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Defense & Security
The flags of the Russia, United States, China and are drawn on a piece of ice in the form of an Arctic iceberg against a blue sky. Conflict of interests in the Arctic, Cold War, Arctic shelf

Divided Arctic in a Divided World Order

by Rasmus Gjedssø Bertelsen

한국어로 읽기 Leer en español In Deutsch lesen Gap اقرأ بالعربية Lire en français Читать на русском Introduction Arctic order historically, currently, and in the future reflects the world order. The idea of ‘Arctic exceptionalism’ is not valid and is a poor guide for policy. During Cold War bipolarity, the Arctic was divided between the Soviet Arctic and the Nordic and North American Arctic. US victory and Soviet defeat in the Cold War led to US unipolarity and hegemony which was the basis for a circumpolar (including Russia) liberal (as opposed to realist) Arctic order with organizations, such as the Arctic Council, International Arctic Science Committee, University of the Arctic, Barents and Bering regional cooperation, all on liberal topics such as science, environment, Indigenous rights, people-to-people cooperation.Footnote1 US unipolarity and hegemony are slipping away to world order characteristics of continued US unipolarity and hegemony, Sino-American bipolarity in economics and S&T and multipolarity illustrated by BRICS+. Sino-US competition and US-Russia conflict to the extent of proxy-war in Ukraine reflect these changes. The Arctic, which is de facto divided between the US-led NATO-Arctic and the Russian Arctic, where Russia reaches out to the BRICS+ in diplomacy, economics, and S&T, reflects these changes to world order. There is wishful thinking in the West of returning to post-Cold War US unipolar and hegemonic ‘liberal world order’ or ‘rules-based order’ and the circumpolar liberal Arctic order with it. This wish is probably unrealistic for global trends in demography, economics, S&T, legitimacy, etc. Significant conflict can be expected between the US/West and China and Russia on developments in world order, with the Global South standing by. The Arctic is likely to remain divided between the US-led NATO Arctic and the Russian Arctic seeking engagement with the BRICS+ world for the future with extremely limited cooperation and risk of spill-over from the Ukraine War and other US-Russia-China conflicts. The Arctic in international order There are two common, but invalid, narratives about the Arctic, which are poor guides for policy: First, ‘Arctic exceptionalism’, that the Arctic was apart from international politics and allowed for West-Russia cooperation unlike elsewhere, especially between the Russian annexation of Crimea in 2014 and the Russian full-scale invasion of Ukraine in 2022. Second, a presentist discourse, where international interests in the Arctic are seen as rising in the last 15 years, driven by climate change, the Russian flag planting on the seafloor of the North Pole in 2007, and the United States Geological Survey’s assessment of oil and gas resources in 2008, north of the Arctic Circle. Rather, the Arctic has for centuries closely mirrored the international system, whether multipolar with Western colonial empires before the World Wars, bipolar Cold War between the US and the USSR, post-Cold War US unipolarity and hegemony, or the current emerging Sino-American bipolarity and multipolarity. During 2014–2022, cooperation in the Arctic was not exceptional compared to US-Russia non-proliferation cooperation, most notably with the Iran nuclear deal in 2015, or removing chemical weapons from Syria. There was extensive US-Europe-Russia and wider collaboration around the International Space Station. There was extensive energy trade and investment between Russia and Europe, most notably with the Nord Stream 1 and 2 pipelines under the Baltic Sea. The bipolar Cold War Arctic in the bipolar Cold War order Bipolarity with two superpowers standing out from all other great powers due to their demographic, economic, science and technology, military, and ideological weight and global claims, the US and the USSR, shaped the the Cold War order. Bipolar logic shaped the international order. John Mearsheimer explains well the structural logic of a nuclear-armed bipolar superpower security competition, and he points out how each superpower formed ‘bounded orders’ of allies and clients to discipline them and mobilize their resources. These bounded orders were the West for the US with its institutions, and the East Bloc for the USSR.Footnote2 This bipolar logic was also clear in the Arctic, divided between the Nordic and North American Arctic of the West and the Soviet Arctic by the Iron Curtain in Europe and the Ice Curtain in the Bering Strait. Circumpolar Arctic cooperation was limited to the Polar Bear Treaty of 1973 between the USSR, Norway, Kingdom of Denmark, Canada, and the US, Norwegian Soviet joint fisheries management in the Barents Sea, and some Bering Strait cooperation. The Arctic was exceptionally militarized during the Cold War driven by the mutual nuclear deterrence between the US and the USSR, where the Arctic played a central role for geostrategic and technological reasons. The Arctic was the shortest flight path for bombers and missiles, and sea ice offered cover for nuclear ballistic submarines. This exceptional militarization of the Arctic harmed the human security of Arctic local and indigenous communities through forced displacement, security service surveillance, and pollution, including notable nuclear accidents, as the 1968 B52 bomber crash off Northwest Greenland with four H-bombs causing extensive radioactive contamination of much Soviet nuclear material in and around the Kola Peninsula, including sunken submarines with nuclear fuel or weapons on board.Footnote3 Circumpolar liberal Arctic order under US unipolarity The Cold War ended with US victory and Soviet defeat and dissolution, also caused by the US pressuring the USSR into a strategic nuclear arms race, that the Soviet economy could not support. US Navy operations near the Soviet Northern Fleet nuclear bastion around the Kola Peninsula were an important part of this pressure.Footnote4 The Arctic was also part of Mikhail Gorbachev’s attempt to save the USSR by reform and lowering external tension. Gorbachev called the Arctic as a zone of peace, environmental protection and scientific collaboration in his 1987 Murmansk speech, in contrast to being at the heart of a strategic nuclear arms race with the US, which the USSR could not sustain. Gorbachev’s reforms failed to avert the dissolution of the USSR and deep socio-economic, public health, and law and order crisis in Russian society during the 1990s. The Russian State withdrew to a significant extent from its Arctic, leaving military facilities and society behind. Sino-American bipolarity comes to the Arctic The relative distribution of comprehensive material and immaterial power of the strongest States shapes international order. States stay the predominant actors since the emergence of a state system, not denying powerful non-State actors historically and today. The US unipolarity after the Cold War was an exceptional time of international history and not the ‘End of History’ as believed by some quarters in the West (Fukuyama). History is returning to normal with the return of major centres of economic output and science and technology outside the West. Ironically, US unipolarity laid the foundation for the ‘Return of history’, rather than the ‘End of History’. Since the 1990s, the world experienced globalization with economic, science and technology, and cultural integration. The US as the sole superpower provided public goods and facilitated and coordinated many of these economic, scientific, and technological, and cultural flows. Globalization undermined US unipolarity, facilitating the faster relative growth of non-Western States. China’s export-oriented growth, returning it to its historical position as one of the world’s largest economies is the most important dimension for changes to world order. In parallel, other emerging markets have grown adding multipolar dimensions to international order. International Relations theory serves to think about how to respond to the return of China. About 20–25 years ago, Professor Joseph S. Nye (Harvard University) and Professor John Mearsheimer (University of Chicago) articulated two major approaches with coherent theoretical and strategic visions for the Sino-American relationship. Nye, as a liberal institutionalist scholar and policymaker in the Bill Clinton Administration, presented a vision of ‘integrate, but hedge’. China integrated in the US-led world economy as member state of the World Trade Organization, while the US hedged against the rise of China by reinforcing its alliance with Japan.Footnote5 There were strong US and Western liberal expectations of Chinese economic growth and openness leading to political openness and reform. These expectations proved to be belied and ethnocentric. Mearsheimer, in line with his offensive realist theory, clearly outlined how the US had to keep China from becoming a regional hegemon in East Asia through a containment strategy.Footnote6 The US’ China strategy has shifted from the Nye perspective to the Mearsheimer perspective, while Mearsheimer himself is ostracized for his valid, but politically unacceptable, analysis of the Ukraine War. Mearsheimer explains how Sino-American bipolarity works with realist great power State security competition, and how competing great powers form their ‘bounded orders’ of allies and clients to discipline and mobilize these.Footnote7 The US is shaping a NATO+ order of the NATO member states and Australia, New Zealand, Japan, and South Korea. The US is increasingly engaging in trade and technology wars with China to slow down its growth rate, clearly denying its access to fundamental technologies of future knowledge-based economies. A realist focus on relative gains explains US policy to reduce China’s growth rate. China has a population more than three times that of the US with an absolute economy approaching the US economy. The US cannot allow China to catch up relatively with it, as that would imply a much larger Chinese economy than that of the US. Liberals (politically and theoretically) would ascribe the US policy to different domestic political systems, but the logic of anarchy points out how domestic political systems are of secondary concern, and empirically the US firmly bypassed and disciplined the previous Anglo-Saxon superpower, Britain. US-India relations can be expected to deteriorate with India’s socio-economic development, where India has a much younger population than China with great economic growth potential. China predicted the US abandoning its own open and globalized international economic policy out of concern for China’s relative rise to the US. China pursued a domestic and international economic policy much less dependent on US benevolence. In the domestic sphere, China pursued an economy based on domestic demand. Externally, China built up a parallel international economic and science and technology system with the Belt and Road Initiative with the Asian Infrastructure Investment Bank. Other bodies, such as the Shanghai Cooperation Organization in security reflect parallel orders and institutions to the US-led Western institutions. Sino-American bipolarity also became clear in the Arctic about 10–15 years ago. China started to appear as a diplomatic, economic, science and technology actor in the Arctic. Western surprise and consternation to this development reflects the great difficulties many Westerners have in facing a world, where the Rest takes an interest in the West, and not only the West taking an interest in the Rest as during centuries of imperialism and colonialism. It should not be surprising that China as one of the world’s two largest national economies and science and technology systems (with the US) has interests in the Arctic, or anywhere else in the world. The US is globally present in politics, defence, diplomacy, economics, science and technology, culture, etc. The unfortunate Chinese term of ‘near-Arctic State’ to legitimize Chinese involvement in the Arctic drew much Western ridicule and opposition. In comparison, the US and the West seem to be ‘near-everywhere’ States. One place where the Sino-American bipolar logic appeared soon and clearly has been the Kingdom of Denmark with the North Atlantic and Arctic overseas autonomies of the Faroe Islands and Greenland. The US applies pressure on the Kingdom of Denmark to exclude Chinese investment, science and technology, in line with Mearsheimer’s argument of a superpower building bounded orders to mobilize and discipline allies and clients in security competition with a competing great or superpower. The Faroe Islands are located between Iceland, Norway, and Scotland. They are centrally placed in the Greenland-Iceland-UK Gap controlling North-South access and blocking the Soviet-Russian Northern Fleet going south for NATO or the US and NATO navies going north for USSR/Russia. The Faroe Islands are becoming increasingly independent from Denmark. Huawei has long been a partner for the Faroese telecom company, which planned to continue with Huawei for 5G. This partnership came under increasing scrutiny from Danish and US sides. The Chinese ambassador to Copenhagen during a visit to the Faroe Islands linked the Faroe Islands choosing Huawei with prospects for a Sino-Faroese free trade agreement (the Faroe Islands are outside the EU and pursue an independent trade policy).Footnote8 The US ambassador to Copenhagen publicly spoke strongly against the Faroe Islands collaborating with Huawei for 5 G.Footnote9 Greenland is geographically North American (remember the Monroe Doctrine), crucial to US (North American) homeland defence, and pursuing independence from the Kingdom of Denmark. Greenland and China have for some time eyed each other for investment and science and technology opportunities. Greenlandic independence primarily rests on economic independence from Denmark and human capital. The economic independence should be through, among other domains, mining, where China and Chinese companies were considered as very important likely investors. Copenhagen regarded Sino-Greenlandic mutual interest with great suspicion for a long time, which was evident from the report on Greenlandic mining from 2014.Footnote10 In 2014, the Royal Danish Navy abandoned Grønnedal, a small, remote old naval facility, established by the US during the Second World War, which was put up for sale. A Chinese mining company showed interest in the facility as a logistics hub for future operations in Greenland. The Danish government promptly took the facility off the market maintaining a token naval presence.Footnote11 Developing Greenlandic tourism requires upgrading the airport infrastructure, which is an enormous project for a nation of 57,000 on a 2 M km2 island. One of the finalists to an international tender was the China Construction Communication Company (4C), which might also have provided financing.Footnote12 The Danish government convinced the Greenlandic government to accept a Danish financing (with a Danish stake) of the renovated and new airports against choosing a Danish construction company.Footnote13 The Greenlandic government was reshaped over this intervention with a coalition party leaving in protest over accepting such Danish interference in Greenlandic affairs. In 2017, China publicly presented its interest in a research station in Greenland, including a satellite ground station, which the Government of Greenland might have been positive towards.Footnote14 This idea has never materialized, first probably delayed by the COVID-19 pandemic, but Denmark and the US would never accept a Chinese research station and/or satellite station in Greenland. The US government has made its pressure on the Danish government public, through former Secretary of Defense, General Jim Mattis.Footnote15 China and Iceland spearheaded Sino-Nordic Arctic research cooperation from the official visit of Chinese premier Wen Jiabao to Iceland in 2012. In 2013, the China Nordic Arctic Research Center was founded, a virtual centre of Chinese and Nordic institutions hosted by the Polar Research Institute of China in Shanghai. CNARC has hosted an annual symposium between China and a Nordic country as well as researcher exchange. Today, Sweden has withdrawn from CNARC, and Denmark does not participate, as the participating Nordic Institute of Asian Studies at the University of Copenhagen has been closed. PRIC and RANNÍS (The Icelandic Center for Research, equivalent to Research Council) held the groundbreaking ceremony for the construction of the China-Iceland Aurora Observatory, now China Iceland Arctic Observatory, at Kárhóll, Northeast Iceland, in June 2014, which I attended. The Observatory opened formally—although unfinished—in October 2018. This collaboration had been hampered by the COVID-19 pandemic and negligence from central authorities and research institutions in the capital, Reykjavik. Today, Iceland is under pressure from the US, including a recent visit by US Congressional staffers, to close CIAO.Footnote16 US-Russia Eastern European security competition divides the Arctic US-Russia security competition, especially in Eastern Europe, became increasingly clear from around 2007–2008. In 2007, Russian President Vladimir Putin delivered a speech at the Munich Security Conference, where he unsurprisingly denounced US unipolarity. Russia had rejected US unipolarity and called for multipolarity since the Primakov Doctrine of the 1990s calling for Russia, China, and India to balance the US. In spring 2008, at the initiative of the US—and with French and German reservations—the NATO Bucharest summit invited Georgia and Ukraine to become member states. In the autumn, fighting broke out between Georgia and Russian forces in the separatist enclaves of Abkhazia and South Ossetia leading to Georgia’s defeat. In autumn 2013, the EU proposed an agreement to Ukraine, which forced Ukraine to choose between Russia and the EU. The Ukrainian President rejected the EU’s proposal, leading to popular protests met with government violence and eventually the President fleeing the country. Russia intervened annexing Crimea and supporting an insurgency in the Donbas.Footnote17 In December 2021, Russia proposed a treaty to the US blocking former Soviet Republics from joining NATO and rolling back NATO troops and equipment in Central and Eastern Europe, which was rejected by the US and allies in January 2022. On 24 February 2022, Russia launched a full-scale invasion of Ukraine, which had led to a war of attrition between Russia and Ukraine. The West extends wide-ranging political, military, economic, and further support to Ukraine and tries to isolate Russia as much as possible. The Rest of the world follows Western policy of isolating Russia to a very limited extent. The Russian annexation of Crimea affected the Arctic in limited ways. The West stopped military dialogues with Russia in the Arctic Security Forces Roundtable and Arctic Chiefs of Defense Forum. The West imposed sanctions on Russian Arctic energy projects, as the US $27 billion Yamal LNG project, which initially had Russian Novatek (60 per cent), French Total (20 per cent), and China National Petroleum Cooperation (20 per cent) ownership. Sanctions forced Novatek to sell 9.9 per cent to the Chinese government’s Silk Road Fund and rely on Chinese bank funding. Russia responded to these sanctions with counter sanctions on Western food exports to Russia, which also affected some Arctic seafood export to Russia. Russia accepted Faroese salmon exports, which led to a boom in Faroese economy. In 2014, there was some protests in the Arctic Council from the Chair, Canada. Otherwise, Arctic Council and other scientific, people-to-people, cooperation continued between Russia and the seven other Arctic States. For Northern Norway, extensive regional cooperation in the Barents region continued. The Russian full-scale invasion of Ukraine led to an almost complete Western cessation of Arctic collaboration with Russia. The other seven Arctic countries refused to collaborate with Russia in the Arctic Council, chaired by Russia 2021–2023. The Seven—now all NATO member states—Arctic Council member states have since backed down significantly. The Arctic Council was always more important to them than to Russia, suggesting that this Western brinkmanship was poorly thought through. There are extensive Western sanctions against the Russian economy, including against Russian Arctic energy projects, which were a key basis for developing the Russian Arctic. Russia had sought to develop a Europe-Russia-East Asia energy system with Russian Arctic oil and gas being exported both West to Europe and East to East Asia and with balanced Western and East Asian investments.Footnote18 The West has almost completely cut science and technology relations with Russia, also in the Arctic. The rare exceptions to continued Arctic science collaboration between West and Russia are for instance, the Norway-Russia Barents Sea Fisheries Commission because Norway also depends on this collaboration. The US continues more academic collaboration with Russia than European countries allow themselves; for instance, receiving Russian Fulbright professors. Norway pursued an extensive regional cooperation policy with Russia, Finland, and Sweden in the Barents Region since 1993 with much support for cross-border people-to-people exchange for youth, in education, academia, culture, environment, business development, and further. This collaboration built extensive insight, experience, networks, and access in Russia at North Norwegian institutions, as UiT The Arctic University of Norway, UNN The University Hospital of Northern Norway, the Norwegian Polar Institute, the Arctic Frontiers Conference, businesses such as Akvaplan-Niva marine environmental consultancy, and in academia, civil society, education, and government. The border town of Kirkenes depended for about a third of its economic turnover on trade with Russia. These connections are now almost completely cut by Norwegian government policy. Russian society and politics did become much more closed and authoritarian during this period, but that was for internal political reasons and not directed against Norway. Personally, I had successful high-level academic cooperation with some of the key Russian academic institutions funded by Norwegian public funds until they were forbidden by Norwegian government policy after the Russian invasion of Ukraine. My last personal visit to Moscow was in December 2019, and I was planning to visit with a sizeable group of Norwegian faculty and PhD candidates in April 2020, postponed due to the COVID-19 pandemic. The rapid division of world order in a NATO+ and a BRICS++ world The world is separating into a NATO+ grouping of NATO countries and Australia, New Zealand, Japan, and South Korea, under clear US leadership, and the Rest. The Rest, I call BRICS++ for the BRICS+ grouping and many other countries. This separation is clear through demography, economy, and science and technology. Humanity is about 8 billion people, compared to the West, which is about 1 billion, making it a small minority. Humanity is expected to grow to 10 billion, where the West will remain at about 1 billion, a shrinking small minority. The dominance of the West has rested on economic development and science and technology, translated into military force, with a shrinking demographic share of the world economy, scientific and technological development and relative power shifts from the West to the Rest. Legitimacy and credibility divisions are also clearly visible between the NATO+ and the BRICS++ worlds concerning the war in Ukraine, where the West is astonished by its own isolation. To great surprise, the Rest of the world have not followed the West’s attempts to isolate Russia diplomatically and economically. This rejection of the West’s position was clear from the very first UN Security Council debate on the Russian invasion of Ukraine on 24 February 2022. Russian veto and Chinese and Indian abstentions were not surprising, but the abstention by the United Arab Emirates was remarkable considering the close security and other partnerships between the GCC countries and the US and historically the UK. The speech during the debate on 21 February 2022, a few days prior, by the Kenyan ambassador to the Security Council, condemning Russia’s recognition of breakaway regions but reminding that other UNSC permanent members had also violated international law, showed the lack of Western credibility and legitimacy on the issue.Footnote19 Western credibility and legitimacy have eroded further by supporting Israel’s genocide in Gaza since the 7 October 2023 Hamas attack on Israel. The Division of the Arctic in a NATO Arctic and Russian BRICS++ Arctic. The effects of world order on the Arctic are clear, applying the analytical lenses of unipolar, bipolar, and multipolar traits of world order to the Arctic. The world is increasingly becoming Sino-American bipolar, where the US seeks to maintain unipolarity through a global containment strategy of China. This struggle is also evident in the Arctic; for instance, US pressure on the Kingdom of Denmark to exclude Chinese investment, science and technology in the Faroe Islands and Greenland. The US keeps up an ever-stronger anti-Chinese Arctic discourse from Secretary of State Mike Pompeo’s 2019 speech in Rovaniemi, Finland, to US Senator Lisa Murkowski at the Arctic Circle Assembly in Reykjavik in 2024. Russia has opposed US unipolarity since the 1990s, seeking multipolarity. The conflict between US and Russian multipolarity ultimately escalated via the 2014 annexation of Crimea, the 2022 invasion of Ukraine and the proxy war in Ukraine. This conflict has led to an almost complete division of the Arctic into NATO-Arctic (collaborating with the wider NATO+ world and further) and the Russian Arctic. Russia reaches out all it can diplomatically, economically, and in science and technology to the BRICS++ world, especially China and India. The Rest of the World seems restrained from pursuing Russian Arctic opportunities by the risk of US and Western secondary sanctions and other NATO Arctic pushbacks. Conclusion: looking forward for world and Arctic order The world is—as usual for international history—marked by the struggle over the world order among the strongest State actors. This struggle was forgotten especially by European observers during the post-Cold War era, with the illusion of End of History and confounding globalization and modernization with Westernization. Instead, we have had the Return of History and the return of historically very large non-Western economic, science and technology actors as China, followed by others. The current struggle over the world order also shapes the Arctic, as was historically clear, especially during the Second World War and the Cold War. The US is determined to prolong post-Cold War unipolar dominance expressed as ‘rules-based order’, where the US defines the rules, to whom, and when they apply. Europe has found an apparently comfortable and completely dependent position in this US-led order. The Rest of the World less so, with China and Russia explicitly rejecting this US-led order. The conflict over world order between the US and its bounded order in the NATO+ world in Europe, Oceania, and East Asia and the Rest of the World, can only be expected to escalate. The US must either stop Chinese economic, science and technology development (and later other peer competitors), or demographics, economy, science and technology will lead to a more bipolar and multipolar world. Europe by its dependence on the US is forced to follow this US strategy. The war in Ukraine can lead to a frozen conflict, where the overall Russia-West relationship remains highly conflictual, including in the Arctic. Ukrainian defeat or a negotiated settlement with a neutralized Ukraine and cessation of territory to Russia will also probably lead to a decadal severance of economic, science and technology, people-to-people ties between Russia and the West, including in the Arctic. A Russian defeat is unlikely because of difference in Russian and Ukrainian manpower and resources. China is unlikely to allow Russia to succumb to the US, which would put defeated Russia on China’s Northern frontier in China’s own conflict with the US. All in all, world order seems highly conflictual and with increased separation between the NATO+ and the BRICS++ world, which will only bring humanity more conflict and less economic development and growth, unlike the age of post-Cold War globalization. This division will be replicated in the Arctic. Disclosure statementNo potential conflict of interest was reported by the author(s).Additional informationNotes on contributorsRasmus Gjedssø Bertelsen is Professor at UiT The Arctic University of Norway. Views expressed are personal. Notes 1. Rasmus Gjedssø Bertelsen, ‘Unipolarity and Order in the Arctic’. Nina Græger, Bertel Heurlin, Ole Wæver, Anders Wivel, (Eds.), Polarity in International Relations. Governance, Security and Development, Palgrave Macmillan, Cham, 2022 at https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-05505-8_16. 2. John J. Mearsheimer, ‘Bound to Fail: The Rise and Fall of the Liberal International Order’, International Security, 43 (4), 2019, pp. 7–50 at https://doi.org/10.1162/isec_a_00342 3. George Lindsey, ‘Strategic Stability in the Arctic’, Adelphi Papers 241, International Institute for Strategic Studies, 1989. 4. Steven E. Miller, ‘The Return of the Strategic Arctic’, in The Arctic Yearbook, 2023 at https://arcticyearbook.com/images/yearbook/2022/Commentaries/6C_AY2022_Miller.pdf. 5. Joseph S. Nye, ‘The Challenge of China’, in Stephen Van Evera (Ed.) How to Make America Safe: New Policies for National Security, The Tobin Project, Cambridge, MA 2006 at https://tobinproject.org/sites/default/files/assets/Make_America_Safe_The_Challenge_Of_China.pdf. 6. John J. Mearsheimer, ‘The Rise of China Will Not Be Peaceful at All’, The Australian, 18 November 2005 at https://www.mearsheimer.com/wp-content/uploads/2019/06/The-Australian-November-18-2005.pdf. 7. John J. Mearsheimer, ‘Bound to Fail: The Rise and Fall of the Liberal International Order’, International Security, 43 (4), pp. 7–50, 2019 athttps://doi.org/10.1162/isec_a_00342. 8. Thomas Foght, ‘Hemmelig lydoptagelse: Kina pressede Færøerne til at vælge Huawei’ [Secret Sound Recording: China Pressured the Faroe Islands to Choose Huawei]. Danmarks Radio, 2019 at https://www.dr.dk/nyheder/indland/hemmelig-lydoptagelse-kina-pressede-faeroeerne-til-vaelge-huawei. 9. Adam Satariano, ‘At the Edge of the World, a New Battleground for the US and China’, New York Times, 2019 at https://www.nytimes.com/2019/12/20/technology/faroe-islands-huawei-china-us.html. 10. The Committee for Greenlandic Mineral Resources to the Benefit of Society, ‘To the Benefit of Greenland’. Ilisimatusarfik-University of Greenland; University of Copenhagen, 2014 at https://vbn.aau.dk/ws/files/208241864/To_the_benefit_of_Greenland.pdf. 11. Martin Breum, ‘Analyse: Stoppede Danmarks statsminister kinesisk opkøb i Grønland?’ [Analysis: Did the Danish Prime Minister Stop Chinese Acquisition in Greenland?]. High North News, 2018 at https://www.highnorthnews.com/nb/analyse-stoppede-danmarks-statsminister-kinesisk-opkob-i-gronland. 12. Teis Jensen, ‘Greenland shortlists Chinese company for airport construction despite Denmark’s concerns’, Reuters, 2018 at https://www.reuters.com/article/world/greenland-shortlists-chinese-company-for-airport-construction-despite-denmarks-idUSKBN1H32XG/. 13. Statsministeriet, ‘Aftale mellem regeringen og Naalakkersuisut om dansk engagement i lufthavnsprojektet i Grønland og styrket erhvervssamarbejde mellem Danmark og Grønland’ [Agreement Between the [Danish] Government and Naalakkersuisut [Government of Greenland] on Danish Involvement in the Airport Project in Greenland and Enhanced Business Collaboration Between Denmark and Greenland] Statsministeriet. Formandens Departement, 2018 at https://www.stm.dk/media/8148/10-09-2018_aftale_mellem_regeringen_og_naalakkersuisut.pdf. 14. Martin Breum, ‘Kina vil bygge kontroversiel forskningsstation i Grønland’. [China Wants to Build Controversial Research Station in Greenland], 2017 at https://www.information.dk/udland/2017/10/kina-bygge-kontroversiel-forskningsstation-groenland. 15. Damian Paletta and Itkowitz Colby, ‘Trump Aides Look into US Purchasing Greenland after Directives from President’. The Washington Post, 2019 at https://www.washingtonpost.com/business/2019/08/16/america-first-greenland-second-is-trumps-latest-white-house-directive/. 16. ‘Letter to Anthony Blinking and Lloyd Austin’, Select Committee on the Chinese Communist Party, United States Congress, 2017 at https://democrats-selectcommitteeontheccp.house.gov/sites/evo-subsites/democrats-selectcommitteeontheccp.house.gov/files/evo-media-document/10.16.24_PRC%20dual%20use%20research%20in%20the%20Arctic__.pdf. 17. John J. Mearsheimer, ‘Why the Ukraine Crisis is the West’s Fault: The Liberal Delusions That Provoked Putin’, Foreign Affairs, September/October, 2014 at https://www.mearsheimer.com/wp-content/uploads/2019/06/Why-the-Ukraine-Crisis-Is.pdf. 18. Mariia Kobzeva and Rasmus Gjedssø Bertelsen, ‘European-Russian-Chinese Arctic Energy System’,in Xing Li (Ed) China-EU Relations in a New Era of Global Transformation, London: Routledge, London, 2021, 22p. 19. Martin Kimani, ‘Statement by Amb. Martin Kimani, during the Security Council Urgent Meeting on the Situation in Ukraine’, The Permanent Mission of the Republic of Kenya, United Nations Security Council, February 2022 at https://www.un.int/kenya/sites/www.un.int/files/Kenya/kenya_statement_during_urgent_meeting_on_on_ukraine_21_february_2022_at_2100.pdf.

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

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

by Tobias Kollakowski

한국어로 읽기 Leer en español In Deutsch lesen Gap اقرأ بالعربية Lire en français Читать на русском ABSTRACT This article analyses the naval dimension of the Russo-Ukrainian War in order to examine in which ways Ukraine’s approach to naval warfare in the Black Sea fits with Jeune École concepts – one of the leading naval strategic schools of thought. Having elaborated on the considerable success Ukraine has been able to achieve by applying a Jeune École approach and having explained the limits of Jeune École thinking in the conflict at sea, the article argues that Ukraine should be careful when considering to evolve the war at sea into a symmetrical conflict between conventional fleets.ARTICLE HISTORY Received 7 July 2024; Accepted 18 February 2025KEYWORDS War in the Black Sea; Jeune École; Russo-Ukrainian War; naval strategy; Ukrainian Navy The war that has been raging in the Black Sea since February 2022 is not a clash of titans. Its predominant characteristic are not naval battles between conventional fleets but, on the contrary, the absence of such engagements. Furthermore, as subsequent sections will further detail, most of these actions take place in the littoral. While the maritime dimension of the full-scale Russo-Ukrainian War has joined the Indo-Pakistani Naval War of 1971 and the 1982 Falklands War as among the most destructive naval wars since the end of WW2, the way in which it is waged involves coastal-defence batteries, pin prick attacks by uncrewed aerial systems (UAS), air-launched missile strikes and an asymmetric campaign carried out by uncrewed surface vehicles (USV). Not least important, the divergence between asymmetric and conventional naval warfare has not only informed the ways in which military actions have been carried out. Rather, it goes to the heart of a much larger debate over Ukraine’s fleet design and naval strategy. In this debate between adherents of a blue-water school of thought and advocates of the so-called ‘mosquito fleet’, both fractions have argued over the most appropriate develop- ment of the Ukrainian Navy and its future capabilities. To adopt an analytical framework that is well-suited to the nature of the conflict, both lethal and inter- state in the Black Sea and intellectual and within Ukraine’s military establishment, this article refrains from applying theories connected to prominent theoreticians associated with the blue-water school of thought (the ‘Old School’),1 such as Alfred Thayer Mahan, Philip Howard Colomb or Sir Julian Corbett.2 Literature on contem- porary naval strategy has indeed adopted concepts associated with these schools of thought, for example in the case of Japan (Corbett), the People’s Republic of China and India (Mahan).3 While blue-water concepts may prove beneficial when interpreting the oceanic ambitions and strategies of Asia’s mightiest naval powers, this article instead refers to Jeune École (Young School) naval strategic school of thought – one of the leading schools of thought in naval theory developed by 19th century French naval theoreticians and practitioners. As argued throughout this article, concepts and controversies affiliated with Jeune École (JÉ) are well-suited to explain the developments, circumstances and debates concerning the maritime theatre of the Russo-Ukrainian War. Scholars and experts have recently paid considerable attention to the mar- itime dimension of the Russo-Ukrainian War. Seth Cropsey, for example, argues that access to, and control of, the Black Sea is critical to the outcome of the war and Brent Sadler elaborates on lessons identified from the War in the Black Sea for a potential war involving Taiwan.4 Furthermore, scholars have examined the circumstances and implications of the transformation of a maritime gray zone conflict into a conventional war and the impact of the Russo-Ukrainian War on maritime commerce and the regional naval balance of power.5In a recent study, Md. Tanvir Habib and Shah Md Shamrir Al Af have also usefully explored Ukraine’s innovative usage of naval drones, tracing the lessons, conditions and implications of Ukraine’s approach to the War in the Black Sea and arguing in favour of the adoption of maritime asymmetric warfare strategies and capabilities by smaller countries.6 However, while deeply engaging in the discussion on asymmetric warfare Habib’s and Md Al Af’s analysis does not address the ‘Young School’ of naval strategic thought or matters of naval theory more generally. In contrast to the above-mentioned authors, in his review of the book Vaincre en mer au XXIe siècle, Michael Shurkin does take note of the fact that naval drones ‘perhaps breathe new life into the old vision of the Jeune École’ when he addresses the fact that the authors have not included the Russo-Ukrainian War due to the date of publication. However, given the nature of his article as a book review, Shurkin doesn’t elaborate on this idea.7 This article differs from the existing literature by embedding the War in the Black Sea and differing perceptions on the development of the navy and the appropriate fleet design within larger strategic debates discussed in naval theory. As elaborated in section six of this paper, a traditional assumption expressed by many authoritative voices has it that a JÉ approach is not a viable approach to wage war at sea, especially against an opponent enjoy- ing a much greater superiority in available means. Based on the examination of the case study of the Russo-Ukrainian War, this article shows how many debates surrounding the original 19th century JÉ also apply to the ongoing war in the Black Sea and demonstrates that Ukrainian success at sea and at the coast is closely linked with JÉ thinking. Given the length of the conflict and the great number of events at sea and onshore involving a broad range of topics, a comprehensive summary of the conflict at sea would go far beyond the scope of a single article. Consequently, maritime-related devel- opments are only covered as far as relevant for this article’s research design and to support or dismiss concepts associated with the JÉ naval strategic school of thought. This also means that this paper covers comparatively little on the actual conduct of naval operations. For the level of interpretation as applied in this article, tactics and operations are largely irrelevant. Ultimately, the debate on anti-access and area denial (A2/AD), a topic that has been covered in great depth within the two recent decades,8 has been largely omitted from this article. The reason is as follows. There is some conceptual overlap between the JÉ and the A2/AD debate – especially con- cerning the JÉ’s rebirth in form of the Soviet Molodaya Shkola (Young School). While JÉ could only influence naval policy in France for a few years at the end of the 19th century, elements of JÉ thinking gained prominence approxi- mately three decades later in the newly-established Soviet Union. Taking into consideration the harsh economic situation and the disastrous state of the navy in the early USSR and denouncing blue-water ‘Old School’ thinking as imperialist, advocates of the Molodaya Shkola favoured a naval strategy based on an inshore defence made up of small surface vessels, submarines, mines, coastal artillery and land-based aviation. In contrast to the Molodaya Shkola’s approach to use asymmetric means to counter conventionally super- ior navies that was effectively similar to the French JÉ, there were some differences between the two schools. Probably, the most significant differ- ence concerned the JÉ’s focus on offensive commerce raiding.9 However, whereas denying enemy major surface combatants access to one’s own littoral by employing small heavily armed craft qualifies as being very much in line with A2/AD, JÉ and Molodaya Shkola thinking, the same cannot be said for the extensive use of land-based systems. For example, the traditional ‘Central Mine and Artillery Position’ [RUS: TS͡ entral’naia͡ minno-artilleriĭskaia͡ pozits͡ iia͡ ], the stationary SSC-1 Sepal10 of the Cold War era and the contemporary Russian SSC- 5 Stooge [RUS designation: Bastion] and SSC-6 Sennight [RUS designation: Bal] coastal defence missile systems or Ukraine’s R-360 Neptune anti-ship missiles11 all count as essential elements of the A2/AD discourse. Conceptually, however, they fit much better into ‘coastal defence theory’ and the ‘brick-and-mortar school’ rather than the JÉ.12 Trying to cover all the facets of the naval dimension of the Russo-Ukrainian War would blur the conceptual lines between the differ- ent naval strategic schools of thought. It would deviate this article ever further away from its selected theoretical framework: the original 19th century ideas associated with JÉ thinking. This article comprises seven parts. Part one briefly summarises the princi- pal ideas of the 19th century JÉ as the analytical framework for interpreting Ukraine’s approach to the War in the Black Sea. The second section examines how Ukraine, having successfully withstood the initial Russian offensive, waged naval war against the Russian Black Sea Fleet (BSF) and how the conduct of warfare fits within JÉ thinking. Having elaborated on derivations from JÉ theory as far as commerce warfare is concerned, parts three and four elaborate on the limitations of the applicability of the theory. As shown at different points throughout the article, many essentials of the debate are remarkably similar despite a time difference of 150 years. The fifth section elaborates on the ways in which Ukraine attacks Russia’s maritime critical infrastructure and argues that Ukraine’s approach blends well with the JÉ strategic school of thought. Towards the end, the article presents ongoing debates on Ukraine’s naval future which once again reveal the long-standing aversion of naval leaders to embrace JÉ ideas. While the article does address certain aspects of the Russo-Ukraine War at various points throughout the text, it is in these concluding sections that the debate between ‘Old School’ proponents and the fraction advocating the development of the ‘mosquito fleet’ is illustrated. Readers only interested in this element of the academic discussion may wish to fast-forward to section six. Ultimately, the article argues that essential elements of JÉ thinking have demonstrated their worth as a viable naval strategy, at least on the narrow seas, and should receive more positive appreciation by inferior conflict parties. The origins of Jeune école During the 19th century, French naval thinkers had to tackle the issue of British naval supremacy that rested on a battle fleet vastly superior to its French counterpart while being confronted with the financial and industrial capacities of the British Empire and a redistribution of the military budget prioritising continental warfare as a result of the 1870–71 Franco-German War.13 As a result, JÉ proposed an approach to naval warfare that seeks to avoid the enemy’s fleet and targets the enemy’s sea lines of communication. For this purpose, Baron Richild Grivel, one of the forerunners of JÉ, had already proposed commerce raiding as the ‘the most economical for the poorest fleet’ and ‘at the same time the one most proper to restore peace, since it strikes directly [. . .] at the very source of the prosperity of the enemy’.14 The ideal unit to conduct such a kind of warfare was the cruiser. Drawing conclusions from the Napoleonic Wars, Grivel points out that the immense resources Napoleon had spent in constructing ships of the line (FRA: vaisseaux) would have been much better invested in the construction of quick and well-armed ships capable of waging ‘partisan warfare’.15 Furthermore, late 19th century technological advances played a major role in the calculations of JE supporters. Torpedoes, mines, and submarines made major surface combatants much more vulnerable,16 while the introduction of steam propulsion made naval battles between unlike opponents rather improbable.17 In combination, these developments led Admiral Théophile Aube, a founding father of JÉ, to the conclusion that the ship of the line was not the desired naval vessel for the future.18 When Aube became Naval Minister in 1886, the ideas of JÉ, focusing on means to wage asymmetric warfare,19 were, though only for a relatively short period, practically implemented: Aube halted battleship production, prioritis- ing the acquisition of cruisers, torpedo boats, and gunboats and ordering the construction of the Gymnote, the first French torpedo-equipped submarine.20 Still, there was substantial resistance against JÉ even during its heydays not least because of legal considerations. French naval officers, such as Commander Heuette and Admiral Bourgois, were strongly opposed to the blatant violations of international law JÉ was proposing as it demanded reckless and merciless commerce raiding (FRA: guerre de course).21 Fast, small and numerous – how Ukraine crippled the black sea fleet At the end of March 2022, it had become clear that Russia’s gambit for a quick offensive victory over Ukraine had ended in disaster. At sea, the Russians had achieved some success, among others achieving sea control and capturing Snake Island close to the Ukrainian shoreline, but had failed to carry out a decisive landing operation in the northwestern Black Sea. However, a few weeks after the beginning of the invasion, in April 2022, the Ukrainians employed their land- based sea denial capabilities and following attacks against Russian warships, most notably the cruiser Moskva, by Ukrainian coastal defence forces, the BSF’s position off Ukraine’s Black Sea coast could no longer be sustained.22 Subsequently, Ukraine went on the offensive. As a forward position, main- taining a presence on the island and re-supplying the deployed forces proved particularly difficult for the Russians as Ukrainian forces shelled the island from the Ukrainian coast and targeted vessels carrying out resupply runs to the island. According to different sources, the BSF suffered the loss of several smaller units as, among others, strikes carried out by Bayraktar UAS targeted Russian patrol boats and auxiliary vessels operating in proximity to Snake Island.23 In May 2022, the Russians claimed to have shot down 30 UAS in the Snake Island region in three days.24 Even if these numbers were correct, the effects that relatively cheap, mass-produced drones could exert on Russian equipment at land and at sea, which was expensive and hard to replace, was devastating. After a struggle that had lasted for several months, the Russian military finally withdrew its troops from Snake Island by 30 June 2022.25 Following the withdrawal of BSF from the northwestern Black Sea, the Ukrainians launched an extensive sea denial campaign throughout the entire Black Sea region. Over the next years, numerous Russian warships were reported having been attacked and sometimes fatally damaged by Ukrainian USVs. Examples include the alleged destruction of the corvettes Ivanovets (January/ February 2024) and Sergey Kotov (attacked in September 2023/supposedly sunk in March 2024) and the tank landing ship Tsezar Kunikov (February 2024).26As Habib and Md Al Af argue, the employment of such an asymmetric approach was critical for Ukraine’s ability to withstand the Russian invasion at the time of writing. Asymmetric capabilities both in the air, at sea and on land have made significant contributions to denying the Russians a quick, decisive victory and have pro- tracted the conflict.27 The BSF reacted in various ways, among others, by use of electromagnetic warfare and adding fire power to their naval assets.28 Still, even while Russian naval forces were seeking to adapt, losses were accumulating. After two years of war, naval expert Igor Delanoë assessed, ‘the BSF has not been able to overcome all the difficulties emanating from an asymmetric warfare at sea caused by the Ukrainians’ employment of naval drones and cruise missiles’.29 Already as early as August 2022, British intelligence assessed that Russian patrols were ‘generally limited to waters within sight of the Crimean coast’.30 As elaborated in the following sections, however, neither was navigating close to the shore nor staying in port going to be a viable naval strategy for the Russians. Ukrainian drone tactics involved attacks by swarms of fast USVs that were continuously improved and specialised.31 As in the case of UAS attacks, by employing comparatively cheap USVs Ukraine benefited from a great advan- tage in terms of cost-efficiency when targeting expensive assets such as warships.32 ‘Speed and numbers’, in the words of Røksund the ‘mantra’ of JÉ, 33 stood at the heart of Ukraine’s approach to naval warfare. It is therefore little wonder that Ukrainian scholars themselves have also drawn compar- isons with the Molodaya Shkola school of thought. Ukrainian military journal- ist and historian Oleksandr Vel’mozh͡ ko, for example, points out,In fact, I see here a new ‘edition’, so to speak, of the ‘young school’ - the theory of creating naval forces on the basis of small mine-torpedo, missile, or other currently high-tech weapons that would cost relatively cheap and could be used against large warships.34 Furthermore, various videos released by Ukrainian security agencies show attacks under conditions of low visibility, especially at night, when the drones could take full advantage of their small signatures.35 Immediately, nighttime torpedo boat attacks against bigger and much more heavily armed comba- tants – one of the JÉ’s leitmotif’s [FRA: ‘de nuit, l’avantage est pour les torpilleurs’ – at night, the advantage is for the torpedo boats] – come to mind.36 Essentially, the means and ways which Ukraine applied to erode the BSF’s strength resembled JE thinking at its core. While the asymmetric ways in which Ukraine has countered Russian conven- tional superiority at sea have proven to be exceptionally successful and can serve as a 21st century role model for a JÉ style of naval warfare, the second pillar of JÉ’s warfare concept – offensive commerce raiding – requires elaboration. Firstly, apart from very few instances reported by the Russian conflict party right at the outbreak of hostilities – Russia claimed that Ukrainian missiles had hit the mer- chantmen SGV Flot and Seraphim Sarovsky – Ukraine has abstained from carrying out attacks against Russian civilian shipping. As Raul Pedrozo argues, unless there were specific conditions (see the following section) which qualified both Russian merchant vessels as legitimate military targets, attacks on these vessels would have been inconsistent with the law of naval warfare.37 Whatever the conditions surrounding the alleged attacks against these two civilian ships during the first 24 hours of the war, as far as analysts can tell from publicly accessible information about the war at sea, they were isolated incidents. By no means did Ukraine pursue a naval strategy in which the deliberate targeting of enemy civilian vessels played any role. Secondly, on 5 August 2023, Russian sources reported that the Russian tanker Sig had been struck by Ukrainian forces close to Crimea – a claim that was later confirmed by the Ukrainian conflict party.38 According to various sources, how- ever, Sig was carrying fuel for military purposes to Syria.39 Thus, in this particular case, it was ‘integrated into the enemy’s war-supporting effort’ and ‘due to its behaviour fulfilled the requirements of a military objective’ which also includes ‘transporting war material or transporting or supplying troops’. Consequently, Sig lost its protected status as a merchant vessel and became a legitimate target.40 Thirdly, it is true that on 20 July 2023 the Ukrainian Ministry of Defence published a warning that from 21 July, all vessels headed to Russian ports or Russian-occupied Ukrainian ports may be considered as those carrying military cargo.41 Subsequently, this declaration was also reinforced by remarks made by various Ukrainian senior representatives in the context of the drone strike on tanker Sig who claimed that (every) Russian ship sailing in the Black Sea was now a legitimate target.42 However, the situation surrounding these declarations needs to be taken into consideration. In the context of the termination of the U.N. Grain Initiative and before the Ukrainians, the Russian Ministry of Defence had released a statement which declared that from ‘Moscow time on 20 July 2023, all vessels sailing in the waters of the Black Sea to Ukrainian ports will be regarded as potential carriers of military cargo’.43 Furthermore, at the time, Russia also targeted Ukrainian ships, ports and infrastructure connected with the export of grain.44 As Oleg Ustenko, an economic adviser to Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelenskyy, points out, Ukraine’s ‘move was retaliation for Russia withdrawing from the U.N.-brokered Black Sea grain deal and unleashing a series of missile attacks on agricultural stores and ports’.45 The attack on the port of Novorossiysk had immediate effects on the movement of shipping and the calculation of war risk premiums (marine insurance).46 When both sides had given the opponent a taste of what a potential war on commercial shipping could look like, the smokescreen dispersed. Ukraine abstained from carrying out its threats. Thus, rather than interpreting Ukrainian activities within the framework of JÉ, theories on (non-nuclear) deterrence and strategic communication are much better suited to explain the events concerning civilian shipping in July and August 2023. Nothing remotely resembling a guerre de course-strategy had occurred. Why was this the case, especially in light of the enormous costs Ukraine could cause to Russian seaborne trade in comparison with the small investment associated with a few USVs? Legal constraints associated with the protection of mer- chant ships need to be primarily mentioned in this context.47  Limits to Jeune école – the legal and political dimension Although a comprehensive discussion of the law of naval warfare goes beyond the aims of this article, it is useful to recapitulate a few legal aspects concerning the war at sea. As a matter of principle, hostile merchant vessels do not qualify as legitimate military targets.48 The 1936 London Protocols awarded further protection to the status of merchant ships and clarified the rules of submarine warfare. They state, In particular, except in the case of persistent refusal to stop on being duly summoned, or of active resistance to visit or search, a warship, whether surface vessel or submarine, may not sink or render incapable of navigation a merchant vessel without having first placed passengers, crew and ship’s papers in a place of safety.49 To act in accordance with the law of armed conflict Ukraine would have had to seize Russian merchant vessels as prises and/or proclaim a maritime block- ade against the Russian Federation. In doing so, the Ukrainian Navy would have to enforce this blockade and, as a consequence, could/should have employed a belligerent’s right of visit and search.50 In order to interdict maritime traffic to the Russian coast and given the illegality of non- enforced blockades, both approaches – seizing individual enemy merchant ships and blockading the coastline – would require Ukrainian naval (and/or air) force (surface combatants) detecting civilian vessels, ascertaining their character and cargo and seizing vessels.51 Thus, as Ukraine lacked the surface units and the necessary sea control to seize ships, to enforce a blockade that requires ‘ensuring vessels trying to pass the blockade with sufficient probability’ and to exercise the belligerent’s right of visit, there were basically no options available to Ukraine to take actions against merchant shipping bound for Russian ports, if Ukraine was to act in accordance with the law of naval warfare.52 There are certain conditions when a merchant ship loses its protected status and becomes a legitimate military target, for example, when acting as naval auxiliaries, resisting capture or the belligerent’s right of visit and search or carrying out intelligence or communications functions.53 However, these conditions would not apply to a hypothetical scenario in which Ukraine would wage economic warfare against merchant shipping. Neither were merchant vessels bound for Russian ports sailing in convoys nor could merchantmen sailing towards Russian Black Sea ports generally be considered ‘integrated in Russia’s [and Ukraine’s] war effort’. All the conditions under which merchant ships may be eligible to attack during armed conflicts would not apply. While attacks on unarmed merchant vessels – especially for the weaker side – remains a tempting option in the 21st century as much as it was in the 19th century, the fear to commit blatant breaches of international law have had a discipling effect throughout the centuries. As outlined in section two of this article, the disapproval of the illegal ways of warfighting at sea that had been proposed by JÉ have been as old as this school of thought itself. In addition to the legal constraints that apply to commerce raiding, both sides’ decision not to follow the path leading to unrestricted economic warfare at sea should also be interpreted within the political context. For Ukraine acting in accordance with the law of armed conflict was significant as its support by the global community of liberal-minded states was shaped by these states’ normative understanding of the rules-based world order and international politics.54 Furthermore, both Ukraine and Russia were important exporters of various raw materials and food – particularly as far as the countries of the Global South were concerned. For example, in 2020, 15 countries in Africa imported over 50% of their wheat products from Ukraine or Russia. The impact of the war on the continent was profound as Africa suffered from a shortage of approximately 30 million tons of grains and serious inflation.55 Against this background, it seems clear that the targeting of merchant ships loaded with cargo desperately needed by the most vulner- able regions in the world would have only come at a tremendous political cost for the war parties. As Timothy Heck sums it up, Both the Ukrainians and the Russians wanted the benefits of international commerce and, diplomatically, to gain/earn/keep the goodwill of recipient nations by allowing regulated commercial traffic to escape the war zone.56 Again, similarities with the 19th century debates concerning JÉ are striking. Already in the 1880s influential opponents to JÉ, such as Admiral Bourgois, had criticised that tactics proposed by JÉ and illegal acts of naval warfare would rally neutral countries against France – the last thing an inferior French Navy in a military confrontation with Britain needed.57 While both sides largely refrained from directly targeting merchant ship- ping apart from a few exceptions, strikes against maritime critical infrastruc- ture and onshore facilities, which enabled both maritime commercial and naval operations at sea, evaded many of these constraints. Indeed, as each side intended to attrit the opponent’s ability to use the sea for one’ s own purposes, repeated attacks by various weapon systems against a wide range of maritime targets ashore became another principal characteristic of the Russo-Ukrainian War.  The degradation of Russia’s geostrategic position at the Black Sea Having elaborated on the applicability and the limits of the JÉ approach on the war at sea, the following section takes into consideration the second component of the systematic destruction of Russian naval capabilities in the Azov-Black Sea region: the targeting of Russian maritime infrastructure ashore and in port. In October 2022, a large-scale Ukrainian drone attack against Russian littoral positions attracted wide attention when several unmanned aerial vehicles and autonomous surface vehicles attacked the port of Sevastopol.58 Over the course of the next years, Ukraine repeatedly attacked Russian naval assets stationed on Crimea ashore and at the coast of the peninsula. Examples include strikes against Russian naval aviation at Saky airfield in August 2022, against various targets in the port of Sevastopol in March 2024 – apparently impacting the Ropucha-class tank landing ships Azov and Yamal – or against the Karakurt-class corvette Tsiklon in May 2024.59 Shortly after attacks against Russian infrastructure on Crimea had been reported, reports about Ukrainian strikes against Novorossiysk were pub- lished. In November 2022, a Ukrainian sea drone was reported having struck the Sheskharis oil terminal in Novorossiysk at night.60 As later reported by the newspaper Ukrainska Pravda, the following July, at a presidential meeting, Ukraine’s leadership had decided to launch strikes against Russian port infra- structure as a retaliatory measure for Russian missile and drone attacks on Ukrainian ports in the aftermath of the termination of the grain initiative.61 Subsequently, in early August 2023 movement of vessels was temporarily halted at the Port of Novorossiysk following a Ukrainian drone attack and the Russian tank landing ship Olenegorsky Gornyak suffering serious damage caused by a USV attack.62 Ukrainska Pravda reports on the moment when the Ukrainian drone operators came across various merchantmen while navigat- ing their USVs towards Novorossiysk. ‘Somewhere en route the operators saw a tanker. They asked if it could be perceived as a target. No tankers! If we hit a tanker in neutral waters, then we’ll be branded as some kind of terrorists. Your target is the port. (. . .) ’ a head of the mission said.63 Although this statement was reported by a conflict party and cannot independently be verified, it supports the argument made in the previous section about the limits of the JÉ approach in the case study of the Russo- Ukrainian War as far as the targeting of civilian shipping is concerned.64 Furthermore, and also exactly as in the case of the war on the open sea, the conflict parties had to consider third party opinions. As Ukrainska Pravda reports, following the Ukrainian strike against the port of Novorossiysk, ‘the Country’s Leadership received Warnings from partners at all levels’.65 In 2024, Ukrainian strikes against critical maritime infrastructure continued. In May, for example, Ukrainian attacks were reported on Novorossiysk’s seaport, an oil refinery in Tuapse and the Sevastopol Bay area.66 In early April 2024, Ukrainian Military Intelligence (HUR) published footage of a strike against an oil pipeline in Rostov Oblast that supposedly was used to transport oil products to the local oil depot for tankers in the Azov Sea. According to HUR, ‘the loading of tankers with oil products has been suspended indefinitely’.67 While the claim cannot be confirmed, the concept of striking the production and transport facilities before transportation rather than the merchant ships transporting the cargo highlights approaches to deal with the limits on economic warfare in the maritime dimension as detailed above. Although the BSF had to redeploy further to the eastern part of the Black Sea and Russia attempted to set up maintenance infrastructure further east, Ukraine continuously expanded the range of target locations and has thus been gradually degrading the Russian ability to make use of the sea. In the words of a retired U.S. admiral, ‘If you’re on a Russian naval ship, you’re not safe anywhere in the Black Sea’.68 As another element of Ukraine’s strike campaign, Ukraine has also targeted objectives whose destruction had a long-term impact on Russian naval capabilities and its war-making potential. For example, in July 2022 and in September 2023, Ukraine was reported having struck the naval staff/the headquarters of the BSF in Sevastopol – the latter attack causing devastating effects.69 As far as attacks against Russia’s industrial base and logistical infrastructure are concerned, examples include Ukrainian attacks against the Zaliv shipyard in Kerch, Crimea on 4 November 2023, which reportedly damaged the not yet commissioned Karakurt-class corvette Askold, and the strike against the Ropucha-class tank landing ship Novocherkassk that left the ship sunk at the bottom of the harbour. The strike has thus, extremely likely, rendered one of the main berths of the Feodosia port, which had been in use as an important logistical hub, unusable.70 A particularly devastating strike was carried out on 13 September 2023 when a Ukrainian missile strike hit dry docks of the Sevmorzavod shipyard, maintenance facilities of the BSF, in effect causing extensive damage to the Ropucha-class tank landing ship Minsk and the Kilo-II-mod-class conventional submarine Rostov-on-Don and consequently severing ‘Sevastopol’s ability to undertake maintenance and repairs of Black Sea Fleet vessels, at least until the dry docks at the Sevmorzavod facility (. . .) can be returned to regular use’, as Thomas Newdick points out.71 As the second year of the war was approaching its end, independent experts and Ukrainian military representatives were pointing at serious maintenance support issues confronting the BSF in the future as adequate repair infrastructure in this maritime theatre became a scarce resource.72 In combination, the accumulation of all these strikes over the long term had a serious attrition effect on Russia’s ability to utilise the sea for its purposes. This concerned primarily the military dimension but, as the war progressed and Ukrainian strikes against refineries and port infrastructure accumulated, also gradually the commercial dimension. British representa- tives assessed that 13% to 14% (December 2023) and subsequently 25% (February 2024) of Russia’s Black Sea combatant fleet had been destroyed.73 Moreover, on 26 March 2024, Ukraine’s navy spokesman Dmytro Pletenchuk released Ukraine’s assessment that up to that point in time, approximately a third of the BSF had been destroyed or disabled. 74 After more than two years of war, the strength and presence of the BSF had diminished consider- ably and British Defence Minister Grant Shapps considered the BSF ‘function- ally inactive’ – an assessment further substantiated by the UK Defence Intelligence update the following month75 The BSF has largely withdrawn its ships and submarines from Sevastopol further eastwards to Novorossiysk. Since the removal of the BSF commander in March 2024, the fleet has been the least active since the war began.76 How do these strikes against Russian targets in port and ashore fit within the JÉ school of thought? Firstly, while not a principal feature that is com- monly associated with JÉ naval strategy,77 the foundational literature written by the originators of JÉ does mention attacks on an enemy’s coastal facilities. This primarily includes bombardment of civilian coastal settlements for the purpose of terror but also includes military facilities when the opportunity arises. Aube, for example, writes: The masters of the sea will turn the power of attack and destruction, in the absence of adversaries evading their blows, against all the cities of the littoral, fortified or not, peaceful or warlike, burn them, ruin them or at least ransom them without mercy.78 Equally connecting strikes against military facilities at the coast with this naval strategic school, journalist and JÉ theoretician, Gabriel Charmes, argues,: The bombardment of Alexandria further showed that, if the heavy artillery of a battleship risked being quickly reduced to impotence by the resistance of the forts, the only weapon which could cause them serious damage was small artillery carried on fast ships.79 Secondly, if attention is paid to the connotated message the founding fathers of this naval school of thought tried to convey, a good argument can be made that Ukraine’s targeting of Russian infrastructure at the coastline fits well with a JÉ approach. Ukrainian strikes consist of numerous fast strikes and well- placed pin prick attacks that outmanoeuvre enemy defences and hit unex- pectedly. They are not built on sea control and air superiority because Ukraine did not enjoy dominance of these domains. Thus, the strikes were not ‘decisive’ in a Mahanian sense but rather the modern adoptions of concepts already presented by Admiral Aube during the 1880s. With the extreme mobility that steam gives to all warships, whatever the special weapon with which they are equipped, with the speed and security of informa- tion that the electric telegraph allows, with the concentration of force that is ensured by the railway, on the one hand side, no point on the coast is safe from attack.80 If one were to exchange the concept of steam power with modern forms of power generation, the telegraph with modern ISR and command and control systems and the railway with all forms of transportation available at the beginning of the 21st century, Aube’s article could very well describe a military scenario of the Russo-Ukrainian War. Repeated attacks against – and thus attrition of – the opponent’s naval geostrategic position could seriously degrade the opponent’s ability to operate, sustain and reinforce a fleet over a longer time period without having to destroy the opposing fleet in a symmetrical battle is essentially the quintessence of JÉ thinking. Granted, in Aube’s age, it would have been difficult to imagine how non- conventional means could assemble the necessary amount of firepower to cause the substantial damage to the opponent’s position as shown by the War in Ukraine. But since the development of weapon systems of ever greater ranges, a stakeholder’s position may be vulnerable to repeated attacks by an opponent even if the opponent has not been able to establish sea control and is using asymmetric styles of warfare. To sum up, technological advances have enabled the inferior side to pursue a naval strategy that contributed to driving down the opponent’s fleet’s capabilities without actually seeking a symmetrical engagement with his fleet. This, of course, is completely in line with JÉ thinking – a so-called ‘material school’ of naval strategic thought.81 Thus, in contrast to the deliberate targeting of merchantmen, in the case of attacks against Russian maritime infrastructure the Ukrainian approach can be interpreted as continuing and complementing JÉ thinking. The way ahead: Old school or young school? Ukraine’s asymmetric approach to naval warfare and the adoption of ideas associated with JÉ have secured Ukrainian successes in the maritime domain few experts could have predicted at the beginning of the hostilities.82 It is not exaggerated to claim that the significance of these events is historical. Generally speaking, many scholars and historical studies have not been particularly positive in their verdicts about JÉ as a viable strategic school of thought. As Arne Røksund elaborates, even when Théophile Aube was Minister of Marine (1886–1887), he could not overcome the French admiralty’s resistance to giving up entirely on battlefleets. The same holds true for the second generation of JÉ proponents during the latter 1890s.83 By the time De Lanessan was appointed Minister of Marine in 1899, ideas about great quan- tities of fast but mostly smaller vessels gave way for naval concepts based on comparatively fewer warships of high quality as ‘the French Navy should concentrate on what he regarded as core elements of a first-rank navy’.84 Subsequently, as Røksund, recapitulates, ‘The French Navy did not fight any war following the theory of the Jeune école.’85 Ian Speller comes to a similar conclusion as he underlines that  Even in France there was never a consensus in favour of their [Jeune École’s – author’s note] policies, and French naval policy remained divided (. . .) Ultimately, the Jeune École failed in their attempt to bring radical change to French naval policy.86 Similar to the fate of the French original, the Soviet Molodaya Shkola was replaced rather quickly by grand visions of ‘Stalin’s Big Ocean-going Fleet’ deemed more adequate for Soviet great power status.87 Of what relevance could JÉ ever be when – referring to a leading British naval historian – there has never been a historical example when the approach proposed by this strategic school of thought has ever worked in practice.88 Such criticism was very much in line with the writings of another prominent naval practitioner and theoretician: Admiral Gorshkov, Chief of the Soviet Navy. According to Gorshkov, the naval strategy pursued by the German naval leadership during WW2 had failed because it left the U-boats alone in their fight against the Allied navies without support by other subbranches of the navy. Without the danger of German naval and naval air forces attacking their surface vessels, Allied navies could focus on anti-submarine warfare and ‘the priority devel- opment of only one warfare branch, the subsurface forces, ultimately had to lead to a drastic limitation of the German fleet’s spectrum of tasks when fighting against the enemy’s fleets’, was his argument.89 As a consequence, Gorshkov strongly argues in favour of a balanced fleet which could potentially even defeat a numerically superior but unevenly developed opponent.90 In contrast, the war in the Black Sea has demonstrated that a JÉ approach can actually succeed in neutralising a superior, opposing naval force, at least in a narrow sea.91 Given recent events, the critical perception of JÉ should be carefully re-evaluated. Apart from the historical point of debate that the German military leadership had to fight WW2 with a different fleet than the ‘balanced fleet’ of the Z-Plan that it had originally envisioned but that had not been realised in time, there is also a conceptual issue worth debating from a strategic studies perspective. As various experts and, in fact, the German naval leadership,92 have repeatedly touched upon, the German Navy was doomed to lose the war at sea due to the greater strategic conditions (e.g., fleet sizes, war-making potential including shipbuilding capacity etc.) under which it had to fight WW2.93 If there was no winning condition in a conventional naval war, however, and if, consequently, the sense in carrying out the conflict at sea was not to ‘rule the waves’ but to cause the maximum amount of damage and bind a large Allied force in a way as resource-efficient as possible it has to be critically examined whether a JÉ may have actually been the smartest approach the German Navy could have chosen.94 As elaborated below, similar strategic calculations should be taken into consid- eration when debating the case of Ukraine and the War in the Black Sea. Commerce raiding, another feature of the JÉ approach, has equally been dismissed as futile. As far as targeting of individual merchant ships is con- cerned, the blue-water prophet himself, Alfred T. Mahan viewed this style of warfare as ‘the weakest form of naval warfare’95 and criticises ‘A strong man cannot be made to quit his work by sticking pins in him’.96 A hundred twenty years after Mahan, this assessment also may have lost some of its persuasive power. At the beginning of the 21st century, global sea-based commerce has become very sensitive to changes in the security environment and much more risk averse. Furthermore, the differentiation between flag states, ship owners, cargo owners, crews and charterers has greatly reduced ‘national interest’ within maritime commerce. As a consequence, the outbreak of hostilities in the northwestern Black Sea at the beginning of the Black Sea has – not discounting other factors, such as the closing of ports and Ukrainian authorities prohibiting merchant ships from leaving ports – led to a drastic collapse of merchant shipping to and from Ukraine.97 Similarly, the drastic effects of the 2023 attack against the port of Novorossiysk and the Sig on the maritime commercial sector have already been mentioned. Against this background, it seems extremely likely that if Ukraine struck or sank even a small number of merchantmen destined to call in ports such as Novorossiysk, Taganrog, Taman or Tuapse this would have devastating effects for Russian sea-based transportation in the entire Azovo-Black Sea basin. However, as already noted, as far as commerce warfare is concerned, the limiting factor was less of operational and more or of legal and political nature. While some of the aspects of warfighting associated with JÉ were already considered immoral and contrary to international law during the 19th century, the weight of politico-legal circumstances and the necessity to fight a ‘just war’ are even more significant during the 21st century. This is particu- larly true for Ukraine which depends on the support of the Global West – a value-driven community. In summary, an approach to warfare closely associated with JÉ has awarded Ukraine great successes for more than two years of war in the Black Sea. But as Ukraine has to fight the war at sea solely based on a sea denial approach, the country is also faced with severe limitations. Any opera- tion that requires sea control as a precondition is effectively beyond Ukrainian means if not in immediate proximity of the Ukrainian coastline such as the reported landings of Ukrainian soldiers on drilling platforms.98 Keeping all these more abstract considerations in mind, the debates on (applied) naval strategy that are currently ongoing in Ukraine become much more comprehensible. Following – from Kyiv’s point of view – a successful campaign at sea, in which the reinforced BSF was pushed out of the western Black Sea and suffered considerable losses, a debate is taking place about the future devel- opment of Ukrainian Navy and Ukraine’s approach to warfighting in the maritime dimension. On the one hand, there are the proponents of building a symmetrical naval force. The ‘Doctrine of the Naval Forces of Ukraine’ that was released in 2021 was an ambitious strategic document. As far as the ‘expansion of the fleet composition through the construction and modernisa- tion of the existing fleet composition’ was concerned, the doctrine detailed ‘new generation missile boats, landing ships of various classes, patrol ships and boats for the protection of the territorial waters and the EEZ, uncrewed underwater vehicles, new types of supply vessels of various types’ and ‘the construction of new mine warfare vessels and small submarines’.99 Most breathtaking, the ‘Doctrine of the Naval Forces of Ukraine’ defined capabil- ities for ‘sea control on the open ocean’ as the number one priority for the development of the Ukrainian Navy in the period following 2030.100 It is also in this context that Ukraine’s interest in procuring frigates through the UK capability development initiative and developing the design of the Volodymyr Velykyi-class corvettes have to be interpreted.101 Taking into consideration the point from where the Ukrainian Navy had to restart in 2014, these acquisition goals were bold to say the least. More than two years into the war, visions about the future of the Ukrainian Navy have lost nothing of their grandness. According to this school of thought, among other things, the air defence capability of the Ukrainian Navy is to be strengthened, long-range strike capabilities are to be acquired, surface comba- tants of different classes are to be put into service and amphibious forces are to be set up in the form of additional naval infantry brigades with landing vehicles.102 This expansion of capabilities is intended to gradually create the conditions for achieving sea control. Having established sea control, Ukraine would be in a position to conduct amphibious operations on its own and even think about establishing a naval blockade of the Russian Black Sea coast. The construction of Milgem project corvettes for the Ukrainian Navy at the RMK Marine Shipyard in Istanbul103 and capabilities gained through the British-Norwegian Maritime Capability Coalition104 are important steps in this direction. On the other hand, another faction opposes the above-mentioned views. Proponents of this second philosophy of warfare emphasise that Ukraine has been able to wage the war at sea so successfully because it has used an asymmetrical approach. According to their view, it is important to maintain this approach and Ukraine should under no circumstances aim to fight a symmetrical naval war with the Russian fleet. The Ukrainian fleet design should therefore be based on a so-called mosquito fleet – a fleet consisting of small naval assets applying asymmetrical doctrine.105 This argument is not new. Already Ukraine’s 2018 ‘Strategy of the Naval Forces of the Armed Forces of Ukraine 2035’ elaborates, Recovery of the surface forces during the first two stages of the Strategy will be executed due to the boats of the ‘mosquito fleet’. This solution is the most realistic in terms of cost-effectiveness ratio. Due to its speed, manoeuvrability and armament, such boats are capable of performing practically the whole spectrum of tasks that are inherent to classical surface ships, but they have smaller sea worthiness and operational range from the coast.106 Although Ukrainian strategic documents repeatedly referred to the term ‘mosquito fleet’, the official Ukrainian naval discourse did not explicitly mention JÉ terminol- ogy. This detail stands in contrast to the above-mentioned remarks about the Molodaya Shkola by Ukrainian civilian commentators. It is also, on first sight, surprising given the actual approach to warfare in the Black Sea region that Ukraine – although not primarily the Ukrainian Navy as mentioned further below – has chosen which has paralleled what the JÉ espoused. However, as Admiral (ret.) Ihor Kabanenko, former deputy minister of defence of Ukraine, points out, ‘this term [Molodaya Shkola – author’s note] is not widely used in Ukraine – apparently, because our experts mostly look to the UK and the US and therefore appeal to the old school of sea power and sea mastery [Soviet/Russian/Ukrainian terminological equivalent of the English term “command of the sea”107 – author’s note], missing out on important experience of waging war in the continental sea’.108 The relative silence on JÉ within the official Ukrainian naval discourse is even less astonishing if the development since 2020, approximately, is taken into consideration. As Kabanenko argues, at some point around the turn of the third decade of the 21st century, Ukrainian naval strategy changed course and while abandoning ideas associated with a mosquito fleet, the ‘later document [the 2021 Doctrine – author’s note] instead calls for ambitious symmetric decisions and actions’ in turn stretching budgetary resources and making very costly, long-term investments.109 What had happened? In June 2020, Oleksiy Neizhpapa was appointed Commander of the Ukrainian Navy.110 Neizhpapa – an ‘Old School’ commander – favoured conventional naval forces.111 Talking at the launch of the UK/Norway/Ukraine Maritime Capability Coalition at Admiralty House in London in December 2023, Neizhpapa clung to his visions of a long-term plan for a capable conventional fleet until 2035 and clearly expressed that a powerful and capable navy is not only a tool to deter Russian aggression from the sea, but also a guarantee of the prosperity of our country and security in the region.112 It is thus not a surprise that the 2021 strategic document of the Ukrainian Navy took a sharp turn. Furthermore, as various sources point out, Ukraine’s most successful maritime assets, naval drones, have been predominantly although not exclusively operated by the civilian (SBU) and military (HUR) intelligence services rather than the navy.113 Many Ukrainians who adhere to the second faction view these grand fleet ambitions critically. As Captain (ret.) Andrii Ryzhenko argues, the cost of building up a conventional fleet as envisioned by the Ukrainian naval leadership would be extremely expensive. Such resources could be spent much wiser, especially, if the fact that Ukraine’s current naval strategy that enables effective sea denial operations is taken into consideration.114 Essentially, the ideas supported by Kabanenko, Ryzhenko and other proponents of this school of thought can be attributed to the long-standing tradition of JÉ thinking. In contrast, whereas throughout this article this author has argued that means and ways which Ukrainian security organs applied to erode its Russian opponent closely resembled a JÉ style of naval warfare, this evaluation is descriptive not prescriptive. Unlike civilian experts, such as Vel’mozh͡ ko, who have equally compared Ukraine’s approach to the War in the Black Sea with Young School thinking, there is no evidence supporting that Ukraine’s post-2020 naval leadership was deliber- ately pursuing a JÉ-informed strategy. On the contrary, available evidence points in the direction that for the decision-makers at the time of the Russian full-scale invasion of Ukraine the JÈ was not a source of direct inspiration. In fact, Ukraine’s naval leaders were informed by Old School thinking and capabilities for conventional, symmetric naval warfare were favoured. Revival of Jeune École? The discussion of attacks on merchant shipping has shown that if Ukraine really wanted to interfere with Russian merchant shipping or potentially even enforce a blockade itself, it would have to acquire a fleet consisting of at least some surface combatants. It is highly questionable that under the conditions of (this) war such an aim can be accomplished. Already before the full-scale invasion in February 2022, various experts criticised Ukraine’s apparent shift in naval strategy and the country’s ambitious plans to create a balanced fleet capable of, among others, conducting offensive maritime operations which they deemed unrealistic and a waste of resources arguing instead for the establishment of an effective mosquito fleet.115 Given that Ukraine is fighting an existential struggle in a mostly land- dominated theatre of war, Ukraine should carefully assess how many resources it would want to invest in capabilities in the maritime domain. Ultimately, Russia retains significant long-range strike capabilities as demon- strated by the strike campaign which the Russian military has been waging against Ukraine’s energy infrastructure since autumn 2022.116 So far, one of the great advantages Ukraine’s Navy has enjoyed over the course of this war has been that its mosquito fleet was difficult to track and neutralise by the enemy. Introducing large, tangible objects – naval vessels – into the arsenal of the Ukrainian military would deprive Ukraine of this advantage and make the life for the Russian targeting process a lot easier. Furthermore, given Ukraine’s geographic and geopolitical situation it has to be critically questioned whether Anglo-Saxon ‘Old School’ blue-water theories are the best fit for the Ukrainian Navy. As Gorshkov argues, it is ‘wrong to attempt to build a fleet according to the model and example of the strongest naval power’ as ‘every country has its specific needs for naval forces.’117 Thus, Ryzhenko is correct to emphasise time and again the necessity to pursue an asymmetric strategy at least as far as the enclosed theatre of the Azov-Black Sea-region is concerned. In his words,  Ultimately, small, fast, maneuverable and well-armed boats as well as unmanned aerial and surface vehicles comprising a well-equipped ‘mosquito fleet’ could quickly and efficiently strengthen the Ukrainian Navy and improve the chances to execute successful operations within confined and contested areas where, for now, Russia enjoys dominance in the air and sea. 118 Considering the fate of the JÉ and the Soviet Molodaya Shkola, the – one could almost say libidinal – desire of naval leaders to aim beyond the stage of JÉ weapons and doctrine and acquire a conventional fleet (in the old days a battlefleet) has been prevalent. More than 130 years after Aube, Grivel and the other founding fathers of JÉ, the temptation remains strong. Ironically, even in pursuing an actual war-winning JÉ-based strategy Ukrainian decision- makers are still tempted to revert to warfare capabilities associated with classical naval warfare. The Ukrainian naval leadership should consider care- fully before continuing to steer down this waterway. NOTES 1 Ian Speller, Understanding Naval Warfare, 2nd ed. (London and New York, NY: Routledge, 2019), 43ff. 2 See, for example, these authors’ most prominent works: Alfred Thayer Mahan, The Influence of Sea Power upon History 1660–1783 (Boston: Little, Brown, and Company, 1890); Philip Howard Colomb, Naval Warfare: Its Ruling Principles and Practice Historically Treated (London: W. H. Allen & Co., Ltd., 1891); Julian Corbett, Some Principles of Maritime Strategy (London: Longmans, Green and Co., 1911). Corbett has indeed also addressed several elements of naval warfare which are essential to the JÉ school of thought. For example, Corbett argues ‘The vital, most difficult, and most absorbing problem has become not how to increase the power of a battle-fleet for attack, which is a comparatively simple matter, but how to defend it. As the offensive power of the flotilla developed, the problem pressed with an almost bewildering intensity. With every increase in the speed and sea-keeping power of torpedo craft, the problem of the screen grew more exacting’ (Corbett, Some Principles of Maritime Strategy, 122). Due to limitations in aim and scope, this article limits itself to literature and theoreticians associated with the JÉ. Interpreting the War in the Black Sea from a Corbettian perspective may be an area for further research. 3 James R. Holmes and Toshi Yoshihara, Chinese Naval Strategy in the 21st Century: The Turn to Mahan (London and New York, NY: Routledge, 2008); David Scott, ‘India’s Drive For A “Blue Water” Navy’, Journal of Military and Strategic Studies, Winter 2007–08, 10/2 (2008); and Alessio Patalano, Post-War Japan As a Sea Power: Imperial Legacy, Wartime Experience and the Making of a Navy (London: Bloomsburry, 2016). 4 Seth Cropsey, ‘Naval Considerations in the Russo-Ukrainian War’, Naval War College Review, 75/4 (2022), Article 4; and Brent Sadler, ‘Applying Lessons of the Naval War in Ukraine for a Potential War with China’, The Heritage Foundation, 5 January 2023, https://www.heritage.org/asia/report/applying-lessons-the-naval-war-ukraine-potential-war-china. 5 Borys Kormych and Tetyana Malyarenko, ‘From Gray Zone to Conventional Warfare: the Russia-Ukraine Conflict in the Black Sea’, Small Wars & Insurgencies, 34/7 (2023), 1235–70; Silviu Nate et. alii, ‘Impact of the Russo-Ukrainian War on Black Sea Trade: Geoeconomic Challenges’, Economics & Sociology, 17/1 (2024), 256–79; and Nick Childs, ‘The Black Sea in the Shadow of War’, Survival, 65/3 (2023), 25–36. 6 Md. Tanvir Habib and Shah Md Shamrir Al Af, ‘Maritime asymmetric warfare strategy for smaller states: lessons from Ukraine’, Small Wars & Insurgencies 36/1 (2025), 29–58. 7 Michael Shurkin, ‘Plus Ça Change: A French Approach to Naval Warfare in the 21st Century’, War on the Rocks, 13 Oct. 2023, https://warontherocks.com/2023/10/plus-ca-change-a-french-approach-to-naval-warfare-in-the-21st-century/. 8 Andrew F. Krepinevich and Barry Watts, ‘Meeting the Anti-Access and Area-Denial Challenge’, Center for Strategic and Budgetary Assessments, 20 May 2003, https://csbaonline.org/research/publications/a2ad-anti-access-area-denial; Stephan Frühling and Guillaume Lasconjarias, ‘NATO, A2/AD and the Kaliningrad Challenge’, Survival, 58/2 (2016), 95–116; and Douglas Barrie, ‘Anti-Access/Area Denial: Bursting the “no-go” bubble?’, IISS Military Balance Blog, 29 Mar. 2019, https://www.iiss.org/blogs/military-balance/2019/04/anti-access-area-denial-russia-and-crimea. 9 Bryan Ranft and Geoffrey Till, The Sea in Soviet Strategy, 2nd ed. (Basingstoke: MacMillan Press, 1989), 94,95; Mikhail Monakov and Jürgen Rohwer, Stalin’s Ocean-Going Fleet: Soviet Naval Strategy and Shipbuilding Programs, 1935–53 (Abingdon: Frank Cass, 2001), 20ff. and Geoffrey Till, Seapower: A Guide for the Twenty-First Century, 4th ed. (London and New York, NY: Routledge 2018), 94,95. 10 The Land-Based Variant of the SS-N-3 Shaddock. 11 R-360 Neptune Anti-Ship Missiles are Believed to have Critically Damaged the Russian Cruiser Moskva in April 2022. Ellen Uchimiya and Eleanor Watson, The Neptune: The Missiles that Struck Russia’s flagship, the Moskva, CBS News, 16 Apr. 2022, https://www.cbsnews.com/news/moskva-ship-sinking-russian-flagship-neptune-missiles/. 12 Till, Seapower, 93; Beatrice Heuser, The Evolution of Strategy: Thinking War from Antiquity to the Present (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press 2010), 225,226. 13 Arne Røksund, The Jeune École: The Strategy of the Weak (Brill, 2007), iX; Martin Motte, Une Éducation Géostratégique. La Pensée Navale Française de la Jeune École à 1914 (Paris:: Economica, 2004), 99. 14 Richild Grivel, De la guerre maritime avant et depuis les nouvelles Inventions (Paris: Arthus Bertrand and J. Dumaine 1869), 7. 15 Ibid., 259. 16 Till, Seapower, 91. 17 Røksund, The Jeune École, 6. 18 Hyacinthe Laurent Théophile Aube, ‘La guerre maritime et les ports militaires de la France’, 320, Revue des Deux Mondes, March 1882, 314–46. 19 Till, Seapower, 91. 20 Røksund, The Jeune École, xii. 21 Ibid., 29–31, 121. 22 Defense Express, ‘First Target of Ukraine’s Neptune Missile’, 12 Jan. 2024, https://en.defence-ua.com/events/first_target_of_ukraines_neptune_missile_how_the_moskva_flagship_killer_scored_its_first_hit_and_prevented_amphibious_assault-9162.html. 23 Hannah Ritchie, ‘Ukrainian Drone Destroys Russian Patrol Ships off Snake Island, says Defense Ministry’, CNN, 2 May 2022, https://edition.cnn.com/europe/live-news/russia-ukraine-war-news-05-02-22#h_a73ac98f2400af01f729e23a7e01ae88; and AFP, ‘Ukraine Says Sank Russian Landing Craft at Snake Island’, The Moscow Times, 11 May 2022, https://www.themoscowtimes.com/2022/05/07/ukraine-says-sank-russian-landing-craft-at-snake-island-a77614. 24 Tass, ‘Kiev loses 30 drones in attempt to seize Snake Island – Russian Defense Ministry’, 10 May 2022, https://tass.com/defense/1449051?utm_source=google.com=organic=google.com=google. com/amp/amp/amp. 25 Deutsche Welle, ‘Russia Pulls Back Forces from Snake Island – as it Happened’, 30 June 2022, <https://www.dw.com/en/ukraine-russia-pulls-back-forces-from-snake-island-as-it-happened/a−62,309,716>. 26 Robert Greenall, ‘Ukraine “hits Russian Missile boat Ivanovets in Black Sea”, BBC, 1 Feb. 2024, https://www.bbc.com/news/world-europe-68165523; Tom Balmforth and Yuliia Dysa, ‘Ukraine attacks Russian Warships in Black Sea, Destroys Air defences in Crimea, Kyiv says’, Reuters, 14 Sept. 2023, https://www.reuters.com/world/europe/ukraine-destroys-russian-air-defence-system-near-crimeas-yevpatoriya-source-2023-09-14/; and Sergeĭ Koval’, ‘U beregov kryma potoplen rossiĭskiĭ raketnyĭ kater. Chto o nem izvestno?’, Krym Realii, 01 Feb. 2024, https://ru.krymr.com/a/krym-potoplen-ros-raketnyy-kater/32801464.html. 27 Habib and Md Al Af, ‘Maritime asymmetric warfare strategy for smaller states’, p. 34. 28 Andrew E. Kramer, ‘In a Tough Year on Land, Drones Give Ukraine Some Success at Sea’, 20 Dec. 2023, New York Times, https://www.nytimes.com/2023/12/20/world/europe/ukraine-drones-sea.html. 29 Igor Delanoë, ‘Russia’s Black Sea Fleet in the “Special Military Operation” in Ukraine’, 7 Feb. 2024, https://www.fpri.org/article/2024/02/russias-black-sea-fleet-in-the-special-military-operation-in-ukraine/. 30 UK Ministry of Defence, ‘Latest Defence Intelligence update on the situation in Ukraine − 16 Aug. 2022’, X, 16 Aug. 2022, https://x.com/DefenceHQ/status/1559411321581572098. 31 Kramer, ‘In a Tough Year on Land’; Roman Romaniuk, Sam Harvey and Olya Loza, ‘Sea drones, Elon Musk, and high-precision missiles: How Ukraine dominates in the Black Sea’, Ukrainska Pravda, 1 Jan. 2024, https://www.pravda.com.ua/eng/articles/2024/01/1/7435326/. 32 Joshua Cheetham, ‘Sea drones: What are they and how much do they cost?’ BBC, 13 Sept. 2023, https://www.bbc.com/news/world-europe−66,373,052. 33 Røksund, The Jeune École, 139. 34 Oleksandr Vel’moz͡hko, ‘Rosiĭs’kyĭ flot znovu vidstupai͡e u bazi (VIDEO)’, Pivdennyĭ Kur’i͡er, 10 Dec. 2022,https://uc.od.ua/news/navy/1248235. 35 Greenall, ‘Ukraine ‘hits Russian missile boat Ivanovets in Black Sea’; and Milana Golovan, ‘MAGURA V5 drones attack Tsezar Kunikov ship: Russian occupiers release first-person video footage’, LIGABusinessInform, 6 Mar. 2024, https://news.liga.net/en/politics/video/kak-drony-magura-v5-atakovali-tsezarya-kunikova-okkupanty-pokazali-video-ot-pervogo-litsa. 36 Un ancien officier de marine, ‘Torpilleurs et Torpilles’, 47, La Nouvelle revue, 7/32 (January-February 1885), 42–71. 37 Raul Pedrozo, ‘Maritime Exclusion Zones in Armed Conflicts’, International Law Studies 99/526 (2022), https://digital-commons.usnwc.edu/cgi/viewcontent.cgi?article=3018&context=ils, 531. 38 Interfaks, ‘Tanker Povrezhden Na Podkhode K Kerchenskomu Prolivu, Predpolozhitel’No,Morskim Dronom’, 5 Aug. 2023, https://www.interfax.ru/russia/914933; and Romaniuk, Harvey and Loza, ‘Sea drones, Elon Musk, and high-precision missiles’. 39 Sofiia Syngaivska, ‘Russia Uses Civilian Vessels for Military Purposes, Including Recently Attacked Sig Merchant Tanker’, 10 Aug. 2023, https://en.defence-ua.com/news/russia_uses_civilian_vessels_for_military_purposes_including_recently_attacked_sig_merchant_tanker-7590.html; and Daria Shulzhenko, ‘Ukraine’s security chief: Attacks on Russian ships, Crimean bridge ‘logical and legal’, The Kyiv Independent, 5 Aug. 2023, https://kyivindependent.com/sbu-head-says-attacks-on-russian-ships-crimean-bridge-are-logical-and-legal/. 40 Udo Fink and Ines Gillich, Humanitäres Völkerrecht (Baden-Baden: Nomos, 2023), 212; Interview with a legal advisor for Law of Naval Operations on 11 June 2024. 41 Ministerstvo oborony Ukraïny, ‘Zai͡ava Ministerstva oborony Ukraïny’, Facebook, 20 July 2023, https://www.facebook.com/MinistryofDefence.UA/posts/pfbid02fGmqenfANV5TABt16PgMpJRT7k5sbkeUhkEAsbkeUhkEAVZuvxxS2dgPkH2qAR7yl. 42 Sluz͡hba bezpeky Ukraïny, ‘golova SBU Vasil’ Mali͡uk prokomentuvav neshchodavni ataky nadvodnymy dronamy na korabli rf,‘ 5 Aug 2023, https://t.me/SBUkr/9185; Gabriel Gavin, ‘Ukraine declares war on Russia’s Black Sea shipping’, Politico, 8 Aug. 2023, https://www.politico.eu/article/ukraine-declares-war-on-russia-black-sea-shipping/. 43 Lloyd’s List, ‘Russia warns that Ships Heading to Ukraine are now a Military Target’, 20 July 2023, https://www.lloydslist.com/LL1145965/Russia-warns-that-ships-heading-to-Ukraine-are-now-a-military-target. 44 Shaun Walker, ‘Odesa suffers “Hellish Night” as Russia Attacks Ukraine Grain Facilities’, The Guardian, 19 July 2023, https://www.theguardian.com/world/2023/jul/19/odesa-suffers-hellish-night-as-russia-attacks-ukraines-grain-facilities; UK Foreign, Commonwealth & Development Office and James Cleverly, ‘New intelligence shows Russia’s targeting of a cargo ship’, 11 Sept. 2023, https://www.gov.uk/government/news/new-intelligence-shows-russias-targeting-of-a-cargo-ship. 45 Gavin, ‘Ukraine declares war on Russia’s Black Sea shipping’. 46 Michelle Wiese Bockmann, ‘Western Tankers Abandon Black Sea crude markets after Ukraine drone attacks’, Lloyd’s List, 07 Aug. 2023, https://www.lloydslist.com/LL1146178/Western-tankers-abandon-Black-Sea-crude-markets-after-Ukraine-drone-attacks. 47 Interview with an authoritative Ukrainian source in May 2024. 48 Louise Doswald-Beck (ed.), San Remo Manual on International Law Applicable to Armed Conflicts at Sea (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1995) [SRM], paragraphs [59]-[61]; Andreas von Arnauld, Völkerrecht (Heidelberg: C.F. Müller, 2019), 577. 49 International Committee of the Red Cross, ‘Procès-verbal relating to the Rules of Submarine Warfare set forth in Part IV of the Treaty of London of 22 April 1930. London, 6 November 1936’, https://ihl-databases.icrc.org/assets/treaties/330-IHL-45-EN.pdf. 50 SRM paragraphs [93]-[104]; Robert Kolb and Richard Hyde, Introduction to the International Law of Armed Conflicts (Oxford and Portland, OR: Hart Publishing, 2008), 252. 51 Kolb and Hyde, Introduction to the International Law of Armed Conflicts, 252; James Kraska and Raul Pedrozo, International Maritime Security Law (Leiden: Brill, 2013), 888; Arnauld, Völkerrecht, 578. 52 Arnauld, Völkerrecht, 578. Offensive mine warfare is not considered in this article (Conversation with Dr Marc De Vore, University of St. Andrews, at the Finnish National Defence University in Helsinki on 13 February 2025). 53 SRM, paragraph [60]. For a discussion, see, Kraska and Pedrozo, International Maritime Security Law, 868. 54 UK Foreign, Commonwealth and Development Office, ‘G7 Foreign Ministers’ Meeting communiqué (Capri, 19 April, 2024) – steadfast support to Ukraine’, 19 Apr. 2024, https://www.gov.uk/government/publications/g7-foreign-ministers-meeting-communiques-april-2024/g7-foreign-ministers-meeting-communique-capri-19-april-2024-steadfast-support-to-ukraine. 55 Bitsat Yohannes-Kassahun, ‘One Year Later: The impact of the Russian conflict with Ukraine on Africa’, United Nations Africa Renewal, 13 Feb. 2023, https://www.un.org/africarenewal/magazine/february-2023/one-year-later-impact-russian-conflict-ukraine-africa. 56 Timothy Heck, speech given at the Kiel International Seapower Symposium 2024 on 28 June 2024. 57 Røksund, The Jeune École, 27. 58 Tim Lister, ‘A Russian naval base was targeted by drones. Now Ukrainian grain exports are at risk’, CNN, 31 Oct. 2022, https://edition.cnn.com/2022/10/31/europe/sevastopol-drone-russia-ukraine-grain-intl-cmd/index.html. 59 Shephard News, ‘UK says Saky explosions leave Russian Navy Black Sea aviation fleet ‘significantly degraded’, 12 Aug. 2022, https://www.shephardmedia.com/news/defence-notes/uk-says-explosions-leave-russian-navy-black-sea-aircraft-significantly-degraded/; Cameron Manley, ‘Ukraine says it has taken out another 2 warships in Russia’s Black Sea fleet’, Business Insider, 24 Mar. 2024, https://www.businessinsider.com/ukraine-taken-out-another-2-ships-russias-black-sea-fleet-2024–3; and Nate Ostiller and The Kyiv Independent news desk, ‘General Staff confirms Russian missile ship Tsiklon struck in occupied Crimea’, The Kyiv Independent, 21 May 2024, https://kyivindependent.com/general-staff-confirms-russian-missile-ship-zyklon-struck-off-occupied-crimea. 60 HI Sutton, ‘Ukraine’s Maritime Drone Strikes Again: Reports Indicate Attack On Novorossiysk’, Naval News, 18 Nov. 2022, https://www.navalnews.com/naval-news/2022/11/ukraine-maritime-drone-strikes-again-reports-indicate-attack-on-novorossiysk/. 61 Romaniuk, Harvey and Loza, ‘Sea drones, Elon Musk, and high-precision missiles’. 62 Lloyd’s List, ‘Ukraine attacks Russian port of Novorossiysk’, 4 Aug. 2023, https://lloydslist.com/LL1146152/Ukraine-attacks-Russian-port-of-Novorossiysk; UK Ministry of Defence, ‘Latest Defence Intelligence update on the situation in Ukraine − 05 August 2023’, X, 5 Aug. 2023, https://x.com/DefenceHQ/status/1687697529918373889?ref_src=twsrc%5Etfw%7Ctwcamp%5Etweetembed%7Ctwterm%5E1687697529918373889%7Ctwgr%5E751b5a68b67ea91d2ca704e56fc3a0c7c88c3053%7Ctwcon%5Es1_&ref_url=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.forces.net%2Frussia%2Frussian-war-ship-damaged-significant-blow-russias-black-sea-fleet-mod-says. 63 Romaniuk, Harvey and Loza, ‘Sea drones, Elon Musk, and high-precision missiles’. 64 It can certainly be argued that states do not always comply with international humanitarian law. The Second World War provides numerous examples including in the field of commerce raiding. However, the Manichaean distinction between Russia, the aggressor violating public international law, and Ukraine, which is legitimately defending itself, is essential to Kyiv’s political strategy. Against this background, consideration of international law is fundamental for Ukraine’s naval warfare and this study. 65 Romaniuk, Harvey and Loza, ‘Sea drones, Elon Musk, and High-Precision Missiles’. 66 Alona Sonko, ‘Aerial Shots Detail Drone Damage at Novorossiysk Port’, The New Voice of Ukraine, 19 May 2024, https://english.nv.ua/nation/satellite-images-show-aftermath-of-may-17-attack-on-novorossiysk-seaport−50,419,745html. 67 Martin Fornusek, ‘Military intelligence: Oil Pipeline Blown up in Russia’s Rostov Oblast’, The Kyiv Independent, 06 Apr. 2024, https://kyivindependent.com/military-intelligence-oil-pipeline-in-russias-rostov-oblast-on-fire/. 68 Jack Detsch, ‘Russia’s Home Port in Occupied Crimea Is Under Fire’, Foreign Policy, 13 Sept. 2023, https://foreignpolicy.com/2023/09/13/crimea-ukraine-russia-war-attack-black-sea-fleet/. 69 Interfaks, ‘Chislo postradavshikh pri atake na stab Chernomorskogo flota vyroslo do shesti’, 31 July 2022, https://www.interfax.ru/russia/854608; Maria Kostenko, Tim Lister and Sophie Tanno, ‘Ukraine says strike on Russia’s Black Sea Fleet HQ left Dozens Dead and Wounded ‘Including Senior Leadership’, CNN, 23 September 2023, https://edition.cnn.com/2023/09/23/europe/special-ops-black-sea-strike-dozens-dead-intl-hnk/index.html. 70 The Maritime Executive, ‘Ukraine Strikes Another Naval Shipyard in Russian-Occupied Crimea’, 05 Nov. 2024, https://maritime-executive.com/article/ukraine-strikes-another-naval-shipyard-in-russian-occupied-crimea; Defense Express, ‘Destruction of Russian Novocherkassk Ship has Blocked One of Logistic Channels to Crimea (Satellite Photo)’, 12 Apr. 2024, https://en.defence-ua.com/analysis/destruction_of_russian_novocherkassk_ship_has_blocked_one_of_logistic_channels_to_crimea_satellite_photo−10,152html. 71 UK Ministry of Defence, ‘Update on Ukraine’, X, 15 Sept. 2023, https://x.com/DefenceHQ/status/1702561936179630440?ref_src=twsrc%5Etfw%7Ctwcamp%5Etweetembed%7Ctwterm%5E1702561936179630440%7Ctwgr%5E64b3d174bc910eae91016ef92e9b0b07e88b9194%7Ctwcon%5Es1_&ref_url=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.twz.com%2Frussian-submarine-shows-massive-damage-after-ukrainian-strike; Thomas Newdick, ‘Russian Submarine Shows Massive Damage After Ukrainian Strike’, The Warzone, 18 Sept. 2024, https://www.twz.com/russian-submarine-shows-massive-damage-after-ukrainian-strike. 72 Craig Hooper, ‘Why Ukraine’s Strike On Sevastopol Naval Infrastructure Is A Big Deal’, Forbes, 14 Sept. 2024, https://www.forbes.com/sites/craighooper/2023/09/13/why-ukraines-strike-on-sebastopol-naval-infrastructure-is-a-big-deal/; Mike Eckel, ‘Russia’s Navy Has A Dry Dock Problem. Again’, Radio Free Europe/Radio Liberty, 16 Sept. 2023, https://www.rferl.org/a/russia-navy-dry-dock-problem-ukraine-/32595547.html. 73 UK Foreign, Commonwealth & Development Office and Nicholas Aucott, ‘Russia is Diminished in The eyes of The International Community through its Own Actions: UK Statement to the OSCE’, 06 Dec. 2023, https://www.gov.uk/government/speeches/russia-is-diminished-in-the-eyes-of-the-international-community-through-its-own-actions-uk-statement-to-the-osce; Sinéad Baker, ‘Putin doesn’t really want a war with NATO because “Russia will lose and lose quickly”, UK military chief says’, Business Insider, 28 Feb. 2024, https://www.businessinsider.com/putin-doesnt-want-nato-war-russia-would-lose-quickly-uk-2024–2?r=US&IR=T. 74 AP News, ‘Ukrainian navy says a Third of Russian warships in the Black Sea have been Destroyed or Disabled’, 26 Mar. 2024, https://apnews. 75 Mia Jankowicz, ‘Russia’s Black Sea Fleet is “Functionally Inactive” After being Pummeled Hard by Ukraine, UK says’, Business Insider, 25 Mar. 2024, https://www.businessinsider.com/russia-black-sea-fleet-functionally-inactive-after-ukraine-strikes-uk-2024–3.: 76 UK Ministry of Defence, ‘Latest Defence Intelligence update on the situation in Ukraine − 18 April 2024’, X, 18 Apr. 2024, https://x.com/DefenceHQ/status/1780878487068242335/photo/3. 77 Speller takes only brief note of Attacks Against Enemy Ports whereas Geoffrey Till doesn’t mention them at all. The Commerce Raiding Component of Jeune ÉCole has been awarded much greater attention. Speller, Understanding Naval Warfare, 57–60; Till, Seapower, 91–93. 78 Aube, ‘La guerre maritime’, 331. 79 Gabriel Charmes, La Réforme de la Marine (Paris: Calmann Lévy, 1886), 56–57. 80 Aube, ‘La guerre maritime’, 332. 81 Shurkin, ‘Plus Ça Change’. For Further Literature on The Subject of the ‘Material School’ see, Kevin McCranie, Mahan, Corbett, and the Foundations of Naval Strategic Thought (Annapolis, MD: Naval Institute Press, 2021), 55ff. 82 Gustav Gressel, ‘Waves of ambition: Russia’s military build-up in Crimea and the Black Sea’, European Council on Foreign Relations, 21.09.2021, https://ecfr.eu/publication/waves-of-ambition-russias-military-build-up-in-crimea-and-the-black-sea/; Tayfun Ozberk, ‘Analysis: Russia To Dominate The Black Sea In Case Of Ukraine Conflict’, Naval News, 30 Jan. 2022, https://www.navalnews.com/naval-news/2022/01/analysis-russia-to-dominate-the-black-sea-in-case-of-ukraine-conflict/; Welt, ‘Militärexperte Gressel: Darum hat die ukrainische Armee kaum eine Chance gegen Russen’, 24 Jan. 2022, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aNzUf3zllJ4. 83 Røksund, The Jeune École, 84, 132. 84 Ibid., 166. 85 Ibid., 228. 86 Speller, Understanding Naval Warfare, 60. 87 Monakov and Rohwer, Stalin’s Ocean-Going Fleet, 62–109, 221–4. 88 Andrew Lambert in December 2018. M.A. Seminar Navies and Seapower offered by the War Studies Department at King’s College London 2018–2019. 89 Sergej G. Gorschkow, Die Seemacht des Staates (Berlin: Militärverlag der Deutschen Demokratischen Republik 1978) [Morskai͡a Moshch‘ gosudarstva. Voenizdat 1976], 172, 355. 90 Ibid., 341, 372. 91 The author is aware of the ongoing debate on the extent to which the technological developments – especially the use of uncrewed systems – which have shaped the War in the Black Sea can be generalised. Jacquelyn Schneider and Julia Macdonald, for example, examine the relation between autonomous/uncrewed systems and revolutions in military affairs and come to the conclusion that ‘these systems may be most revolutionary is in cost mitigation—both political and economic.’ In contrast, Oleksandr Vel’moz͡hko does acknowledge the advantages, such as mass-production and cost-efficiency, inherent to a ‘young school’–inspired navy consisting of high-tech small crafts but also points at serious disadvantages connected with such systems, for example their inability to operate on the open ocean and their high vulnerability. Duncan Redford further elaborates on the limitations concerning the use of unmanned surface vehicles, among others, arguing that ‘environmental conditions in the Baltic and High North are such that they are highly likely to severely restrict the use of’ Ukrainian style one-way attack USVs. Jacquelyn Schneider and Julia Macdonald, ‘Looking back to look forward: Autonomous systems, military revolutions, and the importance of cost’, 162, Journal of Strategic Studies, 47/2 (2024), 162–184; Vel’moz͡hko,‘Rosiĭs’kyĭ flot znovu vidstupai͡e u bazi (VIDEO)’; Duncan Redford, ‘Maritime Lessons from the Ukraine-Russia Conflict: USVs and the Applicability to the Baltic and High North’, #GIDSstatement 11/2024, (14 Oct. 2024), https://gids-hamburg.de/maritime-lessons-from-the-ukraine-russia-conflict-usvs-and-the-applicability-to-the-baltic-and-high-north/. 92 For example, in September 1939, in December 1940 and October 1942. Bernd Stegemann, ‘Vierter Teil: Die erste Phase der Seekriegsführung’, 162, in: Klaus A. Maier, Horst Rohde, Bernd Stegemann and Hans Umbreit (eds.), Das Deutsche Reich und der Zweite Weltkrieg Vol. II (Stuttgart: Deutsche Verlagsanstalt 1979), 159–188; Werner Rahn, ‘The Atlantic in the Strategic Perspective of Hitler and his Admirals, 1939–1944’, 160, 164, in: N.A.M. Rodger, J. Ross Dancy, Benjamin Darnell and Evan Wilson (eds.), Strategy and the Sea: Essays in Honour of John B. Hattendorf (Woodbridge: The Boydell Press 2016), 159–168. 93 Michael Salewski, Die deutsche Seekriegsleitung 1935–1945 Vol. I (Frankfurt am Main und München: Bernard & Graefe 1970), 128; Stegemann, ‘Vierter Teil: Die erste Phase der Seekriegsführung’, 162; Rahn, ‘The Atlantic in the Strategic Perspective of Hitler and his Admirals, 1939–1944’, 160, 164. 94 See Adolf Hitler on 31 May 1943: ‘The number of resources that submarine warfare would tie up, even if it were no longer to achieve great success, is so extraordinarily large that I cannot allow the enemy to free up these resources’ Gerhard Wagner (ed.), Lagevorträge des Oberbefehlshabers der Kriegsmarine vor Hitler 1939–1945 (München: J.F. Lehmanns Verlag, 1972), 510. 95 Craig Symonds, ‘Alfred Thayer Mahan’, 33, in: Geoffrey Till (ed.), Maritime Strategy and the Nuclear Age (London and Basingstoke: MacMillan Academic and Professional Ltd, 1990)) [1984], 28–33. 96 Alfred Thayer Mahan, Lessons of the War with Spain and other Articles (Boston: Little, Brown, and Company, 1899), 300. 97 Elisabeth Braw , ‘The Invasion of Ukraine Is Causing Crisis at Sea’, Foreign Policy, 7 March 2022, https://foreignpolicy.com/2022/03/07/ukraine-shipping-supply-war/; Interview with a Representative of an anonymous maritime stakeholder that was heavily affected by the War in Ukraine on 25 October 2023. 98 Paul Adams, ‘Ukraine Claims to Retake Black Sea Drilling Rigs from Russian Control’, BBC, 11 Sept. 2023, https://www.bbc. com/news/66779639. 99 Instytut Viĭs’kovo-Mors’kykh Syl, ‘Doktrina: Viĭs’kovo-Mors’ki Syly Zbroĭnykh syl Ukraïny’, January 2021, 79, https://ivms.mil.gov.ua/wp-content/uploads/2021/12/doktryna_vijskovo-morski-syly-zbrojnyh-syl-ukrayinydiv.pdf. 100 Ibid., 76. 101 Militarnyi, ‘Frigates for Ukrainian Navy: the construction agreement was included into contract with the United Kingdom’, 25 Nov. 2021, https://mil.in.ua/en/news/frigates-for-ukrainian-navy-the-construction-agreement-was-included-into-contract-with-the-united-kingdom/. 102 Vitaly Semenov, ‘Prospects for the Development of the Naval Forces of the Armed Forces of Ukraine Until 2035’, Forum: ‘State Maritime Strategy. Development and implementation of maritime potential of Ukraine’ at the National Defence University of Ukraine on 23 May 2024. 103 Tayfun Ozberk, ‘Turkish Shipyard Lays Keel Of Ukraine’s 2nd MILGEM Corvette’, Naval News, 18 Aug. 2023, https://www.navalnews.com/naval-news/2023/08/turkish-shipyard-lays-keel-of-ukraine-2nd-milgem-corvette/. 104 UK Ministry of Defence, ‘British minehunting Ships to Bolster Ukrainian Navy as UK and Norway Launch Maritime Support Initiative’, 11 Dec. 2023, https://www.gov.uk/government/news/british-minehunting-ships-to-bolster-ukrainian-navy-as-uk-and-norway-launch-maritime-support-initiative#:~:text=The%20UK%20will%div20lead%20a,ships%20for%20the%20Ukrainian%20Navy. 105 Bern Keating, The Mosquito Fleet (New York, NY: Scholastic Book Services, 1969) [Originally Published 1963]. 106 Viĭs’kovo-Mors’ki Syly Zbroĭnykh syl Ukraïny, ‘Strategy of the Naval Forces of the Armed Forces of Ukraine 2035’, 11 Jan. 2019, https://navy.mil.gov.ua/en/strategiya-vijskovo-morskyh-syl-zbrojnyh-syl-ukrayiny-2035/. 107 Milan N. Vego, Naval Strategy and Operations in Narrow Seas, 2nd ed. (Abingdon and New York, NY: Cass, 2003), 110. 108 Interview with Admiral (ret.) Ihor Kabanenko on 06 November 2024. 109 Ihor Kabanenko, ‘Ukraine’s New Naval Doctrine: A Revision of the Mosquito Fleet Strategy or Bureaucratic Inconsistency?’, Eurasia Daily Monitor, 25 May 2021, https://jamestown.org/program/ukraines-new-naval-doctrine-a-revision-of-the-mosquito-fleet-strategy-or-bureaucratic-inconsistency/. 110 Prezydent Ukraïny, ‘Ukaz Prezydenta Ukraïny No. 217/2020’, 2020, https://www.president.gov.ua/docdivuments/2172020–34,085. 111 Interview with an authoritative Ukrainian source in June 2024. 112 Lee Willett, ‘Ukrainian Navy Chief Details Future Force Requirements’, Naval News, 18 Dec. 2023, https://www.navalnews.com/naval-news/2023/12/ukrainian-navy-chief-details-future-force-requirements/. 113 Sergej Sumlenny, ‘Naval Drones in Russo-Ukrainian War: from the current stand to the future development’, presentation given at the German Command and Staff College on 19 June 2024; Kramer, ‘In a Tough Year on Land’. See also various articles by the newspaper The Kyiv Independent. Militarnyi, ‘The Ukrainian Navy received naval drones equipped with strike FPV drone’, 8 Dec. 2024, https://mil.in.ua/en/news/the-ukrainian-navy-received-naval-drones-equipped-with-strike-fpv-drones/. 114 Andrii Ryzhenko, ‘Ways of Developing the Naval Capabilities of Ukraine to Ensure the Military Security of the State at Sea, Taking into Account the Experience of the Russian-Ukrainian war’, forum: ‘State Maritime Strategy. Development and implementation of maritime potential of Ukraine’, National Defence University of Ukraine on 23 May 2024. 115 Sanders, Deborah ‘Rebuilding the Ukrainian Navy’, Naval War College Review, 70/4 (2017), Article 5, 74; Jason Y. Osuga (2017), ‘Building an Asymmetric Ukrainian Naval Force to Defend the Sea of Azov, Pt. 2’, CIMSEC, 2 Oct. 2017, https://cimsec.org/tag/ukraine/page/2/; Defense Express, ‘Ukraine’s Navy Looking To Acquire 30 New Warships By 2020’, 12 Apr. 2018, https://old.defence-ua.com/index.php/en/news/4367-ukraine-s-navy-looking-to-acquire-30-new-warships-by-2020; Kabanenko, ‘Ukraine’s New Naval Doctrine’. 116 Adam Schreck and Hanna Arhirova, ‘Russia Unleashes Biggest attacks in Ukraine in Months’, The Associated Press News, 11 Oct. 2022, https://apnews.com/article/russia-ukraine-kyiv-government-and-politics-8f625861590b9e0dd336dabc0880ac8c; Michael N. Schmitt, ‘Ukraine Symposium – Further Thoughts On Russia’s Campaign Against Ukraine’s Power Infrastructure’, Lieber Institute West Point, 25 Nov. 2022, https://lieber.westpoint.edu/further-thoughts-russias-campaign-against-ukraines-power-infrastructure/; Angelica Evans et alii., ‘Russian Offensive Campaign Assessment, 12 Apr. 2024’, Institute for the Study of War, https://www.understandingwar.org/backgrounder/russian-offensive-campaign-assessment-april-12-2024. 117 Gorschkow, Die Seemacht des Staates, p. 343. 118 Andrii Ryzhenko, ‘Ukraine Needs to Secure Its Maritime Future: “Mosquito Fleet” Provides a Viable Strategy’, Eurasia Daily Monitor, 13 Jun. 2023, https://jamestown.org/program/ukraine-needs-to-secure-its-maritime-future-mosquito-fleet-provides-a-viable-strategy/. Acknowledgments The author would like to thank Commander David Garrett, U.S. Navy, Lt. 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Diplomacy
Cyber Diplomacy Word Cloud. Key concepts and vocabulary in international digital cooperation and policy.

Cyber Diplomacy and the Rise of the 'Global South'

by André Barrinha , Arindrajit Basu

한국어로 읽기 Leer en español In Deutsch lesen Gap اقرأ بالعربية Lire en français Читать на русском On September 24, 2024, speaking from the gargantuan Kazan International Exhibition Centre during the BRICS Summit in Russia, Chinese President Xi Jinping emphatically extolled the “collective rise of the Global South [as] a distinctive feature of the great transformation across the world.” While celebrating “Global South countries marching together toward modernization [as] monumental in world history and unprecedented in human civilization,” the Chinese leader hastened to add that China was not quite a part of but at the Global South’s “forefront”; that “will always keep the Global South in [their] heart, and maintain [their]roots in the Global South. As emerging powers in the BRICS+ grouping thronged Kazan in a clear sign to the West that they would not unwittingly entrench Vladimir Putin’s full-scale diplomatic isolation, China’s message was clear: as a great power, they would not ignore or undermine the interests of the Global South.  The rise of the Global South as a central voice in world politics concurs with the emergence of cyber diplomacy as a diplomatic field. This is not a coincidence, as they are both intimately related to broader changes in the international order, away from a US-led liberal international order, toward a post-liberal one, whose contours are still being defined, but where informal groupings, such as the BRICS+ play a key role. One could even argue that it is this transition to a new order that has pushed states to engage diplomatically on issues around cyberspace. What was once the purview of the Global North, and particularly the US, is now a contested domain of international activity. In this text we explore how the Global South has entered this contestation, and how it articulates its ever-growing presence in shaping the agenda of this domain. However, as cyber diplomacy is mainstreamed across the Global South, it is unclear whether it will continue to be a relevant collective force in forging the rules and norms that govern cyberspace, or whether the tendency will be for each country to trace their own path in service of their independent national interests. The evolution of cyber diplomacy in a post-liberal world Cyber diplomacy is very recent. One could argue that its practice only really started in the late 1990s, with Russia’s proposal of an international treaty to ban electronic and information weapons. Cyber diplomacy, as “the use of diplomatic resources and the performance of diplomatic functions to secure national interests with regard to the cyberspace” (or more simply, to the “the application of diplomacy to cyberspace”  is even more recent, with the first few writings on the topic emerging only in the last 15 years.   To be sure, the internet was born at the zenith of the US-led liberal international order and was viewed as an ideal tool to promote based on liberalism, free trade and information exchange with limited government intervention and democratic ideals. Cyber libertarians extolled the virtues of an independent cyberspace, free from state control and western governments, particularly the US, did not disagree. They viewed the internet as the perfect tool for promoting US global power and maintaining liberal hegemony -“ruling the airwaves as Great Britain once ruled the seas.” The internet was ensconced in the relatively uncontested unipolar geopolitical moment. As the pipe dreams of a liberal cyberspace began to unravel with China and Russia pushing for an alternate state-centric vision of cyberspace, cyber diplomacy began to emerge both as a “response to and continuing factor in the continuing battle in and over cyberspace.” Explicitly, we can pin down its origin to two factors. First, is the perception that cyberspace was becoming an increasingly intertwined with geopolitics and geo-economics, with states starting to better understand its threats, but also its opportunities. Moonlight Maze, the 2007 attacks against Estonia or even Stuxnet were all cases that helped focus the mind of policymakers around the world. Second, the broader context of underlying changes in the international order necessitated cyber diplomacy as a bridge-building activity both to mitigate great power rivalry and to preserve the stability of cyberspace and the digital economy. Private companies, till then the beneficiaries of an open and de-regulated internet, also had to step in to ensure that their own interests and profit motives were safeguarded. These two intertwined factors dominated the discussions around cyber diplomacy for most of the 2000s. Initially, the predominant focus was arms control, reflected in the composition of the first few Group of Governmental Experts (GGE) iterations, the forum created by the UN General Assembly (UNGA) to discuss the role of information and communication technologies (ICTs) in international security. And although experts appointed by countries from the Global South were present since the first meeting in July 2004 the debate was very much framed as a discussion among great powers. As discussions progressed, and the GGE became a process in itself, some states outside the permanent members’ group started to engage more actively. This also coincided with the progressive creation of cyber diplomacy posts and offices in foreign ministries around the world. The field was becoming more professional, as more states started to realise that these were discussions that mattered beyond the restrictive group of power politics. Countries such as South Africa, Brazil, or Kenya started to push for the discussion of issues that affected a larger group of states, with a particular focus on cyber capacity building not just at the UN-GGE but also at other multilateral and multi-stakeholder processes and conferences including the World Summit on Information Society (WSIS), Internet Corporation for Assigned Names and Numbers (ICANN), Internet Governance Forum (IGF) and the International Telecommunications Union (ITU). The creation of a new Open-Ended Working Group (OEWG) at the UN First Committee (after an acrimonious diplomatic process) had an important effect in the diversification and democratisation of the discussions, as these were now open to the whole UN membership, and non-state actors were given the opportunity to observe and participate in these sessions. Further, in 2022, the UN set up an Ad Hoc Committee (AHC) to negotiate a cybercrime convention (adopted by consensus by UNGA members in December 2024) that also enabled all UN members to participate in the negotiations. The opening up of these processes exposed many states, particularly in the Global South, to the field, and it forced them to actively engage in discussions that until recently were seen as the dominion of great powers. The African Group and the G77 were now able to actively participate in the discussions, with frequent statements and contributions. Conceptualising the Global South in cyber diplomacy As cyber diplomacy progressed, policy-maker and academics alike understood global cyber governance to be divided along three main blocs of states. The status quo defenders were led by the US and (mostly Western) like-minded states, focused on the promotion of liberal values and non-binding norms shaped by a multi-stakeholder approach and adherence to existing tenets of international law but resisted significant changes in the governance of cyberspace. A revisionist group, led by Russia and China, advocated for a new binding international treaty and multilateral governance with the objective of guaranteeing security and order rather than necessarily promoting liberal values. Given this impasse, the role and influence of a group of states termed ‘swing states’ or ‘digital deciders’ has been recognized as critical to determining the future of cyberspace, most prominently in a detailed 2018 report by the Washington DC-based think-tank New America . This grouping that largely includes emerging powers from the Global South including India, Indonesia, Brazil, Mexico and South Africa, are understood as countries that are yet to “gravitate towards either end of the spectrum, some undecided and others seeking a third path.” Given these groupings, it is worth considering how the Global South fits in with present conceptualisations of cyber diplomacy, or whether it is a grouping at all. The term ‘Global South’ has come in for some criticism given the heterogeneity of countries it describes and its geographical inaccuracy (many Global South countries are not quite in the geographical South.) To be fair, the term never aspired for terminological accuracy and was instead coined to conceptually represent a group of countries during the Vietnam dissatisfied with the political and economic exploitation from the Global North. In that regard, Global South is a “mood,” a metaphor for developing countries aiming to find their way in an increasingly contested world. The war in Ukraine only augmented these fissures as the West were confounded by the Global South’s refusal to take a stand against brazen Russian aggression in Europe. The developing world saw it differently though: in an international order long-built on racism and inequality, expecting these countries to take a stand in their “petty squabbles” while they had also carried out “similarly violent, unjust, and undemocratic interventions—from Vietnam to Iraq” was a bridge too far. The Ukraine war helped clarify the combination of behaviours that countries within the Global South exhibit to attain this strategic goal: ideological agnosticism or neutrality; selective engagement with norms and rules; and finally, multi-pronged bilateral and minilateral groupings, with equidistance from the major powers. These three approaches helped illuminate the multiple different forms of agency that each developing country exercises vis-à-vis the international order based on their own interests and quest for strategic autonomy. However, what became evident as Russians bombs started to fall on the street of Kyiv, was already visible in these states’ interactions in cyber diplomacy. First, much of the Global South has refused to take an explicit stand on the controversial fissures that the leading powers have spent much of their time debating, including whether cyberspace governance should be state-centric or driven by new rules or existing international law.  Throughout the negotiating processes at the UN OEWG and AHC, as Russia and China clashed with the United States and its allies on the text of several controversial proposals, most developing countries took an agnostic approach, neither explicitly endorsing or opposing any of these potential treaty provisions. (There are naturally some exceptions: an analysis of voting patterns suggests that Iran and North Korea have firmly pegged themselves to the Russian and Chinese side of the aisle whereas some smaller developing countries have gravitated towards the US side of the aisle.) Second, there has been selective engagement when security or developmental interests are directly impacted. For example, in its joint submission to the UN’s Global Digital Compact (GDC), the G77+China asserted the need for equitable cross-border data flows that maximize development gains. The GDC is the UN’s first comprehensive framework for global digital cooperation. Long concerned about the misuse of the multi-stakeholder model by private actors for profit at the expense of developmental interests, the G77 also highlighted the need for “multilateral and transparent approaches to digital governance to facilitate a more just, equitable and effective governance system.” Finally, countries in  the Global South have entered into multiple technology partnerships across political and ideological divides. US efforts at restricting the encroachment of Chinese hardware providers like Huawei and ZTE into the core technological periphery of several Global South countries using allegations of surveillance were sometimes rebuked, given the Five Eyes’ proclivity and reputation for also conducting similar surveillance, including on top officials. By being agnostic on controversial ideological issues, countries in the Global South have been able to maintain ties with great powers on all sides of the political spectrum and foster pragmatic technological partnerships. Will the Global South rise? The Global South’s rise as a potent force in cyber diplomacy will, however, depend on three factors. Can it maintain ideological consistency on developmental and rights concerns, including on how the internet is governed at home? Can they continue to work with multiple partners without succumbing to pressure either from Washington or Beijing? Will emerging powers in the Global South (like India, Brazil and Indonesia) bat for the interests of the larger developing world, rather than simply orchestrating global governance to service their own interests or that of the regime in power? Given that cyber diplomacy emerged and developed as the playground of great powers, analysing it through the perspective of the Global South enables us to focus on cyber governance as an issue that goes beyond (cyber)security concerns – including economic development and identity (cutting across issues of race, gender, and colonialism) – and to see the world from a perspective that goes beyond the dynamics of great power competition. Analytically, it is useful to understand how these states position themselves and justify their actions on behalf of the whole. When looking inside the box, we see some collective movement but also a desire on part of the great powers, including China to incentivise the developing world to see the world as they do. The Global South remains relevant as a construct that captures the mood of the developing world on the geopolitics of technology of cyber issues. Its “great strength” will emerge not from swinging between Washington and Beijing or being orchestrated through New Delhi or Brasilia. It will instead come through standing their ground, in service of their own security and developmental interests in cyberspace. And as they progress, it remains to be seen whether the “Global South” retains its relevance as an analytical construct or whether it will give way to other denominations that better capture the developing world’s nuances and differences vis-à-vis the international cyber order. The text of this work is licensed under  a Creative Commons CC BY-NC 4.0 license.

Diplomacy
Aleksandar Vucic and Vladimir Putin meet in Belgrade on 17 January 2019

Romance or Pragmatism? Russia–Serbia Relations in Uncertain Geopolitical Times

by Nina Markovic Khaze

한국어로 읽기 Leer en español In Deutsch lesen Gap اقرأ بالعربية Lire en français Читать на русском Serbia’s future hinges on how it navigates its competing loyalties. Its path forward depends on whether it chooses to lean into its nostalgic ties or align more closely with its economic interests. A romanticised view of Russia, particularly its cultural heartlands, is common among Serbs with no firsthand experience of Soviet rule. Serbia, as part of the former Socialist Federal Republic of Yugoslavia, occupied a unique position in the post-World War II geopolitical order. Under the leadership of Josip Broz Tito, Yugoslavia decisively rejected Soviet dominance in 1948, leading to its expulsion from the Cominform. This was a bold move, famously marked by Tito’s defiant “nyet” to Stalin. Following this split, Yugoslavia pursued a non-aligned foreign policy, establishing the Non-Aligned Movement (NAM) alongside other decolonising nations. This allowed it to maintain a delicate balance between the East and the West. State-sponsored construction companies were active in Asia and Africa, while guest workers were exported to Western Europe to bolster the domestic economy. Serbia, as a successor state, maintains engagement with the NAM to this day, continuing its long-standing tradition of non-alignment. A dual pillar of sentiment and strategy Serbia’s current diplomatic relationship with Russia reflects a mixture of historical sentiment and pragmatic strategy. The bond is sustained through Orthodox Christian faith, Slavic linguistic familiarity, and a shared narrative of past solidarity. These factors bolster Russia’s influence in Serbia, most visibly through extensive media penetration and strong political support for Serbia’s territorial integrity, especially concerning Kosovo. One of Russia’s most powerful diplomatic tools remains its veto power in the United Nations Security Council. Moscow has consistently used this privilege to block Kosovo’s accession to international institutions, a gesture widely appreciated in Serbia. This support reinforces Russia’s image as a loyal ally among much of the Serbian public. Meanwhile, Russia has secured a prominent role in Serbia’s economic landscape. Bilateral trade between the two nations is estimated at US$3 billion annually. Gazprom owns a majority stake in Serbia’s oil and gas company, NIS, and Serbia remains tied into Russia’s TurkStream gas pipeline. As of May 2025, Serbia extended its gas import contract with Russia until the end of September, locking in prices and guaranteeing supply ahead of winter. Additionally, the Russian tech company Yandex has relocated a significant portion of its operations to Serbia. The firm employs thousands of local staff in transportation, delivery, and IT services. Since the 2022 invasion of Ukraine, over 300,000 Russian nationals and approximately 20,000 Ukrainians are estimated to have settled in Serbia fleeing war, with many employed in these sectors and obtaining Serbian residency. This follows a historical pattern; for instance, more than 1,500 prominent Russian families sought refuge in Serbia after the Russian Civil War (1917–1918). Many Serbs still travel to Russia, including for business, holiday, or professional exchanges. While Western pop culture dominates in Serbia, many Russian artists still perform there regularly, especially in classical arts. Pragmatic neutrality President Aleksandar Vučić has carefully walked the tightrope of maintaining Serbia’s candidacy for European Union membership while resisting pressure to join Western sanctions against Russia. This diplomatic balancing act reflects both domestic political realities and a long-standing foreign policy of strategic neutrality. In early May 2025, Vučić attended Russia’s Victory Day parade alongside President Vladimir Putin. While EU officials strongly criticised his decision, Vučić defended his actions as a matter of honouring “traditional friendships.” He reiterated Serbia’s support for Ukraine’s territorial integrity yet refrained from imposing sanctions on Moscow. This ambiguous stance continues to frustrate Western diplomats, who see Serbia as needing to “choose a side.” However, choosing a side would be contrary to the Serbian government’s worldview of needing to remain strategically neutral, which is a tradition in Serbia’s foreign policy dating back to the 13th century. However, some Russian officials have recently questioned Serbia’s neutrality as reports emerged about Serbian defence companies exporting weapons to Ukraine through third party companies located in the Czech Republic, Poland, and Bulgaria. Serbia’s official refusal to impose sanctions against Russia has preserved its access to Russian markets, energy, and political backing. However, it also risks alienating its most significant trading partners. In 2024, Serbia exported goods worth US$959.1 million to Russia—just three percent of its total exports. In comparison, exports to the European Union totalled US$19.3 billion, accounting for over 60 percent of total trade. Imports reflect a similar pattern, with only 3.3 percent coming from Russia compared to 56.3 percent from the EU. This stark contrast suggests that while Russia may provide strategic and emotional support, Serbia’s economic lifeline lies firmly in the West. The energy factor Energy remains the linchpin in Russia-Serbia relations. Serbia is heavily dependent on Russian gas, with existing contracts offering favourable terms that are hard to replicate elsewhere. Although Serbia is making efforts to diversify its energy mix—including exploring Azerbaijani gas, LNG imports via Greece and Croatia, and domestic renewables—these transitions take time. A new strategic plan for wind and solar development is underway, and Serbia is also preparing to auction renewable energy projects. In parallel, the EU and Serbia signed a strategic raw materials partnership in July 2024, targeting Serbia’s lithium reserves. These are critical to the EU’s push to reduce dependency on Chinese supply chains. Yet, public protests against lithium mining in Serbia have stalled the project, revealing the complex interplay between geopolitics and local opposition. Serbia’s role in a shifting world Despite being a small country, Serbia plays an outsized role in the geopolitics of Southeast Europe. With the war in Ukraine dragging on and Moscow becoming increasingly isolated, Serbia remains a key outpost for Russian diplomacy and influence in Europe. At the same time, the country is also investing in deeper partnerships with China, which is fast becoming a major investor in Serbian infrastructure, technology, and mining. While Serbia’s historical and cultural ties with Russia are enduring, they are not immutable. The Serbian public is increasingly aware of the limitations of relying solely on Moscow for diplomatic and economic support. Younger generations are more outward-looking and inclined toward European integration. This generational shift, combined with economic imperatives, could eventually reshape Serbia’s foreign policy priorities. Serbia between a rock and a hard place Serbia’s future hinges on how it navigates its competing loyalties. Russia remains a potent symbol of shared heritage and a geopolitical partner on issues like Kosovo. But economically and institutionally, Serbia is deeply embedded in European systems. Its path forward depends on whether it chooses to lean into its nostalgic ties or align more closely with its economic interests. In today’s multipolar world, Serbia is attempting to preserve its tradition of non-alignment while adapting to a new era of global fragmentation. Whether it succeeds in maintaining this delicate balance, or is ultimately forced to choose, will have profound implications not only for its own trajectory but for the entire Western Balkans. The romanticism of Russia still appeals to many Serbs and people from the Balkans generally, especially older, Yugo-nostalgic generations. Yet the reality of economic interdependence with the West and the shifting sands of global diplomacy may compel Belgrade to make harder decisions in the years to come. Romance or pragmatism? It is always a mix of both in Serbia’s case. Dr Nina Markovic Khaze (PhD Pol. Sc., ANU) is a sessional academic at Macquarie University, political analyst for SBS radio and Director of Communications at Solve Law, Manly. She was previously Vice-President of the AIIA’s ACT Branch, and senior parliamentary researcher for Europe and Middle East. This article is published under a Creative Commons License and may be republished with attribution.

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

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

by Alessandro Indelicato , Juan Carlos Martína

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

Global Climate Agreements: Successes and Failures

by Clara Fong , Lindsay Maizland

International efforts, such as the Paris Agreement, aim to reduce greenhouse gas emissions. But experts say countries aren’t doing enough to limit dangerous global warming. Summary Countries have debated how to combat climate change since the early 1990s. These negotiations have produced several important accords, including the Kyoto Protocol and the Paris Agreement. Governments generally agree on the science behind climate change but have diverged on who is most responsible, how to track emissions-reduction goals, and whether to compensate harder-hit countries. The findings of the first global stocktake, discussed at the 2023 UN Climate Summit in Dubai, United Arab Emirates (UAE), concluded that governments need to do more to prevent the global average temperature from rising by 1.5°C. Introduction Over the last several decades, governments have collectively pledged to slow global warming. But despite intensified diplomacy, the world is already facing the consequences of climate change, and they are expected to get worse. Through the Kyoto Protocol and Paris Agreement, countries agreed to reduce greenhouse gas emissions, but the amount of carbon dioxide in the atmosphere keeps rising, heating the Earth at an alarming rate. Scientists warn that if this warming continues unabated, it could bring environmental catastrophe to much of the world, including staggering sea-level rise, devastating wildfires, record-breaking droughts and floods, and widespread species loss. Since negotiating the Paris accord in 2015, many of the 195 countries that are party to the agreement have strengthened their climate commitments—to include pledges on curbing emissions and supporting countries in adapting to the effects of extreme weather—during the annual UN climate conferences known as the Conference of the Parties (COP). While experts note that clear progress has been made towards the clean energy transition, cutting current emissions has proven challenging for the world’s top emitters. The United States, for instance, could be poised to ramp up fossil fuel production linked to global warming under the Donald Trump administration, which has previously minimized the effects of climate change and has withdrawn twice from the Paris Agreement. What are the most important international agreements on climate change? Montreal Protocol, 1987. Though not intended to tackle climate change, the Montreal Protocol [PDF] was a historic environmental accord that became a model for future diplomacy on the issue. Every country in the world eventually ratified the treaty, which required them to stop producing substances that damage the ozone layer, such as chlorofluorocarbons (CFCs). The protocol has succeeded in eliminating nearly 99 percent of these ozone-depleting substances. In 2016, parties agreed via the Kigali Amendment to also reduce their production of hydrofluorocarbons (HFCs), powerful greenhouse gases that contribute to climate change. UN Framework Convention on Climate Change (UNFCCC), 1992. Ratified by 197 countries, including the United States, the landmark accord [PDF] was the first global treaty to explicitly address climate change. It established an annual forum, known as the Conference of the Parties, or COP, for international discussions aimed at stabilizing the concentration of greenhouse gases in the atmosphere. These meetings produced the Kyoto Protocol and the Paris Agreement. Kyoto Protocol, 2005. The Kyoto Protocol [PDF], adopted in 1997 and entered into force in 2005, was the first legally binding climate treaty. It required developed countries to reduce emissions by an average of 5 percent below 1990 levels, and established a system to monitor countries’ progress. But the treaty did not compel developing countries, including major carbon emitters China and India, to take action. The United States signed the agreement in 1998 but never ratified it and later withdrew its signature.  Paris Agreement, 2015. The most significant global climate agreement to date, the Paris Agreement requires all countries to set emissions-reduction pledges. Governments set targets, known as nationally determined contributions (NDCs), with the goals of preventing the global average temperature from rising 2°C (3.6°F) above preindustrial levels and pursuing efforts to keep it below 1.5°C (2.7°F). It also aims to reach global net-zero emissions, where the amount of greenhouse gases emitted equals the amount removed from the atmosphere, in the second half of the century. (This is also known as being climate neutral or carbon neutral.) The United States, the world’s second-largest emitter, is the only country to withdraw from the agreement, a move President Donald Trump made during his first administration in 2017. While former President Joe Biden reentered the agreement during his first day in office, Trump again withdrew the United States on the first day of his second administration in 2025. Three other countries have not formally approved the agreement: Iran, Libya, and Yemen. Is there a consensus on the science of climate change? Yes, there is a broad consensus among the scientific community, though some deny that climate change is a problem, including politicians in the United States. When negotiating teams meet for international climate talks, there is “less skepticism about the science and more disagreement about how to set priorities,” says David Victor, an international relations professor at the University of California, San Diego. The basic science is that:• the Earth’s average temperature is rising at an unprecedented rate; • human activities, namely the use of fossil fuels—coal, oil, and natural gas—are the primary drivers of this rapid warming and climate change; and,• continued warming is expected to have harmful effects worldwide. Data taken from ice cores shows that the Earth’s average temperature is rising more now than it has in eight hundred thousand years. Scientists say this is largely a result of human activities over the last 150 years, such as burning fossil fuels and deforestation. These activities have dramatically increased the amount of heat-trapping greenhouse gases, primarily carbon dioxide, in the atmosphere, causing the planet to warm. The Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change (IPCC), a UN body established in 1988, regularly assesses the latest climate science and produces consensus-based reports for countries. Why are countries aiming to keep global temperature rise below 1.5°C? Scientists have warned for years of catastrophic environmental consequences if global temperature continues to rise at the current pace. The Earth’s average temperature has already increased approximately 1.1°C above preindustrial levels, according to a 2023 assessment by the IPCC. The report, drafted by more than two hundred scientists from over sixty countries, predicts that the world will reach or exceed 1.5°C of warming within the next two decades even if nations drastically cut emissions immediately. (Several estimates report that global warming already surpassed that threshold in 2024.) An earlier, more comprehensive IPCC report summarized the severe effects expected to occur when the global temperature warms by 1.5°C: Heat waves. Many regions will suffer more hot days, with about 14 percent of people worldwide being exposed to periods of severe heat at least once every five years. Droughts and floods. Regions will be more susceptible to droughts and floods, making farming more difficult, lowering crop yields, and causing food shortages.  Rising seas. Tens of millions of people live in coastal regions that will be submerged in the coming decades. Small island nations are particularly vulnerable. Ocean changes. Up to 90 percent of coral reefs will be wiped out, and oceans will become more acidic. The world’s fisheries will become far less productive. Arctic ice thaws. At least once a century, the Arctic will experience a summer with no sea ice, which has not happened in at least two thousand years. Forty percent of the Arctic’s permafrost will thaw by the end of the century.  Species loss. More insects, plants, and vertebrates will be at risk of extinction.  The consequences will be far worse if the 2°C threshold is reached, scientists say. “We’re headed toward disaster if we can’t get our warming in check and we need to do this very quickly,” says Alice C. Hill, CFR senior fellow for energy and the environment. Which countries are responsible for climate change? The answer depends on who you ask and how you measure emissions. Ever since the first climate talks in the 1990s, officials have debated which countries—developed or developing—are more to blame for climate change and should therefore curb their emissions. Developing countries argue that developed countries have emitted more greenhouse gases over time. They say these developed countries should now carry more of the burden because they were able to grow their economies without restraint. Indeed, the United States has emitted the most of all time, followed by the European Union (EU).   However, China and India are now among the world’s top annual emitters, along with the United States. Developed countries have argued that those countries must do more now to address climate change.   In the context of this debate, major climate agreements have evolved in how they pursue emissions reductions. The Kyoto Protocol required only developed countries to reduce emissions, while the Paris Agreement recognized that climate change is a shared problem and called on all countries to set emissions targets. What progress have countries made since the Paris Agreement? Every five years, countries are supposed to assess their progress toward implementing the agreement through a process known as the global stocktake. The first of these reports, released in September 2023, warned governments that “the world is not on track to meet the long-term goals of the Paris Agreement.” That said, countries have made some breakthroughs during the annual UN climate summits, such as the landmark commitment to establish the Loss and Damage Fund at COP27 in Sharm el-Sheikh, Egypt. The fund aims to address the inequality of climate change by providing financial assistance to poorer countries, which are often least responsible for global emissions yet most vulnerable to climate disasters. At COP28, countries decided that the fund will be initially housed at the World Bank, with several wealthy countries, such as the United States, Japan, the United Kingdom, and EU members, initially pledging around $430 million combined. At COP29, developed countries committed to triple their finance commitments to developing countries, totalling $300 billion annually by 2035. Recently, there have been global efforts to cut methane emissions, which account for more than half of human-made warming today because of their higher potency and heat trapping ability within the first few decades of release. The United States and EU introduced a Global Methane Pledge at COP26, which aims to slash 30 percent of methane emissions levels between 2020 and 2030. At COP28, oil companies announced they would cut their methane emissions from wells and drilling by more than 80 percent by the end of the decade. However, pledges to phase out fossil fuels were not renewed the following year at COP29. Are the commitments made under the Paris Agreement enough? Most experts say that countries’ pledges are not ambitious enough and will not be enacted quickly enough to limit global temperature rise to 1.5°C. The policies of Paris signatories as of late 2022 could result in a 2.7°C (4.9°F) rise by 2100, according to the Climate Action Tracker compiled by Germany-based nonprofits Climate Analytics and the NewClimate Institute. “The Paris Agreement is not enough. Even at the time of negotiation, it was recognized as not being enough,” says CFR’s Hill. “It was only a first step, and the expectation was that as time went on, countries would return with greater ambition to cut their emissions.” Since 2015, dozens of countries—including the top emitters—have submitted stronger pledges. For example, President Biden announced in 2021 that the United States will aim to cut emissions by 50 to 52 percent compared to 2005 levels by 2030, doubling former President Barack Obama’s commitment. The following year, the U.S. Congress approved legislation that could get the country close to reaching that goal. Meanwhile, the EU pledged to reduce emissions by at least 55 percent compared to 1990 levels by 2030, and China said it aims to reach peak emissions before 2030. But the world’s average temperature will still rise more than 2°C (3.6°F) by 2100 even if countries fully implement their pledges for 2030 and beyond. If the more than one hundred countries that have set or are considering net-zero targets follow through, warming could be limited to 1.8˚C (3.2°F), according to the Climate Action Tracker.   What are the alternatives to the Paris Agreement? Some experts foresee the most meaningful climate action happening in other forums. Yale University economist William Nordhaus says that purely voluntary international accords like the Paris Agreement promote free-riding and are destined to fail. The best way to cut global emissions, he says, would be to have governments negotiate a universal carbon price rather than focus on country emissions limits. Others propose new agreements [PDF] that apply to specific emissions or sectors to complement the Paris Agreement.  In recent years, climate diplomacy has occurred increasingly through minilateral groupings. The Group of Twenty (G20), representing countries that are responsible for 80 percent of the world’s greenhouse gas pollution, has pledged to stop financing new coal-fired power plants abroad and agreed to triple renewable energy capacity by the end of this decade. However, G20 governments have thus far failed to set a deadline to phase out fossil fuels. In 2022, countries in the International Civil Aviation Organization set a goal of achieving net-zero emissions for commercial aviation by 2050. Meanwhile, cities around the world have made their own pledges. In the United States, more than six hundred local governments [PDF] have detailed climate action plans that include emissions-reduction targets. Industry is also a large source of carbon pollution, and many firms have said they will try to reduce their emissions or become carbon neutral or carbon negative, meaning they would remove more carbon from the atmosphere than they release. The Science Based Targets initiative, a UK-based company considered the “gold standard” in validating corporate net-zero plans, says it has certified the plans of  over three thousand firms, and aims to more than triple this total by 2025. Still, analysts say that many challenges remain, including questions over the accounting methods and a lack of transparency in supply chains. Recommended Resources This timeline tracks UN climate talks since 1992. CFR Education’s latest resources explain everything to know about climate change.  The Climate Action Tracker assesses countries’ updated NDCs under the Paris Agreement. CFR Senior Fellow Varun Sivaram discusses how the 2025 U.S. wildfires demonstrate the need to rethink climate diplomacy and adopt a pragmatic response to falling short of global climate goals. In this series on climate change and instability by the Center for Preventive Action, CFR Senior Fellow Michelle Gavin looks at the consequences for the Horn of Africa and the National Defense University’s Paul J. Angelo for Central America. This backgrounder by Clara Fong unpacks the global push for climate financing.

Energy & Economics
The image displays mineral rocks alongside US currency and flags of Ukraine and the USA, highlighting the complex relationship involving economics, power, and resources.

Why Zelensky – not Trump – may have ‘won’ the US-Ukraine minerals deal

by Eve Warburton , Olga Boichak

한국어로 읽기 Leer en español In Deutsch lesen Gap اقرأ بالعربية Lire en français Читать на русском Last week, the Trump administration signed a deal with Ukraine that gives it privileged access to Ukraine’s natural resources. Some news outlets described the deal as Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelensky “caving” to US President Donald Trump’s demands. But we see the agreement as the result of clever bargaining on the part of Ukraine’s war-time president. So, what does the deal mean for Ukraine? And will this help strengthen America’s mineral supply chains? Ukraine’s natural resource wealth Ukraine is home to 5% of the world’s critical mineral wealth, including 22 of the 34 minerals identified by the European Union as vital for defence, construction and high-tech manufacturing. However, there’s a big difference between resources (what’s in the ground) and reserves (what can be commercially exploited). Ukraine’s proven mineral reserves are limited. Further, Ukraine has an estimated mineral wealth of around US$14.8 trillion (A$23 trillion), but more than half of this is in territories currently occupied by Russia. What does the new deal mean for Ukraine? American support for overseas conflict is usually about securing US economic interests — often in the form of resource exploitation. From the Middle East to Asia, US interventions abroad have enabled access for American firms to other countries’ oil, gas and minerals. But the first iteration of the Ukraine mineral deal, which Zelensky rejected in February, had been an especially brazen resource grab by Trump’s government. It required Ukraine to cede sovereignty over its land and resources to one country (the US), in order to defend itself from attacks by another (Russia). These terms were highly exploitative of a country fighting against a years-long military occupation. In addition, they violated Ukraine’s constitution, which puts the ownership of Ukraine’s natural resources in the hands of the Ukrainian people. Were Zelensky to accept this, he would have faced a tremendous backlash from the public. In comparison, the new deal sounds like a strategic and (potentially) commercial win for Ukraine. First, this agreement is more just, and it’s aligned with Ukraine’s short- and medium-term interests. Zelenksy describes it as an “equal partnership” that will modernise Ukraine. Under the terms, Ukraine will set up a United States–Ukraine Reconstruction Investment Fund for foreign investments into the country’s economy, which will be jointly governed by both countries. Ukraine will contribute 50% of the income from royalties and licenses to develop critical minerals, oil and gas reserves, while the US can make its contributions in-kind, such as through military assistance or technology transfers. Ukraine maintains ownership over its natural resources and state enterprises. And the licensing agreements will not require substantial changes to the country’s laws, or disrupt its future integration with Europe. Importantly, there is no mention of retroactive debts for the US military assistance already received by Ukraine. This would have created a dangerous precedent, allowing other nations to seek to claim similar debts from Ukraine. Finally, the deal also signals the Trump administration’s commitment to “a free, sovereign and prosperous Ukraine” – albeit, still without any security guarantees. Profits may be a long time coming Unsurprisingly, the Trump administration and conservative media in the US are framing the deal as a win. For too long, Trump argues, Ukraine has enjoyed US taxpayer-funded military assistance, and such assistance now has a price tag. The administration has described the deal to Americans as a profit-making endeavour that can recoup monies spent defending Ukrainian interests. But in reality, profits are a long way off. The terms of the agreement clearly state the fund’s investment will be directed at new resource projects. Existing operations and state-owned projects will fall outside the terms of the agreement. Mining projects typically work within long time frames. The move from exploration to production is a slow, high-risk and enormously expensive process. It can often take over a decade. Add to this complexity the fact that some experts are sceptical Ukraine even has enormously valuable reserves. And to bring any promising deposits to market will require major investments. What’s perhaps more important It’s possible, however, that profits are a secondary calculation for the US. Boxing out China is likely to be as – if not more – important. Like other Western nations, the US is desperate to diversify its critical mineral supply chains. China controls not just a large proportion of the world’s known rare earths deposits, it also has a monopoly on the processing of most critical minerals used in green energy and defence technologies. The US fears China will weaponise its market dominance against strategic rivals. This is why Western governments increasingly make mineral supply chain resilience central to their foreign policy and defence strategies. Given Beijing’s closeness to Moscow and their deepening cooperation on natural resources, the US-Ukraine deal may prevent Russia — and, by extension, China — from accessing Ukrainian minerals. The terms of the agreement are explicit: “states and persons who have acted adversely towards Ukraine must not benefit from its reconstruction”. Finally, the performance of “the deal” matters just as much to Trump. Getting Zelensky to sign on the dotted line is progress in itself, plays well to Trump’s base at home, and puts pressure on Russian President Vladimir Putin to come to the table. So, the deal is a win for Zelensky because it gives the US a stake in an independent Ukraine. But even if Ukraine’s critical mineral reserves turn out to be less valuable than expected, it may not matter to Trump.

Diplomacy
KYIV, UKRAINE - May 1, 2022. Flags of Finland and NATO.

Finland: Two Years in NATO

by Sergey Andreev

한국어로 읽기 Leer en español In Deutsch lesen Gap اقرأ بالعربية Lire en français Читать на русском April 2025 marks the second anniversary of Finland’s accession to the North Atlantic Treaty Organization (NATO). Although the prospect of joining the alliance began to be seriously considered after the escalation of the Ukraine crisis in 2014, a final decision was repeatedly postponed due to the unclear advantages of this move and insufficient public support. Despite close economic ties with Russia and a tradition of cautious diplomacy known as the “Paasikivi–Kekkonen line” (often criticized as “Finlandization”), the 2022 international crisis pushed Finland to join NATO. Since then, the once-neutral country has shifted its foreign policy, increased defense spending, and expanded its arms exports. Government and Military Perspectives In December 2024, the Finnish government presented a new Defense Report in Helsinki, replacing the previous strategy issued in September 2021. Back in 2021, Finland had highlighted the growing military activity in the Baltic Sea and Arctic regions, along with the increased interest of major powers in the natural resources of the North and the Northern Sea Route. Notably, the country didn’t name any specific enemy, choosing to keep its message broad and carefulThe 2024 document takes a much more serious tone. It clearly names Russia as the main source of global instability and describes China as a growing power that challenges the U.S. and its allies. Terrorism is mentioned too, but much less often. Some of the main points about global security include the following - The return of a "large-scale, protracted war" to the European continent;- The Special Military Operation (SMO) is interpreted as a continuation of Russia’s aggressive actions in Crimea and eastern Ukraine in 2014, as well as in Georgia in 2008;- An increase in hybrid attacks and incidents involving critical infrastructure;- Growing Chinese influence on Finland and its neighboring countries;- An unpredictable and unstable defense and international security environment, with a clear tendency toward further deterioration;- The largest NATO military buildup on the eastern flank since the end of the Cold War;- Accession to NATO is described as “the most significant transformation in Finland’s defense policy since World War II”;- Ongoing integration of Finland’s armed forces into NATO’s structures and joint defense planning;- Finland is now planning its defense together with NATO, focusing not just on its own territory but also on the Baltic States, the Baltic Sea, the Arctic Ocean, and the North Atlantic. In the section on shifts in global power, Russia is named as the main cause of instability. It is described as “the most significant and immediate threat to the Allies, to security, and to peace and stability in the Euro-Atlantic region.” Other claims include: a long-standing effort to weaken the European Union, a push to restore its great power status, and an attempt to divide Europe into spheres of influence using military force. Russia is also accused of using hybrid tactics—such as spreading fear, influencing public opinion, stirring political divisions, and blocking decisions—to target European countries and their people. Its Special Military Operation is seen as the beginning of a broader, more direct, and unpredictable conflict with the West. China is characterized as a less aggressive player. It is noted that Beijing is rapidly modernizing its armed forces, has intensified intelligence activities in the United States and Europe, and has strengthened military and economic cooperation with Russia, the development of which will determine Moscow’s ability to exert influence over Europe. At the same time, Finnish strategists place greater emphasis on the ongoing competition between China and the United States for global political, military, economic, and technological dominance. In matters concerning NATO’s role in defense, it is noted that the Alliance has intensified its cooperation with partners in the Indo-Pacific region, increased its military presence on the eastern flank and the number of military exercises, and is continually updating both general and regional defense plans in the event of a large-scale conflict. With the accession of Finland and Sweden, NATO has become geographically closer to strategically important areas for Russia, including Moscow, Saint Petersburg, Kaliningrad, the Kola Peninsula, Belarus, the Baltic Sea, and the Arctic region. Within the Alliance, ensuring the security of maritime transport routes and the modernization of military infrastructure in Northern European countries is viewed as a key condition for the potential reinforcement of troops from North America. The role of the European Union is described as complementary to NATO, while it is also noted that the EU is increasing defense spending and expanding technological cooperation. The report was published after the election victory of Republican U.S. President Donald Trump, known for his isolationist views, which is partially reflected in the document through emphasis on European independence in security matters and the need for further military expenditures. On intra-European regional issues, the report focuses on cooperation with the member states of the Nordic Defense Cooperation (NORDEFCO), the Baltic States, and the United Kingdom, as well as on Germany’s shift in security policy, France’s increased defense spending, and Poland’s growing purchases of military equipment. In military and technology matters, the document highlights the growing role of unmanned systems (both remote-controlled and autonomous), artificial intelligence, and advanced human capabilities like improved thinking and synthetic biology. It stresses the need to use the latest scientific and tech innovations in developing weapons — a step that could help make up for fewer soldiers on the battlefield. Cyberspace and outer space are seen as new areas of military and technological competition. This view is based on several factors: the rapid growth of space technologies (driven by private companies), easier access to space, and heavy reliance on cyber tools and satellites for both military and civilian use. Information warfare is also becoming more influential alongside traditional combat. The document notes that small countries can benefit in such conflicts by using innovations smartly and managing resources well. Still, Helsinki does not rely only on high-tech solutions. A key part of Finland’s military strategy is preparing both its army and population for long-term, grinding conflicts. This includes signing long-term arms supply contracts, building strategic reserves, keeping supply chains strong, and staying ready to protect their way of life. Among the main conclusions, the authors of the report present the following: - Finland and Europe are facing a significant decline in security, with no short-term improvement expected.- Russia poses and will continue to pose a constant security threat to Europe and Finland;- Finland will provide military assistance to Ukraine for as long as necessary;- Following the accession of Finland and Sweden to NATO, the Nordic countries, the Baltic Sea region, and the High North have formed a unified geostrategic space; the Baltic Sea region holds strategic importance for Finland;- Finland’s defense will rely on maintaining conscription, strengthening the training of its military reserve, a strong public will to defend the country, and support from NATO membership.- Commitment to total defense — a combination of all national and international military and civilian measures that ensure the protection of the country under any circumstances (seven components are listed: government administration, international relations, defense capability, internal security, economy, functional capabilities of the population, and psychological resilience of people); There is a need to improve working conditions in the defense industry, increase production, and secure steady, reliable supply chains. A gradual increase in Finland’s military spending. - The development of the EU’s defense potential, and movement toward greater independence of the European Union both in policy and in the development of military technologies and defense supplies;- NATO’s readiness to provide the full spectrum of forces necessary for large-scale, high-intensity combat operations; Finland, in turn, must also create all the necessary conditions for the presence of allied troops on its territory. Similar assessments are presented in the Military Intelligence Review of Finland — 2025 (previous publications date back to 2021 and 2023), prepared by the General Staff of the Finnish Defence Forces. Russia is also named as the main threat there, which “seeks to reduce Western influence, secure its sphere of influence,” “views security policy as a zero-sum great power game in which NATO expansion strengthens the position of the United States and thereby weakens Russia’s security,” and “the interests or security of neighboring countries are not an important factor in Moscow’s calculations.” In addition, Russia is accused of seeking to turn the Global South against Western countries, in particular, there is a reference to “an attempt to present the BRICS group as part of an anti-Western ‘global majority’” . As for the Northern European direction, the Finnish General Staff notes the buildup of Russian forces on the Kola Peninsula and in the Arctic region, attributes to Moscow attempts to gain unrestricted access to the Northern Sea Route and to weaken the integration of Finland and Sweden into NATO structures. Helsinki predicts that after the end of the conflict in Ukraine, Russia’s priority will be the accelerated buildup and modernization of forces in the reestablished Leningrad Military District, bordering Scandinavia. Finnish military officials do not believe in a quick settlement of the situation in Ukraine and forecast a deterioration of Russia’s relations with the West in the coming years, a struggle by Russia for shipping in the Baltic Sea “by any means,” continued attacks on underwater infrastructure in the Baltic (a reference to damage to undersea cables, although no exact culprit is named), escalation of the race between the West, Russia and China for the resources of the High North, and increased intelligence and sabotage activities by Russian special services in Finland. China is not viewed in an entirely negative light; instead, there is recognition of Beijing's ambition to become a political, economic, military, and technological leader by 2049, marking the centenary of the founding of the People's Republic of China. China's growing influence over countries of the Global South is also noted. Russia–China relations are seen as a "lifeline" for the Russian economy and a means of circumventing sanctions. However, Beijing is not seen as an equal partner, but as someone benefiting from Russia’s growing isolation. This makes Russia more dependent on China. The war in Ukraine is seen as helping China, since it distracts the West from China's global rise. At the regional level, Helsinki plans to enhance cooperation and update the foundational NORDEFCO agreement during its presidency of the organization in 2025. This push for renewal is driven by the evolving security environment and Finland’s recent accession to NATO alongside Sweden. Back in April 2024, the defense ministers of the member states signed a memorandum outlining a new vision for NORDEFCO. According to the document, by 2030 the countries plan to improve joint military planning and operations, make it easier to move troops across borders, boost cooperation and intelligence sharing, both directly and through NATO and the EU, and keep strengthening the defense industries of the Nordic countries. NORDEFCO is not officially seen as a mutual defense agreement or a command system like NATO; however, in recent years, it has started to show features usually found in a defense alliance, mostly because of the actions of some of its members. In 2021, the defense ministers of Denmark, Norway, and Sweden signed a deal to strengthen cooperation, allowing for "joint action in times of peace, crisis, or conflict." In 2022, they gave each other permission to use their airspace and military bases. That same year, the defense ministers of Finland, Norway, and Sweden updated their three-way agreement, further growing their military cooperation. After Finland and Sweden applied to join NATO, Denmark, Iceland, and Norway made a joint promise to fully support them if either country were attacked. While NORDEFCO has not yet become an organization like NATO, the current level of defense cooperation between the Nordic countries at the regional level — and repeated promises to help each other in case of conflict — suggest that in the coming years, this effort might start to look like a smaller version of NATO in Northern Europe. This kind of setup would likely be less full of red tape, quicker at making decisions, and made up of countries that share similar views and speak with one voice. It would also have a lower risk of going backward — unlike some NATO members who, in recent years, have threatened to block decisions, added extra demands for new members, or even talked about leaving the Alliance. Defense and Military-Industrial Complex Expenditures Threats identified by Finnish politicians and the military automatically require growing expenditures and an acceleration of the defense industry. According to the Stockholm International Peace Research Institute (SIPRI), from 2014 to 2020, Finland’s military spending remained annually at the level of 1.5% of GDP, while in absolute terms it gradually increased — from $3.57 billion to $3.9 billion. Amid the pandemic in 2021, the figure dropped to $3.65 billion, but by the end of 2022 it amounted to $4.47 billion, and in 2023 — to $6.85 billion, or 2.4% of GDP. The British International Institute for Strategic Studies (IISS) provides similar estimates: growth from $3.72 billion in 2014 to $6.89 billion in 2024, with the budget for 2025 estimated at $7.47 billion. Helsinki does not intend to stop there — on April 1, 2025, following recommendations from the Ministry of Defense, the government began preparations for a phased increase of the military budget to at least 3% of GDP by 2029. Over four years, it plans to raise allocations by €3.7 billion, expand the state defense order, and develop new rearmament programs for the 2030s. Helsinki also views the prospects of its domestic defense industry with optimism — according to the Finnish think tank SaferGlobe (which, according to its website, is “engaged in the study and development of tools to promote sustainable peace and security”), in 2023 arms exports reached €333 million (of which €141 million accounted for weapons intended for civilian use in self-defense, sports, and hunting) — a record since record-keeping began in 2002. About 85% of military exports were distributed within Europe. The largest importing countries by value were Sweden (€51 million), Latvia (€34 million), and Lithuania (€19 million) — together, these three countries accounted for more than half of all military product exports. In value terms, the largest share of exported military products (32%) consisted of land vehicles and their components. The next largest export categories were ammunition (17%), as well as explosives and charges (15%). The largest exports of civilian weapons were to the United States (€52 million), Canada (€15 million), and Australia (€9 million). The year 2023 also set a record for issued export licenses for military products — €667 million. The largest recipient countries of export licenses were Slovakia (€201 million), Japan (€154 million), and Ukraine (€88 million). Similar conclusions were reached by the state investment company Finnish Industry Investment (Tesi), which in autumn 2024 surveyed 368 domestic defense companies: 144 of them were identified as “fast-growing startups and growth companies,” while the rest were described as “more established players with a long history, mainly providing consulting services to the Finnish Defence Forces.” The highest growth rates were shown by producers of dual-use goods, whose net profit has increased annually by 30–40% since 2022. At the same time, companies engaged exclusively in the military sector faced difficulties in attracting investment. 50% of defense companies were located in the capital region of Uusimaa, where the leaders were Helsinki (74 companies) and its satellite city Espoo (65); another 16% were based in the Pirkanmaa region centered around Tampere (40). Rounding out the top five were the high-tech “capital” Oulu (21) and another satellite of Helsinki, Vantaa (14). By type of activity, the majority of companies (246) operated in the support and logistics sector; 70 were engaged in the design of combat command and control systems (C4I — Command, Control, Communications, Computers, and Intelligence); 20 firms cooperated with the land forces, 13 with the navy, 10 with the air force, five worked in joint operations, and the remaining four were involved in space technologies. A New Strategy — A New President Finland’s entry into NATO happened during the second and final term of President Sauli Niinistö. While he followed the West’s general approach on the war in Ukraine and supported anti-Russian sanctions, he still tried to keep some level of political dialogue with Russia. After February 2022, this became almost impossible, and Finland officially ended its nearly 80-year policy of staying neutral. In the two-round election held in January and February 2024, Finnish voters chose Alexander Stubb from the National Coalition Party as their new president. Stubb studied in the United States and France, and previously worked as a Member of the European Parliament, as well as Finland’s Foreign Minister and Prime Minister. Back in 2014, when Finland still followed the "Paasikivi–Kekkonen line" of cautious foreign policy, Stubb was one of the only top officials who openly supported joining NATO. On the topic of relations with Russia, he said that “Russia’s integration with the West was an illusion.” This view may be influenced by his family history. Stubb’s father, Göran Stubb, was born in Käkisalmi — a town that was given to the Soviet Union after the Soviet–Finnish War of 1939–1940, renamed first as Kexholm (in Swedish), and later as Priozersk. On his father's side, Stubb’s grandparents came from Vyborg, which also became part of the Soviet Union after the war. However, the family had already moved to Helsinki before the conflict started. In his inaugural speech on March 1, 2024, Alexander Stubb uncompromisingly stated to the citizens of Finland that “the post–Cold War era is over” (placing the blame on Russia), “the instruments of cooperation have been turned into weapons,” “the world is in a transitional state,” and “the creation of a new world order takes time.” He added that Finns “will have to respond quickly to changing circumstances, as was the case with NATO membership,” and that “when times become difficult, I too will be ready to make tough decisions to ensure the security of our country.” In addition to his campaign promises, the newly elected president confirmed his commitment to the previously introduced “value-based realism” (arvopohjainen realismi), which he pledged to be guided by in the conduct of foreign policy if elected. Later, this was officially included in the government’s report on foreign and security policy in June 2024. Among other ideas, the report especially highlighted the following: commitment to democratic values, the rule of law, international law, and human rights; strengthening the country’s defense; staying out of military conflicts; and being open to dialogue with countries that do not share these values. The election of A. Stubb as president strengthened the pro-Western trends in Finland’s foreign policy. On September 1, 2024, the Defense Cooperation Agreement with the United States entered into force, under which Finland opens 15 of its military facilities for possible use by U.S. forces, while Helsinki will not charge rent for premises or land made available to the United States. On September 27 of the same year, the Finnish Ministry of Defense announced the placement of NATO headquarters on Finnish territory — in Mikkeli in the southwest of the country, 140 km from the border with the Russian Federation, and in the northern region of Lapland. On April 1, 2025, the Finnish authorities announced preparations to withdraw from the Ottawa Convention banning anti-personnel mines (a similar step had previously been taken by the defense ministers of Latvia, Lithuania, Poland, and Estonia), stating that this is “a cost-effective way to supplement the capabilities of the armed forces,” but adding that the country would remain “committed to the humanitarian goals of the convention” even after a possible withdrawal. On April 15, 2025, a Finnish servicemember took part for the first time in a flight aboard a NATO E-3A Airborne Warning and Control System (AWACS) aircraft during Ramstein Alloy 2025 exercises in the Baltic region. The NATO Airborne Early Warning & Control Force (NAEW&CF) includes personnel from 17 countries, in addition to which Canada, France, Finland, and Lithuania also contribute their staff. NATO noted that the E-3A is the first multinational flying unit created by the Alliance. Statements regarding Russia, despite initial uncompromising tone, began to soften after the election of Donald Trump as President of the United States, who held a different view of the Ukrainian conflict compared to the strongly pro-Ukrainian administration of Joe Biden. As early as April 2024, Alexander Stubb stated that there was no need to conduct political dialogue with Russia, and considered military action the only path to peace in the context of Ukraine. Under the new Washington administration, the Finnish president approved of the negotiations between the U.S. and Russian leaders, but again repeated the Ukrainian position on the need for a “just peace” and Ukraine’s accession to the EU and NATO. During his March 2025 visit to Florida, Stubb attempted to dissuade Donald Trump from cooperating with Russia and also called for tougher sanctions against Moscow. On April 1, 2025, the Finnish president admitted that European countries had started talking about renewing contact with Russia. He said that Finland must "morally prepare" for rebuilding political ties with Russia, since "nothing changes the fact that Russia exists and will always be a neighbor." However, he did not give any timeline for when relations might be restored. The situation around the war in Ukraine is made more difficult by the Trump administration’s growing isolationism, along with threats to pull out of talks and a trade war that Washington has launched against almost the entire world (though some parts of it have been paused). This raises fears of a new “Great Depression.” The European Union’s success at the negotiating table will depend on how united its member states are, since they have different geopolitical interests. Although Finland supports calls for a ceasefire, it does not plan to stop its military support for Ukraine or oppose Ukraine joining NATO. Alexander Stubb, on at least two occasions (in November 2024 and March 2025), publicly warned Ukraine against following a “Finnish scenario.” This would mean giving up on NATO membership and possibly giving up territory—similar to what Finland did after World War II, when it accepted neutrality and lost 11% of its land. In a comment on efforts to resolve the conflict in 2025, Stubb criticized Finland’s past policy of “good neighborliness” with the Soviet Union. He said that while Finland kept its independence in 1944, it lost land, part of its sovereignty, and the ability to make its own decisions freely.

Energy & Economics
Workers install an electric power windmill during the construction of a wind farm by the Kazakh company Samruk-Energo in cooperation with China's PowerChina Corporation. Kazakhstan, April 7, 2022.

Why is China investing in renewable energy in Kazakhstan?

by Nurbek Bekmurzaev , Brian Hioe

한국어로 읽기 Leer en español In Deutsch lesen Gap اقرأ بالعربية Lire en français Читать на русском China is simultaneously the world's biggest polluter and the global leader in renewables This article was submitted as part of the Global Voices Climate Justice Fellowship, which pairs journalists from Sinophone and Global Majority countries to investigate the effects of Chinese development projects abroad. Kazakhstan’s transition to renewable energy (RE) has seen a significant surge in recent years. This rapidly growing green transition has allowed the country to meet its interim RE targets. By 2030, the country aims to generate 15 percent of its total energy output through renewables and increase this share to 50 percent by 2050. Moreover, Kazakhstan has committed to reaching carbon neutrality by 2060.  The biggest partner in this endeavor has been China, whose role in the RE transition has grown and diversified over the years. For Kazakhstan, the benefits of this partnership are clear: industrialization of its economy and, more importantly, decreasing carbon emissions and improving air quality and public health. For China, the benefits go beyond mere lucrative investments and exporting its RE technology and include gaining soft power and offsetting its environmentally destructive footprint in Kazakhstan.  Harnessing renewable energy to combat air pollution In addition to rich oil and gas resources, Kazakhstan has vast renewable energy potential, thanks to its large territory and abundance of wind and sunny days. It is the ninth largest country by area and holds 77 percent of Central Asia’s solar potential and 90 percent of the regional wind potential.   The presence of wind corridors in vast Kazakh steppes with wind speeds of more than five miles per second, which is present in all regions, makes Kazakhstan ideal for the operation of wind turbines. Additionally, at least 50 percent of Kazakhstan's territory is suitable for installing solar panels.  Most of the RE potential remains untapped, with Kazakhstan still relying on Soviet-era energy infrastructure built to utilize fossil fuels. In 2024, 66 percent of the country’s electricity was generated through coal, 21 percent via natural gas, 6.6 percent from hydroelectricity, and only 6.4 percent from renewables.  Air pollution is a nationwide problem in Kazakhstan. In 2025, 35 cities spread across the country faced significant air pollution, according to the National Hydrometeorological Service of Kazakhstan. A major source of this pollution pandemic is coal burned by thermal power plants, industrial complexes, and households.  The list of adverse effects of air pollution is long. According to Kazakhstani doctor Denis Vinnikov, who has researched air pollution’s effects on health, long-term exposure to polluted air increases the risk of developing cardiovascular and respiratory diseases, such as Chronic Obstructive Pulmonary Disease (COPD). In addition, air pollution increases the likelihood of almost all types of cancer and tumors. One of the most polluted cities in Kazakhstan, Almaty, is one of the national leaders with the highest cases of COPD.  Kazakhstan’s recognition of the adverse effects of its coal-intensive energy sector on the environment and public health has pushed the government to ramp up renewable energy production in the last decade. China’s multiple roles in renewables The Kazakh-Chinese green energy endeavors are part of China's wider bilateral cooperation, covering energy, agriculture, machinery, and mining, among other areas. China is one of Kazakhstan’s largest trade and investment partners. In 2022, the countries signed a permanent comprehensive strategic partnership. Between 2005 and 2023, China invested over USD 25 billion in Kazakhstan.  The two sides also work closely within the Belt and Road Initiative (BRI), China’s global connectivity project focusing on energy, trade, and transport infrastructure in global majority states. Between 2013 and 2020, China invested USD 18.5 billion in Kazakhstan within the BRI framework. China has participated in Kazakhstan’s green transition from the very beginning. In an interview with Global Voices, Yunis Sharifli, a non-resident fellow at the China Global South Project, described China as the “first-comer” to Kazakhstan’s RE sector. Yana Zabanova, a research associate at the Research Institute for Sustainability, said in an interview with Global Voices: China has been the main technology supplier to Kazakhstan's renewable energy sector, both in the solar PV and increasingly in the wind sector, and Chinese companies have also served as important investors and EPC [engineering, procurement, and constuction] contractors for renewable energy projects in the country. China’s role grew exponentially starting in 2018 when the government launched renewable energy auctions, which gifted government contracts to the lowest bidder. Since 2018, a single private Chinese company, Universal Energy, has built 10 RE plants, three solar and seven wind, with a total capacity of 630 Megawatts by winning government tenders.   Additionally, state-owned Chinese companies have secured contracts via intergovernmental negotiations. There are several examples of this, such as the Zhanatas and Shelek wind power plants (WPP), which are already operational, and five more RE plants in the development stage with a total capacity of 2.6 GW.   In an interview with Global Voices, Ainur Sospanova, the Chairperson of the Board of Directors of the Qazaq Green RES Association, provided her expert assessment of China’s share in Kazakhstan’s RE sector: In the solar energy sector, it is almost 100 percent because it is impossible to compete against Chinese solar panels. In the wind energy sector, it is at least 70 percent and continues to grow. Thus, since 2018, China has expanded its role to project developer and financier through loans issued by Chinese banks and equity financing.  China's share in Kazakhstan’s renewable projects is set to grow even more upon the completion of two Chinese plants that will localize the production of energy storage systems and components for WPP. Gaining soft power and improving its image Paradoxically, China is simultaneously the biggest polluter in the world and the global leader in renewables. While China is constructing two-thirds of the world's wind and solar projects, 93 percent of global construction from coal power took place in China in 2024. This paradox is also present in BRI projects, including those in Kazakhstan.  China frequently touts its solar and wind energy projects as part of the BRI. At the same time, one-fourth of coal-fired power generation in the world is financed through the BRI. Though China Power International Holding and Kazakhstani Samruk Energy have agreed on solar and wind projects to develop renewables, deals are also inked to develop oil, gas, coal, cement, and steel industries in Kazakhstan, which adversely affect the environment and the well-being of local communities. Sharifli explained: When we look at the global discontent with China’s presence, we see two worries: debt trap and environmental pollution. So renewable energy is very important in this context. China’s investments in renewables are aimed at tackling these worries by gaining soft power and improving its reputation. This benefits not only China but also the BRI. Chinese companies that have invested in RE in Kazakhstan, such as Risen Energy, Universal Energy, and Power China, put the BRI at the heart of how they frame their companies. Chinese think tanks also suggest that the Chinese government welcome RE development overseas despite concerns.   In contrast to the Chinese-built oil processing, steel, and cement plants in Kazakhstan, RE projects have thus caused no controversy and helped China improve its reputation in Central Asia. Sharifli noted that since 2021, public attitudes towards China in Kazakhstan have started becoming more positive, partially due to Chinese investments in RE, according to a survey conducted by the Central Asia Barometer.  “Renewable energy plants are usually located in the steppe, far away from the settlements, they don’t interfere with the daily lives of people and look idyllic. There is no trash, there is no pollution, there is no dirty water or soil,” said Zabanova, who has visited multiple RE plants in Kazakhstan as part of her research.  China’s investments in renewables in Kazakhstan serve as an example of how solar and wind energy projects are used in diplomacy. They not only allow Chinese companies to export their excess capacities to profitable foreign markets but also help China mask its environmental damage and create a favorable perception abroad.

Energy & Economics
The new Russian nuclear icebreaker project 22220 in the Barents Sea. Murmansk region, Kola Bay.

Russia in the Arctic: Challenges and Opportunities

by Andrey Kortunov

한국어로 읽기 Leer en español In Deutsch lesen Gap اقرأ بالعربية Lire en français Читать на русском Russia is a distinctly Nordic country. Its Arctic coastline stretches for twenty-four thousand kilometers, and almost two thirds of Russia’s territory is covered by permafrost. Among all Arctic states, Russia has by far the most numerous resident communities in the region in total exceeding two million people (approximately a half of the global Arctic population). All of the biggest cities to the North of the Arctic Circle—Murmansk, Vorkuta, Norilsk—are located in Russia. A very large part of Russia’s history for the last millennium has been included a relentless quest for fur, fish, timber, empty lands and new trading routes along the endless Arctic Ocean. Historians still debate whether this perpetual drive to the North has been a Russian blessing or a Russian curse. The expansion in the Northern direction offered the nation a variety of unique opportunities, but it also created numerous challenges that other Europeans never confronted. In any case, this movement had a critical formative impact on forging the Russian character and left a deep imprint on the national mentality. This heritage will undoubtedly stay with Russians in future, affecting their perceptions of themselves, the overall worldviews as well as many specific economic, social, military and other decisions. Economy Today, the Arctic region houses less than 1.3% of Russia’s population, but it accounts for some 12–15% of the national GDP and for 25% of all the exports. One fifth of all Russia’s oil and four fifth of natural gas are extracted here. The Arctic continental shelf, which remains not fully explored, contains even more hydrocarbons—at least 85 tln cubic meters of natural gas and 17.3 bln tons of oil. With many old easily accessible deposits of hydrocarbons on the continent being depleted, the only way for Russia to remain an energy superpower is by moving further North and by mustering its capacities of offshore drilling under quite harsh climate and weather conditions. Beyond oil and gas, Russia’s Arctic can offer such important minerals as nickel, copper, iron core, rare earth elements, platinum, palladium, etc. However, deep-water drilling not makes extracted hydrocarbons and other minerals quite expensive; for instance, most of sea-based oil repositories in the Arctic turn profitable with oil prices staying at USD 70–80 per barrel. With the global energy transition taking speed it is not clear whether international markets are likely to sustain long term demand for the expensive Russia’s Arctic fossil fuels. Besides, quite often this type of deep-water drilling requires a lot of state-of-the-art technologies that Russia does not always has at its disposal. For a long time, Moscow counted on its Western partners (US, Norway, Germany, UK) to get access to such technologies, but the geopolitical environment of today has made this cooperation impossible. Today, Russia counts mostly on China to replace its former partners from the West, but many China’s energy companies have to exercise caution and sometimes practice over-compliance with Western technology transfers restrictions fearing possible secondary US and EU sanctions. Another evident economic opportunity for Russia in the Arctic region is the Northern Sea Route (NSR)—a 5,600 km long transportation corridor that remains the shortest shipping route between Europe and the Asia-Pacific. With the Arctic ice melting and navigation seasons in the North getting longer due to global warming, NSR becomes commercially more attractive. Another assumed comparative NSR advantage is that it does not contain any security risks comparable to those existing today in the Red Sea or in the Gulf of Aden and has no physical restrictions that limit the cargo traffic through the Panama or Suez canals. Nonetheless, these are both technical and political obstacles on turning NSR into a major international transit route. The seas in the North of Eurasia are mostly very shallow and large modern deep draught container ships simply cannot use them without expensive dredging. Furthermore, the coastal infrastructure along NSR needs quite radical modernization and further maintenance. On top of these complications, today it is hard to imagine that EU states would accept NSR as a preferred transit corridor from the Asia-Pacific using Russia as the main link in this transit. This is why the odds are that in the nearest future NSR will be used mostly to serve Russia’s domestic cabotage needs as well as to ship Siberian oil, coal and LNG to China, India and other consumers in Asia. With due commitment, the annual size, which now amounts to almost 40 mln tons, can be doubled by 2030 and later on it can reach even 150 mln tons a year, but it will hardly ever successfully compete with the Suez Canal that can handle up to 150 mln tons of cargo in just one month. Security The security significance of the Arctic region for Russia has two distinctly different dimensions. First, such a long maritime border creates potential vulnerabilities and has to be protected against possible conventional encroachments (these might include not only actions taken by hostile states, but also by private poachers, human traffickers, etc.). Second, the Arctic region provides Russia with a unique unrestricted access to high seas for the national Strategic Naval Forces that are an organic part of the country’s nuclear triad; this access has to be preserved at any cost to maintain credible nuclear deterrence vis-a-vis the United States and its NATO allies. A conventional challenge to the Russian Arctic could theoretically emerge either in the East, with an adversary entering the region through the Bering Strait, or in the West, from the NATO bases in North Atlantic of from Norway. The ongoing climate change and the Arctic ice melting may further increase Russia’s security vulnerabilities, opening the Arctic waters for more intense military traffic. It seems that for the time being Moscow is not particularly concerned about security challenges coming from the Asia-Pacific, though the recent changes in the defense postures of Japan and South Korea and even of a more remote Australia are significant enough to keep a close eye on them. The NATO naval capabilities in the West arguably present a much more immediate security challenge to Russia, especially with Finland and Sweden having joined the Alliance and Norway having lifted some of its earlier limitations on NATO’s use of the Northern Norwegian coastline. Being a predominantly continental military power, Russia cannot hope to defeat NATO in a large-scale conventional naval war, but it can try to deny NATO forces access to the Russian Arctic while maintaining secure access to the Northern Atlantic for the Russian Navy. The nuclear dimension is different. The Russian Northern Fleet is the largest, the most advanced and the most strategically important fleet in the Russian Navy. Its missions are not limited to the Arctic region alone, but are explicitly global; the Northern Fleet should be in a position to operate in any remote corner of the planet deterring a nuclear attack on the Russian Federation. Some of the newest types of Ballistic Missile Submarines (Borei-class) and Nuclear Attack Submarines (Yasen-class) are operating from Arctic bases, as well as many surface battleships including the sole aircraft carrier that Russia has now (“Admiral Kuznetsov”). The choice of the Arctic region to host a critically important component of the national strategic deterrence force was to a degree involuntary—both the Black and the Baltic Seas are semi-enclosed and exits from them are easy to block, and the free access to the Pacific Ocean for Russia is restricted by the US military infrastructure in Japan, in South Korea and in Alaska. Today, Moscow invests a lot into enhancing and modernizing its military presence in the Arctic region including reopening some of the old Soviet installations that were put out of operation in 1990s and building new ones. These installations include search and rescue centers, deep-water ports, air bases and air-defense missile complexes. All these efforts notwithstanding, they clearly reflect defensive rather than offensive nature of Russia’s military posture in the Arctic region. The conventional Russia’s capacities in the region are not sufficient to confidently cut NATO communication lines in the Northern Atlantic and they can hardly justify an extended NATO forward naval deployment in the Arctic. Avoiding a self-destructive navel arms race in the Nigh North remains a critical challenge for both Russia and its Western adversaries. Environment and Social issues Russia’s Arctic region is warming at a rate that is three times faster than the global average. In some parts of this vast territory (e.g. the North-Eastern tip of the Eurasian continent) the speed of warning is even higher. There is a widely shared view that global warming might have a positive impact on the region opening new opportunities in agriculture, transportation, fisheries, offshore oil and gas drilling and so on. Indeed, some of these opportunities might prove to be very real. However, the likely negative repercussions of global warming for the Arctic should not be underestimated. These include an accelerated coastal erosion, increased frequency of floods and other natural disasters decay of local ecosystems. The most visible manifestation of global warming detrimental impact on the region is permafrost thawing, which is expected to affect at least two thirds of the infrastructure in the coming years, including houses, bridges, railroads, highways, sea and river ports, airports and so on. The likely accelerating rise of sea levels would also have profound implications for the region; the West Siberian Lowlands are particularly vulnerable and a part of this huge landmass might ultimately turn into a seabed. Since Russia cannot stop global warming on its own, it pursues policies of climate change adaptation, including enhanced permafrost monitoring, enforcing new construction standards, creating additional wildlife sanctuaries for endangered species and reducing black carbon emissions. On top of the growing climate change pressure, Russia has to face many social problems in its Arctic region. The overall Arctic population of the country is steadily declining all the time since the disintegration of the Soviet Union. Though the decline is not very steep—up to 20 thousand people a year,—for a rather modest Arctic community it is nevertheless quite significant. The Arctic salaries usually exceed Russia’s average, but the costs of living in the region are also higher than in the South. Long and dark winters, harsh cold winds and generally inhospitable environment do not provide incentives to settle in the region. The federal government is trying to cope with this problem by offering affordable housing loans, investing into public transportation and health systems, supporting local colleges and Universities and subsidizing social and cultural life in the region. A lot will depend on whether the Russian leadership has the needed resources to continue these initiatives for a long time and whether economic activities in the Arctic can go far beyond extracting mineral resources, fishing and transportation. Like many other Arctic countries, Russia faces many challenges related to indigenous communities residing in the North. Altogether these communities amount to approximately 250 thousand people belonging to at least forty different ethnic groups. Climate change is only one side of the problem that these groups face today though it contributes to shifting animal migration patterns, disrupting subsistence practices like reindeer herding and fishing, inundating villages and threatening traditional ways of life. However, even putting aside global warming one should confess that oil and gas exploration as well as other large-scale mineral resources extraction projects often lead to pollution and displacement of indigenous peoples from their ancestral lands. At the same time, being scattered along very large territories, indigenous peoples face difficulties in accessing healthcare, education, and legal services. It is not easy to combine traditional cultural and social practices with successful careers in modern business or in the rapidly changing public sector. There are no magic solutions to indigenous people’s problems. Yet, the existing Russian and foreign experience suggests that that the severity of these problems can be significantly reduced by implementing a broad range of economic, administrative, legal and social actions. These actions should include engaging representatives of indigenous population into bodies of local self-governance, shifting economic modernization plans from extensive growth to sustainable development, building resilient private-public partnership with local NGOs engaged, creating systems for assessing the impact of climate change on indigenous communities and involve them in environmental monitoring. First published in the Guancha.cn.