Wednesday, February 25, 2026

Four Years After Russia’s Invasion, Ukraine Has Become a “Steel Porcupine”

 


The ongoing war has driven extremely rapid innovation in Ukraine’s defense sector—and many Western firms have taken note.

As Russia’s full-scale invasion enters its fifth year, it is clear that when Vladimir Putin announced the war, he did not envision a grinding campaign of attrition merely to inch forward in Ukraine. Western leaders initially believed Kyiv would fall within days or weeks. Instead, Ukraine defied those expectations, demonstrating the power of asymmetric warfare driven by unmanned systems. Now, it aims to build a powerful domestic defense industry for the future—in effect, a “steel porcupine” that Russia can never ingest.

In October 2025, Brandon Weichert wrote that building domestic air defense systems inside Ukraine would “make no difference” in Kyiv’s efforts to defend itself against Russia. His broader critique was that the “Build in Ukraine” initiative would likely “prove to be wholly insufficient to turn the tide of the war.”

This critique reflects a transactional reading of Russia’s war. It assumes Ukraine will eventually scale back its ambitions as costs mount. For Kyiv, however, this is not a limited war over negotiable territory. It is an existential fight for national survival. President Volodymyr Zelensky made that clear in his March 2022 address to the British Parliament, invoking Shakespeare’s “To be, or not to be.”

This reading of the war also misunderstands how it has evolved since its early days in the winter of 2022. Throughout the conflict, I have spent time on the frontlines embedded with drone units. I witnessed firsthand how waves of Russian infantry were sent across open fields—only to be eliminated by small first-person-view (FPV) drones.

Indeed, drones have been estimated to account for up to 80 percent of Russia’s battlefield casualties. Former British Prime Minister Rishi Sunak wrote after recently meeting Zelensky in Munich that “80 per cent of the casualties Ukraine is inflicting on the Russians are from unmanned vehicles.” Ukrainian technologist and Victory Drones founder Mariia Berlinska estimated that by the end of 2025, in some sectors of the front, up to 90% of Russian personnel losses had been caused by drones and other battlefield technologies. 

Faced with Western Hesitancy, Ukraine Must Build Its Own Systems

Ukrainian workers repair a tank at a factory in Kyiv in August 2015. (Shutterstock/paparazzza)

This is not the war that Moscow prepared for. Russian soldiers crossed the Ukrainian border in 2022 reportedly carrying parade uniforms for a victory celebration in Kyiv, rather than adequate supplies for a prolonged campaign. At the outset, many in the West doubted Ukraine would survive. Shortly before the full-scale invasion, Germany, Europe’s largest economy, initially offered 5,000 helmets, an offer that was widely ridiculed in Ukraine and abroad.

When Russia failed to achieve rapid victory, Western support scaled up, but rarely with the urgency required. Time and again, weapons deliveries were delayed or restricted. Equipment often arrived in limited quantities, sometimes in poor condition, and often lacked protection against drones. “We are thankful for every delivery. But HIMARS took months. Tanks took months. Jets took years. We cannot afford to lose a single day,” Zelensky observed at the Munich Security Conference in February.

Certain systems came with operational constraints that effectively tied Ukraine’s hands. The Biden administration and several European governments sought to support Ukraine without provoking escalation. Meanwhile, Moscow leveraged nuclear rhetoric and cognitive warfare to shape Western caution.

This pattern was visible after Ukraine pushed Russian forces out of Kherson and parts of Kharkiv oblast in 2022. As Kyiv gained momentum, Russia rattled the nuclear threat, and Western escalation fears reemerged, prompting Ukraine to slow its offensive. That pause allowed Moscow to regroup and construct the Surovikin Line in Ukraine’s east.

With restrictions limiting the use of Western-supplied weapons inside Russian territory, Moscow relocated logistics and staging areas across the border and continued striking Ukraine from behind the line of contact. Kyiv was left with little choice but to take the fight to Russian territory. When Ukrainian forces entered Kursk in 2024, reports suggested shock in Washington. Yet, as before, the feared Russian “escalation” never materialized.

Throughout the war, Russia has relied on external support. Iran assisted in the development and production of Shahed drones inside Russia. North Korea supplied munitions, labor, and eventually troops. China became a critical supplier of dual-use components, sustaining Russia’s missile and drone production. Meanwhile, according to the Kiel Institute, US military and humanitarian aid to Ukraine fell by 99 percent in 2025.

Yet in 2026, Ukraine is still standing. After four years of full-scale war, Russia has not captured a single new regional capital since Kherson was liberated in 2022. As Anatolii Tkachenko, commander of a mortar battery unit in Ukraine’s 92nd Separate Assault Brigade, put it: “In four years the USSR defeated Germany. In four years, the Russians have only managed to take half of Donetsk region.”

How Drones Saved Ukraine

A batch of fiber-optic drones is shown before being handed over to the Ukrainian armed forces in April 2025. (Shutterstock/Drop of Light)

The stalemate was not created by superior resources, but by adaptation. Babay, the deputy commander of the 63rd Separate Mechanized Brigade’s Unmanned Systems Battalion, told me that Ukraine had turned to what he called a “poor man’s solution”—pulling hobby drones off store shelves and converting them into disposable weapons and reconnaissance tools, making it nearly impossible for Russian units to move without being detected. 

In time, these commercial drones would go on to help form Ukraine’s “drone wall.” Now Ukraine is producing millions of these, which Russia was forced to adapt to. Unable to achieve a decisive breakthrough, Moscow has increasingly relied on costly infantry assaults to probe and infiltrate Ukrainian lines in order to demonstrate incremental progress. 

According to a report by the Center for Strategic and International Studies (CSIS), “Since February 2022, Russian forces have suffered nearly 1.2 million casualties, more losses than any major power in any war since World War II.” The report added that Russia’s campaign has had “an average rate of between 15 and 70 meters per day in their most prominent offensives, slower than almost any major offensive campaign in any war in the last century.”

Western officials assess that in January alone, Russia sustained roughly 9,000 more battlefield losses than it was able to replace. According to recent estimates, Russian soldiers killed in action reached as many as 35,000 in December. Ukrainian officials have openly discussed intensifying drone-enabled attrition to push Russia’s monthly casualty figure even higher, to 50,000—overwhelmingly caused by explosive-laden Ukrainian drones.

Drones may not be decisive in the traditional sense—they cannot turn the tide of a battle on their own—but they have been decisive in preventing Russia from achieving victory. As one Russian war correspondent complained, Ukrainian drone saturation has made even reaching the front line a “50–50” proposition, while the average life expectancy of a Russian assault trooper is reportedly around 12 days.

Ukraine’s Security Service has also said its Alpha special operations unit destroyed roughly half of Russia’s Pantsir air defense systems in 2025 through long-range strikes, with the systems valued at $15–20 million each. The strikes were aimed at weakening Russian air defenses and opening corridors for deeper aerial attacks, with the SBU estimating total air defense losses inflicted this year at around $4 billion. Meanwhile, Putin’s Valdai and Black Sea residences are reportedly protected by dense air defense rings, including 12–20 Pantsir-S1 systems alongside long-range S-400 batteries.

Ukraine’s Adaptation Velocity Is a Core Strategic Advantage

A soldier launching a glider-type drone. The Armed Forces of Ukraine rely extensively on low-cost drones for a variety of functions, including ISR and direct strikes.

In fact, 96 percent of the drones fielded by Ukraine’s military—and 99 percent of the robotic systems it deploys—are produced inside Ukraine. Operating under severe resource and budget constraints, Ukrainian developers are forced to design durable systems at the lowest possible cost. The adaptation and countermeasure cycle has accelerated to the point where drone and weapons systems can be rendered obsolete in days or weeks rather than months.

Soldiers I have spoken to on the front describe an extremely compressed feedback loop. After deploying ground robots in combat, they return from a mission, call the manufacturer, explain the vulnerabilities or failures encountered, and see updated versions produced within days before redeploying again.

This cycle is brutal, but tremendously effective. In many cases, Western defense firms seek validation that their systems were “tested in Ukraine” in order to market more expensive platforms to their own governments. The issue is not necessarily that Western drones are poorly designed to begin with. Instead, once they encounter Russian electronic warfare, they are pulled into a rapid countermeasure cycle, forcing them to adapt in order to survive. Can these systems be modified and redeployed within days under active combat conditions? In most cases, the answer is no—at least not without lengthy procurement processes, or supply-chain bottlenecks that slow iteration cycles to a crawl.

“One of the things we have learnt from Ukraine is the need for manufacturing processes to be iterative and responsive to real-time feedback from the battlefield,” said Sunak.

Former CIA Director and retired General David Petraeus has warned that allies must avoid the trap of buying legacy systems rather than buying what is the future of warfare, which is in Ukraine. The gap was made plain during multinational exercises in Estonia, where a small Ukrainian drone team simulated the destruction of 17 armored vehicles and carried out around 30 additional strikes in half a day against a much larger NATO formation.

American defense firms have much to gain from working with the Ukrainians inside Ukraine. When US drone developer Shield AI sent its drones to Ukraine for testing, the systems initially failed under the pressure of Russian electronic warfare. Rather than withdraw, the company chose to stay and adapt. It established facilities inside Ukraine and began working directly with Ukrainian engineers and frontline operators. German defense startup Stark also recently opened a 2,000-square-meter research and development center in Ukraine and announced plans to build local drone production facilities.

“Establishing production in Ukraine requires real investment and a shift toward long-term industrial cooperation rather than short-term supply contracts,” said Deborah Fairlamb, founding partner of the Ukraine-focused venture capital firm Green Flag Ventures. “The fact that foreign companies are beginning to do this reflects growing trust and recognition of what Ukraine brings to partnerships—skilled labor, lower costs, and battlefield testing capabilities that exist nowhere else. A strong Ukrainian defense industrial base is not only in Ukraine’s interest, but in Europe’s as well, because Russia has proven it will remain a long-term threat.”

Ukraine’s Deputy Defense Minister Lt. Col. Yuriy Myronenko recently said, “We have good software. We like technology. We like markets. This is our only chance to win.” Myronenko stressed that Ukraine’s advantage was not in the technology itself but in the speed of iteration, identifying what works and scaling it before Russia adapts. Indeed, the colonel observed that Ukraine could not hold a technological edge in the war: “If we receive technology, the enemy will receive it as well.”

With this in mind, Kyiv’s only enduring advantage lies in adaptation velocity—the ability to build effective systems at scale, iterate on them quickly under combat conditions, redeploy them rapidly, and do so at low cost. An additional benefit comes from reducing dependence on Chinese components, which has become a central focus for Ukrainian drone producers seeking greater supply chain resilience.

The Economics of Drone Warfare

A fire at an oil refinery following a rocket attack. Ukraine has attempted to hurt Russia economically by targeting its oil infrastructure. (Shutterstock/Dmitriy Sidanchenko)

Olena Kryzhanivska, a defense analyst, told me that localizing production inside Ukraine is both economically and strategically essential. Russia produces roughly 3 million artillery shells per year; as of January 2025, the firing ratio stood at about 2 to 1 in Moscow’s favor. Ukraine, now the largest consumer of artillery ammunition in the free world, must expand sustained production capacity at home and abroad to close that gap.

Kryzhanivska also notes that maintenance facilities for military vehicles are far more effective when located near the battlefield. Drone production in particular requires domestic localization to sustain its rapid 4–6 week iteration cycle without bureaucratic delays.

Achi, CEO of the Ukrainian defense technology company Ark Robotics, told Business Insider, “This iteration cycle is insane. I’ve never seen anything like it.” He noted that requirements for drones along the front lines could change within days—recalling that his team periodically needed to make five different modifications to a product within just a few weeks. 

The innovation cycle has accelerated dramatically. What once took months now often takes weeks before a weapons system requires updates to beat newly-deployed enemy countermeasures. And while Russia has remained slower on the uptake than Ukraine, it, too, has adapted, finding ways to adjust its tactics to evade Patriot air defense systems and using electronic warfare to disrupt the GPS-guided rockets fired by systems such as HIMARS.

Even when advanced Western systems were provided, they have often been supplied in limited quantities, insufficient to fundamentally change the battlefield balance. Ukrainian leaders also recognize that simply killing more Russian soldiers will not end the war. The objective shifted toward raising the economic cost for the Kremlin and degrading Moscow’s capacity to sustain the fight.

Building the “Steel Porcupine”

A Ukrainian drone pilot flying a drone.
A Ukrainian drone operator piloting a small drone. (Shutterstock/Dmytro Sheremeta)

As a result, throughout 2024 and 2025, Ukraine has invested heavily in domestic long-range drone and missile production, expanding its ability to strike deep inside Russia. Oleksii Reznikov, Ukraine’s former defense minister, said in early 2025 that generating revenue to invest in domestic arms production had become Ukraine’s top priority. “The largest military laboratory on the planet is Ukraine,” he said.

Over the past year, Kyiv intensified its war against Russian oil, backed by Ukrainian drones and CIA intelligence. According to Bloomberg, Ukraine carried out roughly 120 strikes on Russian energy facilities in 2025—causing more than 1 trillion rubles (roughly $12.9 billion) in total losses, including over 100 billion rubles in direct damage to oil and gas infrastructure, according to insurance broker Mains. 

The late Senator John McCain once described Russia as “a gas station masquerading as a country.” It follows that by choking Russia’s oil and gas exports, the nation’s largest source of revenue, the Kremlin will be unable to continue to maintain its war machine. “While Moscow has found ways to shield itself from some of the effects of sanctions, it currently has no full protection against Ukrainian drones,” said Serhii Kuzan, chair of the Ukrainian Security and Cooperation Center. 

Ukrainian drones are now regularly flying over 1,000 kilometers deep into Russia, striking oil refineries and weapon production facilities. Ukraine is now aiming to build a missile market like it did for drone production.

In the Black Sea, Ukraine pushed back Russia’s Black Sea Fleet, neutralizing roughly a third of its vessels. Russian ships were forced to retreat from the Crimean Peninsula, occupied since 2014, and redeploy to Novorossiysk along the southern coast, effectively blockaded by Kyiv. Ukrainian naval drones have also downed Russian helicopters and several fighter jets, each worth tens of millions of dollars. Ukrainian Magura drones, costing an estimated $300,000 each, have sunk 14 Russian warships, typically valued in the tens of millions.

The crown jewel of Ukraine’s drone strikes inside Russia was Operation Spiderweb, a Ukrainian intelligence operation in June 2025 that used domestically produced drones smuggled into Russian territory to destroy elements of Russia’s nuclear-capable bomber fleet.

Nor is Kyiv only focused on offense. When Russian drones entered NATO airspace, including over Poland in September, the alliance lacked a scalable response. Ukraine, by contrast, has developed lower-cost drone interceptors. Polish Foreign Minister Radosław Sikorski acknowledged the imbalance, saying it is uneconomical to defend airspace with F-35s and Sidewinder missiles against inexpensive drones.

The war’s transformation is an economic revolution. Conflict is becoming cheaper, decentralized, and technologically-driven. Since February 2022, Ukraine’s defense sector has grown into a network of more than 1,000 largely private firms. Many are starved for cash—yet output continues growing, even under the threat of Russian attacks. 

More than 800 private and state-owned defense enterprises now employ roughly 300,000 skilled workers. Furthermore, 90 percent of foreign-invested companies operating in Ukraine report no plans to relocate, according to a recent survey. 

By issuing export licenses, Kyiv is betting that global demand for Ukrainian battlefield-proven systems will finance the next phase of production. Zelensky already announced plans to establish 10 Ukrainian weapons export centers across Europe by 2026, alongside launching Ukrainian drone production lines in Germany and the United Kingdom. 

Ukraine is rapidly expanding its own defense production. Domestically-produced Bohdana 155mm artillery systems now make up about 40 percent of Ukraine’s artillery usage on the front. By the end of 2025, more than half of all the weapons used by the Ukrainian army are said to have been made inside Ukraine. Ukraine has also developed a domestic air defense system, which was recently tested with 5 different types of missiles.

In 2025 alone, Ukraine authorized more than 1,300 new models of domestically produced weapons and military equipment for operational use—a 25 percent increase compared to the previous year. Ukrainian equipment is also often cheaper. For example, the Novator armored vehicle made by the company Ukrainian Armor costs at least 20 percent less than similar vehicles made in the West.

Peter Pomerantsev, a senior fellow at the SNF Agora Institute at Johns Hopkins University, noted in the Financial Times that Europe has the money while Ukraine has the technology and experience. In Ukraine, weapons are developed, tested, and produced much faster than in Europe. European firms have noticed this trend, and are increasingly partnering with Ukrainian counterparts:

  • German firm Auterion and Ukraine’s Airlogix have formed a joint venture to produce AI-guided strike drones for Ukraine and NATO.
  • Ukrainian robotics company Tencore and Germany’s FERNRIDE have also launched a joint venture to manufacture TerMIT unmanned ground vehicles.
  • TAF Industries has partnered with Wingcopter to begin joint drone production in Germany, extending the “Build with Ukraine” model into EU and NATO markets.
  • Across the Atlantic, the American tech company Axon also recently announced an investment in Ukrainian AI defense firm The Fourth Law. 

The CEO of the French company Harmattan AI said European manufacturers have much to learn from Ukraine’s war tested defense industry, which has built systems that adapt quickly to battlefield conditions and evolve week by week. He argued that the problem is not just production capacity but how governments define and procure systems. In modern war, he said, delivering a good system quickly matters more than waiting for a perfect one.

To stay ahead, however, Ukraine cannot merely scale what works today. It must anticipate the next technological inflection point and invest before the battlefield forces it to adapt. 

As Valerii Zaluzhnyi, Ukraine’s former commander-in-chief and its current ambassador to the United Kingdom, has argued, warfare is gradually becoming cheaper as technology advances, even as overall strike capabilities continue to grow. “This may ultimately create a situation in which Russia itself will need similar security guarantees – strange as that may sound,” he said.

Ukraine’s Challenges Are Far from Over

Smoke from fires rises over the Darnytskyi district of Kyiv on August 28, 2025. The fires broke out during a nighttime Russian missile and drone attack on the city. (Shutterstock/Sodel Vladyslav)

Still, manufacturing in Ukraine is not without its risks. A few months ago, a Russian drone barrage destroyed a main facility producing drones for Ukraine’s military, incinerating roughly $35 million worth of equipment and wiping out a large stockpile of weapons. 

To mitigate that threat, some companies have adopted extraordinary measures. One Ukrainian drone producer described its operations as nomadic, relocating roughly once every quarter to make it harder for Russia to target and destroy its manufacturing sites. 

According to industry surveys, more than 40 percent of Ukrainian defense manufacturers now operate five or more production sites across different regions. Production is deliberately fragmented into small technological segments so that a strike on one facility does not paralyze the company. Administrative teams and production units often work separately, reducing vulnerability to targeted disruption. 

At the national level, the Defense Ministry has begun constructing underground manufacturing complexes to protect production from Russian guided bomb attacks. Ukraine has also moved part of its drone and missile production to Poland, creating external manufacturing redundancy beyond the reach of Russian strikes and reducing concentration risk.

The system survives not because it is well-funded, but because it adapts under pressure. “It’s in Ukraine’s interest to keep as many producers as possible inside the country,” said Vitaliy Goncharuk, CEO of A19Lab and former chairman of the Artificial Intelligence Committee of Ukraine.

Labor shortages present another structural challenge. With millions of men mobilized or serving at the front, Ukraine’s defense industry faces a tightening workforce. One potential solution lies in expanding female participation in the sector. Women currently make up roughly 82 percent of the unemployed population in Ukraine, representing a significant pool of skilled labor that could be mobilized to sustain and scale domestic production.

“I think Ukraine is going to become the heart of the European defense industry over the next decade – much as it was once the heart of the Soviet Union’s defense industry,” said General Ben Hodges, former commander of US Army Europe. “The technological capabilities of the people there, combined with deep residual engineering expertise and a rapidly growing talent base, make that inevitable.”

Hodges added that Ukraine’s long-term survival depends on becoming “indigestible.” That means maintaining a large, resilient population, the ability to mobilize quickly, and a strong domestic defense industry. “These are the foundations of deterrence.”

Kyiv understands that no piece of paper can guarantee its security, especially after the lessons of the 1994 Budapest Memorandum. Agreements can be signed, but they depend on political will, and years into the full-scale invasion Western leaders were often hesitant to provide weapons Ukraine urgently needed.

For Kyiv, a strong domestic defense industrial base that equips its own army and can eventually export at scale is the only durable safeguard. The goal is not necessarily to defeat Russia in one decisive campaign, but to make its aggression operationally futile. If Ukraine can adapt faster, produce at scale, and neutralize key capabilities across domains, Moscow may continue to fight but it will not be able to win.

Tuesday, February 24, 2026

The Stars Are Aligning for Hezbollah’s Disarmament-

 

Despite public displays of defiance, Hezbollah is weaker than ever before—and the rest of Lebanon is united in opposition to its continued militancy.

Lebanon has witnessed heightened momentum this month surrounding efforts to disarm Hezbollah.

While the visit by Lebanese Armed Forces (LAF) Commander Rodolphe Haykal to Washington to discuss military cooperation reaffirmed the importance of sustained support for the LAF in its efforts to defend state sovereignty and advance Hezbollah’s disarmament, the visit of French Foreign Minister Jean-Noël Barrot to Beirut to coordinate preparations for a March conference in Paris backing the LAF underscored growing international pressure on the issue. These visits coincided with a congressional hearing dedicated to Hezbollah’s disarmament, as well as the introduction of a new bill by congressmen Darrell Issa (R-California) and Darin LaHood (R-Illinois) seeking to sanction “any foreign person or entity that hinders, obstructs or delays Lebanon’s electoral process.”

Such momentum surrounding Hezbollah’s disarmament is unprecedented, and presents a historic opportunity to reshape Lebanon. Disarming and weakening Hezbollah is not only integral to restoring Lebanon’s sovereignty and prosperity, but also a key component of US efforts to consolidate peace and stability in the Middle East and potentially anchor a durable regional security framework.

Hezbollah Doesn’t Want to Give Up Its Guns

US support for the LAF has long remained complex, given Hezbollah’s continued entrenchment within Lebanon’s “deep state,” including elements of military and security institutions. However, advocacy for sustained assistance persists on the premise that a capable LAF can serve as an institutional counterweight to Hezbollah. It is now evident that the disarmament file has shifted from a crisis management approach to shaping Lebanon’s future.

Against this backdrop, the LAF presented on February 16 during a cabinet meeting its plan for the second phase of Hezbollah’s disarmament—requesting four months for its completion, extendable to eight depending primarily on available capabilities. The phase covers the area between the Litani and Awali rivers, approximately 25 miles to the south of Beirut. The broader five-phase plan began with the LAF’s deployment south of the Litani River, then expands northward between the Litani and Awali, proceeds to Beirut and its southern suburbs, pivots to the Bekaa Valley in eastern Lebanon, and ultimately extends to the rest of the country. The LAF stated in January that it had completed the first phase and achieved operational control south of the Litani, though Israel remains skeptical of the army’s execution.

Yet while the LAF commander was outlining the plan, Hezbollah Secretary-General Naim Qassem rejected in a speech both the framework and the four-month timeline, describing the focus on disarmament as serving Israeli interests.

Qassem’s rejection was not surprising. Since the conclusion of the first phase, Hezbollah has argued that the US-brokered 2024 ceasefire that ended 13 months of conflict with Israel applied only south of the Litani. Days after the LAF declared operational control in the south, Qassem delivered a combative speech categorically rejecting full disarmament and accusing domestic opponents of aligning with Israeli and American interests. His remarks came amid escalating international momentum for Hezbollah’s disarmament and renewed US threats against Iran, but also after President Joseph Aoun described Hezbollah’s armament in a January interview as a “burden on Lebanon” that contradicts state sovereignty—marking a firmer official stance from the Lebanese government on the group’s continued militancy.

Publicly, Hezbollah maintains that retaining its arms is essential to defending Lebanon against Israel, while reportedly seeking in private political and security guarantees to preserve its embedment within state institutions. In parallel, pro-Hezbollah narratives have circulated warning of alleged preparations by Syrian interim president Ahmad al-Sharaa and Hay’at Tahrir al-Sham (HTS) to attack Hezbollah in coordination with Israel in the event of a US strike on Iran.

At this juncture, though unlikely, Hezbollah likely hopes that any breakthrough between Washington and Tehran would at least postpone the question of disarmament north of the Litani. Pro-Hezbollah commentators have promoted speculation about a potential US-Iran deal favorable to Tehran and its regional proxies, including compromises on Hezbollah’s weapons north of the Litani. Hezbollah official Mahmoud Qmati recently said that the group’s disarmament was not part of US-Iran negotiations, portraying Hezbollah as an autonomous Lebanese actor allied with—not subordinate to—Iran.

Though cautious in tone, Hezbollah has also resorted to rhetoric with veiled threats of retaliation in the event of a US strike on Iran. In a recent speech, Qassem stopped short of an overt declaration of war on Israel in the event of US-Iran clashes, but stated that Hezbollah would not remain neutral and warned of a widespread regional war if America waged war on Iran. Qmati characterized these remarks as deliberate strategic ambiguity for the right reasons.

Hezbollah Is Still Hurting from the Last War

Despite such rhetoric, and unless a US-Israel strike on Iran evolves into a prolonged offensive or war of attrition, Hezbollah is unlikely to start another war with Israel.

Although reports suggest efforts to reconstitute, the group faces significant constraints: domestic opposition to renewed conflict, a demoralized base, sharply diminished military capabilities following Israel’s fall 2024 campaign, and disrupted supply lines after the collapse of Bashar al-Assad’s regime in Syria. Meanwhile, Israel continues targeted strikes and assassinations against Hezbollah to prevent its reconstitution, with more than 400 Hezbollah operatives reportedly killed by Israeli agents since the ceasefire. The argument that Hezbollah is not retaliating against Israeli strikes because the group is entrusting the Lebanese state to pursue diplomatic means is a fig leaf; in truth, Hezbollah is not militarily capable of meaningful retaliation. 

It is notable that Hezbollah opted not to intervene during the 12-day Israel-Iran war in June 2025, despite every indication that the Iranian regime was under severe pressure. According to this account, the group’s leadership was advised by Iran on the fifth day of the war, when Iran (allegedly) absorbed the initial shock, to intervene in a bid to potentially renegotiate a new ceasefire agreement better than the 2024 ceasefire. However, after a thorough assessment, Hezbollah reportedly decided not to intervene taking into account crucial factors such as its supporting base’s grievances and domestic “divisions.” While such narratives may be carefully curated, they reflect genuine structural constraints facing the organization.

The LAF Can Stand Up to Hezbollah

Although confrontations between the LAF and Hezbollah have occurred since the civil war, Lebanese officials currently dismiss the prospect of direct clashes during the second phase. From the LAF’s securing and removal of a Hezbollah ammunition shipment in Kahale in August 2023 amid exchanges of fire, to its posture during the October 17, 2019 protests, and its blocking of armed Hezbollah and Amal Movement affiliates in Beirut’s Tayouneh in October 2021, the army’s responses have been measured yet decisive.

Assertions that sectarianism within Lebanese institutions would fracture the LAF in a serious confrontation are likewise overstated.

The first phase south of the Litani proceeded without incident. This does not eliminate risk altogether, of course. On August 9, 2025, six Lebanese soldiers were killed and others wounded while dismantling munitions in a southern weapons depot.

Several assessments indicate that Hezbollah has repositioned weapons and combat units north of the Litani, into the Bekaa Valley, and Beirut’s southern suburbs. The North Litani area hosts the group’s core defensive capabilities, embedded within mountainous terrain and long outside the operational remit of UNIFIL. According to the Alma Research and Education Center, Hezbollah retains roughly 25,000 short- and medium-range rockets, a smaller number of precision missiles and air defenses, and an expanding drone arsenal including approximately 1,000 kamikaze drones. The group fields an estimated 40,000 to 50,000 active fighters and tens of thousands of reservists, including the elite 5,000-strong Radwan Unit as its primary offensive formation. Israel, in turn, has expanded its strike campaign to include North Litani and the Bekaa.

Meanwhile, Hezbollah is reportedly undertaking internal restructuring, shifting from a clerically dominated hierarchy toward a structure led by non-clerical political figures. Particularlysuch reports surfaced in conjunction with news indicating that Wafiq Safa, former head of Hezbollah’s Liaison and Coordination Unit, submitted his resignation—characterized by some as a dismissal as part of an internal shake-up and by others as a reflection of an internal crumbling following Hezbollah’s devastating losses in its 2024 war with Israel. Yet Qmati denied such accounts, commenting that Safa could assume a more important role in the future. Indeed, according to an Israeli assessment, Safa will still play an important role in overseeing smuggling operations despite his overt resignation. Israeli analysts have even speculated that Safa’s resignation could be “a form of deception” to lower his priority level for Mossad and escape potential elimination. 

Is War Returning to Lebanon?

Lebanon now is at a critical juncture, amid an intensified interplay between regional strategic imperatives and domestic operational realities. While preparations are underway for Paris March 5 conference aimed at mobilizing support of the LAF to pursue the second phase of Hezbollah’s disarmament, following Haykal’s visit to Washington and subsequently to Riyadh to discuss cooperation and later to the Munich Security Conference in the same vein, confrontation is highly looming between Washington and Tehran, with reports emerging from Iran’s Al-Alam TV channel describing LAF Hamat Air Base as a US base that is under surveillance. According to Israeli Kan public broadcaster, the IDF is in a state of alert along Israel’s northern border in preparation for a potential conflict with Iran and Hezbollah.

Amid these rising tensions, Lebanon’s leadership, particularly President Joseph Aoun, is reportedly in contact with international counterparts, particularly the United States, in an attempt to keep Lebanon away from any escalation, as well as with Hezbollah to dissuade the group from joining a potential war alongside Iran. Most tellingly, Lebanese news outlet Nidaa al-Watan is citing prominent political figures calling for the Lebanese state to officially declare Lebanon neutral and insisting that Hezbollah not drag the country back into war. 

At this moment, Hezbollah’s disarmament in north of Litani features as the most serious phase in Lebanon’s efforts to achieve sovereignty and bring all weapons under state authority and this remains dependable on international backing, while keeping Lebanon out of regional conflicts. At the least, in setting a clear timetable of four to eight months to implement the second stage, the Lebanese government has shown that it is squarely committed to expanding the state’s authority over arms.

Why Central Asia Has Moved Up Washington’s Strategic Agenda

 


The durability of Washington’s engagement in Central Asia will depend on if the United States can successfully integrate into the region, not just sign headline deals. 

Gor’s Tour: A US Economic Push in Eurasia

This month, the United States signaled a renewed push into Central Asia through the largest American business delegation ever deployed to the region. Sergio Gor, the newly confirmed US Special Envoy for South and Central Asia, led the delegation on missions to Bishkek, Kyrgyzstan, and Tashkent, Uzbekistan, underscoring Washington’s ambitions to compete economically with entrenched Russian and Chinese influence.

In Bishkek, Gor’s talks with Kyrgyz President Sadyr Japarov and Foreign Minister Zheenbek Kulubaev combined traditional diplomacy with a strong commercial thrust. The centerpiece was the B5+1 Business Forum, where more than 50 US companies engaged local counterparts on themes ranging from artificial intelligence (AI) and fintech to critical minerals and healthcare. For many Central Asian partners—long dependent on remittances, gold exports, and Russia-linked trade—this offered an alternative narrative: economic partnership beyond traditional patrons. 

Strategically, Washington’s emphasis on critical minerals and supply chains reflects broader shifts in global competition. Central Asia sits atop significant deposits of uranium and other inputs essential for high-tech industries and energy security. Through initiatives such as the Trump Route for International Peace and Prosperity (TRIPP), the United States aims to create transit corridors linking Central Asia with Europe while reducing reliance on Chinese-backed infrastructure. These initiatives sit alongside expanded dialogues on technology and transport that, on paper, position the United States as a viable competitor to the Belt and Road network.

Yet the broader economic environment in Kyrgyzstan complicates this push. According to official data, Kyrgyzstan’s GDP grew by more than 9 percent in 2025, while trade turnover increased by approximately 30 percent compared to the previous year. Bishkek’s economy has seen one of the region’s fastest growth rates, with growth accelerating sharply in 2025, driven in part by rerouted trade and logistics flows linked to the war in Ukraine and Western sanctions on Russia. Traders in Bishkek’s Dordoi market, one of the region’s largest wholesale bazaars, openly acknowledge that much of this surge is tied to shifting sanctions-era supply chains. This growth, however, is uneven and tightly tied to external flows; inflation remains elevated, and much of the gain has not reached ordinary households. 

Washington’s commercial overture thus arrives against a backdrop of economic transformation and political fragility. For Kyrgyz partners, US investment opportunities are attractive—not least because they offer diversification beyond Russia and China. Yet business interests are entangled with domestic political calculus: state institutions are increasingly consolidated under President Japarov, and recent shifts within the security apparatus demonstrate how quickly alliances can shift. This reality reflects a broader challenge for US diplomacy in the region—one where economic incentives must contend with volatile domestic politics and powerful external actors.

The Washington Summits: Strategic Breakthrough or Transactional Theater?

The November 2025 C5+1 summit marked a notable elevation of US–Central Asia diplomacy. For the first time, all five regional presidents—Kazakhstan’s Kassym-Jomart Tokayev, Kyrgyzstan’s Sadyr Japarov, Uzbekistan’s Shavkat Mirziyoyev, Tajikistan’s Emomali Rahmon, and Turkmenistan’s Serdar Berdimuhamedov—met collectively at the White House with President Donald Trump and senior members of his national security team. Symbolically, the optics alone signaled that Central Asia had moved from peripheral status to strategic relevance.

Unlike previous formats that emphasized governance reform and development assistance, the Trump administration framed the summit around economic integration and strategic supply chains. The emphasis was not democratization, but diversification: positioning Central Asia as an alternative node in global energy, aviation, and mineral networks increasingly strained by US–China decoupling and sanctions on Russia.

Several headline commitments emerged. Uzbekistan announced investment pledges reportedly reaching $100 billion over a ten-year horizon, spanning aviation, automotive components, and critical minerals. Kazakhstan signaled major procurement agreements with Boeing valued at approximately $17 billion, alongside cooperation in rare earth extraction. Kazakhstan currently accounts for roughly 40 percent of global uranium production, underscoring why energy diversification has become central to Washington’s supply-chain calculations. Regionally, discussions focused on uranium, copper, and gold as part of efforts to reduce US dependence on Chinese processing capacity.

Beyond raw extraction, however, the strategic challenge lies in processing capacity. China dominates much of the global midstream infrastructure for rare earth refining and critical mineral processing, giving Beijing leverage over downstream industries from semiconductors to defense manufacturing. Unless US–Central Asia cooperation expands beyond mining into joint processing facilities, technology transfer, and long-term industrial integration, the region risks remaining a supplier of raw materials to Chinese-controlled value chains. In that scenario, Washington’s mineral diplomacy would diversify sources geographically without altering structural dependence.

Yet the durability of these announcements remains uncertain. Large headline figures often combine long-term projections, memoranda of understanding, and private-sector intentions rather than binding state commitments. Implementation will depend on regulatory reforms, transport infrastructure, financing mechanisms, and political stability within recipient states. Central Asia’s track record in absorbing large-scale Western investment is mixed, complicated by bureaucratic opacity and shifting elite coalitions.

The introduction of TRIPP—the proposed transit framework linking Central Asia to Europe via the South Caucasus—illustrates both ambition and constraint. As a conceptual rival to China’s Belt and Road Initiative, it offers Washington a narrative of connectivity without overt geopolitical confrontation. However, unlike Beijing’s state-backed financing model, TRIPP relies heavily on private capital and coordination across multiple jurisdictions. Its success would require sustained diplomatic bandwidth at a time when US attention remains divided among Ukraine, Taiwan, and the Middle East.

For Central Asian leaders, the summit offered leverage. By deepening engagement with Washington, they strengthen their bargaining position vis-à-vis Moscow and Beijing without formally breaking alignment with either. This multi-vector balancing has defined regional strategy for decades. What is new is the scale of economic framing and the explicit linkage to supply-chain geopolitics.

The central question is whether this approach represents a structural recalibration or a familiar cycle of episodic engagement. After 9/11, US security involvement surged across Central Asia, only to recede following the Afghanistan withdrawal. If today’s outreach proves similarly contingent on immediate strategic needs—critical minerals, sanctions enforcement, or great-power competition—it may once again fade when priorities shift.

For Washington, the summit demonstrated intent. For the region, it demonstrated opportunity. But without sustained follow-through, investment security guarantees, and consistent political engagement, the agreements risk becoming symbolic milestones rather than transformative shifts.

Evolving US–Central Asia Relations: Balancing Power and Political Volatility

Trump’s renewed outreach to Central Asia unfolds within a regional tradition of strategic hedging. For more than three decades, Central Asian governments have pursued what they describe as “multi-vector” foreign policy—simultaneously engaging Russia for security guarantees, China for infrastructure and trade, and the West for investment and diplomatic diversification.

Washington’s recent initiatives fit neatly into this balancing logic. For Kazakhstan and Uzbekistan, deeper engagement with the United States strengthens negotiating leverage vis-à-vis Moscow and Beijing without fundamentally altering alignment. By hosting US business delegations and signing large-scale commercial agreements, regional leaders signal openness to diversification while avoiding direct geopolitical confrontation.

Yet multi-vector balancing is not static. It depends on internal political stability and elite cohesion—conditions that cannot be assumed.

Kyrgyzstan illustrates this fragility. On February 10, President Sadyr Japarov abruptly dismissed Kamchybek Tashiev, long considered his closest ally and head of the State Committee for National Security. The decision was followed by arrests of several figures associated with Tashiev, the resignation of parliament speaker Nurlanbek Turgunbek uulu, and the removal of ministers perceived as aligned with the former security chief. Official explanations framed the moves as necessary to preserve unity. Analysts, however, view them as preemptive consolidation ahead of the 2027 presidential election.

For external partners, the episode carries broader implications. Kyrgyzstan has positioned itself as an emerging logistics and trade hub, benefiting from rerouted commerce following sanctions on Russia. US commercial interest is rising accordingly. Remittances from migrant workers—primarily in Russia—still account for roughly 25–30 percent of Kyrgyzstan’s GDP, illustrating the depth of economic dependence on Moscow despite efforts at diversification. But rapid elite reshuffling exposes a structural risk: investment frameworks in politically personalized systems are vulnerable to internal power recalibration. Contracts negotiated under one coalition may require renegotiation under another.

At the same time, Russia remains deeply embedded in Kyrgyzstan’s security and labor migration architecture. Moscow’s influence through the Collective Security Treaty Organization (CSTO) and its role as a primary destination for Kyrgyz migrant workers provide leverage that Washington cannot easily replicate. China’s economic footprint—particularly in infrastructure financing and cross-border trade—adds another layer of constraint.

This layered dependency means that US engagement, however ambitious, operates within clear geopolitical limits set by Moscow and Beijing. Central Asian governments seek diversification, not realignment. They welcome American capital and diplomatic visibility, but they are unlikely to jeopardize existing security or economic relationships.

The challenge for Washington is therefore not merely expanding presence—but ensuring durability. Transactional diplomacy may generate momentum, but without long-term institutional anchoring—legal protections for investors, regulatory harmonization, and sustained high-level political engagement—it risks being absorbed into the region’s balancing strategy rather than reshaping it.

Kyrgyzstan’s recent political reshuffle serves as an early stress test. If US-backed economic initiatives withstand internal volatility and elite turnover, they may signal a deeper shift in the country’s political economy. If they stall amid domestic recalibration, they will reinforce the perception that American engagement remains episodic.

A Test of Strategic Durability in Central Asia

The Trump administration’s renewed engagement with Central Asia represents a notable recalibration in US foreign policy. By framing the region through the lens of supply-chain resilience, critical minerals, and transport connectivity, Washington has shifted from episodic security cooperation toward economic statecraft. The scale of recent summits and business delegations suggests intent to compete seriously in a region long considered peripheral.

Ambition is evident. Whether it translates into durable influence, however, is far less certain.

Central Asia’s geopolitical environment is structurally complex. Russia retains entrenched security ties and labor-market leverage. China dominates infrastructure financing and critical mineral processing capacity. Regional governments, for their part, continue to refine a multi-vector strategy designed to maximize autonomy without provoking confrontation. In this context, US initiatives enter not a vacuum, but a crowded and carefully balanced arena.

Kyrgyzstan’s recent political reshuffle underscores the internal dimension of this equation. Economic openings coexist with elite consolidation and institutional fluidity. Investment frameworks depend heavily on political alignment at the top, and rapid shifts within ruling coalitions can alter the landscape with little warning. If Washington’s approach rests primarily on transactional agreements and headline figures, it may prove vulnerable to domestic recalibration and shifting power centers.

The broader question is whether the United States is prepared for sustained structural competition in Eurasia. Securing alternative mineral sources without building processing capacity risks reinforcing existing global dependencies. Promoting transit corridors without long-term financing mechanisms may leave connectivity initiatives aspirational. Elevating diplomatic formats without institutional continuity could repeat earlier cycles of engagement and retrenchment.

Central Asia is not seeking alignment; it is seeking optionality—room to maneuver without choosing sides outright. The success of Washington’s strategy will depend less on the scale of announced deals and more on whether the United States can provide credible, long-term integration into evolving industrial and security architectures. In an era of multipolar competition, influence is measured not by presence alone, but by persistence.

Whether America’s renewed Central Asia gambit marks a structural shift—or another chapter in episodic engagement—remains an open question. The answer will emerge not in summit communiqués, but in the durability of commitments when political volatility and geopolitical pressure inevitably test them.

Is Realpolitik Fundamentally Incompatible with Relational Ethics?

 


The tension between realpolitik and relational ethics appears, at first glance, irreconcilable. Realpolitik prioritizes power, survival, and strategic advantage in an anarchic international system. Relational ethics—such as those articulated through Ubuntu—prioritize mutual dignity, interdependence, and accountability. One framework is often described as pragmatic and unsentimental; the other as moral and communitarian.

Yet the question requires analytical precision. Are these paradigms structurally incompatible? Or do they operate at different levels of statecraft, capable of partial integration under certain conditions?

To answer this, we must first clarify the philosophical foundations of each.


1. The Core Logic of Realpolitik

Realpolitik emerged from European statecraft traditions, often associated with figures like Otto von Bismarck and later theorized by thinkers such as Hans Morgenthau. It rests on several premises:

  1. The international system is anarchic (no central authority).

  2. States are primary actors.

  3. Survival is the overriding objective.

  4. Power is both the means and the measure of security.

Institutions such as the United Nations exist, but enforcement depends on powerful states. The veto authority within the United Nations Security Council institutionalizes this hierarchy.

From a realpolitik perspective, ethical claims are secondary to national interest. Cooperation occurs when it aligns with strategic advantage. Alliances form not from trust, but from converging interests.

Realpolitik is not necessarily immoral; it is amoral. It brackets morality in favor of prudence.


2. The Core Logic of Relational Ethics

Relational ethics, particularly as expressed through Ubuntu, asserts that identity and well-being are interdependent. Moral worth emerges through relationships rather than isolated autonomy. Applied to politics, this implies:

  • Accountability for external consequences of action.

  • Shared responsibility in collective challenges.

  • Legitimacy derived from reciprocity, not coercion.

Relational ethics reject the assumption that self-interest is separable from communal interest. Security, prosperity, and dignity are co-constructed.

Where realpolitik sees competition as natural, relational ethics see connection as foundational.


3. Points of Apparent Incompatibility

At first inspection, incompatibility seems obvious in three domains:

A. The Security Dilemma

Realpolitik assumes worst-case intentions. States prepare for threats even when adversaries claim peaceful intent. Deterrence requires accumulation of power.

Relational ethics assume the possibility of trust-building and mutual recognition. If one side constantly prepares for conflict, the relational framework appears undermined.

B. Instrumentalization of Others

Realpolitik treats alliances as instruments. Partnerships are recalibrated when interests shift. Moral commitments are contingent.

Relational ethics demand that partners be treated as ends in themselves. Exploitative arrangements violate dignity.

C. Asymmetry and Hierarchy

Global power structures—within institutions like the International Monetary Fund or the World Bank—reflect weighted influence. Realpolitik defends such asymmetry as stabilizing.

Relational ethics question whether stability without equity is legitimate.

On these grounds, incompatibility appears substantial.


4. The Limits of Pure Realpolitik

However, pure realpolitik encounters structural limits in the contemporary world.

Interdependence

Global supply chains, climate systems, and digital networks make unilateral dominance costly. Even powerful states such as the United States and China remain economically intertwined despite strategic rivalry.

Absolute pursuit of advantage can generate systemic instability that rebounds domestically.

Legitimacy as Power

Power is not only material; it is also reputational. States perceived as irresponsible may face coalition-building against them. Soft power and credibility shape influence.

Even realists acknowledge that excessive coercion produces counterbalancing behavior.

Non-Traditional Threats

Climate change, pandemics, and financial contagion are not deterred by military strength. Cooperative governance becomes rational self-interest.

Thus, realpolitik must adapt or risk self-defeating outcomes.


5. The Possibility of Synthesis

The key insight is that realpolitik governs survival calculations, while relational ethics govern legitimacy and long-term stability. These are not mutually exclusive domains.

A state may:

  • Maintain deterrence capabilities (realpolitik),

  • While embedding crisis communication and arms control frameworks (relational constraint).

It may:

  • Compete economically,

  • While cooperating on climate mitigation.

This synthesis does not eliminate rivalry; it moderates it.

Historical precedents exist. During the Cold War, ideological hostility between the United States and the Soviet Union coexisted with arms control agreements designed to prevent mutual destruction.

Here, relational restraint emerged from strategic prudence.


6. Relational Ethics as Enlightened Self-Interest

One way to reconcile the paradigms is to reinterpret relational ethics not as altruism, but as enlightened self-interest.

If destabilizing a region generates refugee flows, terrorism, or economic disruption, relational accountability becomes strategic foresight.

If climate inaction accelerates disasters that harm domestic economies, global cooperation becomes rational defense.

In this framing, relational ethics do not negate realpolitik; they refine it.


7. Where Incompatibility Persists

Despite possible synthesis, genuine incompatibility remains in certain scenarios:

  • When dominance yields short-term gains despite long-term instability.

  • When domestic political incentives reward aggressive posturing.

  • When ideological narratives dehumanize adversaries.

Relational ethics require recognition of shared dignity. Realpolitik can function without such recognition.

Thus, incompatibility arises when power is pursued without regard for systemic consequences.


8. A Hierarchy of Ethics in Statecraft

Statecraft often operates on layered logics:

  1. Immediate survival (hard security).

  2. Medium-term advantage (economic and technological positioning).

  3. Long-term legitimacy (normative credibility).

Realpolitik dominates level one. Relational ethics shape level three.

If leaders ignore the third layer, they risk undermining the first two. Instability accumulates. Backlash forms. Institutions erode.

Therefore, relational ethics act as a corrective to excess realpolitik.


9. Conclusion: Tension, Not Absolute Incompatibility

Realpolitik and relational ethics originate from different philosophical premises. One begins with anarchy and scarcity; the other with interdependence and dignity. They conflict when power is pursued without accountability.

However, they are not fundamentally irreconcilable. In a deeply interconnected world, prudence increasingly aligns with relational responsibility. States may retain deterrence and competitive strategies while embedding cooperative guardrails.

The decisive factor is whether leaders interpret national interest narrowly (short-term dominance) or expansively (long-term systemic stability).

Realpolitik without relational ethics risks destabilizing the very order it seeks to secure.
Relational ethics without strategic awareness risks vulnerability.

The sustainable path is neither pure dominance nor naïve idealism, but a calibrated fusion—where power is exercised with awareness of interdependence.

Thus, incompatibility is not structural inevitability. It is a matter of emphasis. In an era of shared global risk, the logic of survival itself increasingly points toward relational constraint.

New Posts

Infrastructure & Debt Politics- “Infrastructure or Influence? Who Really Benefits from Africa’s Mega Projects?”

  Infrastructure & Debt Politics “Infrastructure or Influence? Who Really Benefits from Africa’s Mega Projects?” Across Africa, a visib...

Recent Post