Wednesday, August 19, 2026

 

Washington Chose Coercion While Beijing Kept Talking – OpEd

File photo of a merchant ship being escorted by the US Navy while transiting the Strait of Hormuz. Photo Credit: U.S. Navy photo by Photographer’s Mate 3rd Class Angel Roman-Otero, Wikimedia Commons


Key Takeaways:

  • The 60-day Islamabad Memorandum of Understanding between the US and Iran has expired without extension or successor, with both sides treating the deadline as moot while Hormuz transits drop sharply and oil prices rise.
  • The deal contained built-in weaknesses (unresolved shipping routes, no Israeli ceasefire coverage, unfunded reconstruction promises) that allowed rapid return to confrontation, while Washington used the period to intensify economic isolation and a port blockade.
  • Iran has hardened its posture with threats of “strategic surprises,” and the wider cost is being felt in higher energy prices across Asia and Africa, while China continues to position itself as a more consistent advocate for resumed negotiations.

Five vessels transited the Strait of Hormuz on Saturday. None did on Sunday. The weekend before, thirty-one did. Weekly transits through the strait are down 19.5 percent from two weeks ago. Brent crude has climbed to $91.14 a barrel, its highest since July 30. That is what a diplomatic deadline looks like when nobody actually meant to keep it.

The sixty-day window under the Islamabad Memorandum of Understanding, signed by Presidents Trump and Pezeshkian on June 17 and brokered by Pakistan, lapsed Monday with no extension and no successor. Iran’s foreign ministry called the deadline “entirely moot.” Washington did not bother to dispute that. President Trump told reporters he has “no time schedule” for resolving anything, and in the same week threatened to strike Oman if Muscat “gets in the way” of reopening the strait it borders. That is not the language of a government mourning a lost peace process.

The conventional read is that this was a good-faith framework that collapsed under pressure from hardliners on both sides. Look at what the memorandum actually said, and a less comfortable reading emerges: the deal carried the seeds of its own failure inside the text, and Washington spent the interval not consolidating peace but building the machinery for the confrontation that has now resumed.

Start with the document. The memorandum required Iran to clear mines from Hormuz and, under Article 5, left the passage route itself unresolved. Iran wanted ships routed along its own coast, consistent with how it has always managed the strait; Washington and Oman pushed a route hugging the Omani side instead. That single unsettled line gave Tehran a pretext to treat noncompliant vessels as targets within days. Article 1‘s ceasefire never covered Israel, so Israeli strikes on Lebanon continued straight through a period Washington was calling a truce. The memorandum promised $300 billion in Iranian reconstruction funding without saying who would pay it. A promise with no funding mechanism is not a concession. It is a placeholder.

Within ten days both sides were exchanging fire again. On July 7, barely three weeks into the window, Trump declared the deal “over.” Tehran and Washington then spent seven more weeks going through the motions of a process both governments had already written off.

There was a moment when it looked otherwise. On August 4, Qatar said a short-term de-escalation text was “being circulated between the parties,” and President Trump held a call with Qatar’s emir on the same push. Brent fell more than 5 percent, briefly dropping below $80 a barrel on the optimism. Two weeks later that draft is dead, the strait is emptier than before the talk of a deal, and Brent has climbed back above $91. Whatever Doha built, Washington did not carry it across the finish line.

What Washington did with those seven weeks matters more than the diplomacy that failed. On August 7, Treasury Secretary Bessent said the department would “hunt down and dismantle” the financial networks funding Tehran. A week later the Treasury Secretary added that the fuller campaign would pair “economic isolation, like the world has never seen before” with the port blockade already choking Iranian trade. CENTCOM has confirmed redirecting 64 commercial vessels under that blockade, disabling three more and boarding two others. None of that is retaliation for a deadline lapsing. It was already running while the negotiating clock was still on the wall.

Iran’s response has hardened to match. An IRGC official has promised “strategic surprises” and a shift toward a more offensive posture, and Iran’s army chief has put a bounty of roughly $30,000 on captured or killed American service members. Houthi forces struck Saudi vessels in the Red Sea last week, spreading the disruption well past Hormuz itself. Each escalation on one side hands the other a justification for the next. This is not a negotiation running off the rails. It is two governments that decided sometime in early July the deal was dead and kept talking anyway.

The bill for that decision is not being paid in Washington or Tehran. It shows up in wider trade deficits and weaker currencies across Asia and Africa within weeks of every dollar Brent adds to its price. And there has been a quieter, steadier alternative running in parallel to Washington’s blockade diplomacy the whole time. On July 24, Foreign Minister Wang Yi said the door to negotiations, once opened, “should not be closed” as long as hope for peace remained, and urged both sides to resume implementing the memorandum they had already signed. Iran’s foreign minister Araghchi thanked Beijing for what he called an “objective and impartial” position, and said Tehran’s willingness to negotiate “had never changed.” Months earlier, China’s foreign ministry had already called the naval blockade “dangerous and irresponsible.” Tehran noticed which capital kept saying the same thing throughout. Iran’s ambassador in Beijing has said as much outright: countries Iran considers friendly will get different treatment at Hormuz than countries enforcing the blockade against it.

None of this required a theory of Western decline to predict. It required reading Article 5 of a memorandum and noting that its central ambiguity was exactly the kind of provision that gets exploited within days, not resolved within months. Washington had sixty days to turn a fragile ceasefire into something durable and spent them instead drafting sanctions packages and repositioning warships. Judge a policy by what it built, not by what it said it was attempting.

The states with the most to lose from a shut strait, which is most of Asia and a good deal of Africa, do not have the luxury of waiting out the next round of talks between Washington and Tehran on Washington’s schedule. Energy security tied to the electoral rhythms of a Treasury Department mid-campaign against Iran’s banks is not security. It is exposure with a countdown clock attached, and this one has already run out once, on a deadline nobody in Washington seriously intended to meet.


About Dr. Imran Khalid

Dr. Imran Khalid is a geostrategic analyst and columnist on international affairs. His work has been widely published by prestigious international news organizations and journals.

View all posts by Dr. Imran Khalid →

Battle For The Gulf Tomorrow: Between A Hobbesian And A Kantian World – Analysis




By Vladimir I. Norov


Key Takeaways:

Recent Iran-Israel conflict and attacks on Gulf states have exposed the limits of relying solely on external (especially U.S.) security guarantees, creating space for a regionally owned security architecture.

The proposed Muscat Process, facilitated by Oman and modeled on the CSCE, would establish gradual confidence-building, institutional dialogue, and practical cooperation among GCC states, Iraq, and Iran without replacing existing alliances.

Success would depend on starting with low-politics issues (maritime security, infrastructure protection, humanitarian cooperation), maintaining consensus and regional ownership, and evolving over time into a more formal Gulf security framework.



Strategic Assessment of the Emerging Gulf Security Architecture


The strategic landscape of the Gulf has fundamentally changed following the Iran-Israel confrontation and the direct attacks against Gulf states in 2026. For decades, Gulf security depended primarily on external powers—especially the United States. Recent conflict has demonstrated both the strengths and limitations of this model.

The Gulf Cooperation Council (GCC) successfully defended much of its critical infrastructure through integrated missile defence systems and close cooperation with the United States and other partners. Yet Gulf states were nevertheless drawn into a conflict they neither initiated nor controlled.

The central question is therefore no longer whether the Gulf can defend itself militarily, but whether it can develop a regional security order capable of sustaining peace while reducing its vulnerability to external great-power competition.


The answer emerging from recent developments is cautiously optimistic. The Gulf possesses unprecedented financial resources, political cohesion, military modernisation and diplomatic influence. Yet several structural obstacles remain, including unresolved regional rivalries, the Iranian challenge, the Palestinian issue, maritime insecurity and dependence on foreign military technology.

The most realistic path toward sustainable peace is not military dominance but a multilayered security architecture combining deterrence, diplomacy, economic integration and regional ownership.

I. Historical Evolution of Gulf Security

For nearly fifty years, Gulf se
curity rested on three pillars:American military protection;
oil-export stability; and bilateral defence agreements.


Major turning points included:the 1979 Iranian Revolution;
the Iran-Iraq War;
the Iraqi invasion of Kuwait;
US intervention in Iraq;
the Arab Spring;
the Yemen conflict;
the Abraham Accords; and
the Iran-Israel confrontation.

Each crisis increased external military involvement while simultaneously exposing regional vulnerabilities.

The latest conflict differs because it directly targeted GCC infrastructure rather than proxy battlefields. The Gulf states have therefore entered a new strategic phase characterised by greater confidence, deeper regional coordination and a stronger emphasis on self-reliance.

Their investments in integrated air defence, critical infrastructure protection and diversified diplomatic relationships have enhanced resilience. At the same time, recent conflicts have demonstrated that military capability alone cannot guarantee peace if the surrounding political architecture remains fragile.


A durable regional order is therefore most likely to emerge from a layered approach: preserving strong partnerships with the United States, China and Europe while strengthening GCC institutions, expanding practical cooperation with regional partners, developing indigenous defence industries and maintaining channels for dialogue with adversaries. Progress on the Palestinian question, maritime security and confidence-building measures with Iran will remain central to any sustainable settlement.

Overall, the evidence from leading strategic institutions broadly supports the idea that the Gulf is moving from dependence towards greater strategic agency. However, this transition should be viewed as an evolution rather than a completed transformation. The region’s future stability will depend less on replacing external security guarantees than on complementing them with credible regional institutions, economic resilience and inclusive diplomacy.

The Gulf region stands at a strategic crossroads. Recent regional conflicts have exposed the limitations of a security system based predominantly on external guarantees while highlighting the growing need for a regionally owned framework capable of preventing crises, managing disputes and promoting long-term stability.


What the Gulf therefore requires is not another externally designed security arrangement, but a process through which regional states themselves can gradually develop the habits, mechanisms and institutions of cooperative security.

The proposed Muscat Process – in circulation as a proposal since June by the Group of Friends inspired by the Conference on Security and Cooperation in Europe (CSCE), if facilitated by the Sultanate of Oman, offers an opportunity to establish an inclusive multilateral security dialogue for the Gulf and West Asia. Rather than replacing existing bilateral partnerships or military alliances, the initiative would complement them by creating permanent mechanisms for political consultation, confidence-building and practical cooperation among the Gulf Cooperation Council (GCC) states, Iraq and Iran, and even beyond.

The objective is not to resolve all regional disputes immediately, but to institutionalise dialogue, reduce strategic mistrust and gradually develop a cooperative regional security architecture.

The experience of the CSCE is instructive precisely because it did not begin with a peace treaty or a comprehensive settlement. It began with the recognition that sustained dialogue, agreed principles, confidence-building and practical cooperation could gradually transform relations among states whose political and security interests remained deeply divided.

The lesson of Helsinki was therefore not simply the text agreed in 1975, but the process that followed it. The CSCE demonstrated that states deeply divided by ideology, security interests and geopolitical rivalry could nevertheless begin with principles, regular dialogue and practical confidence-building, allowing a broader cooperative framework to develop gradually. The relevance of that experience for the Gulf lies precisely in this evolutionary character: the objective need not be a comprehensive settlement at the outset, but the creation of a process through which such a settlement may eventually become possible.


A further lesson is that such a process should not necessarily await the end of hostilities. On the contrary, dialogue is often most valuable when relations are at their most difficult. Establishing channels of communication, confidence-building measures and practical cooperation during a period of confrontation can help reduce miscalculation and create conditions for de-escalation. The Muscat Process should therefore be conceived not as a mechanism to be activated only after a political settlement, but as an instrument capable of contributing to the emergence of that settlement.
II. Why the Muscat Process Matters

For more than five decades, Gulf security has largely depended on external powers. While this model contributed to regional stability, recent developments have demonstrated that external security guarantees alone cannot prevent regional escalation or protect regional interests from broader geopolitical competition.

The Gulf now faces a historic opportunity to become an active producer rather than a passive consumer of regional security.

For smaller and middle-sized states in particular, participation in shaping the regional order is itself a matter of security. Those who are absent from the process through which the regional order is shaped risk becoming objects rather than authors of that order. A permanent regional process would therefore give smaller states not merely a voice in moments of crisis, but a continuing capacity to shape the rules, norms and arrangements by which their security is affected.

The major powers will continue to pursue their interests through strategic competition, deterrence and periods of selective détente. Smaller and middle-sized states, however, have a different instrument of statecraft – if timely, available to them: institution-building.

Their influence is well beyond the military weight alone. It can derive from convening, mediation, rule-making, connectivity and the creation of institutions in which larger powers also have an interest in maintaining stability. This is a form of statecraft particularly suited to a region in which no single power can impose a durable security order.

The Muscat Process would provide several strategic advantages:establish a permanent regional platform for dialogue among the principal Gulf actors;
create structured mechanisms for crisis prevention and conflict de-escalation;
strengthen regional ownership of security while complementing existing international partnerships;
reduce the risks of military miscalculation through transparency and confidence-building measures; and
contribute to a stable environment for economic development, energy security and international trade.

By maintaining continuous dialogue during both periods of stability and crisis, the Process would help transform episodic diplomacy into a permanent mechanism for regional cooperation.


Why Oman?

Oman is uniquely positioned to facilitate such an initiative.

Its long-standing policy of neutrality, balanced regional relations and proven mediation record has earned the confidence of major regional actors. Muscat has consistently served as a trusted venue for discreet diplomacy and dialogue during periods of heightened tension.

The credibility of the Process therefore derives not only from its institutional design but also from the reputation of Oman as an impartial and respected facilitator.
III. Proposed Structure

The Muscat Process should evolve gradually through three successive phases.



Phase I – Confidence Building

The first phase would focus on establishing regular consultations among GCC member states, Iraq and Iran.

Meetings would be chaired by Oman and conducted on the basis of consensus, ensuring equal participation and political ownership by all members.

Initial discussions should concentrate on practical areas where cooperation is both feasible and mutually beneficial, including:maritime security;
protection of critical infrastructure;
humanitarian cooperation;
disaster response;
cyber security;
environmental challenges; and
economic connectivity.

At this stage, the emphasis should remain on confidence-building rather than formal negotiations on politically sensitive disputes.


Phase II – Institutional Development

Once regular dialogue has become established, participants could agree to create a modest permanent secretariat in Muscat.


Working groups composed of governmental officials and technical experts would support cooperation in specific policy areas, while annual ministerial meetings would provide strategic guidance.

A small administrative structure would ensure continuity without creating excessive institutional costs.


Phase III – Comprehensive Regional Security Framework

Over the longer term, the Process could gradually evolve into an institutionalised regional organisation comparable in function—though not necessarily in structure—to the OSCE.

Possible future instruments may include:confidence- and security-building measures;
crisis communication mechanisms;
military transparency arrangements;
maritime incident prevention procedures;
early warning and conflict prevention mechanisms;
regular political consultations; and
joint initiatives on economic and environmental security.

Such evolution would depend entirely on consensus among participating states.


IV. International Support while Preserving Regional Ownership

The Muscat Process should remain an indigenous regional initiative.

External actors would not participate in decision-making but could provide technical expertise and share institutional experience through a “Friends of the Process” mechanism (already diplomatically active).

An advisory panel composed of distinguished former senior officials from organisations such as the OSCE, the United Nations and other international institutions could support the initial establishment of the Process by providing expertise in mediation, institutional design and confidence-building.

This approach combines international experience with regional ownership, ensuring that solutions are developed by Gulf states while benefiting from lessons learned elsewhere.
Expected Strategic Benefits

If successfully implemented, the Muscat Process could generate substantial long-term benefits for regional stability. Politically, it would institutionalise dialogue among states with divergent strategic interests, reducing the likelihood of escalation through regular communication.


From a security perspective, it would promote transparency, confidence-building and practical cooperation on shared challenges, including maritime security, cyber threats and protection of critical infrastructure.

Economically, greater regional stability would strengthen investor confidence, safeguard international energy markets and protect strategic trade routes such as the Strait of Hormuz.

Institutionally, the Process would establish a comprehensive Gulf security framework owned and led by regional states themselves, complementing rather than replacing existing bilateral and international security arrangements.

Policy Recommendations


To maximise the prospects for success, participating states should:endorse the establishment of the Muscat Process as a permanent consultative mechanism;
reaffirm consensus-based decision-making and equal participation of all members;
begin with practical, non-contentious areas of cooperation before addressing more sensitive political and security issues;
establish a small, cost-effective secretariat in Muscat to ensure continuity and institutional memory;
create technical working groups on maritime security, cyber resilience, critical infrastructure protection and humanitarian cooperation;
invite international experts to provide technical support while preserving full regional ownership; and
maintain flexibility, allowing the Process to evolve gradually according to the confidence and political will of participating states.
Conclusion

The Muscat Process represents a realistic and forward-looking response to the changing strategic environment in the Gulf. Drawing on the successful experience of the CSCE while adapting it to regional realities, it offers an inclusive framework capable of transforming dialogue into sustained cooperation.

Rather than seeking immediate solutions to deeply rooted geopolitical disputes, the initiative aims to establish the habits, institutions and confidence necessary for durable peace. In doing so, it could lay the foundations for a new Gulf security architecture—one that is regionally owned, internationally supported and designed to promote stability, prosperity and peaceful coexistence for decades to come.

Well aware that statecraft will ultimately be judged by history, and building on their personal experiences, the ‘Friends of the Process’ have a simple message: statecraft achieves better results the sooner it recognizes the challenge—especially for smaller states in geopolitically overcrowded neighborhoods. After all, the Bretton Woods institutions and the foundations of the United Nations architecture began to take shape well before the Second World War was over.

As President Roosevelt understood in the early 1940s, the Gulf does not need to wait for the perfect moment to begin. It needs a process capable of helping create one.






About Vladimir I. Norov
Vladimir I. Norov is a former Minister of Foreign Affairs of Uzbekistan
 and former Secretary-General of the Shanghai Cooperation Organisation.
View all posts by Vladimir I. Norov →

Puntland’s Strategic Value Was Recognized By Fascist Italy In 1938, Somalia Still Hasn’t Caught Up – OpEd


Locations of Somalia, Puntland and Somaliland. Credit: VOA


Key Takeaways:

  • Even Fascist Italy in 1938 recognized the strategic and economic value of Majeerteenia (today’s Puntland) for its coastline, resources, and location near key shipping lanes—an assessment outside powers have continued to make more consistently than Mogadishu.
  • Puntland’s federalist model, rooted in pre-colonial self-governance, has increasingly clashed with the federal government’s centralizing moves, leading to security alerts, revoked recognition, and growing talk of confederation.
  • Continued Mogadishu efforts to revise the constitution, rely on foreign (especially Turkish) security support, and sideline federal member states risk pushing Puntland and allies toward looser arrangements or deeper rupture rather than cooperative federalism.

A single line in a diplomat’s diary, written 88 years ago, is a useful place to start when weighing why outside powers have consistently paid closer attention to this stretch of Somali coastline than Mogadishu has.

On Aug. 3, 1938, Galeazzo Ciano, Fascist Italy’s foreign minister and Benito Mussolini’s son-in-law, recorded in his diary that the Duce had raised a proposal to turn Migiurtinia — the colonial-era name for Majeerteenia, the historic sultanate that today forms the core of Puntland — into what he called “a concession for international Jewry.” Mussolini’s reasoning, as Ciano recorded it, was that the territory held “important natural resources, which the Jews could exploit.” The entry has been corroborated by historians of Italian colonial and Jewish-refugee policy, including research published by New York’s Primo Levi Center.

The scheme deserves no admiration. It surfaced weeks before Italy’s September 1938 racial laws, as Mussolini looked for somewhere to send roughly 10,000 foreign Jews he was preparing to expel from Italian territory. Ciano’s diary also records a vicious aside from Mussolini about Migiurtinia’s shark-infested waters — evidence, historians say, of contempt rather than respect for the people he proposed sending there. The plan collapsed within months; Mussolini’s attention shifted to Jubaland, then dropped the idea entirely by early 1939 after press denials and objections from Jewish organizations unwilling to place themselves at the mercy of a fascist colonial administration.

None of that context should be minimized. But even a regime built on exploitation and, in this case, a plan for ethnic disposal, could not draft such a proposal without conceding that the ground itself was worth something. That is the narrower and more durable lesson: colonial planners were not in the habit of complimenting the territories they occupied. When Rome did so, even in passing and even while planning something indefensible, it is worth asking what it saw.

A pattern that predates fascism

What Italian planners were assessing in 1938 was not unclaimed territory. For centuries, the Majeerteen Sultanate maintained its own governing institutions, its own maritime trade, and formal diplomatic relations with foreign powers, including treaty arrangements with Britain and Italy in the late 19th and early 20th centuries that recognized it as a functioning polity. Unlike southern Somali territories that came under direct Italian rule, the northern sultanates were administered for decades through protectorate agreements — a distinction Rome maintained because it found it more useful to negotiate with the sultanate than to simply absorb it.

The geography that drew that attention has not changed. Puntland sits where the Gulf of Aden meets the Indian Ocean, along the approaches to the Bab-el-Mandeb strait, through which a substantial share of global container traffic passes. Its coastline extends well over 1,000 kilometers — by some estimates closer to 1,600 — and holds fisheries that remain largely undeveloped, mineral prospects that have periodically drawn foreign survey interest, and offshore hydrocarbon potential that has attracted exploration activity since the 2000s.

Recognition has outpaced Mogadishu’s engagement

That pattern of outside recognition has continued into the present, largely without a matching strategy from Somalia’s federal government. In recent years, Puntland has signed a security cooperation agreement with the United States in Bosaso, hosted Turkish and Emirati commercial and security interests, and become a reference point in wider Red Sea and Horn of Africa competition involving Turkey, the Gulf states and Israel. Each of these engagements has proceeded largely on Puntland’s own initiative, a continuation of a decades-old dynamic in which external actors have assessed the territory’s value more consistently than Mogadishu has.

That dynamic has a domestic root. When the Somali state collapsed in 1991, the founders of what became Puntland did not call for restoring a strong central government in Mogadishu. They had watched centralized rule concentrate power, entrench exclusion and ultimately fail. Drawing on a regional history of self-government that predated the Somali republic itself, they built the case for devolution and power-sharing that led to Puntland’s founding in 1998 — years before federalism was written into Somalia’s provisional and, later, permanent constitutions. Whatever one’s position on federalism today, that argument grew out of lived political and institutional experience, not opportunism.

An unfinished lesson

The irony is that a fascist regime, acting from motives no one should defend, still managed to identify strategic and economic value in Majeerteenia in 1938. Eighty-eight years later, Somalia’s federal governments have too often treated Puntland as a subordinate administrative unit rather than the region that supplied the country’s federal blueprint and continues to anchor its northeastern coastline and maritime security.

The 1938 note is a reminder that Somali territory has never sat outside the calculations of outside powers — sometimes over military access, sometimes over shipping lanes, sometimes over minerals, and, in this one case, over a scheme for ethnic removal dressed up as a resource assessment. The mindset behind that scheme belongs in history’s record of failed empires. The underlying observation behind it — that this coastline commanded attention because it was worth something — does not disappear because the people making it were fascists.

A government that consistently lets outsiders assess the value of its own territory before it does so itself is not exercising sovereignty so much as deferring it. Nearly nine decades after Rome quietly conceded Puntland’s worth for its own self-interested purposes, the open question is whether Mogadishu is prepared to do the same — deliberately, and for reasons Somalia can defend.

A warning issued once already

That question has taken on new urgency because of Mogadishu’s collision course with Ankara over the shape of Somali federalism itself — and it is not the first time this warning has been raised.

In September 2019, Warsame joined six other Puntland intellectuals and politicians — Ahmed Abdulahi Yusuf “Ahmed-Dawlad,” Faarax Ali Shire, Eng. Mohamud Ahmed Hassan “Dhegaweyne,” Omar Mohamud Farah “Dhollowaa,” Abdi Farah Said “Juhaa” and Issa Mohamud Farah “Dhollowaa” — in publishing a policy paper on WardheerNews titled “Call for Confederation, Warning of Any Term Extension and Freeze the Constitutional Review Process Until After the 2020/21 Election.” Writing against a Somali Federal Government the group regarded as pursuing “dangerous and unconstitutional steps” to dismantle the federal system, the seven authors concluded that confederation — a looser arrangement devolving more power to member states than classical federalism allows — had become “a more viable governance option for public debate,” given what they described as Mogadishu’s resistance to, and violations of, the federal constitution. They were explicit that this was not a call to abandon Somali unity, and equally explicit in rejecting any return to the centralized unitary system of the 1960 constitution, which they held responsible for state collapse in the first place.

Six years later, the argument that 2019 paper made has become mainstream in Puntland policy circles, taken up independently — and largely without attribution — by a new generation of WardheerNews contributors debating confederation since 2025. The dispute that prompted the original warning, a Somali president extending his own mandate against Puntland’s objections, has recurred in a more advanced form.

The pattern repeats, with Ankara now in the mix

Turkey’s expanding military and economic footprint — Camp TURKSOM, the Turkish-trained Gorgor special forces, a naval task group in Somali waters, and F-16s deployed to Mogadishu since early 2026 — has increasingly been read in Garowe not as neutral support for the Somali state but as backing for one side of a constitutional fight. President Hassan Sheikh Mohamud signed constitutional amendments in March 2026 that extended his own mandate and pushed elections to 2027; Puntland and Jubaland rejected the changes as a constitutional coup. When Ankara subsequently tried to broker talks between Mogadishu and the opposition in July 2026, Puntland and Jubaland refused to take part, arguing that a mediator whose military presence underwrites the government it is meant to be mediating with cannot be neutral.

That refusal is a symptom of a larger shift. Over the course of 2026, Puntland has rescinded its recognition of the federal government, barred federal military forces and vehicles from its territory, and aligned with Jubaland and other federal member states in the Somali Future Council coalition against Mogadishu’s centralization drive. South West State’s formal break with the federal government in March 2026 made Puntland and Jubaland’s earlier ruptures look less like isolated disputes and more like the leading edge of a pattern the 2019 policy paper anticipated.

None of this guarantees a particular outcome, and Puntland’s leadership has been explicit for nearly three decades that its project was federalist rather than separatist — a state-building model for Somalia, not an exit from it. That was the position of the 2019 paper, and it remains Puntland’s official position today. But models built on a country’s willingness to negotiate in good faith do not survive indefinitely when that negotiation stops happening. If Mogadishu continues to treat constitutional revision, foreign security guarantees and control of federal member states’ ports and resources as tools to be used against, rather than with, the states that make up the federation, Puntland and its allies in the Somali Future Council will face growing pressure to consider governance arrangements that no longer depend on Mogadishu’s cooperation. A confederal arrangement — the option Warsame and six co-authors proposed for public debate in 2019 and that has since gained wider currency — remains the more likely next step. Outright separation, on the Somaliland model, would be more drastic and less probable, but after two Somali presidents in succession have extended their own mandates over Puntland’s objections, it is no longer a possibility that can be dismissed out of hand.

Whether Somalia’s federal government grasps this is, in the end, a version of the same question the 1938 note raises. Mussolini recognized Migiurtinia’s value from Rome, for reasons that served only Italy. Mogadishu has yet to demonstrate it can recognize Puntland’s value from within a shared Somali state, for reasons that would serve both.


About Ismail H. Warsame

Ismail H. Warsame is a Somali policy analyst, author, and one of the founding figures of Puntland State, a Federal Member State of Somalia. He served as the state's first Chief of Staff (Chief of Cabinet) to the Presidency during Puntland's formative years (1998–2004), helping build its administrative institutions during the early period of decentralized constitutional governance in Somalia. He later worked with the joint UN–World Bank Reconstruction and Development Programme as Zonal Technical Coordinator for Puntland, and subsequently as National Aid Technical Coordinator with Somalia's Transitional Federal Government in cooperation with the European Union. Warsame is the founder of Warsame Policy & Media Network (WAPMEN) and Warsame Digital Media (WDM), through which he has published editorials, policy papers, and historical essays on Somali federalism, constitutional governance, security, and state-building. He is the author of several books on Somali political development, including Talking Truth to Power in an Undemocratic and Tribal Context, which examines the tension between clan loyalty and constitutional government. Professionally trained in Thermal Power Engineering, Warsame combines technical background with decades of institutional and analytical experience. He is based in Toronto, Canada, and travels frequently to the Horn of Africa — including Somalia, Kenya, and Ethiopia — to maintain firsthand engagement with the region he writes about. He writes for policymakers, scholars, and the Somali diaspora on federalism, security, and the rule of law.

View all posts by Ismail H. Warsame →

INTERVIEW


Ukraine war was Putin's 'fatal mistake' says Russian politician exiled in Paris

Russian politician and prominent Kremlin critic Boris Nadezhdin was forced to flee Russia when he found himself barred from running for election and facing imprisonment. Two weeks after arriving in Paris, he spoke to RFI about the circumstances of his exile.

Issued on: 19/08/2026 - RFI

Russian opposition figure Boris Nadezhdin at the RFI studio, 
18 August. © Dominique Baillard / RFI

Nadezhdin, who attempted to challenge Russian President Vladimir Putin in the 2024 presidential election, has been barred from running as an MP in September’s parliamentary elections.

Russian authorities have severely restricted independent reporting, public protest and criticism of the armed forces since launching the full-scale invasion of Ukraine in February 2022 – and having garnered strong public support for his anti-war stance, Nadezhdin was added to Russia’s register of "foreign agents" in July.

When he was served with a summons to appear in front of the Investigative Committee – an invitation he says usually ends with being taken directly to court and then to prison – he fled to France with his wife, forced to leave his children and elderly parents behind.

RFI: Why did you choose to leave Russia at this time?

Boris Nadezhdin: I took part in the State Duma elections, which are currently under way. I stood as a candidate and began to receive a great deal of support for my views. I spoke out in favour of peace and freedom, and against the policies currently being pursued by Putin and the Russian leadership.

As my popularity began to rise, I collected a great many signatures in support of my candidacy to the Duma. In 2024 there were huge queues all over Russia, and even abroad, for people to sign the nomination forms when I was standing for president. And it seems the same thing happened [this time].

Well, at some point, the authorities decided that I needed to be removed from the election. But events unfolded in a far harsher manner than they had in 2024. Back then, they simply failed to register me for the election. This time, however, I came under intense pressure from virtually all the security agencies in Russia.

On 10 July, the Ministry of Justice declared me a "foreign agent". This is a status in Russia that effectively rules out any possibility of legal political activity. What does the term "foreign agent" actually mean here? My only "crime" was that I criticised Putin’s policies and gave interviews to foreign media. That was sufficient grounds to declare me a foreign agent.

I was then detained by the police, taken to court and they wanted to arrest me. But it was actually quite [a rare occurrence] for the police to detain me – it has never happened before that presidential candidates and State Duma candidates have been detained by the police.

There was a huge outcry. The court hearing was eventually postponed. Ultimately, I was not arrested, but was fined. In any case, this also ruled out my participation in the elections.

Kremlin critic leaves Moscow for Paris after ban from running for election

But then the criminal proceedings began. On 21 July I received a summons to appear before the Investigative Committee. And this is a typical story involving the Investigative Committee: a person turns up and from there they're taken to court, and from court to Lefortovo. Lefortovo is a high-security prison where people end up who are accused of all sorts of political offences. That’s the situation I found myself in.

The bailiffs barred me from leaving Russia. As soon as the police detained me, they barred me from leaving Russia the very next day. My lawyers then appealed against the travel ban. And it was only after I’d been served with a summons to the Investigative Committee that the ban on leaving Russia was lifted.

I had literally 24 hours to leave the country. My wife and I bought a ticket and flew out. At the time, I didn’t have a visa allowing me to travel to France. So we flew to Astana, the capital of Kazakhstan. Whilst in Astana, we applied for a French visa. And thanks to the fact that I’m known, the French Foreign Ministry helped me get the visa quickly. We got it in about a week. And so I’ve been in Paris since 3 August.

RFI: Why did you choose to come to France?

BN: When I was facing the threat of arrest and imprisonment, representatives from various countries who know me well reached out to me. I have held high-ranking positions in Russian politics for more than 30 years.

I had met with officials from the French Foreign Ministry in Paris during my various visits there in an official capacity. I received offers from various embassies, but I chose France, for two reasons. The first is that France is one of those states that genuinely protects political refugees. Not all states act that way.

And the second is simply that I love France very much – I’ve been here many times, travelled all over the country by car, and have been visiting for a decade. Of course, once the war started I stopped coming here, But of all the places in the world I could have gone, France was the one I liked best.

Russian journalist who criticised Ukraine war escaped to France with NGO's help

RFI: Do you plan to stay in France in the longer term?

BN: I don't know for sure yet where I'll end up or what I'll be doing. There are a number of options right now – it depends on where I manage to find a way to make a living.

I’m currently in touch with some universities and entrepreneurs. I just need to find a way to bring my family over here and support them.

Unfortunately I don’t have large financial reserves, I’m certainly no millionaire. The idea is to sell something in Russia, use the proceeds to buy something here, and live off that.

A lot depends on how I resolve this problem. But at the very least, it is absolutely clear that for the next few weeks, and possibly even months, I will definitely be in France.

RFI: Do you feel safe here in France?

BN: When I moved to Paris, the first thing I said was: "Great news – I’m alive, free and safe." Because I am absolutely convinced that the French state is a place where, if you abide by the laws of France, you certainly won't be prosecuted for anything. And it’s absolutely unthinkable that France would extradite me if Russia were suddenly to put me on its wanted list.

RFI: Your parents and your children are still in Russia. Are you worried about them?

BN: Yes, of course. I have four children. Some of them are grown-up. My daughter got married just recently. Unfortunately, I couldn't attend her wedding. That’s my middle daughter. My eldest daughter is already all grown-up. I have a 17-year-old grandson.

But my wife and I are currently raising two children who are still kids – they are 12 and 15 and attend school in Russia. So we are currently discussing the best course of action. I can only say that, unlike in Stalin’s time, under Putin the authorities do not persecute one’s family and children. There are no known cases of that so far.

But there is another factor: I have very elderly parents in Russia, they are in their eighties. Thank god they are still alive, but they are in very poor health. At the moment, I have no answer to the question of which family members I will bring over or how we will actually arrange our lives.

New toxin findings in Navalny death deepen Europe’s accusations against Kremlin

RFI: You began your career in the 1990s and you have always been critical of Putin. How do you explain the fact that you used to be able to express your opinions, but now you can’t? What has changed in Russia?

BN: Throughout my more than 30 years of political activity – I was first elected as a member of parliament back in 1990 – I understood where the red lines lay, the ones you must not cross if you want to remain free and continue your political work in Russia.

There were two such red lines. One can criticise Putin’s policies, but one cannot criticise Putin personally. And under no circumstances may one receive direct aid from abroad – any kind of financial or political support from foreign states. I did not cross those red lines.

When I ran for president, I campaigned by criticising Putin’s policies and demanding an end to the war. Back then, that was permissible. True, I was barred from the election, but I did not face repression. Now, however, the situation has changed drastically.

We see this because attempts were made to simply eliminate me from Russian politics and deprive me of my freedom. And right now, regarding the elections in Russia, there is literally a court case under way concerning the Yabloko party, which is being removed from the ballot.

In all likelihood, it is no longer possible to criticise Putin’s policies in Russia. That has become a red line. If you are participating in elections, you cannot run for office while opposing the war. That is a red line – something that was not the case two years ago.

RFI: So the regime has become more authoritarian in your view?

BN: Yes. Absolutely. The regime is becoming less and less willing to listen to criticism, and the measures taken against political opponents are becoming harsher.

RFI: Are you still against the war in Ukraine?

BN: From the moment it started, I have consistently advocated for an end to this conflict. Back in 2024 when I was running for president, it was very difficult to find words I could say without ending up in prison, because so many people were being jailed for criticising the war. That is the truth.

I came up with the following phrasing: "This is Putin’s fatal mistake." I believed this from the very beginning and continue to believe it to this day.

RFI: Do you think you’ll ever be able to return to Russia?

BN: Here is what I can say: right now, my lawyers in Russia are handling the criminal cases against me. There is a court hearing tomorrow, and there will be several others.

A great deal depends on the court rulings – for instance, if I am declared a criminal in Russia, which is standard practice, and placed on the wanted list and so on.

In that case, of course, there can be no talk of returning. But everyone, including my lawyers, tells me that the decision whether to return to Russia can realistically only be made once the political regime there changes.

This article has been adapted from the original interview by Arnaud Pontus.


Beyond The Frontline: The Two Strategic Ecosystems Of The War In Ukraine – Analysis

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By General (Rtd) Corneliu Pivariu


Key Takeaways:

  • Modern high-intensity wars are sustained less by national military power alone and more by competing “strategic ecosystems” of external economic, industrial, technological, and political support.
  • Russia’s ecosystem relies on functional specialization (China for industrial resilience, North Korea for ammunition and manpower, Iran for drones and asymmetric doctrine), while Ukraine’s is institutionalized, interoperable, and led by U.S. high-end capabilities plus EU financing and industrial support.
  • Long-term advantage will go to the ecosystem that best regenerates resources, adapts faster, and preserves political will, rather than the one that simply starts with greater raw power.

Introduction: War Can No Longer Be Analysed Bilaterally

Over the past decades, assessments of a state’s military power have focused almost exclusively on the size and quality of its armed forces: troop strength, weapon systems, training standards, technology, defence budgets, and mobilization capacity. The war in Ukraine demonstrates, however, that this approach has become insufficient. Neither side is any longer capable of sustaining, on its own, a high-intensity conventional war over an extended period. The ability to continue fighting depends increasingly less on national resources alone and increasingly more on the existence of an external support system encompassing economic, industrial, technological, financial, military, and political assistance.

In this context, the war in Ukraine can no longer be interpreted merely as a confrontation between Russia and Ukraine. It represents a competition between two distinct strategic ecosystems, each built around a principal actor and sustained by partners performing different yet complementary functions. On one side, Ukraine benefits from the support of an institutionalized Western coalition, within which the United States provides the essential military and intelligence capabilities, while the European Union assumes an increasingly important role in delivering economic, financial, and industrial support. On the other side, Russia is sustained by a less formalized, yet operationally effective system in which China plays a decisive role in preserving economic and technological resilience, North Korea compensates for shortages of ammunition and manpower, while Iran contributes expertise and technologies in the fields of drones and asymmetric warfare.

This perspective fundamentally changes the research question itself. The issue is no longer who has supplied more weapons, more financial assistance, or imposed more sanctions. Rather, it is which of the two ecosystems is more capable of transforming available resources into sustainable military power and a superior capacity to adapt to a prolonged war of attrition. In such a conflict, victory depends not only on the performance of armies on the battlefield but also on the efficiency of the networks that sustain them, regenerate their capabilities, and enable them to continuously learn from combat experience.

Against this background, the present article seeks to compare these two models of strategic support, identify the functions performed by their principal actors, and assess the advantages, limitations, and future prospects of each ecosystem. Beyond the specific case of the war in Ukraine, the study aims to highlight a broader transformation in the nature of warfare in the twenty-first century: strategic competition is increasingly taking place not between isolated states but between ecosystems capable of generating, sustaining, and regenerating military power over the long term.

The purpose of this study is not to predict the outcome of the Russo-Ukrainian conflict. The course of the war will depend upon numerous military, political, economic, and human factors that cannot be fully anticipated. The objective of this analysis is therefore limited to a comparative examination of the two strategic ecosystems that have emerged around Russia and Ukraine, their internal dynamics, and the capacity of each to sustain the war effort over the long term.

Two Ecosystems, Not Two Symmetrical Alliances

The war in Ukraine is frequently portrayed as a confrontation between two alliances: Russia and its partners on one side, and Ukraine and the West on the other. Such a representation is, however, overly simplistic and conceals important structural differences. In reality, the two systems of external support are neither organized according to the same principles, nor driven by the same interests, nor do they operate through similar mechanisms.

For the purposes of this study, a strategic ecosystem is defined as the aggregate of states, institutions, industries, infrastructures, financial mechanisms, and political relationships that contribute, directly or indirectly, to maintaining and regenerating a state’s capacity to wage a long-term military conflict. Unlike a military alliance, which is based on treaties and mutual defence obligations, a strategic ecosystem may encompass not only formal partnerships but also economic, industrial, technological, and logistical relationships which, although lacking explicit military commitments, exert a decisive influence on a state’s ability to sustain the war.

From this perspective, the two opposing sides are supported by profoundly different ecosystems. Ukraine benefits from an institutionalized Western coalition centred on NATO, the European Union, and the G7. This ecosystem operates through transparent consultation and decision-making mechanisms, official military and financial assistance programmes, and continuous political coordination among allies. Although participating states differ in pace and priorities, they share a common strategic objective: preserving Ukraine’s independence and defence capabilities.

By contrast, the ecosystem supporting the Russian Federation has a markedly different configuration. It is not built around a military alliance comparable to NATO, nor does it possess integrated institutional mechanisms for planning and command. Relations among its principal participants are predominantly bilateral, driven by specific national interests, and characterized by varying degrees of involvement. China primarily pursues broader global strategic objectives while avoiding the status of a co-belligerent; North Korea seeks economic, technological, and security benefits; Iran uses the conflict as an opportunity to deepen military cooperation and validate its own operational concepts under combat conditions. Nevertheless, the cumulative effect of these contributions produces a functional system capable of sustaining Russia’s war effort.

A fundamental distinction between the two ecosystems lies in the nature of their respective contributions. In Ukraine’s case, the dominant elements are transfers of military capabilities, financial support, and institutional assistance, all publicly acknowledged and regulated through official agreements. In Russia’s case, the emphasis is placed on economic, industrial, and technological complementarity, transfers of dual-use goods, the supply of ammunition and components, and the exchange of operational experience—activities frequently conducted within a less transparent framework and, at least partially, denied at the political level.

This difference does not imply the superiority of one model over the other. Rather, it reflects the existence of two distinct approaches to strategic support, each adapted to the political, economic, and institutional characteristics of the actors involved. For this reason, their assessment cannot be reduced merely to the financial value of the assistance provided or the number of weapon systems delivered. The decisive criterion becomes the capacity of each ecosystem to generate resources, compensate for losses, integrate lessons learned, and sustain the military effort over the long term.

In the major wars of the twenty-first century, a state’s military power must be assessed on two distinct levels: its own capabilities and the capabilities of the strategic ecosystem that sustains it.

THE ECOSYSTEM SUPPORTING THE RUSSIAN FEDERATION

China – Economic, Industrial, and Technological Resilience

Among all of the Russian Federation’s external partners, China occupies a unique position by virtue of both the nature and the scale of its contribution. Unlike North Korea or Iran, Beijing has not officially assumed the role of an arms supplier to Russia and continues to state that it supports a political settlement of the conflict. At the same time, developments over recent years demonstrate that Sino-Russian relations have evolved far beyond the level of ordinary economic cooperation, becoming an essential pillar of the Russian Federation’s strategic resilience.

China’s principal contribution does not lie in the delivery of complete weapons systems, but rather in its capacity to sustain and adapt Russia’s defence industrial base. Electronics, machine tools, optoelectronic components, sensors, defence-industrial equipment, dual-use goods[2], and access to the world’s largest industrial market have enabled Russia to mitigate the effects of Western economic isolation and maintain the pace of its military production. In a war of attrition, this contribution is, from a strategic perspective, every bit as important as the direct supply of weapons.

At the same time, technological cooperation appears to have entered a new phase. Information emerging during the summer of 2026 concerning the establishment of bilateral forums dedicated to military-technological cooperation[3] suggests that the relationship is evolving beyond commercial exchanges and isolated projects toward a more comprehensive process of coordination in research, training, and the development of future capabilities. Although many of the projects that have been publicized cannot yet be regarded as operational systems, the very existence of institutionalized mechanisms for cooperation indicates a maturing strategic relationship between the two countries.

A particularly significant element is the exchange of comparative advantages between the two partners[4]. Russia provides China with something that cannot be acquired through military exercises or computer simulations: direct experience drawn from a high-intensity conventional conflict fought against an adversary supported by the most advanced Western technologies. Data concerning weapons performance, the effectiveness of electronic warfare, drone adaptation, the vulnerabilities of satellite communications, and the evolution of modern tactics constitute an exceptionally valuable resource for Chinese military research.

For its part, China provides Russia with what it can no longer generate independently under the constraints imposed by Western sanctions: industrial capacity, access to technology, commercial flexibility, and the ability to rapidly incorporate lessons learned on the battlefield into new products and technical solutions. In this sense, the relationship between the two countries goes beyond the traditional supplier-beneficiary model and increasingly resembles a mechanism of mutual learning, in which operational experience and industrial capacity reinforce one another.

This complementarity should not, however, be confused with the existence of a formal military alliance. Beijing and Moscow pursue convergent strategic objectives with regard to limiting Western influence, but their national interests are not identical. China remains far more dependent on global trade, exercises greater caution regarding secondary sanctions, and avoids commitments that could transform the conflict in Ukraine into a direct confrontation with the West. At the same time, Russia retains full autonomy in military and nuclear decision-making and accepts a substantially higher level of strategic risk than its Asian partner.

Consequently, China’s contribution should be assessed not by the number of weapons it delivers but by the systemic effect it has on the Russian Federation’s ability to sustain the war. Beijing provides not only material resources but also helps preserve the functionality of the strategic ecosystem underpinning Russia’s military effort. From this perspective, China constitutes the principal pillar of Russia’s economic, industrial, and technological resilience.

From the standpoint of China’s strategic interests, its support for the Russian Federation extends well beyond the bilateral relationship. Beijing’s foremost objective is to prevent a strategic defeat of Russia, which would fundamentally alter the balance of power across Eurasia and allow the United States and its allies to redirect a far greater share of their resources toward the Indo-Pacific region. At the same time, the war in Ukraine provides China with an opportunity to observe and analyse, under real combat conditions, the performance of Western weapon systems, the effectiveness of economic sanctions, the resilience of defence industrial bases, and the capacity of Western countries to sustain a prolonged conventional war. Finally, the continuation of the conflict helps keep the strategic attention of the United States focused on the European theatre, thereby reducing direct pressure on Beijing’s primary geopolitical objectives in the Indo-Pacific. From this perspective, China’s support for Russia should be understood as part of a broader global strategy aimed at preserving an international balance of power favourable to China’s long-term interests, rather than merely as an expression of the bilateral partnership between the two countries.

North Korea – Ammunition, Missiles, and Manpower

Whereas China’s role is to sustain the Russian Federation’s economic and industrial resilience, North Korea’s contribution is concentrated on the strictly military dimension of the conflict. Beginning in the second half of 2023 and accelerating over the following years, Pyongyang became Russia’s principal external supplier of conventional ammunition[5], later expanding this support through deliveries of ballistic missiles and, according to numerous Western and South Korean assessments, the deployment of military personnel primarily assigned to support functions and a limited number of operational missions.

This contribution addresses one of the principal challenges inherent in a war of attrition: the extraordinary consumption of ammunition. The war in Ukraine has demonstrated that the intensity of artillery fire and the frequency of missile strikes exceed the existing production capacity even of states possessing advanced industrial bases. Under these circumstances, North Korea’s willingness to transfer substantial stockpiles of ammunition compatible with the Soviet-era equipment still used by the Russian armed forces has provided a significant operational advantage.

In addition to ammunition, North Korea has supplied missile systems, enabling Russia to diversify its strike capabilities while simultaneously preserving part of its own strategic stockpiles. For Pyongyang, this cooperation represents a rare opportunity to validate the performance of its indigenous weapons systems under actual combat conditions, gather data on their battlefield effectiveness, and accelerate the development of future generations of missiles and munitions.

A new element distinguishing North Korean support from that provided by Russia’s other partners is the direct involvement of human resources. Although the precise scale of North Korean military participation remains difficult to assess, the presence of deployed contingents supporting the Russian Federation marks a transition from exclusively material assistance to a limited form of operational participation. Politically, Pyongyang has accepted a considerably higher level of risk than Beijing, which continues to avoid any direct association with Russian military operations.

North Korea’s motivations, however, extend well beyond the purely military sphere. The regime in Pyongyang seeks to strengthen its own security through closer relations with Moscow, secure access to energy resources and food supplies, and obtain technological benefits in areas of strategic importance, including space programmes, nuclear technologies, and ballistic missile development. From this perspective, military cooperation forms part of a broader exchange of mutual advantages in which each side seeks to exploit the other’s vulnerabilities.

Nevertheless, North Korea’s contribution also has evident limitations. The North Korean economy lacks China’s industrial capacity as well as the financial resources required to sustain support for a conflict of this magnitude indefinitely. The quality of some of the ammunition and equipment supplied has been questioned in several Western assessments, while Pyongyang’s dependence on its own strategic stockpiles limits the possibility of an unlimited expansion of assistance to Russia.

Within the strategic ecosystem examined in this study, North Korea’s role is not to sustain the functioning of Russia’s wartime economy but rather to maintain the operational tempo of its armed forces. Whereas China primarily contributes to the regeneration of the Russian Federation’s industrial and technological capacity, North Korea supports the daily military consumption of the Russian armed forces by partially compensating for losses in ammunition, missiles, and, to a certain extent, manpower[6].

Iran – Drones, Production, and the Doctrine of Saturation

Whereas China’s support is aimed at strengthening Russia’s economic and technological base, and North Korea’s contribution compensates for the high consumption of ammunition and missiles, Iran’s role is centred on innovation in asymmetric warfare. Its importance cannot be assessed solely by the number of systems delivered, but rather by the influence it has exerted on the manner in which the Russian Federation employs new technologies in the war in Ukraine.

The first deliveries of Iranian drones provided, in 2022 and 2023, a rapid solution to Russia’s shortage of long-range strike capabilities. Subsequently, however, the value of this cooperation extended beyond the simple transfer of equipment. Russia developed its own production capacity, modified the configuration of the original platforms, and integrated them into an operational system adapted to its own requirements[7]. As a result, Iran’s role gradually evolved from that of a technology supplier into that of a partner in the development of a new model for employing drones in conventional warfare.

This model is based on a relatively simple principle: the use of very large numbers of low-cost platforms to overwhelm the adversary’s air-defence systems. Instead of isolated strikes carried out with highly sophisticated and expensive munitions, successive, combined, and distributed attacks are launched in order to force the adversary to expend interceptors that are far more costly than the targets being engaged. In this way, effectiveness no longer derives exclusively from the technical performance of each individual drone, but from the relationship between the cost of attack and the cost of defence.

From this perspective, Iran has not merely supplied a category of weaponry; it has contributed to the validation of an operational doctrine that is beginning to influence the conduct of modern warfare. The integration of drones with cruise missiles, electronic-warfare assets, and reconnaissance operations transforms aerial attack into a continuous process of attrition against the adversary’s defences. Russia has adapted this concept to its own industrial capabilities, steadily increasing both the production rate and the operational use of unmanned platforms.

Cooperation between Moscow and Tehran generates reciprocal advantages. Russia benefits from Iran’s accumulated experience in developing military capabilities under the pressure of international sanctions, as well as from access to relatively inexpensive and rapidly reproducible technological solutions. Iran, in turn, gains access to information generated by the most intense conventional conflict fought in Europe since the Second World War, enabling it to assess the performance of its own systems under real combat conditions and identify directions for further improvement.

There are, however, clear limitations to this cooperation. Iran’s economic and industrial resources are incomparably smaller than China’s, while its own security priorities, intensified by confrontation with Israel and broader regional tensions, may limit its ability to sustain major transfers to Russia over the long term. Moreover, as Russian industry absorbs and adapts the original technologies, Moscow’s dependence on direct Iranian deliveries is likely to diminish.

Within the strategic ecosystem examined in this study, Iran’s role must therefore be understood in broader terms than the mere provision of drones. Its principal contribution lies in accelerating operational innovation and demonstrating that relatively accessible technologies, produced in large quantities and integrated into a coherent doctrine, can alter the balance between the cost of attack and the cost of defence. This lesson extends well beyond the war in Ukraine and will very likely influence the evolution of conventional warfare over the coming decade.

Interim Conclusion – The Strategic Ecosystem Supporting the Russian Federation

The analysis of the contributions made by China, North Korea, and Iran demonstrates that the external support provided to the Russian Federation does not amount to a simple aggregation of military, economic, or technological assistance. In reality, it functions as a strategic ecosystem in which each participant performs a distinct and complementary role.

China constitutes the economic, industrial, and technological foundation of this ecosystem, helping Russia preserve its capacity to produce, adapt, and regenerate the resources required for a prolonged conflict. North Korea primarily addresses the dimension of operational consumption by supplying ammunition, missiles, and, to a certain extent, manpower, thereby compensating for the inevitable attrition generated by high-intensity warfare. Iran complements the system through the transfer of technologies and operational concepts that have accelerated Russia’s adaptation in the fields of drones, saturation attacks, and asymmetric warfare.

The effectiveness of this ecosystem therefore does not derive from the existence of a formalized military alliance comparable to NATO, but from the functional specialization of its participants. Each actor contributes in a field in which it possesses comparative advantages, while the cumulative effect exceeds the simple sum of the individual contributions. Complementarity substitutes for institutional integration, while the convergence of strategic interests compensates for the absence of formal mutual-defence obligations.

This architecture largely explains the Russian Federation’s ability to sustain a war of attrition despite unprecedented economic sanctions and the political isolation pursued by the West. At the same time, it also reveals the limitations of this model. The asymmetry among the participants, Moscow’s growing dependence on Beijing, the differing strategic objectives of each partner, and the absence of integrated institutional mechanisms make this ecosystem more flexible, but also more vulnerable to shifts in the interests of the actors that comprise it.

Overall, Russia’s strategic ecosystem may be characterized by a high degree of functional specialization, with each participant covering a critical dimension of the war effort. This finding provides the starting point for the analysis of the ecosystem supporting Ukraine and enables a comparison between two distinct models for generating and sustaining military power.

THE ECOSYSTEM SUPPORTING UKRAINE

The United States – High-End Capabilities and Information Superiority

Within the strategic ecosystem supporting Ukraine, the United States occupies a distinct position, unlike that of any other Western partner. The American contribution cannot be assessed exclusively in terms of the financial value of military assistance or the number of weapon systems delivered. Washington’s essential role lies in providing those capabilities that no other ally can supply, at least not to the same extent: information superiority, the operational integration of weapon systems, strategic warning, intelligence, surveillance, reconnaissance, and the ability to coordinate multinational military support of unprecedented complexity.

From the earliest phases of the conflict, American support extended well beyond the material dimension of arms deliveries. The continuous sharing of intelligence, battlefield monitoring through space-based, airborne, and electronic means, and the integration of this information into the Ukrainian decision-making process contributed to operational effectiveness to an extent that is difficult to quantify but widely acknowledged by specialists[8]. In numerous instances, the information advantage enabled Ukraine to offset its numerical inferiority and employ its available resources far more efficiently.

In addition to this information dimension, the United States supplied Ukraine with technologically advanced weapon systems that are difficult to replace[9]: air and missile defence, precision-guided munitions, long-range systems, and sophisticated command-and-control capabilities. The importance of these capabilities lies not only in their individual performance, but also in the multiplier effect they exert across the entire Ukrainian defence system. They increase the effectiveness of other categories of weaponry and enable their integration into a coherent operational architecture.

Another essential American contribution is its capacity to provide strategic coordination for Western support as a whole. The principal mechanisms for consultation on arms deliveries, equipment standardization, personnel training, and the synchronization of assistance provided by numerous international partners have been built around Washington. In this sense, the United States is not only the principal supplier of military capabilities, but also the main integrator of the Western ecosystem.

The American model nevertheless contains vulnerabilities. In a democratic system, the scale and pace of external support are inevitably influenced by domestic political debate, budgetary constraints, and changes of administration. Unlike the authoritarian actors supporting the Russian Federation, the US administration must secure political and congressional backing for assistance programmes, which may introduce periods of uncertainty and delays into the decision-making process. This characteristic represents both an operational vulnerability and an expression of the functioning of a democratic system.

From the perspective of this study, the contribution of the United States may be summarized through a distinct strategic function: providing the technological and information superiority required to preserve Ukraine’s qualitative advantage. Whereas China constitutes the principal guarantor of the Russian Federation’s economic and industrial regeneration, the United States is the primary provider of the operational and information superiority from which Ukraine benefits[10]. The remaining components of the two strategic ecosystems revolve, in different ways, around these two central functions.

The European Union – Financing, Industry, and the Continuity of the Ukrainian State

Whereas the United States is the principal provider of high-technology military capabilities and information superiority, the European Union constitutes the main pillar of Ukraine’s economic, financial, and institutional support[11]. Its role extends far beyond the traditional scope of economic assistance, contributing both to the continued functioning of the Ukrainian state under the conditions of a high-intensity conflict and to the development of an indigenous capacity for military regeneration.

From the first months of the war, the European institutions and member states mobilized unprecedented financial resources to support the Ukrainian economy, ensure the functioning of the public administration, maintain essential services, and stabilize the financial system. These measures enabled the authorities in Kyiv to concentrate a significant proportion of national resources on the military effort without risking institutional or economic collapse. In this regard, the European Union’s contribution must be assessed not only by the value of the funds allocated, but also by their effect on the overall resilience of the Ukrainian state.

In parallel, the European Union’s role in the defence field has undergone a significant transformation. Whereas during the initial years of the conflict the emphasis was placed on transferring existing equipment and financing arms purchases, the objective subsequently expanded to include the development of European and Ukrainian industrial capabilities. Increased ammunition production, investments in the defence industry, joint procurement programmes, and the progressive integration of Ukrainian industry into European production chains reflect a transition from the logic of emergency support to one oriented towards long-term sustainability.

The European Union also performs an essential role in military personnel training, technical assistance, logistical support, and the coordination of complex reconstruction and modernization programmes. These activities complement the military contributions of the member states and create the conditions for the progressive convergence of European and Ukrainian defence systems. In this way, European support is intended not only to meet immediate requirements, but also to prepare Ukraine for integration into a European security and defence space that is itself undergoing an accelerated process of transformation.

Compared with the model of support provided to the Russian Federation by China, there are both similarities and fundamental differences. Both contributions are aimed at strengthening the resilience of the supported actor and developing its industrial base. The difference lies in the nature of the relationship. In China’s case, cooperation is predominantly bilateral, flexible, and designed to avoid direct political exposure. In the case of the European Union, support is transparent, institutionalized, and based on common legal and financial mechanisms publicly assumed by the member states.

The European model, however, also has its own limitations. The decision-making process requires consensus among numerous political actors, which may delay the adoption of urgent measures. Furthermore, differences among the industrial capabilities of the member states, budgetary constraints, and the diversity of national interests influence the pace at which common programmes are implemented. Nevertheless, the experience of the war in Ukraine has demonstrated an unprecedented capacity for adaptation and acceleration in European security and defence policies.

From the perspective of this study, the European Union’s strategic function may be defined through three inseparable components: ensuring the continued functioning of the Ukrainian state, strengthening its economic and institutional resilience, and developing an industrial base capable of sustaining the military effort over the long term. In this sense, the European Union is not merely Ukraine’s principal financial supporter, but also the main guarantor of the strategic sustainability of its resistance.

The Coalition of the Willing – The Flexibility of the Western Strategic Ecosystem

In addition to the contributions of the United States and the European Union, the strategic ecosystem supporting Ukraine has been strengthened through the emergence of flexible mechanisms of cooperation among states willing to act rapidly and in a coordinated manner. The most representative example is the Coalition of the Willing[12], launched in 2025 and subsequently developed as a political and military framework complementary to the existing structures of NATO and the European Union.

The importance of this initiative lies not so much in the volume of resources it mobilizes as in its ability to accelerate decision-making and bring together states with a high degree of strategic convergence. While NATO and the European Union operate through complex institutional mechanisms requiring consultation and consensus, the Coalition of the Willing makes it possible to establish rapidly groups of states prepared to undertake concrete initiatives in support of Ukraine.

From this perspective, the Coalition of the Willing should not be interpreted as an alternative to NATO or the European Union, nor as an autonomous military structure. It represents an adaptation mechanism within the Western strategic ecosystem, created to respond more effectively to situations in which the pace of developments on the battlefield requires rapid decisions and flexible political coordination. In this sense, it complements the existing institutional architecture without replacing it.

At the same time, this initiative reflects a broader transformation in Western security cooperation. Whereas in the past solidarity among allies was expressed almost exclusively through established international organizations, the experience of the war in Ukraine demonstrates that modern strategic ecosystems also develop additional mechanisms capable of complementing traditional structures whenever circumstances require it.

A further indication of the maturation of this mechanism was provided by the high-level meeting of the Coalition of the Willing held in Paris on 13 July 2026[13]. Beyond reaffirming political support for Ukraine, the participants agreed on a set of concrete measures concerning the strengthening of European air and missile defence, the development of defence-industrial cooperation, the intensification of military support for Ukraine, and the acceleration of preparations for possible security guarantees under a future ceasefire agreement. Measures to increase interoperability, conduct joint exercises, and strengthen cooperation in the fields of cybersecurity and critical infrastructure were also examined. These decisions confirm that the format is moving beyond the stage of a mere platform for political consultation and is beginning to generate concrete projects for strategic cooperation.

The existence of the Coalition of the Willing therefore confirms that one of the principal advantages of the Western ecosystem lies not only in its economic, technological, or military superiority, but also in its capacity for institutional adaptation. The ability to create new formats of cooperation rapidly, without disrupting the functioning of NATO and the European Union, constitutes a form of strategic resilience that is difficult to quantify but has important implications for sustaining a prolonged conflict.

Overall, the Coalition of the Willing illustrates an essential characteristic of contemporary strategic ecosystems: they are not rigid structures, but organisms capable of expanding and adapting their own mechanisms of cooperation in response to changes in the strategic environment and the requirements of the conflict[14].

A new development immediately following the Paris meeting was the announcement by Bulgarian Prime Minister Rumen Radev that Bulgaria would withdraw from the Coalition of the Willing, arguing that military support for Ukraine prolongs the conflict rather than seeking a diplomatic resolution. Beyond its limited military impact, the decision carries significant political meaning: it represents the first instance in which a NATO member state has officially distanced itself from this ad hoc format of support for Ukraine and reaffirmed that decisions concerning collective security should be taken exclusively within NATO and the European Union. This development confirms that, as the war continues, differences of approach among the allies are becoming increasingly visible, even though the underlying solidarity within NATO remains unaffected.

On 15 July, the Ukraine–Southeast Europe Summit was held in Kyiv[15]. The Declaration adopted on that occasion confirms that the Western ecosystem of support for Ukraine retains its strategic coherence and capacity for political coordination. The document does not introduce new objectives, but reaffirms support for Ukraine’s independence and territorial integrity, the continuation of military and economic assistance, the intensification of sanctions against Russia, and Kyiv’s Euro-Atlantic integration perspective. At the same time, the Declaration explicitly establishes the link between the security of Ukraine, the Black Sea region, and Southeast Europe, confirming that the participating states regard the conflict as a regional security issue rather than an exclusively bilateral one. Serbia’s refusal to sign the document nevertheless highlights that, although the Western ecosystem remains predominantly coherent, it is not devoid of political differences and distinct national interests.

On the margins of the Ukraine–Southeast Europe Summit held in Kyiv on 15 July 2026, the European Union and Ukraine launched the first European Defence Industrial Partnership, aimed at the joint development and production of drones and other military technologies. Estimated at approximately USD 2 billion in its initial phase, the programme will be implemented through joint ventures involving European and Ukrainian companies, with production taking place both in Ukraine and in European Union member states. The founding partners include Indra Group of Spain, Fincantieri of Italy, Quantum Systems of Germany, and Skyfall Industries of Ukraine. The initiative represents one of the clearest examples of the transformation of the Western ecosystem from a mechanism of military assistance into an integrated industrial ecosystem capable of sustaining Ukraine’s war effort over the long term.

Interim Conclusion – The Strategic Ecosystem Supporting Ukraine

The analysis of the contributions made by the United States and the European Union demonstrates that support for Ukraine extends far beyond the traditional dimensions of military and financial assistance. It constitutes a complex strategic ecosystem built upon common institutions, permanent coordination mechanisms, and a functional distribution of responsibilities among numerous participants.

Within this ecosystem, the United States is the principal provider of military and information superiority. High-technology capabilities, intelligence support, operational integration, and the ability to coordinate Western assistance have enabled Ukraine to offset, to a significant extent, its quantitative inferiority in relation to the Russian Federation.

The European Union complements this architecture through a different, yet equally important, strategic function. Financial support, the maintenance of the Ukrainian state’s institutional functioning, the development of the defence industrial base, and the progressive integration of Ukraine’s economy and industry into the European space have created the conditions required to sustain a prolonged military effort. In this sense, the European Union is not only Ukraine’s principal financial supporter, but also one of the main pillars of its strategic continuity and resilience.

Unlike the ecosystem supporting the Russian Federation, the Western model is not based primarily on the strict specialization of each participant, but on interoperability, redundancy, and institutional coordination. Numerous states contribute simultaneously to training, logistics, arms production, air defence, financial assistance, and infrastructure reconstruction, giving the overall system a high degree of flexibility and the capacity to compensate for temporary reductions in the contribution of any individual actor.

The concept of interoperability extends beyond the technical compatibility of equipment and includes common standards of command and control, operational procedures, logistics, communications, training, and information sharing. The experience of the war in Ukraine has demonstrated that interoperability constitutes one of the principal comparative advantages of the Western ecosystem.

At the same time, this architecture is shaped by the characteristics of democratic systems. Decision-making requires political consultation, consensus, and parliamentary oversight, which can sometimes delay the adoption of urgent measures. Nevertheless, the experience of the war in Ukraine shows that the Western ecosystem has displayed a remarkable capacity for adaptation, progressively expanding both its defence industrial base and its mechanisms of strategic cooperation.

Overall, the strategic ecosystem supporting Ukraine may be characterized by institutional integration, interoperability, and collective resilience. Whereas the ecosystem supporting the Russian Federation owes its effectiveness to the functional specialization of its participants, the Western ecosystem derives its performance from the ability of a large number of actors to operate in a coordinated manner, distribute responsibilities, and substitute for one another whenever circumstances require.

Comparison: Two Models of Strategic Support

The analysis of the two strategic ecosystems demonstrates that the effectiveness of external support cannot be assessed solely through the financial value of the assistance provided or the number of weapon systems delivered. Such indicators reflect the scale of the effort undertaken by each side, but they do not explain how these resources are transformed into military capability and strategic resilience. A meaningful assessment must consider at least five criteria: the volume of resources mobilized, the quality of the contributions, their sustainability, the degree of transparency, and the mechanisms of political control governing the overall process.

Volume of Support

From a quantitative perspective, the Western ecosystem possesses an indisputable advantage. The United States, the European Union, and other partners have mobilized financial, military, and humanitarian resources on a scale unprecedented since the end of the Cold War[16]. The economic dimension of this support far exceeds the capabilities of any other actor involved in the conflict and makes it possible to sustain simultaneously the military effort, the functioning of Ukrainian state institutions, and the reconstruction process.

In the case of the Russian Federation, the absolute volume of external contributions is considerably smaller[17]. A strictly quantitative comparison may nevertheless produce misleading conclusions. China, North Korea, and Iran do not seek to match the scale of Western support, but rather to address selectively those areas in which Russia faces its most significant vulnerabilities. From this perspective, the effectiveness of the ecosystem does not derive from the overall size of the resources mobilized, but from their concentrated use in support of critical requirements of the war effort.

Quality of Contributions

The differences between the two models become even more apparent when the nature of the support provided is examined.

The Western ecosystem primarily supplies high-technology capabilities, integrated command-and-control systems, air and missile defence, intelligence derived from strategic surveillance assets, and assistance in the training and modernization of the Ukrainian armed forces. The emphasis is placed on achieving a qualitative advantage and integrating it into a complex operational architecture.

By contrast, the ecosystem supporting the Russian Federation focuses primarily on strengthening regeneration and adaptation capacity. China contributes technology, industrial capacity, and dual-use goods; North Korea provides ammunition and missiles compatible with Russian systems; and Iran supplies technologies and operational concepts in the fields of drones and asymmetric warfare. In qualitative terms, the two ecosystems serve different objectives: one maximizes technological superiority, while the other maximizes resilience and continuity of the military effort.

Sustainability

The ability to sustain a war of attrition is probably the most important criterion of comparison.

The Western model benefits from a vastly superior economic and industrial base capable of generating resources over a very long period. Its sustainability, however, depends on preserving political consensus across numerous democratic states, on the willingness of public opinion to accept the costs of the conflict, and on the continuity of the political commitment of the principal allies.

In the case of the Russian Federation, sustainability is determined by different factors. Although Russia’s economic and financial base is significantly inferior to that of the Western ecosystem and continues to be affected by international sanctions, external contributions are directed precisely towards the areas that make it possible to prolong the conflict: industry, ammunition, drones, and adaptive technologies. Moreover, a far more centralized decision-making process reduces the risk of internal political blockages. Over the long term, however, growing dependence on China may transform one of this ecosystem’s principal advantages into a strategic vulnerability.

Transparency

The two models also differ fundamentally in this respect.

Western support is characterized by a high degree of transparency. Most programmes are publicly announced, approved through institutional procedures, and subjected to parliamentary oversight and financial audit. This transparency strengthens the political legitimacy of the assistance provided, but also gives the adversary information concerning the pace, scale, and structure of that assistance.

A different logic prevails within the ecosystem supporting Russia. A significant part of the cooperation takes place through bilateral agreements, transfers of dual-use goods, commercial contracts, and industrial mechanisms that allow the maintenance of deliberate political ambiguity. This opacity provides greater flexibility and reduces the diplomatic costs of cooperation, but it also diminishes predictability and mutual trust among the participants.

According to the Kiel Institute’s Ukraine Support Tracker, almost all major Western assistance packages are announced publicly and can be monitored through open databases, whereas the support provided to the Russian Federation by China, North Korea, and Iran is known primarily through intelligence assessments, satellite imagery, and independent investigations.

Political Control

Perhaps the most profound difference between the two ecosystems concerns their mechanisms of political control.

The Western model operates within a democratic framework in which decisions on resource allocation result from consultation among governments, parliaments, and international institutions. This process sometimes slows the political response, but provides legitimacy and long-term stability.

The model supporting the Russian Federation is based on highly centralized political systems in which decisions can be adopted and implemented rapidly, without significant public debate. The resulting flexibility facilitates operational adaptation, but concentrates risk in the political will of a limited number of leaders and weakens the mechanisms available for correcting potential strategic errors.

Between 2023 and 2025, the approval of major assistance packages for Ukraine was delayed both by negotiations in the United States Congress and by consensus procedures within the European Union, illustrating the impact of democratic mechanisms on the pace of decision-making.

Comparative Assessment

Comparison of the two ecosystems leads to a more nuanced conclusion than the simple observation that one provides more support than the other. In reality, the two models optimize different objectives.

The Western ecosystem maximizes technological superiority, interoperability, institutional capacity, and political legitimacy. It possesses vastly superior economic and financial resources, as well as an industrial base capable of sustaining a prolonged conflict, provided that common political will is maintained.

The ecosystem supporting the Russian Federation maximizes functional complementarity, flexibility, and rapid adaptation to the requirements of a war of attrition. Its resources are more limited, but they are concentrated in those areas where they generate the greatest operational effect and contribute to maintaining the Russian Federation’s capacity for military regeneration.

The confrontation in Ukraine therefore involves not only two armies, nor merely two political alliances. It represents a competition between two distinct models of the strategic organization of power, each with its own advantages, vulnerabilities, and mechanisms of adaptation.

Which Ecosystem Can Sustain the War Longer?

The question of which of the two ecosystems is capable of sustaining the war in Ukraine over the long term does not lend itself to a simple answer. It depends not only on the economic and military resources available, but also on political, industrial, demographic, and psychological factors that continue to evolve. From this perspective, any assessment must be differentiated according to the time horizon under consideration.

The history of modern conflicts shows that the duration of wars of attrition is determined less by initial weapons stockpiles than by the ability of states to continuously regenerate their military, industrial, and human resources. The First and Second World Wars, as well as the Iran–Iraq War (1980–1988), provide relevant examples in this regard.

Short-Term Perspective

In the short term, both ecosystems have demonstrated their ability to sustain the conflict at a high level of intensity.

The Western ecosystem continues to provide Ukraine with advanced military capabilities, financial assistance, and intelligence support, while the ecosystem supporting the Russian Federation offsets a significant portion of the effects of sanctions and the high consumption of ammunition and military equipment.

At this stage, the decisive factor is not the availability of resources, but the speed with which those resources can be transformed into operational effects.

Medium-Term Perspective

Over the medium term, competition gradually shifts from the battlefield to the capacity for regeneration.

The United States and the European Union benefit from a superior economic, technological, and industrial base capable of supporting the development of increasingly advanced military capabilities. At the same time, the integration of Ukrainian industry into European production mechanisms may progressively reduce Kyiv’s dependence on external deliveries.

The Russian Federation is pursuing a different strategy. Support received from China, North Korea, and Iran enables it to mitigate the effects of economic isolation and maintain the pace of military production. However, this strategy entails increasing dependence on partners whose interests do not fully coincide with those of Moscow.

At this stage, the advantage will not necessarily belong to the actor that produces more, but to the one capable of transforming lessons learned from the conflict into new military and industrial capabilities more rapidly.

Long-Term Perspective

Over the long term, the decisive criterion will no longer be the volume of available resources, but the political and economic sustainability of each ecosystem.

Taken as a whole, the West possesses overwhelmingly superior economic, technological, and financial resources. Provided that political cohesion can be maintained, this structural advantage offers a solid foundation for sustaining a prolonged conflict.

By contrast, the ecosystem supporting the Russian Federation is more compact in terms of decision-making and is capable of responding more rapidly to developments on the battlefield. Nevertheless, growing dependence on China, the economic limitations of North Korea and Iran, and the differing strategic objectives of these states introduce vulnerabilities that are likely to become increasingly evident as the conflict continues.

Time, therefore, does not automatically favour either side. It favours the ecosystem that succeeds in preserving its political cohesion, regenerating its industrial base, and transforming available resources into military capabilities more effectively than its opponent.

The Strategic Lesson

The war in Ukraine demonstrates that, in the high-intensity conventional conflicts of the twenty-first century, victory no longer depends exclusively on the performance of the armed forces deployed on the battlefield.

It depends equally on the ability of the strategic ecosystem to generate resources, transform them rapidly into military power, integrate lessons learned, and sustain the political will required to continue the conflict.

From this perspective, the real competition is no longer confined to Russia and Ukraine themselves, but takes place between two different models of organizing and sustaining strategic power.

The war in Ukraine marks the transition from competition in military capabilities to competition in strategic regeneration capacity.

It is also the first high-intensity conventional conflict in which the performance of industrial, financial, informational, and technological ecosystems can be analysed almost in real time, thanks to the unprecedented volume of open-source data and satellite imagery available to researchers.

Conclusions for Europe and Romania

The war in Ukraine confirms that the major conventional conflicts of the twenty-first century are no longer sustained exclusively by the national resources of the states directly engaged in combat. The ability to continue fighting depends increasingly on the existence of strategic ecosystems capable of mobilizing and integrating economic, industrial, financial, technological, and political resources into a sustained collective effort. From this perspective, the analysis of the conflict extends well beyond the particular case of Ukraine and offers valuable insights into the future evolution of competition among the major powers.

The first lesson is that military power must be assessed far more comprehensively than in the past. Traditional indicators—troop strength, military equipment, defence budgets, and force structure—remain important, but they are no longer sufficient. They must be complemented by an assessment of strategic regeneration capacity: the ability of a state to continuously replenish its military resources through the support of its own economy and the external ecosystem that sustains it. In a war of attrition, this capacity may become more important than an initial military advantage.

The second lesson concerns the changing role of the defence industry. Military production is no longer merely an instrument of wartime mobilization; it has become a permanent element of strategic competition. The ability to rapidly produce ammunition, unmanned systems, electronic components, sensors, and other critical equipment is becoming just as important as the performance of weapon systems already in service. Consequently, the development of the defence industrial base must be regarded as an investment in national security and strategic resilience rather than simply as a sectoral economic policy.

For Europe, the conflict demonstrates that strategic autonomy cannot be reduced to the debate over relations with the United States. It requires strengthening Europe’s own production capacity, developing logistical infrastructure, reducing vulnerabilities in supply chains, and increasing interoperability among the defence industries of the member states. At the same time, the experience of the war confirms that the transatlantic partnership remains Europe’s principal force multiplier, and that the development of European capabilities should be understood as reinforcing that partnership rather than serving as an alternative to it.

For Romania, the implications are direct. Located on NATO’s Eastern Flank and bordering the Black Sea, Romania must adapt its strategic planning to the realities of a security environment in which conflicts may become prolonged and characterized by extremely high rates of resource consumption. This requires not only the modernization of the armed forces, but also the development of a defence industrial base capable of supporting the production and maintenance of essential categories of military equipment, the strengthening of critical infrastructure, the protection of logistical supply chains, and the development of national capabilities in fields such as electronic warfare, unmanned systems, secure communications, and space technologies.

At the same time, Romania must make more effective use of its membership in the Western strategic ecosystem. Participation in NATO and European Union cooperative programmes, integration into multinational defence-industrial projects, and the expansion of regional cooperation in the Black Sea area can significantly enhance the country’s national defence capacity. In the new strategic environment, security is no longer the exclusive product of national resources, but also of a state’s position within an ecosystem of alliances and partnerships capable of generating collective power.

In conclusion, the war in Ukraine marks a profound transformation in the way military power must be understood in the twenty-first century. Competition no longer takes place solely between armies, nor exclusively between states. It is increasingly a competition between strategic ecosystems capable of generating, sustaining, and regenerating military power over the long term. In this new reality, the decisive advantage will not necessarily belong to the actor possessing the greatest resources at the outset of the conflict, but to the one most capable of sustaining adaptation, innovation, and strategic regeneration over time.

General Conclusion

The comparative analysis indicates that the Western ecosystem possesses the structural advantages required to sustain a prolonged conflict: superior economic resources, advanced technological capacity, an extensive industrial base, and consolidated institutions. By contrast, the ecosystem supporting the Russian Federation benefits from important operational advantages generated by centralized political decision-making, the functional complementarity of its participants, and the capacity to adapt rapidly to the requirements of a war of attrition. The outcome of the conflict will therefore depend not exclusively on the volume of available resources, but on the ability of each ecosystem to preserve its political cohesion, maintain the pace of industrial regeneration, and sustain its strategic will over the long term.

In the wars of attrition of the twenty-first century, the decisive factor is not only strategic regeneration capacity, but also the ability of the ecosystem to preserve the political will required to continue the war.

At the same time, the comparative analysis of the two ecosystems demonstrates that the evolution of the conflict does not depend exclusively on military performance on the battlefield, nor solely on the resources they mobilize. A significant change in the strategic interests of one of the principal participants in either ecosystem, or a major shift in the political objectives pursued by Russia or Ukraine, could decisively influence the course of the conflict, including its duration and the conditions under which it eventually ends. Consequently, any assessment of the war must continuously monitor not only the dynamics of military operations, but also the evolution of the strategic interests of the actors comprising the two ecosystems.

Selected Bibliography

  1. Carl von Clausewitz (1989). On War. Edited and translated by Michael Howard and Peter Paret. Princeton University Press.
  2. Lawrence Freedman (2013). Strategy: A History. Oxford University Press.
  3. International Institute for Strategic Studies (2026). The Military Balance 2026. Routledge, London.
  4. Stockholm International Peace Research Institute (2026). SIPRI Yearbook 2026: Armaments, Disarmament and International Security. Oxford University Press.
  5. Kiel Institute for the World Economy (2026). Ukraine Support Tracker. Kiel Institute for the World Economy.
  6. North Atlantic Treaty Organization (2026). Ankara Summit Declaration. NATO Public Diplomacy Division.
  7. European Commission (2024–2026). European Defence Industrial Strategy (EDIS); European Defence Industry Programme (EDIP); Readiness 2030.
  8. Royal United Services Institute (2022–2026). Jack Watling and co-authors. Series of studies on the war in Ukraine and its operational lessons.
  9. Center for Strategic and International Studies (2024–2026). Studies on the defence industrial base, supply chains, and military production in the context of the war in Ukraine.
  10. Russian International Affairs Council (2024–2026) and Tsinghua University (2024–2026). Selected studies on Sino-Russian strategic cooperation and transformations in the international environment.

Annex 1

The Strategic Ecosystem Model – A Framework for Analysing Contemporary Conflicts

The analysis presented in this study begins from the premise that the high-intensity conventional wars of the twenty-first century can no longer be understood exclusively through an assessment of the military capabilities of the states engaged in conflict. The experience of the war in Ukraine demonstrates that military power is only the visible expression of a far more complex system comprising economic, industrial, technological, financial, informational, and political resources capable of generating, sustaining, and regenerating the war effort over the long term.

In this context, we propose the use of the concept of the strategic ecosystem, defined as the aggregate of actors, institutions, mechanisms, and relationships that enable a state to generate, sustain, and regenerate the military power required to achieve its strategic objectives. Unlike traditional alliances, which are based primarily on political and military obligations, the strategic ecosystem also includes economic, industrial, financial, technological, informational, and social components that decisively influence the capacity to sustain a prolonged conflict.

The proposed model is based on seven fundamental components that remain in a state of permanent interdependence.

Political and strategic leadership establishes objectives, prioritizes resources, and ensures the coherence of the system as a whole. The quality of strategic decision-making influences the functioning of all the other components.

The economy and the financial system generate the resources required for the functioning of the state and the financing of the military effort. In modern conflicts, economic resilience and access to financial resources are factors at least as important as the size of the defence budget.

Industry and the technological base transform economic resources into military capabilities by ensuring the production, modernization, and regeneration of the weapons, ammunition, and equipment required for military operations.

Energy and critical infrastructure constitute the material foundation of the entire ecosystem. The functioning of industry, transport, communications, and logistics depends on the security of these infrastructures, which is why they have become priority targets in contemporary conflicts.

The armed forces and the logistical system constitute the executive component of the strategic ecosystem. They transform the resources provided by the other components into concrete military effects on the battlefield.

Information, cyberspace, and communications enable situational awareness, the protection of one’s own system, and the influencing of the adversary. Today, information superiority and the ability to integrate data represent essential multipliers of military power.

Society, political will, and the network of alliances and partnerships provide the ecosystem with legitimacy, resilience, and strategic depth. Public support, mobilization capacity, and the existence of partners capable of supplementing national resources decisively influence the duration and outcome of a war of attrition.

These seven components do not operate independently. They form an integrated system in which the degradation of one component produces effects throughout the entire ecosystem. For this reason, in contemporary conflicts the strategic objective is no longer exclusively the destruction of the adversary’s armed forces, but also the degradation of the ecosystem’s capacity to generate and regenerate military power.

From this perspective, the war in Ukraine illustrates the transition from competition between armed forces to competition between strategic ecosystems. Both the Russian Federation and Ukraine seek not only to obtain tactical advantages on the battlefield, but also to systematically degrade the adversary’s ability to produce weapons, finance the war, protect critical infrastructure, maintain political cohesion, and continue benefiting from the support of its external ecosystem.

The proposed model is not limited to the Russia–Ukraine conflict. It may also serve as an analytical instrument for other contemporary strategic competitions, including relations between the United States and China, tensions in the Indo-Pacific, or potential high-intensity regional conflicts. In all these situations, an exclusive assessment of military capabilities provides only a partial picture. Understanding the strategic ecosystem makes it possible to identify both the real sources of power and the vulnerabilities that may decisively influence the course of a conflict.

Consequently, we consider that in the wars of the twenty-first century, strategic advantage will not belong exclusively to the actor possessing the greatest military capabilities, but to the one whose strategic ecosystem demonstrates the greatest capacity for adaptation, regeneration, and the preservation of political will over the long term.

Annex 2

Economic Warfare and the Attack on the Strategic Ecosystem – A Perspective from Western Strategic Literature

The transformation of contemporary conflicts has led to the emergence of new approaches to achieving strategic advantage in protracted warfare. Whereas classical military literature placed primary emphasis on the destruction of the adversary’s armed forces and the occupation of territory, a growing body of recent analysis has shifted the centre of gravity toward degrading the economic, industrial, and institutional system that enables a state to sustain its war effort.

A relevant example is the analysis published in July 2026 by the American legal scholar and researcher Eric Engle, entitled Victory Without Fighting: Economic Warfare Against Russia, presented as a companion paper to his work Ukraine Will Win: Here’s How. The author argues that Ukraine’s strategic success should not be pursued solely through the military attrition of the Russian Federation, but through the progressive degradation of the economic and financial mechanisms that sustain its war effort.

Within this framework, economic warfare becomes a genuine theatre of operations. The objective is no longer the direct destruction of the adversary’s armed forces, but the erosion of the state’s ability to finance military production, preserve the stability of its financial system, sustain its defence industry, and maintain the cohesion of its political and economic elites. The author proposes a phased model that includes intensifying pressure on energy revenues, restricting access to financial resources, increasing vulnerabilities within the banking system, conducting cyber and information operations, and implementing measures designed to undermine confidence in the functioning of the Russian economy.

From a conceptual perspective, this approach is particularly significant because it confirms the growing tendency to expand warfare beyond its strictly military dimension. In essence, the objective is no longer the defeat of the opposing armed forces, but the degradation of the ecosystem that generates and sustains military power. Although the author does not explicitly employ the concept of a strategic ecosystem, the logic of his analysis clearly converges with this perspective.

Nevertheless, some of Eric Engle’s proposed solutions should be approached with caution. Scenarios such as deliberately triggering banking crises, destabilizing the national currency, provoking financial panic, or facilitating regime change involve a very high degree of uncertainty and would be difficult to implement in practice. They also tend to underestimate the adaptability of Russia’s political and economic system, the extensive degree of state control over its principal financial institutions, and the indirect support provided by external partners such as China.

Moreover, the analysis pays only limited attention to the role of external actors contributing to the resilience of the Russian Federation. Russia’s capacity to adapt its economy and defence industry cannot be explained exclusively through internal mechanisms; it must also be analysed in the context of its economic and technological relationships with China, North Korea, Iran, and other partners. From this perspective, an assessment based solely on internal vulnerabilities provides an incomplete picture of Russia’s actual capacity for strategic regeneration.

Nevertheless, Eric Engle’s study has the important merit of illustrating a significant evolution in Western strategic thinking. It demonstrates that the focus of strategic analysis is gradually shifting from the assessment of military capabilities to the evaluation of the economic, industrial, technological, and informational mechanisms that sustain the war effort. This change in perspective confirms that contemporary wars are becoming less competitions between armies and increasingly competitions between complex systems capable of generating and regenerating military power.

From the perspective of the model proposed in the present study, Eric Engle’s article may be interpreted as a relevant example of the growing tendency to employ economic warfare as a means of degrading the adversary’s strategic ecosystem. The difference lies in the fact that the present study proposes a broader analytical framework in which the economy represents only one component of the strategic ecosystem, alongside industry, technology, energy, critical infrastructure, information, political leadership, society, and the network of alliances and partnerships.

Viewed from this perspective, Eric Engle’s analysis may be regarded as a specific application of a broader phenomenon. The strategic ecosystem model proposed in this study provides a more comprehensive analytical framework in which economic warfare constitutes only one of the means by which a state’s capacity to generate and regenerate military power may be degraded. The economy, industry, technology, energy, critical infrastructure, information, political leadership, and the network of alliances together form an integrated system whose functioning ultimately determines a state’s strategic resilience.Partea superioară a formularului Partea inferioară a formularului. 



About the author:  Corneliu Pivariu is a highly decorated two-star general of the Romanian army (Rtd). He has founded and led one of the most influential magazines on geopolitics and international relations in Eastern Europe, the bilingual journal Geostrategic Pulse, for two decades. General Pivariu is a member of IFIMES Advisory Board. 

The article presents the stance of the author and does not necessarily reflect the stance of IFIMES. 


  1. IFIMES – International Institute for Middle East and Balkan Studies, based in Ljubljana, Slovenia, has a special consultative status with the United Nations Economic and Social Council ECOSOC/UN in New York since 2018, and it is the publisher of the international scientific journal “European Perspectives.” Available at: https://www.europeanperspectives.org/en
  2. Relevant examples of dual-use goods identified by Western authorities include high-performance microprocessors, electronic components, computer numerical control (CNC) machine tools, optoelectronic equipment, sensors, precision bearings, and composite materials used in both civilian industries and the production of weapons and military systems
  1. During 2025–2026, military-technological cooperation between China and the Russian Federation expanded significantly through the establishment of permanent mechanisms for dialogue and cooperation in areas such as the aerospace industry, satellite navigation (BeiDou–GLONASS), artificial intelligence, quantum technologies, naval construction, and the development of dual-use technologies. Beyond individual projects, the most significant trend has been the transition from commercial cooperation to technological and industrial coordination with long-term strategic implications.
  2. Many military analysts consider the war in Ukraine to be the first high-intensity conventional conflict in which drones, electronic warfare, satellite communications, and the latest generation of Western military systems have been employed on a large scale, providing an unprecedented volume of operational lessons for all major powers.
  3. Western assessments published between 2024 and 2026 estimate that Pyongyang supplied the Russian Federation with millions of artillery shells, missiles, and other categories of ammunition compatible with Soviet-designed weapon systems still employed by the Russian armed forces. Although estimates vary among sources, there is broad consensus that North Korea has become Russia’s principal external supplier of conventional ammunition.
  4. Neither the Russian nor the North Korean authorities have officially confirmed the scale of this cooperation. Nevertheless, numerous Western and South Korean assessments indicate the deployment of North Korean contingents assigned to support, training, security, and, in certain cases, limited operational missions.
  5. Beginning in 2023, Russia developed domestic production capacity for drones derived from the Iranian Shahed-136 design (designated Geran-2 in Russian service), progressively adapting the original platform while significantly increasing production rates. Consequently, Russo-Iranian cooperation evolved from the simple transfer of equipment to technology transfer, licensed production, and the joint development of operational solutions.
  6. The information superiority provided by the United States is based on the integration of multiple categories of capabilities: constellations of military and commercial satellites, including the Starlink network, which provides resilient communications and rapid data transmission; space-, airborne-, and electronically based surveillance and reconnaissance assets; early warning systems for missile launches; and the capability to fuse and analyse information from multiple sources (multi-source intelligence). Together, these systems provide Ukraine with a decision-making and operational advantage that is difficult to match.
  7. In addition to supplying systems such as Patriot, HIMARS, ATACMS, precision-guided munitions, and other advanced equipment, the United States has also provided personnel training, integration into Ukraine’s command-and-control architecture, maintenance, software updates, and logistical support. Experience from the conflict demonstrates that the effectiveness of a modern weapon system depends as much on the technical and information ecosystem supporting it as on the system itself.
  8. This integrating role is performed through the coordination of international support mechanisms for Ukraine—most notably the Ukraine Defense Contact Group (the Ramstein Format)—by harmonizing arms deliveries, coordinating training, facilitating intelligence sharing, and integrating the contributions of Ukraine’s numerous international partners.
  9. Since the launch of Russia’s full-scale invasion in February 2022 and until mid-2026, the European Union and its Member States (Team Europe) have mobilized approximately €215 billion in support of Ukraine, becoming the principal provider of financial, economic, military, and humanitarian assistance. Of this amount, approximately €110 billion represents economic, financial, and humanitarian support; around €77 billionconsists of military assistance; and approximately €17 billion has been allocated to supporting Ukrainian refugees hosted by EU Member States. Additional mechanisms, including the Ukraine Support Loan and the use of revenues generated from immobilized Russian assets, further reinforce this effort. The new European Ukraine Support Loan mechanism alone provides €90 billion for the period 2026–2027, of which approximately €60 billion is earmarked for defence and €30 billion for budgetary support and the functioning of the Ukrainian state. For 2026 alone, up to €45 billion has been approved, including €28.3 billion for the development of Ukraine’s defence industrial capabilities. 
  10. The Coalition of the Willing is a political initiative launched on 17 February 2025 by France and the United Kingdom in response to the need to prepare credible security guarantees for Ukraine following the cessation of hostilities. Unlike NATO or the European Union, the Coalition is neither an international organization nor based on a founding treaty. Rather, it constitutes a flexible framework for political and military cooperation among states willing to contribute voluntarily to the security of Ukraine and Europe.
  11. At the Paris meeting of 13 July 2026, the Coalition of the Willing comprised 37 states and was coordinated by France and the United Kingdom. Most participants are members of both NATO and the European Union, although the format also includes states belonging to only one of these organizations or to neither. The United Kingdom, Canada, Norway, Iceland, Türkiye, and Albania are NATO members but not members of the European Union; Austria, Ireland, and Cyprus are members of the European Union but not NATO; while Ukraine, the Republic of Moldova, Australia, Japan, and New Zealand belong to neither organization. Hungary and Slovakia did not join the Coalition, citing reservations regarding the expansion of military support for Ukraine.
  12. Among the principal decisions announced at the 13 July 2026 meeting were: the launch of a European coalition for the development of a common ballistic missile defence architecture; intensified support for Ukraine’s air defence; expanded defence-industrial cooperation, including the participation of the United Kingdom in European defence-industrial financing mechanisms; preparations for exercises involving the future Multinational Force for Ukraine; enhanced cooperation in cybersecurity and the protection of critical infrastructure; and the reaffirmation of the commitment to robust security guarantees for Ukraine in the event of a future ceasefire agreement.
  13. The Fifth Ukraine–Southeast Europe Summit brought together the Presidents of Ukraine, Albania, Greece, the Republic of Moldova, and Romania; the Prime Ministers of Croatia and Slovenia; the First Deputy Prime Minister and Minister for European Affairs of North Macedonia; the Deputy Prime Minister for European and Foreign Affairs of Montenegro; and the Minister of Foreign Affairs of Bulgaria, in the presence of the President of the European Commission, Ursula von der Leyen. Bulgaria was represented by Foreign Minister Velislava Petrova-Chamova, although Prime Minister Rumen Radev had announced the previous day Bulgaria’s withdrawal from the Coalition of the Willing. Sofia’s participation in the Summit confirms that this decision concerns exclusively the Coalition’s ad hoc format and does not alter Bulgaria’s support for regional dialogue or the political process concerning Ukraine.
  14. According to the Ukraine Support Tracker of the Kiel Institute for the World Economy, between February 2022 and mid-2026 total international commitments in support of Ukraine exceeded €330 billion, with the European Union and its Member States representing the largest aggregate contributor, while the United States remained the single largest provider of military assistance.
  15. Unlike Western support, which is publicly quantified and reported, the value of the support provided to the Russian Federation by China, North Korea, and Iran cannot be estimated with the same degree of precision, as a significant share consists of technology transfers, dual-use goods, ammunition, and industrial cooperation. Nevertheless, some components have been estimated: between September 2023 and February 2024, North Korean deliveries of ammunition and missiles to Russia were valued at approximately USD 4.3–4.8 billion, while contracts for the acquisition of Iranian weapon systems have been estimated at approximately USD 2.7 billion. In China’s case, support is provided primarily through trade, dual-use goods, and assistance to Russia’s industrial base, without any official aggregate financial assessment.

About IFIMES

IFIMES – International Institute for Middle-East and Balkan studies, based in Ljubljana, Slovenia, has special consultative status with the Economic and Social Council ECOSOC/UN since 2018. IFIMES is also the publisher of the biannual international scientific journal European Perspectives. IFIMES gathers and selects various information and sources on key conflict areas in the world. The Institute analyses mutual relations among parties with an aim to promote the importance of reconciliation, early prevention/preventive diplomacy and disarmament/ confidence building measures in the regional or global conflict resolution of the existing conflicts and the role of preventive actions against new global disputes.

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