century debates concerning JÉ are striking. Already in the 1880s influential opponents to JÉ, such as Admiral Bourgois, had criticised that tactics proposed by JÉ and illegal acts of naval warfare would rally neutral countries against France – the last thing an inferior French Navy in a military confrontation with Britain needed.57 While both sides largely refrained from directly targeting merchant ship- ping apart from a few exceptions, strikes against maritime critical infrastruc- ture and onshore facilities, which enabled both maritime commercial and naval operations at sea, evaded many of these constraints. Indeed, as each side intended to attrit the opponent’s ability to use the sea for one’ s own purposes, repeated attacks by various weapon systems against a wide range of maritime targets ashore became another principal characteristic of the Russo-Ukrainian War.  The degradation of Russia’s geostrategic position at the Black Sea Having elaborated on the applicability and the limits of the JÉ approach on the war at sea, the following section takes into consideration the second component of the systematic destruction of Russian naval capabilities in the Azov-Black Sea region: the targeting of Russian maritime infrastructure ashore and in port. In October 2022, a large-scale Ukrainian drone attack against Russian littoral positions attracted wide attention when several unmanned aerial vehicles and autonomous surface vehicles attacked the port of Sevastopol.58 Over the course of the next years, Ukraine repeatedly attacked Russian naval assets stationed on Crimea ashore and at the coast of the peninsula. Examples include strikes against Russian naval aviation at Saky airfield in August 2022, against various targets in the port of Sevastopol in March 2024 – apparently impacting the Ropucha-class tank landing ships Azov and Yamal – or against the Karakurt-class corvette Tsiklon in May 2024.59 Shortly after attacks against Russian infrastructure on Crimea had been reported, reports about Ukrainian strikes against Novorossiysk were pub- lished. In November 2022, a Ukrainian sea drone was reported having struck the Sheskharis oil terminal in Novorossiysk at night.60 As later reported by the newspaper Ukrainska Pravda, the following July, at a presidential meeting, Ukraine’s leadership had decided to launch strikes against Russian port infra- structure as a retaliatory measure for Russian missile and drone attacks on Ukrainian ports in the aftermath of the termination of the grain initiative.61 Subsequently, in early August 2023 movement of vessels was temporarily halted at the Port of Novorossiysk following a Ukrainian drone attack and the Russian tank landing ship Olenegorsky Gornyak suffering serious damage caused by a USV attack.62 Ukrainska Pravda reports on the moment when the Ukrainian drone operators came across various merchantmen while navigat- ing their USVs towards Novorossiysk. ‘Somewhere en route the operators saw a tanker. They asked if it could be perceived as a target. No tankers! If we hit a tanker in neutral waters, then we’ll be branded as some kind of terrorists. Your target is the port. (. . .) ’ a head of the mission said.63 Although this statement was reported by a conflict party and cannot independently be verified, it supports the argument made in the previous section about the limits of the JÉ approach in the case study of the Russo- Ukrainian War as far as the targeting of civilian shipping is concerned.64 Furthermore, and also exactly as in the case of the war on the open sea, the conflict parties had to consider third party opinions. As Ukrainska Pravda reports, following the Ukrainian strike against the port of Novorossiysk, ‘the Country’s Leadership received Warnings from partners at all levels’.65 In 2024, Ukrainian strikes against critical maritime infrastructure continued. In May, for example, Ukrainian attacks were reported on Novorossiysk’s seaport, an oil refinery in Tuapse and the Sevastopol Bay area.66 In early April 2024, Ukrainian Military Intelligence (HUR) published footage of a strike against an oil pipeline in Rostov Oblast that supposedly was used to transport oil products to the local oil depot for tankers in the Azov Sea. According to HUR, ‘the loading of tankers with oil products has been suspended indefinitely’.67 While the claim cannot be confirmed, the concept of striking the production and transport facilities before transportation rather than the merchant ships transporting the cargo highlights approaches to deal with the limits on economic warfare in the maritime dimension as detailed above. Although the BSF had to redeploy further to the eastern part of the Black Sea and Russia attempted to set up maintenance infrastructure further east, Ukraine continuously expanded the range of target locations and has thus been gradually degrading the Russian ability to make use of the sea. In the words of a retired U.S. admiral, ‘If you’re on a Russian naval ship, you’re not safe anywhere in the Black Sea’.68 As another element of Ukraine’s strike campaign, Ukraine has also targeted objectives whose destruction had a long-term impact on Russian naval capabilities and its war-making potential. For example, in July 2022 and in September 2023, Ukraine was reported having struck the naval staff/the headquarters of the BSF in Sevastopol – the latter attack causing devastating effects.69 As far as attacks against Russia’s industrial base and logistical infrastructure are concerned, examples include Ukrainian attacks against the Zaliv shipyard in Kerch, Crimea on 4 November 2023, which reportedly damaged the not yet commissioned Karakurt-class corvette Askold, and the strike against the Ropucha-class tank landing ship Novocherkassk that left the ship sunk at the bottom of the harbour. The strike has thus, extremely likely, rendered one of the main berths of the Feodosia port, which had been in use as an important logistical hub, unusable.70 A particularly devastating strike was carried out on 13 September 2023 when a Ukrainian missile strike hit dry docks of the Sevmorzavod shipyard, maintenance facilities of the BSF, in effect causing extensive damage to the Ropucha-class tank landing ship Minsk and the Kilo-II-mod-class conventional submarine Rostov-on-Don and consequently severing ‘Sevastopol’s ability to undertake maintenance and repairs of Black Sea Fleet vessels, at least until the dry docks at the Sevmorzavod facility (. . .) can be returned to regular use’, as Thomas Newdick points out.71 As the second year of the war was approaching its end, independent experts and Ukrainian military representatives were pointing at serious maintenance support issues confronting the BSF in the future as adequate repair infrastructure in this maritime theatre became a scarce resource.72 In combination, the accumulation of all these strikes over the long term had a serious attrition effect on Russia’s ability to utilise the sea for its purposes. This concerned primarily the military dimension but, as the war progressed and Ukrainian strikes against refineries and port infrastructure accumulated, also gradually the commercial dimension. British representa- tives assessed that 13% to 14% (December 2023) and subsequently 25% (February 2024) of Russia’s Black Sea combatant fleet had been destroyed.73 Moreover, on 26 March 2024, Ukraine’s navy spokesman Dmytro Pletenchuk released Ukraine’s assessment that up to that point in time, approximately a third of the BSF had been destroyed or disabled. 74 After more than two years of war, the strength and presence of the BSF had diminished consider- ably and British Defence Minister Grant Shapps considered the BSF ‘function- ally inactive’ – an assessment further substantiated by the UK Defence Intelligence update the following month75 The BSF has largely withdrawn its ships and submarines from Sevastopol further eastwards to Novorossiysk. Since the removal of the BSF commander in March 2024, the fleet has been the least active since the war began.76 How do these strikes against Russian targets in port and ashore fit within the JÉ school of thought? Firstly, while not a principal feature that is com- monly associated with JÉ naval strategy,77 the foundational literature written by the originators of JÉ does mention attacks on an enemy’s coastal facilities. This primarily includes bombardment of civilian coastal settlements for the purpose of terror but also includes military facilities when the opportunity arises. Aube, for example, writes: The masters of the sea will turn the power of attack and destruction, in the absence of adversaries evading their blows, against all the cities of the littoral, fortified or not, peaceful or warlike, burn them, ruin them or at least ransom them without mercy.78 Equally connecting strikes against military facilities at the coast with this naval strategic school, journalist and JÉ theoretician, Gabriel Charmes, argues,: The bombardment of Alexandria further showed that, if the heavy artillery of a battleship risked being quickly reduced to impotence by the resistance of the forts, the only weapon which could cause them serious damage was small artillery carried on fast ships.79 Secondly, if attention is paid to the connotated message the founding fathers of this naval school of thought tried to convey, a good argument can be made that Ukraine’s targeting of Russian infrastructure at the coastline fits well with a JÉ approach. Ukrainian strikes consist of numerous fast strikes and well- placed pin prick attacks that outmanoeuvre enemy defences and hit unex- pectedly. They are not built on sea control and air superiority because Ukraine did not enjoy dominance of these domains. Thus, the strikes were not ‘decisive’ in a Mahanian sense but rather the modern adoptions of concepts already presented by Admiral Aube during the 1880s. With the extreme mobility that steam gives to all warships, whatever the special weapon with which they are equipped, with the speed and security of informa- tion that the electric telegraph allows, with the concentration of force that is ensured by the railway, on the one hand side, no point on the coast is safe from attack.80 If one were to exchange the concept of steam power with modern forms of power generation, the telegraph with modern ISR and command and control systems and the railway with all forms of transportation available at the beginning of the 21st century, Aube’s article could very well describe a military scenario of the Russo-Ukrainian War. Repeated attacks against – and thus attrition of – the opponent’s naval geostrategic position could seriously degrade the opponent’s ability to operate, sustain and reinforce a fleet over a longer time period without having to destroy the opposing fleet in a symmetrical battle is essentially the quintessence of JÉ thinking. Granted, in Aube’s age, it would have been difficult to imagine how non- conventional means could assemble the necessary amount of firepower to cause the substantial damage to the opponent’s position as shown by the War in Ukraine. But since the development of weapon systems of ever greater ranges, a stakeholder’s position may be vulnerable to repeated attacks by an opponent even if the opponent has not been able to establish sea control and is using asymmetric styles of warfare. To sum up, technological advances have enabled the inferior side to pursue a naval strategy that contributed to driving down the opponent’s fleet’s capabilities without actually seeking a symmetrical engagement with his fleet. This, of course, is completely in line with JÉ thinking – a so-called ‘material school’ of naval strategic thought.81 Thus, in contrast to the deliberate targeting of merchantmen, in the case of attacks against Russian maritime infrastructure the Ukrainian approach can be interpreted as continuing and complementing JÉ thinking. The way ahead: Old school or young school? Ukraine’s asymmetric approach to naval warfare and the adoption of ideas associated with JÉ have secured Ukrainian successes in the maritime domain few experts could have predicted at the beginning of the hostilities.82 It is not exaggerated to claim that the significance of these events is historical. Generally speaking, many scholars and historical studies have not been particularly positive in their verdicts about JÉ as a viable strategic school of thought. As Arne Røksund elaborates, even when Théophile Aube was Minister of Marine (1886–1887), he could not overcome the French admiralty’s resistance to giving up entirely on battlefleets. The same holds true for the second generation of JÉ proponents during the latter 1890s.83 By the time De Lanessan was appointed Minister of Marine in 1899, ideas about great quan- tities of fast but mostly smaller vessels gave way for naval concepts based on comparatively fewer warships of high quality as ‘the French Navy should concentrate on what he regarded as core elements of a first-rank navy’.84 Subsequently, as Røksund, recapitulates, ‘The French Navy did not fight any war following the theory of the Jeune école.’85 Ian Speller comes to a similar conclusion as he underlines that  Even in France there was never a consensus in favour of their [Jeune École’s – author’s note] policies, and French naval policy remained divided (. . .) Ultimately, the Jeune École failed in their attempt to bring radical change to French naval policy.86 Similar to the fate of the French original, the Soviet Molodaya Shkola was replaced rather quickly by grand visions of ‘Stalin’s Big Ocean-going Fleet’ deemed more adequate for Soviet great power status.87 Of what relevance could JÉ ever be when – referring to a leading British naval historian – there has never been a historical example when the approach proposed by this strategic school of thought has ever worked in practice.88 Such criticism was very much in line with the writings of another prominent naval practitioner and theoretician: Admiral Gorshkov, Chief of the Soviet Navy. According to Gorshkov, the naval strategy pursued by the German naval leadership during WW2 had failed because it left the U-boats alone in their fight against the Allied navies without support by other subbranches of the navy. Without the danger of German naval and naval air forces attacking their surface vessels, Allied navies could focus on anti-submarine warfare and ‘the priority devel- opment of only one warfare branch, the subsurface forces, ultimately had to lead to a drastic limitation of the German fleet’s spectrum of tasks when fighting against the enemy’s fleets’, was his argument.89 As a consequence, Gorshkov strongly argues in favour of a balanced fleet which could potentially even defeat a numerically superior but unevenly developed opponent.90 In contrast, the war in the Black Sea has demonstrated that a JÉ approach can actually succeed in neutralising a superior, opposing naval force, at least in a narrow sea.91 Given recent events, the critical perception of JÉ should be carefully re-evaluated. Apart from the historical point of debate that the German military leadership had to fight WW2 with a different fleet than the ‘balanced fleet’ of the Z-Plan that it had originally envisioned but that had not been realised in time, there is also a conceptual issue worth debating from a strategic studies perspective. As various experts and, in fact, the German naval leadership,92 have repeatedly touched upon, the German Navy was doomed to lose the war at sea due to the greater strategic conditions (e.g., fleet sizes, war-making potential including shipbuilding capacity etc.) under which it had to fight WW2.93 If there was no winning condition in a conventional naval war, however, and if, consequently, the sense in carrying out the conflict at sea was not to ‘rule the waves’ but to cause the maximum amount of damage and bind a large Allied force in a way as resource-efficient as possible it has to be critically examined whether a JÉ may have actually been the smartest approach the German Navy could have chosen.94 As elaborated below, similar strategic calculations should be taken into consid- eration when debating the case of Ukraine and the War in the Black Sea. Commerce raiding, another feature of the JÉ approach, has equally been dismissed as futile. As far as targeting of individual merchant ships is con- cerned, the blue-water prophet himself, Alfred T. Mahan viewed this style of warfare as ‘the weakest form of naval warfare’95 and criticises ‘A strong man cannot be made to quit his work by sticking pins in him’.96 A hundred twenty years after Mahan, this assessment also may have lost some of its persuasive power. At the beginning of the 21st century, global sea-based commerce has become very sensitive to changes in the security environment and much more risk averse. Furthermore, the differentiation between flag states, ship owners, cargo owners, crews and charterers has greatly reduced ‘national interest’ within maritime commerce. As a consequence, the outbreak of hostilities in the northwestern Black Sea at the beginning of the Black Sea has – not discounting other factors, such as the closing of ports and Ukrainian authorities prohibiting merchant ships from leaving ports – led to a drastic collapse of merchant shipping to and from Ukraine.97 Similarly, the drastic effects of the 2023 attack against the port of Novorossiysk and the Sig on the maritime commercial sector have already been mentioned. Against this background, it seems extremely likely that if Ukraine struck or sank even a small number of merchantmen destined to call in ports such as Novorossiysk, Taganrog, Taman or Tuapse this would have devastating effects for Russian sea-based transportation in the entire Azovo-Black Sea basin. However, as already noted, as far as commerce warfare is concerned, the limiting factor was less of operational and more or of legal and political nature. While some of the aspects of warfighting associated with JÉ were already considered immoral and contrary to international law during the 19th century, the weight of politico-legal circumstances and the necessity to fight a ‘just war’ are even more significant during the 21st century. This is particu- larly true for Ukraine which depends on the support of the Global West – a value-driven community. In summary, an approach to warfare closely associated with JÉ has awarded Ukraine great successes for more than two years of war in the Black Sea. But as Ukraine has to fight the war at sea solely based on a sea denial approach, the country is also faced with severe limitations. Any opera- tion that requires sea control as a precondition is effectively beyond Ukrainian means if not in immediate proximity of the Ukrainian coastline such as the reported landings of Ukrainian soldiers on drilling platforms.98 Keeping all these more abstract considerations in mind, the debates on (applied) naval strategy that are currently ongoing in Ukraine become much more comprehensible. Following – from Kyiv’s point of view – a successful campaign at sea, in which the reinforced BSF was pushed out of the western Black Sea and suffered considerable losses, a debate is taking place about the future devel- opment of Ukrainian Navy and Ukraine’s approach to warfighting in the maritime dimension. On the one hand, there are the proponents of building a symmetrical naval force. The ‘Doctrine of the Naval Forces of Ukraine’ that was released in 2021 was an ambitious strategic document. As far as the ‘expansion of the fleet composition through the construction and modernisa- tion of the existing fleet composition’ was concerned, the doctrine detailed ‘new generation missile boats, landing ships of various classes, patrol ships and boats for the protection of the territorial waters and the EEZ, uncrewed underwater vehicles, new types of supply vessels of various types’ and ‘the construction of new mine warfare vessels and small submarines’.99 Most breathtaking, the ‘Doctrine of the Naval Forces of Ukraine’ defined capabil- ities for ‘sea control on the open ocean’ as the number one priority for the development of the Ukrainian Navy in the period following 2030.100 It is also in this context that Ukraine’s interest in procuring frigates through the UK capability development initiative and developing the design of the Volodymyr Velykyi-class corvettes have to be interpreted.101 Taking into consideration the point from where the Ukrainian Navy had to restart in 2014, these acquisition goals were bold to say the least. More than two years into the war, visions about the future of the Ukrainian Navy have lost nothing of their grandness. According to this school of thought, among other things, the air defence capability of the Ukrainian Navy is to be strengthened, long-range strike capabilities are to be acquired, surface comba- tants of different classes are to be put into service and amphibious forces are to be set up in the form of additional naval infantry brigades with landing vehicles.102 This expansion of capabilities is intended to gradually create the conditions for achieving sea control. Having established sea control, Ukraine would be in a position to conduct amphibious operations on its own and even think about establishing a naval blockade of the Russian Black Sea coast. The construction of Milgem project corvettes for the Ukrainian Navy at the RMK Marine Shipyard in Istanbul103 and capabilities gained through the British-Norwegian Maritime Capability Coalition104 are important steps in this direction. On the other hand, another faction opposes the above-mentioned views. Proponents of this second philosophy of warfare emphasise that Ukraine has been able to wage the war at sea so successfully because it has used an asymmetrical approach. According to their view, it is important to maintain this approach and Ukraine should under no circumstances aim to fight a symmetrical naval war with the Russian fleet. The Ukrainian fleet design should therefore be based on a so-called mosquito fleet – a fleet consisting of small naval assets applying asymmetrical doctrine.105 This argument is not new. Already Ukraine’s 2018 ‘Strategy of the Naval Forces of the Armed Forces of Ukraine 2035’ elaborates, Recovery of the surface forces during the first two stages of the Strategy will be executed due to the boats of the ‘mosquito fleet’. This solution is the most realistic in terms of cost-effectiveness ratio. Due to its speed, manoeuvrability and armament, such boats are capable of performing practically the whole spectrum of tasks that are inherent to classical surface ships, but they have smaller sea worthiness and operational range from the coast.106 Although Ukrainian strategic documents repeatedly referred to the term ‘mosquito fleet’, the official Ukrainian naval discourse did not explicitly mention JÉ terminol- ogy. This detail stands in contrast to the above-mentioned remarks about the Molodaya Shkola by Ukrainian civilian commentators. It is also, on first sight, surprising given the actual approach to warfare in the Black Sea region that Ukraine – although not primarily the Ukrainian Navy as mentioned further below – has chosen which has paralleled what the JÉ espoused. However, as Admiral (ret.) Ihor Kabanenko, former deputy minister of defence of Ukraine, points out, ‘this term [Molodaya Shkola – author’s note] is not widely used in Ukraine – apparently, because our experts mostly look to the UK and the US and therefore appeal to the old school of sea power and sea mastery [Soviet/Russian/Ukrainian terminological equivalent of the English term “command of the sea”107 – author’s note], missing out on important experience of waging war in the continental sea’.108 The relative silence on JÉ within the official Ukrainian naval discourse is even less astonishing if the development since 2020, approximately, is taken into consideration. As Kabanenko argues, at some point around the turn of the third decade of the 21st century, Ukrainian naval strategy changed course and while abandoning ideas associated with a mosquito fleet, the ‘later document [the 2021 Doctrine – author’s note] instead calls for ambitious symmetric decisions and actions’ in turn stretching budgetary resources and making very costly, long-term investments.109 What had happened? In June 2020, Oleksiy Neizhpapa was appointed Commander of the Ukrainian Navy.110 Neizhpapa – an ‘Old School’ commander – favoured conventional naval forces.111 Talking at the launch of the UK/Norway/Ukraine Maritime Capability Coalition at Admiralty House in London in December 2023, Neizhpapa clung to his visions of a long-term plan for a capable conventional fleet until 2035 and clearly expressed that a powerful and capable navy is not only a tool to deter Russian aggression from the sea, but also a guarantee of the prosperity of our country and security in the region.112 It is thus not a surprise that the 2021 strategic document of the Ukrainian Navy took a sharp turn. Furthermore, as various sources point out, Ukraine’s most successful maritime assets, naval drones, have been predominantly although not exclusively operated by the civilian (SBU) and military (HUR) intelligence services rather than the navy.113 Many Ukrainians who adhere to the second faction view these grand fleet ambitions critically. As Captain (ret.) Andrii Ryzhenko argues, the cost of building up a conventional fleet as envisioned by the Ukrainian naval leadership would be extremely expensive. Such resources could be spent much wiser, especially, if the fact that Ukraine’s current naval strategy that enables effective sea denial operations is taken into consideration.114 Essentially, the ideas supported by Kabanenko, Ryzhenko and other proponents of this school of thought can be attributed to the long-standing tradition of JÉ thinking. In contrast, whereas throughout this article this author has argued that means and ways which Ukrainian security organs applied to erode its Russian opponent closely resembled a JÉ style of naval warfare, this evaluation is descriptive not prescriptive. Unlike civilian experts, such as Vel’mozh͡ ko, who have equally compared Ukraine’s approach to the War in the Black Sea with Young School thinking, there is no evidence supporting that Ukraine’s post-2020 naval leadership was deliber- ately pursuing a JÉ-informed strategy. On the contrary, available evidence points in the direction that for the decision-makers at the time of the Russian full-scale invasion of Ukraine the JÈ was not a source of direct inspiration. In fact, Ukraine’s naval leaders were informed by Old School thinking and capabilities for conventional, symmetric naval warfare were favoured. Revival of Jeune École? The discussion of attacks on merchant shipping has shown that if Ukraine really wanted to interfere with Russian merchant shipping or potentially even enforce a blockade itself, it would have to acquire a fleet consisting of at least some surface combatants. It is highly questionable that under the conditions of (this) war such an aim can be accomplished. Already before the full-scale invasion in February 2022, various experts criticised Ukraine’s apparent shift in naval strategy and the country’s ambitious plans to create a balanced fleet capable of, among others, conducting offensive maritime operations which they deemed unrealistic and a waste of resources arguing instead for the establishment of an effective mosquito fleet.115 Given that Ukraine is fighting an existential struggle in a mostly land- dominated theatre of war, Ukraine should carefully assess how many resources it would want to invest in capabilities in the maritime domain. Ultimately, Russia retains significant long-range strike capabilities as demon- strated by the strike campaign which the Russian military has been waging against Ukraine’s energy infrastructure since autumn 2022.116 So far, one of the great advantages Ukraine’s Navy has enjoyed over the course of this war has been that its mosquito fleet was difficult to track and neutralise by the enemy. Introducing large, tangible objects – naval vessels – into the arsenal of the Ukrainian military would deprive Ukraine of this advantage and make the life for the Russian targeting process a lot easier. Furthermore, given Ukraine’s geographic and geopolitical situation it has to be critically questioned whether Anglo-Saxon ‘Old School’ blue-water theories are the best fit for the Ukrainian Navy. As Gorshkov argues, it is ‘wrong to attempt to build a fleet according to the model and example of the strongest naval power’ as ‘every country has its specific needs for naval forces.’117 Thus, Ryzhenko is correct to emphasise time and again the necessity to pursue an asymmetric strategy at least as far as the enclosed theatre of the Azov-Black Sea-region is concerned. In his words,  Ultimately, small, fast, maneuverable and well-armed boats as well as unmanned aerial and surface vehicles comprising a well-equipped ‘mosquito fleet’ could quickly and efficiently strengthen the Ukrainian Navy and improve the chances to execute successful operations within confined and contested areas where, for now, Russia enjoys dominance in the air and sea. 118 Considering the fate of the JÉ and the Soviet Molodaya Shkola, the – one could almost say libidinal – desire of naval leaders to aim beyond the stage of JÉ weapons and doctrine and acquire a conventional fleet (in the old days a battlefleet) has been prevalent. More than 130 years after Aube, Grivel and the other founding fathers of JÉ, the temptation remains strong. Ironically, even in pursuing an actual war-winning JÉ-based strategy Ukrainian decision- makers are still tempted to revert to warfare capabilities associated with classical naval warfare. The Ukrainian naval leadership should consider care- fully before continuing to steer down this waterway. NOTES 1 Ian Speller, Understanding Naval Warfare, 2nd ed. (London and New York, NY: Routledge, 2019), 43ff. 2 See, for example, these authors’ most prominent works: Alfred Thayer Mahan, The Influence of Sea Power upon History 1660–1783 (Boston: Little, Brown, and Company, 1890); Philip Howard Colomb, Naval Warfare: Its Ruling Principles and Practice Historically Treated (London: W. H. Allen & Co., Ltd., 1891); Julian Corbett, Some Principles of Maritime Strategy (London: Longmans, Green and Co., 1911). Corbett has indeed also addressed several elements of naval warfare which are essential to the JÉ school of thought. For example, Corbett argues ‘The vital, most difficult, and most absorbing problem has become not how to increase the power of a battle-fleet for attack, which is a comparatively simple matter, but how to defend it. As the offensive power of the flotilla developed, the problem pressed with an almost bewildering intensity. With every increase in the speed and sea-keeping power of torpedo craft, the problem of the screen grew more exacting’ (Corbett, Some Principles of Maritime Strategy, 122). Due to limitations in aim and scope, this article limits itself to literature and theoreticians associated with the JÉ. Interpreting the War in the Black Sea from a Corbettian perspective may be an area for further research. 3 James R. Holmes and Toshi Yoshihara, Chinese Naval Strategy in the 21st Century: The Turn to Mahan (London and New York, NY: Routledge, 2008); David Scott, ‘India’s Drive For A “Blue Water” Navy’, Journal of Military and Strategic Studies, Winter 2007–08, 10/2 (2008); and Alessio Patalano, Post-War Japan As a Sea Power: Imperial Legacy, Wartime Experience and the Making of a Navy (London: Bloomsburry, 2016). 4 Seth Cropsey, ‘Naval Considerations in the Russo-Ukrainian War’, Naval War College Review, 75/4 (2022), Article 4; and Brent Sadler, ‘Applying Lessons of the Naval War in Ukraine for a Potential War with China’, The Heritage Foundation, 5 January 2023, https://www.heritage.org/asia/report/applying-lessons-the-naval-war-ukraine-potential-war-china. 5 Borys Kormych and Tetyana Malyarenko, ‘From Gray Zone to Conventional Warfare: the Russia-Ukraine Conflict in the Black Sea’, Small Wars & Insurgencies, 34/7 (2023), 1235–70; Silviu Nate et. alii, ‘Impact of the Russo-Ukrainian War on Black Sea Trade: Geoeconomic Challenges’, Economics & Sociology, 17/1 (2024), 256–79; and Nick Childs, ‘The Black Sea in the Shadow of War’, Survival, 65/3 (2023), 25–36. 6 Md. Tanvir Habib and Shah Md Shamrir Al Af, ‘Maritime asymmetric warfare strategy for smaller states: lessons from Ukraine’, Small Wars & Insurgencies 36/1 (2025), 29–58. 7 Michael Shurkin, ‘Plus Ça Change: A French Approach to Naval Warfare in the 21st Century’, War on the Rocks, 13 Oct. 2023, https://warontherocks.com/2023/10/plus-ca-change-a-french-approach-to-naval-warfare-in-the-21st-century/. 8 Andrew F. Krepinevich and Barry Watts, ‘Meeting the Anti-Access and Area-Denial Challenge’, Center for Strategic and Budgetary Assessments, 20 May 2003, https://csbaonline.org/research/publications/a2ad-anti-access-area-denial; Stephan Frühling and Guillaume Lasconjarias, ‘NATO, A2/AD and the Kaliningrad Challenge’, Survival, 58/2 (2016), 95–116; and Douglas Barrie, ‘Anti-Access/Area Denial: Bursting the “no-go” bubble?’, IISS Military Balance Blog, 29 Mar. 2019, https://www.iiss.org/blogs/military-balance/2019/04/anti-access-area-denial-russia-and-crimea. 9 Bryan Ranft and Geoffrey Till, The Sea in Soviet Strategy, 2nd ed. (Basingstoke: MacMillan Press, 1989), 94,95; Mikhail Monakov and Jürgen Rohwer, Stalin’s Ocean-Going Fleet: Soviet Naval Strategy and Shipbuilding Programs, 1935–53 (Abingdon: Frank Cass, 2001), 20ff. and Geoffrey Till, Seapower: A Guide for the Twenty-First Century, 4th ed. (London and New York, NY: Routledge 2018), 94,95. 10 The Land-Based Variant of the SS-N-3 Shaddock. 11 R-360 Neptune Anti-Ship Missiles are Believed to have Critically Damaged the Russian Cruiser Moskva in April 2022. Ellen Uchimiya and Eleanor Watson, The Neptune: The Missiles that Struck Russia’s flagship, the Moskva, CBS News, 16 Apr. 2022, https://www.cbsnews.com/news/moskva-ship-sinking-russian-flagship-neptune-missiles/. 12 Till, Seapower, 93; Beatrice Heuser, The Evolution of Strategy: Thinking War from Antiquity to the Present (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press 2010), 225,226. 13 Arne Røksund, The Jeune École: The Strategy of the Weak (Brill, 2007), iX; Martin Motte, Une Éducation Géostratégique. La Pensée Navale Française de la Jeune École à 1914 (Paris:: Economica, 2004), 99. 14 Richild Grivel, De la guerre maritime avant et depuis les nouvelles Inventions (Paris: Arthus Bertrand and J. Dumaine 1869), 7. 15 Ibid., 259. 16 Till, Seapower, 91. 17 Røksund, The Jeune École, 6. 18 Hyacinthe Laurent Théophile Aube, ‘La guerre maritime et les ports militaires de la France’, 320, Revue des Deux Mondes, March 1882, 314–46. 19 Till, Seapower, 91. 20 Røksund, The Jeune École, xii. 21 Ibid., 29–31, 121. 22 Defense Express, ‘First Target of Ukraine’s Neptune Missile’, 12 Jan. 2024, https://en.defence-ua.com/events/first_target_of_ukraines_neptune_missile_how_the_moskva_flagship_killer_scored_its_first_hit_and_prevented_amphibious_assault-9162.html. 23 Hannah Ritchie, ‘Ukrainian Drone Destroys Russian Patrol Ships off Snake Island, says Defense Ministry’, CNN, 2 May 2022, https://edition.cnn.com/europe/live-news/russia-ukraine-war-news-05-02-22#h_a73ac98f2400af01f729e23a7e01ae88; and AFP, ‘Ukraine Says Sank Russian Landing Craft at Snake Island’, The Moscow Times, 11 May 2022, https://www.themoscowtimes.com/2022/05/07/ukraine-says-sank-russian-landing-craft-at-snake-island-a77614. 24 Tass, ‘Kiev loses 30 drones in attempt to seize Snake Island – Russian Defense Ministry’, 10 May 2022, https://tass.com/defense/1449051?utm_source=google.com=organic=google.com=google. com/amp/amp/amp. 25 Deutsche Welle, ‘Russia Pulls Back Forces from Snake Island – as it Happened’, 30 June 2022, <https://www.dw.com/en/ukraine-russia-pulls-back-forces-from-snake-island-as-it-happened/a−62,309,716>. 26 Robert Greenall, ‘Ukraine “hits Russian Missile boat Ivanovets in Black Sea”, BBC, 1 Feb. 2024, https://www.bbc.com/news/world-europe-68165523; Tom Balmforth and Yuliia Dysa, ‘Ukraine attacks Russian Warships in Black Sea, Destroys Air defences in Crimea, Kyiv says’, Reuters, 14 Sept. 2023, https://www.reuters.com/world/europe/ukraine-destroys-russian-air-defence-system-near-crimeas-yevpatoriya-source-2023-09-14/; and Sergeĭ Koval’, ‘U beregov kryma potoplen rossiĭskiĭ raketnyĭ kater. Chto o nem izvestno?’, Krym Realii, 01 Feb. 2024, https://ru.krymr.com/a/krym-potoplen-ros-raketnyy-kater/32801464.html. 27 Habib and Md Al Af, ‘Maritime asymmetric warfare strategy for smaller states’, p. 34. 28 Andrew E. Kramer, ‘In a Tough Year on Land, Drones Give Ukraine Some Success at Sea’, 20 Dec. 2023, New York Times, https://www.nytimes.com/2023/12/20/world/europe/ukraine-drones-sea.html. 29 Igor Delanoë, ‘Russia’s Black Sea Fleet in the “Special Military Operation” in Ukraine’, 7 Feb. 2024, https://www.fpri.org/article/2024/02/russias-black-sea-fleet-in-the-special-military-operation-in-ukraine/. 30 UK Ministry of Defence, ‘Latest Defence Intelligence update on the situation in Ukraine − 16 Aug. 2022’, X, 16 Aug. 2022, https://x.com/DefenceHQ/status/1559411321581572098. 31 Kramer, ‘In a Tough Year on Land’; Roman Romaniuk, Sam Harvey and Olya Loza, ‘Sea drones, Elon Musk, and high-precision missiles: How Ukraine dominates in the Black Sea’, Ukrainska Pravda, 1 Jan. 2024, https://www.pravda.com.ua/eng/articles/2024/01/1/7435326/. 32 Joshua Cheetham, ‘Sea drones: What are they and how much do they cost?’ BBC, 13 Sept. 2023, https://www.bbc.com/news/world-europe−66,373,052. 33 Røksund, The Jeune École, 139. 34 Oleksandr Vel’moz͡hko, ‘Rosiĭs’kyĭ flot znovu vidstupai͡e u bazi (VIDEO)’, Pivdennyĭ Kur’i͡er, 10 Dec. 2022,https://uc.od.ua/news/navy/1248235. 35 Greenall, ‘Ukraine ‘hits Russian missile boat Ivanovets in Black Sea’; and Milana Golovan, ‘MAGURA V5 drones attack Tsezar Kunikov ship: Russian occupiers release first-person video footage’, LIGABusinessInform, 6 Mar. 2024, https://news.liga.net/en/politics/video/kak-drony-magura-v5-atakovali-tsezarya-kunikova-okkupanty-pokazali-video-ot-pervogo-litsa. 36 Un ancien officier de marine, ‘Torpilleurs et Torpilles’, 47, La Nouvelle revue, 7/32 (January-February 1885), 42–71. 37 Raul Pedrozo, ‘Maritime Exclusion Zones in Armed Conflicts’, International Law Studies 99/526 (2022), https://digital-commons.usnwc.edu/cgi/viewcontent.cgi?article=3018&context=ils, 531. 38 Interfaks, ‘Tanker Povrezhden Na Podkhode K Kerchenskomu Prolivu, Predpolozhitel’No,Morskim Dronom’, 5 Aug. 2023, https://www.interfax.ru/russia/914933; and Romaniuk, Harvey and Loza, ‘Sea drones, Elon Musk, and high-precision missiles’. 39 Sofiia Syngaivska, ‘Russia Uses Civilian Vessels for Military Purposes, Including Recently Attacked Sig Merchant Tanker’, 10 Aug. 2023, https://en.defence-ua.com/news/russia_uses_civilian_vessels_for_military_purposes_including_recently_attacked_sig_merchant_tanker-7590.html; and Daria Shulzhenko, ‘Ukraine’s security chief: Attacks on Russian ships, Crimean bridge ‘logical and legal’, The Kyiv Independent, 5 Aug. 2023, https://kyivindependent.com/sbu-head-says-attacks-on-russian-ships-crimean-bridge-are-logical-and-legal/. 40 Udo Fink and Ines Gillich, Humanitäres Völkerrecht (Baden-Baden: Nomos, 2023), 212; Interview with a legal advisor for Law of Naval Operations on 11 June 2024. 41 Ministerstvo oborony Ukraïny, ‘Zai͡ava Ministerstva oborony Ukraïny’, Facebook, 20 July 2023, https://www.facebook.com/MinistryofDefence.UA/posts/pfbid02fGmqenfANV5TABt16PgMpJRT7k5sbkeUhkEAsbkeUhkEAVZuvxxS2dgPkH2qAR7yl. 42 Sluz͡hba bezpeky Ukraïny, ‘golova SBU Vasil’ Mali͡uk prokomentuvav neshchodavni ataky nadvodnymy dronamy na korabli rf,‘ 5 Aug 2023, https://t.me/SBUkr/9185; Gabriel Gavin, ‘Ukraine declares war on Russia’s Black Sea shipping’, Politico, 8 Aug. 2023, https://www.politico.eu/article/ukraine-declares-war-on-russia-black-sea-shipping/. 43 Lloyd’s List, ‘Russia warns that Ships Heading to Ukraine are now a Military Target’, 20 July 2023, https://www.lloydslist.com/LL1145965/Russia-warns-that-ships-heading-to-Ukraine-are-now-a-military-target. 44 Shaun Walker, ‘Odesa suffers “Hellish Night” as Russia Attacks Ukraine Grain Facilities’, The Guardian, 19 July 2023, https://www.theguardian.com/world/2023/jul/19/odesa-suffers-hellish-night-as-russia-attacks-ukraines-grain-facilities; UK Foreign, Commonwealth & Development Office and James Cleverly, ‘New intelligence shows Russia’s targeting of a cargo ship’, 11 Sept. 2023, https://www.gov.uk/government/news/new-intelligence-shows-russias-targeting-of-a-cargo-ship. 45 Gavin, ‘Ukraine declares war on Russia’s Black Sea shipping’. 46 Michelle Wiese Bockmann, ‘Western Tankers Abandon Black Sea crude markets after Ukraine drone attacks’, Lloyd’s List, 07 Aug. 2023, https://www.lloydslist.com/LL1146178/Western-tankers-abandon-Black-Sea-crude-markets-after-Ukraine-drone-attacks. 47 Interview with an authoritative Ukrainian source in May 2024. 48 Louise Doswald-Beck (ed.), San Remo Manual on International Law Applicable to Armed Conflicts at Sea (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1995) [SRM], paragraphs [59]-[61]; Andreas von Arnauld, Völkerrecht (Heidelberg: C.F. Müller, 2019), 577. 49 International Committee of the Red Cross, ‘Procès-verbal relating to the Rules of Submarine Warfare set forth in Part IV of the Treaty of London of 22 April 1930. London, 6 November 1936’, https://ihl-databases.icrc.org/assets/treaties/330-IHL-45-EN.pdf. 50 SRM paragraphs [93]-[104]; Robert Kolb and Richard Hyde, Introduction to the International Law of Armed Conflicts (Oxford and Portland, OR: Hart Publishing, 2008), 252. 51 Kolb and Hyde, Introduction to the International Law of Armed Conflicts, 252; James Kraska and Raul Pedrozo, International Maritime Security Law (Leiden: Brill, 2013), 888; Arnauld, Völkerrecht, 578. 52 Arnauld, Völkerrecht, 578. Offensive mine warfare is not considered in this article (Conversation with Dr Marc De Vore, University of St. Andrews, at the Finnish National Defence University in Helsinki on 13 February 2025). 53 SRM, paragraph [60]. For a discussion, see, Kraska and Pedrozo, International Maritime Security Law, 868. 54 UK Foreign, Commonwealth and Development Office, ‘G7 Foreign Ministers’ Meeting communiqué (Capri, 19 April, 2024) – steadfast support to Ukraine’, 19 Apr. 2024, https://www.gov.uk/government/publications/g7-foreign-ministers-meeting-communiques-april-2024/g7-foreign-ministers-meeting-communique-capri-19-april-2024-steadfast-support-to-ukraine. 55 Bitsat Yohannes-Kassahun, ‘One Year Later: The impact of the Russian conflict with Ukraine on Africa’, United Nations Africa Renewal, 13 Feb. 2023, https://www.un.org/africarenewal/magazine/february-2023/one-year-later-impact-russian-conflict-ukraine-africa. 56 Timothy Heck, speech given at the Kiel International Seapower Symposium 2024 on 28 June 2024. 57 Røksund, The Jeune École, 27. 58 Tim Lister, ‘A Russian naval base was targeted by drones. Now Ukrainian grain exports are at risk’, CNN, 31 Oct. 2022, https://edition.cnn.com/2022/10/31/europe/sevastopol-drone-russia-ukraine-grain-intl-cmd/index.html. 59 Shephard News, ‘UK says Saky explosions leave Russian Navy Black Sea aviation fleet ‘significantly degraded’, 12 Aug. 2022, https://www.shephardmedia.com/news/defence-notes/uk-says-explosions-leave-russian-navy-black-sea-aircraft-significantly-degraded/; Cameron Manley, ‘Ukraine says it has taken out another 2 warships in Russia’s Black Sea fleet’, Business Insider, 24 Mar. 2024, https://www.businessinsider.com/ukraine-taken-out-another-2-ships-russias-black-sea-fleet-2024–3; and Nate Ostiller and The Kyiv Independent news desk, ‘General Staff confirms Russian missile ship Tsiklon struck in occupied Crimea’, The Kyiv Independent, 21 May 2024, https://kyivindependent.com/general-staff-confirms-russian-missile-ship-zyklon-struck-off-occupied-crimea. 60 HI Sutton, ‘Ukraine’s Maritime Drone Strikes Again: Reports Indicate Attack On Novorossiysk’, Naval News, 18 Nov. 2022, https://www.navalnews.com/naval-news/2022/11/ukraine-maritime-drone-strikes-again-reports-indicate-attack-on-novorossiysk/. 61 Romaniuk, Harvey and Loza, ‘Sea drones, Elon Musk, and high-precision missiles’. 62 Lloyd’s List, ‘Ukraine attacks Russian port of Novorossiysk’, 4 Aug. 2023, https://lloydslist.com/LL1146152/Ukraine-attacks-Russian-port-of-Novorossiysk; UK Ministry of Defence, ‘Latest Defence Intelligence update on the situation in Ukraine − 05 August 2023’, X, 5 Aug. 2023, https://x.com/DefenceHQ/status/1687697529918373889?ref_src=twsrc%5Etfw%7Ctwcamp%5Etweetembed%7Ctwterm%5E1687697529918373889%7Ctwgr%5E751b5a68b67ea91d2ca704e56fc3a0c7c88c3053%7Ctwcon%5Es1_&ref_url=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.forces.net%2Frussia%2Frussian-war-ship-damaged-significant-blow-russias-black-sea-fleet-mod-says. 63 Romaniuk, Harvey and Loza, ‘Sea drones, Elon Musk, and high-precision missiles’. 64 It can certainly be argued that states do not always comply with international humanitarian law. The Second World War provides numerous examples including in the field of commerce raiding. However, the Manichaean distinction between Russia, the aggressor violating public international law, and Ukraine, which is legitimately defending itself, is essential to Kyiv’s political strategy. Against this background, consideration of international law is fundamental for Ukraine’s naval warfare and this study. 65 Romaniuk, Harvey and Loza, ‘Sea drones, Elon Musk, and High-Precision Missiles’. 66 Alona Sonko, ‘Aerial Shots Detail Drone Damage at Novorossiysk Port’, The New Voice of Ukraine, 19 May 2024, https://english.nv.ua/nation/satellite-images-show-aftermath-of-may-17-attack-on-novorossiysk-seaport−50,419,745html. 67 Martin Fornusek, ‘Military intelligence: Oil Pipeline Blown up in Russia’s Rostov Oblast’, The Kyiv Independent, 06 Apr. 2024, https://kyivindependent.com/military-intelligence-oil-pipeline-in-russias-rostov-oblast-on-fire/. 68 Jack Detsch, ‘Russia’s Home Port in Occupied Crimea Is Under Fire’, Foreign Policy, 13 Sept. 2023, https://foreignpolicy.com/2023/09/13/crimea-ukraine-russia-war-attack-black-sea-fleet/. 69 Interfaks, ‘Chislo postradavshikh pri atake na stab Chernomorskogo flota vyroslo do shesti’, 31 July 2022, https://www.interfax.ru/russia/854608; Maria Kostenko, Tim Lister and Sophie Tanno, ‘Ukraine says strike on Russia’s Black Sea Fleet HQ left Dozens Dead and Wounded ‘Including Senior Leadership’, CNN, 23 September 2023, https://edition.cnn.com/2023/09/23/europe/special-ops-black-sea-strike-dozens-dead-intl-hnk/index.html. 70 The Maritime Executive, ‘Ukraine Strikes Another Naval Shipyard in Russian-Occupied Crimea’, 05 Nov. 2024, https://maritime-executive.com/article/ukraine-strikes-another-naval-shipyard-in-russian-occupied-crimea; Defense Express, ‘Destruction of Russian Novocherkassk Ship has Blocked One of Logistic Channels to Crimea (Satellite Photo)’, 12 Apr. 2024, https://en.defence-ua.com/analysis/destruction_of_russian_novocherkassk_ship_has_blocked_one_of_logistic_channels_to_crimea_satellite_photo−10,152html. 71 UK Ministry of Defence, ‘Update on Ukraine’, X, 15 Sept. 2023, https://x.com/DefenceHQ/status/1702561936179630440?ref_src=twsrc%5Etfw%7Ctwcamp%5Etweetembed%7Ctwterm%5E1702561936179630440%7Ctwgr%5E64b3d174bc910eae91016ef92e9b0b07e88b9194%7Ctwcon%5Es1_&ref_url=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.twz.com%2Frussian-submarine-shows-massive-damage-after-ukrainian-strike; Thomas Newdick, ‘Russian Submarine Shows Massive Damage After Ukrainian Strike’, The Warzone, 18 Sept. 2024, https://www.twz.com/russian-submarine-shows-massive-damage-after-ukrainian-strike. 72 Craig Hooper, ‘Why Ukraine’s Strike On Sevastopol Naval Infrastructure Is A Big Deal’, Forbes, 14 Sept. 2024, https://www.forbes.com/sites/craighooper/2023/09/13/why-ukraines-strike-on-sebastopol-naval-infrastructure-is-a-big-deal/; Mike Eckel, ‘Russia’s Navy Has A Dry Dock Problem. Again’, Radio Free Europe/Radio Liberty, 16 Sept. 2023, https://www.rferl.org/a/russia-navy-dry-dock-problem-ukraine-/32595547.html. 73 UK Foreign, Commonwealth & Development Office and Nicholas Aucott, ‘Russia is Diminished in The eyes of The International Community through its Own Actions: UK Statement to the OSCE’, 06 Dec. 2023, https://www.gov.uk/government/speeches/russia-is-diminished-in-the-eyes-of-the-international-community-through-its-own-actions-uk-statement-to-the-osce; Sinéad Baker, ‘Putin doesn’t really want a war with NATO because “Russia will lose and lose quickly”, UK military chief says’, Business Insider, 28 Feb. 2024, https://www.businessinsider.com/putin-doesnt-want-nato-war-russia-would-lose-quickly-uk-2024–2?r=US&IR=T. 74 AP News, ‘Ukrainian navy says a Third of Russian warships in the Black Sea have been Destroyed or Disabled’, 26 Mar. 2024, https://apnews. 75 Mia Jankowicz, ‘Russia’s Black Sea Fleet is “Functionally Inactive” After being Pummeled Hard by Ukraine, UK says’, Business Insider, 25 Mar. 2024, https://www.businessinsider.com/russia-black-sea-fleet-functionally-inactive-after-ukraine-strikes-uk-2024–3.: 76 UK Ministry of Defence, ‘Latest Defence Intelligence update on the situation in Ukraine − 18 April 2024’, X, 18 Apr. 2024, https://x.com/DefenceHQ/status/1780878487068242335/photo/3. 77 Speller takes only brief note of Attacks Against Enemy Ports whereas Geoffrey Till doesn’t mention them at all. The Commerce Raiding Component of Jeune ÉCole has been awarded much greater attention. Speller, Understanding Naval Warfare, 57–60; Till, Seapower, 91–93. 78 Aube, ‘La guerre maritime’, 331. 79 Gabriel Charmes, La Réforme de la Marine (Paris: Calmann Lévy, 1886), 56–57. 80 Aube, ‘La guerre maritime’, 332. 81 Shurkin, ‘Plus Ça Change’. For Further Literature on The Subject of the ‘Material School’ see, Kevin McCranie, Mahan, Corbett, and the Foundations of Naval Strategic Thought (Annapolis, MD: Naval Institute Press, 2021), 55ff. 82 Gustav Gressel, ‘Waves of ambition: Russia’s military build-up in Crimea and the Black Sea’, European Council on Foreign Relations, 21.09.2021, https://ecfr.eu/publication/waves-of-ambition-russias-military-build-up-in-crimea-and-the-black-sea/; Tayfun Ozberk, ‘Analysis: Russia To Dominate The Black Sea In Case Of Ukraine Conflict’, Naval News, 30 Jan. 2022, https://www.navalnews.com/naval-news/2022/01/analysis-russia-to-dominate-the-black-sea-in-case-of-ukraine-conflict/; Welt, ‘Militärexperte Gressel: Darum hat die ukrainische Armee kaum eine Chance gegen Russen’, 24 Jan. 2022, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aNzUf3zllJ4. 83 Røksund, The Jeune École, 84, 132. 84 Ibid., 166. 85 Ibid., 228. 86 Speller, Understanding Naval Warfare, 60. 87 Monakov and Rohwer, Stalin’s Ocean-Going Fleet, 62–109, 221–4. 88 Andrew Lambert in December 2018. M.A. Seminar Navies and Seapower offered by the War Studies Department at King’s College London 2018–2019. 89 Sergej G. Gorschkow, Die Seemacht des Staates (Berlin: Militärverlag der Deutschen Demokratischen Republik 1978) [Morskai͡a Moshch‘ gosudarstva. Voenizdat 1976], 172, 355. 90 Ibid., 341, 372. 91 The author is aware of the ongoing debate on the extent to which the technological developments – especially the use of uncrewed systems – which have shaped the War in the Black Sea can be generalised. Jacquelyn Schneider and Julia Macdonald, for example, examine the relation between autonomous/uncrewed systems and revolutions in military affairs and come to the conclusion that ‘these systems may be most revolutionary is in cost mitigation—both political and economic.’ In contrast, Oleksandr Vel’moz͡hko does acknowledge the advantages, such as mass-production and cost-efficiency, inherent to a ‘young school’–inspired navy consisting of high-tech small crafts but also points at serious disadvantages connected with such systems, for example their inability to operate on the open ocean and their high vulnerability. Duncan Redford further elaborates on the limitations concerning the use of unmanned surface vehicles, among others, arguing that ‘environmental conditions in the Baltic and High North are such that they are highly likely to severely restrict the use of’ Ukrainian style one-way attack USVs. Jacquelyn Schneider and Julia Macdonald, ‘Looking back to look forward: Autonomous systems, military revolutions, and the importance of cost’, 162, Journal of Strategic Studies, 47/2 (2024), 162–184; Vel’moz͡hko,‘Rosiĭs’kyĭ flot znovu vidstupai͡e u bazi (VIDEO)’; Duncan Redford, ‘Maritime Lessons from the Ukraine-Russia Conflict: USVs and the Applicability to the Baltic and High North’, #GIDSstatement 11/2024, (14 Oct. 2024), https://gids-hamburg.de/maritime-lessons-from-the-ukraine-russia-conflict-usvs-and-the-applicability-to-the-baltic-and-high-north/. 92 For example, in September 1939, in December 1940 and October 1942. Bernd Stegemann, ‘Vierter Teil: Die erste Phase der Seekriegsführung’, 162, in: Klaus A. Maier, Horst Rohde, Bernd Stegemann and Hans Umbreit (eds.), Das Deutsche Reich und der Zweite Weltkrieg Vol. II (Stuttgart: Deutsche Verlagsanstalt 1979), 159–188; Werner Rahn, ‘The Atlantic in the Strategic Perspective of Hitler and his Admirals, 1939–1944’, 160, 164, in: N.A.M. Rodger, J. Ross Dancy, Benjamin Darnell and Evan Wilson (eds.), Strategy and the Sea: Essays in Honour of John B. Hattendorf (Woodbridge: The Boydell Press 2016), 159–168. 93 Michael Salewski, Die deutsche Seekriegsleitung 1935–1945 Vol. I (Frankfurt am Main und München: Bernard & Graefe 1970), 128; Stegemann, ‘Vierter Teil: Die erste Phase der Seekriegsführung’, 162; Rahn, ‘The Atlantic in the Strategic Perspective of Hitler and his Admirals, 1939–1944’, 160, 164. 94 See Adolf Hitler on 31 May 1943: ‘The number of resources that submarine warfare would tie up, even if it were no longer to achieve great success, is so extraordinarily large that I cannot allow the enemy to free up these resources’ Gerhard Wagner (ed.), Lagevorträge des Oberbefehlshabers der Kriegsmarine vor Hitler 1939–1945 (München: J.F. Lehmanns Verlag, 1972), 510. 95 Craig Symonds, ‘Alfred Thayer Mahan’, 33, in: Geoffrey Till (ed.), Maritime Strategy and the Nuclear Age (London and Basingstoke: MacMillan Academic and Professional Ltd, 1990)) [1984], 28–33. 96 Alfred Thayer Mahan, Lessons of the War with Spain and other Articles (Boston: Little, Brown, and Company, 1899), 300. 97 Elisabeth Braw , ‘The Invasion of Ukraine Is Causing Crisis at Sea’, Foreign Policy, 7 March 2022, https://foreignpolicy.com/2022/03/07/ukraine-shipping-supply-war/; Interview with a Representative of an anonymous maritime stakeholder that was heavily affected by the War in Ukraine on 25 October 2023. 98 Paul Adams, ‘Ukraine Claims to Retake Black Sea Drilling Rigs from Russian Control’, BBC, 11 Sept. 2023, https://www.bbc. com/news/66779639. 99 Instytut Viĭs’kovo-Mors’kykh Syl, ‘Doktrina: Viĭs’kovo-Mors’ki Syly Zbroĭnykh syl Ukraïny’, January 2021, 79, https://ivms.mil.gov.ua/wp-content/uploads/2021/12/doktryna_vijskovo-morski-syly-zbrojnyh-syl-ukrayinydiv.pdf. 100 Ibid., 76. 101 Militarnyi, ‘Frigates for Ukrainian Navy: the construction agreement was included into contract with the United Kingdom’, 25 Nov. 2021, https://mil.in.ua/en/news/frigates-for-ukrainian-navy-the-construction-agreement-was-included-into-contract-with-the-united-kingdom/. 102 Vitaly Semenov, ‘Prospects for the Development of the Naval Forces of the Armed Forces of Ukraine Until 2035’, Forum: ‘State Maritime Strategy. Development and implementation of maritime potential of Ukraine’ at the National Defence University of Ukraine on 23 May 2024. 103 Tayfun Ozberk, ‘Turkish Shipyard Lays Keel Of Ukraine’s 2nd MILGEM Corvette’, Naval News, 18 Aug. 2023, https://www.navalnews.com/naval-news/2023/08/turkish-shipyard-lays-keel-of-ukraine-2nd-milgem-corvette/. 104 UK Ministry of Defence, ‘British minehunting Ships to Bolster Ukrainian Navy as UK and Norway Launch Maritime Support Initiative’, 11 Dec. 2023, https://www.gov.uk/government/news/british-minehunting-ships-to-bolster-ukrainian-navy-as-uk-and-norway-launch-maritime-support-initiative#:~:text=The%20UK%20will%div20lead%20a,ships%20for%20the%20Ukrainian%20Navy. 105 Bern Keating, The Mosquito Fleet (New York, NY: Scholastic Book Services, 1969) [Originally Published 1963]. 106 Viĭs’kovo-Mors’ki Syly Zbroĭnykh syl Ukraïny, ‘Strategy of the Naval Forces of the Armed Forces of Ukraine 2035’, 11 Jan. 2019, https://navy.mil.gov.ua/en/strategiya-vijskovo-morskyh-syl-zbrojnyh-syl-ukrayiny-2035/. 107 Milan N. Vego, Naval Strategy and Operations in Narrow Seas, 2nd ed. (Abingdon and New York, NY: Cass, 2003), 110. 108 Interview with Admiral (ret.) Ihor Kabanenko on 06 November 2024. 109 Ihor Kabanenko, ‘Ukraine’s New Naval Doctrine: A Revision of the Mosquito Fleet Strategy or Bureaucratic Inconsistency?’, Eurasia Daily Monitor, 25 May 2021, https://jamestown.org/program/ukraines-new-naval-doctrine-a-revision-of-the-mosquito-fleet-strategy-or-bureaucratic-inconsistency/. 110 Prezydent Ukraïny, ‘Ukaz Prezydenta Ukraïny No. 217/2020’, 2020, https://www.president.gov.ua/docdivuments/2172020–34,085. 111 Interview with an authoritative Ukrainian source in June 2024. 112 Lee Willett, ‘Ukrainian Navy Chief Details Future Force Requirements’, Naval News, 18 Dec. 2023, https://www.navalnews.com/naval-news/2023/12/ukrainian-navy-chief-details-future-force-requirements/. 113 Sergej Sumlenny, ‘Naval Drones in Russo-Ukrainian War: from the current stand to the future development’, presentation given at the German Command and Staff College on 19 June 2024; Kramer, ‘In a Tough Year on Land’. See also various articles by the newspaper The Kyiv Independent. Militarnyi, ‘The Ukrainian Navy received naval drones equipped with strike FPV drone’, 8 Dec. 2024, https://mil.in.ua/en/news/the-ukrainian-navy-received-naval-drones-equipped-with-strike-fpv-drones/. 114 Andrii Ryzhenko, ‘Ways of Developing the Naval Capabilities of Ukraine to Ensure the Military Security of the State at Sea, Taking into Account the Experience of the Russian-Ukrainian war’, forum: ‘State Maritime Strategy. Development and implementation of maritime potential of Ukraine’, National Defence University of Ukraine on 23 May 2024. 115 Sanders, Deborah ‘Rebuilding the Ukrainian Navy’, Naval War College Review, 70/4 (2017), Article 5, 74; Jason Y. Osuga (2017), ‘Building an Asymmetric Ukrainian Naval Force to Defend the Sea of Azov, Pt. 2’, CIMSEC, 2 Oct. 2017, https://cimsec.org/tag/ukraine/page/2/; Defense Express, ‘Ukraine’s Navy Looking To Acquire 30 New Warships By 2020’, 12 Apr. 2018, https://old.defence-ua.com/index.php/en/news/4367-ukraine-s-navy-looking-to-acquire-30-new-warships-by-2020; Kabanenko, ‘Ukraine’s New Naval Doctrine’. 116 Adam Schreck and Hanna Arhirova, ‘Russia Unleashes Biggest attacks in Ukraine in Months’, The Associated Press News, 11 Oct. 2022, https://apnews.com/article/russia-ukraine-kyiv-government-and-politics-8f625861590b9e0dd336dabc0880ac8c; Michael N. 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Colonel Dr. Christian Richter, expert on public international law, and two unknown peer- reviewers for helpful comments on an earlier version.  Disclosure statement No potential conflict of interest was reported by the author(s). Notes on contributor Tobias Kollakowski is a research fellow at the German Institute for Defence and Strategic Studies. Adams, Paul, ‘Ukraine Claims to Retake Black Sea Drilling Rigs from Russian Control’, BBC, 11 Sept. 2023, https://www.bbc.com/news/66779639. AFP, ‘Ukraine Says Sank Russian Landing Craft at Snake Island’, The Moscow Times, 11 May 2022, https://www.themoscowtimes.com/2022/05/07/ukraine-says-sank-russian-landing-craft-at-snake-island-a77614. AP News, ‘Ukrainian Navy Says a Third of Russian Warships in the Black Sea Have Been Destroyed or Disabled’, 26 Mar. 2024, https://apnews.com/article/russia-ukraine-war-black-sea-navy-warships-8f614d856370a564ffee1e49f5313343. Arnauld, Andreas von, Völkerrecht (Heidelberg: C.F. 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Lehmanns Verlag 1972). Walker, Shaun, ‘Odesa Suffers ‘Hellish night’ as Russia Attacks Ukraine Grain Facilities’, The Guardian, 19 July 2023, https://www.theguardian.com/world/2023/jul/19/odesa-suffers-hellish-night-as-russia-attacks-ukraines-grain-facilities Welt, ‘Militärexperte Gressel: Darum hat die ukrainische Armee kaum eine Chance gegen Russen‘, 24 Jan. 2022, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aNzUf3zllJ4 Willett, Lee, ‘Ukrainian Navy Chief Details Future Force Requirements’, Naval News, 18 Dec. 2023, https://www.navalnews.com/naval-news/2023/12/ukrainian-navy-chief-details-future-force-requirements/ Yohannes-Kassahun, Bitsat, ‘One Year Later: The Impact of the Russian Conflict with Ukraine on Africa’, United Nations Africa Renewal, 13 Feb. 2023, https://www.un.org/africarenewal/magazine/february-2023/one-year-later-impact-russian-conflict-ukraine-africa

Defense & Security
Kim Jong-un (2023-09-13) 01

Could North Korea be Persuaded to Renounce Chemical Weapons?

by Joel R. Keep

한국어로 읽기 Leer en español In Deutsch lesen Gap اقرأ بالعربية Lire en français Читать на русском North Korea is not going to give up its nuclear weapons any time soon. Pyongyang’s other strategic deterrent—a massive arsenal of chemical weapons—may prove a more fruitful target for disarmament. The strategic fortunes of North Korea in 2025 are very different to that of 2017. When Donald J. Trump first assumed the presidential office in January of that year, Pyongyang was still in the process of building a viable nuclear weapons platform that could target the continental United States. The 2017 North Korean Nuclear Crisis prompted the Trump administration to launch a concerted attempt to coerce Pyongyang into “complete, verifiable and irreversible denuclearisation (CVID).” Washington’s efforts, involving a mixture of brinkmanship, hard bargaining—and explicit threats via the deployment of serious military assets—ultimately failed. Later that year, the North successfully tested an intercontinental ballistic missile capable of reaching the US homeland. The subsequent 2018 summit between Trump and Kim Jong-un, held in Singapore, and the 2019 summit in Hanoi, led nowhere. When Donald Trump assumed office for the second time, in January of 2025, he struck a very different tone on Pyongyang. North Korea was now, he acknowledged, an established nuclear power. Today, in addition to properly miniaturised nuclear warheads that can be fit on several delivery platforms, Kim’s regime oversees an arsenal that includes intercontinental ballistic missiles (ICBMs), intermediate range missiles (IRBMs), medium range ballistic missiles, submarine-launched ballistic missiles (SLBMs), and cruise missiles. Even if only a portion of these systems are fully functional, this still amounts to a serious military capability that cannot be forcibly removed, barring a massive conflagration. There is another, possibly more manageable class of strategic weapon that North Korea has been harbouring over several years—chemical weapons (CW). These are thought to include sulphur mustard, phosgene, Sarin and other nerve agents, some likely ranged against vulnerable South Korean population centres via artillery, missiles, and multiple rocket launchers. For several years now, South Korea’s Ministry of National Defense has estimated this stockpile comprises between 2,000 and 5,000 tonnes of CW agent. Pyongyang’s CW capability was demonstrated in grotesque miniature on 13 February 2017, when Kim Jong-un’s estranged half-brother, Kim Jong-nam, was killed with VX nerve agent at Kuala Lumpur International Airport. The public murder of Kim Jong-nam was conducted just as the 2017 North Korean Nuclear Crisis began, on the morning after Pyongyang successfully tested their Pukguksong-2 (KN-15) medium range ballistic missile over the Sea of Japan. Horrific as the VX murder was, it pales in comparison to the likely human impact of CW agents being used, in mass, against South Korean towns and cities in the event of a conflict. With North Korean nuclear weapons now an undeniable reality, those focused on arms limitation are left with few options in 2025. As such, Pyongyang’s chemical weapons portfolio might be worth putting on the negotiating table. North Korea still finds itself the target of sanctions and thus has an incentive to engage in disarmament talks of some kind. American officials, stung by the failure of 2017, might like to regain some clout with an achievable disarmament “win,” albeit of a non-nuclear kind. And of course, South Korea, home to the population that would suffer most from the North’s chemical weapons, would greatly benefit from seeing them verifiably destroyed.   There is a recent precedent for decommissioning an active chemical weapons program in the case of Syria. In (slightly) happier times, Russia and the United States pressured the embattled regime of Bashar al Assad into acceding to the 1993 Chemical Weapons Convention and forfeiting tonne-quantities of CW agent, after a series of government chemical attacks on civilians in 2013. Admittedly, the destruction of Syria’s chemical weapons stockpile was only a partial success, as evidenced by the resumption of nerve agent attacks in 2017, Assad’s uninterrupted “low level” use of improvised chlorine munitions, and recent revelations of a larger CW program than originally declared. And of course, facing as he was a determined insurgency and popular uprising, al Assad’s position in the 2010s was entirely different to that of Kim’s in 2025. However, if, as some have suggested, North Korea’s chemical weapons program was designed to fill a “deterrence gap” during the long march to acquire a viable nuclear weapons arsenal, Kim might be persuaded to engage in discussions on renouncing CW. This would be even more likely if Pyongyang has in fact already developed tactical nuclear weapons for shorter range use on the Peninsula, an objective Kim claimed to achieve in 2023. As a first step, perhaps a more fruitful model than Syria might be the 1992 India-Pakistan Agreement on Chemical Weapons, which saw the complete prohibition of CW on the subcontinent. Such an agreement could realistically be applied to the Korean Peninsula, where Seoul is no longer in possession of any chemical weapons as of 2008, and Pyongyang repeatedly claims not to have any CW themselves. Some may regard the idea of Pyongyang giving up any strategic weapon system as fanciful. Having signed a Comprehensive Strategic Partnership with Moscow in 2024 after committing thousands of troops to Russia’s war on Ukraine, North Korea’s degree of isolation within the wider geopolitical architecture has lessened, if only slightly. But while it may seem counter-intuitive, the Trump administration’s declared intention to re-establish closer ties with Vladimir Putin’s Russia might provide an opening for addressing the North Korea CW issue. This would require Moscow taking a more productive approach than it ultimately did in Syria, where an initial spirit of co-operation was later sullied by a determined Russian campaign to protect the Assad regime from accountability for the resumption of CW use, and other atrocities. Neither Washington, nor Moscow, can do much about North Korea’s nuclear arsenal today. Proposing negotiations on chemical weapons, however, might at least restart discussion on disarmament in one sphere, and could ultimately lead to progress on strategic weapons in general. Fully accounting for, and entirely destroying, the North’s chemical weapons would be a complex undertaking. Australia and the US at least have the technical capacity to assist in such an endeavour, should the political opportunity arise. Joel R. Keep is a PhD candidate at the University of New South Wales, where his doctoral work focuses on deterrence, non-proliferation and control of chemical and biological weapons. This article is published under a Creative Commons License and may be republished with attribution.

Defense & Security
Israel and Iran flags on Middle east map. High quality photo

Iran-Israel ‘threshold war’ has rewritten nuclear escalation rules

by Farah N. Jan

한국어로 읽기 Leer en español In Deutsch lesen Gap اقرأ بالعربية Lire en français Читать на русском Israel’s conflict with Iran represents far more than another Middle Eastern crisis – it marks the emergence of a dangerous new chapter in nuclear rivalries that has the potential to reshape global proliferation risks for decades to come. What began with Israeli strikes on Iranian nuclear facilities and other targets on June 13, 2025 has now spiraled into the world’s first full-scale example of what I as an expert in nuclear security call a “threshold war” – a new and terrifying form of conflict where a nuclear weapons power seeks to use force to prevent an enemy on the verge of nuclearization from making that jump. As missiles continue to rain down on both Tehran and Tel Aviv – with hundreds dead in Iran and at least 24 killed in Israel – the international community is witnessing the collapse of traditional deterrence frameworks in real time. Unlike traditional nuclear rivalries where both sides possess declared arsenals – like India and Pakistan, who despite their tensions operate under mutual deterrence – this new threshold dynamic creates an inherently unstable escalation spiral. Iran increasingly believes it cannot deter Israeli aggression without nuclear weapons, yet every step toward acquiring them invites more aggressive Israeli strikes. Israel, for its part, cannot permanently eliminate Iran’s nuclear knowledge through military means – it can only delay it through means that would seemingly guarantee future Iranian determination to acquire the ultimate deterrent. Under this dynamic, neither side can step back without accepting an intolerable outcome: for Israel, an Iran more determined than even in becoming a nuclear weapons nation capable of deterring Israeli action and ending its regional military dominance; for Iran, the risk of regime change through devastating Israeli strikes. The consequences of this deadly logic extend far beyond the Middle East. The preventive strike precedent The stakes could not be higher, as Iranian officials have called the attack “a declaration of war” and vowed that destroyed nuclear facilities “would be rebuilt.” Israel, meanwhile has warned its campaign will continue “for as many days as it takes.” Most ominously, the scheduled nuclear talks between the U.S. and Iran were called off, with Tehran dismissing any such dialogue as “meaningless.” This may suggest diplomacy’s window – which opened for just a few months under Trump’s second administration, after being closed during his first – was deliberately slammed shut. More broadly, the Israeli strikes mark a dangerous evolution in international norms around preventive warfare. While Israeli officials called this a “preemptive strike,” the legal and strategic reality is different. Preemptive strikes respond to imminent threats – like Israel’s 1967 Six-Day War against Arab armies preparing to attack. Preventive strikes, by contrast, target distant future threats when conditions seem favorable – like Japan’s attack on Pearl Harbor in 1941. Israel justified its action by claiming Iran could rapidly assemble up to 15 nuclear bombs. Yet, as the International Atomic Energy Agency director, Rafael Grossi, warned beforehand, an Israeli strike could solidify rather than deter Iran’s nuclear ambitions, potentially prompting withdrawal from the Nuclear Non-Proliferation Treaty. True to that warning, on June 16, Iran announced it was preparing a parliamentary bill that would see the country leave the 1968 treaty. Israel’s calculations in opting to strike build on the same erosion of international legal frameworks that has legitimized preemptive warfare since the United States’ military action in Afghanistan and Iraq after the Sept. 11, 2001 attack. America’s “war on terror” fundamentally challenged sovereignty norms through practices like drone strikes and preemptive attacks. More recently, operations in Gaza and elsewhere have demonstrated that violations of international humanitarian law carry limited consequences in practice. For Israel, this permissive environment has seemingly created both opportunity and justification regarding striking Iran – something that Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu has been pursuing for decades. Already, Russia’s attacks on Ukraine’s Zaporizhzhia nuclear plant demonstrated nuclear facilities’ vulnerability in modern warfare. I believe Israel’s actions further risk normalizing attacks on nuclear infrastructure, potentially legitimizing similar preventive actions by India, China or the U.S. against emerging nuclear programs elsewhere. From strikes to regional conflagration Israel’s initial strike quickly triggered inevitable escalation. Iran’s retaliation came in waves: first hundreds of drones and missiles on June 13, then sustained barrages throughout the following days. By the morning of June 15, both countries were trading strikes on energy infrastructure, military bases and civilian areas, with no immediate end in sight. The Houthis in Yemen have since joined the fight, by launching ballistic missiles at Tel Aviv. Notably absent are Hezbollah, Hamas and Iran’s Iraqi militias – all significantly damaged by recent action by Israel. This degradation of Iran’s “axis of resistance” – its traditional forward deterrent – fundamentally alters Tehran’s strategic calculations. Without strong proxies to threaten retaliation, Iran is more exposed to Israeli strikes, making nuclear weapons seem like the only reliable deterrent against future attacks. The escalation pattern illustrates what can happen when when a government casts aggression as prevention. Having initiated the recent escalation of hostilities, Israel now faces the consequences. Iranian President Masoud Pezeshkian’s vow that destroyed facilities “would be rebuilt” underscores that Israeli action designed to prevent nuclearization may instead result in Iran pursuing it with renewed determination. The commitment trap This creates what strategists call the “commitment trap” – a dynamic where both sides face escalating costs but cannot back down. Israel faces its own strategic dilemma. The strikes may ultimately accelerate rather than prevent Iranian nuclearization, yet backing down would mean accepting a nuclear Iran. Netanyahu’s promise that current strikes are “nothing compared to what they will feel in coming days” shows how quickly strikes sold as preventative escalate toward total war. Unlike established nuclear powers that can negotiate from positions of strength, threshold states, such as Iran, face a stark choice: remain vulnerable to preventive strikes and regime change or race toward the protection that nuclear deterrence provides. North Korea offers the clearest example of this dynamic. Despite decades of sanctions and military threats, Pyongyang’s nuclear program has made it essentially immune to preventive strikes. Iranian leaders understand this lesson well – the question is whether they can reach the same protected status before suffering decisive preventive action. Traditional nuclear deterrence theory assumes rational actors operating under mutual vulnerability. But threshold wars break these assumptions in fundamental ways. Iran cannot fully deter Israeli action because it lacks confirmed weapons, while Israel cannot rely on deterrence to prevent Iranian weaponization because Iran’s nuclear program continues advancing. This creates “use it or lose it” dynamics: Israel faces shrinking windows to act preventively as Iran approaches weaponization; Iran faces incentives to accelerate its program before suffering additional strikes. The absence of effective external mediation compounds these risks. U.S. President Donald Trump’s response to the strikes reveals this dynamic starkly. Initially opposing military action and preferring diplomacy to “bombing the hell out of” Iran, Trump pivoted dramatically after the strikes began, and warned that “there’s more to come. A lot more.” His post on Truth Social – “Two months ago I gave Iran a 60-day ultimatum to ‘make a deal.’ They should have done it!” – demonstrates how quickly diplomatic efforts can collapse once threshold wars begin. Global implication The international response reveals how thoroughly Israel’s Operation Rising Lion has normalized aggression against nuclear facilities. While European leaders called for “maximum restraint,” none condemned Israel’s initial attacks. Russia and China condemned the attacks but took no concrete action. The U.N. Security Council produced only statements of “concern” about “escalation.” This normalization sets what I believe to be a catastrophic precedent. The threshold war model threatens to unravel decades of nuclear governance based on deterrence rather than preemption. Indeed, the Iran-Israel threshold war sets dangerous precedents for other regional nuclear competitions. Successful preventive strikes could incentivize similar actions elsewhere, eroding diplomatic nonproliferation efforts. Conversely, rapid nuclearization by Iran could encourage other threshold states, like Saudi Arabia, to pursue nuclear capabilities swiftly and secretly. When preventive strikes become the enforcement mechanism for nonproliferation norms, the entire architecture of nuclear governance begins to crumble. Without these frameworks, the world faces an unstable future defined by cycles of preventive strikes and accelerated nuclear proliferation – far more dangerous than the Cold War-era standoffs that shaped nuclear governance.

Defense & Security
Map depicts Western Africa, including countries like Nigeria, Ghana, and Senegal, with the Gulf of Guinea coastline.

Sahelian Instability Poses a Threat to West Africa

by Sergey Balmasov

한국어로 읽기 Leer en español In Deutsch lesen Gap اقرأ بالعربية Lire en français Читать на русском The Spread of Instability from the Sahel Directly Threatens West African Countries, Especially the Gulf of Guinea States (Benin, Côte d’Ivoire, and Togo) — recently, there have been more attacks by jihadist fighters in these areas. If these attacks become more successful, it could seriously hurt the global economy, especially the economy of the European Union. Events in spring 2025 show that the jihadist movement is growing in this region, which causes big problems for safety and the economy.Gulf of Guinea Countries Under Attack by Jihadists Before, jihadists attacked only the northern parts of Benin, Côte d’Ivoire, and Togo — near the borders with Burkina Faso, Mali, and Niger. But on April 24, 2025, they destroyed and captured an army vehicle in the center of Benin, far from the northern border. This showed they can now strike deep inside the country, not just near the border where most of the army is based. It seems this was done to force the army to move some soldiers away from the north, making it weaker there. This could mean that fighting is spreading into areas that used to be safe. A video of the attack was shared by a group linked to the Wagner Group that works in Africa. An even more worrying event happened on May 12. Jihadists attacked a gold mine in Mali, near the town of Narena on the border with Guinea. During the attack, they kidnapped Chinese workers. It’s important to note that the distance between this place and the attack in Benin is about 1,700 kilometers. This shows how far the violence is spreading across Africa. The situation is especially bad in Benin. Its army has been hit very hard in recent years. On April 17, 2025, jihadists destroyed two army posts in the north. The army said 54 soldiers were killed (the attackers said it was 70). Earlier, on January 8, 2025, radical Islamists killed 28 soldiers. In total, over 300 Beninese soldiers have been killed by jihadists between 2019 and 2025. The current year — 2025 — is already the worst so far, with 157 soldiers killed by May. A similar situation is happening in countries next to Benin. For example, in Togo, between 2022 and 2024, at least 37 soldiers and civilians were killed during major group attacks (with 29 of them in 2024 alone). Côte d’Ivoire (Ivory Coast) is also suffering from jihadist attacks. Back in 2016, at least 15 people were killed in one attack, including three elite special forces soldiers. Later, during a series of attacks by radical Islamists in 2021–2022, at least 15 more Ivorian soldiers were killed. And this does not include small attacks carried out by these groups. Reasons for Escalation West African countries became a new target for jihadist attacks for several reasons. Of course, the situation in neighboring Nigeria, where the jihadist group Boko Haram operates (recognized as terrorist and banned in Russia), plays a destabilizing role. Part of this group joined the Islamic State (also banned in Russia). Its appearance helped create instability in the southern Sahel, and a similar process happened in the north after Muammar Gaddafi was removed from power in Libya in 2011. Radical Islamists who took over big parts of Mali, Burkina Faso, and Niger want to spread their control even more. These are jihadist “katibas” (Arabic for “unit”), acting under the name of JNIM (an Al-Qaeda branch in the Sahel, banned in Russia) and IS Sahel (Islamic State in the Sahel, banned in Russia). They want to build on their success in fighting French influence in Africa, get rid of it in other countries too — like Benin, Togo, and Côte d’Ivoire — and bring in Islamic rule and sharia law to new areas. This is their “mission,” as they see it. It seems that they will try to do this in the medium term. For now, their main goal appears to be bringing down the weak governments in Sahel countries. Even though the situation in Burkina Faso, Mali, and Niger is still very bad, and the governments there mostly control only big cities, the jihadists have not yet succeeded in removing these military regimes. One of the reasons for this is the presence of Russian forces in the region, both state-run (“African Corps”) and semi-private (“Wagner Group”). Without removing these governments, it is too risky for jihadists to start big operations to take over other countries. But it is possible that, after facing Russian military experts — who have made the armies of Mali, Burkina Faso, and Niger stronger — the jihadists are now trying to focus on West African countries where they are not yet present. It may also be that the goal of jihadist attacks in West Africa is to put pressure on their enemies in the Sahel from the northern areas of the coastal countries in the Gulf of Guinea. For example, by setting up in northern Benin, Côte d’Ivoire, and Togo, the jihadists can create safe zones for operations in southern Burkina Faso and Niger, and also threaten the capital of Niger, Niamey. They also place supply camps and families in local forests so that government forces in the Sahel don’t capture them. And finally, they use Gulf of Guinea countries as transit zones to get the things they need. For instance, they smuggle fuel from Nigeria for their vehicles — cars and motorbikes (their “mechanized cavalry”). They pay for this with illegally mined gold and livestock from the Sahel and West Africa. Ghana plays a special role in these operations. It is the only country in the Gulf of Guinea that borders the Sahel but has not yet experienced bloody jihadist attacks. Its geographic location is very important for the logistics of radical Islamists, and the local terrain helps their activities. For example, in northern Benin and Togo there are nature reserves and national parks stretching for hundreds of kilometers — W and Pendjari Parks in Benin, Comoe Park in Côte d’Ivoire, and the Oti-Keran Mandouri complex in Togo. These are rough, hard-to-reach areas with thick forests and poor road networks. Because of this it’s hard for the slow and heavy security forces of local governments to act in these places. But for small, lightly armed jihadist groups, it is much easier to move around and complete their missions. Security Forces Are Not Ready to Fight Jihadists Among the reasons why West African countries cannot succeed in the fight against radical Islamists is the "physical" weakness (as in the case of Togo and Benin) of their state security forces, and their general unpreparedness for conducting quick anti-guerrilla operations. For example, even after being enlarged due to the current crisis, their armies do not exceed 12,300 troops each, including naval forces (which have not really been involved in this fight). This is clearly not enough to effectively control their northern borders with Burkina Faso and Niger, which together stretch more than 700 km. The technical equipment of the armies of Benin and Togo is also poor because of a lack of transport, aircraft (especially drones), and modern gear in general (for example, some armored vehicles are still from the 1950s). The army of Côte d’Ivoire is much stronger. By the end of 2024, it had 22,000 soldiers, including the navy, and more than 5,000 irregular fighters. But even this is not enough to effectively guard its difficult border with Mali and Burkina Faso, which is 1,183 km long and has rough terrain. In such conditions, it is hard to expect a turning point in the fighting. Lack of Loyalty from the Local Population The establishment of jihadist control over the northern areas of Gulf of Guinea countries is also prevented by the low loyalty of the local population. Understanding that without at least some level of support (even if forced and limited) from locals, jihadists from the Sahel would not be able to act so effectively, the security forces of the region often carry out repressions against local people. This clearly does not increase their loyalty to the authorities and creates new problems for the future. These people can seriously harm the military, even if acting passively — for example, by helping jihadists as guides, scouts, or informants. This especially concerns the nomadic herders from the Fulani (or Fula) ethnic group, who are known to form the main part of jihadist groups in the Sahel countries. Many Fulani people also live in West and Central Africa. The high involvement of the Fulani and some other groups in jihadism often comes from their dissatisfaction with their situation. They often feel left out when it comes to getting resources, positions in government, and so on. When they express their dissatisfaction, it is often ignored at best, or met with repression at worst. The dissatisfaction of people in other West African countries with their own governments and the general situation comes from many factors. One of them is the strong and sometimes very fast population growth since the countries gained independence. At the same time, the amount of resources per person, like water and fertile land, has gone down. This has naturally led to more conflicts. Just like in the Sahel, conflicts over water and land between herders, farmers, hunters, and fishermen have gotten worse in West Africa. In the Gulf of Guinea countries, this happened at the same time as the government’s efforts to protect unique nature parks, which were declared reserves, but later became jihadist strongholds. As a result, farming and herding in these areas was greatly limited, and often completely banned, which hit the local economy hard. At the same time, people believe that the governments invested very little in the development of remote northern regions, especially in infrastructure. However, the presence of almost untouched parts of nature, far from cities, did lead to some tourism development (before the jihadists arrived). Because of this, some people who could not succeed as farmers or herders found jobs in tourism. The rebels used local dissatisfaction to their advantage. When they arrived, they removed the government bans on local economic activities (except cutting down the forests that hide their fighters), including hunting rare protected animals. Many local people saw this as a good thing. Prospects for the Fight Faced directly with the threat of Sahelization, the governments of the region are trying to urgently stabilize the situation. For example, the Beninese army (and other security forces) was increased by one and a half times — if at the beginning of the jihadist attacks it had 8,000 soldiers, now it has 12,300. The governments of the Gulf of Guinea countries also turned for help to their former security partners — France and the United States, who started sending modern weapons. But new weapons alone cannot change the situation — not even the use of drones, which are supposed to help better observe the terrain and find jihadist bases. The forests in the conflict zones are so thick that even modern UAVs sometimes cannot spot the enemy, even with poor camouflage. The authorities of Benin and Côte d’Ivoire have started developing border areas and creating jobs for young people, to make it harder for jihadists to recruit them. The Beninese government is also considering helping herders switch from a nomadic way of life to more efficient and less environmentally damaging farming. This idea might work in the long term, but it will need huge resources and could anger herders, who find it very hard to change their traditional lifestyle. Togo, which is poorer, cannot keep up with Benin and Côte d’Ivoire. Its government is mainly just running information campaigns and talking about the dangers of jihadism. So, the measures to stop jihadist expansion in these countries are not well coordinated. There is also a lack of cooperation in the fight itself. For example, Islamist radicals have escaped many times into neighboring Sahel countries, and this happened because there was no agreement that would let the security forces of one country pursue enemies into another. It is important to note that back in 2017, seeing the growing threat from jihadists, the Sahel and Gulf of Guinea countries signed the “Accra Initiative”, which became an anti-jihadist alliance. But soon after that, coups hit the region, removing pro-French governments in the Sahel countries, while in the coastal states of the Gulf of Guinea (except for Guinea itself), pro-Paris governments stayed in power. This damaged relations between the Sahel countries and the West African countries that remained loyal to France. Benin, Côte d’Ivoire, and Togo, still somewhat supported by France, joined the blockade of Mali, Burkina Faso, and Niger, and even considered military intervention. The military governments of the Sahel, in turn, began to actively cooperate with Russia. Since then, there has been no coordination between the former allies in the fight against jihadism. And until this conflict is resolved, it is hard to expect any effective cross-border fight against jihadists. Therefore, even in the short term, the situation in the region will likely get worse — because the Sahel’s population keeps growing rapidly, and as they move south into West African countries, competition for limited resources will keep increasing. How the Escalating Struggle Shapes the Global Landscape and Russia’s RoleDespite the destabilizing effect of “Sahelization” and the spread of jihadism into the coastal countries of the Gulf of Guinea, there are some opportunities for Russia. For example, it is possible that the people of West African countries, just like those in the Sahel, will lose trust in France — especially if Paris fails to stop the jihadist advance. As a result, we cannot rule out the possibility of anti-French coups in Gulf of Guinea countries. Russia could use this to further weaken the West, and France in particular, during the ongoing conflict in Ukraine. Other countries will also try to fill the growing political vacuum in the region. The United States is already doing this, by giving military and technical help to these countries and clearly trying to push out French influence. In the worst-case scenario (if the governments of the coastal West African countries collapse), jihadists could reach the major shipping routes of the Gulf of Guinea. Since important global trade routes pass through this area, this would be a direct threat to international trade, especially for the European Union. However, for now, this seems possible only if the entire state system built in Africa after the end of colonial rule completely falls apart. A much more serious danger may come from jihadists reaching the border with Guinea, or pushing further south into coastal West African countries. In the first case, the threat affects the world economy, because Guinea supplies 20% of the world’s bauxite — the raw material used to make aluminum. Guinea also has rich deposits of iron ore and other minerals. It's important to note that not only the West, but also China depends on these supplies. Russian companies also work in Guinea. That’s why many outside powers (like the USA, Turkey, UAE, Qatar, and others) may be tempted to use Sahel rebel groups to try to change who controls the market in Guinea. Many people in Guinea are unhappy with how the wealth is shared, and most of the population lives below the poverty line. A large part of the population (about one-third of the 14 million people) are again the Fulani, the same active group that often forms the base of rebel movements. Some of them might join the fighters if there is an invasion of Guinea from Mali. As for the attempt to move jihadist activity into central Benin, this is very bad news for the European Union, which hopes to get cheap pipeline gas if the planned “Atlantic” gas pipeline from Nigeria to Morocco is built. So, if jihadists become more active in coastal Gulf countries, it could scare away investors from this expensive project. At the same time, Russia might use the situation to its own advantage.

Defense & Security
trade war. Flag of the People's Republic of China. Flag of the United States. Taiwan flag, 3d illustration

The ‘Clash of Nationalisms’ in the Contentious USA–Taiwan–China Relations

by Orson Tan , Alexander C. Tan

한국어로 읽기 Leer en español In Deutsch lesen Gap اقرأ بالعربية Lire en français Читать на русском Abstract Why is it that cross-strait tension has been at its highest since the missile crisis of 1996? Why is the USA–Taiwan–China relations so contentious since 2016? This article argues that one oft-neglected factor—nationalism and identity politics—needs to be considered as a contributing factor to the heightened tension in this triangular relationship. In all three states, audience costs have significantly increased as domestic leaders and elites appeal to populist and nationalistic positions and rhetoric. Though studies of foreign policy often claim that ‘politics stop at the water’s edge,’ populist and nationalist rhetoric in the domestic politics almost always spill over to the international arena. The convergence of Trump’s America First and the US’ obsession with its global primacy underpins and drives America’s approach to its strategic competition with China. China’s continual reference to the hundred years of humiliation in the nineteenth century and early twentieth century and Xi Jinping’s ‘China Dream’ are ethnonationalist appeals that drives China’s fight for its ‘rightful place’ in the global pecking order. Taiwan’s deepening national identity and sociopolitical de-Sinicisation while contributing the development of a separate nation-state is a direct clash to the People’s Republic of China (PRC’s) claim of Taiwan as part of its one-China principle. This article will trace and examine the role of domestic nationalism and how it has contributed to make the Taiwan Straits a ‘hotspot’ in global geopolitics and geoeconomics. Introduction The introduction of the phrase ‘Taiwan Contingency’ to the global lexicon in 2020 served to highlight how the temperature of cross-strait relations between China and Taiwan had become a key barometer that the global community was paying attention to (Taylor, 2020). It is also not a coincidence that the increasing attention paid to the Taiwan Strait comes at a time when the USA–China relationship has devolved into great power strategic competition; the Pentagon had long used the term ‘Taiwan Contingency’ in its annual assessment reports on the US military’s ability to implement the Taiwan Relations Act, going as far back as the report from the year 2000, but it was only when USA–China relations worsened and cross-strait tensions created a worry about a flashpoint that the term became widely used (Department of Defense, 2000; Wuthnow, 2020). Much has been said about the increasing tension in cross-strait relations being a result of the overarching competition between the USA and China to define their positions vis-a-viz each other in the global hierarchy. These increasing tensions have often been attributed to the inherent rivalry between an ascending power and a declining one, most notably by Graham Allison in his book Destined for War (Hanania, 2021). The idea of the Thucydides Trap as floated by Allison has become the dominant narrative in the discourse surrounding the USA–China competition and has also contributed to an arguably narrow analysis of the strategic competition. Influenced by the analysis of the Thucydides Trap, China’s actions have been cast separately as being driven by security concerns and imperial aggression, feeding into the narrative of a power struggle in the international arena between the reigning superpower and a surging new power with desires to fulfil its civilisational creed (Mazza, 2024; Peters et al., 2022; Sobolik, 2024). This view seeks to portray China as a disrupting force that seeks to upend the status quo in the international system and thereby overturn the current rules-based international order, while casting the USA as a defender standing up against Chinese aggression, and has led to the USA–China strategic competition also being referred to a ‘new Cold War’ (Brands & Gaddis, 2021; Mazza, 2024). The rising tension in the Taiwan Strait has thus been seen as serving as a frontline to this ‘new Cold War’, and that the three-party relationship between the USA, China and Taiwan serves as some litmus test of American ability to contain a rising China (Lee, 2024). In fact, China hawks in the US and Taiwanese officials have often made use of this ‘new Cold War’ setting to frame the USA–China strategic competition as a competition between autocracies and democracies, and that Taiwan’s democracy makes it worth protecting (Hung, 2022; Lee, 2024). The Taiwanese government has consistently focused on a need to build an alliance of democracies that will support the island against Chinese aggression, highlighting shared values and like-minded partners in their discourse (Ripley, 2024). Yet, a broader analysis shows how framing the rising tension in the Taiwan Strait was a by-product of the greater geopolitical struggle between the USA and China in this ‘new Cold War’ ignores other possible factors. Most notably, the impact of nationalism and identity politics on the domestic sphere needs to be considered as a contributing factor to the heightened tension in this triangular relationship. While there has been increasing attention on nationalism as a characteristic of the international system since the time that scholars like Holsti (1980) brought up the need to emphasise the ‘prominence of nationalist behaviour’ in international relations (IRs) theory, the contemporary analysis of the Taiwan Strait issue shows that most still ignore the impact of domestic pressures on foreign policy choice by the three parties in this relationship; audience costs have significantly increase as domestic leaders and elites appeal to populist and nationalistic positions and rhetoric, and these populist and nationalist rhetoric in the domestic politics almost always spill over to the international arena (p. 25). In the United States, we have the convergence of Trump’s America First ideology and the US’ obsession with its global primacy that underpins and drives America’s approach to its strategic competition with China. While in China, the Chinese Communist Party’s (CCP) continual reference to the hundred years of humiliation in the nineteenth century and early twentieth century and Xi Jinping’s ‘China Dream’ are ethnonationalist appeals that are used to reinforce the Party’s right to guide China to fight for its ‘rightful place’ in the global pecking order. On the island, Taiwan’s deepening national identity and sociopolitical de-Sinicisation while contributing the development of a separate nation-state create a direct clash to the People’s Republic of China (PRC’s) claim of Taiwan as part of its one-China principle. This article thus seeks to trace and examine the role of domestic nationalism and how it has contributed to make the Taiwan Strait a ‘hotspot’ in global geopolitics and geoeconomics. This is done by first analysing the literature on nationalism and its role in IRs, following which, the sections examine the unique nationalisms of the United States, China and Taiwan and their role in increasing audience costs for the political elite, which will allow us to analyse how this clash of nationalism contributes to the Taiwan Strait becoming the global ‘hotspot’ that it is. Understanding Nationalism in International Relations As previously mentioned, the literature on IRs theory mainly focuses ‘on models of international interaction based on rational action and material structural factors, and exogenising the formation of preferences and the actors’ identities’ (D’Anieri, 1997, p. 2). Even theorists who have engaged with nationalism in international relations have admitted that ‘the relationship between the two has never been an especially easy one’ (Cox, 2019, p. 249). Yet nationalism is arguably central to the practice of IRs, given how nationalism is a key factor that makes it possible to conceive of states as coherent agents, as it creates the distinctiveness that allows a nation-state to define itself in its interactions with another (Kowert, 2012; Waltz, 1959). It is almost impossible to ignore the role of nationalism given the presumed equivalence of ‘nation’ and ‘state’ in IRs theories, and how nationalism is embedded in the conceptualisation of sovereignty, which serves as a fundamental factor in the interactions between states (Heiskanen, 2019, 2021). This is especially so given how the era of globalisation has come to an end, giving rise to a period of IRs that is characterised by securitisation and the preponderance of terms like ‘national security’ and ‘national interest’ (Heiskanen, 2019; Posen, 2022). In this contemporary age, there is a heightened awareness of the need to express and protect a state’s sovereignty in its international interactions, which therefore paves the way for nationalism to be the ‘centripetal force’ in driving interactions between nation-states (Kovács, 2022; Waltz, 1959, pp. 177–178). Nationalism can play such a role in defining interactions between nation-states because nationalism at its core is the conceptualisation of the identity of the polity. Modern nationalism in that sense is the expression of the principle that ‘nation = state = people’, with the purpose of binding the people to the state under one ‘imagined community’ to justify the existence of the nation-state as a construct (Anderson, 1983; Hobsbawm, 1990, p. 19). The nationalism that defines the nation-state is neither natural nor inevitable, but rather a by-product of a nation-building effort to craft an identity that will allow the state to distinguish and therefore differentiate itself in a world of nation-states (Connor, 1990; Gellner, 1983; Smith, 1986). This creates the peculiarity of nationalism in which they are essentially all the same, yet at the same time, individually unique by necessity. It is thus the interaction between the individual uniqueness while having the same broad goals that lead to nationalism influencing the interactions of nation-states in the international arena; arguably, it is not just the strength of nationalism that is important but also the content of the national identity that helps dictate the interaction between the states (D’Anieri, 1997). The creation and the make-up of nationalisms and national identities are thus of interests for this article’s analysis of the triangular relationship between United States, China and Taiwan. The literature on nationalism and national identity gives us a breakdown on the creation of nationalism. As a relatively modern phenomenon, the rise of nationalisms around the world is a direct result of the socioeconomic upheaval that marked the progress of modernity (Anderson, 1983; Gellner, 1983). The advent of industrialisation saw the collapse of the previous social structure that separated the agrarian, merchant classes and the nobility, and necessitated the development of a new identity that would bind diverse groups of people together under the banner of a nation-state. In that regard, the creation of nationalism was necessarily top-down, often driven by the needs of the new political elite who now exercised power in these emerging modern nation-states and formed through nationwide tools such as a national language and the national education system (Anderson, 1983; Gellner, 1983). The content of the national identity though could not simply be created out of thin air where the general form of nationalisms is the same and built on a structure of common identity and a sense of belonging to a community, the content of nationalisms needed to be specific to the groups of people living in the nation-state to produce the necessary uniqueness that would engender the desired outcome. As such, nationalisms and national identities were built on the pre-existing myths and histories of the people that inhabited the land or were present at the founding of the nation-state (Billig, 1995; Calhoun, 1997; Smith, 1986). This results in various contents of the nationalism that are part ethnic but also part mythological. The next section will examine the contents of the national identities of the United States, China and Taiwan in relation to this. American Exceptionalism: America the Great Like all nationalisms, American nationalism aims to ‘legitimise, mobilise and integrate the nation, thereby promoting the unity of the national people, and demanding a sovereign state for this nation’ (Trautsch, 2016, p. 291). Yet unlike European nationalism which had existing histories to build upon, American nationalism was ‘a model of nationhood that did not rest on historic claims to antiquity nor on any sense of distinctive peoplehood’, its foundations being very much rooted on mythologising the pilgrims’ journey across the Atlantic on the Mayflower and the nation’s beginnings as a settler nation (Doyle, 2009, p. 79). The pilgrims’ journey on the Mayflower marked the separation between the ‘Old World’ and the ‘New World’, providing dividing line that forms the basis for the conceptualisation of America as unique. While American nationalism does identify its roots with the colonial migration from Europe, the beginnings of this nationalism are tied specifically to the American Revolution and the Declaration of Independence (Doyle, 2009). The War of Independence marked a coalescing of consciousness in the 13 colonies that birthed a new nation, and gave even more credence to the distinction between Europe and the ‘Old World’, and the new American nation in the ‘New World’ (Commager, 1959; Doyle, 2009). This distinction was helped by the colonies’ history as an asylum for religious dissenters, impoverished servants and assorted refugees from Europe, allowing the colonies to divest itself of its British heritage (Doyle, 2009). Yet, certain aspects of British culture did influence the founding fathers of America in the conception of the American nation. While rebelling against their colonial masters, the founding fathers framed their independence as based on the British belief in the institutions of law, liberty and representative government mixed with a healthy dose of religiosity, which, given the lack of a feudal tradition and existing aristocracy, allowed for the creation of a national consciousness that celebrated equality without the necessary social revolution that marked the ‘Old World’ (Lieven, 2012). This allowed for the image of America as a newfound promise land, further playing into the distinction between the old and new, and as scholars from Tocqueville on have noted, birthed the idea of the exceptionalism of the American nation, the ‘shining city on the hill’ (Lieven, 2012). The subsequent expansion of the USA westward that saw the eventual formation of the geographical borders of modern America helped to further this sense of exceptionalism. As the expansion evolved from purchasing land to conflict with both the Native Americans and the Spanish colonial forces, American exceptionalism took on a sense of preordination (Doyle, 2009; Trautsch, 2016). Between the Revolution and the Civil War, American nationalists who recognised the need for strengthening the national consciousness began the enterprise by focusing on the fundamental idea that ‘Americans had a historic mission and that their bond of nationhood lay in their common destiny’; this required the positioning of America’s future place in the history of the world as one that was naturally glorious (Doyle, 2009, p. 86; Trautsch, 2016). To that end, the nationalists pushed the narrative of America’s ‘manifest destiny’, an unstoppable rise for the ‘freest, the happiest, and soon to be the greatest and most powerful country in the world’ (Doyle, 2009, p. 88). The successful expansion and victories in conflict that eventuated in the American nation covering the breadth of continental North America firmly entrenched this sense of preordained greatness for the nation. American nationalism had come to encompass both the civic values of liberty and respect for institutions, and the dreams of imperial grandeur that marked them for greatness; America was free and therefore exceptional, just as America was victorious and therefore exceptional. American exceptionalism, therefore, made the nation’s ascension to the top of the global hierarchy post-1945 easy. To the American nation, having believed in their destined greatness, a seat at the table presiding over global affairs was only to be expected. American nationalism had led the nation to believe in its destiny, and it saw itself as having been chosen, or even, anointed to lead (Lieven, 2012). Such exceptionalism naturally influences modern American foreign policy, as Kristol (1983) points out: Patriotism springs from love of the nation’s past; nationalism arises out of hope for the nation’s future, distinctive greatness…The goals of American foreign policy must go well beyond a narrow, too literal definition of ‘national security.’ It is the national interest of a world power, as this is defined by a sense of national destiny. (p. xiii) American nationalism shapes the way the USA views its interactions with the world, starting with its presumption of its deserved position at the top of the global hierarchy. The mythologising of its ‘historic mission’ and ‘manifest destiny’ helped to create the paradigm that the United States is the natural leader of the world, and its national interests include the protection of its position as the leader of the world. This creates a knock-on effect in its interactions with other states; if the United States is the natural leader, then others must listen and be led, and as the leader, challenges to its primacy cannot be tolerated. However, such conceptualisation brings it into a clash with the rising nationalism of China. Chinese Ethnonationalism: The China Dream Unlike American nationalism, modern Chinese nationalism is a relatively new phenomenon. In fact, the conceptualisation of a Chinese nation did not come about until the nineteenth century, as the Chinese tried to ‘create a modern identity to cope with conditions created by China’s confrontation with the Western world’, forcing the Chinese ‘to deal with foreign concepts, including that of nation, state, sovereignty, citizenship and race’ (Wu, 1991, p. 159). Furthermore, where American nationalism was centred upon its existence as a settler nation, Chinese nationalism could rest on both historic claims to antiquity and a sense of distinctive peoplehood, as Smith (1986) would have identified it, the roots of Chinese nationalism were definitely ethnosymbolic. The 1911 Revolution that saw the collapse of the Qing Dynasty and Imperial China marked the beginnings of modern Chinese nationalism (Townsend, 1992). Where previously the conceptualisation of Chinese identity was grounded in a rich cultural heritage of stories about the ‘abstract idea of the ‘Great Tradition’ of Chinese civilisation’, the encroachment of Western colonial forces in China led to rising discontentment amongst the Chinese public and the rise of intellectual writings about a modern form of Chinese identity which combined Chinese tradition and Western nationalism (Townsend, 1992; Wang, 1988, p. 2; Zheng, 2012). Dr Sun Yat-Sen, who is acknowledged as the father of the modern nation, pushed for the creation of a consciousness of nationhood in his Three Principles of the People, advocating for the creation of modern Chinese nationalism that was centred upon the Chinese people as a unified group, which he categorised as the Chinese ethnic community, ÖлªÃñ×å zhonghuaminzu (Fitzgerald, 2016; Tan & Chen, 2013; Wang, 1988; Wells, 2001). The end of the 1911 Revolution saw the establishment of the Republic of China (ROC) with Dr. Sun as the first president (Zheng, 2012). This marked the transition of China from imperial to statehood and saw the coalescing of the consciousness of Chinese nationhood. The ethnosymbolic roots of Chinese nationalism permeated this consciousness, even the name of the Republic, ÖлªÃñ¹ú zhonghuaminguo, emphasised the belonging of the state to the Chinese ethnic nation as the first three characters of the name represent the ethnic Chinese nation. So, Chinese nationalism can be said to also equate to Chinese ethnonationalism, and as a nationalism that rested on the rich history of the Chinese people and the abstract conceptualisation of the following the tradition of great Chinese civilisations, Chinese nationalism is also beholden to a lot of nostalgia. Where Dr Sun and his fellow intellectuals pushed the creation of Chinese nationalism by appealing to the cultural heritage of Chinese civilisation, they combined this with modern western nationalist ideology that focused on a struggle for sovereignty, in this case against the Western imperial powers and the Qing rulers. As such, this nostalgia is driven by the experiences of the Chinese people during the perceived ‘century of humiliation’ °ÙÄê¹ú³Ü bainianguochi starting from the Opium War till 1945, where China struggled for self-determination only to be invaded by the Japanese prior to the Second World War (Fitzgerald, 2016; Townsend, 1992; Zheng, 2012). China, as the empire-turned-nation and heir to the great tradition of Chinese imperial civilisation, was successively beaten and this was seen as a deep shame to the Chinese people who under successively foreign oppressors, including the Manchus of the Qing Dynasty, longed for freedom and a return to glory for the Chinese nation. As such, when Mao announced the founding of the PRC in 1949, the legitimacy of the CCP in ruling the nation was built on Chinese nationalism and the part that the party played in defeating the Japanese. The CCP’s victory in the civil war was arguably also because they presented themselves as even more nationalist than the nationalist Kuomintang (KMT) that they chased out of the mainland (Gries, 2020). This close connection between the party’s legitimacy and Chinese nationalism has seen the CCP often fall back on nationalistic propaganda to shore up its position of power, most notably after the events of Tiananmen Square (Gries, 2020). With his ascension to the presidency, Xi Jinping has continued the use of Chinese nationalism to firm up the party’s hold on power, having often referred to China’s rise as the country’s national destiny, referencing the country’s glorious past and harping on the ‘century of humiliation’ that denied China its place among the world’s powers (Tan, 2023). In this current form of Chinese ethnonationalism, Xi’s slogan of ‘national rejuvenation’ helps to reinforce the concept that China, once great but humiliated by the predations of Western colonisers, is now reclaiming its previous majesty to fulfil the ‘China Dream’ (Tan, 2023). This creates the sense that China must stand up to Western powers due to their rightful placed in the world while it must also continue to address the humiliations of the past, of which Taiwan serves as a reminder of, and this creates the setting for competition with the United States and rising tensions with Taiwan. Taiwanese Nationalism: De-sinicised and Independent The case of Taiwanese nationalism is an interesting one. Of the three nationalisms examined in this article, Taiwanese nationalism is the youngest one, having come into existence only in recently. Furthermore, unlike the United States and China, there is no continuity and coherence between the nation and the state in Taiwan. The state governing and exerting authority over Taiwan’s population embodies and merges two distinct political visions, each tied to a separate national identity: Chinese and Taiwanese, as the ROC is ‘a product of Chinese history and Chinese nationalism’, having been imposed onto the island when the KMT lost the civil war and fled the mainland (Clark & Tan, 2012; Lepesant, 2018, p. 65). In fact, while the KMT exercised marital rule over the island under the regimes of Chiang Kai-shek and Chiang Ching-kuo, the party tried constantly to impose an essentialist Chinese nationalism that clashed with the memories and experience of most of the island’s population, especially those who were raised under Japanese rule (Lepesant, 2018). This directly restricted the development of a national consciousness that centred on Taiwanese-ness, which explains the relatively late creation of Taiwanese nationalism. While overseas Taiwanese who were exiled by the KMT had started to display ideologies that was a semblance of Taiwanese nationalism, it was not until the 1980s and the gradual democratisation of the island that this nationalism began to take root (Chiou, 2003; Clark & Tan, 2012; Wakabayashi, 2006; Wu, 2004). With the increasing calls for political liberalisation in the 1980s, Chiang Ching-kuo began the initial process of Taiwanisation, allowing for the appointments of Taiwanese who were ±¾Ê¡ÈË benshengren (Han-Chinese who were on the island before the 1949 migration) to political positions even in his own administration (Cabestan, 2005). This kickstarted the process of nation-building, which only moved into a higher gear with the democratisation of the island in the early 1990s as there developed a political imperative to create an identity that could unify the people on the island (Wakabayashi, 2006). Lee Teng-hui, as the president of Taiwan who oversaw the democratisation process, put his support behind the Taiwanisation movement, supporting the development of a nation-building programme that would spur the adoption of Taiwanese nationalism, against the wishes of the KMT old guard. Lee’s action in building up Taiwanese nationalism is best seen in his propagation of the idea of a ‘new Taiwanese’ national identity in his speech to the National Assembly and more concretely, the change in name for the ROC to the ROC on Taiwan (Chiou, 2003; Jacobs, 2007; Wakabayashi, 2006). As such, the content of Taiwanese nationalism cannot be separated from the complex history of the island. The roots of Taiwanese nationalism are traced to the imperial expansion of Japan in the late 1800s, while previously the island had some contact with various Chinese dynasties and a brief colonial period by the Dutch, the Qing had neglected the island which meant that Japanese colonialisation marked the modernisation of the island (Cabestan, 2005; Wakabayashi, 2006). Japanese colonial rule also sparked the development of a pan-Taiwanese identity rooted in a struggle for independence, and distinctly anti-colonial and anti-Japanese (Brown, 2004). This pan-Taiwanese identity covered all the residents of the island who were not Japanese and therefore was not just restricted to the ethnic Han Chinese. With democratisation and the push for the ‘new Taiwanese’ national identity under Lee, this pan-Taiwanese identity was used as the foundation to build a new national identity. However, this also meant that the aspects of this identity that focused on independence were subsumed into the new Taiwanese nationalism, which was further enhanced by the experiences of the Taiwanese people under KMT rule (Wakabayashi, 2006). For Taiwan, both Japanese colonial rule and the experience of the civil war of post-1945 China became the existence of the ‘others’ to the development of the Taiwanese sense of self (Wakabayashi, 2006). This therefore meant that Taiwanese nationalism was first and foremost a nationalism for an independent Taiwan. In 2000, with the election of Chen Shui-bian from the then opposition Democratic Peoples’ Party (DPP) to the presidency, Taiwanese nationalism took another step in its evolution. No longer was Taiwanese nationalism simply about the independent sovereignty of the island whilst maintaining the cultural affinity for the Chinese tradition as espoused by Lee, but now there was a clear de-Sinicised aspect to Taiwanese nationalism and national identity (Hughes, 2013; Wakabayashi, 2006). This was driven by the policies of the Chen administration which included initiatives to rectify Taiwan’s name, changes to institutions designed to promote unification with mainland China, attempts to change the ROC Constitution and most importantly, the re-orientation of the education curriculum to focus more on Taiwan and less on the mainland. This resulted in the evolution of Taiwanese national identity towards one that increasingly sidelined the culturally ethnic Chinese component, instead insisting a cultural makeup that was simultaneously Han Chinese, Japanese and Aboriginal Taiwanese (Brown, 2004; Hughes, 2013; Wu, 2004). Yet such a nationalism brings along issues given the precarious relationship between the island and its cross-strait neighbour. The Clash of Nationalisms This article aimed to examine the role that nationalism played in the rising tensions in the United States, China and Taiwan triangular relationship. The idea that nationalisms can be antagonistic to each other and lead to conflict is not entirely new, despite the lack of IR theories that appropriately accommodate for the impact of nationalism. Samuel Huntington (1996) in his book, Clash of Civilizations, argues that future global conflicts will be driven not by ideological or economic differences but by cultural and civilisational divisions due to the increasing interaction between civilisations as a result of globalisation. Huntington (1996) predicted that a rising and assertive East Asia, on the back of rapid economic development, would increasingly come into conflict with Western civilisation led by the United States, in part due to a difference in cultural values and geopolitical goals. Where some would argue that Huntington’s claims were oversimplified and may broadly reinforce cleavages, especially in the aftermath of 9/11 and the War on Terror, his basic premise provides an interesting starting point to examining the impact of nationalism on the USA–China–Taiwan relationship. While Huntington viewed the incoming conflict as drawn along civilisational lines, assuming that cultural similarities and affinities would be sufficient to create groupings of nation-states around the world that would come into conflict with each other, recent events have proven otherwise. In fact, cases like Donald Trump’s threat to put a 25% tariff on Canadian imports when he assumes the presidency in January 2025 serve as a reminder that nationalism can easily overpower any sense of cultural affinity, even between nations as closely connected and allied as the United States and Canada (Hale, 2024). The advent of modernity brought about the rise of nationalism in the nation-state, and in the bid to give the nation-state’s existence legitimacy, each nationalism was propagated as individually unique. And as such, while cultural civilisations may not be a cleavage that thoroughly defines the world today, nationalism seems to be one that could fit into Huntington’s theory instead. Given the unique nationalisms of the United States, China and Taiwan covered in the sections above, it also appears that what is happening in this triangular relationship is a conflict arising from diametrically opposed nationalisms, a ‘clash of nationalisms’ if you will. Figure 1 summarises the interactions between the nationalisms of the United States, China and Taiwan.  Figure 1. Interaction Between Nationalisms. The United States having built a national identity that centred on a higher calling to being a model nation and leader of the world sees its position at the top of the global hierarchy as sacrosanct. The reason why the concept of the ‘Thucydides trap’ has gained so much attention is because there is an inherent acknowledgement that no matter the ills that may plague the United States, it is unwilling to see the global primacy it has established after the end of the Cold War being challenged (Mazza, 2024). However, China’s ascendency on the back of its rapid economic growth and the fact that it managed to emerge from the 2007–8 Great Financial Crisis relatively unscathed has given life to the belief in the PRC that their anointed time has finally come. Driven by Xi’s desire to push Chinese ethnonationalism as a foundation for the PRC’s assertiveness in the international arena, the world is now witnessing a China that seeks to act like a great power, including a demand for regional hegemony (Mazza, 2024). Yet regional hegemony for the PRC set it in direct conflict with the United States as regional hegemony in East Asia would mean the United States having to pull back on its global primacy and cede control over the region where it has key allies like Japan and South Korea. And this is exacerbated by the anti-West element of Chinese ethnonationalism that holds the West, with the United States being symbolic of it, responsible for the century of humiliation and the country not being the rightful great power it should have long been. As the saying goes, one mountain cannot contain two tigers, the nationalisms of both the United States and the PRC are dependent on the countries fulfilling their self-perceived destiny of greatness which naturally puts them into conflict with each other and is reflected in Figure 1. Similarly, Figure 1 also shows how the nationalisms of China and Taiwan are in conflict. As mentioned above, Chinese ethnonationalism and the ‘China Dream’ are also about washing away the shame from the century of humiliation. Part of this humiliation stems from the losses to the Japanese in the two Sino-Japanese wars, of which the loss of the island of Taiwan serves as a reminder of and it is for this reason that Xi has made clear that reunification between Taiwan and the mainland is a core part of his ‘national rejuvenation’ (Sobolik, 2024). Yet, in Taiwan, the evolution and rise of Taiwanese nationalism have led to a strong Taiwanese national identity that rejects its relationship with the Chinese mainland; increasingly Taiwanese are rejecting the Beijing-led discourse of a common identity between them and the mainland Chinese, and polling shows an increasing majority of Taiwanese no longer identify as Chinese (Fifield, 2019; Wang, 2023). This sets up the two nations in a path for conflict, a worse-case scenario that experts are predicting gets ever closer, as Taiwanese independence is a redline for China that cannot be crossed, but any form of reunification for the island is incompatible with their unique and independent national identity (Kuo, 2022; Wu, 2004). On the flip side, the relationship between American nationalism and Taiwanese nationalism is somewhat complementary, as shown in Figure 1. In examining American nationalism above, we pointed out how much of American nationalism is driven by American primacy in the form of American exceptionalism. This exceptionalism has been shown to have a messianic fervour, with Badri (2024) arguing that this has led to America’s interventionist foreign policy since 1991. Yet this messianic fervour makes American nationalism the perfect complement for Taiwanese nationalism. As Taiwanese nationalism tends towards de-sinicisation and independence, it has also gone through pains to emphasise its democratisation as a key characteristic of its nationalism. This results in America becoming a natural support pillar for the objectives of Taiwanese nationalism, while America’s messianic tendencies lead it to want to support Taiwanese democracy. As a result, American and Taiwanese nationalism become complementary existences. However, that the nationalisms are in conflict do not necessarily explain the existence of the triangular relationship that has seen the Taiwan Strait become the geopolitical ‘hotspot’ that it is. In order to do so, it is important to remember that nationalism is a double-edged sword when used by governments (Gries, 2020; Tan, 2023). Since 2016, we have seen the respective governments in all three countries increasingly turn to nationalism to further their own agendas (Kuo, 2022; Restad, 2020). Trump won his first presidential victory on the back of his ‘Make America Great Again’ slogan, which implied that the greatness of the American nation had been allowed to wane by his political predecessor. In doing so, Trump had unleashed a torrent of populism built upon conservative American nationalism that centred upon how powerful and great the country was perceived at the end of the Cold War and the longing for a return to those days (Renshon, 2021). In China, Xi, as previously mentioned, turned to the concept of the ‘China Dream’ in his bid to secure the legitimacy of the CCP and his hold over power. In his elaboration, it was the preeminent task of the CCP to restore the past glory of the nation and thereby, turn the dream of a great power nation into a reality, which would aid in making life better for the Chinese people (Bhattacharya, 2019). The rise of Chinese ethnonationalism has been successful in legitimising the position of the CCP in the wake of the political turmoil of the early 2010s and increasingly we have seen assertive Chinese expressions of this ethnonationalism, be it in its ‘Wolf Warrior’ diplomacy or cases of Chinese international students in university campuses in places like Australia, United States and the United Kingdom who openly challenge their lecturers and peers who comment on issues like Taiwan and Hong Kong (Tan, 2023). While in Taiwan, the DPP under Tsai Ing-wen latched on to the anti-Chinese sentiment of the 2014 Sunflower Movement and harnessed Taiwanese nationalism and desire to exist as a sovereign people to win the 2016 presidential election from the KMT (Chen & Zheng, 2022; Clark et al., 2020). Since then, the DPP has increasingly relied on Taiwanese nationalism to secure itself electoral victories, as it provides a clear delineation on the Taiwanese/Chinese cleavage between itself and the opposition KMT, while also allowing the government to create a narrative that differentiates Taiwan from the mainland, and therefore rouse support for its cause for international recognition (Lee, 2024). In each of these countries, we have seen political leaders turning to nationalism for their own domestic agendas. However, using nationalism in such manner also means that there is a significant consequence when the desires and dreams of the nationalism cannot be fulfilled, especially for regimes that have built their legitimacy on said nationalisms. To that end, the escalation of tension in the Taiwan Strait becomes understandable. Taiwanese nationalism has led to Tsai and the DPP to insist on Taiwanese sovereignty, even without the need for actual independence, but this has crossed the CCP’s red line and Chinese ethnonationalism necessitates a reaction in the form of increased military activity. The United States, having been bound to support Taiwan due to the Taiwan Relations Act, and in part to reassert its global hegemon status, thus sees it as imperative that it continue to be involved in the situation in the Taiwan Strait, either through freedom of navigation movements or selling of arms. As each side escalates their foreign policy response to the Taiwan Strait issue, audience costs for the political leaders also increase. Having unleashed the forces of nationalism, any semblance that the political leader is contemplating backing down would have serious implications on the stability of the domestic regime. This is even more so given the looming economic challenges in each of the three nations. Conclusion Therefore, the triangular relationship between the United States, China and Taiwan is not merely a product of power struggles or ideological conflicts but a ‘clash of nationalisms’. The interplay of unique national identities, reinforced by domestic pressures, has intensified the geopolitical stakes in the Taiwan Strait, transforming it into a critical hotspot in global politics. In understanding this, we can therefore see how nationalism is in fact an important factor that influences the interactions of states in IRs theories. Declaration of Conflicting InterestsThe authors declared no potential conflicts of interest with respect to the research, authorship and/or publication of this article.FundingThe authors received no financial support for the research, authorship and/or publication of this article.Cite: Tan, O., & Tan, A. C. (2025). 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Defense & Security
Conflict between China and Taiwan. China–Taiwan relations. 3d illustration.

Strategic Ambiguity or Strategic Clarity: China’s Rise and US Policy Towards the Taiwan Issue

by T.Y. Wang

한국어로 읽기 Leer en español In Deutsch lesen Gap اقرأ بالعربية Lire en français Читать на русском Abstract Observers have noted that Washington’s policy of ‘strategic ambiguity’ aims not only to deter China from attacking Taiwan but also to keep Taipei from taking actions that may be deemed provocative by Beijing leaders. Remarks and actions taken by former United States President Joseph Biden seem to place America’s long-held ambiguous policy in doubt. It has been argued that a clear security commitment from Washington is likely to bolster Taiwan citizens’ unrealistic expectations of America’s defence support and their calls for independence, which will certainly invite Beijing’s violent responses. Employing the theory of deterrence and survey data collected in Taiwan during the past 20 years, this article examines this argument. The analysis shows that the policy of strategy ambiguity remains crucial for the peace and stability across the Taiwan Strait. As China has increasingly turned itself to become a revisionist, Washington’s policy requires a recalibration, and the adjustment does not have to be a binary choice between ambiguity and clarity. Donald Trump’s return to the White House with his transactional approach to international affairs makes US policy towards the Taiwan issue less predictable, potentially leading to a volatile Taiwan Strait during his second term. Introduction One of the key aspects of US policy towards Taiwan since 1979 has been its ambiguous posture. With an objective of maintaining cross-strait peace and stability, Washington’s policy is based on its version of the ‘one-China’ policy, the Taiwan Relations Act (TRA), the three United States–China communiques and ‘Six Assurances’ (Congressional Research Service, 2024). Under this framework, Washington acknowledges that there is only one China and maintains an unofficial relationship with Taipei. The United States supports Taiwan with weapons of a defensive character and will ‘resist any resort to force or other forms of coercion that would jeopardise the security, or the social or economic system, of the people on Taiwan’ (TRA, Section 2(6)) but it does not clarify what would trigger an American military response. The deliberate uncertainty about whether the United States would intervene in cross-strait conflicts distinctively characterises Washington’s policy of strategic ambiguity. Former United States President Joseph Biden’s repeated security pledges to Taiwan since taking office in 2021 seem to place this policy in doubt. Biden’s response to a reporter of CBS 60-Minutes was unequivocal. When being asked, ‘So unlike Ukraine, to be clear, sir, US forces—US men and women—would defend Taiwan in the event of a Chinese invasion?’ Without hesitation, Biden replied, ‘Yes, if in fact, there was an unprecedented attack’ (Pelley, 2022). Although White House officials later repeatedly indicated that America’s policy towards Taiwan had not changed, Biden’s remarks generated a new round of discussion (e.g., Benson, 2022; Christensen et al., 2022) since this was the fourth time that the President made such a pledge.1 Critics point out that Washington’s deliberate ambiguity about America’s military intervention is not merely designed to deter China from attacking Taiwan. By intentionally being vague on its defence commitment, the policy also intends to keep Taipei from taking actions that may be deemed provocative by Beijing leaders (Bush, 2006). Survey data have consistently shown that few on the island are willing to be ruled by the Chinese Communist government and the majority would opt for independence if a war with China can be avoided (Hsieh & Niou, 2005; Wang, 2017). An unconditional security guarantee from Washington is likely to bolster Taiwan citizens’ unrealistic expectations of America’s defence support and their calls for independence. Because Taiwan is a democracy, the popularly elected Taipei government could take aggressive actions under public pressure, which will certainly invite Beijing’s military attacks and drag the United States into an unwanted war with China. Employing the theory of deterrence and survey data collected in Taiwan during the past 20 years, this article attempts to examine this logic with the following research questions: What is the logic behind Washington’s policy of strategic ambiguity? Why is there a call for clarity in the first place? And, what are the concerns about a policy of clarity? What would Donald Trump’s second term as the President of the United States mean for Washington’s policy on Taiwan? The Functioning of Strategic Ambiguity Fierce fighting broke out between troops led by the Nationalist Party (Kuomintang or KMT) and the Chinese Communist Party (CCP) on the Chinese mainland at the end of the Second World War. Under the weight of corruption, the KMT government suffered a disastrous military defeat and retreated to the island of Taiwan. As geopolitical tension mounted, Washington signed a mutual defence treaty with Taipei to contain the expansion of Communism. Several major battles were fought in the 1950s and 1960s across the Taiwan Strait. With America’s assistance, Taipei thwarted Communist military attacks on offshore islands held by Taiwan. The 1970s saw a shift in China’s strategy away from a reliance on the ‘military liberation’ of the island to a wave of ‘peaceful initiatives’ for China’s unification. However, Chinese leaders continue to regard Taiwan as a renegade province and have refused to recognise it as an equal and legitimate negotiating partner. Attempting to coerce Taipei into acceptance of the unification formula known as ‘one country, two systems’, Beijing has repeatedly warned that it would use ‘any means it deems necessary, including military ones’ (State Council of the PRC, 1993). Taipei’s loss of United Nations (UN) membership in 1971 and the normalisation of relations between China and the United States in 1972 signified Beijing’s decisive diplomatic victory. China’s growing importance in international affairs has led many countries, including the United States, to break diplomatic relations with Taiwan. After the United States and China established official ties in 1979, Washington has maintained an ‘unofficial’ relationship with Taipei. With an aim to maintain cross-strait peace and stability, the policy of strategic ambiguity was gradually articulated in the subsequent years and has become America’s key policy towards the Taiwan issue. In essence, strategic ambiguity is a policy of deterrence aiming to prevent a target state from taking unwanted actions. The deterrent effect is accomplished by the deterring state’s threat of taking actions that will potentially deny the target state’s expected gains or punish it to the extent that the costs of the unwanted acts exceed the gains it hopes to acquire. In order to be effective, the deterring state needs to show that it (a) possesses sufficient retaliatory capability to deny the fruits of unwanted actions; and (b) has the resolve to use the force so that the target state is persuaded that the threats are credible (Chan, 2003; Christensen, 2002; Wang, 2010). As the world’s only superpower, few countries can withstand the weight of American power if it were deployed against them. Washington has also demonstrated that it has the resolve to use force, as the 1995–1996 Taiwan Strait Crisis has shown. Triggered by Beijing’s military exercises and missile tests aiming to intimidate Taiwan voters on the eve of the island country’s first popular presidential election, the Clinton administration responded by dispatching two aircraft carrier battle groups to the vicinity of Taiwan. Although some may question Washington’s resolve due to the perceived decline of American power, wars in Iraq and in Afghanistan still serve as reminders of its resolve of deploying military might. Previous literature has demonstrated that credible threat is not sufficient to deter unwanted behaviour, as an effective deterrence also needs convincing assurance (Christensen, 2002; Christensen et al., 2022; Schelling, 1966). The target state will have little incentive to comply with the deterring state’s demand if it believes that it will ultimately lose its principal values. This is why various United States administrations have repeatedly assured Chinese leaders that Washington does not support Taiwan independence lest Beijing use force to realise its cause of unification for fear of Taiwan’s permanent separation from China. The flip side of this logic is to remind Taipei that America’s security commitment is not without conditions. The goal is to discourage Taiwan from taking aggressive actions towards independence, which will certainly provoke military attacks from China. Thus, the potential of taking actions to impose costs that outweigh the benefits of an unwanted action is a form of deterrence. The prospect of inaction can also exert a deterrent effect as it can raise the expected cost of unwanted acts of the target state. Washington’s ambiguous posture is said to have the effect of ‘dual deterrence’ (Bush, 2006). On the one hand, it deters Beijing from using military force against Taiwan since Chinese leaders are unsure if Washington would be involved militarily. On the other hand, it dissuades Taipei from pursuing de jure independence so that cross-strait military conflicts can be avoided. Through a web of incentives and disincentives, Washington’s strategic ambiguity has been praised as one of the most successful foreign policies as it has maintained cross-strait peace and stability for several decades. Why the Call for Clarity? If Washington’s policy has been effective, why are there calls for change? The answer lies in China’s revisionist behaviours, which have become increasingly assertive and aggressive. Indeed, deterrence diplomacy is effective only when targeted actors are conditional revisionists. Christensen (2002) provides a useful typology of different political actors for analysis. Countries like Japan, France and the United Kingdom (UK) are ‘unprovokable friends’ of the United States. They may be annoyed with Washington’s policies from time to time, like France’s fury over a submarine deal after Australia cancelling a multi-billion-dollar order with a French company and turning to the United States and the UK for a new contract (Sanger, 2021). The governments of these countries have no intention to challenge America’s fundamental national interests. Nor does Washington see them as potential threats. While deterrence diplomacy is not needed for unprovokable friends, there are also ‘undeterrable ideologues’ to whom the threat of deterrence is futile. Political actors like Hitler’s Germany and Osama bin Laden’s Al-Qaeda network are determined to pursue their political objectives and simply cannot be dissuaded. In addition to unprovokable friends and undeterrable ideologues, there is a third type of political actor—‘conditional revisionists’. They are willing to exploit opponents’ weaknesses in order to change the status quo but would refrain from taking action unless opportunities arise. Because the deterring state can hold the target state’s prized possessions hostage while at the same time provide convincing assurance, the latter has the incentive to comply with the former’s demands. This logic underlies the success of strategic ambiguity because, for much of the time since 1979, China did not possess the capabilities to directly or indirectly coerce Taiwan or challenge America’s deterrence policy. The world has witnessed a different China since the end of the twentieth century as the country has experienced rapid economic expansion. Figure 1 shows that China’s annual GDP growth rates between 1981 and 2023 generally ranged from 7.5% to 10%. With its enormous economic resources, Beijing has launched an effort to modernise its military. During the 20-year period between 1989 and 2010, as Figure 2 demonstrates, China’s military expenditures as a percentage of government spending were between 7% and 17%, far exceeding those of Japan, France and the UK. In addition to acquiring new weapon systems, the People’s Liberation Army has also developed anti-access area denial capabilities, raising concerns among American officials (Maizland, 2020; Olay, 2024). Such capabilities aim to neutralise the United States and its allies’ ability to project power in the Western Pacific region, including in the area close to Taiwan. Beijing, in recent years, has aggressively expanded its military presence in the South China Sea (Centre for Preventive Action, 2022), engaged in border disputes with India, and constructed military outposts in Bhutan (Barnett, 2021). China has also built numerous ‘re-education camps’ in Xinjiang, engaged in ‘serious’ human rights violations against Uyghurs and other Muslim minorities in the region (UN Human Rights Office of the High Commissioner, 2022) and imposed repressive responses to the pro-democracy movement in Hong Kong (Wang, 2023). With Beijing’s continuing alignment with Moscow after Russia’s invasion of Ukraine, Chinese leaders have shown to the world that they are willing to defy international opinions and forcefully assert their growing power inside and beyond China’s boundaries.  Figure 1. China’s GDP Growth Rate: 1961–2023.Source: World Bank Group (various years-a).  Figure 2. Military Expenditure by Country as a Percentage of Government Spending: 1989–2023.Source: SIPRI (various years). In this context, aggregated national power has increasingly shifted to Beijing’s favour over the past decades. Figures 3 and 4 juxtapose Taiwan’s and China’s gross domestic product and total military expenditures since the late 1980s. Prior to 2000, as Figure 3 shows, China’s annual GDPs were only two to four times larger than Taiwan’s, but the ratio has expanded to more than 10 times since 2008. By 2010, China overtook Japan to become the world’s second largest economy, far exceeding Taiwan’s economic productivity. Meanwhile, China’s military spending has been 10–20 times that of Taiwan’s since 2009, as Figure 4 demonstrates. After Chinese leaders invalidated their promises of a ‘high-degree of autonomy’ to Hong Kong under the unification plan, observers believe Taiwan is their next target (Lopez, 2022). Since Tsai Ing-wen of the pro-independence Democratic Progressive Party (DPP) was elected Taiwan’s president in 2016, Beijing has furthered its effort of isolating Taipei internationally and escalated its belligerent behaviours by repeatedly dispatching naval vessels and warplanes circulating the island and violating its Air Defence Identification Zone (ADIZ; refer to Ministry of National Defence R.O.C., various years). In recent years, Chinese leaders further heightened their military pressure by repeatedly launched live-fire drills in water close to Taiwan, frequently with a record number of military aircraft and naval vessels (Ng & Wingfield-Hayes, 2024). China’s rapid technological advancement also allows it to infiltrate Taiwan’s IT infrastructure (Lonergan & Mueller, 2022). These developments have led to a warning from United States Navy Admiral John Aquilino in 2021 that China could be prepared to take Taiwan by force by 2027 (Lendon, 2021).  Figure 3. Ratio of China and Taiwan Gross Domestic Productivity: 1991–2023.Source: World Bank Group (various years-b) and National Statistics, R.O.C. (Taiwan) (various years).  Figure 4. Ratio of China and Taiwan Military Expenditures: 1989–2023.Source: SIPRI (various years). Observers, therefore, have noted that China is no longer a conditional revisionist but has turned into a revisionist that has the ability and intention to change the status quo. Some in the United States argue that ambiguity is unlikely to deter an increasingly assertive and threatening China towards Taiwan. Instead, they maintain, ‘[t]he time has come for the United States to introduce a policy of strategic clarity: one that makes explicit that the United States would respond to any Chinese use of force against Taiwan’ (Haass & Sacks, 2020). This is a view that the Biden administration also holds. Characterising China as a revisionist with both the intent and the ability ‘to reshape the international order’, the Biden administration acknowledged that China is the greatest challenger to the United States and its allies (White House, 2022, p. 23). Because ‘we cannot rely on Beijing to change its trajectory’, it is upon Washington to ‘shape the strategic environment around Beijing’ (Blinken, 2022). Thus, supporting Taiwan and strengthening its defence capabilities are crucial for America’s response to China’s growing coercion. Observers also point out that Washington’s ambiguous posture, while aiming to discourage unwanted actions of targeted states, may lead to miscalculation and risky behaviours. Leaders in both Beijing and Taipei have ‘obvious incentives to misrepresent their true perceptions concerning United States resolve’ (Kastner, 2006, p. 662). The tendency is particularly strong for Chinese leaders as the equation that previously made ambiguity a feasible policy has changed. Rather than maintain stability, it is argued, ambiguity may contribute to cross-strait instability and drag the United States into an unwanted conflict with China. In addition, no response to a Chinese military invasion of a democratic Taiwan would damage Washington’s reputation as the guardian of democracy and create the perception that the United States is not a reliable partner (Schmitt and Mazza, 2020). If American allies in the region conclude that Washington can no longer be counted on, they would be likely to accommodate Beijing’s demands as a result. Alternatively, some in the region may band together to balance a rising China, leading to tension and instability in one of the most dynamic areas of international commerce. Both would threaten America’s interests in the region and hurt Washington’s global leadership. Beijing’s forceful takeover of Taiwan would mean that China could then project its naval power beyond the first island chain, directly threatening the maritime security of the United States and its allies. Taiwan’s autonomy has also become a vital geopolitical interest and a national security issue for the United States due to the island’s dominant role in the semiconductor manufacturing market. It is estimated that the United States and other countries would lose access to 85% of all leading-edge microprocessors if China were to invade Taiwan tomorrow (Fadel, 2022). Beijing’s threatening military exercises, after United States House Speaker Nancy Pelosi’s visit to Taipei and the inauguration of pro-independence Lai Ching-te as Taiwan’s president, further underscore the need of revising the policy of strategic ambiguity. There have been a number of developments in the first Trump administration reflecting the growing sentiment that Beijing’s revisionist behaviour needs a robust and unambiguous response, including an unambiguous support for Taiwan. These included dispatching cabinet-level officials and military officers to Taipei and selling a large quantity of advanced weapons to Taiwan. The United States Congress also passed the Taiwan Travel Act of 2018 and the Taiwan Allies International Protection and Enhancement Initiative (TAIPEI) of 2020. The former permits high-level United States officials to travel to Taipei and meet their Taiwanese counterparts, while the latter aims to assist Taiwan in maintaining existing diplomatic relations. After Biden took office in 2021, his administration has further pursued a coherent and comprehensive approach for ‘broadening and deepening’ United States–Taiwan relations. It includes inviting Taiwan’s de factor ambassador to the United States as an official guest to the presidential inauguration (Blanchard, 2021), dispatching a delegation to Taipei sending a ‘personal signal’ of support from the President (Brunnstrom & Martina, 2021), providing large packages of arms sales (Chung et al., 2024), strengthening bilateral economic ties, and re-confirming Taiwan’s status as a major non-NATO ally (US Government Publishing Office, 2022). All of these efforts aim to advance the island country’s security, prosperity and respect in the international community. The Biden administration’s efforts to internationalise the Taiwan issue have been further noted. Wording like ‘the importance of peace and stability across the Taiwan Strait’ was mentioned at the United States–Japan (White House, 2021b), United States–Korea (White House, 2021a), Japan–Australia (Prime Minister of Australia, 2022) and G7 summits (European Council, 2021). For the first time, the issue of Taiwan’s security has been included in the communique of so many major powers’ summit meetings, which shows the Biden administration’s effort of building an international coalition to constrain a threatening China that will benefit Taiwan. In this context, Biden has repeatedly vowed to defend Taiwan, indicating that the United States would intervene militarily in the event of a Chinese invasion, prompting many to speculate if Washington has changed its long-standing policy of strategic ambiguity. Issues with Clarity Critics point out that a policy of strategic clarity involves risks. Chief among those is a clear security pledge like the one given by Biden, which is likely to bolster Taiwan citizens’ unrealistic expectation of America’s defence support, which will then motivate the public’s calls for independence. Under public pressure, the popularly elected Taipei government could take aggressive actions and will provoke a violent reaction from Beijing. Meanwhile, the public’s overconfidence does not match America’s military actions that would support an ally or a friend (Benson, 2022). The Biden administration’s decision to provide Ukraine with security assistance but refrain from putting American boots on the ground clearly demonstrates Washington’s reluctance to undertake direct military intervention in overseas conflicts. Taiwan citizens’ impracticable confidence in the United States’ defence commitment may destabilise the cross-strait relationship and bring harm to the island country. Thus, some pundits consider Biden’s move towards a policy of clarity ‘reckless’ (e.g., Beinart, 2021). The above concern is a valid one. Figure 5 presents the trend of public preferences on Taiwan’s international status during the past two decades. The top two dashed lines show that roughly 15%–35% of Taiwanese citizens prefer the status quo indefinitely, and about one-third of them are ‘undetermined’ regarding the island’s future status in the international community. The middle two solid lines show that there is a small but increasing proportion of respondents prefer to keep the status quo now but move towards independence in the future, and that proportion has increased quite dramatically since 2018. An even smaller and declining proportion of them favour unification as a final goal. The bottom two dashed lines indicate that less than 10% of the island’s residents want to pursue immediate unification or independence. Taken together, the figure demonstrates that very few on the island want to be ruled by the Chinese Communist government as it is now. The vast majority of them want to maintain the status quo and prefer either a ‘kinder, gentler’ version of de facto independence, that is, maintaining status quo forever, or a permanent separation from China in the future.  Figure 5. Taiwan Citizens’ Position on Independence and Unification: 1994–2024.Source: Election Study Center, National Chengchi University (January 13, 2025). While Taiwan’s citizens prefer to preserve their democratic way of life, they understand the pursuit of independence will encounter violent reaction from China. Figure 6 shows that the majority of the public express a preference for de jure independence if cross-strait conflicts could be averted, but support for independence declines substantially if they believe that Beijing would launch an attack on Taiwan.2 Figure 7 also shows that 50%–60% of island citizens consistently believe that the United States will come to Taiwan’s defence if China launches an attack. The level of confidence is particularly high among supporters of the ruling DPP, which has a plank of pursuing Taiwan’s de jure independence. The above figures reveal that the public’s preferences over the island’s future relations with China are consistently conditioned by perceived risks. That is, they will refrain from declaring Taiwan’s independence if it involves such high risks as warring with China. The conditionality of Taiwanese citizens’ preferences indicates that, collectively, they are conditional revisionists; that is, they would refrain from taking actions unless opportunities arise. In addition, the public is highly confident that the United States will come to Taiwan’s aid if there is a cross-strait military conflict. Thus, strategic clarity is likely to further bolster Taiwan citizens’ unrealistic expectation of Washington’s security commitment as well as their support for policies that may be deemed provocative by Beijing leaders.  Figure 6. Support Independence With/Without War With China, 2003–2024.Source: Program in Asian Security Studies (Various years).  Figure 7. Taiwan Citizens’ Confidence in United States Security Commitment: 2003–2020.Source: Program in Asian Security Studies (Various years). The above findings appear to validate the concerns of proponents of strategic ambiguity, but a recent study with panel data collected on the island may alleviate such a concern (Wang & Cheng, 2023). Contrary to our expectations, Taiwanese citizens’ confidence in Washington’s security commitment has not increased but, in fact, decreased after Biden’s security pledges. The decline in confidence was mainly due to the pro-independence respondents’ shifting views. As noted, supporters of Taiwan independence historically have a higher level of confidence in America’s security commitment, which is cognitively consistent with their determination of pursuing the island country’s permanent separation from China. The war in Ukraine may be an awakening call for them as it demonstrates the Western hesitancy to undertake direct military intervention in overseas conflicts. The United States can have similar avoidance in a situation involving Taiwan. Despite Biden’s verbal assurance, actions speak louder than words. Pro-independence citizens’ shifting attitudes thus explain the declining confidence in Washington’s security commitment, which can also soften their calls for aggressive actions towards independence. Because panel analysis has long been considered one of the best ways of examining persistence and change of individuals’ attitudes, the results of the study are worth noting. Another identified pitfall of strategic clarity is that it signals what one ‘is prepared to take a risk for’ and ‘what one would ignore’ (Chang-Liao & Fang, 2021, p. 51). Given the heavy costs and uncertain outcomes, Chinese leaders are likely to avoid launching direct military attacks on Taiwan. Instead, they have employed and may continue to employ such ‘grey zone’ tactics as imposing economic sanctions on Taiwanese products, attacking the island’s information technology infrastructure, violating the island’s ADIZ and conducting military exercises for a de facto blockade. Without embarking on a conventional invasion of Taiwan that a policy of clarity intends to deter, these ‘low-intensity’ tactics can nonetheless have the effect of exhausting Taipei’s resources and eroding its resolve. Rather than discouraging Beijing’s aggressive and threatening behaviours, strategic clarity could undercut the effect of Washington’s deterrence policy. Such a criticism is also a legitimate concern, but it ignores the fact that Beijing embarked on grey zone approaches against Taiwan long before recent calls for clarity. This means that without setting a clear threshold for intervention has not stopped Chinese leaders from taking low-intensity provocations. China’s increasing clout and the perceived decline of America’s relative power seem to be the underlying factors to Beijing’s aggressive behaviour. Chinese leaders are apparently counting on Washington being ‘reactive and risk-averse’ (Sussex & Moloney, 2021). It will be incumbent on the United States to show its determination to confront China with coordinated responses. America’s policy of strategic ambiguity, therefore, remains crucial for cross-strait peace and stability, but it needs to be recalibrated. As China increasingly turns out to be a revisionist power, it is necessary for Washington to adjust its ambiguous posture in order to counter Beijing’s increasingly belligerent behaviour. The recalibration does not have to be a binary choice between ambiguity and clarity. Both policies can be treated as two ends of a continuum and can be adjusted accordingly. Given Beijing’s intense pressure campaign, Washington can step up its commitment to help Taiwan to defend itself for protecting democracy and America’s national interests. These measures include the development of a ‘porcupine’ defence strategy by enhancing Taipei’s asymmetric warfare capability, building military stockpile and forming an effective civil defence. Washington can also expand Taiwan’s integration with the international community lest Beijing employ its grey zone tactics to further isolate Taipei and deepen the island’s economic vulnerability. Ultimately, a successful deterrence policy will also depend on Washington’s convincing assurance that it would not support Taiwan’s pursuit of independence. Chinese leaders have a deep suspicion that the United States has a covert attempt to undermine China’s unification with Taiwan. America’s recalibration of its policy of strategic ambiguity is likely to be interpreted as a confirmation of their suspicion. If Beijing leaders believe that America’s policy will lead to Taiwan’s permanent separation from China, they are unlikely to submit to Washington’s demands. Trump 2.0 Donald Trump’s 2025 return to the White House for a second term as the president of the United States has added uncertainty to the policy of strategic ambiguity. Observers have noted that Trump is sceptical of the value of friends and allies as well as the benefits of international partnerships and alliances (Bush & Haas, 2024). Under the slogan of ‘America First’, he removed the United States from the Trans-Pacific Partnership (Lobosco, 2018), the Paris Climate Accord (White House, 2017, 2025a), the Intermediate-Range Nuclear Forces (INF) Treaty (Pompeo, 2019) and the UN Human Rights Council (White House, 2025b) and has mandated a comprehensive review of all international organisations to determine if the United States should withdraw its membership from or end its support for these organisations (White House, 2025b). He repeatedly admonished members of NATO, South Korea and Japan for not paying enough for United States protection (Reuters, 2024). His contempt for alliances and security partnerships has upended decades of American international engagement. In this context, two developments have direct implications for Taiwan. First, Trump has expressively suggested that the United States acquire Greenland (Erlanger & Smialek, 2025), take control of the Panama Canal (New York Times, 2025), and annex Canada as the 51st state of the United States (Colvin, 2025). His ambition for territory expansion has alarmed the world community3 and undermines an international principle that borders should not be changed through force or coercion. Trump’s threat regarding Greenland, the Panama Canal and Canada could potentially embolden Chinese leaders to consider taking Taiwan by force (Sacks, 2025). Second, unlike Biden’s emphasis on the defence of democratic values in his support for American allies, Trump has taken a transactional approach to international affairs. His dealing with the Russo–Ukrainian conflict is a case in point. The Trump administration has placed heavy pressure on the Ukrainian government to sign over a huge portion of its mineral wealth to the United States in exchange for helping the country to defend itself (Taub, 2025). Some speculate that Trump’s alignment with Russia represents a strategy of ‘reverse Kissinger’ aiming to counter China’s rise (Editorial Board, 2025). Though such a strategy may potentially benefit Taiwan, many on the island are nevertheless alarmed by the Trump administration’s approach to the conflict, questioning if they can continue to count on American support (Buckley & Chien, 2025). Because Trump has expressed his desire to negotiate a broad economic deal with Beijing (Swanson, 2025), the Chinese government may offer concessions on a trade deal in exchange for Washington’s positions on Taiwan without Taipei’s involvement. Indeed, Trump has expressed scepticism about Taiwan’s value compared to China (Llorente, 2024). He previously also questioned America’s ability to defend the island country (Bolton, 2020). Even though the State Department recently removed the long-standing phrase that ‘[w]e do not support Taiwan independence’ from its Taiwan factsheet (US Department of State, 2021), leading some to speculate if it represents a strategic shift (Tao, 2025), Trump’s dubious attitude about the island country was fully displayed in a previous interview. Speaking in a transactional tone, Trump argued that ‘Taiwan should pay us for defence’ because ‘we’re no different than an insurance company. Taiwan doesn’t give us anything’. He also complained that Taiwan had taken ‘almost 100%’ of the chip industry from the United States (Kharpal, 2024). In response to Trump’s inimical demands, by displaying Taiwan’s tangible value to the United States, the Taipei government has pledged to increase its defence spending to 3% of Taiwan’s gross domestic product (Office of the President, Republic of China [Taiwan], 2025). The Taiwan Semiconductor Manufacturing Company (TSMC)—the world’s largest chip manufacturer that produces the most advanced semiconductors—also announced plans to invest an additional $100 billion to expand its operations in the United States (Tang & Price, 2025).4 While the investment announcement was viewed favourably by Trump (Chung & Lee, 2025), it may be interpreted by Chinese leaders as a lack of resolve on the part of his administration due to Trump’s scepticism and versatile mindset. Given that credible threat is key to deterrence policy, the future and effectiveness of strategic ambiguity in Trump’s second term will be uncertain.ConclusionThe Taiwan Strait has been described as ‘the most dangerous place on Earth’ (Economist, 2021). A military conflict between China and Taiwan will have significant consequences. In addition to causing damage and human suffering on both sides, such a conflict could escalate into a direct confrontation involving two nuclear powers, threaten regional stability in East Asia, and undermine the prosperity of one of the most dynamic regions in the global economy. Washington’s policy of strategic ambiguity has been effective in maintaining cross-strait peace and stability for several decades, but a recalibration is necessary due to an increasingly powerful and assertive China. Instead of changing to a policy of strategic clarity, the United States can adjust its ambiguous posture through strengthening Taiwan’s defence capabilities and advancing its international integration. By assuring that Washington seeks regional peace and stability, not Taiwan’s independence, the effects of the deterrence policy can be maintained, and risks of cross-strait military conflicts can be minimised. Trump’s return to the White House nevertheless has disrupted America’s traditional foreign policy of promoting freedom and democracy. Although he has not clarified the administration’s position on America’s support for Taiwan, his transactional approach suggests that he might use the cross-strait relationship as leverage over Beijing. Washington’s policy towards Taiwan is expected to be less predictable, potentially leading to a volatile Taiwan Strait during Trump’s second term. Declaration of Conflicting Interests The author declared no potential conflicts of interest with respect to the research, authorship and/or publication of this article.FundingThe author received no financial support for the research, authorship and/or publication of this article.Footnotes1. Biden previously provided such an assurance in May of 2022 (Kanno-Youngs & Baker, 2022), October of 2021 (Hunnicutt, 2021) and August of 2021 (ABC News, 2021). 2. The attempts to explore the conditionality of Taiwanese residents’ policy preferences include Hsieh and Niou (2005), Niou (2004) and Wu (1993, 1996). 3. There have been strong public reactions in Canada to Trump’s threats to make Canada the 51st state of the United States. 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New York Times. Retrieved, 4 March 2025, from https://www.nytimes.com/2025/02/19/business/economy/trump-china-trade-deal.html Tang D., & Price M. L. (2025, March 3). Giant chipmaker TSMC to spend $100B to expand chip manufacturing in US, Trump announces. Associated Press. Retrieved, 5 March 2025, from https://apnews.com/article/trump-tsmc-chip-manufacturing-tariffs-42980704ffca62e823182422ee4b7b83 Tao B. X. (2025, February 18). Did the US just change its Taiwan policy? The Diplomat. Retrieved, 6 March 2025, from https://thediplomat.com/2025/02/did-the-us-just-change-its-taiwan-policy/ Taub A. (2025, February 25). Trump’s Ukraine mineral deal is seen as ‘protection racket’ diplomacy. New York Times. Retrieved, 4 March 2025, from https://www.nytimes.com/2025/02/25/world/europe/trump-us-ukraine-mineral-deal.html?searchResultPosition=3 UN Human Rights Office of the High Commissioner. (2022, August 31). OHCHR assessment of human rights concerns in the Xinjiang Uyghur Autonomous Region, People’s Republic of China. United Nations. Retrieved, 10 September 2022, from https://www.ohchr.org/sites/default/files/documents/countries/2022-08-31/22-08-31-final-assesment.pdf US Department of State. (2021, January 20). Major non-NATO ally status [Fact sheet]. Retrieved, 18 September 2022, from https://www.state.gov/major-non-nato-ally-status/ US Government Publishing Office. (2022). Public Law 117-263—James M. Inhofe National Defense Authorization Act for Fiscal Year 2023. GovInfo. Retrieved, 10 March 2025, from https://www.govinfo.gov/content/pkg/PLAW-117publ263/pdf/PLAW-117publ263.pdf Wang T.Y. (2010). Cross-strait rapprochement and US policy toward the Taiwan issue. Issues & Studies, 46(3), 129–149. Wang T.Y. (2017). Taiwan citizens’ views on cross-strait relations: Pragmatic but ambivalent. In Cheng T. J., & Lee W.-C. (Eds.), National security, public opinion and regime asymmetry: A six country study (pp. 21–48). World Scientific. Wang T.Y. (Ed.). (2023). Hong Kong and the 2019 anti-extradition bill movement [Special issue]. Journal of Asian and African Studies, 58(1). https://doi.org/10.1177/00219096221124983 Wang T.Y., & Cheng S.-F. (2023). Strategic clarity and Taiwan citizens’ confidence in US security commitment. Asian Survey, 64(1), 54–78. White House. (2017, June 1). Statement by President Trump on the Paris Climate Accord. Retrieved, 12 November 2024, from https://trumpwhitehouse.archives.gov/briefings-statements/statement-president-trump-paris-climate-accord/ White House. (2021a, May 21). US-ROK leaders’ joint statement [Briefing room]. Retrieved, 6 September 2021, from https://www.whitehouse.gov/briefing-room/statements-releases/2021/05/21/u-s-rok-leaders-joint-statement/ White House. (2021b, April 16). US-Japan joint leaders’ statement: ‘US–Japan global partnership for a new era’ [Briefing room]. Retrieved, 10 December 2023, from https://www.whitehouse.gov/briefing-room/statements-releases/2021/04/16/u-s-japan-joint-leadersstatement-u-s-japan-global-partnership-for-a-new-era/ White House. (2022, October). National security strategy. Retrieved, 1 November 2022, from https://www.whitehouse.gov/wp-content/uploads/2022/10/Biden-Harris-Administrations-National-Security-Strategy-10.2022.pdf White House. (2025a, January 20). Putting America first in international environmental agreements. Federal Register. Retrieved, 4 March 2025, from https://www.federalregister.gov/documents/2025/01/30/2025-02010/putting-america-first-in-international-environmental-agreements White House. (2025b, February 5). Withdrawing the United States from and ending funding to certain United Nations organizations and reviewing United States support to all international organizations. 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Defense & Security
President Donald Trump with Saudi Crown Prince Mohammed Bin Salman and President of Syria Ahmed al-Sharaa (2025)

What Does the Easing of Anti-Syrian Sanctions Mean?

by Alexey Khlebnikov

한국어로 읽기 Leer en español In Deutsch lesen Gap اقرأ بالعربية Lire en français Читать на русском Six months have passed since the Hayat Tahrir al-Sham group [1], led by Abu Mohammad al-Julani (now known as Ahmad al-Sharaa), took power in Syria. Shortly before that, on the other side of the world, Donald Trump won the presidential election in the United States, and the whole world turned its attention to what the foreign policy of the new resident of the White House would actually look like. The new Syrian authorities watched him more attentively than others, fully understanding that Trump’s policy toward their country would largely determine their own future and the future of Syria. At the same time, after six months in power, despite certain efforts, the new Syrian leadership has so far failed to fundamentally resolve key socio-economic problems in the country, the issues of disarmament and the integration of armed groups into a unified army, restore effective control over borders and weapons, ensure internal security for all—including minorities—and launch a truly inclusive transitional political process. Of course, achieving all of this is extremely difficult given that external actors play one of the key roles in these matters. Therefore, the events of recent weeks—especially actions by the United States—are very important for Syria and the region. Let us examine what consequences the easing of U.S. sanctions might have for Damascus, the Middle Eastern region, and Russia. The Easing of American Sanctions On May 13, during his Middle East tour, U.S. President Donald Trump announced his intention to initiate the process of lifting all sanctions on Syria, which was a rather unexpected move, as even within the president's own administration there was no consensus on the matter. For Damascus and other regional players, this statement became a long-awaited step from Washington. Later, on May 23, the U.S. Department of the Treasury’s Office of Foreign Assets Control (OFAC) issued General License (GL) 25 for Syria, which launched the process of easing sanctions in accordance with Trump’s statement. In particular, all transactions with Syria and the Syrian government that were prohibited by the Syrian Sanctions Regulations were authorized, effectively loosening existing restrictions. It is worth noting that since January 6, 2025, General License 24 had already been in effect for six months, authorizing certain previously prohibited transactions with the Syrian government and Central Bank. Essentially, GL 25 expanded the sanctions relief that had been initiated at the end of the Biden administration. In addition to GL 25, the U.S. State Department suspended the sanctions stipulated by the Caesar Act for 180 days, which, according to Washington's plan, is intended to encourage foreign partners, U.S. allies, and regional players to begin economic and financial engagement with Syria’s new authorities. However, their temporary suspension for six months indicates a gradual approach to lifting restrictions. At the same time, the easing of sanctions is not so simple or unambiguous. First, since 1979, numerous sanctions have been imposed on Syria, including both presidential executive orders and laws approved by Congress. This makes a full repeal of sanctions a complex and slow process, as some of them will require congressional approval. Second, not all restrictions have been lifted. Furthermore, the Trump administration can rather easily and quickly reinstate them. Instead of completely repealing the fundamental sanctions laws, OFAC issued a General License. This means that if the new Syrian authorities don’t succeed in removing foreign fighters, fighting terrorism, and protecting religious and ethnic minorities, OFAC can just cancel GL 25 and bring back the previous restrictions. Similarly, the State Department may choose not to extend the 180-day suspension of the Caesar Act. Clearly, the U.S. will monitor the situation in Syria and the progress of the new authorities. Thus, GL 25 and the suspension of the Caesar Act should be seen not merely as a gift from Trump, but as a leverage tool for the U.S. over Syria’s new government. Third, in exchange for lifting sanctions, Trump expects rather problematic steps from the new Syrian authorities. During an unexpected meeting with Syria’s new president on May 14, the White House leader urged him to normalize relations with Israel (potentially through joining the Abraham Accords or striking a new deal). This is a highly difficult step, as it is likely to provoke a negative reaction from radicals within HTS, as well as from ordinary citizens, which may ultimately trigger new escalation in Syria. Trump also called for the cleansing of foreign fighters and terrorists from the ranks of the Syrian military. This request is also problematic, as Julani still relies on them and continues to promote them into positions within the new army. Moreover, removing foreign fighters and radicals may also spark discontent and retaliatory actions against Julani and his supporters. In this regard, the new Syrian authorities find themselves in a very ambiguous situation. Having come to power as radical Islamists and terrorists, they have begun to use different tools to ensure their political survival — namely, the lifting of U.S. sanctions and the acquisition of external financial and economic aid. To achieve this, they must get rid of those through whom they gained power in Syria, and solving this problem is only a matter of time. What Does Sanctions Relief Mean for Syria? Trump’s Plan to Lift Sanctions on Syria Could Mean the Following: First, the easing of sanctions will lend greater legitimacy to the new Syrian authorities and increase their public support. Syrians have been waiting for the lifting of sanctions for many years. They are hoping for improvements in the humanitarian and socio-economic situation, which has only worsened since 2020, and for the start of full-scale reconstruction of the country. Trump’s decision gives them hope, which in turn increases support for the new Syrian authorities. Second, radical Islamist forces in Syria view Ash-Sharaa’s engagement with the West as a threat to their prospects in Syria and beyond. In their view, he has begun to betray “revolutionary” and “Islamist” values and “sell them out” in exchange for political and economic benefits from the West. It is important to note that in a recent fatwa, one of the Salafi ideologues, Abu Muhammad al-Maqdisi, declared Syria’s interim president Ahmad Ash-Sharaa (and his supporters) an unbeliever for “abandoning Islamic law in favor of man-made laws.” Additionally, ISIS recently called on HTS militants dissatisfied with the policies of the new Syrian government to defect. The main threat to such forces lies in the possibility that Ash-Sharaa may ultimately ban and physically eliminate them in exchange for full recognition and economic support from the West. At the same time, the growing internal “jihadist opposition” in Syria could affect the country’s stability, since the government still doesn’t control all of the territory and doesn’t have full control over weapons and the use of force. As mentioned earlier, a possible normalization between Syria and Israel is also a strong argument used against Ash-Sharaa and a source of tension for hardliners in the country, which creates a challenge for the authorities. Third, Julani is at the same time strengthening his position even further. The meeting with the U.S. president on May 14 improved his image both in the region and around the world. Support from the U.S., shown by that meeting, gives him a way to act against his most radical colleagues and slowly get rid of them. Financial, economic, and military aid from Western and Gulf countries — which Damascus will likely get soon — will let him act more confidently and strictly against his most radical opponents, including Islamist extremists, without being afraid of losing public support. In other words, more international recognition gives Ash-Sharaa more support at home, which lets him weaken the radicals’ claims about his illegitimacy and stop depending on them as a way to control the country. Fourth, Trump’s statement will stimulate economic aid and investments from Gulf states and the EU into Syria. After the U.S. published GL 25 on May 23, the EU followed suit, deciding on May 28 to lift its economic sanctions on Syria. It is worth noting that the EU will also monitor the human rights situation in the country and developments related to the March events on the country’s coast. All potential donors and investors will closely observe the situation and are unlikely to rush with major financial inflows. A step-by-step approach is more likely. Fifth, the gradual improvement of the humanitarian and economic situation will ultimately lead to the mass return of Syrian refugees (according to UN data, about 4.5 million Syrian refugees remain abroad, and around 7.5 million internally displaced persons reside within Syria). On one hand, this will increase the socio-economic burden on the Syrian state, which could create a favorable environment for opposition and radical ideas. On the other hand, it may enable the authorities to increase their public support and gain more potential manpower for rebuilding the country and its economy. At the same time, according to a recent UN report on Syria, “social cohesion in the country remains fragile due to deeply rooted ethnic divisions, prolonged displacement/deportation, and the complex dynamics of IDP and refugee returns.” The conflict has exacerbated divisions between ethnic and sectarian groups, and recent changes in the political landscape have intensified discontent over political representation and inclusiveness, land ownership, access to resources, and control over security. Therefore, it is crucial for the Syrian authorities to promptly secure sufficient resources and tools to create sustainable conditions for the country’s recovery. What Lies Ahead for the Region? First, the GCC countries, especially Qatar, Saudi Arabia, and the UAE, will become more active in Syria. Saudi Arabia and the UAE will try to balance Turkish and Qatari influence in Syria through increased investments, economic projects, and support for the current authorities. It is quite likely that regional economic projects aimed at connecting the countries of the region will be discussed and implemented again. For example, the resumption of the Arab Gas Pipeline, stretching from Egypt through Jordan and Syria to Lebanon, could improve the electricity supply situation in Syria and Lebanon. Second, the mass return of Syrian refugees to their homeland will reduce the socio-economic burden on regional countries—primarily Turkey, Lebanon, and Jordan—on whose territories they are still located. Third, Syria will receive more investments from the EU, which will help accelerate its recovery and allow the European Union to restore its economic positions in Syria. Syria’s economic recovery, in turn, will have a positive effect on Lebanon as well. Fourth, there is a possibility of potential Syrian-Israeli negotiations on normalizing relations. In recent weeks, both sides have already established direct contacts and are discussing security issues. However, it is worth mentioning that indirect contacts between the new Syrian authorities and Israel began back in December 2024. The issue here lies in how potential opponents of Julani will exploit this and whether Syrian-Israeli normalization (or even talks about it) will have a destabilizing effect on Syria and the region. What Prospects Open for Russia? First, Moscow has not had major economic interests or assets in Syria. At the same time, it is important to note that General License 25 prohibits transactions beneficial to Russia, Iran, or North Korea (or involving the transfer or provision of goods, technology, software, funds, financing, or services to or from these countries), which limits Moscow’s ability to provide economic assistance to Syria. Hypothetically, if the U.S. were to fully lift all restrictions on Syria’s relations with Russia, Moscow would be able to conclude deals with Damascus in the defense sector (including maintenance of Soviet/Russian military equipment), in the field of industrial restoration (of Soviet/Russian infrastructure facilities), in agriculture, and in education. Second, it is also important to note that since neither Trump’s plan to lift sanctions on Syria nor the EU plan includes a condition for the withdrawal of Russian military bases from Syria (at least not publicly), Moscow retains a greater chance of negotiating more favorable terms for maintaining its military facilities in the country.  *** Thus, one can say that the sanction relief measures by the U.S. and EU are primarily aimed at helping the new Syrian authorities cope with the challenges facing them—severe socio-economic conditions, energy supply issues, reform and restructuring of the armed forces, infrastructure restoration, combating radical Islamists, foreign militants and ISIS, and regaining control over the entire territory of the country. Secondly, they are meant to help strengthen the political position of Damascus and specifically al-Sharaa within the country in order to carry out, as much as possible, a democratic transitional process over the coming years. Thirdly, they signal clearly that sanctions can be lifted if the "right people" come to power and if they act in a certain direction. Fourthly, these sanctions relief measures are essentially tools of influence and pressure, and explicitly tie the easing or removal of sanctions to the behavior of the target. The process of lifting restrictions on Syria will first and foremost open a financial and economic pathway into the country for regional actors who have long been directly interested in stabilizing the situation. As for the U.S. and the EU, it appears that neither is ready to go all in on Syria, preferring a gradual approach while waiting to see how the new authorities in Damascus perform in the coming months. This reflects both the West’s waning interest in the region and the growing agency and role of regional actors. At the same time, it is worth noting that the amount of Western or Gulf investment in Syria is unlikely to affect the quality of internal governance, reform implementation, or the inclusiveness of the transition period. Naturally, by gradually lifting sanctions, the West is trying to create conditions in which it retains leverage over today’s authorities in Damascus. But will the West be ready for the possibility that, over time, this leverage may stop working?  Hayat Tahrir al-Sham is a terrorist organization banned in Russia.ISIS is a terrorist organization banned in the territory of Russia.

Defense & Security
President Donald Trump announces the Golden Dome missile defense system P20250520JB-0081

Trump’s Golden Dome plan threatens to fuel a new arms race

by Julia Cournoyer

한국어로 읽기 Leer en español In Deutsch lesen Gap اقرأ بالعربية Lire en français Читать на русском The plan for an advanced missile defence shield over the US offers no guarantee of success and risks undermining global security. Last week, US President Donald Trump unveiled his $175 billion plan to build the ‘Golden Dome’: a coast-to-coast missile defence shield designed to protect the US against hypersonic, ballistic, and space-based weapons. But far from enhancing US national security, the initiative risks exacerbating global instability and accelerating strategic competition. The concept for the Golden Dome is ambitious. The proposal envisions a multi-layered defence architecture involving hundreds or even thousands of satellites in orbit, equipped with advanced sensors and interceptors, including space-based lasers. These would detect, track, and neutralize incoming missiles and other threats at various stages of flight. In both vision and rhetoric, the plans echo Ronald Reagan’s 1983 Strategic Defence Initiative, often referred to as ‘Star Wars.’ Like the Golden Dome, the SDI proposed a layered defence system that would rely on cutting-edge, and largely untested, technologies to intercept incoming missiles before they could reach US territory. But despite years of investment, the SDI never produced a workable system and was eventually cancelled, exposing the gap between ambition and capability that still exists today. The plan also draws inspiration from Israel’s Iron Dome system. But this comparison is misleading. Israel is much smaller than the US, and its Iron Dome protects the country from short-range, unguided rockets – threats that are limited in number, speed, and direction. Trump’s plan, by contrast, seeks to defend the entire US homeland from far more advanced and numerous threats, including long-range ballistic missiles, hypersonic glide vehicles and orbital delivery systems. The scale, complexity, and technical sophistication required are of a completely different order. Costs – and risks Despite Trump estimating that the system will cost $175 billion and could be built in just three years, the Congressional Budget Office has warned that the space-based components alone could cost as much as $542 billion to deploy and operate over the next 20 years. Fundamental questions remain unanswered: what the system will look like, who will build it, and whether it will function as intended. Investing the necessary resources to develop such an advanced system would require significant trade-offs that could come at the expense of other defence priorities.  The US does not currently have the full spectrum of technology it needs to intercept hypersonic or ballistic missiles in space, which would require interceptors or lasers capable of operating over vast distances with near-instant precision. Pursuing the Golden Dome risks prioritising an expensive and unproven system over more immediate and achievable capabilities, such as improving regional missile defences and cyber resilience to countering emerging threats like drones. The plan also has potentially dangerous strategic consequences. A system that aspires to make the US invulnerable to missile attack would almost certainly be seen by its adversaries as an attempt to undermine the logic of nuclear deterrence. If Washington is perceived to be developing a shield that could one day neutralize a retaliatory nuclear strike, it risks triggering a dangerous global arms race. Beijing and Moscow have already criticized the Golden Dome project as ‘deeply destabilizing’ and could respond with a range of countermeasures, including expanding their offensive arsenals or developing new delivery systems. This arms race could also incentivize the deployment of space-based weapons at a time when space remains dangerously under-regulated. The Golden Dome could therefore undermine global security, making the world a more dangerous place – including for the US. Leverage for diplomacy? Given these risks, the US should instead use the Golden Dome plan as leverage to launch renewed arms control diplomacy. Washington should use the proposal to reinitiate dialogue with other major powers, including Russia and China, on mutual restraint, transparency, and the governance of emerging missile and space-based technologies.  This is especially urgent given the deterioration of existing arms control frameworks. The last major arms control agreement between the US and Russia, the New START Treaty, was suspended by President Vladimir Putin in 2023. It is set to expire in 2026 with no successor in place. Despite China’s growing arsenal, arms control talks between the US and China were also suspended in July 2024 over US arms sales to Taiwan. Meanwhile, rapid advances in missile technology, space systems, and artificial intelligence are outpacing the rules and norms designed to manage them. As geopolitical tensions rise, so does the risk of miscalculation and escalation. The need to revive strategic dialogue is therefore more pressing than ever. While China and Russia may be sceptical of US intentions, the Golden Dome’s space-based elements could create a rare opportunity for renewed arms control dialogue on space security. This might not necessarily focus on warhead reductions, but on more immediate and achievable areas of shared concern.  Space security Space security is one of the most promising and necessary avenues for engagement. As nuclear-armed powers become increasingly reliant on space-based systems for both military and civilian purposes (from early warning systems and communications to navigation and surveillance), the risks of miscalculation or unintended escalation in orbit are growing. A pragmatic and urgently needed step would be to launch dialogue on the norms that should govern behaviour in space, including avoiding close approaches to satellites, limiting the deployment of certain space-based systems, or improving transparency. Even modest measures, such as agreeing to share notifications of satellite launches or discussing dual-use capabilities, could help to build trust and reduce the likelihood of conflict in orbit. By focusing on space, where interests overlap and mutual vulnerabilities are clear, the US could help to re-establish the foundations for wider future strategic dialogue.  Avoiding past mistakes In the 1980s, Reagan’s SDI consumed vast resources, heightened international tensions, and failed to deliver a functioning defence system. It also contributed to an arms race that left the world more divided, not more secure. The Golden Dome risks repeating those same mistakes, but with more players, faster technologies, and fewer guardrails in place. At a time when arms control frameworks are crumbling and global tensions are rising, the announcement of the Golden Dome should be seen as a strategic opportunity to initiate renewed discussions on space security. Framing the proposal as a starting point for dialogue, rather than a signal of unilateral ambition, could help to stabilize a dangerously volatile moment. Otherwise, the project risks pushing the world one step further towards a more contested, militarized, and insecure future.

Defense & Security
Brussels, Belgium – November 06 2023: new pack of economic EU sanctions against Russia, vector cartoon illustration on white

Who supports EU sanctions against Russia’s war in Ukraine? The role of the defence of European values and other socioeconomic factors

by Alessandro Indelicato , Juan Carlos Martína

한국어로 읽기 Leer en español In Deutsch lesen Gap اقرأ بالعربية Lire en français Читать на русском Introduction On 24 February 2022, Russia launched a full-scale invasion of Ukraine, following the military actions that began with the annexation of Crimea in 2014. The conflict is having devastating consequences, including widespread death and displacement, destruction of infrastructure, and a global energy crisis, also heightening geopolitical tensions (Kurapov et al., Citation2023). Pertiwi (Citation2024) contended that since the crisis in Eastern Ukraine and Russia’s annexation of Crimea in 2014, the European Union (EU) has adopted sanctions as the key policy response targeting Russia’s aggressive behaviour. These restrictive measures were applied by the EU in multiple rounds and packages and gradually became the cornerstone of the EU’s policy towards Russia. (p. 61) There is extant literature studying the direct consequences of the war, such as humanitarian crises, economic impacts and geopolitical instability. Numerous countries have experienced food shortages and rising prices due to disruptions in supply chains, worsened by the crisis in Ukraine and the closure of airspace (Hellegers, Citation2022). Concurrently, the war has caused an unprecedentedly volatile energy market, as many European countries were obliged to seek alternative energy sources to Russian imports, demanding more oil and natural gas from alternative suppliers (Liadze et al., Citation2022). The invasion has also fuelled inflation across the EU, not only affecting energy, which is essential in all the sectors of the economy but also other sectors like food, for example, as Ukraine is a major global grain producer (Ozili, Citation2024). The added value and main contribution of this paper is based on the use of grounded social scientific methods like the Fuzzy Hybrid TOPSIS and the Ordered Probit, to analyse the EU citizens’ support of the sanctions against Russia, providing more nuanced insights on what factors are the most important to be in favour and against the sanctions. Thus, in particular, our study contributes to filling one of the important gaps mentioned by Pertiwi (Citation2024) in the analysis of the literature on the EU’s approach to sanctions on Russia. Concretely, our study fills in part the fifth gap in the analysis of causal mechanisms that examine the sanctions, including relevant actors like the EU citizens. Thus, we first provide an in-depth analysis of European citizens’ views on EU sanctions to weaken Russia and support Ukraine. And then, we analyse the main factors that affect the EU citizens’ support of the sanctions taken by the EU against Russia and in favour of Ukraine. The study includes data from 26,461 respondents across the 27 EU Member States, collected through the 98th Eurobarometer survey (Winter 2022–2023), which examined the EU’s response to the war in Ukraine. The paper is organised as follows: Section 2 provides a brief overview of the literature review. Section 3 presents the dataset used, and the methodological approach. In Section 5, the results are presented, followed by Section 5, which offers a thorough discussion of the findings. Finally, Section 6 concludes the paper by summarising the main conclusions drawn from the study, identifying implications, limitations of the study, and potential directions for future research. Literature reviewAttitudes towards EU’s sanctions against Russia war in Ukraine Public sentiment for the EU is a complex phenomenon to study and needs to be approached from different angles, including identity, governance, security and the economy. How the public perceives the EU as a guardian of democratic values and good governance directly influences support for its policies, including sanctions on Russia. Boomgaarden et al. (Citation2011) argue that if the people believe that the EU is going to safeguard democratic principles, then they will identify sanctions as a proper means of safeguarding such principles. However, if there is a lack of trust in the EU to defend such values, there will be little support for such sanctions. The purpose of European identity is primarily to determine people’s views on the EU’s actions. Kende et al. (Citation2018) believe that European identity can have a profound impact on solidarity with common EU policies, such as sanctions. This would imply that the framing of a common European identity can become the most important factor in eliciting public consent for EU programmes, especially in the midst of geopolitical crises. Thus, public opinion on sanctions is also based on perceptions of the EU’s ability to act in the interests of citizens. According to McLean and Roblyer (Citation2016), if citizens perceive the EU as doing the best it can for its citizens, particularly in terms of economic stability and governance, they are more likely to support sanctions against Russia. However, if the EU is perceived as wasteful, or its policies are perceived as economically harmful, then the potential for support for sanctions will be low. This explains the need to ensure that EU action is consistent with shared perceptions of political effectiveness and economic benefit. The imposition of economic sanctions is one of the highest prioritised tools in the modern world, especially against threats to stability and security. The EU sanctions on Russia, especially after the annexation of Crimea and the invasion of Ukraine, have stimulated an immensely wide public discussion (Karlović et al., Citation2021). An important question is: What is the role of perceived security threats in shaping public opinion about these sanctions? It has been made known through investigation that subjective security risk strongly predicts public opinion regarding EU sanctions against Russia. Frye (Citation2019) argues that sanctions are not always supported but vary depending on how people view security threats. Public support is higher when sanctions are framed as protection against an external threat. When sanctions are perceived as a threat to national or economic security, they can generate opposition. The EU’s collective response to the Russia–Ukraine conflict also shows that public opinion on sanctions is shaped by both security interests and normative expectations of justice and self-determination (Bosse, Citation2024). This mutual influence can lead to mixed public responses, with some seeing sanctions as an ethical necessity, while others withdraw their support due to perceived economic and national security risks. The way EU sanctions are proposed and implemented also influences public opinion. According to Sjursen (Citation2015), citizens will be more supportive of sanctions if they see EU institutions as representative and transparent. Conversely, an image of bureaucratic distance or lack of public participation in decision-making can undermine trust and lead to opposition. Thus, in line with this background, we pose our first research question as follows: (1) How do European values and security threats influence the intensity of public support for EU sanctions against Russia?Socioeconomic factors in shaping attitudes towards EU sanctions Support for economic sanctions against Russia is widespread among the EU, varying according to socioeconomic status, demographic characteristics and political engagement. As Frye (Citation2017) has noted, economic prosperity is a key predictor of support for sanctions. Those who are financially ‘safe’ are more likely to support EU-imposed sanctions, as they are less directly affected by the economic burden. Previous studies have shown that those in more affluent income groups or with stable household finances are more likely to support foreign policy actions, such as sanctions, that represent broader European values, even if they are economically costly (Alexandrescu, Citation2024). This is consistent with the findings of Lepeu (Citation2025), which recognises that citizens who rate their own economic situation as ‘very good’ are far more likely to support sanctions than those facing financial hardship. On the other hand, citizens facing economic hardship are less likely to be sanction-supportive if they believe that sanctions will negatively impact inflation, increase unemployment or suppress national economic stability. Onderco (Citation2017) found that economic hardship is associated with higher scepticism towards foreign policy decisions that lack tangible personal benefits. This means that the economic price of sanctions is likely to disproportionately affect support among lower-income individuals. Generational differences also play a role in shaping public opinion on sanctions. Older individuals (over 55 years) are more supportive of EU sanctions, as they have a historical perspective on European security and are more politically engaged (Alexandrescu, Citation2024). On the other hand, younger people (15–34 years) have weaker support, possibly because they have different priorities, such as financial stability and employment, which could be considered more pressing than geopolitical concerns (Onderco, Citation2017). Alexandrescu (Citation2024) also suggests a new generational divide in attitudes towards coercive diplomacy, suggesting that efforts to build popular support for sanctions must consider young Europeans’ concerns and values about economic consequences and political transparency. Political interest is a second important predictor of support for EU sanctions. Politically knowledgeable and engaged citizens tend to be more supportive of EU foreign policy decisions, including sanctions (Alexandrescu, Citation2024). Thus, there is political ideology duality: left and centre-left voters support sanctions if they are anchored in a broader vision of upholding international law and human rights, while centre-right and populist voters are likely to be more sceptical if sanctions are perceived as infringing on national sovereignty (Onderco, Citation2017). As in the literature, the likelihood of being a strong supporter of EU sanctions depends on several socioeconomic and demographic factors, our second research question builds on the following: (2) Do socioeconomic characteristics influence the likelihood of being a strong supporter of EU sanctions against Russia?Dataset and methodology The dataset of the study is based on the Standard Eurobarometer 98.2 (EB98) survey Winter 2022–2023 which was conducted from 12 January to 6 February 2023 in 39 countries or territories. In the study, we only use the dataset from the 27 Member States of the EU, without considering the data from the other twelve additional countries included. The dataset was collected about a year after the start of the Russian invasion of Ukraine, covering the following five topic areas identified by the European Commission (Citation2024): (1) The EU’s response to the invasion of Ukraine; (2) the actions taken as a unified EU response to the invasion; (3) the consequences of the war in Ukraine; (4) the European security threat; and (5) the future EU actions in the wake of the war., and aims to analyse the solidarity of European citizens with the Ukrainian people. The sample size for each country was around 1000 respondents except for Malta with 503, making a total of 26,461 respondents. The endogenous variable of the study is obtained by applying the Fuzzy Hybrid TOPSIS approach to the items of the survey included to measure the degree of support of the respondents towards the measures taken by the EU in response to the Russian invasion of Ukraine. The following five items were included in the analysis: (1) financing the purchase and supply of military equipment to Ukraine; (2) imposing economic sanctions on the Russian government, companies and individuals; (3) providing financial support to Ukraine; (4) providing humanitarian support to the people affected by the war; and (5) welcoming into the EU people fleeing the war. The question introduction was the same for all the items: The EU has taken a series of actions as a response to Russia’s invasion of Ukraine. To what extent do you agree or disagree with each of these actions taken? The responses to the question for each item were given using a complete 5-point Likert scale, where: 1 = totally agree; 2 = tend to agree; 3 = do not know; 4 = tend to disagree; and 5 = totally disagree. The scale was reversed to enhance interpretability, ensuring that higher values are aligned with those citizens who expressed higher support for the measures taken by the EU. The analysis of the variables affecting the citizens’ support was based on the selection of 14 exogenous variables, including age, gender, political interest, perception of the situation in the country, employment personal perception, financial household perception, the labour market perception of the country, the provision of public services perception, the overall image of the EU, the perception of the threat posed by the Russian war in Ukraine to security in the EU and the country itself, the personal perception that standing against the Russian invasion of Ukraine, the EU is defending European values, and the political orientation. More information about the exogenous variables can be found in Table A1 in the appendix. The Ordered Probit model will provide interesting and nuanced results of whether some exogenous variables affect the support of the EU sanctions taken by the EU in response to the Russian invasion. For example, for each of the variables included in the analysis, it will be possible to analyse to what extent some of the categories support more or less the sanctions. Similarly, it will be possible to determine if some of the variables have a significant effect on the level of support. Methodology Opinion surveys are affected by the subjective judgments of respondents, leading to potential inaccuracy in interpreting response categories (Disegna et al., Citation2018). For instance, ‘totally agree’ for one respondent could be equivalent to simply ‘tend to agree’ for another. For this reason, Fuzzy Set Logic methods are becoming very popular in social sciences to manage the uncertainty associated with survey responses effectively (Cantillo et al., Citation2021; Indelicato & Martín, Citation2024). The study uses the Fuzzy Hybrid TOPSIS Approach to calculate the endogenous variable that measures the support (sup) of the respondents towards the sanctions taken by the EU against Russia. The method is grounded in the fuzzy set theory proposed by Zadeh (Citation1965), which was introduced for handling the inherent uncertainty and vagueness of information provided by answers to social surveys (Carlsson & Fullér, Citation2001; Disegna et al., Citation2018; Mamdani & Assilian, Citation1999). There are multiple fuzzy set representations that can be used to associate the categories of the answers given in the survey (Nguyen et al., Citation2005). In the study, we use the Triangular Fuzzy Numbers (TFNs), which are the most used fuzzy sets (Anand & Bharatraj, Citation2017; Wang, Citation2017). The final representation of the answers from the dataset is as follows: (1) totally disagree is represented by (0, 0, 30); (2) tend to disagree by (20, 30, 40); (3) do not know by (30, 50, 70); (4) tend to agree by (60, 70, 80); and (5) totally agree by (70, 100, 100). The hybrid nature of the method is based on the application of the Technique for Order of Preference by Similarity to Ideal Solution (TOPSIS), which calculates the synthetic indicator (Hwang & Yoon, Citation1981). We omit the mathematical formulation of the method for simplicity and ease of exposition. Interested readers can consult many existing papers, such as (Cantillo et al., Citation2023; Indelicato et al., Citation2023; Martín et al., Citation2020; Martín & Indelicato, Citation2023). We will use sup which provides relative support for the sanctions on Russia taken by the EU after invading Ukraine, as the dependent variable for the econometric model. The variable will be categorised into five quintiles according to the ranking of the indicator in order to use an ordered probit model. The marginal effects of the results will be used to analyse the main determinants that explain the highest support of EU citizens. In the study, we use the Daly normalisation for all the categories that act as exogenous variables in the model. Thus, it is possible to determine the marginal effects of each category with respect to the sample-weighted average. We omit the discussion of the technicalities of the model and exogenous variables normalisation. Interested readers can consult Daly et al. (Citation2016), Greene and Hensher (Citation2010), Hensher et al. (Citation2015) and Martin and Roman (Citation2021). Results Figure 1 shows the kernel density of the exogenous variable that measures the support of EU individuals for the sanctions against Russia taken by the EU for the whole sample (panel a) and for those who totally agree and totally disagree with the EU imposing the sanctions to defend European values (panel b). The results indicate that a small number of respondents do not support the sanctions imposed by the EU at all, with 170 citizens giving a score of 1 to all survey items included in the scale. Conversely, a significant portion of the population holds a more neutral position, as shown by responses falling in the range of 0.3–0.6. Additionally, a substantial number of citizens – specifically, 6430 – express their strong support for the sanctions by responding with a score of 5 to all items.  Figure 1. Support kernel density. Panel (b) of the figure clearly distinguishes between the two categories of respondents. It shows that those who strongly support the defence of European values are more in favour of the sanctions compared to those who strongly oppose them. Similar figure patterns are obtained for the categories of those who have a positive or negative image of the EU, and for those who think that the Russian invasion of Ukraine is seen as an important threat to the security of the EU. Nevertheless, this will be further discussed with the results of the ordered probit model. Table 1 shows the main drivers to support or not the sanctions taken by the EU against Russia. The table is obtained from the marginal effects obtained from the ordered probit model, which is in the fifth quintile of the support distribution, and refers to the citizen group of the strong supporters (Table A3, in the appendix). It can be seen that the main drivers to support the sanctions are totally agreeing that by standing against the Russian invasion, the EU is defending European values, having a very good or rather good image of the EU, totally agreeing that the EU security is under threat with the Russian invasion, and to have a very good financial situation in the household. All the coefficients are significant at 999 per thousand. The results of the ordered probit model, as well as the complete table of the marginal effects, can be consulted in the appendix. Table A2 shows that all the exogenous variables affect the support level except the area in which the respondent resides, so the support is transversal to whether the European lives in a rural, middle town or large town. It is also interesting to observe that all the threshold parameters of the ordered probit model result significant, i.e. the five different quintiles of the distribution can be allocated without the need to collapse some of the categories used in the estimation.  Table 1. Main drivers to be or not a strong supporter of the EU sanctions. Interestingly, the main drivers to be in the population segment of those who do not strongly support the EU sanctions are the opposite categories of supporting the sanctions: totally disagreeing or tending to disagree with the defence of European values, totally disagreeing or tending to disagree with the fact that the invasion of Ukraine is a security threat to the EU and having a very bad image of the EU. The coefficients of Table 1 have been extracted from Table A3, and need to be interpreted as follows: the coefficients are the marginal effects of the category to be or not a strong supporter of the EU sanctions. For example, the coefficient of 0.105 for individuals who totally agree that the EU is defending European values by standing against the Russian invasion of Ukraine indicates that this group has a 10.5 per cent higher likelihood of being strong supporters of EU sanctions compared to the average citizen in the overall sample. In a similar manner, the coefficient of −0.225 for the category of total disagreement indicates a 22.5 per cent lower probability of being a strong supporter. Other interesting results that can be seen in the complete marginal effects table (Table A3, in the appendix) are that the type of urbanisation where the respondent lives, namely rural village, small and mid-size town or large town, is the only variable of the twelve under analysis which does not have any significant effect on being a strong supporter of the sanctions. For the rest of the variables, there is always a category with more odds of being or not in the category of strong supporters. It is interesting to note that the younger generations (between 15 and 24 and between 25 and 34) are less likely to be in the category of strong supporters than those over 55, who are significantly more likely to be in this category. Similarly, those who have a strong political interest, have a good personal job situation, think that the economic situation of their country is rather good, are leftist or left-centre, think that the employment situation of the country is rather good, are males, or have a rather good financial situation have a higher probability of being in the category of strong supporters. Conclusions In a recent speech by Jens Stoltenberg, former Secretary General of NATO, the following assessment was made: In just a few weeks, NATO leaders will meet in Madrid. We will make important decisions. To continue to strengthen and adapt our Alliance to a new security reality and protect our people and our values. I look forward to the day when we can welcome both Finland and Sweden into our Alliance. This will make Finland and Sweden safer. NATO stronger. And the whole Euro-Atlantic area more secure. (NATO, Citation2022) Although NATO’s strategic decision affects the entire geopolitical landscape, public perceptions of EU sanctions need to be addressed through a more nuanced, evidence-based approach. Public opinion on sanctions is driven not only by security concerns but also by economic and political factors that underpin individual belief systems. To measure the determinants of support for such policies, this study applies both the fuzzy hybrid approach and the ordered probit model. The first method calculates the endogenous variable that measures the level of support of each respondent. The second method is used to find the main factors of a set of 14 exogenous variables or covariates that affect the support. Our results reveal that there are four important drivers to be a strong supporter of the sanctions taken by the EU against Russia after the invasion of Ukraine in early 2022: (1) totally agreeing that by standing against the Russian invasion of Ukraine, the EU is defending European values, (2) having a very good overall EU image, (3) totally agreeing that Russia’s invasion of Ukraine is a threat to the security of the EU, and (4) having a very good household financial situation. Other factors, such as age, gender, or political orientation, among others, are less determinant in explaining the strong support category. The dataset for the study was obtained from the 98th Eurobarometer, covering winter 2022–2023, providing a solid foundation for the objectives pursued in the study. Our results imply that, at least in the salient category of being a strong supporter of the EU sanctions, European Parliamentarians and the political parties involved should promote a triad: the defence of European values (Anghel & Jones, Citation2023), a more integrated security defence system that will permit the EU to be more independent from NATO and US (Del Sarto Citation2016; Howorth Citation2018), and a solid campaign of improving the EU image, highlighting the benefits of being in the union (Elmatzoglou, Citation2020). The European values of human rights and dignity, as well as the principles of living in liberal democracies, should not be undermined by misinformation campaigns from autocratic regimes. The invasion of Ukraine constitutes the biggest security threat in Europe since the end of the Cold War, fostering a wave of fear and real politics about the necessity of increasing the military budget. Europeans have seen more closely how the lives of human beings are worth almost nothing when their homes are bombed, and they have to leave with just the bare minimum, stopping their daily lives and becoming refugees in countries that may not welcome them with open arms. There is a need for effective communication campaigns that change the focus from generic issues such as ‘Europeanness’ fostering a common national identity or sense of belonging to a pragmatic branding strategy that achieves a power actor in the new turbulent geopolitical battlefield. Recent developments, in the light of newly elected President Donald Trump’s views on NATO and US foreign aid, have added uncertainty to the EU’s strategic calculus on sanctions. Trump’s concerns about NATO’s burden-sharing and his ambivalent stance on continued US military aid to Ukraine have set off alarm bells among EU policymakers and underscored the need for a European security policy that is less dependent on US leadership (Sorgi, Citation2025). Thus, it is the time for a more than-less European Union mentality that decreases Euroscepticism, a time to strengthen public support for the EU. This shift requires an emphasis on the tangible benefits that EU membership brings to member states, including economic stability, enhanced security, and the promotion of shared values like democracy and human rights. By fostering greater awareness and understanding of the EU’s role in addressing cross-border challenges, citizens can better appreciate the advantages of unity over division. Engaging with local communities, encouraging open dialogues, and actively involving citizens in EU decision-making processes can further bridge the gap between the EU and its citizens, reinforcing a sense of belonging and shared purpose. This study has some limitations that can be addressed in future studies. First, the dataset is a point-in-time measure of public opinion, surveyed in the winter of 2022–2023. Due to the dynamic nature of the geopolitical environment, longitudinal studies are needed to examine how public support for EU sanctions may change over time in response to political, economic and military events. Second, other external factors can also be examined to gain a better picture of how other factors could shape people’s opinions. These range from cultural equivalence with Ukraine to geographical proximity to the war zone, exposure to social media narratives, and interaction with Ukrainian refugees. The role of media frames and disinformation campaigns in determining views on EU sanctions is another area that would require more work. Third, latent variables such as societal resilience, institutional trust, geopolitical affinity, and adherence to European values could provide a better understanding of the reasons for support or opposition to EU sanctions. Such variables could also explain the differences in public opinion between EU member states and between different demographic groups. Furthermore, as previous studies on public support (Onderco et al., Citation2023) have also shown, a comparative analysis with previous surveys, for example, in 2008 (Russia-Georgia war), 2014 (annexation of Crimea and Donbas war) with the full invasion of Ukraine in 2022–2023, could also be very useful. Although not directly compared in the current study, future research would benefit from a historical analysis component to explore the continuities and shifts in public opinion during these major geopolitical events and how they change in different EU countries. This would provide a better insight into how threat perceptions, economic concerns and EU identity evolve in response to Russian aggression and EU foreign policy initiatives. Supplemental Material Supplemental data for this article can be accessed online at https://doi.org/10.1080/23745118.2025.2476484. Additional informationFunding Dr Alessandro Indelicato research is funded by the research fellowship “Catalina Ruiz,” provided by the Consejo de Economía, Conocimiento y Empleo of the Gobierno de Canarias, the Agencia Canaria De Investigación Innovación Y Sociedad De La Información (ACIISI), and Fondo Social Europeo of the EU, through the Universidad de Las Palmas de Gran Canaria (Spain). Martín, J. C., & Indelicato, A. (2025). 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Defense & Security
Old Tank standing in the Tigray area in the North part of Ethiopia

The prospects for another war in Tigray

by Worku Aberra

Another war appears imminent in Tigray; this time the conflict threatens to engulf the region. Eritrea appears ready to join the fighting . Despite the heavy toll of the 2020–2022 war, both the Tigray People’s Liberation Front (TPLF) and the Ethiopian government have resumed belligerent rhetoric. If fighting resumes, the underlying causes are the TPLF’s pursuit of secession, Abiy Ahmed’s authoritarian rule, and his territorial ambitions. The TPLF has pursued independence since its formation in 1975  by advocating the right to self-determination; it has promoted a narrative rooted in historical exceptionalism and the right to self-determination. That vision matured into a program of statehood during the years the TPLF controlled the Ethiopian government. Between 1991 and 2018, it used state power to lay the political, economic, and military groundwork for secession. Ethnic federalism, introduced under the rhetoric of self-rule, eroded national cohesion. A constitutional clause granted regional states the right to secede unilaterally. Ethiopian nationalism was deliberately undermined; ethnic nationalism was systematically promoted. Ethnic regions were later militarized through the creation of special forces that operated beyond constitutional limits, ostensibly for regional security. Tigray assembled the most powerful of these units—well-armed, well-trained, and well-structured, designed as a paramilitary force prepared to enforce constitutional claims to territory ). These units appear intended to serve as the armies of the independent states they envisioned. In parallel to this build-up, heavy military equipment vital to national defense was transferred to Tigray under the pretext of countering threats from Eritrea. The TPLF later used its special forces and this hardware to wage war against the Ethiopian state. Unrestrained by legal, political, or institutional checks, the TPLF exercised full control over the Ethiopian state. It used that power to extract the country’s natural resources, seize physical assets, and divert financial capital. Under the guise of implementing market reforms recommended by the IMF and World Bank, it transferred state-owned enterprises to firms under its command. The TPLF used the state’s economic apparatus and its control over the private sector to advance its long-term goal of Tigrayan independence. As the TPLF moved toward secession, Ethiopia stood primed for fragmentation, by its constitution, by its leaders, and by its institutions. When a popular revolt removed the TPLF-led government in 2018, the leadership retreated to Mekelle and intensified its campaign for independence. The TPLF escalated its confrontation with the federal government through a series of provocative actions: holding regional elections in September 2020 in defiance of federal authority, expelling federal military officers from Tigray, obstructing troop movements and logistics, and organizing large-scale military parades to project force. Each move appears calculated to provoke a military confrontation with the central government. Convinced that the moment had arrived, the TPLF launched a coordinated assault on the Northern Command on November 4, 2020, as a decisive step toward secession. After two years of devastating war, it failed to achieve its long-term objective. On November 2, 2022, it accepted a cessation of hostilities under the terms of the Pretoria Agreement. Support for secession has increased, fueled by the federal government’s conduct during the war, particularly its decision to invite the Eritrean army into Tigray (Reuters). The Ethiopian Orthodox Church, once a bastion of unity, has splintered. Tigrayan clergy formed a separate synod and severed all ties with the central hierarchy. In the diaspora, former advocates of unity champion independence. Among educated Tigrayans, disillusionment runs deep. Many interpreted the nationwide support for the federal war effort, mostly due to the TPLF’s authoritarianism, as a broader denunciation of Tigrayan identity. For this group, the war was not a political confrontation, but a genocidal campaign. That belief has hardened into a dominant narrative: that civilian deaths were not accidental byproducts of conflict, but deliberate acts of extermination. A rival project of state-building has emerged at the federal level, based on irredentism rather than ethnic autonomy. Abiy Ahmed, an authoritarian ruler backed by a narrow Oromo elite, has declared his intention to govern a unitary state stretching from the Red Sea to the Indian Ocean. He has repeatedly insisted that Ethiopia must secure a seaport, peacefully or by military force. Despite having no coastline, his government established a navy with France’s assistance; he signed a memorandum of understanding with Somaliland to build a naval base—later cancelled—and has advanced a plan for an economic union encompassing Eritrea, Djibouti, and Somalia.Federal authorities have also provided weapons to factional leaders in Puntland and Jubaland to undermine the Somali government). While economic integration offers benefits, Abiy’s strategy to annex or dominate neighbouring states risks regional instability, diplomatic estrangement, and military confrontation. A government committed to external expansion is unlikely to tolerate internal disintegration. Tigrayan secessionism and Abiy’s expansionism stand as twin causes of the impending war. The immediate triggers of renewed war have already surfaced. Abiy Ahmed can invoke a legal casus belli against Eritrea, which continues to occupy Ethiopian territory despite repeated demands from Western governments and multilateral organizations). Eritrea, in turn, could claim self-defence. The TPLF could justify a war by claiming that the federal government has failed to fully implement the Pretoria Agreement. Both sides blame each other for the collapse of the agreement and have resumed hostile rhetoric and provocative actions. The TPLF, ignoring the Pretoria Agreement, has declared that it does not require federal permission to engage with Eritrea). Its leaders have publicly affirmed sovereignty, consistent with the constitutional framework. An Eritrean official has offered explicit support for Tigrayan independence; this has introduced an unpredictable external variable into an already volatile situation). On the federal side, the government has revoked the TPLF’s legal status as a political party, eliminating what remained of the formal political channel). At the same time, Abiy launched a European tour on May 22, likely to secure diplomatic backing for a new campaign). The symmetry with the prelude to the first war is striking: escalating rhetoric, foreign lobbying, and mutual delegitimization. What unfolds is not a fresh crisis but the second act of a war poorly resolved. The TPLF has fractured under the weight of the war it helped to unleash. An internal power struggle—driven by disputes over military conduct, political legitimacy, and personal ambition—split the organization in August 2024 into two factions: one led by Debretsion Gebremichael, the chair; the other by Getachew Reda, the vice chair. Each accuses the other of betraying the people of Tigray). The TPLF fighters are also divided. A large faction supports the Debretsion group, while Getachew’s faction has secured the backing of armed groups in southern Tigray, reportedly trained by the Ethiopian government in the Afar region). These forces have pledged to defend the administrative structure he established. The likelihood of intra-Tigrayan armed conflict is high. Tensions have escalated further as Getachew has leveled serious criminal accusations against the TPLF’s military command. In interviews aired on government television on May 13 and 14, he alleged that senior generals committed war crimes, operated illegal gold mines, embezzled state funds, trafficked humans, smuggled arms, and stripped steel from public infrastructure for sale—even as the war was taking place ). The accused commanders have denied all charges and denounced him as a traitor aligned with the federal government. He further reported that the number of registered TPLF fighters DDR had been inflated and that commanders had embezzled funds intended for their salaries. He accused the same officers of plotting to assassinate him. These are not casual allegations—they come from a man who served as deputy chair of the party, member of the executive, member of its wartime command, spokesperson during the conflict, head of the Pretoria delegation, and former regional president. According to Getachew, the TPLF’s military leadership has a vested interest in restarting the war to avoid accountability. He argues that peace would expose their crimes, while renewed conflict offers protection. As evidence, he cites the leak of secret peace talks in Djibouti between the TPLF and the federal government by one of the implicated generals. The federal government, upon learning of the leak, ended the negotiations. In another case, he claims that when the federal government attempted resettlement of Tigrayans in contested areas, the TPLF commanders demanded that fighters accompany the returnees; the government refused. Getachew alleges the generals are using displaced civilians as “hostages” to obstruct reconciliation. He claims to hold documentary evidence supporting these accusations. While he describes the TPLF as a “criminal enterprise,” he occasionally softens the charge, placing blame on a few bad actors. This contradiction raises a crucial question: if an organization protects offenders and functions as a criminal network, can it still claim political legitimacy? The conflict between the TPLF and the federal government has persisted, but alliances have shifted dramatically. During the first Tigray war, a coalition of federal troops, Eritrean forces, Amhara special forces, and the Fano militia fought the TPLF. That coalition has disintegrated. In April 2023, the federal government disbanded the Amhara special forces while retaining similar units in other regions). It then launched a military campaign to disarm the Fano, provoking armed resistance across the Amhara region. The government has struggled to suppress the rebellion and has lost control of large areas. It accuses the TPLF of aiding the Fano. At the same time, relations between Ethiopia and Eritrea have unraveled. Abiy Ahmed’s declaration that Ethiopia would obtain a seaport—by negotiation or by force—has pushed the two states into hostility). In a startling reversal, the TPLF has begun to align with Eritrea, its former enemy. Reports suggest the Debretsion faction has initiated cooperation with Eritrean officials, despite Eritrea’s continued occupation of territories claimed by Tigray). Getachew alleges that senior TPLF commanders have coordinated military planning with Eritrean authorities. Gebru Asrat, the former Tigray regional president, has made similar claims). Eritrea appears prepared to re-enter the war, this time as a TPLF ally. One Eritrean official has gone further and has expressed support for Tigrayan independence, as stated earlier. But given their history of mutual hostility, unresolved border disputes, and clashing ambitions, the alliance remains fragile. It may serve tactical needs, but it is unlikely to survive strategic realities. Strategic miscalculation is a crucial risk in this war, as it was in the previous one. During the first Tigray war, both the federal government and the TPLF overestimated their military capacity and underestimated their opponent’s. The war yielded no victory. Instead, both sides accepted a cessation of hostilities after enduring political crisis, economic hardship, and human catastrophe. The result crippled both actors. Despite renewed threats, confrontational posturing, and aggressive rhetoric, neither side appears ready for war. In Tigray, the public is exhausted. People demand peace, basic services, the return of the displaced, and the restoration of infrastructure. The struggle for basic needs outweighs the desire to engage in another war. While support for independence remains high, many Tigrayans question whether the embattled TPLF can govern a region, let alone a future state. Among Tigrayans, the yearning for peace far exceeds the willingness to fight another war. The Eritrean government, although it commands a disciplined army, lacks the diplomatic support and military capabilities to confront a stronger adversary. Its economic base is fragile; its population is small, overburdened by years of forced conscription, and exhausted by endless mobilization. Eritrea’s international isolation—worsened by sanctions, strained relations with neighbors, and a dismal human rights record—undermines its capacity to secure foreign military or financial assistance. These constraints—weak economy, fragile population base, diplomatic isolation, and limited military resources—reduce Eritrea’s capacity to sustain a protracted war The Ethiopian state faces even greater problems. Armed insurgencies continue in Amhara and Oromia, the country’s two most populous regions. Federal forces have failed to suppress either movement and have lost control over extensive territory. Across the country, support for the government has collapsed. A nationwide strike by healthcare workers—triggered by surging inflation—signals broader unrest). Legitimacy has eroded; institutions have decayed; crises have multiplied. The military—commanded by officers appointed for ethnic loyalty rather than professional competence, crippled by systemic corruption, and plagued by operational incapacity—is unfit for war. These deficiencies became evident when the army suffered a series of humiliating defeats in the last war against the TPLF. External actors can influence both the likelihood and the outcome of a renewed conflict. In the previous war, the United States played a moderating role, driven by its own strategic interests in Ethiopia, the Horn, and the Red Sea. The Biden administration helped contain escalation by the Ethiopian government and dissuaded the TPLF from pursuing independence. It appointed Special Envoy Mike Hammer, whose diplomacy helped secure the Pretoria Agreement). Under President Trump, U.S. policy shifted toward disengagement. That shift may have persuaded the Ethiopian government that war carries no consequences and emboldened the TPLF to pursue secession. Regional powers also have the capacity to influence whether the war erupts and how it unfolds. Egypt, a traditional adversary of Ethiopia and locked in dispute over the Grand Ethiopian Renaissance Dam, has aligned with Eritrea and had supported the TPLF in the past. Saudi Arabia continues to back the Eritrean regime). The United Arab Emirates has supplied Ethiopia with drones and weapons). Turkey has armed Ethiopia with drones as well, but backs Somalia over Abiy’s memorandum of understanding with Somaliland, the breakaway state of Somalia, later cancelled ). Whether another war erupts will depend in part on how these regional powers calculate their interests and the extent to which they are willing to intervene to secure them. Under present conditions, neither side appears capable of waging war. The TPLF—isolated abroad, fractured within, stripped of territory, crippled by corruption, and bereft of popular support—lacks the means to mount a new campaign. The federal government, weakened by internal fragmentation, collapsing legitimacy, and mounting public dissent, cannot sustain another conflict. Rhetoric has escalated, but capacity has not. The Eritrean government commands a well-trained army but lacks the diplomatic support, economic strength, and military capacity to fight a stronger adversary. Its international isolation, small population, and limited resources leave it vulnerable. Eritreans may defend sovereignty but show little enthusiasm for another costly war. Eritrea’s shifting loyalties, Abiy Ahmed’s expansionist ambitions, the Tigrayan elite’s secessionist agenda, the TPLF’s record of miscalculation, and foreign interference have created a volatile situation. Any of these variables could reignite the conflict, dismantle either state, and destabilize the entire region. Even in the absence of strategic advantage, wars can erupt because of misjudgments, personal ambition, or elite rivalries. Peace in the Horn is no local concern; it is a global imperative essential to regional order, international security, and the prevention of another humanitarian catastrophe.