The number of people exposed to extreme heat is growing exponentially due to climate change in all world regions. Heat-related mortality for people over 65 years of age increased by approximately 85% during 2000–2004 and 2017–2021.

From 2000–2019, studies show about 489,000 heat-related deaths occurred each year, with 45% of these in Asia and 36% in Europe. In Europe alone in the summer of 2022, an estimated 61,672 heat-related excess deaths occurred. High-intensity heat wave events can bring high acute mortality; in 2003, 70,000 people in Europe died as a result of the June–August event. In 2010, 56,000 excess deaths occurred during a 44–day heat wave in Russia.

Birds are falling out of the sky due to the heat. Reptiles come out seeking shade. Mammals and other wild animals are affected by a severe water shortage. Yet all of this less and less transforms into fresh news nowadays.

But with drought, one day comes food scarcity. Not only for the animals. And it will become a piece of news all the same.

Can humans do something with an immediate effect to prevent at least the food deficit?

Well, they already do it with cloud seeding.

A Brief History of Cloud Seeding

Some states manipulate clouds using a technique called ‘cloud seeding.’ The first cloud seeding techniques date back to the 1940s and involve making clouds merge and grow. This method has evolved into coalescing the particles inside clouds, which fall on the earth drawing down with them other particles encountered on the way, thus making rain or snow. To achieve this, substances had to be artificially introduced into the cloud, most often silver iodide, but various other techniques still exist. Some states also desalinate ocean or seawater, but it is a more expensive approach.

Cloud seeding before being elevated to a geo-engineering technique to combat climate change has gone through a reputation marring. The United States used the technique in the Vietnam War to slow the advance of opposing troops by causing flooding. In 1976, in response to the same use, the United Nations banned environmental modification techniques for military purposes with the ENMOD Convention. From that date onwards, it was forbidden to rain down clouds for ‘hostile’ purposes. However, the hostile nature of manipulation is sometimes difficult to demonstrate; in 1986, the USSR was said to have seeded clouds following the Chernobyl accident to make it rain over Belarus and thus protect Moscow from radioactive rain.

Later came the incidents of ‘stolen clouds.’ In 2011, Iran accused Europe that it had stolen its clouds and afterward in 2018, the story was repeated by an Iranian army general who blamed Israel. The latter case was more dramatic and approached a conflict situation because, in 2018, there was a severe drought in the country and the local farmers were protesting vehemently. Luckily, the head of the Iranian meteorology office intervened by denying the possibility of stolen clouds, which likely helped defuse the conflict. Nevertheless, Iran once again accused Turkey that it also was appropriating its clouds during a recent winter, as the mountain peaks on the Turkish side of their mutual border were snowy while the Iranian peaks on the opposite side were bare, allowing Turkey to attract more tourists.

Today, a country can do whatever it wants with the clouds that cross its airspace, and in many countries, research programs and experiments are multiplying. China has invested colossal sums of money into these techniques, to influence the weather during the Beijing Olympics in 2008, for example, or to combat drought. In 2020, it announced its intention to deploy its cloud seeding program, which until then had been tested on a very targeted basis, over half of its territory by 2025, with the aim of avoiding the droughts and hailstorms that can affect its agricultural production. The Gulf States are also applying seeding techniques using electric discharges in clouds. In France, an association called ANELFA is developing research in this field, with the aim of combating the hail that damages vineyards.

Not Without Its Controversies

In a podcast recorded for France Culture, the writer Mathieu Simonet and the climatologist Olivier Boucher point out that, for the time being, the effectiveness of cloud manipulating techniques remains highly controversial. For one, it is extremely difficult to know whether rain from a seeded cloud would not have existed without seeding.

The techniques raise two important questions for the future. The first concerns the ownership of water resources. While it may seem a trivial subject today, as water resources become scarce over time, there might be a risk of water conflict between neighboring countries over which ‘owns’ the rain. Indeed, if a country decides to ‘make it rain’ on its territory, it may be ‘stealing’ rain that would have fallen later in a neighboring country.

The second question concerns the environmental and health impacts of the substances being used to seed clouds. In large quantities, silver iodide is dangerous for biodiversity, particularly in aquatic environments. An English study carried out by the Centre for Ecology and Hydrology in the early 2000s revealed that silver iodide, below a certain concentration, is not toxic for the environment, but the substance is described as “extremely insoluble.” The risk is therefore that it accumulates and can be harmful over the long term. This obviously can make things more urgent than a creeping food deficit.

Today there are about 50 states which manipulate clouds to ensure ‘ordered’ rain. China has invested $1 billion only for five years in processing clouds. Experiments with cloud seeding are regularly made in the United States, Canada, Gulf countries, France, and Israel, just to name a few.

One proposed method to mitigate global warming with immediate effect is the making of something as a protective coat around the Earth. However, there are opinions that if it were to happen one day, a side effect of it would be nothing less than the disappearance of the blue sky. Here poetry and politics converge. But is that for a good reason when any hope for a prospective disrupting innovation is primarily precluded?

The Water Wars of Tomorrow

Looking 100 years into the future, technologies related to cloud seeding will be undoubtedly highly advanced and at that point, barring a global regime outlining their rightful use, the richest countries, would be able to invest most heavily and ultimately control the clouds.

Apart from everything else, a fundamental problem remains with cloud seeding. The technique works – to the extent that its effects can actually be set apart from natural processes – when there are clouds. But what about if there are no clouds in the sky? What will be squeezed then to make rain? And what can guarantee that the available clouds will always be able to deliver as much as is necessary for crops? Further, even if a cloud is seeded successfully, it does not mean that the rain or the snow will fall exactly on the spot where it is wanted.

And finally, with regard to the expensive process of desalinization, this establishes economic and political dependencies for countries that have no direct access to oceans and seas. How could cloud seeding thus be applied effectively and equitably in a world of growing politico-economic hostilities and fragmentation?

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Climate change is forcing people to flee their homes on an unimaginable scale. According to the Internal Displacement Monitoring Centre, an estimated 30.7 million people were displaced by natural disasters in 2020 alone. This figure is expected to rise as climate change increases the frequency and intensity of such events. Low-lying coastal areas, small island nations, and regions prone to drought and desertification are particularly vulnerable, with millions of people facing the prospect of permanent relocation.

Climate migration raises some of the most fundamental ethical and legal questions. While climate migrants are not like the conventional refugees who run away from conflict or persecution, they lack proper legal protection at the current moment. The 1951 Refugee Convention does not include environmental factors as a basis for seeking asylum, and thus climate migrants are in a vulnerable legal position. This gap points to the importance of the development of an international legal regime that would cater for the needs of climate displaced populations.

Moreover, climate migration is most prevalent among the global population’s least privileged and responsible for emitting the least greenhouse gases. This situation brings forth some of the most pertinent ethical questions in terms of responsibility and justice. The developed countries that have contributed most to the emissions have to be at the forefront in funding climate change adaptation and offering safe refuge to displaced persons.

International organizations need to take the lead in efforts to address climate-induced migration. The United Nations, for example, in the Global Compact for Safe, Orderly, and Regular Migration has started considering environmental aspects of migration. But stronger actions are required to guarantee that climate migrants will be protected and assisted properly.

Regional bodies can also play a crucial role. For example, the Pacific Islands Forum has advocated for regional agreements that facilitate the relocation of communities affected by rising sea levels. Such frameworks can serve as models for other regions facing similar challenges.

Climate migration is not something that can be solved by a single strategy; it has to be solved through adaptation and mitigation. Adaptation entails the strengthening of the ability of communities to cope with climate effects, which in effect reduces the number of people who will have to be relocated. This can involve spending on physical capital, information systems, and sound methods of farming. Whereas, mitigation deals with the effects of climate change and seeks to minimize the effects that are likely to be experienced in future. In this regard, there is a need for international cooperation where countries collaborate to meet the goals of the Paris Agreement. Therefore, by reducing emissions, the international society can prevent the long-term causes of climate migration.

At the heart of any approach to climate migration must be respect for human rights and human dignity. Displaced people and communities should not only be viewed as ‘victims,’ but as agents with important experience and capabilities. Policies should enable them to be productive members of their new societies and facilitate their economic assimilation into society.

Climate migration is an urgent and complex challenge that demands immediate and coordinated action from the international community. As John Stuart Mill’s cautionary words remind us, empowering individuals and nations to address this crisis with creativity and determination is crucial. In navigating this new wave of global displacement, the path to our salvation lies in recognizing our shared humanity and collective responsibility. Will the international community rise to the occasion, or will we allow the climate crisis to dwarf our common potential? The choices we make today will shape the future of millions and define the legacy of our generation.

The views expressed in this article belong to the author(s) alone and do not necessarily reflect those of Geopoliticalmonitor.com.

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What is a drone swarm?

Drone swarm technology involves coordinating groups of three to thousands of drones to execute missions collectively with minimal human intervention. Compared to single drones, swarms offer enhanced efficiency and resilience, performing multiple tasks simultaneously and remaining on mission when individual drones fail. A swarm can be controlled in various ways, including preprogrammed missions with specific flight paths, centralized control from a ground station or a single control drone, and distributed control where drones communicate and collaborate using shared information (fully autonomous). More sophisticated control techniques involve swarm intelligence, inspired by the collective behavior of insects and birds, and artificial intelligence to enable drone swarms to adapt to new or unforeseen situations.

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The UNCLOS treaty boasts a membership of 168 countries, along with the European Union. Additionally, 14 United Nations Member States have signed UNCLOS but have yet to ratify it. Notably, only 16 United Nations Member and Observer States have refrained from both signing and ratifying UNCLOS. Among them is the United States of America, which has signed but not ratified the treaty.

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The rise of AI in the military domain is rapidly changing the face of warfare, as AI-enabled weapon systems potentially diminish the meaningful role of human decision-making. As defined by Nils Adler (2023) in an article publish by Al Jazeera English “autonomous weapon systems can identify their targets and decide to launch an attack on their own, without a human directing or controlling the trigger.” There is a global consensus that “cutting-edge AI systems herald strategic advantages, but also risk unforeseen disruptions in global regulatory and norms-based regimes governing armed conflicts.”

Experts and scholars believe that AI-enabled weapon systems will have a major impact on warfare, as the full-autonomy of weapon systems would negate battlefield norms established over the course of centuries. According to the European Research Council (ERC), “militaries around the world currently use more than 130 weapon systems which can autonomously track and engage with their targets.”

Despite advancements in this domain, there is no globally agreed definition on what constitutes a lethal autonomous weapon system; the question of autonomy on the battlefield remains subject to interpretation. The US Department of Defense (DOD) defines LAWS as “weapon systems that once activated, can select and engage targets without further intervention by a human operator.”  Such a concept of autonomy in weapon systems is also known as ‘human out of the loop’ or ‘full autonomy.’ In a fully autonomous weapon system, targets are selected by the machine on the basis of input from AI, facial recognition, and big data analytics, without any human crew.

Another category of autonomy in weapon systems is semi-autonomous or ‘human in the loop’ weapon systems. Such weapons are self-guided bombs and missile defence systems that have existed for decades.

The rapid advancement in the use of LAWS has created the need to develop a regulatory framework for the governance of these new weapon systems. Accordingly, various states have agreed to enter into negotiations to regulate and possibly prohibit LAWS. The United Nations Convention on Certain Conventional Weapons (UN CCW) has made several efforts in this direction by initiating an international dialogue on LAWS since 2014. The Sixth Review Conference of UN CCW in December 2021 was concluded with no positive outcome on the legal mechanism and an agreement on international norms governing the use of LAWS. Despite the stalemate, there was consensus that talks should continue.

In 2016, a Group of Governmental Experts (UN GGE) was also established with the mandate to discuss and regulate LAWS. But the participating countries have yet to make headway on a legal framework to regulate and proscribe the development, deployment, and the use of LAWS.

As the world advances in the use of AI in the military domain, states have moved to take divergent position in the UN CCW on the question of development and use of LAWS. Incidentally, certain countries would only find it in their interest to sit down for arms control measures once they have achieved a certain degree of technological advancement in this domain.

It should be noted that major powers such as the United States, China, Russia, and the European Union (EU) either do not outright prohibit or have sought to maintain ambiguity on the matter of autonomous weapons. A US Congressional Research Service report, updated in February 2024, highlighted that “the United States currently does not have LAWS in its inventory, but the country may be compelled to develop LAWS in the future if its competitors choose to do so.”

China is the only P-5 country in the UN CCW calling for a ban on LAWS, stressing the need for a binding protocol to govern these weapon systems. China at the UN CCW debates has maintained that “the characteristics of LAWS are not in accordance with the principles of international humanitarian law (IHL), as these weapon systems promote the fear of an arms race and the threat of an uncontrollable warfare.”

Russia remains an active participant in discussions at the UN CCW, opposing legally binding instruments prohibiting the development and use of LAWS.

The EU has adopted a position in accordance with IHL which applies to all weapon systems. The EU statement at GGE’s meeting in March 2019 stressed the centrality of human control on the weapon systems. EU maintains that human control over the decision to employ lethal force should always be retained.

World leaders, researchers, and technology leaders have raised concerns that the development and use of LAWS will adversely impact international peace and security. In March 2023, leaders in various high-tech fields signed a letter calling for a halt in the development of emerging technologies for the next six months. The letter warned of the potential dangers to society and humanity as the tech giants race to develop fully autonomous programs.

History reminds us that a virtual monopoly on technological development can never be maintained and upheld for long. In the 1940s, for example, when the United States developed a nuclear bomb under the Manhattan Project, other powers caught up and built their own bomb. However, it took more than two decades for the global community to formalize an agreement to prohibit the proliferation of nuclear weapons, known as the Nuclear Non-Proliferation Treaty (NPT).

The unregulated growth and proliferation of LAWS threatens to unleash a new era of warfare fueled by autonomous platforms, compromising human dignity, civilian protection, and the safety of non-combatants. Henceforth, there is a need for states to find common ground to regulate and formalize an understanding of human control over the use of force. Global values, ethics, and rules of warfare that have guided humanity over the last two thousand years remain imperative for upholding international peace and security.

The views expressed in this article belong to the authors alone and do not necessarily reflect those of Geopoliticalmonitor.com.

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Beijing’s new focus on a smaller, smarter, and greener Belt and Road Initiative (BRI) and the West’s commitment to infrastructure adhering to ESG standards could, in theory, help turn a new generation of roads, railways, dams and ports into economic assets that effectively mitigate debt, corruption and environment risks.

There is a huge global infrastructure investment gap.  Among developing nations, it’s particularly acute, making it hard to tackle the demands and challenges of rapid population growth. Moreover, the funding shortfall limits these countries’ financial prospects at best, deepening poverty and, ultimately, threatening to destabilize them at worst.

Just over ten years ago, Beijing recognized the investment need – and, its critics would argue, the economic and political influence that addressing the need could leverage. China became the developing world’s biggest lender, largely through the BRI, whose membership runs to over 150 countries, more than a dozen of them EU states. But some recipients of loans have struggled to repay. As of October, member countries owed more than $300 billion dollars to the Import-Export Bank of China, according to Chinese officials.

At the same time, the Chinese economy has cooled, leaving less room for foreign expenditure. And, as their own economic circumstances have worsened, there are signs that some Chinese are beginning to question the merits of spending billions abroad.  Against this background, investment in the BRI has declined significantly. Long critical of its lack of transparency and debt implications, and concerned over the geopolitical influence it allows China to wield, the West has now sensed an opportunity to roll out rival infrastructure schemes.

Launched with great fanfare in 2013, the BRI was intended to present China as a champion of the developing world, though there was an important domestic economic driver too. The country needed to secure new markets for excess capacity after the global financial crash when Beijing invested heavily to stimulate in its own economy (China now has a substantial trade surplus with BRI members). The BRI has also been seen as a means of promoting Beijing’s authoritarian model of governance and advancing its geostrategic goals, primarily by shifting countries out of America’s sphere of influence.

Under the BRI, Beijing has loaned around one trillion dollars to low- and middle-income economies to develop sectors such as transport, logistics, utilities and energy. As part of the initiative,  health and education programs have also been pursued. Infrastructure outcomes have been mixed. Many BRI signatory states have benefited substantially, particularly in Southeast Asia. Yet a sizeable minority of infrastructure projects, reports AidData, have experienced major implementation problems (including corruption, labor violations, and environmental hazards).

While a significant number of BRI countries have fallen into heavy debt, requiring bailouts from China,  there is limited evidence to suggest that Beijing is engaged in debt-trap diplomacy, essentially the claim that it looks for economic concessions from countries struggling to repay loans. Indeed, in recent years it has sought to  de-risk or future-proof investments, by putting in place “stronger loan repayment and project implementation guardrails,” according to Brad Parks, the executive director of AidData.

At the third Belt and Road Forum in October, China said it would commit more than $100 billion for what looks like a rebranding of the BRI – notably coinciding with an uptick in BRI expenditure last year, the highest since 2018.  Beijing seems to have acknowledged that the problems that have dogged the BRI should be addressed if it is to be credible. And the rebrand has not come out of the blue, seemingly building on efforts in previous years to make the BRI more sustainable  through a series of green policies and guidelines.

In the new iteration of the BRI,  provision will be made for big-ticket and “small yet smart” infrastructure, including green and low-carbon energy projects, with signs of possibly a more cautious financing approach, says China Dialogue. Also there’s a new emphasis on host country agency; an effort to combat the narrative that BRI projects directly benefit China. And to address integrity and compliance issues, companies participating in projects will come under closer scrutiny.

The rebranding of the BRI has emerged as the West attempts to give developing countries alternative options. The European Union’s Global Gateway, launched in 2021, aims to raise up to 300 billion euros of public and private funds for sustainable and high-quality infrastructure projects, which comply with social and environmental standards.

As of October, 89 projects have got under way globally, with 66 billion euros so far committed. The same month, the European Commission chief Ursula von der Leyen was very clear about the purpose of the Global Gateway, insisting it was about “better choices” for developing nations. “For many countries around the world, investment options are not only limited, but they all come with a lot of small print, and sometimes with a very high price,” she said.

In 2022, the US and its G7 allies formally launched the Partnership for Global Infrastructure and Investment (PGII), which is looking to mobilize 600 billion US dollars of public and private investment  for quality, sustainable infrastructure.  Its two signature projects are transport corridors, one linking India, the Arabian Gulf, and Europe, the other in Africa connecting Angola, Zambia, and the Democratic Republic of Congo. The PGII, like Global Gateway, makes no bones about its intentions. It says it offers “a positive alternative to models of infrastructure financing and delivery that are often opaque, fail to uphold environmental and social standards, exploit workers, and leave the recipient countries worse off.”

While Western attempts to lower the risks associated with large infrastructure projects is a step in the right direction, doubts remain about the feasibility of these initiatives.  Amid the global slowdown, will creditor governments be able to raise the funds needed?  And will the schemes attract sufficient private investors if investment-recipient countries are politically and financially unstable, raising ROI uncertainty? Moreover, it might turn out to be hard to identify and then deliver projects that adhere to high ESG standards.

At the same time, questions could also be raised about China’s infrastructure rebrand. Developing nations that have had bad experiences of the BRI may wonder whether there’s any real substance behind the new offering.  Not least those that have incurred big debts – once bitten, twice shy. And countries concerned about the BRI pushing them further into China’s sphere of influence might also have second thoughts, especially if there are more attractive Western projects on the table.

While the geopolitical rivals’ schemes have their doubters, it must be said that the West’s recognition of the sustainable infrastructure needs of the developing world and China’s apparent willingness to draw lessons from the past are positive moves. Emerging economies will now have choices, at least. Previously, there would have been few if they turned down Chinese overtures. Moreover, a decade after the launch of the BRI, they will be – or should be – more aware of, and better able to assess, the relative merits and potential pitfalls of big infrastructure projects.

Yigal Chazan is an international affairs journalist, with a special interest and expertise in geoeconomics.

The views expressed in this article belong to the authors alone and do not necessarily reflect those of Geopoliticalmonitor.com.

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Although a military conflict is unlikely, Russia’s ambitious plans for the Arctic force the region’s other states to reconsider Russian thinking about how to manage potential points of tension. The Arctic Ocean’s continental shelves are one such issue.

At a December public forum in St. Petersburg, Admiral Nikolay Yevmenov, head of the Russian navy, spoke of a “full-scale development beyond the 200-mile limit” of the Russian Exclusive Economic Zone in the Arctic Ocean. What I am translating as “development” here is the Russian word освоение, a word that bears multiple translations, extending from development to mastery to expansion, often with an economic angle. Elsewhere, it is translated as “take-over” or “expansion.” The context in which he spoke it was in relation to the Arctic as a “strategic resource base” of economic development.

In his remarks, Yevmenov closely ties that economic development to the defense of sovereignty and territorial integrity in relation to that resource base, displaying how closely national security, defense and economics are intertwined in Russian economic thinking about the Arctic.

His words were fully in line with the body of strategic thinking that the Russian Federation under President Vladimir Putin has established since 2020. What we find in them does not sit comfortably with the concept of an “A5” of Arctic Ocean littoral states working together to settle jurisdictional questions diplomatically, a concept captured in the 2008 Ilulisat Declaration signed by Canada, the Kingdom of Denmark (for Greenland), Norway, Russia and the United States.

A careful unpacking of Russia’s evolving approach to international law and relations in the Arctic is in order.

First, we should take a step back to look at what is at stake. Demarcating the jurisdictional map of the far northern continental shelf has so far been largely a matter of science, in accordance with requirements the United Nation’s Convention on the Law of the Sea. Briefly put, its Article 76 permits a country to extend past its 200-mile exclusive economic zone to the margins of the continental shelf should it be demonstrated its physical characteristics are continuous. That demarcation comes with rights to exploit resources in that expanded zone.

Canada, Denmark and Russia have all submitted the data underlying their respective claims to the UN’s Commission on the Limits of the Continental Shelf, which rules on the integrity of the science. (The United States, not a signatory to the Law of the Sea, released its claim in fall 2023.) The commission ruled in 2023 that most of Russia’s submission was valid. Canada’s and Denmark’s claims are only likely to be pronounced upon later this decade or early next. As of now, Canada, Denmark and Russia claim some of the same places in the central Arctic Ocean, concentrated along the Lomonosov Ridge.

Once the commission has ruled, a situation may emerge where all three have empirically justified claims to the same part of the shelf. If so, the final jurisdictional boundaries are agreed upon bilaterally. Canada-Denmark negotiations may not be easy, but however cool-minded they are, they will also be more or less amicable, and strictly at the negotiating table. A precedent for that is the settling of boundary disputes on Hans/Tartupaluk Island and in the Labrador Sea they concluded in 2022.

So, what about Russia? There is good reason to think that Russia will be less than an amicable negotiator and not leave it to the diplomats alone.

Here it is important to look at what the Russian leadership is saying on the matter. Useful resources are its main strategic documents, released over the last four years. The 2023 Foreign Policy Concept, the 2023 amendments to the 2020 Arctic Strategy, the 2022 Maritime Doctrine and the 2021 National Security Strategy reveal that Russia indeed thinks that it has a lot at stake. Canada, Denmark and the United States should take these seriously and prepare accordingly.

To start, these documents make clear that the Arctic Ocean and its continental shelves are an integral part of Russia’s geopolitics and prosperity. The Russian position is committed to exercising an extended jurisdiction on the Arctic Ocean’s continental shelf. Significantly, the National Security Strategy identifies the military’s defense of the continental shelf as a priority, a “goal of state security,” which dovetails with the document’s emphasis on resource exploitation rights as a function of national security and the general priority of the Arctic region in this regard.

The Maritime Doctrine lists the Arctic as the top priority of maritime strategy and is outspoken on Russian interests beyond its exclusive economic zone to the continental shelf and the delimitation of maritime boundaries under international law. The Foreign Policy Concept says that Russia will “step up” (Russian: активизации) the delineating of these borders in a region it identifies as the second most important after the countries of central Asia and eastern Europe, and what it calls the “near abroad.”

These statements fit into a process of geopolitical transformation Russia is trying to undertake to turn into a coastal Eurasian power, defined as much by its northern maritime edge as its terrestrial land mass. While the Arctic has long been touted as central to Russian identity, global warming is opening sea lanes that also conveniently enable Russia’s pivot to Asia, accelerated by the precarious relations with Europe.

This vision of Arctic coastal Russia is closely tied to its prosperity agenda. The region had already been an important part of economic planning. Now it is coming to be seen as the linchpin of future economic development. The Maritime Doctrine describes the Arctic Ocean as the only “vital” ocean to national interests, with its socio-economic development a “decisive condition” for future prosperity. Seabed resources on the continental shelf, it claims, are “predetermined” to be essential to alleviating depleted terrestrial deposits (itself a questionable claim).

Into this mix the strategies assess a sharply competitive, sometimes violent international context, including in the Arctic. The strategic documents describe the other Arctic countries as exhibiting varying degrees of hostility to Russia. The Foreign Policy Concept (Section 50.2, for instance), accuses the other Arctic countries of “militarizing” the region — conveniently ignoring Russia’s own steady modernization of its armed forces in its north.

Russia then goes on to state it will “counteract unfriendly states’ … militarization of the region.” The United States and its allies are pursuing an explicit “containment” strategy and trying to limit its access to the oceanic resources, according to the Maritime Doctrine; it goes on to say the Arctic is a place of “strategic competition.” According to the National Security Strategy, Russia’s Arctic development is being “obstructed” (a reference to sanctions on oil and gas projects). The disparaging epithet of “Anglo-Saxon” is hurled in Canada’s general direction in the Foreign Policy Concept as one of the United States’ henchmen.

The updated Russian Arctic Strategy introduces ambiguity into this overall depiction. It has retained an earlier description of the other Arctic states as “challenges” (Russian: вызовы) and did not elevate them to threats (Russian: угрозы). While it did deprioritize the relations with the other Arctic states from the 2020 document and replace them with bilateral, case-by-case relations with any states, the retention of the “challenge” language is almost certainly not an oversight and optimistically might be seen to represent something of an underlying offer to the Arctic community in the case of improved relations, against the hyperbolic accusations of militarization and Anglo-Saxonism in the other strategies. (A workable hypothesis here is that Russia’s long-term concerns in the Arctic include managing a potentially overreaching China, for which having Arctic partners would be decidedly beneficial for Moscow.)

So, will Russia leave the resolution of any disputes over the continental shelves purely to international law? In the Foreign Policy Concept, Russia reaffirms the “special responsibility of the Arctic states” regarding the Law of the Sea, with a specific reference to maritime delimitation” and sustainable development. It clearly has not abandoned international law.

But Putin and his regime see international law differently from the other (liberal and democratic) Arctic states. They import into their claims about international law the array of deeply cynical assumptions about how the world works, captured in the Foreign Policy Concept’s acknowledgement of the “power factor” in current international relations; diplomacy, it contends, is of decreasing effectiveness.

Cynicism, though, does not exclude sincerity. For Russia, international law is an instrument. The starting point from any consideration of the question in Copenhagen, Nuuk, Ottawa and Washington must be Russia’s flagrant dismissal of international law by its invasion of Ukraine. Russia is not a country defined by its strict adherence to legality.

Expressing this, the subordination of international law to the national interest is a theme running through the strategic documents. The Foreign Policy Concept declares that delimiting the continental shelf will be done in accordance with international law but “unconditionally” in line with its “national interests” and “sovereign rights;” the amended 2023 Arctic strategy added new language foregrounding national interests.

In addition, doubts about the efficacy of international law pervade these documents. The Arctic Strategy and Maritime Doctrine both speak of a group of unspecified countries, presumably Arctic ones, seeking to revise international agreements along national legislative lines. These statements exhibit the leadership’s tendency to use international law instrumentality and see it as malleable to the interests of the “great powers.” They have culminated recently in talk (unlikely to be fulfilled) in Russia about leaving the Law of the Sea entirely.

In short, international law is generated by centers of global power and smaller countries expressing their interests, and balancing them in accordance with power. What the Kremlin is offering when it talks of international law is a framework for discussing national interests, but justice here is not an equally accessible good, instead something that will be decided by the powerful. This is something for Canada and Denmark, in particular, to be attentive to in Arctic matters.

As a consequence, preparedness should be made for a Russia acting superficially in line with international law but covertly seeking to advance its position. The likelihood that Russia will come to open blows over the Arctic is low, but the main threat is not open aggression.

It is to the asymmetric “grey zone” of deniable “hybrid” tools that we should be looking. The strategic documents fully acknowledge the use of force in international affairs, below and above the threshold of open warfare. Notably, in the Foreign Policy Concept it asserts that Russia is the target of a hybrid warfare campaign conducted by the United States and its allies, and the National Security Strategy and Maritime Doctrine provide additional enabling language for asymmetric responses. Reciprocity is a premise of Russian international conduct. These statements provide a clear justification for its use of so-called hybrid or grey zone coercion to achieve policy ends. If it perceives its negotiating position has deteriorated, Russia will be ready to deploy a range of tools, likely to include deniable, coercive ones, below the threshold of open aggression to strengthen its bargaining position.

The strategic documents make clear that Russia is already trying to shape the negotiation space in the Arctic Ocean. If Russia’s relations with its Arctic neighbors remain on the same fraught footing that they are now — a near certainty with another six years of Putin about to start this spring — then it will agitate for maximalist outcomes in obtaining its “sovereign rights” in the Arctic Ocean.

Russian claims are unlikely to extend past what they have stated they want. That does not mean that the coercive “grey zone” will not be an active front in maneuvering for a Russia-optimal settlement or that Canadian and Danish or (by extension) U.S. interests are not at risk.

These three countries need to think about this and start to act now. Acquiring the capabilities that will keep Russia honest at the negotiating table, like icebreakers, submarines, subsea sensors and patrol aircraft, and the infrastructure to support them, takes years. Negotiations in a decades-long time frame will be advanced by establishing a situational awareness that needs to start being built today.

The timelines are long, and we can hope for a different Russia in the next decade or two. But hope, as is often quipped, is not a policy. Canadian, Danish, Greenlandic and U.S. leaders may well face in a decade’s time in the Arctic the same aggressive, uncooperative, and bad faith Russia that we face today in Ukraine. Ensuring we are prepared for hardball hybrid behavior from Russia in the Arctic is a matter for today, so we can be ready tomorrow.

Alexander Dalziel is a senior fellow at the Macdonald-Laurier Institute in Ottawa. He has over 20 years of experience in Canada’s national security community. Previously, he held positions with the Privy Council Office, Canada School of Public Service, Department of National Defence and Canada Border Services Agency. 

The views expressed in this article belong to the authors alone and do not necessarily reflect those of Geopoliticalmonitor.com.

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Almost one thousand years later, we are still trying arms control by the equivalent of banning crossbows. The Ottawa Convention banned antipersonnel landmines, yet over a million of the things have been sown in Ukraine, with more planted each day.  It will come as cold comfort to Syrian villagers or Russian dissidents that the Chemical Weapons Convention made asphyxiating gas and Novichok illegal. There have even been well-meaning attempts to ban nuclear weapons on humanitarian grounds, yet there remain over 12,000 of the world’s most destructive weapons in the hands of nine countries. Just as with the crossbow ban, these efforts at arms control have been ineffective because they do not address the insecurities that have driven the acquisition of murderous weapons. Undoubtedly, there were some medieval Europeans who heeded the Pope and eschewed their crossbows, gaining the knowledge that their place in heaven was secure, but they were likely not those living in castles threatened by well-armed enemies. Similarly, of the dozens of nations which have achieved the diplomatic equivalent of paradise by agreeing to ban nuclear weapons, none are among those that felt compelled to acquire this dangerous technology in the first place.

This is a question of ends and means.  If the ultimate goal of those who try to ban weapons, be they crossbows or nuclear devices, is simply to exclude the use of such devices, it misses the point. Rather, the goal of any arms control effort should be to make the world safer.  While it is certain that the world would be safer without nuclear weapons, disarmament is but one means to the end of a peaceful world  – and not the only one.  This is not to say that a nuclear ban treaty is a bad idea, but it could be counter-productive if it becomes the goal and not one element of a broader process.  If nuclear weapons disappeared overnight, would all the causes of conflict go with them?  Instead, the frictions and rivalries at the root of international conflicts would remain – the conditions that led some states to acquire nuclear weapons in the first place. Banning crossbows doesn’t work in an insecure environment.

What does work?  Arms control that takes into account the national interests of the nations involved and arrives at an arrangement by which all involved believe they are more secure as a result. As an example, consider the Intermediate Range Nuclear Forces (INF) Treaty of 1987. This agreement eliminated an entire class of nuclear weapons in a verifiable way and was reached after over seven years of painstaking negotiation. Intermediate range weapons were inherently destabilizing. Their relatively short flight time and destructive power raised concerns that they were intended to be used in the first strike of a nuclear war, making such a calamity more likely. Fortunately, the leaderships of the U.S. and Soviet Union realized this and eventually were able to find common ground in that both nuclear powers would feel more secure in the absence of INF-class weapons. The Treaty was the result and ameliorated one of the most dangerous situations of the Cold War.

Despite the ban, crossbows remained a feature of medieval warfare, and armies learned how to use them and counter them. Does this mean that the 21st century world should simply learn to live with nuclear weapons? Not necessarily. There are two critical distinctions. First is the destructiveness of nuclear weapons. They are not just murderous; they are devastating. Any use would result in mass casualties and widespread destruction with the possibility of long-term consequences. It is in the interest of all governments to minimize any possibility of nuclear war, making a strategy to reduce such weapons a necessity. The second key difference would be nuclear weapons’ lack of utility as weapons of war. Since 1945, there have been thousands of such weapons built but not used despite persistent military conflicts. Over the past two years, Russia, the world’s largest nuclear power, has waged a war of aggression in Ukraine with limited success and no direct application of its nuclear forces. Instead, precision guided weapons, drones and old-fashioned ground troops have been the instruments of choice. Nuclear weapons’ main value is to deter nuclear attack, and to do this requires but few such weapons.

The challenge is to look for ways to limit a potential nuclear arms race, while looking at how and when reductions on nuclear forces will contribute to nuclear states’ security.  To do so will require building a long-term strategy based on more than banning crossbows. Just as with the INF Treaty, governments will only reduce their numbers of nuclear weapons when they believe doing so will make them safer, a condition that will not be met when nuclear proliferation remains likely or when others can cheat on limits. Effective arms control, therefore, will need to do far more than declare weapons illegal; it must be based on careful diplomacy and effective verification. Banning weapons may be a path to heaven, but in the imperfect world we inhabit, the task is more complicated.

The views expressed in this article belong to the authors alone and do not necessarily reflect those of Geopoliticalmonitor.com.

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Beside the hypocrisy of taking the long flight and the associated carbon emissions to record a video and receive a briefing from scientists, public communication at the UN, not just about climate change, but a host of issues, is ironically, not rooted in science. A vast body of research from social and political psychology, in effect, renders Guterres’ message on climate ineffective. First, a concept known as construal-level theory, where the further removed one is from an experience, the more it impacts their preferences and actions. In other words, people have to experience climate change themselves and have tangible means of creating change in order to take concrete actions. Second, the UN faces the twin challenges of public mistrust, not only in scientists and scientific information, which was prevalent during the COVID-19 pandemic, but also growing distrust in leaders.

Mitigating trust and building confidence in the United Nations on a range of issues also means communicating results, which rarely at the global level result in something tangible to the public. Because UN agencies often use different terminology, have different climate-related programming, and often have varying ideas of what results mean, the resulting communication fails to connect with the public at large. Part of the problem is a failure to understand a long-standing “theory of change” within development organizations, defined as how an intervention can lead to a specific development change, drawing on causal analysis. Getting results depends not only on understanding what contributes to change, but focusing on results rather than the inputs or activities. When this occurs, UN officials will often talk about high-level government officials or staff that attended a key meeting or the general purpose of that meeting, but not the end results or what will contribute to results over time.

Results-based communication consequently becomes less frequent, or the impact of those results at a country level fail to make their way into communications that can resonate with the general public at the international level. In the case of the United Nations Development Programme (UNDP), its 2022 Annual Report featured fragments of information with little to no context, such as where artificial intelligence and technology somehow will “increase smarter use of water and irrigation in Palestine” or “strengthen climate resilience of farmers in Egypt.” Aside from an array of statistics that suggested “record delivery” the reader is left wondering what to do with the information. Donors have started to take notice. The Multilateral Organisation Performance Assessment Network (MOPAN), which consists of 21 countries that regularly contribute to UNDP, including Australia, Japan, Denmark, Germany, and Canada, noted in a 2020 Assessment of UNDP that “[its results-based management (RBM) systems insufficiently steer and aggregate results at the global level”.

These issues are all compounded by the pace of modern communication. While the spectacle of a talking dinosaur voiced by actor Jack Black might draw some attention, it is of little to no use to the general public or to global leaders who are already well briefed on the complexities of climate inaction. On social media, senior UN officials are often followed by other UN employees. What is perceived internally as amplification is merely communication in a bubble.

The United Nations must quickly learn three critical lessons. First, results matter as they provide both credibility to donors and are essential in restoring public trust in the UN as an instrument of good. Second, public communication about complex issues need not come from Guterres, particularly from remote Antarctica, or through a ridiculous talking dinosaur. These first two lessons provide the basis for the third and final lesson: the UN must treat the beneficiaries of program results as equally as it does senior leadership. On climate change, the UN should let local people not only demonstrate the impacts of climate inaction, but communicate the impacts of program outputs directly. That can be easily done at any level and without the reputational damage of a trip to Antarctica that could have easily been prevented by a simple meeting on Zoom.

Mark S. Cogan is an Associate Professor of Peace and Conflict Studies at Kansai Gaidai University in Osaka, Japan. His research interests include Southeast Asia and the broader Indo-Pacific region, as well as security studies, peacebuilding, counter-terrorism, and human rights. He is a former communications specialist with the United Nations, serving in Southeast Asia, Sub-Saharan Africa, and the Middle East.

The views expressed in this article belong to the authors alone and do not necessarily reflect those of Geopoliticalmonitor.com.

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When scrutinizing the foreign policies of Islamic nations concerning Palestine, a clear divergence emerges. Some nations passionately champion Palestinian rights and statehood, while others maintain a more reserved stance. To understand this, I delve into the domestic level of analysis, where the internal dynamics of each Islamic state shape their foreign policy. Consider Turkey, a noteworthy supporter of Palestinian rights. President Recep Tayyip Erdoğan consistently denounces Israeli actions and advocates for a two-state solution, aligning with the domestic level of analysis. Turkey’s political leadership historically shapes its foreign policy by drawing on a blend of Islamic identity, historical ties, and public sentiment. This strong advocacy for Palestinian rights is underscored by Turkey’s emphasis on Islamic identity. President Erdoğan frames Turkey’s position as a moral obligation rooted in Islamic principles, emphasizing the defense of fellow Muslims. The predominantly Muslim public sentiment in Turkey strongly aligns with the Palestinian cause, evident in mass protests and demonstrations against Israeli actions. This highlights how public opinion significantly influences Turkey’s foreign policy decisions.

On the flip side, Saudi Arabia takes a more careful and calculated approach. Even though they say they support the Palestinians, the Saudi government actually has diplomatic ties with Israel, especially when it comes to regional security. This practical approach makes sense when you look at what’s going on internally. Leaders in Saudi Arabia have to juggle the demand for Palestinian support with the real-world complexities of the region. The evidence for this lies within the Kingdom’s diplomatic relations. Despite publicly supporting Palestine, Saudi Arabia has engaged in talks with Israel on regional security matters. This kind of diplomatic engagement wouldn’t happen unless there was a careful balancing act going on behind the scenes.

Iran’s foreign policy on Palestine is deeply intertwined with both geopolitical ambitions and religious solidarity. Iran strongly supports the Palestinian cause, providing both material and political backing to groups like Hamas. At the domestic level, Iranian public sentiment, which has historically favored the Palestinian cause, significantly shapes the country’s foreign policy. This sentiment plays a crucial role in determining the government’s stance, allowing it to foster religious solidarity and highlight its dedication to a broader Islamic cause, deflecting attention from domestic challenges. On the domestic political front, Iranian leaders, including the Supreme Leader and the President, align their foreign policy with revolutionary ideologies. The narrative of resistance against Israel becomes a cornerstone of Iranian identity, influencing the country’s foreign policy. This domestic political stance, rooted in revolutionary principles, reinforces Iran’s unwavering support for Palestine, a critical factor in shaping the country’s international stance. Iran’s alignment with the Palestinian cause serves its domestic interests. Substantial financial and military support to groups like Hamas, actively involved in the Palestinian resistance against Israel, lends evidence to this claim. Additionally, Iranian leaders consistently underscore the duty of standing against Israel as a religious obligation, fostering a sense of religious solidarity among the Iranian population. This narrative strategically diverts attention from domestic challenges, portraying Iran as a champion of a broader Islamic cause and consolidating public support.

Moving to the societal level, Turkey’s foreign policy is deeply influenced by a strong sense of Muslim solidarity, emphasizing shared Islamic values and a historical connection to the Ottoman Empire’s regional influence. President Recep Tayyip Erdoğan’s statements consistently highlight Turkey’s commitment to the Palestinian cause as a moral obligation rooted in Islamic principles, reinforcing the constructivist understanding of its role in the Islamic world. Building on this constructivist perspective, Alexander Wendt, a prominent constructivist scholar, argues that state behavior is shaped by shared ideas and identities. In the case of Turkey, the shared Islamic values and historical narratives contribute to a collective identity that guides its foreign policy choices. Erdoğan’s rhetoric aligns with this constructivist approach, as he frames Turkey’s support for Palestine as not just a political stance but a reflection of its identity and historical ties. In a similar vein, Saudi Arabia’s constructivist perspective is rooted in its custodianship of Islam’s two holiest sites. Leaders such as King Salman and Crown Prince Mohammed bin Salman express a commitment to Islamic unity, emphasizing a constructivist lens that shapes their approach to the Palestine issue. Wendt’s constructivist theory reinforces the idea that the Saudi commitment to Islamic unity, intertwined with regional dynamics, goes beyond a mere political strategy, becoming a part of its collective identity. Iran’s constructivist viewpoint, shaped by its revolutionary ideology and the concept of an Islamic Republic, is strengthened when considering the statements of its leaders, including Supreme Leader Ayatollah Ali Khamenei and President Ebrahim Raisi. Their emphasis on the religious duty of resistance against Israel aligns with the constructivist narrative. Wendt’s theory further supports the notion that Iran’s foreign policy is not solely driven by geopolitical considerations but is deeply embedded in its identity and revolutionary ideals.

On the regional stage, the constructivist lens gains further depth when examined through Alexander Wendt’s perspective. While Turkey, Saudi Arabia, and Iran’s foreign policies appear driven by geopolitical considerations, the constructivist framework highlights the importance of shared beliefs and identities in shaping state behavior. In Turkey, President Recep Tayyip Erdoğan’s statements position the country not only as a geopolitical player but as a leader in the Muslim world through championing Palestinian rights. Wendt’s constructivist argument emphasizes that anarchy is what states make of it, and in this case, Turkey actively shapes its regional role based on its Islamic identity and historical ties. Erdoğan’s vision aligns with Turkey’s historical role and influence, emphasizing a geopolitical dimension intertwined with a constructivist understanding of its leadership status in the Muslim world. Saudi Arabia’s realist perspective, as evidenced by statements from Crown Prince Mohammed bin Salman, acknowledges the strategic alliances and partnerships in the region. However, applying Wendt’s constructivist framework adds another layer. Saudi Arabia’s custodianship of Islam’s two holiest sites isn’t just a geopolitical consideration but a constructivist one, deeply rooted in religious identity. The pragmatic nature of Saudi foreign policy is, in part, a response to regional geopolitical realities, but it’s also shaped by a constructivist understanding of Islamic unity. In Iran, Supreme Leader Ayatollah Ali Khamenei and President Ebrahim Raisi’s statements framing Iran’s involvement in the conflict as part of a broader geopolitical strategy align with the constructivist lens. Wendt’s argument that identities and ideas matter in international relations is evident here. Iran isn’t solely responding to an anarchic international system; it actively constructs its role based on a revolutionary ideology and a commitment to a broader Islamic cause.

Bringing these three levels of analysis together from a constructivist lens, I find that the Islamic world’s dilemma on Palestine is a result of multifaceted influences. It’s not a simple case of unanimous agreement or disagreement. Rather, it’s a dynamic interplay of domestic considerations, societal norms, and regional dynamics that shape the responses of Islamic nations to the Palestinian question. Thus, an understanding of why the Islamic world appears divided on Palestine requires us to go beyond surface-level observations. By integrating the three levels of analysis and embracing the constructivist perspective, we can gain insights into the intricate web of factors influencing foreign policy decisions. This journey through the complexities of the Islamic world’s dilemma invites us to appreciate the nuanced nature of international relations and the diverse forces shaping geopolitical realities.

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