Author: Le Dragon Déchaîné

by Margherita Greco

For Tuvalu, a Polynesian nation of nine coral atolls covering just 10 square miles, this is no longer a hypothetical or philosophical question — it has become a threatening reality. Tuvalu is facing what no modern nation has ever had to deal with: the complete disappearance of its territories within 50 to 100 years, due to the rising sea level. 

When the Foreign Minister Simon Kofe stood knee-deep in the Pacific Ocean during

the COP26 climate summit in November 2021, he was not only performing an effective political gesture: he was highlighting an unprecedented environmental crisis. Two years later, during COP27, he announced a groundbreaking statement that would lead to reconsidering the now-entrenched concept of State. Tuvalu will create a digital version of itself to ensure survival “regardless of what happens in the physical world,” Kofe said. This statement brings us to reflect on a pressing matter that philosophers have been debating for centuries, but not international jurists: can a nation exist without territory? 

When we think about nations, we instinctively associate them with a territory — the French with France, Italians with Italy, Brazilians with Brazil. The 1933 Montevideo Conference on the Rights and Duties of States translated this instinctive thought into international law, establishing four main criteria for recognizing statehood: a permanent population, a defined territory, a government and the capacity to enter into relations with other states — asserting a definite response to the philosophical debate concerning the necessity of land for a State’s recognition.

Yet this framework takes for granted something that climate change is now challenging: the endurance of the land itself. 

According to Locke’s “Two Treatises of Government,” the foundation of political legitimacy remains in property and place. Going further, Max Weber, in “Politics as a Vocation,” defines the concept of state as “a human community that successfully claims the monopoly of the legitimate use of physical force within a given territory.”  

So, does the social contract dissolve when the property disappears beneath the sea and the place becomes uninhabitable? And what happens to the state’s authority — does it sink as well? If we base our reasoning on these two major philosophers’ thesis, Tuvalu does not have a future: without a territory, it cannot exist.

A light of hope comes from Benedict Anderson, who proposes a brighter alternative. He argues, in “Imagined Communities,” that nations are imagined political communities united by shared values and narratives, rather than physical areas. Tuvalu’s national identity will not sink along with its territory, as it will persist through collective imagination.

  However, identity alone is not sufficient to legally recognize a state: even if a nation endures in memory, a state must exist according to international laws, making Anderson’s theory weak and legally unenforceable. For instance, the Kurdish people have preserved a strong national identity despite the lack of legal statehood, perfectly illustrating that cultural continuity is not synonymous with political sovereignty. 

Laws are made to be changed and to be updated to keep up with the modern, fast-paced, always-evolving society. Internalizing this concept, Tuvalu’s government is not surrendering to the evidence and the destiny of its territory. Indeed, it is negotiating a treaty with Australia to allow Tuvaluans to migrate with special status, while holding their Tuvaluan citizenship. Additionally, Tuvalu argues before the international forum that it should maintain its maritime boundaries and Exclusive Economic Zone (EEZ) even if the islands submerge. This claim generates an unprecedented situation: a state exercising power over ocean space without a habitable territory. This move aligns with Anderson’s view, challenging the status quo and current legal framework. 

With the idea of Tuvalu’s digital nation, a new dilemma arises. The international system, established at Westphalia in 1648, has no precedent for recognizing virtual sovereignty. Every existing treaty, norm and law assumes control over a physical territory — an actual territory in which power and laws can be enforced by authorities. Tuvalu’s project poses a greater question, which has never been investigated so far: can sovereignty exist even when it is detached from geography, and connected to the continuity of governance, citizenship and community will?

Tuvalu’s voice challenges this paradoxical condition. Its digital nation is the solution to an environmental issue, to which it has contributed only 0.001% of global carbon emissions. Yet, it is paying the highest price — the vanishing of its territories — among all the other states, many of which have been far more responsible for this unstoppable crisis. 

The digital dimension is a demand for recognition, declaring that national identity, governance and rights can transcend geography.  

Tuvalu’s submergence would embody not only an environmental failure but also a political one — the failure of international laws to accept the digital dimension as a form of national sovereignty, failing to expand its moral imagination faster than the seas are rising. 

Yet, recognizing digital sovereignty now would set the first step of “cyber international law” that welcomes new technologies to recognize new legal institutions, which from now on will impact the evolution of states and the future history of nations.

by Giulia Porcu

Southeast Asia is known to be one of the main stages for transnational criminal activities, one so central for the development of this phenomenon over the course of the last decades that readings about its evolution do not surprise anymore. What must, or at least should, spark our interest is the relocation in the Golden Triangle of regional criminal gangs after being cracked down by the governments. Historically known to be a piece of the Mekong’s river bend converging Thailand, Laos and Myanmar, many researchers have recently started to consider an expansion of its borders, relocating its summits in Singapore, Hainan and Bangladesh. Such a subversion and the relocation of its western border in Singapore can be linked back to the development of money laundering hubs in the region, an occurrence which, despite being more prominent everyday, is still questionably marginal in international investigations. If the reader, following the same thought current of the international policies, fails to see the importance of such an event, I suggest thinking of the implementation of the “Corruption, Drug Trafficking and Other Serious Crimes Acts” in Singapore as a visible effect of such hubs where capital from illegal trafficking is directed.     

While Thailand remains the main transit and destination point, drugs are mostly produced in Myanmar as the progression of the civil war creates the perfect conditions for the development of illegal traffics and so-called ‘scam cities’. Scam cities, which started rising on South-East Asia borders before COVID 19, could originally be defined as ‘vices cities’, where casinos and gambling took place everyday despite being illegal in various South-East Asian states. The gradual shift of these cities into centers for online gaming after the pandemic lockdown is grafted on one of the great Asian passions: gambling. Certainly not a recent phenomenon, journalist Julia Wallace in 2011 reported Cambodian gambling even on rain for ‘the Atlantic’: “The rain-betting day is divided into three segments: 6 am to noon, noon to 2 pm, and 2 pm to 6 pm. A bet, starting at $2, yields a pay-out if it rains during the chosen time period. Betting on rain during the typically dry mornings is riskier, but offers a massive payoff. But it’s relatively safe to assume that it will rain before 6 pm at the height of the wet season, so winning bets on the third segment of the day bring in paltry returns”.  Online gaming subtly but surely set the stage for its replacement: extremely sophisticated scams attracting people, who are finally brought to give up all their having, through irrealistic promises which feed this phenomenon. The mini “Burmese Las Vegas” Shwe Kokko, a city of casinos located at the border between Thailand and Myanmar under control by local militias, has become sadly known as one of the essential centres for online gambling, scamming and human trafficking. Due to the tropical weather of the region, it is only logical to understand the attraction that sparkling cities, such as Bangkok, exerts on countless people who are first promised a stable workplace in these vibrant metropolis only to be forcefully but easily, thanks to the efficiency of the infrastructural network, transferred to scamming centers as to scam others. Interestingly, experts have recognized a variation in the behaviours of those subjected to this process: initially victims of human trafficking, after being paid conspicuous salaries and realizing that by being the scammer one has control over another’s life, victims undergo a psychological change which brings them to intentionally perpetuate scams and finally this system.   

Journalists Emanuele Giordana and Pietro Morello, authors of ‘Asia criminale. I nuovi triangoli d’oro tra scam city, armi, droga, pietre preziose ed esseri umani’ have identified three main reasons for the perpetuation of such phenomenon in respect to the general context of scam cities and illegal traffics: firstly the amount of capital employed in South-East Asia, also due to Chinese investments, and its consequent attraction for criminal activities, secondly the little to none space for civil society and open critic in the autocratic states involved and thirdly war, more specifically the Burmese one. The latter has brought several alliances between ethnic groups opposing the central government, leading to the constitution of narcostates fed by opium and methamphetamine production which shower not only South-East Asia but Bangladesh, India and the United States as well. The United Nations in 2025 reported a record amount of methamphetamine seizures in East and Southeast Asia, totaling 236 tons, marking a 24 per cent increase compared to 2023. “The 236 tons represent only the amount seized; much more methamphetamine is actually reaching the market,” said Benedikt Hofmann, UNODC Acting Regional Representative for Southeast Asia and the Pacific. “While these seizures reflect, in part, successful law enforcement efforts, we are clearly seeing unprecedented levels of methamphetamine production and trafficking from the Golden Triangle, in particular Shan State.”

It leads that an incredibly conspicuous capital is produced, eventually feeding scam cities, financial speculations and real-estate investments consequently freezing South-East Asia in a bubble of money’s recirclement and criminal activities’s superimposition. Overall, these three factors have come together during an extremely flourishing period for the region, creating the perfect ecosystem for the diffusion of criminality on a large scale.

Finally, the current importance of Southeast Asia, hence of the Golden Triangle, is strictly connected to its strategic location, which makes it a critical actor in international trades. Bridging major economies such as China, India, and Australia, the region is an indispensable hub for maritime activity. Several criminal activities are carried out and overlap in these waters just as they do on the mainland: piracy against ships carrying goods to Russia and Northern Korea to avoid sanctions, human trafficking and environmental crimes which generate a turnover of billions of dollars. Lastly the South China Sea, inside the Golden Triangle, is the focal point where a hypothetical third world war could occur. 

Recent failures in the dismantling of these networks highlight the long-lasting role that the Golden Triangle will most probably continue to play as a crucial hotspot in global drug production, trade and as a haven for transnational criminal organizations. Involving many different actors, legal, illegal and in-between ones, and given that often local players are seen as perfectly respectable businesspeople or government officials in their home countries, this transnational criminality needs to be treated as shared responsibility, with collaboration and cooperation between states. “The organized crime trafficking organizations look for chaos, the lack of governance, porous borders, and this they can find in parts of the Golden Triangle. So really, it’s an organized crime haven.” stated Jeremy Douglas, the Regional Representative of the UN Office on Drugs and Crime (UNODC) for Southeast Asia and the Pacific, on a mission to the border area. China and the US, among other states, ought to set aside their differences to support a regional initiative, and address what could be seen as a ‘non-traditional security issue’ ; were they refuse to do so, the flourishing of the Golden Asia Triangle would implicate global irreversible consequences.

by Yeva Murova

In many European cities, the sound of a helicopter means little more than routine patrols or training flights. In Ukraine, helicopters only appear over cities after rocket strikes, often in operations to clear the city or search for people. These are two different realities. One is Europe, where people still keep talking about peace. The other is Ukraine, where they have learned the real price of losing it.

Following both the Second World War and the Cold War, many European leaders believed that a long-term international order would finally prevail. However, Russia’s full-scale invasion in 2022 shattered this assumption, forcing Europe to rethink its ability to defend itself. Today, it is almost impossible to believe that peace is the natural order of things. It now has to be maintained, defended  and, if necessary, fought for.

The new European defense agenda

The most evident changes within the European Union (EU) have been in security policy. After decades of underfunding, many EU countries have begun to strengthen their armed forces. The EU’s total military spending rose by close to 37 percent from 2021 through 2024. At the Versailles Summit in March 2022, EU leaders agreed to “spend more and better on defense”(Council on Foreign Relations). They later supported that idea with a new EU security roadmap, the Strategic Compass. Eventually, defense had become such a priority that by 2024, the EU appointed its first-ever commissioner for defense and enacted laws to boost ammunition production and joint procurement of weapons.

Speaking of collective security, the war also contributed to NATO’s consolidation. One of the most unexpected outcomes was the decision of Finland and Sweden to abandon neutrality, realizing that it no longer offered real protection. In Sweden, a solid majority in parliament supported a “NATO option” even before the invasion, and once the war began, both the public and the government united behind joining the alliance (Sagamore Institute). Europeans witnessed the Russian invasion and realized that they would be safer under NATO protection than outside it. NATO, which many once considered outdated, suddenly became politically relevant again. Poland, for example, increased its defense budget to 4 percent of its GDP, making it one of the highest in the alliance (Reuters). Even governments in Western Europe, which once viewed military power skeptically, began sending troops to NATO’s eastern flank and investing in advanced technologies. The old belief of diplomacy by itself holding back aggressors like Putin feels totally outdated these days. All of this shows that Europe is finally treating defense as a real part of its collective purpose.

From dependency to resilience

But military hardware is only part of the story. The understanding of security itself has expanded. Energy used to be seen primarily through the lens of climate targets and economic planning. Gas was just a resource, nothing more. Post-2022, any illusion that Russia was a “reliable partner” collapsed overnight. The real shock came when the Kremlin cut off the gas to make its point. That was the moment Europe realized that they cannot talk about peace if their energy lifeline is controlled by someone willing to weaponize it. The EU has made some pretty impressive energy changes in the past two years. Countries moved quickly to find new suppliers, reduce gas consumption and form strategic partnerships to ensure they are no longer as vulnerable as before.
Already in 2023, gas imports from Russia decreased significantly. By the third quarter of 2023, Russia’s share in EU oil imports had dropped to 3.9 percent and coal imports from it reached zero (EU Council). Overall, Europe supported the accelerated transition to green energy sources, and countries also turned to alternative suppliers including Norway, the United States and Azerbaijan. Critical infrastructure such as pipelines and networks is now considered a strategic asset.

Failing systems, new responsibilities

The war in Ukraine also exposed the deep dysfunction of international institutions that were once seen as guarantors of peace. The United Nations was established primarily to prevent wars from occurring. Yet it showed itself incapable of responding to Russia’s military moves. As a permanent member of the Security Council, Russia used its veto to block even the most modest resolutions (AP News). This failure shook Europe’s trust in the post-1945 collective security system and intensified calls for reform.

European Council President Charles Michel told the UN General Assembly in 2022 that the “use of the veto should be the exception, but it is becoming the rule. Reform is needed, as a matter of urgency.” He even proposed that if a permanent member of the Security Council unleashes an unprovoked war and is condemned by the UN General Assembly, they should be automatically suspended from the council itself. At first glance, this idea might seem quite radical. Nevertheless, given the current situation, it becomes difficult to overlook the reasoning that supports it. This points to the increasing frustration with institutions formed after the war. It also highlights that even peacekeeping systems can be stalled by the states they were built to keep in check.

These institutional failures reinforced another idea: Europe must be able to act independently when others cannot. NATO remains central, but so too does the development of a more cohesive and capable European security policy. The EU’s Strategic Compass, adopted in 2022, marked a shift from theory to planning, committing to the establishment of a rapid deployment capacity and greater defense coordination. A union like this one has long hesitated on anything too military-focused. The Compass signaled a deep adjustment in their overall stance.

Europe has, in a way, woken up. The war in Ukraine drove home the point that peace does not come on its own. It demands real effort from everyone involved. It means being alert, staying engaged and sometimes standing up directly to threats. Peacefulness is no longer seen as a distant ideal but as something that demands real responsibility and constant effort. What counts most is the resolve to defend what truly matters.

You can hear that change in the skies above Kyiv and maybe, faintly, across the rest of Europe too. Helicopters continue passing overhead in Kyiv, but their noise now carries a different weight. For people who endured the war, that sound will forever hold new layers of meaning. And for the rest of Europe, it is a quiet signal that peace and war are no longer separate stories — they are chapters of the same one.