The Russian state nuclear enterprise Rosatom has become the most active exporter of nuclear technology in the world over the past decade. Wherever the corporation operates, it presents atomic energy development as indispensable for climate action and national sovereignty. Yet beyond building reactors, Rosatom establishes an integrated model of political and societal influence, often entrenching censorship and eschewing democratic oversight.

When Russia’s state nuclear corporation Rosatom signs an agreement to build a nuclear power plant, it exports far more than turbines, containment domes, and fuel assemblies. Alongside engineering contracts and state-backed loans comes a broader ecosystem: educational programmes, public diplomacy platforms, youth initiatives, science centres, cultural partnerships, and communication strategies designed to shape how nuclear energy is perceived.

Over the past decade, Rosatom has become the most active exporter of nuclear technology in the world. Its reactors are under construction across Europe, Asia, Africa, and the Middle East. But its expansion cannot be understood purely in terms of energy capacity or industrial success. Rosatom has evolved into a vertically integrated actor that offers governments a full package: construction, financing, fuel supply, operational management, training, and long-term service agreements. Embedded within that package is something less visible but equally strategic: soft power influence.

In many host countries, nuclear cooperation is accompanied by programmes aimed at cultivating “public acceptance,” shaping youth perspectives, and aligning local institutions with Rosatom’s long-term presence. In political environments where civic space is limited or fragile, this model can intersect with authoritarian governance structures, narrowing public debate and marginalising dissent. Rosatom presents its activities as supporting development, sovereignty, and clean energy. Critics argue that its approach often produces long-term dependencies – technical, financial, and political – while reshaping the civic landscape around major infrastructure decisions.

Weak independent oversight

Rosatom actively promotes itself as a global leader in corporate social responsibility. It highlights awards for sustainability and transparency and emphasises adherence to international anti-corruption standards. Its official narrative presents nuclear energy as a driver of national modernisation and energy independence.

Yet a closer look at where Rosatom operates reveals a pattern. Many of its flagship international projects are located in countries governed by authoritarian or semi-authoritarian regimes, or in states with severely constrained civic space. These political environments are not incidental. They are often conducive to large-scale infrastructure agreements that require limited public debate, minimal parliamentary oversight, and restricted independent review.

In Hungary, the Paks II nuclear project has been framed as essential for energy security. Early public protests were dispersed, and critics have long argued that the project advanced without meaningful public consultation. Despite tensions between Russia and the European Union following the invasion of Ukraine, Paks II has continued under sanctions exemptions, illustrating how deeply embedded nuclear agreements can complicate broader geopolitical positioning.

In Turkey, the Akkuyu Nuclear Power Plant is being built under a build-own-operate model, granting Rosatom long-term operational control. Workers protesting conditions at the site have faced police intervention, while environmental activists opposing the project have been arrested. Public access to detailed safety and financial information remains limited.

Many of Rosatom’s flagship international projects are located in countries governed by authoritarian or semi-authoritarian regimes, or in states with severely constrained civic space.

In Kazakhstan, public hearings on proposed nuclear expansion have reportedly restricted critics’ participation. In Bangladesh, the Rooppur Nuclear Power Plant has been accompanied by allegations of corruption and concerns raised by civil society groups about emergency preparedness infrastructure. Rosatom has rejected corruption allegations and, in some cases, threatened legal action in response to claims.

The most extreme case is Ukraine. During Russia’s occupation of the Zaporizhzhia Nuclear Power Plant, employees were detained, interrogated, and reportedly subjected to coercion and abuse. While this situation is not directly comparable to commercial nuclear projects abroad, it underscores how nuclear infrastructure can become entangled with state power in coercive contexts.

Across these cases, one pattern recurs: nuclear projects often advance in environments where independent oversight is weak and dissent carries political risk.

Manufacturing Public Acceptance

Rosatom’s strategy does not rely solely on executive agreements. It systematically invests in shaping public narratives around nuclear energy. In multiple countries, memoranda of understanding include commitments to “form a positive public attitude” toward nuclear power. Around project sites, Rosatom supports networks of aligned NGOs, expert councils, grant initiatives, and public forums that present themselves as platforms for dialogue and consensus.

The messaging surrounding these projects often follows strikingly similar patterns across different regions. In Hungary, the Paks II project has been promoted as “key to Hungary’s energy future” and essential for “energy security”. In Turkey, the Akkuyu plant has been framed as a step toward “technological sovereignty” and “new energy for a powerful Turkey”. In Bangladesh, the Rooppur project is regularly justified through the language of “energy independence” and the claim that development “cannot happen without nuclear energy”. Similar narratives appear in Kazakhstan, where nuclear expansion has been promoted as a “path to stability”, and in Egypt, where the El Dabaa project is framed as a matter of “national pride” and a source of “clean electricity”. In Rwanda, nuclear cooperation has been described as a way of “leapfrogging to modernity,” while in several African states cooperation agreements are presented as tools for national development.

Large-scale events such as Atomexpo, World Atomic Week, and regional nuclear forums position Rosatom as a convener of global legitimacy. These gatherings feature government officials, regulators, and industry-aligned experts discussing nuclear energy as indispensable for climate action and national sovereignty. Independent environmental organisations and critical voices are often marginal or absent, while company-aligned NGOs and expert councils that operate under the language of dialogue, sustainability, and climate action are fully supported. Initiatives such as “Mission Impact” are presented as inclusive platforms bringing together youth, experts, and industry leaders to shape a sustainable future.

This narrative framing is consistent: nuclear energy is presented as clean, modern, and essential; alternatives such as decentralised renewables, energy efficiency, or demand reduction are rarely foregrounded. Over time, repetition across multiple forums and countries can create the impression of an emerging global consensus.

Rosatom’s Information Centres on Nuclear Energy (ICNE) represent another layer of this strategy. By 2026, 27 such centres operate across Russia and partner countries including Bangladesh, Turkey, Uzbekistan, Belarus, Kazakhstan, Vietnam, and Egypt. These centres function as high-tech educational spaces offering interactive exhibits, science competitions, youth festivals, and virtual plant tours.

Officially, they are designed to promote science education. In practice, they embed nuclear energy within local narratives of modernisation and progress. By linking atomic technology to national pride and technological sovereignty, they help transform complex industrial agreements into symbols of national achievement.

Exporting governance practices

Critics argue that Rosatom exports more than nuclear hardware. It also exports governance practices. Large-scale nuclear projects require centralised decision-making, restricted information flows, and strong executive coordination. In democratic systems with robust oversight, such projects can face lengthy public scrutiny. In more centralised systems, they can move forward with fewer obstacles.

Where civic space is limited, opposition to nuclear projects can be framed as anti-national or anti-development. In Bolivia, legal frameworks have restricted the operating space of NGOs critical of extractive and infrastructure projects. In Egypt, public protest around major state projects is effectively banned. In Myanmar, nuclear cooperation agreements have been signed under military rule, including memoranda referencing the promotion of a positive public attitude. Rosatom has signed cooperation agreements with nearly 20 African countries, the majority of which have repressive governmental systems.

The interplay between nuclear expansion and constrained civic environments raises questions about whether the technology’s governance requirements reinforce existing authoritarian tendencies. While Rosatom does not create these political systems, its projects often align comfortably within them.

Building a generation of atomic advocates

Youth engagement is perhaps the most forward-looking component of Rosatom’s soft power strategy. The corporation funds scholarships and educational programmes that bring students from partner countries to Russia to study nuclear engineering and related disciplines. Participants receive technical training, internships, and access to professional networks that frequently lead into Rosatom-linked projects at home.

Within Russia, the Rosatom Corporate Academy and youth science competitions cultivate early identification with the nuclear sector. International youth forums such as the International Youth Nuclear Forum in Obninsk and the BRICS Youth Energy Summit reinforce this professional pathway.

Rosatom has also extended its presence into global youth policy spaces. Representatives associated with Rosatom-supported initiatives have organised and participated in side events at the United Nations Economic and Social Council Youth Forum and during UNFCCC climate conferences. In these arenas, nuclear energy is framed as central to sustainable development and decarbonisation.

Such engagement is presented as empowering young leaders. Yet it also embeds nuclear advocacy within influential international platforms where youth participation carries moral authority. Over time, this may help normalise a particular model of energy transition – one in which centralised, state-backed nuclear infrastructure plays a dominant role.

Rosatom’s global expansion is not simply an industrial story. It is a political and societal one. By combining reactor construction, state-backed financing, fuel supply, long-term operational control, narrative management, and youth engagement, Rosatom has built an integrated model of influence. In many partner countries, this model operates within political environments where public scrutiny is limited and dissent carries risk.

Rosatom’s global expansion is not simply an industrial story. It is a political and societal one.

Nuclear energy projects, by their nature, create decades-long commitments. When those commitments are bundled with soft power instruments – public information centres, aligned civil society platforms, elite training pipelines, and international forums – the result is not merely energy infrastructure, but institutional alignment.

As nuclear energy regains prominence in global climate discussions, the governance dimension of these projects deserves equal attention. The question is not only whether nuclear power can reduce emissions, but how decisions are made, who shapes public understanding, and what forms of political dependency accompany the technology.

In the case of Rosatom, reactors are only part of the story. The rest is built through influence carefully constructed, globally networked, and designed to last as long as the plants themselves or even longer.

This article originally appeared on the website of the Heinrich Böll Stiftung as part of a dossier marking 40 years after the Chernobyl nuclear disaster. It is republished here with permission.

The temporary closure of the Strait of Hormuz, triggered by the US-Israeli war on Iran, has once again exposed Europe’s dangerous dependence on imported fossil fuels. As geopolitical shockwaves ripple through transport, industry, and household budgets, Spain is better positioned to face this challenge. A decade of sustained investment in renewables has made it a blueprint for coordinated European action towards energy independence.  

The war in Iran and the temporary closure of the Strait of Hormuz – through which one-fifth of the world’s oil and LNG flowed – have once again placed energy at the heart of the global political economy over the past month. The recent ceasefire agreement offers some relief, but it does not eliminate the current geostrategic risks. 

As with Russia’s invasion of Ukraine, geopolitical instability has quickly spilt over into international oil and gas markets, driving up fossil fuel prices. This surge in fossil fuel prices has been feeding through the economy via multiple channels. It raises transportation and industrial costs, while also pushing up electricity prices, as gas continues to act as the marginal price-setting technology in many countries. The result is rising energy inflation that – if the conflict persists after the recent ceasefire – will spread throughout the entire price structure of economies. 

 The EU has been reminded of this vulnerability in stark terms. In just the first month of the conflict, its fossil fuel import bill rose by more than 7 billion euros.

Exposed EU 

The European Union is particularly exposed. Highly dependent on imports – it sources more than 90 per cent of its natural gas and nearly all of its oil from abroad – the EU has been reminded of this vulnerability in stark terms. In just the first month of the conflict, its fossil fuel import bill rose by more than 7 billion euros. Yet the impact has not been uniform. Differences in energy mixes, domestic generation capacity, and levels of electrification are producing markedly divergent outcomes across countries. 

In economies such as Italy, Germany, and the Netherlands, where natural gas remains central to both electricity generation and final consumption, higher gas prices translate directly into elevated energy costs and stronger inflationary pressures. 

By contrast, countries with more diversified and electrified energy systems are proving more resilient. Among the eurozone’s largest economies, Spain stands out. Its rapid expansion of renewable energy is reducing its exposure to fossil fuel volatility. 

The Spanish exception 

Over the past decade, Spain has invested heavily in wind power and, above all, solar photovoltaics, significantly increasing their share in the electricity mix. This accelerated energy transition (Figure 1) means that, by 2025, 56 per cent of Spain’s electricity generation came from renewable sources – 22 percentage points more than in 2019. 

At a time of turbulence in fossil fuel markets, countries most reliant on gas for electricity generation are also the most vulnerable to price spikes. Indeed, the sharp rise in gas prices across Europe has driven up the cost of electricity produced from gas by over 50 per cent since the outbreak of the conflict. Spain, however, has largely broken this link between gas and electricity prices. The expansion of renewable energies has reduced the impact of costly fossil-fuel power generation on electricity prices by 75 per cent since 2019. 

The payoff is clear. Throughout 2025, Spain’s electricity prices have been 33 per cent lower than in Germany, the UK, and the Netherlands, and 50 per cent lower than in Italy. While Spain is not immune to geopolitical shocks, its energy system has proven significantly more resilient since the onset of the war in Iran. In March, wholesale electricity prices averaged 52 euros per MWh – roughly half the level seen in Germany and the UK, and just one-third of Italy’s (Figure 2). Among Europe’s major economies, only France, with its nuclear-based system, has posted similar figures. 

Beyond resilience, the energy transition is also creating new industrial opportunities. Electricity prices for Spanish industry are now 20 per cent below the EU average, whereas during the previous expansion (2014–2019) they were 25 per cent above it. This reversal positions renewables as a powerful driver of reindustrialisation, capital attraction, and international competitiveness. 

These gains could be amplified further if the European Union reformed its marginal pricing system, preventing the most expensive technology from systematically setting prices for all others. Such a reform would accelerate the decline in energy costs. A precedent already exists: during the 2022 energy crisis, Spain implemented the so-called “Iberian exception,” which reduced wholesale electricity prices in the Iberian market to levels up to three times lower than elsewhere in Europe. As economist Natalia Fabra has argued, this should now be seen not as a national advantage, but as a blueprint for coordinated European action. Spain is pointing the way, but others can follow. 

 Spain, […] reduced the impact of costly fossil-fuel power generation on electricity prices by 75 per cent since 2019. Throughout 2025, electricity prices have been 33 per cent lower than in Germany, the UK, and the Netherlands, and 50 per cent lower than in Italy.

A new era 

That said, Spain’s energy transition is not without its shortcomings. Not everything shines under the sun. Investment in grid infrastructure – essential for integrating high shares of renewables – has lagged behind. Between 2019 and 2024, Spain recorded the lowest grid spending in Europe, allocating just 0.30 euros to grids for every euro invested in renewables, compared to a European average of 0.70 euros. Addressing this gap will be critical if Spain is to sustain its progress without jeopardising supply security. 

More broadly, a new era in the geopolitics of energy is clearly emerging. The succession of crises – Ukraine in 2022, Iran in 2026 – has exposed the structural fragility of fossil fuel-dependent economies. Far from ensuring energy security, oil and gas leave importing countries vulnerable to price volatility, supply disruptions, and unpredictable risks. 

Renewable energy, by contrast, offers a strategic advantage. It acts as a buffer against external shocks while strengthening economic sovereignty. In this new paradigm, energy security is no longer defined by reliable access to imported fuels, but by the ability to generate clean electricity domestically. As the Ember think tank has shown, scaling up renewables, electric vehicles, and heat pumps could reduce fossil fuel imports by up to 70 per cent. Decreasing exposure to the instability of distant fossil fuel supply chains is therefore essential – not only for energy policy, but for broader monetary, macroeconomic, and social stability.

In Czechia, little remains of the idealist foreign policy conceived under President Václav Havel in the 1990s. According to long-standing democracy and human rights advocate and newly elected MP Gabriela Svárovská, state capture and populism are weakening the country in the face of an aggressive Russia, a crumbling world order, and a worsening climate crisis. Could an approach based on values give new strength to Czech and European foreign policy?

Petr Kutílek & Pavlína Janebová: Have you observed a new idealism in Czechia’s approach to foreign policy? If so, is it really new?

Gabriela Svárovská: In the Czech case, there was much idealism in the foreign policy of Václav Havel, our first president after the Velvet Revolution of 1989. This idealism arose all over Central and Eastern Europe as we liberated ourselves from totalitarianism and stepped onto the path to democracy. When I started working for the Office of the President, under Havel, the universality of human rights, the right to democracy and self-determination, and the protection of civilians were genuine objectives that were set out and pursued in foreign policy strategies. Ditto during the years I worked at the Ministry of Foreign Affairs. I remember that, at the time, there was a debate within the European Union on lifting the sanctions imposed on China because of the 1989 Tiananmen Square massacre. Czechia, an EU member by then, wanted the sanctions to be maintained. Even though we were often criticised by more experienced member states for being “unrealistic”, we stood up for the idealist approach.

At EU meetings, when Czechs or Poles took the floor, some of those present would just stop listening, for lack of trust or interest. But then came the first Czech EU presidency, in 2009, which gave us some agenda-setting power in the Council of Ministers. We raised the issue of human rights in Russia and elsewhere. We regularly invited human rights defenders to provide first-hand testimonies during Council meetings. We started implementing the EU Guidelines on Human Rights Defenders – practical measures to support and protect them. We also pushed through the Civil Society Forum as part of the EU’s Eastern Partnership agenda. Finally, our voice was being heard and listened to.

Today, Czech politicians still like to speak of Havel’s legacy, but they no longer adhere to its principles. At most, they pay lip service to them in their media statements. Other, stronger influences have come into play, not least private business interests and populist voices claiming to challenge the establishment, often equated with “Brussels” and its climate policies. Little remains of the idealism that once characterised Czech foreign policy.

Has Russia’s full-scale invasion of Ukraine in 2022 changed anything?

After the invasion, the Czech government came out strongly in support of Ukraine, but this was largely motivated by society’s response. The first government press conferences were rather lukewarm. This changed after Czechs spontaneously took to the streets in solidarity with Ukraine and started helping Ukrainian refugees. The system started moving largely thanks to bottom-up pressure. It was a narrow political calculation.

The Czech government’s 2024 initiative to procure ammunition for Ukraine was important, because every artillery shell counts at the front. However, in my opinion, the initiative was poorly organised. The government’s first step was to announce it – for PR purposes, one might say. Only then did it begin to raise money – from other governments in order to avoid putting its own money into it. Predictably, as soon as the buying spree was announced, ammo prices went up. The government’s grandstanding turned out to be not such a smart move after all.

We must also ask ourselves whether, prior to 2022, we were sufficiently vigilant in relation to the Russian threat. Were we really doing our homework, in Czechia and Europe, in terms of building societal resilience against disinformation and cyberattacks or reducing fossil fuel dependency? I don’t think we were. After Russia’s annexation of Crimea in 2014, who spoke out against Europe’s dependence on Russian energy? It was the European Greens, one of a few lone voices. Who, in 2019, imposed sanctions on firms that helped Russia build another gas pipeline, Nord Stream 2? It was Donald Trump – a very uncomfortable fact. Of course, he was pursuing US strategic interests. It is a shame that Europe was unable to see, define, and pursue its own.

The reason I welcome the concept of “neo-idealism” is precisely because I see so little of it in current Czech politics. It confronts us with the gap between our words and our deeds. This applies not only to foreign policy, of course, but to politics in general. It is one of the reasons for the crisis of democracy spreading across the West. Elites – and politicians in particular – like to talk about “ordinary people”, yet these are no longer their primary concern. Corporate sponsors, marketing advisors, and other influential players come first. Their meddling in decision-making amounts to the privatisation of political power. Let us call those who skilfully convert economic power into political power what they are: oligarchs. Czechia scored highly on the crony-capitalism index drawn up by The Economist in 2023. It came in second place after Russia.

What can Europeans learn from each other?

We need each other to be able to better understand the various security threats Europe is facing. Countries such as the Baltic states, Poland, and Czechia, being former satellite states of the Soviet Union, see the threat from Russia and consider it a priority. But have they ever really cared about the Mediterranean aspect of European security? Did they listen to Spain, Italy, and others when they talked about the problems in their region? By this, I don’t mean that we should support efforts to stop boats carrying migrants across the Mediterranean Sea. It’s about developing the Southern dimension of the EU’s neighbourhood policy.

The divergence in security threat perceptions is not an issue of double standards per se, rather just a lack of information. We have Ukrainians, Belarusians, and Armenians living in Prague, while other countries have people from North Africa, the Middle East, and other regions. That’s why it’s so crucial to listen to each other, share expertise and intelligence, and foster connections between our civil societies.

That said, I do think that Russia is the biggest threat at the moment. While its military capabilities may be declining due to massive losses on the front line in terms of both personnel and equipment, it remains a dangerous enemy for a Europe that is witnessing the erosion of the Pax Americana. For decades, we happily relied on NATO, financed in large part by the United States. We lived peacefully under the US nuclear umbrella and with the presence of US troops in Europe. We now have to face up to a new reality. We must become more self-reliant in the area of defence, while keeping in mind that security and resilience are much broader than just defence.

Could you elaborate on this last point?

Weapons cannot guarantee security in Europe if political cohesion continues to be lacking. Without it, how can our armed forces act together? How do we decide on their deployment? Today, we are struggling to even agree on the milder instrument of sanctions. We fail to implement them properly. Friends of Putin are benefitting from the war on our continent, and we are letting them off the hook. We still allow companies that are part of the Russian military complex to operate in the EU.

In Czechia, we host a branch of Rosatom, Russia’s nuclear energy company. There may be other companies that are owned by Russian oligarchs, and they might even be sponsoring political parties, but we simply do not know. What we do know though is that they are sponsoring disinformation campaigns, malign influence operations, and cyber attacks. Russia’s footprint could be spotted in anti-vax campaigns, climate change denial, conspiracy theories about the war in Ukraine, and anti-gender movements. We are unable to get rid of the presence of Putin’s regime on our territory, whereas that should have been the most straightforward part of our commitment to support Ukraine and protect Europe’s security.

It is too easy to place the blame solely on holdouts such as Hungary and Slovakia for Europe’s lack of political decisiveness. Other countries are hiding behind them to protect partisan interests of their own or cater to the most efficient lobbies.

How should Europe position itself towards the Global South?

In Czechia, there is little reflection on Europe’s colonial past. When the director of the National Gallery started to talk about the decolonisation concept in arts, she was ridiculed by politicians. Didn’t she know that our country never had any colonies? But we cannot ignore the fact that we have joined a club, the EU, that does include former colonial powers. In these countries, colonialism and the way it carries over into present-day relations with the Global South is discussed in public debate, by civil society, even by politicians.

It is also in our interest for Europe to make things right with the Global South. In today’s fragmenting world, we need more allies – also in the South. Today, big corporations from Europe and elsewhere are benefiting from slave labour, deforestation, land grabbing, and mining in these countries. Instead of continued exploitation, we should be offering them partnerships that, when it comes to trade and investment, observe the rights of their populations, including Indigenous peoples, and give them a say, for example in who is allowed to mine minerals on their territory and under what terms.

Should Europe still strive to promote democracy worldwide?

In 2009, in close cooperation with the Swedish EU presidency, we pushed through Council conclusions on democracy support, making this a key objective of the EU’s external policies. The preparatory work was a landmark effort, bringing together experts on human rights and on development. These goals are closely linked (if sometimes conflictual), yet these people had never actually sat down together.

Part of this effort was a discussion on whether to speak of “democracy promotion”. To avoid giving the impression of imposing our Western ways on other parts of the world, we agreed to use the term “democracy support” instead. I still think supporting democracy, with the involvement of civil society, is very different to colonialism. Of course, we have to recognise that different cultures and regions have their own models of public participation in government. But we must also keep our distance from those who say that democracy is only suitable for Western societies, and that other societies are not capable of it. That boils down to cultural racism.

Democracy may have different operating modes, different institutions. But you know a democratic country when you see one.

Soft power is an important foreign policy instrument for Europe. To many human rights defenders around the world, Europe remains a model. It has played a leading role in bringing about important international treaties and UN resolutions. Again, when we work in support of human rights protection, it should not be about copying our model, but about participation and cooperation. Context matters.

And what about the international rule of law?

Standing up for international law is not easy. It forces us to be critical of long-standing allies, such as Israel and the US. But if ever there was a time to think deeply about why international law exists, why it is vital to our security, it is now. Czechia is among the countries that should understand that any time in history, when the international order started to crumble, it was a bad time for the country.

In this context, which values should Green parties aim to project in society and politics?

As Greens, we are quite clear and confident in stating what needs to be done. We must combine care for the environment and the climate with proper social policies, while observing human rights. These are the three core values we stand for.

The difficulty is how to make ourselves heard amid a backlash that pushes everything green and social out of the public debate. Should we shy away from anything that may be perceived and portrayed as radicalism in order to avoid being marginalised? Should we be less vocal on certain issues to ensure we remain in the mainstream and keep attracting media coverage? Or should we just decide to say things as they are? This is a major strategic question for all European Greens.

The pendulum will swing back in the end, if only because Europe, including Czechia, will ultimately reap the benefits of climate policies, the more so if they are combined with a fairer distribution of wealth and a transformation of the current extractive economic model into a sustainable one, kinder to both the environment and people’s wellbeing. Meanwhile, it is essential that Green, progressive, and left-liberal parties and groups, as well as social movements, work together.

This interview was conducted prior to Gabriela Svárovská’s election to the Czech parliament in October 2025.

The US intervention in Venezuela, following Russia’s full-scale invasion of Ukraine and Israel’s massacres in Gaza, seems to be the final nail in the coffin of international law. This return to brutality and the law of the strongest on the international stage masks an inability to address the real problems of the present. In response to Trump and all the autocrats of the world, Europe should champion a path of non-violent diplomacy.

The Russian war in Ukraine, the proliferation of Israeli war crimes in Gaza and the West Bank, and, most recently, the US aggression in Venezuela all point to the same conclusion: the principles of international law that were supposed to maintain some semblance of peace and multilateral dialogue since the end of World War II seem more obsolete than ever.

The Charter of the United Nations (of which the US was one of the initiators) – and particularly Article 2 – prohibits the use of force against the territorial integrity or political independence of a state. For external intervention to be legal, it must be authorised by the United Nations Security Council and carried out in self-defence, or with the consent of the local government. On 3 January, following the US attack on Venezuela and the abduction of its president and his wife by the US military, UN Secretary General António Guterres said he was “deeply concerned that the rules of international law have not been respected”. Guterres added that the action by the US sets a “dangerous precedent”. But Donald Trump couldn’t care less about the UN Charter, Mr. Guterres, or international law, just as he couldn’t care less about his own Congress.

Does this mean we are condemned to stand by helplessly and watch the international legal system and the foundation of our common values, painstakingly built after the horrors of World War II, collapse under the onslaught of the world’s autocrats – or “predators”, as political writer Giuliano da Empoli aptly calls them?

Absolutely not. But we must start calling things by their proper names. We also need to broaden our focus and adopt a different paradigm from the one all these heads of state who advocate violence – Trump, Putin, Netanyahu, and the like – are trying to impose on us. In reality, while these leaders’ posturing and outward displays of machismo cause death and destruction, they also mask their limitations and personal troubles.

A symptom of powerlessness

Some believe diverting attention from Trump’s domestic issues (his falling popularity and the release of the Epstein files) and seizing Venezuelan oil (the country holds the largest reserves in the world) are the real reasons behind the US’s theatrical military “operation” in Caracas.

This term, which has been repeated ad nauseam by the media since 3 January, is reminiscent of Vladimir Putin’s use of “special operation” to describe his invasion of Ukraine. The choice of this medical lexicon is neither new nor insignificant. During the first Gulf War in 1991, US President George W. Bush coined the term “surgical strikes”, now used by Israeli officials to describe illegal, deadly bombings of civilians in Gaza. This vocabulary aims to conceal the violence of an action in order to legitimise it. War is waged to heal, for the good of the populations concerned, in Ukraine, Gaza or Venezuela, as it was in Vietnam, Iraq, Afghanistan, and elsewhere. As George Orwell wrote, “Political language is designed to make lies sound truthful and murder respectable, and to give an appearance of solidity to pure wind.”

Just like Trump attacks Venezuela to mask his own failures, Netanyahu continues his perpetual war against Palestinians to divert attention from his serious legal troubles, and Putin attacks Ukraine in the face of his own political weakness. Rather than displaying strength, violence betrays the short-termism and powerlessness of those who resort to it. Reaffirming the power of international law against all autocrats requires shifting the focus from subjugation to cooperation – and addressing the real challenges we are facing, chief among which is the issue of exceeding planetary boundaries.

Faced with the total denial of political leaders, we should cling to existing frameworks of international collaboration, such as the Paris Climate Agreement and the United Nations’ 2030 Agenda. These two international frameworks were ratified 10 years ago and should serve as the primary compass for our leaders. The Paris Climate Agreement aims to “keep the global average temperature rise well below 2 degrees Celsius above pre-industrial levels”. As for the UN’s 2030 Agenda, its 17 Sustainable Development Goals (SDGs) constitute a survival plan for humanity against which each of our public decisions should be assessed. But do our leaders still talk about them today?

So, let us stop being stunned by the current onslaught of Trump-style autocrats and get back to work, starting by breaking out of this outdated paradigm of violence and power struggles.  

Rather than displaying strength, violence betrays the short-termism and powerlessness of those who resort to it.

Peace as a compass, non-violence as a guide

In his latest book, L’art de la paix (“The Art of Peace”), a response to Sun Tzu’s famous Art of War, French political scientist and international relations expert Bertrand Badie offers us some avenues to explore in this regard. He proposes a radical rethinking of peace, no longer as “non-war” – a simple absence of conflict, or temporary truce – but as a positive state, a global common good that needs to be redefined in an era of globalisation, climate threats, and the collapse of the Earth system. In Badie’s view, peace is not simply a technical domain reserved for the military and diplomats, but a much broader social struggle that must be tackled head-on. The proof is that since 1945, the 500 or so major armed conflicts that have taken place across the globe have been mainly due to social and environmental issues rather than competition between powers. For example, increased desertification in the east of Syria contributed to the outbreak of the civil war in 2011. In addition, tensions between India and Pakistan are commonly framed as religious antagonism between Hinduism and Islam, but in fact they largely stem from the division of border lands and the waters of the Indus River, on which Pakistani agriculture depends.

Our compass should be the pursuit of peace as the ultimate goal of international relations, taking into account the multitude of factors that contribute to it, including social and environmental justice for the peoples concerned.

Kant reflected on the conditions for peace in 1795, in his famous work Perpetual Peace. For the Prussian philosopher, peace was not a natural condition but a political and legal construct in which each government had to equip itself with a republican constitution guaranteeing freedom, legal equality, and the separation of powers, united in a federation of free states where nations would renounce their absolute sovereignty in favour of international law. This work remains a major reference in the study of international relations and inspired the creation of organisations such as the League of Nations, the UN, and of course, the European Union.

To best achieve the goal of “perpetual peace” described by Kant nearly two and a half centuries ago, we need a “new” paradigm in international relations, one based on non-violence as a universal principle of international law, diplomacy, and social and environmental justice.   

The major principles of non-violence, as defined and promoted in particular by Mahatma Gandhi in the first half of the 20th century, should not be regarded as ethical principles for individuals. Instead, they should be seen as profoundly political tools with practical implications for modes of governance, particularly at the international level. Swaraj (self-governance), satyagraha (holding firmly to the truth) and ahimsa (non-violence and compassion towards all living beings), the Gandhian concepts that served throughout the struggle for Indian independence, are at least as relevant today as they were a century ago.  We must take non-violence out of its niche as a militant tool reserved for peaceful and environmental associations, to develop and adapt non-violent diplomacy for the current context of conflict and climate emergency.

For example, the links between non-violence and the SDGs of Agenda 2030 – a UN-led global plan for sustainable development – are deep and multidimensional: SDG 16 explicitly aims to “promote peaceful and inclusive societies for sustainable development”, establishing a direct link between peace, justice, effective institutions, and development. This goal recognises that sustainable development and peace cannot exist without one another (regardless of any well-founded criticisms that may be levelled at the concept of sustainable development). Beyond SDG 16, non-violence permeates the entire 2030 Agenda. Inequality (SDG 10), poverty (SDG 1), and gender discrimination (SDG 5) are all forms of structural violence that the SDGs seek to eliminate. Thus, non-violence is not only the absence of armed conflict, but also the absence of economic, social, and environmental violence.

The influence of Gandhi and his thinking on the United Nations is notable in many other ways. For instance, the UN declared 2 October, his birthday, as the International Day of Non-Violence. Gandhi’s vision emphasises social justice, community empowerment, and respect for the environment – principles that resonate with the holistic approach of Agenda 2030. Non-violence promotes the conditions necessary for climate justice and peace: stability, cooperation, mutual trust and citizen participation. Conversely, achieving the SDGs reduces the root causes of conflict by addressing injustice and deprivation.

Armchair Machiavellians will see this as an unrealistic “woke” utopia, advocating instead for a hysterical arms race, which they believe to be the only solution to the madness of today’s world. However, American political scientist Gene Sharp, among others, has convincingly demonstrated the possibility of non-violent action, as opposed to multiple forms of political violence, including institutionalised state violence, bringing about profound political change in the face of seemingly insurmountable forces of oppression and injustice. His work has inspired more than 50 of the 67 overthrows of authoritarian regimes in the last 40 years.

Non-violence is effective, and allows us to move beyond Machiavelli’s famous saying that “the end justifies the means,” and instead apply Gandhi’s maxim: “The means may be likened to a seed, the end to a tree, and there is just the same inviolable connection between the means and the end as there is between the seed and the tree.”

The voice of peace, non-violence, law, and reason is what Europe should urgently offer the world today.

This means doing the exact opposite of what Trump and his ilk are currently doing on the international stage. We must start by shaking off our stupor through relentlessly demonstrating the ineffectiveness of violence and power struggles in resolving the major issues of our time.

The voice of peace, non-violence, law, and reason is what Europe should urgently offer the world today. This path begins with a clear and unequivocal condemnation of all violations of international law, including those currently being perpetrated by the United States, Russia, and Israel. We must support the United Nations and the entire international legal architecture in order to guarantee peace.

If the European Union, caught between China and the United States, cannot be a champion of technology, let it be a champion of non-violence, law, and peace. Its usefulness will then be much more real and concrete for the world.  For while the autocrats have weapons, we have numbers: the vast majority of the world’s population, including those in the Global South, who aspire only to live in peace and security. As Simone Weil said, “Peace is the virtue of the strong.”

Since the mid-20th century, the arts and culture scene in China has gone from strict Communist Party control to relative freedom and back to heavy restrictions. More recently, the Chinese government under Xi Jinping has increasingly used culture as a tool for projecting soft power abroad and portraying China as a legitimate civilisational alternative to liberal democracy. How should Europe respond to this in its cultural cooperation with China?

When Wang Xiao¹ was a child during the Cultural Revolution, her father buried his leather shadow puppets in the garden to save them from the Red Guards, who were destroying anything associated with traditional art and the “old culture”. In secret, he taught his children to bring them to life so that the ancient art would not die. 

Decades later, in Xi Jinping’s China, Wang Xiao is an established puppeteer: she holds shows in Beijing and runs a puppetry school. Choosing her words carefully, she shares: “It’s a terrible thing to say, but as artistic freedom shrinks, my work prospers. Children are told they must know their culture and have cultural confidence. That means more classes, more students.” 

Under Xi Jinping, China aims to become the world’s leading nation in every field, including arts and culture.

Under Xi Jinping, China aims to become the world’s leading nation in every field, including arts and culture. The country projects its cultural power abroad as it does domestically: through tight political control. The Chinese Communist Party (CCP) oversees the Ministry of Culture, cultural industries, and artists, ensuring they “serve the people” (read: the Party). A Leninist organisation, the CCP promotes a positive image of the country it rules, portraying China as a credible international actor and an alternative model to liberal democracy. 

Mao’s cultural doctrine 

The CCP was founded in 1921 under the guidance of the Communist Party of the Soviet Union (CPSU). The Communist International (Comintern), an organisation founded by Vladimir Lenin dedicated to advancing world communism, played a decisive role in shaping the new organisation, influencing its political strategies and providing cadre training. From the outset, the CCP, like the CPSU, placed great emphasis on propaganda, including in the fields of art and culture. 

After the Long March (a defining 1930s military retreat during the Chinese Civil War that elevated Mao Zedong’s power), Mao refined his ideas on the relationship between art and politics. His 1942 “Talks at the Yan’an Forum on Literature and Art” articulated his vision clearly. Mao declared that “literature and art are part of the whole revolutionary cause” and must “serve the workers, peasants and soldiers” by advancing the political objectives of the revolution. 

Once in power, the Party quickly asserted control over artists, creating numerous state-sponsored associations including the China Writers’ Association, the China Dancers’ Association, and others. In 1949, the famous novelist Shen Yanbing, also known under his pen name Mao Dun, became China’s first culture minister. He oversaw the alignment of literature and art with the ideology of the Communist Party, promoting the view that culture should serve the workers, peasants, and soldiers. During this period, many cultural institutions were under the ministry’s direct oversight. 

Mao Dun was forced to resign in 1965, as the Cultural Revolution began. Mao Zedong told the Red Guards to eradicate the “Four Olds” – old customs, culture, habits, and ideas – and “purify” society. Soon, the Ministry of Culture was paralysed and its cadres purged. In its place, a revolutionary committee dominated by Mao’s wife, Jiang Qing, took over. Artists were labelled class enemies, tortured, bullied, and forced to undergo “re-education” through labour, and many died. Creative production nearly ceased, even at the level of folk art. 

After the end of the Cultural Revolution following Mao’s death in 1976, cultural activity slowly revived, though China remained poor and isolated. With Deng Xiaoping’s accession to power and the start of the Reform and Opening-Up policy in 1979, things improved. Cartoons from the Shanghai Animation Film Studio offer a beautiful example of post-Cultural Revolution artistic production. 

The 1974 discovery of the tomb of Qin Shi Huang Di greatly helped China’s cultural revival.

The 1974 discovery of the tomb of Qin Shi Huang Di greatly helped China’s cultural revival. Once the Cultural Revolution had passed, the Terracotta Warriors were massively advertised abroad. The statues became a new tool of Chinese soft power. They projected the image of an ancient civilisation linked seamlessly to the modern Party-state – a stark reversal from the destruction of culture under Mao Zedong. 

Xi Jinping’s not-so-new era 

From the late 1970s through Hu Jintao’s presidency from 2003 to 2013, China’s cultural sphere flourished with relative openness, gaining global recognition, especially in contemporary arts. In twenty years, Chinese painters rose from near invisibility to international fame. They became major players in the lucrative global market for contemporary art, and their works are collected by both Chinese and Western billionaires. Ai Weiwei is probably the best known among them in the West, but the works of other artists such as Wang Guangyi – often called the “Chinese Andy Warhol” – are also highly sought after. 

This trend reversed under Xi Jinping, who rose to power in 2012 and rapidly infused a Mao-flavoured nationalism into Party politics. His 2013 visit to Qufu, Confucius’s birthplace, served as a political rehabilitation of Confucianism – now tweaked as a precursor to socialism. In 2017, Xi declared a “New Era”, re-centring the Communist Party in Chinese society and once again tightening its grip on cultural productions. He also underscored the need to “tell the China story” well, a process in which artists play a central role. 

The New Era marked the end of relative artistic freedom. For instance, Gao Zhen – one of the Gao Brothers, known for provocative works mocking Mao’s personality cult and reinterpreting the Cultural Revolution – has been imprisoned since 2024 under a law against “defaming the reputation of heroes and martyrs”. 

The Confucius Institutes are another instrument the Communist Party has routinely used to project soft power. Launched in 2004 under the Ministry of Education, these institutes supposedly intended to promote Chinese language and culture abroad, with teaching materials and staff vetted by the CCP. As Xi Jinping’s nationalist ideology grew stronger, they became tools of influence and political control. In the face of international criticism, many Confucius Institutes have been rebranded or closed, particularly in the US and the EU. The Covid-19 pandemic dealt a major blow to China’s cultural outreach, with foreign students departing and academic exchanges being paused. The CCP’s ideological campaigns intensified. Propaganda ballets were staged at the China National Opera, which had once hosted famous foreign artists. 

When Covid-related restrictions finally eased in December 2022, cultural exchanges slowly restarted. In 2023, Xi Jinping launched the Global Civilisation Initiative, which is the cultural diplomacy arm of the Party’s Community of Shared Future for Mankind. As the Trump administration weakens US soft power, China is reasserting cultural “openness”. But CCP ideology and censorship are never far away. 

A long march, abroad 

Many embassies around the world count a cultural advisor among their diplomats. This is particularly true of China, whose embassies play a central role in managing cultural diplomacy. For a time, Beijing’s diplomatic missions seemed mainly involved with teaching Chinese to students. However, with Xi Jinping in power, they turned into tools for monitoring how the “China story” is told abroad and for intervening when narratives diverge from official CCP lines. 
 
In 2020, Nantes History Museum in western France cancelled an exhibition on Genghis Khan after Beijing demanded the removal of terms including “Genghis Khan”, “empire”, and “Mongol”. The controversy was a sign of the Party- state’s growing sensitivity around identity issues, including in Inner Mongolia, where China had just enforced a ban on teaching classes in Mongolian. The exhibition finally opened in October 2023, with loans from Mongolia and Taiwan, rather than China. There have been other, similar incidents. The recent renovation of Paris’s Guimet Museum sparked debate when researchers alleged that references to “Tibet” had been removed under Chinese pressure – a move some consider as complicity in cultural genocide. 

Yet despite its efforts, China has not always managed to control the narrative. Major but alternative Chinese voices such as Ai Weiwei, contemporary film director Chloé Zhao, and recipient of the Nobel Prize in Literature Gao Xingjian, have found an audience in the West. Ironically, these artists might not be very famous in their own country, but they form a diaspora cultural resistance. Their success shows that cultural soft power cannot be completely centralised. 

No foreign influence in my backyard 

Conscious of the power of culture, the CCP allows little space for foreign influence. During the 1990s, American cultural icons such as Mickey Mouse, Madonna, and Sylvester Stallone were visible across China, but that did not last long. The China Film Administration, under the Party’s Propaganda Department, strictly limits the number of foreign films allowed on the Chinese market and also censors the content. This has helped the Communist Party preserve ideological control and nurture the domestic movie industry. 

Conscious of the power of culture, the CCP allows little space for foreign influence.

Disney’s experience with the challenging dynamics of the Chinese market illustrates the success of Beijing’s control. In 1998, the US-produced cartoon Mulan, based on the Chinese legend of heroine Hua Mulan, failed to captivate Chinese audiences. The animation’s 2020 live-action remake – partly filmed in Xinjiang, home to the Uyghur minority persecuted by the CCP – faced backlash in the West for ignoring human rights concerns. The comments of leading actress Liu Yifei, who supported the police during the 2019-2020 Hong Kong protests, also sparked international controversy. Despite complying with the CCP’s sensitivities, Disney gained little access to the Chinese market. The movie received a score of 4.7/10 on the Chinese rating platform Douban. Meanwhile, domestic animated movies have flourished, with Ne Zha 2 (2025), a box-office sensation in China, becoming the first Chinese cartoon to achieve significant global success. This has only increased the CCP’s confidence, in a kind of soft power reversal.  

What is more, China has already established itself in digital industries, and particularly the gaming industry. Games like Genshin Impact (2020), played by hundreds of millions globally, subtly project an image of China as technologically creative and culturally sophisticated.  

In recent years, China’s soft power has shifted from traditional institutions such as Confucius Institutes to digital ecosystems. Through global social media platforms and cultural exports like gaming and cinema, the CCP is building a pervasive narrative infrastructure. This digital Silk Road of culture allows the Party to reach global audiences directly – aestheticising Chinese ideology normalising control. 

How should Europe react? 

Responding to the CCP’s cultural assertiveness is complex. For years, Europeans assumed that China’s economic liberalisation would naturally lead to political liberalisation. This didn’t take into account the CCP’s determination to remain in power.  

The EU’s 2019 communication EU-China – A strategic outlook marked a turning point, recognising China simultaneously as a partner, competitor, and systemic rival. Since then, Europe has begun scrutinising Chinese propaganda efforts – ranging from disinformation to covert cultural influence – more closely, as can be seen from investigations into Confucius Institutes in several EU member states.  

European cultural actors must better understand the political aims embedded in Chinese cultural outreach; ignorance risks complicity. For instance, at the 2025 Rencontres d’Arles photography festival in France, few noticed the problematic nature of an exhibition entitled Strangers, curated in China and depicting Tibetans from a Han Chinese perspective. The exhibition illustrates the risk of uncritical collaboration and the reproduction of state narratives. 

Since 1979, the CCP has gradually reinforced its discourse around “Chinese civilisation”, using culture as both shield and sword. Under Xi Jinping, the Party has reframed its cultural soft power into a civilisational power, granting legitimacy to China’s quest for global leadership and normalising its model as a legitimate civilisational alternative. In its cultural cooperation with China, Europe must acknowledge this political dimension, engaging openly but without naïveté. Rather than merely reacting to China’s narrative, Europe should project its own story – one grounded in openness, pluralism and individual freedom. Dialogue should continue but not at the expense of Europe’s narrative sovereignty, artistic freedom, or democratic values. 

1. The name has been changed. ︎

The threat of Russian imperialism is more acutely felt in Northern and Eastern Europe than in Southern Europe. This leads to disagreements over defence – not least within the progressive camp. In this interview, Latvian Green Member of the European Parliament Mārtiņš Staķis and Spanish political theorist Carlos Corrochano discuss whether and how these differences can be resolved.

Richard Wouters: How has the debate on security and defence evolved in both of your countries since Russia’s full-scale attack on Ukraine in 2022?

Mārtiņš Staķis: In Latvia, the main political shift occurred in 2014, when Russia annexed Crimea. Once we joined the European Union and NATO in 2004, we thought that war with Russia was no longer possible. After all, we were protected by the most powerful alliances in the world. In 2014, we came to the realisation that we are NATO; we need to do the protecting. That same year, I enlisted as a volunteer in the Latvian National Guard.

Russia’s full-scale invasion of Ukraine therefore came as less of a shock to us than it did to many others in Europe. Five years ago, as a parliamentary secretary to the Latvian defence minister, I would warn at international meetings that another Russian attack on a neighbouring country was just a matter of time. A common response was that we should tone it down, be less “Russophobic”, seek peace with Russia instead of war mongering. In 2022, the sceptics admitted that we – Latvia and other frontline states – had been right all along. I don’t want a repeat of that situation. That’s one of my missions in the European Parliament – as a member of the Committee on Security and Defence, and within the Green family.

Latvian society was not fully prepared for war in 2014. To avoid spreading alarm, the government focused its communications on civil protection – dealing with floods, wildfires, or chemical disasters. We borrowed the “total defence” concept from Finland and told people that they must be capable of being self-sufficient for 72 hours in the event of a major crisis. By 2022, the notion of societal resilience had taken root. Citizens started demanding that politicians take it a step further and discuss what to do in the event of war. This is making it relatively easy to increase defence spending to 5 per cent of GDP, as agreed within NATO. Society is calling for it.

Carlos Corrochano: Spain is geographically distant from Russia, and defence is not perceived as a matter of survival. For most political parties, it’s simply another issue to be instrumentalised, a convenient arena for partisan confrontation, rather than for serious, substantive debate.

Within the Spanish Left, Russia’s invasion of Ukraine has caused a huge split in opinion. Some of us call it what it is: an act of imperialist aggression against the people of Ukraine. We may be against NATO’s worldview, but we must be honest about the nature of this war. We’ve spoken with our contacts in Central and Eastern Europe, including the Baltics, to better understand their concerns and political perspectives. Yet many on the Left still believe there were legitimate justifications for the invasion. This, in part, reflects the movement’s own history: some parties emerged in opposition to Spain’s accession to NATO, and anti-NATO sentiment remains central to their political identity. That historical and even existential legacy often makes it harder to have nuanced debates.

In your booklet Hacer Mundo (“Making the World”), you write that the Left is trapped in a “realist iron cage”. What do you mean by that?

Carlos Corrochano: I used to teach Critical Theories of International Relations at Sciences Po in Paris. Each year, I would begin by introducing my students to the mainstream theories of international relations – the ones furthest from critical approaches – particularly realism. Realism essentially sees the world as a realm of anarchy and perpetual conflict, where cooperation is nearly impossible. It has a rather bleak view of human nature and world politics. Realists are fixated on power and security, leaving little room in their frameworks for ideas such as self-determination or global justice. They are rarely concerned with actual human lives. That’s precisely what makes realism deeply problematic from a progressive standpoint.

I was therefore dismayed when leftists in Western and Southern Europe started explaining Russia’s aggression by quoting and referencing the work of realist theorists – especially John Mearsheimer, who is friends with Viktor Orbán and a lot of other dubious people. Sometimes there’s such a huge gap between how these leftists approach international politics and how they approach domestic politics. At home, you’re allowed to be an idealist: you can discuss ideology, invoke principles, and take moral stances. But once you have crossed national borders, anarchy descends, and pessimism prevails. Your only choice is to be a realist and say that Ukraine doesn’t stand a chance, that it needs to surrender, or even that it is partly to blame for the war. This approach is what I call the realist iron cage.

Mārtiņš Staķis: I recognise this from voting behaviour in the European Parliament. On the issues of defence and Ukraine, The Left group is most closely aligned with groups on the furthest right of the political spectrum.

Of course, we also have some disagreements within the Greens/EFA group on these issues. To provide some historical context: over the last 500 years, Russia has invaded Finland five times and Latvia six times. Meanwhile, Italy, Spain, and Portugal have never experienced Russian invasions. This partly explains the countries’ differing viewpoints; these are difficult to bridge. If a fellow MEP has a negative view on defence spending or military support for Ukraine, I can’t turn that into a positive view. But maybe I can persuade someone with a neutral position to take a positive stance. Time is limited, so I pick my battles.

Have you succeeded in making the Green group more supportive of defence?

Mārtiņš Staķis: I think so. It’s easy to measure. Just look at how the group voted in the past and how it votes now.

In one of our group meetings, I showed a huge map of the Baltic region and indicated where Russia had placed its armed forces along the border. I explained why the Suwałki Gap is the most vulnerable point on this map, because Russia wants to create a ground corridor to its exclave Kaliningrad in this narrow border area of Lithuania and Poland. I indicated how Russia would move its troops to take the Suwałki Gap and how NATO forces would respond. I think this presentation was a game changer; a lot of my fellow group members realised the scenario it portrayed was realistic. Afterwards, I was invited to meet personally with many of my Green colleagues and their staff. In my opinion, having new members from Latvia but also from Lithuania, since 2024, has certainly made a difference within the Green group.

What are your views on the new NATO defence spending targets: 3.5 per cent of GDP for the military and 1.5 per cent for broader defence-related expenditure?

Mārtiņš Staķis: I’m not happy that the debate is focused on percentages; we should instead be talking about capabilities. If all people hear from the military is “give us more money”, you won’t convince them. Instead, the focus should be on the new capabilities that are going to be delivered. Better air defence, for instance, to protect our critical infrastructure and reduce the risk of power blackouts or interruptions in drinking water supply.

Also, we shouldn’t talk about spending but rather about investing. Take the defence line that Finland, the Baltic states and Poland are building along their borders with Russia and Belarus. The fortifications will be constructed by local companies, which create jobs and pay taxes. Other industries will benefit from the demand for cables, electronic surveillance, and anti-drone systems. The innovations that will ready us to fight – not the last war but rather the next war – will have civilian spin-offs. Strengthening our defence will therefore also boost our economies.

The innovations that will ready us to fight will have civilian spin-offs. Strengthening our defence will therefore also boost our economies.

Carlos Corrochano: GDP indicators distract us from having a real debate around defence. A target of 3.5 per cent seems arbitrary and disproportionate. It’s much more important to discuss better European coordination of security and defence policies, sharing capabilities, and more democratic decision-making.

The emphasis on spending targets has reinforced the old “guns versus butter” dichotomy. This logic comes from a liberal economic framework that assumes a fixed pool of resources available to governments – if you spend on one thing, you can’t spend on another. As an ecosocialist, I find it striking how many on the Left have internalised this framing. Even in Spain, where barely a decade ago we witnessed first-hand the devastation caused by such economic thinking. Yet history shows that investments in security can, in fact, serve as a catalyst for broader social progress. The real question is not whether you spend, but how: how you channel those investments, and how you connect them to social, economic, and climate justice.

Mārtiņš Staķis: “Guns or butter” is indeed a false choice. Look at Finland: it has been investing heavily in security and defence for decades, yet it has one of the best social security systems in the world. In the Baltics, we’re rapidly increasing our defence investments, but we haven’t cut a single cent from our welfare arrangements.

Should governments increase taxation of the rich to finance extra defence spending and support for Ukraine?

Carlos Corrochano: Yes. Some progressives in Europe have already brought this to the table. It’s a smart way to connect people to causes that seem distant from their daily lives. Linking national and international solidarity, security, and economic justice is both intellectually and emotionally compelling. The Spanish government’s approach – that we should finance defence investments through common European debt – is also useful. It resonates with the rest of Southern Europe, so it could help bridge the North-South divide on security.

If there were no defence spending target, wouldn’t we need another yardstick to determine whether each NATO member is doing its part?

Mārtiņš Staķis: Yes and no. Let me use a metaphor. If you live in a village and a single house is on fire, you don’t send firefighters all over the village; you concentrate them where the problem is. The same goes for Europe’s defence. The problem is on the eastern border, so we should concentrate our armed forces there. The question of whether countries such as Spain achieve the 3.5 per cent target is therefore less pressing. Spain would make a bigger contribution to deterring Russia if it increased its defence investments by 0.5 per cent in order to send more troops and equipment to the Baltics. There are already Spanish forces in Latvia, and we are very grateful for that. But we would welcome more of them.

That said, I do believe that we should go for the 3.5 per cent target. Not all countries need to achieve it at the same time, however. In Latvia and other frontline states, we need to reach this target within three years at the latest. Countries like Spain could move towards it more gradually.

We must bear in mind the price of war. In Ukraine, but also in Russia, the war is costing 40 to 50 per cent of GDP. Investing 3.5 per cent now – in order to avoid paying a much higher price in the future – is therefore the wisest choice.

Carlos Corrochano: I don’t believe that sending more Spanish troops to the border with Russia would be supported at home, whether by public opinion or among the political class. Making such a proposal would be a mistake.

Mārtiņš Staķis: When Italy, Spain, and Greece were facing a migration crisis, we – the Baltics, Poland – made a huge mistake in saying that it wasn’t our problem. A decade later, faced with the weaponisation of migrants by Russia and Belarus, we were the ones asking for solidarity. Our Southern European partners responded by asking, “Where were you when we needed your help?” My message to my Spanish counterparts would be: “Please don’t repeat our mistake.” As politicians, we must emphasise day in, day out that Europe is a solidarity-based project. If we cling to our national positions, it’s a hands-down win for all of the dictators in the world.

Carlos, there is support in Spain for European strategic autonomy. Doesn’t that imply stronger European defence?

Carlos Corrochano: I’ve tried that approach during my time in active politics, as have others on the Left. Current Minister of Social Rights Pablo Bustinduy became the head of the international office of left-wing alliance Podemos shortly after it was created in 2014. Under his influence, Podemos took a smarter stance on NATO. Instead of saying that we need to leave the alliance immediately, Podemos advocated a gradual shift from a NATO to an EU security umbrella, based on the Treaty on European Union’s Article 42(7) on mutual defence. How to attain strategic autonomy through European defence coordination – that was exactly the debate that the Left needed.

When I became head of the international office of Sumar, a new left-wing alliance founded in 2022, I tried to continue along this path. But foreign policy soon became a battleground for political infighting between leftist groups. The debate on what European strategic autonomy actually entails, in terms of decision-making and capabilities, came to a standstill. It has become a token phrase, an excuse for not talking about concrete issues such as investment in defence.

But I’m not ready to abandon the concept of strategic autonomy. Europe can no longer rely on the US, even if the Democrats come back into power. In an increasingly complex, polycentric world, Europe must become a geopolitical actor in its own right. Progressive forces would do well to link strategic autonomy not only to military security but also to other forms of security: climate, social, and economic. The quest for strategic autonomy is why we need industrial policy, and it offers an opportunity to revive the European Green Deal. A comprehensive approach would make European strategic autonomy more relevant to progressive voters.

Europe can no longer rely on the US, even if the Democrats come back into power. Europe must become a geopolitical actor in its own right.

Mārtiņš, do you agree that Europe can no longer rely on the US?

Mārtiņš Staķis: We still need the US. I think it’s a bit unfair to blame Trump for all the mistakes Europe has made. Already in 2004, George W. Bush said that it was time for Europe to take its security into its own hands. This should have been an incentive to work towards greater strategic autonomy, but nothing happened. In 2014, Barack Obama said something to the tune of: “Guys, if you don’t go for 2 per cent, there’ll be problems in the future.” In the Baltics, we heeded the call, but some NATO countries are still below the 2 per cent mark or have only just reached it. The problem is a lack of political leadership. Trump is very vocal on the need for Europe to spend more on defence, but we have already been aware of this for twenty years. Because we dragged our feet, we are now facing huge expenses. The trade deal that Trump and von der Leyen concluded last summer would have been much more favourable for Europe if we weren’t so dependent on American security guarantees.

Europe must strengthen its defence, but I’m not ready to give up on NATO. Developing our military capabilities will be cheaper – and deterring Russia more effective – if we keep the US on board. Fortunately, there is still massive support for NATO in the US Congress.

Do you have any other proposals for bridging the North-South divide on security?

Mārtiņš Staķis: It will be difficult to persuade people in Southern Europe that they are under military threat, but they have experienced the dangers of climate change first-hand. We can find common ground in the need to make our societies more resilient to large-scale disruptions, whether from war or wildfires. Civil defence was my brief when I was parliamentary secretary to the Latvian defence minister, so I know it takes a lot of effort to get people prepared. Civil society plays a key role in this. True preparedness begins with trust between people, with NGOs and community groups who know the names, numbers, and needs in their neighbourhoods. They can organise training and build resilience from the bottom up. I believe that North and South can agree on the need to support this type of human infrastructure.

Carlos Corrochano: We need more progressives to join the conversation on security. Hopefully we can then move beyond the “campism” that still has a hold on parts of the Left. According to this logic, we live in a bipolar world, we are obliged to choose a side, and therefore Leftists should always be against what the US does – even if it means justifying Russian aggression. This logic must be denounced and replaced by new and more nuanced frames of thinking on international relations.

True preparedness begins with trust between people.

In Hacer Mundo, you put forward the concept of “strategic universalism”. What do you mean by this?

Carlos Corrochano: Strategic universalism could be a new guiding principle for an autonomous foreign policy. Universalism has a bad reputation in leftist and progressive circles, mainly because universalist rhetoric has often been misused, not least to underpin colonialist and imperialist actions. But I’ve learnt from feminist and postcolonial thinkers – especially Gayatri Spivak – that concepts have no immutable essence. Just like sex and gender, universalism is a malleable object that can serve various ends. We can construct new values that we want universally applied. In the field of global politics, our guiding principle should be that we always stand with the aggressed and against the aggressor, regardless of the camp they belong to. In the words of James Baldwin: “Every bombed village is my hometown.” In the context of Spanish politics, this means standing with the people of Palestine, Ukraine, and Western Sahara. This may sound obvious, but it isn’t – not even for the Left.

There may be some overlap between strategic universalism and the neo-idealism promoted by Benjamin Tallis. I support his endeavour to bring moral principles into geopolitical pragmatism. Idealism and pragmatism are always in tension – and rightly so.

Mārtiņš Staķis: If the choice is between realism and neo-idealism, then I am a neo-idealist. As I said, I’m not only a politician; I’m also a volunteer with the Latvian National Guard. You don’t spend days with the army instead of your family if you’re not motivated by ideals. If you have no ideals, you have no place in the military – or in politics.

To what extent is the EU hurt by its double standards – support for Ukraine, lack of action on Gaza?

Carlos Corrochano: The paralysing divisions over Gaza are very damaging, both to the EU’s internal relations and to its credibility on the world stage. European leaders would have had an easier time had they centred their discourse on international law, humanitarian law, and human rights from the outset and held all parties involved to these standards. It may then have been a smaller step to recognising the genocide committed by Israel and acting on that recognition.

I’m not saying that we should approach Ukraine and Gaza in the same way, as they are clearly different conflicts, but we should always stand with the aggressed.

Mārtiņš Staķis: I fully agree with Carlos that these are different conflicts. After the attacks by Hamas on 7 October 2023, sympathy for Israel was high in Latvia. The turning point came when Israel started using famine as a weapon. That’s not targeted punishment for terrorists; it’s collective punishment in violation of international law. In such cases, we must clearly state that a red line has been crossed.

If someone crosses a red line and does terrible things, they should be brought to justice. I believe that day will come.

Met with almost universal condemnation and economic sanctions in the West, Russia’s war against Ukraine received more mixed responses in the Global South. While it is tempting to frame this difference in terms of democracy versus autocracy, the reality is more nuanced. How can Ukraine – and Europe – improve their diplomatic outreach to countries in the Global South without appealing to a supposed moral superiority?

This interview with Polish-Mexican foreign policy researcher Ivan Kłyszcz is part of a series of reflections and conversations around the concept of “neo-idealism”, an approach to geopolitics grounded in values such as human rights and fundamental freedoms, as opposed to great power realism.

Richard Wouters & Sofiia Shevchuk: In a 2023 article on the Global South’s response to Russia’s full-scale invasion of Ukraine, you highlight the diverging perceptions held by the West and the “non-West”. What explains these differences?

Ivan U. Kłyszcz: The motivation behind that article was to start a conversation on why many countries have chosen not to impose sanctions on Russia, even though they acknowledge that the invasion of Ukraine violates international norms and has created a humanitarian disaster. Some countries decided to keep relations with Russia as they were, others even saw an opportunity to improve them. There’s an existing term in the literature that is being promoted for use in this context by certain academics from Latin America: “active non-alignment”. This label was originally coined in the context of the US-China trade war, which greatly affected Latin America, but is now also being applied in relation to Russia’s war on Ukraine. I think the term captures the sense of a proactive foreign policy that pursues national interests – or some understanding of national interests – without really committing to any of the major powers. We can, of course, find exceptions to this. However, when it comes to the [Ukraine] war, I think this is the approach that has dominated in most countries in the world.

One important driver behind active non-alignment is the fact that power is not what it used to be. The disparity between the major powers and developing countries has diminished to some extent. The wealth gap is still wide and, in some ways, becoming wider. But the power gap has narrowed. The world has changed since the Cold War era; Washington and Moscow are no longer able to behave as they used to. Smaller countries recognise that this development comes with advantages and disadvantages. The main advantage is that they are not compelled into alignment; they can push back against the US and Russia, as well as China and the EU. Many countries are now doing what they had aimed to do with the founding of the original Non-Aligned Movement (NAM) during the Cold War: they are pursuing their own foreign policies.

I’m thinking in particular of the middle powers in Africa, such as Algeria, Egypt, Nigeria, Ethiopia, and South Africa. These countries now have greater scope for autonomy, partly because the major powers have become less invested in Africa. Chinese investments have declined, while the EU is changing its approach altogether. These middle powers are therefore gaining relevance as brokers of regional affairs. The same can be seen in South America and Asia.

Active non-alignment became more evident after 2022 – just look at United Nations votes on Ukraine, as well as patterns of sanctions against and engagement with Russia. I believe this was an uncomfortable realisation for Moscow, which likely assumed some countries would be more supportive. Algeria, for example, which maintains deep historical, military, and economic ties with Russia, was expected to oppose measures condemning Moscow. Instead, it abstained in key votes in the UN General Assembly (UNGA), most notably on the March 2022 emergency session resolution calling for Russia to withdraw from Ukraine. This abstention – rather than a “no” vote – signalled hesitation and underscored the fact that Russian influence no longer automatically translates into diplomatic alignment with Moscow.

By contrast, Eritrea stood out as the only African country that voted against the UNGA resolution, joining a small group of states including Russia itself, Belarus, Syria, and North Korea. It also opposed the establishment of a UN Human Rights Council (HRC) commission to investigate war crimes in Ukraine; all other African HRC members voted in favour or abstained. Eritrea’s alignment reflected its strategic affinity with Russia and other authoritarian regimes yet did not result in any formal partnership.

Is there a difference between democratic and autocratic states in the Global South when it comes to support for Ukraine?

The evidence is tilting in this direction: the more democratic the country, the higher the level of support for Ukraine in the UNGA. However, there is plenty of room for nuance. I try to push back against the narrative that this is autocracy versus democracy, in the global picture at least. There are many countries that have been supportive of Ukraine but are not democracies. Take Sudan: there has reportedly been contact between the military junta there and Ukraine, and there has been some coverage of their relations in the military sphere since 2022. Of course, this remains unconfirmed, but it would appear to be traditional foreign policy at play.

Western support for Ukraine, spearheaded by “neo-idealist” politicians such as EU foreign policy chief Kaja Kallas, is viewed as hypocritical by many in the Global South. They point to Europe’s neglect of conflicts elsewhere. Can Ukraine’s own experience with colonial oppression help bridge the gap between European neo-idealism and anti-colonial perspectives in the Global South?

I have pondered this question a lot – the colonial narrative and the extent to which it connects Ukraine and the Global South. It’s a fascinating and complex area, and nothing definitive can be said about it yet. This is something scholars, historians, and others are still figuring out.

This uncertainty creates something of a dilemma for Ukraine in its efforts to develop strategic communications. Ukrainian officials certainly talk about the war as a colonial conflict: Russia trying to recolonise Ukraine. That argument carries some weight; you only need to look at what Russia is doing to those living in the occupied territories. But in Ukraine’s public diplomacy towards countries that have experienced colonialism, there is more caution. Ukrainian diplomats are hesitant to draw direct parallels between their history and the colonial histories of countries in the Global South. In private, I think they’re more willing to make that connection. Yet publicly, in diplomatic settings and at events, they are very careful.

When it comes to influencing the foreign policies of nations in the Global South, I think the colonial framing has reached its limits. The stance of active non-alignment is locked in. Ukrainian – and European – diplomacy stands a better chance if it appeals to these countries’ interests. We need to learn what these interests are and figure out where they might overlap with ours. It’s a good investment – not just financially – to build connections, make contacts, and bring decision-makers, businesspeople, students, and even artists into dialogue. That whole spectrum of engagement is valuable.

When it comes to influencing the foreign policies of nations in the Global South, I think the colonial framing has reached its limits.

To give a concrete example, about a year ago, the Estonian Foreign Ministry held a meeting with those African ambassadors who cover Estonia from Berlin. Estonia does not have African embassies; they’re usually in Helsinki, Stockholm, or Berlin. So, they organised a meeting in Berlin, where there’s the highest concentration. The foreign minister was there, as well as a lot of ministerial staff. They were trying to spark something. There were already formal diplomatic relations, of course, but this was about making those relationships active and meaningful. The message was very simple: “How do we make this a winning relationship? What can we do for you? Where can we find shared interests?”

It was a very simple gesture, with a message of equal partnership. No “lecturing” African ambassadors about Russia or framing everything through a security lens. I think there was something very sincere about it. Maybe that’s real idealism: the idea that we can transcend historical baggage and the broader geopolitical context by focusing on shared interests. That might sound naïve, but I found the initiative quite refreshing.

Why is it wrong to lecture about Russia?

I will respond to that with a brief anecdote. When I was in Addis Ababa, I asked people for their views on Ukraine. They were mostly very polite, very professional, and gave me excellent answers. But one person responded quite angrily, saying, “Our country, Ethiopia, is constantly at war, and we are constantly facing famine without the help of international donations. We have all these challenges – do not ask me about Ukraine.”

So much for neo-idealism, with its focus on values.

The neo-idealism articulated by various leaders in Central, Eastern, and Northern Europe often gets framed as part of a grand strategy in foreign relations, including by security expert Benjamin Tallis, who coined the term. I don’t see it that way. I see neo-idealism as a response to the West’s longstanding difficulty in translating its enormous economic and technological power into military success. Over the last 30 years, the West – whether we’re talking NATO, the US, or the EU – has struggled to win wars, at least in a strategic sense. We may win initially, but we often lose in the long term. That creates anxiety: why can’t we defend ourselves effectively despite all our power? I think neo-idealism partly stems from that anxiety.

One reason for this lack of success is the way the West prefers to fight wars: minimal casualties, heavy reliance on technology, short timelines. These kinds of wars are palatable to voters. But that’s not how war has traditionally been fought. Historically, war involves sacrifice, taxes, and deep societal mobilisation. We don’t see that now, and as a result, the military has almost disappeared from everyday public life in Europe.

For me, the key contribution of neo-idealism relates to how we think of defence and the role of the military in our societies. It’s about restoring visibility and relevance to defence without making it a partisan issue. In that sense, it is quite centrist – sometimes even called “radical centrism”. It says, let’s debate things like migration or climate policy openly and democratically, but let’s unite around defence. Whether you are right-wing or left-wing, reinvesting in the military and supporting Ukraine is reasonable policy. That’s the essence of the new idealism, in my view. It’s not so much about abstract values as about making defence a legitimate, visible, and shared concern in liberal democratic societies. I think that’s incredibly important.

New idealism is not so much about abstract values as about making defence a legitimate, visible, and shared concern in liberal democratic societies.

I’d even say that neo-idealism isn’t actually that idealistic. It’s a kind of hard-headed realism – especially here in Estonia, where the Russian threat is perceived as very real. For countries like Estonia, Latvia, Lithuania, Poland, Finland, and Norway, re-engaging with defence is not an academic issue; it’s about survival.

Do you have specific recommendations for Green parties?

Firstly, do not be tempted to pit the Ukrainian and the Palestinian causes against each other; they should not be seen as somehow in competition. That is fundamental if we want to find common ground for dialogue. I know that might sound vague, but I think it’s vital.

Secondly, we’re not going to solve the issue of hypocrisy in politics. Governments will remain self-interested; that’s just the reality of international relations. We’ll need to appeal to those interests to a certain extent if we want to build long-term, meaningful connections. That takes us back to traditional diplomacy – a practice that has its flaws and often leads to dead ends, including moral ones. If I had to make a recommendation here, it would be that politicians, especially those involved in foreign policy, take the time to reflect on these issues. They should ponder the weight and complexity of foreign policy and the significance of the ethical dilemmas it contains.

The return of war to Europe and plans to re-arm the continent have sparked fierce debate about what pacifism means – and nowhere more so than in the green movement. Three decades on from his passing, the life and work of Alexander Langer does not offer ready-made answers, but it does pose questions that are more relevant than ever: how can we get past empty sloganeering and actually build peace? And how can we make it desirable?

Thirty years ago we lost Alexander Langer, a leading light in the Italian and European green movements. A teacher, translator, journalist, politician, and non-violent environmental activist, Langer was a councillor in Italy’s South Tyrol province in the 1980s, before serving as a member of the European Parliament from 1989 to 1995.

Langer threw himself into his political roles, showing a knack for mediation, as well as great sensitivity and a relentless desire to build bridges with people from different cultures and backgrounds. His thinking and activism revealed a desire to understand both the present and its historical context by gathering information, staying informed, and grappling head-on with the realities he faced. This awareness of social and political dynamics allowed Langer to intuit – decades ahead of time – the great challenges of today, from the green transition to the return of ethnic conflict. Langer tried to find new tools and approaches for fostering peace and co-existence between peoples, supporting environmental and social justice, and bringing about the “ecological conversion” of consumer society.

Langer’s thoughts on ecological conversion remain some of his most significant and relevant contributions. These reflections were born of an eco-pacifist and pro-European activism that produced a wealth of noteworthy proposals and initiatives. Three decades on from his passing, what is Langer’s legacy? How can his thinking help us tackle the complex challenges we face today?

A laboratory for co-existence

Alexander Langer was born on 22 February 1946 in Sterzing-Vipiteno, South Tyrol, the predominantly German-speaking Italian province that borders Austria and today belongs to the Trentino-Alto Adige/Südtirol region. Growing up as a German native speaker but then becoming bilingual, Langer experienced what it means to belong to a linguistic community that is a majority locally, but a minority nationally. He understood that borderlands are culturally rich places, even though co-existence between the region’s three linguistic communities – Italian, German, and Ladin – has not always been easy.

A devout Catholic, from an early age Langer sought to achieve peaceful co-existence in a region riven by ethnic tensions. As soon as he turned 18, he joined a “mixed group”, which encouraged members of different linguistic communities to meet and get to know one another. These encounters served as a local testing ground for exploring the potential of a new model for interlinguistic co-existence in the province. With its unique historical, geographical and social characteristics, the South Tyrol became Langer’s laboratory for imagining the future of an increasingly multicultural Europe, and a blueprint for the peaceful resolution of ethnic conflicts.

After a period at university in Florence, Langer returned to the region of his birth, where he played a prominent role in the protest movement of 1968, before joining Lotta Continua, a far-left extra-parliamentary organisation. But it was in stints of study and political activism in West Germany that he first came into contact with early grassroots eco-pacifist groups that were springing up at the time.

At the end of the 1970s, Langer became actively involved in local politics and got himself elected to office on the New Left list that he founded. As a provincial councillor, he made a name for himself when he refused to take part in the province’s “ethnic census”, which he claimed entrenched divisions between linguistic groups.

In the 1980s, Langer continued to champion interethnic harmony in the South Tyrol: his political platform, increasingly green, advocated peace between people and nature, and a form of co-existence between linguistic communities that respected each of them without leading to political and social conflict. As a provincial councillor, he was able to engage with local organisations and to respond to demands from civil society in his institutional work.

In this period, Langer helped found a political ecology movement in Italy, drawing on his ties with the German Greens. He envisaged a platform that was not strictly party political and transcended the traditional left-right divide. 

A Europe of peoples

Langer was elected as a member of the European Parliament in June 1989 with the Federation of Green Lists, and again in 1994 with the Federation of the Greens. The European Parliament gave Langer a front row seat at a key moment in Europe’s history, and he wasted no time in forging ties with the continent’s eco-pacifist movements. As co-president of the first Green group in the European Parliament (a role shared first with Portuguese MEP Maria Santos, then with German MEP Claudia Roth), he set out a pro-European vision within the fledgling political group, all while trying to balance its various internal factions. And despite the weaknesses within the 12-member European Economic Community structure, he never wavered in his support for a true pan-European political union.

During his terms, Langer focused on environmental protection, North-South international relations (arguing these should be fairer and more sustainable) and the defence of human and minority rights. When the Berlin Wall fell in 1989, he pushed for the rapid eastward expansion of the European Community to respond to demands for economic development and democracy coming from ex-communist countries. He also worked to resolve countless conflicts – from Cyprus to the First Gulf War to Israel-Palestine and the former Yugoslavia – calling on Europe to play the role of peacemaker and urging it to disarm and repurpose its arms industry. As an MEP, Langer frequently invoked the need for a common European foreign policy. Towards the end of his term, he turned more of his attention towards the Euro-Mediterranean region. He advocated for a further integration process that would focus more on responding to growing migration flows as well as protecting peace, human rights, and the environment, and promoting dialogue between religions and cultures.

Langer believed that the political unity of the European Community should come before economic and market unity, and the European Parliament should strengthen its powers to consolidate the democratic system. He saw the end of the Cold War as a crucial moment to restart the European integration process with a federalist and regionalist bent. In his vision, Europe was a shared home that should offer a compelling alternative to nationalism and to the drift towards exclusivism that was being fuelled by renewed ethnic unrest at the time. The transfer of powers from nation-states to local communities, regions, and supranational institutions like the EU was a cornerstone of this project.

Langer believed that the political unity of the European Community should come before economic and market unity, and the European Parliament should strengthen its powers to consolidate the democratic system.

From the European Parliament to Sarajevo

As his term drew to an end, Langer concentrated his efforts on finding a non-violent solution to the conflict in the former Yugoslavia. Frustrated by the inaction of European institutions and the failure of negotiations, he championed the Verona Forum for Peace and Reconciliation, a network that on several occasions managed to bring together different pacifist and democratic groups from the region who opposed the war. The idea was to give a voice to those shut out from official talks.

From the benches of the European Parliament, too, Langer tirelessly called for an end to the violence in the Balkans and for a peaceful, diplomatic solution that involved all parties. He encouraged the promotion of a free and less nationalistic press, support for forces of peace and democracy in the region, and the granting of asylum to deserters, draft evaders, and refugees.

Through the many official political missions and the so-called peace caravan, he visited the region on multiple occasions. There, he built relationships with those working for inter-ethnic harmony, like the mayor of Tuzla in Bosnia, Selim Bešlagić, a figurehead for such efforts. Langer urged the European Union to open its doors to the Yugoslav peoples and called for Bosnia-Herzegovina to join. On 26 June 1995, just days before the genocide in Srebrenica, he joined a delegation of MEPs and activists in Cannes, where the European Council was meeting, to launch a manifesto titled Europe is reborn or dies in Sarajevo. It denounced the policy of “neutrality” that robbed Europe “of any credibility with Bosnians and any respect from the aggressors”.

From early in the Balkans war, seeing the inertia of the European Union and the failure of negotiations, Langer called for the intervention of a UN-led peacekeeping force to stop the fighting and re-establish international law. In 1994, he proposed the creation of a European civilian peace corps to strengthen EU foreign policy. Made up of professionals and volunteers trained in mediation, this peace corps would be tasked with preventing violence, monitoring peace and facilitating non-violent dialogue and negotiation with local authorities in conflict zones. The project has often been revisited over the years by European institutions, but has yet to be implemented, despite the clear need.

Building peace

Langer considered himself a committed pacifist and peacemaker in large part due to his own lived experience of ethnic conflict in his native South Tyrol. But as a peace builder looking for concrete solutions, he rejected a generic pacifism that he saw as performative or dogmatic. Throughout his life, he worked with Italian peace groups like the Non-Violent Movement, the group Beati Costruttori di Pace (“Blessed are the Peacemakers”), and Associazione per la Pace (“Association for Peace), as well as global pacifist organisations such as Pax Christi and the International Fellowship of Reconciliation. In the 1980s, in line with his pacifist anti-militarism, he also participated in campaigns for conscientious objection to military service and frequently joined marches for peace.

Langer’s work to end wars convinced him that institutions like the UN and international law needed to be reformed to be able to provide better tools for preventing conflicts. And he was not afraid to critique movements for peace and non-violence, either, as he tried to rethink actions and strategies for making them more effective. In this vein – and based on the model trialled in South Tyrol – he advocated creating inter-ethnic and inter-cultural groups, pacts and alliances for dialogue and communal action in conflict zones.

Moving beyond “performative” pacifism, Langer stressed, requires strengthening civil society action. Wars actually begin long before the first bullet is fired, which means that peace movements should aim to “expose and explain” the connection between our lifestyles and the financial interests that fuel wars. When politics fails, individuals can withdraw their support for an economic, political, social, and environmental order that generates a high level of conflict and violence. And to strip wars of their backing and justification, we need to strengthen rights to conscientious objection and broaden the cultural foundations that underpin peace and co-existence.

To Langer, it was clear that peace is inseparable from justice, from solidarity between peoples, and from the conservation of nature. But to prevent conflicts and make society sustainable, fear of a war or disaster is not enough: peace between human beings and with nature must be made desirable. More concretely, to gain support for them, we must show how the arguments for peace and for the environment are connected to people’s quality of life. We therefore need a new ethical impetus both to drive the ecological conversion of society and counter the arguments for war.

To prevent conflicts and make society sustainable, fear of a war or disaster is not enough: peace between human beings and harmony with nature must be made desirable.

Looking back to move forward

Writing in March 1990, Langer asked himself: “Would you actually live the way you say others should live?”¹ Doubts about the consistency of his actions with his convictions nagged Langer throughout a life spent defending the marginalised and the oppressed.

His words seem as relevant as ever today because we see before our very eyes the consequences of what we have failed to “fix” and change. In his thinking, Langer brings together the complex challenges of the late 20th century: from the fight against climate change to the need for large-scale disarmament; from building peace and co-existence between peoples from the bottom up to promoting a vision for a political Europe that is fairer, more equitable and more sustainable.

But Langer’s proposals and initiatives were born of a historical context that was fundamentally different to the one we find ourselves in now. Rather than offering ready-made answers, his legacy encourages us to reflect critically on the present, on the way we act, and the need to devise innovative and informed responses to today’s challenges: the outbreak of conflicts old and new, the severe impacts of the climate crisis, and the urgent need to re-imagine political and social models in an era of profound global change.

1. A. Langer, Il viaggiatore leggero. Scritti 1961-1995, edited by A. Sofri and E. Rabini. Palermo: Sellerio Editore, 2011. ︎

Greens are ardent defenders of democracy. But are they willing to back up their words with action when democracies are under attack from aggressive autocrats? Atte Harjanne, a Green member of the Finnish parliament and a reserve captain in the Finnish Defence Forces, believes we shouldn’t be afraid to discuss thorny issues such as a European nuclear umbrella, Finnish boots on the ground in Ukraine, or the re-introduction of landmines.

Richard Wouters: According to security analyst Benjamin Tallis, a new, values-based approach to geopolitics is emerging from Eastern Europe: “neo-idealism”. Does this label fit Finland?

Atte Harjanne: I struggle a bit with the prefix “neo”. Democracy and the rule of law have a long history as cherished values. What is new is that we are now starting to walk the talk. We’re more determined to defend these values, taking inspiration from the Ukrainians.

However, realpolitik is also on the rise. Sometimes, idealists and realists advocate the same policies, so it’s not easy to draw a line between them. But as far as I understand neo-idealism, I consider myself part of that school.

One important aspect of neo-idealism is that it rejects a world in which great powers impose their will on smaller states in their “spheres of influence”.

If great power politics were all that mattered, for a small nation like Finland, it would mean that our values didn’t count. We would end up outsourcing our decision-making to more powerful countries. This is a cynical approach that should not go uncriticised. Of course, great powers have a bigger say in the current world, but we Finns should still speak out about the world we aspire to. We are responsible for our own decisions and for the values on which we base them.

During the Cold War, Finland was a neutral country. This made us self-centred. We shouldn’t fall back into that mindset.

Is that why you were an early proponent of Finland joining NATO?

To some extent, yes. But the main reason is that I’ve long been convinced that Europe must be militarily prepared to protect its values in the face of threats from authoritarian states. Finland being a member of NATO, since 2023, means that we are part of a whole that is greater than its parts.

Remaining outside NATO for so long made Finland into a sort of free rider. While we maintained our defences considerably better than some other countries, NATO was clearly the key security provider in Europe. We acknowledged that, yet somehow thought that we are a separate, special case and decided to stay out. I wasn’t surprised when the public mood on NATO changed rapidly after Russia’s full-scale invasion of Ukraine. It proved my point that the rationale behind remaining outside NATO was never very strong.

Finnish president Alexander Stubb advocates “values-based realism”. How do you assess that approach?

It’s a convenient pairing of words. Depending on the situation, more emphasis can be put on values or on realpolitik. The concept is so flexible that it can hardly be called a guiding principle or strategy. But it’s a pretty accurate description of Finland’s foreign and security policy. We are vocal about our values, but we also need to cooperate with regimes that don’t share these values, especially since Trump’s re-election.

During the Cold War, Finland was a neutral country. We shouldn’t fall back into that mindset.

Was it wise for Stubb to play golf with Trump at Mar-a-Lago?

I think so. It was probably a smart way to convey our views to Trump. But this kind of friendliness isn’t without its pitfalls. First, there must be no misunderstanding: we stand firmly to protect the sovereignty of European nations. That of Denmark, for example, which is threatened by Trump now that he wants to annex Greenland, not ruling out military force. The Finnish government should clearly communicate to European allies where we stand.

Second, we must be careful not to mislead people. Some Finnish politicians are reluctant to describe the situation in the US as it is. This creates the danger of underestimating the risks posed by the Trump regime. Some may be led to think that the current US is an ally like any other, that it abides by treaties and agreements. When politicians put on a show, some people may actually believe it – and the politicians may start to believe in it themselves.

As a member of parliament, I don’t feel constrained from criticising the Trump administration – or any other government, for that matter. Being able to speak freely is a key element of liberal democracy. However, I have experienced some push-back from colleagues especially in the government parties when I said that the government should consider different scenarios for defence planning, including one under which the US is no longer committed to NATO. Some politicians prefer not to face up to that scenario.

What should we do if the US is no longer willing to come to the defence of its European allies?

We must reinforce European deterrence, build a strong European pillar within NATO. Strengthening our military capabilities and our defence industry to the point where we are no longer reliant on the US will require a major effort. We should have started much earlier.

The trickiest part, of course, is nuclear deterrence. I’m all for nuclear disarmament, but the chances of that are slim with today’s Russia. We need an honest and analytical debate on the role that French and British nuclear weapons could play in defending European NATO. What are the options? Could these weapons form a European nuclear umbrella even if France and the UK keep the final say on their use? If so, what would Paris and London expect from their European partners in terms of burden sharing? After all, it’s not cheap to maintain a nuclear arsenal. 

Ukraine is our first line of defence against Russian imperialism. Should our goal be to help the Ukrainians defeat Russia in Ukraine?

It should have been our goal. We should have given much more military support to Ukraine before the 2022 full-scale invasion and immediately afterwards. Now it’s hard to foresee an outright victory for Ukraine. Even if we sent all our weapons to Ukraine, it would still face a shortage of military personnel. Realistically, the best we can probably achieve now is a stronger position for Ukraine at the negotiating table. This would still require massive arms deliveries, support for Ukraine’s defence industry, and tougher sanctions against Russia.

European boots on the ground could alleviate Ukraine’s military personnel problem. You have publicly put forward this option.

Indeed, I said my country should be open to this. To free up Ukrainian military personnel, European troops could take over certain tasks, such as air defence, military training inside Ukraine, or the protection of its borders with Belarus and Transnistria – all without directly confronting Russian troops. If there were an international coalition willing to put boots on Ukrainian ground, even without a ceasefire, Finland would do the right thing by taking part. I’m quite frustrated that, in Finland and elsewhere, many politicians and parties refuse to even discuss this. If we say that we will do whatever it takes to defend Ukraine’s sovereignty, this option should be on the table.

All of Europe is trying to learn from Finland’s comprehensive security model. What lessons would you want to convey?

First of all, a cross-sectoral approach is needed. Not only all branches and levels of government but also the private sector must be part of a country’s security strategy, planning for different types of contingencies. Frequent training is also crucial, including tabletop exercises where emergency scenarios are simulated. Even in Finland, we should be practising more. During the Covid-19 pandemic, gaps in preparedness came to light. I worry that we are a bit complacent. Another lesson relates to crisis-proofing infrastructure. You need to go beyond efficiency and build in resilience. This takes time, so start now.

The welfare state plays a crucial role in our security model, since it fosters mutual trust and common purpose. People must feel they belong to a society where everyone has a role, and no one is left behind. Then they will care not only about their own safety but also about that of their society. To be honest, Finland is facing challenges in this regard. We’ve seen a lot of cuts in social benefits and support systems. We need to ask ourselves whether, by doing this, we are dismantling a key part of our defence.

Not only all branches and levels of government but also the private sector must be part of a country’s security strategy.

Finland is committed to the international rule of law. Yet it intends to withdraw from the Ottawa Treaty that bans antipersonnel landmines. Is that a painful step for the Finnish Greens?

Of course it is. Limiting the use of weapons that cause massive civilian casualties was a big step forward for human civilisation. But the problem with the Ottawa Treaty has always been that several key countries are not party to it. These include Russia, an increasingly unfriendly neighbour that could invade us anywhere along our 1,300-kilometre shared border. Landmines are an effective way to slow down the advance of an attacking force.

If it gets to the point where we have to deploy landmines in a war, we must be extremely careful. The most horrible killing and maiming of civilians occurs during or after chaotic, civil-war-like conflicts. If Finland uses landmines, it should do so… I don’t like the word “responsibly”, but in an orderly way. Still, we shouldn’t delude ourselves that the army can perfectly map the mines it plants in the fog of war. There will be some collateral damage.

In the Finnish parliament, I have stated that, while I support our withdrawal from the treaty, we should be aware of the international repercussions of such a move. It’s an awkward step to take at a time when we need to fight for the hearts and minds of people all over the world, if only to get support for our sanctions against Russia. Finland’s decision to produce and stockpile landmines again will be difficult to understand for many citizens and governments in the Global South, especially in places where landmines from past conflicts still take a human toll. We need to argue our case clearly: we are doing this because it is essential to protect our democracy. We should also assist countries in the Global South with landmine clearance. That would be a form of damage control with respect to human lives, Finland’s reputation, and the international order.

Finland faces a similar dilemma regarding the instrumentalisation of migrants. Russia has been funnelling undocumented migrants to Finland in a form of hybrid warfare. Finland’s right-wing government has now closed the border crossing points on the land border with Russia. A new border security law empowers the government to turn down asylum applications. What is your opinion on that?

This is another tricky issue. Once again, the threat is real. We must make sure our legal system isn’t used against us. But it bothers me that some politicians, both in parliament and in government, have jumped on this issue in order to break away from our country’s human rights obligations. My approach is the complete opposite. We should first assess the scale of the threat, analyse different scenarios and ways to prevent or mitigate them.

Say we have a thousand asylum seekers at the border. What if we took them all in, processed their asylum requests, gave refugee status to those who were entitled to it, and tried to repatriate the others? It wouldn’t cause our society to collapse. The same applies to 10,000 asylum seekers, or even 100,000. I think we could have made our legal framework more watertight while leaving room for legitimate claims to asylum. With the new legislation, we risk having less control over our borders. If we activated this law, it could incentivise instrumentalised migrants to cross the border outside the border posts and try to avoid our authorities instead of contacting them. Such a scenario could lead to our resources being stretched.

Do you feel inhibited from debating this issue? A culture war over migration that pits Finns against each other might well play into the hands of Putin.

No. In a democracy, one should be able to speak out. What worries me isn’t the debate itself, but the hate and agitation around the issue. I’ve received a lot of this when I criticised the new asylum law. It came from people who were mobilised by right-wing parties. They accused me of being unpatriotic or even an enemy of the state. One MP from the far-right Finns Party went so far as to suggest that I should be stripped of my military rank. Today, the controversy has subsided considerably, not least because our border hasn’t been tested to the extent that people feared.

As both a reserve captain in the Finnish Defence Forces and a climate scientist, do you think it is possible to reconcile geopolitical and ecological security?

To some extent, they go hand in hand. Decarbonisation reduces our reliance on fossil fuels that are largely imported from problematic countries. So it’s not just a climate imperative; it also improves the global order and our hard security.

On the issue of economic growth, which looks more favourable through a geopolitical than an ecological lens, I’m trying to stall for time, as it were. For the moment, what we need for the green transition is a massive wave of investment. That is, economic activity. So I don’t think it’s very relevant right now to focus on the question whether economic growth is a good policy objective or not.

It’s clear that economic growth as it happens now will hit physical limits. Also, GDP growth is a poor indicator for wellbeing in a prosperous country like Finland. But if these considerations lead us to focus on degrowth or post-growth, this might hinder our ability to invest ourselves out of fossil fuels. We haven’t yet really tried to mobilise the market economy to tackle climate change and biodiversity loss; this needs to be done much more firmly. Then we will find out whether the equation holds, or if we should completely transform our economic thinking. Maybe it’s my years in parliament that have turned me into a pragmatic incrementalist, but I’m convinced that there is still plenty of room for evolution before we call for revolution.

Are values a luxury to be cast aside when your country is under threat of invasion, or is values-based politics part of building resilience? Two Baltic Green politicians whose parties have recently joined national governments discuss the opportunities and challenges of pursuing transformative agendas in times of geopolitical tension.

Richard Wouters: Both your parties entered national government after Russia’s full-scale invasion of Ukraine in 2022. The Baltic region might well be Putin’s next target. Under these conditions, is it possible to put a progressive and Green mark on policies?

Justīne Panteļējeva: The main motivation for my party, the Progressives, to join the Latvian government in 2023 was to ensure the passing of a civil partnership law granting rights to same-sex couples and the ratification of the Istanbul Convention on preventing and combating violence against women and domestic violence. To me, it’s obvious that these types of measures lead to a more inclusive society, which in turn strengthens social resilience in times of crisis. Yet we only managed to get the bills through a mostly conservative parliament because we had insisted on including them in the coalition agreement.

We have done a good job in supporting middle- and lower-middle-class households by making the tax system more progressive. Starting this year, 95 per cent of working people pay lower income tax. This wasn’t easy in the context of war in Europe and increased defence spending, but reducing inequality makes Latvian society stronger.

Strengthening our defence and supporting Ukraine are this government’s top priorities. Not only do we Progressives support these aims, we also provide the defence minister responsible for the implementation of policies to achieve them. In the coming years, the government aims to ramp up defence spending from the current level of 3.7 per cent of GDP to 5 per cent. That will be a tough debate. My party will stress the need for a balance between spending on defence and funding for social security, education, and healthcare.

As well as holding the defence portfolio, the Progressives also head the transport and culture ministries. Culture in particular is highly relevant for societal resilience, as it deals with media independence and media literacy. In an age where disinformation is a tool of war, people need to be able to read with a critical eye. Our culture minister is also strengthening the protection of cultural heritage, using lessons learned from Ukraine. One of the first things an invader wants to do is to destroy the culture of the country it has invaded. Without culture, you don’t have a shared sense of who you are as a nation. Preserving your culture – from books to monuments – allows you to fight back.

Tomas Tomilinas: My party, Democrats for Lithuania (DSVL), has only been in government since December 2024, so I can’t yet present a list of our achievements as a governing party. But around 80 per cent of our manifesto has been integrated into the government’s four-year programme. One of our two ministers heads the ministry of energy; their work focuses on the development of renewables, for the sake of both climate protection and energy security.

For me, one of the major topics at present is tax reform. We are learning from our Latvian friends on this. Our aim is to play a leading role in the tax debate, and I think we can do so because we’re not afraid to say “tax the rich”. Now that we will have to spend so much more money on defence – our government is aiming for 5.5 per cent of GDP by 2030 – wealthy people will need to make a bigger contribution.

Even when DSVL was in opposition, we were able to have an impact. During the Covid-19 pandemic, which required rapid decision-making, we strengthened parliamentary oversight of the government’s use of emergency powers. In times of crisis, democracy must not be switched off. We also campaigned for the EU’s Nature Restoration Law; as a result, the Lithuanian position changed from “against” to “for”. That was crucial for its final adoption by the EU Council of Ministers.

In times of crisis, democracy must not be switched off.

Your countries have brought back compulsory military service in response to the Russian threat. Has that generated a lot of debate?

Justīne Panteļējeva: It did when the decision was taken in 2022. Many young people are unhappy with this move, but most feel that it’s necessary. You now see young men who have completed their military service taking on permanent jobs in the armed forces. This is reassuring. Conscription is like the imaginary monster under the bed: in reality, it ends up being just fine. Moreover, those who don’t want to take up arms can opt for alternative civilian service. Military service is only compulsory for men, but our minister of defence is now looking into conscription for women, too.

Trump coming back into power, the way he bullied Zelenskyy in the White House last February: these events were a cold shower for Latvians. They galvanised support for strong national defence, including conscription. At the same time, people are talking to their relatives about what to do when X stunda (zero hour) comes – when Russia invades. Should they try to escape, hide, or resist?

Tomas Tomilinas: Zero hour is definitely being talked about in Lithuania as well. Conscription is no longer controversial. We already reinstated it in 2015, after the first Russian invasion of Ukraine.

Governments in Western and Southern Europe have long been deaf to warnings from the Baltic region of Russia’s imperialist ambitions. According to Toomas Hendrik Ilves, the former president of Estonia, this was because they saw the Baltic states as second-class EU and NATO members – countries that were only reluctantly admitted and then had to keep quiet. Do you agree?

Tomas Tomilinas: Let me first stress what a great achievement it was for us to join the EU and NATO in 2004. At the time, I thought it was just a matter of fulfilling the criteria for membership. Now I realise that it was a historic event, a once-in-a-century opportunity that we seized. Ukraine did not get that chance, and you see what happened. Yes, we felt the frustration of not being listened to, but that is less so now. We are quite active within the European foreign policy debate.

Justīne Panteļējeva: Even though we might have been seen as second-class, we had politicians who commanded respect. At the time we joined the EU and NATO, we had a wonderful president in Latvia, Vaira Vīķe-Freiberga, who was a figurehead for all Baltic countries. There was a ceiling, but it was possible for a strong and courageous leader to break through it and voice our perspective. Kaja Kallas, as prime minister of Estonia, did so too, in a powerful and uncompromising way. It landed her the job of EU foreign policy chief. That’s a big win for the Baltic states.

Tomas Tomilinas: Kallas is certainly important for us, but her post is not yet fully functional. Because of its weak institutional set-up, with veto rights for every member state, the EU doesn’t have an effective common foreign policy. Without this, how can there be a European defence policy? The Baltic states have traditionally opposed EU federalisation for fear of it undermining the power of small countries. Now that we need a strong Europe more than ever, it is really time to rethink that position.

Are Western and Southern Europe starting to learn lessons from the Baltics?

Justīne Panteļējeva: First of all, I think it’s important to say that we in Central and Eastern Europe have learned a few things ourselves from Southern Europe since the Ukrainian refugee crisis and the weaponisation of migrants on the Belarusian border. We are facing the same tough political realities as our southern EU partners and may also need additional support with our border situations. We can all learn from each other; it’s not a one-way street.

The Baltic states have traditionally opposed EU federalisation. It is really time to rethink that position.

That said, it does feel like we live in two different Europes when it comes to defence. Right now, while northern and eastern member states are arming themselves to defend Europe, those in the south still haven’t understood the urgency of the situation, or so it seems. We need to have more conversations. I would like to tell our southern partners, including Greens and the Left, that we are preparing to defend not only ourselves but all of Europe. If we don’t manage to understand each other’s realities, we are playing into Putin’s hands. He’s definitely trying to divide Europe.

If you were given a few minutes to address the congress of a party like Sumar in Spain or Europa Verde in Italy, what would you say to them?

Tomas Tomilinas: I would tell the story of old grandmother Europe, who is close to death. To revive her, and ourselves, to keep our civilisation alive, we need new stories – romantic stories that can unite us. Right now, the historic challenge is to defend Ukraine. And we can only rise to this challenge if we no longer see ourselves as mere nation states. Most nation states are easy prey for aggressive autocrats, oligarchs, and multinational corporations. At the very least, we need to be a strong coalition of states. We need to stick together in the face of Putin, Trump, Musk, and the like. And we should allow more countries to join, so we become even stronger. That is what’s unique about the EU: you can expand it without hurting anyone. Look at the accession of Central and Eastern European countries: it’s a good story, and it underpins the solid support for the EU here in the Baltics. Let’s create more of those success stories.

Justīne Panteļējeva: I’m less of a romanticist than Tomas. For a long time, at least in Latvia, talk of European solidarity and the common striving for democracy was dismissed as empty words from Brussels. Instead of daydreaming about Europe, we needed to pave our roads and tackle the glaring inequalities in our societies. But the Russian full-scale invasion of Ukraine dramatically changed that. Suddenly, we are mentally, emotionally, and financially committed to people we’ve never met, in a country we’ve probably never visited, and we are doing everything we can for them. Because they are fighting for what we stand for. I like to think that is something very European. Only now do we feel that we are not alone but part of something greater: the project of Europe.

Is this an expression of the “neo-idealism” that security analyst Benjamin Tallis sees emerging in Central and Eastern Europe? An approach to geopolitics grounded in the power of values such as democracy, human rights, and the right to self-determination, by his definition.

Tomas Tomilinas: I like the concept of neo-idealism, even though it’s quite academic. We know it as values-based foreign policy. In many ways, Lithuania is representative of this approach, especially when it comes to Russia and Ukraine. Other foreign policy issues get more easily caught up in political disputes. We might disagree on the values we wish to defend or the sacrifices we are willing to make. For example, our previous government incurred the wrath of autocratic China because it sought rapprochement with democratic Taiwan. I was a fan of this policy, but it was fiercely contested.

Justīne Panteļējeva: I think the rise of populists and outright autocrats calls for a new idealism, as an antidote. Populists and autocrats diminish the role of truths and facts. They exploit and fuel cynicism, detachment from society, in order to create a system that first and foremost benefits themselves. People who refuse to fall for their lies and hatred will be attracted to leaders – not necessarily politicians – who demonstrate bravery, who break through apathy, who create and facilitate hope. Centrist politics will be less in demand.

In my day-to-day politics, there is little room for new ideals. But if I take a step back and think about where we are and what we’re going to see over the next few years, about what we as Green and progressive parties should really prioritise, I also come to the conclusion that we need to offer idealistic leadership to citizens. We need leaders who are able to both take on the populists and autocrats and bring people together around bold ideas.

In my day-to-day politics, there is little room for new ideals. But we need to offer idealistic leadership to citizens.

Tomas, you call yourself the only “degrowther” in the Lithuanian parliament. Can degrowth be reconciled with neo-idealism?

Tomas Tomilinas: One of the possible reasons why Europe struggles to unite against autocrats and oligarchs might be our prioritisation of material wealth over the values that constitute our common historical legacy. We must also realise that most future conflicts and wars will be over natural resources. This should force us to rethink our production and consumption and work for a global system that distributes these resources in an equitable way. We could still have a thriving economy if we developed public and private services that are less resource-intensive.

Justīne Panteļējeva: The fact that Latvia’s GDP has – like Lithuania’s – roughly doubled since EU accession has brought prosperity to many people. It has allowed us to survive in the post-Soviet world and to invest in defence and other public goods. So although there is room for degrowth or post-growth ideas within my party, these ideas will not fly in Latvian politics more broadly. Furthermore, in a globalised economy, a small country like ours cannot effectively pursue degrowth policies. If you want to gradually change ideas, to mount a challenge to over-consumption, you should perhaps tap into the frugal practicality that can still be seen among our parents and grandparents. In Soviet times, they had to develop a talent for tinkering in order to survive with almost nothing.

Tomas Tomilinas: I would like to add an example from recent debates in the Lithuanian parliament. As Greens, we want to preserve our forests; we emphasise how important they are for biodiversity, health, and tourism. But our proposals to curb logging have long been met with opposition on financial grounds. Now, with the threat of war, that has changed. It has become clear that forests are a natural defence against invading forces. Our parliament has now voted in favour of laws protecting the huge, forested areas on our eastern border. This shows that it is not impossible to convince majorities that there are more important values than economic growth.