Europe is rearming. Defence budgets are rising, factories are expanding, and new EU instruments are pouring money into ammunition production and joint procurement. But money is only part of Europe’s defence problems. The main constraint is that its systems remain slow, fragmented and poorly suited to an age when military technology can change in months rather than decades.

Three transformations are hitting the continent at once. Russia’s invasion of Ukraine has brought back large-scale war to European soil. Washington’s growing focus on the Indo-Pacific, its renewed interest in Greenland and its push to move NATO from “burden sharing” towards what might be called “burden shifting” mean that Europe will have to provide not only more money for the alliance but also a larger share of its combat power. At the same time, technology is changing warfare faster than traditional procurement systems can keep up.

At present, procurement systems work as follows: a military identifies a requirement; officials draw up specifications; companies compete for a contract and, years later, a system enters service. The problem is that, by then, the technologies shaping the battlefield may have changed dramatically. Promising technologies can become obsolete or fall by the wayside before they ever reach soldiers.

Ukraine has demonstrated a different model. Operational problems generate ideas; engineers turn them into prototypes; soldiers test them; manufacturers improve and scale them; battlefield experience feeds into the next iteration. Technology can also work in the other direction: new capabilities, such as cheap drones, can create tactics that planners had not previously considered.

The real measure of defence-industrial success should not be how many platforms roll off the line, but how fast capability can be imagined, built, tested, industrialised, fielded and adapted again

Europe needs to make this cycle permanent. I propose a model called Adaptive Defence Industrial Ecosystem Management, or ADIEM. The principle is for governments to move from being regulators and buyers to orchestrators of a defence ecosystem that links governments, armed forces, defence and tech companies, start-ups, universities and investors in a continuous loop. The real measure of defence-industrial success should not be how many platforms roll off the line, but how fast capability can be imagined, built, tested, industrialised, fielded and adapted again.

Industrial resilience and human capital are central to this model. Ukraine has shown that sustained operations depend on raw materials, reliable energy, resilient logistics and skilled labour quite as much as on the platforms themselves. And because digital capability now depends as much on software and data engineering as on heavy manufacturing, Europe’s defence sector competes directly with the commercial tech industry for the same scarce talent. This makes the appeal of a defence career a strategic question.

How to make ADIEM work

Reform defence governance. Create permanent structures that bring together military planning, industrial policy, innovation and procurement around shared capability goals. Give them room to depart from standard rules where those rules are the obstacle.

Start with battlefield problems. Build capabilities around what armed forces need to achieve. It works in reverse too: a new system needs a concept of operations written for it before it is bought at scale. Treat these as living documents that evolve with experimentation and real-world lessons.

Make procurement faster and more flexible. Use a hybrid procurement method. While central procurement agencies buy major systems, individual units are allowed to meet certain urgent combat needs. Alongside that, break large procurements into smaller contracts with incremental delivery, allow continuous software updates, use open architecture and speed up certification.

Build a genuine innovation ecosystem. Give start-ups, universities and public labs clear routes to deployment. Reward experimentation and operational relevance over novelty for its own sake.

Achieve affordable mass. Create dedicated programmes for weapon systems that are effective enough, cheap enough to buy in large numbers and simple enough to replace quickly. These include drones, autonomous vehicles, loitering munitions, low-cost intelligence, surveillance and reconnaissance (ISR) systems and electronic warfare.

Invest in human capital. Build a long-term pipeline of software engineers, AI specialists, systems engineers and skilled production workers, and change how the sector is perceived—presenting it as a high-technology field, not just a traditional military one.

Institutionalise experimentation. Set up permanent centres where soldiers, engineers, researchers and industry jointly evaluate new operational concepts and technologies. Test continuously rather than only in the run-up to a procurement decision.

Develop digital defence infrastructure. Invest in a sovereign defence cloud, secure data architecture, digital twins and common digital standards.

Governments also need to reform the institutions through which capability is developed, not just the funding lines that feed them. And while Europe has much of what it needs­—sophisticated armed forces, world-class manufacturers, strong universities and a growing defence-tech sector—it still lacks a system capable of connecting them quickly enough. That is the purpose of ADIEM: to connect these actors in a continuously adapting ecosystem, with governments acting as orchestrators rather than simply regulators and buyers.

Source

What happens if your economy is suddenly in crisis, Brussels offers help with strings attached—and Turkey, China or Russia can move faster? What if your country delivers every reform the EU asks for, only for a member state to block the next step anyway? And after years of waiting, would voters still choose to join?

In this special bonus episode, The Neighbourhood goes live from Lisbon for an EU enlargement game. Jessica Hendrick brings together RE-ENGAGE experts representing six EU candidate countries and throws a series of fictional—but very plausible—political and economic shocks at them inspired by real headlines: Russia’s intensified attacks on Ukrainian infrastructure, Ireland’s EU presidency push on enlargement, Iceland’s referendum, Germany’s regional elections and the upcoming 2026 Enlargement Package. Drawing on three years of surveys, interviews and crisis simulations, each expert has to answer for their country.

Playing for each country:

• Albania: Morten Bøås, research professor at the Norwegian Institute of International Affairs (NUPI), representing RE-ENGAGE’s Albanian partners at the European University of Tirana
• Bosnia and Herzegovina: Damir Kapidžić, director of the Institute for Social Science Research at the University of Sarajevo
• Georgia: Ketevan Bolkvadze, senior lecturer in the department of political science at Lund University, originally from Georgia
• Moldova: Mathilde T. E. Giske, research fellow at the Norwegian Institute of International Affairs (NUPI), representing RE-ENGAGE’s Moldovan partners at Moldova State University
• Serbia: Luka Filipović, research associate at the Institute for Contemporary History in Serbia
• Ukraine: Roman Petrov, president of the Ukrainian European Studies Association

The result is part enlargement simulation, part policy conversation and part game night. The experts bargain over a fictional €100 million EU cheque, decide whether the EU can compete with faster offers from other powers, test how easily disinformation could exploit frustration with enlargement, and imagine what would happen if EU membership was finally put to a public vote. Along the way, Serbia proposes keeping its relationship with Brussels “casual”, Bosnia finds a creative use for €100 million, and Ukraine calls for Hungarian “Varangians” when backsliding strikes.

When a crisis hits, does speed matter more than values? Can “Europe never wanted you anyway” become a winning political message? And if a country finally joins the EU, what stops democracy from sliding backwards once the prize of membership is secured?

Further reading:
RE-ENGAGE research overview
RE-ENGAGE research on Albania
RE-ENGAGE research on Bosnia and Herzegovina
RE-ENGAGE research on Georgia
RE-ENGAGE research on Moldova
RE-ENGAGE research on Serbia
RE-ENGAGE research on Ukraine

This podcast was recorded live in Lisbon on September 3rd, 2026.

Source

💾

It took Europe’s far-right leaders no time at all to work out what Icelanders meant on August 29th, when they voted 52.8% to 47.2% against resuming negotiations to join the EU: a prosperous democracy had looked hard at Brussels and said no. Britain’s Nigel Farage congratulated them on “voting to keep their independence”. France’s Marine Le Pen went further, calling the result a reminder that “another Europe is possible”.

But Iceland did not vote against Europe—it voted to keep the Europe it already has.The country sits inside the single market through the European Economic Area (EEA) agreement, is part of the Schengen area, and adopts swathes of EU legislation to stay compliant with standards set in Brussels. Short of membership, there is no closer relationship with the EU on offer.

Opposition to tight integration with Europe remains at the fringes of Icelandic politics and does not appear in any party’s manifesto. The foreign ministry’s latest annual survey showed that only 6% of Icelanders believe that international co-operation diminishes our sovereignty, against 69% who think it strengthens it. On the EEA agreement, 58% take a positive view and only 19% a negative one.

The Icelandic electorate has never shown much enthusiasm for politics built on distrust of institutions, conspiracy theories or the dissolution of the post-1945 international system. A country whose biggest annual festival is the Pride parade, and where women hold the offices of president, prime minister, foreign minister, bishop of the national church, mayor of the capital, chief of police and deans of both main universities is not a promising beacon for movements in the West that are uncomfortable with the inclusive nature of liberal democracy.

That being said, there is no denying that there was more than a whiff of culture wars in the no campaign. The masculine energy was palpable, and much effort went into far-fetched notions of an EU plot to expropriate Icelandic wealth. Young people were, by all accounts, targeted on social media and inundated with phone calls; one of the most potent messages was that EU accession could see them drafted into a European army. The yes side also played loose with the facts, not least in assertions that lower euro interest rates would automatically ease young people’s access to the housing market. Highly nationalistic messaging left some voters in a charged emotional state—and those voices were the loudest online, both during the campaign and in celebrating the outcome.

Still, the result was not a victory for the reactionary fringe. The fringe just happened to be on the winning side. The reasons Icelanders voted no are deep, domestic and largely unglamorous: fish, the currency, a comfortable arrangement with the world and a belief that the international order will remain relatively unchanged, despite temporary turbulence.

Iceland already has the Europe it wants

Through the EEA and the European Free Trade Association (EFTA), Icelanders and Icelandic businesses already enjoy the free movement of goods, services, capital and people. Every knowledgeable Icelander understands that without the market access, Iceland would not have prospered as it has. No serious politician dares to entertain abandoning the EEA. In fact, the no side ran on defending the agreement as the better alternative to full membership.

On defence and security, Iceland is a founding member of NATO and has a bilateral defence agreement with the US. For a country of 400,000 people that has never in its history had a military, these two pillars seem more than adequate, untested as they may be.

Full membership in the EU would require amending the constitution, which currently does not permit the transfer of sovereign powers that accession involves. This is sensitive in any debate about independence and sovereignty. As things stand, obligations arising from the EEA agreement only reach Icelandic law when the Icelandic parliament, the Althingi, legislates for them.

Hypervigilance about resources

Iceland owes its rise from poverty to prosperity in the 20th century to controlling the rich maritime resources that surround it. For centuries, foreign fleets exploited those grounds while Icelanders were kept out of large-scale fishing by both restrictions imposed by Denmark (which ruled Iceland from 1380 to 1918) and a lack of financial infrastructure.

At the start of the last century, new technology and financing opportunities unleashed an explosion of entrepreneurial activity in the sector. Iceland then pushed its fisheries zone outwards until it reached its present limit in 1975, over fierce British opposition in stand-offs known as the “cod wars”. It was the closest the country has ever come to a military confrontation. Legal victory in that dispute is a tremendous source of national pride and a standing reminder of the importance of natural resources to our economy. Furthermore, Iceland’s track record in managing this resource compares very favourably with efforts elsewhere.

Accepting the EU’s common fisheries policy is, on the face of it, a requirement for full membership. For most Icelanders, this is where the conversation stops.

It follows that a crucial question is whether Iceland could join the EU and keep control of its fisheries. Accepting the EU’s common fisheries policy is, on the face of it, a requirement for full membership. For most Icelanders, this is where the conversation stops. It is out of the question. Therefore, much of the historical debate about EU membership has revolved around whether a permanent carve-out is possible, and much energy has gone into reading cryptic remarks on the matter from EU representatives. The application launched in 2009 produced no answer. Talks were shelved before this vital question was seriously engaged.

For the yes camp, applying again was the only way to find out the real answer. The no side held that a satisfactory answer was simply not on the table—a belief that makes a no vote logical even for people who do not object to membership in principle. Why board a train if you do not believe it will reach its destination?

Our love-hate relationship with our currency

Since its adoption in 1918, the króna has been one of the most consistent sources of frustration in Icelandic public life. It started out at par with the Danish krone and, by that benchmark, has since lost 99.9% of its value. Long protected by import, export and currency controls, and propped up by punishing interest rates, it has now been largely abandoned by the big Icelandic businesses that operate internationally. They have mostly chosen the euro as their operating currency.

Despite its drawbacks, the flexibility that a national currency provides a small economy reliant on natural resources is not to be discounted. Some economists claim that the currency is a valuable tool to smooth out external shocks and protect Icelanders from economic setbacks turning into societal hardships such as mass unemployment. For many, the costs of maintaining a tiny currency that is attuned to our specific economic conditions are well worth the benefits of keeping unemployment at a minimum. For others, these benefits are overstated, and the costs in perennially high interest rates and market risk do not make economic sense.

Europe looks sluggish from Reykjavík

Iceland’s business and finance community is very focused on topline economic figures that show European growth lagging behind America’s. The prevailing narrative is that Europe buries its entrepreneurial talent under the weight of regulation while the US offers a superior environment for economic activity and technical innovation. Iceland’s business and financial community sees the country’s relative economic success as too valuable to risk with full EU membership.

Counter-narratives that build on broader measures of well-being do not seem to gain traction. Even extensive first-hand experience of European quality of life stands little chance when pitted against economic metrics.

Icelanders often cite Mario Draghi’s bleak assessment of the EU’s competitiveness as evidence that even consummate EU insiders have lost faith. The claim of the EU’s supposed economic feebleness does more than feed the economic debate; it has also become a thinly veiled contribution to the culture-war caricature of a weak Europe in contrast to a muscular America.

The old order still looks solid from the North Atlantic

The biggest disconnect between international affairs experts and the general Icelandic population lies in how each reads the way geopolitics is evolving. Contrary to much international reporting, the volatile state of the world barely featured in the campaign, which was mostly fought on domestic issues. Even threats from the American president, Donald Trump, against our Greenlandic neighbours have not moved the needle. Perhaps most Icelanders viewed the episode as too outlandish to be taken seriously, or too uncomfortable to contemplate.

Icelanders are very supportive of Ukraine and disdainful of Russia’s aggression, but they seem to judge the war far enough away not to affect them. Many are perplexed by America’s current foreign policy yet treat it as a deviation from a norm that will eventually re-establish itself. Bogi Ágústsson, a respected Icelandic journalist, recently told The Economist that Icelanders are in denial about how serious some recent international developments are. I believe most close observers of US politics would tend to agree with him.

During the campaign, warnings about an impending rupture in the world order that underwrites Iceland’s peaceful existence found few takers. The government had brought the referendum forward from a planned 2027 precisely because of these international developments, but worries about Europe’s security and NATO—that now dominate international policy discussions—were simply not top of mind.

In this context, it bears mention that Iceland has never suffered a violent invasion or a hostile occupation, which leaves matters of security and defence largely a theoretical exercise.

Did emotions run too high?

While the referendum’s result does not represent what some far-right European leaders wish it did, some elements of the campaign should give cause for concern. The intensity of the rhetoric was excessive considering the low stakes of the vote. Any accession treaty would itself have gone to a second referendum.

The international reaction to the result also suggested that some elements within Icelandic politics are embedded within the international anti-globalist movement. Micro-targeting, emotional pressure and unsupported claims proved effective. A sense of crisis or impending disaster was invoked, inviting a mindset that loosens the scruples that normally keep political discourse civil and constructive. The success of this approach could provide a campaign blueprint that all parties might find hard to resist in future elections, to the detriment of Iceland’s hitherto relatively civil political culture.

As any fisherman knows, illegal bait might get you an easier catch a few times, but eventually will ruin the fishing for all. Trust in elections is a common stock too, and it does not tend to replenish on demand.

Source

This week, Mark Leonard is joined by Ellie Geranmayeh, deputy director of ECFR’s Middle East and North Africa programme, to unpack a volatile new chapter in the confrontation between the United States and Iran. After months of managed escalation, military strikes have resumed and President Donald Trump has launched an ambitious new sanctions package, dubbed an economic “D-Day”, aimed at squeezing Tehran into submission.

Ellie argues that Washington has returned to a familiar strategy of maximum pressure, betting that unprecedented economic isolation and a blockade of Iranian exports will either force the regime to make major concessions or trigger domestic unrest. But Tehran appears determined to hold out, relying on sanctions-evasion networks, regional diplomacy and the belief that the US will struggle to sustain its campaign over the long term. As both sides continue limited military operations while keeping channels for negotiation open, the prospect of a comprehensive deal remains elusive.

The conversation also explores the domestic pressures facing Iran’s leadership, from a shrinking economy and growing public dissatisfaction to the threat of renewed nationwide protests. Mark and Ellie examine whether economic hardship could destabilise the regime, why Iranian leaders remain sceptical of American commitments and how internal politics in both Washington and Tehran are shaping the path ahead.

Finally, they discuss the wider regional and European implications of the conflict. How are Gulf states positioning themselves between the US and Iran? What risks does the confrontation pose to global shipping through the Strait of Hormuz? And can European governments still play a meaningful diplomatic role as tensions rise and fears grow that the Iran conflict could become increasingly entangled with the war in Ukraine?

This podcast episode was recorded on September 3rd 2026.

Bookshelf

Hillbilly Elegy, by J.D. Vance.

Source

💾

The profile of social activism in North Africa is changing. Young people in the region shifted away from demanding regime change after the thwarted hopes of the 2011 Arab uprisings and the 2019 Hirak movement in Algeria. Now, they tend to seek practical improvements in their social and economic conditions rather than wholesale political reform.

Many of these new social movements focus on environmental concerns, and increasingly on the impact of global warming. North Africa is among the regions in the world most affected by climate change. But its countries are also some of the most promising sites for renewable energy generation, given their abundant sunshine and proximity to the European market. Activists have targeted some renewables projects, testifying to a feeling that authorities are failing to ensure energy transitions are fair and meaningful.

These trends in activism in North Africa match a recent turn in European engagement with the region, away from support for political reform and towards socioeconomic issues. This includes cooperation on clean energy projects. But Europeans should bear in mind that cooperation with North African governments on projects that ignore local interests will fall short of the objective of promoting greater opportunity and long-term stability in the region. This underlines the importance of including local businesses and civil society representatives in initiatives from the very start.

Changing social movements

The Arab uprisings and Hirak protests were driven in large part by social and economic concerns, and sought a political remedy by calling for a change of government. But hopes for better politics have since foundered across North Africa. The region’s protests and social movements now tend to focus on practical and often locally based demands for a more effective state and better services for communities. The 2025 Gen Z protests in Morocco, for example, began as a response to failings in maternity health care before swelling into wider calls for social justice. The shift to more issue-based activism reflects North Africans’ disappointment in past attempts at political reform as well as long-simmering social tensions. These include anger at poor governance and the strain rapid urbanisation puts on jobs and housing.

The shift to more issue-based activism reflects North Africans’ disappointment in past attempts at political reform as well as long-simmering social tensions

But climate change is also encroaching ever more on North Africans’ quality of life. Historically a water-scarce region, North Africa is now experiencing extreme temperatures, rising sea levels, drought and desertification. Once-fertile agricultural land is becoming barren, and flooding from extreme weather events exacerbates the problems for farmers and food supplies. Climate change is also contributing to power cuts and water shortages, as well as catastrophes from flash floods to wildfires. One opinion poll in 2024 showed that one in six people in North Africa had experienced harm from climate change in the previous two years (or knew somebody who had), and that 71% of North Africans saw it as a threat.

With governments often failing to implement policies to mitigate climate impacts, social movements have adopted an environmental focus. These movements sometimes blend protest with community self-help initiatives, and are often local rather than national. Their less explicitly political nature brings them a measure of tolerance by authorities, as does the fact that the movements often pursue environmental objectives that governments also embrace. But activists still face similar restrictions to all civil society movements in North Africa, at times drawing surveillance and repression.

Changing the environment

Such climate-related movements have sprung up across North Africa. In Morocco, a group of Tangier-based NGOs and unions halted a building development that would have involved deforestation, and they now publish an annual report on local environmental issues. Youth for Climate Tunisia trains young people to mobilise on climate issues and organises digital campaigns. The Egyptian group Greenish promotes climate education and capacity building for local communities. Algeria has several community-based groups that work on improving access to water and countering desertification.

Other groups focus on wider environmental concerns. Egypt’s VeryNile pioneered efforts to work with local fishers to collect and recycle plastic pollution from the Nile. In Tunisia, local protests against the impact of phosphate processing in Gabès snowballed after a series of toxic gas leaks in October 2025, becoming a mass movement that continues almost a year later.

But North African social movements also mobilise when green transitions disadvantage local communities and marginalised groups. As North African countries increasingly seek foreign investment in renewable energy projects, some communities worry that land and water resources will be diverted to benefit wealthy elites and foreign investors. In Tunisia, solar projects have aroused local opposition because they take land out of community use and reinforce regional inequalities. In Morocco, solar megaprojects such as the plant in Ouarzazate have prompted anger in nearby communities because of the amount of water they consume.

Changing European policy

One thing that unites these disparate movements is that activists seek concrete improvements in quality of life, as well as a bigger role in determining their countries’ futures. This aligns with an increasing sense in Europe that the best way for the EU and member states to promote rights and opportunity in North Africa is through a focus on socioeconomic development.

As the EU’s 2025 Pact for the Mediterranean showed, European policymakers aim to cooperate with North African partners on tangible initiatives that match local government priorities, including in green energy and water management. But the environment-focused social movements should remind European policymakers that working only with governments is not enough to ensure progress on economic and social rights, as I argued in an ECFR policy brief last year. The EU must frame its projects in a way that gives local populations as much agency as possible, by breaking down barriers for small businesses and including civil society in project design and planning.

The EU must also ensure that the projects it supports genuinely offer mutual benefit. In climate policy, the pact’s logic of “a partnership of equals” means European support for renewable energy projects including solar and wind power and the production of green hydrogen. Such projects would then supply clean energy for Europe and promote North African development as well as reduce local energy costs. In turn, greater opportunities and lower prices in the region could help promote the stability that European policymakers also seek.

But not all climate and environmental projects meet these goals—as the local criticisms show. To fulfil the promise of clean energy projects for both sides, Europeans must complement their investment in power generation with other measures to limit environmental trade-offs and to help benefits to flow to local communities. These should include infrastructure development and technology transfer to build up a local clean energy ecosystem. That is the best way for Europe to help ensure that the aspirations expressed in North African environmental movements are met.

Source

The Gripen fighter jet came in low over the medieval rooftops of Visby, stood on its tail and climbed vertically out of sight. Hundreds of hands went up holding phones. Every late June, all Swedish party leaders gather for Almedalen Week in this town on Gotland, the Baltic Sea’s most strategic island. This year, the military display drew the only unanimous reaction of the week.

Sweden holds a general election on September 13th, but defence has barely featured in the campaign. All parties take the Russia threat seriously, and all want to face it as one. The election is being fought instead over welfare, migration, crime, climate and the economy—and on many of those, the government parties are losing.

Ulf Kristersson’s centre-right Moderates have held the prime minister’s office for four years, after an agreement in 2022 secured them the support of the far-right Sweden Democrats in exchange for a hard line on migration and crime. The so-called Tidö agreement—named after the castle where it was negotiated—broke a taboo: for the first time the Sweden Democrats had formal influence over a government, though it stopped short of joining the cabinet. Now the four parties supporting Kristersson’s government are trailing the opposition in the polls. The Liberal Party, currently in government, has suffered the most from the cooperation with the Sweden Democrats and is now polling below the 4% threshold to get into parliament.

Many analysts therefore expect Magdalena Andersson of the Social Democratic Party to return as prime minister. Her party governed Sweden for most of the 20th century and again between 2014 and 2022, when the country abandoned centuries of military non-alignment to join NATO. What would an Andersson government mean for Sweden’s foreign policy and its role in the EU? Based on several conversations with key people in the opposition parties, in Almedalen and elsewhere: not a dramatic change. But look closer and the differences start to show.

The maths

The political course will partly depend on the majority Andersson can assemble. A deal with the formerly communist Left Party, which is still formally committed to leaving NATO, would create a different government from one built with the market-liberal Centre Party and perhaps the Christian Democrats—and getting all them into the same majority would require political magic. The Green Party is likely to be part of the coalition either way, although senior figures say the case for being in government is still hotly debated internally.

The most likely outcome is that Andersson will lead a red-green coalition, assembled over months of difficult negotiations. The Greens and the Left would push for a less restrictive migration policy than the Social Democrats are ready to accept, having themselves tightened asylum rules when they were in power. For its part, the Centre Party would press for deregulation and other market liberal reforms Swedish business wants—against the trade unions as well as the Greens and the Left.

If Andersson struggles to hold a red-green government together, a grand coalition between the Social Democrats and the Moderates also cannot be ruled out. But that would require a serious external crisis and a significant change within the Moderates.

Names circulating for foreign ministers or “sherpa” for the prime minister are Paula Carvalho, Morgan Johansson, Ylva Johansson, Ann Linde, Kerstin Lundgren, and Oscar Stenström. Peter Hultqvist is likely to return as defence minister.

What will not change

On many key issues, a government led by the Social Democrats would continue Sweden’s current course, regardless of coalition partners. Support for Ukraine is strong across the Riksdag. NATO membership will not be reopened: the security situation and strong public support for NATO membership discourage the Left Party from pushing its formal position, and the Social Democrats would refuse if it tried.

Sweden rejected the euro in a referendum in 2003 and will not revisit it in the coming four years unless there is a deep economic crisis, although the Centre Party may extract a report on the topic. The country’s dependence on exports keeps every party in favour of open trade. Sweden will also remain one of the EU’s most frugal members in negotiations of the next Multiannual Financial Framework.

‘Magda will be Magda’

Elsewhere, the change will be real. A centre-left government will focus more on relations with the global south and gradually increase aid spending. The Social Democrats have a long tradition of cooperating with countries such as South Africa and Brazil and have deepened those ties while in opposition. If Lula da Silva is re-elected, Andersson will be well-placed to strengthen EU-Brazil engagement. The Social Democrats also want closer relations with African states and OECD countries such as Canada, where Andersson has built a strong rapport with Mark Carney.

This agenda includes climate politics—all red-green parties want greater ambition at home and in Europe. For the Social Democrats, green industrial policy is the way to keep workers on side in the green transition, a view shared by trade unions and many industrial leaders. The Green Party might get the development and environment portfolios back, but they would have to fight with the Centre Party for climate and energy.

Middle East policy would also shift. In 2014, a Social Democratic-led government recognised Palestine, the first EU member state in Western Europe to do so, to loud criticism by the centre-right. An Andersson-led government is more likely to criticise Israel’s actions while also condemning terrorism. The complication is Ebba Busch: her Christian Democrats are strongly pro-Israel, and if they join the coalition, Middle East policy will become more complicated.

Andersson would champion a strong UN and revive the “feminist foreign policy” of Margot Wallström and Ann Linde. But in an EU dominated by the European People’s Party, she would find few allies for traditional social democratic causes. The Nordic and Baltic countries are her natural bloc. Beyond them, only a re-elected Pedro Sánchez in Spain—a big if—would give the Party of European Socialists a large member state. However, leading Social Democrats are keen to avoid comparisons with Sánchez or Denmark’s Mette Fredriksen. “Magda will be Magda”, says one. On other topics, such as support to Ukraine, Sweden will continue to be part of coalitions of the willing.

A rapid increase of defence spending would continue with either Kristersson or Andersson as prime minister, with the Social Democrats also advocating additional resources for civil defence.

The consensus on security policy runs deep. In the all-party Defence Commission’s report this summer, the Social Democrats fully agreed with the government’s assessment of the security situation. A rapid increase in defence spending would continue with either Kristersson or Andersson as prime minister, with the Social Democrats also advocating additional resources for civil defence.

However, a centre-left coalition could face internal conflicts over the envisaged rotating presence of French nuclear-capable aircraft in Sweden or cooperation with Turkey on intelligence and anti-terrorism, both of which the Left Party would resist. Rather than fight it, the coalition might just pay them off. “Magda will buy them out,” says a prominent Social Democrat, comparing to how Fredriksen made a deal with the left-ish Enhedslisten in Denmark, giving them social reforms in exchange for staying out of her cabinet.

And while the Social Democrats accept the role of nuclear weapons in NATO strategy, they press harder than the Moderates on global non-proliferation.

Biting their tongue on Trump

Although senior Social Democrats are highly critical of US president Donald Trump in private, and Andersson expressed solidarity with Denmark when he threatened Greenland, the party will not pick a public fight. It agreed with the conclusions of the Defence Commission, such as the importance of the American security partnership, and even in background talks Social Democrats decline to discuss alternatives to NATO command structures for large military operations. “We presume that SACEUR is responsible”, says one senior figure, referring to NATO’s commander in Europe, who has always been an American. Sweden’s reliance on American aircraft, interceptors and satellites in the sensitive Baltic Sea area leaves Andersson far less room than Sánchez has in Madrid.

If Kristersson survives

None of this is settled. ECFR’s New Politics research shows how volatile European electorates have become, and a late swing could leave Kristersson in office—this time with Sweden Democrats in ministerial posts, as the Moderates have promised.

That would hand the far-right party real power this time. Given its size, it will likely take influential portfolios, such as representing Sweden in EU negotiations on migration policy and home affairs, and perhaps finance and competitiveness too, like the Finns Party in Finland.

Even more importantly, the Sweden Democrats would fully participate in foreign and security policy decisions. In Sweden, ministers make government decisions collectively and are briefed on sensitive intelligence matters at cabinet meetings. While the party has been vocal in criticising Vladimir Putin since its links to Moscow were exposed, the opposition still sees them as a security risk.

***

A new government will bring more of a tilt than a dramatic change in Sweden’s foreign and European policy. This will be important in the decisive year of 2029, when a new president of the European Commission will be chosen—and in a political landscape that might include far-right leadership in France, Italy and Poland. The Gripen will keep flying over Visby whoever wins in September. What changes is Sweden’s place in an EPP-dominated Europe.

Source

Berlin; late August: when politics normally stirs into life after the holiday lull. But this year, the lull never came.

German chancellor Friedrich Merz is beset by approval levels plumbing the depths of the depleted Rhine and Danube. His governing conservative CDU party spent the summer at war with itself over pension reform (not helped by a botched cabinet reshuffle). Some of the chancellor’s staunchest supporters are even openly wondering whether he is still up to the job. To get out of the hole they are in, Merz and his ministers now want to project a sense of Aufbruchstimmung—a feeling of renewal and restart.

Whether they succeed will determine Europe’s future.

Germany’s economy has endured six years of paltry growth. Its traditionally strong industries are screaming for protection against China, US tariffs and energy price shocks (and against their own past decisions). Strong end-of-the-republic vibes suffuse dark political commentary, “mainstream” parties oscillate between panic and despair, and resignation has set in among voters. What until recently seemed little more than a media talking point on an “Andy Burnham moment”—meaning the possibility of Hendrik Wüst, North Rhine-Westphalia’s minister-president, succeeding Merz as chancellor this autumn—could yet become reality.

For decades, Germany was Europe’s byword for political stability and predictability. Today, it is hard to overstate how little is now unthinkable in German politics. All bets are off. Decision-makers elsewhere in Europe should get ready for the possibility of a new kind of Germany: no longer boring, no longer stable—and no longer rich.

Why the Angst is now real

Germany is days away from elections in three eastern states which could shake the government in Berlin to its foundations. First up is Saxony-Anhalt, where on September 6th the far-right populist Alternative für Deutschland (AfD) could rewrite German post-war history and turn the decades-long mantra of “never again” into “actually, maybe”. Polling suggests even an absolute majority for the party is within reach. The AfD, the CDU and the Left could be the only parties to clear the 5% threshold for the state parliament. Two weeks after that possible momentous result, the states of Berlin and Mecklenburg-Vorpommern will also elect new parliaments.

While the situation for the political centre looks a little less dire in the latter two places, complicated three-party coalitions are the likely outcome in both. This will have a compounding effect on the stability of the federal government. The CDU leadership under Merz remains adamant that the “firewall” must hold, ruling out any coalition or cooperation with the AfD. Yet this position is increasingly being questioned by local politicians and by conservative thinkers within and around the party. Many in the CDU are frustrated by what they see as the strategic price of the firewall. With their preferred coalition partner, the liberal Free Democrats, now struggling to clear the 5% threshold almost anywhere, ruling out the AfD leaves the CDU ever-more dependent on centre-left coalitions. In critics’ view, this deprives the party of options and leaves it hostage to the remaining potential coalition partners.

An AfD minister-president would be a brutal demonstration of the political establishment’s inability to provide a convincing vision for the country

An AfD minister-president in one of Germany’s states would be more than a striking political development. It would be a brutal demonstration of the political establishment’s inability to provide a convincing vision for the country’s economic, political and social future. In recent years, German leaders have made more reform announcements than actual reforms. The previous government tried to adapt to the Zeitenwende without imposing any hardship on Germans—and failed. Now, the Merz government seems equally unable to muster the political strength for major reform.

Instead, it has too often looked to the past for answers: back to the combustion engine, back to looser labour rights, back to family values. The only policy area where the government now seems readier to change course is on China, where it has said it will push through a more active European position on protecting markets and punishing China’s predatory economic behaviour. In a revealing commentary, however, Merz himself announced this was enabled, not by his decisive political leadership, but by the altered posture of the German car industry.

This vacuum in dealing with the implications of the changing global environment leaves huge room for the political fringes, especially from the far-right. The AfD’s offer is revisionist—drastically curb immigration and asylum, reverse key elements of the energy transition, challenge European integration, end the euro and pursue a distinctly nationalist approach to foreign policy. All this is deeply unsettling to the political establishment, but resonates with a growing constituency of voters united by restrictive stances on migration and cultural issues.  

The strength of the AfD is a symptom, not a cause. It did not rise to prominence overnight and has been part of Germany’s political landscape now for more than a decade. But the party is now within striking distance of actual political power at a time when the country’s political and economic foundations are starting to crumble. The war in Ukraine, volatility in America and conflict over the Strait of Hormuz are stretching the limits of German leaders’ attention as well as the country’s fiscal space. Germany’s long-term trade relationship with China is now a liability and an epic drought has shrivelled what little hope remained for Germany’s economic recovery. Berlin is not only forced to reckon with the failures and missed opportunities of the past decade on everything, everywhere, all at once; but the politicians seem unprepared either to put up a real fight for survival or even adjust to this new reality in a form of managed decline.

No time for Schadenfreude

Germany is hardly the first European country to experience a radical reshaping of its party system and the rise of the far-right; Italy and France have been through similar upheavals. And Germany itself, amid deep economic problems, was called “the sick man of Europe” back in 1999, only to recover and to become the continent’s exporting powerhouse. Why should the rest of Europe now worry so much about Germany’s malaise?

The answer is: because a German crisis is a European crisis. Germany is too economically and politically important to fail. Its economic weight, role at the heart of the EU and position as Europe’s most populous member state mean this would be more than just another episode of national political turbulence. A Germany that is oozing 15,000 industrial jobs each month, becoming even more dependent on technology imports and increasingly incapable of internal reform risks dragging Europe towards fragmentation and exploitation.

Unless political leaders come up with something new, a German pall will blot all major items on the EU’s agenda: the next multiannual financial framework; the future of the bloc’s industrial policy; European efforts to rearm and build resilience; a more autonomous capacity on emerging technologies and the economic muscle to create international leverage behind a new global trading agenda. That is not to mention the serious consequences of a German disengagement for Europe’s continued support for Ukraine.

“German leadership is not optional”, Sweden’s defence minister said at a public event this month, attended by one of the authors. German political elites seem to disagree. Theirs is the third largest economy in the world, sitting at the core of the world’s largest single market, boasting leading international companies and building up one of the largest defence budgets anywhere. Yet they appear to lack any sense of their own domestic, let alone global, agency. The three upcoming state elections may give them their last chance and some momentum to turn things around. But if Berlin becomes entirely enfeebled under the ensuing political fallout, the rest of Europe is likely to suffer in the same way.

Source

This week, Mark Leonard is joined by Hugh Lovatt, senior policy fellow at ECFR, to unpack a turbulent summer in Israel and the Palestinian territories. While Palestinian factions in Gaza have agreed in principle to decommission their weapons , the proposal faces significant obstacles, not least opposition from the Israeli government. Meanwhile settler violence is surging and settlement construction is spreading, redrawing the map faster than any negotiation could.

Hugh explains why a sustainable ceasefire cannot rely on disarmament alone but requires a broader political process that addresses the future governance of Gaza and creates a pathway towards a two-state solution. He also explores why developments in the West Bank could prove just as decisive as those in Gaza, and what role Europe can play in responding to settlement expansion and growing instability.

Against this backdrop, Israelis are preparing to head to the polls on October 27th . Mark and Hugh examine the state of the race, the challenge facing Binyamin Netanyahu, Israel’s prime minister and whether a new government would bring meaningful policy change, or simply a different style of leadership. How much do Gaza and the West Bank matter to Israeli voters? Could an opposition victory create space for greater pragmatism? And what would that mean for Europe’s approach to the conflict?

This podcast episode was recorded on August 24th 2026.

Bookshelf

The Revolutionaries: The Story of the Extremists Who Hijacked the 1970s, by Jason Burke.

Source

💾

US secretary of state Marco Rubio described NATO’s July gathering in Ankara, two months before it convened, as “one of the more important leaders’ summits in [its] history.” The summit confirmed that Europeans have accepted America’s expectation that they do more for their own security. The Ankara declaration recognised that “European allies and Canada, working together with the United States, are assuming greater responsibility for the alliance’s defence.” Accepting that shift is one thing; paying for it is another. For European policymakers the question is now fiscal. It turns on what Europe is willing to pay for. And for the EU’s frugal members, that means rethinking what they treat as strategic.

Getting defence into the budget

According to the International Institute for Strategic Studies, replacing US military capabilities in Europe could require around $1tn (about €900bn) in extra investment. NATO’s new target to invest 5% of GDP in defence similarly implies a sustained increase in European defence spending over the coming decade. Together they suggest that defence is no longer crisis spending but a permanent claim on European budgets.

Since Russia’s full-scale invasion of Ukraine in 2022, the EU has found money for defence, but always as extraordinary spending. The European Defence Fund and SAFE (Security Action for Europe, a loan scheme for joint arms purchases), for example, sit outside the ordinary budget. Such instruments expire; the challenge is to embed this spending into the EU’s regular budget. Winning defence a permanent line in it makes negotiations over the next Multiannual Financial Framework (MFF) far more than another exercise in budgetary bargaining.

The MFF is the EU’s seven-year budget—and where any pledge on defence would have to show up in funds. The commission’s proposal for 2028–34 reflects such a commitment. It allocates €131bn to defence and space, roughly five times the current level, and puts security among the EU’s central priorities.

Out of the negotiating box

Commission proposals rarely emerge intact from negotiation, and early signs suggest this pattern may repeat itself.

Commission proposals rarely emerge intact from negotiation, however, and early signs suggest this pattern may repeat itself. Cyprus, which held the presidency until the end of June, left a negotiating box on how to structure the next MFF that envisioned reductions in defence and security while protecting cohesion policy and the Common Agricultural Policy (CAP). The box is the presidency’s draft compromise, the text the final deal is built from. The Irish presidency has opened with a strong focus on competitiveness and security, but Ireland leans heavily on farming too.

Budget negotiations are shaped by coalitions that defend long-established spending. The 16 member states of the “Friends of Cohesion” group, Spain, Italy and Poland among them, want robust funding for cohesion policy and agriculture, while frugal member states, such as Germany, the Netherlands and Sweden, are reluctant to expand the overall size of the EU budget. Defence enters as a comparative newcomer against policies with decades of institutional backing and organised constituencies behind them.

Germany’s position illustrates this dilemma. In a parliamentary inquiry, Alliance 90/The Greens asked the federal government how the EU can square four things at once: from 2028 it will need to start repaying NextGenerationEU, the €637bn joint borrowing agreed as a one-off in 2020 to fund members’ recovery from covid-19; forgo new revenue of its own (levies it collects directly rather than cheques from national treasuries); hold its budget roughly the same size; and still strengthen competitiveness, security and defence. The chancellor, Friedrich Merz, has repeatedly committed to the last three. The government answered that the EU could meet all three objectives by trimming across the whole budget. Yet such “horizontal cuts” only protect these priorities if all 27 members agree what to spare when deciding the cuts, and they are unlikely to agree. Other member states could favour different areas of the EU budget, cutting competitiveness or security harder than Germany intends.

New financing for a new era

The scale of investment required to deliver Europe’s defence transformation also exceeds what can realistically be financed through the MFF alone. While the seven-year budget can establish political priorities, provide long-term planning certainty and support common capability development, it cannot generate the sums required to finance Europe’s long-term defence.

Hence the appeal of joint EU borrowing: debt raised by the commission against member-state guarantees, the model already used for NextGenerationEU and SAFE. NextGenerationEU demonstrated that the EU can raise substantial resources when confronted with an existential crisis such as the covid-19 pandemic. Europe’s security has changed just as fundamentally, which makes the case for borrowing together just as strong. If defence is a collective problem, leaving the bill to strained national budgets makes little sense. However, borrowing on that scale is politically out of reach: creditor states intend NextGenerationEU to stay an exception rather than a template. Something narrower—bonds (or comparable fiscal mechanisms) that fund defence alone or the technologies Europe cannot do without may prove necessary if the EU wants to match its strategic ambitions with adequate financial resources.

Europe has accepted that it must carry more of its own defence. The MFF negotiations will show whether its budget can pay for it. With NATO entering a new era of European burden-sharing, the EU cannot afford a budget that reflects the priorities of a different geopolitical age. The world has moved on—it is time that frugal member states like Germany did so, too.

Source

This week, Mark Leonard is joined by Janka Oertel, director of ECFR’s DARE* initiative, and Andrew Small, head of ECFR’s Asia programme, to examine the growing impact of the “China shock 2.0” on Germany and Europe.  

A new wave of Chinese competition, driven by overcapacity and state-backed industrial strength, is hitting sectors such as car manufacturing, chemicals and machine tools. Germany is at the epicentre, with mounting job losses raising questions about Europe’s long-term economic resilience and competitiveness. The crisis is reshaping German politics, exposing government divisions and putting pressure on Chancellor Friedrich Merz ahead of September’s potentially divisive regional elections.

Together, Mark, Janka and Andrew discuss the policy options being considered in Brussels and in European capitals—from emergency trade measures to new industrial strategies. Can Europe protect its industrial base without triggering a damaging escalation with China? Is Germany able to lead a coherent European response amid its own political turbulence?

This podcast episode was recorded 12th August 2026.

Bookshelf
China Shock 2.0: The Cost of Germany’s Complacency, by Brad Setser and Sander Tordoir
The art of the swarm: Systemic rivalry with China on European terms, by Andrew Small
Dear Britain, by Annette Dittert

Source

💾

Summary

• The disputed 2020 presidential election and Russia’s 2022 invasion of Ukraine accelerated Belarus’s integration into Moscow’s military strategy, with the country becoming a rear-operating base.
• Since 2023, Russian deployments have increasingly positioned Belarus as a potential forward-operating base. Nuclear-capable systems, missile forces and military infrastructure on Belarusian territory mean that the Russian threat extends further along the EU’s eastern border.
• Europe wants to preserve Belarus as a strategic buffer, yet sanctions and diplomatic isolation have not slowed Russian military entrenchment. Its continued path risks further binding Minsk to Moscow. Belarus has quietly become a major frontline security challenge for Europe.
• The EU should move away from relying mostly on sanctions and economic pressure, and instead pursue a pragmatic strategy which aims to increase Minsk’s autonomy from Moscow. In the meantime, Europe must remain supportive of Belarusian exiles and its diaspora community.
• The EU also needs to complement existing NATO deterrence with stronger support for countries on its eastern border, namely Poland, Latvia and Lithuania. This would reduce opportunities for Russian coercion and support Europe’s long-term plan for Belarus.

A satellite state

Take a map of Europe and find Belarus. Trace a finger clockwise, from the country’s northern borders and around to the east, where Russia is followed by Ukraine, Poland, Lithuania and Latvia. Belarus’s capital, Minsk, is itself almost at the exact geographic heart of the country, surrounded by hills, with vast forests sprawled out like capillaries beyond.

It is from here that Belarus’s longtime leader, Alexander Lukashenko, looks out from his “Palace of Independence” on Minsk’s Pieramozcau Avenue. To the east, in Russia, his fellow authoritarian Vladimir Putin continues to decimate Ukraine from its eastern borders and scheme to undermine European political interests. To the west, stretching hundreds of kilometres past Belarus’s western border with Poland and across Germany, lies Brussels. Faced with instability across the continent, the EU’s capital is increasingly unsure about what to do with its problematic Belarusian neighbour.

The EU downgraded its diplomatic relations with Belarus in 2020 after the latter’s disputed presidential election, which saw Lukashenko’s government violently repress protestors who took to the streets to oppose the president seizing victory by undemocratic means. Although bilateral trade between the EU and Belarus was largely undamaged in the subsequent years, the fall in trade with the bloc after Russia’s invasion of Ukraine in 2022 created an economic gap which Russia has exploited. For example, it has stepped up its own trading relationship with Belarus and become a key market for exports of Belarusian goods such as dairy products and petrochemicals—also allowing Moscow to evade EU sanctions. In doing so, Russia filled a vacuum for Belarus; Lukashenko, facing limited alternatives, deepened his dependence on Moscow.

Although Belarus did not formally commit troops to Russia’s war of aggression, it did allow the latter to house missiles, tanks, artillery, helicopters, aeroplanes and other military equipment in its territory prior to the invasion. It also provided military and civil infrastructure for Russia’s use, including airfields, hospitals and railway lines. This year alone, Russia has transferred more missiles—including dual-capable, hypersonic missiles—to Belarusian territory and conducted joint exercises encompassing the Belarusian Armed Forces. This, combined with a breakdown in dialogue between the EU and Belarus, gives Putin yet more sway in his quest to entrench Russia further into Belarusian structures.

Now that Belarus is apparently firmly committed to the supranational union of Belarus and Russia, known as the Union State, it has become a structural security concern for Europe. Russian deployment of nuclear-capable weapons on Belarusian territory makes Europe’s eastern flank more vulnerable, while Belarus’s already tense relations with neighbouring border states Poland, Latvia and Lithuania are at risk of deteriorating further. At the same time, Belarus has 879 political prisoners languishing, with Lukashenko’s regime having essentially outlawed any political or civic activity which the authorities see as a threat.

All this has compounded the breakdown in relations between Belarus and Europe. Russia is further emboldened to entrench its military deeper into Belarusian territory, tighten its economic dependencies and integrate the country further into its nuclear strategy.

This paper examines Belarus’s transformation from a problematic but stable buffer state between western Europe and Russia to a country which poses an increasing military and security threat to the EU. It argues that the EU should move away from relying solely on economic leverage and the blanket application of sanctions—which are pushing Belarus to rely more heavily on Russia—and develop a more targeted approach. Europeans need to actively contain the growing military and nuclear threat by finding new avenues of diplomatic negotiation, and by incorporating NATO-inspired approaches into its defence policy for its vulnerable eastern states.

Perhaps most importantly, Europeans need to assess to what extent they can treat Minsk as an autonomous actor capable of making decisions independently from Moscow. Europeans should take recent developments, such as Ukraine’s discovery of four signal relay stations in two Belarusian oblasts and their subsequent removal, as proof that Lukashenko retains the authority to make territorial-based decisions—especially under pressure from Russia.

However, for as long as Lukashenko remains in power, Belarus will never be entirely free of Moscow: he is an authoritarian, and Minsk remains sanctioned due to its breach of human rights clauses and mistreatment of its population. Belarus’s geopolitical position is also at least partly down to early decisions that Lukashenko made when he turned towards Moscow in the mid-1990s—a time when most other former Soviet nations chose real independence. Long before 2020, this posture led to missed opportunities with the EU, reinforced Lukashenko’s propensity to commit human rights violations and kickstarted Belarus’s deepening economic and military integration with Russia.

In its pursuit of a new strategy, the EU needs to recognise that—even if Belarus remains a stable, contained buffer zone—the country will not undergo a full democratic transformation. Europeans are thus searching for a Belarus which no longer presents an urgent security threat on its eastern border. They should aim to help shape a country whose stability reduces geopolitical risk without abandoning the EU’s long-standing commitment to democracy, human rights and the well-being of Belarusian society.

Belarus as a security actor

Belarus declared its independence from the Soviet Union in 1991. But, with what Russia perceived as the NATO and European sphere of influence shifting eastwards, Belarus became increasingly valuable to Moscow—especially because of the Suwalki Gap, which lies between the Russian exclave of Kaliningrad and Belarusian territory. The Russia-Belarus relationship became more entrenched once Lukashenko and Putin came to power in 1994 and 1999, respectively. The two leaders are hardly close personal friends—but they have nonetheless developed strong cultural and economic ties based on the similarity of their two anti-Western and authoritarian regimes, and their notion of a shared history.

Over the past 30 years, Belarus has moved closer to Russia in economy, trade and idea sharing. But it has gone beyond simply sharing a similar geopolitical outlook; now it is a militarised actor on the EU’s eastern flank. The first tipping point came with Russia’s invasion of Ukraine in February 2022. At this point, Lukashenko was already politically entangled with Moscow due to its support for Belarus’s trade network and economic sector after Minsk’s break with Europe in 2020. But the invasion meant that Belarus also became entrenched in the Russian military machine: in the early phase of Russia’s invasion, it became a launchpad for Russian ground offensives towards Kyiv and Chernihiv, and for missile strikes and combat aviation operations.

Since this period, Russia has attempted to consolidate its control even further. Now it has approximately 2,000 troops concentrated around air-defence systems, training facilities, logistics hubs and long-standing Russian military installations. Between 2022 and 2023, ammunition transfers from Belarus to Russia exceeded 130,000 tonnes. Since then, joint training centres, storage bases and transport corridors (many inherited from the Soviet period) have been repurposed and modernised under Belarus-Russia Union State programmes to support Russian operational needs. Rail-linked depots, armament storage facilities and training grounds now serve as key infrastructure for Russian forces on its western flank.

The second tipping point came with the two countries regularly staging recurring joint military exercises that institutionalise operational integration, such as the Zapad military drills which have been taking place since before 2022. Now Russia is eyeing up Belarus as a key component of its nuclear ambitions and has also deployed Oreshnik intermediate-range missile systems in Belarus. In April this year, Belarus confirmed it would no longer allow Russian conscripts who desert the military to leave via its border. Belarus is also a staging post for Russian nuclear missiles and joint military exercises.

The country has thus become Russia’s territorial, militaristic and logistical resource, achieved through durability, military routinisation and institutional embedding. The military aspect of this entrenchment is also compounded through hybrid attacks. For example, as early as November 2021 the EU condemned Belarus for facilitating the weaponisation of migrants—predominantly from conflict areas such as Iraq and Syria—who it had apparently encouraged to breach the borders of Latvia, Lithuania and Poland.

This form of hybrid warfare has continued into 2026: recent reports say that Lithuanian authorities have discovered a cross-border tunnel from Belarus to Lithuania, which they suspect is to continue to facilitate the potential movement of migrants through European territories. Now, with the Union State increasingly functioning as a homogeneous force, there is a threat that Belarus will become more emboldened to facilitate further dangerous hybrid manoeuvring. It intends to check Europe’s readiness and destabilise it from the inside.

Belarus as a threat to Europe

The difference in the threat which Belarus now poses to Europe lies in its shift—which has taken place over the past six years—from being Russia’s “rear-operating base” to Russia’s “forward-operating base”.

As Russia’s rear-operating base, Belarus functioned as a non-combat zone for logistics and maintenance. While it supported Russian military activity and provided strategic depth by shifting military infrastructure and combat flashpoints away from Russian territory, as a rear-operating base Belarus avoided deploying its own forces into Ukraine and directly engaging in combat operations. This allowed Lukashenko to avoid many of the challenges that Putin is experiencing, including politically sensitive military mobilisation, high personnel casualties and mounting internal economic pressure. This approach had previously provided Lukashenko with the degree of political deniability and diplomatic leverage necessary to continue negotiating with Western economies on economic sanctions and market access. He was able to point to Belarus’s arm’s-length approach to the war in Ukraine as proof that he was willing to engage with Europeans at a diplomatic and economic level.

However, Belarus’s position has changed since 2022. Evidence collected by the author demonstrates that Russia is increasingly establishing the country as a forward-operating base. Moscow is building on its routinisation and institutional embedding of military infrastructure to deploy personnel on Belarusian territory and undertake recurring joint military exercises, lately including nuclear forces preparation. Minsk’s rhetoric is changing to match these actions. In 2022, Belarus changed its constitution to allow Russia to store nuclear missiles on its territory; in a “Militarization of Europe” meeting held in June 2026, Belarus’s deputy minister of foreign affairs Igor Sekreta said he was “deeply concerned by… military exercises on NATO’s eastern flank” and “the EU and NATO… systematically promoting a militarist agenda at all levels.”

The Belarusian government is simultaneously becoming a component of Russian forward-military position and aligning ideologically with Russia’s view that Europe (and the West in general) constitutes an existential threat. Lukashenko himself reiterated this in May 2026, when he declared that “… [Belarus is] ready in every possible way to defend our common fatherland from Brest to Vladivostok.” The change is especially worrying for Ukraine, which is already fighting a war against Russia on several fronts. Its brow-beaten army could soon be required to deploy yet more resources to another defensive line on its northern border. Belarusian state media have suggested that Putin desires to open a “second front” against Ukraine, using Belarus as a launchpad for further attacks.

Indeed, evidence suggests that Russia is already using Belarusian infrastructure to gain an advantage in its drone warfare against Ukraine: in June 2026, Ukrainian intelligence services discovered four signal relay stations in the Belarusian oblasts of Homiel and Brest. Ukraine’s president, Volodymyr Zelensky, appealed directly to Belarus to dismantle the sites or face potential Ukrainian consequences. The Belarusian president apparently acquiesced—although no public statement or confirmation has been made.

Belarus’s transformation into a forward-operating base was further bolstered in 2023, when Russia deposited tactical Iskander nuclear-capable warheads on its territory. Then, in early 2025, Russia moved Oreshnik hypersonic missiles to a location which experts estimate to be around 60km south of Minsk. This has changed the calculus for the rest of Europe. Europeans must contend with an additional nuclear threat right on its border (aside from Kaliningrad) and consider how this could compromise security along its eastern flank.

Meanwhile, as noted above, Belarus is mixing concrete actions with rhetoric that suggests it sees Europe as a threat to its own sovereignty. In the same speech, Sekreta commented that Poland, Latvia and Lithuania have a combined defence expenditure of €52bn, which is apparently “25 times more than Belarus allocates for defence”. This suggests that Belarus increasingly views European and NATO defence investments through the lens of Russian military planning. If left unchecked, Russian influence will leave EU member states more vulnerable to further hybrid attacks from Union State forces.

For Europeans, there is also potential for escalation in how these border countries respond, and uncertainty about where escalation could lead. For example, the Zapad-2025 military drills, which took place on September 12th 2025, prompted Poland to close its border with Belarus due to “heightened security concerns”. Prior to this, on September 9th and 10th, Russia had flown several drones into Polish airspace during an attack on Ukraine. Lithuania also closed its border with Belarus for a whole month in October 2025 (and refused to enter negotiations to reopen it) after meteorological balloons travelled into its airspace from Belarus. The latter responded by accusing Lithuania of “pursuing an anti-Belarus policy”. Latvia, for its part, is struggling to deal with Belarus’s tactic of sending illegal migrants over its border. As of July 21st 2026, the Latvian government had recorded 8,413 instances of migrants attempting to cross into its territory this calendar year, stirring discontent prior to the parliamentary election in October. The country has also uncovered several sabotage operations that have appear to have been carried out by Belarusian and Russian spies.

European leaders heating up their confrontations in such critical areas is further adding to NATO’s headache. Belarus’s degradation as a buffer zone between western Europe and Russia means the potential for these flashpoints to drift further west is growing, not helped by a continually deteriorating diplomatic relationship between the Lukashenko government and the governments of neighbouring EU states. The proximity of Russian missiles and personnel to European territory could compromise NATO warning systems; it also suggests that the Union State is becoming increasingly willing to test European responses to its increasingly integrated deterrent.

Now the EU needs to reconfigure its strategy towards Belarus. The goal should be to ensure that Lukashenko does not limit his room for manoeuvre so much that he has no choice but to descend into a fully armoured satellite state; and that he has no choice but to react to any order Putin gives.

What Europe is doing…

On sanctions

Since Belarus’s flagrantly undemocratic 2020 presidential election, which sparked the country’s largest political crisis since independence, the EU and Belarus have downgraded their diplomatic relations. This is a cycle which Europe and Belarus have found themselves in since at least 2006: repression conducted by the regime triggers sanctions and isolation from Europe, which are followed by limited thaws and diplomatic re-engagement, which are then interrupted by renewed crackdowns—and so on. This time, however, the diplomatic downgrading was mutual: Lukashenko made Poland and Lithuania’s ambassadors leave Minsk in October 2020, and requested the EU ambassador return to Brussels.

In 2021, following Lukashenko’s contested re-election, Europe’s approach became more actively political. Belarusian opposition leader Sviatlana Tsikhanouskaya lobbied European governments to move beyond broad economic measures, such as existing targeted sanctions, to adopt harsher and broader sectoral sanctions. These were directed at, for example, specific officials, judges, prosecutors and police officers responsible for repression of Belarusian citizens. Belarus, for its part, suspended participation in the Eastern Partnership, an initiative which aims to strengthen political and economic relations between the EU, its member states and the partner countries of Armenia, Azerbaijan, Georgia, Moldova and Ukraine.

Europe’s response remains to take a blanket approach to sanctions towards Belarus. It reinforced its sanctions cycle even after Russia’s invasion of Ukraine in 2022 and the EU’s approach to Belarus is embedded within its anti-Russia packages. This means that the EU not only targets individuals involved in conflict operations, but also bundles Minsk in together with the trade restrictions, export controls and financial measures which it aims at Moscow. Europeans have fallen into the trap of treating their Belarus policy as an extension of their Russia policy, although some politicians—including French president Emmanuel Macron and, back in 2021, former German chancellor Angela Merkel—have also pursued limited efforts to test whether targeted incentives could shape Minsk’s behaviour.

However, some EU sources say that Minsk is an unwilling negotiating partner. It remains to be seen whether it will be explicit about the desire to reshape engagement with Europe. As of 2026, EU–Belarus relations remain largely frozen. They have seen only minimal diplomatic engagement and sustained sanctions, and only limited, transactional contact has emerged—for example, in negotiations over political prisoners and technical discussions over border management. In its latest sanctions announcement, the European Council extended its sanctions regime against Belarus until 2027.

The EU is thus in a difficult position when it comes to pursuing normalisation with Minsk. Since Europe’s Belarus policy is considerably shaped by Belarus’s neighbours, Lithuania and Poland—and Vilnius is especially reluctant to open any dialogue with Minsk—other member states are less emboldened to force through normalisation policies which are at risk of simply being blocked. What is clear is that, unless Belarus makes clear improvements in its human rights conditions and clearly distances itself from Russia’s war in Ukraine, European policy will remain structured around three aspects: progressive sanctions targeting regime elites and key economic sectors; political non-recognition of the legitimacy of Lukashenko’s rule; and support for Belarusian civil society and exiles.

Another problem for Europe is that continuing to heavily limit industrial trade and the transfer of dual-use goods and military equipment to Belarus could see Lukashenko rely more heavily on Putin’s open markets. But, if Europeans do not pursue sanctions, they indirectly aid Russia: Lukashenko supports Russia’s war against Ukraine by selling military and dual-use goods to Russia, thus helping it circumvent sanctions. This, in turn, creates a cycle of obligation whereby Minsk acquiesces to future military requests from Moscow and Russia further entrenches along Europe’s eastern flank.

The EU approach broadly treats Belarus as a subsidiary of Russia and narrows Europeans’ ability to develop a tailored security policy which directly targets Belarus as a forward-operating base. As things stand, sanctions on the economy and trade are not adequately addressing the developing threat that Belarus poses to European security. And they do not help alleviate the suffering of the ordinary Belarusians at home and in exile.

On the diaspora

Since 2020, Lukashenko has stepped up his repression and exile of Belarusian civil society actors opposed to his regime. Evidence collected by the author through focus groups carried out for ECFR suggests that, for Belarusians, exile is no longer perceived as a temporary or marginal condition. Rather, it has become a structural feature of Lukashenko’s authoritarian governance. Participants consistently described forced migration as a way for the Lukashenko regime to externalise dissent to maintain internal stability. The government pushes out political activists, journalists, researchers and civic organisers to reduce domestic pressure, while the regime projects an external image of control and normalisation.

This means that Belarus has shifted much of its political contestation into European societies. As a result, the EU has faced myriad challenges related to diaspora governance, transnational repression (including surveillance, intimidation, pressure on relatives and legal harassment across borders) and social cohesion. The EU has, particularly after 2020, provided unprecedented political recognition and support to Belarus’s democratic forces, including security guarantees and sustained funding. For Lukashenko, exile therefore functions as a strategic arena.

How Europeans govern this space—through legal regimes, funding structures or protection mechanisms—directly shapes whether repression through exile succeeds as a long-term strategy.

On its foreign policy approach

The EU’s treatment of Belarus as having limited sovereignty over its foreign policy is also at odds with the US approach. Washington’s current relationship with Minsk is based on President Donald Trump recognising Lukashenko as legitimate, and the US agreeing to negotiate sanctions relief in exchange for the release of political prisoners. America still casts Belarus as a strategic adversary; but it nonetheless accepts that the country needs careful handling to safeguard American and NATO interests in Europe. EU member states, which eye Washington’s approaches to Minsk with caution, have ramped up their scepticism further since Lukashenko joined Trump’s questionable “Board of Peace” (despite the Belarusian leader lending credence to Moscow’s campaign in Ukraine).

Overall, America is searching for “visible deals” whereby it can secure humanitarian wins via economic channels. The clearest example of this is its pursuit of calibrated sanctions relief: in 2025, Belarus released 123 political prisoners in return for the US easing sanctions on the Belarusian potash industry. And it could be argued that this has paid some dividends: lifting sanctions on Belarus helps ease the domestic economic pressure on Lukashenko, which leaves him less dependent on support from Russia for trade.

However, the thaw in America’s approach does nothing to address Belarus’s increasingly entrenched role as a Russian military staging post. Indeed, no approach taken by any American president ever has. And while former president Joe Biden synchronised Washington’s policy towards Belarus with that of Brussels, under his successor, Trump, the two approaches are disparate. Of course, the US does not have the major consideration of the security challenges which Belarus poses to Europe’s borders. But this divergence between America’s prioritisation of transactionalism and the EU’s prioritisation of security will only grow in the absence of a coordinated transatlantic framework towards Belarus.

There also exists the possibility that Lukashenko could exploit the gap between America’s leverage-based approach and Europe’s risk-based approach, to play each side against the other. From the US, Lukashenko has already achieved incremental sanctions relief and diplomatic rehabilitation while continuing to align Belarusian security with Russian territorial involvement and pursuing domestic repression. As it stands, all signs point to US bargaining having no impact on Belarus’s strategic alignment or its military cooperation with Russia. Human rights abuses remain.

What Europe can do next

Europe’s continued policy of isolating Belarus and imposing sanctions is turning the country towards Russia as a more attractive option for trade and investment. However, Europeans cannot simply restore diplomatic relations, even to their pre-2020 iteration: they need to hold Lukashenko accountable for his disregard of democratic norms and civilian abuse, and accountable militarily for his assistance to Russia’s war in Ukraine.

This requires developing an alternative approach which goes beyond the current binary choice of engagement or isolation and identifies as a priority exactly the type of Belarus that Europeans want to—or are willing to—work with. Europeans need to examine existing EU and US approaches to Belarus, and discover where Lukashenko could exploit gaps in their divergence—and where room for leverage and leeway exists.

This also requires Europeans to understand the type of pressure that Russia is exerting on Belarus. It is true that Russia continues to provide loans to Belarus, open its market to sanctioned Belarusian goods and give Belarus access to infrastructure through which it can continue exporting goods to Brazil, China and India. But this is illusory: Russia exerting “real” pressure would amount to trade wars, blockades of Belarusian goods, cutting off financial aid and propaganda attacking Lukashenko. Putin has exercised similar measures before, when Moscow was unhappy with Minsk. Now, in 2026, their actions might be well coordinated, but Russia has not established any real economic, financial, military, informational or political coercion against Lukashenko and his government.

Europeans could use this distinction to consider the type of Belarus they want to shape. This should be a Belarus which has secure, meaningful economic alternatives to Russia; a Belarus which sees the geopolitical and economic sense of having a choice of trading partners; a Belarus which has functioning communication channels. Overall, Europeans should expect that their future relationship with Belarus will go beyond mere transactionalism and value the voices of those who Lukashenko continues to silence. Europeans should seek a Belarus which retains a degree of political room for manoeuvre away from Putin’s military and political influence. The following recommendations set out how it can achieve this.

Support eastern border states

The EU has already made progress in strengthening its defence security arrangements for its eastern flank. For example, the 2022 Strategic Compass aimed to prevent crises in states most vulnerable to Russian (or indeed Belarusian) encroachment, and the EU has developed a targeted “Communication on the EU’s Eastern Regions Bordering Russia, Belarus and Ukraine” (or “Strong regions for a safer Europe”) programme. This includes the five priority areas of security and resilience; growth and regional prosperity; building on local strengths; connectivity; and empowering its people. The bloc is also channelling funds into shoring up transit routes and financing, including the customs infrastructure along its eastern border which is a target for Russian and Belarusian interference.

However, the EU should more deeply incorporate its support for states that border Belarus—which are facing hybrid pressure, border incidents and spillover risks—into a defence strategy which builds on the NATO model, particularly in its approach to deconfliction. This would mean better aligning military preparedness with diplomatic signalling and crisis-management channels.

For example, NATO maintains a partnership with the Organization for Security and Co-operation in Europe which promotes risk-reduction frameworks and transparency measures among signatory states—including the Vienna Document, which has been signed by the US, all European nations and Russia. Europeans could establish a similar partnership with selected states which builds on Lukashenko’s willingness—up to now—to notify his Western counterparts about activities such as Zapad military drills, where in some instances he has even invited them as observers.

Strengthen connections inside Belarus

To go one step further, however, Europeans—and especially EU border states—should maintain established working-level diplomatic contacts in Belarus, especially those located at EU member-state embassies in Minsk. These could also be third-party intermediaries or use technical-level communication formats, such as hotlines, to relay information about military movements or developments.

This could also rely on trusting selected contacts inside the country itself: for example, there are several initiatives which hold meetings which bring speakers and thinkers together to share both Western and non-Western perspectives, including from inside Belarus and Russia. By acting as a conduit for open communication—and by remaining open and depoliticised—protecting such channels encourages a more open dialogue. This, in turn, mitigates the risk of miscalculation and helps develop a diplomatic environment in Belarus which is less dependent on the relations created through the Union State. The aim for Europeans should be to build a pro-EU constituency inside Belarus through democratic initiatives—not with the intention of overthrowing the regime tomorrow, but rather to embolden those who see it in their interest for Belarus to have normal working relations with the EU.

Europeans could also continue to financially support or work with Belarus’s small- and medium-sized businesses, both inside and outside the country. Directing economic support and capacity building to enterprises within its borders would strengthen the country’s independent economic capacity by allowing it to gradually decouple from other trade relationships. At the external level, in 2022 the EU and the European Bank for Reconstruction and Development pledged €4bn for SMEs which had relocated their businesses abroad. The EU should explore ways in which it can strengthen Belarus’s SMEs inside the country, to help build a constituency which sees partnership with the West, not just Russia, as an advantage.

Opportunities exist for cooperation at the non-profit level, too. While not directly related to European security policy, concerted work by the EU to fund Belarusian NGOs and support apolitical initiatives can help strengthen the country’s national identity and foster conditions for a more fruitful working relationship. Europeans can connect with Belarusian youth and help shape a more democratic future of Belarusian leaders through the funding of communal projects such as Erasmus+ and the European Solidarity Corps for Belarusian students.

The European Commission is funding ArtPower Belarus, in collaboration with the Belarusian Council for Culture and Danish Cultural Institute, from 2022-2028. This demonstrates how outreach in Belarus—with willing internal institutions—can forge a common sense of purpose and prevent the “othering” of either side. The EU should continue to strive for flexible support for civic and political activism, especially at the grassroots level, through institutions such as the European Endowment for Democracy.

Engage with the Belarusian diaspora

Europeans should treat the Belarusian diaspora as a “strategic constituency” and help secure their participation in national and international civil life. For example, despite Belarus’s exit from the Eastern Partnership, the country’s civil society remains active in the initiative. This political knowledge and organisational capacity are vital for educating Europeans and ensuring that Lukashenko’s approach does not condemn the country and its people for any longer than it already has. Indeed, the EU needs to ensure that the Belarusian diaspora remains at the forefront of its policies regarding safe migration and access; it must avoid inadvertently reinforcing the regime’s strategy of repression through exile, lest any temporary or fragmented protections undermine diaspora members’ political and institutional capacity.

The EU should prioritise legal stability and predictability for Belarusian exiles. Where possible, longer-term residence pathways, access to labour markets and recognition of professional qualifications should be expanded and harmonised across member states. Indeed, Europeans need to take transnational repression seriously as a security issue, not only a human rights concern. Surveillance, digital harassment, pressure on family members remaining in Belarus and alleged monitoring activities in EU states challenge European sovereignty and social cohesion. To counter this, the EU should keep pursuing democratic initiatives such as the project “Towards a Local Democracy Agency (LDA) Belarus in Exile”. Its establishment has helped reinforce the notion that exile is not a temporary condition and encourages the need for “sustainable democratic infrastructure” which supports communities in exile. Addressing these practices strengthens both diaspora resilience and internal EU security norms.

In the long term, the EU should introduce more permanent diverse and sustainable funding streams, and move away from reliance on emergency or externally volatile sources. While several exile-based civil society institutions have benefited from multi-year EU funding frameworks—and the EU has committed €200m since 2020 in supporting the Belarusian people—recent reductions in US assistance have exposed structural vulnerabilities. The EU needs to use such funding streams to support independent media, research organisations and civic initiatives in exile, since they are repositories of political memory and organisational capacity.

Europeans should also continue to engage with Belarus’s political opposition on a more formal level, rather than treating it as a protest movement. For example, they generally treat Tsikhanouskaya as the de facto leader of Belarus from her base in Warsaw. This gives Europeans access to a political figure with different views and priorities, and could see the two sides shape future engagement with Belarus via insights from the country’s more civic-minded, democratic channels. The EU should be wary of treating her as the sole alternative to Lukashenko, especially because it is unlikely that Tsikhanouskaya will be installed as his successor—but openness to her influence will bolster trust between Europeans and Belarusian exiled civic society. It will also provide EU member states with an understanding of how the Belarusian state works.

Link diplomacy with action

EU engagement should focus on areas where European interests are directly implicated and where limited leverage still exists. Recent developments, including prisoner releases secured through negotiations with the US and Lukashenko inviting Western officials to observe military drills, suggest that Minsk remains open to selective forms of engagement.

But while targeted incentives can produce limited concessions, the EU should avoid simply replicating the American model. Instead, the bloc must approach conditional engagement as a security instrument rather than simply a human rights policy. Unlike Washington, it has long-term security interests in Belarus—regional stability, border security, migration management, securing its eastern frontier—and needs engagement to be more strategic than transactional.

Europeans should therefore try to couch any diplomatic, economic or symbolic concessions (such as forming high-level diplomatic contacts, limited sanctions relief or participation in dialogue formats) in measurable and verifiable actions. These could include independent verification of the release and treatment of named political prisoners, a sustained halt to politically motivated detentions and access for international humanitarian organisations.

This could build on Lukashenko’s demands for sanctions relief in exchange for Belarus releasing political prisoners and ceasing its aggravation towards Europe’s eastern borders by making such concessions with the conditionality just described. Such engagement with Belarus could help generate durable behavioural change and address underlying sources of regional insecurity.

Untangle Minsk from Moscow

Europeans can also adapt their approach to Minsk based on how America treats it: as a viable, autonomous actor, not an extension of Moscow. The fact that negotiations between Trump and Lukashenko led to the release of prisoners—albeit with hundreds still being held—suggests that the Belarusian leader remains sensitive to economic pressure and to the optics of his own international legitimacy. Trump’s recognition of Lukashenko as Belarus’s legitimate president has only served to reinforce the latter’s willingness to reestablish closer contacts between Minsk and Washington. The US can use this thaw to its advantage to leverage selective sanctions adjustments (for example, easing restrictions on Belarusian potash exports in response to global fertiliser market pressures) and further widen Lukashenko’s limited transactional opening.

Europeans should consider whether closer coordination with Washington, whereby both camps identify common red lines and incentives for better diplomatic ties with Minsk, would deter potential coercion by Lukashenko and prevent him playing the US and Europe against each other. Indeed, the two erstwhile allies finding common ground in their strategy towards Belarus could secure further progress on humanitarian issues and demonstrate to Lukashenko that the US remains key in the protection of Europe’s eastern frontier. It is worth noting that, in this event, the EU should strongly articulate its own priorities—particularly regarding border security and societal agency—and pursue pragmatic coordination at the level of officials, agencies and technical experts.

A practical example of Belarus demonstrating more autonomy is the recent ultimatum proposed to Belarus by Ukraine. Zelensky’s bold statement over the four signal relay stations in Belarus led to their quiet removal (or they were at least turned off), suggesting that Lukashenko can roll back certain decisions—even on military issues. And, even if reports that it was in fact Ukraine which destroyed them are true, Lukashenko has accepted this development without retaliation. His response suggests that he fears the consequences of escalation from Ukraine and other Western allies. But it also supposes that Putin is not yet able to dictate Lukashenko’s every move, not even in zones which Union State forces could view as fundamental to ensuring their continued sovereignty. This episode shows that Lukashenko still retains meaningful room for manoeuvre even in matters of security, and that calibrated pressure from neighbouring states can shape his decisions.

Europeans should exploit this hint of residual agency to discover in which other areas Lukashenko retains an interest in limiting escalation or preserving his room for manoeuvre. They should determine in which other areas calibrated diplomatic and economic pressure could shape Belarusian behaviour and complicate Russian military planning. This could help decouple Belarusian decision-making from Russian power structures and isolate Lukashenko into a more favourable position for further negotiations.

Shaping stabilisation on European terms

By reducing the opportunities for Russian coercion and Belarusian-enabled hybrid pressure on the eastern flank, Europeans can better counter the impact of Russian entrenchment on their neighbour. But Europeans should not frame the recommendations as a part of a rehabilitation for the Belarusian regime. Rather, these policy suggestions should function to safeguard against further deterioration of the stable buffer zone that Belarus once provided for western Europe. Most importantly, they need to address the Belarus that has been created since 2020 and seek to prevent its further entrenchment as a Russian satellite state.

To achieve this, the most important thing Europeans can do is move beyond the false dichotomy between isolation and engagement. Europe can still rebuke Belarus as an externally managed satellite state, for example by disavowing the Lukashenko regime, while providing incentives which help it shape the conditions under which stabilisation unfolds. Europe cannot force rapid change in Minsk’s strategic alignment, but it could help prevent the complete consolidation of a security order in which Europe has no voice.

Europeans should also focus on how their approach to Belarus differs in the short and the long term. In the short term, Europeans need to prioritise preventing Russia’s military configuration in Belarus from becoming permanent and irreversible, and work to limit the extent to which Russia has entrenched itself into Belarusian military institutions. They should aim to separate Belarus from Russia as much as possible by ensuring that Moscow ceases stationing its weapons (conventional or otherwise) on Belarusian territory. At the same time, Europeans need to be aware of continued escalation, such as further military deployments on Belarus’s territory, applying hybrid pressure on member states or facilitating cross-border incidents.

In the long term, Europeans should not aim for Belarus to be aligned with the West; nor should they expect that their intervention will transform Belarus into a democratic state. But the EU should work towards Belarus becoming a country that is sovereign enough to resist becoming a permanent forward base for Russian power, and open enough to maintain a managed relationship with both Europe and Russia. Ideally, Belarus should become sovereign enough that it can make rational decisions—based on the best interests of its country and its people—regarding with which power it wants to be aligned.

As it stands, Russia’s war of aggression in Ukraine shows no signs of abating. America, for its part, is increasingly reluctant to fund deterrence in EU countries, including those which border Belarus. It is, under Trump, using economic and political posturing to exert pressure on the Lukashenko regime. But Europeans can still find the avenues of cooperation which still exist in the allies’ fractured relationship. Most importantly, the EU needs to grant a degree of agency to its most problematic neighbour.

About the author

Vasil Navumau is a former visiting fellow at the European Council on Foreign Relations. He now works as a researcher at the University of Siegen, where he focuses on civic activism in eastern European countries, particularly Ukraine and Belarus, and its transformation via information and communication technologies.

Acknowledgments

The author would like to thank Pavel Slunkin and the ECFR editorial team (in particular Amy Sandys and Portia Kentish) for their valuable input and suggestions, as well as Nastassia Zenovich for her graphics.

This work was produced as part of the project “Portrait of Exiled Belarusians and the Role of Belarus in Russia’s War on Ukraine”, financed by the European Union under the EU4Belarus – Support to Advanced Learning and Training (SALT II) programme.

This document has been produced with the financial assistance of the European Union. The contents of this document are the sole responsibility of the European Council on Foreign Relations (ECFR) and can under no circumstances be regarded as reflecting the position of the European Union.

Source

If Europeans need any reminder of the real impact of climate change, they should simply look out of the window. This summer, a few extra degrees of sustained heat have forced school closures, disrupted railways and cut nuclear power plant output. More than 25,000 excess deaths across Europe have been attributed to extreme heat so far, while wildfires are causing over €15bn of economic damage.

The increasing intensity of heatwaves is generally attributed to climate change as a result of the global reliance on fossil fuels. While cutting carbon emissions remains the focus of EU climate policy, European governments also need to ensure that their societies can better adapt to extreme weather. Many households have already taken matters into their own hands by turning to portable air conditioners—often Chinese-made—for relief.

And China’s air-conditioner export boom points to a broader challenge: whether confronting extreme weather or fragile economic dependencies, Europeans need to adapt to the consequences while also addressing underlying sources of vulnerability. They should not just accept the status quo; here, some answers may lie in the lessons of China’s own industrial transformation.  

China leads on AC

Once again, when Europe looks for a climate solution, China has one ready to ship. China is a powerhouse in technologies used to mitigate climate change, from solar panels to wind turbines; it is also a vital player in helping Europe adapt to warmer temperatures. China produces over 80% of the world’s air conditioners: exports of Chinese AC units to the EU rose by 43% year on year in the first half of 2026. Chinese brands now account for 41% of the European market, up from 27% in 2023.

This success is not only about price and scale. Chinese manufacturers have adapted their products for the European market: for example, Midea’s PortaSplit model is tailored to overcome cumbersome building regulations and high installation costs. Chinese manufacturers were also early adopters of refrigerants less harmful to the climate, ensuring their products meet Europe’s strict environmental rules.

Chinese state media and officials were quick to present the boom in AC unit sales as a success for EU-China trade: it is a “natural result of complementary advantages” and demonstrates the mutually beneficial nature of the EU-China economic relationship. China’s industrial specialisation, supply-chain efficiency and technological competitiveness, they argue, mean manufacturers respond swiftly to shifts in global demand. AC is an example of China acting as an “enabling superpower” in providing efficient and affordable products that respond to climate change—as Beijing would say, a win-win.

Saying yes to adaptation

But this is not all. Chinese commentators say that Europe should not only adapt to the hotter climate—it should adapt to the patterns of EU-China trade. They portray the EU’s de-risking and trade-defence measures to tackle economic imbalance with China as economically self-defeating, arguing that Europe lacks confidence in its own industries. European policymakers, they say, are approaching trade as a game of “cold statistics” that will ultimately hurt ordinary consumers.

This is a fatalistic prescription for industrial policy from a country that refuses to accept that its position in global supply chains or its existing competitive advantage is fixed. For decades, Beijing has made industrial upgrading a central policy objective that has reoriented global trade patterns. Europeans are experiencing this firsthand in the AC boom, where China’s position reflects decades of deliberate industrial upgrading. And now Beijing is advising Europe to be content with trade patterns as they stand: strange advice, given that this would not pass the political sniff test in Zhongnanhai.

Since Deng Xiaoping, Chinese leaders have not simply passively adapted to their inherited competitive advantages. Neither do they treat the existing global division of labour as an efficient market outcome to be preserved. This is especially the case when such patterns risk constraining China from developing the sectors it considers strategically important—robotics, clean technology or aviation, for example.

Saying no to adaptation

China’s industrial transformation did not happen through market forces alone. Its latest five-year plan emphasises “self-reliance and controllability” as a guiding principle for technologies underpinning critical infrastructure, including energy systems. Over the years, under the banners of Made in China and Dual Circulation, the country has deployed large-scale subsidies, preferential financing from state banks, government-guided investment funds, public procurement, favourable access to land and infrastructure, and requirements around joint ventures, localisation and technology transfer.

These policies helped Chinese firms “import, digest and absorb” foreign know-how, build scale, and create globally competitive and innovative companies across supply chains. But while the European debate on competitiveness centres on many of the same concepts, European politicians, industries and member states are divided over future industrial policy. One prevailing idea is that Europe should pull a “reverse Deng” by ushering in a new era of industrial policy capable of matching the scale of support and protection that China extended to its domestic industries during the 1990s and 2000s.

Europeans should preserve their ability to source and scale critical technologies through viable alternatives, ensuring they have options should conditions change

But Europe should be cautious in trying to beat China at its own game. It has no centralised state to direct capital and help companies navigate commercial losses in pursuit of their goals. The main lessons from China’s industrial policy lie in the assumptions behind it: Europeans should minimise dependencies that could be strategically constraining; industrial competitiveness is not only about efficient production; Europeans should preserve their ability to source and scale critical technologies through viable alternatives, ensuring they have options should conditions change.

This logic is becoming more relevant as climate shocks intensify and geopolitics grows more volatile.

What Europeans should do

Europeans need to consider what such options would look like in practice. To borrow the question posed by Chinese commentators: what could Europe do right now without Chinese air conditioners?

Cooling is becoming essential infrastructure. Much like heating and water, Europe will need a broader portfolio of solutions to meet demand. AC is part of the answer, alongside low-energy and passive-cooling technologies such as evaporative cooling, reflective roofs and building retrofits, and stronger building standards. But Europe does not need to develop every solution itself; it could build a network of alternative suppliers and production capabilities.

For example, Singapore and the Gulf states are confronting many similar challenges and could be potential partners in deploying more efficient solutions such as district cooling. Europe can build similar partnerships in clean-tech supply chains. South Korea, the second-largest battery manufacturer globally, holds 78% of installed battery capacity in Europe. It can learn from countries such as Japan, which has diversified its rare-earth supply through partnerships with Australia and Malaysia, as well as Vietnam. India doubled solar-cell manufacturing capacity in the first half of 2026 alone, backed by localisation incentives extending to upstream components like ingots and polysilicon.

China will remain part of Europe’s clean-tech supply chains. For Europe, preserving its options does not mean that it needs to produce every critical technology in the clean-tech supply chain. But it should work with external partners to maintain commercially viable alternatives at scale. This can be done through reciprocal access to public procurement markets, targeted incentives and shared product standards.

Where climate and competitiveness collide

Fundamentally, having options means being able to adapt to a problem while tackling its cause. Climate policy offers a useful framework: Europeans have concluded that the impact of heatwaves or floods are not inevitable; they are not relying on AC, seawalls and floodgates as their only response. Instead, they are tackling the cause of climate change by pursuing adaptation while mitigating the underlying problem through cuts in fossil-fuel emissions.

Europe should dare to do the same with its competitiveness and economic dependencies. Rather than simply adapting to change, its governments should invest in Europe’s capacity to innovate, work with partners and build alternatives, with the aim of reducing vulnerabilities and helping preserve its choices.

The summer heat of 2026 is a reminder of the cost of delayed climate action. The same lesson applies to economic security: adapting to today’s dependencies in the name of efficiency will leave Europe with fewer options—and come with a larger bill—tomorrow.

Source

Summary

• Europe faces a dual drone threat, and it is escalating. Small drones regularly disrupt airports and hover over Europe’s critical infrastructure; at the eastern flank, larger military drones are crossing ever more often into EU and NATO territory.
• EU member states are struggling to mount an effective response to the drones spotted over their critical infrastructure, and those countries farther from the eastern flank tend to focus disproportionately on this side of the threat.
• At the flank, efforts to defend against military drone incursions are resulting in a hotch-potch of NATO, EU and national projects. This risks duplicating efforts and stalling progress towards a common operating picture.
• National initiatives at the eastern flank seem the most promising, but the EU still has a role to play in funding and incentivising these efforts. The bloc should also help establish the common operating picture and best practice for legal regulations, and work to improve data sharing.
• The EU and member states should then apply lessons from the eastern flank to the related but different threat to their critical infrastructure. That way, they can help Europe move closer to a continent-wide response to both sides of this continent-wide problem.

Today’s problem

On August 5th 2026, a small drone armed with explosives was found at Leipzig airport in Germany. The presence of explosive material marks this out from previous incidents at airports, as does the fact that authorities recovered the drone. But Europe’s new normal is for small drones to disrupt its airports and buzz around other critical infrastructure, including French nuclear submarine bases, Belgian nuclear power plants and German liquefied natural gas terminals. Some of these sightings are likely part of Russia’s hybrid war against Europe. Yet the drones are probably flown from inside European countries or from ships in the North and Baltic seas, and definitive attribution to Russia or any other actor remains elusive.

The countries along Europe’s eastern flank have another new normal to contend with. This entails the connected but different threat of military drones crossing into EU and NATO territory from Russia, Belarus and, because of the Russian aggression against it, Ukraine. The most egregious incursion so far took place in September 2025, when around 20 Russian military drones crossed into Poland’s airspace, leading it to invoke Article 4 of NATO’s Washington Treaty. That episode also prompted NATO to launch Operation Eastern Sentry to increase its vigilance at the border.

Unlike the small drones hovering over critical infrastructure, the origin of the military drones crossing into EU and NATO territory is no mystery. The attribution problem here relates to intention, as Russia can claim—sometimes plausibly, sometimes less so—that incursions at the eastern flank are accidents resulting from its war against Ukraine.

Almost a year on from the Poland incident, the member states that line the eastern flank face military drone incursions with alarming (and increasing) regularity. The end of July, for example, saw Romania shoot down three suspected Russian drones in as many days. This followed another incursion in the country in May when a drone crashed into the roof of a ten-storey building in Galati and exploded, starting a fire in one of the apartments. A 14-year-old and his mother were injured, and 70 residents were evacuated. The Romanian military had tracked the drone and deployed two F-16 fighter jets in response to the threat. But the jets were unable to fire at the target for “operational reasons and [because of] certain legal limitations”.

The incidents in Romania lay bare some of the difficulties for Europe in defending its eastern flank against military drones. Over the past year, NATO’s operation has swiftly been joined by a hotch-potch of national and EU projects, including the bloc’s ambitious and wide-ranging European Drone Defence Initiative. But as things stand, military drones still either fly unhindered into EU and NATO territory or are intercepted through the costliest means possible, namely missiles fired from fighter jets.

Police forces across the continent, meanwhile, are struggling to mount an effective response to the problem of the small drones over their critical infrastructure. And countries farther from the eastern flank tend not to make the link between this largely civil threat and the military threat in the east: when the EU first proposed its initiative, for example, western European states were unconvinced that the bloc should fund drone defences at the eastern flank.

But, as this paper argues, all European countries need to act to secure the eastern flank—both to defend EU and NATO territory against military drones and to inform Europe’s response to small drones flying over its critical infrastructure. National efforts at the flank are promising but will likely prove insufficient. The EU will therefore have to spread the costs of defending the eastern flank, as efforts there contribute to the defence of the entire continent against military drone attacks. That small drones flying over critical infrastructure are a problem everywhere should further incentivise all Europeans to speed up their work on drone defence. And as this paper shows, the EU and member states can apply lessons learned at the eastern flank across Europe and reuse technology battle-tested in the east to protect their critical infrastructure.

The dual threat

The two sides of Europe’s drone threat are different, but they still share important similarities: they involve the same tools—drones of one type or another—and some likely have the same perpetrator—Russia. Mapping just a selection of drone overflights of critical infrastructure and incursions at the eastern flank since August 2024 lays bare the extent of the dual drone threat Europe is facing. And every time an overflight of critical infrastructure or incursion at the eastern flank happens, wherever it comes from, Russia learns something about Europe’s ability to fight (or otherwise) against these systems.

Drones over critical infrastructure

Drones are regularly spotted over critical infrastructure across Europe. The German aviation agency reported 227 drone sightings by pilots in 2025. These numbers have been rising steadily since reporting began in 2020, and the 2026 numbers are well on track to surpass last year’s.[1] Such incidents are largely a civil matter, which means responsibility for recording, identifying and countering them falls on local authorities such as police forces.

The overflights near airports tend to grab the most attention for three reasons. First, drones pose an extreme risk to aircraft and have the potential to cause mass casualty events, with the incident in Leipzig perhaps the closest call so far. German newspaper Die Zeit reports that CCTV footage from the airport shows the drone flying towards an Antonov cargo plane parked on the runway, hitting one of the wings and then falling to the ground. It was later discovered on the tarmac by a bus driver, who alerted security. Had the explosives detonated, the consequences could have been catastrophic. But even without explosives, drones have the potential to cause an air disaster if they collide with a plane, particularly if it is taking off or landing. Second, drones near airports cause significant economic harm: Copenhagen airport had to close for four hours in September 2025, while more than 30 flights were cancelled in Munich following drone sightings in March 2025. Third, airport closures tangibly affect citizens, which is likely why they are such common targets in the first place.

But from a security standpoint, equally concerning are sightings over other critical infrastructure like energy hubs and military installations. Drones can, for instance, help hostile operators gather intelligence about the security arrangements at these installations. They could then use this to enable future sabotage or attacks.

Among these sites, drone activity around military installations could be highly consequential. In early 2025, the German ministry of defence logged six instances of drone overflights at Schwesing airbase, a Bundeswehr base where Ukrainian soldiers were trained to use Patriot air-defence missile systems. It is plausible that the drones carried signals-intelligence equipment that could identify soldiers’ mobile phones. Once it had identified the phones, Russia may have been able to locate them again months later at the Ukrainian front line—and with them, the valuable and increasingly scarce Patriot batteries. This is a direct concern for the Ukrainian defence effort. But it also points to a larger problem for Europe, as it illustrates the type of information Russia could be collecting about European armed forces.

It remains unproven where most of the drones used in overflights come from and who controls them. But it is probable that at least some of the drones flying over critical infrastructure are part of Russia’s hybrid war against Europe. For years, Russia has conducted attacks against military and civil infrastructure as well as government entities. Some attacks take place in the cyber-realm; some involve physical sabotage, like igniting air freight packages in Britain, Germany and Poland, and damaging submarine cables in the Baltic Sea. US intelligence also helped Germany foil a plot to assassinate Armin Papperger, the CEO of arms manufacturer Rheinmetall. Sweden, meanwhile, has faced attacks on its telecommunications network. And disinformation campaigns have targeted the whole of Europe for years, including in the aftermath of drone sightings and disruption.

German chancellor Friedrich Merz has noted that Russian agents may be behind at least some of the overflights; Danish prime minister Mette Frederiksen said she could not “rule out in any way that it [was] Russia” behind the airport disruptions in Copenhagen; and Ukraine’s president, Volodymyr Zelensky, has argued that “the drone incidents across Europe clearly show that Russia is prepared to escalate this war and that it has never been just about Ukraine.” Moreover, in 2025 investigative journalists traced several drone flights back to Russian ships in the North and Baltic seas. Since then, a June 2026 report from the International Institute for Strategic Studies has assessed it is “highly likely” Russia conducted a drone campaign against Europe, largely towards the end of 2025. This research also found that the source of some of these drones may have been Russian shadow fleet vessels.

The types of drones used in these operations have not been definitively identified. However, analyses of images as well as eye-witness accounts point to fixed-wing surveillance drones, as well as quadcopter systems. In at least one incident there were reports of a “mothership” drone, a larger fixed-wing system which carries smaller quadcopter drones. The Leipzig drone has been identified as a quadcopter, roughly the size of a microwave oven.

Still, definitive proof of the types of drone used in overflights or where they come from will depend on police forces apprehending more of them. The fact that local authorities across Europe have been unable to do this could compound a feeling among the public of failure by the state and leave the information vacuum wide open. The lack of information also means it is impossible to distinguish between real sightings and false alarms—like the 2016 case of a drone sighting from an aeroplane which turned out most likely to have been a plastic bag.

European authorities should also be able to stop drones around their critical infrastructure regardless of who flies them. The context of the Russia-Ukraine war has turned the drone threat into a geopolitical problem, yet non-state actors pose their own threat. Given the availability of drones, drone terrorism is a rising security concern—and far-right groups in the US, for example, are reportedly looking into first-person view drones to target law enforcement. But to date no major terrorist attacks by drone have taken place, only some thwarted plans, which is surprising.

But Europe’s drone problem also has a military side, and the continent seems equally unprepared to counter it efficiently and effectively.

Drones crossing the eastern flank

Alongside dealing with overflights, countries along the eastern flank must contend with military drones threatening EU and NATO territory from the east. Such incursions have taken place regularly since Russia began its war of aggression against Ukraine in 2022 and have intensified since 2025.

Only two weeks after the full-scale invasion, a drone (most likely Ukrainian) flew undetected for hundreds of kilometres over Romania and Hungary, before crashing near Zagreb in Croatia. Russian drones came down in Romania in 2023, and in Poland and Lithuania in 2025.

But the number of incidents has grown significantly in 2026. Russian and (more frequently) Ukrainian drones have veered off course since the start of the year, coming down in Finland, Lithuania, Estonia and elsewhere. In May, people took shelter in Lithuania when a drone alert brought Vilnius to a standstill; and across the border in Latvia, both the defence minister and the prime minister lost their jobs over a political response to drone incursions that was deemed insufficient. When the UN Security Council held an emergency meeting over the Galati incident in June, Romania’s minister for foreign affairs noted that it was just one of more than 40 incursions into the country’s airspace in 2026 alone—a number which has grown significantly since then.

Initially such incidents appeared to be accidents, caused by guidance-systems failures, operating errors and interference by electronic countermeasures. But the September 2025 incident in which around 20 military drones entered Poland from different places raised concerns that some might be deliberate provocations. The increasing intensity since then has done nothing to alleviate those concerns. After one May incursion in Latvia, Ukrainian foreign minister Andrii Sybiha said that Russian electronic warfare systems “deliberately diverted Ukrainian drones from their targets in Russia”—not going quite as far as to argue Russia was deliberately sending drones over NATO and EU territory, though this is a possible conclusion.  

The drones that crashed in Poland were later identified as Russian Gerberas, an unarmed variant of what was originally the Iranian Shahed-136 loitering munition.

In response to the incursions, Poland scrambled F-16 fighter jets and several military helicopters. Other NATO states provided support with aerial assets, most notably Dutch F-35s. Together they shot down three of the drones, with the rest crashing on Polish territory, luckily not causing any casualties. Debris was later found in an area spanning hundreds of square kilometres.

While NATO has not disclosed the exact costs of the operation, the missiles the jets fired cost between several hundred thousand and a million euros, depending on the type. Flight hours of F-16s and the much more expensive F-35s run into the tens of thousands of euros. So a single, only partly successful, counter-drone operation cost European countries millions, while Russia likely forked out less than €250,000 to prompt that response. 

Drones continue to cross into NATO and EU territory. Sometimes they are intercepted, but more often they simply crash into the ground, occasionally even going undetected until they do. Were European countries to face an attack involving even a fraction of the numbers Ukraine regularly faces, the consequences would likely be catastrophic—and preventing them would be prohibitively expensive. Once the war ends, and if and when Ukraine becomes an EU or NATO member, defences along the western Ukrainian border—with Poland, Slovakia, Hungary and Romania—can move to Ukraine’s eastern border with Russia. In the meantime however, the EU, NATO and member states need to learn from Ukraine to secure the flank themselves.

Drones are a whole-of-Europe problem, which means all European countries need to invest in counter-drone capabilities. But starting at the eastern flank makes sense. Compared with the overflights of critical infrastructure, the flank is a more defined threat in a geographically bounded area. If the EU and member states can build an effective response here, it could inform efforts across the rest of the continent, both in terms of what can transfer to that different context and what cannot.

What a protected eastern flank looks like  

Europe’s eastern flank spans different climate zones and topography, urban and rural territory, and forests and agricultural land. Given this and the drone threat discussed above, drone defences will have to be multi-layered. The eastern flank will need a detector layer with several sensor options, a defensive layer with several different countermeasures (“multi-effector”), and the ability to engage several drones at the same time (“multi-shot”). All these systems would ideally feed their data into a common operating picture to create a comprehensive view of the eastern flank. This element will be crucial to detect attacks that may be happening at the same time but hundreds if not thousands of kilometres apart.

Detector layer

The detector layer will comprise various radar and sensor systems. These will have to be spaced along the eastern flank depending on the topography and the presence of buildings, forests, agriculture and similar criteria. Today the eastern flank is monitored primarily through NATO assets and national systems, which focus more on the threat from missiles and aircraft, rather than smaller and slower drones.

Radars offer long-range coverage but can struggle to track smaller drones. Their sensitivity is improving all the time but birds still cause false positives; and as drones can be made from an array of materials, it is possible to manufacture them with minimal, or unusual, radar signatures. Moreover, traditional active radar systems that send an electromagnetic pulse and capture its return signal can be too easy for adversaries to identify. To overcome this problem, passive radar systems that work by sensing changes in the electromagnetic spectrum as objects move through space are in development.

Electro-optical sensors would complement radar. These can identify drones based on visual and temperature identifiers, which helps operators establish what kind of drone they are dealing with. But they require a clear line of sight, making them less usable in urban or forest environments. Unless they are AI-enabled, electro-optical sensors also require human intervention in real-time to verify whether an image is showing a drone or not, and thus increase staffing requirements. Radio frequency scanning, meanwhile, identifies drones by monitoring common frequency bands, though its accuracy is limited.

Finally, Ukraine has had considerable success with acoustic sensors and has installed thousands across the country. But Ukrainian experiences have also shown that these sensors do not work equally well in all contexts: environments with lots of sounds, like forests, urban areas and agricultural land, can hinder their usefulness.

Defensive layer

As with detection sensors, the defensive layer will have to incorporate several different features, from electronic countermeasures to kinetic solutions.

Electronic countermeasures include spoofing of positioning systems like GPS, and radio frequency jamming that blocks the connection between drone and operator. But these systems can be quite disruptive as they often interfere with all systems in range, making them less useful in urban contexts and near airports. Their effectiveness also often depends on continuous transmission, and they only work on drones that require a connection to the operator. This means they would be ineffective against autonomous, pre-programmed and tethered systems.

Electronic countermeasures have proven highly effective in Ukraine. But Russia has developed several workarounds to Ukraine’s efforts since the start of the war, and vice versa. Today Ukraine’s entire front line is GPS denied, so all drones operating there do so without relying on satellite guidance. Electronic countermeasures are also being circumvented by drones carrying with them up to 40km of fibre-optic cable through which signals are sent. This underlines the need for drone defences at the eastern flank to involve multiple systems.

Radio-frequency-based “cyber takeover” aims to take command of unwelcome drones and safely land them. This is a particularly desirable option as it preserves the drone for analysis. Yet it hinges on the cyber takeover’s ability to work on every drone system, including unknown ones.

Finally, Europe’s eastern flank will require a range of kinetic counter-drone tools—as a last resort for when electronic measures have failed to take down drones. These should include rifle-mounted systems, larger cannon-type systems, guided missiles and drones to fight drones. While generally effective, most kinetic solutions create the danger of collateral damage, as both projectile and drone come crashing down. During the Polish drone incursion in September 2025, the only property damage was caused by a missile that aimed to shoot down the drones.

Ukraine is now using interceptor drones, or drones that take out other drones. These include several systems, like drones with nets or those that ram hostile drones or blow up warheads that come near. (Incidentally, the existence of these systems has led to some confusion over the term “drone wall”, as some reports have suggested that it would be a wall made of drones, a misunderstanding helped along by the fact that a German firm had proposed such a project previously.)

Other countermeasures such as lasers, electromagnetic pulses, strong light and microwave weapons exist, but have not yet matured sufficiently and face similar limitations to those mentioned above, such as the need for line-of-sight or the risk of collateral damage.

Command and control

Crucially, Europe needs a command-and-control node to collect data. For drone defence to be truly integrated and European, the goal should be for this data to feed into a common operating picture that covers the entire flank, from Nuorgam in northern Finland to Burgas in southern Bulgaria. How to respond to a given threat should remain a more local decision, but information-sharing will still be crucial to understand any attack situation. It is equally desirable for European countries to exchange information with NATO’s Integrated Air and Missile Defence. AI and automation may also prove useful, though it will be necessary to heed the lessons of over-reliance on technology and automation, for instance, from the October 7th attacks against Israel.

*

Building a multi-layered system of systems like this on the eastern flank may seem a daunting task, not to mention an expensive one. But as the alternative is for EU and NATO countries to continue spending tens of thousands of euros to shoot down a single drone, or not to detect or shoot it down at all, it is a task in which the EU and all European countries have a stake.

The progress so far

The work has already begun. The European Commission has been most vocal about its plans to build up an ambitious “drone wall”, now rebranded as the European Drone Defence Initiative. NATO launched Operation Eastern Sentry in September 2025 and runs counter-drone trials with companies. At the national level, many border states are pursuing counter-drone efforts of varying ambition and scope. But the eastern flank remains a long way away from the defences described above, and the lack of coordination could undermine both the initiatives’ efficacy and their cost-efficiency.

The EU

By accident of the calendar, European Commission president Ursula von der Leyen’s State of the Union address took place just a day after the Poland incident in 2025. In her speech, she called for the EU to establish a “drone wall” that would be the “foundation of a credible European defence” and announced the “Eastern Flank Watch” to conduct real-time surveillance of the eastern border.

Von der Leyen offered more details in another speech at the European parliament a few weeks later, noting that using expensive fighter jets to take down cheap, mass-produced drones was “absolutely not sustainable”. Instead, the drone wall should be a system that performs “swift detection, swift interception, and when needed, swift neutralisation”. In October 2025, the informal European Council meeting in Copenhagen endorsed these projects.

Almost a year on, and the European Drone Defence Initiative and Eastern Flank Watch are two of four EU readiness flagship efforts, alongside the European air and space shields. Yet the Drone Defence Initiative and the Eastern Flank Watch are linked in a way that makes it difficult to distinguish between the two. The official commission communication notes, for example, that “anti-drone capabilities will form a core component of the Eastern Flank Watch flagship”. In any case, the projects aim to reach initial capacity by end of this year, and full capacity by end of 2027 and 2028, respectively.

While the intention of the EU’s effort is good, its stated scope sounds overly ambitious. For example, the October 2025 Defence Readiness Roadmap 2030 notes that “the counter-drone network will be adaptable for civ-mil and dual use purposes and help deal with non-defence related threats or other hazards common to every EU border. This includes border protection, weaponisation of migration, protection of critical infrastructure and transnational organised crime.” Von der Leyen expressed similarly wide-ranging aspirations in her speech to parliament, and added guarding the southern flank to the mix as well as countering the Russian shadow fleet—all with the aid of autonomous systems.

Such an all-encompassing proposal appears set for failure, however, and likely only became so inflated in the first place to placate member states away from the eastern flank.

NATO

Today, NATO is the most active body in fighting drone incursions. After Poland invoked Article 4, the alliance launched Operation Eastern Sentry which increased vigilance along the eastern flank. In many instances when drones have been shot down, it was by fighter jets under NATO command.

NATO also plays a useful role in testing counter-drone technologies for member states to procure. The alliance is, for example, running exercises under its “Layered Counter-Uncrewed Aerial System (UAS) Initiative Crucible”. The first of these took place in Romania and focused on how various sensors, effectors and command-and-control systems could operate as a single, layered defence. Over 250 systems were involved, including radars, acoustic and radio-frequency detectors, electronic warfare tools, and kinetic and non-kinetic effectors. The exercise’s scenario involved drone swarms flown over the Black Sea and included representatives from Ukraine who advised on drone tactics and evolving threats.

Still, NATO’s approach remains primarily focused on fighter jets, as they are at the alliance’s disposal. Any longer-term, more cost-effective solution will depend on member state buy-in and member state efforts.

National efforts

For the moment, national-level counter-drone efforts look most promising. Yet the level of development varies significantly along the eastern flank.

Poland’s plans seem most advanced. In January 2026, the Polish government announced the launch of an “anti-drone wall”, reportedly Europe’s largest counter-drone system. The project is estimated at €3.8bn and brings together a consortium of three companies: the state-owned Polska Grupa Zbrojeniowa, the Norwegian firm Kongsberg and the Polish company Advanced Protection Systems.

According to Poland’s defence minister, the system will include 18 anti-drone batteries, 52 firing platoons, 18 command platoons, and 703 military trucks and reconnaissance vehicles. The sensor layer will include short- and medium-range radars, passive electronic detection sensors and electro-optical systems. The defensive layer will be based on Kongsberg’s “Protector” family of weapons and include 35mm anti-aircraft guns, capable of firing programmable and high-velocity ammunition; 30mm cannons; 12.7mm multi-barrel heavy machine guns, intended for short-range threats; laser-guided rockets; and interceptor drones. It will also include non-kinetic defences, including electronic warfare capabilities. Deputy defence minister Cezary Tomczyk noted that different systems would be used in different contexts. Referring to the danger from debris, he said: “Some of this is for use only in extreme or war conditions. For example, these multi-barrel machine guns are difficult to use in peacetime, because everything that goes up must go down.”

The Polish initiative’s command-and-control layer integrates fire control, system management and tactical situational awareness, enabling real-time coordination of sensors and effectors. Initial operational capabilities are scheduled for delivery before the end of 2026, with the aim of it being fully operational by the end of 2027. For Poland, the drone wall is only one element of stronger fortifications on its borders with Belarus and the Russian Kaliningrad exclave.

In cooperation with the European Commission, Poland has also announced the creation of a “drone valley”, a hub of drone-related research and testing in the south-east of the country, in Rzeszow—a city that has become the hub for logistical support to Ukraine. Companies are increasingly entering the defence field, so such a hub will host some of the trade fairs and hackathons on counter-drone measures that are becoming more common in Europe.

Further north in the Baltic countries, in February 2025, a consortium of several companies led by the Estonian Defence Industry Cluster initiated the “Baltic drone wall”. The effort includes companies from Poland and Finland, but a request for funding from the EU was rejected in March 2025. Media sources report a multi-layered short-range drone countermeasure system, and efforts to build a common operational picture. But so far, nothing comprehensive has come to pass. Still, in June Estonia began deploying its first fixed drone detection and monitoring systems along its border with Russia. The systems are installed on three sections of the border between the Luhamaa crossing and the tri-border area where Estonia, Latvia, and Russia meet.

Finland’s government announced in April 2026 that it is allocating €44m to the Border Guard to procure drone detection systems, and fixed and mobile counter-drone technologies. It has also been working on drone detection along the border for several months.

As of summer 2026, Romania is experiencing the most frequent incursions. But it only recently began looking into counter-drone systems. The country is now investing heavily in its defences, specifically its aerial defences, which include counter-drone systems. These initiatives are in part financed by EU loans through the re-armament initiative SAFE. The country has also turned to NATO as well as allied countries to help it fight against drone incursions.

In Bulgaria, drone defences have not yet become a priority. The country is, however, looking into the acquisition of counter-drone systems, funded through the EU loan mechanism. Hungary and Slovakia were absent from initial EU drone defence discussions with the other eastern flank states. Slovakia joined later exchanges and has looked into the acquisition of counter-drone systems, but it does not appear to have a more comprehensive counter-drone initiative. In July, Slovakia hosted a NATO test of emerging capabilities which included counter-drone technology, though this was not its main focus.

How to turn the hotch-potch into a whole

It is positive that the EU, NATO and the eastern flank states are working on solutions. But too many initiatives exist, which risks duplicating conceptual work and creating uncertainty for companies that do not know who to work with. The further along individual projects are, the harder it will be to combine them and to facilitate the kind of information exchange needed for a common operating picture. To ensure coherence and interoperability, especially at the data-exchange level, more coordination needs to happen now.

The EU should view this as an opportunity to fulfil its ambitious goal. Although it should drop the aim to create a drone wall that can do just about everything, it can play the coordinating role of bringing the relevant actors together. To do so, the EU should focus on the following five priorities:

1. Support more ambitious and advanced efforts like the Polish and Baltic state counter-drone initiatives. The EU should, for example, identify where gaps or barriers remain in these efforts and where there may be risk of duplication. This would enable the EU to direct its funding, as well as its regulatory and legal expertise, in ways that accelerates those efforts.
2. Fund and incentivise counter-drone efforts in eastern states that are not yet pursuing drone defences with the required urgency: Bulgaria, Hungary and Slovakia, but also Romania, would benefit from European finance and guidance in scaling up the ambition and scope of their defences.
3. Encourage member states to share best practices, including on regulation and questions of jurisdiction, and establish links between actors and companies already in the field. For example, Germany has reworked its national law to allow the armed forces to intercept drones in extreme cases. In France, a new law allows private companies to ensure protection against drones for civilian infrastructure. There is no reason why every EU member state needs to work out these laws for itself.
4. Create, in cooperation with NATO, common standards and certifications for quality control and to ensure products from different companies are interoperable. This could take the form of a suitability certificate for companies whose systems have proven their usefulness in exercises.
5. Establish a joint operating picture by building a command-and-control node in which data from all eastern flank detection stations are collected. This would enable truly European coordination to bring together national efforts and turn a piecemeal effort into a militarily useful whole.

The EU is already organising virtual meetings between the involved states. It should now develop this coordinating role to share legal best practices and develop common rules regarding when and how military drones can be intercepted in a civilian setting. For example, one reason the drone flying into Romanian airspace in May was not intercepted was uncertainty over the legality of interception: “Ukraine is at war, but Romania is at peace”, a military representative said. All eastern flank states share the same situation. And the fact that many of the national efforts are funded with the help of the SAFE defence loan programme boosts the EU’s legitimacy in taking on this role.

And apply the lessons to the rest of Europe

Organisationally, national police forces deal with drones over critical infrastructure. And the EU is well-placed to help spread insights from counter-drone operations at the eastern flank farther west. Technologically, member states’ experiences at the eastern flank also hold several lessons for the rest of the continent: which systems work and in which environments, for example, and how different technologies can work together. Again, the EU can help to compile and share this valuable information, reducing the burden on member states to collect it themselves.    

Countering drones flying over critical infrastructure will not require something quite as elaborate and unified as defences at the eastern flank:

1. Detector layer: Lessons from the eastern flank on how best to install detection layers and which systems work best can inform local authorities’ decisions about what would work near critical infrastructure. Here, the EU and local authorities will need to take different environments into account: critical infrastructure is often in more urban areas, whereas the eastern flank is generally more rural. Yet the flank includes a multitude of different environments, including forests and swamps, and agricultural and some urban areas, which means detection systems will be tested in numerous areas that can still inform how they might perform nearer cities. 
2. Defensive layer: The EU and local authorities should apply a similar principle to the defensive elements. This includes lessons on how to best layer countermeasures, and which systems work best in which environment. Not all systems that operate at the eastern flank will qualify for deployment in civilian contexts: kinetic systems in particular, would only be used in the most extreme cases to protect critical infrastructure from an immediate threat. But insights from electronic countermeasures and cyber takeover may be transferable to a civilian context.
3. Information exchange: The EU and member states should establish an information exchange on drone incidents near critical infrastructure throughout the union. Countering the threat to critical infrastructure does not require the joint operating picture that military defence does. But collecting and sharing information on drone overflights (as well as other hybrid attacks) over critical infrastructure would allow authorities to detect concerted attack operations.

Today’s solution

Europeans face a dual drone threat over their critical infrastructure and at the eastern flank. They need to address both sides of this problem. While there is no wall to be built and no umbrella to open over the entire continent, insights from one side of the threat can inform the other.

The EU should start by turning its overly ambitious Drone Defence Initiative into something operable. To do so, it should focus on supporting existing national initiatives on the eastern flank and incentivising budding ones. It should also prioritise data-sharing and establishing a joint operating picture, and collecting information on which systems work in what context. The EU should then use this information to help all member states counter drones beyond the eastern flank.

This policy brief focused drone defence—a crucial skill for all European states as drones are without question a threat they will continue to encounter. Yet, with regard to the drone threat from Russia, a better option than to defend against overflights and incursions is to stop them from happening in the first place: no build-up of European defences can replace diplomatic, political and military efforts to end the Russian aggression against Ukraine and Russia’s hybrid attacks against European nations; even if better defences would contribute to deterrence by denial in the meantime.

About the author

Dr Ulrike Franke is a senior policy fellow at the European Council on Foreign Relations, based in the Paris office. Her areas of focus include German and European security and defence, the future of warfare, and the impact of new technologies such as drones and AI on geopolitics and warfare.

---

[1] DFS Deutsche Flugsicherung, Drone Report, July 2026.

Source

Elections for the Palestinian Legislative Council (PLC) are scheduled to take place on 28 November 2026 in the West Bank, East Jerusalem, and the Gaza Strip.

The registration of electoral lists – which represent a party, coalition of parties, or a group of voters – will take place between 26 September and 7 October. Full candidacy details for all registered electoral lists can be found on the website of the Central Elections Commission.

PLC candidates must “commit to the Palestine Liberation Organisation as the only legitimate representative of the Palestinian people, its political and national programme, and relevant decisions of international legitimacy”.

Hamas has indicated that it intends to participate in the elections.

The last PLC elections, scheduled for May 2021, were cancelled by President Mahmoud Abbas, citing Israel’s refusal to permit the inclusion of East Jerusalem. PLC elections were previously held in 2006 and 1996.

Source

This week, Mark Leonard is joined by Jörg Lau, international correspondent at Die Zeit and Jana Puglierin, head of ECFR’s Berlin office, to explore the political turmoil in Germany ahead of an electoral autumn. Chancellor Friedrich Merz’s government is becoming increasingly unpopular: it faces collapsing approval ratings, growing tension within the governing coalition and mounting pressure from the far-right Alternative for Germany (AfD).

As regional elections approach, Jana argues that Germany’s traditional parties face difficult choices that could reshape the country’s political landscape, while Jörg discusses what the AfD’s rise means for Germany. A “firewall” has kept mainstream parties from cooperating with the far right in the post-war period—but Jörg reflects on the strain this is under, and whether the AfD’s first taste of regional power could transform German politics.

Together, Mark, Jörg and Jana assess the prospects for Merz’s leadership, the future of the CDU and whether Germany’s political centre can withstand such pressure. Are established parties capable of renewing themselves? What happens if the AfD makes gains at the regional level? And what would prolonged instability in Berlin mean for Europe?

This podcast episode was recorded on August 12th 2026.

Bookshelf
The Names, by Florence Knapp
The Nights Are Quiet in Tehran, by Shida Bazyar
The Invite, by Olivia Wilde

Source

💾

Recycling is no longer just an environmental obligation. It has become a geoeconomic imperative directly linked to Europe’s energy security and industrial competitiveness. The European Commission’s Critical Raw Materials Act reflects this change—it has set an ambitious target to source at least 25% of the EU’s annual consumption of strategic raw materials from recycling by 2030.

Europe, however, is making little progress. A recent European Court of Auditors’ report suggests that seven of 26 energy-transition-related minerals have recycling rates between 1% and 5% in the EU. This means, for example, that Europe is recovering just three tonnes from every 100 tonnes of natural graphite contained in batteries. According to the report, there are another ten minerals that Europe does not recycle at all, including lithium, gallium and silicon metal.

As such, recycling battery materials warrants far more attention. This valuable source of critical minerals could lower the continent’s dependence on Chinese mineral value chains; recycling battery materials is also much quicker than relying on the development of mines elsewhere that produce the same materials. However, fragmentation, red tape and unfavourable economics are hampering Europe’s recycling efforts, in part due to a regulatory framework that still treats battery materials as hazardous waste rather than a source of strategically important minerals.

Europeans need to focus on battery materials regulation with an industrial policy lens and pursue strategic partnerships with African countries to make gains in material recovery.

Using black mass and EVs

Recovered minerals from Europe’s waste—including end-of-life electric vehicle (EV) batteries, wind turbines, industrial parts and electrical wiring—are insufficient to meet all of Europe’s mineral needs. However, they can substitute for a share of primary minerals from mining, which would help Europeans derisk from Chinese mineral supply chains far quicker than new mines can come into production.

Europe will have relatively significant EV battery feedstock for recycling in coming years. Europeans were early adopters of EVs and European countries are global leaders in terms of EV sales as a share of total car sales: in Sweden, Denmark and the Netherlands, for example, EVs account for 58%, 56% and 48% of passenger-vehicle sales respectively, while fully electric vehicles comprise 22.6% of cars registered in the EU. High EV adoption means Europe should have a solid supply of EV battery feedstock for recycling facilities, provided it keeps this within the EU for recycling.

In March 2025, the EU re-classified “black mass” (the shredded EV battery waste processed to recover critical minerals) and end-of-life lithium-based, nickel-based and zinc-based batteries as “hazardous waste”. Black mass is important because it contains valuable critical minerals; if Europeans can process this within its borders, it can feed recovered minerals into European industry. This new classification prohibits export of black mass to non-OECD countries, while requiring that shipments within the EU and the OECD have prior notification and consent from the import, export and transit countries involved.

Europe currently exports around 80% of its black mass for refining elsewhere, mostly in Asia; South Korea’s OECD status and cheap recycling capacities make it a key destination, for example. The reclassification of black mass raises bureaucratic barriers to exporting out of the EU, contributing to efforts to prevent recycling feedstock leaking out. However, black mass is now more difficult to move within Europe, too, which makes aggregating feedstock for recycling within the EU a challenge. While Europe has some battery shredding (or pre-treatment) capacity to produce black mass, its refining capacity to recover minerals from black mass has lagged significantly.

Although forecasts suggest that Europe will slightly raise its material-recovery capacity in the coming years, it remains a minor player. China’s dominant share in global battery recycling capacity for the shredding and material recovery stages, which exceeded 80% in 2025, is set to continue.

Recent analysis estimates that the costs of hydrometallurgical recycling for nickel manganese cobalt (NMC) and lithium iron phosphate (LFP) batteries are respectively 70% and 67% higher in France than in China due to higher labour, energy, environmental compliance, dismantling and transport costs in Europe. China’s scale of feedstock—domestic supply of end-of-life batteries, scrap metal from the local automobile industry, and imported batteries and black mass—has further lowered their recycling costs.

Making battery recycling happen in Europe

The EU can take three clear steps to increase recycling black mass in Europe.

First, Europeans should implement stricter export restrictions on black mass and batteries to fully close off exports and retain the products for material recovery domestically.[1] The US took this position in July 2026, with President Donald Trump empowering federal officials to block exports of end-of-life batteries and electronic waste to contain these products for recycling within the US.

Second, Europeans need to urgently build more recycling capacity to refine black mass: Europe’s hydrometallurgical recycling capacity is less than 3,000 tonnes, which is around one-sixtieth of China’s. Estimates suggest that Europe needs the capacity to recycle 120,000–135,000 tonnes of black mass per year by 2030.

Third—and perhaps most challenging—Europeans need to ensure recycling in Europe becomes more economically viable. Failing this, tough export restrictions will lead to battery waste being stockpiled rather than recycled.

To achieve the above, Europeans need to develop new financing mechanisms—such as building recycling costs into the purchase price of products and using public finance to help offset recyclers’ higher costs in Europe—to make recycling more economically viable. This would be particularly timely as battery technology shifts from NMC to LFP batteries: since the latter are comprised of less valuable minerals, recyclers earn less from the sale of recovered minerals, necessitating support for project viability.

The provision of public finance, preferably at both the EU and member-state level, would help in the development of new technologies and processes that lower recycling costs by reducing energy requirements and improving recovery rates. Patent filings in battery recycling are growing significantly, with 2026 figures showing a 103% growth in filings (adjusted for lag). China leads in patent applications, although US and European companies—notably Belgium’s Umicore—are also active. To make Europe more globally competitive in recycling, Europe must increase its investments in innovation using public finance support.

Europeans also need to establish a strong domestic value chain. European battery recyclers, such as Germany’s Cylib and Tozero and Norway’s Hydrovolt, should identify and establish commercial agreements with EU-based offtakers for the minerals they recover—after all, if Europe has to export recovered minerals outside its borders for want of domestic offtakers, gains in recycling will be for nothing. Specifically, this requires European industry that uses recovered minerals (alongside primary source minerals from mining) to refine precursor cathode active material (pCAM) and cathode active material (CAM) stages for EV batteries.

Pursuing EU-Africa partnerships

Europeans should also look internationally to ensure recycling can feasibly reduce existing mineral supply chain dependencies. The EU needs to tap into other recycling feedstock markets and diversify its mineral supply chains by establishing recycling partnerships with OECD and non-OECD countries.

Indeed, the EU has explicitly included recycling within the remit of some strategic partnerships on critical minerals that it has signed with partner countries, including several African countries such as Namibia. By locating recycling and mineral-processing facilities in African countries, they can tackle the cost disadvantages Europeans face with regard to energy, land and labour costs on home soil. Namibia and Kenya are ideal partners: both have transport corridors and port infrastructure that make them well positioned to aggregate regional battery and electronic waste (e-waste); they can harness their abundant renewable energy resources can power material recovery facilities.

EU-Africa cooperation on recycling would also be advantageous to African countries. Joint operations create jobs, expand African mineral processing capabilities and link African mineral supply chains with European industry. Africa-based recycling facilities could also manage the growing quantity of end-of-life batteries and e-waste generated by African countries, notably from solar panels, energy-storage batteries and EV batteries from smaller two- and three-wheeler vehicles.

Sub-Saharan Africa’s projected growth in stationary storage capacity alone is significant: following current market trends, it will expand dramatically by 2030, with a storage capacity increase from 11 GWh to 83 GWh. If the region achieves universal access to electricity (SDG7), demand could more than double that, reaching a storage capacity of 190 GWh.

Europe’s road ahead

More recycling facilities are required to handle Africa’s growing volume of end-of-life battery feedstock. This presents an opportunity for growth both in Africa-based recycling, and in Africa-Europe recycling cooperation. However, this is not straightforward. Africa-Europe recycling partnerships need to invest in formalising supply chains for collection and storage; they need to build facilities for shredding batteries and e-waste; and they need to ensure that they can refine black mass to recover valuable materials. They would also need to develop the workforce skills and local-firm capabilities needed for efficient, environmentally-sound operations throughout the supply chain.

For African countries like Namibia and Kenya, such cooperation creates jobs and builds recycling capacity and expertise while integrating African mineral industrialisation into EU mineral supply chains. Recycling operations could also serve as anchor customers for increasing electricity generation and transmission investments in African countries, while local populations also benefit from improved electricity availability. Additionally, recycling in African countries helps address the continent’s growing e-waste management challenges.

For Europe, the increased recovery of critical minerals both domestically and through recycling partnerships with African countries offers greater supply chain diversification, access to minerals from non-OECD black mass and de-risking from Chinese mineral supply chains. All of this will happen faster than if Europeans continue to rely on global mine development. Europeans need to extend their strategic thinking beyond their borders, advancing recycling cooperation through critical minerals partnerships.

---

[1] Interview with a representative of a mineral analytics company, February 19th, 2026.

Source

Many—perhaps most—Trump administration foreign policy initiatives find ways to make money for people selected by Trump officials. These deals unjustly enrich a chosen few.

They can also create facts on the ground that could bequeath problems to the next US administration. For example, grants of property rights to friends and family by the Trump-controlled Board of Peace could decide who has land and money in Gaza. This would limit the discretion of any approach that aims to increase Palestinians’ role in the place they live in. Other peace deals contain similar long tails.

To address this threat to peace around the world, the next US administration should introduce anti-corruption sanctions from its first day in office. The new administration could bar non-US persons or institutions involved in such transactions from the US itself and from the American financial system. To do this, the administration would use the Global Magnitsky Act and related executive orders, including the Trump-issued executive order 13818.

Europeans can help this along even now. They can begin to declare their expectations that a new US administration will break from the practice of enriching chosen insiders. Such statements will influence preparations for the new administration. Over the next two years, Europeans can also preserve information about US insider dealing while publicly refusing to support or finance such deals where European interests are involved, including in the south Caucasus, Western Balkans, Gaza, Russia and Ukraine. And they can shore up their own sanctions and anti-corruption regimes.

Starting discussions about sanctions now will also send a message about the importance of professional, thorough investigations by journalists, civil society, and especially by congressional committees if Democrats take control of the House or Senate. This information can inform decisions about sanctions. Clear signalling from American and European political leaders now may deter potential foreign partners of the current administration from entering into corrupt deals over the remaining two years of the administration.

What sanctions can and cannot do

Sanctions will not provide complete answers in any situation, and they may not be appropriate in some instances. An understanding of how they work will clarify their importance and some of their limitations.

Executive order 13818 authorises sanctions against any “foreign person” (that is, not a US citizen or person) who participated in:

corruption, including the misappropriation of state assets, the expropriation of private assets for personal gain, corruption related to government contracts or the extraction of natural resources, or bribery

The commercial aspects of President Donald Trump’s foreign policy appear to fall squarely into this framework. Even if not every instance is found to involve corruption, a close look is warranted. For example, Kazakh authorities were reportedly pressed to award a valuable mineral concession to a specific American company (associated with US political insiders, including the president’s family) while the administration considered financing for the development and export of the minerals. This was not an effort to promote a fair process in which American companies could compete—a staple of US government advocacy in any administration—but an attempt to short-circuit the normal process. It appears to involve the essence of the behaviour targeted by the Magnitsky act and executive order.

In Bosnia and Herzegovina, a specific American company was newly created by two US citizens with no relevant experience but with a track record of supporting the president (and one of whom is the brother of a senior official in the first Trump administration). The US lobbied for this company to receive a lucrative concession for a natural gas pipeline, and the US demanded the resignation of a reluctant international official.

American sanctions apply only to non-American citizens. It may seem unfair to leave US beneficiaries of a scheme out of a US response. But the administration’s power to require foreign persons or institutions to provide all relevant information about suspect transactions could impede the activities that unjustly enrich American insiders.

Further, by the end of the Trump administration, many insiders (and possibly some foreign persons) are likely to be covered by presidential pardons. This could make it difficult, if not impossible, to proceed with US criminal investigations, at least not without extensive litigation while the US justice system recovers from Trump’s attacks on its capacity. This could make a new administration look feckless, and foreign partners may expect that Trumpian practices will return in future administrations. Crucially, sanctions are not subject to the pardon power, and their emphasis on non-US persons and institutions will provide some protection against charges that they are part of a partisan agenda.

Another concern may be that sanctions have generally been adopted after careful review by relevant US agencies, including the Justice Department. Given the amount of information available, a reasonable basis for a decision on sanctions can be prepared for day one of a new administration. This decision can be accompanied by a provision that reviews will follow as new information becomes available and US government agencies rebuild enough capacity to conduct them.

The investigative resources of European governments, the US Congress (or parts controlled by Democrats after the 2026 midterms), civil society and independent journalism will provide an ample, well-documented basis for sanctions in many instances. By inviting those who might be subject to sanctions to provide information, the effort will gather more information, more quickly, aiding in decisions about priorities for further sanctions or investigations by congressional or law enforcement authorities.

Significantly, early sanctions may be necessary for a new administration to deliver on promises it makes on issues of foreign and domestic policy. For example, the Trump administration is seeking to have rights to minerals critical to US industrialisation granted to its preferred partners, including in Central Asia, Ukraine and eastern Congo. Individuals holding these rights would be important stakeholders in any policy shifts, even though they may have obtained the rights through insider dealing and could be opposed to the direction a new administration would like to take on policy.  

The leverage provided by a policy of using sanctions may be a key instrument of foreign policy

The same situation could occur in other locations. In addition to the examples of Gaza and the Western Balkans noted above, in Venezuela, if a democratic government emerges, it may face challenges from Trump-affiliated companies accustomed to working with Maduro-regime holdovers kept in place by Trump and Marco Rubio. Control of a key trade route from Central Asia to global markets, along with a US-taxpayer funded investment vehicle, is said to be in the process of being placed under the control of a Trump-associated individual. In each instance, more knowledge about what deals are in place and how they came to be will improve both policy and decisions on sanctions. The leverage provided by a policy of using sanctions may be a key instrument of foreign policy.

The list goes on. Even before his second inauguration, a Trump-owned business accepted a $500m investment from a fund controlled by a member of the United Arab Emirates’ ruling family; within weeks the UAE received an exemption to purchase high-end computer chips. A Chinese businessman purchased $50m in a Trump-owned crypto business (part of the president’s $1.2bn windfall from crypto in 2025); weeks later his US criminal problems were resolved by the president.

If other jurisdictions like the EU and Britain join new American sanctions efforts, the costs to the non-US individuals and institutions affected will be real. To do this, the EU might consider how its rule of law initiatives, including its investigative bodies such as OLAF or the European Public Prosecutor’s Office, could prepare to work alongside US sanctions authorities. It could propose that the EU and the US return to coordinating assistance programmes to reinforce public procurement reforms. Various European states have national anti-corruption sanctions programmes; more should consider adopting them.

Some will worry that rapid deployment of sanctions may distract from a new administration’s positive agenda. This will depend on the strength of that agenda. Europeans can help make clear that they regard this as a false choice: a break from the insider dealing of the Trump administration should be part of a new, positive plan for government. This will make it easier for a new administration to adopt sanctions policy as part of leaving Trump practices firmly in the past.

There will, of course, be difficult decisions around the application of sanctions. Not every example of insider dealing will be proven to be corrupt. Some potential targets of sanctions may be important to other US administration initiatives, and if the new administration defers sanctions it may be subject to accusations of hypocrisy. Other countries may object strongly to seeing their institutions or citizens named in sanctions documents. A new administration will face many choices like this; people who want to exercise power from Washington therefore need to prepare now and confront the choice early. It is better to start with a strong tool like sanctions rather than to disarm everywhere pre-emptively in order to avoid hard choices in a few places.

Wise observers of democratic transitions have said that democrats taking power after corrupt regimes should seek to be quick, effective and legal; but that they can be only two of the three. But sanctions might get a new administration closer to three out of three. They provide a legal tool that will help the next administration be quick and effective in stopping the insider enrichment typical of Trump foreign policy while coming with limits (no targeting of US citizens) and with the ability to adjust quickly. By taking up this tool, it will free itself of shackles that would come from those who seek to control the land and property important to peace in many parts of the world. But this will come to pass only if people begin to talk about it now. European leaders have the ability to help make sure that happens.

Source

This week, Mark Leonard is joined by Adriana Abdenur, a Brazilian policy expert and co-president of the Global Fund for a New Economy, and Jorge Castañeda, former foreign minister of Mexico and professor at Sciences Po, to explore debates about development and ideas of strategic autonomy across Latin America.

Jorge explains why China’s role is varied across the region, arguing that Mexico and much of Central America remain deeply constrained by their economic ties to the US. Adriana discusses Brazil’s long tradition of strategic autonomy, describing how policymakers engage with China as both an economic partner and a source of ideas on development, technology and global governance.

Together, Mark, Adriana and Jorge explore how intensifying US-China competition is reshaping the region’s choices. Can Latin American countries balance relations with both powers? Is China a model, a market or simply another partner in a multipolar world? And what does strategic autonomy look like in an increasingly coercive geopolitical environment?

This podcast episode was recorded on July 31st 2026.

Bookshelf
Latin American Foreign Policies in the New World Order: The Active Non-Alignment Option, by Carlos Ominami, Jorge Heine and Carlos Fortín
Manifesto Antropófago (Cannibal Manifesto), by Oswald de Andrade

Source

💾

Reluctance among German decision-makers has long stopped Berlin taking a tougher economic approach towards China. When France, Italy, Lithuania, the Netherlands and Spain recently pressed the European Commission for tougher measures and faster trade defence action against China, Germany not only declined to join, it even called for stronger industrial ties with Beijing.

Yet, one thing Berlin should not worry about is voters’ disapproval should it pursue a more hawkish China policy. ECFR polling data find that Germans are the most China-sceptical out of 15 European countries surveyed. No fewer than 60% of Christian Democrat and Social Democrat supporters regard the country as an adversary or rival. In contrast, elsewhere in Europe, majorities still see China as either a “necessary partner” or even an ally. In Italy and Spain, 56% and 65% of people hold this view respectively. (Closest to the sceptical Germans are the French public; President Emmanuel Macron’s increasingly hawkish political posture vis-à-vis Beijing may have found an audience willing to listen.)

The China shock has hit Germany particularly hard: its manufacturing sector lost around 420,000 jobs between 2019 and 2025 and it continues to shed 10,000 jobs each month. The car industry is paying the highest costs, being squeezed out of a market increasingly dominated by Chinese manufacturers at home and abroad.

The mood in the European Council is shifting, and with Germany’s acquiescence. When EU leaders met in June 2026, they backed a stronger trade defence toolbox of existing measures against China. This included instruments such as the Industrial Accelerator Act’s “Buy European” provisions and limits on high-risk Chinese technology. Despite its past hesitations, Germany no longer acts as a spoiler on firmer EU action, and it has cautiously supported this new direction. Nevertheless, the combination of growing public scepticism towards China, mounting pressure on German industry and appetite for a more assertive policy on the European level creates a political mandate that German decision-makers could yet seize.

The German public’s views on the energy transition should also prove encouraging for their leaders. Voters want to see investment in renewables: 57% back what would amount to the growing electrification of the economy. Across the countries polled by ECFR, 61% of respondents say they support prioritising renewables and the clean tech sector.

This public support should help persuade leaders, including in Germany, that they can take action to limit emerging dependencies on China. They can accelerate the energy transition while de-risking the clean tech sector through providing support for domestic European industries, from wind to batteries.

For Berlin, and capitals across Europe, it is safer to move ahead rather than delay. Chinese economic policy is already doing irreparable damage to European industry—but European policymakers still need to protect an increasingly electrified economy from weaponisation by China. If they fail to do so, governments will almost certainly pay the price at the ballot box. Those that pursue electrification and economic de-risking as a single package are most likely to reap the political rewards.

Source

At the end of July, Hamas agreed to a Board of Peace (BoP) roadmap to implement Phase 2 of the three-stage ceasefire agreement. At its core is Hamas’s willingness to decommission its weapons. This would have been unthinkable only a few years ago and offers a realistic pathway for ending the Islamist group’s governance and security control over the devastated Strip.

This process will only begin once Israel has fully complied with its Phase 1 obligations, which it has yet to do. More fundamentally, it will require Israel to accept a process to end its military presence in Gaza and ultimately engage in negotiations towards Palestinian self-determination. Netanyahu and his hardline government have rejected the roadmap out of hand and are now the main threat to the ceasefire deal.

Having been largely sidelined, Europe now has a role to play in ensuring the deal succeeds.

The unfinished phase 1

Announced in September 2025, Trump’s 20-point plan aims to end the war in Gaza in three phases. The first phase conditioned the full cessation of hostilities and emergency relief on the release of Israeli hostages held by Palestinian groups. The second phase aims to remove Hamas from power and begin reconstruction—the roadmap Hamas agreed to in July outlines how this stage will work. The final phase would end with Israel’s full withdrawal from Gaza, the return of the Palestinian Authority (PA) and the launch of a “credible pathway to Palestinian self-determination and statehood”.

So far, the plan has significantly reduced violence, secured the return of all Israeli hostages held by Palestinian factions and prompted a partial redeployment of Israeli military forces. However, in violation of the agreement, Israel has continued to strike civilians and militants in Gaza, and impede the entry of humanitarian aid. The Israeli military has also advanced beyond the Yellow Line, to which it was supposed to withdraw in the first phase.

At the same time, Israel has continued to demolish Palestinian homes and infrastructure in the 70% of Gaza that remains under its control. Israel may now be seeking to create a new de facto border with Gaza and effectively annex a large chunk of the territory, potentially preparing for the return of Israeli settlements there in the future.

The roadmap

Once Phase 1 is complete, Palestinian factions will begin handing over their heavy weapons to the Palestinian National Committee for the Administration of Gaza (NCAG), a transitional body created as part of the 20-point plan to replace Hamas governance and security control in the Strip. This will include the full alphabet soup of Palestinian armed groups—many of which are more hardline than Hamas—as well as Israeli-backed militias.

Heavy weapons will effectively be placed under lock and key, monitored by the International Stabilisation Force (ISF), which will deploy as a buffer between Israeli forces and NCAG-controlled areas. BoP officials have said Palestinian weapons could ultimately be dismantled and melted down. This would replicate how Northern Ireland’s decommissioning process dealt with weapons held by paramilitary groups. Tunnels and weapons production facilities would also be put out of action.

Small arms like AK-47s will instead be regulated by NCAG through a system of permits. NCAG will also establish a new police force made up of newly trained recruits and members of the Hamas-run civil police vetted and approved by the BoP.

Critically, the roadmap links the decommissioning process “to an Israeli withdrawal, in phases, from the areas under its control in Gaza”. According to previous understandings, Israel would withdraw to a new “Red Line” by the end of Phase 2, and from there to a “Black Line” along Gaza’s perimeter, where it would retain a narrow buffer zone until “Gaza is properly secure from any resurgent terror threat.”

While the contours of Phase 2 are now clear, the final operational details still need to be hammered out between the sides during follow-up talks. Questions also remain over the lack of funding for the NCAG and the status of the ISF, which to date has only around 200 pledged troops from Morocco, though smaller numbers may also come from countries including Kosovo and Uganda. Meanwhile, the new Palestinian police force has yet to begin training in Egypt.

Europe is right to avoid directly funding the BoP. But it has considerable expertise in disarmament and security-sector reform, including through the EU’s EUPOL COPPS mission, which was established to assist the PA police in the West Bank. Europeans should offer critical personnel and technical expertise to support both the decommissioning process and the training of the new Palestinian police force.

The spoiler

The biggest obstacle remains Israel’s opposition to any transitional political process that would eventually force it out of the Strip and into talks on Palestinian self-determination

The biggest obstacle remains Israel’s opposition to any transitional political process that would eventually force it out of the Strip and into talks on Palestinian self-determination. The Israeli government has instead vowed to remain in Gaza and continue its military attacks. It has also opposed NCAG taking over until Hamas fully disarms, and demanded the right to veto troop contributions to the ISF from “hostile” countries such as Turkey and Qatar.

BoP officials now appear to be altering parts of the laboriously negotiated deal (and its own press release) to accommodate Israel’s hardline stance. They now state that Israeli withdrawal beyond the Yellow Line would begin only once the decommissioning process is complete. This appears to contradict the original text and Nikolay Mladenov, the BoP’s high representative, who initially said the two would move forward “in lockstep”. The accompanying Explanatory Note also reinforces this interpretation, outlining “a step-by-step process linking withdrawal phases to verified decommissioning steps.”

Such manoeuvring risks undermining Hamas support for the agreement. Moreover, by conditioning all further Israeli withdrawals on Gaza’s full demilitarisation, the BoP is in effect giving Israel a veto over the process itself, allowing it to deepen its control over the eastern half of Gaza. Given the near impossibility of removing every single Palestinian weapon, as many are held by families, clans, criminal networks and jihadi groups, Israel could argue indefinitely that the conditions for its withdrawal have not been met.

But even BoP efforts to placate Israel have failed to satisfy prime minister Benjamin Netanyahu. He continues to demand that the deal be re-negotiated, insisting that no Israeli redeployment will take place, even to the original Yellow Line, until Hamas has fully disarmed.

The path forward

Having secured Hamas’s unprecedented agreement to decommission its weapons, the BoP now needs to show the political will to implement its own deal. US officials have already warned Israel that US president Donald Trump would be “very, very disappointed” if Netanyahu derailed it. Although the prime minister’s far-right coalition limits his room for manoeuvre, Netanyahu has invested heavily in portraying his close relationship with Trump as a political asset—which means he cannot easily afford a public rupture with him.

Mladenov has won wide international praise for brokering the deal. Rather than modifying the terms he himself negotiated and risk the diplomatic gains already achieved, he should use his current political capital and Trump’s momentary re-engagement to insist that Israel implements rather than rewrites the agreement. If necessary, he should be prepared to call out Israeli obstruction, just as he previously cast Hamas as the main obstacle. Europe can further strengthen his hand by also highlighting Israel’s non-compliance with its obligations, as the Arab and Turkish mediators have done. The EU should also resume discussions on suspending the  Association Agreement with Israel unless it complies.

Sustained diplomatic engagement before Israel’s October elections should aim to shift the terms of the domestic debate. The Israeli opposition has also been critical of the deal, accusing Netanyahu of weakness by allowing Hamas to survive, and is unlikely to chart a radical new course on Gaza if it wins. Nevertheless, opposition figures have also acknowledged that Israel’s battlefield gains need to be converted into lasting diplomatic achievements. Europe should use the political framework established by the Gaza roadmap to reinforce this logic and demonstrate how military gains can be converted into a sustainable political settlement.

Ultimately, success will depend on whether both sides conclude that diplomacy offers greater rewards than renewed war. Hamas is unlikely to complete decommissioning unless it believes that concessions today will lead to genuine political gains tomorrow towards Palestinian liberation. Equally, Israel will only embrace a durable ceasefire if it sees political transformation within Hamas that locks it into credible peace negotiations as a means of strengthening its long-term security. This makes Phase 3 every bit as important as Phase 2.

Without a credible pathway towards Palestinian self-determination, decommissioning risks becoming an end in itself rather than the foundation of a lasting Israeli-Palestinian peace. Equally, a future Israeli government will need to view full implementation of the Gaza agreement not as a concession to Hamas, but as the indispensable stepping stone towards normalisation with Saudi Arabia and deeper integration with the Arab and Islamic world. Europe should therefore work with its Arab partners to ensure that the Gaza deal is tied to a regional package. That would allow a future Israeli government to present withdrawal from Gaza and acceptance of a political process leading to a two-state solution not as unilateral compromises, but as part of a US-brokered grand bargain that underpins Israeli integration and security in the region.

Source