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Introduction In the past few years, international tensions have intensified across the globe, from Russia’s invasion of Ukraine to rising frictions between China and Taiwan. These conflicts cannot be fully explained through traditional military or diplomatic frameworks. Instead, they reveal the emergence of a new strategic model: hybrid warfare, a method that blends military, economic, technological, and informational tools to achieve political goals without open war. Closely related is the concept of the gray zone, a sphere of competition that exists between peace and full-scale conflicts, where states use ambiguity to avoid direct confrontation. The ongoing war in Ukraine demonstrates how hybrid warfare operates in practice. Russia’s combination of cyberattacks, disinformation, economic pressure, and drone warfare shows how modern conflicts blur the boundaries between combat and politics. Low-cost technologies such as drones have further revolutionized this form of warfare, enabling small actors to inflict significant damage and minimizing direct risk at the same time. What is a Hybrid warfare and gray zone Gray zone The concept of hybrid war is often covered in media as a synonym for the gray zone. However, within the academic field, the gray zone is considered more of a competing term2 It is suggested that the terms are not synonymous, and the gray zone is defined as a space of competition short of war. Hybrid warfare, in this context, is viewed as an operational solution to achieve political objectives in the gray zone, though it is not limited to it. Although both terms have a quite similar approach, the gray zone is considered more physical in comparison to hybrid war. A state’s operation in this area may clearly not cross the thresholds of war due to its ambiguity. For instance, an invasion of drones in the European Union might serve as an example of such a gray zone action. It is difficult to consider such actions as a threat of war, allowing the predatory state to operate near a border and keep itself safe through ambiguity. Simply put, the gray zone is a territory in politics where it is hard to clearly identify aggression, and the aggressor acts ambiguously, finding legal loopholes to gain advantages without necessarily provoking a military response. Historically, there are numerous examples of such gray zone tactics. Russia used these tactics multiple times before the full-scale invasion of Ukraine. This is one of the particular reasons why the world’s reaction to the Crimea annexation and Russian actions prior to 2022 was low-key and had little impact. A gray zone conflict demonstrates a fundamental change in the rules-based international order. By weaponizing ambiguity, one state seeks to undermine norms and erode democratic institutions from within. Interestingly, Philip Kapusta argues that the gray zone might be beneficial. The ambiguity that makes gray zones vexing also makes them useful to statesmen. It is crucial in international relations when one state tests the waters with gray zone activities to determine the potential strength of domestic or international commitments to an endeavor without resorting to the more lethal violence of war. Briefly saying, gray zone conflicts are an immensely better alternative to full-scale wars. [1] [2] What is a hybrid war? While gray zone competition describes the ambiguous environment between peace and war, hybrid warfare refers to the methods used within that environment to achieve political aims. In other words, the gray zone sets the stage, and hybrid warfare provides the playbook. The new concept of hybrid warfare and its correlating hybrid threats can be explained as a wide range of means, not necessarily violent, and a concept that is quite distant from traditional military power. Through non-violent means, a state can achieve a political effect without being embedded in an armed conflict. This term was introduced by Frank G. Hoffman, who described the warfare model as a collection of different strategies and models, including conventional capabilities, violence, coercion, terrorist acts, and criminal disorder. This definition stressed the importance of combining traditional military force with the use of new technologies. [5] However, several scholars question whether hybrid warfare truly represents a new paradigm. Analysts such as Michael Kofman and Lawrence Freedman argue that the term simply rebrands long-standing practices of covert and irregular warfare under a modern label. From this perspective, hybrid tactics—combining propaganda, subversion, and limited military action—were already evident in Soviet “active measures” and Cold War proxy conflicts. Still, the scale and technological sophistication of Russia’s recent operations suggest that hybrid warfare has evolved in scope and impact, even if its core logic is not entirely new. [13] Key characteristics and elements of hybrid warfare include: Fluidity and Ambiguity Debates on hybrid war in Ukraine in 2014 brought attention to the new term. The fluidity and ambiguity of hybrid threats and warfare helped Moscow to achieve a relatively non-violent political shift in Crimea. To escape a power balance, Russia used a creative underdog strategy. [4] Non-State Actors For some scholars, hybrid war and its actors are a new breed of non-state actors (likely sponsored by the state) who replaced the traditional concept of terrorists. They retain ties with the population and devote themselves to the propaganda of the deed. Diverse Definitions The definition of hybrid warfare differs between the West and Russia. For Russians, hybrid war is a new way of dealing with a conflict that avoids the traditional battlefield, utilizing economic, political, and socio-cultural methods. [6] Tactical Methods and Synchronization It is hard to clearly identify hybrid threats of warfare due to their ambiguous nature. However, most of the literature defines it by tactical methods. It is the synchronized use of several operation methods, and due to its unclear nature, the victim state may not be able to identify these multiple instruments. [5] Calculated Ambiguity Similarly to nuclear deterrence, hybrid warfare is full of calculated ambiguity. It is a key factor that makes it reasonable and effective; it is essential. [12] Thus, due to the gray zone's ambiguity, it is hard to indicate hybrid threats until they escalate into warfare. And even in such a case, one cannot necessarily say that hybrid warfare actually happened. Currently, there are high possibilities that Russia has used hybrid threats in several Baltic countries as well as Eastern Europe. So-called pro-Russian parties were critically close to winning presidential or parliamentary elections numerous times Comparison Hybrid war vs Gray zone Since gray zone conflict in its essence can incorporate traditional methods and unconventional tactics, and a complete reliance on unconventional techniques is likely to be less effective at fully and rapidly compelling a relatively strong opponent, states engaged in a gray zone conflict are likely to use hybrid techniques. To clearly illustrate the key notices from this comparison, the following table is provided. As Table illustrates, the primary difference lies in the level and ambition of each concept. The Gray Zone Conflict is a higher-level concept that operates at the strategic level and is directly tied to global and/or regional revisionist ambitions. Hybrid Warfare, conversely, generally pertains only to the operational and tactical levels. [3] Key distinctions between two concepts are Duration and Symmetry and Conventionality of Operations Duration and Symmetry Gray Zone Conflict is characterized by protracted engagement and is used under both symmetric and asymmetric conditions. Hybrid Warfare, however, may be protracted or short and is largely used under asymmetric conditions. Conventionality of Operations In Gray Zone Conflict, non-conventional military operations may be used standalone or alongside conventional operations8. In contrast, Hybrid Warfare treats non-conventional operations as auxiliary tactics used alongside conventional operations. This reinforces the idea that the Gray Zone is a large strategic territory of competition, while hybrid warfare is an operational solution frequently used within it. Drones as a tool of Hybrid warfare Drones' Impact on the Modern Battlefield Nowadays, conflict in Ukraine has proven the role of drones in modern battlefields. Drones now account for approximately 70% of total casualties from both sides. Moreover, it is hard to find actual troops in the war zones; most of the time, there are drone controllers rather than typical soldiers. Thus, in Ukraine, drones act as key actors in modern conflict. Throughout the war, it was clearly shown that drones are very useful against much more expensive and massive military equipment like tanks and planes. A drone that costs less than a thousand dollars can destroy a million-dollar tank, and what's even more terrifying, it is unmanned, meaning the fight will have fewer casualties. By using such drones, Ukraine was able to defend its borders without a further escalation of the conflict to the western part of the country. By using cheap and easy-to-use AI-powered technology, Kyiv was able to fight back against a state that is 28 times bigger. Drones in Ukraine and the Context of Russian Hybrid Warfare The role of Unmanned Aerial Vehicles (UAVs) remains complex: in direct combat, Ukraine uses drones not strictly as a hybrid weapon but as a fully powered kamikaze to destroy local goals, functioning as a conventional weapon. However, the nature of these drones is inherently dual use. Some drones used in war can be purchased through commercial websites. For instance, the drone previously used by Ukraine, the «DJI MAVIC», can be purchased online, with a price range starting at $500. Such drones are modified on the field and used as small bombs. In comparison to Russians, some Ukrainians have even spent their own money on new ammunition or drones, creating an emerging civilian-led military supply market in Ukraine. The conflict in Ukraine is multi-dimensional with blurred lines between the kinetic use of military force and the non-kinetic use of strategic assets. Through the simultaneous use of political, technological, and military measures in achieving its policy objectives to design an ambiguity, Russia deliberately exploited its power to secure consensus for subsequent military actions. Russia has employed all three parameters of ambiguity in hybrid warfare, leaving Ukraine no other option except to fight. Hybrid war in EU? Russia's Strategy: Hybrid Warfare and Grey Zone Tactics Since the US established its dominance in the global stage, Russian involvement in the Baltics, Crimea, and Eastern Ukraine since 2007 has been characterized as grey zone and hybrid warfare. Russia employs these tactics against EU and NATO participants, using several methods of cyber-warfare to challenge the military alliance. In Ukraine’s Crimea, for instance, Russia engaged in hybrid warfare by using non-state proxies to supplement a military deficit. In Eastern Europe, Russia relies on economic tools, cyberspace to harm infrastructure, as well as non-state actors. For example, Gazprom canceled a gas discount agreement with the Yanukovych administration. Subsequently, when Ukraine refused to accept Russian hegemony, the power grid was attacked and disabled a large portion of the country's infrastructure. Such incidents, includes alleged election interference in Romania, when in November 2024, Romania’s Constitutional Court annulled results of first-round presidential election. Romanian intellegence agencies presented that Russian-linked cyber operations (social media campaigns with AI-driven misinformation and alleged cyberattacks) distorted the electoral process in favour of the far right candidate. In March 2025, investigative reporting detailed pro-Russia groups using Telegram to recruit EU-based individuals for sabotage, vandalism, arson and influence operations across NATO countries. [14] As the Russian economy is strained, the frequency of similar incidents appears to increase. [7] Across the period, the lines between hacktivism, cybercrime and state-nexus activity continued to blur. Intrusion sets historically distinguished by TTPs’ level of advancement. conducted activities, or assessed objectives increasingly shared toolsets and modus operandi. This was notably exemplified by hacktivist-led DDoS waves by pro-Russia groups around electoral events, where increased activity was often observed as typical FIMI-aligned behavior to associate disruption with aspects of information operations. A prominent facet of this trend is faketivism, where state-aligned intrusion sets leverage hacktivist personas and activities. Notable examples include Cyber Army of Russia Reborn, associated to Russia-nexus Sandworm39, and the CyberAv3ngers group linked to Iran’s IRGC Hacktivists, seeking funding and visibility, embraced ransomware beyond DDoS and defacements. CyberVolk, operating in line with Russian interests, has used and promoted multiple strains—AzzaSec, HexaLocker, Parano, as well as LockBit and Chaos—since May 20244. KillSec, originally a pro-Russia hacktivist brand aligned with Anonymous, debuted its platform in June 2024. Drone Incursions: Testing Defenses and Undermining Support Russia has adapted new drone technologies and is now using them to test and threaten the European Union. For Europe, the usage of drones differs from the frontlines. Most incidents involve UAVs allegedly used for espionage or as a distraction mechanism. The possibility exists that drones sent into EU airspace are meant to frighten Europe and consequently pressure them to reduce military aid to Ukraine. Some argue that Russia uses this as a "carrot and stick" approach to force the EU to cut off military support. [8] Drones in the EU serve as one element of hybrid warfare: they are low-cost, deniable, and intentionally ambiguous. Russia's ambiguous attacks and hybrid threats, according to reports, might leave Europe's energy consumers vulnerable, especially during the winter. Economic Constraints and the Strategy of Exhaustion The financial strain on Russia does not diminish its ambitions. Such economic limitations directly shape Moscow’s strategic calculus. While the Central Bank attempts to manage the economy, the cumulative effect of sanctions and military expenditures is challenging the Kremlin's ability to cover its costs. Russian citizens and businesses are demonstrating creativity in navigating sanctions, but continued war and higher expenses are highly likely to destroy the economy. To maintain spending, the government is already seeking additional revenue sources by increasing taxes and fees on imports and making cuts to non-military budgets. [9] The consensus among experts is that a direct military conflict with NATO is highly unlikely, primarily due to Russian economic struggle. Russia simply cannot afford another large-scale war. [9] Even to sustain a major conflict with NATO, the state would first need to consolidate its forces by ending the war in Ukraine. Escalation Risk and European Resilience The latest drone attacks pose a severe threat to European energy and critical infrastructure. Even though recent drone incidents were relatively far away from key energy assets, they still represent a significant and deliberate risk. Reports suggest a potential disruption in energy supply, especially with winter approaching, could lead to price increases and higher heating costs, impacting not only the economy but also social stability. For instance, drone activity temporarily closed airports in Denmark, increasing the overall atmosphere of unease across EU countries. The Gray Zone attacks in Europe, including drone incursions, regular cyberattacks, and election interference, are part of a coherent hybrid warfare strategy aimed at testing Europe's resilience and preparedness. As international expert Christo Atanasov Kostov suggests, the Kremlin hopes to exhaust the West, not conquer it. This strategy aims to win in Ukraine by weakening the West—using hybrid tools to sow doubt over EU and NATO's ability to prevail and to cause domestic hardship that makes supporting Ukraine politically unattractive. [10] However, some scholars like Mark Galeotti argue that Russia’s hybrid campaigns have reached their limit: they can destabilize but not dominate resilient states. [15] It is very unlikely that Russia will cross the line of hybrid warfare and actually commit conventional forces against EU/NATO, as it is financially and politically untenable. The challenge for Europe is clear: to resist fatigue and demonstrate resilience, not fear. Moscow will likely continue its hybrid attacks, but Europe needs to be prepared through deterrence, technological and political autonomy, and collective defense. [11] Conclusion Hybrid warfare is a strategy that combines conventional military force and non-conventional forces to achieve a strategic political objective. Russia's campaign in Ukraine in 2014 successfully exploited the ambiguity of this hybrid warfare model to capture the initiative and secure political and military gains, particularly in Crimea and Donbas. Through drones, cyber operations, and economic pressure, Moscow continues to challenge European security while remaining below the traditional threshold of conflict. These actions show that hybrid warfare is not an alternative to war but a constant state of confrontation carried out through indirect means. For Europe, this reality creates serious strategic and financial challenges. Responding to low-cost and deniable attacks with expensive defense systems is unsustainable in the long term. Therefore, the main priority for the EU is to adapt its deterrence model, strengthen technological and informational resilience, and reduce dependence on external energy supplies. The evolution of hybrid warfare proves that modern conflicts no longer begin with formal declarations or visible invasions. They emerge through ambiguity, disinformation, and the silent use of technology. As Russia continues to exploit these gray areas, the stability of Europe will depend on its ability to recognize such operations early and respond collectively before the next stage of escalation begins. All we can conclude is that Putin himself is unlikely to stop the war until his maximalist ambitions are satisfied. He will continue to use any method, including the destruction of European stability through hybrid attacks, to exhaust the West. For the EU, the suggested course of action remains to diversify energy sources and demonstrate resilience against hybrid attacks to minimize security and economic challenges. References [1] Damien Van Puyvelde, ‘Hybrid Warfare – The Continuation of Ambiguity by Other Means’, European Journal of International Security, Cambridge University Press, 2019, https://www.cambridge.org/core/journals/european-journal-of-international-security/article/hybrid-warfare-the-continuation-of-ambiguity-by-other-means/1B3336D8109D418F89D732EB98B774E5 [accessed 17 October 2025]. [2] U.S. Special Operations Command, Operating in the Gray Zone: A Strategy for Success, 2015, https://info.publicintelligence.net/USSOCOM-GrayZones.pdf [accessed 17 October 2025]. [3] David Carment and Dani Belo, War’s Future: The Risks and Rewards of Grey-Zone Conflict and Hybrid Warfare, Webster University, October 2018, https://doi.org/10.13140/RG.2.2.25994.98249 [accessed 17 October 2025]. [4] Nathan K. Finney, ‘A Full Spectrum of Conflict Design: How Doctrine Should Embrace Irregular Warfare’, Irregular Warfare Initiative, 2023, https://irregularwarfare.org/articles/a-full-spectrum-of-conflict-design-how-doctrine-should-embrace-irregular-warfare/ [accessed 17 October 2025]. [5] Frank G. Hoffman, Hybrid Warfare and Challenges, Potomac Institute for Policy Studies, 2007, https://www.potomacinstitute.org/images/stories/publications/potomac_hybridwar_0108.pdf [accessed 17 October 2025]. [6] Steven Woehrel, Russia: Strategic Economic and Energy Interests, Congressional Research Service, 2011, https://sgp.fas.org/crs/row/R42006.pdf [accessed 17 October 2025]. [7] European Youth Portal, ‘How Romania’s Presidential Election Became the Plot of a Cyber Thriller’, 2024, https://youth.europa.eu/news/how-romanias-presidential-election-became-plot-of-cyber-thriller_en [accessed 17 October 2025]. [8] BBC Russian, ‘Как Россия готовится к выборам на фоне войны и цензуры’, 2024, https://www.bbc.com/russian/articles/cm2zp2xl62mo [accessed 17 October 2025]. [9] Reuters, ‘Imported Cars Face Higher Fees as Russia Plans Domestic Production Boost’, 30 September 2024, https://www.reuters.com/business/autos-transportation/imported-cars-face-higher-fees-russia-plans-domestic-production-boost-2024-09-30/ [accessed 17 October 2025]. [10] Stefan Wolff, ‘Russia’s Permanent Test Is Pushing Europe to the Brink of War – Here’s What Moscow Actually Wants’, The Conversation, 2024, https://theconversation.com/russias-permanent-test-is-pushing-europe-to-the-brink-of-war-heres-what-moscow-actually-wants-266826 [accessed 17 October 2025]. [11] Stefan Wolff, ‘Putin’s “Forever War” Against the West’, The Conversation, 2024, https://theconversation.com/putins-forever-war-against-the-west-267679 [accessed 17 October 2025]. [12] Frank G. Hoffman, ‘Countering Hybrid Warfare: So What for the Joint Force?’, PRISM – National Defense University Press, 2019, https://ndupress.ndu.edu/Media/News/News-Article-View/Article/1979787/countering-hybrid-warfare-so-what-for-the-joint-force/ [accessed 17 October 2025]. [13] Oscar Jonsson and Robert Seely, ‘Russian Hybrid Warfare and Other Dark Arts’, War on the Rocks, 11 March 2016, https://warontherocks.com/2016/03/russian-hybrid-warfare-and-other-dark-arts/ [accessed 17 October 2025]. [14] European Union Agency for Cybersecurity (ENISA), ENISA Threat Landscape 2025, 2025, https://www.enisa.europa.eu/publications/enisa-threat-landscape-2025 [accessed 17 October 2025]. [15] Mark Galeotti, Trouble at Home: Russia’s Looming Demobilization Challenge, Global Initiative Against Transnational Organized Crime, June 2025, https://globalinitiative.net/wp-content/uploads/2025/06/Mark-Galeotti-Trouble-at-Home-Russias-looming-demobilization-challenge-GI-TOC-June-2025.pdf [accessed 17 October 2025].

If you ask the average person in any country about their concerns, their answers would likely be very similar. Across the globe, people are generally most worried about the uncertainty of the future, particularly regarding their finances. This holds true whether you're in the United States, China, or elsewhere. However, does this trend remain the same for a country in a state of war?2014: The Sochi Olympics & The Annexation of CrimeaThe year 2014 was significant for Russia, both economically and politically. It was marked by two major events: the Sochi Winter Olympics and the annexation of Crimea.The 2014 Winter Olympics were held in Sochi, a Russian resort city. To host the games, the government spent an enormous amount of money, over $50 billion, on transportation infrastructure and new sports complexes. In recent decades, the Olympics have been seen as a way for nations to exert "soft power," and there were even speculations in 2010 that Russia may have paid its way to host the games. Despite the celebration of the event's successful conclusion, this period was immediately followed by a major political decision.During late 2013 and early 2014, Ukraine's internal political situation was highly unstable. Many Ukrainians were unhappy with their pro-Russian government's policies, believing that President Yanukovych was a "Russian puppet" who had denied the country a chance to join the European Union. Yanukovych's suspension of a key pact with the EU sparked mass protests and eventually a revolution.While the world's attention was focused on the Olympics and the political turmoil in Ukraine, Russia swiftly moved its troops into the Crimean Peninsula. With military and political pressure, the Crimean government held a referendum, after which the majority of citizens voted to join Russia. This move led to massive international sanctions against Russia, which put its rapidly rising economy under immense pressure.Russian Concerns in 2014This period of political and economic pressure was reflected in the concerns of ordinary Russians. According to a Levada Center survey from May 2014, the top concerns for Russians were:Illness or death of relativesPoverty or job lossWorld warCrimePolitical repressionPublic humiliationHealth threatsHowever, the trends in these fears showed some notable changes compared to the previous decade (1999–2014). Excluding health concerns, these trends indicate that Russians became increasingly worried about the country's political and economic situation. The fear of war also increased due to the instability in Ukraine and the repercussions of their president's actions on the lives of ordinary citizens.2018-2019: The World Cup, Pension Reform, and Shifting Public ConcernsThe period of 2018 to 2019 was a abundant in all the aspects time for Russia, marked by a contrast between a successful international event and a significant domestic political turmoil. The main events of this year were the presidential election, the FIFA World Cup, and a highly questionable reform.Political Discontent and Public ProtestsIn the run up to the 2018 presidential election, Vladimir Putin, in order to secure his presidential spot banned all possible candidates from joining the race. One of the prominent opponents of Putin was Alexey Navalny, who was massively supported by younger generation. Along with allegations of widespread election fraud and a controversial pension reform, it acted as a major catalyst for public protests. Critics argued that with a low average life expectancy (66 years for men), many Russians would not live long enough to collect their state pensions.These events, combined with a documentary by Navalny’s Anti-Corruption Foundation exposing government corruption, fueled significant public demonstrations and damaged government’s image. Tens of thousands of people across Russia joined in these protests, leading to a major surge in political anxiety. Authorities responded with a lockdown, arresting many participants and detaining even more people. Educational institutions reportedly pressured students to not participate, threatening them with dismissal. Navalny himself was repeatedly arrested.Despite the size of protest, there were no results, nothing has changed.The Impact of the FIFA World CupIn stark contrast to the domestic political turmoil, the 2018 World Cup provided the government with a platform for soft power and a temporary boost in national image. While not considered an economic success, and costing over $14 billion with a minor economic benefit, the tournament significantly increased global attention on Russia. This international spotlight, along with a more stable economic situation, created a sense of national pride and momentarily overshadowed the public's grievances.Changing Public Fears (2014 vs. 2019) Data from the Levada Center highlights how Russians' concerns shifted between 2014 - 2019. The two periods show a marked increase in fears related to political instability and government repression. The most significant changes were in political concerns. The fear of "abuse of power" saw the largest jump, increasing by 18 percentage points to 33%. Along with the fear of a "return to repression" and a "tightening of the political regime", which increased by 15 pp and 13 pp, respectively. These statistics underscore a growing public distrust and disbelief in the government, fueled by the 2018 pension reform, “rigged” election and protests. As an expert, Denis Volkov, explained, "People decided that the authorities violated their obligations, deceived them," which directly links the pension reform to the surge in political anxiety.Despite these growing fears, a different Levada poll from late 2019 showed a slight increase in confidence in the government. This could be attributed to the successful staging of the World Cup and a powerful state propaganda campaign aimed at "reconciling people with reality." However, the long-term trends clearly indicate a population increasingly concerned with their political rights, personal freedom and security.2025: Economic Struggles and New Public RestrictionsFollowing the full-scale invasion of Ukraine in February 2022, Russia has faced harsh sanctions and economic challenges. While the government has responded with tight control over public discourse, these policies and their consequences have significantly altered the concerns of ordinary citizens.Russian public opinion has evolved throughout the conflict. Initially, there was a surge of patriotic sentiment, but as the war continued, public anxieties have shifted. While the fear of war remains a concern, the focus has increasingly moved toward domestic issues, such as the economy and social tensions. 2025 polls indicated that a majority of Russians supported peace negotiations to end the war, rather than continuing military action. This change is likely correlated with a growing economic impact of the war, as well as drone attacks and their damage on Russian territory, which brought the conflict’s sclale closer to home for many of Russians.  Economic and Social ConcernsEconomic stability has long been a top concern for Russians, and the current situation has only amplified these fears. Since the invasion, government spending on the military has skyrocketed, leading to a massive budget deficit. In an effort to stabilize the economy and combat rapid inflation, the Central Bank, under the leadership of Elvira Nabiullina, implemented a policy of extremely high interest rates, at one point reaching 21%. While this was a logical, albeit painful, economic maneuver to slow down inflation, it had a harsh effect on ordinary citizens, making things like mortgages and loans prohibitively expensive. This has led to a major rise in public concern over the country's economic future, with a significant portion of the population now worried about the state of the "cold" or stagnant economy.Another major concern is the issue of immigrant labor. Russia's aging population and the war have created a severe labor shortage, which is being filled by migrant workers, primarily men from Central Asian countries. These migrants often take low-paying, difficult jobs that Russians are unwilling to do. Despite their essential role in the economy, particularly in industries like construction, their presence has led to social tensions. Public fear, often fueled by nationalist sentiment and concerns over crime, remains a major issue. While some younger Russians may be more tolerant, the general atmosphere is a complex mix of necessity and xenophobia.Public Restrictions and Digital IsolationThe government has also tightened its control over public life and information. Laws restricting dissent and free speech have escalated, with hundreds of people being jailed under new repressive measures. Many journalists and activists have fled the country, and critical discussion is now largely impossible.A major part of this ban has been on internet and digital communication. Following the 2022 invasion, many social media platforms left Russia, forcing users to rely on VPNs to access sites like Instagram and Facebook. Further restrictions have been implemented, including limitations on popular messaging apps like WhatsApp and Telegram. These measures were officially justified as a way to minimize fraud, but they have also been seen as a way to promote state-sponsored apps and control communication. For many Russians, especially the youth, this digital isolation has become a significant source of frustration, with reports of internet slowdowns and service outages becoming more common.How these concerns differ within age groups?While many fears are shared across generations, their intensity and focus vary significantly by age.  For all age groups, the fear of illness of loved ones remains the strongest emotional anchor, symbolizing the dominance of private, family-centered values in contemporary Russian life. Additionally, the fear of war unites all age brackets, suggesting a collective awareness of geopolitical instability and the lasting psychological effects of military conflict.Generational PatternsRecent data [1] reveals distinct generational patterns of fear and anxiety. While most citizens share concerns about security, stability, and well-being, the intensity and content of these fears vary sharply across age groups.Younger Russians (18–30) display the highest levels of anxiety about political instability and future uncertainty. Nearly one-third fear a civil war (32%), and about the same proportion express concern about migration (29%) and environmental threats (27%). These fears reflect their heightened sensitivity to social unrest and global crises, likely influenced by online political discourse.Middle-aged groups (31–60) tend to focus more on economic and social pressures. Concerns about rising prices and impoverishment (up to 29%), interethnic conflicts (29%), and terrorist threats (30%) dominate their worldview. This generation, responsible for families and careers, appears most affected by inflation, inequality, and the broader sense of insecurity in everyday life.In contrast, older respondents (60 and above) prioritize personal health and family safety over political or economic fears. For this group, the focus shifts inward, from collective or national threats to the vulnerabilities of aging and declining health.This progression from systemic to personal anxieties suggests that as individuals age, their fears become less ideological and more existential, mirroring the broader transformation of Russian society.ConclusionOver the past decade, Russian fears have evolved with political shocks, economic turbulence, and social change, yet in many ways, they remain strikingly universal. Like people in most countries, Russians fear illness, poverty, and war above all else. What distinguishes Russia is not the content of its fears, but the context that amplifies them: authoritarian governance, prolonged sanctions, and ongoing conflict.The 2014 annexation of Crimea, the 2018 protests, and the 2022-25 wartime restrictions each reshaped the emotional landscape of Russian society. Political repression and economic instability deepened existing anxieties, turning collective uncertainty into a defining feature of everyday life. Still, beneath these structural pressures, the same human concerns remain love for family, fear of loss, and hope for security.Ultimately, Russia is not an exception, but a reflection of the modern world: a nation where political fear overlays universal human vulnerability, and where personal and national uncertainty continues to define what it means to live in the 2020s.Note[1] It is important to acknowledge that the FOM is a state-funded organization, and the accuracy of its results may be subject to scrutiny.

Abstract This paper examines Poland's pivotal role in European geopolitics amid escalating tensions following Russia's 2022 invasion of Ukraine. Highlighting the September 2025 Russian drone incursion into Polish airspace—marking NATO's first engagement with Russian assets within allied territory—it analyses Poland's military, diplomatic, and strategic responses, including border closures with Belarus and the NATO-led Iron Defender-25 exercise.The study contextualises Poland's historical significance from its 1918 independence through Cold War dynamics to its contemporary position as a key NATO and EU member. Poland's substantial support to Ukraine, encompassing military aid, humanitarian assistance, and political advocacy, underscores its role as both a regional security actor and a logistic hub.The paper also addresses challenges stemming from refugee influxes and bilateral tensions, while discussing broader implications for EU security and autonomy, particularly regarding Ukraine's potential membership in the EU. Through this lens, Poland emerges as both a bulwark against Russian aggression and a spearhead of European defence initiatives, navigating complex geopolitical pressures with strategic resolve. Key Words: Poland, Ukraine, Geopolitics, Security, Europe Introduction Between September 9 and 10, 2025, a contingent of 19 to 23 drones, alleged to be Russian, breached Polish airspace. This incident marked the first occasion since Russia's 2022 invasion of Ukraine that NATO forces engaged and neutralised Russian assets within allied airspace.[i] Allegedly, the drones were part of a massive Russian assault on Ukraine, involving over 400 drones and missiles. At least four drones were shot down, primarily by Dutch F-35 jets, with support from Polish F-16s, Italian airborne early warning aircraft, and a Belgian aerial tanker. German Patriot systems in Poland were also on high alert.[ii] The drones caused minor damage, and no casualties were reported. Four Polish airports, including Warsaw's Chopin Airport, were temporarily closed due to the incursion. Poland's Prime Minister, Donald Tusk, described the event as a "large-scale provocation" and the closest the country had come to open conflict since World War II. Poland invoked NATO's Article 4, prompting consultations among allies, and an emergency meeting of the UN Security Council was requested. Polish officials, including Foreign Minister Radosław Sikorski, assert the incursion was deliberate, citing the number of drones and their flight paths, some of which reached deep into Poland, including near Gdańsk. The drones, identified as Gerbera models (simplified versions of Iran-designed Geran drones), were unarmed, suggesting they might have been decoys to test NATO's air defences. Russia denied targeting Poland, claiming the drones veered off course due to Ukrainian jamming, a claim supported by Belarus but dismissed by Polish and European leaders. Intelligence officials are divided on whether the incursion was intentional or accidental, with some suggesting Russia aimed to probe NATO's response without escalating to direct conflict.[iii] NATO Secretary-General Mark Rutte condemned Russia's "reckless behaviour," and leaders from the US, UK, France, Germany, and others expressed solidarity with Poland, calling the incident a serious escalation. Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelenskyy labelled it a "dangerous precedent" and offered Poland anti-drone training, leading to a Poland-Ukraine agreement on joint drone defence initiatives. The EU's foreign policy chief, Kaja Kallas, proposed a "drone wall" to protect Europe's eastern flank.[iv] The incident occurred amid heightened Russian attacks on Ukraine and joint Russia-Belarus military exercises (Zapad 2025), raising concerns about regional stability. Some analysts believe Russia was testing NATO's resolve, especially after failed US-brokered peace talks. NATO has since bolstered its eastern defences, and Poland has closed its border with Belarus, citing security threats. The Zapad (meaning "West" in the Russian language) series began in 2009 as part of the Union State agreement between Russia and Belarus, alternating with other drills, such as Union Shield. Previous exercises often raised alarms among NATO members due to their scale and proximity to alliance borders. For instance, Zapad 2017 involved scenarios with fictional states resembling the Baltic nations.[v] At the same time, Zapad 2021 reportedly included up to 200,000 troops and integrated Belarusian forces more deeply into Russian command structures, with elements simulating operations involving Ukraine. The 2023 Zapad exercise was cancelled, attributed to Russia's resource strain from the Ukraine conflict. Notably, similar drills like Union Resolve in early 2022 were used to mask troop buildups for Russia's invasion of Ukraine, fuelling suspicions around Zapad events. Zapad 2025 took place from September 12 to 16 across 41 land and maritime training areas in both Russia and Belarus. Around 100,000 military personnel participated in the exercise, which also involved up to 7,000 Belarusian soldiers and 10,000 pieces of military hardware.[vi] The operation explicitly framed itself as a defensive measure to protect the sovereignty and territorial integrity of the Union State. Still, it also incorporated high-intensity combat simulations, including the theoretical deployment of tactical nuclear capabilities and advanced missile systems. Despite the presence of military observers from NATO nations and other allied countries at the Zapad 2025 military exercises, the event has raised concerns about regional security, particularly among Poland and the easternmost members of NATO. According to the world's oldest and one of the most cited think tanks specialising in international security, the RUSI (Royal United Services Institute), "Zapad 2025 appears as a meticulously calibrated, scaled-down, and geographically-constrained exercise. This is a deliberate and rational adaptation to the immense human and material costs of the ongoing large-scale war in Ukraine and the persistent strain of international sanctions. The exercise worked as a multi-layered instrument of a state in wartime, even though not fully mobilised. Politically, it fostered a perception of resolve continuity to both domestic and international audiences, strengthening the Russian-Belarusian closeness and deploying calibrated, low-resource deterrent messaging. Militarily, it worked as a field laboratory where Russia stress-tested and refined its Initial Period of War (IPW) playbook, incorporating direct lessons from the Ukrainian battlefield. The focus this time was on high-leverage capabilities, such as long-range precision fires, integrated air and missile defence (IAMD), and electronic warfare (EW), while conserving mass and materiel that are critically needed in Ukraine."[vii]Polish reaction to ZAPAD 2025Poland responded resolutely to the joint Russia-Belarus Zapad 2025 military exercises, viewing them as a provocative threat due to their proximity to the Polish border, aggressive scenarios (including nuclear elements and targeting the strategic Suwałki Gap), and the broader context of Russia's ongoing war in Ukraine and recent incidents like Russian drone incursions into Polish airspace. The reactions encompassed military, border security, diplomatic, and intelligence measures, reflecting heightened tensions and a focus on deterrence.[viii] Poland closed all border crossings with Belarus, including railway lines, effective midnight on September 11-12, 2025 (local Polish time), for an indefinite period until the perceived threat subsided.[1] This decision, announced by Prime Minister Donald Tusk, was justified by the exercises' aggressive nature, their location near the border, and ongoing hybrid threats from Russia and Belarus, such as arson attacks, sabotage, propaganda, disinformation, and espionage. The closure impacted the transit of Chinese and Russian goods. Additional measures included heightened vigilance at the frontier, with Poland coordinating with allies like Lithuania, which also ramped up security at its borders with Belarus and Russia.[ix] Additionally, Poland deployed up to 40,000 soldiers to its eastern border with Belarus as a direct counter to the drills, emphasising preparedness amid the perceived escalation. In a pre-emptive move, Poland led the NATO-backed Iron Defender-25 exercise, starting on September 2, 2025, as its primary military response.[x] This was described as the largest NATO-led drill of the year, involving approximately 30,000 troops (including Polish Armed Forces, NATO battlegroups, Air Force, Navy, Territorial Defence Forces, and Special Forces) and over 600 pieces of heavy equipment, such as U.S.-made Abrams tanks, K9 howitzers, and Gladius drone systems. The multi-domain exercise (land, sea, air, cyberspace) incorporated lessons from the Ukraine war, testing combat effectiveness in realistic scenarios to enhance interoperability and demonstrate alliance unity. Poland's Defence Ministry framed it as non-targeted training but a clear signal of readiness against potential threats, including large-scale drone attacks and Russia's Iskander-M missile deployments in Kaliningrad. Concurrent NATO drills were also conducted along the border.[xi] Historical Context For a non-specialist, especially one from outside Europe, Poland may seem a big unknown. Let us then very briefly examine the role of Poland in European Politics from a historical perspective over the last one hundred years. Poland's role in European history since 1918 has been transformative, serving as both a symbol of national resilience and a catalyst for broader continental change. From regaining independence after 123 years of partition to becoming a cornerstone of modern European integration, Poland's journey reflects the complex dynamics of 20th and 21st century European politics. Poland re-emerged as an independent state in 1918 following the collapse of the German, Austro-Hungarian, and Russian empires. The newly reconstituted Second Polish Republic faced immediate challenges, including border conflicts with neighbouring states from 1918 to 1921 and internal struggles with multiethnic tensions and economic dislocation.[xii] The interwar period was characterised by political instability, debates over competing leadership visions, and the legacy of partitions that shaped Poland's regional ambitions and democratic consolidation efforts.[xiii] Poland became the epicentre of World War II, suffering devastating military occupation under both Nazi and Soviet policies. The country experienced unprecedented civilian trauma, displacement, and the systematic extermination of its population.[xiv] Historians still debate the numbers, but recent analyses suggest that the nation might have lost much more than initially was suggested. Instead of six million, some historians suggest that nine million would be a more realistic number, which would constitute almost 24% of the Polish population.[xv] This wartime destruction fundamentally reshaped Poland's demographics, political landscape, and postwar boundaries, leaving an indelible mark on European memory of the war. After 1945, Poland fell under the Soviet sphere, adopting a communist system that profoundly shaped its institutions, economy, and foreign policy throughout the Cold War. The Soviet-backed regime implemented state socialism, which combined industrialisation with political repression, resulting in periodic episodes of mass dissent.[xvi] Notably, as a member of the Warsaw Pact,[xvii] Poland occupied a central strategic position within the Central and Eastern European architecture, serving as both a critical forward staging area and a substantial contributor to the alliance's conventional forces throughout the Cold War period (1955 - 1989). As part of the "Northern Tier" alongside East Germany and Czechoslovakia, Poland's territory formed the primary staging ground for Soviet operational plans targeting Western Europe, providing essential buffer protection for Soviet rear areas while controlling crucial East-West transit routes across Central Europe.[xviii] The Polish People's Army constituted one of the largest non-Soviet contingents within the Warsaw Pact, with substantial ground forces integrated into Soviet-designed offensive operations that emphasised rapid cross-border campaigns and coalition warfare capabilities. Polish military doctrine was heavily subordinated to Soviet operational art, with force structures, equipment procurement, and training programs synchronised to complement Soviet General Staff concepts rather than independent national defence requirements.[xix] Poland's armed forces regularly participated in major Warsaw Pact exercises that rehearsed theatre-level offensive operations, serving as integral combat elements whose contributions were deemed necessary for the alliance's conventional surprise-attack options. However, this integration came at the cost of operational autonomy, as Soviet personnel and advisers maintained significant influence over Polish military leadership and strategic planning throughout much of the Cold War period. The relationship revealed inherent tensions between Polish national interests and Soviet strategic imperatives, particularly during political crises such as the 1980 - 1981 Solidarity period, when Moscow considered military intervention but ultimately relied on Polish authorities to maintain internal order. By the 1980s, while Poland remained formally committed to Warsaw Pact structures, domestic political changes increasingly undermined the reliability and willingness of Polish forces to serve Soviet strategic objectives, contributing to the gradual erosion of the alliance's military cohesion.[xx] The independent trade union Solidarity, born from mass strikes in 1980, became the primary catalyst for Poland's transition from communism. Despite the imposition of martial law in December 1981, the movement persisted and eventually led to the Round Table negotiations and the pivotal 1989 elections, which produced rapid systemic change.[xxi] Poland's peaceful transition initiated processes that reverberated across Eastern Europe, contributing to the end of the Cold War order. Poland's post-1989 trajectory transformed it from a transition exemplar to an active Euro-Atlantic partner. The country joined NATO in 1999 and acceded to the European Union in 2004, completing its integration into Western institutions.[xxii] Today, Poland serves as the largest economy in Central Europe. It plays multiple roles as a security actor countering Russian influence, a close US partner, and a significant voice in EU decision-making.[xxiii] Below, the reader will find a comprehensive table that contains key political and economic developments in Poland since 1918. Source: Grok – prompt: Create a table with the most important political and economic developments in Poland since 1918. Visualisation by gamma.app. The Role of Poland in the Ukrainian War As allegedly a Chinese saying goes, "one picture is worth a thousand words", one needs to look no further than at a map of contemporary Europe to understand the central and therefore strategically important location of Poland. Source: https://www.escape2poland.co.uk/poland-guide/poland-map From the very beginning of Russia's invasion of Ukraine on February 24, 2022, Poland has emerged as one of Kyiv's staunchest allies, providing multifaceted support amid escalating geopolitical tensions. This assistance has spanned military, humanitarian, political, and economic domains, reflecting Warsaw's strategic interest in countering Russian aggression while bolstering regional stability. By mid-2025, Poland's total aid to Ukraine has approached $9 billion, equivalent to about 4.91% of its GDP.[xxiv] In the military sphere, Poland has delivered 47 aid packages, positioning itself as Europe's primary logistics hub for defence supplies, with 80% of allied donations transiting through its borders. Cumulative military support has reached €4.5 billion by May 2025, including over 300 T-72 and PT-91 Twardy tanks, BWP-1 infantry fighting vehicles, air defence systems, reconnaissance drones, and 100 million rounds of ammunition. Poland also trained Ukrainian troops on NATO equipment and, in April 2024, offered to repatriate draft-eligible Ukrainian men residing in Poland to bolster Kyiv's forces. A July 2024 bilateral security agreement further commits Warsaw to ongoing defence cooperation.[xxv] Humanitarian efforts have been equally robust, with Poland hosting over 1.5 million Ukrainian refugees by 2025, after more than 7.57 million crossed its borders since the invasion's onset.[xxvi] Warsaw established nine reception points on day one and spent €40 billion (1.9% of GDP) on refugee and humanitarian aid from 2022 to 2024, including welfare, medical supplies, and integration programs.[xxvii] By 2024, Ukrainian refugees reportedly contributed a net 2.7% boost to Poland's GDP through employment, with rates rising from 61% to 69%. However, public support has waned, dropping to 45% for long-term stays by 2025, amid political debates over extending benefits.[xxviii] Politically, Poland condemned the invasion through a unanimous Sejm resolution on February 24, 2022, and has advocated for Ukraine's integration into the EU and NATO within forums like the Lublin Triangle. Leaders like President Andrzej Duda and Prime Minister Donald Tusk have emphasised "non-negotiable" solidarity, pushing for sanctions and intelligence sharing. Tensions flared in 2023 over grain imports, leading to temporary bans and border protests, but dialogue resumed with high-level meetings in 2024.[xxix] Economically, Poland's aid encompasses reconstruction involvement, energy interconnections, and trade facilitation, with refugees contributing to growth. As of September 2025, Warsaw has joined the "Coalition of the Willing" for sustained defence pledges, although domestic fatigue and the 2025 elections pose challenges to its long-term commitment. Overall, Poland's role has solidified its regional leadership, balancing altruism with security imperatives.[xxx] The overall picture regarding the actual situation in Poland regarding the costs and benefits of Ukrainian immigration is not all roses. The influx has triggered notable social, economic, and infrastructural strains. Public support for long-term refugee stays has declined amid growing fatigue and political debates. Key challenges include social tensions, housing pressures, welfare strains, and integration barriers. Rarely, but especially painful from a Polish perspective, are anti-Polish sentiments manifested by some Ukrainians, mostly on social media, which often refer to support for Stepan Bandera, seen as a founder of the modern Ukrainian State. Stephan Bandera, was a Ukrainian nationalist leader associated with the Organisation of Ukrainian Nationalists (OUN) and the Ukrainian Insurgent Army (UPA) — and a prominent instigator of Volhynia Massacre of 1943 - 1944. During the massacre, UPA forces killed up to 200,000 ethnic Poles in Volhynia and Eastern Galicia (civilians – mostly women and children) as part of ethnic cleansing efforts. Consequently, Bandera, viewed as a hero in Ukraine for resisting Soviet and Nazi occupations, is often equated in Poland with perpetrators of genocide. SAFE and European Autonomy As analysed here, the EU is in favour of Ukraine's integration into European defence cooperation through the SAFE fund, which highlights Ukraine's unique status as a semi-integrated security partner (SISP) despite not being an EU member. With its vast resources, Ukraine can potentially strengthen the EU and contribute to its economic and political growth, thereby enhancing European geopolitical influence. On the downside, Ukrainian semi- or full membership in the EU, which is likely to include membership in the postulated European Defence Union (EDU), will further stretch the EU dangerously to the East, shrinking the geographical distance between the EU and Russia. Consequently, Europe is likely to face an elevated strategic challenge posed by Russia, given its military potential and, most importantly, the historical and current context of political and economic adversary relations. Simply speaking, once Ukraine becomes an EU member, the EU will be exposed to constant security challenges to a degree much higher than before. The theory of escalation by Herman Kahn should therefore be studied in detail by European policymakers and military leaders to make sure that Europe does not find itself again drawn into a military conflict that may damage its societies for generations to come.[xxxi] Curiously, political leaders of Poland (such as Prime Minister Donald Tusk or Minister of Foreign Affairs Radek Sikorski), supported by Estonian, German, French and British leaders, strike somewhat risky poses and flex muscles verbally challenging the delicate status quo. For example, a recent Russian drone incursion into Polish airspace (8-9 September 2025) produced a lot of chaos and uncertainty. As a consequence, some damage was done to civilian infrastructure. Polish authorities were quick to declare that Russian drones had caused the damage. Only later did it transpire through media reports that the damage had, in fact, been caused by friendly fire. A Polish missile mistakenly hit the civilian infrastructure instead of a hostile drone.[xxxii] Similarly, on November 15, 2022, during a massive Russian missile barrage targeting Ukrainian infrastructure, a missile struck a grain drying facility in the Polish village of Przewodów (near the Ukraine border), killing two Polish civilians and causing an explosion.[xxxiii] Initial reactions from the Ukrainian and the Polish governments hinted at Russian agency. Later on, it turned out that it was, in fact, a Ukrainian missile that mistakenly hit the Polish territory.[2] Interestingly, in a recent interview, the former President of Poland, Andrzej Duda, admitted that the Ukrainian side clearly used the event as an attempt to force the Polish hand to join the war against Russia.[xxxiv]Poland, once again, finds itself at the forefront of the geopolitical border between the collective West and Russia, and once again, it serves as both a bulwark and a spearhead. A role that never really paid any dividends in the 20th century. A role that cost millions of lives, destruction and decades of servitude. Broader Geopolitical Context In a broader geopolitical context, the Polish government has recently taken a significant step by blocking the One Belt One Road (OBOR) initiative. The closure of the border with Belarus halted all road and rail traffic, including a critical rail route that handles about 90% of EU-China freight train shipments — part of China's Belt and Road Initiative — valued at around €25 - 30 billion annually. The disruption affected perishable goods, forced rerouting to less efficient paths, such as the Middle Corridor (via Kazakhstan, the Caspian Sea, Azerbaijan, Georgia, and Turkey), and led to potential losses for Chinese investors. Polish Foreign Minister Radosław Sikorski emphasised to Chinese Foreign Minister Wang Yi on September 16 that security took precedence over trade, rejecting the initial request to reopen. The border reopened on September 25, allowing rail trade to resume gradually, though short-term congestion and instability persisted.[xxxv]Initially, Poland was positive about OBOR, which was formally launched back in 2013. Poland's participation positioned it as a key European gateway, leveraging its central location for rail, port, and trade links. Chinese President Xi Jinping visited Poland in June 2016 and held a meeting with then-President Andrzej Duda and then-Prime Minister Beata Szydło. They signed a declaration elevating ties to a comprehensive strategic partnership, emphasising OBOR cooperation in trade, investment, and infrastructure. The next several years saw a focus on rail and port projects where Poland positions itself as a "hub" for the Silk Road Economic Belt, with investments in logistics and connectivity.[xxxvi] In June 2024, President Xi met Duda in Beijing to mark 75 years of diplomatic relations. They issued an Action Plan (2024–2027) for strengthening the partnership, including high-quality OBOR cooperation.Recent events show that the Polish leadership has reevaluated its role in global and European geopolitics. By doing so, it appears that the Polish political leadership is playing a high-stakes game in the current geopolitical arena — a picture all too familiar to anyone who has studied the history of World War II. We can only hope that this time the future will not bring an all-European war.  [1] The border was reopened at midnight 25 of September.[2] The Ukrainian side has issued no official acknowledgement nor any compensation.   [i] Easton, A., & Lukiv, J. (2025, September 11). Poland says it shot down Russian drones after airspace violation. BBC. https://www.bbc.com/news/articles/c147065pzdzo[ii] Charlish, A., Kelly, L., & Erling, B. (2025, September 11). Poland downs drones in its airspace, becoming first NATO member to fire during war in Ukraine. Reuters. https://www.reuters.com/business/aerospace-defense/poland-downs-drones-its-airspace-becoming-first-nato-member-fire-during-war-2025-09-10/[iii] Walker, S. (2025, September 15). Russian drone incursion into Poland ‘was Kremlin test on Nato.’ The Guardian. https://www.theguardian.com/world/2025/sep/14/russian-drone-incursion-poland-nato-ukraine-europe[iv] Emergency Briefing on Drone Incursion into Poland. (2025, September 12). Security Council Report. https://www.securitycouncilreport.org/whatsinblue/2025/09/emergency-briefing-on-drone-incursion-into-poland.php[v] Yeryoma, M. (2025, August 26). As Russia-Belarus Zapad military exercises begin, here’s everything you need to know. The Kyiv Independent. https://kyivindependent.com/everything-you-need-to-know-about-russia-belarus-zapad-2025-military-drills-set-for-september/[vi] Bifolchi, G. (2025, September 17). Russia-Belarus Joint Military Exercise “Zapad-2025”: Intel Briefing. The Kyiv Independent. https://www.specialeurasia.com/2025/09/17/russia-belarus-zapad-2025/[vii] Minniti, F. (2025, September 22). Wartime Zapad 2025 Exercise: Russia’s Strategic Adaptation and NATO. RUSI. https://www.rusi.org/explore-our-research/publications/commentary/wartime-zapad-2025-exercise-russias-strategic-adaptation-and-nato[viii] Query, A. (2025, September 20). Iron Defender-25: Is NATO Finally Ready to Shield Its Eastern Flank? UNITED24 MEDIA. https://united24media.com/world/iron-defender-25-is-nato-finally-ready-to-shield-its-eastern-flank-11795[ix] Poland to close Belarus border due to Russia-led military exercises, PM says. (2025, September 10). Reuters. https://www.reuters.com/world/europe/poland-close-belarus-border-due-russia-led-military-exercises-pm-says-2025-09-09/[x] Polska odpowiedź na “Zapad-2025”. “Unikamy eskalacji, nie boimy się.” (2025, August 9). Polskie Radio24.Pl. https://polskieradio24.pl/artykul/3562822,polska-odpowiedz-na-zapad-2025-unikamy-eskalacji-nie-boimy-sie[xi] Federation of Exercises codenamed IRON DEFENDER-25 - One Goal, Many Forces, Shared Readiness. (2025, August 26). Ministry of National Defence, Republic of Poland. https://www.gov.pl/web/national-defence/federation-of-exercises-codenamed-iron-defender-25--one-goal-many-forces-shared-readiness[xii] J. Lukowski and H. Zawadzki, "Independence regained and lost, 1914–1945," in A Concise History of Poland, Cambridge University Press, 2006. Also J. Böhler, Civil War in Central Europe, 1918-1921: The Reconstruction of Poland, 2018.[xiii] Górny, M. (2019). A Century of Selective Ignorance: Poland 1918–2018. Slavic Review, 78(3), 654–662. doi:10.1017/slr.2019.227  [xiv] A. J. Prazmowska, Poland: A Modern History, 2010. Also P. D. Stachura, Poland in the Twentieth Century, 1999.[xv] Davies, N. (n.d.). Europa walczy 1939-1945. Nie takie proste zwycięstwo. ZNAK.[xvi] A. Kemp‑Welch, Poland under Communism: A Cold War History, Cambridge University Press, 2008.[xvii] See more at: https://www.britannica.com/event/Warsaw-Pact[xviii] M. Sadykiewicz, "Organizing for Coalition Warfare The Role of East European Warsaw Pact Forces in Soviet Military Planning," RAND, 1988.[xix] Jones, C. D. (2003). Soviet military doctrine as strategic deception: An offensive military strategy for defense of the socialist fatherland. The Journal of Slavic Military Studies, 16(3), 24–65. https://doi.org/10.1080/13518040308430567[xx] Mastny, V. (1999). The Soviet Non-Invasion of Poland in 1980-1981 and the End of the Cold War. Europe-Asia Studies, 51(2), 189–211. http://www.jstor.org/stable/153609[xxi] A. Paczkowski and C. Manetti, Revolution and Counterrevolution in Poland, 1980–1989, 2015.[xxii] A. F. Tatham, "The Polish Constitutional Tribunal and European Law," in European Law and the Eastern Enlargement, Brill, 2013.[xxiii] R. Zięba, "The Evolution of Poland's International Roles," in Central Europe and the Changing International Order, 2020. Or A. Szczerbiak, "A model for democratic transition and European integration? Why Poland matters?" Geopolitics, History, and International Relations, 2016.[xxiv] Prochwicz Jazowska, M. (2025, September 8). Home and away: Why Poland is fighting a war on two fronts. European Council on Foreign Relations. https://ecfr.eu/article/home-and-away-why-poland-is-fighting-a-war-on-two-fronts/[xxv] Palowski, J. (2025, April 8). Poland delivered 100 million rounds of ammunition to Ukraine. Details on Germany and USA. Defence 24.Com. https://defence24.com/defence-policy/poland-delivered-100-million-rounds-of-ammunition-to-ukraine-details-on-germany-and-usa Also Słowański, M. T. (2025, January 13). Poland and Ukraine: A Partnership Forged in Resilience. Fair Observer. https://www.fairobserver.com/politics/poland-and-ukraine-a-partnership-forged-in-resilience/[xxvi] Fusiek, D. A. (2022, November 28). The needs of refugees. European Investment Bank. https://www.eib.org/en/stories/ukrainian-poland-infrastructure-refugees[xxvii] See more at: https://data.unhcr.org/en/situations/ukraine/location/10781[xxviii] See more at: UKRAINE EMERGENCY. (2025, September 25). UNHCR. https://www.unrefugees.org/emergencies/ukraine/[xxix] Prochwicz Jazowska, M. (2025, September 8). Home and away: Why Poland is fighting a war on two fronts. European Council on Foreign Relations. https://ecfr.eu/article/home-and-away-why-poland-is-fighting-a-war-on-two-fronts/[xxx] Ukrainian refugees give Poland big economic boost, report says. (2025, June 10). Reuters. https://www.reuters.com/world/ukrainian-refugees-give-poland-big-economic-boost-report-says-2025-06-10/[xxxi]https://www.amazon.com/Escalation-Metaphors-Scenarios-Herman-Kahn/dp/1412811627#:~:text=In%20this%20widely%20discussed%20and,closer%20to%20all%2Dout%20war.[xxxii] Kacprzak, I., & Zawadka, G. (2025, September 16). Polska rakieta uderzyła w dom na Lubelszczyźnie. Rzeczpospolita. https://www.rp.pl/wojsko/art43015001-polska-rakieta-uderzyla-w-dom-na-lubelszczyznie[xxxiii] Henley, J. (2022, November 16). Missile that hit Poland likely came from Ukraine defences, say Warsaw and NATO. The Guardian. https://www.theguardian.com/world/2022/nov/16/poland-president-missile-strike-probably-ukrainian-stray[xxxiv] Scheffer, J. (2025, September 5). Poland’s Ex-President Duda Exposes How Ukraine Tries to Pull Allies into War. Hungarian Conservative. https://www.hungarianconservative.com/articles/current/ukraine-war-andrzej-duda-allies-false-flag-drone-strike/[xxxv] Dean, J. D. (2025, September 23). Poland to China: So, You Want to Play Hybrid War? Hungarian Conservative. https://cepa.org/article/poland-to-china-so-you-want-to-play-hybrid-war/[xxxvi] Jakubowski, A., Komornicki, T., Kowalczyk, K., & Miszczuk, A. (2020). Poland as a hub of the Silk Road Economic Belt: is the narrative of opportunity supported by developments on the ground? Asia Europe Journal, 18, 367–396. https://doi.org/https://doi.org/10.1007/s10308-020-00571-6

1. Introduction Since the Korean War, South Korea had long relied on U.S.-made tanks, but in the 1970s it launched a full-scale domestic tank development program under the principle of self-reliant national defense. As a result, beginning with the K1 tank, the country gradually increased its localization rate, and today it has fielded the highly advanced K2 Black Panther, placing itself among the world’s leading tank powers. However, when compared to major tanks competing in the global defense market, a comprehensive analysis is still required not only in terms of performance, but also in cost-effectiveness and export competitiveness. This study examines the evolution and localization of South Korea’s tanks, and analyzes the performance of the K2 in comparison with other global competitors to highlight its export potential and strategic significance. 2. Early Background: The Korean War – Early 1970s During the Korean War 1950-1953, North Korean forces launched their invasion spearheaded by the Soviet Union’s best-selling tank, the T-34. In contrast, South Korea did not possess a single tank at the time. The power of the T-34 allowed the North Korean army to advance rapidly in the early stages of the war. However, the arrival of U.S. ground forces changed the situation. The M24 Chaffee light tank was the first to be deployed, followed by the M4 Sherman medium tank, the M26 Pershing heavy/medium tank, and the M46 Patton medium tank, all of which overwhelmed the North Korean forces. Thanks to this reinforcement, the Nakdong River defensive line was held, and the tide of the war shifted in favor of the UN forces. Additionally, by late 1950, the British Army had committed its renowned A41 Centurion tanks to the conflict. After the war, in 1959, South Korea received the M47 Patton tank from the United States as part of its allied support policy and broader equipment modernization program. After the war, South Korea relied on U.S. assistance until 1970 to accumulate experience in operating and maintaining tanks. In particular, in 1966, when the M48 Patton tanks were provided by the United States, South Korea also received a Technical Data Package (TDP), which included key technology transfers alongside major upgrades. Through this, South Korea acquired comprehensive expertise in armor casting and welding, production processes, precision manufacturing and assembly, as well as quality inspection and testing. This foundation became a crucial stepping stone for the subsequent development of the Korean tank industry. 3. Development of the K1 Indigenous Tank: 1970s–1980s Under President Park Chung-hee’s policy of self-reliant national defense, South Korea launched the Republic of Korea Indigenous Tank (ROKIT) program in 1975 in cooperation with the United States. Following the signing of a memorandum of understanding in 1978, full-scale development began. The design direction was set to base the new tank on the form and performance of the U.S. Army’s latest third-generation tank at the time, the M1 Abrams. Chrysler Defense (now GDLS), the manufacturer of the M1, participated in the project, while South Korea’s Agency for Defense Development and Hyundai Precision (now Hyundai Rotem) worked together to create a smaller, terrain-optimized “Little Abrams” for the Korean Peninsula. In April 1984, two prototypes were produced, and after passing a series of tests, mass production began in 1985. The production K1 tank was armed with a 105 mm rifled gun and equipped with a 1,200 horsepower German MTU-series diesel engine, built with General Dynamics technology. A key feature was the adoption of a hydropneumatic suspension system, allowing adjustable ground clearance suited for Korea’s mountainous terrain. The tank weighed 51.5 tons, carried a crew of four, and a total of 1,026 units were produced between 1985 and 1997. During its service, the upgraded K1A1 variant was developed, featuring a 120 mm smoothbore gun, improved fire-control systems, and enhanced armor protection. A total of 484 K1A1s were produced between 1996 and 2008. Subsequent modernized versions, the K1E1 and K1E2, have ensured that the K1 series continues to serve as a core component of the South Korean Army’s armored forces. 4. The K2 Black Panther: 2000s – Present Beginning in 1996, the Republic of Korea Armed Forces acquired 68 T-80U tanks from Russia as repayment for an economic cooperation loan. At the time, the T-80U was Russia’s latest main battle tank, and for South Korean engineers, who had previously only worked with U.S.-made tanks, it provided a valuable opportunity to gain direct experience with a new model. The lessons learned from operating the T-80U contributed significantly to the later development of the K2 tank. After the Ministry of National Defense announced its next-generation tank program in 1992, a system concept study was carried out in 1995, followed by exploratory development in 1998. In 2003, full-scale system development began. By 2007, three prototypes were unveiled for operational testing and evaluation, and mass production was initially scheduled to begin in 2012. However, issues arose during the development of the domestic powerpack (engine and transmission). These included an engine protection temperature setting error, which failed to safeguard the engine from overheating, and insufficient cooling fan speed in the transmission at maximum output, which led to inadequate cooling. Despite multiple redesigns, persistent problems in performance and reliability testing delayed deployment. As a result, the first production batch of 100 K2 tanks was equipped with Germany’s MTU engines and RENK transmissions instead of the domestic powerpack. These vehicles began delivery to the ROK Army in April 2014. By September 2014, the domestic engine had passed the Defense Acquisition Program Administration’s evaluation, and the second batch of 106 tanks and the third batch of 54 tanks were produced with a “hybrid powerpack”—a Korean-made engine combined with a German transmission. Starting with the fourth production batch, SNT Dynamics’ domestic transmission was successfully integrated, completing full localization of the K2 powerpack. Unlike its predecessor, the K1, which had been developed under the leadership of General Dynamics and relied heavily on U.S. components, the K2 Black Panther is a fully indigenous South Korean tank. With domestically developed engines and transmissions, it achieved a high localization rate, giving South Korea independence from U.S. and German export restrictions and allowing greater freedom in operating and exporting its tanks. As South Korea’s most advanced tank, the K2 incorporates cutting-edge technologies that set it apart from its predecessors. These include a 120 mm smoothbore gun, an active protection system (APS), an autoloader, and stealth features, delivering superior mobility, protection, and firepower. Today, it stands as a core asset of the South Korean Army. Specifications (K2 Black Panther):Crew: 3Weight: 55 tonsEngine: Doosan Infracore DV-27K diesel engineTransmission: SNT Dynamics EST15K automatic transmissionMain Gun: Hyundai WIA 120 mm smoothbore CN08Fire Control System: South Korean domestic technologyArmor: Korean-developed composite armor  5. Timeline of South Korea’s Tank Development: From U.S. Aid to the K2 The introduction and development of tanks in the ROK Army have been organized in a chronological timeline with images. This timeline is designed to provide a clear overview of the entire progression — from U.S. aid tanks, to tanks acquired from Russia, and finally to the development of indigenous Korean tanks.   6. K2 vs. Regional Main Battle Tanks — Performance Comparison Tank performance can be compared across four key categories: Mobility, Firepower, Protection, and Sensors & C4I. MobilityComponents: engine & transmission (powerpack), suspension, roadwheels, sprockets, tracks, and fuel systems.Role: determines speed, acceleration, cross-country mobility, and operational range. Maintainability (ease of maintenance and access) is also included here. FirepowerComponents: main armament (gun) — barrel and mantlet, stabilization system, autoloading/manual loading systems, coaxial and anti-aircraft machine guns, ammunition stowage.Role: defines ability to defeat enemy armor and other targets, hit probability (integrated with the fire-control system), and ammunition variety (e.g., APFSDS, HE).ProtectionComponents: baseline composite/steel armor, explosive reactive armor (ERA), active protection systems (APS), smoke generation, fire suppression and NBC protection, and crew survivability compartments.Role: protects crew and systems from penetration, fragmentation, anti-tank weapons, and environmental threats.Sensors & C4I (Command, Control, Communications, Computers, and Intelligence)Components: fire-control system (FCS), thermal and night sights, laser rangefinder, communications suites, electronic warfare and laser warning receivers, and power-management systems.Role: responsible for target acquisition, firing accuracy, and networked combat — i.e., information sharing with friendly forces.Below is a comparison of the K2 and the region’s current main battle tanks.    The K2 Black Panther is regarded as a world-class main battle tank, demonstrating well-balanced excellence in mobility, firepower, protection, and electronic systems compared to neighboring countries’ tanks. 7. South Korea’s Tank Export Outlook and Key CasesWhile exports of the K1 tank were restricted due to U.S. technology regulations, the K2 tank—developed with fully indigenous Korean technology—became eligible for overseas sales. In 2022, South Korea successfully signed a contract with Poland, and negotiations are currently underway with countries in Europe, the Middle East, and Africa, signaling the expansion of Korean tanks into the global defense market. 7.1. Turkish Joint Development of the Altay Tank Based on the K2 (USD 540 million)In 2007, South Korea signed a design support and technology transfer contract with Turkey for the development of the Altay main battle tank. Under this agreement, South Korea transferred several core technologies derived from the K2 tank, including:- 120 mm CN08 smoothbore gun technology (Korean-produced main gun)Advanced armor and composite equipment design consultation and production support- Powerpack (engine + transmission) technology transfer and testing: the Altay successfully completed durability trials with the HD Hyundai Infracore engine and SNT Dynamics transmission The Altay is scheduled to enter full-scale mass production in 2025, with an initial production run of 250 units and a long-term goal of building up to 1,000 tanks. 7.2. K2 Export to Poland: First Batch of 180 Units (USD 3.4 billion), Second Batch of 180 Units (USD 6.5 billion) In 2022, the K2 tank was selected by Poland over strong competitors such as Germany’s Leopard 2A7 and the U.S. M1A2 Abrams. The key factors behind this successful export were as follows: - Rapid delivery and phased supply: South Korea demonstrated its ability to deliver tanks within a very short timeframe. Following the 2022 contract, the first batch of 10 units was delivered within the same year. By contrast, competitors faced production line bottlenecks, raising concerns over delivery delays. - Modern design with European upgrade potential: The K2 features a 120 mm 55-caliber smoothbore gun, an autoloader, an active protection system (APS), and hydropneumatic suspension—technologies equal to or in some cases more advanced than those found in Europe’s latest MBTs. Moreover, South Korea promised to develop a localized version, the K2PL, through joint development with Poland, tailored to Polish requirements. - Local production and technology transfer: South Korea offered local production of the K2PL, guaranteeing the participation of Polish defense industries, along with technology transfer, industrial cooperation, and the prospect of using Poland as a base for future exports. - Cost competitiveness: Despite being a state-of-the-art tank, the K2 is relatively more affordable than the M1A2 or Leopard 2A7. Maintenance and sustainment costs are also projected to be lower than those of European tanks, giving the K2 a strong reputation as a “cost-effective MBT” with excellent value for performance. - Tactical versatility and advanced systems: Equipped with an autoloader, hydropneumatic suspension, and advanced smart fire-control systems, the K2 offers outstanding adaptability across diverse operational environments, including mountainous terrain, urban warfare, and extreme cold.Through this deal, South Korea and Poland established a relationship that goes beyond a simple arms sale, building long-term defense industry partnership and mutual trust. Potential export destinations for the K2 include the Czech Republic, Slovakia, Romania, Saudi Arabia, Oman, Egypt, Morocco, and India. 8. Comparison of Tanks from Export Competitor Nations South Korea’s K2 tank has attracted global attention for its outstanding performance, but the international tank market is already dominated by several major players.This chapter analyzes and compares the leading tanks that compete with the K2, while also examining each country’s export competitiveness.   The K2 Black Panther, while incorporating cutting-edge technologies, is lighter than many Western main battle tanks, resulting in relatively lower sustainment costs. It is therefore widely regarded as a cost-effective, well-balanced tank. The cost of a tank varies greatly depending on its design and configuration, but if we break down the production cost (manufacturing, components, and assembly) into four categories, the estimated shares are as follows:- Protection: 30–40%- Firepower: 20–30%- Mobility: 15–25%- Electronics & C4I: 15–25% The actual share, however, depends on specific factors. For example, the use of advanced armor materials (composite/uranium) or the inclusion of an Active Protection System (APS) significantly increases protection costs. Similarly, specialized gun and ammunition systems (such as a 120mm smoothbore, autoloader, or advanced munitions) raise firepower costs. Integration, testing, and safety features greatly affect electronics costs, while options like autoloaders, high-performance thermal sights, and networked systems can heavily influence the final balance. Other important factor is Lifecycle Perspective (Unit Cost vs. Total Life-Cycle Cost), which can be defined as below.- Procurement: About 20–30% of total life-cycle cost (highly variable)- Operations & Support (O&S): 60–70% — dominated by fuel, maintenance, spare parts, and maintenance personnel costs- Upgrades & Depreciation: 10–20% In other words, the long-term operation and maintenance costs take up a much larger share than the initial procurement cost of a tank.Below is a comparison table of modern main battle tank costs: unit acquisition cost, annual sustainment cost, and 30-year life-cycle cost (procurement + sustainment).*The sustainment cost for China’s Type 99A and Russia’s T-90M is an estimate.   9. Conclusion This study has systematically examined the evolution and localization of South Korea’s tanks, and verified the level of their advancement through performance comparisons with leading global competitors. In particular, the K2 has demonstrated balanced capabilities in mobility, firepower, protection, and electronic command-and-control, supported by advanced technologies and a high degree of localization. At the same time, it offers superior cost-efficiency in sustainment and operational expenses compared to heavier Western MBTs. This makes the K2 not only a key asset for strengthening domestic defense, but also a competitive and cost-effective platform in the global arms market. Taken together, these findings suggest that South Korea’s tanks have progressed beyond being a mere symbol of self-reliant defense, and are now positioned to expand exports and build long-term strategic partnerships worldwide.

Abstract This analysis critically examines the European Union's security guarantees for Ukraine as of 2025, amid ongoing conflict and geopolitical tensions. Despite ambitious diplomatic efforts and increased defence spending, the EU faces significant economic and military challenges that undermine its capacity to ensure Ukraine's security and territorial integrity.Economically, the EU struggles with sluggish growth, structural inefficiencies, high public debt, and trade deficits, particularly with China, limiting resources for sustained military investment. Militarily, the EU's fragmented forces and reliance on NATO contrast sharply with Russia's extensive, war-driven military production and strategic nuclear capabilities.The war in Ukraine demonstrates the increasing prominence of drones and missiles, areas where the EU lags behind both Ukraine and Russia in production scale and innovation. Furthermore, the shifting global order towards multipolarity and the strategic alignment of Russia and China further constrain the EU's role as a formidable security actor beyond its borders. Key Words: EU, Ukraine, Security, Guarantees Introduction Russian President Vladimir Putin made a statement on September 5, 2025, warning that any foreign troops deployed to Ukraine — particularly in the context of the "coalition of the willing" led by France and the UK — would be considered legitimate targets for Russian forces. This was in direct response to a summit in Paris on September 4, where 26 countries pledged to contribute to a potential postwar security force for Ukraine, which could involve deploying troops on the ground, at sea, or in the air to deter future aggression after a ceasefire. Putin's exact words, as reported from his appearance at the Eastern Economic Forum in Vladivostok, included: "Therefore, if some troops appear there, especially now, during military operations, we proceed from the fact that these will be legitimate targets for destruction."[i] He further emphasised that even post-ceasefire, he saw no need for such forces if a long-term peace is achieved, adding, "If decisions are reached that lead to peace, to long-term peace, then I simply do not see any sense in their presence on the territory of Ukraine, full stop."[ii] The "coalition of the willing" refers to a group of primarily European and Commonwealth nations, co-chaired by France and Britain, formed in early 2025 to provide security guarantees for Ukraine amid ongoing peace efforts led by US President Donald Trump. Kremlin spokesperson Dmitry Peskov echoed Putin's stance, calling the presence of any foreign or NATO forces near Russia's border a threat and unacceptable.[iii] While Putin did not explicitly name the "coalition of the willing" in his quoted remarks, the timing and context—immediately following the Paris summit announcements—make it clear his warning targets their proposed deployments.[iv] As bold as President Putin's statement is, the EU has been making lots of noise in recent months regarding European guarantees for the future of Ukrainian security and its territorial integrity. This analysis aims to provide a "hard-eyed" assessment of the formidability of these claims, following a previous piece that analysed European diplomatic efforts to support Ukraine's territorial integrity, published here: An analysis of European Diplomatic Efforts to Support Ukraine’s Territorial Integrity. Challenges and Opportunities. EU Economic Stance and Prospects As of 2025, the European Union's economy remains sluggish, troubled by structural inefficiencies and mounting external pressures. Arguably, the EU bloc is increasingly uncompetitive on the global stage. Despite some stabilisation in inflation and resilient labour markets, the overall trajectory suggests a region struggling to keep pace with the United States and China, with GDP growth forecasts hovering around a dismal 1% — well below the global average of 3.2%. This underperformance is not a temporary hiccup but a symptom of deep-rooted issues, including overregulation, demographic decline, and dependency on volatile external factors.[v] Critics argue that the EU's adherence to rigid "globalist" policies, such as burdensome environmental regulations and fragmented fiscal strategies, has stifled innovation and exacerbated trade imbalances, leading to a €305.8 billion deficit with China in 2024 alone. It is pretty probable that without radical reforms, the EU risks sliding into prolonged stagnation or even collapse, as high energy costs erode competitiveness in export markets. State of the Union (2025,10 September ) openly admits that "In the trade of goods, the EU has long had a trade deficit with China. The deficit amounted to €305.8 billion in 2024, surpassing the €297 billion deficit of 2023, but lower than the record trade deficit of €397.3 billion reached in 2022. In terms of volume, the deficit increased from 34.8 million tons in 2023 to 44.5 million tons in 2024. In the period 2015-2024, the deficit quadrupled in volume, while it doubled in value.China is the EU's third-largest partner for exports and its biggest for imports. EU exports to China amounted to €213.3 billion, whereas EU imports from China amounted to €519 billion, indicating year-on-year decreases of 0.3% and 4.6% respectively. In 2024, EU imports of manufactured goods accounted for 96.7% of total imports from China, with primary goods comprising just 3%. The most important manufactured goods were machinery and vehicles (55%), followed by other manufactured goods (34%), and chemicals (8%). In 2024, EU exports of manufactured goods constituted 86.9% of total exports to China, with primary goods making up 11.5%. The most exported manufactured goods were machinery and vehicles (51%), followed by other manufactured goods (20%), and chemicals (17%).[vi] The EU's core metrics reveal an economy that is stable but uninspiring, to put it mildly, with persistent disparities across member states that undermine cohesion.   *Created by Grok – prompt: critical evaluation of the EU economic situation as of 2025. These figures highlight internal fractures: Southern Europe (e.g., Spain at 2.6%) outperforms the core (Germany at 0%), but overall, the bloc's growth is "stuck in first gear," with services stagnant and manufacturing barely registering. Household savings are rebuilding, but consumer confidence remains low amid trade disruptions and geopolitical noise. At its core, the EU suffers from endemic structural flaws that no amount of monetary tinkering can fix. An ageing population—projected to strain fiscal sustainability—exacerbates labour shortages and boosts welfare costs, while policies to increase participation among older workers and women remain inadequate.[vii] Productivity has lagged behind that of the US and Asia for over 15 years, hindered by fragmented regulations that impede innovation in AI and biotech.[viii] The much-touted Green Deal, while environmentally ambitious, imposes extreme costs on industries, with 44% of firms reporting trade disruptions from China (mostly dumping). Energy dependency, exposed by the Ukraine war, has led to sky-high costs that "erode competitiveness," pushing the EU toward deindustrialisation. Critics decry the EU as a "technocratic regime" where national sovereignty is eroded by Brussel’s alleged blackmail tactics, rendering parliaments mere puppets and stifling bold reforms. The EU's economy is dangerously exposed to global headwinds, with risks tilted firmly downward.[ix] Escalating US-China trade tensions, including potential Trump-era tariffs, threaten exports (over 50% of GDP), particularly in the automotive and machinery sectors.[x] Geopolitical conflicts in Ukraine and the Middle East disrupt supply chains and energy prices, while climate events add further volatility.[xi] The loss of the "peace dividend" forces a diversion of resources to defence, inflating costs and deterring investment. Capital outflows to a faster-growing US, driven by tax cuts, compound the issue, leaving Europe starved of investment. Politically, instability, such as France's government collapse over budget cuts (€44 billion), signals deeper fractures, risking social unrest and further eroding confidence.[xii] The analysis above only scratches the surface. To have a better picture, one should also look at current and projected budget deficits and public debts. For example, according to the EU-27, the total public debt was approximately €14.2 trillion in Q1 2025.[xiii] As for budget deficits, the aggregate EU-27 deficit stood at -2.9% of GDP in Q1 2025, according to Eurostat. [xiv] Looking forward, the situation does not seem to look much better. The prospects for public debt and budget deficits in the EU-27 over the next 5 to 10 years are characterised by gradual upward pressure on debt-to-GDP ratios due to persistent deficits, ageing populations, increased defence spending, and potential shocks like higher interest rates or geopolitical tensions. Based on the latest forecasts from the European Commission (Spring 2025), IMF (April 2025 World Economic Outlook and Fiscal Monitor), and other analyses as of September 2025, debt levels are expected to stabilise or edge higher in the short term (2025–2026), with longer-term sustainability risks emerging from megatrends like climate adaptation and demographic shifts. No comprehensive projections extend fully to 2035, but medium-term analyses (up to 2030) suggest debt could rise to 85–90% of GDP for the EU aggregate if fiscal consolidation is uneven. Deficits are projected to hover around -3% of GDP, testing the Maastricht 3% limit, with calls for prudent policies to avoid unsustainable paths.[xv] It is against this backdrop that the SAFE investments, of which I have written here, here, here and here will have to be somehow balanced against other public policies, including immigration, education, public healthcare or housing. The picture does not look good for the EU, to put it mildly. Current European Military Capabilities as Compared to Russia The EU The European Union's military and defence capabilities remain fragmented, relying on the collective forces of its 27 member states rather than a unified army. As of 2025, the EU and the UK boast approximately 1.4 million[xvi] active personnel, over 7,000 tanks, 1,300 combat aircraft, and a naval fleet including 18 submarines and multiple aircraft carriers, primarily from France and Italy. Combined defence spending has risen to approximately 2% of GDP, totalling €343 billion as of 2024, but gaps persist in strategic enablers, such as air defence, munitions, and cyber capabilities.[xvii] The EU's strengths include industrial bases in countries such as Germany and France, which support exports and innovation in areas like drones and AI. The Common Security and Defence Policy (CSDP) facilitate missions, while PESCO fosters joint projects. Recent initiatives, such as the White Paper for European Defence - Readiness 2030 and the ReArm Europe Plan, aim to mobilise €800 billion for investments, including €150 billion via the SAFE loan instrument, targeting two million artillery rounds in 2025, enhanced drone systems, and military mobility.[xviii] The EU's major weaknesses include a heavy reliance on NATO, particularly on US troops, with estimates suggesting that Europe needs an additional 300,000 soldiers and €250 billion annually to achieve independence. This includes addressing shortfalls in tanks (1,400 needed), artillery, and shells (one million for sustained combat). Challenges include political divisions, with Hungary blocking aid, and supply chain vulnerabilities amid climate threats.[xix] Overall, while progress toward a "European pillar" in NATO accelerates, achieving full strategic autonomy by 2030 hinges on member states' commitment to joint procurement and increased spending. The Russian Federation Russia's military capabilities in 2025 are formidable yet strained by the ongoing Ukraine war, with approximately 1.1 million active personnel, including 600,000 deployed near Ukraine.[xx] According to the US Defence Intelligence Agency, Russia's Defence spending reached 15.5 trillion roubles ($150 billion), or 7.2% of GDP, up 3.4% in real terms from 2024, funding war efforts and modernisation. Inventory includes roughly 5,000 tanks (after refurbishing Soviet stocks amid 3,000+ losses), 1,000 combat aircraft (down from pre-war due to 250 losses), and a navy with one aircraft carrier, 60 submarines, and 800 vessels total, emphasising submarine advancements.[xxi] Russia's strengths seem to lie in strategic nuclear forces (1,550 deployed warheads, up to 2,000 non-strategic), electronic warfare, drone production (over 100 daily), and global power projection via naval deployments. Adaptations include glide bombs and unmanned systems, enabling incremental gains in Ukraine despite 750,000 - 790,000 casualties.[xxii] According to experts, Russia's weaknesses include degraded conventional forces against NATO, stagnation in innovation, sanctions-driven dependencies on China/Iran/North Korea, labour shortages, and rising costs that hamper the development of advanced technology.[xxiii] Reforms prioritise nuclear deterrence, robotics, and force enlargement, but demographic/economic constraints may limit rebuilding over a decade. Overall, Russia sustains attrition warfare but faces sustainability challenges for broader threats.[xxiv] The Realities of the Current Wars – the case of the war in Ukraine The war in Ukraine is surprisingly static in a sense in which the First World War was static. We can observe numerous troops fighting a 21st-century version of a trench war, at least to an extent where the front lines seem pretty much fixed. Technological aspects of the Ukrainian war are, however, decidedly different from a hundred years ago. The war in Ukraine is marked by an extensive use of drones. The analysis of available data from the military, UN reports, and media, up to mid-2025, indicates that the weapons causing the highest number of casualties in the Russia-Ukraine war are primarily drones and artillery systems. These two account for most of both military and civilian losses, with a notable shift toward drones in recent years. Total casualties exceed 1.2 million (primarily military, including killed and wounded), though exact figures are estimates due to underreporting and classification issues.   *Generated by Grok. Prompt: What weapons cause the most significant number of casualties in the Ukrainian war? Multiple Sources. Please see below.[xxv] According to publicly available data, military casualties dominate, with around 1.2 million total for Russia and Ukraine combined.[xxvi] As for civilians, the estimates indicate around 50 thousand casualties, mostly from wide-area explosives.[xxvii] Can the EU be a Formidable Military Power of Tomorrow? The existing intel indicates that the drones are responsible for 70 to 80% of battlefield casualties. Exact numbers are naturally difficult to come by, but experts estimate that the total usage of drones likely exceeds production slightly due to imports/donations. Having said that, the production is probably the best indicator. Consequently, the cumulative totals since 2022 exceed 10 million, with 2025 projected to add 7-9 million drones to the battlefield.[xxviii] If this trajectory continues, it means that the future wars will increasingly be fought with drones and missiles, probably operated by AI systems. So how about the EU? The EU production is small-scale and high-value, with countries like France (Parrot SA, Thales) and Germany (Flyability) among the global top 10 manufacturers. No specific unit numbers, but the EU lags in mass production, urging scaling to millions annually for defence. The current output is likely in the tens to hundreds of thousands, primarily focused on (ISR) – Intelligence, Surveillance and Reconnaissance.[xxix] Tellingly, "Defence Data 2024-2025" from the European Defence Agency (EDA) does not even explicitly mention drones or unmanned aerial vehicles (UAVs). At best, the document alludes to the substantial increase in defence investment, procurement, and R&D in the EU Member States in the future, strongly suggesting that unmanned systems, including drones, are part of ongoing and future defence capability developments.[xxx] Interestingly, it is Ukraine that outpaces the EU in its own domestic production of drones. According to the Global Drone Industry 2025 Market Report, Ukraine produced over 2 million drones domestically in 2024 and, per President Zelensky in early 2025, has the capacity to build 4 million drones annually.[xxxi] Among other interesting information, one finds: 1. The global drone market was valued at about $73 billion in 2024 and is forecast to reach $163+ billion by 2030, with a 14%+ CAGR in the latter 2020s2. Military and defence end-use accounted for about 60% of the total drone market value in 2024.3. DJI (Chinese producer) held an estimated 70%+ share of the global drone market by 2024. One of the most promising developments in this respect appears to be the Eurodrone, officially known as the European Medium Altitude Long Endurance Remotely Piloted Aircraft System (MALE RPAS), a twin-turboprop unmanned aerial vehicle (UAV) designed for intelligence, surveillance, target acquisition, and reconnaissance (ISTAR) missions. It is being developed collaboratively by Airbus (leading the project), Dassault Aviation, and Leonardo, under the management of the Organisation for Joint Armament Cooperation (OCCAR), to meet the needs of Germany, France, Italy, and Spain. The program aims to provide a sovereign European capability that's affordable, operationally relevant, and certified for flight in non-segregated airspace, thereby reducing reliance on non-European systems, such as the U.S.-made Reaper drone.[xxxii] As of 2025, it's in the development phase, with the prototype assembly underway and a maiden flight targeted for mid-2027, followed by initial deliveries around 2029-2030. As such, it is still more of a project rather than any real formidable capability.   Source: https://www.statista.com/chart/20005/total-forecast-purchases-of-weaponized-military-drones/   Source: https://quasa.io/media/top-10-drone-manufacturing-countries-in-2025-global-leaders-trends-and-analysis Apart from drones and UAVs, it is missiles that feature prominently in the modern battlefield. Here, the EU's production capabilities seem equally modest. EU production has indeed tripled overall since 2022, driven by the war. Still, it remains defensive-oriented, with slower scale-up due to component shortages (e.g., rocket motors) and a reliance on U.S. partners. Offensive long-range strike capabilities are limited, with focus on air-defence interceptors under initiatives like the European Sky Shield Initiative (ESSI).[xxxiii] Key systems include U.S.-made Patriot (PAC-2 GEM-T and PAC-3 MSE) and European Aster 30 (via MBDA's Eurosam). Global Patriot production is 850 – 880 annually, but Europe receives only 400 – 500. Aster output is 190 – 225 in 2025, nearly all for Europe. Combined, EU availability is 600 – 700 interceptors per year. Under a 2:1 targeting ratio (multiple interceptors per incoming missile), this equates to defending against 235 – 299 ballistic missiles annually. Projections aim for 1,130 by 2027 and 1,470 by 2029, with licensed production in Germany (e.g., Rheinmetall).[xxxiv] Recent analyses indicate Russia has significantly boosted its missile manufacturing since 2022, shifting to a wartime economy with 24/7 operations and foreign inputs (e.g., from North Korea and Iran). Estimates for 2025 suggest an annual output in the thousands, far outpacing pre-war levels, though exact figures are classified and reliant on external intelligence.[xxxv] As for ballistic missiles, Russia's Production of short- and medium-range systems such as the 9M723 (Iskander-M) and Kh-47M2 (Kinzhal) has surged. Pre-war estimates pegged 9M723 at around 72 units per year, but by June 2025, this had risen to at least 720 annually, with monthly output at 60 – 70 units. Kinzhal production stands at 10 – 15 per month (120 – 180 annually). Combined, these yield 840 – 1,020 ballistic missiles per year, marking a 66% increase over the past year and a 15–40% jump in Iskander output alone during the first half of 2025. Regarding cruise missiles, Russia's output has similarly expanded, with the Kh-101 rising from 56 pre-war to over 700 annually. Total land-attack cruise missiles (including 3M-14 Kalibr, Kh-59, and P-800 Oniks adaptations) could reach up to 2,000 per year. Stocks are estimated at 300 – 600 units currently, with projections for 5,000 by 2035. All in all, most experts point to a significant "missile gap" favouring Russia, where its 840 – 1,020 annual ballistic missiles alone exceed the EU's defensive capacity (e.g., intercepting only 300 ballistic threats per year). Russia's total missile/drone output dwarfs EU efforts. However, that is not all; one should also examine the usage and development of AI and AI-driven and operated military systems. This limited analysis does not allow an in-depth look into the matter. I have written about it here, claiming that the current war in Ukraine is also a huge lab for testing AI and AI-driven military systems. Apparently, the "AI arms race" gives Russia's wartime AI applications (e.g., drone swarms) a practical edge, potentially outpacing the EU's ethical focus by 2–3 times in deployment speed. Russia's budget allocations (5–15%) exceed the EU's EDF share (4–8%), but EU venture surges (500% growth) and NATO ties provide qualitative advantages in reliable, regulated AI. Gaps include Russia's hands-on war experience versus the EU's potential lag, with calls for international law bans and more substantial EU investments to counter the risks of escalation. Optimistically, Europe's rearmament ($865 billion) could close the divide by 2030, but analysts warn of vulnerabilities without faster AI scaling.[xxxvi] Last but not least, similar arguments can be made about the munition production capabilities. To cut a long story short, the answer to the question presented in the title of this section has to be rather negative. For example, even NATO officials, including Secretary General Mark Rutte, claimed Russia produces three times as much ammunition in three months as the whole of NATO in a year," implying 9 – 12 million annually, or even 20.5 million for a 12 times advantage. However, analysts critique these as exaggerated, noting Russia's industrial limits make figures above 4 – 6 million unfeasible without full mobilisation. External supplies bolster output: North Korea delivered ~7 million rounds by mid-2025. Russia's $1.1 trillion rearmament plan through 2036 supports long-term growth, but 2025 estimates hover at 3 – 4 million new/refurbished shells.[xxxvii] The New World Order - Incoming!!! Importantly, if the EU were to offer security and territorial integrity guarantees to Ukraine outside NATO, it would not face Russia alone. It would, or should I instead say will, face Russia and China cooperating and supporting each other, with other members of BRICS, remaining negatively neutral, that is, informally supporting Russia. I suggest that, especially a European reader, carry out a little experiment. I propose that they take any map of the world that is printed in China and locate Europe. When looking at the map, the reader is advised to compare the sizes of the territories of the EU countries with those of Russia (and China combined). Apart from that the reader is advised to compare the GDP output of the EU as Against that of Russia and China, their GDP structures, the international trade vectors, structures and volumes, the number of people, natural resources (rare earths as well as gas and coal, the number and strength of TNCs (Trans-National Companies) with headquarters in Asia and Europe. In other words, carry out a simple geopolitical comparison. To say that the EU does not look impressive as compared to Russia and China is to say nothing. When carrying out such a comparison, the observer should swiftly realise that the EU is a small region in the upper left-hand corner of the map and that its relevance and importance regarding most, if not all, of the indicators mentioned above is diminishing. The fact of the matter is that we are witnessing an absolute overhaul of the international system towards a multipolar model with the centre of gravity away from the collective west. There does not seem to be much room for Berlin, Paris or Brussels for that matter to operate as a formidable security agent outside Europe perimeter not only by the virtue of the lack of capabilities and military tools but perhaps most importantly by the lack of international recognition by the three Great powers (USA., China and Russia) and global actors such as BRICS. References[i] Soldatkin, V. (2025, September 5). Putin says any Western troops in Ukraine would be fair targets. Reuters. https://www.reuters.com/business/aerospace-defense/putin-says-any-western-troops-ukraine-would-be-fair-targets-2025-09-05/[ii] Walker, S. (2025, September 5). Western troops in Ukraine would be ‘legitimate targets’, Putin says. The Guardian. https://www.theguardian.com/world/2025/sep/05/western-troops-ukraine-legitimate-targets-vladimir-putin-says[iii] Western troops in Ukraine would be ‘targets’ for Russian forces: Putin. (2025, September 5). Aljazeera. https://www.aljazeera.com/news/2025/9/5/western-troops-in-ukraine-would-be-targets-for-russian-forces-putin[iv] Putin says Russia would consider foreign troops deployed in Ukraine “legitimate targets.” (2025, September 5). CBS NEWS. https://www.cbsnews.com/news/russia-ukraine-war-putin-says-foreign-troops-legitimate-targets/[v] The Conference Board Economic Forecast for the Euro Area Economy. (2025, September 5). The Conference Board. https://www.conference-board.org/publications/eur-forecast[vi] China. EU trade relations with China. Facts, figures and latest developments. (2025, September 9). European Cmmission. https://policy.trade.ec.europa.eu/eu-trade-relationships-country-and-region/countries-and-regions/china_en#:~:text=Trade%20picture,%2C%20and%20chemicals%20(17%25).[vii] A Critical Juncture amid Policy Shifts. (2025, April). International Monetary Fund. https://www.imf.org/en/Publications/WEO/Issues/2025/04/22/world-economic-outlook-april-2025[viii] 3 priorities to boost Europe’s competitiveness in a changing world. (2025, February 20). World Economic Forum. https://www.weforum.org/stories/2025/02/europe-growth-competitiveness/[ix] A Critical Juncture amid Policy Shifts. (2025, April). International Monetary Fund. https://www.imf.org/en/Publications/WEO/Issues/2025/04/22/world-economic-outlook-april-2025[x] Barkin, N. (2025, September 2). Watching China in Europe—September 2025. German Marshall Fund. https://www.gmfus.org/news/watching-china-europe-september-2025[xi] Petersen, T. (2024, December 12). European Economic Outlook 2025: Multiple Crises Dampen the Upswing. Bertelsmann Stiftung. https://bst-europe.eu/economy-security-trade/european-economic-outlook-2025-multiple-crises-dampen-the-upswing/[xii] Experts react: The French government has collapsed again. What does this mean for France, the EU, and Macron? (2025, September 8). Atlantic Council. https://www.atlanticcouncil.org/blogs/new-atlanticist/experts-react/experts-react-the-french-government-has-collapsed-again-what-does-this-mean-for-france-the-eu-and-macron/[xiii] Public debt at 88% of GDP in the euro area. (2025, July 21). Eurostat. https://formatresearch.com/en/2025/07/21/debito-pubblico-all88-del-pil-nellarea-euro-eurostat/[xiv] Government finance statistics. (2025, October 21). Eurostat. https://ec.europa.eu/eurostat/statistics-explained/index.php?title=Government_finance_statistics[xv] International Monetary Fund. (2025). World economic outlook: A critical juncture amid policy shifts. International Monetary Fund. https://www.imf.org/en/Publications/WEO, Europe’s debt set to surge again in new era of uncertainty, IMF warns. (2025, April 24). POLITICO. https://www.politico.eu/article/europe-debt-surge-uncertainty-international-monetary-fund/, Global Economy Faces Trade-Related Headwinds. (n.d.). World Bank Group. Retrieved September 13, 2025, from https://www.worldbank.org/en/publication/global-economic-prospects , Euro Area: IMF Staff Concluding Statement of the 2025 Mission on Common Policies for Member Countries. (2025, June 19). International Monetary Fund. https://www.imf.org/en/News/Articles/2025/06/18/mcs-06182025-euro-area-imf-cs-of-2025-mission-on-common-policies-for-member-countries or Stráský, J., & Giovannelli, F. (2025, July 3). OECD Economic Surveys: European Union and Euro Area 2025. OECD. https://www.oecd.org/en/publications/2025/07/oecd-economic-surveys-european-union-and-euro-area-2025_af6b738a/full-report/repurposing-the-eu-budget-for-new-challenges_b90b1f1d.html[xvi] European Commission (2025, February 21). Defending Europe without the US: first estimates of what is needed. Brugel. https://www.bruegel.org/analysis/defending-europe-without-us-first-estimates-what-needed[xvii] European Commission, EU defence in numbers. European Council, Council of the European Union. Retrieved September 10, 2025, from https://www.consilium.europa.eu/en/policies/defence-numbers/[xviii] European Commission, Acting on defence to protect Europeans. Retrieved September 10, 2025, from https://commission.europa.eu/topics/defence/future-european-defence_en[xix] Mejino-Lopez, J., & Wolff, G. B. (2025). Boosting the European Defence Industry in a Hostile World. Interconomics, 60(1), 34–39. https://www.intereconomics.eu/contents/year/2025/number/1/article/boosting-the-european-defence-industry-in-a-hostile-world.html[xx] Carlough, M., & Harris, B. (n.d.). Comparing the Size and Capabilities of the Russian and Ukrainian Militaries. Retrieved June 3, 2025, from https://www.cfr.org/in-brief/comparing-size-and-capabilities-russian-and-ukrainian-militaries[xxi] Defense Intelligence Agency. (2025). 2025 worldwide threat assessment: Armed Services Subcommittee on Intelligence and Special Operations, United States House of Representatives. U.S. Department of Defense. https://www.dia.mil/Portals/110/Documents/News/2025%20Worldwide%20Threat%20Assessment.pdf[xxii] U.S. Naval Institute Staff. (2025, May 29). Report to Congress on Russian Military Performance. USNI News. https://news.usni.org/2025/05/29/report-to-congress-on-russian-military-performance[xxiii] Boulègue, M. (2025, July 21). Russia’s struggle to modernize its military industry. Chatham House. https://www.chathamhouse.org/about-us/our-people/mathieu-boulegue[xxiv] Foreman, J. (2025, July 9). Military lessons identified by Russia, priorities for reform, and challenges to implementation. New Eurasian Strategies Centre. https://nestcentre.org/military-lessons/[xxv] Adams, P. (2025, July 18). Kill Russian soldiers, win points: Is Ukraine’s new drone scheme gamifying war? BBC. https://www.bbc.com/news/articles/c80p9k1r1dlo, Drones become most common cause of death for civilians in Ukraine war, UN says. (2025, February 11). Reuters. https://www.reuters.com/world/europe/drones-become-most-common-cause-death-civilians-ukraine-war-un-says-2025-02-11/, Grey, S., Shiffman, J., & Martell, A. (2024, July 19). Years of miscalculations by U.S., NATO led to dire shell shortage in Ukraine. Reuters. https://www.reuters.com/investigates/special-report/ukraine-crisis-artillery/, Ukraine: AOAV explosive violence data on harm to civilians. (2025, August 1). Action on Armed Violence (AOAV). https://aoav.org.uk/2025/ukraine-casualty-monitor/, Court, E. (2025, February 13). What is the death toll of Russia’s war in Ukraine? Action on Armed Violence (AOAV). https://kyivindependent.com/a-very-bloody-war-what-is-the-death-toll-of-russias-war-in-ukraine/[xxvi] The Russia-Ukraine War Report Card, July 16, 2025. (n.d.). Harvard Kennedy School, Belfer Centre for Science and International Affairs. Retrieved September 11, 2025, from https://www.russiamatters.org/news/russia-ukraine-war-report-card/russia-ukraine-war-report-card-july-16-2025[xxvii] Number of civilian casualties in Ukraine during Russia’s invasion verified by OHCHR from February 24, 2022 to July 31, 2025. (2022, February 24). STATISTA. https://www.statista.com/statistics/1293492/ukraine-war-casualties/[xxviii] A Perspective on Russia, Facon, S. (n.d.). A Perspective on Russia. Centre for New American Security. Retrieved September 11, 2025, from https://drones.cnas.org/reports/a-perspective-on-russia/ See also: The Russia-Ukraine Drone War: Innovation on the Frontlines and Beyond. (2025, May 28). Centre for Strategic and International Studies. https://www.csis.org/analysis/russia-ukraine-drone-war-innovation-frontlines-and-beyond and Reeves, T. (2025, May 28). JUST IN: Russia Expands Drone Capabilities as Ukraine Conflict Continues. National Defence. https://www.nationaldefensemagazine.org/articles/2025/5/28/as-russia-ukraine-war-continues-so-does-drone-innovation[xxix] Top 10 Drone Manufacturing Countries in 2025: Global Leaders, Trends, and Analysis. (2025, July 19). QUASA. https://quasa.io/media/top-10-drone-manufacturing-countries-in-2025-global-leaders-trends-and-analysis[xxx] European Defence Agency. (2025). Defence Data 2024-2025. European Defence Agency. https://www.eda.europa.eu[xxxi] Global Drone Industry: 2025 Market Report. (2025, July 16). Tech Space 2.0. https://ts2.tech/en/global-drone-industry-2025-market-report/[xxxii] Global Drone Industry: 2025 Market Report. (n.d.). EUROPEAN MEDIUM ALTITUDE LONG ENDURANCE REMOTELY PILOTED AIRCRAFT SYSTEMS – MALE RPAS (EURODRONE). Retrieved September 15, 2025, from https://www.pesco.europa.eu/project/european-medium-altitude-long-endurance-remotely-piloted-aircraft-systems-male-rpas-eurodrone/[xxxiii] Casimiro, C. (2025, August 14). European Defense Production Triples Since Russia-Ukraine War: Report. WAR ON THE ROCKS. https://thedefensepost.com/2025/08/14/european-defense-production-tripled/[xxxiv] Hoffmann, F. (2025, July 6). Europe’s Missile Gap: How Russia Outcompetes Europe in the Conventional Missile Domain. MIssile Matters - with Fabian Hoffmann. https://missilematters.substack.com/p/europes-missile-gap-how-russia-outcompetes[xxxv] Hoffmann, F. (2025, September 8). Denial Won’t Do: Europe Needs a Punishment-Based Conventional Counterstrike Strategy. WAR ON THE ROCKS. https://warontherocks.com/2025/09/denial-wont-do-europe-needs-a-punishment-based-conventional-counterstrike-strategy/[xxxvi] Zysk, K. (2023, November 20). Struggling, Not Crumbling: Russian Defence AI in a Time of War. Royal United Services Institute (RUSI). https://www.rusi.org/explore-our-research/publications/commentary/struggling-not-crumbling-russian-defence-ai-time-war and Cohen, J. (2025, June 30). The Future of European Defense. Goldman Sachs. https://www.goldmansachs.com/insights/articles/the-future-of-european-defense[xxxvii] Lehalau, Y. (2025, July 25). Is Russia Outpacing NATO In Weapons Production? Radio Free Europe, Radio Liberty. https://www.rferl.org/a/russia-nato-weapons-production-us-germany/33482927.html

In February 2019, the Turkish Naval Force carried out a large-scale military exercise in the Aegean Sea, the Black Sea, and the Eastern Mediterranean Sea to test the operation of the new weapons and naval systems acquired by the country over the last decade. At first, this event did not generate adverse reactions from the international community, but six months later alarm bells rang when, during a speech by President Recep Tayyip Erdoğan at Turkey’s National Defense University, a map was publicly displayed showing what the Republic of Turkey considered to be its sovereign maritime domains. This later became associated with a concept known as Mavi Vatan. Proposed by Admiral Cihat Yaycı and developed by Admiral Cem Gürdeniz, Mavi Vatan or the Blue Homeland Doctrine is a project and geostrategic representation of Turkey with the intention of claiming the state’s supposed jurisdiction over parts of the Eastern Mediterranean and the Aegean Sea. It demonstrates Turkey’s dissatisfaction with the limits established by international law—the United Nations Convention on the Law of the Sea (1982)—and upholds its right to the legitimate defense of sovereignty over what it asserts are its maritime domains: 462,000 km² comprising its territorial waters, its Exclusive Economic Zone (EEZ), and its continental shelf (Denizeau, A., 2021).  Figure 1: Map of ‘Mavi Vatan’ or the Blue Homeland Doctrine publicly displayed during President Erdoğan’s speech at Turkey’s National Defense University (August 2019). Source: Wikimedia Commons ‘Mavi Vatan’ not only represents a historical claim regarding the events of 2004, when the Republic of Cyprus became an official member of the European Union and established its own maritime borders as a state, which, under the framework of international law, pushed the Republic of Turkey into a narrow strip of sea in which to operate. At the same time, Mavi Vatan emerged as a solution to the growing security challenges that have arisen in the last decade of the 21st century, challenges that have threatened not only the integrity of the state itself but also all those elements that guarantee its survival in the international arena; in this case, Turkey’s access to energy resources. With projections that the Republic of Turkey will reach 90 million inhabitants by 2030 (Martín, L; n.d.), the Turkish state is aware of the increasing energy demands needed to adequately meet the needs of a rapidly growing population. To satisfy that demand, it is compelled to seek optimal sources of income to achieve this purpose. In response—and knowing of the large hydrocarbon reserves discovered in the Eastern Mediterranean Sea in recent years (Zeballos Rivero, M., 2024)—Turkey has turned to Mavi Vatan as a solution. If successfully implemented, it would allow Turkey to establish an area for the exploration and exploitation of resources lying beneath these waters to cover its urgent energy needs. The problem? Turkey is not the only interested party. Countries such as Israel, Lebanon, and Egypt, sharing coastlines with the Eastern Mediterranean Sea, are also engaged in heated disputes over legitimate access to these energy resources. However, the most pressing rivalry remains between Turkey and Cyprus, who, having relatively greater capacities to extract energy resources, have been at the forefront of an active dispute to claim sovereignty over these hydrocarbons.  Figure 2: Map of the EEZs of the Eastern Mediterranean countries and also of Mavi Vatan. Source: Emmanouilidis, C. (2020, August 31). Tensions in the Eastern Mediterranean. European Data Journalist Network. https://www.europeandatajournalism.eu/es/cp_data_news/tensiones-en-el-mediterraneo-oriental/ On the one hand, there is the Cyprus–Egypt–European Union alliance, which has agreed upon and mutually recognized the maritime boundaries corresponding to each of them in the Eastern Mediterranean Sea, while clearly omitting the possible sovereignty claims of other countries in the disputed area (s.autor, 2024). On the other hand, there are Turkey’s individual efforts, which, in its quest to gain access to hydrocarbon resources in the sea in question, signed a Memorandum of Understanding in November 2019 with Libya’s Government of National Accord (GNA) to establish an EEZ stretching from Turkey’s southern coast to the northwestern area of the North African country. This agreement granted the Turks rights to hydrocarbon exploration and exploitation in the zone (s.autor, 2024). Although the agreement was suspended in 2021, Turkey has continued to promote ongoing exploration expeditions in the region, which have even extended to Somali waters, with whom it already has agreements in this field. The firm actions taken by states in the region demonstrate that, beyond being an ambition for access to energy resources in the Eastern Mediterranean, the dispute actually represents an active risk to stability and security in the region. Firstly, from the energy dimension: given the importance of energy resources for human development, the continuation of hostilities among the involved states prevents the establishment of cooperative mechanisms that would allow all parties to benefit from the issue. Instead, it risks generating a zero-sum game in which only the strongest state would emerge victorious while the others remain vulnerable to an imminent energy crisis, thereby putting thousands of human lives at risk. Secondly, from the military dimension, there is the latent possibility that an armed conflict could erupt at any moment in the Eastern Mediterranean over immediate access to the contested resources. Without underestimating the military capabilities of the other countries involved, it is important to highlight the case of Turkey, which in recent years has significantly expanded its military capacities as part of the reformulation of its Foreign Policy. This has allowed Turkey to position itself as the ninth-strongest military power in the world (Global Fire Power, 2025) and the second-largest army within the North Atlantic Treaty Organization (NATO). On the opposite side lies Cyprus, which, although it does not possess the same military capabilities as the Republic of Turkey, does benefit from the direct support of the European Union, which, if necessary, could easily respond to potential acts of aggression in a military conflict in the region. Both sides of the dispute—Turkey and the European Union along with Cyprus—truly have sufficient resources to escalate the conflict if they so desire, but they have not done so for reasons that remain unclear. For now, the situation remains uncertain. Beyond warnings or complaints from some states and/or international organizations, there has been no decisive action to put an immediate end to the conflict, since, in reality, no large-scale crisis has yet warranted such a response. However, it is important not to underestimate the phenomenon: the fact that it has not yet generated a major impact does not mean it could not do so one day, especially considering the great capacities the involved states have both to act and to respond to possible aggression. Historically, disputes over energy resources have generated unprecedented wars that have cost thousands of lives—for example, the Gulf War in 1991. It is therefore necessary to continue monitoring such situations to prevent them from escalating into conflicts as violent as those of the past. Thus, diplomatic channels between all parties to the conflict must be pursued, with the aim of generating cooperative solutions that foster peace and prosperity among nations, rather than new problems. ReferencesDenizeau, A. (abril, 2021) “Mavi Vatan, the ‘Blue Homeland’: The Origins, Influences and Limits of an Ambitious Doctrine for Turkey”, Études de l’Ifri, Ifri.E. (2019, 30 diciembre) La lucha por los recursos en el Mediterráneo Oriental. Anadolu Ajansi. https://www.aa.com.tr/es/mundo/la-lucha-por-los-recursos-en-el-mediterr%C3%A1neo-oriental-/1685950Global Fire Power (2025). 2025 Military Strength Ranking. https://www.globalfirepower.com/countries-listing.phpJager, J.; Norris, A. (2021, 27 septiembre). The Mavi Vatan Doctrine and Blue Homeland Anthem: A Look At Turkey’s Maritime Worldview. Center for International Maritime Security. https://cimsec.org/the-mavi-vatan-doctrine-and-blue-homeland-anthem-a-look-at-turkeys-maritime-worldview/Kaya Ulger, I. (2020, 14 octubre) Turquía continúa defendiendo su “patria azul”. Anadolu Ajansi. https://www.aa.com.tr/es/mundo/turqu%C3%ADa-contin%C3%BAa-defendiendo-su-patria-azul-/2005458Mason, S. (2020, 20 septiembre). Blue Homeland: The Heated Politics Behind Turkey’s New Maritime Strategy - War on the Rocks. War On The Rocks. https://warontherocks.com/2020/06/blue-homeland-the-heated-politics-behind-turkeys-new-maritime-strategy/Martín, L. (s. f.).   ‘Mavi Vatam’: la doctrina turca de la ‘patria azul‘. Global Affairs and Strategic Studies. https://www.unav.edu/web/global-affairs/detalle/-/blogs/-mavi-vatam-la-doctrina-turca-de-la-patria-azul-3Menjón, D. M. (2021, 7 octubre). Dossier Geopolítico Especial: Teoría de la “Patria Azul”. Turquía se proyecta sobre el mar (de la energía). Hermes Kalamos. https://www.hermes-kalamos.eu/dossier-geopolitico-especial-teoria-de-la-patria-azul-turquia-se-proyecta-sobre-el-mar-de-la-energia/S. a. (2024, 10 abril) Cihat Yayci: Libia es un socio estratégico y un aliado para proteger y promover la seguridad de Turquía. OtraLecturA https://otralectura.com/2024/03/15/cihat-yayci-libia-es-un-socio-estrategico-y-un-aliado-para-proteger-y-promover-la-seguridad-de-turquia/S.a. (s. f.). Mavi Vatan-2019 Tatbikatının Ardından Enerji-Politik Ağırlıklı Bir Değerlendirme. Euronewsport İş dünyasından haberler. https://euronewsport.com/mavi-vatan-2019-tatbikatinin-ardindan-enerji-politik-agirlikli-bir-degerlendirme/Zeballos Rivero, M. (2023, 22 marzo). Creciente tensión entre Turquía y Grecia por reservas de gas en el Mediterráneo. Global Affairs And Strategic Studies. https://www.unav.edu/web/global-affairs/creciente-tension-entre-turquia-y-grecia-por-reservas-de-gas-en-el-mediterraneo 

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

Abstract The Arctic has been identified by scientists as a relatively promising venue for controversial ‘solar geoengineering’ – technical schemes to reflect more sunlight to counteract global warming. Yet contemporary regional security dynamics and the relative (in)significance of climate concerns among the key Arctic states suggest a different conclusion. By systematically juxtaposing recently published schemes for Arctic geoengineering with Arctic security strategies published by the littoral Arctic states and China, we reveal and detail two conflicting security imaginaries. Geoengineering schemes scientifically securitise (and seek to maintain) the Arctic’s ‘great white shield’ to protect ‘global’ humanity against climate tipping points and invoke a past era of Arctic ‘exceptionality’ to suggest greater political feasibility for research interventions here. Meanwhile, state security imaginaries understand the contemporary Arctic as an increasingly contested region of considerable geopolitical peril and economic opportunity as temperatures rise. Alongside the entangled history of science with geopolitics in the region, this suggests that geoengineering schemes in the Arctic are unlikely to follow scientific visions, and unless co-opted into competitive, extractivist state security imaginaries, may prove entirely infeasible. Moreover, if the Arctic is the ‘best-case’ for geoengineering politics, this places a huge question mark over the feasibility of other, more global prospects. Introduction ‘The Arctic region plays a key role in the global climate system acting as a carbon sink and a virtual mirror’ (Carnegie Climate Governance Initiative (C2G), 2021: 1) – thus reads a typical introduction to the rationale for solar geoengineering (SG) in the Arctic. To most, SG – any large-scale intervention that seeks to counteract anthropogenic global warming by reflecting sunlight – is still an obscure idea. However, it is quickly gaining traction among some groups of climate scientists, entrepreneurs and even some governments as climate impacts provoke an ever-increasing sense of alarm and urgency. Debates concerning potential governance of SG routinely acknowledge its potential international governance challenges, but have tended to leave security dimensions mostly unexamined (but see Nightingale and Cairns, 2014), usually by framing the challenge primarily in terms of coordinating efforts and dealing with potentially unwanted side effects (Corry et al., forthcoming). While climate change itself is often understood as a potential security threat, it has not yet motivated exceptional or decisive state action, but rather seems to produce a series of routine practices through which ‘climate change is rendered governable as an issue of human security’ (Oels, 2012: 201). Geoengineering could potentially change this situation. The potentially high-leverage, transboundary nature of large-scale SG has led to suggestions that it would involve disagreements over the methods and intensity of interventions (Ricke et al., 2013) and could lead to international conflicts, not least from uni- or ‘mini’-lateral deployment (Lockyer and Symons, 2019). In addition, with its potential to make climatic changes and catastrophes attributable to (or able to be blamed on) the direct and intentional actions of states, SG could also make the rest of climate politics a more conflictual field (Corry, 2017b). Other scholars have examined geoengineering itself through a human security frame – recently developed as ‘ecological security’ with ecosystems as the main referent object (McDonald, 2023), where the insecurity arising from climate change is seen to go beyond the particularity of state interests. This casts geoengineering as a potential ecological security measure, or even as a potentially ‘just’ one, if it would protect groups otherwise vulnerable to climate threats (Floyd, 2023). However, the entanglement of geoengineering, even if framed as an ‘ecological security’ measure, with national and international security dynamics, would remain a distinct risk, in similar ways to how humanitarian aid and development have become entangled with, and for some historically inseparable from, security (Duffield, 2007). In this article, we seek to move beyond theoretical speculation about the International Relations of geoengineering abstracted from historical or regional security dynamics, using a case study of the Arctic to investigate how geoengineering might (not) enter this political space and to derive conclusions of broader relevance to the international debate. We make use of the empirical richness revealed by schemes for Arctic geoengineering to identify how security imaginaries – ‘map[s] of social space’ (Pretorius, 2008: 112) reflecting common understandings and expectations about security – are already implicit in scientific and technical visions of geoengineering. We contrast these scientific security imaginaries with current state security imaginaries that play a dominant role in the anticipation of Arctic futures more generally. As we will show, scientific security imaginaries consider the Arctic as a best case for geoengineering in terms of political feasibility. This allows for analytical inference based on critical case selection (Flyvbjerg, 2006): if even in the Arctic these scientific security imaginaries have little compatibility with current state security imaginaries, geoengineering faces major obstacles of political feasibility in other regions and globally, unless deployed in pursuit of security rather than global environmental protection. Many different ideas for SG have been explored as ways to cool the Arctic. These include marine cloud brightening (MCB): spraying salts from sea vessels to make marine clouds more reflective (Latham et al., 2014) or covering ocean or ice surfaces with reflective materials (Field et al., 2018). Related ideas involve using wind power to pump water onto ice to help thicken it (Desch et al., 2017), underwater ‘curtains’ to protect ice from warmer water streams (Moore et al., 2018) or reintroducing large animals to graze and trample so that dark boreal forest is replaced by reflective snow-cover, protecting permafrost (Beer et al., 2020).1 The technique of stratospheric aerosol injection (SAI) – spraying reflective aerosols like sulphur or calcite into the stratosphere – is also included as an option by some organisations working with Arctic geoengineering2 or explored in simulations or other research (Jackson et al., 2015; Lane et al., 2007; Robock et al., 2008). In practice, however, aerosols distributed in or near the Arctic would likely spread over much of the Northern hemisphere, and model studies of Arctic-targeted SAI generally conclude that is it not a desirable option due to particularly severe negative side effects outside the Arctic (Duffey et al., 2023). While geoengineering scientists seek to distance their work from geopolitical concerns (Svensson and Pasgaard, 2019), scientific research in the Arctic – even that involving cooperation between Cold War adversaries – has long been deeply entangled with state security objectives and military interests (Doel et al., 2014; Goossen, 2020). Similarly, weather modification schemes have a history of (largely failed) entanglement with military purposes (Fleming, 2010), while climate modelling evolved partly through and with military scenario-making (Edwards, 2010). Climate modelling occupies a more civilian location in multilateral institutions now but still shares its particular way of seeing the climate – as a space of geophysical flows – with a military gaze (Allan, 2017). More importantly, the interrelated environmental, economic and geopolitical interests in opening up the Arctic that are emerging with global warming make for a particular set of contradictions and tensions in the region that we argue will be much more likely than global environmental concerns to determine what role (if any) geoengineering could or would play. Arctic SG ideas are emerging largely oblivious to this context, which is understandable, but makes for an interesting comparative analysis that, as will we show, raises questions concerning the overall feasibility of SG in the Arctic, especially deployment of it in line with scientific imaginaries. Since scientific literature tends to be central to governance-oriented assessments of SG (e.g. National Academies of Sciences, Engineering, and Medicine, 2021), a mismatch between assumptions has potentially serious policy implications, not least in terms of overall feasibility, which in turn augments risks of such schemes failing and contributing to mitigation deterrence (when they were hoped or planned for, delaying emissions reductions (McLaren, 2016)). Attention to the geopolitical complexities of Arctic geoengineering could prevent scientific work being translated into policy prescriptions in unintended ways or having unexpected effects – if the complexities can be foregrounded when interpreting such work and be considered in designing future research. Approach We analyse both Arctic geoengineering schemes and state strategies for the Arctic as security imaginaries. This concept draws on Charles Taylor’s (2004) notion of the social imaginary, ‘the ways people imagine their social existence, how they fit together with others, how things go on between them and their fellows, the expectations that are normally met, and the deeper normative notions and images that underlie these expectations’ (p. 23). Imaginaries, in this sense, are worldviews – sets of assumptions that may or may not correspond to social reality but affect it in significant and material ways. They are not simply subjective constructions to be weighed against some objective reality, but (often competing) ways of constructing and institutionalising the world. Following Pretorius (2008), a security imaginary is then ‘that part of the social imaginary as “a map of social space” that is specific to society’s common understanding and expectations about security and makes practices related to security possible’ (p. 112). Regrettably, social imaginaries are often theorised through ‘internalism’: as if a society is determined by factors originating within that society alone (Rosenberg, 2016).3 This makes it difficult to explain why different societies often have similar security imaginaries. By breaking with internalism, national imaginaries can be understood as inherently international in the sense that they are deeply affected by coexistence with other societies. For Pretorius (2008), ‘the security imaginary is . . . open to influence from perceptions, beliefs and understandings of other societies about security’ due to ‘trans-societal exchanges’ such as travel (p. 112). But in a deeper way, the mere existence of multiple societies is fundamental to the whole idea of (national) security (Rosenberg, 2016). In addition, if the Arctic is considered a ‘regional security complex’ (Lanteigne, 2016) such that the security imaginary of societies in a region ‘cannot be reasonably analysed or resolved independently of each other’ (Buzan and Wæver, 2003: 44), then relations between societies become constitutive, even, of security imaginaries of that region. Scientific communities – in this case geoengineering researchers – can produce a different ‘map of social space’ from national ones, since the groups (in one version ‘epistemic communities’ (Haas, 1992)) producing these are not necessarily national, and use different tools and concepts than national security communities. At the same time, scientists are rarely unaffected by their backgrounds, and their technical and conceptual tools for producing such a ‘map’ reflect traces from state priorities and international structures, including colonial legacies (Mahony and Hulme, 2018). State and scientific security imaginaries are thus distinct but not separate, and as we shall see, they can clash or draw upon each other, often implicitly. The security imaginary concept captures three important characteristics of our empirical materials. First, geoengineering ideas and state security strategies are performative (rather than purely descriptive) in their anticipation of (Arctic) futures (Anderson, 2010). Second, they are based on understandings of social order which merge factual and normative claims – what is and what should be (Taylor, 2004). Third, they construct threats and necessary responses in terms of the security of that social order, irrespective of whether those threats are of a military nature or otherwise (e.g. a climatic threat); in other words, they can securitise a variety of referent objects (Buzan et al., 1998). In investigating scientific and state security imaginaries, we focus on the difference in the construction of two objects: climate and the international order. We ask: how is the ‘Arctic climate’ articulated and made legible in relation to the planetary climate and other factors, and further, how is the Arctic climate problematised and related to concerns of desirable or undesirable futures? What political, economic and international infrastructures are presumed? In sum, what threatens and what defends Arctic and international order? To explore the security imaginaries of Arctic geoengineering, we gathered materials that construct Arctic futures through searches in the peer-reviewed literature with the search terms ‘Arctic’ and ‘geoengineering’ using , as well as search hits on the term ‘Arctic’ in the archive of the Climate Engineering Newsletter run by the Kiel Earth Institute,4 which also covers grey literature and press coverage on the topic.5 We manually excluded texts exclusively focused on carbon removal forms of geoengineering, except those with positive effects on the surface albedo. For the state security imaginaries of the Arctic, we consulted policy documents and other official government publications looking for the most recent policy statement in each of the littoral states: Canada, the United States, Russia, Norway and Denmark (which controls the security and foreign policy of Greenland) concerning their respective Arctic security strategy.6 Public documents are often used as data in security studies as testaments to state preferences or intentions, despite the often performative character of such documents. Such documents generally attempt to portray the institutions that produce them as competent and coherent – and of value to particular external audiences. As such they are potentially unreliable as sources for underlying intentions, levels of capacity and commitment behind policy goals. However, as documents set out to perform a future which is seen as desirable – either by the authors themselves or the audiences they appeal to – they are a useful guide to the underlying assumptions of social and international order guiding Arctic security politics – the state security imaginaries, in other words. We therefore study them for their performative content, with particular emphasis on the intended audiences and messages (Coffey, 2014). Similarly, geoengineering publications also perform a material and political Arctic future to advance scientific or research agendas, and we therefore analyse the underlying imaginary of their desired futures, without prejudice to the climatological or technical feasibility of the envisioned schemes. However, as the imaginaries of many researchers typically invoke global benefits from Arctic geoengineering, in particular through preventing tipping events, it bears mentioning that recent literature questions these benefits. Research indicates that that some techniques (ice restoration in particular) would have limited impacts on the global climate (Van Wijngaarden et al., 2024; Webster and Warren, 2022; Zampieri and Goessling, 2019), and a recent comprehensive review finds only limited support for the claim that Arctic sea ice is a tipping element in the climate system (Lenton et al., 2023: 58–60, 66–68). Even so, it should not be assumed that scientific considerations alone will drive decisions to geoengineer the Arctic, and the growing interest in these ideas makes it important to examine their political imaginaries. Finally, we must acknowledge the highly consequential difference in the power to securitise between the actors which produce the imaginaries. The state apparatuses producing the state security imaginaries are more aligned with, and therefore more likely to influence, actors with the power to securitise (Floyd, 2021). We read both sets of imaginaries in this light. The ‘great white shield’: scientific security imaginaries In geoengineering studies and policy papers, the Arctic is foremost understood as a part of the global climate system (Corry, 2017a), with focus placed on potential tipping points in terms of alarming above-average warming, the sea ice albedo feedback and the potential release of methane and carbon dioxide from thawing permafrost or undersea clathrates. These may push the Earth into feedback cycles of further warming. The Arctic is therefore seen as a ‘great white shield’ for the global climate, but a fragile one: ‘the weakest link in the chain of climate protection’ (Zaelke, 2019: 241). Many of those advocating exploration of Arctic geoengineering argue that emissions cannot be reduced in time to prevent tipping points. One paper contends that cryospheric tipping points ‘are essentially too late to address by standard political processes [for climate management]’ (Moore et al., 2021: 109). This pessimistic assessment spawns a complementary opposite: hopes that geoengineering might prove especially feasible and desirable in the Arctic, with associated aspirations for near-term experimentation and potential deployment. One researcher coined the term ‘Arctic Premium’, arguing that the particular climatic characteristics of the region will enable ‘a dividend for regionally based climate interventions that could be less expensive, more effective and achieve faster results than if they were targeted over the whole earth’ (Littlemore, 2021: 2) – the Arctic imagined as an effective and relatively accessible lever for operating on the global climate system as a whole.7 While regional benefits such as the preservation of ice-dependent Indigenous ways of life are sometimes mentioned (Moore et al., 2021: 110), this tends to occur when regional benefits align with what are understood as global climatic interests. This instrumental attitude can also be seen in proposals that, echoing some of the early literature on SG (Lane et al., 2007; Robock et al., 2008), see the Arctic as a testing ground. These include ‘SCoPEx’, which would have tested SAI equipment over Indigenous Sámi land, and the suggested use of the Sermeq Kujalleq glacier in Greenland – Inuit territory – as a prototype for more substantial glacial geoengineering in the Antarctic. The Sermeq Kujalleq proposal is justified on the basis of ‘fewer global environmental impacts’, despite the considerable amount of local socio-environmental impacts and acknowledgement that ‘the reactions of local people would be mixed’ (Moore et al., 2018: 304). In a quote that sums up the assessment of most researchers Bodansky and Hunt (2020) argue that ‘as bad as Arctic melting is for the Arctic itself, its global effects are more concerning’ (p. 601). The concern with global effects infuses scientific security imaginaries with urgency. The ostensible ‘speed’ (Zaelke, 2019: 244) of SG is contrasted with the slowness of politics, emissions reductions and large-scale carbon removal.8 In many cases, such invocations of urgency lead to claims that geoengineering is necessary: that ‘excluding polar ice restoration could make the 1.5° C goal impossible to achieve’ (Field et al., 2018: 883) or that ‘more and more people see geoengineering as a necessity more than an option, making it a matter of when rather than if’ (Barclay, 2021: 4). One proposal notes that ‘these are expensive propositions, but within the means of governments to carry out on a scale comparable to the Manhattan Project’ (Desch et al., 2017: 121); others also specify funding by rich states as the way to move forward on research and deployment (Moore et al., 2021). The urgent threat of Arctic climate change is seen as a job for decisive state action, and thus, it is argued to be salient in so far as it appears as a universal threat to state interests. At the same time, the causes of climate change are downplayed and depoliticised across the literature. Attributing climate change to emissions from ‘human societies’ (Beer et al., 2020: 1), the literature frames out the vastly unequal responsibility for climate change and the social and economic dynamics driving historical and continued emissions.9 One policy paper neglects social causes of climate change altogether, contrasting geoengineering only to ‘conventional mitigation policies’ (Bodansky and Hunt, 2020: 597) and ‘decarbonisation of the global economy’ (p. 616). In this way, Arctic climate change is constructed as a global security threat, seen as stemming from the ‘tight couplings within global systems, processes, and networks’ (Miller, 2015: 278) rather than the actions of any specific group of humans, and as a threat to global ‘human security’ and therefore not subject to the division and distrust of international politics. In this, the imaginary resembles much liberal environmentalism in International Relations, characterised by a ‘global cosmopolitanism’ which does not seriously engage with inequalities of power and intersocietal difference (Chandler et al., 2018: 200). This imaginary is probably adopted to construct scenarios for technical research, since it fits neatly with modelling tools that produce visions of geoengineering in purely technical Earth system terms. But the liberal imaginary also shapes assessments of political feasibility and could impinge on the technical design of geoengineering schemes, including in ways that can be hard to unpick when the research enters the political sphere. Most publications entirely omit considerations of state security, including some papers that focus on governance (Bodansky and Hunt, 2020; Moore et al., 2021). The mentions of security that do exist are brief and vague: C2G (2021) notes that ‘evidence suggests potential security issues may arise’ (p. 2) in the case of SAI. Another paper notes as an example of ‘geo-political . . . friction’ that ‘Arctic regions such as Russia, Alaska and the Canadian Yukon would be providing a global public good . . . which would add a major new dimension to international relations’ (Macias-Fauria et al., 2020: 10), suggesting that geoengineering can be adequately grasped through rationalist decision frameworks where global public goods offer non-rival and universal benefits, which is disputed (Gardiner, 2013). In the research, the omission of geopolitics is justified by relegating it as a problem which only concerns the ostensibly more controversial techniques such as SAI deployed globally. There is a hope that ‘Arctic interventions pose less of a governance challenge than global climate interventions’ (Bodansky and Hunt, 2020: 609). This rests on the twin claim that the physical effects of Arctic interventions will be more limited and therefore less risky and that the Arctic’s political environment is more conducive to geoengineering than the ‘global’ polity as a whole. In terms of physical effects, many Arctic interventions are argued to be ‘low-risk’ (Barclay, 2021: 4) due to fewer and less severe environmental side effects. What Zaelke (2019) calls ‘soft geoengineering’ (p. 243) approaches are presented as ‘more natural’ (Littlemore, 2021: 2) than the most commonly considered SG techniques such as SAI or MCB which involve physical and chemical manipulation of the atmosphere.10 In particular, efforts to restore sea ice without atmospheric interventions are promoted highlighting the ostensibly more ‘natural’ character of their intervention (Field et al., 2018: 899). ‘Unlike other [SG] methods, thickening sea ice is attractive because it merely enhances a naturally ongoing process in the Arctic’, claims one proponent (Desch et al., 2017: 112). Efforts at ecological intervention in ecosystems to halt permafrost thaw are also described as ‘a return to a more “natural state”’ (Moore et al., 2021: 111). ‘Soft’ geoengineering concepts are in many cases linked to discourses of conservation, with the sometimes-explicit expectation that this will make them more benign and less politically controversial: ‘Since it is rooted in the preservation of the existing state rather than introducing new and undeniably controversial elements into the atmosphere, it likely presents easier governance challenges’ (Moore et al., 2021: 116). Such distinctions between ‘natural’ and ‘unnatural’ interventions may well facilitate cooperation around some methods, but notions of ‘natural’ are also situated, making distinctions inevitably difficult to maintain in practice. While aiming to preserve select parts of the Arctic environment (such as land ice, sea ice or permafrost), geoengineering interventions will likely also introduce significant changes and risks to Arctic ecosystems (Miller et al., 2020; Van Wijngaarden et al., 2024).11 In this way, ostensibly ‘natural’ Arctic interventions would lead to unprecedented anthropogenic – and for others therefore ‘unnatural’ – impacts on ecosystems in the Arctic and possibly beyond, since remote impacts are plausible but not yet well understood.12 This reveals an imaginary prevalent among proponents of Arctic geoengineering, where a distinct construction of ‘natural’ emerges to bridge aspirations of technical manipulation of the climate with what scientists see as palatable to (or believe to be) social ideals of ‘nature’. In addition, the adjectives used to describe ‘soft’ geoengineering – ‘targeted’ (Moore et al., 2021: 108), ‘localized’ (Latham et al., 2014: 3), ‘reversible’ (Barclay, 2021: 4) and ‘intelligent’ (Field et al., 2018: 900), all point to an imaginary where aspirations towards the ‘natural’ are combined with expectations of fine-grained, scientifically calibrated control. As Zaelke (2019) explicitly suggests, ‘in other words, we have control over soft geoengineering’ (p. 243) – the ‘we’ here left ambiguous. The idea of having a relatively large degree of control originates in restraint vis-a-vis ‘global’ SG, in that it recognises large risks from attempting to control the global climate system as such. But this sense of fine-grained control may also encourage more Promethean dreams of a ‘designer climate’ (Oomen, 2021), as speculation over future possibilities of ‘fine-tun[ing] the flows of heat, air and water’ using localised MCB indicates (Latham et al., 2014: 10). In terms of the Arctic’s political environment, discourse on the feasibility of geoengineering reveals further elements of a liberal imaginary, relying on (existing or imagined) international law and institutions, distributive justice and consequentialist ethics (Baiman, 2021; Barclay, 2021), a focus on cost minimisation (Desch et al., 2017; Field et al., 2018) and market-based approaches such as payments for ecological services (Moore et al., 2021) or carbon credits (Macias-Fauria et al., 2020) in the implementation of geoengineering schemes. Taken together, such measures rather well resemble a ‘liberal cosmopolitan framework through the advocacy of managerialism rather than transformation; the top-down coercive approach of international law; and use of abstract modernist political categories’ (Chandler et al., 2018: 190). Distributive notions of justice and consequentialist ethics are arguably also at the root of claims that local populations in the Arctic, including its Indigenous peoples, may be uniquely receptive to geoengineering schemes. While many advocate public engagement (Desch et al., 2017; Macias-Fauria et al., 2020) and stress that ‘Northern people who use and depend upon the existing landscape need a strong voice’ (Littlemore, 2021: 3), there is a general expectation that such engagement will not be prohibitively conflictual. One policy scholar suggested that ‘given that Northern people are already seeing the effects of climate change, the North may be a place for a more pragmatic, constructive, and legitimate deliberative discussion on Arctic interventions’ (Ted Parson, quoted in Littlemore, 2021: 5). Other researchers have concluded that using SAI would conserve ‘indigenous habits and lifestyles’ in the Arctic (Chen et al., 2020: 1) as a direct consequence of reducing permafrost thaw. These assumptions were strained by the SCoPEx controversy, where the Sámi Council strongly opposed the experiment planned in their territory (Cooper, 2023). Equally, Arctic populations (Indigenous and non-Indigenous) have varied interests that cannot be assumed to be oriented to preventing or reversing Arctic climatic change, some seeing new opportunities for economic development and potentially political independence in the case of Greenland (Jacobsen, 2020). Political feasibility of geoengineering plans is often assessed through legal analyses that weigh up specific techniques and target environments in relation to existing treaties and other legal regimes (Barclay, 2021; Bodansky and Hunt, 2020). Some place hope in techniques such as permafrost/glacier preservation that may be deployed within the bounds of a single nation’s territory, which would, in their view, sidestep the need for international governance altogether: ‘for example, Russian and Canadian policies could change the carbon released from thawing permafrost. Similarly, Greenland’s ice sheet would be the primary responsibility of the Greenlanders’ (Moore et al., 2021: 109). While such techniques might be localised in effect, and only intended to slow climate feedback effects such as the rate of ice loss, inclusion of such measures in market credit schemes, as attempted by the Real Ice project,13 could prove controversial and under some conditions undermine any SG-based climate effect (Fearnehough et al., 2020: Chapter 3). For cross-border geoengineering schemes, the Arctic Council14 is in some cases highlighted as a favourable site for governance (Desch et al., 2017). One paper calls it an ‘obvious institution’ for international governance of Arctic geoengineering in general, contending that ‘because of its relatively small size, the Arctic Council has been a relatively effective forum to develop regional policies relating to the Arctic’ (Bodansky and Hunt, 2020: 610). However, in a later article, one of the authors described the Arctic Council as ‘an informal institution that lacks any regulatory powers and shows no signs of being up to the task of taking significant action’ on Arctic climate change (Bodansky and Pomerance, 2021: 2). Moore et al. (2021) similarly contend that ‘the Arctic Council is not a true international organization with rule-making power’ (p. 113). Yet Moore et al. (2021) still argue the Arctic is a politically tractable space for geoengineering due to the low number of states that would need to come to an agreement – in contrast to global SG which ‘would ideally need at least near-global consensus’ (p. 109). This reveals an important complexity in the concept of globality that permeates the geoengineering imaginaries. While the Arctic, as we showed above, is instrumentalised for a global community – operated on to mitigate climatic effects across the planet – it is also differentiated from ‘global interventions’ that take the global Earth system as their direct object of intervention (Bodansky and Hunt, 2020: 597). As Moore et al. (2021) state explicitly, ‘targeted geoengineering is done on regional scales but aims to conserve the various parts of the global climate and earth system’ (p. 109). The politically salient objects are imagined to be the methods of intervention, spatially bounded in the Arctic region while the intended global climatic effects are in effect rendered unproblematic and therefore without need for governance. Arguably this reflects a common assumption that governance is only relevant in the case of ‘adverse or unintended effects’ (Barclay, 2021: 5) – the intended effect of albedo modification implicitly understood as an unambiguous global public good. On a technical level, this assumption is questionable – since remote consequences of Arctic geoengineering are not yet well understood. But more crucially, the assumption projects exactly those liberal rationalist norms which are argued to be especially present in the Arctic on to the wider geopolitical context. The specific imaginary constructed to justify regional geoengineering interventions as politically feasible while still being part of a global solution to climate change cannot work without a general liberal imaginary of international politics. Otherwise, the global effects of regional interventions would threaten to undo the validity of the ‘regional feasibility’ argument. Arctic state security imaginaries The history of scientific research in the Arctic reveals the liberal security imaginaries underlying Arctic geoengineering to be a relatively recent phenomenon. Doel et al. (2014) describe the intertwinement of 20th-century Arctic research projects and three broad state goals, shared to varying degrees by all littoral states: national security, exploitation of natural resources and extension of territorial sovereignty to disputed areas. When intercontinental and submarine-launched ballistic nuclear missiles were introduced from the late 1950s, the Arctic became a ‘buffer zone’ between the Cold War powers, experiencing a continuous period with low military activity and absence of conflict that likely paved a way for increased cooperation after the Cold War, with Mikhail Gorbachev famously declaring the Arctic a ‘zone of peace’ (Gjørv and Hodgson, 2019: 2). The Arctic came to be seen as an ‘exceptional’ region in the post-Cold War period, where institutionalised multilateral cooperation on regional issues, particularly environmental and scientific activities, could blossom (Lackenbauer and Dean, 2020). In this section, we examine recent state strategies and developments in the Arctic to assess the contours of the current leading security imaginary among Arctic states. The key characteristic of Arctic exceptionalism is that geopolitical conflicts and tensions from outside the Arctic are excluded from affecting cooperation on internal Arctic issues and that, as a corollary, specifically ‘Arctic issues’ are compartmentalised: ‘Actors . . . can talk about everything except contentious issues, not least military security’ (Gjørv and Hodgson, 2019: 3, original emphasis). However, this compartmentalisation is hard to find in recent state assessments. The US emphasised in 2019 that ‘The Arctic remains vulnerable to “strategic spillover” from tensions, competition, or conflict arising in these other regions’ (United States Department of Defense (USDOD), 2019: 6). In 2020, the Danish Minister for Foreign Affairs spoke of ‘a new security-political dynamic in the region. Disagreements and conflicts originating in other areas of the world are also being expressed in the Arctic’ (Kofod, 2020: 1).15 For the four North Atlantic Treaty Organization (NATO) members in the Arctic littoral, such concerns were obviously directed at the only non-NATO state: Russia (even before the invasion of Ukraine). Denmark expressed concern over ‘the Russian build-up of military capabilities’ (Kofod, 2020: 2); Norway stated that ‘Russian build-up of forces and military modernisation can challenge the security of Norway and allied countries directly’ (Royal Ministry of Foreign Affairs (RMFA), 2020: 23) and cited the Russian annexation of Crimea as a key moment in increased tensions and deteriorating optimism regarding peaceful cooperation in the Arctic (RMFA, 2020: 10). Russia, for its part, described ‘military buildup by foreign states in the Arctic and an increase of the potential for conflict in the region’ as a ‘challenge’ (Office of the President of the Russian Federation (OPRF), 2020: 5). Among the NATO states, these assessments have for several years been accompanied by a call for deeper military cooperation. Denmark has pledged to ‘support NATO’s role in the Arctic and the North Atlantic’ (Ministry of Foreign Affairs of Denmark, 2022: 23), a change from previous strategy documents which stressed that ‘enforcement of the realm’s sovereignty is fundamentally the responsibility of the realm’s authorities’ (Ministry of Foreign Affairs of Denmark, Greenland and the Faroe Islands, 2011: 20). Canada aims to ‘increase surveillance and monitoring of the broader Arctic region’ in collaboration with the United States, Denmark and Norway (Government of Canada, 2019: 77), while Norway in 2021 negotiated a deal with the United States to allow it access to two Arctic military installations – the Ramsund Naval Base and the Evenes Airfield. Trust has only deteriorated further since Russia’s full-scale invasion of Ukraine in 2022. All Arctic Council member states except Russia announced they would suspend participation in council meetings because of the invasion, subsequently announcing a ‘limited resumption’ of projects without Russian participation (Global Affairs Canada, 2022). The recent US Arctic strategy describes ‘increasing strategic competition in the Arctic . . . exacerbated by Russia’s unprovoked war in Ukraine’ (The White House, 2022: 3) and claimed that ‘Russia’s war of aggression against Ukraine has rendered government-to-government cooperation with Russia in the Arctic virtually impossible at present’ (The White House, 2022: 14). Russia interprets Arctic politics on similar terms; the Arctic ambassador has stated that the Finnish and Swedish bids to join NATO ‘will of course lead to certain adjustments in the development of high altitude [sic] cooperation’ (quoted in Staalesen, 2022). This dynamic of de-exceptionalisation, where the Arctic is increasingly reintegrated into great power politics, is the contemporary context in which the littoral states interpret the region’s present and future climatic changes. The state goals associated with early and mid-20th century Arctic science are reappearing as a background for envisioning the impact of climate change. Of the three goals identified by Doel et al. (2014), assertion over disputed territories is arguably of lesser importance today. All states have indicated a willingness to settle territorial continental shelf disputes via international law, and such statements are generally accepted by commentators as genuine (Østhagen, 2018). But the goals of military national security and extraction of natural resources are growing in salience, and changing in character, as the ice melts and the permafrost thaws. In contrast to the geoengineering literature, climate change is rarely addressed as a primary threat in state policies but described in more restricted terms. Adaptation problems from ‘sea-ice loss, permafrost thaw and land erosion’ (Government of Canada, 2019: 63) are emphasised, and both Canada (Government of Canada, 2019: 18) and Norway (RMFA, 2020: 14) describe climate change as a cultural threat to Indigenous peoples. Nonetheless, the task of emission reductions does not figure as a specifically Arctic objective (e.g. RMFA, 2020: 14). In this way, climate change figures less as a problem that must urgently be dealt with and more as an unavoidable condition of Arctic politics. In the context of military security objectives, climate change is understood primarily as a driver of increased navigability and accessibility of the Arctic. The US Navy anticipates an increasingly ice-free ‘blue Arctic’, where ‘peace and prosperity will be increasingly challenged by Russia and China, whose interests and values differ dramatically from ours’ (United States Department of the Navy, 2021: 2). Cold War-era interpretations of the Arctic’s geographical significance are being reinvigorated: Canada stresses the importance of maintaining air and missile capabilities in its Arctic region due to its location along the shortest path from Russian to US territory (Government of Canada, 2019: 77). And as the region becomes more accessible, it rises in strategic importance. The US Department of Defense presents the Arctic as ‘a potential corridor – between the Indo-Pacific and Europe, and the U.S. homeland – for expanded strategic competitions’ (USDOD, 2019: 6) and stresses that ‘maintaining freedoms of navigation and overflight are critical to ensuring that . . . U.S. forces retain the global mobility guaranteed under international law’ (USDOD, 2019: 13). The increased accessibility of the Arctic also brings new hopes of further use of the region’s natural resources as a vehicle for economic growth (Keil, 2014). Such goals have become intertwined with development discourses and policies that focus on lack of modern infrastructure, low employment and population decline and, in this way, align the economic objectives of faraway capitals with local concerns. Canada aims to ‘close the gaps and divides that exist between this region, particularly in relation to its Indigenous peoples, and the rest of the country’ (Government of Canada, 2019: 36) and presents these gaps in a consumerist national imaginary where being ‘full participants in Canadian society’ means having ‘access to the same services, opportunities and standards of living as those enjoyed by other Canadians’ (Government of Canada, 2019: 36). The Russian government frames its Arctic policy goals in terms of avoiding a dystopia of a depopulated region lacking economic growth, and such fears are directly presented in security terms: ‘population decline’ and ‘insufficient development’ of infrastructure and business are named ‘primary threats to national security’ (OPRF, 2020: 4–5). In Norway, Northern depopulation is presented as a key concern to be addressed through investment in public education and business infrastructure (RMFA, 2020: 11). The emphasis in such ‘development’ is on natural resources such as fossil fuels and rare earth minerals, trans-Arctic shipping routes and tourism. Russia is particularly clear in its focus on fossil fuels; ‘increasing oil and gas extraction rates, advancing oil refining, and producing liquefied natural gas and gas-chemical products’ are considered ‘primary objectives for the economic development of the Arctic zone’ (OPRF, 2020: 7). The development of the Northern Sea Route as a ‘competitive national transportation passage in the world market’ is named a ‘primary’ Russian national interest (OPRF, 2020: 4). Other states also emphasise ‘new economic opportunities, for example in the form of new maritime routes and extraction of natural resources’ (Kofod, 2020: 1). In some states, the role of fossil fuels in extractive ambitions is arguably receding. In its previous Arctic strategy, the US anticipated the Arctic’s role in ‘future United States energy security’ through its ‘proved and potential oil and gas natural resources that will likely continue to provide valuable supplies to meet U.S. energy needs’ (The White House, 2013: 7). Now, ‘the Arctic’s significant deposits of in-demand minerals essential to key technology supply chains’ (The White House, 2022: 6) have ostensibly replaced fossil fuels as the main extractive interest. Yet such shifts leave intact visions of major extractive operations dependent on (or facilitated by) a warming Arctic. More generally, there is an assumption of compatibility between interests in extractivism and economic growth and climate and environmental policies. Imagined futures contain ‘safe and environmentally-responsible shipping’ (Government of Canada, 2019: 49), ‘the sustainable use of natural resources’ (OPRF, 2020: 9) and ‘sustainable tourism’ (Ministry of Foreign Affairs of Denmark, Greenland and the Faroe Islands, 2011: 24). Technological innovation is, unsurprisingly, anticipated as the main way to realise the sustainability of these activities. In contrast to this assumed compatibility with environmental objectives, the economic opportunities are portrayed as in need of protection against interests from other states. The US expresses commitment to protect ‘freedom of navigation’ in the Arctic against perceived Russian threats, alleging that Russia ‘is attempting to constrain freedom of navigation through its excessive maritime claims along the Northern Sea Route’ (The White House, 2022: 6). As described above, this interest in freedom of navigation is partly military, but also acts to protect an economic order. The US argues for ‘a shared interest in a peaceful and stable region that allows the Arctic nations to realise the potential benefits of greater access to the region’s resources’ (USDOD, 2019: 4), underpinned by US military power. Russia, for its part, has named ‘actions by foreign states and (or) international organizations to obstruct the Russian Federation’s legitimate economic or other activities in the Arctic’ a ‘primary challenge to national security’ (OPRF, 2020: 5). Here, China is also constructed by Western states as an economic security threat. While under the President Biden, the US threat perception in the Arctic appears to have shifted to an almost exclusive focus on Russia (The White House, 2022); the prior Trump administration indicated strong concerns that ‘China is attempting to gain a role in the Arctic in ways that may undermine international rules and norms, and there is a risk that its predatory economic behavior globally may be repeated in the Arctic’ (USDOD, 2019: 6), a sentiment shared by Denmark and Norway (Ministry of Foreign Affairs of Denmark, 2022: 23; RMFA, 2020: 11). China is certainly explicit about its ambitions in the Arctic, which it portrays as an increasingly ‘global’ space. It argues that due to the changing environment and increased accessibility, ‘the Arctic situation now goes beyond its original inter-Arctic States or regional nature’, and the stress on ‘global implications’ is used to justify China’s identification as a ‘Near-Arctic State’ and ‘important stakeholder in Arctic affairs’ (english.gov.cn, 2018). Yet contrary to the impression given by Western states, Chinese material and institutional visions for the future are strikingly similar to those of the littoral states: development of shipping routes, materials extraction and tourism under promises of sustainable development and governed by international law (english.gov.cn, 2018). Hence, the mistrust expressed by other states does not concern explicit differences in visions of Arctic futures. Rather, the imaginary of economic development is securitised along the lines of geopolitical blocs, with economic cooperation across these blocs rendered problematic. Implications for the security politics of solar geoengineering Our analysis has revealed stark differences between scientific security imaginaries in the geoengineering literature and the security imaginaries of Arctic states. First, climate change is constructed as a concern in different ways. In the scientific imaginaries, climate change, and especially the prospect of Arctic tipping points, are front and centre. The Arctic is primarily interpreted through its climate-restorative potential, as imagined through computational Earth system models that imagine futures of controlled Arctic climates – and by extension, controlled global climates. By contrast, state imaginaries of the Arctic are not oriented towards preventing climate change but anticipate a mixture of desirable and undesirable outcomes from rising temperatures, which are seen as an inevitable background for the region’s future. Responses to climate change – such as increased demand for rare earth minerals – are becoming issues of concern and questions of security, more so than climate change itself (cf. McLaren and Corry, 2023), which stands as an unquestioned precondition for other strategic decisions. Whether the Arctic should be a venue of increased activity is not in doubt. This stands in sharp contrast to ideas of geoengineering which presuppose that hindering accessibility in the region for economic and military purposes, for example, by restoring sea ice, would be acceptable to all states involved. Second, the scientific security imaginaries exhibit a liberal institutionalist understanding of international politics and rely on a view of the Arctic as a global commons to be leveraged for the needs of an ostensible global humanity. In this, imaginaries of Arctic geoengineering do not differ from their planet-scaled counterparts (McLaren and Corry, 2021), except perhaps in the immediacy of imagined experimentation and deployment. Yet the Arctic case contains a unique contradictory claim. Geoengineering in the Arctic is justified partly by claims that it would be more politically tractable, drawing on discourses of Arctic exceptionalism that see it as a special region where inter-state cooperation on common interests can be shielded from exterior geopolitical dynamics and conflicts. But while the envisaged methods of geoengineering are bounded in the Arctic, they still aim to achieve global climatic effects.16 Prospective geoengineers thus make two further assumptions: that effects outside the Arctic are overall benign and/or that governance is only relevant in the case of unfavourable effects. The latter relies on a liberal rationalist imaginary of world politics, where costs and benefits are readily identified and acted upon, coordinated by institutions if required, undermining the initial presumption that the Arctic can be shielded from global conflictual geopolitics. Especially with the Russian invasion of Ukraine, this idea of Arctic exceptionalism is also increasingly obsolete – the Arctic is undergoing de-exceptionalisation, as indicated by the de facto collapse of the flagship of Arctic multilateralism, the Arctic Council. Schemes that envision deployment of Arctic geoengineering as market-driven are also likely to be less immune to geopolitical obstacles than their developers imagine. Such interventions assume an international order governed by multilateral institutions including markets for carbon removals or ‘cooling credits’. But even for those states which subscribe to similar liberal aspirations, this order is subject to uncertainty, in the Arctic and elsewhere, and is consequently understood as something which must be secured. The mistrust from Western states about China’s interests in the Arctic, although ostensibly similar and compatible with Western aspirations of Arctic futures, highlights the current and increasing uncertainty over the future of such a Western-dominated liberal economic order. Taken together, these differences reveal a deep disjuncture between the security imaginaries of Arctic geoengineering and state strategies. Given the relative strength of state security actors and institutions compared to environmental ones, the political feasibility of Arctic geoengineering appears to preclude a purely environmental logic driving development and/or deployment. It raises the question of which rationales and scenarios would become subject to modification – or disappear completely – to take account of economic, geopolitical, security and other aims. In this light, it is notable that there is one point of convergence between the state and scientific security imaginaries: technological solutionism. States might conceivably adopt geoengineering to partly mitigate Arctic warming (or ice degradation) while still leaving the environment accessible enough for increased resource extraction, transcontinental shipping and tourism. However, such a scenario – a form of mitigation deterrence (McLaren, 2016) – is hardly an expression of the scientific security imaginary, which, having securitised Arctic tipping points as a threat to a global humanity, sees the protection and restoration of the Arctic climate as the overarching priority. Furthermore, far from prospective geoengineers’ expectations that envision the interventions as supported by local and Indigenous populations, this scenario would further instrumentalise the Arctic to the ends of interests outside the region, which clearly amounts to a continuation and intensification of the neo-colonialism that characterises many parts of the Arctic to this day (Greaves, 2016). As clearly indicated by Sámi-led opposition to SCoPEx and opposition to the Arctic Ice Project led by Arctic Indigenous organisations,17 many Arctic Indigenous persons consider SG incompatible with their understandings of sustainability. As a case study, the Arctic provides more general lessons for SG and security. The region has attracted the attention of geoengineering researchers in part because they understand it as a political best case, and the legacy of multilateralism and science diplomacy in the region might seem to support such an assessment. However, even in a such a best case, the underlying imaginaries of geoengineering clash directly with the political ambitions of the states which would need to support, if not implement, the geoengineering interventions. In other words, SG is unlikely to be implemented for the purposes envisioned in scientific circles, in the Arctic context or elsewhere, least of all in the kind of globally ‘optimal’ manner envisaged in computer model experiments. Should further climatological research reveal SG to be technically feasible and climatically desirable – a question not yet settled – the technology would enter the quagmire of an increasingly competitive and conflictual planetary geopolitics and would need to be integrated with state policies that, for the moment, show no signs of adopting climate change as a primary issue. Our conclusions also have implications for McDonald’s (2023) contemplation of geoengineering albeit only ‘in the service of ecological security: a concern with the resilience of ecosystems themselves’ (p. 566). While McDonald acknowledges the problem of finding political purchase for making nature itself the object of security, he does not explore in detail the particular form geoengineering would take as a security measure. Here, we have studied the work of researchers and others who, arguably, invoke ecological security through appeals to necessity or emergency with Arctic ecosystems as the referent object. Through their work to develop geoengineering from general principles into workable interventions (i.e. which technique would be used, how it would be designed, who would be deploying it and where and with what purpose), they appeal to particular understandings of international security. This demonstrates how even attempts to make nature itself the referent object of security in practice depends on understandings about human societies – here theorised as imaginaries. Importantly, these scientific security imaginaries do not appear to align with state security imaginaries. In drawing our conclusions, we do not suggest that state imaginaries alone will determine the future of Arctic geoengineering. We afford them more power relative to the scientific imaginaries, since the former are backed by considerably more institutional, material and discursive power. But imaginaries are dynamic entities subject to change in unpredictable ways. There are prior examples of scientific cooperation between nations under geopolitical strife, including in the Arctic during the Cold War (Bertelsen, 2020), and a scenario where technical cooperation on SG leads to ‘spillover effects’ inducing restorative and sustainable forms of peacebuilding has been suggested as a hypothesis to be investigated (Buck, 2022). Still, there is also a long and consistent history of science being a proxy for and entangled with geopolitics and economics in the region (Doel et al., 2014; Goossen, 2020), and our analysis of Arctic de-exceptionalisation suggests that ‘geoengineering peacebuilding’ is getting increasingly unlikely as tensions continue to rise. A different vein of uncertainty concerns the internal contradictions of state security imaginaries – between the willingness to seize new opportunities for resource extraction and shipping, and other policy goals of environmental protection and national security. How these contradictions are managed, and which aspects are ultimately prioritised, will play a key role in forming the future of the Arctic (cf. Albert and Vasilache, 2018) and in deciding the opportunities for and political desirability of geoengineering interventions. Therefore, while analysing imaginaries can only take us so far in anticipating the security implications of SG, they provide an important foundation for conceptualising the very problems at stake in this anticipation. As climate impacts intensify and the incentives for geoengineering deployment increase – whether as a technocratic ‘climate policy option’ (Irvine and Keith, 2021), as a way of defending empire (Surprise, 2020) or “fossil fuel-dependent ‘ways of life’” (McLaren and Corry, 2023: 1), the imaginaries outlined in this article will be increasingly likely to collide, in the Arctic and elsewhere. AcknowledgmentsThe research for this article was part of the International Security Politics and Climate Engineering (ISPACE) project hosted at the Department of Political Science, University of Copenhagen. The authors thank the three anonymous reviewers for their insightful comments and suggestions and are grateful for comments given to an initial presentation of the research idea at the International Congress of Arctic Social Sciences (ICASS X) in June 2021. N.K. thanks the Copenhagen Center for Disaster Research for hosting him while conducting the analysis for this article in 2022.FundingThe author(s) disclosed receipt of the following financial support for the research, authorship, and/or publication of this article: This research was carried out with funding from the Independent Research Fund Denmark (Danmarks Frie Forskningsfond).Footnotes1. The latter approaches may also be categorised as ‘nature-based solutions’ or adaptation. In this sense, they are hybrid measures, and we include them here because they also directly or indirectly affect the radiation balance.2. See Centre for Climate Repair. Available at: https://www.climaterepair.cam.ac.uk/refreeze (accessed 5 March 2024).3. For an influential example of internalism, see Jasanoff (2015).4. Now, the ‘carbondioxide-removal.eu’ newsletter. Available at: https://carbondioxide-removal.eu/news/ (accessed 1 August 2023).5. Searches were conducted in the spring of 2022.6. We later chose to include China’s Arctic policy for important additional context.7. In terms of technical effectiveness, some estimates in fact suggest interventions in the Arctic may be less effective than at lower latitudes (Duffey et al., 2023).8. For the latter, see Desch et al. (2017).9. There are some limited exceptions (Baiman, 2021; Moore et al., 2021).10. Although many invocations of soft geoengineering explicitly exclude SAI and MCB, arguments that employ the core distinction between global, risky approaches and more targeted benign ones have also been used to justify Arctic-specific MCB, due to the ‘vastly reduced levels of seeding’ making negative side effects ‘vastly reduced or eliminated’ (Latham et al., 2014: 9). The former UK Chief Scientific Advisor David King has also recently referred to MCB as ‘a biomimicry system’ (The Current, 2022). While much rarer, arguments about reduced side effects have also been applied to Arctic-targeted SAI (Lee et al., 2021).11. Van Wijngaarden et al.’s full review of environmental risks is found in their supplemental compendium (https://doi.org/10.5281/zenodo.10602506).12. We thank an anonymous reviewer for the insight on remote impacts. In the extreme case, strong Arctic cooling without proportional cooling of the Antarctic would create a change in hemispheric heat balance which would most likely shift the Intertropical Convergence Zone southwards, leading to severe decreases in rainfall across the Sahel, parts of the Amazon and Northern India; however, this risk is usually discussed as an outcome of SAI specifically, due to its higher cooling potential (Duffey et al., 2023).13. 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Abstract This analysis examines European diplomatic efforts to support Ukraine’s territorial integrity amid the ongoing Russia-Ukraine war, highlighting the EU’s evolving role as a security actor. The August 18, 2025, White House summit marked a key moment, with EU leaders pledging "ironclad" security guarantees modelled after NATO’s Article 5, without formal NATO membership for Ukraine, and proposing a "reassurance force" of European troops post-ceasefire. The EU commits to unrestricted Ukrainian military capabilities, sustained economic and military aid, and intensified sanctions against Russia. While the EU aims to bolster Ukraine’s self-defence and facilitate peace talks, challenges persist, including funding, coordination with the U.S., and Russia’s rejection of guarantees involving Western troops. The EU’s approach reflects a strategic shift toward a more assertive Common Foreign and Security Policy, though institutional limitations remain. The guarantees are intertwined with Ukraine’s EU accession ambitions, carrying significant geopolitical and financial implications for the European security architecture and regional stability.Key Words: Ukrainian War, European Security, EU, U.S., Russia Introduction The ongoing war in Ukraine likely marks the end of the post-Cold War security environment in Europe and the rest of the world. The old international system, based on the benign hegemony of the United States and its dominance in international institutions, is witnessing the vanishing of the pretence of the leading role of international law and international regimes before our eyes. What is emerging brings back memories of the 19th-century Concert of Europe, where the great powers of Europe— Austria, France, Prussia (later Germany), Russia, and the United Kingdom —came together to maintain the European balance of power, political boundaries, and spheres of influence. This time around, however, there are fewer players, and the gameboard is genuinely global. The U.S., China and Russia do not leave much space for other players, at least in the global context. The EU declares itself to be a global player, matching the influence of the big three, but in all honesty, it is not treated as such by them.  This analysis looks at the latest developments regarding the ongoing war between Russia and Ukraine (a proxy war between NATO and Russia) and specifically at the role of the EU and its proposed security guarantees offered to Ukraine. The August 18 Meeting On August 18, 2025, a meeting took place at the White House. It included U.S. President Donald Trump, Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelenskyy, and leaders from Germany, France, Italy, the UK, Finland, the European Commission, the European Council, and NATO. They talked about ways to stop Russia's invasion of Ukraine. A key topic was security guarantees for Ukraine. The EU promised strong protection for Ukraine's independence and borders. This is intended to prevent future Russian attacks, even though Ukraine is unlikely to join NATO soon. These promises build on earlier security agreements but demonstrate a more unified European effort, with the U.S. providing support but not leading with troops or NATO membership.  Ironclad Security Guarantees Equivalent to NATO's Article 5 (Collective Defence) The EU promised to give firm, long-term security promises to Ukraine, similar to NATO's Article 5. This means an attack on Ukraine would be seen as an attack on those who promised to help. However, these promises would not be part of NATO to avoid upsetting Russia or requiring all NATO members to agree. European leaders, including those from the "Coalition of the Willing," are prepared to deploy a "reassurance force" or peacekeepers to Ukraine once the fighting ceases. This force would comprise troops from different European countries, taking turns to monitor and enforce any peace agreement, with a primary focus on preventing new attacks. EU officials stated that Russia cannot halt these plans or Ukraine's future aspirations to join the EU and NATO. Trump said the U.S. will work with Europe and might provide air support, but will not send American ground troops, making Europe the "first line of defence." Meanwhile, the U.S. will support by selling weapons.[1]  No Restrictions on Ukraine's Military Capabilities   EU leaders want Ukraine's military to have no limits on size, type, or actions. This means Ukraine can make weapons at home and get more from Western countries without Russia stopping them. The aim is for Ukraine to have a strong army for many years. Europe will also increase its own military production to help. Ukraine plans to buy $90 billion in U.S. weapons, mostly paid for by Europe. This includes planes, air defence systems, and drones. A formal agreement is expected within 10 days of the meeting.[2]  Sustained Economic and Military Support, Including Sanctions The EU has pledged to continue providing Ukraine with military, financial, and humanitarian assistance until a lasting peace is achieved. They will also increase sanctions and economic actions against Russia to maintain pressure. Leaders say they will support Ukraine as long as the fighting continues, and they will not force Ukraine to give up any land. Only Ukraine can decide about its territory. Europe is prepared to undertake most of this effort and may allocate an additional €40 billion for weapons if necessary. They will work with the U.S. to get support from Trump.[3]  Facilitation of Further Talks and Peace Efforts EU leaders aim to facilitate a meeting between Trump, Zelenskyy, and Putin. They say any agreement must include Ukraine's views and protect Europe's safety. They are glad Trump is pushing for peace, but say a ceasefire is not needed for security promises. Moscow's complaints, like those about NATO forces, will not stop their plans. This shows Europe is united. Leaders like Ursula von der Leyen and António Costa have stated that there will be no official changes to borders, and they fully support Ukraine's membership in the EU.[4] There were concerns that Trump might pressure Ukraine to make concessions during his meeting with Putin on August 15, 2025, in Alaska. European leaders quickly organised a meeting at the White House to influence Trump. This was seen as a way to win him over. Russia does not want NATO or Western troops in Ukraine, seeing it as a threat. Some experts argue that there is a "security guarantee paradox": if the protection is too weak, it will not benefit Ukraine; if it is too strong, Russia may not agree to any deal.[5] EU officials are hopeful, but they face several challenges. These include securing funding (Europe will cover most costs), managing rotating forces, and ensuring the U.S. remains committed after Trump's term.[6] Recent Military and Diplomatic Developments The Russia-Ukraine war started in February 2022. In August 2025, fighting and diplomatic talks increased. Russian troops are moving forward in eastern Ukraine, especially in Donetsk, with many attacks. Ukraine is hitting Russian targets. U.S. President Donald Trump is leading peace talks after meeting Russian President Vladimir Putin in Alaska on August 15. Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelenskyy and European leaders are also involved. However, significant disagreements persist regarding land, security, and ceasefires. There is no quick solution yet. Russian Advances and Territorial Gains Russian forces have concentrated on Donetsk and taken more land. From July 8 to August 5, 2025, Russia gained 226 square miles, continuing its slow progress in the area.[7] By mid-August, Russia controls large parts of Donbas and continues to advance, even though Ukraine is fighting back.[8]   Source: https://www.russiamatters.org/news/russia-ukraine-war-report-card/russia-ukraine-war-report-card-aug-6-2025  On August 19, Russia launched its most significant attack of the month, using drones and missiles against Ukrainian targets, resulting in civilian casualties and infrastructure damage.[9] On August 18, there were similar long-range attacks. On August 19, Ukraine and Russia swapped the bodies of dead soldiers. Ukraine has increased attacks on Russian energy sites to cut off war funding.[10] After the Trump-Putin meeting in Alaska, Trump met with Zelenskyy and leaders from the EU and UK on August 18 to discuss peace. Trump seems to support giving some Ukrainian land, like parts of Donbas, to Russia for peace. He also suggests U.S. air support as a security promise. A U.S. envoy stated that there is progress: Putin has agreed to U.S. security guarantees for Ukraine and has relinquished some territory.[11] Plans for direct talks are being made. Putin suggested Moscow as the meeting place, but this has not been confirmed yet (as of August 20).[12] European leaders, including EU figures, seem to welcome these efforts but insist on continued sanctions against Russia and reject Budapest (Hungary) as a site due to past failed assurances.[13 ] In the meantime, Ukraine demands robust security guarantees (e.g., deterrence against future attacks) and $90 billion in aid.[14 ] Russia, however, rejects European guarantees, insists on territorial concessions, and maintains unchanged objectives. As of now, no ceasefire has been agreed upon; however, Russia claims to be open to one.[15 ] Where Does the EU Stand in General? EU leaders stress that a strong Ukraine is the best guarantee against Russia. According to the statement of 12 August, issued by the European Council and the Council of the European Union: “The European Union, in coordination with the U.S. and other like-minded partners, will continue to provide political, financial, economic, humanitarian, military and diplomatic support to Ukraine as Ukraine is exercising its inherent right of self-defence. It will also continue to uphold and impose restrictive measures against the Russian Federation. A Ukraine capable of defending itself effectively is an integral part of any future security guarantees. The European Union and its Member States are ready to further contribute to security guarantees based on their respective competences and capabilities, in line with international law, and in full respect of the security and defence policies of certain Member States, while taking into account the security and defence interests of all Member States. The European Union underlines the inherent right of Ukraine to choose its own destiny and will continue supporting Ukraine on its path towards EU membership”.[16]  According to EU top diplomat, Kaja Kallas (High Representative/Vice-President (2024-2029) responsible for Foreign Affairs and Security Policy),[17] the idea of letting Russia keep Ukrainian territories (proposal as signalled by Trump) was a "trap that Putin wants us [the EU] to walk into".[18] She stressed that Russia has offered no concessions and that credible security measures, such as bolstering Ukraine's military, are essential—though specifics on contributions remain up to individual member states. In a like-minded fashion, French President Emmanuel Macron rather hawkishly and not very diplomatically echoed this, describing Putin as a "predator, and an ogre at our [Europe] doorstep" and expressing "the greatest doubt" that he would be willing to work towards peace. In short, the foremost European leaders are still ready to challenge Russia. They enjoy peace at home while using Ukraine as a battleground. Their new ideas about Ukraine's safety and Europe's security are bold and raise concerns about possible problems. The “Devil Lies in Details” The European Union is part of the "Coalition of the Willing" due to its key members. According to Wikipedia, this group comprises 31 countries. They have promised to support Ukraine more strongly against Russia than the Ukraine Defence Contact Group. They are ready to join a peacekeeping force in Ukraine by sending troops or providing other forms of support.[19] The peacekeeping force is envisaged to be deployed only once Ukraine and Russia sign a "comprehensive ceasefire agreement" or "peace deal" to settle the ongoing Russo-Ukrainian War. The initiative, led by the United Kingdom and France, was announced by British Prime Minister Sir Keir Starmer on 2 March 2025, following the 2025 London Summit on Ukraine under the motto "securing our future".[20] The EU has been developing plans for Ukraine's security in the aftermath of the war. The primary goal is to stop future Russian attacks, short of offering NATO membership to Ukraine. Recent plans include military, diplomatic, and financial help, with the EU and U.S. working together. These plans are still changing due to ongoing talks, Russian objections, and questions about their enforcement. The focus is on helping Ukraine defend itself and providing additional support, including air and sea protection. The EU wants Ukraine to be able to defend itself. This is important for any promises they make. The EU and its member states are ready to provide assistance based on their capabilities. They will follow international law and their own defence rules.[21] This includes ongoing military aid but does not specify sending troops or creating new plans. In this context, European Council President Antonio Costa has called for faster work on "NATO-like" guarantees. These could be similar to Article 5, where an attack on Ukraine would lead to talks and actions from allies.[22] NATO and European leaders are discussing a new plan similar to "Article 5." This plan would prompt allies to discuss within 24 hours in the event of an attack. They would work together on responses, such as increasing military forces and providing aid for rebuilding. This idea is similar to agreements with countries like the UK and France, which focus on building strength and recognising borders.[23] EU accession for Ukraine could trigger the bloc's mutual defence clause, offering a "strong guarantee" in principle, although its practical enforcement is debated.[24] Air and sea security are important. A "sky shield" is planned to protect the air over western and central Ukraine, including Kyiv. European fighter jets, with possible U.S. support, will enforce this. The jets might be stationed in Poland or Romania. There will be rules for dealing with Russian actions, like missile attacks. In the Black Sea, measures will prevent Russian naval threats and keep shipping safe from ports like Odesa using intelligence and patrols.[25] Some countries, such as France and the UK, may deploy a small number of troops. These troops could help with training in cities like Kyiv or Lviv, or they might help secure ports and airbases.[26] Sending large numbers of troops is not feasible due to Ukraine's vast size and Russia's demands. Instead, the focus is on training, sharing information, managing supplies, and equipping Ukraine's military with weapons. Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelenskiy said that guarantees might be ready by August 29, 2025. These include U.S. assistance, valued at $90 billion, which includes weapons such as planes and air defences. Europeans will be the "first line of defence," with the U.S. helping in other ways. However, there are concerns: Russia wants to be part of the talks and does not want foreign troops. Some reports also question the coalition's strength and clarity, particularly in the absence of firm U.S. promises. Possible Broader Geopolitical Ramifications First, supporting Ukraine’s borders could strengthen the EU’s role in European security. This would indicate a shift towards a stronger EU foreign and security policy, as well as a more unified European defence system. However, the EU’s current tools, such as Article 42(7) TEU and PESCO, are not particularly robust. They have limitations in how they operate and face financial and organisational problems. This makes it challenging for the EU to establish itself as a strong security force without assistance from NATO and the U.S.[27] Second, the EU’s security guarantee to Ukraine is likely to intersect closely with NATO’s role, as the EU’s defence efforts currently complement but do not replace NATO’s collective defence framework. The EU remains dependent on NATO (especially the U.S.) for significant military capabilities, and the guarantee could deepen cooperation but also create institutional competition or overlap. The transatlantic alliance’s unity and the U.S. continued engagement are critical factors in the guarantee’s effectiveness.[28] Third, an EU guarantee of Ukraine’s security could also send a strong geopolitical signal to Russia, potentially deterring further aggression and affirming the EU’s commitment to the European security order. However, it may also escalate tensions with Russia, which views such guarantees as a threat to its sphere of influence.[29] This dynamic affects not only Ukraine but also other countries in the EU’s neighbourhood, such as Georgia, which is vulnerable to Russian pressure and exclusion from security arrangements.[30] Fourth, guaranteeing Ukraine’s security is linked to its EU accession ambitions. While Ukrainians see EU membership as essential recognition of their sovereignty and security, many Europeans view it as a component of a future negotiated settlement with Russia. The EU’s guarantee thus has implications for the pace and nature of enlargement, potentially affecting the EU’s cohesion and its relations with neighbouring countries.[31] Fifth, the EU’s security guarantees would likely entail substantial financial commitments, including military aid, reconstruction support financed through mechanisms such as the European Peace Facility (EPF), and the utilisation of frozen Russian assets. These financial undertakings have implications for EU budgetary policies, fiscal solidarity, and the development of a European defence industrial base, which is currently fragmented and underfunded. Conclusion The EU declares itself to be a global player and consequently engages as a broker in preparing peace talks with Russia. Moreover, it envisions itself as a guarantor of peace on the European continent and Ukrainian security, as well as its territorial integrity.  Two important questions, however, remained unanswered.  First, given the EU's engagement against Russia alongside Ukraine, as well as its most prominent member states' support for the Ukrainian war effort, one would be correct to question the intentions of at least some European political leaders. On one hand, the openly adversarial stance against Russia may produce some deterrence-like effects (although, in all honesty, it is difficult to prove). On the other hand, it definitely does prolong the conflict at the expense of Ukraine and its people.  Second, the following analysis will examine the extent to which the EU's guarantees for Ukraine are in reality. Political declarations and paper documents can convey a wide range of statements, including the most hawkish and resolute. The real test, however, always involves actual acting in the face of challenges and dangers. Will Europeans actually be ready to back their words with actions? Will they be able to perform at the required level militarily and economically? The 20th-century experience would suggest otherwise. References1  Roth, A., & Sauer, P. (2025, August 19). Trump rules out sending US troops to Ukraine as part of security guarantees. The Guardian. https://www.theguardian.com/world/2025/aug/19/european-leaders-ukraine-russia-trump 2  Magramo, K., Kent, L., Lister, T., Edwards, C., Chowdhury, M., Sangal, A., Hammond, E., & Liptak, K. (2025, August 18). Trump meets Zelensky and European leaders at White House. CNN. https://edition.cnn.com/politics/live-news/trump-ukraine-zelensky-russia-putin-08-18-25 3  Europe must shoulder ‘lion’s share’ of Ukraine’s security, Vance says. (2025, August 21). 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AbstractThe increasing presence of foreign fighters in the armed conflict in Ukraine has posed significant challenges to the application of International Humanitarian Law (IHL). These foreign fighters, often motivated by political, ideological, or religious reasons, do not neatly fit into traditional legal categories such as lawful combatants, civilians, or mercenaries. Their involvement on both sides of the conflict between those supporting either Ukrainian forces or Russian-backed groups, presents a complex issue that requires careful consideration within the context of IHL, which currently lacks clear provisions for addressing their legal status. This study focuses on the research question: Does the involvement of foreign fighters in the armed conflict in Ukraine comply with the principles of International Humanitarian Law? This issue is particularly important as it exposes significant gaps in IHL, revealing its inability to adequately address the complexities of modern armed conflicts involving non-state actors. Employing a juridical-normative approach, this study examines the application of IHL to foreign fighters in the Russia-Ukraine conflict, focusing on their rights, responsibilities, and accountability. The findings show that IHL lacks specific provisions to regulate the legal status of foreign fighters, relying instead on general human rights principles that fail to address their unique circumstances. This creates a legal vacuum, undermining both their protection and the enforcement of accountability for violations. The study concludes that targeted reforms in IHL are urgently needed to establish clear legal standards for the classification, protection, and prosecution of foreign fighters, thereby strengthening the overall humanitarian framework for contemporary armed conflicts.KeywordsForeign fighters, Russia, Armed conflict, Humanitarian law, Ukraine 1. Introduction The Russia-Ukraine conflict, which has been ongoing since Russia's annexation of Crimea in 2014, has escalated into a complex and devastating war. This conflict, deeply rooted in geopolitical tensions, has drawn the attention of the international community, not only due to the implications for regional stability but also for the growing role of foreign fighters. The involvement of foreign fighters in the conflict adds a new layer of complexity to the already volatile situation. These individuals, who join armed conflicts in foreign territories, are often motivated by political, ideological, religious, or financial reasons, and their presence in Ukraine raises serious legal, political, and humanitarian questions (Asya et al., 2024). The role of foreign fighters has become increasingly significant in modern warfare, with their participation often blurring the lines between combatants, civilians, and mercenaries (Anjelika et al., 2024)The primary challenge posed by the involvement of foreign fighters in Ukraine lies in the legal uncertainty surrounding their status under International Humanitarian Law (IHL). IHL, which governs the conduct of armed conflicts and seeks to protect individuals who are not actively participating in hostilities, does not provide clear guidelines for foreign fighters. These fighters, who do not represent a state or recognized party to the conflict, do not neatly fall into categories such as lawful combatants or civilians, making their legal status ambiguous. This creates a gap in the legal framework, complicating the application of IHL to their actions and raising critical questions about accountability, rights, and protections under international law (Alexander, 2023) (see Table 1, Table 2).   The significance of this study stems from the need to address these legal uncertainties and to understand how IHL can be adapted to regulate the involvement of foreign fighters in modern conflicts. Despite the growing prevalence of foreign fighters in conflicts around the world, the existing body of IHL has not sufficiently addressed their status or the challenges they pose to the protection of human rights and the enforcement of accountability (Paulussen, 2021). By focusing specifically on the Ukraine conflict, this study aims to fill a significant gap in current legal scholarship by analyzing the implications of foreign fighters' participation through the lens of IHL. The involvement of foreign fighters in the Ukraine conflict has profound implications not only for the legal treatment of these individuals but also for the broader geopolitical context (Idris & Mu'tashim, 2023). Their participation exacerbates tensions between Russia and Western countries, as foreign fighters supporting Ukraine often come from nations with opposing political interests to Russia. This dynamic further complicates diplomatic efforts aimed at resolving the conflict and maintaining international peace. Additionally, the presence of foreign fighters contributes to the growing trend of non-state actors engaging in warfare, challenging traditional notions of state sovereignty and complicating international efforts to regulate armed conflict (Lekatompessy et al., 2024). From a humanitarian perspective, the presence of foreign fighters increases the risks of violations of IHL and human rights, as these individuals may not be subject to the same legal frameworks as state actors. The lack of clear legal provisions for foreign fighters leaves them vulnerable to exploitation, abuse, and violations of their rights, while also creating a situation in which accountability for violations becomes difficult to enforce (Akbar & Sadiawati, 2023). This not only undermines the protection of civilians but also weakens the enforcement of humanitarian norms, further complicating the efforts of international organizations and states to address violations of IHL. This study is particularly important because it seeks to address the legal vacuum that exists concerning foreign fighters in the Ukraine conflict. By examining the application of IHL to foreign fighters, this research contributes to the broader field of international law by proposing a more comprehensive framework for regulating their involvement. Through this examination, the study aims to provide concrete recommendations for legal reforms within IHL that would better address the challenges posed by foreign fighters in modern armed conflicts. The rationale for this study lies in the growing recognition that IHL, as it currently stands, is insufficient to address the complexities of modern warfare, particularly when it comes to the participation of non-state actors like foreign fighters. As the world witnesses an increasing number of foreign fighters engaging in conflicts worldwide, it is essential to adapt international legal frameworks to these new realities. This study not only contributes to the understanding of IHL's limitations but also proposes practical legal reforms that could enhance its effectiveness in protecting human rights and ensuring accountability in future conflicts. The involvement of foreign fighters in Ukraine represents a critical point at which the gaps in IHL are laid bare. As such, this study holds significant relevance for policymakers, international legal scholars, and human rights advocates, as it highlights the urgent need for reform and provides insights into how IHL can evolve to better respond to contemporary challenges. By addressing the legal status and accountability of foreign fighters, this study aims to contribute to the development of a more robust and responsive international legal system that can effectively address the complexities of modern warfare and uphold humanitarian principles in the face of emerging threats. 1.1. Literature review Previous research by Akbar and Sadiawati (2023), titled "Analysis of the Russian Invasion of Ukraine in Terms of Humanitarian Law", focuses on examining violations of the 1949 Geneva Conventions during the invasion and emphasizes the role of the United Nations in promoting global peace. The study provides a comprehensive analysis of the international legal framework, particularly humanitarian law, in addressing war crimes and violations committed during the conflict. Similarly, Nasution and Raudia (2022, pp. 361–374), in their article "Analysis of Russian War Violations in the 2022 Ukrainian Conflict Based on the Perspective of International Humanitarian Law", discusses the breaches of humanitarian law committed by Russia during the conflict. Their study highlights key violations under international legal standards and emphasizes the need for accountability based on humanitarian law principles. Masri et al. (2024), in their study titled "Implementation of International Humanitarian Law in the Russia-Ukraine Conflict", explore the application of international humanitarian law (IHL) within the context of the Russia-Ukraine war. Their research delves into how IHL has been enforced and its effectiveness in mitigating harm during the conflict. While these studies extensively analyze IHL violations in the Russia-Ukraine war, they focus primarily on state actors, with limited attention to the role of foreign fighters. This paper fills this gap by analyzing the participation of foreign fighters, their classification under IHL, and the legal protections afforded to them. 1.2. Theoretical framework1.2.1. Theories of state sovereignty and territorial integrity The theory of state sovereignty and territorial integrity originates from classical thinkers like Bodin (2009), Hugo Grotius (1964), and Kant (1991). Bodin defined sovereignty as supreme authority free from external interference, while Grotius emphasized its role as a cornerstone of international law. Kant argued that territorial integrity was vital for peaceful inter-state relations. These principles were codified in Article 2(4) of the UN Charter (1945), prohibiting threats or force against a state's territorial integrity or political independence. In the Russia-Ukraine conflict, these principles are acutely relevant. Russia's annexation of Crimea (2014), support for separatists in Donetsk and Luhansk, and the 2022 invasion breach sovereignty and international law. Moerdijat (2022) highlights these violations' severity, while Pisano (2022) examines their destabilizing effects on regional geopolitics. Thus, this theory offers a legal and analytical lens to assess the conflict's ramifications for the global order. 1.2.2. Theories of international humanitarian law (IHL) The development of IHL stems from contributions by scholars like Jean Pictet, who stressed protecting individuals in conflicts, and Hugo Grotius, whose De Jure Belli ac Pacis advocated for war regulation through moral and legal principles. J.F. Murphy (1982) linked IHL with human rights, Antonio Cassese (2013) explored IHL's role in mitigating human rights violations during war, and Theodor Meron (2006) advanced civilian protections and war crime regulations. These foundations emphasize protecting non-combatants, limiting warfare methods, and clarifying states' obligations. In Ukraine, IHL faces challenges like the ambiguous legal status of foreign fighters. Akbar and Sadiawati (2023) highlight gaps in their protections, while the BBC (2023) reports on the Wagner Group's role in exacerbating violations, such as civilian attacks and disproportionate force. These challenges underscore the need for stricter adherence to IHL to mitigate humanitarian crises and uphold legal standards. 1.2.3. Theories of globalization in modern warfare Theories on globalization's impact on warfare are shaped by thinkers like Mary Kaldor (2013), who contrasts traditional "old wars" with "new wars" involving non-state actors, and Zygmunt Bauman (1998), who links globalization to interconnected dynamics reshaping warfare. Robert D. Kaplan (1994) connects globalization to growing socio-economic inequalities and asymmetric conflicts. These theories argue that globalization's technological, economic, and communicative aspects have transformed war by introducing non-state actors and advanced technologies. The Russia-Ukraine conflict illustrates globalization's role in modern warfare. The participation of foreign fighters, whether aiding Ukraine's International Territorial Defense Legion or Russia's Wagner Group, reflects globalization's influence. Mehra and Thorley (2022) note motivations like ideology and economics, while Chakyan Tang (2022) highlights both solidarity and challenges introduced by non-state actors. Globalization expands conflicts' scope and complexity, complicating regulation while reshaping modern warfare's nature. 2. Methodology This research employs a juridical-normative method using a legal approach to examine the Ukraine-Russia conflict within the framework of International Humanitarian Law (IHL) (Gunawan et al., 2023). The primary objective is to explore how the actions of the parties involved align with the established principles and norms of international law. A juridical-normative approach is used to systematically analyze laws, regulations, and legal principles applicable to the conflict, particularly focusing on how these norms are implemented or potentially violated by the involved actors. The study relies on qualitative normative research methods, which involve document analysis of legal texts and secondary sources to gain a comprehensive understanding of the legal framework governing the conflict. This includes examining court decisions, legal doctrines, international treaties (such as the 1949 Geneva Conventions), and other relevant international instruments. Secondary sources, such as legal theories and expert opinions, also form a key part of the analysis. Through this approach, the research offers a comprehensive analysis of compliance with, or violations of, the principles of International Humanitarian Law (IHL) in the conflict. The document analysis process, as the primary data collection method, incorporates legal hermeneutics to interpret and clarify the meaning of legal texts, ensuring an accurate understanding of their application in the context of the Ukraine conflict. Comparative analysis is also employed to examine how IHL principles have been applied in similar conflicts, providing a benchmark for evaluating their implementation or breach in this case. The analysis focuses on primary legal materials, including treaties, conventions, official communications, and resolutions from international organizations, to establish a foundational understanding of the legal framework. These are complemented by secondary legal materials, such as academic literature, legal commentaries, and expert opinions, which provide critical insights and context. This methodological combination ensures a robust and nuanced evaluation of how IHL principles are being upheld or violated, strengthening the validity and reliability of the findings. 3. Results and discussion3.1. Legal framework for foreign fighters The status of foreign fighters under International Humanitarian Law (IHL) remains contentious and ambiguous. While the Geneva Conventions and their Additional Protocols primarily regulate the conduct of state actors and recognized combatants, they offer limited guidance for non-state participants, such as foreign fighters. These individuals find themselves in a legal gray area, as the Geneva Conventions focus mainly on the protection of civilians and combatants who are part of a state's armed forces or organized resistance groups. Common Article 3 of the Geneva Conventions and Additional Protocol II extend limited protections to non-state actors involved in non-international armed conflicts, emphasizing humane treatment and prohibiting acts like torture or degrading treatment (M, 2001). However, these provisions do not explicitly address the legal status, rights, or obligations of foreign fighters who may not be formally part of an organized state or non-state armed force. Additional Protocol I further complicates this issue. For example, Article 47 of Protocol I explicitly excludes mercenaries from the status of combatants or prisoners of war (POWs), effectively denying them the legal protections afforded to lawful combatants (Geraldy Diandra Aditya, Soekotjo Hardiwinoto, 2017). This exclusion raises questions regarding the legal status of foreign fighters who may not fit neatly into the categories of lawful combatant, civilian, or unlawful belligerent. As a result, the legal position of foreign fighters in modern armed conflicts, such as the Ukraine-Russia conflict, remains unclear and potentially subject to exploitation or abuse. A table listing key international treaties, conventions, and resolutions relevant to foreign fighters could illustrate the legal tools available for regulating their conduct and holding them accountable. The table could include categories such as. 3.1.1. Legal status and responsibilities of foreign fighters Foreign fighters have become a notable element of modern conflicts, including in Ukraine, where individuals from various countries have joined both sides of the conflict. Their participation raises significant legal and ethical questions, particularly regarding their status under International Humanitarian Law (IHL) and the accountability for their actions. IHL, as defined by the Geneva Conventions and the Hague Conventions, does not explicitly mention "foreign fighters" but provides a legal framework for determining their status based on their activities and allegiance. Foreign fighters are typically categorized as either lawful combatants, unlawful combatants, or civilians, and their rights and responsibilities are governed by the laws of war (Hasan & Haque, 2023). a. Lawful Combatants, foreign fighters who join the armed forces of a state party to the conflict (e.g., Ukraine in the context of the Russian invasion) may be considered lawful combatants. As lawful combatants, they are entitled to the protections of IHL, including protection from being targeted and humane treatment if captured. They are subject to the laws of armed conflict, particularly the Geneva Conventions, and must adhere to principles such as distinction, proportionality, and the prohibition of unnecessary suffering. However, this status is contingent upon them being members of an organized military force that follows IHL regulations.b. Unlawful Combatans, foreign fighters who join non-state armed groups, such as mercenaries or irregular militias not recognized under IHL, are considered unlawful combatants. They are not entitled to the same protections as lawful combatants and may be prosecuted for violations of IHL, including acts that could constitute war crimes. The status of unlawful combatants often leads to challenges in terms of legal accountability, as their actions may not be adequately covered by state-based military tribunals or national courts. International efforts to hold foreign fighters accountable for violations such as the targeting of civilians or the use of prohibited weapons can be complicated by the lack of a clear framework for prosecuting non-state actors.c. Civilians, foreign nationals who participate in the conflict but do not take a direct part in hostilities are considered civilians and are protected by IHL. Their involvement in combat can alter their status, and they may lose their protection from direct targeting once they engage in hostilities. This creates a complex dynamic for the prosecution and accountability of foreign fighters, as their status may change based on their activities in the field. A table that compares the legal status of foreign fighters in different contexts could help clarify the varying rights and responsibilities under International Humanitarian Law (IHL). The table could include categories such as: Here is the map illustrating the geographical origins of foreign fighters in the Ukraine conflict, showing their involvement with either the Ukrainian or Russian side. This visual provides a global context to their participation. 3.2. Ukraine's historical struggle: Russia's colonialism and imperialistic attitudes The relationship between Russia and Ukraine stretches back for centuries, characterized by a complex and often turbulent history. From the medieval period to modern times, Ukraine has faced numerous instances of Russian dominance and interference, which has shaped its national identity and its ongoing struggle for independence. This historical context is essential to understanding Ukraine's motivations to fight, as it reflects a long-standing resistance to Russian colonialism and imperialism. In the 17th and 18th centuries, Russia began consolidating its control over Ukrainian territories, particularly after the Treaty of Pereyaslav in 1654, which marked the beginning of Ukrainian subordination to the Tsarist empire (Britannica, 2025). Over the centuries, Ukraine's autonomy was eroded, and it became an integral part of the Russian Empire, with many Ukrainians subjected to harsh policies of Russification. The suppression of Ukrainian culture, language, and national identity under Tsarist rule set the stage for future tensions. The most devastating chapter of this colonial history came under Soviet rule, which exacerbated the sense of Russian imperialism. The Holodomor, a man-made famine in the early 1930s, is one of the darkest episodes in Ukrainian history. Millions of Ukrainians perished as a result of Stalin's policies, which sought to enforce collectivization at the cost of the Ukrainian people. This tragedy has left a lasting scar on the collective memory of Ukraine, fueling a deep-seated distrust of Russia and reinforcing the narrative of Ukrainian victimhood under Russian imperialism. Even after the collapse of the Soviet Union in 1991 and Ukraine's declaration of independence, Russia has continually sought to exert influence over Ukraine, often invoking its imperial past to justify intervention. Russia's annexation of Crimea in 2014 and its ongoing military actions in eastern Ukraine are seen by many as a continuation of the imperialistic attitude that has defined Russia's relationship with Ukraine for centuries. Ukraine's motivation to fight in the current conflict is deeply rooted in its desire to protect its sovereignty and preserve its cultural and political independence from Russian influence. This struggle is not just a response to Russia's aggression but a continuation of a centuries-long fight for self-determination, dating back to the period of Tsarist colonialism and reinforced by the Soviet era. The ongoing war represents Ukraine's determination to break free from the chains of Russian imperialism and secure its future as an independent, sovereign nation. 3.3. International humanitarian law review of Russia's armed attack in Ukraine After the Russian annexation of Crimea, tensions in relations between Russia and Ukraine continued until February 2022. These tensions began when NATO sought to expand its membership into Eastern Europe by inviting Ukraine to join as a member (Andi Antara Putra & Dantes, 2022). NATO has expressed its commitment to Ukraine's future membership, stating: "We reaffirm that we will be in a position to extend an invitation to Ukraine to join the Alliance when Allies agree and conditions are met (NATO, 2024b)." This position underscores NATO's openness to Ukraine's membership, contingent upon unanimous agreement among current member states and Ukraine's fulfillment of specified criteria. While NATO has not issued a formal invitation to Ukraine, it acknowledges Ukraine's aspirations and is actively supporting its progress toward potential membership. This support includes enhancing interoperability and implementing democratic and security sector reforms (NATO, 2024a). This represents an escalation of tensions between Russia and Western countries, especially NATO, as Eastern Europe has become a critical arena for competing geopolitical interests. NATO's post-Cold War expansion, which saw the inclusion of former Eastern Bloc countries such as Poland, Hungary, and the Baltic states, has been interpreted by Russia as a direct encroachment on its sphere of influence and a threat to its security. This tension was further amplified by NATO's 2008 declaration that Ukraine and Georgia would eventually become members, which Russia perceived as a red line. The strategic importance of Eastern Europe, both as a buffer zone and as a transit corridor for energy resources, adds to the stakes for both NATO and Russia. Russia's aggressive actions, including the 2014 annexation of Crimea and its ongoing involvement in Eastern Ukraine, can be seen as attempts to counterbalance NATO's growing presence in the region. Conversely, NATO's military support to Eastern European nations underscores its commitment to collective defense and the deterrence of Russian aggression, further fueling the geopolitical rivalry. Geopolitical influence and efforts to strengthen military presence in the region are important factors in the dynamics of the ongoing conflict between Russia and Ukraine. Russia's insistence that it will not allow Ukraine to "break away," viewing it as a threat to its interests and security (Mamfaluthy, 2014), raises significant tensions with international law principles, particularly the respect for national sovereignty. The United Nations Charter guarantees every state the right to sovereignty, territorial integrity, and political independence, which includes Ukraine's right to determine its domestic and foreign policies without external interference. While Russia argues that Ukraine's potential NATO membership or Western alignment threatens its security, such concerns do not justify actions that violate Ukraine's sovereignty, such as the annexation of Crimea or support for separatist movements in Eastern Ukraine. Although international law permits states to take measures to protect legitimate security interests, these must align with legal norms and avoid infringing on the sovereignty of other states. Russia's actions contravene these principles, as reaffirmed by UN General Assembly resolutions recognizing Ukraine's territorial integrity. This tension highlights a clash between Russia's realpolitik approach to securing its strategic interests and the international legal obligation to respect the sovereignty and independence of other nations. In Putin's view, all countries that are members of NATO have the full right to organize and protect their territories from all threats, both from within and outside the country (Pradana & Ramadhoan, 2022). Putin's opinion reflects the view that NATO membership by countries surrounding Russia, including Ukraine, is perceived as a threat to Russia's security. This is reflected in concerns over the deployment of NATO military infrastructure near Russia's borders, which could be perceived as a direct threat to Russia's strategic interests. Putin has therefore insisted on taking measures he deems necessary to protect Russia's interests and sovereignty. This has led to increased tensions between Russia and Western countries that support Ukraine's membership in NATO. Russia's response to Finland's NATO membership contrasts sharply with its actions toward Ukraine, mainly due to the differing historical and cultural ties with each country. Finland views its NATO membership primarily as a defensive strategy, while Ukraine's relationship with Russia has deep historical and cultural roots. Finland's strong military, combined with NATO's collective defense principles, serves as a deterrent to Russian aggression, whereas Russia, already heavily engaged in Ukraine, avoids provoking NATO. This difference highlights that Russia's actions toward Ukraine are driven by regional dominance ambitions, rather than NATO expansion. Russia's intervention in Ukraine violates the principle of non-intervention, which is a fundamental tenet of international law. Non-intervention asserts that each state has the right to manage its internal affairs without external interference (Octavia & Husniyah, 2023). Article 2, paragraph 4 of the UN Charter emphasizes the importance of peaceful dispute resolution and the avoidance of armed conflict. Russia's actions also contravene the Declaration on Principles of International Law (A/RES/25/2625, 1970), which upholds the national sovereignty, territorial integrity, and political independence of states, emphasizing that disputes should be resolved peacefully and without violence (Mahfud, 2015; Rudy, 2011). Furthermore, Article 38 of the Statute of the International Court of Justice broadens the sources of international humanitarian law (IHL), allowing for inclusion of legal principles recognized by civilized nations, international organizations, and expert opinions, not limited to international treaties (Budisantosa, 2021). This further underscores the importance of respecting IHL and the sovereignty of states in the global legal framework. While the international treaties that are the main foundation of IHL are the Hague Conventionand the Geneva Convention (Pasorong et al., 2023). The Hague Convention regulates the laws of war governing the treatment of individuals and property in armed conflicts, while the Geneva Convention sets minimum standards for the treatment of war victims, including the protection of civilians, prisoners of war, and medical personnel. These two conventions form an important legal framework for safeguarding humanity during armed conflicts and have been the main basis for the formation of further IHL rules. IHL cannot cover all actions in international wars, but parties to armed conflicts are obliged to respect and uphold the basic principles of IHL these include (Danial, 2017). a. The Humanitarian Principle: Demands that actions in armed conflict should take into account the interests of humanity and avoid unnecessary suffering of individuals not involved in the conflict.b. Military Interests: Recognizes that military actions taken should be proportionate to the military objectives to be achieved and should minimize unnecessary losses.c. Proportionality: States that military actions must be in accordance with legitimate military interests and must be proportionate to the threat faced.d. Distinction: Stipulates that parties to a conflict must distinguish between individuals participating in the conflict (military) and those not participating (civilians), as well as between military and non-military objects.e. Prohibition of Unnecessary Suffering: Prohibits acts that cause unnecessary suffering or that are incompatible with legitimate military objectives.f. Separation of Ius ad Bellum and Ius in Bello: Distinguishes between the law governing the authority to use military force (Ius ad Bellum) and the law governing the behavior of the parties to the conflict (Ius in Bello). Russia's armed attack on Ukraine violated several fundamental principles of international humanitarian law (IHL). First, it breached the principle of state sovereignty by violating Ukraine's territorial integrity and political independence, contravening Article 2, paragraph 4 of the UN Charter, which prohibits the use of force against another state's territorial integrity. Second, the attack violated the principle of distinction, as there have been reports of civilian casualties from Russian military strikes, which should have been targeted at combatants and military objectives. Third, the strikes caused unnecessary suffering to the civilian population and infrastructure, violating the prohibition against unnecessary suffering in IHL. Overall, Russia's actions are considered serious violations of IHL and universally recognized humanitarian principles. 3.4. Foreign fighters in the context of international humanitarian law The conflict in Ukraine has brought attention to the complexities of international law, particularly regarding foreign fighters in armed conflicts. According to Common Article 3 of the Geneva Conventions, the conflict qualifies as a Non-International Armed Conflict (NIAC), which involves non-state armed groups like insurgents or separatists against state forces (Brits, 2017; Mehra & Thorley, 2017; Mehra & Thorley, 2022). However, the involvement of Russia complicates this classification, leading some to argue the conflict may be an International Armed Conflict (IAC) governed by the Geneva Conventions and the First Additional Protocol, which set standards for the protection of civilians and prisoners of war (Susetio & Muliawan, 2023). The Second Additional Protocol (APII) further outlines protections for civilians and individuals not directly participating in hostilities, providing essential legal instruments for the Ukraine conflict (Ismail, 2018). Despite the ongoing debate over the conflict's classification, IHL standards, including protections against torture and inhumane treatment, apply. These standards include principles such as proportionality and distinction, aiming to safeguard civilians and regulate military conduct (Gisel et al., 2020; Murray, 2019). The classification of the conflict is crucial in determining the application of IHL, especially regarding civilian protection, and distinguishing between military targets and non-combatants (Diakonia, 2022). The influx of foreign fighters, particularly through the International Territorial Defense Legion initiated by Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelensky, has further complicated the conflict. Since 2014, thousands of foreign fighters from 55 nations have joined the conflict, which could escalate tensions and potentially violate IHL if human rights abuses occur (Egle E. Murauskaite, 2022; Nigel Walker, 2023). The presence of foreign fighters raises significant questions regarding their legal status and responsibilities within the conflict. The term "Foreign Fighters" lacks a universally accepted definition in international law. The most authoritative definition originates from UN Security Council Resolution 2178, which references "foreign terrorist fighters." A foreign terrorist fighter is defined as an individual who travels to a country other than their own to engage in activities that support terrorism, including (Bramantyo, 2023). a. Committing acts of terrorism, characterized by violence or threats aimed at instilling fear or causing harm to civilians for political objectives.b. Planning or preparing acts of terrorism, such as target surveillance, recruitment, or weapon acquisition.c. Participating directly in acts of terrorism, providing logistical support, or harboring perpetrators.d. Receiving or providing terrorism-related training, which includes the use of weapons, explosives, or guerrilla tactics. The UN Security Council's approach to foreign fighters emphasizes counterterrorism, evident in the focus of Resolution 2178 on their roles in terrorism. However, this counterterrorism perspective has been adopted at the national level by various member states, shaping their responses to foreign fighters. Various definitions of "foreign combatants" have emerged in academic literature, with one prevalent definition describing individuals motivated by ideology, religion, or kinship to leave their country to join an armed conflict abroad (Van Poecke & Cuyckens, 2023). Key aspects of this definition include. 1) Motivation, foreign combatants are driven by ideological, religious, or familial factors rather than personal gain.2) Movement, they travel from their home country to engage in conflict in another nation.3) Active involvement, their participation extends to combat or related activities. The classification of "foreign combatants" specifically refers to individuals joining non-state armed groups in conflicts abroad, often motivated by ideological, religious, or kinship ties (Baker-Beall, 2023). This classification excludes mercenaries or volunteers driven by other factors. While national security and counterterrorism are frequently the focus of discussions about foreign fighters, categorizing them as terrorists does not negate the application of International Humanitarian Law (IHL), which applies equally to all belligerents, including foreign fighters. Their actions in armed conflicts should be evaluated according to IHL principles (Ho, 2019). The term "foreign terrorist fighters" may complicate legal proceedings by focusing primarily on counterterrorism rather than recognizing the nuances of foreign fighter involvement in armed conflicts. These individuals often participate in both non-state armed conflicts and terrorist activities (Karska & Karski, 2016). The distinction between "foreign fighters" and "mercenaries" is also important, as foreign fighters typically join armed groups for ideological reasons, whereas mercenaries are financially motivated (Floress, 2016; Dano, 2022). Russia's use of the term "mercenaries" may be intended to influence public perception and emphasize the economic aspects of their participation.  Article 47 of the 1977 First Additional Protocol (API) to the Geneva Conventions outlines the legal status of foreign fighters and the limitations on applying the Convention's provisions to individuals from non-signatory states. However, Article 47(2) reinforces that human rights protections remain in effect for foreign fighters, and the responsibilities of conflict parties under IHL are unaffected (Gregorious, 2023). As foreign fighter involvement in conflicts like Ukraine increases, challenges arise regarding their legal status and protections under IHL, necessitating careful consideration of both legal and humanitarian aspects in addressing these issues. 3.5. Human rights of foreign fighters in the context of international humanitarian law The ongoing conflict between Ukraine and Russia has resulted in severe material and psychological consequences for both the civilian population and combatants. Amidst this turmoil, the participation of foreign fighters has garnered significant attention, raising questions about their status and human rights within the framework of International Humanitarian Law (IHL). Despite their involvement in armed conflict, foreign fighters retain certain rights and protections under IHL, necessitating a thorough assessment of their legal status, actions during the conflict, and involvement in armed groups. Thus, the protection of their human rights must be carefully considered in accordance with the principles of IHL, which guarantee fair and humane treatment for all parties involved. 3.5.1. Concerns regarding due process and human rights violations The recent sentencing of three foreign fighters to death by the Supreme Court of the Donetsk Republic has raised serious concerns about adherence to international legal standards. These sentences were issued after proceedings criticized for being swift and unfair, raising alarms about violations of the right to a fair trial, including access to legal counsel and the right to present a defense. The United Nations Commission on Human Rights has previously reported violations in the region, indicating a troubling disregard for internationally recognized human rights norms. In response, the European Court of Human Rights (ECHR) intervened, directing Russia to halt the use of the death penalty and to respect the rights of foreign fighters. This underscores the critical need to uphold fundamental human rights, even amidst armed conflict, and to ensure that individuals engaged in hostilities receive basic protections recognized by international law. 3.5.2. The issue of citizenship and nationality The citizenship status of foreign fighters in the Ukraine conflict is complex due to varying national legal frameworks and policies regarding participation in foreign armed conflicts. Some countries have enacted laws revoking citizenship for involvement in terrorist activities or foreign conflicts, citing national security concerns, though critics argue these measures often lack transparency and due process, risking arbitrary deprivation of nationality. The revocation of citizenship leaves individuals in a legal limbo, vulnerable to prosecution or ill-treatment in other states. Statelessness, a common outcome of citizenship loss, exacerbates vulnerability by denying individuals access to basic rights like education, healthcare, and employment. This issue has significant implications for international human rights. The UN plays a key role in addressing these challenges by facilitating dialogue, monitoring compliance with international law, and advocating for human rights protections. Regional organizations, such as the EU, are also critical in promoting unified approaches and adherence to human rights standards in the treatment of foreign fighters. 3.5.3. Human rights protections under IHL The Geneva Conventions, particularly the Fourth Geneva Convention, emphasize the humane treatment of all individuals in conflict, including civilians and those detained. Article 3 requires non-participants in hostilities, such as civilians and prisoners, to be treated humanely, ensuring respect for basic human rights regardless of nationality or political affiliation. In light of citizenship revocation, states involved in armed conflict must assess their obligations under International Humanitarian Law (IHL) to avoid human rights violations. Revoking citizenship can undermine protections for prisoners of war (POWs), who are entitled to humane treatment, a fair trial, and protection from torture. Arbitrary revocation of nationality risks violating due process, leaving individuals stateless and vulnerable to ill-treatment. States must ensure that national security policies do not compromise fundamental rights. Upholding human rights is not just a legal requirement but a reflection of a state's commitment to justice. International organizations, such as the United Nations and regional bodies, have a crucial role in monitoring compliance and advocating for the rights of those affected by armed conflict. 3.5.4. Obligations of states and international accountability The right to return is a fundamental principle in international law, safeguarding individuals from arbitrary state actions that could lead to statelessness or human rights violations. This right is especially relevant for foreign fighters, who may face citizenship revocation upon returning from conflict zones, further exacerbating their vulnerabilities. The International Committee of the Red Cross (ICRC) stresses that states are obligated to investigate war crimes committed by their nationals and ensure accountability. Revoking citizenship and transferring legal responsibility to other states can create a culture of impunity and hinder accountability for war crimes. Denying the right to return can lead to further human rights abuses, including inhumane detention or exposure to violence in conflict zones. Article 12 of the ICCPR affirms that all individuals have the right to return to their own country, emphasizing that this right is not contingent on actions or affiliations. States must avoid arbitrary deprivation of nationality, particularly in conflict contexts, to preserve these rights. Adhering to International Humanitarian Law (IHL) and human rights standards is crucial to maintaining trust and accountability within the international community. A balanced approach that considers both security and humanitarian principles is necessary in addressing modern conflicts. 4. Research limitations While this study provides valuable insights into the legal frameworks surrounding foreign fighters in the context of the Russia-Ukraine conflict, it is important to acknowledge several limitations. First, the study is limited to a normative analysis of IHL, focusing primarily on the legal aspects of Russia's military aggression against Ukraine, without delving deeply into the political and social dynamics that also play a significant role in shaping the conflict. Second, the sources of data utilized are predominantly drawn from international legal documents and reports issued by international organizations, which may not fully capture the perspectives of all parties involved, particularly those who are underrepresented in global discourse. Third, while the study adheres to established international legal approaches, it faces challenges in assessing the practical application of IHL in the field, due to difficulties in obtaining sensitive or potentially biased information from diverse sources. Fourth, the research does not specifically address the role of third-party states supporting one of the conflicting parties, a dimension that could significantly complicate the interpretation of IHL. In light of these constraints, it is recommended that future research adopt a more holistic and inclusive approach to explore these complexities in greater depth. 5. Conclusion The ongoing conflict between Russia and Ukraine involves direct military engagements between Russian and Ukrainian forces, along with the participation of pro-Russian separatist groups in eastern Ukraine. Foreign combatants have also become a significant factor on both sides of the conflict. Individuals from various countries have joined the Ukrainian side, either as volunteers or part of organized military units, while Russia has provided support to pro-Russian factions, including involvement of Russian foreign combatants. The legal status of foreign combatants is unclear under International Humanitarian Law (IHL), which primarily addresses the rights and obligations of states, military forces, and civilians, leaving ambiguous the status of foreign combatants, whether they act on behalf of non-state armed groups or as independent volunteers. There is a need to avoid misusing terrorism laws that do not differentiate between foreign volunteers, combatants, and mercenaries, as this could undermine the core objectives of IHL, which include ensuring humane conduct in war. IHL's primary goal is to mitigate human suffering during war, not to prevent conflict. It aims to make warfare more humane, ensuring that all combatants, including foreign ones, enjoy the same human rights as nationals. Violations of these rights, such as deprivation of citizenship or the right to life, cannot be justified under any circumstances. As the conflict persists, all parties must respect IHL to safeguard the dignity of individuals and ensure justice and accountability in the conflict. CRediT authorship contribution statementKhoirunnisa Khoirunnisa: Conceptualization. Brian Matthew: Resources. Didi Jubaidi: Conceptualization. Agung Yudhistira Nugroho: Conceptualization.Data availability statementThe data used in this study were obtained from publicly available sources such as the Open Access Library, DOAJ (Directory of Open Access Journals) and , as indicated in the Data section of the article.Funding statementThis research was supported by a grant from xxxxxxxx which had no role in study design, data collection, analysis, interpretation of results, or writing of this article.Declaration of competing interestThe authors declare that there are no conflicts of interest associated with this publication. No financial, personal, or professional relationships with other individuals or organizations have influenced or could potentially influence the work presented in this manuscript.AcknowledgementsThe authors would like to thank all those who have provided technical support and valuable input during this research process.Khoirunnisa Khoirunnisa, Brian Matthew, Didi Jubaidi, Agung Yudhistira Nugroho, The Ukraine-Russia conflict: An international humanitarian law review of the involvement of foreign fighters, Social Sciences & Humanities Open, Volume 11, 2025, 101340, ISSN 2590-2911, https://doi.org/10.1016/j.ssaho.2025.101340.ReferencesAkbar and Sadiawati, 2023, M.N. Akbar, D. Sadiawati, Analysis of the Russian invasion of Ukraine in terms of humanitarian law, Jurnal Ilmiah Mizani: Wacana Hukum, Ekonomi, Dan Keagamaan, 10 (1) (2023), p. 160, 10.29300/mzn.v10i1.10760Alexander, 2023, A. 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