opinion

When a state’s political leadership announces a ceasefire and its military keeps firing, the instinct is to reach for deception as the explanation. In Iran’s case, the more unsettling answer may be structural. The gap between what Iranian presidents say and what Iranian forces do reflects not a coordinated lie but a command architecture deliberately engineered to operate without central direction. In a serious conflict, the consequences of that architecture would be felt well beyond Iran’s borders.

A Command Architecture Designed to Survive Decapitation

In September 2008, IRGC Commander General Mohammad Ali Jafari oversaw a sweeping restructuring that divided the force into thirty-one provincial corps, each empowered to conduct military operations within its zone without requiring authorization from the center. As Michael Connell of the Center for Naval Analyses noted in his analysis for the United States Institute of Peace, the intent was to strengthen unit cohesion and ensure operational continuity under degraded command conditions. He flagged explicitly that the decentralization could produce unintended escalation dynamics, particularly in the Persian Gulf.

That warning deserves serious attention. The IRGC’s Mosaic Defense doctrine was not designed to make Iran more responsive to political leadership in a crisis. It was designed to ensure that military operations could continue regardless of what happened to that leadership. A force structured that way does not stop firing because a president gives a speech.

The Apology That Wasn’t

The internal contradiction becomes clearest when traced through a hypothetical cascade. A president announces a ceasefire and attributes the directive to an Interim Leadership Council. A fellow council member publicly declares that heavy strikes will continue. A hardline cleric addresses the president directly, calling his position untenable. By the time the president’s original statement is reposted, the ceasefire language has been quietly removed.

The IRGC’s own posture in this scenario resolves the ambiguity on structural grounds. It endorses the president’s language, then appends a caveat that renders it inoperative: all US and Israeli military bases and interests across the region remain primary targets. Since every GCC state hosts American forces, that framing preserves full operational freedom while allowing the presidency to project restraint. The contradiction is not incidental. It is the doctrine functioning as designed.

The Theological Dimension

Iran is not simply a military organization. It is a theocratic state whose constitutional legitimacy flows from velayat-e faqih, the guardianship of the Islamic jurist, which vests supreme authority in a single clerical figure whose religious and political mandates are inseparable. Remove that figure, and the system’s legitimating architecture is suspended rather than transferred. The Assembly of Experts is constitutionally mandated to elect a successor, but wartime conditions would disrupt that process at precisely the moment its resolution matters most.

A RAND Corporation analysis prepared for the Office of the Secretary of Defense identified the IRGC as the institution best positioned to shape any post-Khamenei transition, with the organizational reach and economic weight to determine outcomes that civilian institutions cannot contest. The result, in a decapitation scenario, is a theocratic state operating without its theological anchor and a military operating under pre-delegated authority with no one capable of recalling it.

Durability Without Effect

The Mosaic Defense doctrine would prove, above all, durable. A decentralized force can survive catastrophic leadership losses and sustain operations. But durability is not the same as capability, and sustained fire is not the same as strategic effect.

Iran’s theory of regional attrition, the calculation that sustained strikes against Gulf infrastructure and American basing would fracture GCC cohesion and coerce Arab neighbors toward neutrality, has produced no evidence of working. The GCC bloc has held. Individual member states have coordinated their responses rather than fractured under pressure. The country absorbing the sharpest volume of Iranian strike activity, the UAE, has demonstrated air defense performance that has exceeded even optimistic prewar assessments. Publicly available figures suggest UAE systems have defeated upward of ninety percent of inbound threats, a result that reflects years of sustained investment, deep integration with American and Israeli platforms, and an operational tempo that has stress-tested those systems at genuine scale.

The picture that emerges is not one of Iran winning a war of attrition. It is one of an Iran burning through accessible inventory, losing launch infrastructure faster than it can regenerate, and discovering that the regional architecture it spent years attempting to destabilize has proven considerably more resilient than it calculated.

That resilience carries its own strategic meaning. A weakened force operating under pre-delegated authority, without a supreme leader to set limits, remains dangerous in a narrow tactical sense. But it is operating without a coherent end state, and the environment it faces is not the one it anticipated. The GCC’s collective posture and the demonstrated effectiveness of layered air defense across the Gulf have closed off the strategic outcomes Iran’s doctrine was written to achieve.

The scenario is instructive for what it reveals about the limits of decentralized military design. A force built to keep firing regardless of political direction is also a force that cannot be steered toward an exit. But the Gulf states have demonstrated something of equal importance in response: that resilience, properly built and consistently resourced, can outlast a doctrine designed for chaos, and that the regional order Iran sought to unravel has shown itself capable of absorbing the blow.

Modern wars are fought not only with weapons but with assumptions—and the most dangerous assumptions are often invisible to those making them. Donald Rumsfeld’s distinction between known unknowns (questions we recognize but cannot answer) and unknown unknowns (risks we have not even framed as questions) captures something essential about the current confrontation between the United States, Israel, and Iran.

The Nuclear Material Problem

The June 2025 12-day war struck several of Iran’s nuclear facilities but left the most consequential question unanswered: where is the material? The March 2026 campaign has struck deeper, targeting hardened and dispersed sites that June’s operations left intact. Yet the fundamental uncertainty has not resolved—it has compounded. Iran reportedly retains roughly 400 kilograms of uranium enriched to 60%, approaching weapons-grade, and the precise location of that stockpile is now more opaque than before. On March 2, the International Atomic Energy Agency (IAEA) reported the entrance buildings of Iran’s underground Natanz enrichment plant had been bombed, but without inspection access, the agency cannot reconstruct a monitoring baseline.

The strategic paradox is acute. Any Iranian government—this one or a successor—must now confront a nuclear-armed Israel and a United States willing to strike Iranian territory twice in nine months. Under those conditions, nuclear capability looks less like a provocation and more like a rational insurance policy. The war may have permanently entrenched the very incentive it was designed to dismantle. A further risk of escaping conventional arms-control frameworks is if Iranian institutions fragment, specialized nuclear expertise disperses internationally, potentially becoming available to states or non-state actors.

Regime Change and What Follows

The war’s stated objective rests on uncertain ground. Intelligence assessments before the conflict reportedly concluded that even a large-scale assault was unlikely to produce regime collapse—yet the campaign proceeded anyway. The Iranian state has shown remarkable institutional resilience, with no visible defections among senior leadership, a government operating under its constitutional framework, and a regime that has absorbed the Iran-Iraq War, the Green Movement, and decades of sanctions.

War has accelerated the succession question around Ali Khamenei. One trajectory involves Mojtaba Khamenei, whose rise would mean dynastic continuity rather than transformation; another sees the IRGC consolidating power—equally misaligned with Western hopes. The question of what comes after was not answered before the bombs fell.

Retaliation, Major-Power Shadows, and Strategic Incoherence

Iran’s retaliation has demonstrated its asymmetric reach. The IRGC claims attacks on at least 27 bases hosting American troops across the region, alongside Israeli military facilities. Tehran appears to be pacing its response, sustaining an attrition campaign designed to exhaust interceptor stocks rather than overwhelm them in a single strike.

The major power dimensions compound this. Russia has reportedly been providing intelligence on American naval deployments; Chinese-linked entities have allegedly tracked US forces via satellite. Meanwhile, strategic incoherence in Washington compounds every other risk. Vice President J.D. Vance and Secretary of Defense Pete Hegseth have framed this as a limited campaign against nuclear infrastructure; Trump has simultaneously floated regime change on social media.

The Munitions Race

The deepest structural vulnerability may not lie on the battlefield but in the arithmetic of an industrial system never designed to fight this kind of war. The first 36 hours consumed more than 3,000 precision-guided munitions and interceptors. Joint Chiefs Chairman General Dan Caine had warned that stockpiles were already significantly depleted before the first strike. Secretary Marco Rubio subsequently acknowledged that Iran produces an estimated 100 missiles a month versus roughly six or seven high-end interceptors that American industry can manufacture in the same period.

That deficit has a history. The US likely expended 100 to 150 THAAD interceptors and 80 SM-3s supporting Israel during June’s Twelve-Day War. Those stocks were never fully replenished. The bottlenecks are physical as well as financial. Lockheed Martin’s plan to raise PAC-3 MSE production to 2,000 units per year addresses a six-to-seven-year horizon, not the current emergency.

The drone dimension adds a layer officials have been slow to acknowledge. Hegseth and Caine admitted in a closed-door briefing that Iran’s Shahed drones present a challenge US air defenses cannot fully meet. The Shahed flies low and slow—hard to detect and poorly matched to the high-end interceptors THAAD and SM-3 are optimized to defeat. Intercepting a drone can cost roughly five times what it costs to manufacture one.

This crystallizes the war’s most consequential known unknown: how much of Iran’s arsenal reflects genuine capability, and how much reflects deliberate restraint? The IDF assessed Iran possessed roughly 2,500 ballistic missiles on February 11.

The search for emergency solutions has produced one remarkable geopolitical inversion. The Pentagon has approached Ukraine about purchasing drone interceptors. They are low-cost systems Ukrainian manufacturers developed specifically to hunt Shaheds, built from years of adapting to exactly the threat now confounding American air defenses in the Gulf. The US is buying drone killers from a country it recently all but abandoned! The implications extend to the Indo-Pacific. Every interceptor fired over the Gulf of Bahrain is one fewer available in the Taiwan Strait.

The Energy Shock

The Strait of Hormuz has moved from a textbook chokepoint to a live emergency. Tanker traffic has come to a near standstill. War-risk insurance premiums have made commercial passage unviable even where it remains physically possible. At least five tankers have been struck across the Gulf, the Gulf of Oman, and nearby waters. Approximately 20 million barrels of oil per day—a fifth of global consumption—normally transit the strait, alongside roughly 20% of global LNG trade. Traders are warning that oil prices could surge past $100 a barrel if the conflict in Iran continues to escalate. Goldman Sachs Research estimates that a full one-month closure would add $15 per barrel, assuming no compensating measures like spare pipeline utilization or releases from strategic petroleum reserves. Bank of America sees tail risk far higher, estimating a prolonged shutdown could add $40–$80 per barrel above current prices.

The LNG dimension may prove more immediately damaging than oil. QatarEnergy has halted production at Ras Laffan, the world’s largest LNG facility, after Iranian drone attacks. This has already caused European natural gas futures to spike. If global LNG tightens, Europe must compete with Asian buyers on price. That competition may, in turn, force Europe back toward Russian gas, quietly reversing one of the most consequential geopolitical achievements of the post-Ukraine sanctions era.

The exposure is global and unevenly distributed. China, India, Japan, and South Korea account for roughly 75% of Hormuz crude exports and 59% of its LNG flows. South Korea has warned it could exhaust LNG reserves within nine days and has announced a 100 trillion won stabilization fund. India is pivoting toward Russian crude. These developments structurally benefit Moscow regardless of the war’s outcome.

The fertilizer dimension compounds the energy shock with a slower fuse. Nitrogen fertilizers are manufactured from natural gas; roughly a third of globally traded urea transits Hormuz. QatarEnergy’s halt removes fertilizer output simultaneously with LNG. Urea prices have already surged $60 to $80 per ton at New Orleans, with the spring planting window closing. The food-price consequences will not appear in grocery stores for months. But they are already locked in.

The Gulf Security Paradox

For decades the Gulf states managed their rivalry with Iran below the threshold of open confrontation, relying on the American security umbrella while avoiding direct entanglement. The war has collapsed that strategy. The Gulf states did not arrive at this crisis as Iran’s adversaries but rather as reluctant bystanders who had invested enormous diplomatic capital in preventing it. They gave ironclad assurances to Tehran, both before the war and up to its eve, that their territories would not serve as launchpads. That Iran responded by striking these same neighbors is a strategic miscalculation of historic proportions and a moral failure that may poison relations for a generation.

This has opened a structural debate now conducted in public. Is American military presence a protective shield or a magnet for retaliation? Citizens and analysts are asking why Gulf states should bear the risk of hosting US forces when Washington appears unable to protect them. Undoubtedly, Tehran understands this dynamic. Drone strikes on UAE-based data centers targeted Gulf publics’ confidence in the connectivity model as much as American commercial interests. The UAE and Saudi Arabia have staked their post-oil futures on projecting stability and attracting mobile capital. Intercepting most of the incoming fire is not sufficient when global firms are deciding where to invest next decade.

The crisis confronts the Gulf Cooperation Council with a strategic fork. One path leads toward deeper collective security, featuring integrated missile defense, expanded intelligence sharing, and coordinated maritime protection that could reduce dependence on any single external patron. The other leads toward renewed fragmentation as internal rivalries re-emerge.

Former Qatari prime minister Hamad bin Jassim bin Jaber Al Thani warned that the Gulf “must not be dragged into a direct confrontation with Iran,” arguing that such a clash would “deplete the resources of both sides and provide an opportunity for outside forces to control us under the pretext of helping us escape the crisis.” Yet the same crisis that could finally catalyze genuine Gulf collective security could just as easily deepen the divisions that have historically prevented it.

The Mediator’s Dilemma and the Meta-Unknown

The conflict has also damaged the diplomatic architecture that previously helped manage US-Iran tensions. Oman and Qatar built genuine credibility as intermediaries through years of patient back-channel work. Effective mediation requires neutrality. When conflict spreads into the territory of potential mediators, that credibility erodes. Iran’s decision to strike the very states whose neutrality made diplomacy possible may have burned the bridges needed to end the war—which is perhaps the most consequential unknown unknown in the entire conflict, second only to the US twice striking Iran in the span of nine months while negotiations were still ongoing.

At the deepest level lies a question no intelligence assessment can answer: whether the strategic logic of the war is coherent at all. Negotiations failed because each side demanded outcomes the other could not accept. The same incompatibility that made diplomacy impossible may make military victory equally elusive. Iran cannot surrender unconditionally without ceasing to be the Islamic Republic. And the conditions that make nuclear deterrence attractive to any Iranian government—this one or a successor—have not been removed by the strikes; they have been reinforced.

Conclusion

In sum, the US-Israeli campaign against Iran has illuminated the limits of military certainty. Known unknowns—munition shortages, asymmetric retaliation, and energy vulnerabilities—interact with unknown unknowns—nuclear dispersal, regime succession, and Gulf fragmentation—to create a conflict whose trajectory is inherently unpredictable. Rather than eliminating threats, the strikes may have entrenched incentives for nuclear retention, incentivized strategic caution, and stressed regional and global systems. The coherence of the war itself is in question, as military action and diplomacy pull in contradictory directions. Ultimately, the conflict underscores that modern warfare is as much about managing uncertainties as it is about destroying targets.

The reported idea of a special operation to seize Iran’s uranium should alarm anyone who still thinks there is a line between pressure and recklessness. Sending foreign forces into Iranian territory to capture nuclear material would be far beyond coercion. It would be war in plain sight. That risk looks even sharper when it is paired with talk of unconditional surrender and a revived maximum pressure campaign. Officials call that flexibility. In practice, it often creates confusion and a dangerous illusion of control.

Strategic Ambiguity Has Limits

Trump has long preferred threat inflation as a negotiating tool, and his administration’s National Security Presidential Memorandum on Iran makes clear that Washington wants to deny Tehran every path to a bomb. But there is a difference between pressure meant to shape diplomacy and rhetoric that drifts toward occupation logic. A raid assumes the United States can enter a sovereign state, take possession of fissile material, and leave without igniting a larger conflict. That is not strategy. It is a gamble.

A Raid Would Not Stay Small

Iran is not an isolated militia camp. It is a large state with layered security organs, missile capacity, regional partners, and a long memory of external intervention. Any attempt to seize uranium by force would expose American troops, bases, shipping lanes, diplomats, and partners to retaliation across several fronts. Even before talk of a raid, Washington and Tehran had been engaged in indirect nuclear talks in Oman. Replacing diplomacy with a ground mission would not create leverage. It would destroy what remains of a controlled bargaining space.

The Nuclear Picture Is Already Murky

The hardest fact in this debate is that the nuclear picture is already uncertain. In its February 2026 safeguards report, the IAEA said it could not verify the current status of facilities hit in June 2025. Reuters later highlighted that same report’s estimate that Iran had 440.9 kilograms enriched up to 60 percent before the strikes, while the Associated Press noted the wider stockpile had reached 9,874.9 kilograms of enriched uranium in total. Reuters also reported a cat-and-mouse hunt for missing material and confirmed that tunnel entrances at Isfahan were hit. Those facts do not make a commando operation look cleaner. They make it look less knowable.

Force Has Already Damaged Oversight

This is the contradiction hawks avoid. Military action may damage buildings, but it can also damage the inspection system needed to track what survives. The IAEA chief said that returning to Iranian sites was the top priority after the attacks because the agency had lost visibility. Reuters warned even before the war that any new Iran deal would have to address serious watchdog blind spots. Rafael Grossi had already reminded the Security Council that nuclear facilities must never be attacked and later stressed that inspectors must be allowed to do their job. Once oversight is broken, claims about perfect control become less credible.

Pressure Without Diplomacy Can Harden Iran

Advocates of seizure argue that urgency changes the rules. Their point is easy to grasp. If material has been moved, hidden, or split across sites, then delay is dangerous. But urgency cuts both ways. The less certainty there is, the more any raid grows in scope. A supposedly limited mission can quickly expand into repeated searches, broader strikes, and pressure for a longer presence. That trajectory sits uneasily with both the basic ban on the use of force in the UN Charter and the logic of the Nuclear Non-Proliferation Treaty, which depends on verification and compliance, not theatrical confiscation. Reuters has also shown that the damage from earlier strikes was difficult to measure and that U.S. officials later said there was no known intelligence that Iran had moved the uranium. That uncertainty is exactly why fantasies of a clean raid should be treated with suspicion.

Containment Is Less Dramatic, but Safer

There is another reason to reject this path. Public overstatement can create policy traps. Trump has already brushed aside internal caution, including when Reuters reported that he said his own intelligence chief was wrong about Iran’s program. Tehran, for its part, has insisted through officials speaking to Reuters that it will not give up enrichment under pressure. That is not a recipe for surrender. It is a recipe for concealment and hardening. Serious policy should focus on intelligence work, restored IAEA access, sustained diplomatic pressure backed by credible penalties, and a clear effort to prevent a regional war that would leave the uranium question even murkier.

The appeal of seizure is obvious. It sounds decisive and final. But nuclear crises rarely yield to cinematic solutions. They are managed through verification, containment, bargaining, and steady pressure, not through fantasies of absolute control. If this idea is truly being weighed in Washington, it should be rejected before rhetoric turns into mission planning. A ground effort to capture uranium inside Iran would not settle the problem. It could widen the war, shatter what diplomacy still exists, and leave the world with the same material, less oversight, and far more bloodshed.

The international community has a structural problem in reading conflicts: it treats silence as neutrality, when in fact silence is a manufactured condition. When international monitors report the absence of civil protests or testimonies from conflict zones, they are not documenting consensus; they are documenting the success of propaganda operations. This article argues that conflicting parties are now actively exploiting the spiral of silence as a strategic weapon, and the international community’s failure to recognize this results in a structurally flawed diplomatic response even before analysis begins. This argument will be constructed in three layers: how the spiral is engineered, how Sudan proves it, and why the international interpretive framework must be updated immediately.

Elisabeth Noelle-Neumann (1974), in her theory Spiral of Silence, describes how individuals suppress their minority opinions to avoid social isolation. This theory is built on the assumption of a free society, where silence is an organic social choice. In conflict zones, this assumption collapses completely. Silence is not chosen; it is engineered. Propaganda actors flood information channels with dominant narratives not to convince audiences that these narratives are true, but to signal which voices are safe and which are not. The result appears to be consensus. But it is not.

Social media has transformed this architecture of silence into something almost invisible. Platforms give users real-time visibility into how much public response a particular view receives. When opposing content is systematically silenced through algorithmic deprioritization and coordinated mass reporting campaigns, people conclude that speaking out is pointless, or worse, dangerous. Jowett and O’Donnell (2019) note that bandwagon propaganda does not require audiences to believe in the dominant narrative, only to believe that others already believe it. At that point, the spiral becomes self-sustaining: it no longer needs external enforcement because the target population has internalized it themselves.

The agenda-setting theory proposed by McCombs and Shaw (1972) adds another layer to this problem and makes it much more difficult to detect. The media and information channels do not merely reflect reality; they determine what is considered worthy of discussion from the outset. When warring parties dominate the information space, they not only shape international perceptions. They also determine which testimonies are considered safe for local residents to give and which silences are necessary for survival. This is not a side effect of conflict. It is a deliberate targeting of the information environment itself, and the international community has been consistently slow to recognize this as such.

Two technical mechanisms make all this work, and neither requires direct violence to be effective. First, bandwagon propaganda floods channels with coordinated content until dissent appears marginal and irrelevant. Second, fear appeals work without needing to be explicitly stated. In conflict environments, people have witnessed what happens to those who oppose the dominant narrative, so self-censorship becomes a rational choice, not a sign of weakness. The combination of the two is the most dangerous: the spiral no longer requires external enforcement because its targets are already silencing themselves. This is not the moral failure of individuals who choose to remain silent; it is a system designed to work exactly as intended.

The case of Sudan illustrates this most clearly. Both the SAF and the RSF launched coordinated information operations from the early days of the conflict. RSF channels spread a narrative of civilian protection, while the SAF network framed the war solely as a counter-terrorism operation. These two narratives, although contradictory, both served to narrow the space for independent civilian testimony. Civilians in Khartoum and Darfur faced an information environment that made disclosure a risk calculation rather than a right. The internet blackouts recorded at various periods of the conflict were not merely technical obstacles; they were a very clear signal of the price to be paid for speaking out.

Zeitzoff (2017) shows that users in environments close to conflict significantly alter their disclosure behavior under perceived surveillance, even without direct threats. In Sudan, the threat is anything but hypothetical. The diplomatic consequences are immediately apparent: the UN’s initial assessment of the Sudanese conflict has been repeatedly criticized by humanitarian organizations for underestimating civilian casualties and displacement figures. This is not a methodological failure. It is the intended result of a deliberate information architecture, a condition in which the most relevant data is already missing before the verification process even begins.

What makes this a diplomatic crisis, not merely an information crisis, is that the international response is built on what is reported. When open-source assessments treat civilian silence as a neutral baseline, they are not accessing the truth on the ground. They are accessing whatever has made it through the spiral. This pattern repeats itself in various conflicts because it consistently works in Syria, in Myanmar, and in Ethiopia. In each case, the international community finds itself working with records that have been curated by the parties most interested in concealing crimes.

The solution is not more monitoring infrastructure. What is needed is a different interpretative framework. Silence must be treated as a data point that requires explanation, not as a default condition that requires nothing. When there are no reports from conflict zones, it does not mean that nothing is happening; rather, it means that the conditions for speaking out have been destroyed first. Protected witness pathways, verification networks from the diaspora, and analysis of anomalies in information flows are all useful, but only after a fundamental recognition that the problem is not a lack of information, but rather that engineered silence is constantly misinterpreted as the absence of anything worth investigating.

The Spiral of Silence was originally a theory about how even free societies can slowly and unconsciously silence themselves. In the hands of modern propaganda architects, the theory has been repurposed as a method to ensure that the most credible witnesses to crimes never speak out and that their silence is interpreted by the international community as proof that there are no crimes to investigate. The arguments in this article, from the mechanisms of spiral engineering to the role of social media to the case of Sudan, all point to the same conclusion: as long as silence is interpreted as absence, the international community is not conducting independent analysis. They are confirming the narrative of those most interested in concealing the truth. The loudest voices are not the most honest; they are simply the ones allowed to speak.

What is the bandwagon technique?

Bandwagon is a propaganda technique that utilizes the instinct of human participation in a systematic manner. It has a simple but deadly basic idea, creating the impression that “everyone is on this side” and that others will join in not because they think critically, but because they are afraid of being left behind, afraid of being seen as wrong, or afraid of being ostracized. In international relations, this technique not only affects public opinion but is also used to pressure countries to follow certain geopolitical positions, build alliances that seem “inevitable,” and delegitimize anyone who chooses not to participate. Motin (2024), in his study on bandwagoning in international relations, explains the behavior of the bandwagon of small and medium countries that are greatly influenced by the perception of global power distribution. When a great power manages to convince the world that it is “winning” or that its position is already the consensus of the majority, other weaker nations tend to conform to that power to avoid the risk of being on the losing side. This is the essence of the bandwagon in propaganda, manipulating perceptions of who is superior. (Dylan Motin, 2024)

Theoretical Roots: Balancing vs Bandwagon

In the theory of international relations, bandwagoning always coexists with the concept of its opponent, namely balancing. According to Cladi & Locatelli (2015), he explained about the alliance theory that states basically have two choices when facing dominating powers, namely by balancing or following (bandwagoning). These decisions are not always taken solely based on strategic calculations but are greatly influenced by the way information regarding the balance of power is conveyed and perceived. This is where the propaganda bandwagon comes into play: through the manipulation of views about who is stronger and more numerous, countries can be invited to ‘join in’ even though the current has actually been set up. A study on alliance theory, published by OPS Alaska Academic in 2003, confirms that in an anarchist international system, small countries are particularly vulnerable to pressure to join because they do not have the resources to independently verify claims about international consensus. They tend to respond to the signals that are most powerful and appear most often in their information environment. These signals can be easily affected by large forces through various operations. (Cladi & Locatelli, 2015) (Thomas Gangale, 2003)

How Does Bandwagon Work in the Field?

To understand this technique concretely, we can look at the example of Sri Lanka discussed in the International Journal of Humanities and Social Science (2015). The study notes how Sri Lanka, during various periods of internal conflict and international pressure, constantly had to navigate between two great powers, each trying to create a narrative that ‘joins us because all that is rational is here.’ ‘Sri Lanka is a prime example of a small country that is the target of bandwagon propaganda from multiple parties at once, where each major power seeks to create the illusion of consensus that they represent the majority of the world. Nanyang Technological University’s RSIS said that the simple division between balancing and bandwagoning is no longer sufficient to explain the behavior of countries in the now much more complex international system. Countries not only choose to fight or follow but also hedge, that is, pretend to follow while secretly maintaining a strategic distance. In addition, bandwagon propaganda techniques are increasingly being used to complicate these hedging options by creating increasingly strong social and reputational pressure on countries that are reluctant to publicly declare their choice (Gunasekara, 2015) (Ian, 2003) (Ian, 2003).

Bandwagon in the Global Disinformation Machine

One of the aspects that makes the bandwagon even more dangerous today is the way it works, which is integrated with large-scale disinformation operations. In the Journal of Advanced Military Studies, it is explained that contemporary political warfare involves not only conventional military power but also efforts to create an information environment that makes resistance feel illogical and futile. The bandwagon serves as a key psychological mechanism in building such an environment: when all sources of information seem to convey the same message, even the most critical individuals begin to doubt their own judgment. The Oxford Internet Institute notes in their in-depth report that in 2020, at least 81 countries have used organized social media strategies to reinforce the impression that their governments have broad support from the public, both domestically and internationally. Thousands of bot accounts and cooperating accounts are launched to fill public discussion spaces with consistent messages, creating a very convincing illusion of consensus. When people turn to social media and see that ‘everyone’ seems to support a certain narrative, the bandwagon effect automatically takes effect, even without realizing it. (Forest, 2021) (Forest, 2021) (Samantha Bradshaw et al., 2020), (Samantha Bradshaw et al., 2020)

Closing: Thinking Independently as the Last Fortress

The effective bandwagon technique is not because the people or the target country are less intelligent. Its effectiveness lies in the use of something fundamental, namely, the desire to side with the right side and the fear of the consequences of loneliness. In the context of international relations, the consequences can be diplomatic isolation, economic sanctions, or loss of access to security alliances. This pressure prompted many countries to go with the flow even though the currents were made up of the Oxford Internet Institute emphasizing that to counter the modern bandwagon propaganda operation, goodwill alone is not enough. It requires a real combination that includes the state’s ability to detect information manipulation early on and the public’s critical awareness of the narrative it constructs, as well as a serious investment in an analytical capacity that is completely independent of the influence of great powers. The state can verify claims about its own ‘international consensus’ and not only rely on information crowded in the media or digital platforms. A state that has true sovereignty in the era of this global information war. Ultimately, the most effective weapon against bandwagon propaganda is the ability to question things in a simple but critical way: is it true that everyone is involved, or is it just an illusion deliberately created to force your involvement? (Samantha Bradshaw et al., 2020)

Introduction

In 1974, Muhammad Yunus began experimenting with an initiative to give small loans to impoverished rural women to foster a sense of empowerment through entrepreneurial start-ups – an initiative that was institutionalised through the famous Grameen Bank. In just a couple of years, this initiative had snowballed into the United Nations declaring 2005 the International Year of Microcredit, with Yunus winning the Nobel Peace Prize for economic development.

In an age of international globalisation and neoliberal theories, microcredit seemed to be the solution to the ills of the developing world. Economists, development theorists, and journalists began to discuss the multiple success stories from the Grameen Bank and the vast impact small loans were having on people.

But a much darker reality came to take place. Although Yunus said that credit is a human right, he failed to address the fact that debt follows. Stories like Razia’s became far too frequent.

The Feminisation of Debt: Razia’s Story

Razia had taken out an initial microcredit loan of around $50 from Grameen Bank to put food on the table and pay for her children’s education; to her, this money was a lifeline to meet her family’s immediate needs. She was offered an interest rate of 20%, which she did not initially realise due to her limited fiscal literacy, and she could not pay.

Loan sharks targeted her family with violent threats when they were unable to meet payment deadlines; she had to sell her heirloom jewellery, her belongings, and eventually her home to make the payment – and even now, she continues to face threats from the loan sharks.

Razia’s story is not uncommon and illustrates how a linear model of microcredit has led to the feminisation of debt: women took out these loans to cover basic needs and fulfil their societal roles as caretakers, only to be uniquely burdened and targeted because they were unable to meet deadlines. This led women to be prone to economic vulnerability, social shame due to the procurement of debt, and violence from debt collectors.

Questioning the Efficacy of Microfinance

In addition to Razia’s story, the reality of the Grameen Bank’s efficacy is also up for debate. More and more economists became wary of the narrative that microfinance helps start income-generating enterprises, and recognised that this led many to feed their families or afford education. Another fundamental assumption was that microfinance would empower the poor, especially women, through microenterprises, given their financial bargaining power within the community. The neoliberal social policies used to model microenterprises for poor rural women to sell their labour or to ‘sub-contract’ their services were broadly not adopted, and forced women into disempowering roles in the informal sector.

Dr. Lamia Karim conducted research on the particular claims on gender empowerment by microcredit programmes and ended up creating a ‘local economy of shame’; repayment of these loans was tied to a woman’s standing and honour within the community, and these norms created environments of disempowerment, subjugation, and stress to repay the loans.

Theoretical Frameworks: From WID to GAD

Yunus’s microcredit initiative followed the theoretical prescriptions of Women in Development (WID), which sought to address gender-based economic disparities and integrate women into existing economic systems. The Grameen Bank was able to meet these goals; however, the linear model of empowerment used and the integration of women within the neoliberal economic market failed to meet the overall goals of empowerment.

As organisations, advocates, and economists saw the initial model struggling to meet the holistic goals of empowerment, they integrated theoretical prescriptions from Gender and Development (GAD), which sought to confront the root causes of gender inequality and to meet both the practical and strategic needs of women. This empowers women not only to meet economic goals to ensure survival, but also to develop collective action skills to confront power structures that lead to their subjugation.

Proshika: A New Model for Empowerment

Proshika was formed in 1979 under the WID model and focused on targeting rural communities, but realigned its goals with a GAD model in 2009. Their mission statement was revised to reflect the integration of collective-action training into their microcredit initiatives. As an organisation, they planned to “develop their capacity, so they can claim their due rights from the government” and “ensure life security” – a revolutionary shift within the broader conversation about microcredit.

Proshika had a model very similar to the Grameen Bank microcredit programmes; however, they added organisational spaces for women to meet and discuss community issues, embedding collective action within the programme. When a woman signed up for a loan, she was connected with other women in her community and asked to discuss pressing issues. Proshika organised a total of 42,809 groups; these various groups looked into important societal issues, such as the prevention of child marriage, the prevention of violence against women, and the abolition of dowry practices.

These trainings connected women with existing government systems and taught them how to access the judicial system, enabling them to pursue institutional avenues of change.

Building Social Capital and Political Agency

These spaces within the community allow women to build social credit, serving as places where information flows and as essential spaces for building trust and relationships. They increase social awareness, social interaction outside of one’s family unit, and increase domestic power and civic participation.

Dr Paromita Sanyal studies the role of microfinance agencies in Bangladesh, and credits NGOs such as Proshika for building both vertical and horizontal lines of social credit. Vertical social credit enables women to build essential connections within their own communities, and horizontal social credit allows them to connect with NGOs, politicians, and governing bodies. This axis of power builds political agency within communities and empowers women to challenge restrictive gender norms.

Proshika operates in 8,784 villages, 1,639 unions, 266 sub-districts, 42 districts, and 7 divisions within Bangladesh – they have organised 33,982 female groups across the nation. Through their collective action programmes, they were able to see a statistically significant decrease in child marriages, dowries, and gender-based violence within rural villages.

Towards True Empowerment

Proshika’s microfinance initiative not only enabled income-generating activities in rural villages but also empowered women to make a difference in their communities. Proshika’s success story should serve as a model for reforming existing microfinance institutions and incorporating collective action mechanisms into programmes.

Unlike the Grameen Bank, which focused solely on women’s practical needs, Proshika made an effort to address women’s and community members’ strategic needs. This led to statistically significant decreases in domestic violence and child marriages, as well as increased awareness of government systems and the justice system as a whole, with civic engagement opening accessible avenues for change.

Dr. Andrea Cornwall’s critical feminist analysis of women’s empowerment suggests that true empowerment is about changing asymmetrical power relations and requires building critical consciousness to help people recognise fundamental inequalities. Empowerment is relational and involves the interplay between personal and political to create a process, rather than focusing on an outcome.

Unlike the Grameen Bank, Proshika focused more on the various aspects of empowerment, without adopting a linear view of tangible results. This led to successful grassroots movements that brought attention to women’s structural needs and raised awareness of women’s value to community spaces.

Empowerment comes from changing power relations within the community, and Proshika met both women’s practical and strategic needs. It is essential to address the extreme poverty that women face, but also to build avenues for them to challenge the institutions they participate in.

Development agendas borrow a term common in the study of global governance that is shaped not only by policy, but also by the decision-making structures that determine who speaks, who is heard, and who ultimately adapts. In the contemporary multilateral landscape, the tendency of weaker actors to align their positions with dominant powers for the sake of security or accessibility has evolved beyond its classical definition in realist theory. It now operates as a subtle but consequential social mechanism, systematically reducing the diplomatic boldness of the Global South countries in international forums.

The bandwagon effect is not just a phenomenon of individual behavior, but a reflection of an institutionalized architecture of structural inequality. Under these conditions, the countries of the Global South often hide their authentic preferences. Not because of argumentative incompetence, but rather because of the incentives created by financial dependence, representation asymmetry, and limited diplomatic capacity. The consequence is a direct contradiction to Sustainable Development Goal 16, which mandates the building of strong, accountable, and inclusive institutions at all levels.

The Bandwagon Effect in the Context of Global Governance

From a realist perspective, countries that have identical votes in UNGA resolutions reflect similar preferences within the framework of the protection of sovereign norms. But empirical research shows a more complex reality. Khan’s (2020) study of Bangladesh’s voting patterns at the UNGA for the period 2001–2017 revealed that vote alignment does not always reflect the proximity of substantive preferences, but is often a product of geopolitical contexts and dependency relationships. Realists themselves recognize that this kind of voice alignment tends to collapse in crisis situations when countries are encouraged to self-help that makes it clear that a seemingly consensus-like may never really exist.

More direct evidence comes from a panel of 123 developing countries in a study of U.S. economic sanctions and UNGA voting patterns for the 1990–2014 period. The study, which limited its analysis to non-OECD countries because foreign aid was not considered to affect the voting behavior of rich countries, confirmed that external pressures, both in the form of incentives and sanctions, significantly shaped developing countries’ voting preferences on important issues. It further states that receive budget support and unconditional assistance from the US tend to vote in line with US interests. A correlation that is difficult to explain solely by the similarity of values.

This pattern was also identified structurally through the analysis of the UNGA voting network. Magu and Mateos (2017) found that the empirical distribution of voting similarity scores is right-skewed towards a value of 1, which means that clusters of countries with a high degree of alignment are much more common than can be explained by pure similarity of interest. This is consistent with the hypothesis that structurally weak states tend to move toward dominant power positions, not because of belief, but because of survival calculations.

The Inequality Architecture That Creates Bandwagon Incentives

Understanding why the bandwagon effect is so entrenched among the Global South requires a reading of the existing global governance architecture. At the International Monetary Fund, the United States holds 16.9 percent of the vote and has an effective veto since major decisions require an 85 percent majority. Meanwhile, Africa, which consists of 54 member states and accounts for most of the IMF’s 2026 active loan portfolio, only controls about 6.5 percent of the vote. On the UN Security Council, not a single African country holds a permanent seat, although more than 60 percent of the Council’s agenda is related to conflicts on the continent.

This representational inequality creates the conditions in which joining a majority position or with a certain power bloc becomes an administratively rational strategy, even when it is contrary to the long-term interests of a country.

The factor of dependence on military suppliers is also relevant. A study of the determinants of developing countries’ voting at the UNGA identified that the choice of military suppliers that placed countries in the orbit of Western, Russian, or Chinese influence also influenced voting tendencies. This provides important context for India’s abstaining position in the UNGA resolution condemning Russia’s invasion of Ukraine, which is an inseparable decision from the fact that about 70 percent of India’s military equipment comes from Russia. This is not a moral inconsistency but rather a rationality imposed by the architecture of dependence.

Contradictions with SDGs 16: Measuring What Is Not Measurable

Sustainable Development Goal 16 mandates the development of institutions that are ‘peaceful, equitable, and inclusive at all levels’ is a mandate that explicitly encompasses global, not just domestic, governance. The SDG 16 Global Progress Report (UNDP/UNODC/OHCHR, 2023) describes an alarming situation where progress towards SDG 16 is very slow and in some cases even moving in the wrong direction. Violence is on the rise, inequality is hampering inclusive decision-making, and corruption is undermining the social contract.

On a broader level, the Sustainable Development Report 2024 (SDSN), which covers all 193 UN member states, found that on average only 16 percent of the SDG targets are on track to be achieved by 2030. SDG 16 is specifically mentioned as one of the goals that are furthest from the target. More significantly, among the five SDG targets that showed the most regression since 2015, press freedom, which is an indicator under SDG 16, is also included.

The connection between the bandwagon effect and the setback of SDG 16 is not just correlative. It is mechanistic. When countries are unable to express their authentic preferences in the multilateral negotiation process due to structural pressures, the three key pillars of SDG 16 inclusivity, accountability, and effectiveness are degraded simultaneously. Inclusivity is degraded as voices that are supposed to represent the global majority are eroded into a consensus designed by and for minorities. Accountability is degraded because countries that choose to go against the interests of their people in order to maintain relations with donors or trading partners cannot be held coherently accountable by their constituents. Effectiveness is degraded because resolutions born of pseudo-consensus will never be implemented with sincere commitment.

The Bandwagon Effect as a Social Phenomenon, Not an Individual Failure

It is important to emphasize that the bandwagon effect in this context is not a failure of diplomatic character or moral inconsistency. It is a rational response to unequal structural incentives. A quantitative analysis of UNGA voting in the period 1946–2014 shows that the voting patterns of developing countries consistently shifted to the dominant power configuration in that period not because of the convergence of values, but because of changes in the distribution of power and dependency.

This makes the bandwagon effect a social phenomenon in the strictest sense. It is not behavior that is freely chosen by individuals or states, but behavior that is conditioned by the structure of the system. As the literature on public voting behavior and foreign policy shows, public opinion and domestic pressures do influence foreign policy but in countries with low state capacity, external factors such as aid dependence and pressure from international financial institutions are often more decisive.

The consequences of this framing are very important in policy. The solution is not moral persuasion, but in the transformation of structural incentives. The countries of the Global South do not need to be educated to be braver, they just need to be given conditions where diplomatic courage does not mean financial suicide or geopolitical isolation.

Implications and Directions of Reform

If the bandwagon effect is understood as a product of the architecture of inequality, then meaningful reform must target that architecture. First, reform of representation in the Bretton Woods institutions remains a prerequisite that cannot be postponed. As long as the quota formula remains biased towards advanced economies and as long as the U.S. retains its veto, the structural incentives for the bandwagon will continue to exist. The SDSN Sustainable Development Report 2024 itself identifies strengthening UN-based multilateralism as one of the urgent needs of a recommendation that presupposes a more equitable representation architecture reform.

Second, transparency in the multilateral negotiation process must be expanded. If negotiating positions could be monitored more openly by civil society and the media, the space between publicly stated positions and actual behavior at the negotiating table would become narrower. This is especially relevant for the negotiation process in international financial institutions that have been operating with a high level of secrecy.

Third, strengthening a substantive south-south coalition that should go beyond solidarity rhetoric can also provide a buffer against external pressure. But this requires that the countries of the Global South build real policy coordination mechanisms in multilateral forums, not just in bilateral meetings. Without this kind of mechanism, Global South solidarity will continue to be an aspiration that is defeated by the calculation of bilateral dependency in critical moments.

Conclusion

The bandwagon effect in global governance is a manifestation of institutionalized inequality. It works discreetly, through incentives and dependencies, to produce consensuses that look strong on the outside but fragile on the inside. SDG 16 which mandates inclusive, accountable, and effective institutions cannot be realized as long as the global decision-making mechanisms themselves continue to produce conditions that encourage countries to hide their true preferences.

As UNDP affirms in its latest SDG 16 progress report, peace and prosperity for all people and the planet is only possible with decisive and innovative action on SDG 16. Such actions cannot be limited to the domestic realm alone, they must include a fundamental transformation in the global governance architecture that currently systematically penalizes diplomatic courage and incentivizes compliance.

Effective global governance is not built on consensus imposed by dependencies. It is built on genuine participation and genuine participation requires conditions in which authentic choices are not punished by structures that are supposed to serve all.

And while grid physics remains the starting point, the innovations shaping the 2030 landscape extend far beyond conductors and transmission lines. The energy transition of the early 2020s was framed as a moral and political imperative. But from 2026 onward, the debate shifts decisively. The center of gravity moves from ideological declarations to hard technical realities, material constraints, and industrial competitiveness. The path to 2030 is no longer about announcing targets; it is about solving the physical, economic, and infrastructural parameters that will determine whether decarbonization can advance without destabilizing grids or bankrupting entire sectors.

EU deserves a clear reminder. LNG corridors from the Atlantic and the Mediterranean are helpful, but they cannot resolve Europe’s energy challenges. They remain complementary measures. They do not correct the structural difficulties created over decades. A persistent green ideological rigidity limited the role of firm capacity. Domestic hydrocarbon production was phased out. Permitting essential infrastructure slowed significantly. These choices had predictable effects. They overlooked grid physics, materials, storage, reliability, and industrial policy. They weakened the system Europe now relies on. Three forces now shape the landscape. Grids must remain stable under very high RES penetration. Critical materials, from copper and aluminum to gallium, are becoming scarce and expensive. Existing fossil infrastructure must be used strategically to avoid premature asset stranding. Innovation is adjusting to these realities. New conductors, new storage solutions, new fuels, and updated regulatory frameworks are emerging because the previous assumptions no longer hold.

Materials and Conductors: The Silent Revolution in Grid Reinforcement

The rapid expansion of data centers and large RES clusters has exposed the limits of traditional copper‑based infrastructure. Prices, weight, and installation requirements make the full network reconstruction prohibitive. Aluminum, meanwhile, cannot handle the required current densities. This is where copper‑clad aluminum (CCA) becomes critical: it offers higher conductivity than aluminum, lower cost and weight than copper, and reduced thermal load in dense electrical environments. By 2030, CCA will be widely deployed in data centers, EV fast‑charging networks, and medium‑voltage grids across Europe and North America. Instead of rebuilding entire networks, operators turn to targeted CCA upgrades to ease congestion and unlock dormant capacity. Yet another constraint emerges: transformer shortages and slow permitting, now as acute as the bottlenecks facing RES deployment.

Hydrogen and Methane Pyrolysis: The End of the Universal Green Solution

The myth of the early transition collapses in the 2020s. Hydrogen is no longer viewed as a universal green solution. Life‑cycle analyses show that green hydrogen is only as clean as the electricity feeding the electrolyzers, while methane leakage undermines the value of blue hydrogen. This opens the door to methane pyrolysis, which produces hydrogen and solid carbon with lower emissions, provided methane leakage is tightly controlled. Yet its economic viability depends on stable, low‑cost methane supply. The shift from blue to pyrolytic hydrogen changes the chemical approach, and the geopolitics. Pyrolysis does not free Europe from geopolitical exposure because the continent still depends on external methane suppliers, such the US, Qatar, Algeria, East Med producers, and African exporters. Europe’s pursuit of low‑carbon hydrogen therefore intersects with the strategic interests of actors whose priorities do not always align with EU climate policy.

Hard Carbon and Sodium‑Ion Batteries: The New Geopolitics of Storage

As hydrogen is reconsidered, another development is quietly reshaping the storage landscape. Research from 2024–2025 shows significant advances in sodium‑ion batteries (SIBs). They use hard‑carbon anodes and improved electrolytes that extend performance, safety, and lifespan. Their cost structure is attractive, and their reliance on abundant materials makes them resilient to supply‑chain shocks. They remain short‑duration technologies, typically up to 10 hours, but they offer a robust alternative for stationary applications where energy density is less critical. Lithium keeps its lead in mobility and high‑power applications, yet it gradually loses its monopoly in grid storage.

The absence of lithium, cobalt, and nickel drastically reduces dependence on unstable or concentrated supply chains. Sodium, abundant and low‑cost, makes SIBs ideal for stationary applications. By 2030, SIBs will be deployed across industrial sites, distribution grids, substations, and hybrid long‑duration systems, often combined with hydrogen or thermal storage. China leads production, while Europe attempts to build its own supply chain to reduce import dependence. Sodium‑ion technology is emerging as a strategic counterweight to China’s dominance in lithium refining and cathode materials. By shifting to sodium, a resource with no geopolitical constraints, Europe and India seek to dilute China’s leverage over global battery supply chains. Storage is no longer just a technical field; it is a geopolitical chessboard.

Long Duration Storage Beyond Lithium

Lithium batteries remain essential for short‑duration storage, but the 2030 system increasingly depends on Long Duration Energy Storage (LDES). The cause is simple: high RES penetration creates multi‑day and multi‑week imbalances that no battery chemistry can economically cover. Hydrogen becomes the backbone of these long‑duration needs, not because of efficiency, but because it provides security of supply and seasonal flexibility. In shipping, e‑methanol emerges as the most practical ambient‑temperature hydrogen carrier, balancing energy density, safety, and infrastructure readiness.

The LDES ecosystem expands rapidly. Iron‑air and zinc‑air systems offer multi‑day discharge at low cost. Flow batteries provide long cycle life and deep‑discharge flexibility. Thermal storage and mechanical systems add further diversity. Together, these technologies form a portfolio that complements lithium and sodium‑ion, each serving a different segment of the duration curve.

Hydrogen‑Ready Infrastructure and the Management of Stranded Assets

This shift toward hydrogen‑compatible combined‑cycle gas turbines (CCGTs) is not ideological but economic. It allows investors to continue amortizing fossil infrastructure while gradually reducing emissions. Technical challenges such as, flame speed (much higher than natural gas), NOₓ formation, and material stress, are significant. By 2030 many such units will operate with 20–30% hydrogen blends. They will not eliminate emissions but provide a transition bridge and prevent massive asset write‑offs while stabilizing the grids during low‑RES periods. In fact, dispatchable capacity is becoming a strategic asset in a world where energy security is increasingly weaponized. From Russia’s pipeline leverage to Middle Eastern LNG politics, the vulnerabilities are unmistakable. In this environment, hydrogen‑ready CCGTs are not merely engineering choices; they function as geopolitical insurance policies.

SMRs and the Return of Firm Power

Small Modular Reactors (SMRs) will move from concept to implementation in the late 2030s. Their value lies not only in nuclear physics but in industrial standardization, factory manufacturing, harmonized licensing, and integration into industrial heat networks. By 2030, the first SMRs will operate as firm‑power anchors for mining regions, isolated grids such as data centers, and large industrial sites. In a world of tightening supply chains and rising geopolitical competition, their role becomes both technological and strategic.

CBAM and the New Era of Tariff Diplomacy

As the transition moves from engineering constraints to system‑wide restructuring, the pressures are no longer purely technical. Materials, grids, storage, and firm capacity define what is physically possible and the global environment in which these technologies operate is increasingly shaped by trade policy, industrial strategy, and geopolitical competition. This is where the next layer of the transition emerges: the regulatory and commercial instruments. They determine who captures value, who bears cost, and how global supply chains realign. Among these instruments, none is more consequential than the EU’s Carbon Border Adjustment Mechanism. This mechanism does not offer technical solutions, it turns decarbonization from a voluntary commitment to a tool of trade. Exporters of steel, aluminum, cement, fertilizers, and electricity must prove low carbon intensity or pay tariffs that erase their competitiveness. For the European Union, CBAM is expected to accelerate investment in low‑carbon processes, often supported by IPCEI programs. Yet the counter‑argument gains weight: CBAM relies on ideological rather than technocratic CO₂ accounting. It ignores life‑cycle emissions, methane leakage outside the EU, the energy intensity of European grids, and emissions embedded in imports. Instead of reducing global emissions, it risks creating carbon leakage under another name.

CBAM sits at the intersection of great‑power competition and the emerging fracture lines of the global economy. For the United States, it is both challenge and opportunity. First, a challenge because European border carbon pricing can collide with U.S. industrial and trade interests. Secondly, an opportunity because, together with the Inflation Reduction Act, it can support a transatlantic low‑carbon industrial block capable of setting de facto global standards. Whether Washington and Brussels coordinate or drift into regulatory rivalry will shape investment flows for decades.

For China, CBAM is more than a tariff, it signals that the EU is prepared to weaponize market access in the name of climate policy. Beijing reads it alongside export controls on critical technologies and restrictions on Chinese clean tech in Europe. In response, China accelerates its own standards, consolidates its dominance in batteries, solar and critical materials, and secures long‑term offtake agreements with countries that feel penalized by European rules. CBAM thus reinforces Beijing’s narrative of Western “green protectionism” aimed at containing China’s industrial rise.

The BRICS expansion adds another layer. Many BRICS and “BRICS‑plus” countries, from India and Brazil to Gulf and African states, view CBAM as a unilateral imposition of European norms on their development paths. As they deepen South‑South cooperation, build alternative financial mechanisms, and explore their own carbon accounting systems, CBAM risks catalyzing parallel regulatory ecosystems: one centered on the EU, another around a looser BRICS‑led bloc rejecting externally imposed climate conditionality.

For much of the Global South, CBAM reinforces a long‑standing grievance: that advanced economies, having built their prosperity on cheap fossil energy, now deploy climate policy in ways that restrict others’ industrial development. Many fear it will confine them to raw‑material roles while eroding the competitiveness of their energy‑intensive sectors. This perception fuels diplomatic pushback, draws some countries closer to China or BRICS frameworks, and complicates Europe’s attempt to position itself as a partner in a “just transition. In this sense, CBAM is more than a tool of market protection or climate ambition. It is a lever that can either place Europe at the center of a rules‑based low‑carbon trade system or accelerate the fragmentation of the global economy into competing regulatory and geopolitical blocks.

Conclusion

The energy transition is not a single technological narrative. Some innovations concern grid physics, conductivity, stability, and thermal management; others shape the energy mix, storage, and industrial architecture of the coming decade. The energy system of 2030 will not be shaped by slogans but by physics, materials, and economics. The question is whether Europe will adapt in time, or whether reality will violently adjust its ambitions.

In a recent move, China’s top general and a longtime confidant of President Xi Jinping, Zhang Youxia, and Joint Staff chief Liu Zhenli were removed from the Central Military Commission (CMC). An editorial published in Liberation Army Daily described both men as “seriously betraying the trust and expectations” of the Communist Party of China (CPC) and the CMC.

Beyond corruption allegations, Zhang was reportedly accused of leaking core technical data on China’s nuclear weapons programme to the United States. In the aftermath, the Central Intelligence Agency (CIA) released a Mandarin language recruitment video targeting disaffected Chinese soldiers. Titled “The Reason for Stepping Forward To Save the Future,” portrays a disillusioned midlevel officer choosing to contact American intelligence. The outreach appears aimed at deepening internal doubts and positioning itself as an alternative confidant for officers who may feel exposed. However, this is not the first time the agency has sought to infiltrate the country.

A History of Intelligence Operations and Resets

Intelligence rivalry stretches back to the late 1940s, when the CIA tried to monitor the Soviet nuclear programme by placing listening devices within China and along its Soviet border. Surveillance also extended to the Xinjiang region, tracking uranium, gold, petroleum, and Soviet aid to the CPC during its war with the US backed Guomindang for regional control. Despite these efforts, the intelligence gathered remained minimal at best, from October 1950 to July 1953 the agency also failed to achieve its primary objective of diverting significant resources away from China’s military campaign in Korea.

As Cold War rivalries hardened, the CIA launched Operation Circus in the late 1950s to support Tibetan rebels against the CPC. The CIA supplied guerrilla groups, including the most active Chushi Gangdruk group, with arms and ammunition and trained fighters at Camp Hale. Allen Dulles, then CIA deputy director, saw the effort as an opportunity to destabilize the CPC and counter Communist influence across Asia. The group continued its operations from Nepal until 1974, when funding ended after US-China rapprochement.

During the 1970s and 1980s, the CIA cooperated with Chinese intelligence under Project Chestnut, establishing listening posts in the northwest to monitor Soviet communications. In 1989, as the Tiananmen Square protests rocked the CPC, the CIA provided communications equipment, including fax machines and typewriters to protestors. It also assisted in the escape of protest leaders with the help of sympathizers in Hong Kong under Operation Yellow Bird. Relations deteriorated in 2001, when an aircraft built in the US for General Secretary Jiang Zemin was found to contain at least 27 listening devices, including one embedded in the headboard of a bed, operable via satellite.

However, these gains proved fragile as major setbacks soon followed, with reports that between 2010 and 2012 Chinese authorities dismantled a large CIA network. In total, between 18 and 20 sources were killed or imprisoned, according to two former senior American officials. One asset was reportedly shot in front of colleagues in the courtyard of a government building as a warning to others suspected of working with the CIA.

Espionage in the Xi Jinping Era

Estimates in 2024 suggested the Ministry of State Security (MSS) employed as many as 800,000 personnel, compared with roughly 480,000 at the height of the KGB. After taking power in 2012, Xi further consolidated control over its security apparatus, chairing a high level national security task force.

His approach also followed revelations that an American informant network had infiltrated the MSS. An executive assistant to MSS Vice Minister Lu Zhongwei was discovered in 2012 to have passed sensitive information to the CIA. The ministry was also influenced by former security chief Zhou Yongkang, who was charged with abuse of power and intentionally leaking state secrets in 2014. He was subsequently expelled from the politburo in one of the most consequential purges in the country’s history.

In light of these developments, Xi’s “comprehensive state security concept,” promulgated in 2014, linked internal and external threats and underscored the dangers of destabilization through foreign subversion and infiltration. He also enacted the 2014 Counter Espionage Law, revised in 2023 to broaden espionage definitions, coinciding with detentions of foreign firm employees and tighter data controls.

Under his leadership, another major initiative allowed the MSS to establish direct public contact in 2015 through a hotline and website urging citizens to report threats to national security. In 2017, MSS offered rewards of up to 500,000 RMB for reporting suspected threats. In the same year, counterintelligence services also launched a broad awareness campaign through websites, animations, and television dramas promoting this “special work,” often targeting journalists, academics, and Chinese American and Taiwanese businesspeople.

Chinese courts have also imposed severe punishments in such cases. In April 2025, a former employee of a military research institute was sentenced to life imprisonment for selling secret documents to foreign intelligence agencies. The ruling followed the sentencing of a former engineer to death in March on similar charges.

China also deploys operatives abroad to curb criticism and preserve regime stability. Overseas police stations reportedly directed by provincial MSS offices combine administrative services with intelligence functions. One established in New York by the Fuzhou Public Security Bureau drew headlines in 2023. In fact, the earliest cyber incidents targeting UK government systems in the early 2000s originated not from Russia but from China, and were aimed at gathering information on overseas dissident communities, including Tibetan and Uighur groups.

New Intelligence Order Enters a Decisive Era

As China’s influence grew in the 2000s, Western policymakers were focused on the war on terror and interventions in Afghanistan and Iraq. At the same time, political leaders often preferred that intelligence chiefs avoid publicly naming China. Businesses faced mounting pressure to prioritize access to its vast market, while remaining reluctant to acknowledge that their proprietary information was being targeted.

In 2021, the FBI reported opening a new Chinese espionage case roughly every 12 hours, most involving cyber disruption. Cybersecurity and Infrastructure Security Agency (CISA), the Department of Justice, and other US bodies repeatedly identified MSS affiliated actors in advisories and indictments. Analysts assess MSS linked groups have surpassed PLA associated actors in both the sophistication and scope of their hacking campaigns. In 2024, authorities announced that Salt Typhoon had breached major US telecommunications companies in one of the most damaging publicly reported cyber campaigns. The National Security Agency (NSA) also noted that China’s reliance on indigenous technology makes its networks harder to track.

Former CIA director William J. Burns, under the Biden administration described these intelligence shortcomings as a “pacing challenge.” The administration created a China Mission Centre and a technology intelligence centre to address it. An executive order was also issued in 2024, prohibiting funding for Chinese semiconductors, microelectronics, quantum computing, and certain AI applications in sectors that are considered capable of enhancing military capabilities.

When the Trump administration returned in 2025, it triggered significant disruptions across the US government. In early May 2025, plans were announced to cut 1,200  positions at CIA and 2,000 at the NSA, with similar reductions reportedly planned for other intelligence bodies as well. Such cuts were expected to disrupt operations and deter long term asset relationships. The “Signalgate scandal” further revealed that senior national security officials had shared classified information in an unsecured Signal group chat. These avoidable lapses posed a serious threat to operational security and heightened the risks faced by intelligence assets worldwide.

As China pursues its vision of a unipolar world while escalating espionage and global security threats, international attention on its actions has intensified. Trump’s planned visit to China in April 2026 will be closely watched to assess whether the recruitment videos are part of a broader strategy targeting Xi’s establishment or merely a pressure tactic.

Introduction

The Arctic has long been known as “high North, low tension”, as its frozen waters and permafrost landscape offered no incentives to the states. However, due to global warming, it is changing. The rate of warming in the Arctic region is four times faster than the globe, resulting in massive ice loss. This anthropogenic anomaly has made the Arctic a region of geopolitical significance.

The Strategic Importance

The strategic importance of any region primarily depends on two factors: The first is Geographical position; which not only emboldens its importance as a trade passage but also defines its fruitfulness as a strategic location in both peace and war. The second; its Resources which offer economic benefits to the states, which can be translated into military might. The Arctic, indeed, has manifested both qualities. Its seas are becoming navigable as the ice recedes. The Northern Sea Route (NSR) and the Northwest passage (NWP) provide the countries in the high latitudes lucrative trade opportunities. Similarly, the geo-economic weight of the Arctic is augmented by its huge reserves of petroleum and minerals. It holds almost 13% (90 billion barrels) of the world’s undiscovered oil and 30% of its undiscovered gas resources. Moreover, the Arctic has a large amount of mineral resources. For example, Greenland; which comprises almost 15% of the Arctic region and its second largest contiguous landmass, is estimated to possess large deposits of Rare Earths, Copper, Zinc, Iron ore, Gold, Nickel and Uranium. Therefore, the big powers have set eye on the Arctic, including the US; Russia and China, with ambitions to dominate which may be termed as The Arctic Great Game.

Strategic location of the Arctic

“Whoever holds Alaska will hold the world”, General Billy Mitchell was not wrong when he uttered this phrase in 1935. Indeed, during the Cold War, the possession of Alaska for the US, its only in the Arctic, proved fruitful. American early warning satellites and missile defenses were installed in Alaska to detect Soviet infiltration. The Cold War is over now, but the competition over the Arctic has reinvigorated. The US, under Trump administration, is ambitious to dominate

the Western Hemisphere. The Arctic, especially Greenland, can be defined as the head of the Western Hemisphere. The geographical position of the Greenland is indeed enviable. East of it runs the widest gap between the Arctic and the Atlantic Ocean. Therefore, America holds the Island in esteem for its strategic location. The 2026 National Defense Strategy emphasizes the US military and commercial access to the Arctic, especially Greenland. It already operates the Pituffik Space Base (formerly Thule Air Base) in Greenland, in addition to its Alaskan military bases in the Arctic.

Russia, an important stakeholder in the region, enjoys one of the longest coastlines and largest territories in the Arctic. Russian activities in the Arctic are not novice. In the late 18^th century, Russian emperor Peter the Great launched the ‘Great Northern Expedition’ which aimed to search for a northern sea route that could connect the Pacific and Europe. The quest for a such a sea route seems promising now as the Arctic waters become traversable. In 2020, Russia unveiled its Arctic policy till 2035. Among others, it emphasized the development of the Northern Sea Route (NSR) as ‘a national transport communication of the Russian Federation that is competitive on the world market’. However, after Russian invasion of Ukraine, Kremlin adopted a staunch outlook. In Feb 2023, Putin decreed to amend the country’s Arctic policy. The amended document mentioned the prioritization of the national interests of the Russian Federation in the Arctic. For this purpose, Russia has endeavored to transform NSR into a global trade and energy route. Russia currently operates the largest Icebreaker fleet and thanks to this technology, the transit of trade vessels is expected to increase through the NSR.

Routes through the Arctic Ocean. Source: Author’s creation

However, any unilateral Russian action in the Arctic Ocean would not land off the attention of the other Arctic states. While Russia is ambitious to hew the Arctic Ocean as a “Russian Lake”, the other Arctic countries too deem the Arctic as their ‘number one priority’. The Nordic countries consider the Arctic as a security concern, they also see Russia as a threat in the region while emphasizing sustainable development in the region. Therefore, the strategic competition in the Arctic will, inevitably, shape the European security dynamics.

The strategic importance of GIUK (Greenland-Iceland-UK) Gap, a body of open water between the three countries, is still relevant. During the Cold War, it provided the Soviet vessels an outlet into the North Atlantic Ocean which conferred optimal range to strike NATO targets. However, in late 2019, Russian submarines surged through the gap into the North Atlantic in what was a large-scale military exercise to which NATO forces counteracted with air missions to gather reconnaissance. Therefore, the Arctic is of strategic significance. It acts as a vanguard for the defenses of the Americas and Europe.

The most interesting case offered in the Arctic security is that of China, which lacks any geographical connection to the region. For Beijing, the Arctic begets new opportunities. China has already declared itself a “Near-Arctic State”  in its Arctic Policy 2018 and seeks to participate in the development of the Arctic shipping routes. China’s growing interest in the Arctic shipping routes can be interpreted as its efforts to diversify its trade routes. Compare the two routes which link China to the Western European markets: First is from the Chinese ports through the East and South China Sea, into the Indian Ocean, then crossing the Suez and reaching Mediterranean, squeezing through Gibraltar strait and reaching destinations. China’s apparition, utilizing this route, is evident in what has been translated as the “Malacca dilemma”. The second runs northerly from the Chinese ports and then cruising along the Arctic reaches Northern and Western Europe. The first is long, time-consuming and precarious in case of conflict given complex maritime features of the region. The second not only cost saving but also relatively more secure and safe. Therefore, the prospects for China to make the Arctic a “Polar Silk Road” are rewarding.

Future Power Politics in the Arctic. Source: Author’s creation

The Race to Secure the Arctic Resources

President Trump, during his first term, had tried to buy Greenland. However, his efforts were reinvigorated after his re-election in late 2024. During his second term, he has repeatedly threatened to occupy Greenland by using military force, the island defined by him as a matter of national security. The strategic importance of the Greenland is evident. Trump’s interest in the Greenland can be defined by two reasons. First to oust China and Russia from the region who have been increasing their influence in the region, as he perceives. Secondly, Trump wants to secure the resources of the Greenland for the US. Greenland, as said earlier, is rich in rare-earth minerals, which have their application in military industries, medical equipment, oil refining and green energy. Currently, China is the largest exporter of the rare earths. US deems ramping up its rare earth’s resources crucial for countering the Chinese monopoly over them. Last year, a global supply chains crisis loomed following China’s restrictions on the exports of the critical minerals. Moreover, to meet the threat imposed by climate change, the real progenitor of the shift in Arctic security, the transition to renewable and smart energy sources demands sufficient mineral resources including the rare earths. These are used in wind turbines and electric vehicles.

Russia extracts a huge amount of its energy and mineral resources from the Arctic. It produces rare earths, nickel and cobalt from its Arctic territory. Russian Arctic also holds almost 37.5 trillion cubic metres of natural gas, 75% of Russia’s gas reserves. As the permafrost thaws and the sea ice melts in the Arctic, Russia will expand its efforts to secure the resources in the region. Therefore, the Kremlin keenly observes changing environmental and political dynamics in the Arctic.

Lastly, the ‘Near-Arctic State’ has also augmented its footholds in the Arctic. China has invested in economic sectors in the Arctic. It is yet to be unveiled whether China’s ambitions in the Arctic are solely for peaceful economic purposes or rather they embody a strategic objective. So far, China has remained innocuous, focusing on economic ties with the Arctic states which benefit all.

Conclusion

The Arctic is going to witness a tense geostrategic competition. Climate Change has transformed this previously unnoticed region into a new stage of strategic competition. Arctic routes and resources invite regional as well as extra-regional powers to vie for dominance in the high north. Therefore, states have shifted their focus to the Arctic. The political and strategic facts imply that in the future the master of the Arctic will decide the matters of the world.