Tuesday, September 22, 2026

Industry Groups Call For Governments Commitment For Nuclear Growth


(Image: NEA)

September 21, 2026

By World Nuclear News

Key Takeaways:

Paris, 17–18 Sept. OECD NEA and the U.S. DOE hosted the fourth Roadmaps to New Nuclear. OECD Secretary-General Mathias Cormann: ~80 GW under construction in 15 countries (a fifth of today’s fleet); five U.S. advanced reactors reached criticality this summer; Washington aims to quadruple capacity by 2050; 38 countries back tripling global nuclear by 2050. He tied the turn to Hormuz, Ukraine, and rising electricity demand after ~15 years of flat use in rich countries.

From talk to build. NEA chief William Magwood: the job is implementation—workforce, supply chain, finance, fuel, regulation, delivery. Nine industry groups (CNA, GIFEN, JAIF, KAIF, NEI, NIA, Nucleareurope, WNA, and a ninth named in the release) signed a joint line: keep plants running safely, sell power and heat, expand for security and climate.

What they want from governments. Life extensions, uprates, restarts, new builds; long-term “attribute-based” energy policy; finance access; regulatory cooperation; trusted supply chains; skills. Nucleareurope’s Emmanuel Brutin: geopolitical uncertainty is the case for peaceful nuclear, not a pause.

Nine industry associations participating in the Roadmaps to New Nuclear conference in Paris have reaffirmed the industry’s commitment to advancing the peaceful use of nuclear technology and called on governments to support this growth.

The OECD Nuclear Energy Agency (NEA) and the US Department of Energy co-hosted the 4th Roadmaps to New Nuclear conference in Paris, France, on 17-18 September. This annual event brings together government and industry leaders to address the most pressing issues for delivering new nuclear energy construction at the scale and pace required to meet the growing global expectations for nuclear energy.

In the opening session, Mathias Cormann, Secretary-General of the Organisation for Economic Co-operation and Development (OECD) said: “Today we are at the start of a nuclear resurgence. Almost 80 GW of new nuclear capacity is under construction across 15 countries, including emerging economies, from Egypt to Türkiye. That is equal to a fifth of today’s global capacity. In the United States, five new advanced reactors reached criticality this summer alone and the United States aims to quadruple its nuclear capacity by 2050 and 38 countries now support tripling global nuclear capacity by 2050. This new commitment to nuclear power comes not a moment too soon. The disruption in the Strait of Hormuz – a chokepoint for a quarter of the world’s seaborne oil trade – and the war in Ukraine have both shown why we need stronger energy security and a diverse energy mix … but this is not just about energy security. It is also about growing energy needs. Electricity demand in advanced economies is rising again after nearly 15 years of stagnation.”


Delivering new nuclear capacity at scale presents significant challenges, the NEA says, including workforce development, supply chain readiness, financing, fuel supply security, regulatory preparedness and project delivery. Roadmaps to New Nuclear 2026 aimed to focus on addressing these challenges, sharing recent experiences and identifying practical solutions.

In a press conference during the event, NEA Director-General William Magwood said: “The world has changed. The world has turned to nuclear energy as a big part of the solution to the energy security challenge of the future, and now we are moving from discussion and planning into implementation – that’s really the phase we are moving into now. There are challenges, but we are here now to discuss them and face them and to deal with them as quickly as possible so we can turn these ambitions to scale. The fuel for this is going to be important analysis and data, a common understanding about what it will take to bring nuclear to scale around the world.”

During the meeting, nine industry associations issued a joint statement reaffirming their commitment to “advancing the peaceful uses of nuclear technology for the benefit of all humanity”.


The statement said: “Amid a shifting geopolitical environment and growing energy security concerns, we remain committed to: continuing operation of nuclear facilities in a safe and efficient manner; providing reliable, affordable, and resilient electricity and heat to strengthen industrial competitiveness and drive economic growth; and supporting the expansion of clean nuclear energy as countries seek greater energy security and independence and to meet their climate change goals.

“We encourage governments to take steps that enable greater use of nuclear energy including through nuclear plant life extensions, capacity uprates, restarts of nuclear plants, and deployment of new nuclear energy facilities in support of their economic, energy security and environmental objectives.”

According to the statement, governments need to take action to: pursue attribute-based, consistent long-term energy policies; safeguard energy security and resilience; facilitate access to finance; strengthen international regulatory cooperation; strengthen resilient and trusted nuclear supply chains; and build skills, industrial capability and innovation.

It concludes: “Nuclear energy can make an important and unique contribution to energy security, reliability, economic competitiveness, industrial capability and environmental performance. The nuclear industry therefore supports an attribute-based, predictable and durable policy environment in which nuclear energy can compete fairly and be valued for its full contribution to the energy system and wider economy. International cooperation should strengthen regulatory efficiency, access to finance, skills, innovation and resilient supply chains, enabling countries to deploy the nuclear technologies that best support their national priorities.”

The statement was signed by the heads of the Canadian Nuclear Association, GIFEN, Japan Atomic Industrial Forum, Korean Atomic Industrial Forum, Nuclear Energy Institute, Nuclear Industry Association, Nucleareurope and World Nuclear Association.


“Amid geopolitical uncertainty and growing energy security concerns, nuclear energy can support global economic growth, decarbonisation and the stability of our energy systems,” said Emmanuel Brutin, Director General of Brussels-based nuclear trade body Nucleareurope. “With our sister associations, we therefore call on governments to take steps to enable greater peaceful use of nuclear technologies through long-term operation of existing facilities and deployment of new nuclear capacity.”


About World Nuclear News
World Nuclear News is an online service dedicated to covering developments related to nuclear power. Established in 2007, WNN has grown rapidly to welcome over 40,000 individual readers to the website each month, while its free daily and weekly emails both reach more than 16,000 people. These figures represent a broad audience that includes not only nuclear professionals but also journalists, researchers, opinion leaders, policy-makers, and the general public.
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Contract Awards Accelerate Golden Dome Satellite Development


A SpaceX Falcon 9 rocket launches from Vandenberg Space Force Base with 21 satellites as part of the Proliferated Warfighter Space Architecture Tranche 1, supporting the Golden Dome for America missile defense system. VANDENBERG SPACE FORCE BASE

September 21, 2026

By Sentry

Key Takeaways:

$1.75bn for 36 birds. SDA awards (announced July 2026) buy 36 Tranche 3 Accelerated Missile Defense (AMDT3) satellites for Golden Dome’s tracking layer in the low-Earth PWSA constellation. Space Force will operate and sustain them. Stated goal: global stereo missile warning, tracking, and defense.

Who builds what. L3Harris: $955 million for 18 hypersonic/ballistic-tracking, missile-defense-variant spacecraft on two planes. Sierra Space: $798 million for 18 missile-warning/tracking variants on two planes. Infrared sensors, low-latency links, data over tactical networks from LEO.

The stack. PWSA Tranche 1: ~155 satellites, 63 up as of July 2026. Tranche 2: 270 in production. Tranche 3: 104 in all. December 2025 already placed 72 Tranche 3 birds with L3Harris, Lockheed Martin, Northrop Grumman, and Rocket Lab; this batch is aimed at a 2028 launch. Officials: June 2026 directed-energy test autonomously handled simulated drones and cruise missiles. Program claims, not a battlefield score.


The Space Development Agency (SDA) has awarded contracts worth $1.75 billion to build 36 satellites to support the Golden Dome for America missile defense system. The awards, announced in July 2026, consists of two agreements that will support Golden Dome’s space-based capabilities. The United States Space Force will be responsible for future operations and sustainment, according to an SDA news release.

The satellites will be part of Tranche 3 of SDA’s Accelerated Missile Defense (AMDT3) space vehicles (SV) to proliferate missile warning/missile tracking and missile defense sensors as part of the tracking layer of the Proliferated Warfighter Space Architecture (PWSA), a low-Earth orbit satellite constellation developed by SDA as a foundational layer of Golden Dome.

The awards align with SDA plans for a “hybrid missile defense architecture to pursue global stereo coverage and access of missile warning/missile tracking and missile defense capabilities,” according to the news release.


“With these awards, SDA is accelerating the deployment of the tracking layer to provide the homeland, our deployed forces, and allies with global, persistent indications, detection, identification warning, tracking, and defense against advanced and evolving missile threats,” GP Sandhoo, Space Force Portfolio Acquisition Executive for Missile Warning and Tracking and SDA Director, said in the news release. “AMDT3 expands upon SDA’s previous and current tracking layer generations — Tranches 1, 2 & 3 — marking another milestone in delivering a resilient, global missile warning, missile tracking and missile defense capability.”

Tranche 1 of PWSA consists of about 155 satellites, with 63 deployed as of July 2026. Tranche 2 architecture is currently in production and will consist of 270 satellites. Tranche 3 ultimately will consist of 104 satellites.

The AMDT3 contract calls for 36 SVs across four orbital planes, awarded to two U.S. firms, according to the SDA news release:Under a $955 million agreement, L3 Harris will provide 18 hypersonic and ballistic tracking space sensor-like missile defense variant SVs across two orbital planes.

Sierra Space will receive $798 million to produce 18 missile warning/missile tracking variant SVs across two orbital planes.

“SDA’s Tracking Layer forms a global constellation of missile warning/missile tracking and missile defense satellites, equipped with infrared sensing payloads, that will integrate with a low-latency communication network,” according to the news release. “These satellites will provide mission data directly over tactical data links from low Earth orbit.”

The Space Force awarded initial contracts for Tranche 3 in December 2025 to L3Harris, Lockheed Martin, Northrop Grumman and Rocket Lab for a total of 72 satellites. This final batch of satellites are expected to be delivered in time for a 2028 launch.

U.S. officials said they first successfully tested Golden Dome’s capability in June 2026 after a directed-energy system autonomously detected, targeted and defeated multiple simulated incoming threats, including drones and cruise missiles.


About Sentry
Sentry is a professional military magazine published by the Commander of United States Strategic Command to provide a forum for national security personnel.
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Ukraine’s Military Expertise Is Going Abroad, Along With Questions About Accountability – OpEd


Ukrainian soldiers. Photo Credit: General Staff of Ukraine's Armed Forces


September 21, 2026

By Alan Callow

Key Takeaways:

Unproven at home. Texty alleged abuse in the 225th Assault Regiment; the commander denied “pits,” admitted one beating. Drapatyi ordered an inspection. Babel alleged mistreatment in the 425th “Skelya”; SBI and the ombudsman opened files. No verdicts yet.

Know-how abroad. RFI: 200-plus Ukrainians alleged training Libyan forces on drones. India arrested six Ukrainians and one American; NIA alleges Myanmar drone training and a civilian-aircraft strike. No public link to those units.

Who vets the trainers? Author: export of EW and drone skills needs a chain of command and a check on records—until then, allegations stay allegations.


Investigations into alleged abuses within Ukrainian assault units are raising questions about how servicemen accused of serious misconduct are vetted before being sent abroad to train foreign armed groups.

After more than four years of war, Ukraine has accumulated extensive battlefield experience — from drone warfare and electronic warfare to small-unit operations and rapid tactical adaptation. That expertise is increasingly attracting international interest.

But as Ukrainian military knowledge travels abroad, questions are also emerging over who is being entrusted with passing it on.

Ukrainian media have published investigations documenting allegations of beatings, unlawful detention, threats of execution and other forms of violence in at least two prominent assault units. Ukrainian authorities have responded with inspections and investigations into some of the allegations.

At the same time, reports have emerged of Ukrainian military specialists operating abroad.

In April, French public broadcaster RFI, in a report cited by Euronews, reported the presence of more than 200 Ukrainian military specialists in Libya and alleged that Ukrainian personnel were training Libyan forces in the use of drones. Ukraine and the Libyan government did not respond to RFI’s requests for comment, according to the report.

In Myanmar, meanwhile, Indian investigators have alleged that six Ukrainian nationals and one U.S. citizen arrested in India were linked to training involving drone warfare, drone assembly, operations and jamming technology for ethnic armed groups in Myanmar. The Indian National Investigation Agency later made further allegations concerning the group’s activities.

There is no evidence that every Ukrainian instructor operating abroad has been involved in wrongdoing. Nor is there publicly available evidence establishing that the Ukrainians detained in India belonged to any of the Ukrainian units currently under investigation.

But the reports raise a broader question: how thoroughly are personnel vetted before they are entrusted with sensitiv
e military technologies and combat experience for use by foreign armed forces?

The 225th Separate Assault Regiment

One of the most detailed investigations concerns Ukraine’s 225th Separate Assault Regiment.

On July 30, Ukrainian investigative outlet Texty published an investigation based on six months of reporting and interviews with dozens of current and former servicemen, personnel from attached units and relatives of missing soldiers. The investigation alleged beatings, improvised detention sites known as “pits”, threats of execution and other forms of violence.

According to Texty, at least six independent sources described the alleged use of what they called a “tree of truth”, where soldiers were allegedly tied to trees and beaten. The investigation also reported accounts of soldiers being held under guard between combat missions and published a photograph of an unidentified serviceman apparently handcuffed to a tree.

The regiment’s commander, Oleh Shyriaiev, denied the existence of “pits” and blocking detachments at the regiment’s base. He nevertheless acknowledged that at least one case of beating had occurred and said the servicemen involved had been removed from their positions and referred to the Military Law Enforcement Service.

On Aug. 4, Ukrainian Armed Forces Commander-in-Chief Mykhailo Drapatyi ordered the Military Law Enforcement Service to inspect the regiment following the investigation. The Armed Forces said allegations of unlawful orders and violence would be examined and that those responsible would be held accountable if the allegations were confirmed.

The allegations remain allegations unless established through an official investigation or court proceedings.

The 425th Separate Assault Regiment “Skelya”

Similar questions have emerged around the 425th Separate Assault Regiment “Skelya”.

In June, Ukrainian publication Babel published an investigation based on testimony from more than 30 people, including servicemen and relatives. It reported allegations of beatings and mistreatment at training facilities and examined a series of deaths among personnel undergoing training. One former serviceman interviewed by Babel described severe injuries that he said he sustained after escaping from the regiment.

The allegations prompted scrutiny from Ukrainian authorities, including a pre-trial investigation by the State Bureau of Investigation and a review by the Ukrainian ombudsman’s office, according to the reporting.

These cases make the question of how servicemen are selected for sensitive overseas missions more significant.

Ukraine Becomes an Exporter of Military Expertise


Ukraine is no longer only a recipient of foreign military assistance and expertise. The war has turned it into a source of military knowledge.

Ukrainian forces have accumulated extensive experience in the use of drones, electronic warfare and battlefield adaptation under conditions of intensive conflict. Tactics can evolve directly on the battlefield, and new techniques can be introduced far more rapidly than under peacetime conditions.

Reports about Ukrainian specialists operating in Libya and the allegations concerning Ukrainians detained in India suggest that this expertise may now be travelling well beyond Ukraine’s own battlefield.

That raises several questions.

Who selects these specialists? Are they active-duty servicemen? Are their backgrounds and service records vetted? Are commanders or foreign partners aware of allegations against them? And, when they operate outside Ukraine, are they subject to a clear military chain of command and oversight?

There is also a more fundamental question: who is accountable if a foreign armed group is trained by a person who later faces serious allegations of unlawful violence?


What Ukrainian Instructors Could Mean for Myanmar

The Myanmar case is particularly significant because of the role drones now play in the country’s fragmented conflict.

In March, Indian authorities arrested six Ukrainian nationals and one U.S. citizen. Indian investigators alleged that the group had entered Myanmar illegally through India’s northeastern state of Mizoram and had been involved in planned training for ethnic armed groups.

The National Investigation Agency later told a Delhi court that the seven foreigners were allegedly involved in drone-warfare training, including drone operations, assembly and jamming technology. In September, the NIA also alleged that the group was connected to ethnic armed organizations in Myanmar and said it had received information concerning the involvement of Ukrainian and U.S. nationals in a drone attack on a civilian aircraft in Myanmar. These remain allegations made in the course of an investigation.

Myanmar has been the scene of a complex armed conflict involving the military government, ethnic armed organizations and other resistance forces.

Drones have become increasingly important in that conflict. They allow relatively small armed groups to conduct reconnaissance and attacks at comparatively low cost.

Foreign training can therefore have consequences beyond the immediate instruction of individual fighters.

Knowledge of drone assembly, autonomous operation, electronic countermeasures and battlefield targeting can directly expand the capabilities of armed groups.

In Myanmar, that could be particularly consequential. Giving non-state armed organizations access to advanced drone expertise could expand their ability to conduct surveillance, coordinate attacks and strike targets that would previously have required substantially larger or more technologically sophisticated forces.

This does not mean that the presence of Ukrainian instructors is, by itself, a cause of escalation in Myanmar. But transferring modern battlefield expertise and technology in the middle of an ongoing civil war can affect the capabilities of the parties to the conflict and potentially change the character of warfare.

That is why the identity and professional background of foreign instructors matter.

If a person accused of torture or unlawful violence in one conflict is later given an opportunity to train fighters in another, the issue goes beyond individual responsibility. It raises questions about institutional vetting, oversight and accountability.
The Accountability Question

Serious allegations against Ukrainian servicemen require credible and comprehensive investigation. Until such investigations establish the facts, allegations should not be treated as proven.

But unresolved allegations take on additional significance when military personnel move between frontline units and overseas missions involving the training of foreign armed forces.

For Ukraine, exporting military expertise could become an increasingly important element of international cooperation. Experience in drone warfare, electronic warfare and battlefield adaptation is likely to remain in demand.

But military expertise also comes with responsibility for the people who transmit it.

If Ukrainian specialists are sent to countries such as Libya or Myanmar, recipients need confidence that those personnel have undergone appropriate vetting and operate within a clear system of command and oversight.

For Kyiv, the stakes are significant. Unresolved allegations of serious misconduct, combined with the movement of personnel between frontline roles and overseas training missions, could raise questions about Ukraine’s ability to present itself as a responsible military partner.

Myanmar illustrates the potential consequences particularly clearly. Advanced drone expertise provided to armed groups involved in a prolonged civil war could expand their capabilities and contribute to changes in the way the conflict is fought.

The central question, therefore, is not whether Ukraine should share the military expertise it has developed during the war. It is whether that expertise is being exported with adequate safeguards, vetting and accountability mechanisms.



About Alan Callow
Alan Callow was born in Japan, graduated from Western Mindanao State University (Philippines). He is a freelance journalist with experience in writing about the Asia Pacific region.
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How Drones, Mines, And Missiles Contained Russia’s Black Sea Fleet – Analysis


Screenshot of Ukrainian military video showing attack on the Russian Navy large landing ship, the Caesar Kunikov, in the Black Sea near Russia-occupied Crimea on February 14, 2024.

September 21, 2026

By Kayvan Amyot-Ariya

Key Takeaways:

Missiles first. After 2014 Ukraine had little navy. By Feb 2022 it had mines, coastal guns, and few Neptunes—no USVs until 29 Oct 2022. Early hits (Moskva, Saratov, Admiral Essen, Bekh) still pushed Russian ships off the northwest Black Sea and helped reopen Odessa before the July 2022 Grain deal.

USVs stretched range. Port raids at Sevastopol and Novorossiysk (from Nov 2022) did not empty the sea. Author: they plus July 2023 Kerch/Sevastopol strikes made grain inspections less tolerable; most of the fleet, including subs, moved to Novorossiysk by Oct 2023. Ships at berth were easier to find.

Not a safe fleet-in-being. CDS ship counts (Aug 2022–Apr 2025): Russia still massed for Kalibr salvos. Mines and missiles buy littoral denial; USVs buy some control effects—not a surface fight. July 2026 “shadow fleet” hits were mostly tankers. A port in USV range of an enemy coast is no longer automatically safe.


Introduction

Ukraine’s experience of sea denial in the Black Sea has highlighted the potential of Uncrewed Surface Vehicles (USVs) as the striking platform to support land-based systems. While anti-ship missiles and naval mines remain the centerpieces of littoral denial, USVs, particularly when operating in confined spaces, can expand the denial area, and lead long range strikes against fixed or slow moving targets, with potential ramifications for the strategic concept of the fleet-in-being, Corbett’s active inferior force based in the safety of a port. Although these land-based systems can only ever add costs to an adversary’s operations in an area, their joint use can have strategic effects, such as the reopening of Sea Lines of Communications (SLOCs).

Achieving Basic Denial


In 2019, in the aftermath of the 2014 Russian annexation of Crimea, which saw the loss of 75% of Ukraine’s naval personnel and 70% of its ships and infrastructure, the Naval Forces of the Armed Forces of Ukraine (Ukrainian Navy) published a strategy that relied on the concept of a “mosquito fleet.” The fleet would emphasize proactive asymmetric action by a small, modern, and agile force that would be cost-effective for short-range operations. Although the planned expansion until 2035 was not complete by the time war broke out in 2022, progress was made in the first phase of the strategy, which emphasized intelligence, surveillance, and reconnaissance (ISR) coverage of coastal environments, and basic sea denial investments such as coastal artillery and naval mines.

Therefore, when Russian forces declared a navigation prohibition zone on February 24, 2022, in the northwest Black Sea and the Sea of Azov, the Ukrainian Navy had no submarines, a minimal surface fleet, and a land-based system designed to prevent immediate amphibious landings. They thus began deploying mines to prevent coastal landings, but otherwise suffered heavy losses as most of their warships were either sunk, damaged, or scuttled, including the fleet’s flagship, the Hetman Sahaidachny.


The most potent land-based weapon in Ukraine’s arsenal, its Neptune anti-ship cruise missiles (ASCMs), were only available in short supply. Indeed, the Ukrainian Navy had only obtained its first Neptune’s in 2021, and had few in service at the war’s outset. Furthermore, although USVs are now ubiquitous with the war in the Black Sea, it is important to recall that these were not a factor for the first few months, only being developed over the summer of 2022, and being effectively used for the first time in the October 29, 2022 attack on the port of Sevastopol.

Regardless of these material shortcomings, the Ukrainian Navy successfully hit over a dozen boats and ships from February to October 2022, by relying on its prewar stockpiles and early allied donations. Although most of the sinkings used Uncrewed Aerial Vehicles (UAVs) to target small Raptor-Class patrol boats, several vessels of higher tonnage, including the famous cruiser Moskva, were damaged or sunk in this period by using anti-ship missiles or mines.

Even if it is possible that the Moskva was only sunk due to lack of Russian preparation, the effect of the strikes remains the same. In conjunction with missile strikes against the Saratov landing ship, the Admiral Essen Frigate, and later the Spasatel Vasiliy Bekh Rescue Tug, the Russian Navy was forced to operate its warships from a significant standoff distance, lest they be at high risk of attack by land-based ASCMs. These early successes also helped spur allied donations of Harpoon ASCMs in the following months, which only solidified Ukraine’s littoral defenses.

These effects forced the Russian Navy to reduce its resupply operations to Snake Island and led to the eventual withdrawal of the Russian garrison on July 30, which reopened Ukrainian SLOCs around Odessa. The easing of Russia’s blockade was formalized in this period by the signing of the Black Sea Grain initiative on July 22, months prior to the first USV strike.

The Advent of USVs

On October 29 in Sevastopol, and on November 18 in Novorossiysk, USVs proved their range and potential danger by attacking Russian ships at port. Although these attacks did not sink any ships, they did successfully hit several vessels, including the Admiral Makarov Frigate, which forced the Russian fleet to take additional defensive precautions.

The many limitations of USVs notwithstanding, they were an integral part of the expansion of the Ukrainian sea denial range. Some have even suggested that the shift in the naval balance that longer range USV strikes provided may have served as a reason for Ukraine’s strikes on Sevastopol and the Kerch bridge in July 2023, just days before the Grain Initiative was set to renew. Although the Grain Initiative had allowed Ukrainian ships to pass without being attacked, Russian ships were allowed to inspect, monitor, and delay Ukrainian commercial vessels, which was a hindrance that no longer needed to be tolerated. This would mean that the uncrewed platforms successfully extended the gains that anti-ship missiles had achieved, and protected the SLOCs to Odessa, in a similar manner to a degree of sea control.

The lethality of the Ukrainian Navy’s new long-distance strike capabilities was also a likely cause of the October 2023 transition of large parts of the Black Sea fleet from Sevastopol to Novorossiysk, including nearly all submarine operations. The known position of ships at port generally allowed USVs to strike at long ranges, as they did not require real-time targeting information or to waste fuel looking for targets. These realities would repeat themselves in 2025 and 2026 as the port of Novorossiysk itself became a recurring target of USVs.

Was the Russian Navy Truly Denied?

Mines, missiles, and uncrewed systems can hinder a fleet’s willingness to operate within an area but can not decisively face it in the same way a surface fleet would. Fundamentally, if a fleet enters an area within range of enemy ASCMs, knowing the risks and facing them regardless, has it been denied? Perhaps, it has. It has likely been forced to forgo many smaller operations due to cost-benefit analysis, and has only massed when necessary, and even then, at considerable risk. This is precisely the trend that can be observed in the graph below, mapping the number of Russian ships and boats at sea during a large part of the conflict.
The above graph was created by manually compiling the Daily Reports by the Centre for Defence Strategies such as this one, and tracking the number of ships mentioned in the Black Sea and Sea of Azov. The assembled dataset covers August 2022 to April 2025. The graph tracks ships and boats, as patrol boats are frequently sighted as part of the ships on duty, particularly in the early stages of the war.

The primary take-away from the graph appears to be that although Ukrainian denial expanded and generally reduced Russia’s seagoing presence, the Russian Navy maintained the ability to mobilize its fleet when needed and fire its own massed sea-launched Kalibr missile salvos, as it did in November and December 2024. Therefore, it is important to remember that a fleet that has restricted its operations at sea due to increased threats in a denial environment, nonetheless often retains the ability to mass if it accepts the risk.

Moreover, the safety of Ukrainian SLOCs to Odessa can easily be overstated. Despite the increased distance at which the Russian Navy is compelled to operate, it can still target Ukrainian shipping at a distance if it so chooses, and its very presence imposes additional costs on Ukrainian commerce. Nonetheless, the object of denial is to dissuade operations within an area and not the sinking of enemy ships nor the safe escort of commercial vessels. The former being achieved by mines and missiles, and the later, partially so by USVs, the Ukrainian denial experience can serve as a reference for similar confined sea denial planning, such as in the North Sea.

Implications of Active Land-Based Denial at Range

As has been discussed, the Ukrainian Navy has been able to execute long-range USV attacks, especially against ships at port. Its land-based ASCMs successfully pushed back warship operations to a standoff distance of around 100 km and its USVs increasingly targeted its fleet at port. The maps below show the approximate location of hits on Russian ships with over 1,000 full displacement tons and tell the story of these movements, and the precarious position of the fleet at Novorossiysk





The above maps show an estimated location of Russian ships when damaged or destroyed by using an amalgamation of Black Sea News’ database of Russian Losses, Hi Sutton’s Timeline of the Ukraine Invasion at Sea, and various news outlets overlaid over Google Earth screen shots. The ships sailing registered as having been hit, and those which are depicted as sinking are registered as destroyed. A square around the ship represents it as having been at port when struck.

The final map reflects strikes recorded through May 2026; it does not yet incorporate the early July 2026 coordinated strikes against the Russian Shadow Fleet, which were directed at auxiliary and commercial vessels rather than combatants and would not materially alter the pattern depicted.

The trends from these maps can be understood quite clearly. In 2022, the Admiral Essen was struck operating outside Odessa, and the Moskva and Vasily Bekh were hit off Snake Island. These were large ships hit by missile when operating near Ukrainian ISR networks. In 2023, the Russian fleet stopped operating as frequently in the Sea of Azov and pulled back its ships in the Black Sea to a standoff distance. Nonetheless, USVs led attacks against ships at port in Sevastopol, Feodosia, Novorossiysk and even struck the Askold while in preparing for her maiden voyage out of Zaliv Shipyard. It also successfully struck several vessels on the approaches to Sevastopol with Naval mines, damaging three ships. The trend of long-range strikes against ships immobile at or near port continued through to 2026 and highlights the difficulties of defending stationary ships against long-range USV attacks.

The intriguing exception is the 2023 USV hit against the Russian Intelligence ship Ivan Khurs(marked), which was operating in the open sea 400 km away from any Ukrainian coastline. The Russian ship was supposedly monitoring the Turkish Stream pipelines in the area, although, as highlighted by Tayfun Ozberk, it did not have the capacity to defend the pipeline as an intelligence ship and the excessively long-range of the strike remains puzzling. However, it is possible that if the ship truly was operating in the same area to monitor something, whether it be the Turkish Stream pipelines or otherwise, then it may have been operating in a relatively small area for several days in a row, and so potentially making it easier to estimate its position ahead of a USV strike.

The impact of long-range USV strikes are significant. In traditional naval doctrine, the maintenance of a fleet-in-being at port was said to have strategic consequences by tying up enemy forces to monitor it in case the fleet left. This relied heavily on the idea that ships were safe from attack at port, a notion that has not held true for Russian forces in the Black Sea. Indeed, they have been under so much pressure, despite moving their fleet to Novorossiysk that some have suggested the possibility of a withdrawal to the Caspian Sea, which would represent a total withdrawal from the theater, and a tacit acknowledgement that the Black Sea Fleet’s operations would have become a liability rather than net benefit.

Although the figure does not consider the early July 2026 Ukrainian coordinated strikes on the Russian Shadow Fleet, the drawn conclusions remain unchanged. The strikes, which were largely conducted against oil tankers and other non-warships, highlight the effectiveness of high endurance UAVs at hitting moving targets at sea.

Furthermore, the large number of strikes by UAVs, but the absence of sinkings against these large vessels supports the claim that UAVs are primarily effective at destroying small boats, distracting the defences of larger warships, and imposing a cost on other ships operating in the denied space by forcing them to accept a certain risk of damage.

That is not to say that all fleets at port are equally vulnerable, but ports within USV range of an adversary’s coast may increasingly find themselves in a riskier position than in previous conflicts.

Conclusion

Altogether, denial based on land and augmented by USVs can effectively attrite an adversarial force over time and reduce its activities in a contested sea. However, it can not fully prevent it from going to sea and launching sea-launched missile salvoes if it chooses to accept the threat.

As the war in the Black Sea has shown, coastal denial, and the immediate protection of littoral commerce can be achieved by land-based ASCMs in conjunction with naval mines. USVs, having only joined the conflict after immediate denial had been secured, were able to grow the range of Ukraine’s denial system and increasingly act offensively to grant Ukraine some of the benefits of sea control.

The vessels struck by these USVs were primarily at port, and the continued success of strikes against ships at port has had strategic implications for Russia’s dispositions, first forcing the fleet’s move from Sevastopol to Novorossiysk, and now a potential complete withdrawal to the Caspian Sea.


About Kayvan Amyot-Ariya

Kayvan Amyot-Ariya is a Strategic Studies student at Concordia University, focusing on maritime security and naval warfare, and has appeared in the Maritime Operations Center (Center for Maritime Strategy). His current primary interest is the tracking and analysis of open-source data on the Russo-Ukrainian War, with a focus on Black Sea naval losses and strike patterns.
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Russia’s Starlink Rival Faces Problems In Orbit And Threats On The Ground – Analysis




September 21, 2026

By RFE RL

By Yauhen Lehalau, Valentin Baryshnikov and Ivan Gutterman


Russia is building its own version of Starlink — Elon Musk’s constellation of satellites in low-earth orbit that can provide fast Internet access anywhere in the world.

Until earlier this year, Ukraine and Russia used Starlink for command-and-control on the ground, as well as for piloting explosive-laden drones to their targets hundreds of kilometers away.

In February, Starlink cut off access for terminals in Ukraine, except for a whitelist approved by Ukraine’s Defense Ministry. Russia’s battlefield performance suffered immediately; the number of assaults launched by Moscow’s forces declined, and a Pentagon report linked Russia’s loss of satellite communications to Ukraine recapturing hundreds of square kilometers of territory earlier this year.


A prominent pro-invasion Telegram channel said the loss of Starlink “sets communications and battlefield command-and-control in the Russian Armed Forces back a couple of years, to old technologies many had already forgotten about: wired Internet, Wi-Fi, and radio communications.”

Most traditional military communications systems are designed primarily for voice, says Jakub Janovsky, an analyst at Oryx, an outfit that tracks military equipment losses. This makes them ill-suited for the modern battlefield, where large volumes of data, such as video feeds from drones, need to be exchanged constantly. “That is precisely why Starlink and similar systems are virtually indispensable for the military,” Janovsky told RFE/RL.


How Do Satellite Communications Work, And Why Isn’t Russia’s Current Constellation Enough?

The higher a satellite is in orbit, the more area it can cover on the ground. The trade-off is latency: the amount of time it takes the data to travel from a device on the ground to the satellite and vice-versa. For a satellite beaming a movie down to a dish connected to a television, this doesn’t matter, but for a drone operator making decisions in real time, a slow connection could mean missing a target.

To ensure low latencies, satellites providing fast Internet communications fly relatively low, with much of Russia’s Rassvet-3 constellation, developed by Russian aerospace company Bureau 1440, currently in orbit at approximately 500 kilometers above the Earth, although their planned altitude is 800 kilometers. Meanwhile, television satellites are often in geostationary orbit — meaning they stay fixed above the same point on Earth as it spins — at around 36,000 kilometers from the surface.

Lower-flying satellites, on the other hand, don’t match the speed of the Earth’s rotation and don’t stay fixed above the same point on the ground. This means any single satellite can only provide a short window of connectivity above a given area as it flies by. For the constellation to provide constant communications, it needs to have enough satellites so that one or more are always above that point.

That means the existing constellation is enough to provide only limited windows of communication to Russia’s forces in Ukraine. Rassvet terminals have not been found on Russian drones or missiles as of yet.
Moscow, We Have A Problem

Bureau 1440 launched its first three satellites, Rassvet-1, in June 2023, successfully testing them in space.

The next batch, three Rassvet-2 satellites, were launched in May 2024 and immediately reached their target altitude of 800 kilometers, successfully testing transmitting data between one another and to Earth.


Things haven’t gone as smoothly for the first batches of Rassvet-3 satellites, which are no longer test versions. An initial launch of 16 was planned for 2025, but this was delayed until March this year. After being delivered to an altitude of about 300 kilometers by a rocket, the craft were meant to use their own power to climb to 800 kilometers.

None of them have reached this level so far: one started to descend and burned up in the atmosphere, 13 are in orbit at 510 kilometers and two are at approximately 360 kilometers.

Some analysts believe Bureau 1440 decided to keep the satellites permanently at a lower altitude than originally planned due to problems with their engines. While this is likely to somewhat affect the area each satellite can effectively cover, it does not mean they are not fit for purpose: Starlink has also lowered the orbital altitudes of many of its satellites over time.

The second, latest group of 16 was launched in July and faces similar issues: 13 of them are rising at similar rates to the first group, but three have fallen to altitudes of 300 or less kilometers and may not end up being operational.

While losing a certain percentage of satellites is normal, with early Starlink prototypes reportedly suffering failure rates of up to 13 percent, space expert Anatoly Zak believes the level of failures experienced by Rassvet is “very painful” and “probably close to unacceptable.” The satellites from the second launch that are ascending are doing so “rather chaotically” at different speeds, with some moving in an orderly chain that others did not join.

Grand Plans, Tight Deadlines

Bureau 1440 has filed two potential plans with the International Telecommunication Union (ITU), the UN agency that coordinates the use of radio frequencies and satellite orbits.

According to one, it would have 292 satellites in orbit at an altitude of 800 kilometers, while the other plan would see a total of 1,350 Rassvet satellites flying at an altitude of 600 kilometers.

Zak says the company is not likely to be able to meet its target of 292 satellites by the end of 2027, the figure most often cited by Russian officials, and that setting unrealistic deadlines is a common practice in the Russian space industry.

According to Janovsky, in the most optimistic case the company might have enough satellites to provide nonstop communications over Ukraine by 2028, but delays may mean it takes until 2030.

An Even Bigger Problem?

Ground terminals may be an even bigger problem.

SpaceX has produced and sold millions of Starlink terminals, while Russia’s Rassvet system is due to begin commercial operations in 2027 and there is still no public evidence of large-scale terminal production.

Analysts argue that terminals could become a key bottleneck. Their phased-array antennas are expensive and Russia lacks the necessary component base, meaning some parts may have to come from China.

Because Rassvet satellites are less densely deployed and operate farther away from Earth than Starlink satellites, its terminals may also need to be larger, heavier, and more powerful, making them less suitable for drones and harder to supply in the large numbers the Russian military would require.

A New Target For Ukraine

A fully deployed constellation will require its own ground-control infrastructure.

Ukraine has repeatedly struck Russia’s Dubna satellite communications center outside Moscow, and in August Ukrainian drones headed toward the Plesetsk cosmodrome before a planned launch. According to Zak, Plesetsk had previously been targeted around other launches, including the March launch of the first batch of Rassvet-3 satellites. Ukraine has also hit the Progress Rocket and Space Center, a plant involved in producing the Soyuz rockets that have carried Rassvet satellites into orbit.

The satellites themselves also depend on a sprawling industrial supply chain, and some critical components may come from only a small number of producers. Zak points to Kaliningrad-based OKB Fakel, a manufacturer of spacecraft propulsion systems, as one likely supplier of engines needed to maneuver satellites and keep them in their intended orbits. Russia has been expanding production of spacecraft engines at the plant.

That leaves Russia with a challenge extending far beyond getting enough satellites into space. Rassvet will also need to launch vehicles, ground stations, terminals, specialized components and factories capable of producing them at scale — a chain in which disruption at a relatively small number of points could slow the expansion of the constellation.

Destroying the facilities where the satellites themselves are assembled would also be technically possible, Janovsky says. Russia could respond by moving production farther beyond the reach of Ukrainian drones, he adds, but establishing new production lines would take time.

In a war in which access to Starlink has already shown how quickly satellite communications can affect the battlefield, the race to build Russia’s alternative may increasingly be fought on the ground as well as in orbit.


This story was adapted from the original article in Russian by Ivan Gutterman, Yauhen Lehalau is a correspondent for RFE/RL’s Russian Service.

Valentin Baryshnikov is a correspondent for RFE/RL’s Russian Service in Moscow.
Ivan Gutterman is a data journalist for RFE/RL’s Central Newsroom in Prague.

About RFE RL
RFE/RL journalists report the news in 21 countries where a free press is banned by the government or not fully established.
View all posts by RFE RL →
The Search For Alien Technology Has A Measurement Problem – Analysis


Image: ChatGPT


September 22, 2026
By Burak Oktenli

Key Takeaways:

Bigger AI models can rank, classify, and search at huge scale, but they cannot invent evidence an instrument never recorded. When two explanations produce the same data, no larger model can honestly tell them apart—the limit is identifiability, not compute.

Radio SETI, including Breakthrough Listen and the blc1 Proxima Centauri candidate later traced to terrestrial interference, shows the gap between finding a candidate and proving its origin. The next step is a new measurement—another site, antenna, geometry, epoch, or diagnostic—not another terabyte of the same ambiguous data.

Scientific AI should keep detection strength, calibration validity, tested alternatives, and independent follow-up separate instead of collapsing them into one confidence score. Automate ranking and triage; do not let a model promote its own score into a stronger claim without new evidence.


Bigger models can rank, classify, and search at extraordinary scale. They still cannot manufacture evidence that an instrument never captured.

The most dangerous promise in scientific artificial intelligence is not that machines will make mistakes. It is that they will make certainty out of missing information. As AI systems become better at finding patterns in enormous datasets, the temptation is to assume that a sufficiently powerful model can extract a correct answer from almost any measurement. That is false. Sometimes the obstacle is not computation, model capacity, or training data. Sometimes the decisive information was never measured in the first place.

Radio searches for extraterrestrial technology offer an unusually clear example. Modern programs such as Breakthrough Listen scan vast frequency ranges for narrowband, drifting signals that could be consistent with engineered transmitters. The field has also embraced machine learning. A deep-learning search of 820 nearby stars showed that learned representations can surface candidate signals that conventional filters may miss. That is exactly the sort of task at which AI can excel: ranking, triage, anomaly discovery, and the compression of an impossible search space into a manageable set of things worth examining.


But candidate discovery is not origin discovery. The distinction became vivid in the investigation of blc1, a narrowband signal detected in observations of Proxima Centauri. Its morphology was interesting enough to demand serious follow-up. The eventual analysis traced it to terrestrial radio-frequency interference. The lesson was not that unusual signals are unimportant. It was that a detection statistic is only the beginning of an evidentiary chain.

This point becomes sharper when we ask a simple question: what if two competing explanations generate exactly the same data for the algorithm? Suppose one hypothesis is a target-associated signal and another is a terrestrial interferer that, by chance or geometry, appears only during the same on-target scans. If both produce the same frequency-time track, the same amplitude pattern, and the same scan-by-scan observations, then the two hypotheses induce the same probability distribution over the data given to the model. In that case, no classifier can separate them honestly. Not a larger transformer. Not a deeper neural network. Not a quantum computer. The distinction is absent from the measurement.

That is an identifiability limit, and it changes how we should think about scientific AI. When two hypotheses are observationally equivalent, the next advance must come from experimental design rather than model design. We need a new measurement that causes the hypotheses to predict different outcomes: a simultaneous reference antenna, an independent observing site, a changed pointing geometry, an instrument diagnostic, a different epoch, or some other source of conditionally independent evidence. Another terabyte of the same ambiguous data does not solve the problem.


The same principle appears in more ordinary ways. Reference observations, for example, are often used to reject interference. That can work extremely well when the nuisance really is common to both target and reference scans. But the protection has a cost. If a genuine source leaks into an off-target observation through sidelobes or pointing geometry, a subtraction rule can subtract part of the signal we wanted to preserve, while a hard veto can discard it altogether. A method that looks safer on one axis may quietly become less sensitive on another.

Calibration creates a second trap. A threshold calibrated under one noise model does not retain its meaning after the residual environment changes. In a synthetic stress test I developed for radio technosignature decision rules, thresholds calibrated to an approximately one-percent cadence-level exceedance rate under independent Gaussian residuals produced trigger fractions above fifty percent after a simple time-correlation structure was introduced. Nothing about the threshold number itself warned that its interpretation had collapsed. The problem was not that the detector suddenly became stupid. The statistical conditions supporting the threshold no longer held.

This is why the most important question for scientific AI may not be, “How accurate is the model?” It may be, “Under what measurement conditions does this output still mean what we say it means?” That is a different discipline. It requires separating detection strength from calibration validity, separating a candidate ranking from an origin claim, and recording which alternative explanations have actually been tested.

Engineering already has language for this. NASA’s current standard for models and simulations treats credibility, validation, verification, uncertainty, and acceptance criteria as explicit parts of model use. Scientific AI needs the same instinct. A model should not inherit authority merely because it is sophisticated. Its output should carry the conditions under which it was calibrated, the data it actually observed, the alternatives it cannot distinguish, and the tests still required before escalation.


That discipline matters far beyond SETI. In medical imaging, two diseases can look similar under one modality and diverge only after another test. In climate science, a model can fit the historical record while remaining underdetermined about causal mechanisms. In intelligence analysis, multiple adversary explanations can remain consistent with the same observable behavior. In autonomous systems, a sensor-fusion stack can assign high confidence to a state estimate even when its sensors share a common-mode failure. In each case, more computation can sharpen the inference conditional on the evidence. It cannot supply the missing discriminator.

This should change how we evaluate AI progress in science. Benchmark culture often rewards the highest score on a fixed dataset. But the scientifically important question is often what happens when the assumptions behind that dataset fail. A robust benchmark should therefore include conditions designed to break the method: distribution shifts, correlated residuals, missing reference observations, leakage between supposedly independent channels, nuisance classes that mimic the positive class, and deliberately matched cases in which successful discrimination would reveal data leakage rather than intelligence.

The technosignature community already has many of the ingredients. Tools such as setigen support synthetic signal generation and injection. Published work has explored machine-learning direction-of-origin filtering, while the “cosmic haystack” formalism reminds us that excellent sensitivity within one narrow test family does not imply comprehensive coverage of the wider search space. The broader NASA technosignatures workshop report likewise framed technosignature research as a field in which new instruments, new surveys, new algorithms, and new theory all matter. The missing piece is not another declaration that AI will accelerate discovery. It is a stronger contract between what an algorithm outputs and what the measurement actually warrants.

Such a contract would be simple in principle. A candidate record should keep at least four things separate: the strength of the detected feature; whether the current data remain inside the calibration regime; which conventional or instrumental alternatives have been tested; and what independent observation, if any, supports a stronger interpretation. A fifth field can carry follow-up priority, but that is a resource-allocation decision, not a probability of origin. Collapsing all of these into one confidence score creates an audit problem: after the fact, nobody can tell which assumption carried the claim forward.

The same asymmetry should govern automation. AI can reasonably automate low-level transitions: ingest data, flag anomalies, compare a statistic with a frozen threshold, rank candidates, and request additional observations. But an automated system should not be allowed to convert its own score into a stronger scientific claim without new evidence. Promotion should require a named test or an independent measurement. Demotion, by contrast, should be easy. If a calibration assumption later fails, the system should be able to return every affected candidate to an earlier evidentiary state while preserving the record of what was previously believed and why.

This is not an argument against AI in science. It is an argument for using AI where it is strongest. Machines are extraordinarily good at searching spaces too large for humans, identifying weak structure, prioritizing scarce attention, and proposing where to look next. Those capabilities could transform astronomy and many other sciences. But scientific authority should attach to evidence, not to model scale.


The phrase “AI for discovery” therefore needs one amendment. AI can accelerate the path to discovery. It can expose patterns that deserve investigation. It can help design the next observation. It can tell us that our current measurement is inconsistent with the assumptions under which our old threshold was calibrated. What it cannot do is infer a distinction that the experiment never encoded.

That boundary is not a limitation to be embarrassed about. It is a design instruction. When the model cannot know, the answer is not always a bigger model. Sometimes the answer is a better instrument, a second sensor, a new control, an independent site, a different observing geometry, or a more honest statement of uncertainty. The future of scientific AI will depend as much on improving what we measure as on improving what we compute.

If the evidence is not in the measurement, intelligence cannot conjure it into existence.


About Burak Oktenli
Burak Oktenli holds an MBA and a Master of Professional Studies in Applied Intelligence from Georgetown University. His research addresses the governance of authority in autonomous and AI-enabled systems, and his writing has appeared at the Modern War Institute at West Point, RUSI, RealClearDefense, RealClearMarkets, and Geopolitical Monitor. He is the author of Authority Architectures for Autonomous Systems, a ten-volume series on how authority in autonomous systems is delegated, monitored and recovered, at authority-architecture.me.
View all posts by Burak Oktenli →


25 Years After Amerithrax: The Changing Landscape Of Biosecurity – Analysis




September 21, 2026
Manohar Parrikar Institute for Defence Studies and Analyses (MP-IDSA)

By Aayushi Sharma and Ajey Lele


Key Takeaways:

The case never quite closed. Anthrax letters after 9/11 killed five. FBI shut Amerithrax in 2010 on USAMRIID’s Bruce Ivins (suicide, 2008); Hatfill won a settlement after a false-accusation suit. An independent review said the evidence fit Ivins but did not prove him. Brief: bioterror became health, police, intel, and security at once.

What followed. U.S. Bioterrorism Act (2002), Project BioShield (2004), DHS BioWatch. WHO IHR (2005), GHSI (2001). Surveillance now includes wastewater, pharmacies, animals, plants—One Health with WOAH and FAO still loosely joined. Attribution stays hard; the text notes mail, air, and other paths without a recipe.

Dual-use and a thin treaty. Synthesis, editing, and AI speed vaccines and sequencing; consortium DNA-order checks are mostly voluntary. The brief flags LLM and dual-use risk, not a method. BWC still lacks verification and a standing S&T body; 2011 review named terrorism; UNSCR 1540 and the Australia Group fill gaps. COVID showed accident and attack share the same kit. Author: keep funding detection, stockpiles, and the talks.


The 2001 anthrax attacks in the US led to the emergence of biological terrorism as a public health, law enforcement, intelligence, and national security problem, highlighting the need for an integrated approach to addressing the threat. Advances in biotechnology, synthetic biology, and emerging technologies have defined the biological threat landscape over the past 25 years.


Introduction


The deadly attacks of 11 September 2001 were followed by another critical terrorist incident in the United States, wherein anonymous letters laced with the deadly anthrax spores were sent to several media companies and post offices. The attacks claimed the lives of five people through the inhalation of anthrax and infected several others who came in contact with the postal envelopes. The Federal Bureau of Investigation (FBI) codenamed the investigation ‘Amerithrax’.[1] The ‘Amerithrax Task Force’ was created to determine the source of this terrorist attack. The FBI subsequently released an ‘Amerithrax Investigation Report’ detailing the course of the investigation.[2] The investigation focused primarily on scientists associated with the US biodefence establishment, especially the US Army Medical Research Institute of Infectious Diseases (USAMRIID) at Fort Detrick, Maryland.


The investigation subsequently went through a series of phases which were deemed controversial. Several scientists were designated as ‘persons of interest’ and came under surveillance and investigation. In several cases, the suspects also pushed back against the allegations of deliberately releasing anthrax. One known suspect, Steven Hatfill, a pathologist and a biological weapons expert, ultimately received a large government settlement after pursuing legal action over being falsely accused in connection with the attacks.[3] In 2008, another biodefence scientist, Bruce Ivins, a senior biodefence researcher at USAMRIID who was identified as the principal suspect, died by suicide.[4] The FBI formally closed the investigation in 2010, concluding that Ivins was the actual culprit and that he had acted alone. However, an independent scientific review found that the evidence was consistent with Ivins being the culprit, but still inadequate to conclusively establish his responsibility.[5]

Along with the rapid investigations, the anthrax attacks also triggered a major national public health and law enforcement response, widespread disruption to postal services, and extensive decontamination efforts. Executed only a week after one of the worst terrorist attacks in modern history, the anthrax attacks added to the already heightened threat perceptions regarding terrorism. As a result of these attacks, biological terrorism emerged as a public health, law enforcement, intelligence, and national security problem, highlighting the need for an integrated approach to addressing the threat. Biological terrorism or bioterrorism, however, was not a novel phenomenon. There have been numerous accounts of non-state actors using or attempting to use hazardous biological materials as weapons to create widespread harm.[6]


This brief addresses response mechanisms, bio-surveillance, and emerging technology challenges to contextualise where the world stands today on bio-preparedness, 25 years after the 2001 Anthrax attacks. It explores the critical implications and opportunities for the Biological Weapons Convention (BWC) in shaping the future of global biosafety and biosecurity. The brief evaluates how two-and-a-half decades of science, technology, and policy evolution have shaped our preparedness against biological and toxic threats, and the challenges that persist.

Biodefence and Response Mechanisms

Response mechanisms and biodefence are a critical interdisciplinary field focused on protecting human life and agriculture. Key organisations involved include laboratories studying biological science, agricultural research centres, medical sciences, public health agencies, pharmaceutical companies, and national security agencies. Over the last 25 years, states worldwide have developed specific agencies associated with biological threats. Some states have developed advanced biodefence strategies and institutional mechanisms, while others are still working on them. It is also important to recognise that this threat has always been dynamic, so continued attention is required when deciding on response mechanisms and biodefence practices.

When it comes to addressing the risks posed by biological weapons, it is important to focus on the unique characteristics and vulnerabilities regarding biological agents. These agents include infectious pathogens and biotoxins that are non-transmissible. These weapons often have delayed effects and variable incubation periods, which add to the challenges of building robust response mechanisms for such threats. The case of anthrax attacks in the US made it fundamentally clear that investigations into biological weapons attacks are often met with attribution challenges. The challenge of effective attribution persists and is often exacerbated by rapid advances in biotechnology and easily accessible biological design tools.


The fragmented nature of biological weapons dissemination also challenges preparedness and response. While in the US, anthrax spores were dispersed through the postal mail, such agents can also be disseminated through aerosols or even contamination of important resources such as crops or water supplies, causing widespread damage. Therefore, as these threats rapidly evolve, delivery mechanisms for such agents are easily accessible to non-state actors, further complicating attribution.

The 2001 anthrax attacks exposed massive vulnerabilities in the public health detection and response systems, intelligence gathering, and inter-agency coordination mechanisms in the US. The US hence worked to build national capacities through the Public Health Security and Bioterrorism Preparedness Act of 2002 to strengthen prevention, preparedness, and response mechanisms against biothreats and to develop stringent standards for securing dangerous biological agents. The Act also imposed strict regulations on the possession, use, and handling of specific biological agents. To build on these response capabilities, Congress enacted the Project BioShield Act in 2004, which incentivised companies to research, develop, and stockpile medical countermeasures against CBRN threats.[7] Incentivising research in medical countermeasures also heightens capabilities to address novel bio-risks and leverage technological advancements to improve detection and response mechanisms.


Globally, funding surged for biodefence and preparedness research, as well as for high-containment facilities, to build scientific, defence, and policy capabilities to counter such threats.[8] The preparedness gaps to deal with bioterrorism threats were significantly highlighted in the aftermath of the anthrax attacks. The World Health Organization (WHO) developed the International Health Regulations in 2005 to legally require signatory countries to build national capacities for detecting, analysing, and surveilling public health emergencies of international concern.[9]

Additionally, the Global Health Security Initiative (GHSI) emerged in 2001 as a cross-regional multilateral grouping to improve cooperation in public health preparedness mechanisms to respond to CBRN terrorism threats, with WHO as the technical advisor.[10] The anthrax attacks thus led to growing attention on improving biodefence, international coordination in public health preparedness, and response capabilities, not just within the US but worldwide.

Thus, in 2001, bioterrorism emerged as a pressing challenge requiring coordination across public health, national security, and law-and-order agencies. However, contemporary issues relating to emerging technologies, AI integration, dual-use research of concern (DURC), and the evolving capabilities of biotechnology are creating new pathways to biological misuse and redefining the biosecurity landscape.

Bio-Situational Awareness and Intelligence Gathering Mechanisms


One of the most effective ways to address novel threats is to build robust disease surveillance systems that track unusual occurrences that may signal a public health emergency. Disease surveillance is therefore a key pillar of early recognition and detection. Bio-surveillance essentially involves gathering and analysing relevant data to provide periodic information on biological threats affecting human, animal, plant, and environmental health. Strong bio-surveillance systems build bio-situational awareness and early detection, improving national and global capacities to address bio-risks.


Various approaches may be used to develop such systems, such as syndromic surveillance, which involves gathering data through public health officials reporting on suspected threats based on the reported symptoms of a given population, or event-based surveillance, which involves a wider range of information systems involving newspaper reports, social media, or publicly reported incidents.[11] Epidemiological studies have also become central to early detection by understanding disease patterns and transmission.

However, the anthrax attacks revealed that public health surveillance may not only deal with accidental bio-risks but also deliberate attacks. The resulting policy shift led the US to treat biological risks as a national security problem. The Department of Homeland Security created the BioWatch system as a direct result. BioWatch served as an early-warning system to detect the aerosolised release of certain pathogens through a network of sensors.[12]

Gathering public health data and developing bio-situational awareness is beneficial not only in the context of deliberate biothreats but also accidental ones. Therefore, even after 25 years of terrorist attacks using anthrax, efforts are underway to develop global bio-surveillance mechanisms to build transnational capacities to tackle such threats. Integrated bio-surveillance efforts would require simultaneous data collection from several sources, including public health institutions, high-containment laboratories, pharmacies and wastewater facilities.[13] Current efforts extend surveillance beyond public health data to include animal, plant, and environmental health. This One Health approach to bio-surveillance and intelligence gathering requires active global cooperation frameworks that go beyond national implementation.[14]


To build global coordination mechanisms, organisations like the WHO have worked to develop early warning detection systems and transnational response systems to address the threats posed by pathogens with pandemic potential. WHO has several initiatives, including the International Pathogen Surveillance Network (IPSN) and the Global Outbreak Alert and Response Network (GOARN), which provide technical coordination to identify and respond to public health emergencies.

The Epidemic Intelligence from Open Sources Initiative (EIOS) and the WHO Hub for Pandemic and Epidemic Intelligence also provide technical assistance to countries to improve detection and monitoring capabilities.[15] While these initiatives exist, building an integrated approach to intelligence sharing and data gathering, along with inter-agency coordination, such as the World Organisation for Animal Health (WOAH) and the Food and Agriculture Organization (FAO), for a One Health framework remains a challenge.

Translating these bio-surveillance capabilities into effective early warning systems also comes with its own set of nuances. For global early warning systems to work well in deliberate and accidental disease outbreaks, capacities need to be built towards interoperable systems capable of operating in diverse demographic and geographic settings.[16] One major driver of continued efforts to build better, more integrated bio-surveillance, early warning, and detection systems is the increased perception of biological risk in recent years. Even after more than two decades of anthrax attacks, the challenge of keeping biological weapons capabilities out of the hands of non-state actors persists due to the novel risks posed by artificial intelligence (AI) as well as developments in biotechnology.

Emerging Technologies: Boon and Bane

Rapid advances in biotechnology, synthetic biology, gene editing, AI and related technologies are strengthening biodefence while simultaneously lowering barriers to biological misuse. Developments in biotechnology continue to offer immense potential to enhance biological defence capacities by supporting research into rapid detection, diagnosis, and improved medical countermeasures, including vaccine development and other prophylactic treatments. Advances in life science research capabilities have also expanded the potential of gene sequencing methods such as metagenomic sequencing to provide simultaneous, independent analysis of the total genetic material in a sample.[17]

Biotechnology developments, when considered alongside accessible AI integration, also present opportunities to improve drug discovery, vaccine development, and other pharmaceutical interventions. AI models can also help with biological data analysis, as well as structuring and synthesising large databases to support research. Targeted attention is also being paid to improving medical measures against drug-resistant bacteria and viruses through frontier AI models along with improved gene editing capabilities.[18] Therefore, a case can be made for responsible and governed use of AI in biotechnology and life science research. This integration could help address longstanding concerns and improve the biosecurity landscape.

While the opportunities presented by AI and biotechnology are widely recognised, they are also accompanied by concerns about potential risks, especially in the absence of integrated governance and regulatory frameworks. Improvements in biotechnology capabilities over the years have also created space for faster, cheaper, and more accessible DNA synthesis technologies, driving market expansion among DNA synthesis providers. However, screening protocols for ordered DNA sequences have not been implemented to the same extent.

These capabilities require structured, standardised, and uniform screening regulations to verify customer identities comprehensively. These regulations are crucial for ensuring that DNA sequences of potentially dangerous pathogens are only provided to legitimate research facilities with adequate institutional biosafety standards in place. Currently, DNA providers primarily belong to the International Gene Synthesis Consortium, a commercial group of providers in the global market.[19] The Consortium has established the Regulated Pathogen Database (RPD) to verify given orders and detect the sequences of concern.[20]

They may either conduct customer screening to establish the identity of the ordering parties or screen the sequences ordered to identify potentially dangerous and controlled pathogens or biotoxins. However, without a legal mandate within the Consortium, screening DNA synthesis orders before fulfilment is largely voluntary. This staggered safeguards landscape creates gaps in screening and contributes to biosecurity concerns about unregulated access to hazardous biological materials.

The integration of AI into this biotechnology landscape therefore adds another layer of complexity. While certain frontier AI models may be instrumental in synthesising large datasets to aid biological research, they may also lower technical thresholds, especially open-source large language models (LLMs), by disseminating information on biological design.[21] A study auditing 32 LLMs found that most complied with requests to design and generate novel toxin sequences.[22] Similarly, recent scientific research shows that generative AI models can develop genome sequences for novel viruses that target bacteria resistant to natural bacteriophages.[23] This development also raised concerns about diverting these capabilities to engineer drug-resistant, human-infecting viruses.


Safeguards on the end of AI developers also become significant in this case. Anthropic’s newer models have safety classifiers in place, with evaluations conducted on refusal benchmarks to assess the models’ ability to handle prompts related to the hazardous use of biological weapons.[24] However, despite these mechanisms, Anthropic’s recent threat assessment report revealed several attempts to bypass the safety classifiers and retrieve questionable information on gene editing of infectious pathogens and toxin design.[25] Thus, in the context of deliberate biothreats, greater access to bio-design tools and open-source AI platforms equipped with the requisite knowledge are among the most pressing challenges in the current global biosecurity discourse.


Strengthening Global Norms for Biosecurity


Biosecurity is a crucial pillar of the international security architecture. Considering the broad spectrum of biological risks, ranging from natural and accidental outbreaks to deliberate weaponisation of infectious pathogens and biotoxins, the global norms on biosecurity are embedded in various institutional mechanisms. Major international frameworks on deliberate biothreats include the Biological and Toxin Weapons Convention (BTWC) and UNSCR 1540, while the WHO sets norms for public health issues such as biosafety standards, disease surveillance, detection, preparedness, and response mechanisms. The voluntary export control groupings such as the Australia Group are significant in managing transnational trade in controlled substances with relevance to chemical and biological weapons.

The ‘biological weapon taboo’, or the perceptions against the use of biological materials as weapons, was recognised through the prohibition of use under the 1925 Geneva Protocol.[26] This development was further strengthened and legally enforced through the Biological and Toxin Weapons Convention (BTWC), which entered into force in 1975.[27] While the BTWC has largely succeeded in establishing the norm against biological weapons, contemporary challenges relate to enforcing these norms through practical frameworks that adequately address emerging risks.

The Convention legitimises the use of biological materials for peaceful life science research while prohibiting any use not intended to be peaceful. In theory, this may seem like a significant qualifier for what the regime permits and prohibits. However, questions and uncertainties arise as the dual-use characteristics of life science research and subsequent AI integration in biotechnology take shape.

With frontier AI models, scientists are increasingly studying capacity-building in medical countermeasures to address drug-resistant pathogens, which requires careful use of gene-editing technologies. However, the same capabilities can also be diverted towards more lethal use of genetically engineered pathogens for harmful purposes. Therefore, without international verification mechanisms, determining the legitimacy of biological research for peaceful purposes becomes a mammoth challenge for the existing regime.

Current structural challenges in the Convention also include the lack of a Science and Technology Advisory Body to monitor and routinely conduct a scientific review of the treaty. This development would be necessary to adequately assess the Convention’s capacity to address emerging biosecurity risks. The ongoing working group discussions to strengthen the Convention are a significant step forward in this regard. The Convention’s scientific capacities can also be enhanced by developing networks of high-containment laboratories with strong biosafety standards.


The Organisation for the Prohibition of Chemical Weapons (OPCW) has provided a precedent for such a structure, with designated biomedical and environmental facilities also in place.[28] Such a network for the BTWC could facilitate independent, regulated research into sequencing novel pathogens and toxins to develop stronger verification mechanisms for the treaty. Building effective regulatory practices without infringing on or curtailing scientific progress is a pressing challenge for the BTWC.

Alongside laboratory security measures, research verification, international cooperation and compliance, efforts to prevent misuse by non-state actors are also significant to strengthening global biosecurity norms. The anthrax attacks of 2001 widened the perceptions around biosecurity to include the threats posed by non-state actors as well as inadequate regulatory oversight of research facilities. Hence, stronger norms backed by practical frameworks are essential for improving biosecurity in response to bioterrorism threats.

Deliberations at BWC review conferences signal a careful yet staggered recognition of the threat of bioterrorism. The final declaration of the seventh review conference of 2011, for the first time, condemned terrorism ‘in all its forms and manifestations’ in the context of using biological agents, further highlighting the role of UNSCR 1540.[29] In the absence of verification and implementation mechanisms for the Convention, instruments such as UNSCR 1540 and its oversight mechanism through the 1540 Committee provide important frameworks for advancing global security protocols against bioterrorism.[30]

Given the plethora of emerging challenges surrounding synthetic biology, open-source AI models, and rapidly evolving biotechnology capabilities, institutionalising appropriate safeguards and building an integrated approach is essential to strengthening biosecurity normative frameworks.

While the anthrax attacks presented a case of deliberate use of biotoxins to inflict harm, hence a biological weapons attack, the experience of COVID-19 presented the need to consider pandemic preparedness and response as an international security issue.[31] Many response and biodefence capabilities that support defence against accidental biothreats and natural outbreaks also support defence against deliberate threats. Thus, lessons should be learned from the COVID-19 pandemic of 2020, and the institutional inadequacies that hindered global coordination should be addressed to build international capacity.

Conclusion


The anthrax attacks of 2001 revealed that mitigating biological threats requires an integrated approach towards bringing together public health, law enforcement, bio-surveillance and national security frameworks. Twenty-five years later, amid a rapidly advancing emerging risk landscape, the reality remains the same. The COVID-19 pandemic of 2020 is particularly significant in this regard. The pandemic exposed gaps in current detection and preparedness capabilities and underscored that global biodefence mechanisms must support robust, transnational early detection and response.


Developments in biotechnology, synthetic biology, gene editing, and AI models offer immense opportunities to advance life science research. Still, they also heighten concerns about access to biological materials, lowered technological thresholds, and deliberate misuse. While AI integration in biotechnology cannot replace tacit laboratory knowledge, institutions need to strengthen biosafety mechanisms and regulatory oversight to prevent accidental exposure and outbreaks. Similarly, safeguards around DNA synthesis acquisition and screening mechanisms are essential to reduce perceived threats around the availability of controlled and high-risk sequences.

Additionally, effective bio-surveillance mechanisms become important for improving early-warning systems, preparedness, and detection capabilities. While national frameworks for addressing bio-risks exist in practice, existing international frameworks are still essential for building multilateral and transnational capacity against these risks. Efforts are underway to address longstanding issues in the BTWC, especially regarding legally binding verification mechanisms, international assistance and cooperation, and stronger compliance.[32] While these developments largely reflect state obligations, continued deliberations on threats posed by non-state actors are also crucial within the Convention.

After more than two decades, the anthrax attacks provide a strong vantage point to evaluate the priorities of the existing biosecurity landscape. The experience of anthrax and COVID-19 indicates that biological threats cannot be treated simply as low-probability possibilities. Sustained investment in prevention, detection, attribution, medical countermeasures, and international cooperation remains essential


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Views expressed are of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the Manohar Parrikar IDSA or of the Government of India.

About the authors:

Aayushi Sharma is a Research Analyst at Manohar Parrikar Institute for Defence Studies and Analyses (MP-IDSA), New Delhi.

Group Captain (Dr) Ajey Lele (Retd.) is the Deputy Director General, MP-IDSA. Earlier, he was a Senior Fellow at the Manohar Parrikar Institute for Defence Studies and Analyses and a part of its Centre on Strategic Technologies. He started his professional career as an officer in the Indian Air Force, and took early retirement from the service to pursue his academic interests. He has a Masters degree in Physics from Pune University, and Masters and MPhil degrees in Defence and Strategic Studies from Madras University.



About Manohar Parrikar Institute for Defence Studies and Analyses (MP-IDSA)

The Manohar Parrikar Institute for Defence Studies and Analyses (MP-IDSA), is a non-partisan, autonomous body dedicated to objective research and policy relevant studies on all aspects of defence and security. Its mission is to promote national and international security through the generation and dissemination of knowledge on defence and security-related issues. The Manohar Parrikar Institute for Defence Studies and Analyses (MP-IDSA) was formerly named The Institute for Defence Studies and Analyses (IDSA).
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