Connexion
Executive Summary:
Introduction: A New Operational Environment
Russia’s February 2022 full-scale invasion of Ukraine has become both the largest armed conflict in Europe since World War II and the most technologically saturated war in history. Over four years of combat, both sides have moved through several cycles of tactical adaptation: from the classical combined-arms operations of early 2022, through the positional warfare of 2023–2024, to the current phase of small-group infantry assault dominated by ubiquitous unmanned systems and networked electronic warfare (EW). The Russian military—despite catastrophic losses and the systemic failures of its first year of invasion—has demonstrated a meaningful capacity for organizational adaptation and doctrinal reworking.
For the states on the North Atlantic Treaty Organization’s (NATO) eastern flank—Estonia, Latvia, and Lithuania in particular—Ukraine’s experience offers a practical reference for a possible defensive scenario. The geography of the Baltic theater possesses several distinctive characteristics: limited strategic depth (no more than 200–300 kilometers (124–186 miles) from border areas to national capitals); narrow corridors, namely the Suwałki Gap; dense urban development along borders; and dependence on maritime and air supply lines passing along vulnerable routes. Under these conditions, the defender’s capacity to impose a slow tactical tempo during the first 30–45 days of conflict takes on strategic significance, as this is precisely the interval required to deploy allied formations along the Vilnius–Riga–Tallinn axis.
Evolution of Russian Ground Offensive Operations From Brigade Columns to Small Assault Groups
The Russian offensive operation as observed in 2025–2026 differs fundamentally from the model envisaged in the Russian military’s general-purpose doctrine of 2010–2014. Current Russian practice includes virtually no armored wedges designed to penetrate rapidly deep into enemy defenses. Instead, Russian forces apply continuous pressure with small assault groups across a wide front. A typical assault group consists of four to eight personnel moving in pairs at intervals of seven to nine meters, conducting its assault in successive waves that attack the same objective to exhaust the defender’s fire system.
This evolution is the direct result of contact with the saturated reconnaissance-strike complex fielded by the Armed Forces of Ukraine (AFU). Reconnaissance unmanned aerial vehicles (UAVs) detect armored formations concentrating at jump-off lines within minutes, and a composite combination of artillery, first-person view (FPV) drones, and loitering munitions engages them before they can step off. Adaptation to this environment required a radical reduction in the attacking formation’s visual and thermal signature. Russian tactics have similarly evolved. As a Russian military blogger wrote:
Our tactics have changed: the front is being ‘stretched’ by small groups of our assault troops who ‘seep’ into the most vulnerable sectors of the defense, creating bridgeheads that are then expanded and reinforced. Classically, a company’s offensive frontage has been 1.5 kilometers [about 1 mile], and a battalion’s 3–4 kilometers [about 1.9–2.5 miles]. New means of delivering ammunition, material, and provisions to the line of contact are playing an important role. In addition to motorcycles and quadricycles, our forces are now using a ground assault drone with a payload of up to 20 kilograms [about 44.1 pounds].[1]
The “Disposable” First Wave
Using the first assault group as a disposable element of reconnaissance by fire is a characteristic feature of Russian small-group tactics. This group’s primary task is to uncover the defender’s fire system by drawing return fire. Only after the defenders have revealed their positions are subsequent waves committed. These subsequent waves carry heavier weapons and operate in coordination with FPV drone crews and artillery. This phenomenon has fundamental significance for the tactical training of defending forces: platoon and company commanders must be conditioned to recognize that the first detected enemy group is bait and to defer committing primary fire assets until a second or third wave is confirmed.
In parallel, the Russian side systematically employs the tactical method of “distraction.” This typically involves a demonstrative strike on one flank intended to draw the defender’s reserves, followed by the main attack on a previously quiet sector. Demonstrative actions are often accompanied by false artillery fire, the placement of linear and area aerosol screens, and even feigned damage to friendly equipment to deceive the defender about the true axis of advance.
Mobile Groups and Infiltration
Personnel and supplies move within 5–15 kilometers (3.11 to 9.32 miles) of the line of contact primarily on motorcycles, quadricycles, and buggies. This solution is dictated by the need to minimize exposure time to FPV drones. Infiltration by reconnaissance-assault groups through weak points in the defense is well documented: drainage ditches, irrigation channels, and culverts under roads are all used as routes of advance. Personnel use thermal-insulating capes to suppress their infrared signature. In the Baltic theater, analogous infiltration paths are formed by drainage systems in agricultural land, forest tracts, and marshy belts along the frontier. Ukrainian open-source intelligence (OSINT) material documented Russian UAV training in regions near the Lithuanian border and the practice of emergency UAV landings on unprepared sites in marshes as early as 2021.[2]
Pre-Operation Training: Full-Scale Mock-Ups
A key element of the Russian small-group method is 13- to 21-day pre-operation training cycles centered on full-scale physical mock-ups of target localities. Holding groups train in forest belts using equipment, while assault groups drill the specific tactical task assigned by combat order, study the objective on the mock-up, and rehearse its seizure with organic weapons combined with FPV drones. Night training develops silent movement and orientation skills, with UAVs equipped with thermal and night-vision cameras recording trainee actions for debrief. Daily intelligence from UAV reconnaissance flights of the target locality is incorporated into the next day’s training scenario, allowing the assault personnel to “live out” the actual tactical situation in advance. For the Baltic states, the implication is direct: pre-conflict training centers should incorporate full-scale mock-ups of likely targets in predicted operational sectors—particularly Narva, Daugavpils, and the Suwałki Gap—and reservist mobilization cycles should plan for a minimum 14–day cohesion phase.
Case Study: The Capture of Berestki, November 2024
The capture of the village of Berestki in Donetsk oblast by Russian forces in late 2024 illustrates Russia’s small-group, wave, and distraction tactics. The 114th Independent Motorized Rifle Brigade (114 omsbr) of the 51st Combined Arms Army carried out the main thrust of the campaign from November to early December 2024. Initial clearance of Ukrainian Armd Forces (AFU) positions in the village was reported in late November.[3] The brigade’s own announcement of the village’s seizure followed at the end of November.[4] The formal Russian Ministry of Defense communiqué came one week later.[5] The brigade’s operational chronology appears in open Russian reference compilations and OSINT analytical material.[6]
Two battalions of the AFU 35th Independent Marine Brigade (35 obrmp) held a prepared defense organized within the village’s residential fabric. The defense delivered up to 30 mortar and artillery strikes and up to 25 FPV drone attacks per day against advancing Russian positions, while approaching routes were mined remotely. Berestki blocked the Novoselydivka–Kurakhove road, the principal communications route for AFU forces operating west of the Kurakhove reservoir.
The Russian brigade commander allocated 22 assault groups, totaling 126 personnel, across four axes. The plan concentrated the first attacks on the northern and northeastern axes, anticipating that the AFU would shift reserves from the southern and western flanks to those axes. At that point, the southern and western groups would launch their own assault into the weakened sectors.
Movement and pre-positioning
The Russian assault detachment moved from its assembly area along the Novoselydivka–Berestki road on motorcycles with sidecars (two–three motorcycles per group, at high speed), then dismounted and moved on foot through the shelterbelts, occupying their attack positions overnight in radio silence. Brigade artillery conducted harassing fire on AFU command-post candidates and on approaches to the northern edge, disrupting the AFU’s ability to maintain reconnaissance and vigilance ahead of the main attack.
The assault
Brigade artillery, reinforced by an army-level artillery battalion, began the artillery preparation, destroying up to two platoons of the 1st and 2nd Marine Battalions, 35 Separate Marine Brigade (OBRMP), in northern-edge buildings and in the “Son” forest belt. Two “Karakatitsa” robotic ground vehicles deployed a 15-minute smoke screen covering the northern axis, concealing the assault from FPV drone observation. The northern and northeastern groups attacked from shelterbelts. By midday, the first peripheral buildings on the northern outskirts were captured; high-rise buildings, whose upper floors became observation platforms, followed in the afternoon.
Decoy effect
As anticipated, the defender shifted forces to the northern axis. This was the trigger for the southern and western groups (10–22) to launch under hand-thrown smoke grenades. The defender, observing each smoke screen, opened intensive fire on the screened areas, exposing his own fire positions, which the assault groups then bypassed on the flanks and struck from the rear.
Encirclement and reduction
A defender’s attempt to evacuate personnel on a “Kirpi” MRAP toward Stari Terny was destroyed by ambush fire from the brigade’s assault detachment in the forest belts. A counter-attack by up to two companies of the AFU 88th Independent Marine Infantry Brigade, reinforced by a tank platoon and attacking from Stari Terny, was disrupted by integrated Russian artillery and UAV fire. After this attempt, the encircled 35th OBRM remnants in Berestki could not be rotated or resupplied. Over the next several days, the brigade employed massed FPV drone fire to complete the reduction of the position.
Implications for Baltic defense
The case shows the small-group, wave, and distraction methodology in successful, compressed form. The inverse implication for Baltic defenders is equally instructive. Despite an organized defense and a heavy daily fire output (30 mortar/artillery strikes and 25 FPV drone strikes per day), the defenders could not compensate for the loss of resupply once isolation occurred. This argues for pre-positioned cache networks, alternate routes, and the disciplined avoidance of provoking fire when smoke screens are detected—three elements that any urban-defense plan for Narva, Daugavpils, or the Suwałki sector should incorporate.
The Drone Revolution and Its Structural Implications: Scale and the Primacy of FPV
More than 250,000 UAV applications of various types were recorded on a single operational direction during 2024–2025, with FPV drones accounting for over 93 percent of that total. The share of FPV drones in the destruction of Russian armored vehicles approached 70 percent. By the end of 2025, the Ukrainian Defense Procurement Agency had supplied the AFU with approximately 2.4 million FPV drones during the calendar year, with an additional 200,000 units delivered via the DOT-Chain Defense digital procurement platform—a cumulative annual delivery approximately two-and-a-half times that of 2024.[7] Any armored vehicle detected and unable to change position within five to ten minutes is highly likely to be destroyed.
Four Categories of Drone Threat
The unmanned threat falls into four functionally distinct categories. The first category consists of small commercial quadcopters (DJI Mavic, Autel) employed for reconnaissance and small-payload drops within five kilometers (about 3.2 miles) of the line of contact. The second comprises FPV drones across various frequency bands, carrying warheads of 0.5–3 kilograms (about 1.1–6.6 pounds) and operating at ranges of 15–20 kilometers (about 9.3–12.4 miles). The third category consists of heavy multirotors known as “Baba Yaga” and “Vampire,” carrying 15–20 kilograms (about 33–44 pounds) of payload and operating primarily at night with thermal-imaging cameras and Starlink satellite control. A documented engagement saw a Baba Yaga bomber drone strike a Russian Buk-M3 air-defense vehicle at a distance of 57 kilometers (about 35.4 miles) from the line of contact, with the target spotted only 40 minutes before engagement.[8] The fourth category consists of loitering munitions (the Russian Lancet, Shahed/Geran-2, and fixed-wing UAVs) for striking targets at ranges of 35–2,000 kilometers (about 21.8–1,242.7 miles).
No universal counter exists for all four categories. Each requires its own combination of detection and engagement means. Attempts to cover a unit with a single type of jammer or counter-UAV rifle invariably leave gaps. This creates an enduring requirement for both density and diversity of air-defense and EW assets at every tactical level.
Fiber Optics and Machine Vision as the Next Frontier
By mid-2025, fiber-optically controlled FPV drones had risen to over 20 percent of total drone use. These systems are immune to classic radio-frequency suppression—the only effective countermeasures are physical engagement (small arms, anti-drone nets, shotguns) and pre-emptive destruction of launch crews. Both Ukraine and Russia are introducing machine-vision software (SakerScout, RAM X, and analogs) that allows drones to autonomously recognize a target and complete a strike after losing the control signal. Flight suppression, therefore, no longer guarantees target survival. Pre-emptive engagement alongside passive defenses has become essential: anti-drone netting, awnings over roads, cope cages on armored vehicles, and thermally-distorted camouflage.
Manufacturing Requirements
Each unit on the front now averages around 30–40 FPV drone launches per day. On a 50-kilometer (about 31.1 miles) front, this requires several thousand units per day—a volume foreign procurement cannot sustain. For the Baltic states, this creates a direct requirement to localize FPV drone and heavy multirotor production within national industrial bases. Every infantry company should be assigned no fewer than three permanent FPV crews, and every battalion should retain an organic UAV platoon. The Ukrainian model—culminating in the establishment of the Unmanned Systems Forces (USF) as a separate combat arm in June 2024 and the launch of the “Drone Line” project in 2025, designed to integrate infantry and UAVs into a 10–15 kilometer-deep (about 6.2–9.3 miles) kill zone—offers a directly transferable organizational template.
Helicopter-Based Counter-UAV: The Russian Adaptation
Russia integrated army aviation forces into the air-defense fighter-cover system to counter the UAV threat. For the first time in Russian practice, attack helicopters were placed under the operational subordination of air-defense (PVO) division commanders, forming tactical groups of army aviation, each composed of two attack helicopters and one retransmission helicopter, held at Readiness State No. 2 (25 minutes from order to takeoff). The selected platforms are the Ka-52M “Alligator” and the Mi-28N, with the Ka-52M proving demonstrably more effective owing to its onboard radar. The principal munition for engaging UAV-class air targets is the 9M342 Igla-S missile. Targeted Ukrainian UAV types include the Yuzh-22 “Airbone,” the Yuzh-26 “Beaver,” the Liutyi, and the PD-2.
The first successful intercept occurred on August 30, 2023. A Mi-28N crew destroyed a Yuzh-22 “Airbone” unit 30 kilometers (about 18.6 miles) southeast of Zmiivka at a range of 250 meters (about 820 feet), expending 29 rounds of 30-mm cannon fire. Another instance occurred on December 19, 2024, when a single Ka-52M crew over Oryol oblast destroyed three approaching UAVs at ranges of 22, 10, and 45 kilometers (about 13.7, 6.2, and 28 miles) over 46 minutes, expending two Igla-S missiles and 65 rounds of 30-mm cannon fire. The aggregate statistics for November–December 2024 illustrate both the achievement and a sharp seasonal limit: across the two months, Army aviation tactical groups destroyed 59 UAVs in the general PVO system, with 39 (66 percent) destroyed in November and only 20 (34 percent) in December—halving effectiveness despite comparable UAV traffic, attributable to seasonal weather (cloudiness, icing) that restricts attack-helicopter availability. Of the 59 UAVs destroyed, 42 (71 percent) were struck with Igla-S missiles and 17 (29 percent) with 30-mm cannon fire.
The C-band Doppler meteorological radar (DMRL-S, originally a civilian meteorological asset) can detect NATO UAVs and loitering munitions at ranges up to 70 kilometers (about 43.5 miles), presenting another implication for Baltic defense. Russia can operate meteorological radars that, with software modifications, could be incorporated into the national air picture without significant capital expenditure. The broader implication is twofold: helicopter-borne counter-UAV is operationally feasible but degraded by adverse weather—an argument against over-reliance on rotary-wing assets in the cloudy and icing-prone Baltic climate—while dual-use of national meteorological radar offers a low-cost addition to the layered counter-UAV picture.
Effective EW: Ukrainian Model of Dense EW
The AFU has built an EW maneuver-group structure on each operational direction that has proven effective in modern war. Up to ten EW and signals intelligence (SIGINT) maneuver groups defend a single direction, often fielding Bukovel-AD jammers. These jammers have a detection range against the Orlan-10 of up to 100 kilometers (about 62.1 miles) and a jamming radius of 15–20 kilometers (about 9.3–12.4 miles) against UAV control channels.[9] Other jammers include the Anklav (operating in the 400–2,500 MHz band, directional range up to 40 kilometers (about 24.9 miles), omnidirectional up to 20 kilometers (about 12.4 miles); Nota (detecting UAVs at 20 kilometers (about 12.4 miles) and jamming satellite channels at 15 kilometers (about 9.32 miles); Tuman; Khmara; and the SIGINT and direction-finding complex Plastun-RP of Ukrainian design, alongside Western TCI-903S systems. These assets are positioned on dominant heights 5–10 kilometers (about 3.1 to 6.2 miles) from the line of contact and shift positions at least once every 24 hours. The system can block adversary UAV command and navigation channels to a depth of up to 20 kilometers (about 12.4 miles) behind the enemy’s front lines.
Ukrainian EW assets suppress satellite-correction channels of Russian guided air bombs equipped with UMPK glide-kit modules, reducing their accuracy by a factor of two to three. The Pokrova system, unveiled in 2023, operates on the principle of GPS spoofing, supplying the adversary’s UAV with a false satellite signal to deflect it from course.[10]
Russian forces concede a lack of effective counters to commercial UAVs of the DJI Mavic, Autel, and DJI Phantom families, particularly under mass employment. Heavy octocopters such as the “Baba Yaga” and “Vampire,” controlled via Starlink commercial satellite channels, are often beyond the reach of standard Russian jammers. In early 2026, Russian UAV crews, EW and SIGINT units, fire assets, and infantry positions lost reliable internet access after the Russian government throttled Telegram and Starlink was interrupted on Russian-controlled territory. With no broadcasts and no battlefield picture, Russian decision-making slowed notably.
The AFU has systematically exploited a saturation problem of Russian air defenses and artillery. When five or more FPV drones are deployed simultaneously on different frequencies within a narrow front sector, the Russian EW system “selects” targets for suppression, allowing some drones to get through.
Russia has acknowledged these systems as the “blind spots” of its electronic suppression capability. For the Baltic states, this has a direct implication: priority should be assigned to the large-scale procurement of upper-segment commercial copters (DJI Mavic, Autel), heavy platforms for ordnance delivery, and the layered deployment of Starlink networks.
Artillery, Precision Strikes, and Counter-Battery
Tube and rocket artillery retain a key role in combat, but their use has fundamentally changed. Both Russian and Ukrainian artillery—faced with the FPV-drone and loitering-munition threat—have moved firing positions to 10 kilometers (about 6.2 miles) or more from the line of contact and adopted the principle of “one or two rounds—immediate displacement.” The Russian “active defense” of a brigade-tactical-group configuration usually operates in a kill zone of 3–5 kilometers (about 1.9–3.1 miles) along the front and 10 kilometers (about 6.2 miles) in depth.
Long-range precision weapons have proven highly effective against rear infrastructure. According to open-source reporting from Ukraine, Ukrainian unmanned systems conducted more than 220 deep-strike operations against targets on Russian territory during 2024, with confirmed strike depths exceeding 2,000 kilometers (about 1,242.7 miles).[11] For the Baltic theater, this generates a direct requirement to hold in national arsenals stocks of systems with ranges of at least 150–200 kilometers (about 93.2–124.3 miles), sufficient for sustained strikes against railway hubs, Kaliningrad-region ports, and transshipment bases in the Pskov and Leningrad oblasts.
Counter-battery work should be a distinct priority. An effective solution is to create reconnaissance-strike batteries that combine artillery-reconnaissance radar—with a detection depth exceeding 60 kilometers (about 37.3 miles)—fixed-wing reconnaissance UAVs, and loitering munitions.
Engineering and Fortification in the Drone Age
Tree lines and other elements of natural concealment, traditionally relied upon for cover, lose their protective properties within several weeks of combat due to artillery and FPV drone strikes. Defensive positions must therefore rely from the outset on artificial overhead cover, anti-fragmentation awnings, and dug-in shelters. Equipping a single operational sector during a single operation requires more than 3,400 wooden panels and over 14,500 earth-filled bags. A three-person engineer crew can prepare up to 40 meters (about 131 feet) of trench and up to two dugout pits in one night, using explosive methods to disrupt the soil.
Mine-laying should be planned with attention to current conditions. Up to 20 percent of mines should be set with anti-removal fuzes; booby traps and remotely emplaced engineering munitions, including UAV-delivered mines, must be available. The Russian army systematically employs remote mining with cluster artillery munitions and UAV-dropped mines within ten kilometers of its forward edge.
Open compiled combat-experience materials record the disproportionate diversion of manpower to engineering preparation: relocating a single calibrated overhead beam over two to four kilometers (about 1.2–2.5 miles) requires diverting two to four servicemen. Where centralized supply is lacking, units must fell tree lines, dismantle abandoned structures, and improvise anti-drone protection from scavenged materials.[12] For the Baltic states, this implies stockpiling prefabricated fortification kits (dugout sets, anti-fragmentation panels, cope cages for armor, thermal-distortion camouflage netting) in peacetime to reduce manpower diversion in the first weeks of conflict.
Logistics and Information Warfare Logistics under Persistent Fire
Moving rear columns during daylight hours near the line of contact has become essentially impossible. Within fifteen kilometers (about 9.32 miles) of the forward line, small-form transport is preferred: motorcycles, buggies, quadricycles, robotic ground platforms, and agricultural payload-carrying multirotors. Layered caches are applied to intermediate depots with five to seven days of supply, located no farther than 5–10 kilometers (about 3.11–6.21 miles) from front-line units. Standard motor transport resupplies these caches from fixed depots, primarily at night.
Information-Psychological Warfare
Russian information operations begin long before the kinetic phase and continue in parallel. Mass SMS distribution to mobile-network subscribers in the front-line zone is used (up to 80,000 messages per individual mobile EW system, such as Svirel, during a single operation), aimed at demoralization, desertion calls, and discrediting command structures. Generative artificial intelligence (AI) tools are actively used to produce photo, video, and audio content, including deepfakes. A separate operation aims to discredit specific defending units on social networks and international media. Countermeasures include preparing a national strategic communications system, resourcing press services for rapid rebuttal, and maintaining a proactive social media presence with documented evidence of force activity.
The Adversary’s Self-Reflection: Compiled Experience and the Telegram Segment
Beyond AFU-compiled combat experience, an essential resource for verifying this report’s conclusions is the Russian military community’s open self-reflection. The most systematic open compilation is the three-volume series of Notebooks on the Generalization of Combat Experience of the Special Military Operation (SVO), the third installment of which covers operations through July 2025.[13] The notebooks are based on interviews with Russian soldiers and officers and are distributed to active Russian forces as a manual. Their analysis reveals strong convergence of lessons learned between the two sides.
Functional division of infantry
The notebooks record the division of Russian infantry into “holding” and “assault” categories. This division is absent from pre-war manuals but has become normative. For the Baltic theater, this implies that the preparation of reservists and territorial-defense forces should be planned from the outset along this functional division.
Degradation of classical table of organization
Motorized rifle squads, as elements of the platoon battle order, have functionally ceased to exist; tactical groups are “cut out” freely according to the specific task. BMPs and BTRs increasingly operate separately from their dismounts. The real combat capability of a unit is described as a “fluid value” that cannot be derived automatically from establishment strength. This conclusion has direct relevance to Baltic staff work: capability assessment must be confirmed from below rather than presumed from above.
“Plastic” contact instead of stationary defense
Stationary occupation of a single position for more than twenty-four hours leads the adversary to identify and effectively engage the position; cumulative losses in holding an unprepared position exceed losses in assault action. The conclusion is that future “plastic” contact—with constant forward-and-back movement—may replace classical positional defense altogether. For Baltic forces, this implies that even on defensive lines, units must be trained to execute a controlled withdrawal with a break of contact.[14]
“Lower sky” as a distinct combat arm
Current Russian force organization has no permanent positions for low-altitude counter-UAV operations at the company–battalion echelon. This function must be improvised from available manpower, reducing the unit’s real combat capability. The Baltic states should preemptively introduce a counter-UAV platoon at the battalion level, equipped with detection assets (acoustic, optical, thermal), fire means (heavy machine guns, shotguns, counter-UAV rifles), and tactical-level EW.
Constant air-defense movement; built-in adaptation
Some air-defense vehicles move continuously on chaotically routed circuits, halting only for maintenance—stationary complexes in modern war are mere targets. No force keeps pace with tactical change, and the armed-forces structure must therefore incorporate an adaptation mechanism: a sub-unit with “fluid” structure, decentralized procurement for the adaptation element, and “with-surplus” training.
The Russian Telegram milblogger segment reinforces this convergence. Notable observations include the Russian Baltic Fleet’s slow absorption of war lessons, as documented in critical commentary on a Baltic Fleet exercise video showing an FPV operator launching on open, unprepared terrain.[15] Russian FPV-crew commanders have characterized the rise of “highly mobile assault regiments”—pure infantry formations without organic armor, heavy weapons, or UAV components, redeployed rapidly to threatened sectors—as a fundamental and irreversible shift in the Russian operational pattern.[16]
The Baltic Theater: Forces, Hypotheses, and Defense Implications
Given limited strategic depth, the center of gravity of Baltic defense should shift toward lines that maximize adversary attrition within the border zone. A layered system of company- and platoon-strongpoints in populated localities and at key road junctions, to a depth of 20–30 kilometers (about 12.4–18.6 miles), with organized fire control of the FPV-drone and artillery kill zone between strongpoints, is likely the most resilient defensive model. Two analytical contributions from Ukrainian military commentary in 2025 frame the Baltic question more sharply: an operational hypothesis of how a Russian attack on Latvia might unfold, and a sober force-generation assessment of whether such an attack is realistic in the near term.
The Likely Russian Operational Concept
Open Ukrainian analytical commentary published in mid-2025 traces structural changes in Russian force deployments adjacent to Latvia that, in aggregate, are consistent with preparations for a concealed Baltic offensive rather than rotation to the Ukrainian front.[17]
Structural indicators
In the Leningrad Military District (LMD) and Belarus, Russia has begun deploying new motorized rifle divisions—the 116th, 72nd, 74th, and 86th Guards motorized rifle divisions (MRDs), among others—with coordination, relocation, and re-equipment proceeding outside the focus of Western monitoring.[18] Russian rail echelons carrying the latest artillery and multiple launch rocket system (MLRS) platforms—including Malva self-propelled howitzers and equipment of North Korean origin—have been observed moving through Petrozavodsk, Pskov, Tikhvin, and Gatchina, but not heading for the Ukrainian front lines.[19] The pattern is consistent with a deep strategic reserve forming for an alternative theater rather than routine rotation.
Belarus as flank bastion
Belarus intensified the formation of expanded divisional structures based on its brigades and mobilized reservists under the guise of territorial defense over 2024–2025. Soviet-era weapons storage facilities, dormant for decades, have been reactivated. In the western part of the country—particularly in Hlybokaye, Polatsk, and Braslaw—engineering works have intensified, including the modernization of highways and bridges leading toward the Latvian border. The pattern matches the classical Soviet doctrinal model for the concealed phase of preparation for an offensive operation.[20]
Russian logistical preparation
Multiple signs of preparation have been visible. The reconstruction and expansion of railway hubs in the Pskov region, the modernization of storage facilities at Ostrov, Velikiye Luki, and Palkino, and the restoration of Soviet-era auxiliary stations, backup overpasses, and ammunition depots—together with the publicly reported restoration of the Pskov–Gdov–Slantsy railway line—all make limited sense for Ukrainian-front supply but align with rapid deployment toward the Latvian direction, particularly given that these regions border Daugavpils and Rēzekne.
The likely axis of advance
The Russian operational concept does not envisage a frontal contest for the major Latvian cities. Rather, it projects an advance along the trajectory Daugavpils–Rēzekne–Preiļi–Jēkabpils–Jelgava, following the A6 highway and parallel railway lines, with the operational objective of reaching Tukums or the approaches to Riga. Three strategic effects are achieved simultaneously: the dissection of Latvian defenses; the blocking of the transfer of forces from southern Lithuania toward the Estonian border; a flanking threat to Riga producing political and psychological destabilization; and the creation of a coastal foothold via Tukums or Ventspils on the Baltic Sea, potentially used for seaborne reinforcement or as the basis of a “Courland Enclave.” The historical analog is the August 1944 Šiauliai Operation of the First Baltic Front: not a frontal battle for major hubs, but rather an envelopment, the seizure of critical communications, and the destabilization of the adversary’s coordination.
The “pulsing offensive”
Drawing on the Russian experience in Ukraine—particularly the failure of dense broad-front offensives in saturated Intelligence, Surveillance, Target Acquisition, and Reconnaissance (ISTAR) environments—a “pulsing offensive” model seems most likely. The model includes mobile forward detachments that penetrate deep into territory, operating outside a dense logistical framework that is supported by heavy artillery at the tactical level, with assault companies followed by narrow-corridor logistical extension and no waiting for flank stabilization. In this framework, the target set consists of junctions rather than cities: Jelgava, Tukums, and possibly Ventspils. The decisive effect is not classic territorial control but operational and political: splitting the country and isolating Riga, then offering an ultimatum—a ceasefire and recognition of a “new status quo” in exchange for a humanitarian corridor and a halt to further Baltic operations. Combined with a mass EW campaign and the on-ground presence of “peaceful representatives,” the intent would be to manufacture an atmosphere of partial collapse of state power—repeating elements of the reactive-pressure model previously used in Transnistria, South Ossetia, and Crimea: not taking everything, but cutting off, intimidating, and offering a “negotiated exit” from a “dead end” the adversary itself has manufactured.
Force-Generation Reality
The operational concept above must be placed in a realistic force-generation timeline as analyzed in open Ukrainian commentary in early 2026.[21] The central observation is that while the Russian General Staff planned to deploy approximately 17 division-level and up to nine brigade-level formations in 2025, the realities of the war against Ukraine necessitated a substantial postponement. As a result, Russia formed and deployed only four new divisions in 2025: the 68th Motor Rifle Division within the 6th Combined Arms Army; the 71st MRD within the 14th Army Corps; the 55th Marine Division within the Pacific Fleet; and the 120th Marine Division within the Baltic Fleet. Notably, at least three of the four sit within the Leningrad Military District or Baltic Fleet—adding to the earlier (2024) formation of the 44th Army Corps in the LMD with its own new 72nd MRD, and the expansion of the 6th Combined Arms Army (CAA). The LMD now hosts the 6th CAA alongside three army corps (11th, 14th, and 44th Army Corps), at least one of which (11th or 14th) is planned to be reorganized into a further combined-arms army in 2026–2027.
The remaining nine motor rifle divisions, two artillery divisions, one air-assault division, one coastal-defense division, and a series of independent brigades projected for 2025 have been postponed by the Russian General Staff to 2026–2030. Among the most consequential of these postponements are: a second artillery division in the LMD; two MRDs in the Central MD (based on the 15th and 74th Independent Motor Rifle Brigades (OMSBrs), joining the 2nd and 41st CAAs); two MRDs in the Moscow Military District; two MRDs in the Eastern Military Distric t(based on the 57th and 60th OMSBrs of the 5th CAA); three MRDs in the Southern Military District opposite Ukraine (based on the 123rd and 114th OMSBrs within the 3rd and 51st CAAs); an additional Southern Military District artillery division; and the 88th Coastal Defense Division based on the existing 126th independent coastal-defense brigade. The Russian Airborne Forces (VDV) are additionally projected to gain the 103rd Air Assault Division.
Daily Russian losses on the front in 2025 fluctuated between approximately 850 and 1,150 personnel (killed, wounded, captured, missing), depending on the intensity of combat. U.K. military intelligence has estimated cumulative Russian losses from the start of the war to mid-2025 at 230,000–236,000 (the figure most widely circulated in Ukrainian and Russian analytical commentary). Against this attrition, Russia contracted approximately 400,000–405,000 personnel during 2025—barely enough to offset losses and maintain very modest expansion of strategic groupings deployed in Ukraine. For 2026, the planned recruitment target is about 410,000, but expert estimates suggest the Russian command can allocate no more than 70,000 personnel to its strategic reserves—a figure plainly insufficient for the full list of planned new divisions and brigades. The postponement of most Russian formation plans will likely continue through 2026 and beyond.
The operational hypothesis and the force-generation assessment fit together as two halves of the same picture. In the near term, a large-scale Baltic operation is constrained by simple math: Russia does not yet have the freshly formed divisions in the Leningrad Military District and Western strategic direction that the announced plans envisaged. In the medium term (2027–2030), if attrition rates and contract recruitment hold at 2025 levels and the geographic concentration of newly formed Russian formations in the Leningrad Military District and Baltic Fleet continues, the cumulative weight of forces in the Western strategic direction will reach a level at which the operational concept becomes materially supportable. The defining lesson for Baltic defense planning is therefore not panic but pacing: a limited window—three to five years—to absorb the war’s tactical and operational lessons and translate them into national defense reform.
The Suwałki Gap
The narrow strip at the Lithuanian–Polish border separating Kaliningrad oblast from Belarus is a particularly vulnerable axis. In Ukrainian practice, attempts to close such a “bottleneck” have been undertaken in combined fashion: tactical air-assault landings, mass UAV strikes against road-network nodes, and artillery against reserve-concentration areas. Defense of the Suwałki Gap should therefore be planned as a circular defense, with prepared alternate detour routes and organic short- and medium-range air defenses distributed across multiple batteries.
The Narva Axis
Narva’s proximity to the Russian border and the density of urban development on both sides make this axis a priority for urban-defense preparation. The Berestki case shows what a successful attacker can accomplish in two weeks against a settlement of comparable size when given pre-positioned mock-ups, smoke-deception robotics, and integrated FPV-drone fire. The inverse—what a defender can hold for months with timely fortification, subterranean communications, and a cache network—is shown by the AFU experience at Bakhmut, Avdiivka, and Pokrovsk. The Narva defense plan should explicitly emulate both the AFU fortification methodology and the lesson drawn from Berestki: preserve resupply corridors at all costs, and treat any encirclement as fatal.
The Maritime Axis
The Gulf of Finland, the approaches to Riga, and Klaipėda require separate defenses against reconnaissance-sabotage groups delivered by surface craft and submersible carriers. Maritime infrastructure (ports, cables, pipelines, wind parks) should be incorporated into the general protection scheme through underwater sensors and routine patrols by small anti-sabotage forces.
Conclusion
A review of AFU-compiled combat experience, open Russian operational reporting, and open analytical commentary in both languages indicates that the modern Russian army, despite its adaptation to a high-technology battlefield, is not invincible. It can be halted and forced onto the defensive provided the defending side adapts in time to the new tactical reality. For the Baltic states, the analysis yields seven priority directions for defense planning.
First, localize the mass production of FPV drones and heavy multirotor carriers within national industrial bases. Second, equip every squad and every armored vehicle with tactical-level EW. Third, maintain in national arsenals stocks of precision-strike means with ranges of 150–200 kilometers (about 93.2–124.3 miles), sufficient for sustained strikes against the Russian rear during the first 30–45 days of conflict. Fourth, prepare national territory in advance, with stockpiles of prefabricated fortification kits and a network of dug-in shelters, plus the advance construction of full-scale mock-ups of likely contested settlements for cyclic reservist training. Fifth, build layered air defense with emphasis on inexpensive mass-engagement means against small aerial targets, including the dual-use incorporation of national meteorological radar for low-altitude UAV detection. Sixth, train reservists and territorial defense forces to the standard of regular forces, with mandatory division into “holding” and “assault” categories and a minimum 14-day cohesion phase before deployment. Seventh, prepare the national strategic communications system in advance and foster societal information resilience.
The window for this adaptation is limited but real—measured by force-generation arithmetic over three to five years rather than months. The Ukrainian experience is, above all, the experience of a side capable of halting and reversing a numerically superior adversary through the systematic application of solutions developed under fire. Reproducing this experience in the national armed forces of Estonia, Latvia, and Lithuania represents the fastest and least costly path to a qualitative increase in defense capability.
[1] Sladkov+ (@Sladkov_plus), Telegram post, May 10, 2026, https://t.me/Sladkov_plus/15508.
[2] Roman Burko, “Украинские комплексы РЭБ «Буковель-AD R4» развернуты возле границы (ФОТО)” [Ukrainian Bukovel-AD R4 Electronic Warfare Systems Deployed Near the Border (PHOTO)], InformNapalm, November 19, 2021, https://informnapalm.org/50888-ukrainskie-kompleksy-reb-bukovel-ad-r4-r/.
[3] “ВС России выбили ВСУ из села Берестки в ДНР, заявил Рогов” [Russian Armed Forces Drove the AFU Out of the Village of Berestki in the DPR, Rogov Says], RIA Novosti, November 23, 2024, http://ria.ru/20241123/rogov-1985361082.html.
[4] 114 Brigada (@mo114rf), Telegram post, November 27, 2024, https://t.me/mo114rf/7.
[5] “ВС России освободили населенный пункт Берестки в ДНР” [Russian Armed Forces Liberated the Settlement of Berestki in the DPR], RIA Novosti, December 7, 2024, http://ria.ru/20241207/berestki-1987872733.html.
[6] Artem, “Операции 114-й ОМСБр: от Авдеевки до Цукурино – путь к победе!” [Operations of the 114th OMSBr: From Avdiivka to Tsukuryne, the Path to Victory!], LostArmour, October 25, 2024, https://lostarmour.info/articles/put-brigada-mo114rf-11174; “114-я отдельная гвардейская мотострелковая бригада” [114th Separate Guards Motorized Rifle Brigade], DIVGEN, September 14, 2025, https://divgen.ru/wiki/486-114-ja-otdelnaja-gvardeiskaja-motostrelkovaja-brigada.html.
[7] Olena Kravchenko, “Шмыгаль пообещал, что ВСУ до конца года получат 3 млн FPV-дронов” [Shmyhal Promised That the AFU Will Receive 3 Million FPV Drones by the End of the Year], LIGA.net, December 24, 2025, https://biz.liga.net/all/news/shmygal-poobeshtal-chto-vsu-do-kontsa-goda-poluchat-3-mln-fpv-dronov.
[8] Yehor Loginov, “«Наша подтвержденная глубина работы составляет более 2000 км»: главный по БПЛА в ВСУ Сухаревский рассказал об инновациях на фронте” [‘Our Confirmed Operational Depth Exceeds 2,000 km’: AFU Drone Chief Sukharevskyi on Innovations at the Front], Krym.Realii, February 4, 2025, https://ru.krymr.com/a/suharevskyy-bpla-interview/33302452.html.
[9] Halyna Mykhailova, “Буковель — это не только курорт: одноименная украинская РЭБ умело сажает ‘птичек’ окупантов (видео)” [Bukovel Is Not Just a Resort: The Ukrainian EW System of the Same Name Skillfully Downs the Occupiers’ ‘Birds’ (Video)], Telegraf, September 12, 2023, https://war.telegraf.com.ua/tehnologii/2023-09-12/5808159-bukovel-tse-ne-tilki-kurort-odnoymenna-ukrainska-reb-vpravno-sadzhae-ptashok-okupantiv-video.
[10] Aleksandr Zalata, “РЭБ против КАБ и ‘Шахедов’: как украинцы побеждают российские антенны ‘Комета’” [EW Against Guided Bombs and ‘Shaheds’: How Ukrainians Are Defeating Russian ‘Kometa’ Antennas], Focus, March 28, 2025, https://focus.ua/digital/699624-ataki-kab-i-shahedov-rossiya-uluchshila-zashchitu-protiv-reb-kometa.
[11] Yehor Loginov, “«Наша подтвержденная глубина работы составляет более 2000 км»: главный по БПЛА в ВСУ Сухаревский рассказал об инновациях на фронте” [‘Our Confirmed Operational Depth Exceeds 2,000 km’: AFU Drone Chief Sukharevskyi on Innovations at the Front], Krym.Realii, February 4, 2025, https://ru.krymr.com/a/suharevskyy-bpla-interview/33302452.html.
[12] Obobshchenie boevogo opyta SVO do iyulya 2025 goda [Generalization of the Combat Experience of the SVO through July 2025] (2025).
[13] Obobshchenie boevogo opyta SVO do iyulya 2025 goda [Generalization of the Combat Experience of the SVO through July 2025] (2025).
[14] Obobshchenie boevogo opyta SVO do dekabrya 2024 goda [Generalization of the Combat Experience of the SVO through December 2024] (2025).
[15] Rybar (@rybar), Telegram channel, 2024–2026, https://t.me/rybar.
[16] Mikhail Kirillov, “«Болезненную реальность надо признать»: Командир расчета БПЛА — о боях за Доброполье, тактике пилотов ВСУ и главной проблеме фронта” [‘The Painful Reality Must Be Acknowledged’: A UAV Crew Commander on the Battles for Dobropillia, AFU Pilot Tactics, and the Front’s Main Problem], Lenta.ru, May 4, 2026, http://lenta.ru/articles/2026/05/04/platon-mamatov/.
[17] Hlib Parfonov, “Russia Exploits Latvian Vulnerabilities to Undermine Baltic Defenses (Part Two),” The Jamestown Foundation, June 3, 2025, https://jamestown.org/russia-exploits-latvian-vulnerabilities-to-undermine-baltic-defenses-part-two/.
[18] Pozyvnoi Katsman (@pozivnoy_kazman), Telegram posts, September 1, 2024, https://t.me/pozivnoy_kazman/13891, and April 27, 2025, https://t.me/pozivnoy_kazman/21511.
[19] milinfolive, VK post, April 26, 2025, https://vk.com/wall-123538639_4555016.
[20] Aleksandr Svechin, Strategiya [Strategy], 2nd ed. (Moscow: Voennyi vestnik, 1927).
[21] Zvizdets Manhustu (@zvizdecmanhustu), Telegram post, January 7, 2026, https://t.me/zvizdecmanhustu/3174.
The post Lessons Learned From Russia’s War Against Ukraine: Russian Military Adaptation and Defense Implications for Baltic States appeared first on Jamestown.
Executive Summary:
The death of Iranian Supreme Leader Ayatollah Ali Khamenei during the joint U.S.–Israeli military operation on February 28 triggered an unprecedented campaign of state-sponsored mourning across Iran and the broader Shi’a world (IRNA, March 1; Mehr News, July 15). Beneath a sea of red flags symbolizing the religious duty to avenge the martyrdom of Imam Hussein, senior Iranian officials, clerics, and millions of mourners invoked the battle cry Ya Latharat al-Hussein (“O Avengers of Hussein”), recasting Khamenei’s death through the lens of Twelver Shi’a martyrdom theology (Eurasia Diary, July 6). This symbolism is rooted in the Ashura commemorations, during which Shi’a Muslims worldwide commemorate Imam Hussein—the grandson of the Prophet Muhammad, who was killed at the Battle of Karbala in 680 CE—through public mourning ceremonies and processions that symbolize the enduring obligation to seek justice for his death. By framing retaliation as a religious imperative rather than merely a political response, Tehran sought to strengthen ideological cohesion within its proxy networks and mobilize supporters for a prolonged confrontation with the United States and Israel.
Yet Tehran’s carefully constructed narrative found little resonance among Sunni Salafi-jihadist movements. Rather than mourning Khamenei or expressing solidarity with Iran, Uzbek- and Tajik-language supporters of Islamic State in Khorasan Province (ISKP) and al-Qaeda-affiliated groups celebrated his death, ridiculed Shi’a mourning rituals, and denounced the Ya Latharat al-Hussein doctrine as further evidence of theological deviation and heresy.
Their reactions highlight the enduring ideological and sectarian divide between Iran’s revolutionary Shi’a project and Salafi-jihadism, especially among Central Asians. More importantly, they demonstrate that even amid a common confrontation with the United States and Israel, deeply entrenched doctrinal hostility outweighs any tactical convergence. This renders the maxim that “the enemy of my enemy is my friend” largely inapplicable.
ISKP Supporters Celebrate Khamenei’s Death
On July 12, the Uzbek-language pro-ISKP Telegram channel Tavhid Makoni celebrated the death of Iranian Supreme Leader Ali Khamenei, underscoring the group’s uncompromising sectarian hostility toward Iran’s Shi’a leadership. [1] The channel—which regularly assails secular Central Asian governments as well as Uzbek and Tajik al-Qaeda-aligned clerics and militants in Syria—denounced Khamenei as a rafidha (“rejecter,” which is a derogatory Salafi-jihadist term for Shi’a Muslims) and declared that he had been consigned to hell. It further condemned the reported delay in Khamenei’s burial, accused Iranian authorities of displaying his body for public veneration, and mocked the millions of Shi’a mourners who participated in the funeral ceremonies. According to the channel, praying over Khamenei and venerating his remains constituted shirk (“polytheism,” or associating partners with God), which reinforced ISKP’s long-standing portrayal of Twelver Shi’ism as a heretical deviation from Islam rather than a legitimate Islamic tradition.
Similar themes appeared on July 7 in the Tajik-language pro-ISKP Telegram channel Ansor Tojiki. The channel exploited Tajik President Emomali Rahmon’s attendance at Khamenei’s funeral in Tehran on July 3 to reinforce its anti-state and anti-Shi’a narrative (IRNA, July 3). Publishing Rahmon’s photograph alongside its commentary, the channel asserted that murtads (apostates), whether ruling Shi’a Iran or Sunni Central Asia, are indistinguishable, and accused both the Tajikistani and Iranian regimes of “betrayal of Islam, tyranny, and treachery.” The channel further denounced Rahmon as a taghut (an illegitimate ruler who governs in defiance of God’s sovereignty) and called for him to share Khamenei’s fate. [2] This messaging reflects ISKP’s ideological framework, which places Iran’s Shi’a theocracy and the secular governments of Central Asia within the same category of apostate regimes, thereby declaring both as equally valid targets of jihad.
The reactions of Uzbek and Tajik pro-ISKP supporters closely mirrored the entrenched anti-Shi’a sectarian narrative promoted by Islamic State (IS)’s Arabic-language propaganda apparatus. Their messaging was not an isolated regional response but a direct reflection of IS’s broader ideological framework, which portrays Shi’a Muslims as apostates and Iran as a principal enemy of Sunni Islam. This alignment became evident immediately after Khamenei’s death. On February 28, following the joint U.S.–Israeli strikes against Iran, prominent IS supporter Abu ‘Abdallah al-Halabi (also known as Muhammad Jabhah), a former media official of the IS-linked Liwa’ al-Aqsa, declared that Khorasan (Afghanistan and Pakistan) would emerge as the IS’s new global center and predicted that future conflicts would become ”openly religious” following the collapse of the “murtadd Shi’a Iranian state” (MEMRI, March 1). His remarks illustrate how IS sought to frame Khamenei’s death not merely as a military setback for Iran but as the beginning of a broader sectarian realignment that would strengthen the movement’s global jihadist narrative.
From Online Celebration to ISKP Attacks in Iran
IS supporters quickly amplified the same sectarian narrative across other online platforms. On March 1, an English-language IS supporter celebrated the death of what he called the “Taghut of Iran” at the hands of “the Jews,” thanking Allah for Khamenei’s killing and urging ISKP to exploit the resulting instability by entering Iran and “killing everyone.” Echoing the IS’s long-standing doctrine of takfir, he asserted that all Rafidahs are unbelievers and therefore legitimate targets of violence (MEMRI, March 1).
Uzbek and Tajik ISKP militants have long maintained deep hostility toward Iran’s Shi’a Muslims, whom they routinely denounce with the sectarian slur Rafidha and accuse of apostasy. This ideological hostility has repeatedly translated into operational violence, with Tajik ISKP members conducting three high-profile attacks inside Iran that extended the group’s operational reach beyond its traditional strongholds in Afghanistan and South Asia. For example:
In each case, ISKP deliberately selected targets of profound religious significance to Shi’a Muslims. Although ISKP supporters ridicule Iran’s Ya Latharat al-Hussein doctrine of sacred vengeance, their hostility toward Iran exists alongside an equally entrenched opposition to the United States and the broader Western order, which they define through the Salafi-jihadist concept of kufr (disbelief). The convergence of anti-Shi’a sectarianism and anti-Western extremism demonstrates that ISKP’s confrontation with Iran is driven by ideological rivalry rather than strategic alignment with Washington, despite conspiracy theories from Iran and Russia to the contrary.
Al-Qaeda-Aligned Jihadists Celebrate Khamenei’s Death as Divine Judgment
Like ISKP supporters, Central Asian Salafi-jihadist groups aligned with al-Qaeda and Hay’at Tahrir al-Sham (HTS) also celebrated Khamenei’s death. They, however, framed their reaction through a more politically calibrated sectarian narrative. Rather than focusing exclusively on the theological condemnation of Shi’a Islam, these actors portrayed the Iranian leader’s death as divine punishment for Tehran’s involvement in conflicts across the region and as part of a broader struggle among rival non-Muslim and sectarian forces. On March 1, for example, the Uzbek-language Telegram channel Guraba Medya, affiliated with the Uzbek al-Qaeda-linked group Katibat al-Guraba, published an excerpt from the eighth-century Islamic scholar Abd al-Rahman al-Awza’i’s Kitab al-Siyar, which stated, “If Allah kills one of two unbelievers fighting each other, it is good; if He kills both warring unbelievers, it is even better.” [3] By invoking this interpretation, Katibat al-Guraba framed Khamenei’s death as a manifestation of divine judgment while expressing hope that Israeli and U.S. leaders involved in the conflict would meet the same fate.
Similarly, Abu Umor Taliban, deputy emir of the Uzbek al-Qaeda-aligned Katibat Imam al-Bukhari (KIB), welcomed Khamenei’s death in a Facebook post published on March 8. He mocked Iranians as Shi’a Rafidhas responsible for the deaths of Sunni Muslims in Syria, arguing that Khamenei had ultimately suffered the same fate he had inflicted on others and would now face divine judgment. Thanking Allah for allowing “Zionist terrorists” to kill Iran’s leaders, he concluded by expressing hope that both sides would continue destroying one another [4].
Another al-Qaeda-aligned Uzbek-language commentator, Al-Shami, called upon Allah to “strike the oppressors with the oppressors and make the outcome beneficial for the Muslims” on June 18. [5] His remarks reflect the Salafi-jihadist view that both Shi’a Iran and Israel are enemies of Sunni Islam, making mutual attrition between them desirable.
Conclusion
Iran’s invocation of the Ya Latharat al-Hussein doctrine following Ali Khamenei’s death illustrates how Twelver Shi’a martyrdom theology can be instrumentalized in the service of state policy to legitimize retaliation, reinforce proxy cohesion, and mobilize supporters against the United States and Israel. At the same time, the overwhelmingly hostile reactions of Central Asian ISKP and al-Qaeda-aligned jihadists demonstrate that Tehran’s confrontation with Washington has done nothing to diminish the deep ideological hostility of Sunni Salafi-jihadist movements toward either Iran or the West. Instead, these actors continue to pursue independent agendas rooted in sectarian rivalry and global jihad.
Notes:
[1] Telegram source withheld due to the dissemination of terrorist propaganda. Uzbek-language Telegram channel, published July 12, 2026.
[2] Telegram source withheld due to the dissemination of terrorist propaganda. Tajik-language Telegram channel, published July 7, 2026.
[3] Telegram source withheld due to the dissemination of terrorist propaganda. Uzbek-language Telegram channel, published March 1, 2026.
[4] Facebook source withheld due to the dissemination of terrorist propaganda. Uzbek-language Facebook post, published March 8, 2026.
[5] Telegram source withheld due to the dissemination of terrorist propaganda. Uzbek-language Telegram channel, published June 18, 2026.
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Executive Summary:
The life sentence issued against Mahrang Baloch on June 22 deepens the fracture between Pakistan’s central government and the Baloch population (DW, June 27). The protests following her conviction on charges of terrorism and murder suggest that she retains considerable support and influence among the Baloch people (BBC, June 25; AsiaNews, June 30). Because of the state’s high-profile target, this episode may mark an escalation in the use of Pakistan’s anti-terrorism framework against prominent non-violent political and human-rights leaders.
From Human Rights Activism to National Prominence
Mahrang Baloch leads the Balochistan Yakjehti Committee (BYC), a Pakistani non-violent humanitarian organization that advocates for Balochistan (Amnesty International, July 30, 2024). In particular, the BYC campaigns against enforced disappearances affecting the Baloch population, which are allegedly carried out or enabled by the Frontier Corps (HrcBalochistan.org, May 30; LemkinInstitute.com, August 29, 2025). The Frontier Corps is a Pakistani paramilitary organization stationed in Balochistan and Khyber Pakhtunkhwa and falls under the jurisdiction of Pakistan’s Ministry of Interior (see Terrorism Monitor, March 30, 2007).
Baloch’s involvement in defending human rights began with her father, Ghaffar Baloch Langove, a leader of the Baloch National Party, before he was disappeared in 2011. Shortly after, the young Mahrang began her mobilization, embracing Baloch culture by wearing a traditional black Balochi chador (South Asian Avant-Garde, February 18, 2021).
Another important moment in her political career came in 2020, when Baloch led a protest at Bolan University of Medical and Health Sciences in Quetta. At the time, she emerged as a prominent protest leader at Bolan University of Medical and Health Sciences over increased fees, reduced scholarships, governance problems, and changes to the district quota system, which students argued disadvantaged applicants from poorer areas of Balochistan (Balochistan Voices, February 23, 2020). The abolition of the district quota system therefore seemed to undermine efforts to promote equal educational opportunities for students from low-income backgrounds in Balochistan.
The Gwadar Case and Life Sentence
Between 2023 and 2024, Mahrang’s political activity peaked when she led the “Baloch Long March.” This protest movement sought to end enforced disappearances and other policies affecting the region (Baloch News, March 24, 2025). The following year, she was identified as the central organizer of the BYC and, on July 29, 2024, participants in a BYC protest to highlight “enforced disappearances” clashed with Pakistani security officers in Gwadar, resulting in three deaths (Dawn, July 29, 2024).
The Quetta Anti-Terrorism Court found Mahrang, Sibghatullah Baloch, and other BYC leaders guilty of the murder of security personnel in Gwadar during the July 2024 protests. The court did not present direct evidence of a connection linking Mahrang and Sibghatullah to the Gwadar killings, however (Amnesty International, June 23; GIWPS, July 2). The charges brought against Mahrang and the BYC leadership fell under various sections of the Anti-Terrorism Act and the Pakistan Penal Code even though the organization did not appear on the National Counter Terrorism Authority (NACTA)’s list of banned organizations (Dawn, June 22).
Mahrang’s high-profile conviction may therefore represent a tipping point in Pakistan’s counter-insurgency strategy in Balochistan. Unlike the case of Khaled Baloch, who was killed by Pakistani security forces in 2007, Mahrang’s life sentence for terrorism may represent the use of judicial and counterterrorism mechanisms by the Pakistani state to control and weaken Baloch separatist or dissident efforts to challenge Islamabad (see Militant Leadership Monitor, June 25).
Conclusion
A similar pattern to Mahrang’s case appeared when the Anti-Terrorism Court in Rawalpindi delivered the same terrorism verdict against 47 members of Pakistan Tehreek-e-Insaf (PTI), the political party founded by Imran Khan (The Express Tribune, March 7). Both political leaders—Khan and Mahrang—accused the central government of failing to provide adequate medical conditions (BBC, February 12). This has fueled speculation about the political factors behind these sentences. The cases of Khan and Mahrang may illustrate a new approach to identifying and limiting internal threats through the politicization of “terrorism,” which highlights the complex relationship between terrorism designations and Pakistan’s domestic policy agendas.
The post Pakistan’s Anti-Terrorism Laws May Target Dissenters appeared first on Jamestown.
Executive Summary:
On June 19, the Taliban regime’s Defense Ministry claimed its forces “targeted and struck hard” at centers of Islamic State in Khorasan Province (ISKP) in Pakistan’s Balochistan and Khyber Pakhtunkhwa provinces (X/@MoDAfghanistan2, June 19). Pakistan promptly denied the claim and described it as propaganda. If confirmed, however, the operation would mark the first publicly claimed Taliban cross-border strike against ISKP targets in Pakistan since the May ceasefire.
Taliban Claims ISKP Bases in Pakistan
ISKP has claimed responsibility for multiple deadly attacks inside Afghanistan since the Taliban seized power in 2021. The Taliban regime has repeatedly claimed that it has defeated ISKP inside Afghanistan, while accusing the group of maintaining bases in Pakistan’s Balochistan and Khyber Pakhtunkhwa provinces and using those locations to organize cross-border attacks. Pakistan has consistently denied those allegations. According to the Taliban Defense Ministry statement, the sites it targeted were allegedly used with support from “certain hostile intelligence circles” to plan and coordinate attacks against Afghanistan. The statement appeared to allude to Pakistani intelligence agencies. The Taliban did not, however, provide evidence to substantiate the claim.
The Taliban claimed that its forces struck locations in the Gulistan area of Qila Abdullah district and the Shakar Ab Gardi-Jungle area of Chagai district in Balochistan, as well as the Qamber Khel area of Orakzai district in Khyber Pakhtunkhwa. The statement asserted that the targeted hideouts were frequented by several key ISKP leaders, but it did not identify any senior figures killed in the operation (X/@MoDAfghanistan2, June 19).
Pakistan’s Reaction
Pakistan’s Ministry of Information and Broadcasting called the Taliban’s claim “fake and nefarious.” The Ministry countered that camps belonging to ISKP and more than “two dozen” other militant organizations are located, run, and sponsored from inside Afghanistan (X/@FactCheckerMoIB, June 19). The Taliban regime has, however, frequently denied Pakistani allegations that Afghan territory is used by militants to attack Pakistan.
Prior to the reported June 19 Taliban strikes on ISKP in Pakistan, mutual accusations had already led to military escalation. Pakistan had carried out airstrikes inside Afghanistan since at least October 2025 against alleged militant sanctuaries. The most recent strikes before the Taliban’s June 19 claim occurred on June 10, in Afghanistan’s Kunar, Khost, and Paktika provinces. Pakistani Information Minister Attaullah Tarar claimed that 26 “terrorists” were killed by Pakistan (X/@TararAttaullah, June 10). The Taliban regime, by contrast, counter-claimed that 13 civilians, including children, were killed.
The cycle of cross-border escalation continued after the Taliban’s June 19 claim. On June 28, Pakistan carried out airstrikes in Afghanistan’s Paktya, Paktika, and Kunar provinces. The United Nations Assistance Mission in Afghanistan (UNAMA) confirmed that at least 28 civilians were killed and 49 injured, including women and children, while Pakistan’s Ministry of Information and Broadcasting confirmed that Pakistani security forces had conducted strikes in the three provinces (UNAMA, June 29). In early August, Pakistan’s military rejected broader UN findings on civilian casualties from Pakistani operations in Afghanistan, maintaining that its strikes targeted militant hideouts and were conducted in self-defense (CTPost, July 31).
It remains unclear how the Taliban may have carried out strikes inside Pakistan on June 19. Afghanistan has lacked combat aircraft since the collapse of the U.S.-backed Afghan republic and the international withdrawal. The Taliban has only a small air inventory, including six aircraft and 22 helicopters of uncertain operational status, although Taliban forces have used drones during clashes with Pakistan (Reuters, March 17). The Taliban had also previously claimed drone strikes against targets in Pakistan amid intensifying cross-border tensions (Reuters, February 27).
There are no verified reports on how the Taliban regime acquired its drones. Ahmad Zia Saraj, former director general of Afghanistan’s National Directorate of Security (NDS), claims, however, that the Taliban mostly “purchase drones from open markets.” In an interview with Afghanistan International, Saraj asserted the Taliban modified these commercially available drones to carry explosives (Afghanistan International, June 20; X/@TKCKhyber, June 23).
Search for a Settlement
Former U.S. Special Representative for Afghanistan Reconciliation Zalmay Khalilzad has frequently commented on Afghanistan–Pakistan military escalations. He has urged both countries to pursue diplomacy and reach an agreement under which neither side allows groups or individuals on its territory to threaten the other country’s security (X/@realZalmayMK, June 19).
The conflict has also disrupted trade and civilian movements across the Durand Line. The People’s Republic of China, Türkiye, and Qatar have attempted to mediate between Afghanistan and Pakistan and encourage both sides to address each other’s security concerns. No durable settlement has been reached, however, and the conflict continues to affect border communities, commerce, and regional security.
Pakistan says it is ready to engage the Taliban regime diplomatically but wants guarantees that Afghan soil will not be used for militant attacks in Pakistan. Tahir Andrabi, Pakistan’s Foreign Ministry spokesman, told a news conference that Islamabad wants “verifiable commitments” from the Afghan side that militants allegedly operating from across the Durand Line will no longer kill Pakistani nationals (Ministry of Foreign Affairs of Pakistan, June 24). The Taliban’s Foreign Ministry has not yet responded to Pakistan’s latest demand.
Conclusion
The Taliban’s claimed June 19 strikes against ISKP targets in Pakistan, if confirmed, would represent a notable escalation in the Afghanistan–Pakistan security dispute. They also demonstrate how ISKP has become both a direct security threat and a point of diplomatic contention between Kabul and Islamabad. The Taliban’s claim that ISKP operates from Pakistani soil and Pakistan’s counterclaim that IS-K and other militant groups operate from Afghanistan reflect a deepening cycle of accusation and retaliation.
Indeed, on June 17, Türkiye’s National Intelligence Organization (MIT) captured a suspected senior Islamic State operative, Ahmet Kazanci, also known as “Abu Ubeyde” and “Abu Ibrahim,” and rendered him to Türkiye. The operation targeted the ISKP media wing, and Turkish security sources alleged Kazanci had traveled from Türkiye to the Afghanistan-Pakistan region, joined ISKP, and played a role in the group’s camps (Anadolu Agency, June 17). The case underscored the transnational dimensions of ISKP’s recruitment, media, and logistics networks in the Afghanistan–Pakistan region and beyond.
Unless both sides establish credible mechanisms for intelligence sharing, border de-escalation, and commitments not to support or tolerate cross-border militant activity, tensions are likely to persist. ISKP may benefit from this environment by exploiting ungoverned spaces, mutual distrust, and the lack of coordinated counterterrorism efforts across the border.
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Executive Summary:
Tensions in Ethiopia’s northern Tigray region escalated again over the summer. On July 11, Tigrayan authorities aligned with the Tigray People’s Liberation Front (TPLF) accused the Ethiopian federal government of preparing for war and declared that the November 2022 Pretoria Peace Agreement had “collapsed.” The statement indicated that Tigray’s current leadership no longer regarded the peace agreement, which ended the 2020–2022 civil war, as a viable mechanism for resolving the region’s political and territorial disputes (Addis Standard, July 11).
The latest confrontation arose after the TPLF restored Tigray’s pre-war regional council and installed party chairman Debretsion Gebremichael as regional president. This created a parallel administration that challenged the federally recognized Tigray Interim Administration (The Reporter Ethiopia, May 16). The TPLF justified this move by arguing that the federal government in Addis Ababa failed to implement key provisions of the Pretoria Peace Agreement, including the return of displaced populations and disputed territories, the normalization of public services, and the establishment of an agreed postwar political order. Federal authorities and international partners, however, accused the TPLF of violating the agreement by creating parallel institutions and pursuing unilateral military mobilization (The Reporter Ethiopia, June 29).
What began as a political dispute quickly became a military one. For example, a draft Tigray proclamation proposed compulsory mobilization, expanded security powers, penalties for obstructing recruitment, and a centralized command structure headed by the regional president (Addis Standard, June 9). The European Union later expressed concern about what it described as unilateral military conscription in Tigray and called for urgent talks to implement the 2022 agreement (The Reporter Ethiopia, June 29). The United States imposed visa restrictions in June on individuals accused of undermining the peace process after renewed clashes between Tigrayan and federal forces occurred (Capital Ethiopia, June 18). Human Rights Watch also reported that Tigrayan authorities had been forcibly recruiting civilians since at least April, including children as young as 15, through house-to-house searches and seizures at workplaces, although the TPLF denied such allegations (Human Rights Watch, July 6). Thousands of demonstrators also rallied in Addis Ababa on July 18 against the forced mobilization in Tigray (Africanews, July 18).
The standoff between Tigray authorities and the federal government had crossed the threshold of military action on June 5. Then, a federal government drone strike targeted military transport vehicles near Sheraro in northwestern Tigray, causing several casualties. Although no one claimed responsibility, the incident showed how quickly the confrontation could become further militarized (The Reporter Ethiopia, June 13).
The confrontation escalated even further on August 1, when federal and Tigrayan forces clashed in western Tigray close to the Sudanese border. The TPLF accused federal forces of launching a heavy-artillery offensive, while a federal minister blamed the TPLF for provoking the fighting (Al Jazeera, August 1). On August 10, the TPLF also accused the federal government of carrying out drone strikes at Merewa in southern Tigray that caused casualties among Tigrayan forces (Addis Standard, August 11).
The TPLF is an ethno-nationalist political-military organization with extensive experience in guerrilla and conventional warfare. A return to insurgency could involve bombings, assassinations, sabotage, attacks on infrastructure, coercive recruitment, and intimidation of civilians who support the federal government or live under its rule. The presence of two opposing governments with their own armed forces, along with compulsory mobilization and declarations that the peace agreement has collapsed, indicates that the Tigray conflict is once again moving beyond a constitutional or legal dispute toward an organized military confrontation. This could draw foreign powers into the fray in an already volatile region. Foreign funding, training, and arms for either side could spark a much broader conflagration.
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Executive summary:
Russia held its State Duma elections on September 18–20, including at polling stations in Abkhazia, South Ossetia, and Transnistria. Researcher Petr Zhizhin collected official station-level results from Russia’s Central Election Commission and published them in an open archive maintained by statistician Dmitry Kobak. The results show that these three regions hosted about a quarter of Russia’s polling stations outside of the country but cast about half of all votes from abroad (Kobak Election Archive, October 2). The turnout in the regions also differed from one another. The data showed that participation grew in Abkhazia, where local authorities helped organize the vote, and fell in Transnistria, where Chișinău disputed the polling stations (Moldpres, August 29; NewsMaker, September 2; President of Abkhazia, September 17). In South Ossetia, far more residents voted in their own presidential election, held the same week, than in Russia’s.
The dispute over polling stations in Transnistria began weeks before the vote. On August 29, Moldova’s Ministry of Foreign Affairs called Russia’s plan to open 16 polling stations in the region without Chișinău’s consent “unacceptable,” stating that it “represents a violation of the country’s sovereignty and territorial integrity” (Moldpres, August 29). Chișinău authorized only one station at the Russian Embassy in Chișinău. Moldovan Deputy Prime Minister and Foreign Minister Mihai Popșoi warned, “Any other section opened without the permission of Moldova’s constitutional authorities is an unfriendly move” (NewsMaker, September 2). On September 3, Chișinău summoned Russian Ambassador to Moldova Oleg Ozerov to the Moldovan Ministry of Foreign Affairs and handed him a note of protest. Russian Foreign Ministry Spokeswoman Maria Zakharova countered that Chișinău has no right to deprive Transnistria’s residents of the vote, claiming, “Over 200,000 Russian citizens live in Transnistria.” Popșoi replied by urging Moscow “not to hinder Moldova’s peaceful reintegration and not to undermine the republic’s sovereignty and neutrality” (NewsMaker, September 16).
Moscow proceeded anyway, opening 17 polling stations across Transnistria (Novosti Pridnestrovie, September 27; see EDM, October 21). Obtaining a ballot was reportedly exceptionally easy, as either a Russian domestic or international passport was sufficient. Voting was also allowed with an expired Russian passport and a Soviet passport containing a stamp indicating Russian citizenship (Kommersant, September 20). In total, 51,092 people voted, and 77.8 percent backed United Russia (NewsMaker, September 21). For comparison, in 2021, Russia ran 27 stations in Transnistria for three days, drawing 59,233 voters, 76.4 percent of whom voted for United Russia (Novosti Pridnestrovie, September 20, 2021).
The decline is all the more striking given Moscow’s ongoing passportization drive, which enables Transnistrian residents to obtain Russian citizenship. De facto Transnistrian President Vadim Krasnoselsky also claims that about 220,000 Russian citizens live in the region, which would mean that fewer than one in four voted in the September Duma elections (NewsMaker, September 2). That figure amounts to roughly half of Transnistria’s population (Profile, August 29). Moldova, for its part, counts nearly 360,000 Moldovan citizens among the region’s residents, indicating that dual citizenship is widespread (Government of Moldova, June 30). On election day, Krasnoselsky estimated that the number of Russian passport holders in Transnistria would grow by the next election, in part because of Russian President Vladimir Putin’s May decree simplifying citizenship for Transnistria’s permanent residents (President of Russia, May 15; NewsMaker, September 20). The gap between the number of Russian citizens in Transnistria (about 220,000) and the number who voted in the September Duma elections (51,092) suggests that, for many residents, Russian citizenship serves more as a practical document than an expression of political allegiance.
Chișinău’s pushback also shaped the outcome. Moscow opened 10 fewer stations than in 2021, and voting was compressed into a single day, September 20, rather than the three days of the previous cycle (Novosti Pridnestrovie, September 20). The contrast within Moldova is equally telling. At the one station Chișinău authorized, in the Russian Embassy, United Russia won only 52 percent of the 761 ballots cast, compared with nearly 78 percent in Transnistria (NewsMaker, September 21; Kobak Election Archive, October 2). Where Russia holds elections on terms set by a sovereign state, its ruling party performs like an ordinary party. In territories under Moscow’s protection, however, it tends to secure much larger vote shares.
In Abkhazia, Russia faced no local resistance and expanded its electoral footprint at speed. Most of the region’s 243,897 residents hold Russian as well as Abkhaz citizenship (Abkhazia-Inform, December 25, 2025; JAMnews, September 18). In early September, Russia announced 35 polling stations in Abkhazia, more than 10 percent of the 319 stations it planned worldwide (JAMnews, September 2). Early voting from September 4–8 was reserved for Russians working or serving in Abkhazia, with stations opening to residents holding Russian citizenship and to Russian tourists on September 20, according to Russian Ambassador to Abkhazia Vyacheslav Gladkov (Caucasian Knot, September 4). The Abkhaz authorities not only permitted the vote, but also helped facilitate it. De facto Abkhaz President Badra Gunba created a working group under Vice President Beslan Bigvava to provide assistance to the Russian Embassy (President of Abkhazia, September 17). By election day, the network had grown to 50 stations, supplemented by 115 mobile ballot boxes (RIA Novosti, September 20). In 2016 and 2021, Russia operated only nine stations in Abkhazia, and in 2016, 20,235 people voted (JAMnews, September 19, 2016; Ekho Kavkaza, September 19, 2021). This number increased by four times, with a total of 82,018 ballots cast in 2026, more than in any foreign country, and United Russia won 75 percent (Kobak Election Archive, October 2). That equals roughly one ballot for every three Abkhaz residents, including children, and approaches the just over 100,000 ballots cast in Abkhazia’s own record-turnout presidential runoff in March 2025 (JAMnews, March 2, 2025). The total includes Russian servicemen and tourists, so it overstates Abkhaz participation, but it shows Russia’s electoral machinery operating on nearly the same scale as Abkhazia’s own.
A prominent Abkhaz blogger and public figure, Akhra Bzhania, argued that the scale of the election campaign in Abkhazia was intended to foster a sense of belonging to Russia, noting that the “entire republic is covered with banners.” Since 50,000–60,000 votes from Abkhazia would not shift the balance in the Duma, he concluded that the campaign served “a different, ideological purpose: to create a sense among the citizens of Abkhazia of a unified political and administrative space with the Russian Federation. And from there, it is not far from a common state” (JAMnews, September 2). Gunba himself cast a ballot, endorsing “political forces that consistently support the republic and contribute to strengthening its state sovereignty” (RIA Novosti, September 20). His participation underscores how the boundary between Abkhaz and Russian political spaces is becoming increasingly blurred.
South Ossetia, Georgia’s other occupied region, held two elections at the same time. On September 18, the first of three days of Duma voting there, a new South Ossetian De Facto President Marat Kambolov, a former Moscow official, was elected (JAMnews, September 19). About 90 percent of South Ossetia’s residents hold Russian citizenship, so the two electorates largely overlap (Interfax, July 22). The president received votes from 32,869 people, or 82.7 percent of the 39,768 registered voters (Caucasian Knot, September 20). Only 11,096 voted for the Duma, and United Russia won 67.6 percent of that vote (Kobak Election Archive, October 2). Russia opened 13 polling stations and ran mobile voting in 16 villages (TASS; Rambler News, September 18; Kobak Election Archive, October 2). Russian Ambassador to South Ossetia Marat Kulakhmetov urged citizens to vote “for our common future” (State News Agency Res, September 17). Even so, residents turned out in far greater numbers for their own election. The Georgian Ministry of Foreign Affairs condemned both the presidential vote and the opening of Russian polling stations in Abkhazia and South Ossetia without its consent as “another gross violation of Georgia’s sovereignty and territorial integrity” (SOVA News, September 18).
Taken together, the three territories accounted for 80 of Russia’s 333 stations abroad, or 24 percent. They cast 51 percent of all votes from abroad (5 TV, September 25; Kobak Election Archive, October 2). The three cases point in different directions. In Abkhazia, Russia organizes elections as if it already holds sovereignty. South Ossetia shows that Russian citizenship does not guarantee participation when residents have their own vote to cast. In Transnistria, Chișinău’s pushback narrowed the vote even as Moscow eased citizenship rules. The next test will come in 2031, after Putin’s citizenship decree has had time to take effect.
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Executive Summary:
Baku decided on September 21 to ban pupils and teachers from wearing the hijab in Azerbaijani state schools. The protests that the move has sparked have had a profound impact not only on Azerbaijani society but also on Azerbaijan’s relations with Türkiye (RTV Online, October 17). Azerbaijanis have been prompted to ask more questions than ever about the proper relationship between secularism and freedom of religion, and Baku has been forced to recognize that the balance Baku seeks and the one Ankara does are beginning to be at odds (Svobodnaya Pressa, October 16; The Caspian Post, October 20). Because the two countries have hitherto been the closest of allies, this division will have significant consequences not only for them and their relationship but for the region around them and beyond (Nezavisimaya Gazeta, October 18). Consequently, what may seem to some outsiders like a minor issue is major, and its resolution will affect the situation and policies of even powers distant from the South Caucasus (Voyenno-politicheskaya analitika, October 16).
Since the Azerbaijani republic was founded just over a century ago, secularism has been a core value of its leaders. They saw it as essential to maintaining stability in a country with many religions and as a necessary feature of a modern state (RFI, October 14). That commitment strengthened during Soviet times, albeit for different reasons, and re-emerged as a centerpiece of post-Soviet Azerbaijan’s construction. Maintaining a balance between secularism and freedom of religion, however, has never been easy. When Baku has intervened on that question in recent years and tilted toward secularism, such actions have sparked protests, most notably in 2010–2011 (Radio Free Europe/Radio Liberty, May 6, 2011). As a result, until earlier this year, the Azerbaijani government moved cautiously, especially in handling the issue, since it affected schools and, given how many people in the country are part of the education system, had wide-ranging consequences.
Baku has long been worried about Iranian efforts to promote radical Islam in Azerbaijan and thus destabilize the regime there. Given the growing conflict between Iran, on the one hand, and Israel and the United States, on the other, Baku moved further and faster to ensure that Azerbaijani schools would be purely secular and thus could not become seedbeds of Islamist radicalism. Senior Azerbaijani officials, however, were careful not to publicly name Iran as the proximate cause of their actions (OC-Media, October 16). Since the start of this year, the Azerbaijani government has moved step by step to do so, establishing dress codes for pupils and teachers on July 7, tightening those codes on September 21 as far as pupils were concerned—an action that did not mention the hijab but was interpreted by school officials as targeting that in particular—and, on October 6, extending such restrictions to teachers as well (RTV Online).
These moves prompted hundreds of pupils, their parents, and rights activists to take to the streets to protest. Authorities have arrested dozens of them and restricted social media so they could not organize more protests. (For a sampling of the enormous reporting about the protests and about the arguments of those that the wearing of the hijab does not interfere with secular education, see Kavkaz Uzel, October 12, 18; Minval.az, October 12, 13; Aktsenty, October 12; OC-Media, October 13, 16; AsiaNews; Novaya Gazeta Evropa, October 15.) In these articles, the most impressive features of the protests were their size and length in a country whose government typically blocks any protest and shuts it down almost instantly, but that was not what made them most noteworthy.
From the outset of the protests in Azerbaijan, participants and observers focused on what these actions meant for Azerbaijan itself and for its relations with other countries. Perhaps unsurprisingly, they began by focusing on Baku’s relationship with Muslim countries in general, and Central Asian ones in particular, with which Azerbaijan has sought to expand its ties (Aktsenty, October 14). They quickly shifted to the impact of these events on the relationship between Azerbaijan and Türkiye, two countries that for more than 30 years have described themselves as “one nation—two states.”
Ever more observers even suggested that Azerbaijan’s ban had highlighted the limitations of that formula. The ban had appeared at a time when Türkiye too was committed to secularism, which has long passed given that Ankara is integrating Islam into the ideology of the Turkish state (Svobodnaya Pressa, October 16; Nesavisymaya Gazeta, October 18; The Caspian Post, October 20). As Israeli Caucasus specialist Abraham Shmulyevich noted in his commentary the formula “one nation—two states” still reflects the profound historical, linguistic, and cultural affinity between Azerbaijan and Türkiye. It does not, however, change that under Turkish President Recep Tayyip Erdoğan, the two countries have developed along fundamentally different political and state models. They share ethnic kinship, strategic interests, and a common historical memory, but they differ on the role of religion in society, the limits of state intervention, and the very logic of national development (The Caspian Post, October 20). That scholarly judgment was echoed in the streets of Istanbul, where Turkish demonstrators at the Azerbaijani consulate against the hijab ban by Baku declared, “Such a state cannot be our brother!” (akcent.site/novosti/46235).
As this controversy has continued, Azerbaijani President Ilham Aliyev has repeatedly lashed out at Türkiye for criticizing his policies. Türkiye does not have the right to try to teach Baku how to live, he has said, adding that while there is no question that Turks and Azerbaijanis are one people, they are different countries with different values and that each must respect the other (Nezavisimaya Gazeta, October 15; Svobodnaya Pressa, October 16). Some Azerbaijani officials and scholars have tried to downplay the obvious implications and argue that this is not a break and that the two countries will still operate as one on many issues. That seems increasingly unlikely the longer this war of words goes on. That in turn is something that will affect both countries, their relations with each other, and their relations with third countries including, but not limited to, Israel, where there are already signs of a break; Central Asia, where a division between the two will affect trade across the Caspian; and Europe, the People’s Republic of China, and the United States, each of which has a stake in issues on which the presence or absence of cooperation between Ankara and Baku depends.
Aliyev has a record of changing course relatively quickly when he judges that it is necessary. Whether he keeps the hijab ban in place is yet to be seen. Such a change will depend not only on what he has said but also on how Turks in general have reacted to it. Consequently, what may seem to many like a small internal matter in Azerbaijan casts a large shadow over the world as a whole, one that must factor into considerations of all such issues.
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Executive Summary:
On September 28, Russian President Vladimir Putin held a meeting in the Kremlin with the leaders of political parties that won seats in the recent State Duma election (President of Russia, September 28). This is a routine post-election meeting, in which Putin thanks the Central Election Commission for conducting the election, outlines the priorities for the new parliamentary term, and demonstrates that the political parties with power remain under his control. This time, however, Sergei Kiriyenko, first deputy chief of staff of the Presidential Administration and the official overseeing domestic policy, was absent. He is responsible for organizing the State Duma election campaign and its outcome. Instead, sitting to Putin’s left was Alexei Gromov, another first deputy chief of staff who oversees information policy and relations with the media. The official explanation was that Kiriyenko had gone on vacation without waiting for the meeting to take place. In the Kremlin’s political culture, however, the absence of a key official from a ceremonial meeting reviewing the results of his own work is rarely accidental. No major change involving Kiriyenko has been announced as of October 22, and he has continued to perform public duties in his position.
Russian authorities took political scientist Alexander Kynev into custody in Moscow a few days before the meeting. He is regarded as one of Russia’s leading experts on elections and regional politics who remained in the country even after being designated as a foreign agent early this year (Nastoiashee Vremia, February 20; BBC Russian Service, September 25). Kynev described the latest State Duma election as “the most unfair” Duma election ever, and declared the victory of United Russia as the result of large-scale electoral fraud (Novaya Gazeta, September 29). Immediately after votes were counted, Kynev was detained in an operation involving Federal Security Service (FSB) officers and was severely beaten. He has been charged with attempted large-scale drug trafficking, but denies the allegations.
Kynev unofficially worked with New People, a political party part of the Kremlin-managed opposition regarded as close to Kiriyenko, in recent years (The Moscow Times, September 29). Kynev’s arrest does not directly weaken Kiriyenko’s position since the two were not personally close. Russian political circles, however, have been discussing the possibility that the security agencies did not alert Kiriyenko about the arrest until after the fact. The security services’ arrest of Kynev sends the message that cooperation with the Presidential Administration’s domestic policy bloc does not guarantee protection (Telegram/@russicaru, September 28).
Kiriyenko’s absence from the post-election meeting and the high-profile detention of someone connected to his policy apparatus occurred amid frequent rumors of major personnel changes in the Kremlin before the end of this fall. The two moves deserve attention as signs of a potential realignment of power within the ruling elite, not as isolated scandals.
The Kremlin often appears monolithic from the outside. In practice, it is a system of competing factions in which influence is measured by formal positions, the ability to protect one’s allies, and control of key processes. Since 2016, when he assumed his current position, Kiriyenko has built a relatively autonomous civilian apparatus for managing domestic politics, encompassing elections, regional governors, party projects, relations with the regions and, in part, soft power and Ukrainian territories occupied by Russia in 2014 and 2022. The success of the September State Duma election, with official turnout reported at almost 60 percent and United Russia securing a constitutional majority, should have strengthened Kiriyenko’s position. Other trends, however, emerged immediately after the election. First, the security agencies demonstrated that they can intervene in civilian political structures, diminishing the value of protection from the Presidential Administration. Second, potential changes to Kiriyenko’s position, along with the possible rise of other figures, have direct implications for the configuration of Russia’s governing apparatus ahead of the next political succession cycle, after 2030—or earlier, depending on the state of the system—and for who will determine the terms of the transfer of power.
Russian Telegram channels focused on political affairs have reported a gradual distancing of relations between the Kovalchuk family and Kiriyenko. Yuri Kovalchuk, a billionaire and close friend of Putin, was previously considered one of the patrons who paved Kiriyenko’s way into the Kremlin. Over time, however, the first deputy chief of staff accumulated his own bureaucratic clout and began acting more independently. Now, the Kovalchuks appear to prefer keeping their distance, observing events from the sidelines rather than protecting projects associated with Kiriyenko’s circle (Telegram/@politpochta, September 29). At the same time, they are redirecting some of their projects toward Stepan and Kirill Kovalchuk. The cancellation of Kanye West concerts in St. Petersburg is a symbolic example. Structures linked to VKontakte, Russia’s largest social media and technology company, headed by Kiriyenko’s son, Vladimir, were responsible for organizing the event and managing its media coverage (Repost News, September 30).
Kynev’s arrest adds to this broader pattern. Even if the political scientist was not personally close to Kiriyenko, he worked within the political infrastructure overseen by the Presidential Administration’s domestic policy bloc. The fact that the security agencies apparently did not consider it necessary even to notify their counterparts in the Presidential Administration points to a shift in the rules of the game and growing independence on the part of the security services. It suggests that ties to Kiriyenko no longer guarantee protection from detention or physical abuse.
Against the backdrop of the possibility of further personnel changes in the Presidential Administration and the Russian government before the end of the fall, three potential scenarios for Kiriyenko’s future are being discussed (Telegram/@taynaya_kantselyariya, September 21). The first is that Kiriyenko retains his position as first deputy chief of staff but loses control over domestic political affairs, which would be transferred to Chief of the Presidential Domestic Policy Directorate Andrei Yarin and the security agencies. Kiriyenko himself would be left to focus on international affairs. The second scenario involves his move to Moscow City Hall, accompanied by a substantial part of his team, potentially paving the way for incumbent Moscow Mayor Sergei Sobyanin to return to the position of chief of staff of the Presidential Administration of Russia. The third option is a move into the government as deputy prime minister responsible for the fuel and energy sector. The Moscow scenario is the one most frequently discussed and is reportedly the most attractive to Kiriyenko himself. It raises the question, however, of what would happen to Sobyanin, who is an influential and well-resourced political player in his own right (Telegram/@taynaya_kantselyariya, September 21).
If Kiriyenko leaves the Presidential Administration, his most likely replacement would be Yarin. During his years working under Kiriyenko, Yarin has significantly increased his bureaucratic influence, becoming a key link between the civilian political apparatus and the security agencies (Telegram/@taynaya_kantselyariya, September 21). He has also earned a reputation as a disciplined executor of orders. If promoted, Yarin could not only inherit Kiriyenko’s projects but also reshape them. Domestic politics, in turn, could come under tighter control by the security services.
Kiriyenko’s potential move to Moscow City Hall, with the prospect of eventually becoming mayor, would weaken his direct influence over the federal domestic political machinery. He would lose his levers of control, the projects under his supervision, and his position in the president’s inner circle. The longer-term implications, however, are far more significant. By the standards of Russia’s political elite, Kiriyenko is relatively young. The Moscow mayoralty offers substantial resources, public visibility, control over the capital’s budget and personnel, and the opportunity to build new networks as an independent political heavyweight. In the context of a future transfer of power, this could prove a more advantageous position than remaining the “perennial” first deputy chief of staff.
Kiriyenko’s absence from one meeting and Kynev’s arrest are not proof of an imminent dismissal. They do, however, offer insight into the trends surrounding Kiriyenko and the Presidential Administration as a whole. These developments suggest that the autonomy the first deputy chief of staff has built over the past decade is beginning to face constraints. His growing distance from former patrons has also weakened his network of support at precisely the moment when the security agencies are increasingly setting the rules without regard for civilian officials responsible for domestic politics.
The cabinet reshuffle that the Kremlin announced in October produced new appointments, but no change involving Kiriyenko (The Moscow Times, October 19). The latter would provide a more direct indicator of whether the balance of power within the Kremlin has shifted. A potential move by Kiriyenko to Moscow City Hall, followed eventually by his appointment as mayor, would create a political figure with substantial resources at his disposal. Meanwhile, Yarin’s rise and the growing influence of the security agencies over domestic politics would strengthen the role of repressive and control mechanisms in the management of Russia’s regions and political parties. For now, Kiriyenko’s absence from the September meeting and the Kynev arrest appear to be more indicators of possible tensions within the Presidential Administration than evidence that Kiriyenko is on the verge of leaving his post. But in a system where official statements rarely reflect the actual distribution of power, such signals are precisely what make it possible to track the shifting tectonic plates beneath the surface of Russian politics. Ignoring them means viewing the Russian government as a static entity rather than as a living, conflict-ridden structure in a constant state of realignment.
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Executive Summary:
On September 23, on the sidelines of the UN General Assembly, the United States convened an event in New York titled “Prosperity Through Peace: Investing in the Trans-Caspian Trade Route and TRIPP,” bringing together officials from the United States, Armenia, Azerbaijan, Georgia, Kazakhstan, Kyrgyzstan, Tajikistan, Turkmenistan, and Uzbekistan, as well as private sector representatives, to discuss regional connectivity (Armenian Ministry of Foreign Affairs and International Trade, September 23). The event also focused on the Trans-Caspian Enterprise Fund, a $201 million U.S.-supported nonprofit vehicle for channeling private investment across eight South Caucasus and Central Asian states. U.S. Secretary of State Marco Rubio announced the fund in August, and it remains legally distinct from the Trump Route for International Peace and Prosperity (TRIPP) itself (Modern.az, August 8).
The event revealed a central paradox of the Middle Corridor. Long framed as an alternative to routes through Russia, the corridor has become a platform on which Washington, Moscow, Beijing, Ankara, Tehran, and Brussels pursue distinct objectives. The same geopolitical fragmentation that increased demand for routes bypassing Russia also keeps national, regional, and international initiatives from merging into a unified framework and prevents diversification from producing genuine autonomy. Commercial activity remains robust. Azerbaijan reported over 9.1 million tons of transit freight on its east–west and north–south routes in the first seven months of 2026, with east–west volumes up 16.5 percent (Trend News Agency, August 10). Increase in volume, however, does not equate to integration.
That distinction is most apparent in how participating states approach diversification, which often replaces one dependence with another. In Central Asia, geography and bargaining power differ sharply from state to state. Kazakhstan provides the land bridge and the key Caspian ports, yet Kazakh President Kassym-Jomart Tokayev stressed at the October 8 summit in Avaza, Turkmenistan, that the north–south route through Russia remains “particularly relevant” (The Times of Central Asia, October 9). Uzbekistan sent 83 percent of its Middle Corridor cargo through the Turkmen port of Turkmenbashi, while Kyrgyzstan’s participation in the China–Kyrgyzstan–Uzbekistan (CKU) railway, majority-owned by the People’s Republic of China (PRC), offers a route around Kazakhstan at the price of deeper reliance on PRC investment (Ankara Center for Crisis and Policy Studies, April 3; Akchabar, April 8). Whether cargo departs from Kazakh ports or Turkmenbashi, it must cross the Caspian to reach Azerbaijan, linking Central Asia’s distinct transport strategies to transit routes shaped in part by the South Caucasus.
The South Caucasus states face the same trade-off between diversification and dependence. Azerbaijan, whose ports anchor the western Caspian, balances its alliance with Türkiye against normalized relations with Russia, largely based on north–south trade that traverses Azerbaijani territory (Eurasianet, July 16). Georgia, the corridor’s western outlet to the Black Sea, has made its planned deep-sea port at Anaklia a test of geopolitical alignment. After a PRC-led consortium went unmentioned in Tbilisi’s July 6 announcement, the government proposed state ownership under a “landlord” model, in which the state owns the port and private companies operate it, but with no confirmed partner and no named Western stakeholders (Eurasianet, July 8). Armenia’s maneuverability is constrained by a railway operated since 2008 by a Russian Railways subsidiary, which Armenian Prime Minister Nikol Pashinyan says discourages Western users, and by reliance on Iranian territory for up to a quarter of its foreign trade (Barcelona Centre for International Affairs, April 2026; Report, August 13).
Regional cooperation formats show that competition for control shapes coordination more than a shared interest in efficiency. In 2024, Azerbaijan, Kyrgyzstan, Tajikistan, and Uzbekistan established the Eurasian Transport Route International Association (ETRIA), a Baku-based body to coordinate tariffs and digital tools along the corridor’s southern branch. In February, Azerbaijan, Turkmenistan, Uzbekistan, and Georgia signed a separate protocol in Ashgabat to boost cargo transportation and digitize processes along the corridor (Embassy of Turkmenistan in the United Kingdom, February 11; The Astana Times, February 12). None of these formats brings all eight corridor states into a common decision-making body. The Trans-Caspian Enterprise Fund spans all eight, but it is a U.S. investment vehicle, not a regional institution. Without a regional body to set priorities among ports and routes, diversification widens the menu of options without strengthening strategic autonomy, and leaves the choice to outside powers with their own interests.
Outside powers deepen the fragmentation because they compete less for cargo than for control of the nodes it passes through and the rules that govern them. Washington’s stake is the most explicit. Through a planned 74 percent controlling share in the TRIPP Development Company, it seeks a durable foothold on the corridor’s western segment (Armenian Ministry of Foreign Affairs and International Trade, May 26). Beijing, by contrast, stays out of that contest and builds around it through its 51 percent stake in the joint venture developing the CKU Railway, opening a southern route that bypasses Kazakhstan (Kaktus Media, April 17). Meanwhile, its apparent exit from Anaklia leaves the Black Sea outlet without a declared sponsor (OC-Media, July 6). The European Union approaches the corridor through its Global Gateway strategy. Its Connectivity Agenda Platform, launched on June 23, came with statements of intent from international financial institutions expected to mobilize up to 2 billion euros ($2.25 billion) for the Black Sea region and the South Caucasus (European Commission, June 23). The European Union and the European Bank for Reconstruction and Development (EBRD) finance Kazakhstan’s Aktau port without holding any stake in TRIPP’s governance, so even Western engagement runs on separate tracks (EBRD, September 30, 2025; CivilNet, August 6).
Russia, Türkiye, and Iran answer with positional leverage. Moscow has rejected proposals to transfer the Armenian railway concession to a third party (CivilNet, February 19). Russian Deputy Foreign Minister Mikhail Galuzin said Russia’s position must be taken into account because TRIPP is planned to pass through an area guarded by Russian and Armenian border troops, and transit would also have to comply with the rules of the Eurasian Economic Union (TASS, June 29). Moscow has also called for regional states and their immediate neighbors—Russia, Iran, and Türkiye—to shape the solutions, a formula that implicitly excludes Washington, while promoting a north–south corridor linking Russia with Iran, Kazakhstan, and Turkmenistan (The Times of Central Asia, October 9). Türkiye, Azerbaijan’s security guarantor, supports TRIPP but reportedly makes normalization with Armenia a precondition while building its own Kars–Dilucu railway from eastern Türkiye toward Nakhchivan (CivilNet, May 16). Iran vowed in 2025 to block the route, though Armenian Foreign Minister Ararat Mirzoyan said on October 7 that Tehran is satisfied with Armenian transparency (Armenpress, October 7). The result is a layered rivalry in which the United States seeks to anchor a western outlet, Russia and Iran defend a north–south axis, and Türkiye and the PRC pursue their own initiatives, leaving participating states to bargain among competing offers.
TRIPP illustrates how these competing offers play out in a single project. Washington has secured a signed framework agreement under which a company it controls would hold development rights for the link between mainland Azerbaijan and Nakhchivan (Armenian Ministry of Foreign Affairs and International Trade, May 26). Capital and a controlling stake do not determine whose preferences prevail along the route. Armenia retains authority over border control and customs under the published framework, while the Russian, Turkish, and Iranian positions described above remain in place. As a result, TRIPP adds a U.S.-backed option to the corridor without removing the dependencies on Russia and Iran that continue to shape Armenian choices.
Strategic importance, rooted in a favorable geographic position, does not automatically translate into transregional integration, just as diversification does not necessarily confer autonomy. Alternative routes can generate new dependencies even as they reduce existing ones. Whether the Middle Corridor becomes a successful and integrated system will depend less on physical infrastructure than on whether its participants can overcome the geopolitical constraints and great-power interests that created demand for it in the first place.
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Executive Summary:
On October 7, Deputies of Kazakhstan’s Kurultai ratified a protocol renewing the intergovernmental agreement with Russia on the supply of oil and petroleum products, extending its validity until January 1, 2028 (Vedomosti, October 7). The vote came a day after Ukraine launched more than 650 drones toward Moscow oblast, and hours after Russia launched 130 drones, 48 cruise missiles, and ballistic missiles against Ukraine (Fontanka, October 6; 5 Kanal, October 7). Kazakhstan is binding itself more closely to Russia’s energy system just as Russian President Vladimir Putin’s war against Ukraine has turned the Russian ports that carry most Kazakh oil into targets.
The protocol revives a 2013 agreement that expired on January 1, 2024. It preserves annual coordination of supply balances and data exchanges, allows Kazakhstan to import Russian petroleum products duty-free, and provides for processing Russian oil at the Kondensat refinery in western Kazakhstan, which Russia co-owns and in which Kazakhstan keeps 30 percent of the output. Kazakh Vice Minister of Energy Kaiyrkhan Tutkyshbaev stressed that Russia remains Kazakhstan’s strategic partner (Vedomosti, October 7).
Kazakhstan is the world’s largest landlocked country and depends on other states’ infrastructure to reach world markets. About 80 percent of its oil exports flow through the Caspian Pipeline Consortium (CPC) pipeline (Kommersant, August 25). The pipeline runs more than 930 miles from Kazakhstan’s Caspian oil fields to a terminal at Iuzhnaia Ozereevka, just southwest of Novorossiisk, Russia’s main Black Sea port in Krasnodar krai (Forbes Kazakhstan, December 6, 2016). In 2025, the pipeline carried a record 70.52 million metric tons of oil, of which 62.8 million metric tons came from Kazakhstan’s three largest fields—Tengiz (36.6 million metric tons), Kashagan (17 million metric tons), and Karachaganak (9.2 million metric tons), with Russian suppliers adding the remainder (Port News, February 26).
The CPC route is also a Western business interest. Russian companies own 36.5 percent of the consortium’s shares, with an additional 3.825 percent partly held by Rosneft through Rosneft-Shell Caspian Ventures Limited. Kazakhstan holds 20.75 percent. U.S. companies Chevron and ExxonMobil, through its subsidiary Mobil, hold 15 percent and 7.5 percent, respectively. The other shareholders include Russia’s Lukoil, Rosneft-Shell Caspian Ventures, and Eni (Interfax, December 1, 2025). Washington has exempted the CPC from U.S. sanctions on Russian oil (Neftegaz.ru, May 16, 2025). The pipeline carries about 2 percent of the world’s daily crude supplies (Mirror of the Week, July 24).
Kazakh oil also leaves through a second Novorossiisk facility. The Sheskharis terminal is operated by Transneft subsidiary Chernomortransneft (Glavcom, November 15, 2025). It is Russia’s largest crude-loading terminal on the Black Sea and ships Russian Urals and Siberian Light crude, as well as Kazakh oil (Kyiv Post, April 6). It can handle about 700,000 barrels per day (Censor.NET, August 14). In June 2022, Kazakh producers rebranded these exports as Kazakh Export Blend Crude Oil (KEBCO), after traders repeatedly mistook them for Russian Export Blend Crude Oil (REBCO), which Western sanctions had made difficult to sell (Neft i Kapital, June 6, 2022). In peacetime, Novorossiisk port facilities handled around 25–35 percent of all Russian crude oil exports, or about 3–3.2 million metric tons per month. In wartime, the site accounts for about 20 percent of Russia’s crude oil exports (Kyiv Post, April 6). That makes the port too valuable for Kyiv to ignore.
While Kazakhstan has alternative export routes, they are not comparable in capacity. In 2025, about 11.1 million metric tons went through the Atyrau–Samara pipeline to Russia’s Transneft network, 19.5 million metric tons through the Kazakhstan–China pipeline, including Russian oil in transit, and about 3.2 million metric tons through Kazakhstan’s Caspian port of Aktau, partly for transshipment to Azerbaijan and the Baku–Tbilisi–Ceyhan (BTC) pipeline (Forbes Kazakhstan, January 16). With more than 80 percent of the country’s oil exports depending on a single terminal within range of Ukrainian drones, each new attack in the Black Sea rebounds on the Kazakh economy (Kommersant, August 25).
In August 2023, Kazakhstan’s KazTransOil Deputy Director for Transportation Erik Sagiyev said that if the situation in the Black Sea worsened, volumes bound for Sheskharis would be redirected to Ust-Luga, a Russian Baltic port in Leningrad oblast (Mind, August 18, 2023). In March, however, Ukrainian drones struck Ust-Luga five times, forcing it to suspend exports, while the nearby port of Primorsk lost at least 40 percent of its storage (Ekonomichna Pravda, April 2). Drones hit Ust-Luga again on September 1 (Slovo i Dilo, September 1).
As Russia’s war against Ukraine settled into a stalemate on land, Kyiv extended the war to Russia’s energy exports, and the CPC was drawn in. Between February 2025 and July of this year, Ukrainian unmanned aerial vehicles (UAVs) attacked CPC facilities and the tankers loading at Iuzhnaia Ozereevka eight times despite Kazakh diplomatic entreaties to Kyiv to cease the assaults (Sputnik Kazakhstan, July 30). On February 17, 2025, seven drones struck the CPC’s Kropotkinskaia oil pumping station in Krasnodar krai, destroying its roof and damaging a closed switchgear unit, a gas turbine, cables, two transformers, and the fire suppression system. Russian Deputy Prime Minister Aleksandr Novak told Putin that oil flows from Kazakhstan fell by 30 to 40 percent (The Insider, February 18, 2025).
On November 14, 2025, the first significant drone attack on Sheskharis occurred. Russian Novorossiisk Mayor Andrei Kravchenko reported that drone debris damaged a Chernomortransneft storage tank and berth, as well as the Sheskharis oil depot (Telegram/@astrapress, November 14, 2025). On November 29, Ukrainian naval drones struck the CPC terminal itself, damaging one of its three moorings beyond repair. Kazakh Ministry of Foreign Affairs called the strike “a targeted attack on critical infrastructure” (Sputnik Kazakhstan, July 30). Kyiv replied that its actions were not directed against Kazakhstan (Interfax, December 1, 2025).
In February, then-Ukrainian Ambassador to the United States Olha Stefanishyna confirmed that Kyiv had received a demarche from the U.S. State Department warning that attacks on the CPC terminal would cause tangible damage to U.S. economic interests in Kazakhstan. She stressed that the demarche did not require Ukraine to abandon strikes on Russian energy infrastructure, only on facilities tied to U.S. commercial interests (Exclusive, February 25). Kyiv kept Sheskharis in its sights. Drones attacked the terminal on March 2, and a strike overnight on April 5–6 damaged six of its seven oil-loading jetties (Exclusive, March 2; Ukrainska Pravda, April 6).
Over the summer, Ukraine’s maritime campaign escalated sharply. On June 25, Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelenskyy had approved a 40-day Security Service of Ukraine (SBU) operation to push Russia toward ending the war (Ukrainska Pravda, June 25). Ukraine’s Unmanned Systems Forces (SBS) struck 35 vessels in the Sea of Azov over 96 hours, as well as two tankers in the Black Sea (The Maritime Executive, July 9). By July 14, SBS Commander Robert “Magyar” Brovdi reported 116 vessels hit in nine days under Operation “MoLoChKa.” The operation targets Russia’s small tankers, dry cargo ships, and tugs in the Sea of Azov, limiting fuel deliveries to Crimea (Interfax-Ukraine, July 14, 18). Tankers serving the CPC were caught in the escalation. On July 7, a drone struck the unladen, Chevron-chartered tanker Yasa Polaris near the terminal (Deniz Haber Ajansı, July 9). Further strikes on tankers followed on July 17, 19, 20, and 30, and Kazakhstan’s Ministry of Foreign Affairs called them “an unacceptable attack on Kazakhstan’s economic interests” (Sputnik Kazakhstan, July 30).
This time, Washington intervened at a higher level. During a July 31 call, U.S. Vice President JD Vance asked Zelenskyy to halt the attacks. The U.S. was “alarmed that Ukraine was further destabilizing oil markets and harming U.S. companies by targeting tankers carrying crude piped from Kazakhstan to a Caspian Pipeline Consortium terminal in the Russian port of Novorossiisk.” Ukraine agreed not to strike CPC infrastructure or non-Russian vessels, provided they were not under Ukrainian sanctions and were not carrying Russian oil or cargo (Nur.kz, August 12).
On September 8, a drone incident near the CPC terminal forced the suspension of loading at two of its moorings, according to Kazakhstan’s Ministry of Energy (Interfax, September 9). The economic damage is already measurable. On August 25, Kazakh Energy Minister Erlan Akkenzhenov said the attacks would cost Kazakhstan about 3.5 million metric tons of oil in 2026 and that the year’s production plan had been cut to 96 million metric tons. “Initially, we had the idea to produce oil in the same volume as last year—99 million 550 thousand tons and actually increase it to 100 million tons,” he said (Kommersant, August 25). The same day, Akkenzhenov also declared Kazakhstan’s readiness to supply oil to Russia despite Western sanctions (Vedomosti, October 7).
Lacking a navy outside the Caspian Sea, Kazakhstan cannot protect its tankers in the Black Sea and relies on diplomacy. In September, Kazakh Foreign Minister Mukhtar Tleuberdi met Ukrainian Foreign Minister Andrii Sybiha in New York on the sidelines of the 81st session of the UN General Assembly. Tleuberdi said they discussed “the need to prevent future drone attacks on our vessels in the Black Sea” (RTVI, September 28). He also reiterated Kazakhstan’s readiness to host negotiations between Russia and Ukraine (Dzen News, September 28).
On October 9, U.S. President Donald Trump announced an agreement with Putin to supply Russian diesel to U.S. and global markets to help lower fuel prices (Fakty, October 10). Overnight on October 10, Ukrainian drones struck the oil-loading terminal of the Novoshakhtinsk Refinery, formerly known as Iug Rusi, in Rostov-on-Don, a Russian city on the Don River near the Sea of Azov. The terminal, with a capacity of about 2.5 million metric tons per year, was previously hit on July 9 (Militarnyi, October 10).
Kazakhstan does not use Iug Rusi, but the strike showed that Ukraine will not abandon its campaign against Russian energy infrastructure. The CPC’s protection from Ukrainian strikes rests on a narrow U.S.–Ukrainian understanding that Trump’s rapprochement with Moscow could erode. By renewing its energy ties with Russia while its main export route remains within range of Ukrainian drones, Kazakhstan could see more diplomatic demonstrations in Kyiv.
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Executive Summary:
Control of the city of Kupiansk has become a primary focus of Russian attacks in Kharkiv oblast since late 2025. Amid limited or contested battlefield progress, Russian military authorities and pro-war bloggers have repeatedly promoted exaggerated or false claims of territorial gains. On October 2, a Russian military blogger posted a video on Telegram purporting to show the capture of part of the city of Kupiansk-Vuzlovyi, a suburb of Kupiansk, by Russian forces. The terrain, however, especially the railway station building, does not match the current condition of buildings in the city, which have been severely damaged during ongoing battles. Ukrainian experts say that other visual anomalies also indicate the use of artificial intelligence (AI) in the clip (Telegram/@ssternenko, October 3). Similar manipulated, archival, and AI-generated videos have been identified and debunked by international experts and even Russian military bloggers in recent months (X/@Playfra0, August 13; X/@actfast, August 16; X/@LetsArmUKR, August 20; Telegram/@milinfolive, September 5).
Fierce kinetic battles and equally intense information wars are raging around Kupiansk. In December 2025, Russian President Vladimir Putin announced the complete capture of the city for the third time since November 2025 and invited journalists to verify this advance. The Ukrainian command has repeatedly stated that these claims are untrue (Radio Svoboda, November 20, 2025; New Voice of Ukraine, January 27). Ten days later, on December 12, 2025, Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelenskyy recorded a video address near the Kupiansk entrance sign, refuting Russian claims of the city’s capture (President of Ukraine, December 12, 2025).
Russia’s “flag raising” tactics for demonstrating real or false control over territory are changing. Alongside often one-way missions involving real soldiers recording videos in disputed or Ukrainian-controlled territory, they have begun using videos that have been altered or entirely generated using AI. Information operations are a crucial component of Russian tactics in Ukraine. Videos, photos, open-source intelligence confirmation and refutation, online narratives, and official statements are as much a part of Kremlin strategy as missile strikes and mechanized assaults. With the development of AI, new tools and methods of information warfare are emerging.
This approach creates additional uncertainty for Ukrainian commanders regarding the actual situation on the front lines, paints a positive picture for the Russian public, and attempts to convince Ukrainians that resistance to Putin’s aggression is futile. Russia similarly intends to use falsified flag-raising videos to convince the West that Kyiv cannot win and ongoing aid to Ukraine is pointless (Center for Countering Disinformation, May 11).
In June, Putin claimed that roughly 5,000 Ukrainian troops were nearly encircled on the “left bank of the Stary Oskol River,” apparently confusing the Oskil River in Ukraine with the Russian city of Stary Oskol in Belgorod oblast. He also falsely claimed that Russian troops were advancing within about 8 miles of Sumy in September (UNIAN; New Voice of Ukraine, June 29; 5.ua, September 2). The reality on the battlefield, however, is forcing Putin to push back deadlines for the complete capture of Donbas for the 16th time, with Russia losing territory on the net in September (The Moscow Times, September 10).
The Armed Forces of Ukraine (AFU) “Vivaldi” counteroffensive operation, which ran from late May to October 14 in the Lyman sector under the command of the 3rd Army Corps, used a new information strategy. This operation was initially conducted with rigorous control over any leaks regarding the directions of Ukrainian forces’ advances, and Ukraine did not publicize results until September (Texty.org.ua, September 22). This approach is in stark contrast to how the “announcements” of the Ukrainian counteroffensive in 2023 were handled (InformNapalm, September 18). After completion of Vivaldi’s initial phases, the 3rd Army Corps, already known for its strong media team and high-quality work in this area, launched an information campaign (Telegram/@InformNapalm, September 29, 30). This effort began with a video address by then-3rd Army Corps commander, Brigadier General Andriy Biletsky, from the city of Svyatogorsk in Donetsk oblast, in which he refuted Putin’s claims that the Russian army controlled the city (RIA Novosti, September 1). Biletsky stated that Ukrainian forces firmly control the city, which currently serves as a rear area for the corps (Telegram/@ab3army, September 7). As of September, the distance from the city to the front line was no closer than 13 kilometers (8 miles) (ISW, September 2).
The Ukrainian military released videos explaining Vivaldi’s progress only after the successful completion of certain stages of the operation. Until the official announcement, an information vacuum was created for Russian forces, in part because of the targeted destruction of Russian reconnaissance drones (Tyzhden, October 7). This tactic reduced the Russian Armed Forces’ operational intelligence regarding the Ukrainian military’s actions, complicating Russian efforts to respond to the offensive.
In the Russian military, there is a widespread practice of lying in reports to higher command, distorting situational awareness among commanders regarding the positions of their own forces (Telegram/@motopatriot78, October 8). Combined with fake video evidence purporting to show control over Ukrainian-held territories, these practices have become such a serious problem that even Russian military bloggers have begun to criticize them (Telegram/@rybar, September 7; Telegram/@milinfolive, September 29; Telegram/@dva_majors, October 4).
Ukraine released a video showing 250 captured Russian soldiers in early October, in contrast to a falsified Russian video from Piskunivka village in Donetsk oblast that purported to show surrendering Ukrainians (Armia.Inform, May 5). Ukrainian military videos intend to refute false Russian claims and undermine trust in the Russian Federation’s leadership (X/@LetsArmUKR, September 29).
Creating and managing narratives supporting military operations by restricting information leaks and controlling the release of objective data contributes to international and domestic political support for Ukraine. Russia’s use of AI-generated video in military operations may quickly undermine trust in its information.
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Executive Summary:
Transnistria opened its presidential campaign on September 14. Candidates may be nominated until November 12 and must gather signatures from at least 2 percent of registered voters, about 8,000 people. Registration closes on November 21, campaigning runs to December 12, and early voting begins on December 7 at territorial commissions before moving to polling stations on December 11 (Interfax, September 14). The vote itself falls on December 13.
The incumbent is not on the ballot, a contrast to the previous two elections. President of Transnistria Vadim Krasnoselsky has served two consecutive five-year terms, and the region’s constitution bars a third. He has said he supports rotating power and does not intend to change the rules, while predicting that Chișinău will try to obstruct the vote and fail (TASS, September 14). This will be Transnistria’s eighth presidential election and the first genuinely open seat since 2016.
The favorite candidate is Vitaly Neagu, appointed deputy prime minister this January. Before that, he spent five years as Transnistria’s interior minister, leaving with the rank of general. Before that, he headed the region’s Customs Committee and served as a Supreme Court judge. Between 2008 and 2012, he worked as a consultant in the legal department of Sheriff Holding, a conglomerate that has effectively selected every Transnistrian leader since 2011. He is also publicly associated with the Russian world current, holding membership in the Imperial Orthodox Palestine Society, which awarded him its Primakov medal, along with a Russian Orthodox Church order and a Black Sea Cossack Host medal (NewsMaker, September 16).
The résumé reads as a statement about what the job now requires. Yevgeny Shevchuk, Transnistria’s second president, and Krasnoselsky both rose through the Interior Ministry, so the security pedigree signals continuity. The customs portfolio is not. Neagu ran the apparatus that collected revenue at the administrative boundary when that revenue underwrote the budget, and he is being promoted to the presidency just as Chișinău is legislating that apparatus out of existence. The value-added tax (VAT) and excise regime that took effect on September 1 extends to petroleum products and base metals in January 2027, to natural gas and electricity in April, and eliminates all remaining exemptions by January 2030 (Logos Press, August 26). Tiraspol’s own outlets concede that full implementation could idle industrial enterprises.
The succession was managed almost immediately. On September 13, a Telegram channel appearing to belong to Neagu announced his candidacy and promised a program. Russian outlets, including RIA Novosti, carried it within hours (RIA Novosti, September 13). The Transnistrian government then stated the channel was fake (TASS, September 14). More than a week later, Neagu still had not formally declared, while attending every significant public event and commenting steadily on social and economic questions. Anatoly Dirun, a former deputy of the Supreme Council turned analyst, put it plainly. For anyone familiar with Transnistria, the nomination is obvious, because Neagu has passed through every stage and has been brought to this point both politically and technically. Dirun expects other candidates to be admitted as filler and notes that opposition aspirants are unlikely to be registered at all, though running would raise their profile. His summary of the exercise is that the vote will be arranged so that the candidate programmed to win does so (NewsMaker.md, September 16).
The constraint on all of this is participation. Krasnoselsky took 62 percent in the first round in 2016 and close to 80 percent in 2021, but turnout fell from 60 percent to 35.3 percent between those two contests. At the November 30, 2025 Supreme Council elections, it reached 26.01 percent, the lowest in the region’s history and below the 27.7 percent recorded in 2020. Of the 49 nominated candidates, 45 were registered for 33 single-member districts. Obnovlenie (Renewal), created and funded by Sheriff Holding, took every seat with 83.8 percent; independents won none; and 9.7 percent of ballots were cast against all candidates (RIA Novosti, December 1, 2025; Central Electoral Commission for the Transnistrian Moldovan Republic, December 8, 2025). A Russian analyst attributed the collapse to exhaustion, pressure from Chișinău, and far fewer people wanting to stand than in previous cycles, which he linked to the discouragement of political pluralism in the region (MK, December 1, 2025). With no turnout threshold in force, abstention cannot invalidate the result. It can only hollow it.
September offered a different kind of rehearsal. Around 220,000 Transnistrian residents hold Russian passports, and Tiraspol opened polling stations for Russia’s September 18 to 20 State Duma elections (TASS, August 28). Chișinău authorized a single station at the Russian Embassy and lodged a protest with Russian Ambassador Oleg Ozerov over the rest. Moldova’s Foreign Ministry said electoral processes conducted in the region by another state carry no legal consequences (Moldova1, September 20). In the 2021 Russian Duma vote, 27 stations in Transnistria produced more than 59,000 ballots, most of them for the ruling United Russia party (Moldova.org, September 19, 2021). At the 2024 Russian presidential election, 97 percent of Transnistrian voters backed Russian President Vladimir Putin, a higher share than in Russia itself (NewsMaker.md, March 18, 2024).
The pattern is the same across both ballots. Transnistria can still stage an election and produce a decisive number. It can no longer give voters a reason for the result to matter, or a budget that makes the office worth the contest it does not have.
The arithmetic of the term is the part worth keeping in view. A president elected on December 13 serves until December 2031. The 2030 deadline for abolishing Transnistria’s separate tax and customs regime falls within that mandate, as does the horizon on which Chișinău intends to become an EU member state. Whoever takes the oath in Tiraspol this December will be the first Transnistrian leader whose term is scheduled to outlast the fiscal boundary the office exists to defend.
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Executive Summary:
Editor’s Note: This article builds on the findings of a study the author conducted that was published on October 20 by the International Coalition to End Transplant Abuse in China (ETAC). That study, which examines in detail the Party’s hold on the medical profession and transplant sector in the People’s Republic of China, can be read here.
On August 18, a Chinese news website announced the formation of the International Society of Organ Medicine (South, August 18). The English-language report touted the group as “the first global academic organization dedicated to the emerging field of organ medicine” and shared details of an inaugural online meeting joined by 20 Chinese doctors and 20 international experts from six countries. The organization’s honorary presidents are Chinese transplant surgeon and former vice minister of health Huang Jiefu (黄洁夫) and John Fung, an American surgeon and president of the Transplantation Society. It is one of the latest examples of the international transplant community welcoming cooperation with the People’s Republic of China (PRC) since Chinese officials announced in 2015 that they would no longer use prisoners as organ sources and henceforth rely only on voluntary donations.
This renewal of ties is occurring despite the 2020 findings of the China Tribunal—an independent people’s tribunal convened by the non-profit the International Coalition to End Transplant Abuse in China (ETAC)—that harvesting of organs from prisoners of conscience had occurred on a “substantial scale” (China Tribunal, March 2020), as well as emerging evidence of falsified data, past violations of the dead donor rule, and mass blood testing of ethnic minorities and prisoners of conscience (Robertson et al., 2019; Robertson and Lavee, 2022; Robertson, 2024). [1]
The Chinese media article did not mention Huang’s status as a member of the Chinese Communist Party (CCP), a former alternate to the Central Committee, and former deputy director of the party committee responsible for top leaders’ health (Institute for Hospital Management, Tsinghua University, accessed October 16). Such omissions are common for foreign-facing articles that, along with other naming choices related to the Chinese transplant system, appear aimed at obscuring the extent of the Party’s footprint. In reality, the CCP dominates the transplant system’s national oversight body and professional association, and subordinates all organ procurement organizations (OPOs) to the party-state. A substantial number of party members, meanwhile, are found among transplant surgeons and center directors.
All Party members swear an oath making a lifelong commitment to the Party, as well as to “protect the Party’s secrets” (保守党的秘密) and to “never betray the Party” (永不叛党) (Xinhua, accessed October 16). A CCP member who violates this oath faces the Party’s internal disciplinary system, including the extralegal liuzhi (留置) detention system, as well as potential criminal charges for leaking state secrets (Safeguard Defenders, 2022). For top transplant surgeons and oversight body members, therefore, Party affiliation has real-world implications for whether denials of organ transplant abuses and claims of comprehensive reform can be trusted in the absence of genuine independent verification.
Party Dominance of National Oversight Body and Professional Association
The PRC’s entire organ donation and transplantation system is coordinated by the National Organ Donation and Transplantation Committee (NODTC). This is a state body established jointly by the National Health Commission and the Red Cross Society of China in 2013, and is under direct State Council oversight (Huang et. al, 2016). [2] The Red Cross Society of China, which official sources describe as the “third-party” verifier in the donation process, is in fact a state-supervised social organization under Party leadership, rather than an independent humanitarian body in the way its name might suggest to Western readers (Huang, 2017). [3]
The latest publicly available membership list of the NODTC is from 2016 and names 33 members, most of whom remain active in the transplant sector today (National Health Commission, April 28, 2016). Among these 33, 17—over half—were confirmed CCP members, including nearly all top leadership positions. Huang Jiefu is listed as the committee’s chairman. Other confirmed CCP members on the committee included at least six officials from the National Health and Family Planning Commission (the predecessor to the National Health Commission), three members from the Red Cross Society of China, and two officials from the Logistics Support Department of the Central Military Commission. The military presence highlights direct People’s Liberation Army involvement at the highest level of transplant governance (ETAC Appendix 1A, October 20). Among other responsibilities, the NODTC oversees the state-managed China Organ Transplant Response System, a centralized digital platform through which all organ procurement and allocation flows (Huang et. al, 2016). [4] Although the full current make-up of the committee remains unclear, it has been publicly acknowledged as recently as February 2026 that Huang Jiefu retains his role as its chairman (Nashan et al., 2026). [5]
Professional bodies are similarly dominated by CCP cadres. The Chinese Medical Association, for instance, is a state-controlled “social organization” (社会组织) with an embedded Party leadership. Indeed, its current president, Zhao Yupei (赵玉沛), along with all 15 vice presidents appointed in 2021, are CCP members (Chinese Academy of Medical Sciences, May 2021). [6] This stands in contrast to countries like the United States, the United Kingdom, or Australia, where professional medical associations are voluntary bodies funded by members with diverse political viewpoints that set independent ethical standards, advocate for their members, and publicly criticize government health policy (Cao, 2011). [7] In the PRC, such a role is structurally constrained. It exists only within the boundaries of Party-state approval.
Subordination of Organ Procurement Organizations to the Party-State
In jurisdictions with ethical transplant systems, organ procurement is deliberately structured to reduce conflicts of interest between those who identify and manage donors and the transplant units that benefit from them. This separation exists so that those who perform transplants do not have institutional incentives to declare a patient a donor or to rush procurement. [8] In the United States, there is an especially high degree of separation, with 54 independent non-profit OPOs designated by the federal Department of Health and Human Services (Health Resources and Services Administration, accessed October 15). These OPOs are required to maintain governing structures separate from transplant hospitals. They risk federal investigations and decertification if problematic activity is found. [9]
In the PRC, there are no independent OPOs. Although Chinese authorities have appropriated the U.S. term, official Chinese sources explicitly acknowledge that in the PRC an OPO is “not an independent legal entity, which is different from that of the United States” (China Organ Transplant Development Foundation, 2020). [10] Instead, Chinese OPOs function as internal units within approved transplant hospitals and are subordinated to the hospital’s management structure. At the top of that structure sits the Party Secretary, above the hospital president and other medical or administrative staff (Baidu Baike/全国医院工作条例, 1982; author’s interview with a former Liaoning doctor, October 2025). One Chinese academic paper describes the position of the OPOs vis-à-vis the Party-state as follows: “As a subsidiary institution of a public hospital, an OPO derives its resources from the government; consequently, its operational activities must be guided by government policies” (作为公立医院的下属机构，OPO 所获取的资源来源于政府，其运营活动必然要受到政府政策的引导) (Li Yushu et al., 2022).
Chinese medical sources reported 118 OPOs in operation as of 2022, serving over 180 hospitals qualified for organ transplantation with some OPOs functioning as regional hubs serving multiple hospitals (Jiang, 2022; Nashan et al., 2026). [11] In 2014, an organization called the China OPO Alliance (中国医院协会器官获取组织联盟) was established. Huang Jiefu was also named founding head of that body, illustrating again the interconnected nature of supposedly “independent” entities in the PRC’s transplant sector, as well as Party members’ dominance of those institutions (China News Guangdong, January 2, 2025).
Party Membership among Transplant Center Leaders
Like other sectors of Chinese society, party control of the medical profession has tightened since 2018 under Xi Jinping’s leadership (Xinhua, June 25, 2018). In 2021, this included a State Council opinion that called on public hospitals to “turn professional backbones into Party members and Party members into professional backbones” (把业务骨干培养成党员、把党员培养成业务骨干) (State Council General Office, May 14, 2021). This phenomenon of having clinical leaders join the Party or assume Party leadership positions is also evident in the transplant sector, where a number of transplant surgeons and center directors at major Chinese hospitals are members of the CCP (People’s Daily Health, October 16, 2025).
Open-source research uncovered 19 cases of transplant surgeons or center directors who are documented CCP members, active in the period 2020–2025, with two recently deceased cases noted. [12] This was not a comprehensive audit. Rather, these results represent a sample of discoverable cases drawn from some of the PRC’s largest and most active transplant centers across several provinces. The actual number of CCP-member transplant leaders nationally is certainly larger. The full list and affiliations of the 19 surgeons identified can be found in the ETAC report (ETAC, October 20).
Analysis of the 19 surgeons reveals several common features. First, the surgeons’ locations are geographically diverse, encompassing 18 different hospitals in 12 provinces or major municipalities (see Figure 1). They span the country’s largest cities and most prestigious medical centers and are present in every major transplant discipline: liver, kidney, heart, lung, and multi-organ programs. Included among the list are doctors considered to be among the top transplant surgeons in the PRC, such as heart surgeon Dong Nianguo (董念国) from Wuhan (Hubei Provincial Science and Technology Association Propaganda Department, June 6, 2023).
Second, nearly one-third of the sample hold Party leadership positions within their hospital. Two of the most notable cases are Lü Guoyue (吕国悦) in Jilin and Liu Lianxin (刘连新) in Anhui, who both simultaneously serve as their respective hospital’s Party Secretary and play a leading role in transplant operations (National Genomics Data Center, December 2024; Anhui Provincial Hospital, April 12). In four other cases in Beijing, Shanghai, and Xinjiang, a prominent transplant surgeon also serves as Deputy Party Secretary of the hospital (CN Healthcare, February 7, 2021; Mentougou District, October 25, 2024; Shanghai Yangpu government, March 11, 2025; Fuwai Hospital, accessed October 16).
Third, several surgeons hold dual roles in national political bodies. Three of the 19 surgeons have also held concurrent positions in political bodies involved in Chinese governance and co-optation of elites, namely the National People’s Congress (NPC) and the Chinese People’s Political Consultative Conference (CPPCC). Chen Jingyu (陈静瑜), the PRC’s leading lung transplant surgeon, is a CCP member who served as an NPC delegate from 2008–2023 (Da Ai Qing Chen Public Welfare Foundation, March 19, 2017; Baidu Baike/陈静瑜, accessed October 16). Liu Lianxin was elected in 2023 to be a member of the 14th National Committee of the CPPCC (Anhui Provincial Hospital, April 12).
Fourth, the surgeons’ hospitals overlap with regions that have large concentrations of populations most frequently identified as victims of forced organ harvesting. Two of the 19 confirmed individuals, Yang Yining (杨毅宁) and Wen Hao (温浩), are located in Xinjiang, where the Chinese government has detained hundreds of thousands of Uyghurs and other Turkic Muslims in a network of internment camps and prisons since 2017 (Xinhua, July 25, 2016; CN Healthcare, February 7, 2021; Xinjiang Medical University, October 17, 2025). Independent research and Chinese official sources have documented the coercive extraction of biometric data, including systematic blood typing, from residents and detainees in Xinjiang—data that are directly relevant to organ matching (Robertson, CECC, 2024).
Other CCP members lead or work in transplant programs at hospitals throughout the northeastern provinces of Jilin, Heilongjiang, Liaoning, as well as Shandong. These regions have high populations of people who practice Falun Gong, including those who have been detained for their faith, and were among the most active centers of Falun Gong practice before the CCP banned the group in 1999. They subsequently became hotbeds of its persecution, a trend that continues to the present (U.K. Home Office, November 2025). Transplant leaders who were also CCP members have been present at major hospitals in all four of these provinces: Lü Guoyue in Jilin; Jiang Hongchi (姜洪池) in Heilongjiang; Liu Yongfeng (刘永锋) in Liaoning; and Jin Bin (靳斌) and Cai Jinzhen (蔡金贞) in Shandong (Shandong University Second Hospital, June 4, 2021; Qingdao University, May 10, 2023; Organ Transplantation, June 5, 2023; Mudanjiang Medical University, June 12, 2023). [13] Cai was among several Chinese doctors who presented research at the Transplantation Society’s international conference held in Australia in September 2026 (The Transplantation Society, September 22).
The connection between transplant leadership and the state’s anti-Falun Gong apparatus is illustrated most directly by Zheng Shusen (郑树森), a prominent Zhejiang liver transplant surgeon who also held a leadership role in the Zhejiang Provincial Anti-Cult Association, a body whose activities are directed primarily against Falun Gong. In 2009, Zheng authored a preface to a book vilifying Falun Gong in which he likened the practice to a “virus” and a “cancer” of society, adding that “[l]aunching a deep political struggle against ‘Falun Gong’ … is a duty jointly shared by the whole Party, the whole country, and the whole society” (Zheng et al. 2009; China Tribunal, June 12, 2019; China Brief, May 15, 2020). [14] Zheng remains active in the transplant sector. He is dean at Shulan International Medical College and a senior figure at Shulan Hospital in Hangzhou, which he founded and where he previously served as president (Shulan Hospital, May 9, 2020; Zhejiang Shuren University, September 7, 2025; Zhejiang Shuren University, accessed October 16). He was also named a vice president of the Chinese Medical Association in 2021 and appears as an NODTC member on the 2016 list (Chinese Academy of Medical Sciences, May 2021; ETAC Appendix 1A, October 20).
Conclusion
The picture that emerges from this analysis of the PRC’s transplant sector is one of total circularity. Every entity that Chinese officials present to international audiences as ostensibly independent or as a “third party” is in fact a node in the same Party-controlled system. The entire chain of activity—from the identification of a potential organ donor, through procurement and ethical review to allocation and transplantation—occurs within institutions operating under the CCP’s direct political leadership. There is no external point of accountability.
This architecture does not prove that abuses are continuing. What it does demonstrate, however, is that the structural conditions for both systemic abuses and concealment are comprehensively in place. If the CCP and Chinese hospitals wanted to sustain a classified, non-voluntary sourcing stream for transplant organs alongside an official voluntary stream, they could do so within this framework without it being detectable from the outside. The CCP’s long track record of successfully silencing doctors who try to expose abuses or health crises, or of incentivizing medical professionals to participate in violations like forced abortions or the politicized use of psychiatry reinforces this possibility.
The absence of Chinese whistleblowers related to organ transplant abuses, is thus not evidence that no violations are occurring. It could just as well be evidence that the system is working as designed. As one former doctor from Liaoning province said during a recent interview, “Chinese people live in an environment filled with the CCP’s culture. Under the terrifying pressure of the CCP, everyone knows—if you yourself dare to speak up, you’d be the next to disappear” (author interview, October 2025).
This reality has implications for any institutions engaged in or considering collaboration with Chinese hospitals. Requesting disclosures or independently checking the Party membership of Chinese transplant surgeons should be part of any due diligence related to joint projects, trainings, or conference presentations. Such a review might have rendered some of the international participants in the recent founding of the International Society of Organ Medicine more reticent to join.
Notes
[1] Robertson, Matthew P., Raymond L. Hinde, and Jacob Lavee. “Analysis of Official Deceased Organ Donation Data Casts Doubt on the Credibility of China’s Organ Transplant Reform.” BMC Medical Ethics 20, no. 1 (2019): 79. https://doi.org/10.1186/s12910-019-0406-6; Robertson, Matthew P., and Jacob Lavee. “Execution by Organ Procurement: Breaching the Dead Donor Rule in China.” American Journal of Transplantation 22, no. 7 (2022): 1804–1812. https://doi.org/10.1111/ajt.16969;
[2] Huang, Jiefu, Hai-Bo Wang, Shu-Sen Zheng, et al. “The New Era of Organ Transplantation in China.” Chinese Medical Journal 129, no. 16 (2016): 1891–1893. https://doi.org/10.4103/0366-6999.187865.
[3] Huang, Jiefu. “The ‘Chinese Mode’ of Organ Donation and Transplantation.” Hepatobiliary Surgery and Nutrition 6, no. 4 (2017): 212–214. https://doi.org/10.21037/hbsn.2017.07.08.
[4] Huang, Jiefu et al. “The New Era of Organ Transplantation in China.”
[5] Nashan, Björn, Haibo Wang, and Jiefu Huang. “Legal Framework on Organ Donation and Transplantation in China.” Transplantation 110, no. 6 (2026): e1185–e1199. https://doi.org/10.1097/TP.0000000000005623. (Epub 24 February 2026.)
[6] The association also contains an internal section, the Organ Transplantation Branch, which facilitates continuing education and research exchanges, including with external entities (Xi’an Jiaotong University News, April 20, 2023).
[7] Cao, Xuebing. “The Chinese Medical Doctor Association: A New Industrial Relations Actor in China’s Health Services?” Relations Industrielles / Industrial Relations 66, no. 1 (2011): 74–97. https://www.erudit.org/fr/revues/ri/2011-v66-n1-ri/1005106ar.pdf
[8] Even in systems with this structural independence, a small number of serious failures have occurred. Recent U.S. investigations and reporting documented cases in which organ procurement organizations continued to pursue donation after circulatory death despite signs of neurological recovery in potential donors; these findings prompted federal investigations and at least one OPO decertification process. New York Times (2025), ‘A Push for More Organ Transplants Is Putting Donors at Risk’, 20 July, https://www.nytimes.com/2025/07/20/us/organ-transplants-donors-alive.html.U.S. Department of Health and Human Services (2026), ‘HHS Decertifies Kentucky Organ Procurement Organization to Protect Patients, Restore Trust’, 5 August, https://www.hhs.gov/press-room/hhs-decertifies-kentucky-organ-procurement-organization.html; Ars Technica (2026), ‘US to shutter organ donation group accused of trying to take living man’s organs’, August, https://arstechnica.com/health/2026/08/us-to-shutter-organ-donation-group-accused-of-trying-to-take-living-mans-organs/.
[9] Every OPO in the United States is a member of OPTN. According to the OPTN website, accessed August 2026, there were 54 OPO members of the network, 47 completely independent, and 7 hospital based: Health Resources and Services Administration (n.d.), ‘About OPTN Membership’, https://www.hrsa.gov/optn/about/membership, accessed August 2026. For independent OPO requirements in the U.S., see United Network for Organ Sharing/OPTN membership rules and application criteria: United Network for Organ Sharing (n.d.), ‘Application for Institutional Membership as an Independent Organ Procurement Organization (IOPO)’, https://unos.org/c_opo_application_independent/, accessed August 2026.
[10] Huang, Jiefu, ed. Report on Organ Transplantation Development in China (2015–2018) [中国器官移植发展报告 (2015–2018)]. Beijing: China Organ Transplantation Development Foundation / Tsinghua University Press, 2020. English PDF: https://en.cma.org.cn/attach/0/1641321f95524992974c11f71da149b9.pdf.
[11] Jiang, Wenshi, Xiangxiang He, and XIaotong Wu. “Current Development Strategy of Organ Procurement Organization in China.” Transplantation 106, no. 9S (September 2022): S317. https://journals.lww.com/transplantjournal/fulltext/2022/09001/341_8__current_development_strategy_of_organ.479.aspx; Nashan, Björn, et al. “Legal Framework on Organ Donation and Transplantation in China.”
[12] Methodological note: Affiliations were uncovered by searching for the explicit designation “中共党员” (CCP member) alongside individuals’ transplant-related leadership roles in public profiles or other announcements. The cases reviewed here are only a sample of discoverable cases, not a systematic or random survey of all Chinese transplant centers. Researchers began with individuals already known from prior work and then conducted targeted searches of publicly available official Chinese sources (e.g., hospital websites, Party announcements, professional profiles) for the explicit designation “中共党员” linked to transplant leadership roles at major hospitals across several provinces. Only cases with clear documentary confirmation were included. The sample therefore cannot support statistical inference about the overall prevalence of CCP membership among transplant leaders nationwide. It does, however, establish a documented lower bound and demonstrates that the phenomenon is present at a range of important, high-volume transplant centers. As evident from the detailed references provided for each doctor, sources used included hospital websites, government honor lists, online directory entries, academic profiles and official government announcements.
[13] Liu passed away in 2023, but was active until then.
[14] Zheng Shusen et al. eds., Selected Academic Papers on Evil Religion Prevention Research in the New Era [新时期邪教防治研究学术论文精选], Xinshiqi Xiejiao Fangzhi Yanjiu Xueshu Lunwen Jingxuan (Zhejiang Anti-Cult Association / Science and Technology Press, 2009).
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Executive Summary:
The future of four small remaining exclaves created based on ethnicity by the Soviets—three Azerbaijani ones inside Armenian borders and one larger Armenian one inside Azerbaijan—is again slowing down progress toward the signing of a peace accord in the South Caucasus. Armenian Nikol Pashinyan is now pushing for a swap, but Baku is less than enthusiastic. As a result, while Baku would like to sign a peace treaty now, Yerevan suggests it may be several years before that happens (OC-Media; Modern.az; Telegram/@Nikolpashinyan_PMofficial, October 14; Kavkaz Uzel, October 16). Calls for such territorial exchanges have regularly marked relations between the two countries since the early 1990s. Then, the proposed swaps involved two larger territories: Armenian-populated Karabakh—which had been part of Azerbaijan since the 1920s but which Armenian forces occupied at the end of Soviet times—and Zangezur—the land bridge between Azerbaijan proper and its noncontiguous autonomy of Nakhchivan. Neither was a true exclave, but continuing talk about them and the opposition to that which such proposals generated earlier has continued to shape discussion about the smaller remaining true ones and made it more politically fraught (Window on Eurasia, May 21, 2021; Radio Free Europe/Radio Liberty via Reliefweb, June 9, 2000; see EDM, November 28, 2023).
Initially, Azerbaijan supported these larger territorial swaps while Armenia opposed them. Baku’s military preponderance, however, appears to have reversed this, with Azerbaijan retaking Karabakh by force and securing a U.S.-backed deal that reopened transit through Zangezur (U.S. State Department, January 2026; OC-Media, August 11). Pashinyan, however, has now reopened the exclave issue, saying he has “the preliminary impression” that Azerbaijani President Ilham Aliyev may be open to swaps for the exclaves (OC-Media, October 14). If true, this impression makes it more likely that such a swap will happen not only because of changes on the ground but also because of the successful use of land swaps in Central Asia. There are fears that no other path to a more permanent peace in the South Caucasus exists except through new military action to achieve the peace accord the two countries have already initialed (see EDM, June 30).
On October 14, Pashinyan said that he believes there should be “no enclaves or exclaves on either side of the border” between Armenia and Azerbaijan. He added that, to achieve such an arrangement, Yerevan and Baku should exchange territories of “corresponding sizes,” and said he believed Aliyev was prepared to agree (Telegram/@Nikolpashinyan_PMofficial; Kavkaz Uzel; OC-Media, October 14). The swap the Armenian leader anticipates would transfer sovereignty over four Azerbaijani villages in Armenia—Karki, Barkhudarlyu, Yukhari, and Askipara—to Armenia, and sovereignty over the larger village of Artsvashen, now controlled by Baku, to Azerbaijan (OC-Media, October 14). That swap would leave the two countries almost the same size as they are now and, more importantly, with a single border without the ambiguities of exclaves/enclaves. (The same territory is an exclave or an enclave depending on which side of this debate is being discussed, which adds confusion for outsiders.)
Azerbaijani media outlets reported Pashinyan’s comments (Modern.az; Asbarez, October 14; Kavkaz Uzel, October 16; New Dosh, October 14). They did not specify, however, that Aliyev was open to them. Three follow-up statements by Armenian officials suggest that moves on this issue may not be immediate. The day after declaring the need to swap exclaves, Pashinyan said in a press briefing that Yerevan and Baku were not yet discussing the issue (Facebook/CivilNet.TV, August 28). Then his foreign minister, Ararat Mirzoyan, said the exclave issue “does not constitute an obstacle” to signing the peace agreement the two leaders had initialed (Azernews, October 16). He said Baku has not made it one. He added that it is “a sensitive one” and that “if there is an exchange of territories, this is an issue that must be put to a nationwide referendum,” not only because “enclaves and exclaves complicate the lives of countries at least from a technical standpoint even if their relations are excellent in every respect.” Separately, Alen Simonyan, secretary of Armenia’s Security Council, said that Armenia has not agreed with Baku on this issue and that Armenia has neither surrendered nor would surrender any territory to Azerbaijan (Azernews, October 16). This statement reflects how deeply unpopular such steps would be in Armenia (see EDM, April 23, 2024).
Despite Yerevan officials’ qualifications and Baku’s corresponding silence, three reasons suggest a territorial swap to resolve the exclave issue may still go forward. First and most important, such swaps in Central Asia have been enormously successful, ending open military conflicts and paving the way for unprecedented cooperation among those five post-Soviet countries (see EDM, June 30). That success, and Azerbaijan’s growing involvement in Central Asia, make it likely that Baku will be more open to the idea than before. Second, most of the enclaves involved have been depopulated as their former Armenian or Azerbaijani residents have left. Consequently, and despite the international community’s general aversion to changes in international borders, transferring sparsely populated territories from one state to the other is less of a problem than moving densely populated territories.
Third, opposition to border changes that animated earlier suggestions by this author and others that Yerevan and Baku swap Karabakh for Zangezur has declined. This decline has occurred because of the passage of time and the implicit acceptance of sovereignty shifts elsewhere; the decline in Russian influence in the South Caucasus; the interest by the United States, Europe, and the People’s Republic of China (PRC) in developing transit across the region; and both the past successes of the Azerbaijani military in retaking areas occupied by Armenia and in the near certainty that it could do the same with other areas, including the exclaves, if it chose to. In such a situation, swapping small, largely unpopulated areas to prevent that from happening and open the region to expanded trade almost certainly appears to an increasing number of officials in Yerevan, Baku, and other capitals as less a problem and more an opportunity than it was earlier. It is likely to continue to animate opposition among many Armenians, however, who see any territorial retreat as a threat to their country’s future. (On why earlier discussions likely matter less now, see Radio Free Europe/Radio Liberty via Reliefweb, June 9, 2000.)
Because of these factors, Pashinyan’s call for a territorial swap and Aliyev’s failure to react negatively to it immediately matter far more than a first glance might suggest. A territorial swap would not only undo yet another part of the Soviet inheritance that has restricted Armenia’s opportunities in the past, but also open the door to a genuine peace agreement.
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Executive Summary:
On September 30, the European Union and Uzbekistan convened the Second National Conference on the Trans-Caspian Transport Corridor in Tashkent, bringing together government officials, international financial institutions, development partners, and the private sector. The European Union uses this name for its connectivity agenda along the Trans-Caspian International Transport Route (TITR), also known as the Middle Corridor. The meeting underscored the corridor’s shift from political commitments toward implementation, with a focus on converting shared priorities into investable projects. European Commission Director for Asia and the Pacific Pēteris Ustubs noted the corridor is “moving from ambition to implementation,” with growing emphasis on “concrete projects” and “real investment on the ground” (European External Action Service, September 30).
Discussions covered railway and road infrastructure, logistics centers, border-crossing procedures, digital transport documents, and greater private-sector participation. The conference was held within the EU-funded Trans-Caspian Transport Corridor Coordination Platform, which operates under Global Gateway, the European Union’s global infrastructure investment strategy. The platform brings together the five Central Asian states, the European Union, international financial institutions, and other partners (European External Action Service, September 30).
The conference took place amid growing European financial support for Uzbekistan’s transport sector. In June, the European Bank for Reconstruction and Development (EBDR) approved a loan of up to 38.4 million euros ($43.1 million) for the digital transformation of Uzbekistan Railways. The project will introduce modern traffic-management systems, including dispatching, scheduling, and operational control, while strengthening cybersecurity. Uzbekistan Railways operates a 6,950-kilometer (4,318-mile) network and handles up to 40 percent of the country’s freight, making its modernization relevant to cargo flows toward the Caspian (EBDR, June 17).
European financial engagement with Uzbekistan could expand further. In June, the European Investment Bank opened its Central Asian regional representation in Tashkent and announced that its regional project pipeline was approaching 3 billion euros ($3.37 billion). Potential operations under consideration in Uzbekistan total around 1 billion euros ($1.12 billion) and include transport, energy, climate, digital connectivity, and critical raw materials, with the Trans-Caspian Transport Corridor among the priorities (European External Action Service; European Investment Bank, June 18)
Uzbekistan is also exploring additional links to Azerbaijan across the Caspian. During the September 30 conference, Uztemiryolkonteyner, the state-controlled container freight subsidiary of Uzbekistan Railways, proposed regular feeder services between Turkmenbashi, Turkmenistan, and Baku, Azerbaijan, to expand multimodal transport between Uzbekistan and Europe. “The organization of regular feeder services between Turkmenbashi and Baku will create additional opportunities to accelerate cargo delivery, expand multimodal transportation and strengthen Uzbekistan’s connectivity with European markets,” the company said at the conference (Trend News Agency, September 30).
Kazakhstan is advancing larger-scale infrastructure projects along the Caspian section of TITR. On September 30, German logistics company Rhenus Group, Kazakhstan’s national railway company Kazakhstan Temir Zholy, and the Port of Aktau agreed to move forward with a new trimodal container terminal in Aktau. The planned facility would cover at least 30 hectares (74 acres), integrate rail, road, and maritime transport, and provide at least 150,000 twenty-foot equivalent units (TEU) of additional annual handling capacity. Rhenus links the project to TITR and the European Union’s Global Gateway initiative. Rhenus Group Chief Executive Officer Tobias Bartz said the challenge is “to bring individual infrastructure projects together step by step into an efficient network,” with Kazakhstan playing a key role in connecting the People’s Republic of China, Central Asia, the Caspian region, and Europe (Rhenus Logistics, September 30).
Rhenus’ plans extend beyond Aktau. Bartz said the company intends to develop 14 terminals along sections of TITR across Uzbekistan, Kazakhstan, Azerbaijan, and Türkiye. “After that, they will be connected to our company’s networks in Europe. Rhenus has 23 container terminals and 70 port facilities there. This project will connect the logistics networks of Central Asia and Europe into a single network,” he said (Azernews, October 1).
Traffic volumes are also rising. About 44,000 TEU were transported via TITR in the first eight months of 2026, up 58 percent year on year, Kazakhstan Temir Zholy Deputy Chairman Yerlan Koyshibayev said at the Azerbaijan International Investment Forum in Baku on September 25. He highlighted the corridor’s role in strengthening transport and logistics links between “Central Asia, the Caucasus, and European markets” (Trend News Agency, September 26).
The European Union is deepening its connectivity engagement with Azerbaijan. During her May visit to Baku, EU High Representative for Foreign Affairs and Security Policy Kaja Kallas said there was “clear scope to deepen our cooperation, particularly on trade, transport and digital,” adding that stronger connectivity between “the EU, the South Caucasus, and Central Asia” was a shared strategic interest (European External Action Service, May 5).
That approach became more concrete in July. European Commission President Ursula von der Leyen proposed an EU–Azerbaijan Connectivity Partnership and a High-Level Connectivity Dialogue covering transport, energy, and digital connectivity. Under Global Gateway, she announced up to 200 million euros ($225 million) in grants for South Caucasus connectivity projects, with the potential to mobilize up to 2 billion euros ($2.25 billion) in public and private investment. Possible projects include the railway connection through Nakhchivan and the “development of the Port of Baku” (European Commission, July 1).
The Nakhchivan railway had already entered the preparatory stage in January, when the European Union, Azerbaijan, and the EBRD agreed to launch a feasibility study. The European Union describes the railway as part of the broader Trans-Caspian Transport Corridor linking Europe and Central Asia (European Commission, January 29). Von der Leyen also announced plans for a Regional Connectivity Investment Conference in Baku, bringing together Europe, the South Caucasus, and Central Asia.
The TITR is moving from political ambition toward a more integrated transport system. European-backed modernization in Uzbekistan, German-led logistics investment in Kazakhstan, and the European Union’s expanding connectivity agenda with Azerbaijan are strengthening the Central Asia–Caspian–South Caucasus link. The next stage will be to deepen coordination and connect these projects into an increasingly seamless corridor between Central Asia and Europe.
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Executive Summary:
In late September, the Russian Foreign Ministry sent a diplomatic note to the North Atlantic Treaty Organization (NATO) threatening to use nuclear weapons against them if the Alliance attempts to “isolate” the Kaliningrad exclave from the rest of Russia following several military exercises along the oblast’s borders (The Insider, September 30). In early October, Russian President Vladimir Putin reiterated the same threat, calling nuclear weapons Russia’s “competitive advantage” against an “enemy … twice as big” at a meeting of the pro-Kremlin Valdai Discussion Club (Nastoyashee Vremya, October 1).
It is telling that Putin now refers to Europe as an “adversary.” This reflects the evolution of rhetoric over 26 years of Kremlin rule—a man who, at the start of his presidency in 2000, advocated Russia’s integration with Europe and even discussed its accession to NATO (Russia Matters, June 16, 2022).
Even after nearly five years of full-scale war against Ukraine, Putin portrays Russia solely as a “victim” of external attacks. On October 1, he said, “We have no intention of attacking anyone—neither in 2029, nor in 2030, nor in 2050. However, if we face aggression, we will be forced to respond. Citizens of European countries need to clearly understand this” (Euronews, October 3). In response to these Russian statements, NATO Secretary General Mark Rutte emphasized that the Alliance is purely defensive and called on the Kremlin to cease nuclear threats (The Moscow Times, September 30).
Putin’s statements regarding supposed NATO threats to Kaliningrad are openly hypocritical (Radio Svoboda, October 4). In addition to its actual war against Ukraine, it has launched a hybrid war against Europe, employing drone incursions, acts of sabotage at factories, and information operations.
NATO military action against Kaliningrad is extremely unlikely. Such measures would likely be possible only as a retaliatory measure if Putin and Belarusian President Alyaksandr Lukashenka seized the Suwałki Gap, the approximately 40 miles that separate Kaliningrad and Belarus along the border of Poland and Lithuania. Russian control of the Suwałki Gap would grant the Kremlin direct overland access to Kaliningrad via Belarus, and would sever the overland link between the three Baltic states and the rest of the European Union via Poland. Some observers believe that this is why there are regular Russian–Belarusian military exercises in Kaliningrad (Klops, September 12, 2025).
Putin’s threatening rhetoric may stem from a fear that sentiment inside Kaliningrad could shift against the Kremlin. Despite the crackdown on anti-war protests in Russia, such protests persist in Kaliningrad, including an act of self-immolation in February 2025 (Radio Svoboda, May 6).
In the 1990s, the Kaliningrad oblast was probably the most Europeanized region of the Russian Federation. The exclave only shares borders with EU countries, Poland and Lithuania, and a disproportionate number of its residents hold Russian “international passports,” a document required for Russians to travel abroad. Kaliningraders frequently traveled to neighboring countries, doing so far more often than they visited the rest of Russia. Such trips—whether for shopping, work, study, or tourism—fostered a more pro-European worldview.
These differences in mindset compared to other Russians were reflected in Kaliningrad’s politics. In the early 1990s, for example, the Baltic Republican Party emerged there, a regionalist movement that succeeded in getting a deputy elected to the local parliament in 2000 (Region Ekspert, November 19, 2020). As the name suggests, the party advocated transforming the Kaliningrad oblast into a republic, first as a part of Russia and later in more separatist terms, and pursuing greater European integration. It also called for restoring the city’s historical German name, Königsberg, which was held under German or Germanic rule from 1255–1946. The name since 1946 comes from Soviet official Mikhail Kalinin, who had no connection to the region and never visited.
In 2001, Russia effectively banned regional political parties by requiring them to have a nationwide organization. This hit the Kaliningrad oblast, with its distinct regional character, particularly hard. A segment of the population lost its outlet for political expression, while representatives of Moscow-centric “federal” parties viewed regionalism critically. Instead of fostering the region’s integration with Europe, Moscow began gradually transforming it into an anti-European military staging ground. In 2018, Russia permanently deployed nuclear-capable Iskander-M missile systems there (Postimees, February 5, 2018). NATO, in contrast, does not deploy nuclear weapons or nuclear-capable strike-missile systems in Lithuania or Poland.
The militarization of Kaliningrad presents a historical irony. In 1945, the Soviet Union annexed Königsberg from Germany, justifying the move as necessary to “eliminate a stronghold of militarism.” Moscow has transformed the region into a militaristic bastion. The Soviet Union moved the headquarters of the Baltic Fleet and its extensive military infrastructure to Kaliningrad. Moreover, during the Putin era, the region’s militarization has intensified. For instance, Kaliningrad University—despite now bearing the name of the philosopher Immanuel Kant, a theorist of “perpetual peace”—has become an instrument of informational warfare against the Baltic states (ICDS, August 27, 2018).
Many residents of Kaliningrad with pro-European leanings are dissatisfied with the hostility toward Europe imposed by Moscow. Most residents of Kaliningrad are descendants of people who arrived after 1945, but over several generations, they have come to regard this land as their own. A distinct regional identity has emerged in the area, emphasizing local cultural specificities and setting them apart from the “all-Russian” identity (Region Ekspert, February 13, March 7).
Kaliningrad’s economic situation, like the rest of Russia, is deteriorating. The Kremlin alleges that this economic downturn stems from European interference with supplies from Russia’s mainland. EU sanctions have affected the transit of some categories of goods between Belarus and Kaliningrad, but Lithuania continues to permit rail transit. Russia’s diminishing ability to sustain living conditions in its exclave is primarily because Russia’s civilian economy has stopped functioning normally amid rapid militarization (The Moscow Times, October 7).
Putin’s rhetoric is increasingly out of touch with reality. His recent claims regarding a massive Russian advance in Ukraine are objectively untrue (The Moscow Times, October 3). Russia suffered a net loss of territory in September. Putin’s attempt to portray Ukraine and Europe—rather than the Kremlin—as the source of Russia’s woes continues in Kaliningrad.
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Executive Summary:
Over the last week, the intensity of the political fracas around Russia’s war against Ukraine mirrored the ferocity of pitched battles in Donbas and the severity of long-distance strikes on Ukrainian cities and Russian infrastructure. U.S. President Donald Trump’s October 9 announcement that Russian President Vladimir Putin agreed to supply Russian diesel to U.S. and global markets precipitated a flurry of diplomatic activity (Izvestiya, October 12). The increase in immediate deliveries to global markets in October has been very limited, and diesel prices in the United States have not registered any drop. Russian officials declared plans to restore its diesel exports to ten percent of the global market by the end of the year, but the feasibility of these plans is dubious given the degradation of the Russian oil industry, in part because of Ukrainian strikes on Russian refineries (Carnegie Politika, October 12; RBC, October 14). Moscow pundits, however, rejoiced over the deal, which in their opinion leaves Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelenskyy at a disadvantage (Rossiiskaya Gazeta, October 11).
On October 11, Trump announced an energy ceasefire on social media that neither Moscow nor Kyiv had formally agreed to (Novaya Gazeta Evropa, October 12). Russian forces did not stop striking Ukrainian energy infrastructure, and Ukraine ended a three-day pause on October 15 with a strike on the Ryazan refinery (Nezavisimaya Gazeta, October 12).
Ukraine has recently carried out several other significant strikes on Russian military and civil infrastructure. Ukrainian missiles hit Russia’s Borisoglebsk airbase on the night of October 14–15, destroying four Su-34 fighter-bombers and damaging two others, to the dismay of Russia’s jingoist bloggers (NV.UA; The Insider, October 15). Even more impactful were Ukrainian strikes between October 7 and October 14 on four of Russia’s largest data centers, operated by Yandex and Sberbank (Meduza, October 15). The strikes caused almost half of Yandex’s online infrastructure to fail, and many of its services experienced outages, extending to third-party businesses that use Yandex infrastructure. This severe disruption exposed the vulnerability of Russia’s highly centralized data infrastructure (Carnegie Politika, October 14).
Zelenskyy sought to mobilize international support with visits to London and Brussels during the pause in Ukrainian strikes on Russian energy infrastructure (Kommersant, October 15). Russian experts, meanwhile, celebrated a reduction in Ukraine’s functional access to Starshield, caused by restrictions on connectivity for fast-moving terminals (Nezavisimaya Gazeta; TopWar.ru, October 15). Zelenskyy reportedly considered a proposal from U.S. senators Roger Wicker and Kevin Cramer to pause Ukrainian strikes on Russian oil refineries for 100 days in exchange for expanded U.S. Starshield coverage extending roughly 300 kilometers (186.4 miles) into Russia, which would allow Ukrainian drones to maintain communications farther into Russian territory and potentially target mobile ballistic-missile launchers (Vedomosti, October 16). No such agreement has been announced, and in the meantime, Ukraine has resumed strikes on Russian refineries, targeting the oil terminal in St. Petersburg and reaching as far in Western Siberia as the Surgut, where a gas condensate stabilization plant was reportedly hit (Radio Svoboda, October 16; Fontanka.ru, October 18).
Renewed Ukrainian strikes on Russian energy infrastructure had the potential to strain Kyiv’s relationship with Washington. Trump subsequently signed an executive order temporarily waiving the implementation of the sanctions and tariffs mandated by the recently enacted Lindsey O. Graham Sanctioning Russia and Iran Act (Forbes.ru, October 17). This measure is unlikely to bring any relief to the struggling Russian economy, in which sustained under-investment in most civilian sectors is being aggravated by the accumulated impact from Ukrainian attacks (The Insider, October 12; see EDM, October 13). The European Union, meanwhile, continued to signal that it would maintain pressure on Russia, including through a proposed 22nd sanctions package (Kommersant, October 12; Izvestiya, October 16). Russia keeps trying to sow discord among the Europeans by expanding its campaign of disinformation and sabotage, including direct strikes on commercial ships near the coast of Bulgaria that Sofia attributes to Russia (Novaya Gazeta Europe, October 13; Voice of America, October 16). The volume of automated traffic originating from Yandex’s network decreased due to Ukrainian strikes on the Yandex data centers, and Bulgaria has requested support from the North Atlantic Treaty Organization (NATO) because of the Russian threat to its shipping (NV.UA; RBC, October 13).
The inability of Russian hybrid warfare to end European aid to Ukraine has incited the most hawkish commentators to argue for preparing to use nuclear weapons in a potential conflict with Europe. More balanced experts still ponder the usefulness of high-atmosphere nuclear explosions for interrupting hostile communications (Kommersant, October 11; RIAC, October 13). Putin prefers to make nuclear threats in more elliptical terms while emphasizing supposed successes of Russian troops in conventional battles. Last week, after a long break, he staged a visit to a carefully decorated command center and approved the report of Russian Chief of the General Staff Valery Gerasimov and assembled commanders (Kommersant, October 17). The Russian claims of capturing some 1,800 square kilometers (695 square miles) from September 1 were so grossly exaggerated that even jingoist bloggers are questioning the reliability of the military data supplied to Putin (TopWar.ru, October 16). The real picture of heavy losses and penetrating Ukrainian counter-attacks in the two-month-long Operation Vivaldi is downplayed in the mainstream Russian media, but has no place in Putin’s strategic perspective (Gazeta.ru; Vazhnye Istorii, October 16). The sustainability of Putin’s war against Ukraine is undercut most of all by the mounting costs of manpower driven up by the system of commercial recruitment, which has become a heavy burden for Russia’s seriously unbalanced budget and cannot indefinitely deliver the necessary number of bodies for continuing offensive operations (The Moscow Times, October 12; Re: Russia, October 13).
The old war calculus that Putin refuses to revise presumes a steady escalation of trans-Atlantic disagreements, progressive growth of disunity in Europe, and fast erosion of Ukraine’s will to resist Russian aggression. These variables register oscillating changes, but the total does not support the assumption that Russia can outlast the Western coalition and bring Ukraine to submission. Zelenskyy exploits Putin’s miscalculations to gain the upper hand in political maneuvering despite disagreements with the U.S. administration and the rise of skepticism about aid to Ukraine in parts of Europe. Ukraine’s position of strength is incomprehensible to the Kremlin, for which declarations matter more than facts, but war has a cruel capacity to shatter political delusions.
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Executive Summary:
On September 16–17, Seoul hosted the inaugural Korea–Central Asia Summit under the slogan “Walking Together Toward the Future: Partnership for Trust and Prosperity.” It brought together South Korean President Lee Jae Myung and the leaders of Kazakhstan, Kyrgyzstan, Tajikistan, Turkmenistan, and Uzbekistan for the first leaders-level summit in this format (Korean Ministry of Foreign Affairs, September 17). The summit elevated a relationship that had previously been conducted primarily through bilateral channels and ministerial-level meetings. The participants agreed to make the summit a regular gathering, with the next meeting to be held in Kazakhstan in 2028 (The First Korea-Central Asia Summit 2026, accessed October 5).
Seoul has maintained diplomatic relations with all five Central Asian republics since the early 1990s and has developed particularly extensive economic ties with Kazakhstan and Uzbekistan (European Journal of Korean Studies, 2022; Korean Ministry of Foreign Affairs, accessed October 5). Established in 2007, the Korea–Central Asia Cooperation Forum has provided a multilateral platform for ministerial-level dialogue and cooperation (Korean Ministry of Foreign Affairs, November 15, 2007). Seoul unveiled the K-Silk Road Cooperation Initiative in 2024 as its first comprehensive diplomatic strategy toward Central Asia. The initiative is based on the principles of “cooperation, integration, and creation.” It emphasizes combining South Korea’s technological and digital capabilities with the region’s resources and development potential (The Korea Times, June 7, 2024; Centre for Eastern Studies, July 2, 2024).
South Korea’s industrial economy depends heavily on secure access to resources required for semiconductors, batteries, electric vehicles, renewable-energy technologies, and other advanced industries. Seoul has consequently sought to diversify its supply chains and develop partnerships with resource-rich countries (Korea JoongAng Daily, February 27, 2023). Central Asia possesses significant deposits of uranium, copper, rare and strategic metals, and other minerals that can support industrial value chains (Organisation for Economic Co-operation and Development, April 28–29).
The September summit adopted the Seoul Declaration, which outlined four broad areas of cooperation for the next 30 years. These include institutionalizing the Korea–Central Asia partnership, advancing peace and stability, promoting innovation and prosperity, and strengthening connectivity through people and trust (Korean Ministry of Foreign Affairs, September 17). This approach provides a mechanism for coordinating cooperation across five countries whose economic structures, resource endowments, and development priorities differ considerably (Korea Foundation, March 12, 2025; Organisation for Economic Co-operation and Development, November 24, 2025).
Kazakhstan is important for critical minerals, energy, logistics, and the Middle Corridor. Its geographic position between the People’s Republic of China (PRC), the Caspian Sea, the South Caucasus, and Europe gives it a central role in Eurasian connectivity (The World Bank, February 11). On September 15, Seoul and Astana upgraded their ties to a comprehensive strategic partnership and signed 13 agreements and memoranda of understanding, while businesses announced commercial agreements worth about $19 billion (The Korea Times, September 15; Trend News Agency, September 16).
Uzbekistan offers the region’s largest consumer and labor markets and has pursued an ambitious program of industrial modernization. Tashkent’s cooperation with South Korea already spans infrastructure, transportation, critical minerals, artificial intelligence (AI), digitalization, and manufacturing (The Korea Herald, June 21; Ministry of Digital Technologies of Uzbekistan, August 27). Uzbek President Shavkat Mirziyoyev’s September 13–16 state visit to Seoul yielded 13 agreements, while Tashkent announced $12 billion in investment and trade deals, alongside an $8 billion partnership program with the Export-Import Bank of Korea (Asia News Network, September 15; Dunyo Information Agency, September 16).
Turkmenistan’s engagement with Seoul focuses on energy and large-scale infrastructure. During the summit, Korean and Turkmen businesses exchanged numerous agreements covering investment, trade, energy, the chemical and industrial sectors, railway transport, science, technology, AI, environmental protection, and water resource management (Turkmenistan Golden Age; The Korea Herald, September 16).
The 17 agreements with Tajikistan covered textiles, chemicals, machinery, AI, digital industries, railways, logistics, energy, and critical minerals, while the 18 agreements with Kyrgyzstan focused on critical minerals, halal markets, infrastructure, livestock technology, energy, and intellectual property (The Korea Times, September 16). Seoul’s decision to create a regional framework allows these smaller economies to participate in projects and mechanisms that might otherwise remain limited to bilateral relations.
During the summit, South Korea and the five Central Asian states launched a broader climate, energy, and environmental cooperation mechanism. This creates an additional avenue for Korean companies to contribute technologies related to renewable energy, energy efficiency, clean energy, environmental management, and potentially hydrogen and other emerging fields (Korean Ministry of Culture, Sports and Tourism, September 17). They also established the Central Asian Five plus Korea (C5+Korea) Industry Ministers’ Meeting as a regular consultative mechanism. A total of 116 business memoranda of understanding were signed across the Korea–Central Asia business events, including 19 that were exchanged at the Korea–Central Asia Business Summit. These covered projects ranging from smart-city development to rare-metals technology and industrial equipment (Korea PRO, September 15; Korean Ministry of Culture, Sports and Tourism, September 18).
Central Asia’s geopolitical and economic importance has increased as the region has emerged as a key component of Eurasian connectivity. The Middle Corridor connects the PRC with Central Asia, the Caspian Sea, the South Caucasus, Türkiye, and Europe, creating a multimodal network that is attracting growing investment and policy attention (Baku Dialogues, October 18, 2022; Euronews, September 16). This intercontinental trade artery is becoming a crucial pillar of South Korea’s engagement with Central Asia. More efficient transport connections can facilitate trade between Korea and Central Asian markets, while improved logistics can support the movement of Central Asian resources and manufactured products to international markets (Seoul City, June 18).
Outlining his vision of a “New Silk Road,” Lee said that Seoul would send trade delegations to the region, support digital customs systems to reduce non-tariff barriers, and introduce “Korea Desks” in all five Central Asian countries to help Korean companies address local challenges. “If we walk together, the road from 1,500 years ago will reopen as a new Silk Road,” Lee added in his speech at the inaugural Korea–Central Asia Business Summit (The Korea Times, September 16). Building on this broader vision of connectivity, Kazakh President Kassym-Jomart Tokayev called on South Korean companies to participate more actively in developing the Middle Corridor. He also highlighted the potential to integrate the Middle Corridor with the Trump Route for International Peace and Prosperity (TRIPP) initiative and combine the two routes into an end-to-end transport and logistics chain connecting Korea, Central Asia, and Europe (Kazinform; Trend News Agency, September 16).
Recent assessments by the Organisation for Economic Co-operation and Development (OECD) and the International Transport Forum (ITF) have highlighted infrastructure constraints, limited multimodal capacity, inconsistent regulatory systems, and border-crossing inefficiencies along parts of the Middle Corridor (OECD, November 24, 2025, February 3;ITF, July 24, 2025). These challenges also create opportunities for technology-oriented partners such as South Korea. Seoul can contribute by deploying emerging technologies and developing cutting-edge infrastructure in states along the Middle Corridor (The Center for Analysis of International Relations, July 2025).
As the transit and logistics partnership expands along the Middle Corridor, Seoul will need to deepen cooperation with the other transit countries in the trans-Caspian trade network. The South Caucasus could become a critical link in a Korea–Central Asia–Europe connectivity chain. Azerbaijan would provide the key maritime bridge across the Caspian Sea, while Georgia and Türkiye would connect the route to European markets. Integrating the Middle Corridor with TRIPP, alongside emerging trans-Caspian green-energy projects, could further expand this network beyond trade and logistics to include energy and digital connectivity (see EDM, July 23, 2025; The Astana Times, June 30). The Organization of Turkic States and the Consultative Meeting of the Heads of State of Central Asia and Azerbaijan (C6) could offer Seoul additional avenues for institutionalized engagement with countries along the Middle Corridor (see EDM, February 19, 2025, January 21).
The inaugural Korea–Central Asia Summit marked a shift in Seoul’s engagement with the region from predominantly bilateral relations toward a more coordinated regional framework. By bringing all five Central Asian states into a regular leaders-level mechanism, South Korea has created a platform through which its economic, technological, and connectivity initiatives can be pursued on a regional basis. This could allow the K-Silk Road Cooperation Initiative to evolve from a framework for bilateral economic engagement into a broader regional strategy, linking Central Asian resources and production networks with Korean technology, investment, and European markets.
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Executive Summary:
Armenia has been diversifying its economy as it moves away from Russia, both domestically and in its foreign relations. On October 13, at the Warsaw Security Forum, Armenian Foreign Minister Ararat Mirzoyan emphasized the growing relationship between Armenia and the European Union, especially in security and resilience, connectivity, energy, mobility, and sectoral integration (Armenpress, October 13). In recent years, Armenia has worked to reduce its dependence on Russia in telecommunications, electricity distribution, and transit. In telecommunications, Armenia has taken cautious steps since 2020 to reduce direct Russian ownership and economic influence. Russian–Dutch company VEON (owner of the Beeline Armenia brand) finalized the sale of its subsidiary, VEON Armenia, to the domestic company Team LLC in 2020, ending more than a decade of the group’s direct presence in Armenia’s communications market. After the transfer, Team Telecom Armenia continued operating as a domestic telecommunications operator (VEON, October 29, 2020). This process was completed in 2024 with the sale of 100 percent of the shares of MTS Armenia (the owner of the Viva-MTS brand) by the Russian company MTS to Fedilco Group Limited (MTS PJSC, January 24, 2024). As a result, two major Armenian mobile operators, previously owned by Russian companies, moved out of direct Russian control. This development does not eliminate Russian influence in Armenia’s information and communications technology sector. These changes are an important example of Armenia’s efforts to diversify ownership and reduce structural dependence in strategic economic sectors.
In the electricity sector, the Armenian government took its first practical step toward reducing Russian influence in 2025. Yerevan approved a law nationalizing the country’s electricity distribution company. President Vahagn Khachaturyan signed the law on July 9, 2025, enabling the state to take ownership of the Electric Networks of Armenia (ENA) (ARKA News Agency, July 9, 2025). This move quickly became one of the most controversial issues in Armenia’s domestic politics, as Samvel Karapetyan—a prominent opposition figure and one of the most significant challengers to Armenian Prime Minister Nikol Pashinyan in the recent June 7 parliamentary elections, owner of ENA, the Hrazdan Thermal Power Plant, and Tashir Group—had been arrested shortly before this development (TASS, June 18, 2025). Karapetyan’s continued detention led opposition groups to accuse the government of using economic instruments to exploit politics in its decision to nationalize the electricity distribution company.
Pashinyan’s government has expanded cooperation with the European Union and other Western partners to develop the electricity sector (ARKA News Agency, July 2). These efforts have focused on electricity market reforms, developing renewable energy—particularly solar and wind power plants—and strengthening the interconnection of Armenia’s electricity grid with Georgia and Iran. In recent years, the European Union, the European Bank for Reconstruction and Development, the European Investment Bank, and other international financial institutions have provided financial and technical support for clean energy projects, energy efficiency improvements, and the modernization of Armenia’s electricity transmission infrastructure (Armen Press, July 22).
The Armenian government has initiated studies to build a new nuclear power plant with support from the United States and some Western partners. Armenia will have no practical way to end its technical and fuel dependence on Rosatom, however, until it builds and brings online a replacement for the Metsamor Nuclear Power Plant (Mehr, July 9, 2024; ARKA News Agency, July 23). This process will likely take more than a decade. Therefore, the Metsamor Nuclear Power Plant, which supplies a significant share of Armenia’s electricity, will remain dependent on the Russian state-owned company Rosatom for nuclear fuel, technical services, and engineering support. In contrast, Karapetyan’s Tashir Group still owns Units 1 to 4 of the Hrazdan Thermal Power Plant. Gazprom Armenia continues to control the plant’s fifth unit. Ending Russia’s structural influence over Armenia’s electricity sector will remain extremely complex and difficult.
Efforts to end Russia’s dominance and monopoly over Armenia’s railway sector are also underway, although they have not yet been implemented. On February 13, Pashinyan announced that Armenia was prepared to transfer the concession rights to operate the railway network to a country that maintained friendly relations with both Armenia and Russia. His reference to countries such as Kazakhstan, the United Arab Emirates, and Qatar indicates that the Armenian government is seeking to reduce its dependence on Russia’s exclusive management (OC-Media, February 16; see EDM, March 31). At the same time, Yerevan is trying to ensure this transition happens without confrontation with Moscow and through the gradual transfer of operating rights to a third-party actor.
Pashinyan said he had asked Russia to place the urgent reconstruction of railway sections adjacent to Azerbaijan’s Nakhchivan exclave and the Turkish border on its agenda. This request covers three important railway segments: the Yeraskh–Nakhchivan, Gyumri–Kars, and Ijevan–Gazakh railway lines (OC-Media, 16 February). The Armenian government, however, appears to support Russian participation and investment only in parts of the railway network outside the Trump Route for International Peace and Prosperity (TRIPP), which connects Azerbaijan to Nakhchivan through Armenia’s Syunik Province. Responding to a question about the possibility of Russian involvement in this project, Pashinyan emphasized that TRIPP is a joint initiative between Armenia and the United States, and that any third-party participation could be considered only through a bilateral agreement (OC-Media, February 16).
This approach suggests that, at this stage, Pashinyan is not seeking to completely remove Russia from Armenia’s railway sector, especially since he still meets with Russian Railways officials (Armenpress, October 14). Rather, he is seeing a form of “geographical division of responsibilities.” The Armenian government is prepared to let Russia’s role in rehabilitating old railway lines within the Crossroads of Peace project continue, while seeking to limit Russian management and influence over TRIPP and develop the route through bilateral cooperation with the United States.
The legacy of the 2002 “Assets-for-Debt” agreement remains a major obstacle to Armenia’s economic disengagement from Russia. The agreement gave Russia direct ownership of some Armenian infrastructure assets and later expanded to other critical and strategic sectors—including telecommunications, railways, gas, electricity, and nuclear energy. The Pashinyan government’s efforts to reduce economic dependence on Russia across various sectors have produced mixed results.
In the telecommunications sector, the gradual withdrawal of major Russian companies from the Armenian market and the transfer of ownership to domestic investors have noticeably reduced Moscow’s direct influence. In the electricity sector, the development of renewable energy projects, expanded cooperation with the European Union, and efforts to diversify investment sources indicate signs of a gradual reduction in dependency, although reliance on Russian nuclear technology and fuel remains intact.
By contrast, the gas and railway sectors remain dominated by structures established over the past two decades. Gazprom Armenia’s monopoly over the gas supply chain and the continuation of the long-term operating agreement for the railway network by South Caucasus Railway have preserved Armenia’s dependence on Russia in two vital sectors of the national economy. These arrangements continue to act as “heavy weights,” preventing Armenia from disengaging economically from Russia, particularly a potential withdrawal from the Eurasian Economic Union.
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Executive Summary:
At the opening ceremony of the 2026 Shanghai Religious Community Chinese Culture Week, Shen Bin (沈斌), the bishop of the Catholic Church of Shanghai, introduced the “Initiative on Chinese Culture Saturating Religion” (The Paper, July 17). The term “saturate” (浸润) refers to the integration of Chinese culture—and socialism with Chinese characteristics—into religion, acting as one mechanism for the sinicization of religion. In 2023, Zheng Xiaoyun (郑筱筠), director of the department of world religion research at the Chinese Academy of Social Sciences, characterized the management of religion as consisting of “导” (guidance), “和” (harmonization), “润” (saturation), and “化” (transformation) (Zheng, 2023). [1]
Each tactic provides a framework for the Chinese Communist Party (CCP) to sinicize religion through its United Front Work Department (UFWD) and local ethnic and religious affairs (ERA) offices. In many Party-state directives and reports, multiple tactics are cited as the ends or means of the Party’s religious work, and Zheng’s heuristic is useful in showing that sinicization is multi-faceted. “Saturation” is particularly illustrative of the CCP’s mandatory integration between socialism and religion, such that the independence of religious groups is both organizationally and spiritually eroded.
The Party-state’s religious affairs work has explicitly followed the path of sinicization since the United Front Work Conference in 2015, when General Secretary Xi Jinping said that religion “must adhere” to this direction (必须坚持中国化方向) (People’s Daily, May 21, 2025). The recently enacted Promotion of Ethnic Unity and Progress Law then standardized the sporadic approaches to sinicization across the People’s Republic of China (PRC), which will likely lead to renewed efforts (China Brief, March 27, April 2).
The ethnic unity law expands on existing procedure in ways that touch religion, especially regarding mandates on Party alignment in the home and in schools; but provincial, county, and municipal governments do not need a national law to target religion. Party guidance previously sufficed to carry out sinicization efforts in the absence of a wide-ranging national statute, and Party organs have been promoting sinicization through “saturation” for over a decade, with local governments executing their guidance.
Local Documents Show ‘Saturation’ Efforts
“Saturation” is an attempt to reshape religion and integrate socialism with Chinese characteristics into personal identity. Book donations fill religious libraries with socialist and Party-aligned literature, such as Xi Jinping’s Talks on Governance and Regulations on Religious Affairs. ERA committees also install flagpoles and put up propaganda posters. Shenyang City boasted donations of more than 2,000 books and more than 500 national flags in the years leading up to 2020 (Liaoning ERA Committee, December 18, 2020).
Party-guided education in history also plays a role in reshaping identity. In the northeast region, studying the Korean War is cited as helping to “cultivate the patriotism of the religious community, sharpen the ambition of strengthening the country, and practice service to the country” (培养深植宗教界爱国之情、砥砺强国之志、实践报国之行) (Liaoning ERA Committee, December 18, 2020). In Hubei province, the ERA committee celebrated the “Hubei Religious Community ‘Red Education’ Base,” a historical showcase that celebrates the CCP and its sinicization efforts (Hubei ERA Committee, April 24, 2022). The PRC’s Patriotic Education Law calls for developing and visiting these sites (China Brief, December 15, 2023).
What the CCP calls “excellent traditional Chinese culture” (中华优秀传统文化) provides yet another vector for influencing religious identity. In Hubei and elsewhere, religious sites will hold traditional festival celebrations and recitations of the Chinese classics (Hubei ERA Committee, April 24, 2022). Along with legal measures, using traditional culture for religious sinicization establishes that “the nation is greater than religion” (国大于教) (UFWD, May 19). Xu Xiaohong (徐晓鸿), chairman of the National Committee of the Three-Self Patriotic Movement, a state-sanctioned body that oversees Protestant churches in the PRC, put this in a zero-sum context, saying that sinicization is a modern effort to prevent a reality where “one more Christian is one fewer Chinese” (多一个基督徒就少一个中国人) (Xinhua, March 11, 2019). This indicates that the fusion of religion and secular culture is an attempt to maintain a solely “Chinese” identity.
“Saturation” of religion also calls for the Party to influence theology itself. This can occur indirectly from book donations and ideological education, but is achieved more directly by encouraging religious leaders to align their messaging with the CCP. In Zhengzhou, the Protestant liang hui (两会) held a competition soliciting sinicized sermon manuscripts, and reportedly received 461 submissions (Zhengzhou ERA Bureau, July 9, 2024). [2] Sinicized sermons have covered themes such as “taking dedication to work as a sacrifice” (以敬业为祭) and “being a patriotic Muslim” (做一名具有爱国情怀的穆斯林) (China Islamic Steering Committee, 2021; The Protestant Church in China, July 1). [3] For these religious leaders, contests provided an incentive for alignment, but they also serve the CCP’s goal of bringing ideology into churches. The Party-state’s tactics of identifying, cultivating, and co-opting willing religious leaders to advance its “saturation” of religion mirrors its work in overseas united front operations (China Brief, February 11).
‘Saturation’ Demands Grassroots and Technical Surveillance
Governing religion through “saturation” creates ideological norms that must then be upheld by religious followers. In Pengxi county, located in Sichuan province, cadre inspections include “heart-to-heart talks” (谈心谈话) and soliciting opinions before meetings. This is an attempt to increase “ideological contact” (思想碰触), and forces Christians, Muslims, and Buddhists to embrace ideology or be marked as anti-CCP elements (Pengxi County UFWD, July 28, 2023). Sending cadres into religious sites serves as a tool for monitoring religion and identifying the people, ideas, and value systems that threaten the Party’s interests. The experience of Uyghurs in the Xinjiang Uyghur Autonomous Region (XUAR), where indicators of religious extremism came to be defined so expansively as to include growing a beard or maintaining foreign contacts, shows how Party narratives shape what is tolerated and what is seen as religious fanaticism (United Nations, August 31, 2022).
The Party-state uses grassroots means to identify areas of interest and concentrate its monitoring efforts. In Jincheng, Shanxi province, the municipal united front work report discussed “targeted surveys and assessments covering villages with concentrated religious populations” and “foreign religious influences,” seeking to “fortify defenses against religious infiltration and expansion in key sectors and regarding specific religious groups” by “firmly grasping the city’s religious data” (对信教群众聚居村、外来宗教和教育系统开展专项摸排，全面掌握全市宗教数据，筑牢重点领域、重点宗教抵御渗透蔓延的防线) (Taixing Daily, February 28, 2022). In a sub-district of Wuxi City, “grid staff” (网格员) must conduct inspections of religious sites daily and maintain a registration ledger of religious leaders (Wuxi ERA Bureau, January 21). A local government in Anhui province also made reference to inspections by “grid staff” and “work ledgers,” where this refers to a report on investigative findings (Suncun Township Government, June 3, 2020).
The same inspection and monitoring tactics are used to identify “underground” religious sites. In advance of the 100th anniversary of the CCP’s founding in 2021, a local government in Huoqiu county, Anhui province, distributed an internal directive to villages and local bureaus. Party branches were ordered to inspect village units, shops, supermarkets, and hotels to identify unauthorized gathering points, including home-based gatherings (Wulong Town Party Committee and Government Office, 2021). The document names “core members” (骨干分子) of “underground” churches that had previously been broken up, both as subjects for long-term monitoring and nodes within continuous investigations to ensure that their organizations do not return. At least during this “Large-Scale Inspection and Rectification Campaign” (大排查大整治行动), village Party officials were to “provide renewed education and guidance” (再次进行教育引导) for these “core members.”
Religion-specific indicators are used to determine threats, reinforcing the Party’s desire to “saturate” and co-opt religious groups. According to a work plan released by Shiti town, located in Dazhou, Sichuan province, the threats emerging from different religions vary, but all must be “checked and changed” (要边查边改) (Dazhou District People’s Government, September 22, 2018). Buddhists and Taoists are identified as constructing unauthorized temples and statues; the supposed threats in Christianity come from private gatherings, self-appointed preachers, and foreign influence; and for Islam, the Party is concerned by the appointment of imams from the northwest, foreign missions, and illegal classes (Dazhou District People’s Government, September 22, 2018). These issues are seen as threats because they reflect religion taking on a form that the Party feels is beyond its control. “Saturation” is a way to re-center ideology and Chinese identity.
The Party-state turns to technical surveillance to reinforce cadre inspections. In 2022, Zhejiang province’s “religious intelligent patrol” (宗教智巡) used real-time monitoring and early warning to identify three instances of illegal missionary activities, 11 illegal Buddhist events, three illegal renovations, and 49 cases of minors entering religious places (Daishan County Government Office, August 23, 2022). A document from Nantong, a city in Jiangsu province, shows that video surveillance is ubiquitous, with 534 surveillance cameras outfitted to the city’s 178 religious sites. All video is fed to the county’s “governance command center” (治理指挥中心) that has supposedly “achieved full coverage of site monitoring and no blind spots” (实现场所监控全覆盖、无死角) (ERA Commission of Jiangsu Province, April 25, 2025). Local Public Security Bureaus in Zhejiang also used the social media app Douyin to identify illegal Christian private gatherings (Daishan County Government Office, August 23, 2022).
Local governments rely on technical platforms built by the private sector. Baotou Pasis Network Technology (包头市派司网络科技), for instance, offers a “smart religion management system” (智慧宗教管理系统) that integrates and analyzes data such as personnel, activities, and finances, in part with assistance from artificial intelligence (Pasis, accessed October 4). [4] There are also mobile applications intended to facilitate ERA work, as have emerged across departments in the PRC in recent years (China Brief, April 28). One, which is offered on Apple’s App Store, is meant to support inspections and assessments (Apple App Store, accessed October 4). Other companies offer similar products. In 2024, Jiangsu Cable Data Network (江苏有线数据网络) won a bid to provide a digitalized platform for the Jiangsu government, writing in the press release that the project would “actively publicize relevant policies, regulations, and socialist core values through audio and video systems and terminals, and promote the implementation of religious sinicization” (动态宣传相关政策法规和社会主义核心价值观，助力宗教中国化宣贯) (Jiangsu Cable Data Network, April 24, 2024).
Figure 1: AI-enabled video monitoring service advertised by Pasis
(Source: Pasis, accessed October 4)
Conclusion
The CCP describes the threat it faces from unmitigated religious practice, in part, as foreign “infiltration” (渗透), with sinicization as the response. It is difficult to understand sending cadres into religious sites, shaping sermon rhetoric, cultivating ideology, and other aspects of religious “saturation” as anything other than the “infiltration” of religion by the Party itself. By acting against religious groups in much the same way that it describes the threat, the Party expresses its view that religion offers rival value systems and organizations that cannot remain independent. Zero-sum framing, such as Xu Xiaohong’s statement that without sinicization “one more Christian is one fewer Chinese,” only underscores this perspective.
Notes
[1] Zheng Xiaoyun [郑筱筠], “‘Guide,’ ‘Harmonize,’ ‘Saturate,’ ‘Transform’: Several Theoretical Reflections on Deepening the Sinicization of Religion in China [‘导’ ‘和’ ‘润’ ‘化’——深入推进我国宗教中国化的几点理论思考],” Studies in World Religions [世界宗教研究], no. 7 (2023): 1–10.
[2] The term liang hui (两会) refers to the two organizations that manage Protestant churches in the PRC, the Chinese Christian Three-Self Patriotic Movement Committee (中国基督教三自爱国运动委员会) and the Chinese Christian Council (中国基督教协会).
[3] China Islamic Affairs Steering Committee [中国伊斯兰教教务指导委员会], ed., New Collection of Wa’z Sermons, Vol. 7 [新编卧尔兹演讲集（第七辑）] (Beijing: Commercial Press [商务印书馆], 2021), https://archive.ph/DJnEL.
[4] The company also offers similar services for an “ideological management system” (Pasis, accessed October 4).
The post The CCP ‘Saturates’ Religion with Socialist Values appeared first on Jamestown.
Executive Summary:
The 6th Maritime Silk Road Legal Affairs Forum (海丝法务区论坛) was held in Xiamen on September 7–8; among its noted achievements was progress made in two local Chinese International Commercial Courts (CICCs) in Xiamen and Quanzhou. Since their introduction in 2022, these courts have handled over 7,000 cases involving parties from over 40 countries and regions, with a cumulative value exceeding renminbi (RMB) 50 billion ($7.5 billion) (Supreme People’s Court [SPC], August 5, 2024; Southeast Net, September 8).
CICCs in the People’s Republic of China (PRC) are taking on a significant workload. By 2026 the national-level CICC had accepted 46 international commercial cases and concluded 37 since its inception in 2018, involving parties from 21 countries and regions, with a total value of over renminbi (RMB) 13.8 billion ($2 billion). [1] Intermediate People’s Courts in 18 localities—including Suzhou, Beijing, Xiamen, Chongqing, Shanghai, and Guangzhou—had established local CICCs, which concluded 1,777 foreign-related cases and arbitral reviews during 2025 involving parties from more than 50 countries, with a total value of nearly RMB 40 billion ($6 billion)—representing a year-over-year increase in case volume of more than 24 percent. Across all Chinese courts, foreign-related commercial and maritime cases saw a 44 percent year-over-year increase in case volume (China Business Journal, March 5).
PRC-Styled ‘New Legal Hubs’
The development of “new legal hubs” has increased globally, including in Singapore, Kazakhstan, and Dubai, for a variety of—often overlapping—rationales: attracting global talent, supporting domestic industry growth, reducing dependency on Western institutions; and other national interest-related issues, such as information access and the ability to shift the balance of outcomes toward domestic parties (Bookman & Erie, 2021). [2] Collectively, much of these efforts can also be understood as increasing each state’s “law power,” or “a nation-state’s ability to use law to affect others to get what it wants”—similar to the way in which the dominance of the U.S. dollar has benefited the United States in the post-World War II period (Jia, 2026). [3]
Many of these hubs follow the model of the London Commercial Court or longstanding arbitral forums: procedures are largely conducted in English, English common law is used as a foundation for rules, forums are staffed by judges or arbitrators of various nationalities, and there is a general promise of independence by the host nation. While it is a political decision in itself to favor dispute-resolution forums that prioritize expediency, low cost, judicial independence, or market liberalism, some would argue that there should be stronger government involvement when disputes implicate public concerns. Every nation makes decisions about how to balance commercial predictability, political authority, and public interest.
Chinese forums align with some of these general characteristics but differ partially or wholly on others. Disputes may generally use any governing law or procedural rules that the parties agree to, so long as Chinese choice-of-law rules permit it (SPC, December 18, 2023). [4] Chinese arbitration centers are generally more flexible, with the China International Economic and Trade Arbitration Commission (CIETAC), for example, allowing greater flexibility in the selection of rules (CIETAC, September 5, 2023). All judges in the PRC must be Chinese nationals and uphold the Constitution, Party leadership, and the socialist system (People’s Daily, July 28, 2019). For CICC judges, English proficiency is an additional selection requirement, and English-language evidence may be submitted without Chinese translation (SPC, December 18, 2023). CIETAC and other arbitral centers generally allow foreign arbitrators to be selected by the parties—which is in line with most arbitration centers globally (CIETAC, May 1).
PRC Seeks Foreign and Domestic Power
Chinese attempts to build a dispute resolution forum have consistently been linked to successive efforts to aid Chinese firms in expanding globally. The earlier references date back to 2018, when the State Council issued the “Opinions on Establishing an International Commercial Dispute Resolution Mechanism and Institutions for the Belt and Road (OBOR) Initiative” (关于建立 “一带一路” 国际商事争端解决机制和机构的意见), which established the country’s first two CICCs in Shenzhen and Xi’an (Xinhua, June 27, 2018). The State Council envisioned “a convenient, fast, and low-cost ‘one-stop’ dispute resolution center to provide high-quality and efficient legal services to parties involved in the OBOR” (便利、快捷、低成本的“一站式”争端解决中心，为“一带一路”建设参与国当事人提供优质高效的法律服务) (Xinhua, June 27, 2018).
The 2020 “Guiding Opinions of the Supreme People’s Court on People’s Courts Serving and Safeguarding Further Opening Up to the Outside World” (最高人民法院关于人民法院服务保障进一步扩大对外开放的指导意见) broadened the focus beyond the OBOR initiative to the newer terminology of “large-scale opening up” (大对外开放). Stated policy goals included “protecting Chinese and foreign investors’ lawful rights and interests” (依法维护中外投资者合法权益), “expanding the influence of China’s law” (扩大中国法的影响力), and safeguarding national security and economic and social order” (保障国家安全和经济社会秩序) (SPC, September 25, 2020).
Then, at a study session in 2023, General Secretary Xi Jinping emphasized the role of foreign-related legal efforts in “better safeguarding the interests of the nation and the people” (更好维护国家和人民利益) as well as “promoting high-level opening up” (推进高水平对外开放) (People’s Daily, November 29, 2023).
Wuhan University professor and former ambassador to Malaysia, Huang Huikang (黄惠康), directly linked the initiatives to expand international dispute-resolution services to the PRC’s goal of becoming “a global leader in comprehensive national power and international influence” (我国要实现综合国力和国际影响力领先) at a symposium hosted by the SPC (CICC, November 21, 2024). [5] More recently, Wang Shumei (王淑梅), a senior justice with the SPC, linked the efforts to expand Chinese international commercial dispute resolution to “safeguarding national sovereignty, security, and developmental interests” and promoting Chinese influence in the development of new international rules (坚定维护国家主权、安全、发展利益，为国际规则制定提供中国司法实践) (SPC, March 5). [6]
By encouraging case settlement in the PRC, Beijing is promoting its ability to shape international norms. In December 2023, the SPC also modified its rules relating to Articles 35 and 277 of the Civil Procedure Law to allow for Chinese courts to exercise jurisdiction over disputes without “requiring a real connection with the PRC” (不要求争议必须与我国有实际联系)—such as a Chinese party being involved—with the goal of expanding the number of foreign parties that choose Chinese forums for their disputes (SPC, December 18, 2023).
Some of these goals, however, appear at times to be contradictory. Policy documents frequently invoke language of equality, fairness, friendliness to foreign firms, and similar. Foreign companies may find it unclear what these forums will prioritize in a situation where the decision is between protecting Chinese national security or Chinese firms versus ensuring fair and consistent treatment of all firms—both foreign and domestic—under the law.
Local-court actions and SPC policy guidance have both complicated the issue and potentially contributed to fears that Chinese courts are acting to favor or aid domestic firms. In the “Report by the Xiamen Intermediate People’s Court on Leveraging Judicial Functions to Serve and Safeguard the Development of the Private Economy” (厦门市中级人民法院关于发挥审判职能服务保障民营经济发展工作情况的报告), the Court describes coordinating with local business councils to establish regular visits to domestic companies, answer their legal questions, and provide compliance guidance; this mechanism was selected as a national exemplary model. (Xiamen Municipal People’s Congress, October 23, 2023). The SPC described one of its recently released foreign-related commercial mediation guiding cases as exemplifying “the join efforts of courts at both levels to resolve foreign trade disputes, safeguarding the development of private enterprises in China” (两级法院联动化解外贸纠纷 护航我民营企业扬帆远航) (SPC, March 24).
In April 2026, the State-Owned Assets Supervision and Administration Commission (SASAC) released the “Plan on Further Deepening and Solidifying the Construction of Rule of Law in Central State-Owned Enterprises” (关于推动法治央企建设进一步走深走实的方案). The Plan directs all central enterprises to more closely supervise overseas disputes and better utilize CICCs, arbitral forums, and mediation forums as part of “properly handling overseas legal disputes” (妥善应对处置境外法律纠纷案件). It specifically directs them to “give due attention to drafting dispute resolution clauses in contracts” (重视争议解决合同条款的订立) and “encourage the resolution of overseas legal disputes within the PRC” (鼓励在境内解决境外法律纠纷) (SASAC, April 30).
The attention given to dispute-resolution clauses is not unique to SASAC’s guidance. The Xiamen CICC, for example, introduced the nation’s first model bilingual jurisdiction clause in mid-2024, which has subsequently been applied in over 200 foreign-related cases (SPC, August 5, 2024; Southeast Net, September 8). Model jurisdiction clauses allow parties to a contract to agree on where they will resolve disputes related to the contract and which rules and laws will apply. The Xiamen CICC’s model clause suggests that disputes be handled under PRC law and at one of the forums of Xiamen’s Maritime Silk Road Central Legal District (海丝中央法务区) (Xiamen Intermediate People’s Court, April 10, 2024).
Reforming Global Dispute Practice Norms
There have also been some hints as to how the PRC might alter extant modes of international dispute resolution toward more desirable procedures. Discussing the bilingual jurisdiction clause promulgated by the Xiamen Courts, for example, Zhai Weikun (翟伟坤), president of the Xiamen CICC, said that the clause “reflected Chinese characteristics” (体现了中国特色) because it would allow the Xiamen CICC to “guide [parties] to choose the most favorable dispute resolution method, such as mediation or arbitration” (我们也可以引导当事人选择对他们最有利的纠纷解决方法，比如调解、仲裁) (SPC, August 5, 2024).
Researchers have noted that the push toward alternative dispute resolution methods—especially mediation—beginning in 2003 was motivated by concerns about social stability and Party control (Minzner, 2011). [7] In its 2025 “Opinions on Promoting the High-Quality Development of International Commercial Courts and Supporting High-Level Opening-Up” (关于推进国际商事法庭高质量发展 服务保障高水平对外开放的意见), the SPC advocated for increasing the use of mediation and arbitration, as well as for CICCs to more closely coordinate with government departments and other organizations (SPC, September 25, 2025).
While mediation is increasingly favored globally due to its efficiency, it also invites the appearance of greater political influence being injected into the process. In one instance from 2025 published by the SPC, a dispute originally arbitrated at the London Metal Exchange between Swiss-creditor Gerald Metals and a subsidiary of the Chinese state-owned-enterprise, Henan Shenhuo Coal & Power (河南神火煤电), was brought to the Shenzhen Intermediate People’s Court after the Shenzhen-registered subsidiary, Henan Shenhuo International Trading, paid out RMB 83.3 million ($12.4 million), as opposed to the more than RMB 110 million ($16.5 million) it would have owed under the original London Metal Exchange award (Sina Finance, August 19, 2025). [8] Shen Hongyu (沈红雨), the presiding judge on the case and head of the Fourth Civil Division of the SPC, related the decision back to the broader effort to promote Chinese-style dispute resolution, saying that “[p]arties from various countries will increasingly recognize the power of China’s ‘culture of harmony’” (各国当事人将会越来越认可中国‘和文化’的力量) (SPC, June 20, 2025).
Although these types of haircut discounts are common in creditor–debtor settlements, this example demonstrates how complex and obscure relationships between Chinese dispute-resolution forums, state-owned or affiliated enterprises, and the Party-state bureaucracy can lead to the appearance that national interest is a motivating factor in outcomes. One interpretation of the above case would be that Gerald Metals came out better than it would have without the CICC’s intervention—quickly settling for a reasonable amount. Another might be that a Chinese state-owned enterprise received an undesirable outcome from a voluntary arbitration process in London and then retreated to within Chinese borders, where the process advocated for by the CICC was to abandon enforcement and settle—costing Gerald Metals roughly 25 percent of the original award, as well as a three-year delay from the initial award in London.
Quantitative research on potential domestic biases by Chinese forums has produced varied findings and continues to evolve. A 2018 analysis of some 1,660 patent-infringement cases made public in 2014 found that foreign plaintiffs obtained judgments that infringement occurred in more than 84 percent of cases, compared with just under 80 percent for domestic plaintiffs (Bian, 2018). [9] More recent scholarship examining 3,730 litigated cases over the 2002–2017 period found that multinational firms were more likely to win than not, but that the majority did not obtain substantial monetary compensation; firms that entered into joint ventures with domestic Chinese state-owned enterprises were comparatively more likely to obtain significant compensation (Chen & Xu, 2023). [10] Lastly, a 2026 investigation of over one million civil cases ranging from 2014–2020 found that win rates for U.S. plaintiffs suing Chinese defendants declined in Chinese cities that were more affected by the ongoing trade disputes (Bo & Liu, 2026). [11]
Conclusion
The Chinese international commercial dispute-resolution system is less than a decade into a period of rapid development and change, spurred by focus from the highest levels of government, and shaped by the broader context of the PRC’s booming trade exports. What it will develop into remains to be seen, but Chinese authorities have already succeeded in expanding the PRC’s comprehensive national power with these efforts.
Chinese courts may develop a reputation for being cheaper, fairer, and faster for all involved—and outcompete their foreign counterparts. Alternatively, foreign firms may come to see Chinese companies and courts as unfairly collaborating to advance the Party-state’s ideological goals and ambitions to shape global legal norms. Recent history has shown just how quickly fears about the weaponized dependencies and government interference can spark reactions. Some scholars argue that the initial cessation of rare-earth exports to Japan in 2010 may not have been centrally directed, but instead the result of grassroots nationalism reacting to perceived Japanese aggression (Xiong & Weiss, 2026). [12] Regardless of if this was the case, that was all it took for much of the world to begin seeing Chinese critical-mineral dominance as a threat to be mitigated. Unlike supply chains, contracts can quickly be revised.
Notes
[1] Previous research on the national CICC has suggested that it is more focused on providing policy guidance than resolving substantial amounts of disputes itself, instead allowing the eighteen local CICCs, or “international commercial tribunals” (国际商事法庭), to handle the bulk of disputes. Susan Finder, “China’s International Commercial Court Network: A Work in Progress,” U.S.–Asia Law Perspectives 6, no. 6 (2026), https://usali.org/usali-perspectives-blog/chinas-international-commercial-court-network-a-work-in-progress.
[2] Bookman, Pamela K., and Matthew S. Erie. “Experimenting with International Commercial Dispute Resolution,” AJIL Unbound 115 (2021): 5–10, https://doi.org/10.1017/aju.2020.78.
[3] Mark Jia, “Law Power,” University of Pennsylvania Journal of International Law, forthcoming, June 1, 2026, https://doi.org/10.2139/ssrn.6864920.
[4] Under Articles 4 and 5 of the Foreign-Related Civil Relations Law (涉外民事关系法律适用法), Chinese law preempts the choice of foreign governing laws in cases where existing PRC laws contain mandatory overriding provisions, and a general public-interest exception applies “[w]here the application of foreign law would harm the public interest of the People’s Republic of China” (外国法律的适用将损害中华人民共和国社会公共利益的) (CICC, October 28, 2010).
[5] Huang had delivered the keynote lecture to the Politburo Central Committee at the aforementioned study session the previous year.
[6] Ibid.
[7] Carl F. Minzner, “China’s Turn Against Law,” The American Journal of Comparative Law 59, no. 4 (2011): 935–984, https://ir.lawnet.fordham.edu/faculty_scholarship/4.
[8] A deeper account of the arbitration is discussed by the Connecticut Appellate Court in a linked case involving the insurance underwriters of the original agreement and also by the Hong Kong High Court, Court of First Instance in a later dispute related to the liquidation. Gerald Metals, LLC v. Certain Underwriters at International Underwriting Association of London, AC 46853 (March 25, 2025), https://info.jud.ct.gov/external/supapp/Cases/AROap/AP231/AP231.150.pdf; Henan Shenhuo International Trading Co Ltd v. Registrar of Companies, HCMP 740/2026, [2026] HKCFI 4202 (July 23, 2026), https://web.archive.org/web/20261016070713/https://legalref.judiciary.hk/lrs/common/ju/ju_frame.jsp?DIS=183124.
[9] Renjun Bian, “Patent Litigation in China: Challenging Conventional Wisdom,” Berkeley Technology Law Journal 33, no. 2 (2018): 413–486, https://doi.org/10.15779/Z382J6846W.
[10] Chen, Frederick R., and Jian Xu. “Partners with Benefits: When Multinational Corporations Succeed in Authoritarian Courts.” International Organization 77, no. 1 (2023): 144–78, https://doi.org/10.1017/S0020818322000297.
[11] Shiyu Bo and Wen Liu, “From Trade Protectionism to Legal Protectionism: How the Trump Trade War Harms US Firms in China,” Journal of Development Economics 182 (June 2026): 103829, https://doi.org/10.1016/j.jdeveco.2026.103829.
[12] Gloria Xiong and Jessica Chen Weiss, “The Real History of Beijing’s Rare-Earth Dominance,” Foreign Affairs, August 18, 2026, https://www.foreignaffairs.com/china/how-china-found-most-potent-weapon-xiong-weiss.
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Executive Summary:
On October 8, Dongchedi (懂车帝), a car review platform in the People’s Republic of China (PRC), published a video of a brake test, where three new Maextro (尊界) V800s made repeated emergency stops from 100 kilometers per hour. The brake pedal bracket broke on all three (China National Radio, October 8). [1] The car, built by Anhui Jianghuai Automobile (JAC; 江淮汽车), was launched by Huawei in August at prices from renminbi (RMB) 766,000 ($114,000) to RMB 1.02 million ($150,000). Its official website advertises the safety design as “multiple redundancies, as stable as Mount Tai” (多重冗余，稳若泰山) and states that the vehicle’s architecture includes redundancy in braking, steering, computing, perception, positioning, interaction, communications, and power supply (HIMA, accessed October 9). JAC’s shares fell to the circuit-breaker limit during trading that day and again once markets opened the following day (21st Century Business Herald, October 9).
The story quickly turned into one of censorship. From late that night, the test video displayed the message “submission invalid” (稿件失效) on Bilibili, a leading PRC video-sharing platform, while WeChat Channels showed a notice stating that, following user complaints and platform review, the video had been found to contain content that violated the platform rules. The notice left both the complainant and the reason unstated (Xinhuanghe, October 9). By the next day, Internet users found that the original video and many reposts had been removed from Douyin, Bilibili, Weibo, and other platforms. Among comments from users inside the PRC relayed by the X account “Teacher Li Is Not Your Teacher” (李老师不是你老师), one read, “it must be said that Huawei has achieved, on the Party’s behalf, strong leadership over the theoretical mouthpieces and the public opinion front” (不得不说，华为替党做到了对理论喉舌舆论阵地的坚强领导) (X/@whyyoutouzhele, October 9). [2]
The comment borrows the vocabulary of Party control over the media and applies it to a company, Huawei, that holds special status in the PRC. Officials treat Huawei as the representative of Chinese high-tech firms suppressed by the United States, its critics are often accused of smearing domestic brands, and online content that questions it is frequently taken down by censors. This particular protectiveness on behalf of the authorities, coupled with the difficulties entailed in raising issues of censorship, privilege, and unequal justice directly with the regime, has led to Huawei becoming a proxy for public criticism of the Party-state.
Beijing Makes Huawei a National Symbol
U.S. sanctions turned Huawei into an object of patriotic consumption. In May 2019, the U.S. Department of Commerce added Huawei to the Entity List, restricting sales by U.S. firms to the company (Federal Register, May 21, 2019). Promotions and patriotic sentiment then drove a surge in its smartphone sales at home (Reuters, August 5, 2019). Huawei founder Ren Zhengfei (任正非) remarked wryly at the time that “one cannot say that using Huawei products is patriotic and that not using them is unpatriotic” (不能说用华为产品就爱国，不用就不爱国) (BBC, May 21, 2019).
During the Meng Wanzhou (孟晚舟) affair, officials presented Huawei’s plight as the nation’s plight. On September 25, 2021, Meng, who is Huawei’s chief financial officer and Ren’s daughter, returned to Shenzhen after nearly three years of detention in Canada. Xinhua headlined its report with her words at the airport, “If faith has a color, it must be China red!” (如果信念有颜色，那一定是中国红！) (Xinhua, September 25, 2021). Two days later, a Ministry of Foreign Affairs (MFA) spokesperson stated that the case’s “purpose was to suppress Chinese high-tech enterprises represented by Huawei” (目的是打压以华为为代表的中国高技术企业) (MFA, September 27, 2021). Canadian and U.S. authorities had initially arrested her for charges of wire fraud that violated U.S. sanctions on Iran, though these were dismissed once a plea deal had been reached.
The state also backs Huawei with money and political favor. Materials from the U.S. Semiconductor Industry Association reported by Bloomberg indicate that Huawei obtained about $30 billion from the central government and the Shenzhen municipal government (Bloomberg, August 23, 2023). In February 2025, at a symposium on private enterprise chaired by General Secretary Xi Jinping, Ren was listed first among the six business leaders who spoke (Xinhua, February 19, 2025). In recent years, private technology firms in the PRC have generally aligned themselves with national strategy before receiving explicit instructions (China Brief, March 20). Huawei has gone further, however, and has become part of the national narrative itself.
This status also shields Huawei from criticism. One PRC technology commentator has said outright that Huawei long enjoyed a degree of protection in public opinion under the national narrative (HK01, August 6). In late 2025, the well-known internet personality Luo Yonghao (罗永浩) was likewise accused of “smearing national industry” (黑民族产业) after he joked about “far ahead” (遥遥领先), a catchphrase from Huawei’s product launches (Sina Finance, January 3). After the brake incident, an industry insider still publicly questioned “certain media outlets that gain traffic at the expense of Chinese brands’ reputations” (个别媒体以牺牲中国品牌的口碑获取流量) (JRJ, October 9). In an atmosphere that binds Huawei tightly to patriotism, questioning its products is easily cast as opposing the country.
Pushback Ranges From Parody to Political Satire
Criticizing a company is far safer in the PRC than criticizing the Party or the government. Consumer complaints about product quality are an officially recognized right, and China Central Television (CCTV) devotes a broadcast every March 15 to exposing errant firms. Huawei is at once a company open to consumer complaint and one that officials treat as a representative of the nation. Those who mock it can therefore claim that they are simply discussing product quality.
Public pushback against Huawei falls into roughly three categories. The first is parody, which targets the company’s marketing language. For instance, in July, Internet users decided that the “wah-wah” sound a traditional toy, the bamboo cicada (竹知了), makes when shaken resembled both the voice of Huawei executive Yu Chengdong (余承东) at product launches and the gasps of his audiences. Borrowing his description of the Aito (问界) M9 as “the best SUV under RMB 10 million” (1000万以内最好的SUV), they dubbed the toy “the best toy under RMB 10 million” (一千万以内最好的玩具) (21st Century Business Herald, August 7).
Huawei’s reaction gave the parody political meaning. Its legal department filed mass complaints with platforms, alleging that the videos used metaphor, homophones, altered audio, and other veiled means to vilify and mock the company and its executives (21st Century Business Herald, August 3). [3] The complaints reminded one commentator of an earlier case, in which a Shanghai media professional wrote a poem about cicadas that his employer judged to be an allusion to Xi. His Weibo post was deleted and his account silenced (China Digital Times, August 10).
The second way in which public pushback occurs is questioning, which targets how Huawei treats ordinary people. In December 2018, Shenzhen police detained former Huawei employee Li Hongyuan (李洪元) after the company reported him. The following August, prosecutors declined to indict him, citing unclear facts and insufficient evidence. He had spent 251 days in custody and later received state compensation. Huawei responded that it “has the right, and also the obligation” (有权利，也有义务) to report suspected illegal conduct to the judicial authorities, adding that it supported him in using legal means to defend his rights and interests, including by suing Huawei (Yicai, December 2, 2019). One outlet summarized a metaphor then circulating online as “the elephant stamps once, and the ant may stamp back. The rights are the same, the damage vastly different” (大象踩一脚，蚂蚁可回踩。权利相同，杀伤迥异) (The Cover, December 3, 2019).
Censorship turned this labor dispute into a protest against speech controls. Internet users flooded the comments beneath an open letter that Meng had published at the time with the string “985, 996, 251, 404.” The four numbers refer, respectively, to elite university credentials, the work schedule of 9 a.m. to 9 p.m. six days a week, the days Li spent in custody, and the error code displayed when a web page has been deleted. These comments were subsequently removed as well. The New York Times reported that many people in the PRC were especially outraged by the censorship of news coverage and online responses. They said that they had felt helpless at being unable to criticize the government and now felt that they were “also not able to criticize a giant corporation” (The New York Times, December 4, 2019).
The third category of pushback ties Huawei directly to the Party-state. This includes comments such as those posted after the Maextro video was taken down that Huawei had achieved “strong leadership” on the Party’s behalf. On X, one user wrote that blocking and removal across the entire Internet was a concrete expression of “stressing politics” (讲政治), a discipline that the Party requires of cadres and the media (X/@justicefallen20, October 9). Another was blunter, asking “whose company is Huawei? If we cannot deal with the red sun, can we at least deal with you, Huawei?” (华为是谁的企业呀？处理不了红太阳，还解决不了你华为吗？) (X/@Neo_Marici, October 9). The user’s meaning is that those who are powerless against Xi can vent their anger on Huawei.
Efforts to Shield Huawei Backfire
In the past, and especially after the Meng Wanzhou affair, propagandists could readily turn measures to protect Huawei to their advantage. In June 2019, Shenzhen police acted on a report from Huawei and placed two people in administrative detention for spreading rumors in WeChat groups, among them a claim that Huawei employees had spied for the United States (Xinhua, June 13, 2019). As the Li Hongyuan case gathered attention, the Global Times asserted that many Internet users had redirected their criticism toward foreign media, believing that the United States was exploiting the case to smear Huawei (Global Times, December 6, 2019).
Today, Huawei more often handles public opinion through legal complaints. [4] During the bamboo cicada affair, the Harmony Intelligent Mobility Alliance (HIMA; 鸿蒙智行), Huawei’s automotive business, stated on August 4 that it respected normal online expression and well-intentioned criticism. It said that it had filed complaints against only 171 of the more than 56,000 related posts it had monitored, that platforms had removed 144 of them, and that its targets were malicious edits, imitations of executives’ voices, and similar content (IT Home, August 4). Some bloggers countered that videos that merely showed the toy had also been taken down (21st Century Business Herald, August 3). At one point, a Weibo search for “bamboo cicada” came back nearly empty (Storm Media, August 7).
Huawei’s heavy-handed approach backfired. The content it complained about spread more widely. Internet users bought bamboo cicadas to film their own versions, captioned with phrases such as “the lingering sound circles the rafters” (余音绕梁), which plays on the character for Yu’s surname, and “shaking ahead” (摇摇领先), a pun on Yu’s slogan, which was named one of the top ten internet buzzwords of 2023 (The Paper, December 8, 2023; HK01, August 3). One outlet called this Huawei’s “Streisand effect,” in which an attempt to suppress information spreads it further (Storm Media, August 7). As a Caixin commentary argued, the affair had weakened Huawei’s sacred aura in the public mind and brought latent public opinion into the open (Caixin, August 6).
The extent of the backlash became clear when official media ceased to speak with one voice in Huawei’s defense. On August 5, the WeChat account of the Zhejiang Provincial Party Committee’s propaganda department wrote that the stronger a company is, the more open it should be to discussion (WeChat/Zhejiang Xuanchuan, August 5). A commentary the same day in the official newspaper of the Jiangsu Provincial Party Committee likewise observed that Huawei could hardly avoid giving the impression of overzealous rights protection and of making a fuss over a trifle (Xinhua Daily, August 5). Provincial propaganda organs had stepped in to urge a company to be magnanimous. The space for criticizing Huawei is evidently far wider than that for criticizing Party and government bodies.
The brake incident in October played out as a replay of the bamboo cicada affair. First came efforts to absolve Huawei. Weibo chief executive Wang Gaofei (王高飞) replied to a user that JAC had built the car and that the making of a brake pedal lay outside Huawei’s “empowerment” (赋能) role (ITHome, October 8). Next came attacks on the tester. Dongchedi’s head of testing said that his phone had been bombarded with text messages (MyDrivers, October 9). Then the video was taken down, and the target of mockery moved from the brake pedal to censorship. One Weibo user wrote that the takedown merely “hammered nails into Maextro’s coffin lid” (给尊界的棺材板上钉上钉子) (Weibo, October 9). The official WeChat account of the Xinjiang Uyghur Autonomous Region (XUAR) government then published an article criticizing Maextro for evading the question. It drew more than 100,000 views within half a day and was hidden by the account that evening (Lianhe Zaobao, October 10). Two days later, Zhejiang Xuanchuan weighed in again. It noted that the test video could no longer be viewed on multiple platforms and that many posts discussing it had vanished, and it called the habit of dismissing safety questions as smears against domestic cars an “irrational mentality of shielding one’s own” (非理性的护短心态) (Zhejiang Xuanchuan, October 12). On October 13, Maextro published a third-party test report stating that the brake pedal met the industry standard, but the testing institution said that the report applied only to the samples the company had submitted and offered no guarantee for vehicles in mass production (Yicai, October 13). As of this article’s publication, the episode is still unfolding.
Conclusion
By making Huawei a national symbol, Beijing has allowed the company to become a target of public discontent, deflecting people’s ire from the authorities themselves. Mockery of Huawei uses the same homophones and veiled allusions as mockery of the Party-state. While it also draws complaints and takedowns, it does so at a far lower cost. Huawei is the most prominent firm in Beijing’s narrative of technological self-reliance. As public deference toward it declines, the persuasiveness of that narrative declines with it.
The Party may already have realized that the public is magnifying Huawei’s problems as a way of alluding to the Party-state, which is perhaps why central media declined to defend Huawei as they had in 2019. On October 10, the Ministry of Industry and Information Technology (MIIT) and three other departments solicited public comment on a draft notice that tightens the management of automotive research, development, testing, and validation (MIIT, October 10). The next day, the People’s Daily named the Maextro V800 and declared that “a car’s brake pedal should never ‘break’ while driving” (一辆汽车的刹车踏板，绝不应该在驾驶中出现‘断裂’) (People’s Daily, October 11). Beijing will continue to hold up Huawei as the standard-bearer of high-tech enterprise, but it may keep the company at a greater distance in its propaganda and defend its privileges less conspicuously.
Notes
[1] The brackets on the three cars broke on the third, fourth, and second stops, respectively. Dongchedi stated that seven other models with plastic pedal brackets completed six stops intact, and it rejected the charge that it had conducted “violent testing” (暴力测试) (ITHome, October 8).
[2] “Teacher Li Is Not Your Teacher” (@whyyoutouzhele) is run by Li Ying (李颖), a Chinese artist based in Italy who has long compiled submissions and comments from internet users inside the PRC. X is blocked in the PRC. The X users cited here are most likely overseas or using circumvention tools, and both their identities and those of the users who submitted comments remain unverified.
[3] Homophones and veiled allusion are also the techniques that PRC internet users commonly employ to evade censorship and discuss sensitive political topics. Such expression resembles what James C. Scott called the “hidden transcript” of the weak, in which discontent is voiced through rumor, ambiguity, and jokes. See James C. Scott, Domination and the Arts of Resistance: Hidden Transcripts (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1990).
[4] Other large firms also use legal means against critics. In June 2025, BYD said that it was suing 37 “smear accounts” (黑号) and had placed another 126 accounts on a watch list (Jiemian News, June 4, 2025).
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Executive Summary:
Russia and Brazil signed an agreement on July 31, increasing the volume of an existing contract from 2025 for Rosatom to process Brazilian uranium from the Caetité deposit in the state of Bahia (Atomnaia Energiia 2.0, July 31). In July, Brazil’s uranium imports from Russia totaled $84.5 million, 172 times more than in July 2025 and the highest monthly level since 1997 (Praim, August 11). This increase makes Russia Brazil’s largest uranium supplier (Biznes Zhurnal, August 11). Russia appears poised to secure a greater presence in Brazil’s other rapidly developing strategic sectors, potentially including deals on new reactor technologies, regulation of marine nuclear installations, and joint projects in critical mineral extraction. In March, for example, Rosatom’s Uranium One Group and Brazil’s Núcleo Brasil Energia Participações (NBEPar) agreed to establish the Nadina Minerals joint venture to explore, extract, and process mineral resources in Brazil (Atom Media, March 25).
Russian–Brazilian nuclear energy ties are not new. The foundation was laid after the collapse of the Soviet Union, with a 1994 agreement on cooperation in the peaceful use of nuclear energy and a 2008 accord that expanded that relationship (Mirovaia Politika, January 20, 2025). In 2008, the governments signed another agreement on the peaceful use of atomic energy, but operationalization was slow-moving (TASS, accessed October 13). In 2017, cooperation between the two countries acquired a commercial character when Rosatom-owned Uranium One won an international tender to supply 400 tons of natural uranium to the Brazilian state-owned company Indústrias Nucleares do Brasil (INB). At the same time, Rosatom and Eletronuclear—a Brazilian state-linked nuclear power plant (NPP) company—developed a dialogue on NPP construction, including prospects for small and medium-sized reactors. Russian and Brazilian entities also signed a memorandum on innovative nuclear technologies in 2017 (Social and Humanities Sciences, 2024). In 2021, the partnership acquired greater depth when Rosatom and Eletronuclear signed a memorandum on cooperation in the construction and maintenance of large- and small-capacity NPPs, nuclear materials management, personnel training, and nuclear medicine. In June 2021, branches of Rosatom and Brazil’s National Nuclear Energy Commission signed a five-year contract for monthly supplies of the medical isotopes Lu-177 and Ac-225. Russian supplies covered around 50 percent of Brazil’s demand for medical radioisotopes in 2021 and 2022 (RIA Novosti, October 29, 2022).
December 2022 marked a new shift in the Russian–Brazilian uranium partnership when Rosatom-owned TENEX (Techsnabexport) announced a contract between its subsidiary Internexco GmbH and Brazil’s state-owned INB. The contract provided for meeting 100 percent of the Angra NPP’s requirements for enriched uranium products in 2023–2027. Rosatom described it as the first long-term contract in its history with Brazil for the supply of enriched uranium products (Atomnaia Energiia 2.0, December 7, 2022). Crucially, the December 2022 contract was not a one-off deal, but the beginning of a series of agreements between the two countries on cooperation in this domain (Interfax, May 4, 2023). In February 2025, Rosatom announced that it won an INB tender to enrich uranium mined in Brazil (Interfax, February 27, 2025).
Russia’s engagement with Brazilian nuclear energy is no longer limited to assisting Brazil with processing uranium. Russia has shifted from uranium exports to integration into Brazil’s nuclear fuel cycle. Ivan Dybov, director of Rosatom Latin America, said in February 2025 that Rosatom aims to create a model of cooperation with private companies for uranium extraction in Brazil (Rosatom, February 28, 2025). For Russia, the value of such a model is higher than that of conventional exports of raw materials or processing finished products—Russian enterprises could become part of the technological chain of Brazil’s nuclear fuel cycle itself. The Nadina Minerals joint venture is a corroboration of such a trajectory. The plan involves more than just trade, including geological exploration, obtaining licenses, and establishing enterprises for the extraction and processing of strategic mineral resources in Brazil (TENEX, March 25, 2026). Rosatom is also discussing lithium projects with Brazilian companies (Rosatom, April 6).
Russia is likely to try to establish a position across the entire life cycle of the Brazilian nuclear industry, and Russian sources are already beginning to link uranium cooperation to Rosatom’s broader offerings. Specifically, Rosatom has described the processing of Brazilian uranium as an “important step toward deepening the partnership within Brazil’s national nuclear program,” while simultaneously presenting Russia’s concept of a closed fuel cycle and spent nuclear fuel processing technologies (Rosatom, June 30, 2025). This implies Russia’s potential advancement along the chain: extraction, conversion, enrichment, fuel, generation, and, finally, nuclear fuel management. Such advancement would mean that the relationship would cease to depend on a single uranium supply contract. The Russian government is already linking existing cooperation to the possibility of constructing further generating capacity. On May 25, Russian Minister of Economic Development Maxim Reshetnikov stated the Kremlin sees “prospects in the construction of additional Russian-designed generating units, both large and small” (Interfax, May 25). Russian industry sources have also reported Brazil’s interest in Russian-designed small NPPs. In July, this issue was discussed in relation to a potential site in the state of Santa Catarina (Rosatom, July 22).
In the Russian interpretation, the intensification of nuclear cooperation with Brazil after 2025 represents a transition from an export-supply model toward deeper technological integration into Brazil’s nuclear fuel cycle. Securing the contract for the conversion and enrichment of Brazilian uranium, its recent expansion, and the establishment of a joint venture for the development of the mineral resource base create the prospect of a long-term Russian presence across several stages of the energy production chain. In turn, the discussion of new large- and small-capacity nuclear power units demonstrates that Russia views uranium cooperation as part of a broader technological partnership.
Brazil’s renewed nuclear ambitions create a potentially significant long-term opening for Russian nuclear cooperation. Under the Plano Nacional de Energia (PNE) 2025, Brazil envisages up to roughly 14 gigawatts of additional nuclear capacity while seeking to expand domestic uranium production and strengthen its nuclear fuel cycle (Government of Brazil, February 19). This creates demand for uranium, and for conversion, enrichment, and reactor technologies. Russia’s post-2025 involvement in processing Brazilian uranium can therefore be viewed as an entry point into a potentially expanding nuclear value chain. Opportunities, however, remain contingent on Brazil translating long-term planning into financed projects and balancing foreign partnerships with its technological sovereignty.
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Executive Summary:
On September 30, Azerbaijani Defense Minister Colonel General Zakir Hasanov and Turkish Defense Industry Agency President Haluk Görgün oversaw the signing of a package of contracts between Baku and Turkish defense companies worth more than $500 million (Daily Sabah, September 30). The documents were signed on the sidelines of the sixth Azerbaijan International Defence Exhibition, known as ADEX 2026, held in Baku from September 30 to October 2. Under the agreements, Azerbaijan will buy a range of Turkish systems. Turkish Aerospace Industries will supply 14 Hürkuş-II pilot training aircraft, with deliveries expected to begin this year. Baykar, the maker of the Bayraktar TB2 drones Azerbaijan used in the 2020 Karabakh War, will provide Mızrak loitering munitions. These drones hover over a target area before striking, and they will be paired with Antidot systems. Missile manufacturer Roketsan will deliver the Barbaros coastal defense system, and defense electronics firm Aselsan signed a preliminary agreement to supply ALP-100 radars (TRT World, September 30).
The procurement list is the less significant part of the package. Several documents concern production in Azerbaijan. Aselsan and the Azerbaijani company NOVASIS signed a term sheet to establish a manufacturing facility in the Nakhchivan Autonomous Republic. The plant is expected to produce laser guidance kits, which turn ordinary bombs into precision weapons, as well as TOLUN precision-guided munitions and KORKUT air defense systems (Defense Talks, September 30). Turkish producers MKE, Otokar, Kayı Defense, and Boğaziçi Defense concluded cooperation agreements with the Azerbaijani firms Miras and NOVASIS (Daily Sabah, September 30). The choice of Nakhchivan is notable. The exclave shares a short border with Türkiye. It is separated from mainland Azerbaijan by Armenian territory, so a plant there would place part of Azerbaijan’s munitions supply directly next to its treaty ally.
The two governments complemented the industrial agreements with an educational one. Azerbaijan’s Ministry of Defense Industry and Ministry of Science and Education signed a memorandum with the SSB and Türkiye’s Council of Higher Education on higher education, scientific research, and human resources in the defense sector (APA, September 30). “We will train our engineers together with brotherly Azerbaijan,” Görgün said after the ceremony, adding that local production and joint projects would strengthen relations between the two countries (TRT World, September 30).
Türkiye is not the only partner agreeing to localization in exchange for access to the Azerbaijani market. On the same day, the Czechoslovak Group (CSG) announced it had signed agreements for a second joint venture in Azerbaijan. The venture will be established in December and will gradually localize self-propelled howitzer production, with manufacturing beginning in 2027. The company valued the business at 1.8 billion euros ($2.02 billion) over seven years and, citing confidentiality obligations, did not name its Azerbaijani partner, the howitzer types, or production volumes. “The signing of agreements leading to the establishment of our second joint venture in Azerbaijan confirms that we are building a long-term industrial presence here,” said CSG’s Board Chairman and CEO of the Defense Division Jan Marinov (The CSG Group, September 30). The group’s first Azerbaijani venture, VEXA DS, announced in April, will repair, service, and modernize armored vehicles in a program CSG values at hundreds of millions of dollars over more than ten years (The CSG Group, September 30). The same logic appeared when Azerbaijani President Ilham Aliyev received U.K. Minister of State for Defense Lord Vernon Coaker and raised the possibility of joint ventures in Azerbaijan (President of Azerbaijan, September 30).
Israel, long one of Azerbaijan’s principal arms suppliers, has likewise moved from selling weapons to Baku to manufacturing them in the country. In early October, the Israeli small-arms manufacturer ARI Arms inaugurated rifle production in Azerbaijan at a ceremony attended by Aliyev and Azerbaijani Vice President Mehriban Aliyeva (Globes, October 8). The state-owned plant, which until now produced only Kalashnikov rifles, will be the country’s first to produce M4-type rifles, the American-designed standard used by many Western militaries. It operates as a joint venture of ARI Arms, Azerbaijan’s Ministry of Defense Industry, and the Iqlim Scientific-Production Enterprise, a state enterprise under the ministry that makes pistols and sniper rifles (Azerbaijani Ministry of Defense Industry, March 5, 2010). The initial contract reportedly covers tens of thousands of rifles worth tens of millions of dollars, and the deal required full local production (Globes, October 8). ARI Arms, an official supplier of the OR-4 rifle to the Israel Defense Forces, has cooperated with Azerbaijan’s defense establishment before (Ynet News, November 30, 2024; ARI Arms, accessed October 8).
These deals reflect a policy that Baku has pursued since the Second Karabakh War. The Ministry of Defense Industry created the Azersilah holding in 2023 to consolidate state enterprises and manage production, sales, exports, and international partnerships (President of Azerbaijan, September 30). Opening the exhibition, Azerbaijani Defense Industry Minister Vugar Mustafayev said that more than 20 private Azerbaijani companies were presenting products, most of which already supply the armed forces. He argued that the 2020 war taught that a national defense industry cannot rely solely on state-owned plants (Azernews, September 30). Baykar’s local subsidiary, which began manufacturing in the Sumgayit Industrial Park in 2025, presented the KASIRGA vertical take-off strike drone as an Azerbaijani-made product (Azernews, October 4, 2025; Report, September 30). Azerbaijan now makes more than 1,000 types of military products and exports to over 30 countries (APA, September 30). In his message to the exhibition, Aliyev said that the industry “has now entered a qualitatively new stage” (President of Azerbaijan, September 30).
The industrial agreements build on a military partnership that is already the core of Azerbaijan’s security policy. The Shusha Declaration on Allied Relations, signed in June 2021, covers both defense industry cooperation and mutual military assistance (President of Azerbaijan, June 15, 2021). Turkish unmanned systems were central to Azerbaijan’s 2020 operations, and the two armies have since made a joint training routine. Meeting in Baku on September 30, Hasanov and Görgün reviewed current joint projects and described the alliance as a contribution to regional security and stability (Azernews, September 30). The new contracts extend this relationship from purchasing and jointly operating Turkish systems to manufacturing them in Azerbaijan.
The latest drills illustrate the partnership’s operational side. Since September 22, Azerbaijani, Turkish, and Uzbek forces have been conducting the “Power of Unity 2026” exercise at training grounds in Karabakh, Nakhchivan, and the Caspian Sea (APA, September 22; Kun.uz, September 23). According to the Azerbaijani Ministry of Defense, the main phase on October 1 involved 3,579 personnel, 135 unmanned aerial vehicles, 27 aircraft, and 25 naval assets, and representatives of nine countries, including Pakistan, Georgia, Iran, and the United Arab Emirates, observed it. The ministry called it “the first large-scale military exercise of its kind to be held in the liberated territories of Azerbaijan” (APA, October 1). On September 30, Hasanov and Uzbek Defense Minister Lieutenant General Shukhrat Khalmukhamedov signed a bilateral military cooperation plan for 2027 (Azernews, September 30). Defense ties among the Turkic states, long discussed mainly in political terms, are thus acquiring an operational and industrial basis (see EDM, March 6, 2024, September 30).
Baku’s closer integration with Ankara has not narrowed its range of partners. At ADEX 2026, U.S. defense companies, including Lockheed Martin and Northrop Grumman, exhibited in Baku for the first time (APA, September 30). The People’s Republic of China’s state aviation exporter displayed a J-10CE fighter jet model in Azerbaijani markings, though it has not announced a deal (Global Times, October 2). On September 30, Hasanov also met with defense officials from the United Arab Emirates and Slovakia, as well as a delegation led by Russian Deputy Defense Minister Vasily Osmakov (Azernews; Report; APA, September 30).
Most of the industrial agreements signed on September 30 are term sheets and memoranda, and their value will depend on implementation. The rifle plant opened with ARI Arms shows that such localization arrangements can reach the production stage. If the Nakhchivan facility and the howitzer venture begin production on schedule in 2027, Azerbaijan will manufacture precision munitions, air defense systems, and heavy artillery on its own territory with Turkish and European partners, in addition to the Western-pattern rifles it now makes with an Israeli partner. That would mark a substantive change for a country that has relied on imports for most of its major weapons, and it would give Ankara and Baku a shared industrial base to accompany their military alliance.
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Executive Summary:
A growing number of Central Asians are learning Chinese rather than Russian or English. Many see Chinese as the language of the future, and knowing it will help them find work with the growing number of Chinese institutions in Central Asia and build ties with Beijing (Xinhua, October 6). Most Central Asians studying Chinese do so in Chinese-funded institutions, and the People’s Republic of China (PRC) offers scholarships to those who enroll or study in the PRC itself. A growing number of students are getting such instruction in local universities or from tutors, an indication that this Beijing effort at promoting its soft power in Central Asia is taking off (Piao, “Local Adaptability of Chinese Language Education in the Five Central Asian Countries from the Perspective of Language Planning,” September 8; Altyn Orda, October 6). At present, the number of Central Asians doing so is still relatively small compared to those still studying Russian—the language of upward mobility during and since Soviet times and one that all Central Asians hoping to join the elites have had to learn—or English, especially since the countries of the region gained independence in 1991. Those learning Chinese are growing rapidly, however, and helping Beijing to expand and cement its influence (Chen and Zhang, “On Chinese learning strategies of learners from Central Asian countries: an analysis of gender, age, and learning duration effects,” May 9, 2024; CentrAsia, October 5).
The PRC seeks to expand trade and influence across Central Asia through its One Belt One Road initiative. It has built an ever-growing economic, political, and even military presence in the region (see China Brief, October 17, 2025). While many governments have welcomed this, some of their populations have been upset by the PRC’s growing presence and have even attacked Chinese who have come to live in their region (Window on Eurasia, February 22, November 26, 2025). To prevent such clashes from growing and to win more friends in that region, Beijing has launched a major effort to grow its soft power. At the center of this policy is promoting the study of the Chinese language. This move lets the PRC use Central Asians rather than its own nationals on the ground and leads many Central Asians to see the PRC as a positive partner for the future. (For background on those calculations which have informed Beijing’s thinking over the last decade and more, see Window on Eurasia, January 28, 2014.)
To achieve these soft power goals, Beijing has opened 13 Confucius Institutes in Central Asia so far—five in Kazakhstan, four in Kyrgyzstan, two in Tajikistan, and two in Uzbekistan. Although Beijing funds them, most of these language-training centers are not independent but partner with local state universities, often offering dual degrees. Reports provide some idea of their size and growth that almost 150,000 Central Asians had taken the Chinese language proficiency test by the end of 2024, with a large share of those doing so in the previous three years, as well as claims that the number who want to enroll and then take such tests is exceeding the spaces available (Eurasian Research Institute, March 9, 2024; China Daily, June 16, 2025). In addition to these Beijing-supported institutions and the Chinese government’s offering of scholarships to Central Asians who want to study Chinese in the PRC itself, an increasing number of state universities in Central Asia now offer instruction in Chinese, and private tutoring agencies are sprouting up, with several hundred such private centers now open across the region (Eurasian Research Institute, March 9, 2024).
The expansion of Chinese language knowledge in Central Asia concerns Moscow, which has long viewed the region as its backyard and has placed particular stress on using Russian as the language that ties these countries to Russia. Russian President Vladimir Putin reiterated that point this month at a Commonwealth of Independent States meeting in Turkmenistan (Svobodnaya Pressa, October 9). He and his regime will likely view this expansion of Chinese language knowledge in Central Asia as yet another sign of Moscow’s declining influence, a loss it now seems unable to slow, let alone stop or reverse. That was highlighted recently when Russian officials reacted negatively to Kazakhstan President Kasym-Jomart Tokayev’s use of Chinese, as he is a former diplomat who knows the language well and has not been shy about using it (see EDM, April 13; Tema Glavnoe, September 27).
Russia is far from the only country that will be affected by the continuing expansion of Chinese language knowledge in Central Asia. Türkiye, which has worked to promote a Turkic world with a shared alphabet and language, will be concerned about what this means for its influence in Central Asia. Some in the West have assumed that English would replace Russian as the region’s lingua franca and thus integrate Central Asia into the broader world. Such fears are not groundless, but they are premature at least for the time being. The number of Central Asians who speak Chinese is still quite small, and far fewer Central Asian political leaders know the language and see it as a window on their futures. Such concerns in capitals far from Central Asia are likely to intensify in the coming weeks, now that Beijing is trumpeting what it calls “a boom” in Chinese language learning in Central Asian countries (Xinhua, October 6).
The foreign languages elites learn and use say a lot about how they view their countries’ position on the geopolitical map. At the end of Soviet times, Russians sometimes even joked about that prospect, noting that the optimists in the Soviet Union were learning English; the pessimists, Chinese; and the realists, how to use the Kalashnikov. Chinese language knowledge has not yet reached that level in Central Asia, but it is clear that if more Central Asians, especially more Central Asian elites, learn Chinese, it will affect more than just words. It will help shape how they see their countries’ geopolitical futures, making Central Asians’ acquisition of Chinese language knowledge a more important indicator of how they view their future and where their countries are headed than many infrastructure projects that typically attract far more attention.
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Executive Summary:
Since Armenia’s independence in 1991, no government has made a greater effort than Prime Minister Nikol Pashinyan’s administration to reduce Russia’s geopolitical influence. On October 12, Radio France International published an interview with Armenian Prime Minister Nikol Pashinyan, in which he says Armenia’s relations with Russia will not be the same as before, especially as it moves forward with its peace process with Azerbaijan and seeks stronger ties with the European Union (Facebook/nikol.pashinyan; RFI, October 12). Over the past few years, Armenia has distanced itself from Russia’s security and political umbrella—including the suspension of, and possible withdrawal from, the Collective Security Treaty Organization (CSTO)—and sphere of economic influence. Withdrawing from the Eurasian Economic Union (EAEU) could lead it to pursue deeper relations and even membership with the European Union. This transition, however, is also influenced by the 2002 Assets-for-Debt Agreement—an arrangement under which, in exchange for settling approximately $93 million of Armenia’s external debt, ownership of a substantial portion of the country’s strategic assets and infrastructure in the energy, industrial, and technology sectors was transferred to Russia (Eurasianet, May 7, 2003; see EDM, June 4, 2006).
A large portion of this debt consisted of Armenia’s obligations to Russia, arising mainly from imports of nuclear fuel, natural gas, and other energy resources, as well as debts inherited from post-independence economic cooperation. Rather than repaying the debt in cash, Yerevan accepted Moscow’s proposal to transfer state-owned assets in exchange for debt settlement—a model Russia was pursuing in several other former Soviet republics to convert financial claims into strategic influence.
The final agreement was signed in November 2002 during the visit of then Russian Prime Minister Mikhail Kasyanov to Yerevan (Armen Press, October 7, 2002). Under the agreement, ownership of five major Armenian state assets was transferred to Russia, including the Hrazdan Thermal Power Plant (particularly its fifth generating unit, which was considered one of the country’s most important electricity-producing facilities), the Mars electronics factory, the Institute for Mathematical Machines Research, the Institute of Automated Control Systems, and the Institute of Materials Research (Press TV am, August 4, 2025).
At the time, then-President Robert Kocharyan’s government presented the agreement as an economic necessity and a practical solution to reduce debt pressures, stabilize the energy sector, and attract Russian investment and technology. Critics, both within Armenia and among external observers, warned that the agreement was not merely a financial transaction but the start of transferring control of a substantial portion of Armenia’s critical infrastructure to Russia (see EDM, April 6, 2006). The Assets-for-Debt Agreement is not simply a short-term solution to Armenia’s debt crisis. Rather, it marked the start of a broader process that gradually expanded to other vital sectors and strategic infrastructure, including telecommunications, railways, natural gas, electricity, and nuclear energy.
In the telecommunications sector, Mobile TeleSystems (MTS) OJSC, Russia’s largest mobile telecommunications operator and the largest in the Commonwealth of Independent States, acquired an 80 percent stake in International Cell Holding Ltd., which held a monopoly over Armenia’s fixed-line telephone and internet services. This company became the indirect owner of 100 percent of K-Telecom, Armenia’s largest mobile telecommunications operator operating under the VivaCell brand (Azatutyun, September 14, 2007; ARKA News Agency, September 15, 2007). As a result, Armenia’s largest mobile network operator remained under Russian ownership for more than fifteen years (until 2020). For the Kremlin, this development ensured an economic presence in one of the country’s most profitable service sectors, including fixed-line telecommunications, internet services, and a substantial segment of mobile communications. It also provided Russia with influence over Armenia’s digital communications infrastructure.
On February 13, 2008, Armenia signed an agreement transferring full operational control of the country’s state-owned railway system to the South Caucasus Railway company for 30 years, a wholly owned subsidiary of the Russian state-owned company Russian Railways (RZD). (ARKA News Agency, February 10, 2008; Port News, February 13, 2008). Structured as a concession agreement, the contract transferred responsibility for operating, managing, investing in, and developing Armenia’s railway network to the Russian side, with the option—by mutual agreement—to extend the concession until 2048. The Armenian government retained legal ownership of the railway infrastructure, but it effectively delegated operational control, investment decisions, tariff setting, and planning for the railway network’s development to the Russian operator. As a result, without becoming the formal owner of this strategic infrastructure, Russia gained long-term effective control, consolidating its influence in one of Armenia’s most vital transportation sectors.
The most significant expansion of Russia’s influence, control, and dominance over Armenia’s infrastructure occurred in the energy sector. Gazprom gradually gained full control over natural gas imports, transmission, distribution, and sales in Armenia. This process was completed in 2013, when the remaining 20 percent stake in ArmRosGazprom was transferred to Gazprom and the company was subsequently renamed Gazprom Armenia (Public Radio of Armenia, December 2, 2013). Since then, Gazprom has not only served as Armenia’s exclusive supplier of Russian natural gas but has also owned the country’s gas transmission network, pipelines, storage facilities, and domestic gas distribution system. In practice, the company controls every segment of Armenia’s natural gas value chain. Russia supplies virtually all of Armenia’s natural gas needs, exporting about 2.7 billion cubic meters (bcm) in 2025, which accounted for more than 82 percent of Armenia’s total gas consumption (Interfax; The Moscow Times, September 14). By contrast, Iran’s natural gas exports to Armenia under the “gas-for-electricity” agreement typically amount to around 300–500 million cubic meters (mcm) per year. Russian gas exports to Armenia are about five to seven times higher than Iran’s (see EDM, November 20, 2024).
Armenia’s electricity sector also gradually became a principal arena of Russian economic influence, though this influence followed a different pattern than in the natural gas sector. This process began with the 2002 Assets-for-Debt Agreement (see EDM, January 4, 2002; Azatutyun, January 30, 2004). In the following years, Russian companies—most notably Inter RAO UES—acquired control over several hydropower plants as well as Electric Networks of Armenia (ENA), the country’s electricity distribution network.
During 2000–2015, Russian state-owned companies such as Inter RAO UES dominated Armenia’s electricity sector, a period marked by direct Russian influence. In 2015, Electric Networks of Armenia was acquired by Tashir Group. Tashir is private, but it is a Russian-based holding company owned by Samvel Karapetyan, an ethnic Armenian businessman with Russian citizenship (Civil Net, October 1, 2015). Russian influence did not disappear. Instead, control of Armenia’s electricity distribution network shifted from a Russian state-owned enterprise to a private actor closely connected to Russia’s economy. Tashir Group is a private Russian holding company, not a state-owned enterprise like Gazprom, Rosatom, or RZD. Nevertheless, Tashir Group’s extensive ties to the Russian market and financial system have kept Moscow’s economic influence over Armenia’s electricity sector substantial.
A similar pattern unfolded with the Hrazdan Thermal Power Plant, located in the city of Hrazdan, the administrative center of Kotayk Province, about 50 kilometers (31 miles) north of Yerevan. Built during the Soviet era in the 1960s, the plant is one of Armenia’s most important thermal power stations because of its central position in the country’s electricity grid. In 2015, Tashir Group acquired ownership of Units 1–4 of the plant from Inter RAO (Tashir, September 3, 2015; Azatutyun, December 6, 2019).
Ownership shifted from a Russian state-owned enterprise to a Russian-based private holding company. Gazprom Armenia still owns Unit 5 of the Hrazdan Thermal Power Plant. As a result, Russian influence over this strategic infrastructure did not disappear entirely. It has continued through a complex combination of a Russian private holding company and the state-owned company Gazprom.
Armenia’s dependence on Russia in the energy sector is not limited to natural gas or thermal power plants. It also has strategic dimensions in nuclear energy. The Metsamor Nuclear Power Plant, which supplies about 30–40 percent of Armenia’s electricity, operates two Soviet-designed VVER-440 reactors (Водо-водяной энергетический реактор-440, Vodo-vodyanoi energetichesky reactor-440) and remains dependent on Russia’s state-owned Rosatom and its subsidiaries for nuclear fuel, engineering services, major maintenance, spare parts, and safety upgrades. In 2014, Yerevan and Moscow signed an agreement to extend the operational lifespan of the plant’s Unit 2 until 2026. Under this agreement, Russia provided Armenia with a $270 million state loan and a $30 million grant to implement a modernization and safety enhancement program at the facility (Armen Press, November 1, 2017; Anadolu Agency, June 27, 2019). With the nuclear regulatory authority’s approval, the Armenian government extended Unit 2’s operational life until 2036 after completing a substantial part of the modernization program. The plant’s continued operation remains dependent on Russian supplies of nuclear fuel, technical services, and support.
This high level of Russian dependence, dominance, and monopoly over Armenia’s economic infrastructure has made Armenia’s exit from Russia’s economic orbit—including a potential withdrawal from the EAEU and expanded relations with the European Union—extremely difficult and complex. Without stable, reliable alternatives, reducing or ending Russia’s dependence, dominance, and monopoly over Armenia’s economic infrastructure could trigger significant consequences, including severe economic shocks, Russian sanctions, and pressure.
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Executive Summary:
On September 15, Hungary’s National Assembly elected five new members to the Constitutional Court of Hungary after a recent constitutional amendment capped the retirement age of the court’s judges at 70. This forced the immediate retirement of five judges, including chair Péter Polt. The same constitutional amendment, the 17th, also reduced the terms of incoming judges from 12 to nine years and transferred the power to elect the court’s chair from parliament to the court itself (Jogászvilág, September 15).
The 17th Amendment to Hungary’s Fundamental Law is one of the latest in a series of institutional reforms adopted by the country’s new ruling bloc, the Respect and Freedom Party, or Tisza. After beating longtime Hungarian Prime Minister Viktor Orbán and his populist Fidesz–Christian Democratic People’s Party from power in the April parliamentary elections and taking office in May, Tisza immediately began dismantling Orbán’s “System of National Cooperation” (NER) (see EDM, April 15). Tisza views its massive election victory, 141 of the 199 seats in Hungary’s unicameral legislature, as a mandate to dismantle the NER.
One of the most immediate steps taken by the new ruling majority was unlocking Hungary’s frozen EU recovery and cohesion funds, which were blocked by the European Union over transparency and rule-of-law concerns. Following a preliminary agreement with the European Commission in May, the European Union approved Hungary’s revised post-pandemic recovery plan on July 10, unblocking 10.4 billion euros ($11.56 billion) in EU recovery funds aimed at supporting the green and digital transitions, as well as economic growth (Pénzcentrum, July 10). This EU decision came in exchange for extensive rule-of-law reforms, including Hungary’s move to join the European Public Prosecutor’s Office (EPPO), which the government implemented by the August 31 deadline.
On transparency reforms, Hungarian Prime Minister Péter Magyar’s Tisza took a step further and established a new anti-corruption authority, the National Asset Recovery and Protection Office (NVVH). The main tasks of the NVVH include tracing assets unlawfully removed from public hands, the identification, securing, and preservation of the value of assets, investigations into the protection of public assets, and criminal law enforcement (Portfolio, July 13). The new authority was created over a series of allegations claiming that the consecutive Orbán governments siphoned state assets and public funds into private hands through rigged public procurements, opaque private equity funds, and state-backed concessions.
Tisza also established the NVVH because the new government considers the Prosecution Service too partisan (Magyar Hang, September 28). Calling his election victory a regime change, Magyar called on his Fidesz-appointed public officials, many of whom were reappointed for lengthy terms just before the election, to resign. One of the public officials answering Magyar’s call was Hungarian Prosecutor General Gábor Bálint Nagy, who stepped down from his position, citing political pressure, indirectly pointing to the new ruling bloc. Parliament is currently considering a second nomination by Hungarian President András Baka for Prosecutor General after his first candidate was rejected by the Tisza majority for being too close to Fidesz-linked prosecutors.
In line with his election promises, Magyar called on then-Hungarian President Sulyok Tamás to resign. After Sulyok refused to do so, the Tisza majority in parliament voted to remove him from office. Though Sulyok signed the law enabling his removal, he called the effort unconstitutional and left his position without resigning (Telex, July 18). Following a brief transitional period, parliament voted Baka in as president, a former Chief Justice of Hungary’s Supreme Court, who assumed office on August 19.
The 16th Amendment to the Fundamental Law, which set an eight-year term limit for prime ministers, was a more important reform for Fidesz. The reform, irrespective of whether the eight years have been served consecutively, bars Orbán from returning to office (Portfolio, July 13). The same constitutional amendment also enabled a law that abolished Hungary’s Sovereignty Protection Authority (SZVH). Although the SZVH’s official task was to investigate foreign influence, it was used to target Orbán’s critics, while barely touching foreign malign influence (see EDM, February 2, 2024).
Parliament also temporarily shut down Hungary’s public media broadcaster, MTVA, to reform the institution, which had turned into a pro-Fidesz propaganda machine over recent years (444, August 20). Parliament appointed new leadership of the country’s public media and media authority, vowing to restore media independence. Large-scale taxpayer-funded public media campaigns, including those that demonized EU leaders and Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelenskyy, were also stopped.
The primary question after about five months of Tisza rule is whether Hungary’s ongoing institutional transition is truly democratic or if Tisza will use its two-thirds majority for single-party rule. Several commentators have written that Magyar is “practically Orbán without Fidesz” or “Orbán 2.0, only without corruption,” predicting similar semi-authoritarian and right-wing populist tendencies.
Recent polls suggest that at least 50 percent of all voters support Tisza (HVG, September 23). The party’s flagship initiatives, including those aimed at investigating alleged systemic corruption under the Orbán era and strengthening ties with Hungary’s Western partners, are also broadly supported, even as Fidesz calls them undemocratic. Moreover, the party has shown willingness to backtrack from decisions that were seen as controversial by the public—such as revising its initial candidates for president (Index, July 27). While the latter cost a few percentage points in opinion polling, it shows that Tisza is willing to reverse course following significant public criticism.
There is currently no major opposition party. Support for Fidesz, which received almost 40 percent in the April election, is now estimated between 20–27 percent, while the nationalist Our Homeland (the only other bloc in parliament) is polling at 8–11 percent, and only holds six of the 199 seats. The Fidesz–KDNP alliance holds 52 seats. Despite an earlier rift within his party led by Tisza Vice President Márk Radnai during the election campaign, Magyar remains unchallenged. The emergence of a new, democratically-minded opposition formation is yet to be seen (444, September 15). In the long run, this could pose a risk for democracy if Tisza diverts from its election promises and implements public policies not broadly supported by the electorate.
Tisza has promised a new constitution and a new proportional election system by 2030. Properly implementing these reforms will be a major test for Hungary’s democratic renewal. Due to the mixed one-round election system that widely favors large blocs in parliamentary elections, several centrist and liberal formations stayed away from the April election to support Tisza’s bid to oust Fidesz from power (see EDM, April 7). Several are eyeing a return to party politics. Implementing a widely supported constitution drafted by a broad coalition that involves opposition parties could benefit both the new ruling bloc and Hungarian democracy. Failure to implement Tisza’s flagship policies could lead to a right-wing populist resurgence ahead of the 2030 election, either led by Fidesz or Our Homeland.
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Executive Summary:
On September 23, during the 81st session of the UN General Assembly, more than 50 UN member states, including Georgia, adopted a joint statement in support of Ukraine, urging Russia to agree to a complete ceasefire and engage in negotiations (Ministry of Foreign Affairs of Ukraine; Ukrainska Pravda, September 23). The partner states expressed their solidarity with Ukraine as it continues to fight against Russia’s war of aggression. “Russia must cease its aggression, agree to a ceasefire, and engage substantively in negotiations to achieve a comprehensive, just, and lasting peace in accordance with international law,” the statement reads (SOVA News, September 23).
Georgian Deputy Prime Minister and Minister of Foreign Affairs Maka Botchorishvili joined the statement and stressed, at the sixth International Crimea Platform Summit in New York, that for Georgia, “the issue of Ukraine is not merely another item on the international agenda. We know all too well what the violation of a state’s sovereignty and territorial integrity means” (SOVA News, September 23). According to Botchorishvili, Russia’s occupation of two Georgian regions continues to this day and remains one of the primary security challenges facing the country.
“We are well aware of how devastating the impact of occupation can be on people, families, and society. It is based on this experience that Georgia attaches particular importance to solidarity, respect for international law, and unwavering commitment to the principles upon which a peaceful and secure international order must rest,” Botchorishvili noted. She further stated, “Georgia stands firmly with the Ukrainian people and reaffirms its unwavering support for Ukraine’s sovereignty and territorial integrity within its internationally recognized borders” (JAM News, September 24).
Botchorishvili’s remarks and Georgia’s decision to join the statement drew significant reaction in political and expert circles, given ongoing tensions between Tbilisi and Kyiv. These tensions stem from the Georgian government’s refusal in 2022 to allow volunteers to travel to Ukraine to assist its army, as well as from the arrest of former Georgian President Mikheil Saakashvili, a Ukrainian citizen (see EDM, October 4, 2021; Guriis Moambe, March 3, 2022; Rustavi 2, January 13, 2025).
David Avalishvili, a journalist with the independent outlet Nation.ge, argued that supporting an international document condemning Russian aggression is nothing new for Tbilisi. “Georgia has joined and supported hundreds of international resolutions, declarations, and joint statements backing Ukraine’s sovereignty and condemning Russian aggression since 2022” (Author’s interview, October 2). Avalishvili noted that Georgia has consistently co-sponsored and voted in favor of UN General Assembly resolutions demanding that Russia withdraw its forces and respect Ukraine’s territorial integrity (1TV, March 25, May 27, 2022). Tbilisi has also supported multiple resolutions, decisions, and recommendations on Ukraine within the Council of Europe and joined the invocation of the Organization for Security and Co-operation in Europe’s (OSCE) “Moscow Mechanism” to investigate human rights violations and breaches of international humanitarian law following the start of the full-scale invasion. Georgia was among the states that referred the situation in Ukraine to the International Criminal Court (ICC) in March 2022 to investigate alleged war crimes (1TV, March 3, 2022).
The Georgian government has also periodically aligned with EU statements and declarations on sanctions and solidarity with Ukraine. According to Avalishvili, “Since the Russian aggression in 2022, the ruling Georgian Dream party adopted the following strategy: Tbilisi supported international declarations and sent humanitarian aid to Ukraine but did not impose national sanctions against Russia” (Author’s interview, October 2).
Georgian Prime Minister Irakli Kobakhidze and Georgian Parliament Speaker Shalva Papuashvili have repeatedly accused the Ukrainian leadership and the West of attempting to “open a second front against Russia on Georgian territory” and of supporting Saakashvili to incite instability in the country (Interpressnews, July 21, 2022; Georgia Today, September 4, 2025; SOVA News, May 5).
Kyiv has taken steps to normalize relations with Tbilisi. In January, Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelenskyy appointed Mykhailo Brodovych, a career diplomat and former ambassador to Slovenia, as Ukraine’s ambassador to Georgia, filling a post that had been vacant for nearly four years (1TV, January 27). Zelenskyy recalled then-Ukrainian Ambassador to Georgia Ihor Dolhov in March 2022, shortly after the start of Russia’s war against Ukraine, citing the Georgian government’s refusal to impose bilateral sanctions on Russia and its decision to block volunteer fighters from flying to Ukraine (Civil.ge, March 1, 2022).
Georgian experts attribute the authorities’ conflicting messages on Ukraine to a desire to “maintain a balance.” Georgian political scientist at Ilia State University Ghia Nodia argued that the Georgian government is extremely anti-Western in its domestic rhetoric and portrays the West (The United States and Europe) as the enemy, yet seeks to present itself to the Georgian public as trying to improve relations because it does not want to appear openly pro-Russian. “It explains why Georgia usually supports pro-Ukrainian resolutions,” Nodia said. The government’s latest steps, he argued, “are a sign of solidarity with the West not the Ukraine” but “Kyiv continues to be the enemy, at least a very unfriendly actor because Saakashvili’s party United National Movement is pro-Ukrainian.” According to Nodia, the ruling Georgian Dream party “cannot openly present itself as siding Russia against Ukraine. That’s the explanation of its inconsistency” (Author’s interview, October 2).
Other experts argue that the core problem lies in the bilateral political relationship. The Georgian government has objected to Ukrainian criticism of its domestic policies and to Kyiv’s engagement with Georgian opposition figures (Front News, June 17, 2024; Kyiv Independent, December 5, 2024). It has also protested the role of wanted former Georgian officials in Ukraine and Kyiv’s stance on Saakashvili (European Pravda, March 11, 2024). In addition, Tbilisi resents Kyiv’s pressure over Georgia’s position on Russia’s war against Ukraine and sanctions, which, in its view, ignores the situation in Russian-occupied Georgia (Georgia Today, February 27; SOVA, May 5). Georgian political scientist Ghia Abashidze, who supports the Georgian Dream party, argued that meaningful normalization requires Kyiv to recognize Georgia’s government as a legitimate sovereign counterpart and refrain from what Tbilisi regards as political interference. “It should also enable the Georgian ambassador to return to Kyiv, restore the full-fledged activity of its own ambassador in Tbilisi, and reconsider the continued employment of fugitive Georgian officials in Ukrainian state structures, including the possibility of their extradition to Georgia in the future,” Abashidze said (Author’s interview, October 1).
Georgia has had no ambassador in Kyiv since July 2023, when Ukraine asked Georgian Ambassador to Ukraine Giorgi Zakarashvili to leave over the deteriorating health of the jailed Saakashvili (JAM News; Ukrainska Pravda, July 5, 2023). This shows that Georgia and Ukraine remain far from normalizing relations, a situation that further strains Georgia’s relationship with the West.
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Executive Summary:
Nearly a year into its diplomatic spat with Japan, the People’s Republic of China (PRC) has shifted from pressuring Japan economically to a multi-faceted campaign that aims to isolate Prime Minister Sanae Takaichi for her pro-Taiwan stance, at home, in the United Nations, and within the U.S.–Japan relationship. While shunning Takaichi’s government, Beijing has hosted delegations of pro-PRC Japanese politicians and businesspeople, attempted to discredit Japan in the UN Security Council, and pressed the United States to limit support for Tokyo.
Despite its relentlessness, these PRC efforts are unlikely to succeed. Beijing’s preferred diplomatic partners in Tokyo lack political clout, the UN scheme is far-fetched, and the U.S.–Japan alliance has structural staying power reinforced by the warm relationship between President Donald Trump and Takaichi.
PRC Attempts to Cultivate Japanese Opposition
The PRC used the occasion of the 54th anniversary of the normalization of its diplomatic ties with Japan to admonish Takaichi. The PRC Ministry of Foreign Affairs (MFA) said on September 29 that Takaichi had “gravely undermined” the political foundation of bilateral relations with a “blatant challenge to China’s national sovereignty” (公然挑战中国国家主权) (Embassy of the PRC in the United States, September 29).
On the same day, PRC Foreign Minister Wang Yi (王毅) met with former Japanese Foreign Minister Takeshi Iwaya, who opposes Takaichi, in Beijing. Wang told Iwaya that Japan must “correct the erroneous words and deeds” of Takaichi on Taiwan (尽快纠正本国领导人在台湾问题上的错误言行) (PRC MFA, September 29). For his part, Iwaya echoed PRC talking points when he called for “a return to the original spirit” (中四个政治文件的初心) of the four political documents between the PRC and Japan (People’s Daily, September 29).
The PRC views Iwaya as friendly to its interests. Though a member of Japan’s ruling Liberal Democratic Party (LDP), he is not close to Takaichi and stepped down after she was elected last year. Sima Nan (司马南), a prominent Chinese political commentator, compared Iwaya favorably to Takaichi, writing on Guangcha that Takaichi “is constantly creating conflict and closing the door to dialogue abroad, while her party rivals are braving pressure to come to China to break the ice and seek cooperation opportunities” (不断制造矛盾、关闭对话大门，党内对手却顶着压力来华破冰、寻求合作机会) (Guangcha/司马平邦, September 30).
Since July, Iwaya has served as the head of the Beijing-friendly Japan Association for the Promotion of International Trade (JAPIT). He succeeded the late Yohei Kono, a former Speaker of Japan’s House of Representatives with close ties to the PRC. Wang told Iwaya that Kono was “ a politician of conscience who dared to confront Japan’s dark past and bravely reflected on the aggressive crimes of militarism” (一个有良知的政治家，敢于直面日本过去的黑暗历史，勇于反省军国主义的侵略罪责) (PRC MFA, September 29).
The JAPIT delegation is the third such group that has visited the PRC since August. In mid-September, a delegation from the Japan-China Friendship Parliamentarians’ Union met with Assistant Foreign Minister Liu Bin (刘彬) in Beijing. They were preceded by a cross-party group of Japanese lawmakers (Global Times, September 27).
None of these delegations have included any prominent Japanese officials in Takaichi’s administration or lawmakers with close ties to the prime minister.
Stoking the ‘Enemy State’ Debate
The PRC is using its UN Security Council seat to resist Takaichi’s calls to remove archaic clauses in the UN charter that imply Japan is an “enemy state.” The language appears in Articles 53, 77, and 107 of the charter. Article 53 explains that the term “enemy state … applies to any state which during the Second World War has been an enemy of any signatory of the present Charter” (United Nations, accessed October 6). By this definition, Japan, Germany, Italy, Bulgaria, Romania, Hungary, and Finland are “enemy states.”
Crucially, Article 53 allows the UN Security Council to take enforcement actions against these “enemy states.” The PRC well knows that three permanent Security Council members—the United States, the United Kingdom, and France—would never agree to that and, without unanimity, the Security Council cannot take any formal action against Japan.
Yet the very existence of these clauses serves Beijing’s anti-Japan propaganda purposes. On September 2, MFA spokesman Guo Jiakun (郭嘉昆) said at a press conference that the clauses are designed to prevent countries defeated in World War II from posing any threat in the future. He repeated accusations that Japan has embraced a “new-type militarism” (新型军国主义) and emphasized the need for “full compliance” (全面遵守) with the UN Charter need for “enemy state clauses” (China Brief, April 28 [1], [2]; Embassy of the PRC in the United States, September 2).
During Takaichi’s first address to the UN General Assembly on September 22, she described Japan as a peace-loving nation and called for the removal of the “enemy state” label in the charter. She noted that the United Nations recognized this language as obsolete in both 1995 and 2005, but that it was never formally removed (Ministry of Foreign Affairs of Japan, September 22).
PRC media responded indignantly. The People’s Daily-owned tabloid Global Times accused Takaichi of putting on a “diplomatic performance” (外交表演) and “openly challenging the post-war international order” (公然挑战了战后国际秩序) (Global Times, September 23).
Trying to Drive a Wedge in U.S.–Japan Relations
The third prong of the PRC’s campaign to isolate Takaichi aims to drive a wedge between Japan and the United States, its chief security partner. Beijing sees an opportunity because of President Trump’s focus on building his personal relationship with Xi Jinping.
Xi has used both of his face-to-face meetings with Trump this year to probe potential weak points in the U.S.–Japan relationship. Trump reportedly pushed back in May (Asahi Shimbun, May 28). Yet during the September summit in Washington, the White House released a fact sheet that said, “[t]he two leaders recalled that United States and China were allies in World War II and fought side by side to win the war” (The White House, September 25).
Though the readout did not name Japan, the PRC still seized the propaganda opportunity, including for international audiences. In an English translation of the readout, state run-Xinhua News Agency said that the two leaders honored the history of a “China-U.S. joint fight against Japanese aggression in WWII” (Xinhua, September 25).
Takaichi has handled the issue well. She told reporters that Trump called her after his summit with Xi and explained the meeting in detail. She said that she told Trump that “Japan and the United States have now become each other’s most trusted allies” (Prime Minister’s Office of Japan, September 26).
Suggesting promise for Takaichi, she has aligned Japan with key Trump administration priorities—higher defense spending by allies, large investments in the United States, and critical mineral supply chain diversification—while avoiding conflict with the U.S. president. As a result, the U.S.–Japan alliance has deepened operationally and technologically despite Tokyo’s concerns about U.S. unpredictability.
Conclusion
Almost one year on from the outbreak of its diplomatic dispute with Japan, the PRC shows no interest in pursuing an off-ramp. Instead, it is trying to undermine Japanese Prime Minister Sanae Takaichi by wooing her domestic political opponents and depicting her within the United Nations and to the United States as the leader of a revanchist militarist movement.
The PRC’s campaign no longer appears to be focused on inducing any change in Takaichi’s stance on Taiwan or more broadly towards Beijing. Instead, it looks like an attempt to punish her for challenging a PRC “red line” and make an example out of her to other countries.
The pressure is unlikely to relent as the PRC prepares for the 21st Party Congress in the fall of 2027, when Xi Jinping is widely expected to seek a fourth term. Yet Beijing will also be wary of going too far, with the degree of U.S. support for Japan a crucial factor in the PRC’s calculations in the months ahead.
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Executive Summary:
Hunan Daily recently reported that DeepSeek’s founder Liang Wenfeng (梁文锋) regards data annotation as the most important work at this stage in the industry’s development, and has half of the company’s core researchers working on it (Hunan Daily, September 16). Data annotation is the standardized labeling of raw data that allows machine learning models to read it. The Hunan Daily article noted that data labeling in the People’s Republic of China (PRC) is shifting from labor-intensive to knowledge-intensive work. In the data annotation sector, this suggests a lag behind U.S. counterparts.
In August, Forbes reporter Anna Tong brought to public attention Silicon Valley data vendors like Mercor, Surge AI, AfterQuery, and Turing selling standardized, pre-packaged “off-the-shelf (OTS)” training datasets, collections of examples labeled or graded by human annotators to teach a model what a good answer looks like, to frontier artificial intelligence (AI) labs in the PRC (Forbes, August 5). [1] The report drew immediate attention in Washington, raising national security concerns (New York Post, August 30; Lawfare, September 8). Well before these purchases took place, Beijing had already designated data labeling a strategic industry and began building domestic alternatives.
PRC AI labs continued to buy U.S. datasets because domestic substitution (国产替代) in the data labeling sector is not advancing in parallel across the board. A review of PRC government documents and of the industry’s current condition show that policy objectives, the output of the national data labeling bases, and firm-level capabilities are progressing at different paces. This misalignment keeps parts of the PRC’s AI industry reliant on their U.S. counterparts.
Foundational Policies Lead to National ‘Bases’
Beijing began laying the groundwork for a data labeling industry two years ago. On December 26, 2024, the National Development and Reform Commission (NDRC), the National Data Administration (NDA), the Ministry of Finance, and the Ministry of Human Resources and Social Security jointly issued the “Implementation Opinions on Promoting the High-Quality Development of the Data Labeling Industry” (关于促进数据标注产业高质量发展的实施意见) (NDRC, January 13, 2025). This marked the first time Beijing issued guidance for the sector. About a year and a half later, the NDA issued the “Implementation Plan for Advancing the Development of High-Quality Sectoral Datasets” (关于推进行业高质量数据集建设行动的实施方案). Where the 2024 document focused on expanding the labeling industry itself, the new plan turns to producing sector-specific datasets that models can actually use, with a goal of “building, by the end of 2028, a batch of application-tested, high-quality sectoral datasets covering key fields” (到2028年底，建成一批覆盖重点领域、经过应用验证的行业高质量数据集) (NDA, June 8).
Data labeling capacity is being developed in designated “bases” (基地). In May 2024, the NDA named Chengdu, Shenyang, Hefei, Changsha, Haikou, Baoding, and Datong as the seven “bases” (NDA, May 25, 2024). By the end of June, labeling volume had passed 119 petabytes and employment had reached 140,000, according to state media (CCTV, July 18).
Policy Documents Show a Technical Lag
The 2024 “Implementation Opinions” listed “chain-of-thought-based expert annotation” (基于思维链的专家标注), the human review process to improve AI reasoning, among the tools requiring further research and development. It was placed in the section on “undertaking breakthroughs in key technologies” (开展关键技术攻关), showing that expert annotation was regarded as a technical bottleneck to overcome, not as an industrial capability already in hand (NDRC, January 13, 2025).
The “Implementation Plan” is more specific. It opens by calling for “guiding data annotation away from a ‘primarily human’ model toward a multi-tiered model of ‘human–machine collaboration with deep expert involvement’” (引导数据标注从 “以人为主” 向 “人机协同、专家深度参与” 的多层次标注模式转变) (NDA, June 8). This characterizes the PRC’s data labeling industry as labor-intensive and low in knowledge content, compared to the expert network providing professional judgment within U.S. firms.
In more than one place, the documents’ wording concedes that the shift toward expert annotation is incomplete. Beijing knows where the bottleneck is and how far it remains from clearing it. However, industrial implementation is not moving in the right direction to address these issues.
The data labeling “bases” are the principal vehicle the PRC has used to expand its data processing volume and its annotation workforce. However, the figures released by “bases” describe only the size of the industry. Information describing the status of expert annotation, logical reasoning data, and evaluation datasets—which policy documents have called for—is unclear.
Datong offers an example of these selective information provisions. The “base” has reported 75 market entities in what it calls the “annotation and call center” category (标注，呼叫类), and over 35,000 jobs created (Shanxi Evening News, September 10).
This framework does not support expert annotation. Organized through crowdsourcing platforms and measured in instances of participation, this is the short-term, project-based work requiring little specialized knowledge that PRC officials call “flexible employment” (灵活就业). In other words, some of the “bases” are expanding on the “primarily human” annotation model that the “Implementation Plan” calls to move past.
“Bases” are also not satisfying the demands for the industry that the central government issued, instead supporting the work of existing large technology firms. Haikou has built its AI foundational data industry base with the help of Baidu AI Cloud (Haikou) (百度智能云 (海口)), where several hundred annotators score and rank content generated by large-language models (LLMs) (Baidu AI Cloud, August 28, 2023; Hainan Provincial Government, July 16, 2024). In Hefei, the firm Anhui Feishu Information Technology (安徽飞数信息科技) annotates question-answer and evaluation data for iFlytek’s Spark model (讯飞星火), work that extends to reinforcement learning (RL) data construction and expert quality inspection (NDA, April 3, 2025). These cases show that the “bases” are indeed producing post-training data, but the task government documents assigned them was an active “technological innovation and ecosystem cultivation” (技术创新，生态培育) (NDA, May 25, 2024). “Bases” are operating as vendors for large technology firms rather than supporting the expansion of the industry.
After more than two years, “bases” have expanded and secured orders from big technology companies. But their emphasis on headcounts and production volume in their own reports suggests that they have yet to deliver the expert annotation and reasoning data repeatedly mentioned in those central policy documents.
Transition Faces Organizational Challenges
Corporate disclosures show that the transition from labor-intensive processing to expert annotation is more visible in intent than in results. Huizhou Intelligent’s (汇洲智能) 2025 annual report stated that its subsidiary Rere Data (热热数据) earned renminbi (RMB) 89.49 million ($12.6 million) in revenue, and a newly launched module recruiting “high-caliber vertical-domain talent” (广纳高阶的垂类人力) has provided the large-scale, high-quality services for the evaluation datasets of multiple AI companies (Cninfo, April 20). Datatang (数据堂), another listed data firm, reported that in the first half of 2026 its “foundational data resource services” (基础数据资源服务), which center on licensing the firm’s copyrighted datasets, accounted for 60 percent of revenue at a 63.50 percent gross margin, far above 25.22 per cent for its crowdsourced products (Eastmoney, August 27).
None of these disclosures state how much revenue comes from post-training data for LLMs, despite commercial incentives to do so. In an environment where data annotation has been designated as a strategic industry, local governments provide supporting measures, and private capital is pouring in, firms have no reason to understate what they have achieved. Even Rere Data’s claim to have provided services for multiple AI companies does not include the share of annual revenue that these operations constitute. Regardless, its total 2025 revenue of $12.6 million suggests a modest share.
Crowdsourced data processing remains the dominant form of the PRC’s data labeling industry today. The transition foreseen by the central government and industry leaders requires the organizational capacity to recruit experts from various fields and translate training requirements into tasks. This is a problem that administrative directives cannot solve by expanding production capacity.
From Expert Datasets to RL Environments
A new U.S. market for specialist RL environments has emerged in the past year (Tech Crunch, September 21, 2025). RL is the process in which an autonomous agent, such as a robot or self-driving car, learns to make decisions through trial and error without human intervention (IBM, accessed October 7). [2] Turing says it has built more than 1,000 environments, including replicas of Airbnb, Zendesk, and Excel (The Information, September 16). In July, Mercor acquired Deeptune, a company focused on building RL environments (Mercor, July 9). Although the market remains at an early stage, most environments are closed source and are often supplied to labs under exclusive contracts (SemiAnalysis, January 6).
The PRC is trying to catch up with the United States, where an ecosystem of vendors supplying RL environments for frontier AI labs has emerged. Tencent Cloud (腾讯云), Alibaba Cloud (阿里云), and Mindflow (曼孚科技), have each produced sandboxes for agent training and evaluation—the necessary infrastructure for RL (Tencent Cloud; Aliyun; Mindflow, accessed October 7).
Most important for the PRC’s technological development is whether environment content has become a tradable, reusable industrial capability beyond a handful of PRC’s frontier labs. The two policy documents on the data industry only describe RL as a training stage requiring annotated data, but neither lists RL environments as a separate goal of development. RL environments that existing large technology firms keep in-house will limit diffusion. These internal RL environments are not automatically available to other labs, industry users, or smaller firms. They may have to rebuild comparable systems themselves. Although the U.S. environments are often supplied under exclusive contracts, the same data vendors usually serve multiple labs, likely allowing experience accumulated with one customer to carry over to the next.
Conclusion
Assessing PRC progress in this area requires distinguishing between what a small number of frontier labs can build internally and what the broader AI industry can purchase from the data market. Regarding the latter, Beijing’s domestic substitution efforts remain limited. As of mid-2026, Beijing’s policy documents had not identified the RL environments as a development target, and the domestic market could readily offer little beyond the infrastructure needed to run them. The PRC’s data domestic substitution efforts were still filling the gap in expert-annotated datasets, while the U.S. supply chain had begun commercializing the next generation of products.
PRC labs are buying from foreign vendors what domestic supply is missing. Surge may already be serving Moonshot (月之暗面) and Z.ai (智谱), and has speculated that its RL environments may have contributed to capability gains in Kimi K2 Thinking and GLM-4.6 (SemiAnalysis, January 6). If true, this would suggest that PRC domestic data suppliers have not yet demonstrated the ability to replace foreign vendors on either the dataset or environment.
Notes
[1] The value of these datasets lies in their data specifications and in the rubrics (detailed scoring guides that tell a model what separates a good answer from a mediocre one) written by professional experts. Vendors accumulated these specifications while executing bespoke projects for U.S. frontier labs; PRC buyers can bypass months of trial-and-error by purchasing the finished products from U.S. data vendors.
[2] Trial and error in RL occurs when the model attempts a task, is scored on the result, and adjusts its behavior accordingly. An RL environment is the simulated workspace where this happens, such as a replica of a customer-service system or a spreadsheet program.
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Executive Summary:
General Secretary Xi Jinping and President Donald Trump discussed artificial intelligence (AI) at their September summit in Washington, D.C. Divergence on views between the People’s Republic of China (PRC) and the United States make it hard to see precisely how the two superpowers might collaborate successfully on an AI security and regulatory agenda. Xi in particular needs to pay more attention to both governance and economic issues surrounding AI, which threaten to exacerbate structural issues within the PRC’s domestic economy.
The government is already vocal about the risks AI could pose to political and social security. PRC Minister of State Security Chen Yixin (陈一新) recently sent out a warning for the first time on the topic, and Xi Jinping himself addressed AI governance in another “major changes unseen in a century” (百年变局) speech, when he delivered the opening address to the World AI Conference in Shanghai in July (Xinhua, July 18; South China Morning Post, September 14; China Brief, September 18).
The economic consequences of AI, meanwhile, loom ever larger. Notably, a number of Chinese economists took the theme up at the 2026 Inclusion Conference on the Bund (2026 Inclusion·外滩大会) on frontier and financial technology in Shanghai (Caixin Global, September 11). For instance, Jiang Changjun (蒋昌俊), an academician of the Chinese Academy of Engineering, discussed AI risk as being threefold—hallucination, algorithmic black boxes, and data poisoning—while Zhang Jianhua (张健华), an academic at the Tsinghua University PBC School of Finance argued that AI will amplify “the existing weaknesses of third-party reliance, Internet risks, and model governance” (放大第三方依赖、网络风险、模型治理等既有的脆弱性) (Shangguan News, September 10).
Much of the AI debate revolves around whether the PRC or the United States is going to “win the race” that is better described as a continuous struggle of leapfrog and catch up. Yet the far more relevant question for the PRC is not about its technology capacity but about whether its economic model is robust and sustainable enough to deliver the Chinese Communist Party’s (CCP) ambitious industrial and geopolitical agenda.
Policy Puts AI in Pole Position
The 15th Five-Year Plan (2026–2030), unveiled earlier this year, gives pride of place to AI. It is mentioned 52 times, compared with just 11 in the previous plan (National Development and Reform Commission [NDRC], March 2026; South China Morning Post, March 5). It has moved from the grid into pole position, and is expected to lead the charge in overcoming bottlenecks in the economy, and realizing strategic initiatives, self-reliance, and national resilience.
AI has shifted from a priority sector among designated “strategic emerging industries” (战略性新兴产业) to the engine behind the CCP’s desire to create a “modern socialist nation” (社会主义现代化国家) by 2035 (NDRC, March 2026). While the PRC has been the world’s factory and principal assembly platform in the past, the plan seeks to transform it into a designer of new industrial structures and supply chains that integrate industry with the help of AI. This new ecosystem will allow the PRC to become a world leader in modern and traditional manufacturing, smart and green technologies, infrastructure, and industrial services, and it will give the country unprecedented control over global supply chains.
The AI transition is occurring at a highly sensitive time for the PRC, which the plan puts firmly in a geopolitical and industrial policy perspective, and underscores the importance it is expected to have as the country looks to dominate manufacturing and scientific research, military capability, and cybersecurity, and geopolitical power. As it states in its first chapter discussing the country’s development environment, “great changes unseen in a century are accelerating, international power dynamics are being restructured, and a new generation of technological revolution and industrial innovation is accelerating breakthroughs” (世界百年变局加速演进，国际力量对比深刻调整，新一轮科技革命和产业变革加速突破), demarcating the current moment as full of uncertainty but also opportunity for the PRC (NDRC, March 2026).
From an economic standpoint, the Party hopes that AI can be harnessed to produce a “revolutionary productivity leap” (生产力革命性跃迁) (NDRC, March 2026). This is increasingly urgent, as productivity growth has ground to a halt under Xi, and has not risen in lockstep with commensurate advances in industry and technology. Approved commentary, such as that in the People’s Tribune, views AI as a possible compensation for likely labor and skill shortages and other demographic headwinds, acknowledging that it could have disruptive effects on jobs that will require government attention (People’s Tribune, July 8, 2024). And the 15th Five-Year Plan rightly makes the point that, to be successful, diffusion of AI throughout the economy is everything, and must be rolled out successfully and widely—something it seeks to achieve under the rubric of the “AI+” initiative (China Brief, March 28, 2025, September 21, 2025)
From the crow’s nest, the plan’s focus on AI amounts to a massive technological bet to steer the PRC toward global economic superiority and domination of the so-called fourth industrial revolution. In other words, it is a doubling down on the Party’s long-standing and huge mobilization of resources that underlines existing industrial strategy. The pursuit of AI-led technological transformation, as currently envisaged, will very likely deliver further gains in industry and manufacturing. In so doing, however, it will also exacerbate the dichotomous nature of the PRC economy, or what might be better referred to as its two economies. [1]
One economy is the PRC’s “strategic emerging industries,” guided by Xi’s “new quality productive forces” (新质生产力). This accounts for about 13 per cent of GDP, featuring the dynamism of several world class brands (NDRC, December 29, 2025). The other is the rest of the economy, which features problems that have become more evident since the bust in real estate started in 2021, but which have in fact been building steadily for many years. These include a rising burden of predominantly state debt, weak consumption and productivity, population decline and rising unemployment, misallocated capital, and monetary and fiscal policy tools that have lost traction.
Any accomplishments that follow from the PRC’s pursuit of AI, therefore, will not constitute a macroeconomic cure for the phenomena that are chipping away at its economic resilience and adaptive capacity. AI will create winners and losers unevenly distributed across the economy, likely exacerbating the “problem of unbalanced and inadequate development” (发展不平衡不充分问题) identified in the 15th Five-Year Plan (NDRC, March 2026). The PRC’s already lagging economic development model may be especially vulnerable to AI because it represents a major positive supply shock and negative demand shock in an economy that already features structural oversupply and inadequate demand as parts of a model which the government seems unwilling and unable to reform.
Seeking Economic Truth from Reality
Like other nations, the PRC cannot know the ubiquitous repercussions of AI on the economy, or how the shorter-term economic and labor market costs and longer-term, hoped-for productivity benefits will fall. Unlike other countries, though, there are few effective forums in which open and unrestrained discussion can occur about how to manage the transition, or institutions of constraint and consensus that can help to frame the agenda. This is especially significant given the dualistic nature of the PRC’s economy, itself largely the result of years of large-scale industrial policy.
It is arguable that AI is already bringing some economic benefits. It is leading to higher capital spending at home and demand from overseas—reflected in buoyant exports—for AI supply chain-related goods. With residential and manufacturing investment weak, and infrastructure investment trending lower, AI has stimulated demand for semiconductors, servers, data centers, power equipment, industrial automation, electronics, and advanced machinery. The PRC is also uniquely positioned to harness AI economies of scale due to its massive domestic AI user-base of 700 million users. As a recent article from the Economic Daily notes, “user population is the foundational strategic resource in the AI industrial ecosystem” (用户规模是AI产业生态最基础的战略资产) (Economic Daily, October 5).
The AI boom has been bullish for stock market valuations, at least for the moment, which is helpful given that the privately funded part of the PRC’s AI sector is heavily dependent on the equity market (as opposed to the bond market). In the April–June quarter, for example, electronics and IT, which capture most AI activities, contributed over half of the 3.6 percent annualized economic growth compared to the first quarter, and a third of the reported 4.3 percent rise in growth, compared with a year ago (Capital Economics, July 16). Commentary on Sina Finance summed up the effect of the AI boom as twofold: directly creating productivity increases due to automation, and speeding up the pace of innovation to “expand the industrial boundaries of what is possible” (拓展生产可能性边界) (Sina, October 7).
By substituting capital for labor and helping firms move up the value chain, the government hopes AI will boost productivity growth. There is no evidence to date, though, that this is happening, as the International Monetary Fund has explained (IMF, August 2025). While some firms have almost certainly enjoyed an uptick in productivity, it has stalled at the macro level and has been sluggish for much of the last decade. This is largely a result of liberal economic and market reforms grinding to a halt.
There might well be measurement issues, as often happens with new and significant technologies and, importantly, the pace of AI diffusion might still be slow or unaccounted for. It is also probable, however, that AI’s benefits at the firm level are being checked or choked in the wider economy by a number of economic drags. These include the effects of high debt and limited debt capacity, weak consumer demand, misdirected resources and capital allocation, the deadweight of overcapacity and over-indebtedness, the real estate bust, too many zombie firms even in modern industries such as electric vehicles and solar manufacturing, a monetary and financial sector that is too beholden to state enterprises and uncommercial lending, along with inadequate credit for small firms, and the broad prioritization of politics over regulation and efficiency (Huxiu, August 12).
A Mixed Picture for the Labor Market
The Party envisions AI taking on many tasks normally performed by people. They hope mass AI adoption will offset the economic impact of contraction in the labor force and in skill availability brought about by rapid population aging. This is a credible position but it might not be straightforward. Workers with high and low levels of skill may well be less vulnerable to AI-induced job destruction—and the PRC is well endowed with both. Yet the crucial factors that might determine the rate and nature of job losses are likely to be the speed with which jobs are lost before new ones are created and the degree of routine. In this regard, the PRC remains vulnerable because of the preponderance of low skill and routine work in manufacturing, for example, but also higher skill levels in technical and technology services.
In other ways, the PRC labor market may be particularly vulnerable to the AI shock. Professor Zhang Dandan (张丹丹) of Peking University has drawn attention to the predominance of gig or on-demand working (Caixin, February 14, 2025). Li Daokui (李稻葵), Dean of Tsinghua University’s Academic Centre for Chinese Economic Practice and Thinking, has argued that the country’s unemployment is more than double the official rate (Caixin, July 13). Youth unemployment alone is officially almost 19 percent, although possibly higher (Caixin, September 18). Even the Vice Minister of Human Resource and Social Security, Wu Xiuzhang (吴秀章), has acknowledged that about 200 million people were engaged in “flexible employment”—essentially freelance, platform-based, gig economy jobs without social or employment benefits—equivalent to 27 percent of the employed, and 43 percent of the urban working population (Caixin, March 2).
These caveats matter because for all the economic benefits that AI might bring, it is not going to magically make the macro-economy healthy or address some of the important problems that even the National Development and Reform Commission unusually cited in its annual report to the National People’s Congress earlier this year. The normally self-congratulatory and well scripted celebration of the CCP’s accomplishments and objectives did not mince its words about the state of the Chinese economy in a brief section, stating:
“The imbalance between strong supply and weak demand is acute; real-estate development investment continues to decline; infrastructure investment growth has turned from positive to negative; manufacturing investment growth has slowed further; overall investment faces mounting downward pressure; consumption growth lacks momentum; and the price level continues to run low” (NDRC March 5).
Nothing of substance has changed since then. Car sales are down 20 percent from a year ago, household consumption is sluggish, and the beleaguered real estate sector, now in its fifth year of decline, still reveals declining sales and transactions volumes (China Brief, April 2; Caixin, July 8; Sina, October 7). Given the basic orientation of economic and industrial polices, the clouds over economic flexibility and adaptive capacity are liable to remain. The PRC could theoretically derive significant benefits from AI-adjacent sectors, including advanced chips. Fully harnessing such benefits, however, requires entrepreneurial incentives; successful diffusion; high-quality, shared, and transferable data and information; and a relatively well-balanced economy in which small firms get adequate and stable funding. These conditions, however, do not currently exist in the PRC.
Conclusion
The essential contradiction is really about the consequences of AI for an economy that possesses a highly sophisticated modern industrial sector but is struggling to adapt to the AI age. There is risk of a turbo-charged, AI-powered version of its wider growth imbalance in which remarkable technological and industrial capability, financed heavily by the government, sitting alongside an economy with too little market demand, inadequate private risk capital, low employment creation, and too much dependence on investment and potentially fragile foreign demand.
To alleviate the basic supply and demand imbalances in the economy, the government needs to embrace extensive fiscal, monetary, and financial reforms designed to transfer resources from the state to the private sector and write down or write off losses in the state sector. To sustain open and mutually beneficial foreign trade, the government would have to reform the PRC’s economic model so the country’s massive trade surplus shrinks to a more acceptable size. This would allow imports from other countries to rise steadily, and Chinese exports would no longer threaten their industrialization plans and programs of not just richer nations but many in the Global South.
AI, even in pole industrial position, is not the answer or solution to these trenchant challenges in the wider economy. And it might make them worse.
Notes
[1] A growing corpus of voices in the PRC have started to refer to the economy as exhibiting “K-shaped divergence” (K型分化) (Caixin, June 22). Western analysts have picked up on the same phenomenon (Substack/Yasheng Huang, July 29)
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Executive Summary:
Russian President Vladimir Putin’s Russia has two economies. The burgeoning military-industrial complex continues to support his invasion of Ukraine despite sanctions, and the troubled civilian sector is at best stagnating and at worst is near free fall (Ekho Rossii, April 6, 2012; Window on Eurasia, December 20, 2025; Defense News, September 28; Svobodnaya Pressa, October 9). Émigré Russian analyst Sergey Rogov has introduced the term “bipolar” to describe the Russian economy (Ekho Rossii, October 7; Re: Russia, October 8). With only a few notable exceptions, efforts to describe the two together obscure this divide and let the Kremlin present a positive picture while Russia’s critics overstate how close its civilian economy is to collapse (Window on Eurasia, June 13, August 29). More seriously, however, this divide points to disaster ahead for Russia. In most other countries, over the last several decades, innovation has moved from the civilian sector into the military rather than the other way around, as it did earlier during the Cold War. This pattern will leave Russia ever further behind in the military sector. Putin is already seeking to compensate for this mistake—not by liberalizing, but rather by espionage and sabotage against the West (see EDM, March 16, September 15; Cybersecurity and Infrastructure Security Agency, April 17; Novaya Gazeta, October 7; Defense Express, October 10).
Many in Moscow have grown alarmed that Russian economic growth has declined in recent months to near zero. Even more in the West have viewed this as evidence that sanctions alone can restrain Russia. They are wrong to think this means that the Russian economy is stagnating, Rogov says. He argues what is really going on is “the simultaneous coexistence of growth and recession.” Military spending is rising to levels not seen since Soviet times, while spending in the civilian sector is declining across the board. The number of firms operating in the red or even being forced to close is increasing, and in many cases human suffering is rising as Russians no longer have access to many of the things they had grown accustomed to earlier in the Putin years (Re: Russia, October 8). The Kremlin leader has kept dissent in check both by suggesting that Russia is marching toward victory over the West in Ukraine and by adopting ever more repressive measures. It is unclear, however, whether either method is as effective as it was earlier (Window on Eurasia, June 13).
Moscow’s rapid expansion of military spending has allowed the Kremlin, after some initial difficulties, to grow its military and keep replenishing the weapons and ammunition it has expended in Ukraine. The Russian defense industry has been less able to come up quickly with new weapons to respond to Ukraine’s challenges, however, as the case of drones highlighted. On the one hand, this undoubtedly reflects the effect of sanctions, which have deprived Moscow of much of the advanced electronics it had imported in the past and did not produce itself. On the other hand, it reflects a shift in where innovation comes from. Moscow, by various means, has worked around much of the former problem. It has yet to figure out how to address the latter. The Russian military has been very good at ramping up production of existing weapons systems, manufacturing more guns and ammunition. It has had less success, however, in developing and introducing innovations, a weakness Ukraine has exploited and will no doubt continue to exploit.
Beyond what appears to be the innate conservatism of the Russian Defense Ministry, this shortcoming stems from a shift in military innovation from Cold War times to now. In a recent Novaya Gazeta article, Russian economist Vladislav Inozemtsev compares how innovation happened in Western militaries during much of the Cold War with how it has happened more recently. This comparison is suggestive as far as what has happened more recently in the Russian Federation (Novaya Gazeta, October 7). In the first decades of the Cold War, he writes, the U.S. government spent enormous sums on research and development in its own labs, coming up with inventions that spread from the military to the private sector, a process whose transfers came to be known as “spin-offs.” By the 1970s and 1980s, however, Washington reduced such in-house spending and began to draw more heavily on private sector research institutions for innovations in the military, a process that has been called by some “spin-ons.” (On that shift, Inozemtsev cites the work of John Alic et al., Beyond Spinoff (Cambridge, 1992).)
The Soviet Union did not have an analogous situation regarding innovation. The Russian Federation had begun to develop one, with university and institute laboratories generating ideas that flowed into the Defense Ministry and which, more than a decade ago, Moscow sought to organize to accelerate innovation (Chatham House, September 23, 2021). Moscow’s desire to expand such relationships increased with the Russian military’s experience in Ukraine and the impact of sanctions. Because of Putin’s crackdown on higher education and the exodus of many scholars working in such fields, however, Moscow has no longer been able to count on that small but important private sector to help power military innovation (CSIS, February 2026). That helps to explain why Ukraine, which has been more open, has proved nimbler and why Russia is struggling to catch up (Chatham House, July 1, 2025).
Unsurprisingly, given Putin’s background and proclivities, the Russian government has responded, at least initially, by increasing industrial espionage and even sabotage against Western firms that had been suppliers, rather than by loosening controls over private institutions in Russia (see EDM, September 15; Cybersecurity and Infrastructure Security Agency, April 17). As long as Putin is in power and Western sanctions are in place, such Russian actions are likely to continue or even expand. It is unclear whether Russia can match the ways its military can use products from civilian research institutions, which are currently achieving far fewer breakthroughs than they were (Window on Eurasia, February 3). If Moscow cannot compensate for its losses in this sector, Inozemtsev suggests, it will fall further and further behind the West in such technologies, highlighting the importance of a strong private sector for modern militaries and the problems any country without one must try to compensate for if it does not allow one to flourish.
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Executive Summary:
Russian President Vladimir Putin’s recent remarks about Russian speakers in the Baltic states have renewed concerns about Moscow’s intentions toward the region. On September 25, speaking to journalists on the sidelines of the International United Cultures Forum in St. Petersburg, Putin said, “We know that [in the Baltic countries] they are violating the rights of the Russian-speaking population” and that “we are planning corresponding humanitarian measures in accordance with international law” (TV Rain, September 25). These remarks were alarming amid policy-circle discussion that Putin might declare a new mobilization and open a front against the North Atlantic Treaty Organization (NATO) (see EDM, September 14). While he stated that Russia is “not preparing for a war with Europe,” Russian assurances have proven unreliable in the past (Ukrainska Pravda, September 25). The Kremlin’s protestations of peace in early 2022, before the full-scale invasion of Ukraine, undermine the credibility of its statements. The Russian state has been dancing around the issue of Russian speakers in the Baltic states for some time. In May, the Estonian Ministry of Foreign Affairs dismissed Russia’s threat to take alleged discrimination against Russian speakers to the International Court of Justice (Kyiv Independent, May 25). In July, the Russian Ministry of Foreign Affairs accused the Baltic countries of “preparing a massive deportation of Russian speakers” (Delfi, July 8). Analysts have worried about a Russian military move against the three Baltic states since at least the start of Russia’s war against Ukraine in February 2022, or, more accurately, since the annexation of Crimea in 2014. Putin himself criticized the “swinish” treatment of Russian speakers in Latvia in 2023 (Chayka, December 6, 2023). It is not surprising that lower-level officials have repeatedly kept the issue alive. Putin’s raising the issue directly, however, arguably represents an escalation, and its potential as a casus belli is alarming.
Recent episodes in the region suggest that Moscow’s rhetoric may form part of a broader pattern of psychological and hybrid pressure. Fears of an imminent Russian invasion were such that a Telegram post about plans to create a “People’s Republic of Narva,” complete with its own flag and insignia, aroused concern (see EDM, March 24). The specter of Russian forces sending “little green men” to “liberate” the people of Narva gave Moscow useful information, whether or not it believed it. German military expert Carlo Masala viewed the rumors as part of Moscow’s psychological operations against the West (Euronews, March 18). Putin’s recent statements may serve the same purpose. On the other hand, floating a trial balloon in this manner is a well-practiced Russian strategy. The Baltic region has recently been an area of contention, with Moscow warning of “consequences” for threats (or perceived threats) to the Russian exclave of Kaliningrad (Vedomosti, October 1). On September 28, the Russian Embassy in Belgium warned NATO and the Belgian government that Russia was prepared to use its entire arsenal to defend Kaliningrad if NATO attempted to isolate it. NATO Secretary General Mark Rutte said he did not take the threat seriously (RIA Novosti, September 30). Nuclear weapons are not the only means by which Russia can threaten its neighbors, and the hybrid scenario envisaged in the “People’s Republic of Narva” incident may not be far off the mark.
A telling sign of Moscow’s intentions toward the Baltic countries may be the creation of a Northwestern Cossack Host in 2024 and its formal induction into larger Cossack structures (see EDM, February 10, 2024). Cossacks perform several roles that could be useful in a Russian hybrid intervention in the Baltic. First, the folkloric character of even the neo-Cossacks gives them the imprimatur of a native ethnic people who could represent an indigenous minority. Kremlin plans to “develop” Cossacks in the Kaliningrad oblast are proceeding rapidly. In April, the Kremlin created a “working group for the development of Cossacks in the Baltic region” and approved a regional department for Cossack affairs (Russian Cossacks, April 7). Given the region’s proximity to Lithuania and Latvia, it seems reasonable to suppose that such groups could infiltrate these countries or even present themselves as indigenes. Second, Cossacks played a significant role in the annexation of Crimea and have contributed a sizable contingent to Russia’s war against Ukraine. In a meeting with the ataman of the Pskov Cossacks, Russian Supreme Ataman of the All-Russian Cossack Society Vitaly Kuznetsov praised the valor of the Baltika Battalion, which is fighting as part of the Terek Cossack volunteer host (VsKO, January 31). Third, Cossacks act as a kind of civic defense force for the Russian Federation, providing a bulwark against Western information operations by promoting, for instance, the exploits of heroic Cossacks such as Vladimir Gavrilenko in the Kharkiv direction (VsKO, September 24). Fourth, although most Russian speakers in Estonia identify as “Russian Estonians” and Cossack groups with an online presence claim closer affiliation with Ukrainian than Russian Cossacks, pro-Russian loyalties or groups cannot be ruled out (Postimees, March 29, 2011; ERR, April 9, 2024). The presence of heavily armed Cossack troops in the Baltic region, already positioned to welcome an invading Russian force, could prove important in the event of a Russian operation there.
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Executive Summary:
Early October was an extraordinarily busy time for Russian President Vladimir Putin. He started with the traditional session at the Valdai Discussion Club’s annual meeting, proceeded to the Center-2026 military exercise, and then departed for the Commonwealth of Independent States (CIS) summit in Turkmenistan, during which he made time for a phone conversation with U.S. President Donald Trump. He also marked his 74th birthday, reaching the age when former General Secretary of the Communist Party of the Soviet Union Josef Stalin died, causing a chaotic succession struggle (The Moscow Times, October 8). Putin is keen to demonstrate that his physical health is a guarantee of the stability of his system of power, even at his advanced age (Re: Russia, September 29).
The Kremlin claimed that “the whole world awaits” Putin’s presentation for the Valdai Club annual meeting. While his speech generated international coverage, most of it focused on his warnings over Russia’s Kaliningrad exclave and nuclear weapons (Rossiiskaya Gazeta, October 1). Valdai reduced the size of its annual conference and moved it from Sochi to Moscow because of security concerns, denying participants the opportunity to witness a fire from a tanker hit by Ukrainian naval drones (Meduza, October 7). In his remarks, Putin did not dwell on Russia’s war-depressed economy and the newly constructed state budget draft for 2027, which brings more taxes and cuts to social programs (Carnegie Politika, September 29). The primary point in Putin’s mass of platitudes that attracted international commentary was his declaration of readiness to counter supposed European threats to Russia’s Kaliningrad exclave (Novaya Gazeta Evropa, October 3). Putin made a clear nuclear warning without explicitly threatening to launch a strike (Radio Svoboda, October 1; The Moscow Times, October 2). Hawkish Kremlin-aligned pundits then rushed to elaborate on the need to restore the credibility of nuclear deterrence by conducting tests and building up Russia’s arsenal of short- and medium-range missiles with nuclear warheads (RIAC, October 8).
The missile launches will likely reinforce the nuclear message during the annual strategic-forces exercise, usually held in late October (Nezavisimaya Gazeta, October 8). The Tsentr-2026 military exercises, which Putin supervised the day after his Valdai performance, envisaged no nuclear escalation and were designed to demonstrate a mix of traditional and innovative combat operations (Kommersant, October 2). Russian top brass were eager to show the range of new weapon systems and technologies that underpin the Kremlin’s claims of steady territorial gains in its war against Ukraine (Izvestiya, October 2; Rossiiskaya Gazeta, October 5). Russia’s relentless attacks are yielding relatively small territorial gains, and primarily on the axis toward Kramatorsk-Slovyansk. Ukrainian forces are exploiting this concentration of enemy troops for counter-attacks in other directions, particularly toward Lyman between the Donetsk and Luhansk oblasts (Meduza, October 5). New Ukrainian air defense systems are blunting Russia’s edge in long-distance strikes gained through newly developed Geran-5 jet-propelled drones and Banderol S-8000 cruise missiles. Ukrainian strikes continue to breach the multi-layer defenses around Moscow, and have reached as far east as the Omsk refinery in Western Siberia (The Insider, October 8).
The leaders of the CIS member-states are perfectly aware of Russia’s financial and military troubles. The habitual pomp of the Turkmenistan summit could not camouflage the disinterest in scaling up cooperation with Russia (KP.ru, October 8). Turkmenistan’s choice to acquire Akash surface-to-air missiles from India, similarly to Tajikistan, signified that Russia’s plan for building a joint air defense system covering the whole of Central Asia is not actively being implemented (Rossiiskaya Gazeta, October 2). One of Putin’s meetings at the CIS summit was with Iranian President Masoud Pezeshkian as he seeks to cultivate ties without providing any material aid to Iran (RBC, October 10). According to the pro-Kremlin Kommersant, Putin’s meeting with Pezeshkian was rescheduled, possibly to accommodate his phone call with Trump (Kommersant, October 10).
Mainstream commentators trumpeted the agreement on exporting Russian diesel to the United States as a breakthrough (Izvestiya, October 10). Russian media’s concern about Trump signing new sanctions into law on September 18 has been replaced with hopes for softening the sanctions regime (RIAC, September 22; Expert.ru, September 25). Within pro-Kremlin Russian media, only a few radically jingoist voices have warned about the fragility of the diesel deal. External experts have expressed doubts in Russia’s ability to deliver even moderate volumes of diesel on the world market (TopWar.ru; Forbes.ru, October 10). The prohibition on exporting diesel and other oil products, which the Russian government partially lifted, was aimed at mitigating the worsening domestic fuel crisis (The Bell, October 10).
In the first days of October, Ukraine delivered a series of strikes on Russian energy infrastructure, including on a pipeline hub in Samara, a refinery in Omsk, and an oil terminal in Rostov-on-Don. The Kremlin may claim that it can only deliver on its U.S. diesel deal if Ukrainian strikes are stopped (Kommersant; The Insider, October 10). Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelenskyy has agreed to stop the devastation of Russia’s oil industry if massive Russian attacks on Ukrainian energy infrastructure are also discontinued, but Putin has not agreed to this offer (Radio Svoboda, October 11). The talks on bringing the war to an end that showed some promise in recent weeks thus seem poised to stall (Novaya Gazeta Europe, October 10).
Putin may believe that he has caught fresh wind in the sails of his rotting gunboat, but his war course still goes through a sea of deep troubles. The emptiness of his Valdai discourse was instantly obvious, and it will take only a little time to expose his inability to make even a slight difference in the world energy markets. Zelenskyy, for his part, said Ukraine would organize elections if Russia agrees to a 60-day truce (Meduza, October 11). In combination with Ukraine’s innovative combat tactics and upgraded strike capabilities, this diplomatic flexibility indicates Kyiv’s resilience is sufficient to overcome further vicissitudes.
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Executive Summary:
Rumors that a new formal wave of mobilization would follow the September 18–20 State Duma elections saturated the Russian media space for months. These fears now seem unlikely to materialize soon (Vazhnye Istorii, June 24). Russian society has come to expect unpopular measures after elections. Russian President Vladimir Putin established a pattern over 20 years of making unwelcome decisions when society is least able to express discontent, including at the ballot box (Verstka, July 27). Putin provoked his first mass protests just a few months after the presidential elections in 2004 by choosing to reduce economic benefits for tens of millions of Russians, mostly pensioners. In 2018, he raised the retirement age after his reelection. Many Russians have accordingly expected unpopular measures to follow September’s election. In the first Duma election after the Kremlin’s full-scale invasion of Ukraine, the primary Kremlin party, United Russia, gained a record of more than 77 percent of seats in parliament in the most tightly managed and falsified election of the Putin era (see EDM, September 21).
Putin framed these latest elections as a referendum on Russia’s full-scale invasion of Ukraine. Critics of the war have expressed worry that Putin would use the elections to justify a new wave of mobilization because of heavy Russian losses on the battlefield and the Kremlin’s desire to hasten territorial gains. Putin first announced a partial mobilization of reservists in September 2022, setting a goal to call up 300,000 for service. In October 2022, then-Russian Defense Minister Sergei Shoigu said that the target had been met (RBC, October 28, 2022). This was Russia’s first mobilization since World War II, and the Kremlin has not formally ended its legal basis (Radio Svoboda, October 31, 2022).
According to Vazhnye Istorii, high-level Russian officials denied new mobilization wave rumors 17 times between June 1 and September 15, including Putin dismissing reports from Ukrainian intelligence that the Kremlin was considering mobilization from Ukraine as “nonsense” designed to sow panic (Telegram/@istories_media, September 15). These adamant repudiations demonstrate how politically damaging the idea of another mobilization remains. On September 28, Putin signed a decree increasing the size of the armed forces by 15,500 soldiers, which will likely be achieved through increased contract and volunteer recruitment. This is the fourth increase in the size of the Russian army in 2026, compared to just three such increases in the first four years of the full-scale invasion of Ukraine (Meduza, September 28).
Separate unpopular measures have materialized in the three weeks since the elections. The Russian Ministry of Finance proposed a package of new taxes just four days after the vote, despite Kremlin Spokesman Dmitry Peskov saying on September 9 that increases should not be expected in the near future (Interfax, September 9; Meduza, September 24; The Bell, September 27). Asked about this discrepancy, Peskov skirted the question, saying that it is better to get explanations about the budget from the Kremlin’s “economic bloc” (Kommersant, September 27). Utility prices also increased after the election because the Kremlin moved a planned increase from July 1 to October 1, just 11 days after the vote (Novaya Gazeta Evropa, September 23). Some other fears and reported conversations from the Kremlin, such as seizure of individuals’ deposits, stricter exit visa laws, and fees for international internet traffic, have not come to fruition but remain possibilities (Novaya Gazeta Evropa, September 23).
Fears of another wave of mobilization are driven by the high casualty rates for Russian soldiers, the dwindling supply of Russians willing to sign a contract, and several anonymous reports from Russian authorities about Kremlin considerations of the step (Meduza; Telegram/@svobodnieslova, June 24). The principal way that the Kremlin has filled its armed forces—contract recruitment—has been falling since 2025. The reported quality of many new soldiers is low, from health to age to criminal record, and many units at the front lines are understaffed.
Mobilization rumors are also grounded in the build-up of logistical and legal infrastructure that could support the process, along with reports of regional mobilization drills. After the first wave of mobilization, the Kremlin created a unified military register, which could provide a more complete picture of which reservists are eligible for mobilization, send summons more quickly and gradually, and increase general administrative efficiency compared to the reported confusion and errors of the first wave (Vazhnye Istorii, December 22).
On February 15, the Russian Federal Chamber of Notaries sent a letter to regional chambers, though only Kaliningrad’s receipt has been confirmed, instructing them to require potential conscripts to provide their draft registration papers before they can take out a mortgage, buy property, or start a business. Conscription is Russia’s routine draft of eligible men aged 18–30 for one year of service, including during peacetime, who nominally do not serve in combat situations. It is legally separate from mobilization, but conscripts are often pressured into signing contracts for combat service, and there are reports of their deployment to Ukraine. Tightening enforcement for young men registering for conscription is therefore a sign that Moscow is trying to ramp up recruitment (The Insider, October 4). Additionally, regional administrations in Volzhsky and military groupings in Kaliningrad held mobilization logistics exercises over the summer, further fueling rumors (Radio Svoboda, June 19; The Moscow Times, August 23).
A new wave of mobilization is unlikely to resemble Putin’s September 2022 televised announcement. The legal justification for mobilization remains, and the unified registration system means that the Kremlin has the information necessary to gradually mobilize reservists without generating the widespread panic of 2022, which led to the exodus of hundreds of thousands of Russians. Forced contract signing, what some analysts call “hidden” or “covert” mobilization, remains prevalent in the regions of Russia and in the occupied territories of Ukraine, targeting vulnerable members of society who are more susceptible to pressure because of economic circumstances, criminal status, or social standing (Radio Svoboda, October 7). The Kremlin sets contract recruitment goals for the regions to avoid another unpopular mobilization, creating incentives for regional authorities and municipalities to meet those goals by any means necessary, and pushing pressure to find contract soldiers down the administrative hierarchy.
Regional administrations have quotas for contract soldiers. Russian human rights organizations received reports of forced detentions and coercion, including police beatings, to sign a military contract from at least 17 regions of Russia in just July and August (Verstka, August 24). Because regions provide the money for signing bonuses, which are becoming more expensive as supply decreases, poorer regions are more likely to use force to meet their quotas. In the Penza oblast, there have been many recent reports of police detaining men on the streets, in cars, and on public transport, then taking them to sign military contracts (Verstka, June 19). In the Ryazan oblast, Governor Pavel Malkov reportedly even established military contract quotas for employers in proportion to the size of their workplace (Gazeta.ru, April 2; see EDM, June 4).
According to The Bell, the number of people seeking information from human rights organizations about how to leave Russia has increased by 50 percent between fall and spring (The Bell, September 29). This spike demonstrates Russians’ fear of another formal mobilization wave. The massive unpopularity of the 2022 partial mobilization, made clear through a protest movement of the mobilizeds’ mothers and wives and the mass exodus of eligible men to avoid summonses, however, means that the Kremlin is less likely to obtain new soldiers for its ranks in that manner. Putin is more likely to continue to decentralize the dirty work of forcible military recruitment to keep new soldiers nominally “voluntary,” diffuse responsibility for this process, and quietly feed his war machine.
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Executive Summary
On September 1, Yemen’s Central State Security Agency announced that a raid in Say’un, Hadramawt, had killed Abu Hudhayfah al-Ansari, the official spokesman of the Islamic State (IS) (Al-Jazeera; Long War Journal, September 1). Yemeni counterterrorism forces and coalition special forces had located him in a residential house and attempted to arrest him before he opened fire and was fatally wounded (Al-Jazeera; Long War Journal, September 1). The operation also detained a man with him and recovered an explosive belt, two laptops, two tablets, and five phones (South24; Long War Journal, September 1).
The raid killed more than IS’s public spokesman. Yemeni jihadist sources and news outlets identify al-Ansari as Mithaq Thabit Haytham al-Hujayli, a Yemeni from Lahj who had simultaneously governed IS’s Yemen province since 2020 under the name Abu Mus’ab al-Muhajir (Sheba Intelligence; Jerusalem Post, September 1; authors’ interviews with IS-Yemen jihadist sources, April 15, 2023 and December 17, 2025). He had survived the destruction of the group’s stronghold in Qayfa, al-Bayda, escaped to Marib with a small number of survivors, and rebuilt the province after much of its senior leadership was killed or captured (Sana’a Center for Strategic Studies, June 26, 2019; Yemen Agency Press, August 14, 2020; authors’ interviews with IS-Yemen jihadist sources, April 15, 2023).
Al-Hujayli’s dual role helps explain a larger dynamic. IS-Yemen had almost disappeared as a battlefield province, but Yemen had not disappeared from the IS’s organization. Daniel Milton found that the branch’s last recorded attack in al-Naba occurred in summer 2022, after 174 reported operations since summer 2018 (CTC Sentinel, November-December 2025). Instead, Yemen had become increasingly important to the group’s media functions beyond the country. In February 2025, the UN Monitoring Team assessed that the weakened branch—then estimated at only 100-150 fighters—nevertheless retained an “experienced media and propaganda wing” and had played a role in advocating that IS’s overall leader be located outside the Iraq–Syria theater (United Nations Security Council, February 6, 2025). A year later, the Monitoring Team reported that “key [Islamic State of Iraq and the Levant] ISIL media figures were in Yemen coordinating with ISIL-Somalia” and that the killing of one former core-media official had disrupted IS media operations (United Nations Security Council, February 4). The province supplied IS’s global spokesman, housed media-linked personnel, and remained tied to Somali-based financial and communication networks (authors’ interviews with IS-Yemen jihadist sources, April 15, 2023 and December 17-18, 2025; CTC Sentinel, September 2024; United Nations Security Council, February 4). Al-Ansari’s death therefore exposed a media role that attack statistics had largely concealed.
Yemen Becomes a Media Sanctuary
IS began looking to Yemen for media personnel before the province lost Qayfa. Sources familiar with IS-Yemen’s internal communications say that as early as 2019, central leadership asked the province to nominate potential spokesmen and provide biographies and recordings of their sermons (authors’ interviews with IS-Yemen jihadist sources, December 17-18, 2025). The request came as IS was losing its territorial center and senior leadership in Iraq and Syria. Founder and the first leader of IS, Abu Bakr al-Baghdadi, was killed in October 2019, followed roughly a day later by then-spokesman Abu al-Hassan al-Muhajir (Reuters, October 28, 2019). Yemen was therefore already being considered as a source of personnel for central media functions as pressure on the organization’s core intensified.
That role survived the branch’s military collapse. In August 2020, Houthi forces overran IS positions in Wald Rabi’ and Qayfa, killing much of the remaining leadership and fighters (Sana’a Center for Strategic Studies, September 5, 2020; Sana’a Center for Strategic Studies, September 29, 2021). Under al-Hujayli, IS-Yemen became smaller and less visible, with Yemeni sources describing a deliberate effort to rebuild away from the attrition of its earlier territorial presence.
The province nevertheless remained tied to the wider organization. IS central leaders appeared to direct the Somalia-based al-Karrar office to fund IS nodes in Yemen through the Umm al-Qura regional office, while UN reporting later highlighted Yemen’s facilitation and financial links to al-Karrar across the Red Sea (United Nations Security Council, July 15, 2022; CTC Sentinel, September 2024). Yemen had lost territorial weight, but it retained access to funding, central structures, and inter-provincial networks—assets that gave it importance beyond its local attack tempo.
Al-Ansari Was More Than the Spokesman
Al-Hujayli combined religious credentials, security experience, and provincial leadership before becoming IS’s global spokesman. He joined IS in 2015, served in IS-Yemen’s Sharia apparatus, and later became deputy security official in Qayfa (authors’ interviews with IS-Yemen jihadist sources, April 15, 2023 and December 17, 2025; Okaz; South24, September 1). He had also studied Quranic recitation and held certifications in several readings (authors’ interviews with one of al-Hujayli’s relatives and other IS-Yemen members, March 2, 2024). An official 2018 release shows him delivering an Eid sermon in al-Bayda (Bayda, Islamic State, Wilayat al-Bayda, “Days of Thanks and Remembrance,” 2018). After Qayfa collapsed, al-Hujayli emerged from the surviving leadership of a province weakened by internal divisions (Long War Journal, December 23, 2025). Sources say that despite the presence of older, more experienced candidates, he combined religious and security credentials with broader acceptance among competing elements, leading the central leadership to appoint him governor under the name Abu Mus’ab al-Muhajir (authors’ interviews with IS-Yemen members, April 15, 2023, and December 20, 2025).
In August 2023, the provincial governor became IS’s global spokesman. After Hay’at Tahrir al-Sham captured Abu Umar al-Muhajir in Syria, al-Hujayli appeared as Abu Hudhayfah al-Ansari in an al-Furqan recording announcing the death of Abu al-Husayn al-Husayni al-Qurashi and the appointment of Abu Hafs al-Hashimi al-Qurashi (Counter Extremism Project, August 3, 2023; Aymenn Jawad al-Tamimi; Middle East Forum, August 4, 2023; Enab Baladi, September 28, 2023; United Nations Security Council, January 31, 2024). In his February 21 address, al-Hujayli directed messaging toward multiple theaters (Counter Extremism Project, February 23). He called for attacks against Syria’s transitional government, praised attacks including New Orleans and Bondi Beach, and discussed IS campaigns in Somalia, Nigeria, Niger, the Democratic Republic of Congo, and Mozambique (Counter Extremism Project, February 23). He also emphasized the importance of both official IS propaganda and unofficial supporter media while warning unofficial outlets not to depart from official ideology and guidance (Counter Extremism Project, February 23).
“Spokesman” therefore understates his position. Al-Hujayli simultaneously governed IS-Yemen and served as the organization’s authorized global voice, directly linking a marginal battlefield province to a central IS media function (authors’ interviews with IS-Yemen jihadist sources, December 17, 2025; authors’ interviews with an IS-Yemen member close to Hujayli, September 4, 2025 and April 4; Counter Extremism Project, February 23; Sheba Intelligence, September 1).
Keeping Yemen Quiet
The province’s post-Qayfa strategy helped create the environment in which that function could operate. One element was reducing confrontation with al-Qaeda in the Arabian Peninsula (AQAP) (Sana’a Center for Strategic Studies, September 29, 2021). A member who carried communications between al-Hujayli and other leaders said he indicated that he did not want renewed fighting with AQAP (authors’ interviews with an IS-Yemen member, September 4, 2025). Internally, al-Hujayli continued to regard AQAP as an ideological enemy but argued that circumstances required suspending the confrontation (authors’ interview with IS-Yemen jihadist sources and an IS-Yemen member close to Hujayli, September 4, 2025, and April 15, 2023). Indeed, there have been no reported clashes between IS-Yemen and AQAP since February 2020 despite continued hostile rhetoric (ACLED, December 14, 2020; April 6, 2023).
Finance also became less visible. Sources inside the province say IS-Yemen turned to kidnapping for ransom and conducted operations without claiming them publicly (NewsYemen, October 31, 2022; authors’ interviews with Yemeni jihadist sources along with leaked IS-Yemen documents, April 17, 2023). NewsYemen linked the June 2022 kidnapping in Tarim of the son of a Hadrami businessman Abdullah al-Junayd, known as al-Maher, to IS and described the kidnapping as part of the branch’s effort to find new revenue after severe financial losses (NewsYemen, October 31, 2022). Sources say proceeds from the ransom and other operations were used to repay debts and finance vehicles, explosives-related materials, and training (Yemen Agency Press, June 20, 2022; NewsYemen, October 31, 2022; authors’ interviews with IS-Yemen jihadist sources and an IS-Yemen member close to Hujayli, April 15, 2023; September 4, 2025).
Public reporting consequently captured only part of the province’s activity. Milton noted that IS-Yemen’s last recorded attack was in summer 2022 (CTC Sentinel, November–December 2025). Yet Yemeni sources describe continued financing, training, procurement, and organizational activity during that period (authors’ interviews with IS-Yemen jihadist sources and an IS-Yemen member close to Hujayli, April 15, 2023; September 4, 2025; United Nations Security Council, February 6, 2025; February 4). The province was fading from IS’s public battlefield while becoming more useful behind its media front.
The Network Behind the Voice
Al-Hujayli was not the only media-linked figure operating from Yemen. Sources identify Khalid Ahmad Ali al-Ariqi, known as Abu Zaid al-Muhajir, as IS-Yemen’s media official and link part of the organization’s broader media activity to the province (information provided in 2022 by a jihadist security source; subsequently corroborated by authors’ interviews with multiple IS-Yemen jihadist sources, September 4, 2025; Yemen News Now, October 5, 2025). Yemen also had an established media role: an IS image from al-Bayda shows al-Naba being produced locally, while an April 2020 IS-Yemen production addressed al-Qaeda’s positions in Yemen, Afghanistan, Mali, and elsewhere, demonstrating propaganda activity beyond the local battlefield (Long War Journal, May 4, 2020).
Al-Ariqi was killed in an April 2025 airstrike in Ataq, Shabwa, which Yemeni security sources attribute to the United States (Yemen Window, April 3, 2025; authors’ interviews with Yemeni security sources familiar with the Ataq operation, April 10, 2025; Barran Press, April 12, 2025). The UN Monitoring Team later described an “Abu Zaid” killed that month as a former head of IS’s core media office and a communications node between senior leader Abu Khadija and IS-Somalia, assessing that his death disrupted IS media operations (United Nations Security Council, February 4). The alias and date correspond, although the UN report does not provide a full name.
The strike also exposed the infrastructure around the network. Hours later, security forces raided an apartment al-Ariqi had reportedly visited (authors’ interviews with Yemeni security sources familiar with the Ataq operation, April 10, 2025). Yemeni security sources say U.S. counterterrorism personnel focused heavily on laptops, phones, and other electronics (authors’ interviews with Yemeni security sources familiar with the Ataq operation, April 10, 2025). Another media- and communications-linked IS member, Humam Harhara, described by sources as involved in external communications and official media activity, reportedly tried to destroy equipment before he was killed, while another member was detained and surviving devices were seized (authors’ interviews with Yemeni security sources familiar with the Ataq operation, April 10, 2025). Yemen’s significance therefore extended beyond al-Ansari: the province contained media personnel, communications infrastructure, and inter-provincial links serving the wider IS network (CTC Sentinel, September 2024; United Nations Security Council, February 4).
Al-Ansari’s death may already be testing how much of that media system depended on Yemen. On September 13, Caleb Weiss, a researcher focused on jihadism in Africa and who tracks IS propaganda, observed that IS media output had become limited and sporadic and that al-Naba releases were appearing on a delayed schedule since al-Ansari’s death (X/@caleb_weiss7, September 13). Al-Naba has not stopped publishing—Jihadology records issues 563 and 564 on September 3 and 10—but the broader output has become less regular (Jihadology, September 3; September 10).
Conclusion
Al-Ansari’s death exposed IS-Yemen’s trajectory after losing Qayfa. Its battlefield decline concealed another kind of importance: the province remained connected to central leadership and inter-provincial networks while hosting personnel who served IS’s global media apparatus. UN reporting in 2025 and 2026 identified IS-Yemen as a media and propaganda hub linked to IS-Somalia and to the group’s wider media apparatus (United Nations Security Council, February 6, 2025; February 4). Al-Hujayli’s simultaneous roles as provincial governor and global spokesman placed Yemen directly inside that system.
That concentration also helps explain renewed counterterrorism attention to IS personnel in Yemen. Yemeni security sources attribute the April 2025 Ataq strike that killed Abu Zaid to the United States, while follow-on operations reached communications personnel, electronic devices, and supporting infrastructure (authors’ interviews with Yemeni security sources April 12, 2025; authors’ interviews with a defected IS-Yemen leader who also confirmed the information, October 4, 2025; subsequent corroboration by pro-IS channels). The September Say’un raid then reached al-Hujayli himself. The pattern suggests that IS-Yemen’s value as a target increasingly lay not in its ability to hold territory or generate attacks, but in the central functions and personnel operating from the province.
The implications extend beyond Yemen. A province can become militarily marginal while remaining important to IS’s global organization as central functions are dispersed across geographically distant branches. The limited and irregular media output observed after al-Ansari’s death is too early to establish direct dependence, particularly because al-Naba has continued to appear, but it still indicates possible disruption within a system already shown to have significant personnel in Yemen. More broadly, the case shows the limits of judging an IS province primarily by attacks, manpower, or territorial control. Organizational importance may instead lie in functions such as media, communications, finance, or leadership support that serve the movement across theaters. IS-Yemen’s attack tempo made it appear peripheral; its media role showed that it had become part of the infrastructure through which IS sustained a global organization and spoke to a global audience.
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Executive Summary:
Iran’s Look East policy is rooted in the ideological ideals of the 1979 Revolution, which, with the slogan “Neither East Nor West,” sought to establish an order independent of the two power blocs. Over time—and under sanctions and international isolation—this slogan gave way to practical convergence with Eastern powers, especially Russia and the People’s Republic of China (PRC). [1]
Across different presidential periods, this policy has pursued varying objectives. During Mahmoud Ahmadinejad’s tenure, the Look East policy took on an ideological, confrontational tone toward the West. Under Hassan Rouhani’s administration, this policy complemented engagement with the West and operated within the framework of the 2015 Joint Comprehensive Plan of Action (JCPOA) nuclear agreement. Under Ebrahim Raisi’s government and thereafter, however, Look East has transformed into an exclusive strategy and a substitute for engagement with the West, materialized through documents such as the 25-year agreement with the PRC and accession to organizations such as the Shanghai Cooperation Organization (SCO) and BRICS (Middle East Council, September 2023). [2] This approach, rather than being based purely on economic interests, reflects the security-oriented, conservative outlook emphasized by Iran’s security and military institutions (Khayrion, June 6, 2024).
The security establishment has consistently emphasized that countries such as Russia and the PRC are Iran’s strategic partners. With this argument, they condemn relations with the West and advocate placing exclusive emphasis on relations with Eastern partners, which, from their perspective, represent the new poles of the international system (Khamenei.ir, July 22, 2022).
The current conflict with the United States and Israel has led to the emergence of serious and important debates on future relations with the PRC. The core debate centers on the fact that the PRC has not provided direct military support to Iran during the conflict. Beijing’s response has largely been limited to diplomatic calls for de-escalation and respect for national sovereignty, which many assessed as a “balanced” and “conservative” approach (Foreign Affairs, April 17). This has disappointed many in Iran and raised questions about the PRC’s commitment and reliability as a strategic partner.
Iran’s Perception of the Relationship with PRC
A serious theoretical debate has emerged in Iran over two divergent pathways for the future of cooperation with the PRC. Reformists believe Iran should follow the PRC’s economic development model—one based on a productive economy, openness to the world, and attracting foreign investment. In this view, the PRC is an ideal partner for revitalizing Iran’s economy and breaking out of isolation, but it should not be seen as Iran’s strategic partner in future confrontation.
Many Iranian experts advocate for focusing on economic relations with the PRC. From this perspective, adopting a Cold War mindset and expecting military support from the PRC misreads Beijing’s foreign policy. In their view, the PRC does not fundamentally subscribe to an international order based on military alliances (Tabnak, May 12). Accordingly, they argue that the PRC should not be criticized for its lack of military support for Iran, as its foreign policy focuses on mutual non-alignment and non-alliance. This principle means the PRC is not committed to entering a war if Iran is attacked (Tabnak, May 12).
Jalal Dehghani Firouzabadi, Secretary of Iran’s Strategic Council on Foreign Relations, argued that the PRC and Russia interact with the United States within the “great power management” model (Iran International, May 29). Therefore, the PRC and Russia have adopted a policy of positive neutrality toward the conflict—one that requires them to maintain a baseline of strategic relations with all countries involved. Russia and the PRC’s decision to abstain from, rather than veto, UN Security Council Resolution 2817 condemning Iranian attacks against regional neighbors fits within this policy framework (UN Security Council, March 11).
In contrast, conservatives—and, at their forefront, military-security groups—are more inclined to expand relations with the PRC along the Russian model: strengthening military capability, relying on oil revenues, and confronting the West. One of the reasons for Iranian conservatives’ opposition to relations with the West, particularly the United States, is the cultural impact such relations would have on Iranian society and, consequently, on their revolutionary slogans, leading to delegitimization and diminished acceptance of their revolutionary and ideological principles among the Iranian public (Middle East Institute, September 25, 2023).
Impact on the Domestic Balance of Power
Despite internally recognizing Beijing’s lack of direct support, Iran is likely to continue its turn toward the PRC. Iran’s military-security apparatus is the most significant variable in policymaking. Over 45 years, the security organizations have determined the “big game” of Iran’s foreign policy to the detriment of successive presidential administrations. Presidents can engage in a “small game” of foreign policy maneuvers, provided they do not disrupt the overall power structure (Manara, February 21, 2022). Beijing’s support for security-affiliated groups in Iran limits the pathway for reformists and moderates to gain power within Iran’s power structure and further strengthens the IRGC’s position within it. Accordingly, rather than relying on Iran’s formal state institutions, the PRC is coordinating with IRGC-affiliated operational networks that control a substantial share of Iran’s economy and security (Strategic Analysis Network, May 28).
Discussions have also emerged about fully implementing the two countries’ 25-year strategic cooperation agreement. Iranian Foreign Minister Abbas Araghchi described his visit to the PRC—the first visit by an Iranian official to the PRC since the start of the conflict—as one of the most significant trips in Iran’s history (International Institute for Iranian Studies, May 17). During this visit, Araghchi emphasized Iran’s trust in the PRC. This trust creates a favorable environment to pursue the objectives outlined in the 25-year agreement (Al Jazeera, May 6). This visit, rather than announcing a new position on the document, sought to redefine Iran’s standing with the PRC after the war and secure trust for subsequent steps in implementing the agreement. This visit, therefore, should be seen as a prelude to more serious discussions on operationalizing 25-year cooperation in a post-conflict era.
Iran’s approach frames ties with the PRC as part of a broader strategy to position itself in the emerging global order. The most significant indicator of this approach is the appointment of Mohammad-Bagher Ghalibaf—a prominent conservative figure and Speaker of Parliament—as Iran’s special representative for PRC affairs. This appointment, proposed by Iranian President Masoud Pezeshkian and approved by Iran’s new Supreme Leader Mojtaba Khamenei, demonstrates unprecedented coordination among power institutions and the executive, legislative, and leadership branches in prioritizing relations with the PRC (Tasnimnews.ir, May 17).
Ali Larijani, the late Secretary of the Supreme National Security Council, previously held this position and played a key role in signing the 25-year Comprehensive Cooperation Agreement between Iran and the PRC (Fars News, May 17). Ghalibaf’s appointment signals a determination to revive and implement this document. Beyond his parliamentary role, Ghalibaf is a former Islamic Revolutionary Guard Corps (IRGC) commander and currently leads Iran’s negotiating team with the United States. This tripartite role enables him to coordinate effectively across military, political, and economic systems and remove obstacles hindering cooperation with the PRC. By entrusting the PRC portfolio to Ghalibaf, Iran has effectively linked negotiations with Washington to cooperation with Beijing, using this as a lever to increase bargaining power against U.S. pressure.
These developments suggest that the 25-year Iran-PRC agreement—which envisions Chinese investment in infrastructure, oil, and military sectors in exchange for discounted oil—may be implemented more rapidly. Following de-escalation, therefore, the PRC could become the primary reconstructor of Iran’s damaged infrastructure.
Conclusion
Iran’s Look East approach has evolved from a purely economic strategy. Rooted in the country’s strategic literature, Iran’s approach rests on the belief that the U.S. unipolar order is declining and the world is moving toward multipolarity. Iran defines itself as an emerging power in this landscape and argues it needs “strategic alignment” with Eastern powers to consolidate its position. Sanctions and international isolation have made the PRC and Russia Tehran’s only serious partners. From Iran’s perspective, these collaborations can raise the costs of confrontation for Washington.
Iran’s relations with the East are defined on a new model of cooperation without commitment. Many in Iran have recognized that the conflict has revealed the limitations of the PRC’s support. The PRC and Russia have offered rhetorical and limited political support to Iran as a partner, but have not provided security guarantees or practical support. This approach, however, aligns fully with Iran’s military-security institutions, which prefer operational independence over restrictive alliances. Iranian leaders have therefore concluded that these partnerships, despite any limitations, are the best and only available options for survival.
Notes:
[1] Fred Halliday, Revolution and World Politics: The Rise and Fall of the Sixth Great Power, Duke University Press Books, 1999, p.127.
[2] BRICS is a loose political-economic grouping originally comprising Brazil, Russia, India, the People’s Republic of China, and South Africa, and now comprising 11 member states.
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Executive Summary:
In late May, Türkiye hosted military training exercises that brought together personnel from Libya’s rival armed factions for the first time since the country’s post-2011 civil war began. The exercises saw the unprecedented participation of soldiers aligned with both the internationally recognized Government of National Unity (GNU) and the eastern-based Libyan National Army (LNA) under a single Libyan flag (RFI, May 23). The initiative signals Ankara’s evolving approach to Libya; one that goes beyond supporting a single faction and positions Türkiye as a security broker capable of engaging both of the country’s power centers. By cultivating both power centers, Ankara could gain greater leverage over any future political settlement and security architecture.
Since the overthrow of Muammar Gaddafi’s regime in 2011, Libya has remained divided between two competing governments and military establishments. The GNU, headquartered in Tripoli and recognized by the United Nations, controls much of western Libya with political and military support from the European Union. In contrast, General Khalifa Haftar’s LNA dominates eastern Libya and much of the country’s oil-rich interior, relying on support from Egypt, Russia, and the United Arab Emirates (Council on Foreign Relations, June 3). External support has enabled both factions to consolidate control over their respective territories, but neither side yet possesses sufficient capability to defeat the other (Geopolitical Intelligence Services, November 13, 2025).
Türkiye’s military intervention in Libya marked a turning point in both the country’s civil war and Ankara’s regional security strategy. After General Haftar’s 2019 offensive against Tripoli, Ankara intervened on behalf of the Government of National Accord (GNA)—Libya’s interim governing structure between 2015 and 2021—preventing the collapse of the UN-recognized government and altering the conflict’s trajectory (Al-Jazeera, June 5, 2020). Beyond preserving a friendly government in Tripoli, the intervention established Türkiye as one of Libya’s most influential external security actors. It demonstrated Ankara’s willingness to use military power to advance its geopolitical interests in the Eastern Mediterranean. Türkiye initially relied on military advisers, intelligence support, drones, and other defense assistance to halt the LNA’s advance; however, as the balance of power shifted in favor of Tripoli, Ankara institutionalized its presence through a series of defense and maritime agreements with the GNA, including the landmark 2019 Turkey-Libya Memorandum of Understanding, focused on security cooperation and Eastern Mediterranean maritime boundaries (The New Arab, September 30, 2025).
The intervention later evolved into a permanent military footprint, shifting Ankara’s role from an external supporter to a long-term security partner (Nordic Monitor, December 25, 2025). Türkiye established a naval presence at the Port of Misrata, expanded operations from Al-Watiya Air Base after its recapture from Haftar’s forces, deployed advanced military systems—including Bayraktar TB2 unmanned aerial vehicles (UAVs) and air defense assets—and provided extensive training, logistical, and technical support to Libyan forces.
Türkiye’s interest in Libya extends well beyond stabilizing its internal conflict. Situated at the crossroads of the Mediterranean, North Africa, and the Sahel, Libya serves as a critical gateway linking Europe and Africa. It holds some of the continent’s largest proven oil and natural gas reserves (Africa Center for Strategic Studies, May 18, 2020). For Ankara, securing a long-term foothold in Libya has therefore become central not only to its North Africa policy but also to its broader ambitions in the Eastern Mediterranean. Building on the defense agreements signed in 2019, Türkiye and the Tripoli-based government concluded a maritime Memorandum of Understanding establishing an exclusive economic zone (EEZ) that cuts across waters also claimed by Greece, Cyprus, and Egypt (United Nations, 2019).
The maritime agreement also gave Türkiye a legal and political framework to contest competing maritime claims, while granting Turkish firms preferential access to future offshore energy projects (Middle East Forum, April 12). The region’s considerable hydrocarbon potential underpins these ambitions. The U.S. Geological Survey estimates that the Eastern Mediterranean contains approximately 107 billion barrels of undiscovered oil and 122 trillion cubic feet of natural gas, making control over maritime access increasingly consequential for regional competition (USGS, March 2010). By anchoring its military presence in Libya to expansive maritime claims, Ankara has enhanced its ability to pursue offshore energy exploration, project power across the Eastern Mediterranean, and shape Europe’s evolving energy landscape.
Türkiye’s expanding role in Libya is driven by objectives that extend well beyond preserving the Tripoli-based government. By establishing itself as a long-term security partner, Ankara has sought to counter the influence of regional rivals—including Greece, Cyprus, Russia, the United Arab Emirates and Egypt—who maintain interests in Libya (Libya Tribune, June 10, 2025). A sustained military presence also reinforces Türkiye’s position within the North Atlantic Treaty Organization (NATO) by enhancing its role on the Alliance’s increasingly contested southern flank, where terrorism, migration, and great power competition are becoming central security concerns. At the same time, Ankara has begun recalibrating its Libya strategy. Rather than remaining exclusively aligned with the UN-recognized GNU, Türkiye has gradually expanded engagement with the LNA. Relations began improving in late 2023, culminating in the reopening of Türkiye’s consulate in Benghazi in 2024 and high-level meetings between Turkish military officials and Haftar in 2025 (Turkish Minute, August 26, 2025).
Türkiye’s military diplomacy has mirrored Libya’s political reality. In 2025, Turkish naval vessels made port calls in both Tripoli and Benghazi during the same deployment—the first such engagement involving both rival administrations. The visits included naval training activities and consultations with defense officials from eastern and western Libya, including Major General Saddam Haftar, deputy commander of the LNA, on future military cooperation under the banner of “One Libya, One Army” (DefenseNews, August 26, 2025). Together, these developments suggest Türkiye is transitioning from backing a single faction to positioning itself as a security broker capable of shaping Libya’s military and political future.
This rapprochement gained momentum following Haftar’s April 2025 visit to Ankara, where the LNA’s Chief of Staff of Land Forces met with senior Turkish military officials to discuss expanding defense cooperation (Libya Tribune, September 26, 2025). Reports indicate the two sides have since negotiated agreements covering joint naval exercises, military training, advisory support, and the potential provision of Bayraktar TB2 unmanned aerial vehicles (Libya Tribune, September 27, 2025). By replicating the security partnerships it has built in eastern Libya, Ankara seeks to broaden support for the 2019 Türkiye–Libya maritime agreement, reinforce its long-term military presence, and strengthen the political legitimacy of its claims in the Eastern Mediterranean.
The rapprochement has produced tangible political and military outcomes. Most notably, the LNA has reportedly considered ratifying the 2019 maritime Memorandum of Understanding originally signed by the Tripoli-based GNU. This move would significantly strengthen the agreement’s political legitimacy. Military cooperation has likewise accelerated. Earlier this year, personnel from Libya’s rival military factions participated together in Türkiye’s Efes-2026 multinational exercise, marking the first time both sides trained under a single Libyan flag (DefenseNews, May 6, 2025).
Türkiye’s engagement in Libya forms part of a broader strategy to establish a network of military and commercial footholds along Africa’s most strategically important maritime corridors. Ankara has prioritized partnerships with Libya, Somalia, and Sudan, viewing their ports as gateways to the Mediterranean, Red Sea, and Indian Ocean, respectively. By expanding its presence at facilities such as Somalia’s Mogadishu Port, Sudan’s Suakin Port, and key Libyan ports, Türkiye has sought to strengthen its influence over critical maritime trade routes while advancing its energy and security interests (Observer Researcher Foundation, March 1, 2025). A growing military footprint has reinforced this maritime strategy. Türkiye’s two principal African bases are in Somalia and Libya, giving Ankara forward operating positions on both the Indian Ocean and the Mediterranean. Opened in 2017, the TURKSOM military base in Mogadishu is Türkiye’s largest overseas military installation and serves as the centerpiece of its security partnership with Somalia (Evrensel, July 29, 2025). The facility reportedly hosts more than 1,000 Turkish personnel and can train over 10,000 Somali troops, while providing logistics, operational support, and military assistance (Turkish Minute, August 6, 2025).
Türkiye has increasingly sought to differentiate itself from Russia and the People’s Republic of China (PRC) by presenting itself as a flexible, responsive, and operationally capable security partner for African states confronting insurgencies, Islamist militant groups, and separatist movements (Africa Center for Strategic Studies, July 8, 2025). This approach has been particularly evident in the Sahel and the Horn of Africa, where Ankara has paired defense cooperation with economic engagement to deepen its regional influence. Türkiye has also aligned with Morocco’s Atlantic Initiative, which aims to give landlocked Sahelian states access to the Atlantic Ocean, signaling Ankara’s support for emerging regional connectivity projects. Beyond security cooperation, Türkiye continues to expand its economic footprint through maritime and infrastructure investments, including supplying a modern tugboat to Kenya and supporting port and infrastructure development in Tanzania and Senegal (Observer Researcher Foundation, March 1, 2025).
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Executive Summary:
Since the U.S.–Iran conflict began on February 28, the Kurdistan Region of Iraq has been targeted by at least 1,000 drone and missile attacks by Iran and Iranian-backed factions, resulting in at least 32 deaths (Al Jazeera, August 11). In mid-July, Iran stepped up such drone attacks after the U.S.–Iran ceasefire broke down (ABC, July 10). For example, on July 17, at least 19 members of Iranian Kurdish opposition parties were killed, including 10 members of Komala, an Iranian Kurdish opposition group with armed Peshmerga forces based in Iraqi Kurdistan (Hengaw, July 21; Rudaw, August 31).
On August 17, Iranian drones also targeted the office of Kurdistan Regional Government (KRG) Prime Minister Masrour Barzani and the residence of the KRG Director of the Intelligence Agency (INA, August 17). Iranian officials denied being responsible for the attack, claiming it was a false-flag operation (Anadolu, August 17). On September 2, 10 drones were intercepted in Iraqi Kurdistan’s capital, Erbil. Iran’s Islamic Revolutionary Guard Corps (IRGC) claimed responsibility, alleging that a repair center, warehouses, and the guidance system of the U.S. surveillance balloon had been destroyed at Erbil Airport, a claim later confirmed by Rudaw (The New Region; Rudaw, September 2).
These attacks come amid the September 30 withdrawal of the U.S.-led Coalition forces from the Kurdistan Region, which is part of a 2024 Iraqi–U.S. agreement. Patriot systems at Erbil Airport were already removed in July (Al Monitor, July 31). This leaves the Kurdistan Region vulnerable to attacks.
Iran’s Attacks May Continue
The removal of U.S. troops from Erbil might decrease the number of Iranian attacks, since Iran has pointed to the presence of U.S. bases as a reason for attacks on Iraq (Al Jazeera, August 9). In the past, however, Iran has also targeted non-U.S. military targets, such as the Kurdish businessman Peshraw Dizayee, who was killed on January 15, 2024 (Anadolu, January 16, 2024). Iran-backed factions have also targeted Kurdish energy infrastructure in Iraq (Washington Kurdish Institute, November 2, 2023). Moreover, Iran could also continue to target the U.S. Consulate General in Erbil, despite the withdrawal of U.S.-led forces.
Iran has become increasingly frustrated with the continued presence of Iranian Kurdish armed groups in Iraqi Kurdistan, despite the KRG’s claim to neutrality in the conflict (Peshawa X/@Hawramani, September 3). These attacks come amid reports that U.S. President Donald Trump was considering a plan to arm such Iranian Kurdish militant groups (Tabnak, May 13). Israel was also reportedly planning to create the conditions for regime change through a ‘Kurdish invasion’ (Ynet, March 8).
In March 2023, Iraq and Iran signed a security agreement to disarm Iranian Kurdish militant groups (The New Region, August 15). In July 2023, furthermore, then-Chief of the Iranian General Staff Mohammad Bagheri warned Iraq that the Kurdish militant groups had to be disarmed or expelled (ISNA, July 25, 2023). While Kurdish armed groups were moved to new camps and removed from the border after 2023, Iran still demands their complete removal from the country (The New Region, September 6, 2024).
Iran’s Pressure Campaign
Iran’s Press TV has reported that Tehran delivered a message to Baghdad to either extradite or expel Iranian Kurdish militant groups (Press TV, June 26; The New Region, June 29). The attack on the KRG prime minister’s office might be a pressure tactic by Iran. The KRG does not favor expelling these groups, but under such pressure it could succumb to Iranian demands.
KRG Prime Minister Masrour Barzani told Al Jazeera that the Iranian Kurdish militants came to the area as refugees with their families before the Kurdistan Region was established in 1991. He therefore asserted that the Kurdish issue in Iran should be resolved peacefully through dialogue (Al Jazeera, August 9).
Iran also submitted Interpol Red Notice requests in July for 36 Kurdish opposition figures and activists (Iran Wire, July 22). Iranian Foreign Minister Abbas Araghchi further confirmed that he contacted Iraqi, Turkish, and Kurdish leaders after reports suggested that Trump reached out to regional leaders to call for the fragmentation of Iran, most likely referring to an Axios report that Trump spoke to Iraqi Kurdish leaders in early March (Axios, March 3; Al Monitor, July 20). Trump also reportedly spoke to Mustafa Hijri, leader of the Democratic Party of Iranian Kurdistan (PDK-I) (Washington Post, March 5). This Israeli–U.S. plan to use Iranian Kurds to break up Iran was, however, reportedly later abandoned (Daily Sabah, June 6).
Conclusion
If no final agreement is reached between the United States and Iran, Iran will likely continue attacks on the Kurdistan Region. Even if there is an agreement, however, it is still possible that Iran or Iranian-backed Iraqi factions will continue attacks on the Kurdistan Region, including attacks on energy infrastructure, Iranian Kurdish opposition groups, or KRG institutions. Without its own defense systems, the KRG will remain vulnerable to such attacks. The KRG’s main options are to lobby for an air-defense system or mediate a deal that secures Iran’s acceptance of the presence of Iranian Kurdish militant groups on its soil, which at this point seems increasingly unlikely. Drone attacks will therefore likely persist.
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Executive Summary:
On September 6, Ukrainian authorities in Kyiv implemented a new air raid alert system. The new system divides potential threats into yellow and red levels. “Yellow” designates general drone danger, while “red” indicates an imminent ballistic missile, mass drone, or combined missile-drone attack. During a yellow alert, ground transportation remains active, and commerce activities may continue, “so long as they [businesses] comply strictly with safety requirements” (Government of Ukraine, October 6). During a yellow alert, event organizers may continue, or even begin, a public gathering. Only after a red alert is declared are citizens expected to stop their activities and take shelter (Kyiv Post, September 2; Ukrmedia, September 10; Telegram/@smolii_ukraine, September 20; ).
Ukraine’s tiered air raid alert system is an attempt to protect the country’s economy and preserve some semblance of normal life as Russia conducts a persistent, destructive airstrike campaign, conducted with mass-produced jet-powered drones. In late summer, Russia acquired technology to 3D print jet turbine components. This technology has helped halve the cost of individual jet drone production and enabled mass production inside Russia (New Voice of Ukraine, September 2). [1] Russian forces increased jet-drone use eightfold between June and August (Ukrinform, September 23).
Jet-powered drones pose a threat more similar to cruise missiles than traditional Shahed-type drones (Telegram/@smolii_ukraine, September 28). Depending on the variant, they fly between 400 and 1,000 kilometers per hour (250 to 620 miles per hour), two to five times faster than their older counterparts, and fly four to seven times higher (United24 Media, September 21; Mezha, September 23). Russian forces equip these jet-powered drones with artificial intelligence-assisted guidance, anti-jamming antennas, and larger payloads (United24 Media, September 21). They frequently bypass once-effective Ukrainian air defenses and hit their targets with considerable destructive force.
Russia’s jet drone campaign, having sharply intensified in late August, has already brought devastating consequences for Ukraine’s economy and its people. Relentless strikes against production centers and business centers have already forced the Ukrainian government to adjust budgets. Ukrainian Economy and Environment Minister Oleksandr Kravchenko estimates that Ukraine loses $45 million for each hour under air raid alert (Meduza, September 30). On September 28, Ukraine’s Cabinet of Ministers announced a funding delay for non-essential construction, repairs, and park maintenance (Telegram/@Novynarnia, September 28).
Russia’s intentional targeting of civilian infrastructure has made everyday life even more difficult. The systematic destruction of gas stations has reached Kyiv, prompting Ukrainian gas company Ukranafta to construct shelters for 13 intact gas stations in densely populated areas (Kyiv Independent, September 28). Attacks against railroad infrastructure have also intensified, disrupting one of the last reliable means of transportation for civilians to cross the country (Japan Times, September 15; Telegram/@UkrzalInfo, September 23). Russia’s self-proclaimed “mandatory digital detox,” or intentional attacks on data centers and telecommunications facilities, has caused cellular data disruptions and payment system challenges (Meduza, September 28; Telegram/KyivCityOfficial, September 29). At the same time, Russia’s long-anticipated campaign against Ukraine’s energy infrastructure has begun, according to Ukrainian Prime Minister Sergii Koretskyi (X/@KoretskyiUA, September 30).
Especially in Kyiv, the main target of this campaign so far, these hardships are accompanied by immense psychological pressure. Earlier this year, Kyiv went through hours, and even days, without an air raid alert. Between September 22 and September 29, the capital averaged eight alerts per day for an average total of seven hours (Air Raid Alert Map of Ukraine, accessed October 8). Kyiv residents spent a record 20 cumulative hours under air raid alert on September 30 (Kyiv Independent, October 1). Jet-powered drones often reach and are intercepted over the city. Buzzing, whistling, and explosions are almost constant. In these conditions, work, school, and sleep are nearly impossible.
As economic and societal problems mount, Ukraine is scrambling for answers. According to Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelenskyy, 67 companies are now developing and producing drone interceptors capable of consistently downing new jet-powered drones (RBC-Ukraine, September 18). Overall interception rates have improved to approximately 57 percent (President of Ukraine, September 26). Much work still needs to be done to match the scale of Russia’s jet drone production.
The tiered air raid alert system, a change made outside of the military realm to adjust to this new reality, has only increased civilians’ anxiety and frustration. The threshold for what constitutes a “mass drone attack” remains unclear; some of the most devastating strikes on Kyiv have come during a yellow alert, when residents are less likely to be in a shelter. Pressure is building to return to the old system of air raid alerts, during which activity ceases, and civilians are expected to take shelter (Telegram/@smolii_ukraine, September 28).
Until Ukraine can develop a reliable countermeasure to jet-powered drones, authorities must contend with a near-impossible civil-defense dilemma. Treating each jet-drone incursion as a traditional air-raid threat risks transport and economic paralysis. If shelter rules stay relaxed, civilians remain exposed to increasingly dangerous, evasive weapons. This dilemma will likely grow in importance as winter approaches, bringing even more frequent strikes and their associated economic and social costs.
Note:
[1] Individual jet drone units now cost between $50,000 and $70,000 (New Voice of Ukraine, September 2).
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Executive Summary:
Independent Russian and international observers have established an unprecedented level of falsification in the Russian parliamentary elections of September 18–20. Based on the results, the United Russia party will form the largest faction in the State Duma’s history, having received a constitutional majority. Independent Russian media report that the authorities began preparing the falsifications in 2025 and threatened to send independent politicians and activists to fight in the war against Ukraine (Verstka, September 21). In southern Russia, the authorities sent Cossacks and the Russian National Guard (Rosgvardia) to intimidate voters (see EDM, September 28).
The security establishment’s interference in the elections was not limited to frightening voters and allegedly pushing for the ban of anti-war Yabloko party and similar local candidates (Verstka, September 18). Analysts at the Re: Russia project write that the Second Service of the Federal Security Service (FSB) has gained significant authority over the management of “electoral processes” and is vying for influence with Russian Presidential Administration First Deputy Chief of Staff Sergei Kiriyenko, who is formally responsible for elections (Re: Russia, September 22).
Such active interference by the FSB is not surprising, given that election organizers needed to create the illusion of total support for Russian President Vladimir Putin’s full-scale invasion of Ukraine despite indications that the public wants the war to end. Since at least summer 2025, even secret polls ordered by Russian officials, according to independent journalists, register war weariness. This attitude is notable not only among ordinary Russians, but also among the political elite (Novaya Gazeta Evropa, June 20). Mere falsification was no longer sufficient to distort the true picture so drastically. A full-scale mechanism of repression and intimidation was also necessary.
The strengthened role of the security services in political life has been a fact since the beginning of Russia’s full-scale war against Ukraine. Over the last few years, Putin has broadened the powers of the FSB, leading to increased political repression in Russia (see EDM, April 23). After a short pause while the system adapted to wartime, the turnover of officials resumed, including removals through criminal charges (Center for Data and Research on Russia, September). Russian political scientist Aleksandr Kynev dates the return to a normal level of rotation in regional administrations to the second half of 2024 (Re: Russia, July 9, 2025). Since then, repression against regional elites has once again gained momentum.
Experts note an increasing role for the FSB in such cases, as well as a rise in the number of arrests following the initiation of proceedings and in sentences involving asset confiscation. The value of assets seized by the state rose from 90 billion rubles ($1.3 billion) in 2022 to 1.6 trillion rubles ($19.1 billion) in 2025 (Center for Data and Research on Russia, September). Ministers, heads of regional governments, governors, and their deputies are becoming the primary subjects of these criminal cases. Overall, 8 percent of ministry-level managers and their deputies in regional administrations have been subjected to criminal cases (Re: Russia, September 29).
Analysts note that these campaigns of repression were used mainly to improve the efficiency of government spending, especially in the military sphere (Center for Data and Research on Russia, September). They did not seriously attempt to change the intra-elite balance at the federal level. Events following the recent elections showed, however, that the FSB’s stronger role was not situational or tied exclusively to securing the “necessary” election results. Rather, the elections signified a shift in the balance of power among Russian elites, with the FSB openly challenging the Presidential Administration.
This hypothesis is supported by the arrest of Kynev immediately following the elections. The political scientist was reportedly severely beaten during his arrest and charged with large-scale narcotics trafficking (Radio Svoboda, September 28). Russian journalist Dmitry Kolezev writes that Kynev worked informally before the elections with the New People (Novye Lyudi) party, a nominally independent party widely seen as a project of Kiriyenko, whose team oversees Russia’s Kremlin-approved parties. Kolezev therefore sees the arrest as a warning, and a serious blow, to the officials who run the Kremlin’s domestic policy (YouTube/@Kolezev, September 29).
Kynev’s detention took place with the participation of FSB agents and was “entirely unexpected” by the internal political bloc of the Presidential Administration and the leadership of New People (Verstka, September 25). Kynev’s arrest, as a possible stage of the conflict between the FSB and Kiriyenko, suggests that the security service has entered a qualitatively new level of confrontation.
Another sign of the FSB’s intensifying crackdown was the exposure of a network, linked to the security service, that had been plotting the assassinations of Russian dissidents in the United States. According to the Spanish newspaper El Mundo, the targets were Russian opposition politicians Garry Kasparov and Ilya Ponomarev (El Mundo; Radio Svoboda, September 30). At the end of the month, the FSB also opened a criminal case against London-based Russian Democratic Society head Ksenia Maximova for participating in the activities of a terrorist organization due to her cooperation with the Anti-War Committee of Russia (Meduza, September 30).
Such criminal charges are nothing new, especially since the Anti-War Committee was designated “a terrorist organization” (TASS, March 2). In this case, however, the matter was accompanied by a video in which FSB agents threatened Russian anti-war activists abroad. “We see their every step; their fates are sealed. We will not permit Khrushchev’s mistake of amnesty for Banderites,” the statement declared (TASS, September 28).
The post-election period in Russia is likely to see an intensification of repression and a sharpening of the power struggle at the federal level. Such a significant shift in influence in favor of the security services threatens to destabilize the system and further weaken the civilian administration, particularly the segment responsible for the economic underpinnings of the war effort.
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Executive Summary:
More than 800,000 Tajiks have taken Russian citizenship over the last decade under a 1996 agreement that gives them a more or less automatic right to that status. This allows them to live without restrictions in the Russian Federation and to vote in Russian elections (see EDM, July 23). The group is now so large—bigger than all but a handful of non-Russian nationalities of the Russian Federation—that some are now referring to it as a new nationality. “Russian citizens of Tajik origin” are culturally and linguistically Tajik, at least in private, but full-fledged citizens of the Russian Federation in public (Stan Radar, October 2). This group is a subset of the much larger group of ethnic Tajiks living and working in the Russian Federation, many of whom lack Russian citizenship. Moscow can and has stripped some Tajiks of Russian citizenship and deported them to Tajikistan, as well as adopted other harsh measures to get them to leave, especially in the wake of the Crocus City shopping center bombings in March 2024. The Russian government, however, has learned it can do so only at the cost of relations with Tajikistan. The former Soviet republic in Central Asia still hosts an important Russian military base and has reacted sharply to such Russian actions, despite remaining heavily dependent on remittances from Tajiks working in the Russian Federation (see EDM, May 2, October 22, 2024; Window on Eurasia, August 11, 2024).
As a result, Russian citizens of Tajik origin are becoming more important. Moscow is seeking to integrate them by encouraging their participation in Russian legislatures at all levels and even celebrating the re-election of a member of this new national community to the Russian State Duma (Stan Radar, October 2). In the short term, that may help Russian President Vladimir Putin’s regime reduce anger in Dushanbe and among members of this nationality in Russia. These actions suggest that Moscow views Russian citizens of Tajik origin as a group deserving a special status. Precisely because of that, however, this latest Moscow move may backfire. Russian citizens of Tajik origin could become more politically conscious, and demand and expand efforts to form the ethnic enclaves that many Russians fear are undermining the common legal space of their country (see EDM, April 10, 2025). If so, the Putin regime is likely to respond with repression. That will not only harm Moscow’s ties with Tajikistan and its base in that country as well as its relations with the Russian citizens of Tajik origin but also affect the attitudes and strategies of the other non-Russian peoples of the Russian Federation who may lack some of that group’s resources but who want many of the same things (Window on Eurasia, September 27, 2023; see EDM, May 2, 2024; Radio Svoboda, March 2).
One reason this new nationality has attracted relatively little attention so far is that its members live widely dispersed across the country, in various industrial centers, rather than concentrated in the capitals. The Russian government has stopped publishing data on both the location of these ethnic Tajiks and on their participation as candidates in elections. Those shortcomings, however, are compensated in part by an interview Mukim Mayboliyev, the head of the Tajik community in Tver oblast, gave to Tajikistan journalist Bakhtiyor Khamdamov of the StanRadar portal and also by that outlet’s coverage of the recent re-election of Rakhim Azimov as a United Russia deputy in the Russian State Duma (Stan Radar, October 2).
According to Mayboliyev, “Tajiks who have taken Russian citizenship are ever more actively participating in the social and political life of the country.” This pattern is especially noticeable among those born in Russia or who grew up there. Such people, he continues, “are preserving Tajik culture, language, and customs at home but outside the home are ever more confidently taking part in the life of their new motherland.” These people are equally comfortable in Tajik and Russian life and see no need to choose. Instead, they combine these two cultures into a single, distinctive whole. Mayboliyev suggests dominance elsewhere, something Moscow would likely welcome. This symbiotic combination almost certainly means these cultures will sometimes play roles beyond their accustomed ones, affecting how Tajiks behave in both places, a development neither Moscow nor Tajiks with Russian citizenship may like at all.
According to the Tver activist, the Tajik community in Tver works closely with the oblast administration. Khamdamov suggests, however, that it is still too early “to speak about massive political representation” of the community there or elsewhere in the Russian Federation. No data is available on how many Tajiks now serve in regional or municipal legislatures or governments. Moscow does not collect, or at least release, such data, and information about birthplace alone is not a good indicator of nationality. For example, the Tajik journalist notes that Viktor Bout, the notorious arms dealer who was imprisoned and then released in the United States and who now serves in the Ulyanovsk legislature, was born in Dushanbe but is in no way connected with Tajik culture. “It is possible,” Khamdamov continues, “that there are more people with Tajik roots in local governments,” but that cannot be confirmed, which he says may be a good thing because it means that their participation in politics is not based on ethnicity but on the ideas they support (Stan Radar, October 2).
The journalist mentions Rakhim Azimov, a Russian citizen of Tajik origin in the Russian State Duma. Born in 1964 in Shurab, a small city in northern Tajikistan, he studied in Leningrad and worked in the Kirov oblast government. In 2015, he became a deputy in the region’s legislative assembly. In 2016, he was elected to the Russian Duma as a United Russia deputy. In 2021, he was re-elected, and last month, he was re-elected again. Tajik media outlets, Khamdamov says, have written that Azimov has not forgotten Tajikistan or Shurab and has even helped build a school in the city where he was born. “Azimov has shown that it is possible to follow such a path,” the Tajik journalist says, concluding that others among the rising generation of Russian citizens of Tajik origin are likely to do the same.
For now, there is little evidence that Russian citizens of Tajik origin have become a fully self-conscious nation. If Russia enters a new period of turbulence during the looming succession struggle, that will likely change quickly, affecting not only its members but also other non-Russians in the Russian Federation, Moscow’s relationship with Tajikistan, and thus the future of the Russian state itself.
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Executive Summary:
On September 25, the Azerbaijani Ministry of Foreign Affairs protested a Georgian Orthodox Church (GOC) statement on restoration work at the Church of St. George in Kurmukh, in Azerbaijan’s Gakh District (Facebook/sazupatriarchate, September 24; Azerbaijani Ministry of Foreign Affairs, September 25). The Patriarchate called the church an important monument of Georgia’s spiritual and cultural heritage and said it was proceeding without coordination with Tbilisi or official notification from Baku. Azerbaijan rejected the church’s attribution to Georgia’s religious or ecclesiastical heritage. The Azerbaijani Foreign Ministry accused the GOC of encroaching on Azerbaijan’s sovereignty and territorial integrity and objected to the use of Georgian toponymy, stating that it is “unacceptable to designate geographical and historical toponyms located on the territory of Azerbaijan by other names” (Azerbaijani Ministry of Foreign Affairs, September 25).
Azerbaijani outlet 1news.az amplified the government’s position in a commentary published the same day. On September 25, the publication presented the GOC’s statement not as a purely ecclesiastical or cultural matter, but as an expression of territorial claims and an attempt to revise the region’s historical map. The article cited the ministry’s warning that the Georgian Patriarchate “is advised against repeating the well-known approaches of the Armenian Church and following its example.” The article further warned that, should Tbilisi continue making similar statements, Azerbaijan could raise the issue of a systematic and objective study of Albanian heritage within Georgia (1news.az, September 25). Rather than limiting the issue to the Kurmukh Church’s historical or ecclesiastical affiliation, the article also broadens the dispute to territorial claims, historical narratives, and the treatment of Azerbaijani heritage in Georgia.
This is far from the first dispute between Azerbaijan and Georgia over the ownership and identity of churches and monasteries in present-day Azerbaijan. Similar disagreements have emerged over several monuments, including the David Gareji monastery complex (Modern.az, September 11). Historically, including during the Soviet period, the Georgian cultural and religious identity of several of these monuments was not challenged as strongly as it is today. As with Armenian churches on its territory, Azerbaijan maintains that the monuments form part of its historical heritage, linking them to the legacy of Caucasian Albania, whose territory partially overlapped with present-day Azerbaijan. The Church of St. George in Kurmukh remained active for many years. Georgian clergy conducted Orthodox services exclusively in their own language for a congregation drawn from Azerbaijan’s ethnic Georgian community, which has been shrinking year by year. The church has also seen several separate incidents. In 2024, an Azerbaijani electronic music artist filmed a music video inside the church, including on the ambo, for a composition incorporating Georgian folk motifs and released it on YouTube. The video sparked outrage from the Patriarchate of Georgia, which described the incident as a desecration of Georgian sacred heritage. At the time, Azerbaijan’s Ministry of Foreign Affairs did not question either the church’s name or its Georgian identity. The artist removed the video from YouTube and said it was filmed to express love and respect for Georgian culture (Facebook/sazupatriarchate, August 1, 2024).
Azerbaijan appears to link the church’s identity, and even its Georgian name, directly to alleged territorial claims by another country. This raises a broader question of religious tolerance and the Georgian community’s right to preserve its religious and cultural identity. Rejecting the church’s Georgian origin leaves unclear where that community can pray and conduct services in its own language and according to its Orthodox tradition. The contrast with Georgia is sharp, as hundreds of mosques operate there and Muslim communities freely practice their religion and preserve their traditions (Report, April 21, 2017). The dispute therefore extends beyond one church’s historical affiliation to the community’s right to use it for Orthodox worship in Georgian.
The Georgian government has largely avoided the issue. Georgian Dream has traditionally acted as a close ally of the Patriarchate at home, but it has not shown the same willingness to back the GOC or defend the country’s cultural and religious heritage abroad. On September 27, Georgian Prime Minister Irakli Kobakhidze said, “We have no tensions; we have friendly relations with the Azerbaijani government. Based on this friendship, we can easily discuss any topic. It is in this spirit, in a friendly manner, that all issues between the governments of Georgia and Azerbaijan are addressed” (Business Media, September 27). Georgian expert Kakha Gogolashvili called the GOC’s statement misguided and imprudent, arguing that it should have raised the matter with the government and that the issue of the two countries’ political leadership should have been resolved (Interpressnews, September 28).
The Patriarchate, whose stance objectively favors the Georgian Dream government over the opposition, received support in this conflict precisely from opposition parties. The political party Lelo expressed full support and criticized the Azerbaijani ministry’s statement (Facebook/TVPirveli, September 26).
Georgian Dream demonstrates loyalty toward Baku and, in practice, appears to allow Azerbaijan to promote its own historical and cultural interpretation. Azerbaijani-language schools in Georgia use textbooks published in Azerbaijan, which, for example, interpret the history of the region primarily from Baku’s perspective. While Azerbaijan consistently promotes its own historical and cultural narrative, Tbilisi, at least publicly, shows no comparable level of activity in protecting Georgia’s historical and cultural heritage beyond its present-day borders (Netgazeti, September 8).
In recent years, a many sites in Georgia have been named after former Azerbaijani President Heydar Aliyev, the first president of Azerbaijan and the father of the country’s current president. A public garden in the historic part of Georgia’s capital is named after Heydar Aliyev, where his bust has been installed.. One of the longest stretches of the city’s waterfront is also named after Heydar Aliyev. The state Azerbaijani-language theater in the center of the Georgian capital also bears his name. In addition, several state universities in Georgia have and educational and research spaces at several state universities are also named after him and busts of him have also been installed in several others. Other Georgian cities have also installed busts of Aliyev and named streets and avenues have been named in his honor. In spring, the Georgian announced plans to build a Heydar Aliyev Cultural Center in the very heart of Tbilisi’s historic district, which caused particular controversy. To clear the site for construction, the government decided to initiate expropriation proceedings involving privately owned against property belonging to Georgian citizens (Radio Tavisupleba, April 11).
In Georgia, the Azerbaijani position has provoked a strong public reaction. The controversy is driven not only by the restoration of the Kurmukh Church, but also by how Baku responded to the Patriarchate, one of the country’s most influential institutions and one closely connected to the political and social environment supporting Georgian Dream. Ordinary citizens of the two countries had maintained generally good-neighborly rhetoric for many years. A virtual battle erupted on social media on both sides, however, after this incident. Azerbaijani social media users began issuing threats against Georgia and even making territorial claims, while an anti-Azerbaijani campaign also emerged among Georgian users (Facebook/Savashmedia.az, September 27). Some Georgian observers suspect that Russian intelligence services may be behind the escalation, as they could have an interest in worsening relations between the two countries (Facebook/Qaxlilar, September 27; Interpressnews, September 30).
As tensions emerged, the leader of Georgia’s pro-Russian Solidarity for Peace party, Mamuka Pipia, saw an opportunity to promote closer ties with Russia. He said he had warned last year about the challenges posed by Azerbaijan and Türkiye and had urged Georgian authorities to form a military-political alliance with Russia to ensure the country’s security (Mtavari Now, September 27).
On September 30, a bust of Heydar Aliyev in Tbilisi was vandalized (1news.az, September 30). Georgian law enforcement agencies quickly identified the perpetrators and detained an Armenian citizen who, according to the Georgian authorities, had traveled to Georgia specifically to carry out the vandalism. These developments suggest that various external and domestic actors could have an interest in fueling tensions between Azerbaijan and Georgia. Attempts to provoke conflict between the Azerbaijani authorities and the GOC could ultimately worsen relations between the two countries.
Baku’s policy toward Georgia changed sharply after Azerbaijan took full control of Nagorno-Karabakh in 2023. Since then, with strong support from Türkiye, Baku has positioned itself as a middle power and a regional leader (President of Azerbaijan, May 25). This status has given Azerbaijan greater confidence to engage with Georgia not as a strategic partner, but through a language of power, as illustrated by the dispute over transit tariffs. In December 2025, tensions became particularly visible over Georgian transit tariffs on Azerbaijani oil transported through Georgia to Armenia, highlighting growing strains in the bilateral relationship (see EDM, January 29).
Azerbaijan’s threats toward Georgia, especially the hints at possible claims concerning allegedly Azerbaijani cultural heritage in Georgia, raise concerns. Given Baku’s growing ambitions to position itself as the region’s leader, as well as its claims regarding historical heritage within Armenia, Baku’s rhetoric may soon include historical arguments asserting that parts of Georgian territory belong to Azerbaijan. This is particularly concerning given that the state border between the two countries has still not been delimited.
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Executive Summary:
On August 28, Armenian Prime Minister Nikol Pashinyan stated at a press conference that Moscow can no longer be regarded as Yerevan’s strategic partner (Armenpress, August 27). His sharp rhetoric toward Russia is hardly unexpected, given that relations between Moscow and both Yerevan and Baku have recently deteriorated again. Yerevan attributes its stance to Moscow’s failure to fulfill its treaty obligations during the Second Karabakh War with Azerbaijan in 2020 (Armenpress, August 27). While Pashinyan’s remarks underscored Yerevan’s intention to strengthen its engagement with Western partners, they also triggered renewed controversy within Armenia’s political establishment. The debate now centers on whether the long-standing Moscow–Yerevan strategic partnership remains relevant in the country’s recalibrated foreign policy and regional security strategy (The Armenian Mirror-Spectator, August 27).
Moscow’s growing discontent with Yerevan also stems from Armenia’s vigorous embrace of the U.S.-backed Trump Route for International Peace and Prosperity (TRIPP) transit corridor agreement with Azerbaijan, signed in Washington in August 2025 (Caucasus Watch, August 6). The project envisions linking Azerbaijan with its Nakhchivan exclave through Armenia’s Syunik province, while granting Armenia access to the broader east–west trade network. In January, Armenia confirmed the establishment of the TRIPP+ Enterprise Fund, aimed at investing $201 million in the South Caucasus and Central Asia (Hetq, August 5). This development is poised to erode Russia’s long-term leverage over Armenia while fostering stronger intraregional connectivity across the South Caucasus that circumvents Russian territory (Interfax, August 24). By opening new trade and transit pathways, it also creates opportunities for external actors to establish a more tangible presence in Moscow’s immediate neighborhood.
Armenia’s firm stance on remaining in the European Union’s close orbit since Pashinyan’s re-election in June has further contributed to tensions with Russia. Economically, a fully functioning TRIPP route, which will form the southern part of the Middle Corridor, would compete with the Russian–Iranian-backed North–South Corridor, undermining Moscow’s long-term geoeconomic strategy (SpecialEurasia, January 28). Armenia’s coordination with Azerbaijan on constructing TRIPP-related railway and highway infrastructure also complicates Moscow’s relations with Baku.
Over the past three years, Russia–Azerbaijan relations have deteriorated following the incident in which a Russian missile struck an Azerbaijani passenger aircraft over the North Caucasus (see EDM, January 15, 2025). Moscow’s initial restricted apology, coupled with its orchestrated anti-Azerbaijani campaign in domestic media, further strained bilateral ties (AzerNews, September 11). Baku suspended its partnership with Russia and moved away from its neutrality on Russia’s war against Ukraine, voicing support for Kyiv and hosting Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelenskyy in Gabala in April (President of Ukraine, April 25; see EDM, May 4).
Baku perceived the systematic anti-Azerbaijani campaign as part of Russia’s hybrid operations and pushed for the swift implementation of the TRIPP. Against the backdrop of Moscow’s strained ties with both Yerevan and Baku, Azerbaijani President Ilham Aliyev proposed that Azerbaijan could supply Armenia with electricity, effectively positioning itself as a substitute for Russia in regional energy connectivity (Arab News, August 12). The envisioned linkage of Azerbaijan’s power grid with Nakhchivan via Armenia underscores this ambition. Baku interprets Russia’s assertive rhetoric and its reliance on information campaigns, diaspora mobilization, and economic pressure as evidence that Moscow’s traditional political instruments in the South Caucasus are eroding (European Pravda, September 14).
Armenia has moved closer to Azerbaijan’s more distant stance toward Russia. Pashinyan publicly acknowledged for the first time that Azerbaijani specialists visited Armenia in 2025 and 2026 to discuss the development of power transmission lines, railway construction, and energy pipelines, while Moscow remained a passive bystander (Report, August 13). As tensions with Russia persist, Azerbaijan has set its sights on starting construction of the Armenian segment of the TRIPP corridor. The process appears more complicated on Yerevan’s side due to persistent issues with Armenia’s railway company, a wholly owned subsidiary of Russian Railways (RZhD) (SpecialEurasia, January 28).
Armenia’s only viable course is to show that Russia is unwilling or unable to run the country’s railways. In early 2026, Yerevan formally asked Moscow to speed up the reconstruction of Soviet-era lines along Armenia’s segment of TRIPP, expecting Moscow to refuse (CivilNet, January 15; see EDM, March 31). These include the stretch in the Akhurik area from the Armenia–Türkiye border to the existing operational network, the line from the Armenia–Nakhchivan border to Yeraskh, and the Tavush section up to and including the Ijevan railway station (CivilNet, January 15). Such reluctance gives the Armenian government greater latitude to criticize Moscow, highlight the urgency of revoking the concession awarded to RZhD, and actively pursue financial backing from external partners, particularly in the West (CivilNet, January 15). External funding would effectively internationalize the TRIPP project, an outcome that has already unsettled both Russia and Iran, given its potential to recalibrate regional connectivity.
Challenges within the regional security architecture, such as resistance from the Moscow–Tehran axis and the U.S.–Iran war, are causing some delays. On September 8, Azerbaijani Foreign Minister Jeyhun Bayramov, during a meeting with U.S. diplomats, put a positive spin on the delay, saying that “according to the information we have received, the process is proceeding successfully” (Eurasianet, September 10).
Baku seeks to establish durable commercial ties with both Armenia and Europe at a time when Russia is distracted by Ukraine’s recent drone strikes and is losing leverage in the South Caucasus. For Armenia, the drive behind the rapid development of this new route stems from its determination to diversify the economy, reduce dependence on Russia, and expand exports to Europe. In the first half of this year, Armenia’s exports to the European Union surpassed $516 million, an increase of more than 80 percent year-on-year, while trade turnover with Russia fell by 20.5 percent over the same period (OC Media, July 13; Public Radio of Armenia, August 20).
A fully operational TRIPP would deepen U.S. and EU influence in the South Caucasus. The route would also limit Russia’s leverage over market access and expand Armenia’s economic autonomy and Azerbaijan’s room for political and security partnerships beyond the region (Eurasianet, August 28). Despite Russia’s pressure on Armenia to choose between the European Union and the Russia-led Eurasian Economic Union (EAEU), Yerevan is buying time, arguing that it has not reached the critical moment when it must make a definitive choice.
From Russia’s perspective, Armenia’s pro-Western orientation and growing estrangement should hardly surprise it (Eurasianet, August 28). Beyond its political symbolism, Armenia has tangible economic and sanctions-evasion value for Russia as the only viable land corridor to Iran outside Azerbaijan’s and Türkiye’s control. This geographic leverage explains why Moscow views Yerevan’s pivot with unease. Russia’s relations with Azerbaijan are even more turbulent. On August 27, posters with anti-Azerbaijani slogans were placed outside the guest house of Azerbaijan’s embassy in Moscow. Baku condemned the act as a provocation, linked it to a biased campaign in Russian media, and demanded that Moscow investigate (Azerbaijani Ministry of Foreign Affairs, August 27).
Azerbaijan signals with such uncompromising statements that it is prepared for diplomatic escalation with Russia and willing to confront actions that challenge Baku’s self-perception as a “middle power.” Baku interprets Moscow’s attempts to undermine strategically significant interregional projects, many of which Azerbaijan pursues with Armenia, as little more than efforts to preserve residual leverage in the South Caucasus.
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Executive Summary:
In mid-September, Chinese news outlets celebrated the 10th anniversary of the People’s Liberation Army (PLA) Joint Logistics Support Force’s (JLSF) establishment. State media highlighted how the JLSF has established an integrated joint support capability over the last ten years focused on logistics, medical support, and transportation (CCTV, September 13). It has also expanded the scope of its logistical operations, shown by various exercises that subordinate units, such as the Shenyang Joint Logistics Support Center (JLSC), conducted using drones and other intelligent equipment (CCTV, September 13).
The JLSF’s use of drones and intelligent equipment to transport and treat injured soldiers is part of a “life-saving chain” (生命救援链) (CCTV, September 13). The PLA has developed this evacuation process for transport and care at medical facilities as part of wider lessons it gained from observing Russia’s war in Ukraine.
Life-Saving Chain Employs Unmanned, Intelligent Equipment
The JLSF’s life-saving chain deploys a transportation capability to evacuate wounded soldiers from the battlefield and move them to medical facilities for treatment. The JLSF developed these tactics and procedures to retrieve and treat casualties by leveraging various drones and intelligent equipment, which enhances the effectiveness of evacuations (CCTV, September 13; China Brief, September 15).
Heavy use of unmanned platforms in the chain is also a response to the increased presence of loitering munitions, precision guided munitions, first-person view (FPV) drones, and sensors that now exist on the battlefield. Drones and sensors introduce new risks for medical and support personnel when completing missions behind the frontlines. The PLA views the use of drones to evacuate wounded soldiers as a solution to this obstacle. Tracked and wheeled unmanned ground vehicles (UGV) would have the ability to transport casualties from the frontlines to medical sites located in the rear; robot wolves and unmanned aerial vehicles (UAV) would conduct searches for injured personnel and deliver medical supplies on the battlefield as they wait for evacuation (Xinhua, September 12).
Drones would also conduct resupply missions to deliver medical supplies to medics stationed with frontline units. These auxiliary missions would increase soldiers’ chances of survival as they wait for UGVs and unmanned helicopters to bring them to aid stations and other frontline medical facilities (CCTV, September 13). Drones would also be used as supplementary transport to move casualties for follow-on treatment at medical sites with more substantial resources.
Casualty tracking and remote treatment are the successive stages of the JLSF’s life-saving chain. The chain uses intelligent equipment such as “wearable smart monitoring systems” (可穿戴智能监护系统), which would allow medical staff to rapidly examine a soldier’s vital signs during the triage and treatment processes (CCTV, September 13). It also used improved “dynamic electronic casualty tags” (动态电子伤票) to provide enhanced care for wounded troops (CCTV, September 13). These tags would enable medics to input personal data, injuries, treatments, and other information about casualties, likely using an improved interface compared to the second-generation system. They would also prevent doctors and nurses from administering redundant treatments or tests. Past iterations allowed medical staff to rapidly access the medical history of injured personnel (PLA Daily, June 9, 2009). The system can likely sync with existing electronic casualty tags to continuously upload medical information.
Medical staff would also leverage the PLA’s “military-wide telemedicine information network” (全军远程医学信息网) built upon “5G-plus dedicated long-range Internet line communications technology” (5G+互联网专线远程通信技术) to provide enhanced medical care by remotely conducting surgeries and other procedures at field hospitals and frontlines (The Paper, September 11; CCTV, September 13).
Conclusion
The life-saving chain enhances JLSF evacuation capabilities by providing the branch with the ability to move casualties from the frontlines to receive treatment at field hospitals. Its employment of unmanned platforms and intelligent equipment in the evacuation process enables the PLA to increase the survivability of its troops by reducing the threat posed by FPV drones, loitering munitions, and sensors. Drones would also increase the survivability of troops by providing them with additional medical supplies as they wait for UGVs and unmanned platforms to evacuate them from the battlefield.
Intelligent equipment, such as the smart monitoring systems and electronic casualty tags, would complement drone evacuations by enabling medical personnel to effectively continue treating the wounded soldiers. The chain would be employed at the tactical level by individual brigades to enable their medical units to play a role in the wider process.
The life-saving chain would likely have limitations that decrease its ability to evacuate and care for casualties from the frontlines. One limitation is the potential for drones to be jammed or disabled using electronic warfare techniques. This vulnerability would prevent targeted drones from conducting evacuation operations. Another is that the heavy electromagnetic signatures that drones and intelligent equipment emit could be used by enemy forces to locate field hospitals and other medical sites. This information would be used to locate frontline positions and other viable military sites for targeting by artillery, long-range missiles, and other stand-off weapons.
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Executive Summary:
On August 31, the Pakistani government announced that Pakistan Railways and Russian Railways Logistics (RZD Logistics) signed a freight forwarding contract establishing a framework for cooperation in international freight transportation. Under the deal, both countries will work toward launching a pilot container freight train route connecting Pakistan with Russia and Central Asia (Express Tribune, September 1). The route, which is planned to run through Iran, was postponed several times in the past year and a half because of geopolitical tensions in the region. On August 10, Russian Ambassador to Pakistan Albert P. Khorev wrote on X:
Together with our Pakistani partners, we are working on launching the first freight railway route along the Moscow–Faisalabad and Moscow–Karachi corridors in both directions. The possibility of involving the Belarusian side in the project is also being considered. At present, the parties are finalizing the contract for the provision of services and identifying companies in the countries along the proposed route that are interested in transporting their goods (X/@RusEmbPakistan, August 10).
A rail link between Russia and Pakistan could strengthen bilateral relations. For Russia, the project would secure faster access to Pakistani ports, the Persian Gulf, and the Indian Ocean. For Pakistan, it would establish a connection with industrial hubs across Central Asia and Russia, unlocking trade opportunities (Russia’s Pivot to Asia, December 7, 2025). The landlocked Central Asian countries could benefit from the proposed integration by securing access to warm-water ports in Pakistan (Russia’s Pivot to Asia, December 7, 2025).
The planned route bypasses Afghanistan and traverses the eastern branch of the International North–South Transport Corridor (INSTC), passing through Kazakhstan, Turkmenistan, and Iran. The 7,200-kilometer (4,474-mile) INSTC is a multimodal corridor connecting Russia and India through Iran, with branches extending through Central Asia. The new planned freight train connection between Russia and Pakistan indicates a strategic choice to reduce reliance on traditional trade routes (Russian Council, February 6, 2025). The 8,000-kilometer (4,971-mile) route between Russia and Pakistan is expected to take 20–25 days (News Central Asia, June 12, 2025).
The proposed rail project marks a significant development in relations between Russia and Pakistan. In May 1948, Moscow and Islamabad established diplomatic ties. The relationship remained tense during the Cold War, but warmed following the collapse of the Soviet Union in the early 1990s because of evolving geopolitical realities and shared strategic interests (Business Recorder, August 11). In July 2025, Russian Deputy Prime Minister Alexei Overchuk described Pakistan as an “important partner” in the region’s economic and energy development during a meeting with a Pakistani delegation in Moscow (Arab News.Pk, July 10, 2025)
In December 2024, the Russian–Pakistani intergovernmental commission on trade and economic cooperation first decided to include Pakistan in an extension of the INSTC. The route discussed at the time would run through Azerbaijan and Iran, rather than the eastern INSTC branch through Central Asia, as more recently discussed (Rail Freight, December 6, 2024; Russia’s Pivot to Asia, February 24, 2025). The first freight train service for a pilot of this route was scheduled to begin in March 2025 (Russia’s Pivot to Asia, February 24, 2025). The trial was subsequently postponed, including a planned June 2025 departure that was cancelled because of armed conflict in Iran, and the pilot has yet to operate. In March 2025, Overchuk met with Pakistani Finance Minister Muhammad Aurangzeb and said, “We are looking forward to the project, the first train to travel from Russia to Pakistan … Our countries have never had bilateral rail service before, but we have reached an agreement and will start the trial run” (Rail Freight, March 28, 2025).
The route proposed in 2024 via Azerbaijan and Iran would require use of the incomplete Rasht–Astara rail link. Construction has faced delays related to land acquisition, financing, contractual arrangements, and the Iran conflict. The more recently proposed route is also limited by its Iran section. In early August, Pakistani Ambassador to Russia Faisal Niaz Tirmizi said, “The only obstacle on this path is that the route must transit through Iran, and this section has not yet been launched. We are working closely on this issue and continue to strive to make the Minsk–Karachi cargo corridor operational” (Izvestiya, August 6).
The Russia–Pakistan rail project plans to leverage the INSTC to reduce transit times, increase trade volume, and lower transportation costs. The rail link with Pakistan will strengthen Moscow’s role in Eurasian trade and deepen its engagement with South Asia (Russian Council, February 6, 2025). The establishment of a railway connection between Russia and Pakistan is facing many challenges. The primary challenge is the security of the route across volatile regions. Another challenge is building new rail infrastructure, modernizing the existing railway, and harmonizing railway infrastructure standards, which vary in the involved countries. Overcoming these logistical challenges will require ongoing investment and cooperation among the stakeholder countries.
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Executive Summary:
Hungary blocked progress on Ukrainian EU accession on September 8 for the fourth time since the first negotiating cluster opened on June 15. Hungarian diplomats said Budapest’s approval of new negotiating clusters is contingent on Kyiv’s implementation of commitments protecting the rights of the Hungarian minority in Ukraine’s Zakarpattia oblast (Index, September 9). Ukraine’s Foreign Ministry responded that Hungary should not make the implementation of minority-rights commitments a condition for opening unrelated negotiation clusters. Kyiv argues that it already incorporated the commitments into its action plan, the execution of which the European Union will evaluate as a part of the accession process (Shelter, September 21). This incident demonstrates that Budapest’s Ukraine policy under Hungarian Prime Minister Péter Magyar may be contingent on Ukraine’s approach to the rights of its Hungarian minority.
Hungary’s continued refusal to advance Ukraine’s EU membership talks is the latest manifestation of Budapest’s evolving Ukraine policy under the country’s new government. After Magyar’s Tisza party defeated Russian-friendly Hungarian Prime Minister Viktor Orbán’s Fidesz party in April parliamentary elections, the new pro-EU government vowed to restore Hungary’s relations with the European Union and North Atlantic Treaty Organization (NATO). Magyar subsequently downgraded diplomatic and political relations with Russia (see EDM, April 15). This new government has offered Ukraine an opportunity to reset ties with Hungary after years of anti-Ukrainian policy and rhetoric under Viktor Orbán’s consecutive governments from 2010–2026 (see EDM, March 25).
Only a month after Hungary’s new government was installed in May, Magyar announced a surprise agreement between Budapest and Kyiv. Under the deal, Hungary dropped its opposition to opening new EU accession negotiating clusters with Ukraine in exchange for comprehensive legislative reforms protecting and expanding the cultural, educational, and language rights of the Hungarian minority in Ukraine. Ukraine committed to restoring the system of schools for national minorities, allowing the use of Hungarian in education and school communications. In settlements where the proportion of the Hungarian population exceeds 10 percent, Kyiv will also allow the free use of Hungarian national symbols.
Disagreements about how implementation of this “historic agreement” should be evaluated flared in recent weeks. Ukraine’s Foreign Ministry insisted progress should be assessed through existing EU accession mechanisms and not via new conditions from Hungary. Ukrainian Foreign Minister Andrii Sibyha said the previous Hungarian government’s policies of “obstructionism and isolationism continue to thrive,” blocking Ukraine’s EU path (Népszava, September 22). At the same time, Kyiv emphasized that the deal’s educational reforms will be implemented by the end of this year, and legislation on the remaining issues will be passed by May 2027 (Karpat.in.ua, September 22).
Following weeks of uncertainty, Hungarian Foreign Minister Anita Orbán announced that Budapest and Kyiv resolved the misunderstandings after a series of meetings with her Ukrainian counterpart during the UN General Assembly High-level Week. The Hungarian foreign minister expects legislative progress on the Hungarian minority in Ukraine by the end of October (Index, September 24). On October 2, Magyar welcomed Ukraine submitting draft legislation on Hungarian educational rights to the Verkhovna Rada, Ukraine’s parliament (HVG, October 2). The Verkhovna Rada is expected to vote on the bill on October 12 (Evropeis’ka Pravda, October 6).
On September 21, Magyar, a critic of Ukraine’s fast-track EU accession, said that Hungary is not participating in a new regional cooperation format launched by Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelenskyy that would include Austria, Czechia, Hungary, Poland, Romania, Serbia, Slovakia, and Ukraine. Dubbed the Carpathian Eight, its inaugural regional summit was held on September 18. Romanian President Nicușor Dan, Polish President Donald Tusk, and then-Serbian President Aleksandar Vučić were present, while Budapest was only represented by Hungary’s chargé d’affaires to Kyiv. Following the summit, however, the Hungarian foreign minister did not rule out the possibility of Budapest joining the forum in the future.
Magyar’s post-summit comments may have been fueled by a memorandum signed by Ukraine’s Naftogaz and Hungarian oil company MOL on the sidelines of the gathering to explore the construction of Ukrainian petroleum-product storage facilities in Hungary near the border. Magyar said the negotiations between the two oil companies were started under the previous Orbán-led government and criticized MOL for continuing negotiations without informing his government. He also said that no Ukrainian storage facility would be built in Hungary while Tisza is in power (444, September 22). The Hungarian government owns a 25 percent stake in MOL and has said that it is unacceptable that the company conducted negotiations with the Ukrainian government-owned Naftogaz without Budapest’s consent.
Combined, these developments signal that Magyar is consciously keeping himself away from Ukrainian affairs. Ukraine and Hungary have repeatedly discussed dates and locations for a formal bilateral summit between Zelenskyy and Magyar that has still not taken place. Advancing Ukraine’s EU accession bid without tangible results in protecting ethnic Hungarians would directly undermine Magyar’s pre-election promises, erode support for Tisza, and provide Orbán’s Fidesz–KDNP with fuel for attacks.
Hungary’s new ruling party operates in an environment that was shaped by years of Orbán-driven anti-Ukrainian narratives, and most of the Hungarian population has an unfavorable view of Ukraine (24.hu, December 19, 2025). Public sentiment could be the primary reason why Magyar is criticizing Kyiv for not implementing an agreement that is supposed to be completed later. Employing tough rhetoric against Kyiv may also be intended to retain the Ukraine-skeptic part of the Tisza voter base and gain the sympathy of some right-wing opposition voters. In parallel, this signals that Hungary’s Ukraine approach has a dual track that combines tough rhetoric from the prime minister with more conciliatory negotiations led by the foreign minister.
While some observers see Hungary’s opposition to advancing Ukraine’s EU bid as a continuation of Hungary’s Orbán-era Ukraine policy, the new government promised pragmatic bilateral relations focused on protecting Hungarian interests while also affirming a Western orientation. Even with recent setbacks, the contrast with the Orbán era remains notable because of the new government’s decision to unblock EU aid to Ukraine and the opening of new EU membership talks in June.
In the coming months, a full implementation of the minority rights agreement could pave the way for the opening of two of the remaining four EU accession negotiation clusters. In contrast, a Ukrainian failure to implement these changes or other bilateral disputes will risk slowing down the Ukrainian accession bid or even decoupling it from Moldova’s. Hungary has no opposition to advancing the Moldovan application, but the European Union has linked Ukrainian and Moldovan accession through its “package approach.” Even after the accession talks end, Ukraine’s entry into the organization—as Magyar has repeatedly stated—could come down to a Hungarian referendum, the outcome of which is uncertain.
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Executive Summary:
At Russian President Vladimir Putin’s insistence, Russia has only one president. After some resistance, the federal subjects were forced to stop calling their leaders presidents and instead refer to them as “heads” (Window on Eurasia, February 12, 2021). Since Russia’s war against Ukraine began in 2022, the number of federal subjects with their own prime ministers, in addition to Moscow-appointed “heads,” has risen from 10 to 39 and is projected to rise further in the coming months (Klub Regionov, September 30). This latter change is taking place largely under the radar. It reflects both the burdens Putin’s policies have shifted to the federal subjects—such as raising troops and handling crises such as the current gas shortage—and the desire of their heads to share these burdens and deflect the rising tide of popular anger about some policies from themselves (Telegram/@thegraschenkov, September 30). As a result, regional governments are looking like self-standing institutions, even though Moscow still appoints their heads, and thus may have greater capacity to act as independent actors in the looming succession struggle. That is especially likely because prime minister offices in the federal subjects now affect more predominantly ethnic Russian oblasts and krais than non-Russian republics, reversing the earlier pattern in which the latter subjects with prime ministers outnumbered the former in holding such positions.
Putin’s elimination of the office of president in Russia’s federal subjects symbolizes his drive to centralize power in his own person. Despite resistance in some places, the Kremlin leader succeeded. Now, no federal subject has a president, only a governor or a head. That has not been the end of the story, however. As that was happening, and especially after Putin shifted more burdens onto the federal subjects, the latter responded by adding the position of prime minister to their leadership teams, with the number of such oblasts, krais, and republics having a prime minister increasing from fewer than a dozen in 2022 to 39 now. Under Russian law, this office has always been optional for federal subjects (Klub Regionov, September 30). At the same time, the people appointed to such positions largely shifted from technocrats put in place to handle specific projects to politicians capable of interacting with the public and thus taking pressure off the republic heads (Klub Regionov; Telegram/@thegraschenkov, September 30). For now, these innovations and their spread from non-Russian republics to predominantly ethnic Russian oblasts and krais do not challenge Moscow. In some future succession struggle, however, it means that leadership teams of these federal subjects will look more like independent states than they have since Putin began to geld them two decades ago. This places them in a better position to act on their own than either he or most others suspect—even if many of these people were appointed by Moscow or named with the center’s approval.
For all these reasons, these regional prime ministers are now attracting ever more attention from the expert community in the Russian Federation. One example is a new report by the Moscow Center for the Development of Regional Policy entitled The Chairmen of Regional Governments in the Subjects of Russia: Their Administrative Profile and Media Activity (Telegram/@thegraschenkov, September 30). That study draws seven major conclusions:
Commenting on this report, the Club of the Regions portal adds some important details. It notes that in some places, the position of prime minister has been introduced where it had never existed before (the Jewish Autonomy and Chelyabinsk oblast among them), and in others, it has been restored after a post that had existed earlier (Tomsk and Kherson oblasts). At the same time, the portal observes that “there are no prime ministers in any of the cities of federal importance,” one reason this trend has attracted little attention so far. It says that while most premiers remain “in the information shadow of governors and do not form their own media agendas, the importance of such people, and by implication, their independence, “is growing not only helping their governor bosses and Moscow but their own careers as well.” If, as some predict, regional heads who failed to attract enough votes for United Russia in the recent Duma elections are replaced, these prime ministers could become a more important source of their replacements than those usually considered (Nezavisimaya Gazeta, October 1).
For all these reasons, the prime ministers in the regions are politicians to be watched not only because they are changing the political scene in the federal subjects now but also because they, perhaps even more than governors parachuted in by Moscow from the outside, are likely to become major players during the upcoming succession struggle.
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Executive Summary:
Russian authorities have mounted an unusually large containment operation around the death of an employee of the Irkutsk Anti-Plague Research Institute while issuing shifting accounts of the underlying event. According to Russian local reporting, 28-year-old Daria Shipilova was allegedly exposed while working with Yersinia pestis on September 25, developed severe pneumonia, and died in Shelekhov on October. The alleged laboratory exposure has not been officially confirmed (Euronews, October 4). The Shelekhov district hospital had already entered quarantine on October 1, and on October 2 an extraordinary regional sanitary and anti-epidemic commission met with Anna Popova, chief of federal public health agency Rospotrebnadzor; 197 possible contacts were subsequently identified and 189 reportedly placed in medical facilities for observation and treatment (Shelekhov District Administration; IRK.ru, October 2).
Russian public messaging then diverged sharply: the head of the neighboring Republic of Buryatia initially linked the death to plague; authorities in nearby Baikalsk briefly urged residents not to travel to Shelekhov before deleting the warning; and on October 4 Rospotrebnadzor said the employee had died from “pneumonia of unknown etiology,” that expanded testing found no microorganism connected to her professional work, and that no pathogenic microorganism incident had occurred at the institute (The Moscow Times, October 2; Euronews; Interfax, October 4). The incident would ordinarily be expected to register quickly with Beijing because Irkutsk is directly connected to multiple cities in the People’s Republic of China (PRC) by air. Yet as of October 4, Beijing had issued no public health warning or Russia-related travel advisory, the Chinese consulate in Irkutsk listed no new epidemic notice, and ordinary connectivity continued, with Irkutsk reporting on October 2 that as many as six flights a day continued to link the city with Beijing, Shanghai, Guangzhou, Manzhouli, and Harbin (PRC Consulate General in Irkutsk, accessed October 4; IRK.ru, October 2).
Beijing’s silence is particularly incongruous because the incident occurred during the late summer and early autumn plague surveillance season along the PRC’s northern border, when disease control authorities routinely intensify monitoring of rodent populations and vectors, alongside health screening of incoming passengers. In 2026, those seasonal measures coincided with an unusually large expansion of PRC–Russia cross-border infectious disease exercises, even as travel and tourism between the two sides accelerated. Moscow and Beijing held the first stage of their first joint exercises responding to infectious threats in Khabarovsk on June 9–11, followed on August 24–27 by a second, much larger exercise in Fuyuan, Heilongjiang, where more than 300 PRC personnel rehearsed an unknown tick-borne “Disease X”, an imported plague outbreak, epidemic notification, joint risk assessment, and coordinated control measures. Irkutsk Anti-Plague Research Institute director Sergey Balakhonov participated personally in the August exercise, while the PRC contingent included the People’s Liberation Army (PLA) Northern Theater Command Disease Control Center (Rospotrebnadzor, August 26; Fuyuan Municipal Media Center; Heilongjiang Daily, August 27). From August 24 through September 10, PRC disease control authorities separately conducted rodent and ectoparasite surveillance along the Russia-facing Manzhouli border, a citywide plague response exercise, and a National Disease Control and Prevention Administration inspection of health declarations, temperature screening, vector monitoring, plague surveillance, epidemic early warning, emergency stocks, and information exchange with Russia (Manzhouli Municipal Health Commission, September 1; September 10; September 14).
On September 29—four days after Shipilova’s alleged exposure and around the time she was reportedly hospitalized—the 26th PRC-Russia Health Cooperation Subcommittee met with the PRC’s National Disease Control and Prevention Administration and CDC present and discussed infectious disease prevention and disaster medicine, but the meeting’s public readout made no reference to events in Irkutsk (PRC National Health Commission, September 30). Meanwhile, PRC officials and businesses were actively promoting greater movement through the same region: the PRC consulate hosted Irkutsk governor Igor Kobzev at its September 28 National Day reception, representatives of 11 leading PRC tourism companies toured Irkutsk, Buryatia, and Primorye and signed new cooperation agreements, and on October 2 Irkutsk customs reported that PRC-bound passenger traffic had risen more than 35 percent year-on-year (PRC Consulate General in Irkutsk, September 30; IRK.ru, October 1; October 2). Against that backdrop, the absence of any public PRC reference to the suspected incident at a Russian institution that had participated in bilateral biosecurity exercises only a month earlier is conspicuous.
The Irkutsk Anti-Plague Research Institute itself illustrates the persistent ambiguity—and accompanying secrecy—between civilian disease control and military biosecurity that characterizes PRC–Russia cooperation in this field. During the Soviet period, Irkutsk formed part of the Ministry of Health anti-plague system that was incorporated into the biological warfare defense program known as “Problem 5”; more contemporary histories assess Irkutsk as involved in that program to some degree, while noting that it lacked the direct institutional relationships with core Biopreparat facilities documented for other anti-plague institutes (Alibek and Handelman, 1999; Zilinskas, 2006; Zilinskas and Mauger 2018). [1] Its director from 1957–1964, Igor Domaradskij, simultaneously established working contacts with public health authorities in the PRC, Mongolia, and Vietnam and led research on high-risk pathogens and the biochemistry and pathogenesis of plague, before later becoming a senior figure in the secret structure directing Biopreparat’s offensive biological weapons work (Carleton J. Phillips et al., 2009; Zilinskas, 2006). [2] Former Biopreparat deputy director Ken Alibek (also known as Kanatjan Alibekov) subsequently alleged that Irkutsk was among the Soviet Ministry of Health anti-plague complexes given special funding for “weapons-oriented genetic research” (Alibek and Handelman, 1999). [3] PRC participation became more directly military-linked in the post-Soviet period: in 2008, Irkutsk researchers including Balakhonov coauthored a molecular genetic study of 125 Yersinia pestis strains from the PRC, the former Soviet Union, and Mongolia with Ruifu Yang and other researchers from Beijing’s State Key Laboratory of Pathogen and Biosecurity (病原微生物生物安全国家重点实验室), whose publications identify it as part of the PLA Academy of Military Medical Sciences (Cui Yujun et al., July 9, 2008; Hanping Yan et al., August 2008). [4]
The resulting mixture of civilian epidemiology, dangerous pathogen research, military medicine, biological defense, and cross-border pathogen and vector surveillance is not peculiar to Irkutsk, but increasingly characteristic of the wider architecture of PRC–Russia biosecurity cooperation.
From Leader-Level Directives to Operational Coordination
General Secretary Xi Jinping and President Vladimir Putin have progressively expanded biological security cooperation from infectious disease preparedness into a broader bilateral security and cross-border response agenda. In their June 28, 2021 joint statement marking the 20th anniversary of the PRC–Russia Treaty of Good Neighborliness and Friendly Cooperation, the two leaders called for expanded cooperation on infectious disease early warning and response, pharmaceuticals, diagnostic reagents, and vaccines (PRC Ministry of Foreign Affairs [MFA], June 28, 2021). On February 4, 2022, Xi and Putin called for a border region joint prevention and control mechanism covering epidemic control, information sharing, and border infrastructure, while separately declaring that alleged U.S. and allied “military-biological activities” (生物军事化活动) posed a serious threat to the national security of both the PRC and Russia (MFA, February 4, 2022). Their May 16, 2024 joint statement went further, calling for cooperation on infectious disease prevention, domestic and cross-border transmission, and “biological disaster early warning and response” (生物灾害预警和应对), while stressing cooperation in the PRC–Russia border region and protection of each country’s sovereignty in the biological sphere (MFA, May 16, 2024). By May 21, 2026, the two leaders were explicitly directing their disease control authorities to expand cooperation on “biological security, infectious disease prevention and control, and cross-border transmission” (生物安全、传染病防控及跨境传播), while also endorsing continuing cooperation in disaster medicine and related medical research (MFA, May 21).
Xi and Putin’s instructions have been translated into increasingly specific work programs through premier-level meetings and subordinate health cooperation structures. In December 2020, the 25th such regular meeting called for joint vaccine research, infectious disease information exchange at the border, and a bilateral emergency exercise responding to an infectious disease outbreak in 2021 (MFA, December 3, 2020). The communiqué from the mechanism’s 26th meeting a year later expanded this agenda to laboratory testing, epidemiological research, border health quarantine, epidemic information exchange, laboratory networks, research bases, and “biological security early warning and emergency response control systems” (生物安全预警应急反应管控系统), while assigning cooperation to the PRC’s National Disease Control and Prevention Administration and Russia’s Rospotrebnadzor (MFA, December 1, 2021). In December 2022, Li Keqiang (李克强) and Mikhail Mishustin’s governments called for specialized disaster medicine exercises in the PRC and Russia, new interagency agreements between the two disease control systems, and a joint action plan between PRC Customs and Rospotrebnadzor covering border epidemic control and information exchange (MFA, December 2022). By August 2024 and November 2025, the premiers’ communiqués were calling respectively for joint operations to identify and eliminate sources of epidemic disease and for regular practical disaster medicine exercises, stronger cooperation among the PRC’s National Disease Control and Prevention Administration, General Administration of Customs, and Rospotrebnadzor, and deeper coordination on pandemic preparedness and biological security (MFA, August 22, 2024, November 4, 2025).
These arrangements rest on a longer-running network of joint pathogen research, field surveillance, and cross-border warning procedures. Beyond the July 2008 collaboration between researchers from the PLA-affiliated State Key Laboratory of Pathogen and Biosecurity and those in Irkutsk, in June 2014, Rospotrebnadzor’s Amur regional directorate and the PRC’s Heihe health inspection and quarantine authorities signed a 2014–2018 program for joint study of rodents and ticks carrying infectious agents along the two countries’ shared border. By 2015 they had also agreed on a unified procedure for responding when an infectious patient was detected at a border crossing, and by 2018 were discussing continued joint pathogen surveillance and comparative monitoring of influenza viruses in migratory birds (Rospotrebnadzor Amur Directorate, June 30, 2014, July 20, 2015, January 12, 2018). In December 2022, the PRC’s Center for Disease Control (CDC) and its State Key Laboratory for Infectious Disease Prevention and Control convened PRC, Russian, Mongolian, and Kazakh specialists to plan joint investigation of the Altai Mountain natural plague; Balakhonov presented Russia’s surveillance work; and participants discussed joint plague research, risk assessment, and a cross-border prevention and control mechanism (China CDC, December 15, 2022).
Military and Regional Biosecurity Networks Expand
The PRC and Russia have also developed a bilateral military channel for epidemic control, military medicine, and chemical, biological, radiological, and nuclear (CBRN) preparedness alongside their civilian public health cooperation. On April 9, 2020, Russia’s S.M. Kirov Military Medical Academy and the PLA Military Medical University held a dedicated teleconference on infectious diseases involving Russian military scientists, hospital chiefs, infectious disease specialists, epidemiologists, and PRC military doctors who had worked in Wuhan; the agenda included epidemiology, virology, clinical laboratory diagnosis, treatment of severe disease, and measures to prevent the introduction and spread of COVID-19 infection within military units (S.M. Kirov Military Medical Academy, April 10, 2020). In May 2020, with Central Military Commission approval, the PLA provided epidemic control supplies directly to the Russian armed forces, while the PRC Ministry of National Defense (MND) later described high-level exchanges, epidemic control, and joint exercises as three major components of PRC–Russia military cooperation during the year (MND, May 25, 2020, December 31, 2020). The PRC and Russia have also trained together in Russia’s International Army Games “Safe Environment” nuclear, biological, and chemical (NBC) reconnaissance competition, and in 2019, Russian NBC troops used PRC reconnaissance vehicles and detection equipment in the PRC after PRC chemical defense troops had taken the same class of equipment to Russia the previous year (MND, August 13, 2019). Most recently, during the August 2026 Fuyuan cross-border exercise, the PLA Northern Theater Command Disease Control Center, PRC civilian disease control agencies, and Russian public health experts rehearsed responding to an unknown “tick-borne ‘Disease X’” (蜱传X疾病), imported bubonic plague, metagenomic identification of an unknown pathogen, specimen transport, decontamination, and bilateral risk assessment (Heilongjiang Daily, August 27).
Beijing has also gained exposure to Russia’s military biological response practices through multilateral exercises and third-party security relationships, particularly in Belarus. At the August 2022 meeting of Shanghai Cooperation Organization (SCO) defense ministers, Russia proposed that the planned Peace Mission-2023 exercise include prevention of terrorist attacks using chemical and biological weapons, though the proposed exercise does not appear to have been held (SCO, August 26, 2022). In September 2023, Belarus hosted the first “Barrier-2023” exercise of the Collective Security Treaty Organization’s (CSTO) new joint radiation, chemical, and biological defense and medical support formation, which rehearsed biological reconnaissance, collection and laboratory transfer of samples, examination and evacuation of exposed personnel, deployment of a special treatment center, and elimination and decontamination of a biological threat site. The same CSTO notice stated that the PRC, Iran, Saudi Arabia, and Mongolia had been invited as observers to the Belarus exercise, which also tested the ability of the new radiation, chemical, and biological (RCB) defense and medical teams to respond to the rapid spread of dangerous infectious diseases (CSTO, August 28, 2023). Belarus appears to be developing a similar pattern, with military and biosecurity cooperation with the PRC deepening against the backdrop of Minsk’s continued integration into Russia-led CSTO biological defense structures. In August 2026, PRC and Belarusian airborne forces conducted the fourth “Swift Eagle” joint training exercise, using mixed formations and joint command procedures (MND, August 25). In parallel, the PRC Academy of Agricultural Sciences’ Shanghai Veterinary Research Institute and Belarus’s S.N. Vyshelessky Institute of Experimental Veterinary Medicine established the PRC–Belarus Joint Laboratory for Animal Disease Prevention and Control in May 2025, with research covering rapid diagnostics for major and emerging infectious diseases, vaccine development, and mechanisms for blocking cross-border disease transmission (Chinese Academy of Agricultural Sciences, May 21, 2025).
The PRC–Russia biosecurity relationship is increasingly embedded in wider regional mechanisms that extend epidemic surveillance, research, and response outward through the SCO and overlapping bilateral partnerships. In June 2018, SCO heads of state called for reliable infectious disease information exchange, mobile anti-epidemic groups, stronger national laboratories, new research centers, joint research projects, and coordinated responses to major outbreaks; the November 2020 Moscow Declaration subsequently called for a multilateral mechanism for exchanging signs of infectious disease outbreaks, closer cooperation among research centers, joint development of diagnostics and preventive measures, and an Uzbekistan-proposed permanent SCO platform for responding to cross-border dangerous infections (SCO, June 10, 2018, November 10, 2020). By 2022–2023, the organization had added a Comprehensive Plan of Joint Measures to Counter Epidemic Threats, a Roadmap for Cooperation Between Medical Institutions on Preventing and Treating Infectious Diseases, a formal epidemiological information program, and regular meetings of national health and epidemiological services, while the PRC, Russia, Kazakhstan, Kyrgyzstan, Pakistan, Tajikistan, and Uzbekistan jointly backed stronger Biological Weapons Convention mechanisms (MFA, July 29, 2022; SCO, October 26, 2023). The PRC has simultaneously built bilateral biosecurity cooperation with Kazakhstan: Xi Jinping and Kassym-Jomart Tokayev agreed in May 2023 to joint biological research and sharing of research results, and their July 2024 statement recorded continuing interagency biosecurity consultations, joint scientific projects, and support for Kazakhstan’s proposal for an international biological security agency (MFA, May 17, 2023, July 3, 2024). Military cooperation has begun to expand through the same concentric structure: the MND states that SCO militaries have institutionalized exchanges in military medicine, and in May 2025 the PRC hosted the first SCO Military Medicine Seminar in Xi’an with military health chiefs and experts from Russia and other participating states (MND, July 15, 2024, May 13, 2025).
Conclusion
The Irkutsk episode highlights the gap between the depth of PRC–Russia biosecurity coordination and the opacity surrounding how that coordination functions in practice. As these mechanisms extend through Belarus, the SCO, and Central Asia, they are beginning to form a wider regional architecture for surveillance, research, preparedness, and response. If this trajectory continues, that architecture is likely to develop alongside rather than fully integrate with existing international biosecurity regimes, carrying forward the information-sharing and coordination gaps exposed by the Irkutsk episode and complicating global pandemic monitoring and other countries’ biosecurity preparedness.
Notes
[1] Ken Alibek with Stephen Handelman, Biohazard: The Chilling True Story of the Largest Covert Biological Weapons Program in the World—Told from the Inside by the Man Who Ran It (New York: Random House, 1999), https://www.nlm.nih.gov/nichsr/esmallpox/biohazard_alibek.pdf.
Raymond A. Zilinskas, “The Anti-Plague System and the Soviet Biological Warfare Program,” Critical Reviews in Microbiology 32, no. 1 (2006): 47–64, https://doi.org/10.1080/10408410500496896.
Raymond A. Zilinskas and Philippe Mauger, Biosecurity in Putin’s Russia (Boulder, CO: Lynne Rienner Publishers, 2018), https://doi.org/10.1515/9781626377134.
[2] Carleton J. Phillips, Anne M. Harrington, Terry L. Yates, Gary L. Simpson, and Robert J. Baker, Global Disease Surveillance, Emergent Disease Preparedness, and National Security (Lubbock, TX: Museum of Texas Tech University, 2009), https://www.depts.ttu.edu/nsrl/publications/downloads/global-disease.pdf; Zilinskas, 2006.
[3] Alibek & Handelman, 1999.
[4] Cui, Yujun et al. “Insight into microevolution of Yersinia pestis by clustered regularly interspaced short palindromic repeats.” PloS one vol. 3,7 e2652. 9 Jul. 2008, doi:10.1371/journal.pone.0002652; Han, Yanping et al. “Physiological and regulatory characterization of KatA and KatY in Yersinia pestis.” DNA and cell biology vol. 27,8 (2008): 453-62. doi:10.1089/dna.2007.0657.
[5] Cui, Yujun et al., 2008.
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Executive Summary:
Russian and Ukrainian drone strikes continue to make shipping though the Black Sea troublesome and places security risks on ports (see EDM, September 25). At the Ukraine Recovery Conference in Gdańsk on June 25, the Ukrainian government announced the pre-qualification results for the concession of the First and Container Terminals at Chornomorsk Seaport. Four applicants were admitted to the next stage of the competitive dialogue: APM Terminals B.V., the Mariner and TAS consortium, Yilport Holding Anonim Şirketi, and the Abu Dhabi Ports Company PJSC and SKF Holdings U.K. LTD consortium (Ukrainian Ministry for Recovery, Infrastructure, and Transport, June 25). Before Russia’s war against Ukraine, the Black Sea gave Ukraine fast, cheap access to markets in Europe, the Middle East, and Africa, and, via the Suez Canal, to Asian markets. Since the war began, however, only three Ukrainian ports—Odesa, Chornomorsk, and Pivdennyi—have been operating, while ports such as Mykolaiv and Mariupol are either nonfunctional or operating at limited capacity (The Polish Institute of International Affairs, July 10, 2025).
At the start of the war, Russia maintained superiority over Ukraine in the Black Sea, enabling it to block Kyiv’s most crucial ports and hit its strategic maritime infrastructure. After repeated attempts, Ukraine neutralized this threat by deploying missiles alongside air and naval drones, inflicting severe damage on Russia’s Black Sea Fleet and reducing its ability to target Ukrainian facilities (The Odessa Journal, April 17).
Kyiv has invested in rebuilding its maritime transport potential by attracting foreign investors and major logistics companies. Chornomorsk is re-emerging as a key port that may foster further Ukrainian exports to Europe. Kyiv’s promotion of the port aims to modernize and expand its terminal infrastructure (Ukrainian Shipping Magazine, February 3). The port is a strategic transport hub situated at the intersection of key international trade corridors. Its terminal could open new maritime routes to Greece and other Mediterranean countries, positioning the port as a vital gateway for expanding regional connectivity and trade (Ukrainian Ministry for Recovery, Infrastructure, and Transport, August 19).
Security gaps in the Black Sea, the ongoing war with Russia, and mutual long-range strikes make potential investors hesitant to invest further in Ukrainian maritime infrastructure. DP World, one of the world’s largest port operators, quietly left the Ukrainian container terminal in the port of Pivdennyi earlier this year, though it had entered the market in 2020 (Latifundist Media, March 18). Ukraine has explored transporting grain through Baltic Sea ports. Initial assessments indicate that this route would add approximately $100 per ton to export costs, while overall volumes would remain relatively limited (Ukrainian Shipping Magazine, September 24).
Ukraine prepared the Chornomorsk port lease project with the direct support of the International Finance Corporation (IFC) and the European Bank for Reconstruction and Development (EBRD). The project includes a risk structure and guarantees of state support (Interfax-Ukraine, August 19, 2025).
Ukraine’s determination to rebuild and develop its seaport sector underscores the industry’s resilience despite war-related devastation. Even amid ongoing clashes in the Black Sea, the sector has maintained significant cargo volumes and reinforced its importance to the country’s economy and regional trade. The country’s pragmatic approach to leasing the port of Chornomorsk to major international operators is unsurprising. Abu Dhabi ports could bring exceptional value to Kyiv, given its rapidly expanding portfolio of 36 ports and terminals worldwide and a 47 percent surge in revenue. The company entered the Black Sea region in April by signing a framework agreement with the administrator of Romania’s Port of Constanța to explore large-scale brownfield and greenfield projects aimed at linking European trade to Middle Corridor routes (Abu Dhabi Port Group, April 14).
Kyiv remains committed to sustaining trade operations in the Black Sea amid drone strikes while actively seeking potential investors and operators. At the same time, Ukraine’s deep military ties with the North Atlantic Treaty Organization (NATO) suggest a continued partnership with the alliance to strengthen naval capacity and enhance combat skills, particularly through adopting innovative defense solutions. A strong partnership with NATO will enable Ukraine to maintain control of its maritime borders in the Black Sea. It will also provide additional security guarantees against major attacks on newly built strategic infrastructure and disruptions to trade routes, boosting Chornomorsk’s attractiveness as the main gateway.
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