Eastern Europe

The last few years in European history can be described as “one battle after another”. From the start of the Russia-Ukraine war to the return of U.S. President Donald Trump for a second term and all of the headache that followed, Europe has found itself dealing with one challenge after another. Now, after years of geopolitical tensions and uncertainty, Europe may be heading towards another battle, one that could hit much closer to home: food. The continent is facing the prospect of a food shortage, and the problem has already begun to take shape.   The reasons behind it span from extreme heatwaves that are having a negative impact on crops and agriculture at large, to war-related disruptions that are affecting key trade routes and food supplies. While all of the above is already bad news for Europe, the worse possibility is that the problem might not stop at European doors and could extend into a global food crisis. Accordingly, what comes next for Europe, and can Europeans secure enough food for their people?

The United Nations General Assembly’s resolution on ‘Correct the Map’ extends beyond the technical debate over map projections. It reveals a new arena of symbolic contestation in which countries of the Global South are seeking to renegotiate how the world is represented. The resolution encourages the use of equal-area projections, particularly Equal Earth. It neither prescribes a single map nor alters national borders but confers explicit UN legitimacy on a longstanding African demand: that the continent should not be depicted in education, the media or international institutions in ways that diminish its spatial weight relative to northern regions. Viewed in this light, the vote represents more than a geographical correction. It marks a political breakthrough in ‘visual governance’, where knowledge intersects with power and the image of the world presented to the public becomes a matter for negotiation within the multilateral system.   This initiative comes at a time when countries of the Global South are increasingly able to place questions of identity and representation on the international agenda. The resolution’s adoption demonstrates that soft power operates not only through culture and discourse but also through the standards that shape public knowledge. Changing a map projection will not, in itself, redirect investment or reconfigure supply chains. It does, however, provide a narrative instrument through which countries in Africa, Latin America and South Asia can highlight the scale of their markets, the reach of their corridors and their position within global resource and trade networks. ‘Visual emancipation’ thus offers a means of presenting the South’s geoeconomic weight anew: a framework that helps make its material sources of power more visible and encourages them to be taken more seriously.   Throughout history, maps have been among the most influential instruments of epistemic authority. They serve practical purposes in navigation and administration, while also determining what occupies the centre, what appears at the margins, how borders are drawn and how places are named. Cartography has therefore been inseparable from the state and empire. Maps have been used in surveying, taxation, military campaigns and the delineation of spheres of influence, helping to turn geographical space into a domain that can be administered and controlled. Every map carry, alongside its data, assumptions about purpose, scale, projection and the viewer’s standpoint. Reading a map consequently requires more than asking whether it is accurate. It demands a more political set of questions: accurate for what purpose, who chose this way of depicting the world, and what perceptions does that choice entrench when it becomes a widely accepted standard?   Since the sixteenth century, the Mercator projection has occupied an exceptional position in world cartography. Designed primarily for navigation, it preserves angles and represents constant bearings as straight lines but increasingly exaggerates area towards the poles. The problem lies in its adoption as a general image of the world in classrooms, the media and digital platforms, including settings where comparing areas is the principal objective, rather than in its use for the task for which it was designed. The consequences are particularly clear in the comparison between Africa and Greenland. On many Mercator maps, they appear similar in size, whereas Africa covers approximately 30.37 million square kilometres, nearly fourteen times Greenland’s roughly 2.17 million square kilometres. Repeated across generations, this image does not create political marginalisation on its own but supplies it with a visual language consistent with the North’s centrality in the global imagination.   The Correct the Map resolution, led by Togo on behalf of the African Group and supported by the African Union, brings this objection into an international institutional framework. The General Assembly adopted the text contained in document A/80/L.104 with 164 countries voting in favour, the United States alone voting against, and six abstentions. The political significance of this outcome lies in the breadth of support beyond Africa and the countries traditionally associated with the Global South, encompassing European states and international powers with divergent interests. The resolution is not legally binding and does not affect sovereignty, borders or the legal status of disputed territories. It does, however, call on educational institutions, the media, international organisations and digital platforms to give serious consideration to projections better suited to depicting relative areas. Its principal strength therefore lies in transforming ‘visual justice’ from an African advocacy campaign into an international norm capable of wider adoption.

Russia is holding Duma elections between 18 and 20 September 2026 amidst the fallout from its 2022 war in Ukraine and the accompanying economic, political, and security challenges. Several parties are competing in these elections, most notably the ruling United Russia party, which has been in power since 2001.   On the surface, the elections appear to offer little uncertainty. But digging deep, the Kremlin is quietly reshaping the political landscape. The emergence of young, loyal bureaucrats, the mobilisation of presidential aides, and the increasing integration of veterans into the government all point to changes that extend far beyond the mere formation of the next Duma.   This makes it difficult to predict the outcome of the 2026 elections by simply asking who will win. The more important question may lie beyond the ballot itself: What kind of political system is Russia preparing to carry forward? As the war continues to reshape the state, the elite, and the relationship between the Kremlin and society, the new Duma may offer a base to a political order whose most crucial stage has yet to unfold.

On July 3, reports emerged that the United States has warned Warsaw of a possible Russian armed "provocation" against Poland, designed to test NATO's resolve. According to sources close to Polish President Karol Nawrocki, cited by the Polish outlet Onet, Washington has repeatedly signaled that such an operation could be launched within a matter of months. The scenarios under discussion range from missile or drone strikes on Poland's critical infrastructure to a limited crossing of Russian soldiers into NATO territory. This raises a critical question: is Moscow preparing to directly test Article 5 of the North Atlantic Treaty?   A provocation of this kind would differ fundamentally from a conventional invasion. It would be deliberately calibrated to remain below the threshold of open war — ambiguous enough to sow hesitation among allies, yet aggressive enough to force a response. Though limited in scale, its consequences for European security and the global order could be profound.

For more than three decades, Israel maintained a policy of strategic ambiguity towards the Armenian Genocide, deliberately withholding formal recognition despite mounting domestic calls—from parliamentarians and academics alike—for a definitive official position. This reluctance was neither accidental nor driven by historical uncertainty. Rather, it reflected a carefully calibrated strategy aimed at safeguarding a complex web of vital national interests. Official silence helped preserve Israel's close strategic partnerships with both Turkey and Azerbaijan, secure the uninterrupted flow of energy supplies and critical trade routes, and protect its sensitive intelligence footprint along Iran's northern frontier.   That strategic equilibrium was abruptly overturned in June 2026, when the Israeli government formally recognised the Armenian Genocide. The decision triggered an unprecedented backlash from Azerbaijan, which swiftly denounced it as a distortion of historical facts lacking any legal or scholarly foundation, while demanding that Israel immediately reverse its position. At that moment, the contours of a profound strategic contradiction came sharply into focus. Although Israel presented the move as a moral and historical obligation, the broader geopolitical context pointed instead to predominantly political and retaliatory calculations. In a single decision, Tel Aviv opened itself to direct confrontation with Turkey and a quieter, yet strategically significant, rift with Azerbaijan, while simultaneously creating an opportunity for Iran to exploit the emerging fractures and weaken Israel's extensive strategic influence along its northern frontier.

At a Beijing military parade in September 2025, a hot microphone captured Russian President Vladimir Putin telling Chinese President Xi Jinping that advances in biotechnology could allow humans to continuously replace their organs, grow younger, and perhaps even achieve immortality. Xi responded that people may live to 150 years by the end of this century. The exchange was widely dismissed as eccentric small talk between aging heads of state. It was neither eccentric nor small.   Behind Putin's remarks sat a $26 billion Russian state initiative, a team of scientists working toward bioprinted human organs by 2030, and a broader pattern of powerful states and private actors treating human longevity as a strategic priority. As gene therapies, regenerative medicine, and organ replacement technologies move from laboratories toward clinical settings, a question that has received little attention begins to demand serious consideration: what happens to state power when the biological clock that has always constrained political leaders and their institutions starts to slow down?

Ukraine’s shift from a battlefield conflict to a multidimensional strategy of systematically exhausting Russian war efforts appears to be causing divisions and tensions among the elites in Moscow. This has triggered expectations of elite defections from Russian President Vladimir Putin’s regime and even the possibility of his removal. According to this view, the prolonged war is likely to undermine Russia’s internal stability and elite confidence, which eventually would translate to broader political restructuring and potentially a complete regime change.   However, the complex structure of the Russian regime suggests a different scenario regarding how elite dissatisfaction could influence the course of events and the relationship between elite fragmentation and regime stability. Hence, the strategic question is no longer whether Russia can survive battlefield losses but whether the Kremlin can indefinitely withstand the cumulative pressures of growing elite frustration.

Discussion surrounding a potential United States (U.S.) withdrawal from NATO has remained one of the defining debates since the beginning of Donald Trump’s second presidency. In recent months, particularly following the war involving the U.S. and Israel against Iran, tensions within the alliance have intensified, with President Trump openly criticising several European NATO allies and questioning their value to the alliance. As a result, the central question is no longer limited to whether Washington could formally leave NATO. Increasingly, attention should shift toward a more pressing issue: could Europe manage its security independently without substantial American support? What would be the strategic, military, and economic cost of such a shift, and would European states be capable of rebuilding or reorganising their defence capabilities quickly enough to confront emerging threats?   Importantly, despite the significant legal, political, and institutional constraints facing any U.S. president seeking to withdraw from NATO entirely, Washington could still adopt alternative approaches that stop short of formal withdrawal while substantially reducing its role within the alliance. Such measures could include lowering financial contributions, scaling back troop deployments across Europe, or withdrawing critical weapons systems and strategic capabilities currently provided by the U.S. In such a scenario, how vulnerable would Europe become, and how prepared would it be to fill the resulting gaps?

The U.S.-Israel-Iran War is well underway, and the risks of spillover and enlargement is becoming more of a reality as the war goes on. As the conflict continues to expand, several actors are seeking out opportunities to challenge the existing balance of power in the region and aim to exploit the war to expand their influence. In the past decade, Russia has been working to court the United States’ MENA allies into its sphere of influence through the concept of regime stability, while China is taking on a soft power approach through economic and diplomatic cooperation. A prolonged war between the U.S.-Israel and Iran can result in global powers such as Russia and China getting more involved in the region to diminish American influence globally, which can result in a great power competition. The potential of Iran serving as an arena for great power competition will be explored through the American strategic overstretch and the economic shock caused by energy crisis.

The long-standing efforts to end the Russia-Ukraine War were disturbed by the sudden outbreak of the U.S.-Israel-Iran War. The strikes carried out by the United States and Israel against Iran, and their broader spill-overs across the Middle East, have hindered the already difficult peace negotiations between Moscow and Kyiv. This escalation raises concerns about the extent to which the U.S.-Israel-Iran War could have on the broader geopolitical dynamics. This war risks diverting global attention away from efforts to resolve the Russia-Ukraine War and, at the same time, raises concerns about the extent to which it could reshape power dynamics and influence the trajectory of this war.

The global political and economic landscape is undergoing structural shifts following the outbreak of US and Israeli military operations against Iran in late February 2026. In response to this escalation, the Iranian leadership adopted a strategic decision to close the Strait of Hormuz to commercial shipping and oil tankers, leveraging its asymmetric capabilities, including naval mines, advanced missile systems, and drones, to transform the strait into an active military theatre.   The Strait of Hormuz constitutes a critical artery for global energy supplies, with approximately 20 million barrels of oil transiting through it daily, accounting for around 20% of global consumption, as well as shipments of liquefied natural gas (LNG). The closure has produced immediate economic repercussions, including the suspension of maritime traffic, the withdrawal of insurance coverage by shipping insurers, and a sharp surge in oil prices, which have exceeded $120 per barrel. In an effort to contain the crisis, the European Union’s High Representative for Foreign Affairs and Security Policy, Kaja Kallas, proposed a diplomatic initiative to establish a secure maritime corridor in the Strait of Hormuz under United Nations supervision to ensure the safe flow of energy supplies.   Kallas’s initiative draws on the “Black Sea Initiative” model, which enabled the export of Ukrainian grain under international guarantees. European efforts are driven by concerns that disruptions to gas supplies could undermine global food production, given their direct linkage to fertiliser manufacturing. The initiative, therefore, seeks to insulate energy vessels from military targeting to preserve global economic stability. Against this backdrop, the central question arises: to what extent can this initiative help de-escalate the current crisis, and what alternatives remain should the Black Sea model prove unviable?

The military operations that unfolded over twelve days in June 2025 between Iran and Israel marked a sharp breakpoint in the trajectory of regional military balance. The confrontation resulted in a substantial erosion of Tehran’s military infrastructure and inflicted significant material losses. The depth of this operational failure was most evident in the near-total collapse of Iran’s integrated air-defence system, with confirmed intelligence assessments indicating that Israel succeeded in neutralising more than 80 surface-to-air missile batteries and destroying over 120 launch platforms. This effectively stripped Iranian airspace of its protective shield and imposed a state of absolute Israeli air superiority.   Amid this collapse, Tehran effectively lost its entire arsenal of the Russian-made S-300PMU2 (“S-300 PMU-2”) systems, which it had acquired in 2016 after protracted negotiations and at considerable financial cost. These systems were systematically destroyed between 2024 and 2025. Iran’s domestic air-defence industries, represented by the Bavar-373 and Khordad-15 systems, also demonstrated clear operational inadequacy when tested in a real combat environment.   This exposed a wide technological gap between Israel’s offensive capabilities and Iran’s defensive assets. The Iranian air-defence network failed to record the downing of a single manned Israeli fighter jet, and Iran’s ageing air force, reliant on pre-revolution legacy aircraft such as the F-14 Tomcat, the Phantom, and the Tiger, supplemented by 1990s-era MiG-29s, stood incapable of competing or deterring effectively.   This total inability to contest the battlespace not only underscored tactical failure but delivered a decisive blow to the strategic assumptions underpinning Iran’s defence doctrine for decades, particularly its reliance on “asymmetric missile deterrence” and hybrid layered-defence networks.   Confronted with a reality in which its missile capabilities were neutralised and its aerial shield dismantled, the Iranian leadership was compelled to adopt a “post-war reset” strategy, launching an urgent acquisition campaign aimed at closing the technological gap by turning eastward towards Russia and China to rebuild its lost deterrence.   The fundamental question that will shape the next phase in the Middle East remains: Can this “hybrid deterrence”, comprising domestic missiles alongside imported, only partially integrated weapon systems, endure against an adversary that has already demonstrated both the willingness and the capability to deliver devastating strikes deep inside Iran?