From Crisis Management to Strategic Partnership: rebuilding the migration relationship between Morocco and the European Union By Dr Anis H. Bajrektarevic and Dr Hakima Elhaite

A policy paper inspired by the work of Dr Anis H. Bajrektarevic on the "Diaspora Hedge Fund"

Irregular migration between Morocco and the European Union is not a problem that can be solved through deterrence, nor through a single financial instrument. We propose here the creation of a Diaspora Fund for Moroccans Abroad (MDM), in an operational version adapted to the Moroccan context, inspired by the foundational work of Dr Anis H. Bajrektarevic on the "Diaspora Hedge Fund" concept, itself rooted in his work at the International Centre for Migration Policy Development (ICMPD) in Vienna in the 1990s. This proposal starts from a shared observation: migration must be understood as a movement of capital, knowledge and opportunity, as much as of people. But it can only bear fruit if it addresses a deeper misalignment between three agendas that, today, largely ignore one another: the prospects of Morocco's youth, the Kingdom's strategic interests, and Europe's economic and security needs. As long as these three agendas fail to converge in a shared framework, every migration agreement, including a diaspora fund, will remain fragile, reversible, and hostage to the next diplomatic dispute.

I. Rethinking the diagnosis: why previous approaches have failed

Euro-Moroccan migration policy has long favoured a security-first approach. Between 2001 and 2019, the EU allocated at least €215 million to Morocco for border security projects¹. This spending has since accelerated: an additional €140 million in 2018 alone, including €55 million for the Border Management Programme for the Maghreb region, of which €30 million went to Morocco, with the Ministry of the Interior as the main beneficiary², followed by €222 million committed between 2021 and 2024, and a further €190 million planned by the end of 2027³. In total, Morocco is expected to have received more than one billion euros in European and Spanish funding for border control by 2027⁴. This approach treats the symptom rather than the cause, and feeds a tension that Rabat has voiced publicly: as early as 2018, Foreign Minister Nasser Bourita rejected the idea that Morocco should act as Europe's outsourced border guard, a position he reaffirmed during the 2021 Ceuta crisis⁵.

Meanwhile, conventional development programmes have too often neglected geographic targeting and local governance. The clearest symptom of this underinvestment is that King Mohammed VI himself noted that diaspora investment accounts for only 10% of national private investment, a level he called unacceptable⁶, even as remittances exceeded $11.7 billion in 2024, or more than 8% of Morocco's GDP⁷. The idea that these flows are captured by urban networks already close to the central government is plausible and well documented in the broader development literature, but at this stage it remains a qualitative hypothesis rather than a measured fact for the Moroccan case. It deserves to be verified region by region before being presented as an established finding.

Both approaches share the same flaw: they ignore the geopolitical dimension of the issue. Ceuta has seen two major crises in recent years. In May 2021, around 10,000 people crossed the border within 48 hours, amid diplomatic tension over Spain's decision to admit Polisario Front leader Brahim Ghali for medical treatment. More recently, on 30 and 31 July 2026, the day of Throne Day, a far larger wave occurred: between 60,000 and 80,000 people according to various sources, with a heavy and evolving human toll. Early counts from Reuters and the Associated Press put the death toll at 34 to 41, while later estimates put it at more than 111. This second crisis illustrates why it would be a mistake to look for a single culprit: it unfolded against a backdrop of shared responsibility and tangled institutional, diplomatic and socio-economic factors on both sides of the border, discussed in detail in section I.1. This does not change the underlying conclusion: a migration agreement that fails to acknowledge the geopolitical and structural dimension of these episodes remains a house of cards, ready to collapse at the next crisis.

I.1, What the official responses reveal: shared responsibility

A review of government statements and international press coverage of the July 2026 crisis reveals a picture shaped by multiple factors, one that would be misleading to pin on a single actor. On the Spanish side, several institutional elements contributed to the vulnerability of the situation: a Supreme Court ruling of 8 July 2026, whose interpretation was distorted and spread through disinformation and human trafficking networks; an extraordinary regularisation drive, with more than one million applications filed by the end of June 2026, which heightened the perceived appeal of Spain; and, according to a Euronews investigation, intelligence warnings received before the crisis whose handling by the Spanish government remains disputed. Prime Minister Pedro Sánchez himself chose to rule out any deliberate Moroccan involvement, stating that this crisis could only be resolved through cooperation, not through distrust of Morocco, and attributing the episode to disinformation and criminal networks rather than to a decision by Moroccan authorities.

Some media outlets and analysts noted that the episode followed, by ten days, Pedro Sánchez's official visit to Algiers as part of the normalisation of Spanish, Algerian relations, a coincidence of timing that several commentators considered significant given the precedent of 2021, although no evidence has formally established a causal link. On the Moroccan side, officials and observers instead described authorities as overwhelmed by events, with the surge fuelled by viral social media rumours falsely claiming that Spain would not systematically return people who arrived by sea. A later report by the Spanish police unit CENIF did note a Moroccan deployment noticeably lighter than usual, which, in its own words, went beyond what the security mobilisation for Throne Day would explain. However, the Spanish Interior Ministry itself declined to draw a definitive conclusion, publicly stating that the mastermind behind the surge remained unknown at that stage.

Taken together, these elements point to a crisis of overlapping responsibilities rather than a single cause: a Spanish court ruling whose effects were poorly anticipated, a migratory pull effect reinforced by Spain's own immigration policy, criminal networks that exploited the confusion, a possible and disputed lapse in Moroccan border security whose scale and intent remain unclear, and, underlying it all, the structural socio-economic causes detailed in section II. None of the parties involved, Spanish, Moroccan or European, can alone account for the scale of this episode, which is precisely the argument for the shared governance architecture proposed in this article rather than for assigning unilateral blame.

On the Moroccan side, the first official statement, issued in early August 2026, was described by the Moroccan press itself as a carefully calibrated communication exercise designed to protect the State's image: it emphasised social media disinformation and the role of smuggling networks, and reaffirmed Morocco as a reliable and committed partner in the fight against irregular migration, without a single mention of unemployment, social hardship or the domestic economic climate. This silence is not incidental: it reflects a blind spot shared by official communications on both sides, Moroccan and Spanish alike, which both favoured institutional and security explanations over the deeper socio-economic causes that this article seeks to place at the centre of the analysis.

On the European side, Commission President Ursula von der Leyen described the images as unacceptable, expressed her full support for Spain, and proposed strengthening financial and technical support to Morocco for border management, confirming the funding trajectory already described above. But the crisis also exposed a rift among member states: 22 countries, led by Italy and Denmark, called for an emergency meeting of interior ministers, while Sánchez accused some partners of an asymmetric response to the solidarity Spain expected. Ceuta thus became the first real test of the EU's new Pact on Migration and Asylum, a test that exposed the limits of European coordination as much as those of bilateral border management.

II. Solving the problem facing Morocco's youth without relying solely on diaspora capital

It must be said plainly: Morocco is neither a country at war, nor in a state of internal political instability, nor struck by a major economic or humanitarian catastrophe. This distinction still holds even after the tragedy of Ceuta in July 2026: the severity of that episode's human toll, at least several dozen deaths, possibly more than a hundred according to the most recent estimates, reflects a one off and dramatic migration event shaped by shared responsibility among several actors (see section I.1), not the collapse of the state or an armed conflict on Moroccan territory. Unlike the departure dynamics seen in Syria, Libya or the Sahel, Moroccan migration is not structurally a flight from violence or state collapse. It is a migration of aspiration, driven by a stable, educated and globally connected youth confronted with a labour market that cannot absorb them at the level they expect. This distinction changes everything: it means the underlying problem is not securing a fragile country, but making better use of a stable one, even though isolated episodes such as July 2026 remind us that a lack of prospects can, under certain circumstances and combined with institutional factors on both sides of the border, produce mass movements with human consequences as severe as those seen in more classic crisis settings. Figures from Morocco's High Commission for Planning (HCP) illustrate this clearly: while the national unemployment rate stood at 13% in 2025, it reached 38.4% among people aged 15 to 24 and 25.7% among university graduates⁸, a structural gap between education and opportunity within an otherwise stable context, not a matter of survival or security. A credible retention policy must therefore act on four levers at once:

  • Geographically targeting productive investment on the actual areas of emigration, the Rif, Al Hoceima, Nador, the South East, rather than concentrating it, as is too often the case, on the Casablanca, Tangier, Rabat corridor.
  • Building industrial and technology hubs that meet the real needs of the Moroccan economy, rather than showcase projects designed to satisfy the metrics of international donors.
  • Mobilising the diaspora as a channel for skills and mentorship, through temporary return programmes for professionals, as a complement, never a substitute, for financial investment.
  • Reforming the link between training and employment: Morocco's problem is not only quantitative, the number of jobs, but qualitative, the mismatch between the qualifications produced and the needs of the market.

Only by demonstrating real, local change, a factory opening, a skilled job created, a young engineer choosing to stay, will the language of capitalising migration stop being a diplomatic formula and become a lived reality.

III. Safeguarding Morocco's strategic interests: a condition for sustainability

No migration agreement will survive the next crisis unless it explicitly recognises that Moroccan cooperation on border management carries geopolitical, not merely operational, value. Three principles should structure this recognition:

  • A permanent strategic dialogue between Rabat, Madrid and Brussels, rather than a reactive dialogue convened only after each crisis, one that explicitly includes sensitive political issues, foremost among them Western Sahara.
  • Shared governance of the migration and development framework, in which Morocco has a genuine voice, rather than the role of a paid contractor providing a border control service.
  • European diplomatic coherence: positions taken by individual member states on sensitive issues should not, on their own, be able to derail the entire cooperation framework.

It is precisely this disconnect, treating migration as a full geopolitical issue rather than a mere technical matter of flow management, that has been most lacking so far, and that explains the recurring fragility of past agreements.

IV. What Europe must contribute: beyond financing

Europe's contribution can no longer be limited to one off budget envelopes. Three structural commitments are needed:

  • Reciprocal legal mobility, with structured work quotas, both seasonal and skilled, offering a credible and predictable alternative to irregular migration, along the lines of programmes already tested by Spain in agriculture.
  • A genuinely strengthened advanced status between the EU and Morocco, covering market access, research and education, and above all decoupled from the diplomatic ups and downs linked to Western Sahara.
  • Direct European investment in Morocco's emigration regions, in partnership with local businesses, rather than funding channelled exclusively through multilateral donors far removed from the ground.

The benefit for Europe is clear: a lasting reduction in irregular migration pressure, a stable partner on its southern border, and access to a skilled workforce and a growing market, within a predictable framework rather than a cycle of migration based pressure tactics.

V. The Diaspora Fund for Moroccans Abroad (MDM): an operational proposal

The four preceding sections converge on a single conclusion: prevention requires regionally targeted productive investment (Part II), which can only be sustainable if Morocco's strategic interests are recognised within the partnership framework (Part III), and Europe can no longer simply fund border control, it must invest directly in emigration areas (Part IV). One question remains open: through what concrete instrument should this investment be channelled, without repeating the pattern of one off, untargeted funding that has so far characterised conventional development aid? The proposal that follows answers this question.

We propose the creation of a Diaspora Fund for Moroccans Abroad (MDM), a financial and institutional framework designed to convert part of Moroccan diaspora capital into productive investment serving the regions of origin identified in Part II. This proposal belongs to a broader intellectual tradition, that of diaspora bonds already tested by Israel, Ethiopia and Nigeria, and more directly to the "Diaspora Hedge Fund" concept developed by Dr Anis H. Bajrektarevic, building on his work at ICMPD in Vienna in the 1990s. Our contribution is to translate this into an operational version specifically adapted to the Moroccan context, drawing on the lessons from the weaknesses of conventional development instruments already discussed in Part I.

The choice to mobilise this particular lever is not arbitrary: it responds directly to the financial diagnosis set out in Part I. The Euro-Mediterranean migration debate has largely been shaped by an economics of containment, border controls, coercive measures and the rising cost of managing irregular migration, a cost already set to exceed one billion euros by 2027. The experience of Ceuta is a powerful reminder that this logic treats symptoms more readily than causes. A more strategic approach must start with an economics of prevention: if substantial resources are already being mobilised to manage migration pressures, it makes more sense to invest a share of them upstream, in local development, socio-economic inclusion, entrepreneurship and opportunity in the regions migration comes from.

This points to a largely untapped resource already identified in Part I: diaspora capital, whose transfers exceeded $11.7 billion in 2024 but remain mostly directed toward household consumption, with only 10% going into domestic private investment. The challenge is not to divert remittances from their social purpose, but to create additional channels through which part of this transnational financial capacity can become productive, bankable and lasting investment. The MDM Fund we propose rests on three institutional pillars: sovereign guarantees from the Moroccan state, the involvement of multilateral development banks, and dedicated financial vehicles.

We situate this proposal within the broader ambition already set out in Parts III and IV: a renewed Euro-Mediterranean compact, in the spirit of the Marrakech Global Compact, shifting conventional border security subsidies toward high impact development partnerships, a process of capitalising migration that links diaspora, development and opportunity across the Mediterranean.

V.1, Operational version: four conditions for implementation in Morocco

For this framework to work without repeating the weaknesses of conventional development instruments, we propose building it, from the outset, on four operational principles:

  • Regionalisation: explicitly targeting the actual areas of departure, rather than the national territory as a whole, undifferentiated.
  • Local co-governance: involving credible actors on the ground, local authorities, cooperatives, regional business associations, rather than banks and central administration alone, to prevent the fund from being captured by already well connected elites.
  • Complementarity, not substitution: funding additional productive projects, without ever diverting existing remittances from their essential social role, education, health, family housing.
  • Diplomatic integration: making the fund one tool among others within the broader strategic partnership, rather than the sole showcase or political symbol of the migration file, which would otherwise place on it a burden no financial instrument alone can carry.

Designed this way, the MDM Fund stops being a simple transplant of a theoretical model and becomes a credible lever, tailored to the Moroccan context. Without these four conditions, it would remain an elegant financial tool disconnected from the real causes of departure and the real geopolitical balance of power.

VI. Conclusion: toward a partnership rather than a transaction

The measure of success for this approach is not the amount of capital mobilised, but the number of young Moroccans whose prospects have changed locally, without this requiring, at any point, a diplomatic concession wrung from Rabat under the pressure of a border crisis. Sustainability is measured by the structural alignment of interests, not by the repeated management of crises.

Morocco and Europe share, on this issue, more converging interests than their respective diplomatic postures admit. The question is not who needs the other more, but how to build a framework in which stability, regional development and strategic recognition stop being negotiated separately, and finally become the three pillars of a single structure.


Hakima El Haite is a Moroccan climate scientist, entrepreneur and politician. She is a former President of Liberal International and former Minister of Environment of Morocco.

Anis H. Bajrektarevic, professor of international law, author of 10 books. Co-founder of the Geneva-based Global Academy for Future Governance.


References

1. Statewatch, "Aid, border security and EU-Morocco cooperation on migration control," 2019, €215 million between 2001 and 2019 for border security in Morocco.

2. Statewatch, ibid., €140 million committed in 2018, including €55 million for the Border Management Programme for the Maghreb (BMP-Maghreb), €30 million of which went to Morocco.

3. Euronews / European Commission, August 2026, €222 million committed between 2021 and 2024, with a further €190 million planned by the end of 2027.

4. Statewatch, October 2022, more than €1 billion in combined EU and Spanish funding for migration control in Morocco, projected through 2027.

5. Morocco World News, August 2026, statements by Nasser Bourita in 2018 and May 2021 rejecting the role of Europe's "gendarme."

6. Morocco World News, December 2024, statement by King Mohammed VI on the share of diaspora investment, 10% of national private investment.

7. Africanews / Morocco's Foreign Exchange Office, 2026, Moroccan diaspora remittances of $11.7 billion in 2024, more than 8% of GDP.

8. Haut-Commissariat au Plan (HCP), "Activité, emploi et chômage," 2024 to 2025 results, national unemployment 13%, unemployment among people aged 15 to 24 at 38.4%, unemployment among university graduates at 25.7%.

9. Bajrektarevic, Anis H., "Capitalising Migration: The Diaspora Hedge Fund as a New Governance Architecture for Cross-border Development and Migration Governance," foundational work on the Diaspora Hedge Fund concept and the inspiration behind the MDM Fund proposal developed in this article.

10. Wikipedia (EN/FR), "2026 Ceuta migrant crisis"; Reuters, AP, El País, Euronews, France Info, The Conversation, July and August 2026, the Ceuta crisis of 30 and 31 July 2026: 60,000 to 80,000 entries, with a death toll of 34 to more than 111 depending on the source and the date of the count.

11. France 24, Le Temps, CNews, La Libre, 2 September 2026, report by Spain's CENIF police unit describing a reduced Moroccan deployment and "permissiveness" during the crisis, and the public pushback against this reading from Spain's Interior Ministry.

12. Maghreb Online / Maroc Mail, 3 and 4 August 2026, analysis of Morocco's first official statement on the Ceuta crisis, noting the absence of any reference to unemployment or domestic socio-economic hardship.

13. CNBC Africa / Reuters, 3 August 2026, Ursula von der Leyen's proposal to strengthen EU support for Morocco; Euronews, 1 August 2026, letter from 22 member states requesting an emergency meeting of EU interior ministers.

14. Le Devoir, Wikipedia (FR), Histoires Crépues, Zoom Algérie, Le JDD, July to September 2026, Pedro Sánchez's visit to Algiers on 20 July 2026, his statements ruling out deliberate Moroccan involvement, Spain's mass regularisation drive of more than 1 million applications, and intelligence warnings prior to the crisis according to Euronews.


Plastic Dreams #Poem & #Painting by Nikos Laios

In a land of plastic
And shattered dreams,
They came from across
The sea searching for dreams
,
Instead they found an illusion
And live in plastic shanty towns
And wander the streets begging,
Bedraggled, depressed and hopeless,
Living on charity and a life that
Offers no future or dignity,
And they remember home
Fondly that it wasn’t so
Bad after all.

 *******************************
With a digital painting from Nikos Laios

 *******************************
Check Nikos Laios' eBOOK, HERE!


The missing words by Paula Bartlett

Medicine is extraordinarily good at naming what it can measure. It is less comfortable with what patients can feel but instruments cannot yet neatly capture. For people living with conditions such as Long COVID or fibromyalgia, it can become a form of social and medical exile.

Call it a hermeneutical lacuna: a hole in the language available for making sense of an experience. When the vocabulary is missing, the experience does not disappear. The patient simply becomes harder to understand.

A patient arrives with exhaustion that is not ordinary tiredness, pain that moves unpredictably, cognitive fog, dizziness, disrupted sleep or a body that seems to have rewritten its own rules. The doctor looks for a familiar pattern. The laboratory looks for a measurable abnormality. The system looks for a box.

And the patient, inconveniently, may not fit inside one. There is a dangerous temptation to assume that what cannot be adequately explained cannot be adequately real. Medicine may not say this, but patients can hear it in the raised eyebrow, the hurried consultation, the suggestion that stress is the culprit, or the implication that anxiety has manufactured an illness.

The problem is not that doctors lack compassion. Many work inside systems that reward certainty, speed, measurable outcomes and recognizable diagnoses. The deeper problem is conceptual. Medical language has been successful at describing disease as something that can be located, tested, classified and treated. Chronic illness often behaves differently. It can be fluctuating, multisystemic, subjective and resistant to neat boundaries.

That creates an epistemic inequality. The clinician possesses the official vocabulary; the patient possesses the experience. When the two do not meet, the clinician's language usually wins.

This is troubling because diagnosis is not simply a technical label. It is social permission. A diagnosis can explain absence from work, justify disability, open doors to treatment and tell a suffering person: you are not imagining this. Without that recognition, patients are often forced into the absurd position of becoming prosecutors of their own bodies, collecting symptoms, charts, diaries and testimonies in an attempt to prove that they exist.

The irony is almost unbearable. Patients with poorly understood illnesses are frequently told that they need evidence, while the evidence they can provide, their account of living inside their own bodies, is treated as somehow inferior.

The answer is not to abandon scientific rigour or declare every unexplained symptom a disease. The answer is to enlarge medicine's conceptual imagination. Uncertainty should not automatically become disbelief. A negative test should mean that one particular thing was not demonstrated, not that nothing is wrong. A patient's inability to describe an experience in clinical terminology should not be mistaken for an inability to know it.

Medicine needs better instruments. But it also needs better words. The history of medicine is filled with conditions that were once poorly understood and later became intelligible. Ignorance should be treated as a temporary limitation of knowledge, not as a verdict on the credibility of the person suffering.

Long COVID, fibromyalgia and similar chronic conditions expose a weakness: the arrogance of believing that reality must become legible to institutions before it deserves recognition in the first place. Sometimes the patient is not failing to explain the illness. Sometimes medicine simply has not learned the language yet.


2nd opinion! 26#16 #Cartoon by Thanos Kalamidas

 

Seriously, a human hater self-centred agoraphobic in quarantine!
I think you’ll need a second opinion after this.

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The village waiting room by Avani Devi

India likes to describe itself as an emerging power. Its satellites reach space, its digital payments move billions of transactions and its cities advertise themselves as laboratories of the twenty-first century. Yet beyond the highways and technology parks lies another India, where a sick villager may still have to travel for hours to find a doctor, and where a child can attend school without receiving an education worthy of the century.

This is not simply a problem of poverty. It is a problem of priorities. Rural healthcare remains particularly vulnerable to the chronic shortage and uneven distribution of medical personnel. Government data have long recorded vacancies at rural primary health centres, while the wider health system continues to struggle with inadequate infrastructure and staffing. The official Indian Public Health Standards assessment itself shows that a large share of assessed facilities fall below desirable performance levels.

The arithmetic is brutal. A hospital bed is not much use without a doctor. A doctor is not much use without nurses, medicines, diagnostics and functioning transport. And an insurance card does not magically create a clinic in a village.

India's government has certainly launched programmes. Ayushman Bharat expanded financial protection and sought to bring primary care closer to communities; the Pradhan Mantri Swasthya Suraksha Yojana has expanded major medical institutions. These are real initiatives. But they do not remove the central contradiction: a country can build prestigious tertiary hospitals while leaving millions dependent on an overstretched rural primary-care system.

Education presents the same paradox. India has millions of children enrolled in schools, but enrolment is not the same thing as learning. The latest official data still show substantial secondary-school dropout, while more than 100,000 schools operate with a single teacher. More than 3.3m pupils are enrolled in such schools.

The government can celebrate the architecture of the National Education Policy, but policy documents do not teach mathematics. Teachers do. Classrooms do. Libraries do. Reliable electricity, laboratories, computers and trained educators do.

There is also a deeper problem. Rural India does not merely need more schooling; it needs schooling that prepares children for an economy changing faster than many curricula. Memorisation may produce examination certificates, but it does not necessarily produce curiosity, scientific reasoning, digital competence or vocational confidence. A child in a village should not receive an inferior education simply because geography has assigned him a poorer postcode.

This is where the Modi government's development narrative deserves harder scrutiny. India has demonstrated that the state can mobilise enormous resources when political attention is concentrated. The question is why basic human infrastructure so often receives less urgency than grand national projects.

A modern India cannot be measured only by airports, expressways, skyscrapers and technological triumphs. It must also be measured by how long a farmer waits for a doctor and whether his daughter can leave school with knowledge rather than merely a certificate.

The uncomfortable truth is that India's greatest infrastructure deficit may not be concrete. It may be opportunity. And opportunity, unlike a highway, cannot be inaugurated with a ribbon.


The hybrid war is here by Marja Heikkinen

For years, “hybrid war” has sounded like one of those expressions invented by defence analysts to make PowerPoint presentations seem more frightening. It meant sabotage without fingerprints, drones without declarations, cyberattacks without tanks, disinformation without uniforms and intimidation carefully calibrated to remain just below the threshold of war.

Europe could discuss it endlessly because, technically, it was not quite happening. That convenient distinction has now become considerably harder to maintain. On Monday, a Russian frigate in international waters off Denmark fired two flares towards a Danish military helicopter conducting a routine photographic mission, with one passing close to the aircraft. Hours later, NATO fighter jets shot down a drone that had entered Lithuanian airspace from Belarus. The drone was subsequently found to have carried an explosive device. These were separate incidents, and there is no evidence that they were coordinated. But politically and psychologically they belong to the same unsettling landscape: a Europe in which military pressure is increasingly arriving not as an announced invasion but as a series of incidents, provocations and tests.

This is precisely what makes hybrid warfare so dangerous. It does not arrive wearing a name tag. A missile crossing a border is easy to understand. A warship firing a flare can be dismissed as intimidation, misjudgement or maritime theatre. A drone can be described as lost, malfunctioning or belonging to somebody else. A cyberattack can be blamed on criminals. A railway disruption can be sabotage or coincidence. A disinformation campaign can be dismissed as internet rubbish.

Put them together, however, and Europe begins to discover the uncomfortable mathematics of modern confrontation: one incident means little; fifty incidents become a strategy.

The Kremlin has long understood this ambiguity. Its great advantage is not necessarily military superiority but the ability to make Europeans argue about what they have just witnessed. Was it deliberate? Was it accidental? Was it Russian? Was it Belarusian? Was it a provocation? Should NATO respond? Would responding make things worse?

The argument itself becomes part of the weapon. And there is something particularly revealing about the Danish episode. A military helicopter was not attacked with a missile. It was confronted with flares. That is almost theatrical: bright lights in the sky, enough to frighten, perhaps enough to damage, but ambiguous enough to leave room for Moscow to say that nobody really meant anything.

This is intimidation designed for the television age. The Lithuanian incident is more serious. NATO aircraft actually destroyed an unidentified drone inside the territory of a member state. Whatever the original intention, the event demonstrates something Europe has spent years trying not to contemplate: NATO's eastern frontier is no longer merely a geopolitical boundary. It is becoming an operational environment.

The danger is not that Europe suddenly wakes up tomorrow morning to Russian tanks crossing Poland. The greater danger is escalation by accumulation.

A drone here. A damaged cable there. A suspicious fire somewhere else. GPS interference. Cyberattacks. Sabotage. Naval harassment. Political financing. Migrant pressure at a border. Fake videos. Threatening exercises. An aircraft intercepted too aggressively. A ship approaching a little too closely.

Eventually somebody miscalculates. That is where the hybrid war becomes something less hybrid. Europe therefore needs to stop treating every incident as an isolated irritation. The question is not whether every strange event can be traced directly to Moscow. The question is whether European societies are resilient enough to withstand a campaign in which responsibility is deliberately obscured and political reactions are themselves targets.

Russia does not need to defeat NATO militarily to weaken it politically. It only needs Europeans to become frightened, divided, suspicious of one another and exhausted by permanent uncertainty. That is the real battlefield.

The Baltic Sea suddenly looks less like Europe's northern swimming pool and more like a nervous military corridor. Lithuania, Denmark, Poland, Finland, Sweden and the Baltic states are discovering that geography has returned with a vengeance.

The era when Europeans could discuss hybrid war as a theoretical concept is ending. The flares have already been fired. The drone has already been shot down. The question now is whether Europe understands what the lights in the sky are trying to tell it.


#eBook The Inheritance of Shadows by Thanos Kalamidas

Germany’s post-war history is often told as a story of democratic redemption: defeat in 1945, division into two states, reunification in 1990, and the emergence of a stable European power.

Yet beneath that reassuring narrative lies a more uncomfortable inheritance. The far right did not suddenly appear in modern Germany. It survived, adapted and, after reunification, found new political terrain in which to grow.

The collapse of East Germany was supposed to settle one historical argument. Stalinism had failed, and liberal democracy had triumphed. But political identities rarely disappear as neatly as regimes do. In the former East, decades of authoritarian socialism had produced alienation from institutions, resentment towards distant elites and a profound distrust of political language. The ideology changed; some of the emotional architecture remained. The enemy was no longer the capitalist West or the communist class enemy. Increasingly, it became the migrant, the foreigner, the European bureaucrat and the cosmopolitan liberal.

How Unification, Conservatism and the Far-Right Reshaped Germany

“Germany did not inherit the far right from its past; it inherited the shadows of its past and then gave them new political clothes.”

Ovi eBook Publishing 2026

The Inheritance of Shadows

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Insert Brain Here: Jerk Chicken #Cartoon by Paul Woods

 

Originally from Port Macquarie, Australia, Paul Woods is a Cartoonist and Illustrator based in South London who also plays drums, works as a Cameraman and likes bad horror films. His series of cartoons is entitled "Insert Brain Here"

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Fika bonding! #129 #Cartoon by Thanos Kalamidas

 

Fika is a state of mind and an important part of Swedish culture. It means making time for friends and colleagues to share a cup of coffee and a little something to eat.

For more Fika bonding!, HERE!
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The space is armed by Thanos Kalamidas

For decades, space has been treated as the last respectable neighbourhood in an increasingly disreputable world. Down here, on Earth, nations have accumulated enough missiles, submarines, drones, cyberweapons and artificial intelligence to make the Cold War look almost artisanal. But above our heads there remained, at least officially, a certain innocence. Satellites watched, listened, photographed, guided missiles, spied on enemies and helped us find the nearest pizza restaurant, but weapons in orbit belonged largely to the realm of suspicion, military jargon and science fiction.

Then the Americans decided to say the quiet part aloud. The announcement that the United States has deployed “on-orbit space control weapons” is remarkable not necessarily because the weapons exist, but because Washington has chosen to acknowledge them. Nobody with even a passing acquaintance with military history should be shocked by the idea that the major powers have spent years, perhaps decades, preparing for war beyond the atmosphere. The real mystery is why the United States has suddenly decided that secrecy is less useful than publicity.

This is where space becomes less Star Trek and more Kafka. The first possibility is deterrence. Perhaps Washington wants Moscow and Beijing to know that American satellites are no longer simply expensive cameras floating helplessly through the darkness. Perhaps the message is: touch ours, and we can touch yours. In the old language of nuclear strategy, this was called stability through mutual terror. The new version comes with solar panels.

The second possibility is political. Announcing weapons in orbit is also a useful way of telling Congress, taxpayers and allies that the Space Force is not merely a collection of uniforms designed for recruiting posters. Bureaucracies, particularly military ones, thrive on threats, and nothing says “please continue funding us” quite like the suggestion that the next war may begin somewhere between the International Space Station and a communications satellite.

But there is a third possibility, and it is the one that should make us most uncomfortable. Perhaps the Americans are announcing these weapons because the strategic competition in space has already moved much further than the public has been told.

Russia and China have both developed and demonstrated capabilities designed to interfere with, disable or destroy satellites. The United States, meanwhile, has spent decades building the most sophisticated military dependence on space in history. Modern armies do not merely use satellites; they depend upon them for communications, navigation, surveillance and targeting and early warning. Destroy enough satellites and a technologically advanced military can suddenly discover the strategic advantages of being blind.

Britain and other established military powers undoubtedly possess capabilities that remain classified. The important question, however, is not simply who has weapons in space. It is what kind of weapons they are.

There is a profound difference between a satellite capable of jamming another satellite, a robotic vehicle able to approach and disable one, a conventional projectile, a directed-energy system, and a nuclear device. Yet the secrecy surrounding space warfare encourages the public imagination to throw everything into one large orbital suitcase marked classified.

The greatest danger remains nuclear weapons in space. A nuclear explosion above the Earth would not need to destroy cities directly to cause catastrophe. It could devastate satellites, communications and electronic infrastructure on which modern societies depend. Chemical weapons, meanwhile, make considerably less strategic sense in the vacuum of space, where there is no atmosphere in which a poisonous cloud can conveniently drift towards its victims. But military planning has never been famous for respecting common sense simply because physics happens to exist.

And that may be the real significance of this American announcement. The weaponization of space is no longer merely something everyone suspects everyone else is doing. It is becoming part of the public vocabulary of military competition.

For years, humanity has looked upward and imagined the future. Now the great powers are looking upward and seeing the next battlefield.

We should not be surprised. We should, however, be worried. Every frontier we have discovered has eventually acquired a flag, a military base, a commercial logo and somebody explaining that the weapons are there only to preserve peace. Space, apparently, has finally joined the family.


The truce that exists only in Trump’s head by John Kato

Every time Donald Trump announces a ceasefire before the people supposedly involved in it have agreed to one, he hopes that diplomacy performs backwards. First comes the declaration, then perhaps the negotiation and finally, if everyone is still interested, the reality. In the meantime, the president gets to stand in the middle of the stage and announce another achievement.

Except that Ukraine and Russia did not appear to receive the script. Trump declared that Russia and Ukraine had agreed to stop attacking each other’s energy infrastructure. Kyiv, however, said there was no final agreement, while Moscow offered the sort of qualified enthusiasm normally associated with a salesman discovering that the customer has not yet signed the contract. The war continued, including attacks on energy facilities.

This should no longer surprise anyone. Trump has developed a peculiar theory of international relations in which saying something with sufficient confidence is almost equivalent to making it happen. The distinction between an agreement, a proposal, a conversation and something that simply occurred inside his head has become increasingly decorative.

The problem is not merely that Trump gets ahead of negotiations. The deeper problem is that he treats reality itself as negotiable. A ceasefire is not a press release. It is not a Truth Social announcement. It is not a presidential adjective attached to an unfinished conversation. A ceasefire exists when missiles stop flying, drones stop arriving and the people who operate them have orders to stop. Everything else is theatre.

And Ukraine has every reason to be cautious. Russia has used pauses, negotiations and supposed de-escalations before. Kyiv therefore wants something remarkably unfashionable in Trump's world: guarantees. If Russia genuinely stops attacking Ukrainian electricity, energy infrastructure and other critical targets, Ukraine says it is prepared to reciprocate. That is not rejection of peace. It is the minimum requirement for believing in one.

The irony is that Trump appears increasingly interested in the price of diesel than in the architecture of peace. That is not entirely surprising. Fuel prices are immediate, measurable and politically painful. A refinery somewhere in Russia is easier to explain to an American driver than the complicated strategic consequences of allowing Moscow to destroy Ukrainian infrastructure. Trump can point towards the petrol pump and declare that Ukraine is responsible for the bill. Geopolitics becomes a domestic price tag.

But wars are not spreadsheets. Ukraine attacks Russian energy infrastructure because energy is part of Russia's war machine. Russia attacks Ukrainian energy infrastructure because Moscow has repeatedly used the destruction of civilian infrastructure as a weapon of pressure. Pretending that these actions exist in some neutral economic universe, detached from the military logic of the war, is convenient but intellectually dishonest.

There is another danger in Trump's premature diplomacy. Every imaginary breakthrough eventually becomes somebody else's failure. If the truce collapses, Trump can say Russia or Ukraine violated it. If there was never a real agreement, nobody will be able to prove precisely who broke what. The president's claim floats safely above the wreckage, untouched by accountability.

This is diplomacy as personal branding. The tragedy is that there really could be value in an energy ceasefire. Protecting power stations, refineries and civilian energy systems would save lives and reduce suffering. It could become a modest first step towards something larger. But precisely because it matters, it cannot be manufactured through presidential improvisation.

Peace requires boring things: written commitments, verification, enforcement, trust built painfully over time. It requires people to negotiate the details Trump tends to leap over because the details are where reality lives. Trump prefers the headline.

Ukraine needs the agreement behind it. Russia needs to demonstrate that it means it. And the rest of us might reasonably ask that the next time Donald Trump announces that Russia and Ukraine have agreed to something, someone checks with Russia and Ukraine first. Otherwise the world's newest diplomatic institution may be the Trump ceasefire: announced in Washington, discovered nowhere else, and apparently operational only inside the president's imagination.


From Crisis Management to Strategic Partnership: rebuilding the migration relationship between Morocco and the European Union By Dr Anis H. Bajrektarevic and Dr Hakima Elhaite

A policy paper inspired by the work of Dr Anis H. Bajrektarevic on the "Diaspora Hedge Fund" Irregular migration between Morocco...