Multipolarity and diversity are no longer distant aspirations but the realities of the emerging world order. If the Eurasian Charter is to reflect them, it must engage the states absent at its launch on 25 September 2026, above all India. 

On 25 September 2026 in New York, at the negotiations held on Belarus and Russia’s initiative during the high-level week of the 81st UNGA session, nine states signed a Joint Statement on the Eurasian Charter of Diversity and Multipolarity in the 21st Century. The signatories include Belarus, Iran, Kazakhstan, Kyrgyzstan, Laos, Myanmar, Russia, Tajikistan, and Vietnam. India is not in the list. India did not sign. This does not mean India does not share the ideas of the Eurasian Charter. It means that India maintains a careful position.

The Joint Statement by Indian Prime Minister Narendra Modi and Russian President Vladimir Putin following the 23rd Summit in New Delhi in December 2025, includes the partners’ commitment to a multipolar world, recognition of Eurasia’s strategic significance, the creation of a new security architecture. Both leaders called India-Russia relationship an “anchor of peace and stability,” one that will be kept in place through equal and indivisible security. The last part of the Joint Statement highlights that both countries will remain committed to a multipolar world and multipolar Asia. It also welcomes India’s idea to create an SCO Civilizational Dialogue Forum. Indivisible security, multipolarity, dialogue among civilizations—these are the main ideas of the Eurasian Charter and India has already supported them.

So, the real question for New Delhi is whether the vocabulary that works for the two long-standing partners can be made to work across the continent. Moscow faces a mirror question: Will the Eurasian Charter carry the whole of the vocabulary, including the parts that protect India’s freedom to choose friends and keep Asia from tilting towards any single power? I argue that India-Russia partnership, more than any relationship, is a working model that the Eurasian Charter’s drafters can use to scale it up.

A Continent Without an “Umbrella” Structure

Africa and Latin America have numerous sub-regional organizations, and they also have pan-continental ones. In Eurasia, the SCO, the EAEU, ASEAN, the SCTO… each operates within its own framework, but with no common platform where all the continent’s countries and organizations, without exception, could regularly exchange views. The Eurasian Charter is meant to overcome this shortfall.

Its main ideas were articulated during the Eurasian Security Conference held in October 2023 in Minsk, Belarus. In November 2024, Moscow and Minsk agreed on a Joint Vision of the Eurasian Charter’s content, and in New York the founding states agreed on the main terms: decisions are taken by consensus, the working language is English, and the aim is to adopt the Charter at a summit of Eurasian leaders, which would presumably take place before the end of 2027, with the drafting to begin in Minsk in November during the annual Minsk Security Conference.

One provision is worthy of special note. The document does not prejudice the rights and obligations of participating states arising from the UN Charter or other international agreements and arrangements to which they are party.

No commitment is required from participating states to sign the final text, and any state can withdraw at any time. This means that New Delhi would not have to go down on any of its promises in other platforms, such as the Quad, or its engagements with the U.S., Europe, or Japan.

Yet the project has also a sensitive side. The nine founding states include several countries under heavy Western sanctions, and amid the war in Ukraine most Western capitals will likely interpret any text co-authored by Moscow as a confrontation move. India has experienced this pressure first-hand. In August 2025, Washington doubled its tariffs on Indian goods as a penalty for buying Russian oil. Russia should not expect New Delhi to accept any further pressures easily.

Friendship Without a Treaty of Alliance

The Indo-Russian relationship is useful as a model for handling disagreements. Its warmth is real but easy to overstate. The two countries have no mutual defense agreement and have never needed one. According to the October 2000 Declaration of Strategic Partnership, their relationship is built on annual summits, defense-industrial ties, nuclear energy cooperation, and consulting before acting. Neither has asked the other to choose sides.

However, the balance has not always been easy to maintain. Moscow has openly criticized the Quad. During his April 2021 visit to New Delhi, Russian foreign Minister Sergei Lavrov described it as an “Asian NATO,” to which his Indian counterpart S. Jaishankar noted that no country should have a veto over India‘s partnerships. India maintains the Quad’s membership, and Russia continues to deepen its ties with India. In Samarkand in September 2022, Narendra Modi told Vladimir Putin, in front of the cameras, that “today’s era is not an era of war.” Putin said he understood India’s concerns. Since then, annual summits have continued, and trade in oil, fertilizers, and arms has expanded.

Russia, for its part, has kept close ties with China through every phase of India’s border tensions with Beijing, and India has not demanded that it stop. What Moscow has offered instead is support on matters it cares about most. The December 2025 Joint Statement repeats Russia‘s backing for India’s permanent seat in a reformed UN Security Council and membership in the Nuclear Supplier Group. It also “condemns the April 2025 terrorists and their safe havens”—a language India has not always secured in multilateral settings.

This is the kind of understanding the Eurasian Charter needs: partners who can disagree openly, maintain other relationships, and still respect one another’s core interests. This is a more pragmatic basis for a Eurasian order than any bloc arrangement, because no states will share exactly the same views on their security. 

What Moscow Should Bring into the Charter

If Russia wants India at the negotiation table, it should bring the entire December 2025 Joint Statement’s vocabulary into the Eurasian Charter, including parts that may be less comfortable.

First is the Multipolar Asia clause. For India, commitment to a multipolar Asia means that there must be no single regional power setting the terms. A Eurasian Charter that speaks warmly of multipolarity in the world while staying silent about the balance of power inside Eurasia would be perceived by Indians as written for one great neighbor—China. Russia itself has reasons to be wary about it. Russian foreign-policy experts have voiced concerns that Beijing might increasingly dictate Russia’s Asia policy. A Eurasian order with India’s strong position in it is the best insurance against such an outcome for Russia. 

Second is the link between indivisible security and counterterrorism. The New Delhi Joint Statement places these two ideas together deliberately. For India, security is not an abstract principle: when a state provides shelter to armed groups that operate across borders, its neighbors are inevitably put at risk, regardless of formal alliances or treaties. A Eurasian Charter that limits its security agenda to military blocs and foreign bases will be a simple recast of the European security concerns. A commitment to deny safe heaven to cross-border terrorist organizations would give it a much broader meaning, including for Central Asia which faces the same the threats emerging from Afghanistan.

Third is the restraint in naming enemies. Sergei Lavrov has described the Eurasian Charter as a platform free from external interference. Read narrowly, this means Eurasians settling Eurasian questions among themselves, which India supports. Read broadly, it implies a demand that its members loosen ties with powers outside the continent, which India will refuse, as S. Jaishankar made quite clear speaking about its membership in the Quad.

The Charter’s drafters should choose the narrow reading and specify it in the text. A Eurasian Charter that defines itself by what it opposes will gather only the states that already agree with Moscow. A Eurasian Charter that defines itself by rules of conduct can gather the entire continent.

What New Delhi Should Weigh Up

India has good reasons to be cautious, but remaining outside the negotiation process indefinitely would not serve its interests.

At the BRICS summit hosted by New Delhi last month, Modi urged the Global South to become a “rule-shaper” rather than simply accept rules set elsewhere. The Eurasian Charter is a good rulemaking exercise for India. It would be odd to call for a larger voice in global rulemaking, while leaving the work on the first draft of the code concerning India’s home continent to others.

The practical risks of staying away are obvious. Kazakhstan, Kyrgyzstan, and Tajikistan are already in the room, and India has courted the region seriously since the first India-Central Asia Summit held in January 2022, with connectivity at the top of the agenda. If China joins later, as it well may, the text will carry Beijing’s preferences more strongly than India’s. A country that arrives in the fourth round can only propose amendment to the document with the structure already set by others.

Furthermore, the terms make a low-cost entry possible. Each state decides the level and composition of its delegation. India could send experts from its Ministry of External Affairs and research institutions rather than a ministerial team, take part in drafting, and keep its decision on the final document entirely open. By doing so, New Delhi would show Washington, Brussels and Tokyo that it is in the room to keep the text inclusive and that its participation binds it to nothing.

Another reason concerns India’s diplomacy. The December 2025 Joint Statement includes New Delhi’s proposal on holding the first session of a SCO Civilizational Dialogue Forum in India this year. The Eurasian Charter, which sees dialogue among civilizations as one of its pillars, would put India’s idea at a far wider stage than any single regional body.

An Agenda for Minsk

If both capitals accept this view, they could take two steps before the first-round meets.

The first step is a joint non-paper. Indian and Russian diplomats could set out, in a few pages, the principles both governments have already signed: indivisible security tied to a duty to deny haven to terrorists, a multipolar world that includes a multipolar Asia, respect for each state’s existing partnerships, and dialogue among civilizations. Submitted to the Chair between rounds, as the terms allow, it would show the other participants that the Eurasian Charter’s vocabulary can unite states with very different alignments.

The second step concerns the Chair. Under the terms, Belarus chairs alone if no other Eurasian state is willing to co-chair. Russia, as the Charter’s co-initiator, could encourage Minsk to offer co-chairmanship to a state from outside the founding nine. India is the natural candidate, although New Delhi may well refuse at this stage. Anyway, such an offer would signify that the process is open—on paper and in practice.

The third step is connectivity, where interests are concrete and politics are unaffected. In September, India and the Eurasian Economic Union agreed to hold a third round of free trade talks in November. Earlier in January, the Indian government had concluded a trade agreement with the European Union. This pairing shows India’s approach in miniature, and the Eurasian Charter should welcome it. A Chapter that commits signatories to keep trade corridors open in times of political tensions, covering the North-South Transport Corridor, the Chennai-Vladivostok Maritime Corridor, and the Northern Sea Route that the December 2025 Joint Statement names, would matter more to Indian and Russian businesses than any declaration about a multipolar world order.

The fourth step is the expert track. The December 2025 Joint Statement welcomes the growing exchanges between Indian and Russian think tanks. In both countries, expert institutions could run a parallel dialogue on the Eurasian Charter’s text and invite scholars from the absent states, including China, Uzbekistan, and Türkiye. A text tested by experts before it reaches ministers is a stronger text.

Beyond the Three Seas

In 1468, a Russia merchant Afanasy Nikitin sailed down the Volga, crossed the Caspian, travelled through Persia, and took a ship for India’s western coast. He spent about three years in the country and left one of the earliest Russian descriptions of India, valued for a realistic view, not a repetition of fantastical legends about India. Incidentally his route runs close to the line of the North-South Transport Corridor.

Nikitin travelled as a trader curious about India, and he recounted life in the country without any ideas to remake it. India-Russia relations have kept that spirit: two societies interested in each other, each content to let the other remain itself.

The Eurasian Charter will succeed only if it carries the same spirit across the continent. India and Russia have, in effect, already written the first draft between themselves. The task now is to make room in it for everyone else.

The world stands at a critical turning point and, as President Xi Jinping has noted, “changes unseen in a century are accelerating.” After it was confirmed that U.S. President Donald Trump and Russian President Vladimir Putin will attend the APEC Summit in Shenzhen, China, scheduled for 18-19 November 2026, expectations have grown that a trilateral meeting of the three most powerful heads of state may mark a proactive strategic recalibration required by the exigencies of the current international situation.

This meeting may come as a historic adjustment of the global structural transformation and the upgrading of the major powers’ relations eighty years after the formation of the Yalta system. Hopefully, the interaction between the presidents of the three major powers will not be the “G3 joint management of the world” as hyped by Western media, but emerge as a new ‘Shenzhen International System’, a model that will operate in parallel with the UN-centered multilateral system and inject certainty into the turbulent world.

The Shenzhen Trilateral Meeting as a Product of Thorough Preparation and an Urgent Imperative of the Times

Face-to-face meetings between presidents of major powers are never spur-of-the-moment events; they are the cumulative product of intensive diplomatic efforts, Track II dialogues, and successive bilateral exchanges. Over the past year or so, bilateral communication among China, the U.S., and Russia—including various dialogues, shuttle diplomacy by special envoys, and telephone conversations—has steadily advanced, with the parties repeatedly sounding out each other’s bottom lines and exchanging views on global pressing issues.

Visits and statements made by top-level officials in 2026 point to the high probability of a trilateral meeting of the Chinese, U.S., and Russian heads of state. On 4 February—the day marking the start of spring in the Chinese lunar calendar—President Xi Jinping held separate telephone conversations with President Putin and President Trump. During the third week of May, President Trump and President Putin visited Beijing in succession to meet with President Xi Jinping. On 23-25 September, President Xi visited the United States. On 1 October, President Putin publicly stated at the 23rd Annual Meeting of the Valdai Discussion Club that a trilateral summit was possible, provided the agenda was right.

The think tank I am affiliated with has frequently organized trilateral dialogues among scholars and former officials from China, the U.S., and Russia in recent years. Multiple rounds of exchanges yielded a clear consensus that if major powers engage in a spiraling vicious rivalry, no single party will remain unscathed. This realization has laid a solid conceptual foundation for the leaders’ meeting during the APEC Summit in Shenzhen.

There is also a distinct sense of urgency. The current global order is in a state of a severe ‘entropy increase.’ The protracted Russia-Ukraine conflict is draining the resources and fracturing Eurasia’s security architecture. The Middle East remains volatile, with the risk of regional conflicts spilling over their boundaries. Global inflation, supply chain fragmentation, and debt crises are spreading across the Global South. Global problems—such as climate change, AI governance, and nuclear non-proliferation—are not resolved, lacking deep involvement of China, the U.S., and Russia. Bilateral diplomacy is no longer sufficient to address complex cross-regional global challenges.

The intensifying domestic political polarization in the U.S., with partisan wrangling over foreign policy, is draining the nation’s strategic energy; Russia, struggling with geopolitical security pressures, urgently needs stable relations with major powers; and China, currently undergoing a phase of high-quality development, needs a generally stable international environment. While each of these three major powers has its own practical domestic and foreign policy imperatives, they also share a collective responsibility for maintaining global strategic stability.

The Global South hopes that the major powers will manage their differences, halt confrontation, and jointly address existential challenges such as food, energy, and debt security. The world can no longer afford the catastrophic chain reactions resulting from miscalculations by major powers. It is this shared sense of global crisis that urges the need for a summit of the leaders of China, the U.S., and Russia.

The APEC multilateral framework provides a fitting diplomatic setting for the three leaders’ communication: trilateral talks in a multilateral context are generally inapt for striking secret deals or carving out spheres of influence, but instead help focus on the regional and global agenda.

The ‘Shenzhen International System’—a New Paradigm, Eight Decades after Yalta?

The 1945 Yalta Conference laid the groundwork of the post-World War II global order—a system that has endured for over eight decades. Born from the ruins of war, the Yalta international system, rooted in the major powers’ logic of delineating spheres of influence, ultimately created a postwar landscape marked by bipolar confrontation.

While this system maintained peace for a time, it was inherently characterized by power politics, bloc-based antagonism, and the carving up of spheres of influence. After the Cold War, attempts were made to replace the bipolar structure with U.S. unipolar hegemony; however, this experiment in unipolarity ultimately resulted in increased conflict, inequality, and failures in global governance. Over the past eight decades, the underlying logic of the Yalta system has become increasingly ill-suited to today’s multipolar reality.

The historical value of the potential trilateral meeting of China, U.S., and Russia’s leaders—held within the framework of the Shenzhen APEC summit—is that these powers have begun to jointly explore a new order that transcends the outdated mindset of the Yalta system; this marks the starting point for what might be called the ‘Shenzhen International System.’

This system is by no means intended to replace the United Nations or to abandon existing international mechanisms in favor of a new setup. Rather, it would indicate the major powers’ joint intention to reshape the principles of their coexistence and correct the entrenched mindsets inherited from the Yalta era—bloc confrontation and contest for spheres of influence.

Under the Yalta system, the underlying logic of major-power interaction was zero-sum games, alliance-building, and territorial division. By contrast, the Shenzhen trilateral summit may draw a new direction of controllable competition, conflict prevention, policy coordination, and mutual respect for nations’ core interests. The primary value of such a trilateral summit lies in managing the strategic risks associated with major powers, establishing guardrails for crisis communication, and preventing local conflicts from escalating into direct confrontation between major powers.

Furthermore, in the provision of global public goods, the three nations can coordinate their efforts in addressing food security, energy stability, and climate governance. Most importantly, the meeting may acknowledge the objective reality of a multipolar world and diversity of civilizations and development paths; it may move away from drawing lines based on ideology and compelling nations to take sides. The Yalta system was an order born of war, bearing the imprint of power politics; by contrast, the Shenzhen trilateral summit may initiate a reshaping of international order—conducted in a peaceful environment—where major powers voluntarily exercise self-restraint and seek coexistence. This will mark a significant endeavor in international relations history.

It will also signify that the world’s major powers are no longer retracing the historical path of the “WWII victors redrawing the global map,” but intend to jointly maintain fundamental global stability based on the premise of coexistence. The historical significance of this shift will become increasingly apparent to the international community over time. Of course, building a new order paradigm is a long-term process and a trilateral summit is merely the starting point of a long journey that is far from its final destination.

Not a G3, but a New Model of Major-Power Interaction Compatible with Multilateralism

Some Western media outlets and public opinion circles using outdated geopolitical concepts to hype up a so-called ‘G3 bloc’ claim that China, the U.S., and Russia intend to monopolize global affairs. This is a classic Eurocentric understanding of major-power interaction rooted in the old logic of 19th-century alliances and the secret division of spoils. It must be made clear: the trilateral summit of Chinese, U.S., and Russian presidents is not a ‘G3.’

The ‘G3’ concept is essentially a closed clique of a few major powers monopolizing global decision-making, dictating the terms to the rest of the world, demarcating spheres of influence, and compelling other nations to submit. By contrast, the trilateral interaction of China, the U.S., and Russia is presumed to be an open, issue-oriented communication mechanism focused on crisis management.

The primary goal of such communication is to manage mutual conflicts and prevent clashes between major powers, rather than to form an exclusive bloc for joint opposition to other nations. The consensus reached through trilateral interaction will neither supersede the UN Charter nor replace existing multilateral mechanisms such as the G20 or APEC.

While there is room for cooperation, significant competition and differences between the three nations also exist. They will not form a monolithic alliance. China and Russia characterize their relationship as a comprehensive strategic partnership embracing coordination in the new era, not a formal alliance. China and the U.S. seek a constructive, strategically stable relationship based on mutual respect, fairness, and reciprocity. While the U.S. and Russia harbor deep-seated conflicts, they maintain a baseline for crisis management. Thus, the trilateral relationship is a dynamic balance, not a rigid bloc.

The new model of major-power interaction is entirely compatible with multilateralism; the two models are complementary rather than mutually exclusive. Multilateralism involves all sovereign states; it is anchored in the purposes and principles of the UN Charter, which respects the sovereign equality of nations and addresses the aspirations of the vast number of developing countries in the Global South.

Stable communication among China, the U.S., and Russia as permanent members of the UN Security Council helps it overcome the current state of paralysis and dysfunction of its multilateral mechanisms. Only by effectively managing the most dangerous bilateral and trilateral risks can major powers hear the voices of small and middle states and respond to the concerns of the Global South.

Trilateral communication among major powers serves as a stabilizer for the multilateral system, not a substitute for it. The outcome of trilateral talks must ultimately be implemented within a global multilateral framework, incorporating the participation of more nations. Crucially, rather than engaging in mere bargaining at the negotiating table, the three major powers must consider the development aspirations of the Global South countries.

*   *   *

Amidst the current profound global changes, the potential trilateral meeting of the Chinese, U.S., and Russian leaders—held on the sidelines of the APEC Summit in Shenzhen—could be a pivotal moment in the history of diplomatic practice. It could remind the world that confrontation, war, and bloc rivalry are not the only historical paths available to major powers. Managing differences, peaceful coexistence, and limited coordination are viable choices.

Of course, we should not be overly optimistic about the prospects. Deep-seated mistrust, ideological biass, and conflicts of interest will continue to test the three nations’ strategic resolve. However, if China, the U.S., and Russia maintain the communication channels established through head-of-state diplomacy, uphold mutual respect, and avoid direct conflict, the new paradigm of major-power relations initiated by the Shenzhen trilateral meeting will take root and grow—offering a rare opportunity for injecting strategic certainty into the turbulent world.

In September, the Middle East witnessed a series of rapid and dangerous developments that underscored the fragility of regional security architectures. Among the most consequential was the Iran-backed Ansar Allah (Houthi) movement not only repelling the advance of Saudi-backed Yemeni government forces toward Sanaa but also turning the attack into a devastating counteroffensive. In doing so, they seized control of strategically vital coastal positions. Houthi forces captured the port of Mocha on Yemen’s western coast, Mayyun Island (Perim) in the Bab al-Mandab Strait, and the coastal city of Dhubab, overlooking the strategic waterway. Within the framework of regional alliances, this signifies one thing: Iran now exerts influence over the Bab al-Mandab Strait—one of the most vital maritime chokepoints in the world, through which approximately 12% of global trade and 7% of worldwide petroleum product supplies pass annually.

The implications especially for Saudi Arabia are profound and dire, as Ansar Allah’s military spokesperson announced that maritime navigation in the Red Sea remains safe for all international shipping companies, with the explicit exception of Saudi-flagged or Saudi-linked vessels. While the Iranian Revolutionary Guard considered the Houthi advance a “divine victory,” Mohammad Mokhber, the advisor to the Supreme Leader, stated that: “their advance has placed America and its allies in a tactical and strategic dilemma.” These developments extend beyond the region, potentially impacting the broader Asia-Pacific geopolitical landscape, particularly affecting India and China due to the strategic importance of the Strait of Hormuz and the Bab al-Mandab. Instability in these waters threatens oil flows and global trade. The threats are forcing ships to reroute around the Cape of Good Hope, resulting in higher costs and extending voyage times by approximately a month. Meanwhile, surging global oil and shipping prices are exerting additional pressure on the economies of both nations.

The conflicts extended beyond Yemen’s borders, reaching into neighboring Saudi Arabia. The Houthis targeted key strategic locations, including Abha International Airport, an Aramco facility, and King Khalid Air Base. Additionally, they launched an attack on the largest oil refinery in Jizan, resulting in injuries to 73 Saudi nationals.

Within the framework of Iran’s strategy to activate the “unity of fronts”, expanding the scope of their actions from Iraq, targeting strategic infrastructure that Saudi Arabia relied upon as an alternative route as the Strait of Hormuz is inaccessible. Specifically targeted the East-West Pipeline (Petroline), which transports oil from the Kingdom’s eastern regions to its western areas. As a result of these attacks, the Saudi Ministry of Energy announced the temporary closure of the pipeline as a precautionary measure. The Saudi Ministry of Foreign Affairs attributed the attack to Iraq—an assertion acknowledged by the Iraqi government—prompting Iraqi Prime Minister Ali Falah al-Zaidi to dismiss a military commander in Maysan Governorate and implement measures that included forming an investigative committee and closing three border crossings between Iraq and Iran.

The closure of the East-West pipeline raises concerns about the potential loss of up to 4% of global oil supplies, at a time when markets are already facing supply shortages, escalating fuel prices, and inflationary pressures.  The International Energy Agency (IEA) reported that Saudi oil production levels declined to their lowest point in over three decades in August, primarily due to diminished flow through the Strait of Hormuz and the Red Sea. Furthermore, the IEA projected a global oil supply reduction of approximately 5.7 million barrels per day, or nearly 6%, within this year.

This escalating sequence of events did not emerge spontaneously nor from a single moment of impulse; rather, it resulted from a series of developments that accumulated like an ice ball, culminating in a rapid descent with immense force. On July 20, the Houthi announced the imposition of a naval blockade on Saudi Arabia, framing it as a “siege for siege” strategy.  This declaration followed a series of provocative actions, including an incident on July 13, when Saudi-supported Yemeni government forces targeted the runway of Sanaa Airport to prevent an Iranian aircraft from landing. The Houthis claimed that the aircraft was carrying Yemenis who had participated in the funeral of Ayatollah Ali Khamenei in Iran. the Saudi-aligned forces at Sanaa Airport refused to permit the Iranian plane to land and subsequently struck the airport runway. The Houthis retaliated by targeting Saudi ships attempting to traverse the Red Sea. Feeling increasingly threatened by both aerial and maritime assaults, Saudi Arabia decided to strike back at Sanaa, the Houthi-controlled capital and strategic headquarters.

This series of escalations marked a turning point, transforming the conflict into a two-front confrontation: an internal struggle against the forces of the legitimate Yemeni government backed by Saudi Arabia and an external campaign against Saudi Arabia. The confrontation thus evolved into a complex and layered conflict with regional implications, reshaping the dynamics of the ongoing crisis.

On July 28, a coordinated US-Saudi military operation targeted facilities and weapons depots operated by Iranian-backed militias in eastern Iraq. This action was in direct response to over 30 drone attacks carried out by the Iranian Revolutionary Guard Corps (IRGC) within a 72-hour period, which targeted US military personnel as well as Saudi Arabia’s energy and oil infrastructure. The explicit and active involvement of Saudi forces in conducting strikes within Iraqi territory represented a notable development and signified a strategic shift in the Kingdom’s military policy.

During this critical time, as Saudi-backed government forces faced significant setbacks and disintegration amid the advancing Houthi forces, the Saudi Crown Prince sought assistance from the U.S. President Donald Trump to carry out military strikes against the Houthis, aiming to counter their attacks and halt their territorial expansion. However, President Trump declined to provide support in this regard.

This scene delineates Saudi Arabia’s engagement with a series of intricate and multifaceted strategic dilemmas. Despite its aerial capabilities, Riyadh encounters significant constraints in exerting decisive influence over ground operations in Yemen through airpower alone; the deployment of ground forces remains a politically and militarily sensitive option that the Saudi leadership appears reluctant to pursue. Concurrently, the Saudi-led coalition has been embroiled in an internal crisis since December 2025, involving the United Arab Emirates and the Southern Transitional Council forces (STC). It seems that the Yemeni government’s request for the UAE’s withdrawal has undermined both its defensive and offensive operational capacity on the ground, which has contributed to the coalition’s rapid retreat in the face of Houthi advances.

Furthermore, the proposed joint defense mechanism—under the umbrella of the “Mecca Alliance”—remains inactive, highlighting a lack of clarity regarding operational aspects. Sajjad Haider, the spokesperson for the Pakistani Ministry of Foreign Affairs, explicitly stated that no decisions have yet been made regarding the launch of military action under the “Mecca Agreement,” affirming: “There is no such matter currently under discussion… and when the time comes, we will act in accordance with the agreement.” This reflects a state of strategic ambiguity and conditional readiness rather than an actual, immediate commitment.

This confluence of factors underscores a broader crisis within Saudi Arabia’s regional and international alliances across three interconnected tiers: domestically, with the Gulf Cooperation Council exemplified by the UAE’s role in Yemen; regionally, with the Mecca Defense Alliance, which remains in a state of procedural limbo pending formal activation; and globally, with its alliance with the United States, now increasingly tested by evolving circumstances and shifting geopolitical priorities.

At the level of international organizations, the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia’s recourse to the UN Security Council highlights the shortcomings and underlying breakdowns of the current international system and its organizations; the Council’s response was limited to rhetorical statements emphasizing the importance of de-escalation, while it clearly failed to adopt any substantive resolution capable of addressing or mitigating the underlying tensions and conflicts.

What strategic options remain available to Saudi Arabia?

Although it was announced that a conference involving Gulf foreign ministers and Iran would be held on September 14 in Oman to discuss arrangements in the Strait of Hormuz, the Iranian Tasnim News Agency has stated that “the Strait of Hormuz will not be reopened under the Iranian-Omani understanding.” The statement underscored that the reopening of the Strait is contingent solely upon the United States’ fulfillment of Iran’s stipulated conditions. Iran has effectively consolidated “unity of fronts” to coordinate offensive strikes against neighboring countries, thereby positioning itself proactively rather than defensively. This strategic escalation is designed to exert diplomatic and military pressure on the American administration and its allies, with the objective of compelling them to reconsider their stance, lift sanctions and economic siege posed on Iran, and prevent any potential military actions targeting Kharg Island.

It appears that President Trump, by consciously refraining from targeting the Houthis, sought to leverage diplomatic pressure on Saudi Arabia to encourage its participation in the Abraham Accords and the normalization of relations with Israel. Concurrently, this strategic restraint may have been motivated by a desire to avoid opening a new regional front, particularly in light of his previous challenges in addressing issues related to Iran and the Strait of Hormuz.

From another perspective, if Saudi Arabia’s acquiescence to Iranian coercive tactics it could be interpreted as a tactical success for Iran’s strategy of utilizing proxies in both Yemen and Iraq. Such a development suggests that Iran’s use of these proxies has effectively created a lever of pressure, compelling Saudi Arabia to adopt a cautious, mutually beneficial approach: facilitating Iran’s efforts to normalize relations with Gulf states and fostering a path toward resolving tangled issues with the United States—despite the unlikelihood of Trump making any concessions—in exchange for easing the pressure exerted by Iranian-backed proxy networks in the region.

This scenario poses considerable challenges not only for Saudi Arabia but also for the broader Gulf Cooperation Council (GCC) member states. Such concessions could potentially lead to a paradoxical situation of “empowering the adversary,” thereby prompting a critical strategic dilemma: will Saudi Arabia be compelled to choose between normalization with Iran or with Israel?

Alternatively, Saudi Arabia might choose to realign its diplomatic course by strengthening ties with the United Arab Emirates; such a strategic reassessment would align its political objectives with those of the UAE. This rapprochement would also reflect shared strategic interests—most notably the involvement of Emirati-backed Yemeni forces in the conflict against the Houthis—a matter of critical importance within the broader regional strategic landscape where Emirati and Saudi interests converge, at least for the time being.

Saudi Arabia finds itself at a critical juncture marked by escalating regional tensions, faltering alliances, and complex strategic dilemmas. The recent Houthi advances, Iran’s expanding proxy network, and the limitations of international and regional support have exposed vulnerabilities in the regional and Riyadh’s security architecture. The Kingdom faces the daunting task of balancing its military and diplomatic options amid shifting geopolitical dynamics, including the potential for rapprochement with Iran or strengthening ties with regional partners like the UAE. As the international community’s response remains largely rhetorical, Saudi Arabia finds itself  navigating an increasingly fragmented landscape, in front of  difficult choices that will shape the future stability of the Gulf and the broader Middle East. Ultimately, the coming phase is difficult for the region and  will be decisive in determining whether Riyadh can forge a resilient strategy to counter external pressures and challenges or whether it will succumb to the pressures of an evolving and unpredictable regional environment.

When the Allied powers of World War II drafted the United Nations Charter, they sought to establish a global system of collective security. Its aim was to “save succeeding generations from the scourge of war.” With its adoption, all UN member states undertook to settle disputes exclusively by peaceful means. Decisions on the use of force were to be taken collectively (initially by eleven and now by fifteen members of the UN Security Council).

Yet the UN Charter contains an exception—the so-called ‘enemy states clause’ in Articles 53, 77, and 107—that has largely been forgotten today. It grants the former Allied powers the right to take military action against the former Axis powers without a Security Council mandate, in order to prevent renewed aggression from the former Axis powers. With the UN Security Council expressly excluded from this provision, each of the former Allies is free to assess for itself whether a former Axis power is once again adopting an aggressive stance.

By far the most important Axis powers to which the ‘enemy states clause’ referred were Germany and Japan. But does this clause apply to these countries today, more than 80 years after the end of WWII? The German government answers this question with an unequivocal ‘no.’ However, the legal situation does not appear unambiguous.

The German government argues that the ‘enemy states clause’ has long become obsolete. It refers to the 1995 UNGA Resolution 50/52, which “recognized that, having regard to the substantial changes that have taken place in the world, the ‘enemy State clauses’ have become obsolete.”

The German government points to the fact that reunified Germany is now one of the peace-loving members of the United Nations. Even before that, it argued that the four Allied Powers had waived their special rights vis-à-vis Germany in the 1990 Two-Plus-Four Treaty, including the right arising from the ‘enemy states clause’.

But do these arguments hold water? Here are a few considerations.

1. The ‘enemy states clause’ was never removed from the UN Charter.

The wording of the 1995 UNGA Resolution 50/52 does not indicate that ‘enemy states clause’ is now permanently invalid. Following a report from the Special Committee on the Charter of the United Nations and on the Strengthening of the Role of the Organization which recommended deletion of the clauses, the Resolution only “expressed its intention to initiate the procedure to amend the Charter, with prospective effect, by the deletion of the ‘enemy State’ clauses from Articles 53, 77 and 107.” However, there has been no follow-up resolution. Hence the text of the UN Charter remains unchanged.

If, at some time in the future, Germany were no longer regarded as a peace-loving state, could the ‘enemy states clause’ be applied again? There is no clear-cut answer to that.

2. Resolutions of the UN General Assembly are not legally binding.

UN resolutions are generally of a recommendatory nature. Under the UN Charter, binding decisions can, in principle, only be taken by the Security Council. However, there has never been a Security Council resolution formally repealing the ‘enemy states clause’. The relevant provisions therefore remain in the text of the Charter.

3. Removing the clause would require an amendment to the UN Charter.

Removing the ‘enemy states clause’ would require a formal amendment procedure in accordance with the rules of the Charter. This would presumably also require ratification of this amendment by all UN member states. Nothing of the sort has happened, and the relevant articles therefore remain in force.

4. The Two-Plus-Four Treaty cannot amend the UN Charter.

Whilst the 1990 Two-Plus-Four Treaty is a legally binding treaty under international law, a treaty between Germany and the four Allied powers cannot decide on an amendment to the Charter. Nor does the Treaty contain any reference to an explicit repeal of the’ enemy states clause’ in the UN Charter.

5. Russia could potentially terminate the 1990 Two-Plus-Four Treaty.

Russia could argue that Germany has violated the spirit and letter of the Two-Plus-Four Treaty, for example, by participating in NATO’s war against Yugoslavia in 1999, stationing its troops in Lithuania, or establishing NATO military structures on the territory of the former GDR. 

In view of the growing tensions between Germany and Russia, the ‘enemy states clause’ could regain political significance in this conflict.[1] Russia might attempt, as it has already warned, to use it as justification for a military operation against German production facilities manufacturing long-range drones for Ukraine. It could argue that by supporting Ukraine militarily, Germany has effectively become part of the confrontation. Furthermore, Russia could point out that the German Government has developed a new military strategy directed exclusively against Russia. Worse, it could be argued that the last German military strategy was drawn up in 1939 and led directly to WWII.

By applying the ‘enemy states clause’—or even merely threatening to do so—Germany could find itself haunted by its past. Can Germany count on international support in such a scenario?

The German Government should not only consider the possibility of this clause’s enforcement but remember that, given its past, it has a special obligation to work towards a peaceful resolution of the Ukraine war, to avoid its escalation, and not to exacerbate political tensions. At the time of increasing military confrontation in Europe, it would be reasonable—and prudent—to re-establish dialogue with Russia and seek ways to de-escalate the situation. 

On 2 September, Norwegian authorities detained Russian state-owned research vessel Professor Molchanov at Barentsburg in Spitsbergen (Svalbard), following a lawsuit filed by Ukraine’s Naftogaz.

At first sight, the detention of the Russian research vessel appears as a routine event in Norway’s long-standing strategy to oust Russia from Spitsbergen and establish absolute sovereignty of the archipelago—free from the legal restrictions stipulated by the 1920 Spitsbergen (Svalbard) Treaty. At closer sight, it opens a loophole for expropriating Russian property on the archipelago. But more importantly, trying to accommodate the current geopolitical situation to its national legal proceedings and violating the 1920 Treaty by placing national law above international law, Norway has driven itself into a legal trap.

Article 32 of the 1982 UN Convention on the Law of the Sea (UNCLOS) states that state-owned vessels operated for non-commercial purposes enjoy sovereign immunity from foreign jurisdiction. Naftogaz, long pursuing Russian assets, claims that the research vessel’s visits to Spitsbergen had predominantly commercial purposes.

Norway portrays the incident as a purely technical matter based on national legislation. According to the Norwegian Ministry of Justice, its decision followed the 2023 ruling of the Permanent Court of Arbitration in the Hague as an enforcement of an approximately $4.22bn arbitral award from the Russian Federation to Naftogaz for its Crimean assets. The order for the enforcement of this ruling was issued by the District Court of Nord-Troms and Senja (in Tromsø, mainland Norway), and the Governor of Svalbard acted as a regular enforcer.

This seemingly flawless normative scheme falls apart when examined from the perspective of the basic principles of international law.

Norway’s sovereignty over Spitsbergen is based on the 1920 Spitsbergen Treaty—an international treaty that provides for the creation of a special international legal regime on the archipelago’s land territory and in its territorial waters. Essentially, the Treaty provides for the creation of a territorial enclave, similar to the Kaliningrad region but, unlike in the latter case, does not generate its own continental shelf and exclusive economic zone in the adjacent maritime areas.

The 1982 UN Convention assumes that a state has full sovereignty over its ports. However, under the 1920 Spitsbergen Treaty, Norway does not have such absolute rights and, accordingly, has no legal basis for applying the provisions of the Convention in the archipelago’s ports. Article 3 of the Spitsbergen Treaty states: “The nationals of all the High Contracting Parties shall have equal liberty of access and entry for any reason or object whatever to the waters, fjords and ports of the territories specified in Article 1; subject to the observance of local laws and regulations, they may carry on there without impediment all maritime, industrial, mining and commercial operations on a footing of absolute equality”.

It follows from this stipulation of the Treaty that:

• The Treaty’s regime excludes the application of the provisions of the 1982 Convention, including Article 32, in Spitsbergen archipelago’s ports.
• The Professor Molchanov research vessel has all grounds to engage in any of the activities listed in the Treaty, including commercial ones.
• All states-signatories to the Spitsbergen Treaty, including Norway, agreed that the Norwegian government, in addition to exercising sovereign functions in the archipelago, is obliged to ensure the contracting parties’ rights as specified in the Treaty.

The Russian research vessel did not violate the law on the archipelago, which means that its detention is a direct violation of the powers granted to Norway by the parties to the Spitsbergen Treaty.

Furthermore, the third paragraph of Article 3 of the Treaty reads: “Notwithstanding any rules relating to coasting trade which may be in force in Norway, ships of the High Contracting Parties going to or coming from the territories specified in Article 1 shall have the right to put into Norwegian ports.” This provision thus distinguishes between the archipelago’s local ports and ports on the Norwegian mainland, as well as between laws pertaining to the archipelago and those regulations that may be in force on the Norwegian mainland—the national legislation of the mainland, which incorporates the provisions of international agreements to which Norway is a party.

Claims that the 1958 Convention on the Recognition and Enforcement of Foreign Arbitral Awards, known as the New York Convention and ostensibly forming the legal basis for the detention of the Professor Molchanov vessel, and the UNCLOS are applicable to Svalbard because they are “merely part of Norwegian law” are inconsistent with the provisions of § 2, Part II of the Svalbard Act, which states: “Other legal provisions do not apply in Svalbard unless expressly provided”.

In the Norwegian legal system, an international treaty has no legal force for authorities until the Storting (parliament) passes a special law incorporating it or transforming it into national legislation, after which the treaty acquires the force of national law. The 1958 New York Convention was incorporated into Norwegian law through the Arbitration Act and the Enforcement Act. The 1982 UN Convention was incorporated through a series of laws, including the Maritime Boundary Act and the Act on the Management of Living Marine Resources. Upon ratification, these conventions became part of Norwegian law. When ratifying them, Norway made no reservations regarding their applicability to Spitsbergen, a territory with a special international legal regime.

The application of Norwegian national laws incorporating the provisions of international treaties immediately creates a conflict with Article 3 of the 1920 Treaty, which permits application of only local archipelago-related laws, but prohibits imposing restrictions on commercial and research navigation by Norway’s international obligations to third parties (whether the UN or Naftogaz) valid exclusively for the mainland.

In cases of collision of norms, the fundamental principle of international law—Pacta sunt servanda (Treaties must be observed)—takes unconditional effect. This is enshrined in Article 26 of the 1969 Vienna Convention on the Law of Treaties and reinforced by Article 27 of the same Convention, which states: “A party may not invoke the provisions of its internal law as justification for its failure to perform a treaty.”

By placing the procedural code of the continental part of the country and the material claims of the Ukrainian company above Article 3 of the 1920 Treaty, Norway committed an internationally unlawful act.

For the Russian side, this incident means disrupted scientific programs, canceled expedition tours, and other losses. Therefore, in accordance with Article 31 of Responsibility of States for Internationally Wrongful Acts, codified by the UN International Law Commission and approved by UNGA Resolution 56/83 in 2001, Norway, as the offending state, is obligated to fully compensate for the caused damage.

In accordance with Article 36 of the ILC Act, Moscow has the right to lay financial claims to the Kingdom of Norway for:

• Actual damage: costs for the vessel’s forced demurrage at Barentsburg, maintenance of the crew and expedition members, port fees, and fuel costs to maintain the vessel.
• Lost profit: compensation for the disruption of chartered voyages, obligations to refund tourists and scientists, and the disruption of subsequent commercial contracts.
• Legal costs: Oslo must fully compensate for the costs of hiring Norwegian lawyers to appeal unlawful arrest of the vessel in the Hålogaland Court of Appeal.

The detention of the Professor Molchanov has also exposed long-standing problems in Russia’s legal approach to areas outside its sovereignty and a catastrophic imbalance in the parties’ legal preparedness.

Norway has a well-honed legal apparatus. For decades, Oslo has been deliberately and proactively using legal and administrative mechanisms to systematically emasculate the provisions of the 1920 Treaty and gradually strengthen its sovereignty. Every action has meticulously been calculated at the level of regulations and instructions for local implementers.

Since the Treaty’s very inception, beginning with the prior international agreement known as the Mining Regulations for Svalbard, Norway has actively employed manipulative legal and terminological engineering in developing the Treaty’s provisions. Specifically, it clearly used these methods to emasculate the provisions of Article 7 of the Treaty, which regulates the rights of the contracting parties to the archipelago’s natural resources.[1]

As for Russia, it could confront the Norwegian systemic rulemaking machine by accumulated academic knowledge, but for some inexplicable reason it lies idle. Russia has a robust research base,[2] but the results of fundamental applied research conducted by Russian scientists on the Spitsbergen track have been ignored for years.

Russian government agencies still lack a clear understanding that the legal response to the Norwegians’ actions should be symmetrical, systemic, and proactive, rather than belatedly reactive.

The incident with the Professor Molchanov vessel cries out for institutional change—it is time Russia moved from ad hoc reactions to continuous legal monitoring. For example, by establishing a permanent position for a leading international lawyer on Spitsbergen within the state-owned trust Arktikugol, which would monitor Norwegian lawmaking in real time, follow Oslo’s court practice, and promptly provide authorities with ready-made legal advice before another Russian vessel is arrested or a similar legal event occurs.

A similarly deficient legal policy is observed in the delimitation in the Arctic Ocean, to which Spitsbergen is directly related.[3] An analysis of the concluded bilateral treaties on delimitation in the Arctic and of national applications to the UN Commission on the Limits of the Continental Shelf shows that, before submitting applications with geological claims to the Arctic Ocean shelf, Russia should have established a permanent situation center at a dedicated research institute of the Russian Academy of Sciences. This has still not been done.

International law is a formidable weapon, and its proper use must be a powerful tool for protecting Russia’s national interests in the Arctic and other areas beyond its territorial sovereignty. Russia’s legally ineffective management, in the face the Ministry for the Development of the Russian Far East, has unwittingly opened a loophole for Norway to arrest the Professor Molchanov vessel, which may serve as a precedent for further confiscation of Arktikugol’s assets on the archipelago, which occupies a significant position in the geopolitical balance of power.

By detaining the Russian research vessel, Norwegian authorities have opened Pandora’s Box. If Spitsbergen becomes a testing ground for forced recovery of assets in geopolitical disputes involving third parties, its special international legal regime will be significantly damaged. Today, Oslo arrested a Russian research vessel following a lawsuit filed by Kyiv. Tomorrow, on the same grounds, courts in mainland Norway will begin detaining American, Iranian, Chinese, or Taiwanese vessels in Spitsbergen ports, following lawsuits filed by third parties. To avoid turning this international outpost into a zone of permanent legal chaos, Norway’s judicial system must return to the legal framework and immediately release the Professor Molchanov.

And it is time Russia learnt to use the expertise of its legal scholars and transform it into the competences of institutions that could effectively protect its national interests.

With Andy Burnham becoming the UK’s new Prime Minister, and Andrei Kelin leaving the post of Russian Ambassador to London, British‑Russian relations seem to be entering a new stage. Little is known about Burnham’s foreign policy agenda, let alone his position on Russia. The two sides have exchanged sharp statements in recent weeks, and tension is clearly growing. However, digging deeper, one can find some clues as to what will happen next.

Burnham has made clear that his priority is domestic policy and that he would prefer to make foreign trips only when there were compelling reasons. New to foreign policy, he will need to clarify his position on virtually all issues. His recent trip to Kiev proves that. It was an easy but symbolic success: coming to Kiev on the anniversary of Ukraine’s independence, he promised comprehensive support and brought several pleasant gifts.

From the British government and public’s perspective, everything went smoothly. In the media’s eyes, he made an unforgivable blunder wearing a zipper polo shirt instead of a business suit. Yet Burnham confirmed his commitment to continued support of Ukraine—even if his country cannot afford additional funding or significant arms supplies (while Russian gas imports keep growing).

At first glance, Burnham, like his predecessors, is struggling with the lack of long‑term foreign-policy planning and of new ideas from political parties. In the coming months, the government will have to focus on domestic affairs.

Party conferences and the autumn budget presentation will be a serious test for Burnham and the Labor, which is once again leading public opinion polls. In addition, voters’ annoyance with rising crime, abnormal heatwaves, and migrant problems persists. So, for now, he may stay away from foreign policy issues.

In this situation, the figure of the new foreign secretary may be more important. Ed Miliband, former leader of the Labor and of the opposition, the brother of the former head of the Foreign Office, is a politician disliked by the Right for his climate action undertaken as energy minister. Miliband has assembled an impressive team that includes many of those who worked under Gordon Brown. Among the secretary’s advisers are Lord Tom Wood, Hamish Falconer (who participated in negotiations with the Taliban), and Kirsty McNeil (who worked at Make Poverty History).

Former Prime Minister Brown would likely approve of Miliband’s initial steps in combating climate change and managing international aid. Miliband considers himself a realist: he supports center‑left governments around the world as a counterbalance to rising populism and advocates multilateralism in addressing global problems. He thus embodies social‑democratic internationalism that many Labor supporters have cherished for years.

Bluntly speaking, Burnham does not object to Miliband doing the bulk of foreign policy work for the time being. As the opposition’s former leader, Miliband has certain experience in this area. In fact, Miliband played a key role in the UK’s decision against strikes on Syria in 2013. Then Prime Minister David Cameron highly praised his role in the Syrian conflict—a rather unusual move, given their mutual animosity. Also, Burnham needs time to get used to his new position and learn the ropes. For example, the upcoming UNGA session will be a good opportunity for him to meet with world leaders in person.

As for the UK’s policy towards Russia, it is rumored in London that both Westminster and Whitehall recognize the need to resume dialogue with Moscow. London would like to quietly establish a channel of communication with Moscow, but the question is whom to choose for this mission.

(If you’re reading this, Mr. Prime Minister, I’m not very busy.)

Since 2010, the number of real Russia experts in the UK government has decreased dramatically. But even if the right person (or several) is found, what can British and Russian representatives say to each other? As we know, Sir Keir Starmer never called President Vladimir Putin, and the reason is almost certainly that they had nothing to discuss.

Certain hopes in this regard can be pinned on Miliband. The term ‘multilateralism’ can often be heard in Russian foreign policy discussions. Russia is also concerned about climate change and China’s growing influence in Africa and the Pacific. Combating crime is an important topic. Countering human trafficking in Southeast Asia and the Middle East is in the interests of both sides. Educational exchanges should not be overlooked either: the two countries interacted quite successfully in this area in the past. No British university actually wanted to sever ties with Russian partners, and some even suffered from these decisions.

Any of these steps could open the way for the restoration of relations and demonstrate the seriousness of both sides’ intentions to find realistic solutions to global problems. The diplomat who will replace Kelin at Kensington Gardens will be tasked with informing Moscow decisionmakers and conveying the Kremlin’s position to Westminster. If this person and Miliband find common ground, Burnham’s lack of foreign policy experience will no longer matter.

The 18th BRICS Summit, to be held on 12–13 September 2026 under India’s chairmanship at Bharat Mandapam in New Delhi, is set to be a major diplomatic spectacle. The elaborate protocol, heightened security and delegations from across the Global South are to symbolize the expanded BRICS’s growing political and economic weight. One major question on the agenda is who will write the rules of the emerging digital economy.

Artificial intelligence (AI), particularly in its current generative form, is already reshaping trade, production, finance, and the exercise of state power. The World Trade Organization’s 2025 World Trade Report estimates that AI could increase global trade by 34–37% and global GDP by 12–13% by 2040. AI-related goods, including semiconductors and computing equipment, are already becoming major drivers of global trade, with AI-enabling goods hitting $2.3 trillion in 2023. Over 98% of global subsidies for AI-related products currently come from high- and upper-middle-income countries, risking a deeper concentration of AI capabilities.

This transformation is distributed extremely unevenly across countries. According to Stanford University’s 2026 AI Index Report, U.S. private AI investment reached $285.9 billion in 2025, compared to $12.4 billion in China. In 2025 the U.S. also had 5,427 data centers—ten times more than any other country. Nvidia alone accounted for more than 60% percent of reported global AI computing capacity. Yet, challengers are catching up with alternative efficiencies: China now leads with 69.7% of global AI patent filings, and the performance gap between U.S. and Chinese top AI models has collapsed to just 2.7%.

These figures point to a new geopolitical reality. Countries that control advanced chips, computing capacity, cloud infrastructure, foundation models, and data and technical standards will have greater influence over the next phase of globalization.

The rules will determine how data crosses borders. They will also determine how AI-generated content is identified, how copyrighted material can be used for training, and who bears responsibility for algorithmic harm.

The Global South, therefore, faces a strategic choice. It can adapt to the rules largely developed elsewhere, or it can become a rule-maker.

BRICS+ should choose the latter.

From Digital Sovereignty to Collective Rule-Making

BRICS+ has already recognized the stakes. The 2025 BRICS Leaders’ Statement on the Global Governance of Artificial Intelligence called for inclusive and development-oriented AI governance, greater participation by developing countries, and respect for national sovereignty. It also addressed data security, intellectual property, AI safety, and AI-enabled cybercrime.

The challenge is now implementation.

BRICS members already possess substantial regulatory experience. China has established rules for generative AI services and introduced mandatory identification requirements for AI-generated and synthetic content. Russia’s National Strategy for the Development of Artificial Intelligence to 2030, originally approved in 2019 and updated by Presidential Decree #124 in February 2024, treats AI as a strategic area of national technological and economic development. The revised strategy emphasizes domestic AI capabilities, computing infrastructure, trusted AI, regulation, and international cooperation, including greater coordination with partner states on AI development and governance.

India’s Digital Personal Data Protection Act, 2023 and the 2025 DPDP Rules provide a framework for personal-data governance. India’s AI Governance Guidelines, released in February 2026, offer “a coherent and balanced AI governance framework that favor innovation while safeguarding trust, equity, and accountability.” Brazil has advanced AI regulation through PL 2338/2023, approved by the Senate in December 2024 and currently under consideration in the Chamber of Deputies. Brazil’s Administrative Council for Economic Defense (CADE) has proposed amendments to strengthen regulatory coordination and information-sharing, including cooperation on high-risk AI systems. South Africa’s 2024 National AI Policy Framework provides a foundation for AI policy that covers infrastructure, skills, research, innovation, responsible AI, and regulation. Its draft National AI Policy was withdrawn in April 2026 for revision, leaving the 2024 Framework as the country’s principal AI policy foundation.

These approaches, still evolving, are not yet aligned with one another. They must not be identical, but BRICS+ should work towards ensuring their interoperability. Common principles and technical standards could make different national systems compatible, without requiring that countries surrender their regulatory sovereignty.

The emerging international rulebook

The wider international framework is moving quickly.

The UN Global Digital Compact calls for international cooperation on AI, capacity-building in developing countries, and interoperable approaches to data and AI governance. The UN General Assembly has also established an Independent International Scientific Panel on AI and a Global Dialogue on AI Governance.

The WTO framework is equally important. The General Agreement on Trade in Services, the TRIPS Agreement and WTO work on electronic commerce already intersect with digital services, intellectual property, and cross-border data.

The lapse of the WTO moratorium on customs duties on electronic transmissions on 30 March 2026 provides a warning. The WTO members failed to reach consensus on extending the moratorium at MC14, thereby making digital trade rules part of the wider contest over economic sovereignty.

BRICS+ cannot afford fragmented positions on these issues. Individual developing economies will have less negotiating power if they approach them separately.

What BRICS+ Should Do

The New Delhi Summit should advance a practical BRICS+ Digital and AI Governance Framework with an emphasis on four priorities:

1. Data governance. BRICS+ should develop common principles for cross-border data transfers, privacy, cybersecurity, and trusted data-sharing. The objective should be neither unrestricted data flows nor absolute localization. Interoperable safeguards would preserve national regulatory choices while reducing unnecessary barriers to trade and research.
2. AI-generated content. China’s experience with mandatory labelling offers a practical starting point. BRICS+ could develop compatible standards for identifying synthetic text, images, audio, and video. Such standards would matter for elections, journalism, financial markets, diplomacy, and law enforcement.
3. Common position on intellectual property. AI developers are training models on enormous volumes of copyrighted material. BRICS+ should coordinate its approach to training data, licensing, transparency, and compensation. The aim should be to protect creators, without making AI development inaccessible to developing economies.
4. Cybersecurity and AI safety addressed together. Common minimum requirements for high-impact AI systems, incident reporting and model security would make national frameworks more compatible.

BRICS+ should also coordinate its positions in the ITU, ISO, IEC, UNESCO, and other standards bodies. Technical standards often become de facto global rules because companies adapt their products to major markets’ requirements.

The larger geopolitical question

The post-1991 international order has created an unusually concentrated distribution of economic, financial, and technological power. AI is now adding yet another layer to this structure.

For the Global South, the danger is not only in technological, but also in regulatory dependence. A country that imports AI systems, computing infrastructure and digital services may also end up adopting rules developed elsewhere. Its ability to shape how AI affects trade, employment, public services and national security would then remain limited.

BRICS+ has many of the assets required to avoid such outcome. Its members possess large markets, energy resources, scientific expertise, manufacturing capacity, digital infrastructure, and financial resources. Their combined weight gives them greater negotiating capacity than most developing countries can exercise individually.

The missing ingredient is coordination.

India’s 2026 BRICS chairmanship has already placed digital cooperation on the agenda. The BRICS ICT Working Group met in Pune in August to discuss AI, cybersecurity, future networks, digital public infrastructure, and digital ecosystem integration.

The New Delhi Summit should take the next step. BRICS+ should establish a coordinated position on AI and digital governance and carry it into negotiations at the UN, WTO, ITU, UNESCO, and international standards bodies.

The objective should not be a separate BRICS+ digital order. It should be a stronger Global South role in determining the global one.

***

The AI age is arriving while the international system is becoming more contested and multipolar. Economic power is dispersing, but technological power remains highly concentrated.

Multipolarity without technological and regulatory agency would therefore remain incomplete.

The spectacular event at Bharat Mandapam will last two days. The rules being written around AI will last much longer. BRICS+ should use the 18th BRICS Summit to make one proposition unmistakable: the Global South will enter the emerging digital order as a rule-maker, not a rule-taker.

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The 20th century was centered on the geopolitics of scarcity, with nations vying for control of limited resources concentrated in narrow geographic areas, such as oil fields, natural gas reserves, and strategic minerals. This competition forged alliances, fueled wars, and defined the hierarchy of global power.

The 21st century may be built on a different logic: power may increasingly derive not from controlling scarcity, but from regulating abundance. Agricultural biomass exemplifies this shift. Every year, the world produces billions of tons of agricultural waste: rice and wheat straw, corn stalks, and sugarcane residue—that are burned, discarded, or left to decompose. This waste constitutes one of the most abundant renewable resources on the planet, yet it remains largely invisible to markets, policymakers, and strategists. This invisibility is not accidental: it is a product of an international economic system built on rewarding concentration and scarcity rather than distribution and renewal.

Agricultural biomass should be understood as a form of strategic capital—a renewable asset capable of generating economic returns, technological leadership, institutional resilience, and geopolitical independence simultaneously.

Instead of treating agricultural biomass merely as an energy source or environmental asset, we can frame how renewable biological resources can be generated and transformed into sustainable geopolitical capabilities through coordinated industrial organization. By embracing this transformation, BRICS countries can reshape the political economy of energy and food, and regain strategic power.

From Scarcity to Abundance: The Geopolitics of Biomass

Since the mid-20th century, the global economy has been organized around the principle of scarcity-driven value. Resources that are finite, geographically concentrated, and difficult to extract—oil, natural gas, and critical minerals—command high prices precisely because their supply can be controlled. This control generates rents that fund states, corporations, and strategic influence.

The post-Cold War international energy system evolved around institutions and financial mechanisms that provided considerable influence to countries controlling capital, technology, maritime routes, and reserve currencies. This architecture has created dependencies that are increasingly being leveraged for strategic advantage. From the perspective of many BRICS policymakers, recent measures—such as the proposed 100% tariffs on Russian energy buyers, the effective closure of the Strait of Hormuz, and the U.S. controlling the Venezuelan oil supplies—are interpreted as part of a broader pattern of strategic competition over energy markets. This system, however, is beginning to fray. As carbon pricing mechanisms expand, as the costs of pollution become harder to ignore, and as the strategic vulnerabilities of fossil fuel dependence grow more apparent, the economic calculus is shifting.

Therefore, the agricultural biomass is becoming visible not because its physical properties have changed, but because the institutional frameworks for valuing it are finally emerging. As Chatham House report  notes, transitions towards bio-based economies “bring a new set of geopolitical dynamics and could give rise to new dominant players with natural resource endowments, R&D and innovation investments, and processing capacities.”

The Biomass as a Strategic Asset

Agricultural biomass exhibits characteristics that are the opposite of fossil fuels. It is abundant rather than scarce, distributed rather than concentrated, renewable rather than finite, and locally manageable rather than dependent on complex extraction infrastructure.

India alone produces over 500 million tons of agricultural residues annually, of which nearly 92 million tons of rice stubble are burned each year. The economic cost of this practice is estimated at $339.4 billion annually, equivalent to 9.5% of India’s GDP, while the human toll reaches 1.72 million premature deaths annually from fine particulate pollution. China generates even larger volumes—over 600 million tons of crop residues annually. Brazil, Russia, and South Africa collectively add hundreds of millions more.

These residues have the potential to meet up to 25% of global liquid fuel demand, while simultaneously reducing dependence on imported chemical fertilizers, which cost India alone over $14.5 billion annually. Converting agricultural residues into biofuels and biochemicals could reduce greenhouse gas emissions by 60–80% compared to fossil fuels, while improving soil health through biochar and compost application.

Shared BRICS Resource

While India exemplifies both the crisis and opportunity in agricultural biomass, it is by no means the only BRICS nation rich in this resource. Russia has extensive wheat and barley straw, Brazil boasts abundant sugarcane bagasse and soybean residues, China produces enormous volumes of corn and rice straw, and South Africa has significant maize and sugarcane residues. The critical issue is not which country dominates the feedstock supply, but whether BRICS nations can forge a collective framework to transform this dispersed resource into a shared strategic asset. Joint research centers, harmonized quality standards, and coordinated investment strategies could unlock far greater value than any single country could achieve on its own.

Traditionally viewed as a renewable energy source or a component of the circular economy, agricultural biomass should also be recognized as strategic capital—an asset that delivers sustained economic, technological, institutional, and geopolitical benefits through effective management and innovation.

Its value hinges on the technologies employed to transform and govern it, positioning biomass as a vital multidimensional asset for economic growth, technological leadership, institutional resilience, and strategic independence, ultimately contributing to both economic stability and international geopolitical stability.

Why Russia Matters: A Strategic Opportunity

Russia occupies a distinctive position in the emerging bioeconomy. As the world’s largest exporter of wheat and a major producer of barley, corn, and other grains, Russia generates substantial agricultural residues—estimated at 100–150 million tons annually. These residues represent not merely a disposal challenge but a strategic opportunity to diversify Russia’s economic base beyond hydrocarbon exports.

Moreover, Russia has developed significant expertise in biocatalytic and enzymatic conversion technologies through decades of investment in biotechnology and industrial chemistry. This scientific infrastructure provides a foundation for Russia to emerge as a technology exporter in the bioeconomy, rather than merely a feedstock supplier.

Geopolitically, Russia’s potential role in the bioeconomy aligns with its broader strategic objectives: reducing dependence on Western technology and financial systems, diversifying export markets towards Asia and the Global South, and building institutional frameworks within BRICS that are independent of Western-dominated structures. The bioeconomy offers Russia a pathway to maintain its status as a major power while transitioning from fossil fuel dependence to a more diversified and resilient economic base.

The Architecture of Implementation

The transition from agricultural residues to strategic capital requires an institutional architecture capable of coordinating investment, standardizing quality, facilitating trade, and sharing knowledge. Several building blocks already exist.

First, a BRICS Bioeconomy Platform. In February 2026, President Vladimir Putin proposed launching joint bioeconomy projects with BRICS partners, describing the sector as key “from the point of view of the quality of global growth.”

Second, dedicated financing through the New Development Bank (NDB). The NDB has committed to directing 40% of all its financing to climate and energy transition projects in 2026, with approved renewable energy projects totaling $300 million for Brazil, $250 million for India, $180 million for South Africa, and $81 million for China.

Third, BRICS Biorefinery Corridors. The existing BRICS STI Framework Program supports collaborative research on biomass conversion, which could be scaled into a network of biorefinery corridors linking feedstock-rich regions with industrial processing hubs.

Fourth, harmonized standards. In July 2026, India signed a first standards cooperation pact with BRICS partners, pointing towards a common regulatory framework for biofuels and biofertilizers.

Fifth, a common BRICS market for biofertilizers. The 2025 “Indore Declaration” by BRICS Agriculture Ministers committed member states to strengthening food security through greater cooperation.

Finally, carbon market integration. BRICS countries could collectively negotiate access to international carbon markets.

These six institutional pillars, built on existing platforms, extend them into a coherent bioeconomy architecture. What is needed is not invention, but coordination.

Limitations of the Biomass Model

Any balanced perspective must acknowledge three key limitations. First, collecting agricultural residues is often economically unfeasible due to logistical challenges, particularly in areas with weak infrastructure, where the cost sometimes exceeds the value of the raw materials. Second, a portion of the residues must remain in the fields to maintain soil health, depending on local conditions. Third, biomass has a significantly lower energy density than fossil fuels—about one-third that of crude oil—which presents challenges in storage and transportation. However, technological advancements are gradually addressing these issues. These limitations underscore the need for innovation, regional collaboration, and the development of biorefining facilities. While biomass cannot completely replace oil, it has the potential to play a significant strategic role in future energy and agricultural systems.

The New Geopolitics of Strategic Abundance

Throughout modern history, strategic power has largely been associated with the possession of finite resources. Yet the defining strategic resource of the 21st century may prove fundamentally different. It will not be exhausted by extraction, but renewed with every harvest. The transition from fossil dependence to biological abundance represents not merely an energy transition, but a transformation in the political economy of power itself.

The 20th century taught states how to compete over finite resources. The 21st century may reward those capable of organizing renewable abundance. Oil shaped the geopolitics of the past, biomass may shape the geoeconomics of the future. The strategic question for BRICS is therefore no longer whether agricultural waste has value, but whether it is prepared to recognize that value before others do.

For BRICS countries, which collectively represent nearly half of humanity, this transition offers an opportunity to break the cycle of dependency and to build a more resilient, sustainable, and equitable economic order. The resource is abundant. The technology is available. What remains is the political will to act—not as a gesture of defiance, but as a demonstration of strategic foresight.

If the 20th century rewarded those who controlled oil wells, the 21st century may reward those who mastered biological production systems. In that world, the decisive geopolitical advantage will belong less to countries endowed with scarce resources than to those capable of transforming renewable abundance into strategic power. The decisive question for the emerging international order is therefore not whether renewable abundance exists, but which states will acquire the institutional capacity to transform it into strategic capital.

The Shanghai Cooperation Organization (SCO) has turned quarter a century in June, and, significantly, it has grown to counter Western hegemony in the global political and financial systems. Throughout the SCO’s history, Russia has viewed it primarily as a platform to utilize in order to remain influential in Central Asia at an affordable cost and never lose it to China, and establish multipolarity in the face of the Western-led order which it sees as threatening. During the first 15 years, the SCO was only secondary for Russia after to the Collective Security Treaty Organization (CSTO) and the Commonwealth of Independent States (CIS). Subsequently, the platform has become more important in Moscow’s diplomatic bag. After 2014 and particularly after 2022, it has become one of the last institutions where Russia can act as a normal member of the international community, rather than an isolated pariah state.

Russia’s multilateralism is of a broader pattern: international institutions are important to it primarily as a means to affirm its status and overcome Western constraints, and less as a means of profound integration.

The Founding Logic: Border Security and a Secondary Track

The SCO is the successor to the Shanghai Five formed in 1996. The latter was born out of a technical issue: demarcating and demilitarizing the Sino-Soviet border with Kazakhstan, Kyrgyzstan, and Tajikistan. As Moscow’s politics at the time was recovering from the collapse of the Soviet administrative structures, its main concern was preventing an institutional vacuum rather than establishing a new supranational mechanism. For Russia, it was beneficial but not imperative. Moscow’s focus during the post-Soviet era was on its own post-Soviet arrangements, particularly the CSTO as a military alliance, rather than the SCO, which is more of a bridge to China. This hierarchy has hardly changed following the SCO’s formalization as an organization with counter-terrorism ambitions in 2001. In the 2000s, Russia’s Central Asia policy shifted to bilateral agreements and the CSTO’s collective-defense provisions, deliberately not in the SCO’s repertoire. What the CSTO could not provide was a framework involving China, while the SCO offered a way to handle Beijing’s regional agenda without granting it sole authority over it.

A Division of Labor, Not a Partnership of Equals

In the 2010s, a working division emerged. After the 2018 Qingdao Summit, the International Institute for Strategic Studies stated: “Russia leads in politico-military affairs, communications, and culture, whereas China leads in economic development, investment, and infrastructure.” The comparative advantage was not accidental: Russia was not able to compete with China for capital. Yet Russia possessed cultural and military capabilities with which it could dominate a region with a Soviet-trained population: the Russian language was relatively accessible and many Central Asian officers had been trained in Russia. Russia’s relevance to the SCO has payed its way in the Peace Mission joint exercises, in which Russia typically takes the lead while China is comparatively inexperienced in training military forces’ interoperability. This “division of labor” allows Moscow to maintain presence in the security field where Beijing becomes less significant.

The SCO was obviously never intended to be the real driver of Russia’s regional agenda, as its parallel institution-building reveals.

The Eurasian Union proposed by Vladimir Putin in 2011 and realized as the Eurasian Economic Union (EAEU) in 2015 was a Russian-led alternative to Chinese-led economic integration. It duplicated, rather than complemented, the SCO’s long-awaited free-trade aspirations. With Russia and China coordinating the projects, it became a forum that all SCO members could attend, once the terms were agreed between the two countries. As the pattern suggests, when Russia controls the terms, it builds its own structures and joins the SCO only as a cheap move.

Guarding against Chinese Primacy through Enlargement

Russia has been pushing for India’s SCO membership (along with Pakistan’s) as a strategy to reduce Chinese influence in the region, not as a sincere effort to strengthen regional order. The growth of the SCO, in which China backs Pakistan and Russia backs India, was also a point of difference between the two powers. By 2018, both South Asian states had become full-fledged members, and the SCO’s promotional numbers—80% of Eurasia’s landmass, 43% of the world’s population, a quarter of the global GDP—proved useful not because they indicated a functional integration of the states under the club’s influence, but because they reduced China’s share in the bloc. It is in keeping with what the preface of Marochkin and Bezborodov’s book[1] says about the SCO’s value: “a new experience of reference within intergovernmental regional organizations which would be appropriate to a new international world of growing attempts to establish a unipolar world to the detriment of a multipolar one.” The preface, written mostly by Russian university scholars, reflects Russian official discourse and speaks of mistrust between “world powers,” a “crisis of the geopolitical paradigm,” and a “post-COVID world of turbulence and uncertainty” in which the SCO’s chief utility lies in proving that it is possible to live in a world without Western tutelage.

Sovereignty as a Design Principle, Not Accident

This symbolic function accounts for Russia’s lack of aspirations towards the SCO’s supranational authority, unlike its rhetorical flirting, at times, with the EAEU’s deeper integration—a tool in which Moscow has the edge.

The organization’s initial pledges of “mutual trust, mutual respect, equality, ... respect for diverse civilizations” are appropriate for Russia twice over: they preclude the organization from permitting the outside world to examine its own policies and practices, and they set the SCO apart from the European Union model that the Kremlin has always seen as a tool for exporting Western values.

The same is evident in Naarajärvi’s conceptual framework of new-regionalism, where the SCO is ranked low in “political integration” and Central Asian regionalization is characterized as being “tightly in the hands of the state administrations”[2]—an aspect the researcher considers to be somewhat old. For Russia, it is not a failure but the essence: inscribing itself as the center of the forum simultaneously shields its rulers’ sovereignty from external criticism.

Conclusion: Dependency without Deference

Russian policy towards the SCO has always been that of measured instrumentalism—with little investment where it had other options, with symbolic emphasis when it needed a stage, and with a constant opposition to any institutional depth that might limit its capacity for action.

The SCO has become more integral to Russia’s interests in the last few years: following the imposition of Western sanctions its search for alternative venues for diplomatic negotiations and non-Western political forums has grown, as well as the need to rely on China as an economic partner of last resort.

Also, the SCO has become more important to Russia as Beijing has strengthened its influence within the SCO while Russia has weakened its own.

Russian multilateralism has one obvious core contradiction: institutions become more valuable to Moscow when its role in fashioning them decreases. Rather than a keystone of Russian grand strategy, the SCO is a reflection of its limitations; and the more it remains the only choice for posturing, the more useful it is.

The abridged version of this text has been published in Russian in the newspaper Kommersant as part of the project Contours of the Future.

Graham Allison’s Thucydides Trap has become a fatalistic narrative in Western policy circles, asserting that a rising power and an established hegemon are bound to clash. This article rejects such determinism while acknowledging genuine bilateral risks. Great-power war is a political choice shaped by institutional guardrails, economic ties, strategic doctrines, and domestic politics. Structural frictions between the U.S.-led alliance system and the emerging multipolar order are manageable through reciprocal transparency, balanced crisis mechanisms, and mutual respect for sovereign equality under the UN Charter. Drawing on the May 2026 Trump-Xi Summit and recent defense shifts, this analysis outlines a pragmatic path towards managed coexistence—contingent on parallel adjustments by Washington and Beijing.

The Trap Is a Warning, not a Verdict

Twelve of sixteen historical power transitions ended in war, yet these statistics are a historical correlation, not an unbreakable law. The Thucydides framework ignores modern constraints absent in ancient Athens and Sparta: nuclear deterrence, the UN Charter’s prohibition on aggressive war, over $1 trillion in bilateral economic integration, and global public aversion to great-power conflicts. A 2023 Pew survey shows that most people in both countries view war as an existential threat, which creates shared political incentives for de-escalation.

Conflict erupts only when three conditions converge: mutual security anxieties calcify into paranoid misperception, domestic hawkish voices override war’s catastrophic costs, and crisis communication collapses. All three are amenable to policy intervention.

The question is not whether war is inevitable, but whether the leaders on both sides possess the political will to keep these triggers in check, and whether Washington can abandon its zero-sum framing of China’s rise.

Structural Tensions: Asymmetric Postures and Divergent Interests

The current frictions arise from a structural mismatch: the U.S.-centered alliance order built for bipolar confrontation struggles to accommodate a multipolar world. China does not seek to overturn the international system but to reform its inequitable elements—a legitimate aspiration shared by many developing nations.

Washington’s perspective: U.S. strategists cite China’s military modernization, South China Sea infrastructure, and Taiwan Strait drills as sources of regional instability. These concerns are understandable but must diregard the context: China’s naval buildup is defensive, with over 80% of its energy imports traversing vulnerable sea lanes.

Beijing’s perspective: The U.S. maintains 375 military installations across the Indo-Pacific, has expanded exclusive blocs like AUKUS, enforces unilateral technology containment, and repeatedly passes legislation interfering in China’s internal affairs—most egregiously on the Taiwan question. This constitutes strategic encirclement that no sovereign state could tolerate.

Acknowledging legal contestation: Beijing regards activities around Taiwan and the South China Sea as sovereign rights under its interpretation of international law, though it acknowledges that the U.S. and its allies hold a different legal interpretation, yet such differences cannot serve as grounds for repeated military provocations near China’s territorial waters.

The disproportionateness is clear: U.S. forces operate globally; China’s posture is regionally defensive. Yet Washington demands Chinese transparency while reserving its own opacity—an imbalance that fuels rather than reduces mistrust.

Strategic Doctrine, Not Cultural Stereotypes

Many Western analysts invoke Confucian or Tianxia tropes to label China as inherently non-expansionist—a flawed civilizational essentialism that explains little. Pre-modern dynasties conducted frontier expansions; culture alone does not determine a state’s behavior.

China’s official defense White Papers (2019, 2022) offer a clearer framework: Beijing rejects hegemonism and expansionism, prioritizes homeland defense, and follows Sun Tzu’s logic of deterrence over offensive warfare. Military strength exists to counter external threats, as confrontation would derail China’s core goal of high-quality development. The Belt and Road Initiative (BRI) embodies this orientation, prioritizing developmental influence through economic interdependence rather than military conquest. While critics have raised debt concerns, China has implemented meaningful reforms: restructured repayment timelines, expanded grant financing and independent third-party audits in partner countries. Implementation remains a work in progress, but the trajectory reflects a strategic choice for cooperation over coercion.

The Decoupling Paradox: Eroding Economic Guardrails

Bilateral trade reached $664 billion in 2025, with total commercial activity exceeding $1 trillion. The Peterson Institute estimates full-scale conflict would reduce global GDP by 10–15% within two years. Yet economic integration alone cannot prevent war, as pre-1914 Europe tragically demonstrated.

Today’s critical paradox is that the U.S. actively enforces decoupling in strategically vital sectors—semiconductors, AI, quantum computing—via export controls and industrial subsidies, while low-stakes sectors like consumer goods provide limited stabilizing effect. The economic buffer is being eroded where it matters most. The 2026 summit’s Trade and Investment Boards offer some relief, but their impact is undermined by Washington’s unilateral technology containment. While China has consistently advocated for open, rules-based trade, Washington’s export controls and industrial subsidies have increasingly weaponised economic interdependence. China maintains that such unilateral measures are counterproductive but also recognizes that strategic competition in dual-use technologies will likely persist, making it all the more urgent to preserve cooperation in non-strategic sectors.

The May 2026 Summit: Partial Progress, Unresolved Contradictions

The May 2026 summit yielded tangible results: joint trade boards, expanded agricultural cooperation, resumed military dialogue, and a ‘strategic stability’ framework. The U.S. Defense Secretary softened adversarial rhetoric at the Shangri-La Dialogue—a positive but insufficient step.

Yet severe risks persist. China’s decision to send scholarly rather than ministerial defense delegates reflected Beijing’s assessment that U.S. congressional actions on Taiwan undercut the Summit’s positive momentum. While this was a diplomatic signal of displeasure, it also highlighted a mutual problem: neither side has fully insulated crisis communication from domestic political interference. The two sides have not established clear, symmetrical red lines distinguishing routine operations from provocations. The summit built a dialogue framework but failed to resolve distrust rooted in U.S. containment strategy. Above all, Washington must stop repeatedly damaging China’s core interests such as the Taiwan question to create necessary preconditions for sustained high-level military exchanges.

Domestic Politics: Reactive Pressures on Both Sides

Domestic hawkishness in both nations is largely reactive to the other’s strategic moves. In the U.S., Congress consistently outflanks the executive on China policy, with partisan incentives pushing presidential candidates towards anti-China rhetoric and legislative interference in Taiwan affairs.

In China, public sentiment on the Taiwan question constrains unilateral concessions when citizens regard territorial integrity as an inviolable bottom line. This nationalist sentiment arises from decades of external pressure, not inherent aggression. For China, sovereignty, particularly over Taiwan, is non-negotiable, a position rooted in domestic consensus.

For the U.S., alliance commitments and democratic values are similarly non-negotiable domestic imperatives. Recognizing each other’s domestic red lines, rather than testing them, is essential to prevent domestic pressures from driving escalation.

Three Symmetrical De-escalation Mechanisms for Consideration

To translate the summit’s diplomatic momentum into durable stability, policymakers on both sides may wish to consider several equal, verifiable operational rules to prevent accidental escalation:

First, a 72-hour advance notification mechanism for missile tests, large-scale coastal naval exercises, and strategic bomber deployments, modelled on the 1988 U.S.-Soviet Incidents at Sea Agreement, with identical obligations for both sides. Such transparency would reduce the information asymmetry that fuels worst-case assumptions.

Second, a dual-site joint crisis communication center in Hawaii and Beijing, staffed with dedicated language officers and enabling real-time, symmetrical data sharing on maritime and aerial activity, transforming crisis response from hours to minutes.

Third, mutual annual disclosure of military exercise schedules: China publishing South China Sea and Taiwan Strait drill plans and the U.S. publishing its Freedom of Navigation Operations and allied exercise plans near Chinese waters. This would normalize activities currently interpreted as provocative.

These measures are technically feasible and low-cost. Their adoption depends on political willingness, particularly whether Washington can accept symmetric transparency rather than demanding Chinese concessions while reserving its own prerogatives. China has consistently supported balanced confidence-building; the question is whether the U.S. is prepared to reciprocate.

Reciprocal Adjustments, Differentiated Responsibilities

Sustainable stability demands reciprocal but differentiated adjustments based on each side’s structural position.

For the U.S.: Washington must accept China’s legitimate aspiration for fair global governance reform, scale back provocative close-in patrols, end blanket industrial suppression disguised under tech security safeguards, and cease legislative interference in Taiwan. The U.S. alliance system was built for a bipolar era; its expansion now destabilizes rather than secures the region.

For China: Beijing will continue enhancing UN-aligned military spending transparency, strengthen multilateral BRI oversight, and publish defensive drill schedules on a reciprocal basis, without compromising sovereignty over Taiwan and adjacent waters.

U.S. adjustments require reconsidering military deployments and technology controls that Beijing views as hostile; China’s adjustments require deepening transparency measures that Washington views as essential. Both carry domestic political costs. The challenge is not determining who moves first but designing a parallel framework where both sides’ adjustments are sequenced and verifiable, building trust through simultaneous, reciprocal action.

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The Thucydides Trap is a cautionary tale, not an inevitable prophecy. Managed coexistence requires symmetrical crisis rules, balanced domestic narratives, and guardrails separating global collaborative issues from geopolitical competition. Climate action, pandemic response, and nuclear non-proliferation can anchor bilateral ties if insulated from rivalry.

The 2026 Summit established the foundation for dialogue. The task ahead is to populate it with equal, reciprocal operational rules. In a nuclear multipolar world, coexistence is not idealism, it is the only rational path. Long-term stability hinges on both capitals: Washington acknowledging China’s legitimate aspirations for global governance reform and security, and Beijing continuing to provide the transparency and reassurance that addresses allied concerns. Neither side can demand the other move first; both must move together sequencing their adjustments through the institutional framework established at the 2026 Summit. Fundamentally, enduring stability cannot be achieved unless the U.S. abandons its outdated hegemonic mindset of containing China’s peaceful development.