US President Donald Trump said on 13 October that the US continues to share intelligence with Ukraine, following reports that Washington had threatened to suspend intelligence assistance unless Kyiv stopped striking Russian oil refineries, POLITICO reported.
The comments came after Ukraine received no advance warning from its partners ahead of Russia's latest ballistic missile strike, raising fresh questions about intelligence sharing between Kyiv and Washington.
“We are helping them, and we are sharing intel. We want the war to end,” Trump told reporters at the White House, according to POLITICO, reaffirming US support after his recent efforts to reach an agreement with Russian President Vladimir Putin drew criticism over his approach to the war.
Last week, the US threatened to cut intelligence sharing if Ukraine did not stop attacking Russian oil refineries. Zelenskyy did not publicly confirm the reported threat.
The reports came amid criticism of Trump’s announcement of a deal to buy Russian oil and his pressure on Kyiv to make concessions, even as Russia continued attacking Ukraine.
Zelenskyy said Ukraine had refrained from striking Russian oil refineries and the energy sector for two days after Trump announced an energy ceasefire. Russia, however, continued attacking Ukrainian energy facilities and critical infrastructure, he said, with 19 Ukrainian regions coming under attack during those two days.
Trump said Monday that both Russia and Ukraine had violated the energy ceasefire, arguing that each side was responsible. He also said Putin wanted a deal and that Washington needed to persuade Zelenskyy to agree.
Trump's latest comments publicly reaffirm that intelligence sharing is continuing. However, the circumstances surrounding the latest Russian strike have raised questions about whether Ukraine is receiving the early warnings it needs to protect civilians.
Early warnings of incoming Russian ballistic missiles give Ukrainians a brief window to reach shelter before impact. US intelligence helps make those warnings possible, giving civilians crucial time to protect themselves.
Zelenskyy said Russia's latest attack involved five ballistic missiles and more than 100 drones, and that Ukraine received no warning from its partners before the strike.
“Intelligence on Russian ballistic missile launches helps save lives,” Zelenskyy said Tuesday. “This is precisely what helps prevent people from being killed — when there is an early warning about ballistic missiles.”
He added that Ukraine had received no warning ahead of the attack.
Ukraine normally receives alerts about impending Russian missile launches through the Battlespace Command and Control Center, a system operated by the US military and NATO members, among others, POLITICO reported.
Citing an unnamed official familiar with the matter, POLITICO reported that US officials attributed the missing warning to bad weather. The explanation reportedly raised doubts among Ukrainian officials.
Ukrainian Air Force spokesperson Yurii Ihnat said the warning system had failed to transmit information on previous occasions. He said specialists would work with international partners to resolve any technical problems.
Ukrainian Foreign Minister Andrii Sybiha said Tuesday that intelligence sharing through the platform was continuing, according to POLITICO.
Cuanto más aleja la tecnología al actor, más debe aumentar su responsabilidad.
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De persona a objetivo
¿Qué será de la humanidad cuando la tecnología sea capaz de reconocer, clasificar, rastrear y, en última instancia, matar a seres humanos sin que quienes ejecutan los ataques los hayan visto jamás?
Mi amigo Mohammad Reza Dehshiri planteó precisamente esta pregunta, y su respuesta es contundente.
El peligro, escribe, no es la inteligencia artificial, sino la inhumanidad artificial; es decir, la posibilidad de que las máquinas se vuelvan más precisas precisamente cuando los humanos dejen de sentirse responsables de lo que esas máquinas hacen en su nombre.
Con este artículo, inicio una serie que toma el análisis de Dehshiri como punto de partida e intenta llevarlo más allá. Si el problema es la «inhumanidad artificial», la respuesta no puede estar en una IA «más ética», como si la ética fuera un módulo que se instalara a posteriori en un sistema que ya ha sido diseñado.
Necesitamos recuperar una categoría que la jerga tecnológica ha vuelto casi innombrable: la inteligencia humana, entendida no como un vestigio que hay que proteger en medio de las complejidades de la automatización, sino como una forma de conocimiento con características propias y distintivas, que ningún aumento en la potencia computacional puede reemplazar.
La llamaré Inteligencia Humana, y la ambigüedad es deliberada. En la jerga de los servicios de inteligencia, HUMINT se refiere a la más antigua de las disciplinas de inteligencia: aquella que se basa en las personas, las fuentes, los idiomas y la visita paciente y frecuente a distintos lugares.
En terminología filosófica, la expresión denota la facultad de comprender. La tesis de esta primera contribución es que estos dos significados ahora convergen, y que su convergencia tiene implicaciones geopolíticas que se extienden mucho más allá del debate sobre la ética de las armas.
Podemos describir la cadena operativa de la guerra contemporánea en siete etapas: detectar, identificar, clasificar, predecir, priorizar, seleccionar el objetivo, atacar.
Cada eslabón puede perfeccionarse técnicamente sin que la secuencia, tomada en su conjunto, se perfeccione moralmente. El fenómeno resultante se denomina «dataficación de la vida humana»: el individuo reducido a una identidad, una ubicación, un patrón de comportamiento, un índice de amenaza.
Esto no es una abstracción. En abril de 2024, una investigación de Yuval Abraham para +972 Magazine y Local Call describió a «Lavender», un sistema utilizado por las fuerzas armadas israelíes en Gaza para asignar a decenas de miles de personas una probabilidad de afiliación a grupos armados.
Según fuentes internas citadas en la investigación, la verificación humana de cada nombre a menudo no duraba más de veinte segundos: el tiempo necesario para determinar que el objetivo era un hombre.
Las Fuerzas de Defensa de Israel han refutado este relato y han descrito a «Lavender» como una base de datos diseñada para apoyar a los analistas.
Sin embargo, incluso si se acepta la versión oficial, el meollo del asunto sigue siendo el mismo: había un operador humano presente, y su presencia no fue suficiente para transformar la recomendación del sistema en un juicio.
La psicología cognitiva tiene un nombre para este fenómeno, el sesgo de automatización: la tendencia de quienes trabajan con un sistema automatizado a tratar sus recomendaciones como un sustituto de su propia verificación y a no buscar la información que pudiera contradecirlas.
Ya en 1976, Joseph Weizenbaum —quien había creado uno de los primeros programas conversacionales de la historia— ya distinguía entre la capacidad de calcular y la capacidad de juzgar, y argumentaba que hay tareas que no deberían confiarse a una computadora, incluso si esta fuera capaz de realizarlas. Medio siglo después, esta distinción se ha vuelto aún más apremiante. La computación trabaja con lo que ya se ha traducido en datos. El juicio debe decidir si esa traducción ha sido fiel.
Dehshiri deja claro este punto con cuatro distinciones: la precisión técnica no es precisión ética; la exactitud no es justicia; la automatización no es responsabilidad; la superioridad tecnológica no es superioridad moral.
Yo agregaría una quinta, de naturaleza epistémica, de la que dependen las demás: la correlación no es comprensión. Un sistema de aprendizaje automático reconoce patrones estadísticos en un conjunto de datos. No sabe qué es una escuela, porque no sabe qué es un niño, y ni siquiera sabe que no sabe esto.
L’iraniano cita un interesante estudio de caso: el 28 de febrero de 2026, en las primeras horas de la guerra, la escuela primaria Shajareh Tayyebeh en Minab, en la provincia de Hormozgan, fue alcanzada varias veces durante el horario escolar.
Las cifras proporcionadas por las autoridades iraníes oscilan entre 150 y 175 muertos, la gran mayoría de los cuales eran niñas, junto con docenas de maestros y algunos padres; el fiscal del distrito fijó el número total de muertos en 156.
Washington nunca ha reconocido directamente su responsabilidad ni ha publicado los resultados de la investigación del Pentágono. Amnistía Internacional ha descrito el incidente, en el mejor de los casos, como un grave fallo de inteligencia.
Hay un detalle, revelado por imágenes satelitales, que traslada el análisis del plano moral al fáctico.
Según los medios occidentales, la escuela se encontraba junto a una base naval perteneciente a la Guardia Revolucionaria y anteriormente había formado parte de ella; entre las explicaciones que circulan en los círculos estadounidenses se encuentra la de datos de selección de objetivos desactualizados.
Si se confirmara esta hipótesis, Minab no sería un caso de una máquina que cometió un error, sino de una base de datos que había dejado de corresponder a la realidad. El edificio había cambiado. Los datos, no.
Ningún algoritmo de clasificación, por muy sofisticado que sea, puede detectar que un antiguo edificio militar se ha convertido en una escuela si nadie ha registrado el cambio. Todos los que vivían en Minab lo sabían: los padres que llevaban a sus hijas a la escuela cada mañana, el conductor del autobús escolar, los maestros.
Este es precisamente el tipo de información que recopila el HUMINT y que la guerra a distancia tiende a considerar superflua, porque es lenta, costosa y difícil de ampliar. Con base en fuentes de dominio público, la responsabilidad de EE. UU. parece altamente probable, aunque las circunstancias exactas siguen sin estar claras y el nivel de certeza en este punto es bajo: un error en la base de datos, un error de clasificación o una aceptación consciente del riesgo.
Sin embargo, las tres hipótesis convergen en la misma pregunta. ¿Quién, antes del ataque, verificó si había personas en ese edificio?
Más allá del «human-in-the-loop»
El debate internacional se ha conformado durante mucho tiempo con el principio de human-in-the-loop, según el cual un ser humano forma parte del ciclo de toma de decisiones.
Esta fórmula es insuficiente: una persona puede estar presente en el ciclo y, sin embargo, limitarse a dar el visto bueno a la recomendación del algoritmo.
Él propone sustituirlo por un principio más exigente, al que denomina humanity-in-command: la capacidad efectiva de cuestionar, rechazar, anular y detener el proceso automatizado.
La historia de la Guerra Fría ofrece dos ejemplos que aclaran lo que esto significa en la práctica. El 26 de septiembre de 1983, el sistema soviético de alerta temprana Oko señaló el lanzamiento de cinco misiles balísticos desde Estados Unidos.
El oficial de guardia, Stanislav Petrov, descartó la alarma como una falsa alarma y no la reportó como un ataque en curso, razonando que un primer ataque estadounidense nunca consistiría en solo cinco misiles.
Tenía razón: el satélite había confundido el reflejo del sol en las nubes con lanzamientos de misiles.
Veintiún años antes, el 27 de octubre de 1962, en el mar del Caribe, el submarino soviético B-59, aislado y bajo fuego de cargas de profundidad, estaba a punto de lanzar un torpedo con ojiva nuclear. El lanzamiento requería el consentimiento de los tres oficiales de mayor rango a bordo, y Vasily Arkhipov se negó a darlo.
En ninguno de los dos casos el hombre aprobó una recomendación del sistema. La contradijo. Y no lo hizo porque tuviera más datos: de hecho, los datos eran el problema.
Lo hizo porque sabía plantearse una pregunta que ningún procedimiento le exigía hacer, a saber, si lo que estaba viendo tenía sentido en el contexto de todo lo demás que sabía sobre el mundo.
Petrov estaba familiarizado con la doctrina nuclear estadounidense; Arkhipov sabía la diferencia entre un ataque y una amenaza. Es esta capacidad de comparar la señal con el panorama general, el detalle con lo que es plausible, lo que yo denomino Inteligencia Humana. Vale la pena señalar que el Dena fue hundido por un submarino. No sabemos qué se les preguntó a sus oficiales, ni qué margen de discreción tenían para tomar decisiones.
Esta propuesta debe aclararse, ya que existe el riesgo de reducirla a un llamado humanista genérico. La Inteligencia Humana, tal como yo la entiendo, se estructura en tres niveles distintos, cada uno de los cuales marca un límite estructural —más que contingente— de la inteligencia artificial.
El primer nivel es epistémico. La tradición escolástica distinguía entre intellectus, el acto mediante el cual la mente capta inmediatamente una verdad, y ratio, el proceso discursivo de pasar de un elemento a otro: para Tomás de Aquino (Summa Theologiae, I, q. 79, a. 8), ambos no son facultades distintas, sino aspectos de un único intelecto, en el que el razonamiento comienza con una comprensión y regresa a una comprensión. Los sistemas actuales de aprendizaje automático logran una ratio de una potencia sin precedentes, capaz de inferir, combinar y predecir a escalas inaccesibles para la mente humana.
Carecen del aspecto del intellectus, es decir, de la comprensión del significado de lo que procesan. Esta es una tesis filosófica y debe presentarse como tal, pero tiene consecuencias prácticas precisas: un sistema desprovisto de comprensión no puede saber cuándo su propio modelo del mundo se ha vuelto falso.
El segundo aspecto es práctico. La Prudentia, según la definición tomista, es la razón recta aplicada a la acción, y su tarea específica consiste en aplicar el principio universal al caso particular. La máquina generaliza: su valor radica en asignar el caso individual a una clase.
La prudencia hace lo contrario, porque debe reconocer qué es lo que, en este caso particular, queda fuera de la clase. La guerra, que es el ámbito de lo singular y lo imprevisto, es el escenario donde esta diferencia tiene mayor peso.
La nota Antiqua et nova del Vaticano, de enero de 2025, retomó esta línea de pensamiento, haciendo hincapié en la naturaleza encarnada y relacional de la inteligencia humana y su irreducibilidad a una mera función de procesamiento.
El tercer nivel es relacional, y es aquí donde el significado filosófico se encuentra con el de los servicios de inteligencia. Sherman Kent, quien de hecho fundó el campo de los estudios de inteligencia en los Estados Unidos de la posguerra, lo definió ante todo como conocimiento, incluso antes que como organización o actividad.
El HUMINT es la forma de este conocimiento que pasa a través del otro como persona: alguien que habla su idioma, conoce sus costumbres, sabe interpretar un barrio y puede distinguir una fiesta de una manifestación.
Durante las últimas tres décadas, las grandes potencias han ido desviando progresivamente recursos hacia disciplinas técnicas, desde la inteligencia de señales hasta la vigilancia satelital, pasando por las plataformas de fusión de datos. Minab ilustra el costo de este desequilibrio.
Nada de esto implica un rechazo a la tecnología. La inteligencia humana no se opone a la IA de la misma manera que un manual se opone a un mecánico. Establece una jerarquía: el algoritmo como herramienta subordinada a un juicio que no puede producir por sí mismo. Y de ahí se deriva un principio, formulado por Dehshiri, que merece convertirse en un criterio operativo: cuanto más aleja la tecnología al actor de las consecuencias de sus propias acciones, más debe aumentar —y no disminuir— la responsabilidad consciente de quien toma la decisión.
Desde el punto de vista geopolítico
Hasta ahora, el tema podría parecer una cuestión de filosofía moral. No es solo eso. La distribución de la capacidad de guerra algorítmica es una distribución de poder, y las reglas que la rigen serán redactadas —si es que llegan a redactarse— por aquellos que tienen interés en limitarlas lo menos posible.
El estado del derecho internacional lo confirma. El grupo de expertos gubernamentales establecido en virtud de la Convención sobre Ciertas Armas Convencionales ha estado discutiendo los sistemas de armas autónomas letales desde 2017 sin haber llegado a un instrumento vinculante.
En noviembre de 2023, Estados Unidos promovió una declaración política sobre el uso militar responsable de la IA, que por definición no es vinculante; en diciembre del mismo año, la Asamblea General de las Naciones Unidas adoptó la primera resolución dedicada a estos sistemas, mientras que el Comité Internacional de la Cruz Roja ha venido pidiendo desde 2021 la prohibición de los sistemas autónomos impredecibles y de aquellos diseñados para atacar a seres humanos.
En junio de 2024, en su intervención en la cumbre del G7 en Borgo Egnazia, el papa Francisco pidió que nunca se le permitiera a una máquina decidir sobre la vida de una persona. La brecha entre estas posturas y la realidad en los campos de batalla de 2026 se mide en víctimas.
También existe una asimetría más profunda. Quienes controlan los datos deciden quién es un objetivo, y las víctimas de la guerra algorítmica se encuentran en su mayoría fuera de Occidente: en Gaza, Irán, el Sahel y Yemen.
Para los Estados que no producen las plataformas ni controlan sus bases de datos, la inteligencia humana se convierte así en una cuestión de soberanía.
Un país que cuenta con pericia lingüística, conocimiento regional y redes de inteligencia humana conserva su autonomía de juicio; un país que confía su visión del mundo a sistemas diseñados en otros lugares —a menudo por empresas privadas— la cede junto con sus datos. En un orden que tiende hacia la multipolaridad, esta distinción separará a los actores que juzgan de aquellos que son juzgados.
Esto conduce a una propuesta concreta, que desarrollaré en futuros artículos. Junto con el principio general de una supervisión humana significativa, el derecho internacional humanitario podría codificar una obligación específica de verificación humana del estatus civil de cada infraestructura fija incluida en una lista de objetivos, con una fecha de vencimiento más allá de la cual la información se vuelve inválida y debe renovarse utilizando fuentes directas. Esta es una norma mínima.
Aplicada a Minab, habría requerido que alguien preguntara si ese edificio seguía siendo lo que los registros indicaban que era.
La tecnología puede determinar cómo un arma llega a su objetivo, mientras que le corresponde a la humanidad decidir si ese objetivo debe ser atacado. La pregunta subyacente a todo esto es quién, en términos prácticos, ejerce esa humanidad, con qué herramientas de conocimiento y dentro de qué instituciones.
En Minab, alguien debería haber sabido que había una escuela allí. El hecho de que nadie lo supiera, o de que nadie preguntara, es el punto desde el cual debemos volver a empezar.
Traducción: Observatoriode trabajador@s en lucha
Meanwhile Donald Trump has dismissed calls for more regulation, saying the United States needs to maintain its edge over China in the AI race.
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A new poll indicates that 64 percent of Americans believe artificial intelligence (AI) is developing “too fast.”
The Associated Press-NORC Center poll released on Oct. 8 showed that just 27 percent say the development is “about right,” and less than 10 percent think it’s moving “too slow.”
Of the polled adults, more Democrats (76 percent) than Republicans (54 percent) think AI is moving too fast. However, 70 percent of those under 30 years old think the technology should be slowed, and 60 percent of those 60 years old and older think the same.
The findings come amid growing concern over the technology’s potential threat to humanity, which has led to industry leaders and politicians calling for a slowdown and more regulation.
President Donald Trump has dismissed calls for more regulation, saying the United States needs to maintain its edge over China in the AI race. Major AI companies recently signed a voluntary accord with the White House that calls for internal and external reviews.
According to the poll conducted Sept. 24 to 28, about half of respondents think the government’s support is about promoting technological innovation, and a little fewer say they think it’s about competition with China.
Meanwhile, 80 percent of Americans say it’s “extremely” or “very” important for the United States to ensure AI stays under human control.
Recent months have seen several incidents of AI agents from major tech firms breaching websites of private companies, research institutions, and multiple government agencies.
Notably, ChatGPT developer OpenAI acknowledged in July that its AI agents broke out of a testing environment and hacked into Hugging Face, an open-source community for AI.
In September, OpenAI canceled the release of its latest model, GPT-6.1 Astra, slated for October, over safety concerns. It also postponed plans for its initial public offering this year.
Lawmakers from both sides of the aisle have proposed a range of measures to regulate the technology, but none are likely to advance anytime soon with Congress in recess ahead of the midterms.
Confidence in politicians’ handling of AI is low, with 23 percent trusting Democrats to do a better job and 21 percent favoring Republicans, while 39 percent trust neither party.
Mistrust of AI appears to have extended to the realm of politics, as very few adults are using AI as a source of information for the upcoming election. The poll indicated that only about 21 percent of respondents said they use or plan to use AI to gather information about a candidate or ballot issue.
Even fewer (12 percent) said they will use AI for information about how to vote, and only 10 percent said they would use it for information on voter registration.
La minaccia americana non riguarda soltanto le armi. Donald Trump potrebbe interrompere la condivisione d’intelligence con l’Ucraina se Volodymyr Zelensky non accettasse di fermare gli attacchi contro le raffinerie e le infrastrutture energetiche russe. Secondo il Financial Times, gli inviati della Casa Bianca Steve Witkoff e Jared Kushner hanno prospettato questa possibilità durante i colloqui con la delegazione ucraina a Miami. La pressione americana comprenderebbe anche una possibile sospensione del meccanismo Purl, attraverso il quale i Paesi europei finanziano l’acquisto di armamenti statunitensi destinati a Kyjiv. Per ora, però, si tratta di minacce riferite da fonti europee, non della conferma che la cooperazione d’intelligence sia stata nuovamente interrotta.
Per capire le conseguenze bisogna distinguere che cosa perderebbe concretamente l’Ucraina e quanto sarebbe difficile sostituire il contributo americano. Lo stop non renderebbe automaticamente impossibili gli attacchi ucraini in profondità sul territorio russo, ma potrebbe ridurne l’efficacia e aumentare i rischi per le forze di Kyjiv. Il problema riguarderebbe anche la difesa dagli attacchi russi, soprattutto quando si tratta di individuare tempestivamente le minacce missilistiche.
Dalle immagini satellitari alle coordinate dei bersagli
L’intelligence militare non consiste soltanto nello scoprire in anticipo che cosa sta preparando il nemico. Serve a individuare dove si trovano le sue forze, seguirne gli spostamenti, riconoscere i sistemi d’arma e trasformare una grande quantità di informazioni in indicazioni utilizzabili sul campo di battaglia.
Gli Stati Uniti contribuiscono a questo processo attraverso diverse capacità. I satelliti raccolgono immagini e altre informazioni sul territorio; l’intelligence dei segnali, o signals intelligence (Sigint), permette di ricavare informazioni da comunicazioni ed emissioni elettroniche. I sistemi di analisi integrano queste fonti per individuare e localizzare gli obiettivi. A ciò si aggiungono le informazioni necessarie per rilevare il lancio di missili e avvertire in tempo le forze ucraine.
Un’inchiesta del New York Times del marzo 2025 ha ricostruito il ruolo del centro di coordinamento americano di Wiesbaden, in Germania, dove ufficiali statunitensi e ucraini lavoravano insieme per definire le priorità operative. Gli analisti americani incrociavano immagini satellitari, intercettazioni e altre informazioni per individuare le posizioni russe e fornire coordinate utilizzabili per gli attacchi.
Un’interruzione della cooperazione non cancellerebbe le informazioni raccolte dagli ucraini, né le capacità sviluppate da Kyjiv in questi anni. Ridurrebbe però il flusso di dati provenienti da una rete di sorveglianza molto più estesa. La perdita potrebbe riguardare soprattutto la possibilità di integrare informazioni diverse, verificare rapidamente la posizione di un bersaglio e capire se sia ancora valida quando arriva il momento di colpire.
Le difese russe diventerebbero più difficili da aggirare
Il problema è particolarmente rilevante per gli attacchi a lungo raggio contro le raffinerie russe. L’Ucraina ha sviluppato droni e capacità autonome per raggiungere obiettivi situati anche molto lontano dal fronte. Ma conoscere la posizione di una raffineria non basta a pianificare un attacco: bisogna anche sapere quali difese la proteggono e come potrebbero cambiare.
Una delle informazioni più difficili da sostituire è la posizione dei sistemi di difesa aerea mobili russi. Questi possono essere trasferiti e riposizionati, rendendo meno affidabili le informazioni raccolte in precedenza. Per pianificare un’operazione, Kyjiv deve valutare le difese disponibili, i possibili corridoi di volo e il rischio che i droni vengano individuati e abbattuti.
L’Ucraina potrebbe continuare a condurre attacchi in profondità anche senza l’intelligence americana, a condizione che gli alleati europei mantengano il loro sostegno. La campagna contro le infrastrutture petrolifere russe si basa infatti anche su capacità sviluppate autonomamente, produzione nazionale di droni e informazioni provenienti da fonti diverse. Un’analisi del Washington Post descrive proprio l’integrazione tra produzione ucraina, tecnologie di puntamento e informazioni occidentali sulle difese russe.
Perdere il contributo di Washington, dunque, non significherebbe perdere ogni capacità autonoma. Ma senza informazioni tempestive sulle difese russe, alcuni attacchi potrebbero diventare più rischiosi, richiedere più risorse o avere minori probabilità di successo.
Il rischio più immediato: i missili balistici
L’altro fronte critico è la difesa del territorio ucraino. Le informazioni satellitari e i sistemi di allerta precoce contribuiscono a rilevare il lancio di missili e a fornire indicazioni sulla minaccia in arrivo. In questo caso il tempo è una risorsa decisiva: pochi minuti possono fare la differenza per attivare le difese, mettere al riparo la popolazione e proteggere le infrastrutture strategiche.
Una riduzione dell’assistenza americana potrebbe quindi avere conseguenze che vanno oltre la campagna contro le raffinerie. Non significherebbe che ogni missile diventerebbe impossibile da intercettare: l’Ucraina dispone di radar, sistemi di difesa aerea e informazioni proprie e alleate. Ma perdere una fonte importante di sorveglianza e allerta renderebbe più difficile compensare le lacune esistenti.
A questo si aggiunge il possibile stop agli acquisti di armi statunitensi attraverso il Purl. Per Kyjiv sarebbero due problemi distinti ma collegati: meno informazioni per anticipare gli attacchi e maggiori difficoltà nel rifornire alcuni dei sistemi necessari a contrastarli, soprattutto quelli per la difesa aerea a lungo raggio.
Ratcliffe e la continuità dei rapporti con Kyjiv
La pressione di Trump non va letta come il segnale di una posizione necessariamente uniforme all’interno dell’amministrazione americana. Un caso utile per capire questa distinzione è quello di John Ratcliffe, direttore della Central Intelligence Agency.
Nel marzo 2025, quando la Casa Bianca sospese temporaneamente la condivisione d’intelligence con Kyjiv, fu Ratcliffe a confermare la decisione. Ma, in un’intervista a Fox Business riportata da Reuters, aggiunse di aspettarsi che la pausa sarebbe terminata e che gli Stati Uniti avrebbero continuato a lavorare fianco a fianco con gli ucraini.
Ratcliffe non si oppose pubblicamente alla decisione presidenziale. Il suo ruolo mostra piuttosto la tensione tra l’utilizzo dell’intelligence come strumento di pressione politica e l’interesse a preservare una cooperazione strategica costruita nel corso degli anni. È un elemento di contesto, non una garanzia che la collaborazione continuerà: la portata concreta di un’eventuale sospensione dipenderebbe dalle informazioni bloccate, dalla sua durata e dalle eventuali eccezioni.
Che cosa può fare l’Europa
Il contributo europeo non si limita alle immagini satellitari. Francia e Regno Unito hanno investito anche nella formazione degli ufficiali ucraini e nello sviluppo delle loro capacità clandestine e operative. È il quadro che emerge da un’inchiesta di L’Express di agosto, secondo cui il sostegno occidentale alle operazioni ucraine si è costruito nel corso di anni di collaborazione.
La rivista francese ricostruisce il ruolo della Central Intelligence Agency a partire dal 2014 e quello delle forze speciali britanniche e polacche nell’addestramento degli ufficiali ucraini. Nel novembre 2024, l’allora capo del Secret Intelligence Service (o MI6), Richard Moore, aveva indicato il patrimonio di competenze nelle operazioni clandestine come una componente fondamentale del sostegno britannico. Secondo un alto funzionario dell’intelligence francese citato da L’Express, i Paesi baltici e i Paesi Bassi hanno contribuito soprattutto sul piano tecnico, mentre MI6 e il servizio collegato francese Dgse hanno messo a disposizione competenze operative.
La Francia, inoltre, fornisce immagini satellitari e informazioni utili a individuare gli obiettivi e pianificare gli attacchi a lungo raggio. A gennaio il presidente Emmanuel Macron aveva dichiarato che Parigi forniva ormai due terzi dell’intelligence destinata all’Ucraina, dopo la riduzione del contributo americano nel marzo precedente. La dichiarazione non equivale però alla dimostrazione che la Francia possa sostituire tutte le capacità statunitensi. Anche il Regno Unito dispone di risorse importanti. Come ricorda l’International Institute for Strategic Studies, Londra possiede aerei RC-135 Rivet Joint per la raccolta di intelligence elettronica, una capacità che resta rara in Europa. Ma addestramento operativo, raccolta di segnali e immagini satellitari non sono intercambiabili: ogni contributo copre una parte diversa del sistema.
Il limite principale resta la scala delle capacità spaziali e la loro integrazione. Secondo l’EU Institute for Security Studies, nel 2025 gli Stati Uniti disponevano di 263 satelliti militari, contro i 44 europei. Il dato non misura da solo la qualità dell’intelligence disponibile, ma rende evidente il divario nella capacità di sorveglianza continuativa. Gli Stati Uniti possono integrare le informazioni provenienti da una rete estesa; quelle europee restano più frammentate tra governi e apparati nazionali.
Due implicazioni
La minaccia di Washington ha quindi una doppia implicazione. Nell’immediato potrebbe restringere il margine operativo dell’Ucraina proprio mentre Trump cerca di ottenere uno stop agli attacchi contro le infrastrutture energetiche russe. Nel medio periodo mostra quanto la sicurezza europea dipenda da capacità che i governi del continente non sono ancora in grado di garantire autonomamente.
L’Ucraina potrebbe continuare a colpire la Russia anche senza il sostegno americano. Ma farlo diventerebbe più difficile, mentre difendersi dai missili russi potrebbe diventare più rischioso. È la differenza tra perdere un alleato e perdere una parte del sistema che permette di combattere.
L'articolo Che cosa rischia l’Ucraina se Trump riduce la condivisione di intelligence proviene da Linkiesta.it.
Russian forces struck several districts of Kyiv late on 12 October with what the Air Force called, by preliminary data, six ballistic missiles. For once, the air-raid alert reached people only after the attack had begun, Ukraine’s Air Force reported.
Reports of Russian ballistic launches are part of the intelligence the US shares with Ukraine, and that data is what lets sirens sound before the missiles arrive, giving civilians a few minutes to hide. Those minutes save lives, which is why the warning gap landed hard amid fears that Washington could cut Ukraine off from such intelligence amid US President Donald Trump's agreement with Russia to let its diesel into the US.
The alert came late because Ukraine’s radar detected the ballistic targets only during the attack, with no advance data on launches from Russian territory, according to the Air Force.
“No information was received about launches from enemy territory. The causes are being established,” the Air Force said.
The stakes are human, presidential adviser Serhii Beskrestnov, known as Flash, stressed.
“This information is needed first of all by civilians, so that people have time to hide in a shelter,” he said.
Beskrestnov says he does not want to believe the US would leave Ukraine without that data because it is a matter of civilian survival. He urged caution on the cause, saying there were nuances and that it was too early to draw conclusions.
However, Ukraine usually sees the launches first. The warning system normally flags Russian ballistic launches before the missiles reach their targets, giving people time to move, but on 12 October, that did not happen, the Air Force noted.
Beskrestnov later added a note of doubt about what flew. The suspected S-400 missiles were not being recorded by partners’ intelligence services, he wrote, stopping short of blaming the lapse on a loss of US data.
The damage in Kyiv was concrete. A missile struck a transport-infrastructure site in the Dniprovskyi district, and another hit a four-story warehouse in the Desnianskyi district, Mayor Vitali Klitschko said.
Russia struck Kharkiv at about the same time with nine S-8000 Banderol loitering munitions, Mayor Ihor Terekhov reported. One of the last strikes hit a residential building, where people may be trapped under the rubble and a fire is burning.
“Very serious destruction, an entire stairwell collapsed,” Terekhov said.
Ukraine’s Defense Intelligence (HUR) released information on the components of Russia’s Kinzhal air-launched ballistic missile and the companies involved in its production, according to a statement dated 12 October.
Russia has used Kinzhal missiles to strike targets across Ukraine since the start of its full-scale invasion. However, 22 of the 58 companies in Russia’s Kinzhal production network are not subject to sanctions, the intelligence agency noted.
Ukraine’s Defense Intelligence has published an interactive 3D model of the Russian Kinzhal missile on its War&Sanctions portal.
The 9-S-7760 missile, known as the Kh-47M2 Kinzhal, uses solid fuel and has a single stage. This means the missile does not consist of multiple stages that separate sequentially during flight. About 90% of its components are identical to those used in the 9M723 ballistic missile of the Iskander-M system, HUR noted.
The Kinzhal is equipped with a radar homing seeker, an active jamming station, and a decoy deployment system, according to the statement. The homing seeker helps the missile determine the direction to its target, while decoys are designed to make interception by air defense systems more difficult.
The missile can carry one of two types of warheads: a penetrating high-explosive warhead or a nuclear warhead. Russia is also developing a version with a high-explosive fragmentation warhead that strikes targets through an explosion and fragments. HUR believes this development may be linked to problems with the missile’s accuracy.
In 2026, Russia significantly reduced its state procurement order for Kinzhal missiles and redirected some production resources, components, and raw materials towards manufacturing Iskander-M missiles, HUR noted. Another reason is the limited number of MiG-31I and MiG-31K aircraft used to launch Kinzhal missiles, the intelligence agency reported.
Despite their high speed, Russian Kinzhal missiles can be intercepted using US-made Patriot surface-to-air missile systems. In particular, PAC-3 interceptor missiles are designed to destroy ballistic targets and can be used against threats such as the Kinzhal and Zircon, Ukraine’s Ministry of Defense reported.
Ukraine is seeking additional Patriot interceptor missiles to defend against Russian ballistic attacks during the winter.
Most of the approximately 1,000 missiles Kyiv has contracted for are not expected to arrive for several years, prompting Ukraine to ask its allies to supply missiles from their existing stockpiles, Defense News reported on 12 October 2026.
Russia continues to use foreign components in missile production despite sanctions. For instance, the US-made Texas Instruments processors were found again in a newer version of the Kinzhal missile, Ukrainian presidential commissioner for sanctions policy Vladyslav Vlasiuk said in September, Interfax reported. According to him, foreign electronics continue to reach Russia through various supply channels.
Earlier, Ukraine had provided its partners with information on more than 100 Russian companies involved in ballistic missile production and urged them to impose sanctions on those entities, according to the President's Office.
On 12 October, the EU Council imposed sanctions on 1,569 individuals and entities linked to Russia’s military-industrial complex, including 826 Russian companies and 743 company CEOs.
The most unsettling failure in digital payments may not be a black screen. Imagine a fraud-detection model that remains online but suddenly flags thousands of legitimate transfers as suspicious. Banks may see functioning servers while customers see rejected payments, delayed salaries and complaints no single institution can explain. This is a hypothetical scenario, not a […]
The post The AI risk no bank can manage alone appeared first on Asia Times.
Artificial intelligence is rapidly making its way into national defense. Reconnaissance, early warning, target detection, mission planning—everywhere, machine-learning systems promise faster analysis, faster responses, and faster decision-making. In a military context, this sounds like progress. In reality, AI exacerbates a security problem that cannot be solved technically. Anyone who attempts to do so anyway risks […]
The post When AI takes control of weapons systems appeared first on Asia Times.
China’s artificial intelligence and digital-infrastructure investments in the Gulf Arab states are increasingly colliding with a far larger and more strategically privileged American technology presence, particularly in Saudi Arabia and the United Arab Emirates (UAE). While Beijing offers Gulf governments cloud platforms, 5G networks, smart-city systems, surveillance technologies and lower-cost digital infrastructure, Washington offers the […]
The post US-China race is on for the Gulf’s AI future appeared first on Asia Times.
European intelligence agencies have warned that Russia is intensifying efforts to assassinate executives of defence companies supplying Ukraine, extending its campaign of sabotage and intimidation into the European military-industrial sector.
According to intelligence assessments obtained from five European security services, Moscow has ordered an expansion of covert operations targeting senior figures at major arms manufacturers and smaller companies producing drones and military components. Germany’s domestic intelligence agency, the BfV, has reportedly advised executives to strengthen personal security, while some manufacturers have already increased protection for senior personnel.
The warnings emerged alongside reports of an alleged assassination plot against Polish Prime Minister Donald Tusk and Defence Minister Władysław Kosiniak-Kamysz. Polish authorities convened an emergency security meeting and subsequently detained a suspect. No connection between the Polish case and Russian intelligence has been established.
The apparent expansion of Russian covert operations reflects a shift in Moscow’s calculations concerning Western military assistance.
President Vladimir Putin had reason to anticipate that Donald Trump’s return to the White House would weaken American support for Kyiv. Trump repeatedly questioned US military expenditure on Ukraine and advocated a negotiated settlement with Russia. A substantial reduction in American weapons deliveries could have increased pressure on Ukraine to accept Moscow’s territorial demands.
Instead, European governments assumed greater responsibility for sustaining Ukrainian defence capabilities, including financing weapons purchases and expanding domestic production.
The European Union’s €90 billion support programme for 2026–2027 allocates €60 billion to defence procurement and industrial capacity. The EU has also established mechanisms allowing Ukraine to participate in European joint procurement programmes.
Disrupting European manufacturers therefore offers Moscow a means of restricting Ukraine’s military capabilities without directly confronting NATO.
Assassination threats can interfere with procurement even when attacks are never carried out. Large manufacturers can afford extensive security arrangements, but smaller companies producing electronics, drone components and specialised equipment often lack comparable resources.
Intimidation could delay contracts, discourage investment and persuade individual suppliers to withdraw from Ukrainian defence programmes.
Russia’s alleged interest in targeting defence executives is not unprecedented. In 2024, American intelligence reportedly uncovered a Russian plot to assassinate Armin Papperger, chief executive of Rheinmetall, one of Germany’s principal suppliers of ammunition and military equipment to Ukraine.
As EU Today previously reported, Moscow has also publicly identified European factories involved in Ukrainian drone production, increasing concerns that civilian industrial facilities could become targets of Russian operations.
European authorities have investigated suspected Russian involvement in arson, infrastructure attacks and clandestine networks. An earlier cross-border investigation into alleged assassination and sabotage preparations demonstrated how intermediaries could be recruited to conduct operations while obscuring their sponsors.
Such activity also carries political consequences. Attacks against infrastructure and industrial facilities can reinforce public fears about confrontation with Russia, particularly during elections when parties advocating accommodation with Moscow seek to exploit security concerns.
Poland has already experienced mounting Russian hybrid pressure, including threats to critical infrastructure and information operations intended to aggravate domestic political divisions.
Ukraine’s continuing strikes against Russian refineries and military-industrial facilities have added economic and operational pressures to Moscow’s prolonged war effort. Russia retains substantial military production capacity, but the costs of sustaining the conflict remain considerable.
Interfering with European weapons manufacturing could serve two objectives: restricting Ukraine’s access to equipment and obstructing Europe’s longer-term rearmament.
The Kremlin does not necessarily need European governments to abandon Ukraine formally. Production delays, disrupted contracts and reluctant suppliers could reduce the practical effect of military assistance even while political commitments remain unchanged.
European governments have acknowledged the industrial challenge. In its June conclusions on European defence, the European Council called for accelerated manufacturing capacity, stronger supply chains and closer cooperation with Ukraine’s defence industry.
Russia’s apparent strategy seeks to exploit the dependence of these programmes on private companies and skilled civilian personnel.
The warnings from European intelligence agencies suggest that protecting defence executives, engineers and contractors is becoming part of the continent’s wider security responsibilities.
For Moscow, intimidation offers the possibility of weakening Ukrainian military resistance without an open confrontation with NATO. For European governments, preventing covert operations from disrupting weapons production is increasingly inseparable from their commitment to sustain Ukraine’s defence.
Ukraine has published data on 20 vessels that carry Russian oil and liquefied natural gas or refuel the sanctioned fleet, parts of the logistics network the Kremlin uses to fund its war, Ukraine's Defense Intelligence reports. All 20 are under British or Ukrainian sanctions, and only one faces US restrictions.
Russia’s shadow fleet runs on roughly 500 aging ships of uncertain ownership that dodge sanctions and keep oil money flowing. That seaborne oil trade is worth more than 80 billion euros a year.
The headline vessel is the Russian ship Portovyy, an LNG carrier and floating gas store owned by the sanctioned Gazprom since 2021, according to the agency. On 15 August 2026, it left the Gulf of Finland with Russian LNG for the first time since November 2021, sailing the Northern Sea Route to the Chinese port of Beihai to unload.
Portovyy is now at the Zhoushan Huafeng Shipyard in China, which has been set as the site for its maintenance, intelligence says, an example of the foreign yards Kyiv wants closed to the sanctioned fleet.
Two more gas carriers show how Moscow expanded the fleet in spring 2026 through front companies, intelligence said. The Avacha, once owned by China’s Jovo Energy, was bought by the little-known Tudor Maritime of the Marshall Islands, took the Russian flag in June, and now ships gas from the Arctic LNG 2 project to Beihai.
The Chaivo, formerly owned by Greece’s Maran Gas Maritime, was also bought by Tudor Maritime and moved under the Russian flag in July. Now it carries cargo to Beihai from a floating gas storage facility off Kamchatka, intelligence says.
Intelligence urged partners to act together: tighten control over sales of commercially owned ships, block servicing of the sanctioned fleet at foreign yards, and cut off the energy revenue that Russia turns into weapons against civilians.
Russia is building ice-class ships at home and, at the same time, widening its shadow fleet through offshore networks. The UK Foreign Office made the same point on 1 October, saying Moscow is assembling a new shadow fleet to keep its gas revenues flowing.
The more technology distances the actor, the more responsibility must increase.
Contact us: info@strategic-culture.su
From person to target
What becomes of humanity when technology becomes capable of recognising, classifying, tracking and ultimately killing human beings without those carrying out the strikes ever having seen them? My friend Mohammad Reza Dehshiri asked this very question, and his answer is a powerful one. The danger, he writes, is not artificial intelligence but artificial inhumanity – that is, the possibility that machines will become more accurate precisely as humans cease to feel responsible for what those machines do in their name.
With this article, I am launching a series that takes Dehshiri’s analysis as its starting point and attempts to take it further. If the problem is ‘artificial inhumanity’, the answer cannot lie in a ‘more ethical’ AI, as if ethics were a module to be installed as an afterthought to a system that has already been designed. We need to reclaim a category that technological jargon has rendered almost unmentionable: human intelligence, understood not as a remnant to be protected amidst the complexities of automation, but as a form of knowledge with its own distinct characteristics, which no increase in computing power can replace.
I shall call it Human Intelligence, and the ambiguity is deliberate. In intelligence service jargon, HUMINT refers to the oldest of the intelligence disciplines: that which relies on people, sources, languages and the patient frequenting of places. In philosophical terminology, the expression denotes the faculty of understanding. The thesis of this first contribution is that these two meanings now converge, and that their convergence has geopolitical implications that extend far beyond the debate on the ethics of weaponry.
We can describe the operational chain of contemporary warfare in seven stages: detect, identify, classify, predict, prioritise, target, strike. Each link can be technically refined without the sequence, taken as a whole, being morally refined. The resulting phenomenon is called the ‘datafication of human life’: the individual reduced to an identity, a location, a behavioural pattern, a threat score.
This is no abstraction. In April 2024, an investigation by Yuval Abraham for +972 Magazine and Local Call described ‘Lavender’, a system used by the Israeli armed forces in Gaza to assign tens of thousands of people a probability of affiliation with armed groups. According to internal sources cited in the investigation, the human verification of each name often amounted to no more than twenty seconds – the time needed to ascertain that the target was male. The Israeli Defence Forces have disputed this account and described Lavender as a database designed to support analysts. Even if one accepts the official version, however, the crux of the matter remains: a human operator was present, and their presence was not sufficient to transform the system’s recommendation into a judgement.
Cognitive psychology has a name for this phenomenon, automation bias: the tendency of those working with an automated system to treat its recommendations as a substitute for their own verification, and to fail to seek out the information that might contradict them. Back in 1976, Joseph Weizenbaum – who had built one of the first conversational programmes in history – already distinguished between the ability to calculate and the ability to judge, and argued that there are tasks that should not be entrusted to a computer even if the computer were capable of performing them. Half a century on, this distinction has become even more pressing. Computation works on what has already been translated into data. Judgement must decide whether that translation has been faithful.
Dehshiri drives the point home with four distinctions: technical precision is not ethical precision; accuracy is not justice; automation is not responsibility; technological superiority is not moral superiority. I would add a fifth, of an epistemic nature, upon which the others depend: correlation is not understanding. A machine-learning system recognises statistical patterns in a dataset. It does not know what a school is, because it does not know what a child is, and it does not even know that it does not know this.
L’iraniano cites an interesting case study: On 28 February 2026, in the early hours of the war, the Shajareh Tayyebeh primary school in Minab, in Hormozgan province, was struck several times during school hours. The figures provided by the Iranian authorities range between 150 and 175 deaths, the vast majority of whom were girls, along with dozens of teachers and a few parents; the district prosecutor put the final death toll at 156. Washington has never directly acknowledged its responsibility nor published the findings of the Pentagon’s investigation. Amnesty International has described the incident, at best, as a serious intelligence failure.
There is one detail, revealed by satellite imagery, which shifts the analysis from the moral to the factual plane. According to Western media, the school stood next to a naval base belonging to the Revolutionary Guards and had previously formed part of it; among the explanations circulating in US circles is that of out-of-date targeting data. If this hypothesis were confirmed, Minab would not be a case of a machine making a mistake, but of a database that had ceased to correspond to reality. The building had changed. The data had not.
No classification algorithm, however sophisticated, can detect that an old military building has become a school if no one has recorded the change. Everyone living in Minab knew this: the parents who took their daughters to school every morning, the schoolbus driver, the teachers. This is precisely the kind of knowledge that HUMINT gathers and that remote warfare tends to regard as superfluous, because it is slow, costly and difficult to scale. Based on publicly available sources, US responsibility appears highly probable, whilst the exact circumstances remain unclear and confidence on this point is low: a database error, a classification error, or a conscious acceptance of the risk. The three hypotheses, however, all converge on the same question. Who, prior to the strike, checked whether there were people in that building?
Beyond ‘human-in-the-loop’
The international debate has long been content with the principle of human-in-the-loop, whereby a human being is part of the decision-making loop.
This formula is insufficient: a person may be present in the loop yet merely rubber-stamp the algorithm’s recommendation. He proposes replacing it with a more demanding principle, which he calls humanity-in-command: the effective ability to question, reject, override and halt the automated process.
The history of the Cold War offers two examples that clarify what this means in practice. On 26 September 1983, the Soviet early-warning system Oko signalled the launch of five ballistic missiles from the United States. The officer on duty, Stanislav Petrov, dismissed the alarm as a false alarm and did not report it as an ongoing attack, reasoning that a first American strike would never consist of just five missiles. He was right: the satellite had mistaken the sun’s reflection off the clouds for missile launches. Twenty-one years earlier, on 27 October 1962, in the Caribbean Sea, the Soviet submarine B-59, isolated and under fire from signal depth charges, was on the verge of launching a nuclear-tipped torpedo. The launch required the consent of the three senior officers on board, and Vasily Arkhipov refused to give it.
In neither case did the man approve a recommendation from the system. He contradicted it. And he did not do so because he had more data: indeed, the data were the problem. He did so because he knew how to ask himself a question that no procedure required him to ask, namely whether what he was seeing made sense in the context of everything else he knew about the world. Petrov was familiar with American nuclear doctrine; Archipov knew the difference between an attack and a threat. It is this ability to compare the signal with the bigger picture, the detail with what is plausible, that I call Human Intelligence. It is worth noting that the Dena was sunk by a submarine. We do not know what its officers were asked, nor what scope they had for judgement.
This proposal needs to be clarified, as there is a risk of reducing it to a generic humanistic appeal. Human Intelligence, as I understand it, is structured across three distinct levels, each of which marks a structural – rather than contingent – limit of artificial intelligence.
The first level is epistemic. The scholastic tradition distinguished between intellectus, the act by which the mind immediately grasps a truth, and ratio, the discursive process of moving from one element to another: for Thomas Aquinas (Summa Theologiae, I, q. 79, a. 8), the two are not distinct faculties but aspects of a single intellect, in which reasoning begins with an understanding and returns to an understanding. Current machine learning systems realise a ratio of unprecedented power, capable of inferring, combining and predicting on scales inaccessible to the human mind. They lack the aspect of intellectus, that is, a grasp of the meaning of what they process. This is a philosophical thesis and must be presented as such, but it has precise practical consequences: a system devoid of understanding cannot know when its own model of the world has become false.
The second aspect is practical. Prudentia, in the Thomist definition, is right reason applied to action, and its specific task consists in applying the universal principle to the particular case. The machine generalises: its value lies in mapping the individual case back to a class. Prudence does the opposite, because it must recognise what, in this particular case, falls outside the class. War, which is the realm of the singular and the unforeseen, is the arena where this difference carries the most weight. The Vatican’s Antiqua et nova note of January 2025 took up this line of thought, emphasising the embodied and relational nature of human intelligence and its irreducibility to a mere processing function.
The third level is relational, and it is here that philosophical meaning meets that of the intelligence services. Sherman Kent, who effectively founded the field of intelligence studies in the post-war United States, defined it first and foremost as knowledge, even before organising or activity. HUMINT is the form of this knowledge that passes through the other as a person: someone who speaks their language, knows their customs, can read a neighbourhood, and can distinguish a festival from a rally. Over the last three decades, the major powers have progressively shifted resources towards technical disciplines, from signals intelligence to satellite surveillance, right through to data fusion platforms. Minab illustrates the cost of this imbalance.
None of this implies a rejection of technology. Human Intelligence does not stand in opposition to AI in the same way that a manual stands in opposition to a mechanic. It establishes a hierarchy: the algorithm as a tool subservient to a judgement it cannot produce on its own. And from this it derives a principle, formulated by Dehshiri, which deserves to become an operational criterion: the more technology distances the actor from the consequences of their own actions, the more the conscious responsibility of the decision-maker must increase, not decrease.
Geopolitically speaking
So far, the issue might seem to be one of moral philosophy. It is not merely that. The distribution of algorithmic warfare capability is a distribution of power, and the rules governing it will be written – if they are written at all – by those with an interest in limiting them as little as possible.
The state of international law confirms this. The group of government experts established under the Convention on Certain Conventional Weapons has been discussing lethal autonomous weapons systems since 2017 without having reached a binding instrument. In November 2023, the United States promoted a political declaration on the responsible military use of AI, which is by definition non-binding; in December of the same year, the United Nations General Assembly adopted the first resolution dedicated to these systems, whilst the International Committee of the Red Cross has been calling since 2021 for a ban on unpredictable autonomous systems and those designed to target human beings. In June 2024, speaking at the G7 summit in Borgo Egnazia, Pope Francis called for no machine ever to be placed in a position to decide on a person’s life. The gap between these positions and the reality on the battlefields of 2026 is measured in casualties.
There is also a deeper asymmetry. Those who control the data decide who is a target, and the victims of algorithmic warfare are largely found outside the West: in Gaza, Iran, the Sahel and Yemen. For states that do not produce the platforms or control their databases, human intelligence thus becomes a matter of sovereignty. A country that maintains linguistic expertise, regional knowledge and human intelligence networks retains its autonomy of judgement; a country that entrusts its worldview to systems designed elsewhere – often by private companies – surrenders it along with its data. In an order tending towards multipolarity, this distinction will separate the actors who judge from those who are judged.
This leads to a concrete proposal, which I shall develop in future articles. Alongside the general principle of meaningful human oversight, international humanitarian law could codify a specific obligation for human verification of the civil status of every fixed infrastructure included on a list of targets, with an expiry date beyond which the information becomes invalid and must be renewed using direct sources. This is a minimum standard. Applied to Minab, it would have required someone to ask whether that building was still what the records stated it to be.
Technology can determine how a weapon reaches its target, whilst it is up to humanity to decide whether that target should be struck. The question underlying all this is who, in practical terms, exercises that humanity, with what tools of knowledge and within which institutions. In Minab, someone should have known that there was a school there. The fact that nobody knew, or that nobody asked, is the point from which we must start again.
By Kit KLARENBERG
Contact us: info@strategic-culture.su
Private messages show show Hamish De Bretton-Gordon, a top British pundit on the Salisbury poisoning incident, was a close associate of the MI6 officer who handled the Russian intelligence defector at the center of the scandal — and reaped considerable benefits from his proximity to the case.
This September, a former British Army officer named Hamish De Bretton-Gordon filed a column with the UK Telegraph complaining that “Russian bots” had “tried to make out that I’m part of a security service conspiracy.” Having shot to prominence as a media commentator on chemical and biological weapons after the alleged poisoning of turncoat Russian spy Sergei Skripal, De Bretton-Gordon dismissed accusations that he collaborated with UK intelligence as the product of the “Kremlin’s malign tactics.”
Despite his fervent denials, leaked emails reviewed by The Grayzone indicate that De Bretton-Gordon has spent years privately coordinating his public statements with senior British military and intelligence figures. The correspondences show him training operatives in Turkey and instructing Israeli military figures on Syria’s still-elusive stockpile of chemical weapons, “and a bit of Novichok,” referring to the Russian toxin supposedly used to poison Skripal.
They also suggest he stood to profit personally from exaggerating the threat posed by Russia. In the emails, De Bretton-Gordon described his day job as “flogging gas masks” to British military and law enforcement. He seemingly grew his firm’s business with outlandish warnings of imminent Novichok hand grenade attacks by Russian agents. As his prominence grew, the BBC hired De Bretton-Gordon to serve as an advisor on a drama about the Skripal poisoning.
His principal contact listed in the emails is Pablo Miller, an MI6 officer and veteran of the Royal Tank Regiment. Miller is widely believed to have recruited and handled Skripal before the Russian GRU defector was allegedly poisoned in Salisbury, England in March 2018 under questionable circumstances.
After the Salisbury incident, the British government issued a D-notice to prevent mainstream reporters from investigating Miller’s relationship with Skripal. Despite being an obvious subject of interest, Miller went completely unmentioned during the rolling coverage that dominated British media for months as a result.
The emails show Miller was nonetheless following that coverage closely. In June 2018, he wrote to De Bretton-Gordon thanking him for his “sterling media work” during what he called the “dark days of March and April.” During that period De Bretton-Gordon appeared in British newspapers and television reports on the poisoning on a near-daily basis, consistently attributing blame to the Kremlin without evidence and emphasizing the chemical weapons threat he claimed Russia posed.
The next month, De Bretton-Gordon sent his MI6 pal a lengthy Telegraph article warning of potential all-out chemical and biological wars with “rogue” states. De Bretton-Gordon’s commentary featured extensively in the piece, which framed Britain as a sitting duck in the event that Moscow were to target the country with missiles equipped with nerve agents or other toxic weapons.
When not hyping up De Bretton-Gordon’s apocalyptic warnings of potential Russian chemical weapons attacks, the article functioned as a long-form infomercial for his then-employer, Avon Protection Systems. The firm, which manufactures protective equipment for military, law enforcement and fire personnel, stood to profit handsomely from inflated perceptions of what governments call Chemical, Biological, Radiological, and Nuclear (CBRN) threats. De Bretton-Gordon’s email signature at the time identified him as the company’s Managing Director for CBRN.
De Bretton-Gordon’s big break
The Telegraph noted the company’s business was “booming,” with orders “flooding in” from government clients the world over, supposedly reflecting how “a new age of poison weapons is upon us.” Later in the piece, an Avon executive boasted that the Salisbury incident and other recent alleged CBRN usage had “been good for us.” Britain’s elite SAS were among the cited customers for the “sinister looking” gas masks sold by Avon Protection Systems, which were said to be “worthy of Darth Vader.”
At no point did the Telegraph article mention De Bretton-Gordon’s employment by Avon.
But thanks to his newfound media prominence, De Bretton-Gordon wouldn’t have to stay with the company much longer. In January 2020, he emailed Pablo Miller bragging that he had “been offered a fellowship” at Cambridge University. De Bretton-Gordon wrote that he’d decided to accept the role because, in his words, “it beats flogging gas masks!”
Four months later, De Bretton-Gordon founded a dedicated personal “CBRN and bio security” consulting firm, in an apparent attempt to derive profit from his talent for stoking public fears of looming chemical and biological catastrophe.
De Bretton-Gordon helps MI6 officer avoid media scrutiny
The leaked emails show De Bretton-Gordon quickly emerged as a preferred adviser for the BBC, and repeatedly served as a go-between for Miller and the British broadcaster, whose journalists had apparently become aware that Miller was an MI6 officer.
Correspondence from November 2018 shows De Bretton-Gordon was also rewarded for his relentless media appearances with a position as a “senior CBRN mentor” in Britain’s Ministry of Defence. Though the work was unpaid, he received an MOD ID card and Ministry railcard, saving him substantial sums on train travel. De Bretton-Gordon wrote Miller to inform him of his new title, noting that he was currently advising the BBC on what he derided as “CBRN ‘pisch’” for a forthcoming “drama on Salisbury.”
“I’ve been asked by the writer if you would be interested in contributing,” he mentioned to Miller, adding that he’d told the British broadcasters that the spy was unlikely to agree. The MI6 veteran responded, “you correctly guessed my answer to the BBC question… it would not be appropriate for me to comment in public on the issue.”
Miller lamented that the British state broadcaster’s cognizance of his clandestine involvement with Skripal indicated his “true professional provenance” had “long ceased to be much of a secret.” But he wished De Bretton-Gordon good luck, telling his colleague that he was sure the drama would succeed given his “expert guidance.”
The next January, De Bretton-Gordon explicitly described Skripal as Miller’s friend when forwarding him a Forces News article on the removal of the roof of the Russian defector’s former home, excitedly informing him, “I see your mate is in the news again!”
De Bretton-Gordon was quoted liberally in the report, explaining it was necessary to remove the roof as it had allegedly accumulated “enough Novichok to kill thousands of people.” The chemical warrior claimed British authorities were now “much better prepared to deal” with future CBRN attacks in the aftermath of the incident.
Weeks later, De Bretton-Gordon emailed Miller to warn him Salisbury “will be awash with journos” on the March 4 anniversary of Skripal’s poisoning. In response, Miller thanked his friend for the “heads-up,” and wrote that he’d likely be leaving the country to ensure he was far away from the city while it filled up with reporters.
The correspondence also reveals how close the two men had become, and how their relationship had begun to blur into commercial territory. In October 2019, Miller asked De Bretton-Gordon to help publicize a Kickstarter for his daughter’s theatre production — a personal favor suggesting a friendship rather than a purely professional engagement. But Miller refused to let media contacts anywhere near it, explaining that following the Salisbury incident his daughters were forced to close their social media accounts after being relentlessly hounded by the press.
During the same exchange, De Bretton-Gordon reminded Miller he’d been contracted for an upcoming BBC drama on Salisbury, and once again offered him a role. Miller declined, saying he was firmly opposed to playing “any part for any BBC show. Ever.” De Bretton-Gordon defended his participation in the project by revealing that the MOD had specifically requested he “help on the Salisbury piece… to make sure the military bit looks right.”
The production in question was a three-part BBC One series that aired in 2020 called “The Salisbury Poisonings.” The project’s IMDB page lists De Bretton-Gordon as a “military advisor.”
De Bretton-Gordon wants critics “prosecuted for treason”
As The Grayzone previously revealed, De Bretton-Gordon played a deeply malign, multifaceted role throughout the Syrian dirty war. On top of endless media appearances as a bogus “expert” on CBRN matters, he was part of a covert MI6 effort to smuggle soil samples out of opposition-controlled areas in an effort to prove the Syrian government used chemical weapons. A report on this initiative in the Mirror tabloid made clear the purpose of British intelligence was prodding the US into military intervention against Assad.
It seems plausible whatever samples De Bretton-Gordon gathered in Syria were concocted, perhaps by his own hand. He provided evidence to a number of official investigations into purported chemical attacks during the conflict. In at least one instance – an OPCW/UN Joint Investigative Mechanism (JIM) probe into an alleged April 2014 toxic gas strike in Talmenes – videos submitted by an opaque NGO De Bretton-Gordon founded called CBRN Taskforce were found to show clear signs of falsification.
De Bretton-Gordon’s communications with his spy buddy contain references to him visiting Turkey, “to do a bit of training.” The country was the central hub for MI6 and CIA operations during the dirty war on Syria. It is an open question whether his training sessions covered staging chemical weapons attacks, and if other states in the region were taught in this dark art.
The self-styled CBRN expert also bragged about sharing his purported expertise with the Israeli military. In an email sent in December of 2018 De Bretton-Gordon boasted to Miller that he’d just returned “from Israel,” where he said he’d been “briefing the IDF (and no doubt others!) on Syrian [chemical weapons] and a bit of Novichok.”
He was clearly impressed by the Israelis, crowing, “Those boys don’t mess about!”
De Bretton-Gordon’s work overseas was apparently taking a toll on his day job, however. In an email that month to Miller, he explained how he was “always on the edge of sacking with all my ‘extra’ activities.” These machinations also put him in conflict with Peter Ford, Britain’s ambassador to Syria from 2003 to 2006, who’d become an outspoken critic of the dirty war against Damascus.
After De Bretton-Gordon authored an op-ed for The Telegraph in May 2019 demanding the West intervene to prevent Syrian government forces from recapturing Syria’s Idlib, Ford issued a response nailing his failure to acknowledge that the province was at the time under the control of the MI6-supported Al Qaeda affiliate, Hayʼat Tahrir al-Sham.
In response, De Bretton-Gordon emailed Miller a note deriding Ford as a “complete See You Next Tuesday” who parroted “Assad and Putin propaganda.” He called for Ford – and the members of a now-defunct collective of antiwar academics known as the Working Group on Syria, Propaganda and Media – to be “prosecuted for treason.” De Bretton-Gordon seemed particularly piqued that the academic collective had poked holes in the narrative he’d spun about Syrian chemical attacks.
De Bretton-Gordon cheers as his enemies “exposed”
In August that year, De Bretton-Gordon contacted Miller to celebrate The Times publishing a hit piece on David Miller, a member of the Working Group on Syria, Propaganda and Media.
“Glad to see that some of Assad’s and Putin’s ‘useful idiots’ who try and give me a hard time are being exposed,” De Bretton-Gordon cheered, before suggesting “must get more of them out in the open.”
This prompted a wider discussion about the so-called “stooges” who publicly challenged established, MI6-approved media narratives on Syria and Russia.
For his part, Pablo Miller expressed disgust over a recent “fawning evaluation” of Putin’s 20 years in power by dissident journalist Mary Dejevsky. Miller derided Dejevsky as one of many media figures who foolishly believed “Putin was the answer to Russia’s woes,” and suggested without evidence that she was likely “taking Moscow gold.” Thankfully, he added, events “Crimea, Syria, and Salisbury” had managed to “wake the twits up.”
The slanted manner in which these events were framed in the media did indeed coincide with a perceptibly negative shift in public sentiment towards Russia throughout the West, helping make a world-threatening standoff with Moscow a fait accompli. At every step, De Bretton-Gordon and other intelligence-aligned commentators acted as military and intelligence propagandists, ensuring the media and popular culture was constantly deluged with paranoia over a multi-spectrum Russian “threat.” Those who question the narrative are denigrated as “useful idiots,” and much worse.
This August 6, De Bretton-Gordon based an entire op-ed for the Telegraph on a conversation he’d recently had with an unnamed “Western intelligence officer” of his acquaintance. Could that anonymous spy have been Pablo Miller?
The self-styled chemical warfare expert was clearly not keen to discuss his relationship with the MI6 man. De Bretton-Gordon immediately hung up the phone when I reached him and identified myself as a journalist.
Original article: thegrayzone.com
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