According to an assessment by S&P Global, drone strikes knocked at least 26 Russian oil refineries out of operation between January and July, seven of which have yet to resume operations. Four more refineries were hit in August, and in an attempt to keep the domestic market supplied, the Russian government extended its ban on gasoline exports for another six months (to Jan. 31, 2027), with the ban on diesel exports getting an extension only until the end of September.

The drone strikes twice

The collapse in supply is being driven by a record-large new wave of Ukrainian strikes on Russia's largest refineries. On July 25, a drone damaged the Tyumen refinery. On July 29, a drone hit Lukoil-Permnefteorgsintez, causing a fire at one of its processing units. On August 1, a refinery in Ufa was hit. According to the Financial Times, by that point Ukrainian attacks had already knocked out nearly a third of Russia’s refining capacity.

Lukoil-Permnefteorgsintez was subsequently attacked again. In addition, drone debris caused a fire in the tank farm of Slavneft-YANOS in Yaroslavl, a refinery that has been attacked six times since the beginning of the year. On Aug. 8, the Ilsky and Syzran refineries caught fire.

On Aug. 10, a strike on the Nizhnekamsk industrial zone, which reportedly affected Nizhnekamskneftekhim, left nearly 100 people dead or injured. That same day, the country’s largest complex for the fractionation and processing of liquefied petroleum gas (LPG) in Tobolsk shut down for an indefinite period.

On Aug. 13, drones set fire to the refinery in Salavat. Two days earlier, Orsknefteorgsintez in the Orenburg region had completely halted refining after a strike damaged critical equipment, apparently imported. Under the worst-case scenario, repairs there could take up to six months.

According to figures compiled by the DeepStrike project, at least 43 infrastructure facilities were hit across Russia in the first two weeks of August alone, a record since the start of the full-scale war. Some estimates put the number of Ukrainian long-range drones launched during this period at around 350 a day — more than 5,000 over the course of two weeks.

The shift in tactics was described in detail by the Financial Times. Ukrainian military planners and drone operators told the newspaper that Kyiv is now targeting the components that are hardest and most expensive to replace: primary refining units, catalyst units, and compressor equipment. The aim is to keep refineries out of operation for as long as possible and make each strike as costly as possible for Moscow.

The aim is to keep refineries offline for as long as possible and make every strike as costly for Moscow as possible

It was in this context that on July 10 Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelensky announced the creation of a new Ukrainian Armed Forces unit to plan and carry out long-range strikes against targets in Russia. Then, on July 26, he put out an updated list of priority targets.

While attacks on Russia’s oil refining industry were sporadic last summer, by August 2026 Ukraine had shifted to a systematic campaign, designed to prevent targeted refineries from establishing a stable repair cycle by making each restored unit a repeat target before production has time to return to normal.

Repairs are falling behind

The pace at which Russia is bringing damaged capacity back online is increasingly lagging behind the rate of new strikes. According to a Kpler estimate, Russian refineries will process 4 million barrels of oil per day in August, down 5% from July and 2.5% from June, which was already the lowest level in years.

Industry sources do not rule out the possibility that actual refining volumes will be even lower, at 3.8–4.1 million barrels per day. Refining could rise to 4–4.3 million barrels per day in September, but the industry will no longer be able to return to Russia’s normal level of 5.3–5.5 million barrels per day for the foreseeable future.

The reason repairs are falling behind is not a lack of willingness or money on the part of oil companies, but the nature of the damage and their dependence on imported components. Minor damage of the sort caused at the Omsk refinery or Lukoil’s Permnefteorgsintez can be repaired within weeks. However, at facilities where primary refining units or catalyst units have been knocked out, repairs take months. At the Orsk refinery, for example, the equipment is imported, making repairs an even lengthier process, as under sanctions getting the necessary components into Russia is far from straightforward. Some parts are now being routed through China, but even then, much depends on logistics and compatibility.

The reason repairs are falling behind is the nature of the damage and dependence on imported components

Fuel availability on the domestic market reflects these swings. The acute phase of the shortage in late May and early July, when queues formed and sales limits were introduced across dozens of regions, began to ease by the end of the month. Kemerovo, Vologda, Omsk were among the regions to lift their restrictions. 

But the crisis returned in early August, leading the Kaluga and Lipetsk regions to reintroduce odd-even fuel sales, while the Orenburg region introduced the system for the first time following the shutdown of the Orsk refinery. Sevastopol also reinstated QR codes for fuel purchases. According to Izvestia, by mid-August fuel was available at fewer than one-third of the country’s gas stations. Still, the situation with diesel is considerably less acute: production capacity is twice as high, while the gap between normal consumption and output is smaller.

The autumn season risks bringing another wave of problems. According to Kommersant, maintenance is scheduled for several major refineries, and some experts are already questioning earlier forecasts that the situation would stabilize by September or October. Now they point to the fact that the technological and logistical consequences of the strikes are more prolonged than appearances — such as queues disappearing — might suggest.

Three scenarios for the autumn

Estimates of the share of Russia’s refining capacity that is currently out of commission vary depending on the methodology used. In early July, the Ukrainian General Staff put the figure at 42.74%. At the end of July, the Financial Times estimated that 45% of capacity was nominally offline, while more than 30% was actually idle. Actual refining volumes, meanwhile, had fallen to about 25–30% below normal levels, and Russian Union of Industrialists and Entrepreneurs (RSPP) President Alexander Shokhin recently put the losses at 25–30%. Whether the share of knocked-out capacity reaches 50% or more will depend on which of the three scenarios outlined below develops between now and the end of the year.

Scenario one: escalation

Ukraine maintains or increases the current pace and effectiveness of targeted strikes on hard-to-replace components, while Russia continues to struggle with sanctions that restrict imports of equipment and catalysts. In this scenario, the nominal share of capacity knocked out could approach 50% — or even exceed it —  as early as this autumn. Scheduled maintenance in September would only compound the problem by coinciding with the seasonal peak in demand.

In this scenario, the shortage would worsen, but its impact would be uneven. The hardest-hit regions would be those dependent on a single nearby refinery or a vulnerable supply route, such as the Orenburg and Volgograd regions. Meanwhile, larger cities with diversified supplies would suffer less, even if restrictions on fuel purchases at gas stations would become almost universal.

Formally, the military and security services would remain the priority for fuel supplies. On June 23, Vladimir Putin said that the strikes would not affect the situation at the front. A month later, however, volunteers reported shortages of several hundred liters of gasoline for some units. Further escalation could lead to more such cases.

The government is unlikely to allow fuel prices to be determined freely by the market. Based on the experience of 2018, a renewed informal agreement with oil companies to freeze retail prices in exchange for budget subsidies is far more likely. Those subsidies are already costing the treasury hundreds of billions of rubles a month.

The closest historical parallel is the 1973 oil crisis in the West. Authorities in several countries issued fuel rationing cards in anticipation of shortages, although actual rationing never materialized. The United States introduced an odd-even system, while the Netherlands banned private car travel on Sundays. The restrictions lasted about six months and ended after oil exporters reached a political decision to lift the embargo.

Because Russia’s current crisis is driven by war rather than market forces, resolving it quickly would require an end to the strikes themselves. For now, Putin’s public assertion that there have been no “critical consequences” — despite the loss of a third of the country’s refining capacity — suggests that he not preparing to make concessions when it comes to the war.

Scenario two: a plateau with partial adaptation

Under this scenario, the strikes continue at roughly their current level, but Russia gradually builds alternative supply chains for equipment through China and other Asian countries, increases toll refining at Kazakh refineries, and expands imports of finished fuel.

Nominally idled capacity would stabilize at 30–40%, with acute shortages occurring locally after each major strike, but without the panic seen previously.

Fuel imports and negotiations with Kazakhstan can be scaled up within weeks, whereas establishing reliable alternative supply chains for catalysts and equipment for primary refining units would take years. By the end of 2026 Russia could close only part of this gap at best. The “plateau,” therefore, would not mean recovery, but stabilization at a lower level.

Another question is why the refineries are not better protected in the first place. Effective air defense and electronic warfare systems remain scarce military resources, meaning Russia simply does not have the capacity to protect all such facilities simultaneously. Moreover, the oil refining industry, even at state-owned companies, is formally part of the commercial sector, which the government is not obliged to protect as heavily as its military infrastructure. The Moscow Refinery, for example, is located in the country’s most heavily defended air defense zone, yet it still suffered critical damage.

Economic fatigue is another issue that deserves attention. Repairing a single complex unit at a refinery the size of those in Ryazan or Tyumen could cost in the range of $50–100 million, while total payments to oil companies through the fuel-price damper mechanism and subsidies have already exceeded 1.2 trillion rubles ($14 billion) since the crisis began. Some refineries (like the one in Novoshakhtinsk) have also publicly complained about mounting debts to contractors and delayed wage payments following a series of Ukrainian strikes.

In other words, both the government and individual companies could run out of money before the Ukrainian campaign comes to an end.

Scenario three: de-escalation

If Ukraine reduces the intensity of its strikes on oil refineries for political or military reasons, or if it shifts its focus to other targets while damaged refineries are able to complete repairs, some Russian regions could return to pre-crisis conditions at gas stations by November. Even so, according to most estimates, overall refining volumes would remain 10–15% below 2020–2024 levels. This residual shortfall represents irreversible losses that are highly unlikely to be recovered by the end of the year, even if the strikes cease altogether.

The Moscow Refinery offers the clearest example. Both of its primary refining units were knocked out in June, and according to an estimate by Sinara Investment Bank, repairs could take up to a year and cost $1 billion. Reports circulated on social media that the refinery had resumed processing two weeks after the attack, b—ut the report appears to have been false — there has been no official confirmation, and there has been no corresponding improvement in the situation at Moscow gas stations. The refinery is not expected to resume operations before 2027.

Likely irreversible losses also include units dependent on sanctioned catalysts and other technologies licensed by Western companies. Efforts to replace them with Russian or Chinese alternatives by the end of the year is similarly unlikely, even if no further strikes are carried out against these facilities.

And so, even under the most favorable scenario for Moscow, refining will not return to the pre-crisis level of 5.3–5.5 million barrels per day. At best, the energy industry will settle at a new, lower level of refining that becomes its baseline for years to come. For now, the second scenario appears the most likely, but Ukraine’s focus on hard-to-replace components makes the even more pessemistic first scenario considerably more plausible than it would seemed just a month ago.

Has oil, imports gasoline

Foreign fuel shipments to Russia are already underway, but they are not yet large enough to make a decisive difference. The main supplier is Belarus, sendingh 141,000 metric tons of gasoline to Russia in June — a record high and 2.4 times the May volume. This was largely the result of redirecting some Belarusian exports that previously went to Central Asia to the Russian market instead. At the same time, transit shipments of Belarusian gasoline through Russia to third countries plunged from 166,000 metric tons in May to 24,000 metric tons in June. According to an estimate by experts at the Institute of Energy and Finance, the realistic ceiling for Belarusian supplies is no more than 200,000 metric tons a month — equivalent to just two days of summer gasoline consumption in Russia.

The ceiling for Belarusian supplies is no more than 200,000 metric tons a month — equivalent to no more than two days of summer gasoline consumption in Russia

India joined the effort later. The first shipment from the subcontinent, 42,000 metric tons, arrived on Aug. 5 from Nayara Energy, which is partly owned by Rosneft. Overall, India, Turkey, and to a lesser extent China, are expected to supply another 200,000 metric tons a month.

Since early August, Russia has also begun purchasing petroleum products at the South Korean port of Ulsan. Meanwhile, a shipment of gasoline loaded at Tangier, Morocco — reportedly supplied by Lukoil — has been sitting idle in Murmansk for a third week because of a dispute over the price.

Turkey joined the list in late August. The Wendrix, a tanker that is already on the EU and UK sanctions lists, left the Turkish port of Mersin carrying 200,000 barrels of gasoline. According to S&P Global CAS, it is bound for Primorsk. If so, this would represent the first confirmed shipment of Turkish-origin gasoline to Russia.

Kazakhstan is a separate avenue under discussion. Rather than direct gasoline exports, the proposal involves processing Russian crude at Kazakh refineries under a tolling arrangement, with some of the resulting fuel being sold in Kazakhstan and some returned to Russia.

At the same time, Kazakhstan’s crude oil exports through both Ust-Luga (down 16.9% year-on-year in July)  and Novorossiysk (down 2%) declined, while exports via the Baku–Tbilisi–Ceyhan route — whicy bypasses Russia — rose from 138,000 to 155,000 metric tons. Kazakhstan’s efforts to diversify its logistics, along with the risk of direct strikes on Russian Black Sea ports and the tankers carrying oil from them, are both contributing to the shift. Meanwhile, on Aug. 10–11, Russia agreed with Mongolia on a one-off shipment of 25,000 metric tons of gasoline and 5,000 metric tons of jet fuel.

Gasoline imports cannot be described as cheap. According to calculations by Russia’s Federal Antimonopoly Service (FAS), based on June data the cost of an “import alternative” to gasoline, calculated using Indian prices and including freight to Baltic ports, is 112,600 rubles per metric ton. That is 1.6 times the average domestic selling price of gasoline.

At the same time, the subsidy paid to importers — more than 50,000 rubles per metric ton — is 3.6 times higher than the payments made to oil companies under the domestic fuel-price damper. The difference is covered by the federal budget through a special import damper introduced on June 1 — without it, the purchases would be economically unviable for traders. According to estimates published in Kommersant, total import requirements before the market stabilizes are estimated at 400,000–500,000 metric tons a month, potentially 15–25% more than Belarus, India, Turkey and China combined can actually supply.

Over the next four months, the trajectory of imports will depend directly on which of the scenarios described above unfolds with regard to the strikes and repairs. Under the escalation scenario, dependence on imports will only grow, along with the burden on the budget from the import damper and the risk of logistical disruptions like the standoff that has left the shipment in Murmansk idle. Under the de-escalation scenario, by contrast, the share of imports in the overall fuel balance will decline, serving as a mere safety net as Russia's domestic refining capacity is repaired. 

Dozens of fake videos and cover images styled to look like content from well-known Western media outlets and organizations are circulating on X linking the two politicians to a range of fabricated scandals. The campaign was reported to The Insider by AntiBot4Navalny, a project that tracks the emergence and spread of fake videos on social media.

The fakes are a continuation of the campaign Matryoshka launched in Sweden on Aug. 18–19, less than a month ahead of the parliamentary election. At that time, seven fake videos mimicking content from well-known international media outlets appeared on X in the span of an hour, spreading false claims about Swedish politicians’ ties to pedophiles and financial criminals, preparations for election fraud, and attacks on opposition leaders.

The creators of the fakes have now merged the Swedish campaign with the disinformation onslaught against Attal, whom Matryoshka had begun targeting before. In early August, the network spread fake material mimicking BFM, RFI, Le Parisien, AFP, France 24, Le Figaro, Libération, and Le Monde, falsely attributing drug addiction, Parkinson’s disease, and other fabricated outrages to the French presidential candidate.

One of the new videos claims that Attal supposedly vacationed in Baden-Baden with a certain Volker Pelle, whom the video’s creators describe as one of the key organizers of a scheme to traffic children from Africa, China, Vietnam, and Thailand to pedophiles in Europe. The same storyline draws in Kristersson, claiming his family used Pelle’s services to adopt three children.

The video’s creators also allege that Attal discussed his involvement in illegal adoptions with Pelle, and that the French politician and his former partner Stéphane Séjourné supposedly planned to adopt a child to boost their falling approval ratings. No evidence is provided for any of these claims. However, to lend the story at least a hint of credibility, the creators of the fake news attribute a comment to a France 24 journalist who supposedly asks why Attal did not use the legal adoption process and instead turned to “the most notorious supplier of victims.”

Another fake video, designed to look like a Euronews segment, claims that Kristersson’s approval rating dropped by 30% after he spoke out about Russian disinformation. The creators again draw a parallel with Attal, claiming that talk of Russian interference is “poison” for Kristersson and his Moderate Party ahead of the election in Sweden. The video features a quote attributed to Euronews editorial director Claus Strunz claiming that politicians who talk about Russian disinformation are supposedly committing “political suicide.”

In addition to videos, the network is spreading fabricated front pages of European newspapers. A fake cover of La Tribune dated Aug. 25 claims that French President Emmanuel Macron supposedly refused to speak with Attal after a “scandal involving drug use.” The large headline reads “Go to hell!”

Additionally, a fake Libération front page carries an announcement claiming that Macron supposedly “distanced himself from Attal after a drug scandal.” Meanwhile, the cover’s main story is about a completely different topic — political disputes over water following a drought and extreme heat in France.

Fake covers of Expressen and Svenska Dagbladet aimed at a Swedish audience mock Kristersson and Attal together. The first, featuring photos of the two, carries the caption: “These two are at least as dumb as Beavis and Butt-Head.” In the second, the politicians’ faces are superimposed on the bodies of the cartoon characters, with a headline calling them “Europe’s Beavis and Butt-Head.” Beneath the image is a caption reading: “Ulf Kristersson and Gabriel Attal — clinical idiots who have taken over Europe.”

Matryoshka is a Kremlin-linked network of bots, trolls, and coordinated anonymous media resources that specializes in mass disinformation campaigns. Its signature tool is short videos bearing the logos of reputable Western media outlets, universities, government bodies, and international organizations that are then spread using X, Telegram, Bluesky, and private group chats. The network’s favorite technique is to seize on a real news event and build a fabricated narrative around it using real names, brands, and organizations.

The new wave appeared amid the upcoming Riksdag election in Sweden, scheduled for Sept. 13. The ruling bloc, led by Kristersson’s Moderate Party, is being challenged by a center-left bloc led by the Social Democrats. According to an Ipsos poll published on Aug. 25, the opposition bloc has 52.4% support, while the ruling bloc has 45.6%.

At the same time, Matryoshka is targeting candidates in the French presidential election, set to take place in spring 2027. Attal, who served as prime minister in 2024 and now leads the presidential party Renaissance, officially announced his candidacy on May 22. Notably, this is not the first wave of Matryoshka fakes targeting Attal.

At the same time, the network is running disinformation campaigns in other European countries where elections are scheduled soon. Several regional and local elections will take place in Germany in September, and as The Insider has previously reported, Germany’s Federal Office for the Protection of the Constitution (BfV) issued an official warning about a Russian disinformation campaign. In August, Matryoshka bots spread posts on X using the hashtag #TimeToDivideGermany, promoting the re-division of the country into East and West Germany while calling it a “historical necessity.”

In August 2025, Russian Prime Minister Mikhail Mishustin, acting on a request from the Ministry of Industry and Trade, dismissed Russia’s trade representative in Austria, 67-year-old Andrei Plotnikov — purportedly due to “the expiration of his fixed-term service contract.”

Ever since the Soviet trade mission in Austria opened in 1921, the post of trade representative has always been reserved for a military intelligence officer. Outside the period of Nazi Germany’s occupation of Austria during WWII, Moscow’s representative in Vienna has always been a professional spy.

Trade representative Plotnikov worked in Austria for four years and gave interviews fairly often about trade turnover between the two countries. However, these conversations were merely cover. Plotnikov in fact held the rank of colonel and doubled as the deputy GRU station chief in Vienna, where he demonstrated solid operational results. Plotnikov’s espionage interests included local politicians and journalists, along with the heads of major firms. He also oversaw the Russian-Austrian Business Council, which stopped operating after Russia’s full-scale invasion of Ukraine began.

“Andrei Nikolaevich [Plotnikov] was fired right after his birthday, and it was an undeserved insult. He’s a very well-known person, and they could easily have signed him to another three-year contract. Look at Alexander Bogatyr, who was in Cuba for nine years, and that was fine,” a source at the Ministry of Industry and Trade complained to The Insider.

At the GRU, Plotnikov was called “our legend,” and his superiors held him up as an example to other staff. When Plotnikov was still a young military intelligence officer, he was sent to West Berlin to serve as the Soviet warden at Spandau Prison. At the time, former close Hitler associate Rudolf Hess was still serving out his life sentence there. In 1987, Hess killed himself, and a version of the story still circulates among neo-Nazi groups that claim he was killed by British intelligence services. Plotnikov wrote a book, The Mystery of Rudolf Hess’s Death: A Warden’s Diary, in which he too arrived at highly questionable conclusions.

After Germany, Plotnikov continued his GRU service and graduated from the Military Diplomatic Academy. He was then assigned to Rosvooruzheniye (now Rosoboronexport, the Russian state-owned defense export agency), where he headed the Southeast Asia desk. From 2003 to 2009, Plotnikov spied in China under cover as a Russian trade mission employee, and before being sent to Austria, he headed Rostec’s representative office in Germany.

Following a series of high-profile spy scandals resulting from reporting by The Insider, Austrian authorities have begun paying much closer attention to Russian diplomats and journalists. The Austrian Foreign Ministry rejected all trade representative candidates proposed by Moscow, forcing the mission to draw on personnel already present in Vienna.

The initial candidate for “chief trader” was Alexander Zherikhov, whose father, Alexander Zherikhov Sr., headed Russia’s customs service from 2004 to 2006 and now holds the post of advisor to the CEO of Gazprom Neft. However, Artem Klimentyev was put in charge of trade instead. 

Klimentyev’s mother, Svetlana, is a well-known figure in financial circles, previously working at Mezhprombank and at the Moscow representative office of the now-defunct British company Fort Trading Corporation Limited. Svetlana currently works on the management side of the Moscow Venture Fund.

Klimentyev himself graduated from the Academy of Foreign Trade, and in 2018 his mother arranged for him to become a consultant in the Department of European and North American Countries and International Organizations at the Ministry of Economic Development. From there, he moved to the Ministry of Industry and Trade, where he headed a department until his departure for Austria.

Notably, the reshuffle in Vienna did not help improve trade turnover between the two countries, which in 2025 was down by 74% year-on-year, with a further decline expected for 2026.                                                    

Algeria, the gateway to Africa

The dismissal lists at the Ministry of Industry and Trade are drawn up by First Deputy Minister Kirill Lysogorsky, who directly oversees the trade missions. As it turns out, Lysogorsky is far from an outsider to the GRU — a graduate of the Russian Military Academy of the Strategic Missile Forces, he previously headed government departments connected with the defense industry and arms supplies.

“Lysogorsky may be an important figure now, but he used to be just an errand boy running after Deputy Prime Minister Yuri Borisov — together they traveled to half the world,” a source at the ministry told The Insider.

In addition to Plotnikov, in September 2025 career GRU officer Ivan Nalich, Russia’s trade representative in Algeria, was put on Lysogorsky’s “chopping block.” Nalich had worked in North Africa for eight years and had built up an extensive network of contacts among military officers, officials, and public figures. “Algeria is the gateway to Africa,” Nalich said in one interview.

“Trade representative” Nalich also has a classic spy’s biography. In 2003, he graduated from the Institute of Asian and African Studies at Moscow State University, where he appears to have caught the eye of GRU recruiters. After graduation, Nalich took a job at the RIA Novosti state news agency, covering Middle Eastern affairs. In 2005, he moved to Rosoboronexport. Then, from 2009 to 2011, he worked in various positions at Rostec before returning to Rosoboronexport. Nalich subsequently spent five years spying in Morocco before being sent to Algeria as trade representative in 2019. 

Nalich seems to have inherited a knack for espionage from his KGB grandfather.

The GRU now has a standing joke that after being fired from the Ministry of Industry and Trade, Nalich will become a backup dancer for his cousin — the well-known performer Pyotr Nalich. 

In place of Nalich, Prime Minister Mishustin appointed 56-year-old Alexei Shatilov as Russia’s new trade representative in Algeria. Shatilov had worked for the Presidential Executive Office since the late 1990s in several capacities, and his last post at the Presidential Executive Office was as advisor in the foreign economic activity department of the president’s expert directorate. He had previously worked as trade representative in Algeria and had also spent time in the UAE and Qatar. He is considered to be part of the inner circle of Igor Neverov, head of the president’s foreign policy directorate. Neverov is said to have lobbied for his protégé’s reappointment to Africa. 

In a recent interview, Shatilov praised Algeria for its pro-Moscow orientation and encouraged Russian companies to enter the local market. The trade representative did not mention, however, that the country is considered one of the most corrupt in Africa. The initial budget for the highway connecting Algeria with Morocco and Tunisia was $6 billion, but corruption drove the final cost to $17 billion — including $5 billion in kickbacks for local officials.                                       

A comedian replaces a smuggler

In January 2023, Cuba welcomed a new Russian trade representative, Sergei Baldin. Before Havana, he had headed the trade and economic department at the Russian embassy in Portugal and the Russian trade mission in Brazil.

An analysis of Baldin’s activities shows that in Brazil he mainly represented Rosoboronexport’s interests. For example, the trade representative actively negotiated Russia’s entry into the Latin American arms market and took part in Latin America Aero & Defence military fairs in Rio de Janeiro.

Baldin is also credited with the successful negotiations to establish visa-free travel between Russia and Brazil, a development that clearly pleased the GRU and the Foreign Intelligence Service (SVR). While in Cuba, Baldin spoke in interviews about the good prospects for trade between Moscow and Havana. However, in June 2026, he unexpectedly resigned before his contract had even ended.

As The Insider learned, Baldin had concealed from his superiors at the Ministry of Industry and Trade the fact that he was being prosecuted for smuggling. On May 2, 2021, he flew into Moscow’s Sheremetyevo Airport from Lisbon and headed for the exit through the green channel. When a customs officer asked whether he had any undeclared currency, Baldin said no. However, during an inspection, officers found nearly $52,000 on him.

Trade representative Baldin concealed from his superiors at the Ministry of Industry and Trade the fact that he was being prosecuted for smuggling

To replace Baldin, Moscow appointed Vakhtang Mosashvili as its new trade representative. His father, Vyacheslav Mosashvili, is a close acquaintance and former Ministry of Transport colleague of Putin aide Igor Levitin.

The younger Mosashvili’s résumé, obtained by The Insider, matches all of the expectations for a member of a nomenklatura family: “Attended a school at the Russian embassy in Belgium, graduated from the law faculty of the Russian State University for the Humanities. Worked at Aeroflot and at trade missions in Hungary and Spain.”

In the Russian mission in Havana, Mosashvili is known as an irrepressible “jokester,” the life of the party at gatherings, and a fan of off-color jokes. The trade representative’s peculiar sense of humor is showcased in his now-deleted account on Odnoklassniki social network, where he wrote about himself: “Three years’ imprisonment under Article 162, Part 1 of the Russian Criminal Code, ‘Robbery,’ served at the PLS penal colony in Solikamsk. Broke, I don’t have a car, I curse, I’m schizophrenic, neurasthenic, asthmatic, I pick my nose, I have dandruff, worms, gonorrhea, I sniff glue, gasoline, and stain remover.”

A few more “trade representatives” from military intelligence also fell under Deputy Minister Lysogorsky’s cuts, but no replacements have yet been found for them. Vladislav Darvay left Moldova in September 2024, and The Insider later published wiretaps which showed that he had organized a visit to Russia by fraudster-oligarch Vladimir Plahotniuc, who stands accused of involvement in running $20 billion in corrupt Russian money through the “Moldovan laundromat”. Plahotniuc met with Kremlin official Dmitry Kozak and discussed interference in Moldova’s elections. However, the plan fell through when Plahotniuc was arrested, Kozak was fired, the Kremlin’s preferred candidates lost the election, and Darvay was barred from entering the country.

In Syria, espionage will continue

In some countries, however, Russian spies have not been replaced by “well-connected” substitutes from the civilian sector. In Syria, for instance, the GRU again managed to appoint one of its own to the trade representative post — 55-year-old career intelligence officer Vladimir Noskov. He replaces GRU officer Georgy Asatryan, who was recalled to Moscow and put forward for an award for the successful evacuation of Russian military personnel and equipment from bases in Syria to Libya.

Colonel Noskov graduated from the Military Diplomatic Academy, was seconded to the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, and spied in Lebanon, Egypt, and Qatar (facts that did not prevent his son from getting a job at Bain & Company, a U.S. entity closely tied to Anatoly Chubais).

As for his appointment to Syria, it is likely that no one from the “well-connected” crowd, accustomed to a comfortable life, wanted an assignment to that troubled country. 

Military-tactical gear accounted for the largest share. Over the year, users ordered more than 527,000 such items worth 9.14 billion rubles ($106.2 million). Items in this group included body armor, ballistic helmets, tactical vests, protective plates, and neck and shoulder protection.

Nearly 157,700 pieces of body armor were ordered for 5.07 billion rubles ($58.9 million). The average order value was 32,300 rubles ($375). Another 1.48 billion rubles ($17.2 million) went toward the purchase of 81,100 ballistic helmets, and 1.2 billion rubles ($13.9 million) was used to buy nearly 159,000 tactical vests and belts.

Military optics were ordered nearly 350,000 times over the year at a total of 7.22 billion rubles ($83.9 million). This group included optical, collimator, digital, and thermal imaging sights, night vision devices, and thermal imagers. Thermal imaging sights turned out to be the most expensive: more than 28,000 units were ordered at an average price of about 140,000 rubles ($1,600).

Users spent 6.26 billion rubles ($72.7 million) on drones and related products, while about 3 billion rubles ($34.9 million) went toward 554,000 accessories, including frames, propellers, receivers, and cameras for building custom drones. Another 1.15 billion rubles ($13.3 million) was spent on batteries, and about 1.7 billion rubles ($19.7 million) on fully assembled drones.

Components and accessories for small arms were ordered for nearly 2.46 billion rubles ($28.5 million). Weapon grips were the most frequently purchased item — more than 132,500 units for 307 million rubles ($3.5 million). However, the highest revenue in this group came from stocks: 58,500 units were ordered for nearly 605 million rubles ($7 million).

The calculations are based on categories from Ozon’s internal analytics that Verstka classified as military or dual-use goods. These may include items that end up being used for civilian purposes, and the data does not make it possible to identify the buyers or end recipients of the goods. Ozon has thus far not commented on the findings.

Several Ozon logistics centers across Russia have come under aerial attack in recent days following a series of strikes against facilities belonging to its chief competitor in the Russian market, the Wildberries online marketplace. The first confirmed strike on an Ozon warehouse occurred on Aug. 22 in Chapayevsk, Samara Region, leading to a fire and several injuries. In the following days, attacks and the threat of strikes affected the company’s facilities in several more regions, and on Aug. 27, Ozon reported attempted attacks on warehouses in Ufa and Orenburg.

However, Yaroslavl Region Governor Mikhail Yevraev warned of a drone threat early in the morning, and authorities blocked the route out of Yaroslavl toward Moscow starting from the intersection of Moskovsky Avenue and the Yugo-Zapadnaya Ring Road. Buses were rerouted via Suzdalskoye Highway and Kalinina Street, and intermunicipal routes along the blocked section of the M8 highway were temporarily suspended.

Yevraev later reported that kindergartens No. 98 and No. 28 had been closed “due to the need to eliminate the consequences of a drone attack.” Children were redirected to nearby preschools, though the governor did not specify the nature of the damage. Exilenova+ also published footage showing blown-out windows and damage to apartment buildings. There is no information on casualties so far.

Slavneft-YANOS was launched in 1961. The plant processes roughly 15 million metric tons of oil per year, making it one of Russia’s five largest oil refineries. Slavneft’s main refining asset, YANOS, produces Euro-5 gasoline and diesel fuel, aviation kerosene, jet fuel, oils, bitumen, liquefied gas, and fuel oil. The company is controlled jointly by Rosneft and Gazprom Neft on a parity basis.

This is not the first fire the plant has experienced in 2026, as Ukrainian attacks on March 28, April 26, May 8 and 22, July 6 and 16, and August 6 led to similar consequences. After the Aug. 6 attack, regional governor Yevraev confirmed that drone debris had hit the refinery’s storage tanks and caused a fire, but only did so several hours after the first eyewitness reports.

A number of known details about Sechkov match information about the victim that were previously reported by Russian media. According to 78.ru, the victim was a native of Ryazan named “Sergei S.,” and his wife, who was injured in the explosion, was named Anna. According to leaked data reviewed by Agentstvo, Sechkov was 43 years old, was born in Ryazan, and his wife’s name is Anna. In addition, Sechkov’s registered address is located roughly a hundred meters from the site of the explosion.

The Ukrainian project Myrotvorets has a profile for Sergei Sergeevich Sechkov on its website, listing him with the rank of major in military unit 12633 — the 332nd Separate Guards Helicopter Regiment, part of the 6th Air Force and Air Defense Army. The St. Petersburg outlet Fontanka had previously written that the victim served in the Air Force and Air Defense troops, but referred to him as a lieutenant colonel.

In May 2022, Ukraine’s Main Intelligence Directorate (HUR) stated that servicemen of the 332nd Separate Guards Helicopter Regiment had taken part in the war against Ukraine. The HUR accused the unit of carrying out missile and bomb strikes on civilians in the Slobozhanske sector.

The car explosion in question took place on the morning of Aug. 27 near a store on Kolpinskoye Highway in the Slavyanka neighborhood of St. Petersburg. The serviceman inside the car was killed, and his wife was injured and hospitalized. The St. Petersburg office of the Investigative Committee confirmed the serviceman’s death and reported that a criminal case had been opened “over the car catching fire,” without specifying the charge.

Fontanka claims that a 24-year-old Russian woman planted the homemade explosive device under the car. According to the outlet’s account, on the evening of Aug. 26 she attached the device to the underside of the car beneath the driver’s seat, then headed to Pulkovo Airport and departed for Turkey at around five o’clock in the morning — a few hours before the explosion. Allegedly, she subsequently moved on to Chișinău, Moldova. The outlet does not name her or disclose the source of this information. Russian law enforcement agencies have not made any official statements about a search for a suspect.

The Ukrainian side has not confirmed involvement in the explosion, and no one has claimed responsibility for it.

Earlier, 78.ru reported that the victim had told his superiors he was “on a kill list.”

When Ukraine’s strike campaign against Russian oil refineries triggered a fuel crisis in June, farmers and market experts feared that part of the harvest could simply be lost. The grain harvest is indeed running late this year because of diesel shortages, Kuban farmer Andrei (name changed) tells The Insider:

“We only finished harvesting in August. That’s exceptionally late for us. And I’m seeing the same thing in neighboring regions. In Stavropol, colleagues are only now harvesting winter rapeseed, which is usually done in early July. The rapeseed is already shedding its seeds — it’s a very vulnerable crop when it stays in the field too long. Not all farms in Kuban have finished harvesting their wheat either. If it rains, the wheat could shed its grain and fall in quality.”

A crop left in the field past maturity not only produces less but also loses market value. For example, rain reduces protein and gluten content in winter wheat that is already ripe, and in Stavropol, farmers really are complaining en masse about problems with the harvest with some simply losing up to a third of their crop due to the lack of diesel. 

Agriculture has been hit not only by the fuel shortage itself but also by government measures aimed at addressing it. Some have their own filling stations and buy diesel in bulk, but those who depend on regular gas stations have been affected by the same purchasing limits as everyone else. As farmer Andrei explains:

“It’s a perfectly workable arrangement, and gas stations had a discount system. But when they introduced fuel limits, that hit us too. Many combines in the district came to a halt. Some gas stations have now realized that they need to sell fuel to farmers. The local administration got involved, drew up lists, and farmers can drive up and refuel. But they were a month and a half late with that measure. At some gas stations in Kuban, they still refuse to dispense diesel into containers, saying you have to arrive in a vehicle and fill the tank directly. But if farmers arrive at gas stations in their tractors and combines, there will be total gridlock. The highways will be blocked, and we have a huge flow of people heading to the coast right now.”

Farms that buy fuel in bulk and refuel their own machinery face problems of their own. Paradoxically, wholesale diesel prices are currently higher than retail prices (wholesale fuel is sold at exchange prices, while major filling-station chains are holding down retail price increases).

Andrei cites the situation in his home region of Krasnodar. There, the wholesale price of diesel is more than 100 rubles per kilogram. Fuel bought on the exchange is measured by weight, which works out to roughly 85 rubles per liter. The retail price, meanwhile, has so far risen only to 76 rubles per liter.

Rostov region farmer Dmitry (name changed) tells The Insider that he is seeing even higher prices, but with the same gap between wholesale and retail: “There is simply no diesel, and everything is being delivered to farmers at a higher price — not the 80–90 rubles per liter you pay at a filling station, but 120. And the machinery consumes a huge amount. Working 40 hectares just once burns through 200 liters of diesel.”

There is simply no diesel, and farmers are being charged more for deliveries: not the 80–90 rubles per liter you pay at gas stations, but 120

Voronezh farmer Nikolai (name changed) says the fuel situation has improved since June: “It can be bought from suppliers at a more or less market price. It’s more expensive than at the beginning of the year, but not as critical as it was. It’s not three times more expensive than in February, but 60–70% more. However, as is so often the case in Russian agriculture, the situation has taken a turn for the worse elsewhere. Wheat prices have collapsed and continue to fall. They are already below the cost of production not just for this year, but even for last year.”

A double blow

The main consequence of higher fuel prices has been a sharp increase in the cost of agricultural production. At the same time, domestic grain prices have fallen to record lows as Ukrainian attacks have disrupted maritime logistics in the Black and Azov seas.

Farmers in Russia’s Black Sea regions and in the Ukrainian territories Moscow's forces currently occupy have historically relied on maritime exports. More than half of the grain produced there was shipped to Mediterranean countries and farther east.

Farmers are now facing a situation in which shipping in the Black and Azov seas has ground to a halt and their regular buyers have stopped purchasing. Ports are no longer accepting grain, and all receiving facilities are full, Dmitry says:

“On the domestic market, distilleries and bakeries have already bought enough for the next three months. Now those with storage facilities — traders and resellers — are buying wheat for 5–6 rubles per kilogram, compared with 14–15 rubles last August. Farmers are selling because they need to keep the wheat from rotting in the field — there wasn’t enough room in the storage facilities for all of it. They grew wheat for 10 rubles a kilo and are selling it for five or six. The harvest was also good this year. The quality, though, isn’t great — it’s more likely to be fourth-grade than third-grade.”

In some cases, harvesting the grain is now simply unprofitable, but farmers cannot just leave it in the field. As Dmitry explains: “First, birds will descend on it, then mice will multiply and devour half of next year’s crop. Second, unharvested wheat is a fire hazard: not only the field but the surrounding shelter belts could burn. Finally, plowing such a field the following year would be considerably harder and more expensive.”

You can’t leave the harvest in the field: birds will descend, mice will multiply, and unharvested wheat is a fire hazard

Anatoly Kolchik, head of the Rostov Region Grain Union, told Expert South that “the blockade of the Sea of Azov and the overload at Novorossiysk have driven domestic prices down to 6,000–12,000 rubles per ton, against production costs of 10,000–12,000 rubles.”

At the same time, according to Kolchik, “many farms are forced to sell grain for as little as 7 rubles per kilogram to pay wages, buy fuel and spare parts, and prepare for the autumn sowing season.” Even before the Ukrainian strikes on the Novorossiysk terminals, he had forecast that grain prices would be 40–50% below production costs.

What is happening to the grain terminals

On the night of Aug. 12, Ukrainian strikes on the port of Novorossiysk brought operations at the facility's two largest grain terminals to a halt. Two days later, grain analyst Andrei Sizov noted that navigation in the Sea of Azov had been suspended since July, while in the Black Sea “only Tuapse remains operational — the smallest of the deepwater terminals. Virtually all Russian grain exports through the Azov-Black Sea basin have come to a standstill.”

Ekaterina Yaressko of the Ukrainian investigative project Myrotvorets, which tracks grain shipments from occupied territories, providedThe Insider with a more cautious assessment: “One of Novorossiysk’s three grain terminals — NKHP — has indeed been shut down, and the situation with the other two remains unclear. At least one of them, KSK, is still operating. We can see that loading is continuing, but on a much smaller scale — the pace has slowed, and ships are waiting for extended periods.”

There is virtually no shipping in the Sea of Azov, the route through which grain from Crimea and other occupied territories was previously exported, Yaressko notes, and the Kerch-Yenikalsky and Azov-Don canals are closed. At first, cargo flows were redirected to Novorossiysk, home to three major terminals that have a combined annual capacity of 18–19 million tons of grain. In normal years, they did not operate at full capacity but still handled roughly one-third of Russia’s total grain exports. Loading there has now become nearly impossible as well.

As a result, wheat prices inside Russia continued to fall after the strikes on the city. According to calculations by Andrei Sizov, third-class wheat fell 2.8% during the week of Aug. 10–16, while fourth-class wheat fell 3.1%. The analyst expects prices to continue declining.

Global grain prices, meanwhile, are rising, notes Joseph Glauber of the International Food Policy Research Institute. By early August, they were already 25% above January levels and now stand at their highest point in two years.

The rise in global prices is the result of more than just the Ukrainian attacks on Russia’s maritime logistics and Russian strikes on Odesa. As Glauber told The Insider, “A poor harvest is expected in the United States, Canada, and across the Northern Hemisphere in general. Since the full-scale invasion, Ukraine has already shifted a significant share of its grain exports to land routes or the Danube. But this year, those routes are constrained by low water levels in the rivers."

Glauber also notes that there has not yet been any significant change in global stocks: reserves worldwide have not been depleted, nor are storage facilities in Russia and Ukraine overflowing. Still, these two countries now account for around 32% of global wheat trade, and it is difficult to say who will fill the gap in the market:

“Mediterranean countries and the Middle East are heavily dependent on Russia and Ukraine. They will have to turn to the United States, and possibly Argentina and Australia, but that will be expensive. In the long term, I think this niche will remain with Russia and Ukraine. Over the past several decades, both countries have demonstrated that they are capable of reclaiming their place in global food trade.”

But that is a question for the future. This year, the grain market has already taken a hit, and as analyst Andrei Sizov writes, "I think many producers will not survive this season — especially after several years of deteriorating financial conditions caused by export duties.”

Support measures

Russia’s Agriculture Ministry held a closed-door meeting to discuss support measures, Russian business publication RBC reportsed in mid-August. Three options were proposed: extending preferential loans for farmers, providing subsidies, and using state funds to buy grain in order to prop up demand.

The loans could be extended for up to one year, but only in regions with a grain surplus. This primarily concerns southern Russia and occupied Crimea, where the harvest is largely complete (and a good one at that) but farmers are unable to sell or export it because of Ukrainian attacks disrupting maritime logistics. There are no specifics on the subsidies yet, but as for government grain purchases, they are usually carried out by the state-owned United Grain Company (OZK). According to RBC, the company has already begun looking for available storage capacity.

Experts interviewed by RBC support the proposed measures. Ksenia Bolomatova, executive director of the Union of Grain Exporters and Producers, believes they would ease pressure on farmers’ working capital and allow them to prepare for the next sowing season. Ilya Bereznyuk, managing partner of Agro&Food Communications, said they would help bridge the cash-flow gap and prevent farmers from being forced to sell their grain at excessively low prices.

However, Alexander Korbut, vice president of the Russian Grain Union, openly acknowledged in an appearance on the Rural Hour program that government grain purchases might not work at all: “To fix the situation, we would need to purchase somewhere around 20–30 million tons of grain. We simply don’t have that kind of money in the budget. That’s one problem. And secondly, we don’t have enough storage capacity.” The intervention fund already holds around 3.7 million tons of grain.

To fix the situation, the government would need to purchase around 20–30 million tons of grain, but there is no money for that in the budget

Analyst Sizov calculated that subsidies capable of making a meaningful difference would require 340 billion rubles from the state budget. “Crop farming has no chance of receiving anything like that,” he concludes.

Another support measure involves assistance with shipping grain via routes that bypass the southern ports. The Russian government is preparing to allocate around 10 billion rubles ($116 million)to subsidize rail transportation of agricultural goods, Vedomosti reports. Since 2019, the Agriculture Ministry has set the annual volume of agricultural goods eligible for preferential rail rates — and the quota has already been exhausted for this year. Additional funding would allow it to be increased.

Sources who spoke to The Insider are skeptical about these plans. Joseph Glauber says the Baltic lacks sufficient infrastructure for grain imports, while Russia already engages in intensive trade with Iran through the Caspian Sea route: “I don’t know how much that could be increased to make up for Black Sea exports. In addition, Ukraine has already carried out successful drone strikes in the Caspian.”

Ekaterina Yaressko is also doubtful that grain shipments through the Caspian can be increased: “A lot of grain is already being transported there, so I doubt they can handle much more. There are large grain terminals at Vysotsk and Ust-Luga on the Baltic, but they are already being used, and the bottleneck there will be the rail network.”

Indeed, Baltic grain terminals are already busy. Historically, they have handled grain from Central Russia, the Volga region, the Urals, and Siberia. Igor Petrin, CEO of the Petrakovskoye agricultural company in Novosibirsk Region, told Business FM that southern grain will now be redirected to northern ports at preferential rates, effectively displacing Siberian producers. “The only place we can ship to today is China by rail,” Petrin said.

Just like in the south, the harvest in Novosibirsk Region is still in full swing, and it is facing many of the same challenges. The pea harvest is already complete, but there is no demand for it. Wheat and barley harvesting has only just begun, but buyers are offering 10–15% less than last year.

Farmers’ response

Petrin plans to switch to less conventional crop, saying that some farmers in Novosibirsk Region are already reducing their planted acreage, while others have decided to leave agriculture altogether. Another source in the same Business FM article, Alexei Zhdanov, chairman of the council of the Association of Peasant Farms and Agricultural Cooperatives of Rostov Region, predicts that planted acreage will shrink by 30–40%.

Kuban farmer Andrei has also decided to reduce his wheat acreage. “Our country doesn’t need it. We don’t see any support. I’m going to change my crop rotation in favor of higher-margin crops, because that’s the only way to make it work,” he told The Insider.

Farmers say that the fuel shortages and the disruption to maritime logistics are further exacerbating problems that began accumulating due to the start of the full-scale war in 2022. As Rostov farmer Dmitry explains: 

“When the ‘special military operation’ began, tractor drivers were taken away en masse, and now they’re tank crews. There were a lot of unreliable people and alcoholics working in unskilled jobs — hand this over, fetch that, tighten a nut. They were also taken away en masse for the ‘special military operation,’ and half of them have already been [killed]. So many farmers shut down their operations, especially among the older generation. They sold off their machinery and kept just 50 hectares to feed their livestock.”

Over the past four years, the prices of fertilizer, agrochemicals, and spare parts have risen sharply. Dmitry continues: “Before the ‘special military operation,’ it cost three rubles to grow a kilogram of wheat. Then it went up to six rubles. And now, with diesel getting more expensive, it has reached nine.”

Agricultural machinery has become 50–80% more expensive over the past four years, Andrei adds, with some equipment rising even more. A tractor he had planned to buy for 6 million rubles before the full-scale invasion now costs 12 million.

For now, the farmers who spoke to The Insider still retain some hope. Andrei has finished harvesting and is in no hurry to sell his crop, waiting to see what happens in the market. Dmitry is counting on the ruble weakening: “The dollar is low right now. It will rise, and grain will become more expensive. There’s still hope that prices will go up and the ports will reopen. A farmer’s entire life is basically a lottery — whether you sow early or late, whether you apply those fertilizers or not, whether you start harvesting on time or not. That’s the situation now, but nobody knows what next year will bring.”

A farmer’s entire life is basically a lottery: whether you sow early or late, whether you apply those fertilizers or not, whether you start harvesting on time or not

Anatoly Kolchik, director of the Grain Union of Agricultural Producers of Rostov Region, told Expert South that he knows farmers who are already putting their farms up for sale. Indeed, specialized marketplaces now carry numerous new listings for operating agricultural businesses. A Stavropol realtor who specializes in this type of property told The Insider that there is no rush to sell, but that the number of small farms — those of up to 1,000 hectares — on the market has clearly increased.

Several sellers also responded to The Insider’s inquiries. The owner of a berry farm in Rostov Region said prices in his sector had collapsed this year and that he had decided to change professions. Another seller, who represents the owner of a grain farm in the same region, described the situation in the third person: “There is one owner, and he has four companies. He’s managing, but the quality of the work is declining. A lot of people have been taken for the ‘special military operation,’ and there’s no team left to develop the business. He wants to sell one company and improve the performance of the others.”

For decades, European carmakers operated in familiar and relatively predictable conditions. They produced cars with internal combustion engines, sold them on the domestic market, and exported them around the world — using China and Russia as important growth markets while turning technological and engineering breakthroughts into lasting competitive advantages. That world is no more, and the scale of the transformation goes far beyond a normal industry cycle.

While most European carmakers remain profitable and retain strong brands, their engineering expertise, global supplier networks, and access to political support no longer guarantee the same resilience. Porsche is a telling example: in 2025, one of Europe’s most profitable premium brands faced a sharp drop in profits, forcing the company to rethink its strategy, cut costs, and prepare new measures to streamline the business. 

Trouble can be found at all levels of the market. Dacia, the budget brand owned by Renault Group, reported a 9% year-on-year decline in sales in the first half of 2026, and Volkswagen, BMW, and Mercedes-Benz are among the brands cutting costs and negotiating with trade unions over large-scale job cuts. As a result, Bosch, ZF, and other automotive suppliers are restructuring their businesses and cutting staff.

Some European carmakers are, for example, beginning to look to the defense industry — not because they plan to become arms manufacturers, but to utilize their spare producition capacity while ensuring that engineers and workers do not find themselves out of a job. 

Some European carmakers are beginning to look to the defense industry to avoid closing plants

The U.S. is becoming a less predictable market for European brands because of Donald Trump’s tariff policies. At the same time, Chinese electric and hybrid vehicle makers are entering the European market in increasing numbers, while China has already taken the leading position in global vehicle exports.

The electric vehicle revolution is changing the structure of the industry. These cars are mechanically less complex than those with internal combustion engines, but their performance depends on developing the relevant batteries, software, electronics, and vehicle platforms — areas where China has proved particularly strong not only in terms of cost, but also in the speed with which it develops and implements new technologies. Chinese manufacturers are rapidly advancing battery production, intelligent vehicle functions, driver-assistance systems, and software architecture. Their competitive pressure therefore cannot be explained solely by government subsidies or lower costs. In short, this is already a full-fledged technological competition.

As a result, Chinese automakers are arriving in foreign markets with increasingly sophisticated designs, expanding dealer networks, and aggressive marketing strategies, and their cars are gradually becoming an acceptable and rational choice for European consumers. According to some estimates, the combined market share of the largest Chinese automakers in Europe already exceeds 10%, and their presence is particularly evident in the electrified vehicle segment.

Chinese manufacturers enjoy a range of advantages: a huge domestic market that provides economies of scale, the security that comes from government support, and control over supply chains for EV batteries, critical minerals, and rare earth elements. They can also expand their exports in markets like Russia, which Western brands pulled out of following Putin's full-scale invasion of Ukraine in 2022. Chinese companies remained in the Russian market and turned it into a significant export and local assembly base.

As a result, Europe is facing not only Chinese competition within the EU but also a changing global geography of automotive markets. Today, the question is not whether the European car industry has a future — short answer: it does. The question is whether that future will remain European in terms of technology, value added, and strategic control.

The market is recovering, but not under the old rules

Car sales in the EU are recovering, albeit very slowly. In 2025, the number of new car registrations in the EU increased by just 2%, remaining below pre-pandemic levels, but in the first half of 2026 it grew by a much healthier 6%. Demand is recovering, but what actually matters more for European carmakers is the share of the market captured by their brands.

Here it is important to note that the structure of demand itself is changing rapidly. The share of petrol and diesel models, segments where European carmakers enjoyed engineering and manufacturing advantages for decades, is shrinking. In 2025, vehicles in these categories accounted for just 35.5% of new cars in 2025, a figure that fell to 30% in the first half of 2026. At the same time, hybrids accounted for 37%, fully electric vehicles for 21%, and plug-in hybrids for 10%.

Legacy capabilities do not disappear overnight, but they gradually lose their importance. Plants and engineering centers geared toward producing internal combustion engines, transmissions, exhaust systems, and complex mechanical components must gradually adapt to a new architecture. This requires investment, but finding the necessary funds is difficult amid slowing demand and intensifying competition.

Even the countervailing duties imposed by the EU on imports of electric vehicles made in China have failed to reverse the trend. One reason is that Chinese carmakers are beginning to move beyond a simple export model toward localizing production in Europe. The aim is to establish a foothold within the European industrial system, as exporting finished vehicles from China to the EU is becoming more difficult because of tariffs, trade investigations, and political pressure.

For example, Chinese automaker BYD is building its first European passenger-car plant in Hungary and is already developing a local supplier network around it, with plans to gradually make local production a key pillar of its European sales. In addition, SAIC has announced plans to establish its first production site in Spain, XPeng has begun producing electric vehicles at Magna’s facilities in Austria, and Chery is starting production at Nissan’s former plant in Spain.

For Chinese manufacturers, this localization serves several purposes at once: it reduces tariff and logistical risks, brings production closer to consumers, immunizes them to future localization requirements, and makes their presence politically more acceptable to European governments.

European carmakers themselves are increasingly looking to cooperation with Chinese companies as a way to close technological gaps more quickly, utilize production capacity, preserve jobs, and produce more affordable electric vehicles.

European carmakers are increasingly looking to cooperation with Chinese companies as a way to utilize production capacity and preserve jobs

Stellantis, for example, is developing a partnership with Leapmotor and is discussing production of related models at its plants in Zaragoza and Madrid, while Volkswagen is considering using its underutilized European plants to produce Chinese cars.

In the short term, such cooperation looks pragmatic. After all, idle plants go back to work, localities preserve jobs, and European companies gain access to cheaper, faster solutions. But in the long term, it points to a deeper problem: European carmakers are beginning to rely on Chinese technologies, platforms, and production systems.

That is why market growth alone can not solve the problem, as Europe’s car industry may sell more cars while simultaneously losing ground in the segments that matter most for future growth. The danger is not that European brands will go bankrupt and disappear tomorrow. The danger is that an industry that was once a symbol of industrial power will retain only part of the local value added while losing control over key technologies, software architecture, and battery supplies.

The danger of incentives and the Russian lesson in localization

It is in this context that the Industrial Accelerator Act is emerging — a new attempt by the EU to respond to the challenge not only with tariffs, but also with a more active industrial policy. In the automotive sector, its underlying idea is simple: if Europe wants to preserve its car industry, it needs to support not just car sales in the European market, but also production, technology development, and value creation within Europe itself.

This is an important shift for the EU. For a long time, the European economic model was built around open markets, complex cross-border supply chains, and limited government involvement when it came to directly supporting industry. However, under circumstances of Chinese pressure, U.S. protectionism, the war in Ukraine, energy volatility, and disruptions to logistics and supply chains, the industrial base can no longer be taken for granted — it needs not only to be regulated, but also protected, supported, and directed.

For the car industry, the Industrial Accelerator Act means that financial support, public procurement, corporate fleets, and certain demand-side incentives will increasingly be tied to Made in EU criteria. At first glance, the logic is sound. Europe is seeking to leverage its greatest asset — its large domestic market — and its regulatory power. Rather than shutting itself off from China, it aims to create conditions in which European demand supports European production. But this is precisely where the main difficulty begins. The Industrial Accelerator Act could turn into a costly protectionist mechanism that preserves plants and jobs without addressing the industry’s underlying competitiveness problem.

The first risk is higher costs. If European-origin requirements prove too stringent, manufacturers will have to restructure their supply chains in favor of EU-based suppliers, even if their products are more expensive and less competitive. As a result, European cars could ultimately lose out to Chinese competitors on price, further diminishing their market share.

The second risk is tied to the very nature of European supply chains. The European car industry's production system includes entities in the UK, Turkey, Morocco, and the Western Balkans (to say nothing of Asian suppliers of electronics and battery components), and it depends on global raw-material supply networks. The question of “European content” is therefore far more complicated than it may seem. What should count as a European car, and how should its degree of localization be calculated: by the location of final assembly, the share of European components, the origin of the battery, the role of engineering and software development, the platform, or control over the supply chain?

The third risk is administrative. The more complex the Made in EU criteria become, the more European regulators will have to monitor, measure, and administer compliance. They will need to calculate the share of local content, verify the origin of components, assess the specifics of battery, electronics, and software production, evaluate second- and third-tier suppliers, and determine which companies are genuinely creating European added value and which are merely adapting to the requirements on paper. Such a system inevitably requires industry expertise in order to conduct inspections and write reports, and the necessity of granting certain exemptions will require an expanded administrative apparatus.

This is precisely where Russia’s experience can offer Europe a useful lesson. Of course, Europe has far stronger technological capabilities and institutions, a more developed industrial base, and a more competitive environment. But Russia’s attempts at localization show how quickly industrial policy can turn into a system of state paternalism — one in which companies begin competing less for consumers than to meet regulatory criteria and secure access to government support.

Before 2022, Russia used almost the entire range of tools to protect and support its car industry: import tariffs, incentives for importing components, subsidies, demand-support programs, special investment contracts, tax breaks, a vehicle scrappage fee, and a points-based system for assessing localization, to name but a few measures.

This system did produce results. Car imports declined, plants operated by leading global automakers were established in Russia, automotive clusters emerged and a local component industry developed. But the system did not create full technological self-sufficiency — or what is often called technological sovereignty — for the industry. Moreover, temporary support mechanisms gradually became a permanent feature of the industry.

The Russian assembly regime introduced in 2005 initially granted automakers preferential treatment on imports of automotive components for up to eight years in exchange for building plants and increasing localization. Over time, some restrictions were eased, agreements were renegotiated, localization requirements were tightened, and the incentives and subsidies evolved. After the industrial assembly regime ended, the industry moved on to special investment contracts that preserved preferential treatment in exchange for further localization and investment.

As a result, localization became not a stepping stone toward full-fledged competition, but part of an entrenched system of government support. Manufacturers grew accustomed to access to subsidies, government procurement contracts, and demand-support programs that depended not only on the quality and price of their cars, but also on how well they met localization criteria. This changed the incentives: instead of constantly cutting costs, updating their model lineups, and competing in foreign markets, companies increasingly learned to operate within a system of rules, points, and preferential treatment.

Localization became not a stepping stone toward full-fledged competition, but part of an entrenched system of government support

After Western companies left Russia in 2022, it became clear that the level of localization achieved often concealed dependence on foreign platforms, subcomponents, electronics, software, and engineering solutions. As a result, the Russian market was quickly flooded with Chinese brands, while production in many cases shifted to large-scale assembly based on Chinese technology.

The abrupt replacement of Western brands with Chinese ones led not to greater industrial self-sufficiency, but to a technological downgrade: the industry was forced to adapt to basic assembly operations, dependence on supplies from China, a lack of investment in plants, and rising car prices. In effect, since 2022 the Russian car industry has been undergoing a structural crisis, and the country itself is turning into a land of used cars.

This lesson is particularly important for Europe: localization by itself does not equal competitiveness. It is possible to ensure that more components are formally produced in Europe without guaranteeing leadership in the most important parts of the automotive value chain. Plants can be preserved while technological control is lost. Subsidies and preferential treatment can be expanded while creating an industry more focused on optimizing operations to meet regulatory criteria than on cutting costs and accelerating innovation.

The Industrial Accelerator Act will therefore succeed only if it does not become a European version of the “import substitution trap” that Russia fell into. Its goal should not be to reduce Chinese competition at any cost, drive out foreign suppliers, or blindly increase the formal share of European components. Instead, the goal should be to strengthen the real sources of competitiveness — battery technologies, charging infrastructure, software architecture, suppliers of critical components, and a skilled workforce — while ensuring that the industry has access to affordable energy, fast and streamlined permitting procedures, and funding for research and development.

Europe needs to protect its car industry, but more importantly, it must not shield it from the need to adapt to changing realities. Industrial policy should help European companies become stronger competitors, rather than simply allow them to operate behind a protective wall of rules, subsidies, and localization points. If the Industrial Accelerator Act becomes a modernization tool focused on technology, productivity, cost reduction, and the development of European value chains, then the current crisis could become not the beginning of a long period of decline but the start of a successful transition to a new model. If, however, initiatives focus on protectionism and bureaucratic accounting of “European content,” the continent risks preserving its car plants while losing the most important thing: control over the technologies that will shape the future of the automotive industry.

After Baring Vostok exited Russia, its stake in Ozon ended up with O23, a company established shortly before the deal. Investor Alexander Chachava was named as the formal ultimate owner of the stake, and the deal was valued at roughly 38 billion rubles ($441.3 million). However, the ACF took note of O23’s filings: since August 2024, its owner has been listed as an unnamed joint-stock company, with Alexei Yegorov as director. By matching identical loans between companies headed by Yegorov, investigators concluded that O23 belongs to JSC Korporatsiya 42, which in turn belongs to the investment group Stratosfera.

Stratosfera, which the ACF links to Chachava, received loans and credits totaling 51,230,297,000 rubles ($594,765,305) in 2024. Investigators compared this amount to the financial filings of Russian companies and found an almost mirror-image transaction at JSC Optima, which the ACF identified as the company that provided the funds to Stratosfera. The ownership and financing chain went as follows: Optima → Stratosfera → Korporatsiya 42 → O23 → roughly 34% of Ozon.

The next link in the chain was established using Optima’s own filings. Optima received almost the same amount in the form of an interest-free loan from a company called Delta, which belongs to Gennady Timchenko, according to the investigation. The ACF also pointed to the ties between Optima’s staff and Putin’s inner circle: its current director, Darya Bryliakova, worked at organizations linked to the president’s nephew Mikhail Shelomov and to long-time Putin associate Yuri Kovalchuk; the previous director, Anastasia Yuldasheva, worked at Shelomov’s company Aktsept; and the chief accountant, Zhanna Tsapleva, previously worked at a company belonging to Svetlana Krivonogikh, the mother of Putin’s illegitimate daughter.

Based on these findings, the ACF concludes that the Ozon stake was acquired with Timchenko’s money.

Investigators describe Timchenko himself as one of the holders of Putin’s money. As the ACF has previously reported, structures linked to Timchenko financed the construction of Putin’s palace in Gelendzhik and covered his family’s expenses.

The investigation into Timchenko’s connection to Ozon was released after a series of Ukrainian attacks against the online retailer’s assets. Ukrainian drones first struck the marketplace’s logistics complex in Chapayevsk, Samara Region on Aug. 22. The following day, a strike hit a facility in Orenburg, and on the night of Aug. 24, drones struck Ozon warehouses in Dagestan, Adygea, Krasnodar Krai, and Stavropol Krai. Fires broke out at the facilities near Krasnodar and Makhachkala, and their operations were halted.

Then, on Aug. 24 Putin signed a decree allowing companies’ property to be placed under temporary state control if authorities determine that they are not adequately protecting critically important facilities, including against drones. The mechanism explicitly covers transport and logistics infrastructure facilities, among others. One of the stated grounds for imposing temporary control is “ineffective implementation of measures” to prevent drone attacks.

Three days later, the government set up a subcommission headed by First Deputy Prime Minister Denis Manturov to assess the security of important facilities, oversee their restoration, and prepare measures to ensure the uninterrupted operation of certain industries. The government will be able to place a company’s property under temporary control based on little more than Putin’s instructions.

The explosion occurred around 10 a.m. near a Magnit foodstore on Kolpinskoye Highway. According to Fontanka’s preliminary information, a homemade explosive device went off inside the car. The outlet also writes that the blast “tore off” the couple’s legs. The official cause of the incident has not yet been established.

According to Shot, the vehicle that exploded was a Chinese Geely crossover. The blast occurred right after the driver started the engine, blowing out the rear window, tearing off the hood and rear bumper, and severely deforming the body of the car while scattering debris dozens of meters from the point of the blast.

The Telegram channel Ostorozhno, Novosti! reports, citing eyewitnesses, that nearby parked cars were also damaged in the attack. There is still no official information about the identity of the person killed or the circumstances of the explosion.

The Insider previously reported that following a series of assassination attempts targeting Russian military personnel and security officials, the Ministry of Internal Affairs ordered restrictions on courier parking near a number of its facilities. Specifically, a courier service working with the Zolotoe Yabloko cosmetics retailer received a demand not to park at 29 locations in Moscow and the Moscow Region. Most of the marked zones, The Insider established, are around government buildings and infrastructure including police stations, specialized traffic police battalions, vehicle depots, and warehouses.

The restrictions also separately listed three addresses that were not on the map: the central office of the Investigative Committee, a business center in Khimki that was named in a U.S. Justice Department indictment as the location of GRU military unit 74455, and a Defense Ministry residential complex for service members.

While the reason for the restrictions was not directly stated in the mailing, the measures were introduced following a series of assassination attempts targeting Russian military personnel and security officials in which explosive devices were hidden in objects outwardly associated with courier delivery — such as boxes, kick scooters, and electric scooters.

According to Atvira Klaipėda, Sudheimer transferred all shares in SCT Lubricants to Suleimanova at least a week ago. He had been the company’s sole shareholder since September 2022 (and also in the period from 2013 to 2015). The company employs 167 people and operates a plant in Klaipėda that produces oils under the Mannol brand. In 2025, SCT Lubricants posted revenue of €205 million and net profit of €41.9 million.

Suleimanova was already linked to the SCT brand before her acquisition of the Lithuanian plant, The Insider has found. According to the official bulletin of Spain’s Commercial Registry, she was appointed sole administrator of SCT Lubricants Iberica SL in July 2021, succeeding Roman Pasemko Polovych in the post.

This past July, The Insider and Siena established that SCT Lubricants had directly supplied lubricating oils produced in Klaipėda to Russia up until January 2023. The recipient was the Kirov-based company JSC NLK, whose beneficiary was none other than Sudheimer himself.

Moreover, products from companies linked to Sudheimer continued arriving in Russia via the UAE and other countries. According to customs data, in 2024 more than 1,000 metric tons of oils made by SCT Chemicals FZE were imported into Russia from the UAE, and another 550 tons followed in the first quarter of 2025. In addition, hundreds of tons of SCT products were supplied by Dubai-based Chempioil FZE, which is also linked to Sudheimer.

In April 2026, SCT Chemicals FZE was placed under EU sanctions. The EU stated that the company’s specialized lubricants are being used by the Kolomna Plant near Moscow, an enterprise that supplies the Russian Defense Ministry with diesel engines for the Navy and has been under EU sanctions since December 2023.

Juri Sudheimer previously confirmed to The Insider and Siena his connection to SCT Chemicals FZE and Chempioil FZE, but he denied violating Lithuanian and EU law. He claimed that after the relevant ban was introduced, his companies did not ship Lithuanian products to Russia, and he stated his intention to challenge the sanctions that had been levied against SCT Chemicals FZE.

Before the war began in late February, Qatar accounted for around 20% of global LNG exports. However, since March, the country has managed to ship just 18 LNG cargoes, compared with 509 during the same period in 2025. According to Reuters’ estimate, Qatar has lost around $24 billion.

As Andreas Schröder, head of gas analytics at ICIS, told The Insider, EU countries are likely to enter the heating season with a gas deficit. Total storage inventories are expected to be 5.7 billion cubic meters below target.

“The forecast is based on the assumption that the Strait of Hormuz will remain closed until March 2027, but the actual duration of the blockade is unknown. This leaves market participants having to make educated guesses. At present, it appears that markets are increasingly pricing in a scenario of a longer closure of the Strait of Hormuz.

Replacing Qatari LNG with alternative supplies to Europe will be difficult. Between March and July 2025, Europe accounted for 67% of U.S. LNG exports. However, during the same period in 2026, that share fell to 51%. At the same time, East Asia’s share (China, Japan, South Korea and Taiwan) of U.S. supplies rose from 10% to 16%, while Asia’s overall share increased from 16% last summer to 29% this summer.

ICIS has revised its base-case scenario for its gas forecast for Western and Central Europe (12 countries): the peak storage level has been lowered from 81% to 75%, reflecting weak injection rates in 2026. Under the updated base case, storage inventories will peak at approximately 5.7 billion cubic meters lower and six days earlier. An 80% level remains achievable, but only with a more favorable balance of supply and demand.

Countries with substantially lower average storage levels in Q2 2026 than in Q2 2025 will enter the winter with a deficit. Lower starting inventories ahead of winter increase Europe’s vulnerability to competition for LNG, cold snaps, and supply disruptions.

The prolonged absence of Qatari LNG is having a significant impact on European gas prices, which will be felt throughout the winter of 2026/2027. According to the ICIS forecast, as efforts to fill storage facilities intensify in the autumn, European gas prices could rise to €80/MWh, compared with the current level of €64–68/MWh. A year ago, gas prices were half as high, at €31–32/MWh.”

Natasha Fielding, a manager at the price reporting agency Argus Media, told The Insider that EU gas storage facilities are currently 63% full, compared with a five-year average of 81%.

“With gas stocks lower than usual, Europe will have to rely more heavily on LNG imports during the winter and may be forced to compete more aggressively with Asian buyers for available cargoes.

There is limited scope in the European gas market to significantly increase domestic production or pipeline imports to make up for the shortfall in Qatari LNG supplies. However, the recent expansion of LNG export capacity in North America is helping to partially offset the loss of supplies from the Persian Gulf.

The risk of gas consumption restrictions being introduced in Europe affecting households, the power sector, or critical industries, is low. However, gas demand could fall as a result of high prices. Higher electricity bills are encouraging households to save energy and could lead to reduced production in gas-intensive industries, prompting utilities to generate electricity from coal instead of gas.”

In early August, Reuters reported that natural gas inventories in European storage facilities had fallen to their lowest levels since records began in 2011. At the beginning of August, storage facilities were less than 58% full, 12 percentage points below the level recorded during the same period a year earlier.

In Germany, a regional government cannot directly influence the nation’s foreign or defense policy. This is the exclusive prerogative of the federal center, in the form of the Bundestag and the government. That said, the AfD makes no secret of its opposition to weapons deliveries to Ukraine and to broader European rearmament plans. The party describes Berlin’s actions as a “course toward war” and demands “the restoration of partnership with Russia.”

Even if a party representative were to take the premier’s seat in Magdeburg, they would be unable to change Germany’s current geopolitical course. Moreover, the authors of Germany’s Basic Law anticipated the possibility of conflict between the federal center and a state, embedding protective mechanisms in two separate articles.

Article 37 allows the federal government to apply coercive measures in the event that local authorities refuse to follow a national decision. Additionally under Article 85, the federal government may issue direct instructions to the states within the framework of so-called “federal supervision.” But the process isn’t simple.

If an event in Europe were to trigger NATO’s Article 5 mechanism, Germany’s civilian authorities and military would begin implementing the Operational Plan for Germany (OPLAN DEU) — a set of mobilization and logistics measures that include the redeployment of large military contingents and equipment from western and southern Europe to the east, and Berlin’s allies would be counting on the use of German territory as a key hub for defensive operations. Although the exact routes for convoy movements are classified, several factors suggest that Saxony-Anhalt has been assigned an important role in such plans.

First, the geographic location of the state is perfect, as it sits halfway between the western part of the country and Poland. As a result, virtually the only route for a rapid response runs through Saxony-Anhalt. After all, numerous key Bundeswehr bases and logistics centers are located in and around the state.

Second, this region has in recent years undergone large-scale rehabilitation of its rail network, autobahns, and secondary roads. Many of them are now considered to be among the best in Germany. Plans through 2029 call for further modernization of the central rail hubs in Magdeburg and Dessau, as well as capacity expansion on the Magdeburg–Berlin route.

A state government, if it chooses, could significantly slow down military convoy movements at precisely the moment when every hour counts. For example, a hypothetical premier of Saxony-Anhalt who opposes “escalation” and calls for “seeking compromises at the negotiating table” could refuse to issue the permits required for heavy — and especially tracked — military vehicles to pass through the region, as the issuance of such permits falls within the competence of the relevant state authority. In addition, military convoys are required to move exclusively with a police escort whose purpose is to close off civilian traffic, and law enforcement agencies are subordinate to local authority. 

A state government could significantly slow down military convoy movements at the very moment when every hour counts

Finally, decisions about the use of regional infrastructure — such as allocating land for tent camps and ensuring supplies of electricity, water, and fuel — are made locally, not at the federal center. Even the exchange of information between central command structures and the operations hub in Magdeburg could be significantly hampered.

There is no doubt that in an emergency, Berlin would immediately invoke its powers under the relevant articles of the Basic Law, and it is also fair to assume that not every senior police officer would agree to openly sabotage defensive measures. But precious hours — or even days — could still be lost, creating grave ramifications for the defensive strategy of both Germany individually and NATO as a whole.

Red tape as a weapon

The reputation of German bureaucracy is renowned far beyond the country’s borders. On one hand, the meticulous observance of the letter of the law and strict adherence to procedure guarantee a functioning rule-of-law state, reducing the actual power of those in positions of authority.

On the other hand, what makes the system stable simultaneously renders it vulnerable to legalistically legitimate, functionally pointless legal challenges. Although the AfD’s core political demands are unachievable without the approval of the Bundestag and the federal government, authorities at the state level possess all of the necessary mechanisms to make life considerably more difficult for the chancellor and their ruling coalition in Berlin.

A state is a significant player on Germany’s political field. The Bundesrat, the chamber of the states, approves nearly 40% of the laws passed by the Bundestag — and that approval is far from automatic. Since the Federal Republic’s founding in 1949, the Bundesrat veto has been used more than 100 times.

Moreover, some initiatives approved by the government and the upper house of parliament — such as recent payments to the public that required co-financing from the states — were never unblocked. And even though Saxony-Anhalt has only four of the Bundesrat’s 69 seats, this by no means implies legal weakness.

Presently, AfD parliamentary groups in the Bundestag and the state parliaments frequently pressure the executive and legislative branches with a barrage of motions, bills, and inquiries. These often lack any legal basis, but the system is obliged to respond to them.

For the AfD, this is an opportunity to demonstrate activity to its voters and convince them of its own effectiveness as the “only genuine opposition.” Moreover, around 7,000 AfD inquiries concerning the state of critical infrastructure and the country’s defense between 2020 and 2025 raise serious concerns among politicians and journalists.

Armed with votes in the Bundesrat and a new lever of influence, the AfD could well push this process to the point of absurdity, creating tangible stress for government administration. A state is what is known as a “constitutional body,” meaning it has the right to file a complaint with the Federal Constitutional Court. Under the unwritten rules of the game, a state government hardly ever resorts to this instrument — only in cases where the state’s rights have been seriously violated and numerous mediation councils with the federal center have yielded no result.

Statistically, state lawsuits account for just 1% of all cases examined by the Constitutional Court, and referrals to the court to review the legality of a given federal law are almost as rare — in the range of two to three per year. However, there are no legal limitations on the number referrals that can be submitted, meaning that a state under AfD rule could well disregard the unwritten rules and flood the Constitutional Court with challenges to any law passed by the Bundestag. The focus would be, first and foremost, on the issues most sensitive to a radical electorate: the entry and residence of foreign nationals, refugee admissions, environmental policy, and funding for renewable energy development, gender equality programs, and measures to strengthen European unity.

A state under AfD rule could flood the Constitutional Court with challenges to any law passed by the Bundestag

Blocking tax legislation would also theoretically be possible, posing a potential threat to the smooth functioning of the country’s fiscal system. Admittedly, federal laws are not subject to suspensive effect — meaning their entry into force would not be suspended on account of a pending complaint. Still, a mass attack on the Constitutional Court would inevitably affect its productivity and, indirectly, the functioning of government bodies.

A state also has the right to file a so-called urgent application, which would indeed effectively block a law until a final decision is reached. As a rule, the Constitutional Court grants such an application only in exceptional cases of serious harm to the state and its residents, but here there is ample room for legal interpretation and hairsplitting.

Finally, while four seats in the Bundesrat represent a mere 3% of the total membership, even these could become a “golden share” under certain conditions. The AfD’s appearance in the Bundesrat as the ruling party in its state would further legitimize the far-right party, and in the event of a serious conflict between states or a deadlock in the body, one side might not be able to resist the temptation to form a temporary alliance with the AfD in order to secure victory in the dispute with the help of Saxony-Anhalt’s votes.  

Reshaping the system

The intense focus of foreign — and indeed many German — observers exclusively on federal politics is understandable. The state level may seem dull and unimportant, but in Germany’s federalist model the region plays a significant role in the implementation of policy. The state commands numerous levers of government administration, and here, the AfD would obtain tangible opportunities to change a great deal if it were to come to power.

All school-level education, along with a significant share of higher education, is a state-level responsibility. In Germany, a teacher is not required to follow the textbook to the letter and enjoys considerable freedom in shaping lesson concepts, but a hypothetical AfD-led government in Saxony-Anhalt would be quite capable of reformatting the educational process.

The party’s attention is focused primarily on the subject of “history,” and it makes no secret of its rejection of the form of historical memory and perception of past events that has developed in the Federal Republic. Instead, it would prefer a departure from the sense of guilt — or more precisely, collective responsibility — of the German people for the crimes of Nazism, as well as from the negative assessment of the militarism of the Second Reich, the colonial period, and a number of historical figures from the last 150 years.

Ideally, the AfD wants to foster the development of German patriots who are proud of their country and do not dwell on the dark pages of its history. This approach could be reflected in new curricula, which teachers are not entitled to ignore.

The AfD wants to raise German patriots who are proud of their country and do not dwell on the dark pages of its history

The state Ministry of Education would also be able to exert sufficient administrative and financial pressure on schools and universities to shut down initiatives aimed at combating racism, xenophobia, homophobia, and sexism. The AfD has an extremely negative attitude toward gender equality and diversity, feminism, and the use of gender-neutral language, meaning all of these could become a thing of the past in the area under its authority.

Admittedly, under such a scenario, the human factor would play a considerable role. Would thousands of teachers, officials, and administrators be willing to comply with the new rules of the game? This is where the second important set of state-level powers comes into play: personnel policy. Saxony-Anhalt has approximately 115,000 public-sector employees — 12% of the entire working-age population — and in a region with high unemployment, low wages, and very poor prospects on the open labor market, some administrators may choose to adapt to the new realities rather than risk being dismissed. In the five years before the next elections, the AfD could well appoint “ideologically compatible” personnel to senior and mid-level positions. This also applies to the state Center for Political Education, an important government body promoting democracy, which the new government could restructure beyond recognition.

Finally, the state government controls the police and the Office for the Protection of the Constitution — the body that, back in November of 2023, classified the AfD’s state organization in Saxony-Anhalt as “definitively right-wing extremis.” Should the AfD come to power, it may be tempted to exact revenge on the agency. Meanwhile, the state police have already been mired in scandals on multiple occasions involving the discovery of racist and antisemitic messages in internal chats, while year after year, human rights activists record an increase in cases of police brutality.

Even worse, it is not inconceivable that some local police officers would welcome “a firm hand” in power. In addition, the state Interior Minister has the authority to block individual law enforcement operations, and a hypothetical AfD minister would undoubtedly make use of that privilege.

Not least, the emergence of an AfD-led government even at the state level would deal a crushing blow to the firewall. Germany’s Basic Law explicitly requires the states to cooperate with one another. Without this, German federalism would simply be unworkable. In practice, the regions are genuinely bound by political ties — from the Bundesrat, where the mode of cooperation is different from that in the neighboring chamber of parliament, to the format of joint conferences of relevant state ministers. Currently, such conferences are held in 21 areas — from meetings of state premiers to forums of interior, economics, justice and transport ministers.

The AfD’s rise to power in Saxony-Anhalt could provide the final contribution to the “normalization” of the far-right party on a wider scale. 

Alex Karp, CEO of the U.S. tech giant Palantir, personally visited Kyiv in June 2022, becoming one of the first major Western IT company heads to travel to the Ukrainian capital after the start of Russia’s full-scale invasion. The two sides later held repeated meetings both in Ukraine and at international venues to discuss cooperation in defense technology and artificial intelligence.

Palantir executives and employees continue to regularly visit Ukraine. The company also has a small team of local specialists on the ground in Kyiv who adapt Palantir software to front-line needs and serve as a link between the company and Ukrainian government agencies.

Founded in 2003, Palantir is one of the key players in the global defense tech sector. It specializes in analyzing large amounts of data and creating software for the government agencies, intelligence services, and militaries of many countries. In the U.S. alone, its major clients include the CIA, the FBI, the Pentagon, the Air Force, the Marine Corps, and Special Operations Command.

Palantir’s technologies are also used by the British army and Israel and have been tested by militaries in Japan, Norway, and Denmark. After the start of Russia’s full-scale invasion, Ukrainian ministries joined that list, including the Ministry of Digital Transformation, the Ministry of Education and Science, the Ministry of Economy, and the Ministry of Defense.

For Palantir Ukraine has effectively become its largest testing ground for military AI development under the conditions of modern combat.

“For us, this is the next step in developing win-win cooperation. Partners get the opportunity to train their AI models on real data from a modern war, while Ukraine gets faster development of autonomous systems and new technological solutions for the front,” then-Defense Minister Mykhailo Fedorov said after meeting Karp in May 2026.

Ukraine has effectively become the largest testing ground for military AI development under the conditions of a modern conflict

As early as 2023, Fedorov, who was then Ukraine’s Minister of Digital Transformation, described Kyiv’s joint work with Palantir to develop technology capable of analyzing large volumes of data and turning them into easily digestible information for ministries, government agencies, and the public. In 2023 and 2024, Ukraine and Palantir worked together on demining projects and initiatives aimed at the safe return to classrooms of children who had been forced into online learning because of Russian aerial attacks.

Time magazine reported in early 2024 that the Ukrainian military had begun using Palantir-developed technology to analyze vast amounts of intelligence data and plan its combat operations. In modern war, information flows through dozens of systems that often cannot share data quickly, leaving commanders waiting hours or even days to act, and Palantir’s technologies shorten that gap. The company’s platforms allow data from satellites, drones, and other surveillance systems to be processed in a single environment, enabling commanders and analysts to assess developing situations more quickly. Palantir software gives the military a more complete picture of events on a specific section of the front in near real time.

Palantir gives the Ukrainian military a more complete picture of events on the battlefield in near real time

One of Palantir’s best-known products is Gotham, a platform designed for military and intelligence agencies. The decision-making system gathers data from satellites, sensors, radar, bank transactions, and social media, then identifies links between events, objects, and people. For example, it can help spot connections between the movement of equipment, satellite images, and intelligence reports that at first glance appear unrelated.

Gotham is described as an “AI-powered kill chain,” allowing users to task sensors to quickly detect a target and select a means of striking it — either automatically or manually. In other words, it can find the proverbial “needle in a haystack,” then remove it.

An AI expert who asked to remain anonymous told The Insider that the platform looks like Palantir’s answer to the concept of network-centric warfare and its technical embodiment for a potential conflict with China, embodying the doctrine of Joint All-Domain Command and Control, as well as the principle of “any sensor, any decider, any shooter.”

A Gotham demonstration video on Palantir’s website briefly shows a battlefield in Ukraine, along with icons that may represent military units and an AI-detected target. It is unclear whether the footage reflects Gotham’s use by Ukraine’s armed forces or is a visualization based on collected data.

Fedorov has not directly said that Ukraine’s defense forces use Gotham, but he has noted that Palantir systems are used to analyze and plan long-range strikes deep inside Russia. Since March 2026, Ukrainian forces have regularly reported (1, 2, 3) hitting strategic Russian targets located 1,500 to 2,000 kilometers from the front line.

In May 2026, a CNN report on Ukrainian forces’ use of unmanned ground and air systems revealed the existence of an intelligence and analytical software platform called PRISMA. The name of the platform is not spoken in the video, but in several shots, maps with tactical overlays can be seen in the background with PRISMA written in the upper left-hand corner.

Ukraine’s military intelligence agency (HUR) uses PRISMA for long-range drone operations. The platform brings together real-time maps, flight paths, and AI-processed data. It is capable of coordinating large numbers of drones.

The system analyzes data from previous missions — interception points, radar coverage zones, air defense activity and routes used by previous waves of drones — and uses that information to identify vulnerabilities in Russia’s air defense system and calculate alternative routes. PRISMA can process thousands of routes at once.

The CNN report also described a distributed command network, meaning that the loss of one node does not derail an entire operation. The pro-war Russian Telegram channel Arkhangel Spetsnaza (lit. “Archangel of the Special Forces”) has suggested that PRISMA is a layer built on top of Gotham, with AI algorithms adapted for the specific demands of mass raids involving dozens of drones.

For work with satellite data, Palantir developed MetaConstellation, a system that makes it possible to combine data from different satellites and quickly obtain images of a required area. With MetaConstellation, the military can quickly obtain up-to-date information about equipment movements, fortification construction, or changes on the battlefield. The Ukrainian military uses the system to integrate satellite data for reconnaissance and targeting.

Foundry is another major Palantir platform. It serves a similar function to Gotham but is designed for civilian use, acting as an AI layer that connects fragmented systems, data, processes, models, and decisions.

The platform’s users include government agencies, major corporations, and banks. In Ukraine, the Economy Ministry uses Foundry to analyze humanitarian, economic, and geographic factors in order to prioritize areas for demining efforts, while the Education Ministry uses the platform to collect and analyze data on the safety of educational institutions across Ukraine. Foundry helps create safe spaces for students, design networks of shelters, and ensure schools keep operating during wartime.

Large language models are also being used in military operations. They can process vast amounts of information, prioritize data from multiple sources, and turn a chaotic flow of intelligence into clear, high-level summaries for decision-makers.

A key part of Palantir’s ecosystem is its Artificial Intelligence Platform (AIP), which integrates large language models and other AI tools directly into military, government, and business workflows. The platform functions as a generative AI layer broadly similar to that of a chatbot: an operator asks a question, then the platform processes the request and proposes several possible courses of action, along with a forecast of the likely outcome. Palantir says AIP helps analyze large datasets, automate some analytical work, and speed up decision-making.

Another project, Brave1 Dataroom, is a secure platform created with Palantir that gives Ukrainian developers access to real battlefield datasets in order to better train AI models. Fedorov said after meeting Karp on May 12 that more than 100 companies were using the platform to train upwards of 80 models to detect and intercept aerial targets in difficult conditions.

Eric Schmidt’s AI-enabled unmanned systems

Palantir helps collect, process, and analyze large amounts of data, but even the most accurate information must be put towards concrete action if it is to have a meaningful effect on the battlefield. Unmanned systems using artificial intelligence do exactly this.

Ukraine and Russia have entered a race to develop and deploy automated systems, from unmanned aerial vehicles to ground and naval platforms. Much of those efforts center on creating systems that can sustain operations under conditions of intense electronic warfare. Schmidt, the former Google CEO, believes the future of war will be defined by autonomous systems and the mass use of drones.

Google’s former CEO believes the future of war will be defined by autonomous systems and the mass use of drones

Schmidt led Google from 2001 to 2011, turning the company into one of the world’s leading technology firms. He later held leadership and advisory roles in the fields of defense technology and artificial intelligence, chairing the Defense Innovation Board at the U.S. Department of Defense and the National Security Commission on Artificial Intelligence.

After the start of Russia’s full-scale war, Schmidt repeatedly visited Ukraine, met with representatives of the country’s technology sector and defense industry, and said the war had become one of the main catalysts for the development of autonomous systems.

Schmidt’s Perennial Autonomy specializes in next-generation unmanned systems that combine robotics, machine vision, and artificial intelligence. Its goal is to gradually reduce drones’ dependence on operators by increasing their level of autonomy.

Unlike many traditional defense companies, the focus of Perennial Autonomy is not on creating individual weapons systems but on combining software and artificial intelligence with the mass production of drones. Schmidt argues that large networks of cheap autonomous platforms capable of quickly adapting to battlefield changes through AI will play an increasingly important role in war going forward.

Among Perennial Autonomy’s best-known systems are the Merops interceptor drone, which has proved effective against Shahed-type drones, and the medium-range Hornet kamikaze drone, which became known thanks to Ukraine’s strike campaign against the “land corridor” connecting mainland Russia to annexed Crimea. Both systems use elements of AI to strike targets.

One of Perennial Autonomy’s key technologies is autonomous drone control. Traditional FPV drones — first-person-view drones controlled through a live video feed — are entirely dependent on an operator steering the flight in real time. Autonomous UAVs, by contrast, use software algorithms that allow the drone to carry out some tasks independently, eliminating the need for constant human intervention.

Such drones can automatically follow a set route, hold a course, track a target, or complete a mission even if the link to the operator is lost. Autonomy is especially important in modern war, where electronic warfare, or EW, often disrupts drone control channels.

Schmidt advocates using large numbers of cheap drones instead of a limited number of expensive platforms. The idea is that the loss of individual drones is not critical provided that the system can quickly replace them.

That approach has proved effective in Ukraine. The mass use of FPV drones has shown that even relatively inexpensive systems can create serious problems for much more costly enemy equipment. The Hornet drone, for example, costs $10,000 to $11,000, while the targets it strikes are often worth orders of magnitude more.

Another important area is machine vision technology, one of the basic technologies involved in the development of autonomous strike drones and interceptor drones. In the case of the Hornet, this takes the form of an electro-optical guidance system. In flight, its AI processes the camera image, comparing reference images of equipment with whatever the lens is showing at that moment.

The neural network can focus on details: size, the black license plates used by the Russian military, the tracks left behind by vehicles, V and Z markings, and other small features. Based on those details, the drone determines the target’s priority and offers options to the operator, who then only has to confirm the suggested choice.

The neural network can focus on details including size, the black license plates used by the military, tracks, and V and Z markings

Autonomous systems also use AI algorithms for navigation and orientation. Such technologies allow a drone to analyze its surroundings, avoid obstacles, adjust its route, and adapt to changes in the environment — all while carrying out a mission.

Combining AI with data from cameras, sensors, and navigation systems creates the basis for more independent operation of unmanned platforms. A key feature of the Hornet UAV is its combination of satellite navigation and inertial-optical navigation. If the satellite signal is lost, the aircraft can still determine its position using images of the terrain.

A similar navigation principle was used by NASA’s Ingenuity, the first Mars helicopter. Because Mars has no satellite navigation system, the aircraft oriented itself using images of the surface below. Drones using a similar navigation principle have been nicknamed “Martians.”

An important technological challenge involves ensuring drones can operate under conditions of active electronic warfare, which suppresses control signals, data transmission, and satellite navigation. Cameras and lenses allow Hornet drones to lock onto targets from an average distance of 300 to 500 meters, allowing the UAV to dive autonomously onto a target from an altitude of 200 to 300 meters or to strike a target from roughly the same distance while flying at low altitude.

In that mode, most vehicle-mounted EW systems become ineffective. If a Hornet loses contact with its base, it does not abort the operation; instead, the drone selects a target and attacks it on its own, making it nearly insensitive to electronic warfare systems.

One of the technologies Schmidt’s company is working on is anti-aircraft UAVs. Its Merops system combines a high-speed platform, computer vision, and guidance algorithms that allow it to detect, track, and destroy aerial targets. Traditional air defense was designed mainly to counter aircraft and missiles, but the mass use of drones has forced militaries to look for new approaches. Anti-aircraft drones are a cheaper alternative to using expensive surface-to-air missiles against mass drone attacks, and interceptor drones have become part of a new layered air defense system.

The initiative showed rapid growth during Fedorov’s brief tenure as Ukraine’s defense minister. As part of the Ukrainian army’s announced technological transformation, Ukraine’s Air Force managed to increase the interception rate for Shahed drones from 83% to 91% in just six months.

Notably, immediately after Fedorov resigned as defense minister, Karp invited him to take part in a joint project, and Italian Defense Minister Guido Crosetto offered him an adviser’s post. Fedorov, however, decided to remain in Ukraine to work on technology that he believes can change the nature of modern combat.

In addition to software and artificial intelligence, scaling production has become an important part of Perennial Autonomy’s approach. Modern war has shown that the effectiveness of unmanned systems depends not only on their specifications but also on manufacturers’ ability to quickly produce them in large quantities.

If Palantir helps Ukraine work with data more effectively, Perennial Autonomy is trying to solve another problem: how to quickly turn that data into a real battlefield advantage. That is why cooperation between Ukraine and Schmidt’s company is not limited to supplying individual drones — it is a long-term partnership in the production, development, and deployment of new defense technologies.

Ukraine has effectively become one of the world’s main centers for the development of military drones. No laboratory or test range can reproduce conditions like those on a real front, as developers receive constant feedback from troops using autonomous control algorithms, computer vision systems, and anti-EW solutions directly in combat.

In March 2026, Fedorov said the Defense Ministry was giving its corporate partners access to real battlefield data in order to better train their AI models. The result, he said, would benefit both sides: Ukraine receives access to new technology, while Schmidt’s company can improve its systems more quickly.

Ukraine’s Delta battlefield management ecosystem

Meanwhile, Ukraine is actively developing its own systems capable of competing with global counterparts. According to Alex Karp, Ukrainian developers have created one of the most advanced and adaptive battlefield targeting systems in the world. Part of it was built with support from Palantir, but it was developed largely by Ukrainian engineers and military personnel.

The Palantir CEO sees battlefield management systems as Ukraine’s main technological asset — and, importantly, as a unique export product. Ukraine’s Delta system integrates information about enemy forces from different sources and is used both to coordinate unmanned systems and support infantry operations, allowing Ukrainian troops to use a smartphone or tablet to watch what is happening on the front line in real time, and foreign military officials have noticed. In May 2026, U.S. Army Secretary Dan Driscoll called the system “absolutely incredible,” noting that it “fully integrates every drone, every sensor, every strike platform into a single network.”

Delta is an entire ecosystem, with its own messenger, cloud storage, and even an internal marketplace where units exchange electronic points in order to procure drones, communications equipment, electronic warfare systems, and other necessary gear.

Development of the system began in 2016. Today, work on it continues at the Center for Innovation and Defense Technologies Development of Ukraine’s Defense Ministry. Delta consists of several connected modules: the interactive Delta Monitor map displays the positions of Ukrainian and Russian forces in real time, Vezha (lit. “tower”)collects video feeds from Ukrainian UAVs and analyzes them using AI, Target Hub distributes targets among neighboring units, and  Mission Control combines data on the activities of drone crews (including drone types, launch sites, routes, and assigned tasks).

Data gathered in Delta is used not only directly on the battlefield, but also to develop new AI systems, such as the Avengers Labs platform from the Center for Innovation and Defense Technologies Development.

Unlike Brave1 Dataroom, which is focused primarily on developing AI to detect and intercept aerial targets, Avengers Labs is designed to train models on a much broader range of battlefield data. In August, Ukraine’s Defense Ministry said Ukrainian defense companies had received access to the platform, which contains around 5 million annotated frames, mostly obtained from the Delta ecosystem. They cover a wide range of targets, including tanks, artillery, air defense systems, individual infantry soldiers, and strike and reconnaissance drones. Companies can use this real combat data to train their own AI models without receiving direct access to sensitive information. Such models are expected to be used, among other things, for automatic target recognition and autonomous drone guidance.

AI in future military conflicts

In March 2026, Ukraine’s Defense Ministry launched the Defense AI Center A1 for battlefield analysis and technology, which then-Defense Minister Fedorov said would “help turn combat experience and front-line data into technological solutions more quickly and accelerate the introduction of innovation into the troops.” The center’s main tasks involve analyzing combat data, forecasting enemy actions, developing autonomous systems, and creating new command-and-control tools.

According to the center’s head, Danylo Tsvok, artificial intelligence is already helping Ukraine hold territory and reduce risks to soldiers as they confront a larger and better-resourced enemy. As the technology develops, AI could become the foundation of a single digital battlefield in which intelligent weapons systems act in coordination, relying on a shared platform for command and battlefield analysis.

“This could happen within three to five years,” Tsvok said. “Within that timeframe, the front line could be protected by tightly integrated hardware and software systems.”

Artificial intelligence is already helping Ukraine hold territory while reducing risks to soldiers

Fedorov believes that, given the nature of modern warfare, Ukraine must “defeat Russia in every technological cycle, and artificial intelligence is one of the key areas of this competition.”

“The world needs security, and only autonomous weapons can provide it,” the former minister said. “This is the new nuclear weapon. Countries that have it will be protected.”

Eric Schmidt believes that in future military conflicts, the front line will become a digital-age version of the “no man’s land” famous from World War I — an area where sensors and drones will make it possible to strike everything that moves.

Schmidt believes combat AI systems will become increasingly autonomous — humans will transition from controlling every shot to merely exercising broad supervision, intervening only when necessary. Two primary factors are driving that shift: the regular loss of contact with drones because of electronic warfare and the battlefield advantage held by more autonomous systems over those in which every use of force requires operator confirmation.

Schmidt believes this logic, like the chemical weapons race in World War I, could push states toward the mass adoption of autonomous combat AI systems, even if they initially would have preferred stricter limits on the use of such technologies.

Combat AI systems will become increasingly autonomous

Modern war has changed radically: the mass use of cheap drones is proving more effective than a limited number of expensive weapons systems. But the armies and defense industries of many countries, including the United States, continue preparing for past conflicts, relying on costly and complex platforms even as the experience of the war in Ukraine shows the effectiveness of different approaches. A massive revolution in military affairs is underway, but political and military leaders have not yet adapted to the new conditions, Schmidt stresses.

Whether the pace of Ukraine’s technological transformation will continue after Fedorov’s departure from the government remains an open question. According to a Conflict Intelligence Team (CIT) expert who asked to remain anonymous, many of the reforms that are already underway have enough momentum to continue. But at the same time, the expert said, many initiatives were closely tied to Fedorov’s personal role — his professional contacts, his talent for building effective teams, and his ability to secure support for projects at various levels.

The expert also pointed to other personnel changes, including the departure of Pavlo Yelizarov as deputy commander of Ukraine’s Armed Forces, which could slow some projects or lead to their cancellation. Still, the expert emphasized that it is too early to draw firm conclusions. Much will depend on the final makeup of the new leadership at Ukraine’s Defense Ministry and the priorities set by the new minister.

Military analyst Kirill Mikhailov takes a different view. He believes the technological transformation of Ukraine’s defense sector has already become irreversible and is unlikely to be stopped by personnel reshuffles. At the same time, he links the future of battlefield AI primarily to expanding commanders’ ability to analyze the situation and make decisions. As Mikhailov notes, modern AI systems can be more effective in command-support roles than some staff officers.

“They’re at risk of losing their business and their housing and being left with enormous debt on the two vehicles Artem used for his business. He supported the family and paid taxes. On top of that, he faces a serious risk of deportation. If you have a court date set in your state, you wait for the court’s decision. If no court date has been set and you get detained, you’ll be tried in detention, where there’s a huge chance of being denied asylum and ordered deported.

The couple has residency in New Jersey. Their case was built around Olga’s asylum claim as an antiwar activist. No court date has been set for them in New Jersey yet. Olga has been waiting this whole time for an interview call, which hasn’t been scheduled either. In effect, Artem has been taken hostage. If a court date is now set at the detention facility, they will most likely be deported. We are raising money for a lawyer to file a petition for Artem to be released on bail in order to save him from imminent deportation.”

Kosolapov was detained on Aug. 23 while driving a minivan carrying a commercial load. After his documents were checked, the Russian was detained and initially sent to an immigration detention facility in Louisiana. As Vlasov clarified, the facility in that state turned out to be overcrowded, and Artem was transferred to another one.

The family came to the U.S. on visas in 2022 and filed for asylum. Olga is an antiwar activist who has taken part in protests in support of Ukraine and volunteered to help Ukrainians. Artem also took part in the protests. Olga is now alone at home with their infant child. She is not currently working; Artem had been the sole breadwinner.

In July, U.S. authorities detained a record number of immigrants — nearly 50,000 people. The month also set a record for deportations, almost 34,000. Lawyers and human rights advocates note that the Trump administration has changed its approach to detaining non-citizens: whereas an arrest was formerly carried out by a group of 10–12 ICE officers, now a pair of police officers simply pull a car over on the road and detain the driver. As a result, bystanders often find it hard to tell whether a police officer is conducting a routine vehicle check or carrying out an immigration arrest. This is exactly how Artem Kosolapov was detained.

The Insider examined railway freight data for August 2025 through February 2026 and determined the balance between Russia's production and consumption of explosives and explosive materials.

What is being shipped, and from where?

In railway reporting, everything related to explosives is classified as “explosive materials.” This includes both the chemical substances themselves – gunpowder and brisant explosives (trinitrotoluene, RDX, HMX) – and finished ammunition (cartridges, artillery charges, and artillery rounds).

The Insider has found out that from August 2025 through February 2026, a total of 59,000 tons of explosive materials were imported into Russia from the Far East, mostly through Nakhodka. Imported ammunition generally does not go directly to the war zone but is first sent to military warehouses in the rear. North Korea remains the most likely source of this cargo. The ammunition imported from North Korea consists of artillery rounds and charges, as well as KN-23 missiles.

North Korea remains the most likely source of explosive materials imported into Russia

Shipments of ammunition from North Korea to Russia were previously detected by a consortium of Western investigative outlets. In 2024, researchers at CSIS concluded, based on high-resolution satellite imagery, that around 2.5 million artillery rounds had been delivered to Russia by early 2024, mainly through the Far Eastern ports of Vostochny and Dunay. According to a 2025 investigation by the British NGO Open Source Centre, over the twenty months from August 2023 to March 2025,  between 4.2 million and 5.8 million rounds were imported into Russia.

According to estimates by South Korea’s intelligence service cited in the media, around 12 million rounds had been delivered from North Korea to Russia by July 2025 – roughly two to two and a half times the number estimated by the Open Source Centre. These reports provided no specific evidence beyond sources South Korean intelligence; as such, The Insider considers the Open Source Centre’s lower estimate to be the most accurate and best-substantiated figure for the period in question.

At the end of 2025, Vadym Skibitsky, deputy head of Ukraine’s military intelligence agency, told Reuters that North Korea had run out of artillery shells. As a result, there were reportedly no deliveries at all in September 2025, and North Korea shifted to supplying drones instead. South Korean media also reported a sharp decline in ammunition deliveries in early 2026. However, The Insider’s investigation found that, judging by cargo descriptions and destinations — namely, artillery ammunition depots — shipments marked “explosive materials” were still being actively sent through the port of Nakhodka in 2026.

Who produces energetic materials and how?

To pinpoint the locations where energetic materials (brisant explosives, propellants and solid rocket fuels) are produced, one can follow the shipments of "civilian" reagents: nitric acid, concentrated sulphuric acid, nitration agent (mixture of nitric and sulphuric acid), toluene, urotropine, acetic acid, chlorates.

The freight data on these chemicals tell us that the manufacturing of energetic materials and products containing them is concentrated on a few plants. These include the Biysk Oleum Plant in Altai Krai, which, judging by its shipments, is likely producing large quantities of trinitrotoluene and smaller quantities of RDX; the Sverdlov Plant in Dzerzhinsk, Nizhny Novgorod Oblast, which is the leading producer of RDX in Russia and, according to its shipments, also produces some trinitrotoluene; and Promsintez in Chapayevsk, Samara Oblast, which primarily produces trinitrotoluene.

Nitric acid, oleum, nitration agent, and toluene are also received in large quantities by the Kazan and Tambov Gunpowder Plants, the Aleksin Chemical Plant, the Kamensky Chemical Combine, the Solikamsk Ural Plant, and the Avangard Plant in Sterlitamak. The Anozit plant in Kuibyshev, Novosibirsk Oblast, receives chlorates and produces ammonium perchlorate, a propellant used in solid-fuel rocket engines.

It all starts with nitric acid

The production of brisant explosives and gunpowder for military purposes is impossible without nitric acid.

The only two suppliers of nitric acid to Russia’s defense industry are EuroChem in Novomoskovsk (owned by Andrey Melnichenko, who recently made headlines with a widely discussed article in The Economist), and the Azot plant in Berezniki. Both facilities have been targeted by drone attacks, with the Novomoskovsk plant hit repeatedly.

Plants in Kazan, Dzerzhinsk, Chapayevsk, and Aleksin primarily receive nitric acid from Novomoskovsk, while the Biysk plant sources most of its supply from Berezniki. The Perm Gunpowder Plant, the Solikamsk plant, the Aleksin Chemical Combine, and Avangard receive a ready-made mixture of concentrated sulfuric and nitric acids used for nitration – directly from Berezniki.

Brisant explosives

Between August 2025 and February 2026 the Biysk Oleum Plant received 16,000 tons of toluene and 1,000 tons of urotropine. This points out to a intensive production of trinitrotoluene and to a launch of a new separate production line of RDX (which needs urotropine), thus breaking the Dzerzhinsk monopoly. 

During the same time, 3,000 tons of toluene were brought to Chapaevsk - apparently indicating production of trinitrotoluene. 

Beside the primary production of explosives, Russian explosives and ammunition plants apparently processed into finished ammunition 15,000 tons of explosive materials produced by their colleagues, from August 2025 to February 2026. This is seen from shipments that went from the Biysk Oleum Plant to the Sverdlov Plant in Dzerzhinsk and the Polymer plant in Chapayevsk.

Gunpowder

The output of the gunpowder makers – the Kazan, Perm, and Tambov Gunpowder Plants, the Aleksin Chemical Plant, and the Solikamsk Ural Plant – can be estimated judging by the amount of nitric acid and nitration agent they received. (The freight data also contain no information on deliveries of cellulose to these plants or deliveries from the plants to the military warehouses).

The total volume of explosives potentially produced  looks quite large compared with prewar levels. In the first half of 2019, for example, military plants received just 21,800 tons of nitric acid, including melange; in the second half of 2019, they received 24,500 tons. In the first half of 2020, the figure was 21,200 tons, and in the second half, 23,000 tons. 

It should be held in mind that the efficiency  of all technological processes in real life is less than 100% - for example because not all of nitric acid is regenerated or recuperated. According to experts in chemistry The Insider has talked to, a typical outcome efficiency  that can be expected in the Russian plants is around 90%. Hence the total production of gunpowder and brisant explosives between August 2025 and February 2026 was below 90,000 tons, or 154,000 tons per year.

Still, the production trend is clear even with this rough estimate. Annual nitric acid consumption by military plants now stands at 131,000 tons, compared with 44,200 tons per year before Russia’s full-scale invasion of Ukraine. Thus the intensity of operations at Russia’s gunpowder and brisant explosives plants has increased threefold on average. 

Where do the explosives go?

According to cargo movement data, 14,000 tons of explosives were shipped from warehouses and plants to civilian enterprises, mainly mining companies, between August 2026 and February 2027. This figure has changed little compared with the prewar period. In the second half of 2020, for example, mining companies received around 18,500 tons.

Some substances intended for military use are turned into finished products — i.e. ammunition — at the same plant where they are synthesized. Others are produced at one plant and only become part of a finished product at another.

For example, the Sverdlov Plant both synthesizes brisant explosives itself and receives 12,000 tons of explosive materials from Biysk to manufacture military products, while the "Plastmass" Plant in Kopeysk, the Novosibirsk Synthetic Fiber Plant, the Bryansk Chemical Plant named after the 50th Anniversary of the USSR, Polymer JSC, the Voskhod Far Eastern Production Association, the Kalinovsky Chemical Plant in Sverdlovsk Oblast, and the Amur Cartridge Plant all receive materials from Biysk.

A special case: solid rocket propellant

Guided missiles generally use solid-fuel rocket motors for boosters or sustainer engines. This is the case for the 57E6E missile used by the Pantsir-S1 air defense system, as well as missiles for the Buk, S-300, S-400, Iskander-M, Kinzhal, and Oniks systems, and the Topol, Bulava, and Yars intercontinental ballistic missiles.

Ammonium perchlorate is used as the oxidizer in solid rocket propellant. The only plant in Russia producing this substance for use as an oxidizer in solid rocket propellant is Anozit in Kuibyshev, Novosibirsk Oblast. According to available railway data, the only recipients of ammonium perchlorate in Russia are the Perm Gunpowder Plant and the "Kamensky Kombinat" plant. Anozit is the only supplier of ammonium perchlorate.

Ammonium perchlorate is relatively easy to produce from ammonium chlorate and sodium perchlorate. The latter, in turn, is produced from sodium chlorate, which is a widely used chemical employed in the pulp and paper industry for bleaching.

Solid rocket propellant is a special case in the explosives supply chain. The Insider examined Anozit’s shipments of bulk chemicals. According to cargo movement data, in January 2026 the plant received just four substances in large quantities: hydrochloric acid, ammonia, caustic soda, and sodium chlorate.

Anozit received sodium chlorate exclusively from the chlorine plant at the Ilim Group’s pulp and paper mill in Bratsk – several railcars a month. In total, Anozit received 1,600 tons of sodium chlorate during the period in question. The pulp and paper mill thus became a direct participant in military production.

The ammonium perchlorate produced by Anozit (4,200 tons) was sent primarily to the Perm Gunpowder Plant (3,300 tons), with the remainder going to the Kamensky Combine.

Who consumes the explosives?

Railway stations that consume explosive materials but are not themselves military plants can be divided into four groups:

Military warehouses

“Military” stations

“Mining” stations

Unidentifiable stations

Railway stations that can be clearly identified as directly serving the military consume 64,000 tons of explosives and ammunition.

As these data show, the largest volume of ammunition arrives at "Kavkaz" station for onward shipment to Crimea by ferry.

At the same time, the net balance for stations that could not be identified – and which may serve either military or civilian warehouses or enterprises – was virtually zero over the same period, as total traffic through destinations in this category amounted to only around 1,000 tons.

Military warehouses that could be clearly identified on Google Maps with storage buildings plainly visible, shipped 182,000 tons of ammunition by rail during period from August 2025 to February 2026, and received 189,000 tons. Their net balance – a total of 7,000 more tons received than shipped – therefore has little effect on the overall balance of explosive materials. However, these figures should be treated with caution, as initial shipments from military plants, whether to warehouses or directly to the front, appear to be classified.

Mining – that is, civilian enterprises and warehouses belonging to the mining industry – accounts for the consumption of around 14,000 tons of explosive materials.

Additionally, around 4,000 tons of explosives and ammunition were exported to Belarus, while the remaining imports and exports involving Kazakhstan and Azerbaijan were negligible

What was it like before the war?

In the second half of 2020, Russian plants sent to their customers around 40,000 tons of explosive materials. Imports were negligible, and the mining industry consumed 18,500 tons.

The output of gunpowder and brisant explosives plants was significantly lower before the war: their consumption of nitric acid, including melange, amounted to 21,000 tons over six months, compared with 76,500 tons between August 2025 and February 2026. This is also reflected in shipments from gunpowder plants, which apparently had not yet been concealed at the time. For example, the Kazan Gunpowder Plant shipped just 146 tons in the second half of 2020.

What does this tell us?

Russia’s main high-volume production chains for gunpowder and brisant explosives are not dependent on imports. At the same time, they are heavily concentrated among a small number of monopoly producers. All nitric acid supplied to military plants comes from Novomoskovsk and Berezniki. All TNT production is concentrated in Biysk, Dzerzhinsk, and Chapayevsk, and until recently, virtually all RDX was produced in Dzerzhinsk.

However, the bad news for Ukraine is that, judging by cargo movement data, Biysk has successfully brought its own RDX production online – a project that had previously only been announced. Dzerzhinsk has therefore lost its monopoly in this market.

Biysk has successfully brought its own RDX production online

Judging by nitric acid consumption at explosives plants, Russia has managed to increase explosives production roughly threefold since 2020. One possible explanation is that the only factor constraining further growth is the fact that production lines are already operating at full capacity – after all, much of the chemical-processing equipment used in Russia was, until recently, itself imported. 

Even with Russia’s chemical plants operating at such high capacity, North Korean assistance remains critical when it comes to the supply of artillery ammunition. The estimated North Korean shipments of 59,000 tons between August 2025 and February 2026 roughly correspond to the volume of ammunition being expended at the front – at least 64,000 tons over the same period. These deliveries allow Russia to avoid significantly depleting its own stockpiles. In fact, Russian ammunition depots show a positive balance (according to the incomplete data available). It appears that Russia’s explosives plants were heavily underutilized before the full-scale war.

Statements by Ukraine’s military intelligence agency at the end of last year asserted that North Korea’s stockpiles had long since been depleted and that Russia would have to return to self-sufficiency. However, as The Insider has established, this was not the case. North Korea continued to actively supply ammunition to Russia until this spring, with the shipments being sent to the war from the port of Nakhodka.

Russian forces are increasingly using ballistic missiles to strike Ukrainian cities and critical infrastructure. The main means of intercepting them remain U.S.-made Patriot air defense systems, but supplies of missiles for them are limited.

In 2026, Ukraine’s allies delivered just one-third as many air defense missiles as they had the previous year, and the global shortage of PAC-3 interceptors worsened significantly as a result of the war in the Middle East. As a result, Ukrainian commanders have had to choose which cities and facilities to prioritize for protection. Moreover, some attacks have seen ballistic missiles evade interception altogether (1, 2).

Even with the best of intentions, Ukraine’s allies are unlikely to be able to meaningfully increase their air defense supplies to Kyiv. A single modern PAC-3 interceptor costs an estimated $4–5 million, and production capacity is limited — as are stockpiles in European and U.S. arsenals. According to a CSIS estimate, as of July 2026 the U.S. had only around 800 PAC-3 missiles, and annual production comes in at about 650. Several missiles may be needed to reliably destroy a single target, meaning Ukraine sees its own ballistic missile programs not solely as offensive in nature but also as a means of countering the Russian missile threat by destroying launchers, ammunition depots, and the units that operate and service them.

Former Ukrainian Defense Minister Mykhailo Fedorov put the idea bluntly: after an Iskander is launched, a retaliatory missile should hit the launch position within minutes. This, however, requires an intelligence-and-strike network capable of detecting the launch site, determining the coordinates of a mobile launcher, and transmitting them to the missile unit before the crew can leave the position.

When striking deep behind enemy lines, the Ukrainian armed forces have so far remained heavily dependent on Western missiles. ATACMS quasi-ballistic missiles made it possible to hit enemy airfields, ammunition depots, command posts, and air defense systems at distances of up to 300 kilometers, but the batches supplied were small, and permission to use them against targets inside Russia's internationally recognized borders was not always forthcoming from Washington. Even the transfer of U.S. weapons from a third country requires approval from the U.S. government. For example, the purchase of 70 older-model ATACMS missiles from Turkey in 2026 required State Department approval and notification of Congress. Producing similar missiles domestically would remove such restrictions, allowing Ukraine’s military leadership to determine targets and the intensity of strikes independently, without waiting for its partners’ approval.

Ukraine’s own ballistic missiles would remove restrictions imposed by its allies

Ukrainian long-range drones and cruise missiles are already successfully striking targets deep inside Russian territory, but ballistic missiles meet a different need. They travel at several times the speed of sound and can reach their targets within minutes, sharply reducing the reaction time available to air defense crews. Their heavier warheads also make them suitable for attacking hardened or particularly important targets that a drone’s payload may be insufficient to destroy.

Fire Point CEO Iryna Terekh noted that a Russian ballistic missile can reach the Ukrainian capital in roughly two to five minutes. It is precisely this short interval between launch and impact that makes such weapons particularly dangerous.

The range of missiles being developed in Ukraine is intended to cover several different distances. The FP-7 tactical ballistic missile is designed to strike targets at distances of up to 200 kilometers, the Sapsan is reportedly capable of reaching up to 500 kilometers, while the heavier FP-9 has a range of up to 855 kilometers. If these programs are successfully implemented, the Ukrainian armed forces will be able to carry out rapid strikes both against the operational rear of the Russian command posts, airfields, ammunition depots, logistics hubs, and air defense positions, but also against military-industrial facilities much farther from the front line.

Unlike Fire Point’s FP-5 Flamingo cruise missile, which have a maximum speed of around 950 km/h, ballistic missiles like the Russian Iskander can reach speeds of up to 8,500 km/h, giving air defenses significantly less time to detect and intercept them. Notably, the Ukrainian FP-7 platform is being developed to work defensively as well, with its FP-7.x variant intended to serve as an interceptor within the joint European missile defense system Freya.

Ukrainian ballistic missiles are expected to reach targets several times faster than Flamingo cruise missiles

The mere appearance of a prototype missile does not provide a strategic advantage. To have a meaningful impact on the course of the war, Ukraine needs mass production, reliable supplies of components, domestic production of solid rocket fuel, secure manufacturing facilities, mobile launchers, and stable funding.

Ultimately, it will be the scale of production, rather than the stated specifications of individual prototypes, that determines whether Ukraine can reduce its dependence on ATACMS and turn its own ballistic missiles into a regularly used weapon. In August 2026, President Volodymyr Zelensky described the results of tests of Ukrainian ballistic missiles as promising while still acknowledging that the systems developed still had to be turned into a fully operational combat capability.

FP-7: one missile for both strike and interception

Of the three ballistic missile programs announced by Ukrainian private company Fire Point, the FP-7 is the closest to practical deployment: a compact, ground-launched solid-fuel missile. It was originally developed to strike ground targets, but the modular design has also made it possible to create the FP-7.x interceptor on the same platform. As a result, two different systems are being developed in parallel — a tactical missile and a component of the future European Freya missile defense system, whose first full-scale tests are scheduled for 2027.

The FP-7 incorporates design solutions from the Soviet 48N6 surface-to-air missile, variants of which are used in the S-300P and S-400 air defense systems. According to Fire Point CEO Terekh, the FP-7 is about 20% similar to the original design.

According to Defense Express, the developers retained the overall configuration and aerodynamic layout of the 48N6 but replaced its electronics, propellant, and launch system while manufacturing the missile body from composite materials. The extent of the design borrowing cannot, however, be assessed due to the fact that the company has not disclosed the missile’s internal design or the composition of its components.

The FP-7 is designed to carry a warhead weighing up to 150 kilograms to a range of up to 200 kilometers. Its stated maximum speed is 1,500 m/s, or about Mach 4.4, with a trajectory reaching up to 65 kilometers in altitude and a flight time of no more than 250 seconds. The manufacturer claims a circular error probable of up to 14 meters. These characteristics would allow the missile to be used against targets in the operational rear. Its range is shorter than that of later ATACMS variants, but it is intended to perform similar tasks and has one important advantage: its use does not require Washington’s approval.

By early August 2026, the strike version had completed around 15 test launches and was in the final stages of certification by Ukraine’s Defense Ministry. Fire Point expected the process to take another two to four weeks, after which the missile could be used against a real target for the first time — possibly as early as this fall. The FP-7 was tested using a hot launch (in which engine ignites directly on the launcher) from an inclined rail launcher mounted on an ordinary vehicle trailer. The configuration differs from the vertical canister launch used by S-300 surface-to-air missiles and is likely a simplified test setup for the time being. The final configuration of the combat vehicle has not been disclosed.

Of course, range testing and certification alone do not mean that the missile is ready for mass deployment. The first strikes should demonstrate how reliably its engine, navigation, and guidance systems perform outside controlled conditions, as well as how closely its actual accuracy matches the stated specifications.

Fire Point is also developing the faster FP-7.x, designed not to strike ground targets but to intercept ballistic threats. Conceptually, it is similar to the PAC-2 GEM-T interceptor used by Patriot systems — a heavy surface-to-air missile capable of engaging ballistic targets but lacking the hit-to-kill technology of the more advanced PAC-3 MSE.

In June 2026, Fire Point reported a test in which the missile completed a fully controlled, maneuvering flight. The video released by the company confirmed the launch and maneuvering but did not show an interception of a real target. That capability will be implemented once the various systems being developed by Ukraine's European partners are integrated into the project.

A successful interceptor flight is only one of the initial stages in developing a missile defense system. For the system to become fully functional, the missile must receive data from external radar stations, detect an incoming target, close with it at high speed, and detonate its warhead at the calculated point.

The FP-7.x is intended to form the backbone of the Freya system, officially launched in July 2026 by a coalition of 10 European countries and 12 defense companies (including Kongsberg, Eurosam, Leonardo, Thales and SAAB). The number of partner companies could eventually grow to 20, Fire Point CEO Terekh said. The Ukrainian company is responsible for the missile and launcher, while its partners are to provide the system’s most complex components.

Norway’s Kongsberg is developing a command center to integrate the various systems, while Germany’s Diehl Defense is working on guidance systems. Freya is being built on an “open architecture” principle, allowing individual components to be sourced from different manufacturers and replaced without redesigning the entire system. For example, a radar made by Danish company Weibel could be replaced with one from Sweden’s SAAB.

This approach should reduce dependence on any single company and make it easier to scale up production. At the same time, it complicates development: radars, the command center, the launcher, and the missile itself are being developed by different companies but must operate as a single system. In early August, Terekh said the most difficult stage of the project would be integrating surveillance and guidance radars with seeker heads, which are being manufactured by European companies but still need to be adapted for the FP-7.x and integrated with the other Freya components. Overall, according to Terekh, the company is prepared to produce at least 2,000 interceptors a year.

FP-9: a ballistic missile for the deep rear

The FP-9 is a heavy ground-launched ballistic missile being developed by Fire Point. While the FP-7 belongs to the tactical class and is intended to strike targets in the operational rear (up to 200 kilometers), the FP-9 is designed to reach the operational-strategic depth of several hundred kilometers. The manufacturer claims a range of up to 855 kilometers and a warhead weighing up to 800 kilograms. Its maximum speed is expected to reach 2,200 m/s, or about Mach 6.5, with a trajectory reaching up to 70 kilometers in altitude with a flight time of no more than 520 seconds. The claimed circular error probable is 20 meters.

A range of 855 kilometers would allow the missile to strike military targets across almost the entire European part of Russia. In terms of speed, the FP-9 is expected to be comparable to Russia’s Iskander-M ballistic missile, while its 800-kilogram warhead is far larger than that of ATACMS.

Unlike drones and most cruise missiles, the ballistic FP-9 would cover its trajectory within a matter of a few minutes, giving air defense crews substantially less time to detect and intercept it. At the same time, the published specifications remain the developer’s own figures: as far as is known, the FP-9 had not undergone a single flight test as of early August 2026.

According to Terekh, the navigation system and other main components of the FP-9 are already complete. Now work is focused on the engine, which has proved to be the main technical challenge. It contains 4.6 tons of solid rocket propellant — more than four times as much as the FP-7 engine. Such a charge cannot be produced simply by scaling up an existing design. Instead, it requires new mixers, propellant casting equipment, and a separate system for curing the motor after molding.

Historically, the production of large solid-fuel rocket motors was concentrated in the city of Pavlohrad, which is now regularly targeted by Russian missile strikes (1, 2, 3). In addition, Terekh said, local companies use a somewhat different technology from the one required by Fire Point. The company therefore decided to establish an alternative production base, building several facilities inside Ukraine while beginning construction of a plant in Denmark. Fire Point says it has already obtained the necessary permits to operate the facility.

The company initially planned to convert a building it had purchased, but the site failed to meet safety requirements for handling solid rocket propellant. As a result, Fire Point will have to build a new facility, with its commissioning postponed until the end of 2027. The cost of the project has meanwhile risen from €50 million to more than €150 million.

In effect, the developers have had to relearn much of the technology for preparing the propellant mixture, casting it, and subsequently curing the charges. This is not only a complex but also a dangerous process: large quantities of propellant and explosives are kept at a single facility, meaning that its destruction could bring the entire missile program to a halt.

Fire Point’s production system was designed from the outset as a distributed network. Terekh says that roughly 90 dispersed facilities play a role in the process — an ecosystem of workshops, warehouses, and logistics hubs rather than one large production center. The production of critical components is duplicated across several sites, increasing resilience to strikes at the cost of additional investment and complex logistics that require individual missile components to be moved between numerous concealed facilities before being assembled at a single location.

Fire Point’s missile production is organized as a distributed network

Fire Point plans to conduct the first test launch of the FP-9 in the fall of 2026 before moving on to testing the system under combat conditions. However, in a conversation with The War Zone Terekh declined to give a specific date, explaining that “a lot can go wrong” during testing.

Although the FP-9 is described as a ground-launched missile, neither the type of chassis the missile will use, the way the missile will be mounted, nor the number of missiles carried by a single vehicle is known. Given the missile’s weight, it will require a heavier mobile launcher, likely mounted on a truck chassis or semitrailer.

Here too, even a successful launch will only mark the beginning of the testing process, as the developers will still have to verify the missile’s stated range and accuracy, the reliability of its engine, and its ability to overcome air defense countermeasures. This means that the FP-9 remains an ambitious project rather than a ready-to-use weapon, with its ultimate timeline depending largely on the results of its first flights.

Sapsan tactical missile system: from a protracted development to combat deployment

Unlike Fire Point’s efforts, the Sapsan tactical missile system is a state-run development with a history spanning nearly two decades. Work began in 2006 but was repeatedly suspended due to insufficient funding. Then, in August of 2022, the Defense Ministry signed its first state procurement contract with the system’s developer, Pivdenne Design Bureau, under the 1KR1 designation, while Pivdenmash was brought into the production effort.

The 1KR1 Sapsan is a mobile, ground-based missile system equipped with a single-stage solid-fuel ballistic missile measuring 7 meters in length. The version developed for Ukraine’s armed forces was designed for a range of up to 500 kilometers, while the export variant known as Hrim-2 has a range of up to 280 kilometers. The missile’s weight is estimated at around 3.5 tons, with a 500-kilogram warhead. The system is designed to strike command posts, airfields, ammunition depots, communications hubs, and other important targets in the enemy’s operational and operational-strategic rear. However, the stated specifications are based primarily on design documents and commentary from people involved in the program, while the official parameters of the missile adopted for service have not been disclosed.

According to former Ukrainian Defense Ministry official Oleksandr Liiev, the first tests of the 1KR1 Sapsan missile system took place in 2023, followed by the first test strikes against targets in Russia in 2024. As Liiev explained in 2025, “the system entered regular use” and production became serial. Meanwhile, Russia’s Defense Ministry claimed as early as March 2023 that it had intercepted “one Hrim-2 tactical missile," and since then it has claimed (1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8) to have intercepted a total of 10 missiles. The ministry also said (1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6) it had struck “ammunition production facilities” for Hrim tactical missiles, as well as their launchers.

Public statements by Ukrainian officials have been more cautious. In August 2024, Zelensky spoke (1, 2) only of the successful “test of Ukraine’s first ballistic missile.” In May 2025, then-head of the Presidential Office Andriy Yermak announced its first combat use, saying the missile had struck a Russian command post at a range of nearly 300 kilometers. In June 2025, Zelensky said preparations were underway for mass production of the Sapsan, without specifying a timeline or projected number of missiles.

In July 2026, the program apparently underwent another round of testing. Mykhailo Fedorov said in early August that on his final day as defense minister, July 14, 2026, an unnamed ballistic missile — likely the Sapsan, given the fact that the FP-9 is only preparing for its first flight, while the FP-7 is in the final stages of certification — was tested and hit “exactly on target, without deviation.” Federov previously reported that the military had revised the system's technical requirements, achieved maximum accuracy, and reduced the missile’s cost by 30%.

If the July test did indeed involve the Sapsan, it would show that the program is continuing to develop alongside Fire Point’s private projects. However, the lack of production data and information regarding the system’s combat performance means that no conclusions about its effectiveness can yet be drawn.

Nightfall: a British ballistic missile for Ukraine

Alongside its domestic development programs, Ukraine’s armed forces may receive a ballistic missile being developed specifically for them in the United Kingdom. In January 2026, the British Defense Ministry announced a competition for the Nightfall project — a mobile, ground-based missile system. The project is not yet a finished weapon, but it does qualify as an accelerated development program whose results the UK expects to use in future long-range systems for its own armed forces as well.

Under the competition requirements, the missile must deliver a conventional high-explosive warhead weighing about 200 kilograms to a range of more than 500 kilometers and reach its target in less than 600 seconds. Its circular error probable must not exceed 10 meters, while its navigation system must function under conditions of heavy electronic warfare interference and in the absence of a satellite signal. Each mobile launcher is expected to carry several missiles that can be fired at short intervals, after which the crew must be able to leave the position within 15 minutes.

The initial requirements published in summer 2025 were more ambitious: the range was estimated at around 600 kilometers, the warhead was to weigh 300 kilograms, and the maximum cost per missile was set at £500,000 (excluding the warhead, launcher, and development costs). By the time the official competition was launched, however, the required range and warhead weight had been reduced, while the maximum price was raised to £800,000.

In terms of capability, Nightfall will be significantly less powerful than the Sapsan and FP-9, but it should have a longer range than the FP-7, occupying an intermediate niche between tactical and heavier tactical ballistic missiles. An important advantage will be its minimal dependence on third-country export licenses, though if the missile uses predominantly British components, the government in London will be able to make its own decisions on transferring the weapons.

Up to three design teams are to receive £9 million each and provide three missiles within 12 months for test launches. The British Defense Ministry subsequently plans to produce at least 10 missiles a month and has the capacity to scale up production. Development contracts were signed in May 2026, but the subsequent resignation of Keir Starmer created additional uncertainty over the project’s timeline.

Although the new government has not announced any plans to revise the program, its implementation could be delayed by possible cuts or reallocations of defense spending. Even if the original schedule is maintained, prototypes may not appear until spring 2027 at the earliest, after which further testing and preparations for serial production will be required. Nightfall’s significance, therefore, will depend less on its stated specifications than on whether the competition can be turned into a mass-produced weapon within a compressed timeframe.

Prospects for Ukraine’s ballistic missile programs

The real scale of Fire Point’s capabilities is best illustrated by its experience producing the FP-5 Flamingo cruise missile. The company announced plans to produce up to seven missiles a day. It failed to reach that target, but CEO Terekh later explained that seven missiles was in fact the maximum capacity of the production lines that had been built, but that there were not enough orders to fully utilize them. 

The plan to produce at least 2,000 FP-7.x interceptors a year is even more ambitious. CIT considers it unrealistic and compares it with Lockheed Martin's efforts to expand PAC-3 production. The company produced around 620 interceptors in 2025 and expects to reach an annual capacity of 2,000 only by the end of 2030 — efforts that would not be possible without support from the Pentagon, which is signing multibillion-dollar agreements with several suppliers of rocket motors, seeker heads, and other components. Fire Point has no comparable financial or industrial resources, and a key component of the FP-7.x — its seeker head — is still being refined by Kyiv's European partners. “If the company manages to achieve the stated target, it will be a major success,” the analysts write.

Fire Point’s production plans look overly ambitious

In other words, the path from a functioning prototype to sustained serial production is long. Production rates for the FP-7, FP-7.x, and FP-9 will depend on government orders, partner financing, and regular supplies of components. A program should therefore be assessed not by the specifications announced by its developer, but by the number of weapons the company can reliably deliver to the armed forces each month.

The secrecy surrounding the missile programs makes forecasting difficult. The situation surrounding the Sapsan missile system and its ballistic missiles remains highly uncertain, with most information about the program being based on statements by officials. The launcher and mock-ups of the system were publicly displayed even before the full-scale war, but the missiles themselves have never been seen.

Among Fire Point’s various projects, the FP-7 is the closest to practical deployment, as the company has demonstrated its launch and reported around 15 tests (without disclosing their results or confirming the start of serial deliveries). The missile is currently undergoing certification by Ukraine’s Defense Ministry. Meanwhile, however, Britain’s Nightfall only exists at the level of technical requirements and development contracts, the FP-9 is still preparing for its first launch, and the FP-7.x has completed a controlled flight but has not intercepted a ballistic target. 

A CIT expert who asked to remain anonymous believes that the publicly available information is insufficient to determine whether the promised combat use of the FP-7 will actually take place this fall. “You need to have at least some information about how the project is progressing. What has been reported in the media simply doesn’t allow you to understand that,” he told The Insider, adding that Fire Point has “not the most reliable” track record when it comes to fulfilling public promises. That does not, however, mean that the announced deadlines will necessarily be missed.

Sapsan, for its part, raises no fewer questions. Officials were still claiming in 2025 that it was in serial production and being used regularly, while Mykhailo Fedorov spoke of new tests in summer 2026 and the need to complete the program. “Maybe there will be more tests a year from now,” the CIT expert says.

Military expert Kirill Mikhailov takes a considerably more optimistic view of the pace of development, pointing out that it took the United States around nine years to develop ATACMS, despite the capabilities of the U.S. defense industry during the Cold War. Against this backdrop, he considers the speed with which Ukraine has brought its own ballistic missile programs to the testing stage to be exceptional. Mikhailov is also not inclined to doubt Fedorov’s claim about the successful Sapsan test: in his view, the former minister would not have made such a statement without sufficient grounds.

Although producing hundreds of FP-7 missiles a month would not in itself represent a strategic breakthrough in the war, Ukraine's regular use of ballistic missiles could change the situation in the Russian military’s operational rear. If the new systems' accuracy and reliable targeting are confirmed, a domestic Ukrainian ballistic missile capability would make it possible for Kyiv to move from occasional launches of scarce ATACMS to regular strikes against Russian command posts, airfields, ammunition depots, and air defense systems at depths of up to 200 kilometers. Russia’s military leadership would have to disperse its forces, strengthen the protection of key facilities, and move infrastructure farther from the front line.

The success of Ukraine’s ballistic missile program will be determined not by the speed of development or the missiles’ specifications, but by their serial production and combat performance. The prospects for Freya will also depend on the successful integration of seeker heads, detection and tracking radars, and data links.

Citizenship was granted to 151 people through naturalization, and another 60 received it on family grounds (mainly through marriage to a Lithuanian citizen). Among those, 58 people were born in Russia and 29 in Belarus.

Another 65 people obtained citizenship through a simplified procedure based on Lithuanian origin, including 18 individuals born in Russia and three born in Belarus. Two people born in Russia had their previously lost Lithuanian citizenship restored.

In total, 76 Russian-born and 32 Belarusian-born people received Lithuanian citizenship for the first time, with 87 of these 108 individuals obtaining it through the standard procedure rather than on the basis of Lithuanian origin.

According to entrepreneur and public figure Viktor Vorontsov, those granted citizenship under the August decrees include people from Russia who had lived in Lithuania for up to 18 years. In total, the lists include 286 individuals: 158 women and 128 men. Their median age is 41. The youngest is three years old, the oldest is 82, and 15 applicants are minors.

The presidential decrees list the applicants’ country of birth and current place of residence, but not their citizenship prior to obtaining Lithuanian citizenship. Therefore, it cannot be definitely stated that all of those born in Russia or Belarus were citizens of those countries at the time of application.

The decision stands out against the backdrop of Lithuania’s current migration policy, implemented in response to Russia’s full-scale invasion of Ukraine in 2022, which places special restrictions on citizens of Russia and Belarus when it comes to obtaining Lithuanian visas and e-residency permits. Russians are also subject to additional checks when crossing the EU’s external border and face restrictions on purchasing real estate.

In 2025, Lithuania’s Migration Department deemed 1,721 citizens of Russia and Belarus to pose a threat to national security, public order, or public health. Among them were 1,634 Belarusian nationals and 87 Russians, who were all denied the issuance or renewal of residence permits or had their already-issued documents revoked.

Further tightening of restrictions has been discussed in 2026. In March, lawmakers from the conservative Homeland Union — Lithuanian Christian Democrats proposed suspending the acceptance of new temporary residence permit applications from citizens of Russia and Belarus. In July, Lithuania’s Ministry of Foreign Affairs proposed introducing additional national sanctions, including restrictions on the purchase by Russians and Belarusians of real estate near strategic facilities.

After the start of the full-scale war, the review of citizenship applications from citizens of these countries was effectively suspended for a time, but the President’s Office later resumed it. Nausėda’s advisor Ridas Jasiulionis explained that applications are now reviewed under additional vetting that assesses whether granting citizenship serves Lithuania’s interests.

For standard naturalization, applicants generally need to have resided permanently and legally in Lithuania for at least ten years, hold the right to permanent residence, have a legal source of income, and pass exams on the Lithuanian language and the fundamentals of the Constitution. Renouncing the other citizenship is generally required as well, unless the applicant falls under exceptions provided by law. For citizenship obtained through marriage, seven years of living together in Lithuania is typically required.

CIA Director John Ratcliffe arrived in Moscow on Tuesday, Aug. 25. At the time, the Kremlin stated that it had no information regarding the U.S. Air Force plane that landed at Vnukovo and that it had no plans to meet with representatives of the U.S. administration.

The exact reason for Ratcliffe’s visit remains unknown. According to one version, his trip may be related to the release from a Russian penal colony of American Charles Wayne Zimmerman, who was convicted of firearms smuggling. According to another, Ratcliffe intended to deliver a warning to Putin based on new U.S. intelligence.

The last time a CIA Director visited Moscow was in November 2021, when William Burns held a phone call from the Kremlin with Putin, who was in Sochi at the time.

According to Reuters, since the start of 2026 at least 31 cargoes totalling 2.3 million metric tons of LNG have been shipped from Arctic LNG 2 to the Chinese port of Beihai. Vessels involved in the shipments include the LNG carriers Voskhod, Arctic Pioneer, Arctic Vostok, Zarya, Arctic Mulan, La Pérouse, Buran, and Arctic Metagaz.

Notably, in March, the Arctic Metagaz was disabled in a drone attack in the Mediterranean Sea.

The Arctic LNG 2 project itself has been under international sanctions since 2023. The restrictions also apply to part of its infrastructure and to the vessels servicing the project. Nevertheless, Novatek and its partners continue to ramp up production and exports.

At least 18 LNG carriers are currently involved in the shipments, including the new Aleksey Kosygin and Konstantin Posiet, built at Russia’s Zvezda shipyard. Part of the fleet is used to transport LNG via the Saam floating storage units near the Kola Peninsula and Koryak in Kamchatka.

In addition, several more LNG carriers, mostly around 20 years old, have recently been acquired for Russian shipments. TradeWinds identifies these as the Merkuriy, Luch, Kosmos, Orion, Arctic Express, Chaivo, and Avacha. Some of them have already taken part in LNG operations near the Kola Peninsula.

In parallel, Russia continues to build new vessels. Two more LNG carriers — the Sergey Witte and Viktor Chernomyrdin — are scheduled to enter service in 2026–2027.

The Barents Observer expects further growth in Russian Arctic LNG shipments to China once the EU’s full ban on Russian LNG, planned for Jan. 1, 2027, takes effect. The restrictions will also affect Yamal LNG, which, unlike Arctic LNG 2, is not currently under sanctions.

On Aug. 15, forensic experts from the Federal Criminal Police Office found approximately 50 grams of an unidentified substance at the scene. According to a preliminary assessment, it could have been RDX, a powerful military-grade explosive. Investigators say the act of sabotage that appears to have been planned may have been larger in scale than previously thought.

The first drone equipped with professional-grade explosives and a detonator was found on the airport grounds late on the evening of Aug. 4. The device had failed to go off, reportedly due to a technical malfunction. According to investigators, the target was a Ukrainian Antonov cargo plane that was being used to transport weapons.

Approximately 20 minutes after the first drone was discovered, a DHL cargo plane may have collided with a second drone. Because the airport was closed, the crew aborted the landing and went around for another approach. Shortly before the impact, the pilots spotted an object roughly 30 centimeters in size.

The plane was diverted to Hanover, where investigators found damage to its tail section. An examination ruled out a bird strike. The drone itself was not found, and investigators believe it may have gone into the engine on impact and disintegrated into small pieces.

In Kursdorf, north of the airport, an antenna and electronic equipment attached to a tree were also found. Investigators believe the devices may have been used to control one of the drones. Nearby, charred earth and metal fragments were discovered, and witnesses recalled hearing an explosion several hours before the incident at the airport began.

The investigation into the incidents is being headed by Germany’s Federal Prosecutor’s Office, which is treating the case as an attempted attack on the country’s transport and logistics infrastructure. Leipzig/Halle Airport is one of Europe’s largest cargo hubs. It is used by NATO, DHL, and the Ukrainian airline Antonov Airlines. The office has not yet named any suspects.

Law enforcement sources who spoke with German media suggest that Russian intelligence services could have been involved in preparing the attack. However, German authorities have not officially made any accusations against Russia. Chancellor Friedrich Merz promised that the government would name the responsible parties soon.

The Russian Embassy in Berlin previously called the incident a “fabricated provocation,” accusing German authorities of stoking “anti-Russian hysteria.” Moscow denies having had any involvement in sabotage or other hybrid operations in Germany.

Grounds for imposing temporary control may include failure to take security measures or a delay in taking them, the violation of established requirements, creating a threat to the facility’s normal operation, or even a delay in restoring it after damage was incurred. The decree separately mentions “ineffective implementation of measures” aimed at preventing drone attacks.

Russian authorities will be able to place all or part of a company’s movable and immovable property, its securities and stakes in Russian legal entities, and its property rights under temporary control. The decision will be made by the government on Putin’s instructions. The Federal Agency for State Property Management (Rosimushchestvo) will step in as the temporary manager by default, unless replaced by a different organization. The manager will receive all relevant ownership powers other than the right to dispose of the transferred property. The decree does not limit the duration of temporary control, which can likewise be terminated by the government on the president’s instructions.

The decree defines “critical infrastructure facilities” as enterprises in the fuel and energy sector (including nuclear facilities), communications facilities, as well as utility, transport, and logistics infrastructure. The list remains open-ended, however, and the mechanism can also be applied to other facilities that authorities deem to be of “particular importance” for Russia’s security, economic stability, or the population’s livelihood.

The decree comes amid a sharp increase in Ukrainian attacks on Russian industrial and logistics infrastructure. Oil refineries have been a constant target of Ukrainian drones since early 2024, with the intensity of the strikes increasing in 2025. In 2026, Ukraine further scaled up the campaign. As the Financial Times reported, in the first half of the year alone, Ukrainian drones successfully struck Russian refineries at least 194 times — at 11 times the rate in the same period of 2025. By April, the monthly average of successful strikes on refinery production facilities and tank farms exceeded ten and subsequently held at roughly that level. Following the attacks, some refineries scaled back or completely halted oil processing for extensive periods, sometimes taking weeks to return to normal operation. Notably, some facilities have been hit multiple times.

Three days before the decree was signed, Deputy Prime Minister Alexander Novak instructed oil companies to revise refinery maintenance schedules in order to avoid exacerbating the fuel shortage. Now, a delay in restoring facilities could have direct consequences for owners, as Putin’s decree explicitly names the untimely restoration of critical infrastructure after damage as grounds for imposing temporary control over a company’s property.

Since July 18, the warehouse infrastructure of the major online retailer Wildberries has also come under systematic attack. By Aug. 19, The Insider had counted 21 attacked marketplace facilities across 16 Russian regions and annexed Simferopol, affecting a combined storage area of about 2.3 million square meters. Fourteen facilities covering about 1.77 million square meters sustained significant damage, forcing the company to relocate some of its operations to other sites. Warehouse employees were killed and injured in several attacks. Volodymyr Zelensky has stated that the targeted logistics centers were used to supply the Russian army with drone production components, navigation equipment, and gear.

On Aug. 22, Ukrainian drones hit a logistics facility of another online retailer, Ozon, for the first time. The target of that strike was a warehouse in Chapayevsk, Samara Region. Then, on Aug. 23, a strike hit a facility in Orenburg, and overnight into Aug. 24, drones struck Ozon warehouses in Dagestan, Adygea, Krasnodar Krai, and Stavropol Krai. Fires broke out at the facilities near Krasnodar and Makhachkala, forcing them to halt operations.

The memo’s introduction lists the economic difficulties Russia has faced amid the war, with all figures current as of April: a budget deficit of 4.58 trillion rubles in the first quarter (against an annual target of 3.8 trillion rubles), a high key interest rate of 15% (which is “choking the civilian sector”), a 45.4% decline in oil and gas revenues (down to 1.44 trillion rubles), and the disruption caused by Ukrainian drone strikes on oil refineries (taking 10–15% of refining capacity offline).

“The government is considering increasing the deficit and military spending. The military multiplier is estimated at 1.5x — every ruble of military spending generates 1.5 rubles of GDP, but at the expense of crowding out the civilian sector.”

The document also says that Russia has lost “up to 35% of the components of air defense systems,” while the replacement of S-300/400 systems is proceeding more slowly than the losses. “Without restoring the air defense umbrella over rear facilities, strikes will intensify,” the memo says. It also lays out a range of other problems areas:

“Labor shortages at defense enterprises: 80,000–400,000 people. Ammunition production showed a decline for the first time in September 2025. Three critical shortages: microelectronics (without Western components, precision weapons become several times more expensive), ammunition (the limiting factor is people, not money), and engines (aircraft, missile and naval engines are all overloaded).”

The document estimates Russia’s military losses at 20,000–25,000 people per month. “90% of new contract soldiers are used to replenish losses, not to form new units,” the memo says. However, it notes that a full-scale mobilization is not currently planned due to the fact that "the political risk is unacceptable.”

Eight scenarios for ending the war

Decisive Russian military advantage. Probability: 7%. Time horizon: 12–24 months

What this entails:

Full Russian control over Ukraine's Kharkiv region, in addition to the four “new regions” (the “Donetsk People’s Republic,”  the“Luhansk People’s Republic,” and Ukraine's Zaporizhzhia and Kherson regions within their administrative borders) that Russia claimed to have annexed in 2022. Under this scenairo, Kyiv would be forced into negotiations due to Moscow's position of absolute military dominance on the battlefield. Without capturing the Ukrainian capital, Russia would nevertheless create conditions in which continued resistance no longer makes military sense.

What would be required to achieve this outcome:

• A second wave of mobilization — at least 300,000–500,000 people. Without it, the manpower needed for a large-scale offensive is unattainable.
• A several-fold increase in Russia's capacity to wage the war from the air, with the production of UMPK glide-bomb kits and glide bombs representing the current bottleneck.
• Solving the problem of rear-area air defense — without it, Ukrainian strikes on Russian oil refineries and airfields will continue.
• A breakthrough in autonomous drone swarms — the first side to deploy fully autonomous swarms on a divisional scale (thousands of units coordinated by AI, without operators) would gain a decisive tactical advantage.

Conclusion: Russia needs a large-scale offensive, while Ukraine’s goal is to make the cost of such an offensive unacceptable for Russia.

“The motivation to defend is traditionally stronger than the motivation to attack — Ukraine is fighting for survival, not territorial expansion.”

“Western exhaustion” — peace on Russia’s terms. Probability: 12%. Time horizon: 12–18 months

What this entails:

Ukraine loses a critical mass of Western support, and its allies stop financing Kyiv's defensive efforts. This would not be a military defeat, but a political one. Russia would retain the territories it currently occupies, secure the lifting of some sanctions, and obtain guarantees that Ukraine will not join NATO.

What is required:

Three factors would need to converge: support for Ukraine in the United States falling below 30%, an energy crisis in Europe during the winter of 2026–2027, and a domestic political crisis in Ukraine.

“Time is Russia’s trump card: every month of waiting means less Western support, less Ukrainian mobilization, and less European unity.”

“Trump deal” — frozen conflict with partial sanctions relief. Probability: 32%. Time horizon: 6–12 months

What this entails:

Donald Trump pushes through a deal ahead of the U.S. midterm elections (November 2026) by using U.S. aid to Ukraine as leverage against both sides. The conflict is frozen along the current lines, some sanctions are lifted, and NATO remains closed to Ukraine.

“Trump called the 10-point Iranian peace plan ‘workable.’ The model has been confirmed: ultimatum + deadline + mediator = deal. After Iran, Ukraine is the next target.”

“Korean freeze” — an end to the fighting, but with no formal agreement. Probability: 22%. Time horizon: 6–18 months

What this entails:

The conflict winds down without a formal agreement. The intensity of fighting decreases and the front line stabilizes, but legally the war continues. There is neither a peace treaty nor a ceasefire — only a de facto halt to large-scale military operations. Low-level drone warfare continues.

What is required:

Mutual exhaustion without either side having the capacity to achieve a decisive breakthrough.

Protracted war (another 2–3 years). Probability: 15%. Time horizon: 24–36 months

What this entails:

The conflict continues at something resembling its current level of intensity. There is neither a freeze nor a breakthrough. Russian monthly losses remain at 20,000–25,000, and creeping advances of 100–200 meters per day continue, along with long-range strikes against infrastructure on both sides. The strategy is one of attrition.

“If diplomacy fails, the war continues by inertia. Both sides have invested too much in the conflict to stop absent an external push.”

The memo offers the following sociological forecast for this scenario:

“For Russia — growing ‘quiet fatigue.’ Not protest (suppressed by the security services), but social disengagement: rising alcoholism, depression, emigration of skilled workers, and declining birth rates. The economic model of ‘guns instead of butter’ works for 2–3 years, but not indefinitely. Putin’s approval rating could fall below 60% by 2028, with actual support dropping below 50%. The critical threshold of the ‘spiral of silence’ is reached when people stop being afraid to speak out. Historically, this happens in Russia when living standards fall noticeably (perestroika, 1986–1991).

For Ukraine, it means a humanitarian catastrophe —  eight million refugees abroad, six million internally displaced, a demographic collapse resulting from falling birthrates, and the loss of an entire generation of men aged 25–45 (mobilization + emigration + casualties).”

Peace on compromise terms. Probability: 5%. Time horizon: 12–24 months

What this entails:

A comprehensive peace treaty involving mutual concessions. Russia returns some territory (parts or all of the Kherson and Zaporizhzhia regions) in exchange for recognition of Crimea and parts of Donbas. Ukraine receives security guarantees and a path to EU membership. NATO membership is subject to a 15–25-year moratorium.

What is required:

A change in the political configuration on one side, such as a significant weakening of Putin’s position (unlikely under the current power structure), a change of government in Ukraine (possibly via a constitutional crisis), or strong external pressure against both sides simultaneously. If the United States pressures Russia through sanctions and the threat of arming Ukraine, China pressures Russia through economic leverage, and the EU pressures Ukraine through the conditions attached to aid and future membership, such a scenario at least becomes possible.

Peace on Ukraine’s/Europe’s terms. Probability: 2%. Time horizon: 24–36+ months

What this entails:

Russia is forced to withdraw to its 2014 or 1991 borders. Crimea becomes a subject of negotiations or is returned to Ukraine. Ukraine joins NATO. Russia pays reparations. An arms-control regime is established.

What is required:

An economic collapse in Russia (GDP contracting by 15% or more, hyperinflation, and a default on domestic debt), a catastrophic military defeat, or a change of regime that brings “negotiators” to power. All three scenarios are extremely unlikely.

“Wild card” — black swans. Probability: 5% (combined for all sub-scenarios). Time horizon: unpredictable

What this entails:

Unlikely but high-impact events capable of radically altering the trajectory of the conflict. None of these sub-scenarios can be predicted using standard analytical methods, as they lie beyond the “probability cone.” However, their consequences could be significantly more extreme than those of all the other scenarios combined.

• Nuclear escalation. Russia uses tactical nuclear weapons in a demonstrative strike on an unpopulated area or Ukrainian military facility. The logic: a limited nuclear strike would convince the West that continued support for Ukraine risks an apocalypse, thereby forcing its opponents to back down. The consequences would be immediate and would likely lead to Russia's total isolation diplomatically.
• “A new Chernobyl.” An accident or deliberate strike on a nuclear facility — the Zaporizhzhia Nuclear Power Plant, the Chernobyl sarcophagus, or spent nuclear fuel storage facilities located in Ukraine. The consequences would include radioactive contamination spreading across several countries, an immediate ceasefire under pressure from the entire international community (including China), and a humanitarian catastrophe involving the evacuation of millions of people.
• Regime change. In Russia, a “palace coup” in which a group from the security establishment (FSB, Defense Ministry, Security Council) removes Putin in order to conclude a peace deal on acceptable terms. In Ukraine, a constitutional crisis putting Zelensky's legitimacy into question, possibly resulting in the military leadership putting forward an alternative candidate to head the country. 
• Iran cascade. The U.S.-Iran ceasefire (April 8) collapses and talks in Pakistan fail. Israel continues its strikes on Lebanon and Iran. Iran closes the Strait of Hormuz. Brent crude rises above $200, triggering a global recession and sharply increasing Russia’s oil revenues at the same time the West faces an energy crisis and industrial recession. With Western attention and resources redirected towards the Middle East, Ukraine would lose its place of priority on the Western agenda.
• Technological surprise. A breakthrough in AI-controlled drone swarms creates an absolute tactical advantage for one side or the other. Alternatively, a cyberattack on critical infrastructure (the power grid, banking system, or military command) could cripple one side’s ability to wage war. Other possibilities include a fundamentally new AI architecture (not based on transformers), quantum computing capable of breaking military encryption, or directed-energy weapons (laser air-defense systems capable of intercepting drones at $0.01 per shot instead of $100,000 per missile).

Conclusions

Moscow's window of maximum negotiating leverage will be open until the fall of 2026. After that, the balance is expected to shift as the liquid portion of Russia's National Wealth Fund (~4 trillion rubles) continues to be depleted by withdrawls of around 400 billion rubles per quarter, Europe’s rearmament is gathering pace ($50–60 billion by 2027), and Trump is turning his attention to the midterm elections and may lose interest in a “deal.”

The optimal strategy from the Russian perspective would be to secure the maximum achievable outcome through diplomacy while maintaining military pressure. Both efforts should be pursued simultaneously.

The most likely outcome is not “victory,” but “the best available option.” Scenarios 3 and 4 (“Trump deal” + “Korean freeze”) account for a combined 54% — more than half of the probability space. Preparing for negotiations is no less important than maintaining military pressure. The diplomatic and military tracks should operate in parallel, not sequentially.

Yerevan says this marks the beginning of the end for the Eurasian Economic Union, which Moscow once spearheaded. At the same time, however, Armenia still has no plans to hold a referendum on joining the European Union anytime soon. Instead, it intends to respond to the sanctions with sanctions of its own while preserving its vital trade with Russia to the extent that Moscow's policies still allow for that to be possible.  

What Moscow wants from Yerevan

As Armenia was busy campaigning this past spring ahead of the parliamentary elections, an unexpected message arrived from the other four members of the Eurasian Economic Union (EAEU) – Russia, Belarus, Kazakhstan and Kyrgyzstan – amid a summit being held in Astana, Kazakhstan. On May 29, they issued a special statement concerning the fifth member of their union, Armenia. It said, among other things:

“We share the view that a nationwide referendum should be held in the Republic of Armenia as soon as possible on joining the European Union or remaining in the Eurasian Economic Union.”

It thus became clear that Russia was not the only country demanding that Armenia make a choice about its geopolitical and economic orientation. The remainining members of the EAEU, it turned out, were also unwilling to risk a confrontation with Russia over Armenia.

Notably, the statement was adopted without the participation of the Armenian prime minister. At the time, Nikol Pashinyan was occupied with domestic political concerns, but after familiarizing himself with his colleagues’ position, he responded in distinctly ironic fashion:

“I am grateful to my EAEU colleagues for recognizing Armenia’s legitimate right, as well as that of any other EAEU member state, to develop relations with various partners and create trade and economic alternatives for its country. I believe such an approach is beneficial to the EAEU, since the existence of possible alternatives is a factor that will contribute to the EAEU’s competitiveness and attractiveness.”

After the statement issued in Astana, Russia tightened its sanctions against Armenia. After winning the elections, Pashinyan eventually called Vladimir Putin.

What the “sworn allies” talked about

Reports of possible Russian sanctions emerged as Armenia’s election campaign got underway. Before that, Pashinyan had traveled to Moscow and heard the Kremlin’s request to allow pro-Russian forces to participate in the elections. They were indeed allowed to run.

But even that concession failed to prevent the now-familiar notifications from Rospotrebnadzor, Russia’s consumer protection watchdog. One after another, Armenian products were found to be in violation of Russian quality standards. First, the ban affected the well-known Jermuk mineral water, as well as wine and brandy from selected producers. Then flowers, fruits, and vegetables followed.

“From May 30, 2026, Rosselkhoznadzor is imposing temporary restrictions on the import of fresh tomatoes, cucumbers, peppers, leafy greens, and strawberries originating from and shipped from Armenia until an appropriate process is developed to ensure the safety of the products being shipped,” the agency said in a statement.

It also became clear that, unlike in previous cases, the Kremlin was prepared to play the long game. The restrictions targeted the largest segment of Armenian exports and were imposed just before the harvest season. For years, Russia had been the main market for Armenian apricots, cherries, apples, tomatoes, cucumbers, and peppers. Moscow was naturally counting on this dependence as a reliable lever of pressure.

In Armenia, there were hopes that after the elections everything would return to normal – that the sanctions were merely an attempt to influence voters to turn against Pashinyan. But those expectations quickly evaporated as the prime minister's Civil Contract party secured a parliamentary majority. In Moscow, officials began considering what else they could ban.

They found something. The next wave targeted fish and dairy products, meaning that in effect, virtually all Armenian value-added goods that had carved out a niche in the Russian market and attracted Russian consumers were now subject to restrictions.

The Armenian prime minister then decided to speak to Russia’s president to see how the problem could be resolved. After the first reports of a phone call between Pashinyan and Putin, everyone eagerly awaited details. The Kremlin website published a very brief but quite explicit communiqué that left little room for ambiguity:

“Vladimir Putin reaffirmed his commitment to the Joint Statement adopted at the EAEU summit in Astana on May 29, 2026, by the leaders of Belarus, Kazakhstan, Kyrgyzstan, and Russia concerning the actions of the Republic of Armenia aimed at joining the European Union. In particular, the need to hold a nationwide referendum in Armenia as soon as possible on joining the EU or remaining in the EAEU was emphasized.”

It thus became clear that no one in Moscow intended to resolve the problems through negotiations. Yerevan was being required to hold a referendum.

There will be a referendum, but later

Having realized that Moscow was no longer showing much restraint either in its statements or its policies, Yerevan decided to stop holding back as well. Prime Minister Pashinyan openly stated that the EAEU’s mechanisms were not working: “The problem is not Armenia, but the EAEU, because it turns out that the Eurasian Economic Union is paralyzed and does not work. If this issue is not resolved quickly, let me predict that this will mark the beginning of the end of the EAEU.”

“The Eurasian Economic Union is paralyzed and does not work,” Nikol Pashinyan said

Then, in early August, Pashinyan traveled to Bishkek for a meeting of the Eurasian Intergovernmental Council. While there, he criticized the bloc and asserted his country’s right to pursue alternatives:

“It is the legitimate right of any country – all countries work to ensure that they have alternatives. At this point, the best position for the EAEU would not be to ‘torpedo’ this process, but, on the contrary, to work toward increasing the EAEU’s competitiveness and attractiveness. This is the right approach, and Armenia is ready to work on it.”

But the EAEU is unlikely to take this proposal seriously, all the more so given the fact that Russia had viewed Armenia as its outpost for decades. However, in recent years the status quo in the South Caucasus has changed. Moscow is no longer the only player in the region – and it is no longer even the most influential one. The Kremlin is naturally unwilling to accept this reality, but Russia now has few instruments for exerting influence beyond economic pressure.

Why Russia lost Armenia

Armenia lost Nagorno-Karabakh in 2020. A few years later, following the exodus of the Armenian population from the unrecognized republic, Russia lost its main source of leverage in the region. For years, the Nagorno-Karabakh conflict had given Moscow the necessary means to pressure both Yerevan and Baku. That was enough to keep the two post-Soviet republics’ foreign policies closely aligned with Moscow’s wishes.

But in September 2023, Azerbaijan established full control over Karabakh. In the aftermath, around 120,000 Armenians fled their homes over the course of just two days, while Russian peacekeepers remained mere bystanders. In the end, there was no one left to “keep the peace,” and the Russian contingent withdrew from Karabakh two years ahead of schedule.

This was, without exaggeration, a catastrophe for the Kremlin’s regional policy, and it is particularly telling that it happened in Nagorno-Karabakh, where attitudes toward Russia had been exceptionally favorable. Beyond the political consequences, Moscow also suffered enormous reputational damage, with Russia’s standing in Armenia effectively collapsing in the years following the war. Just before the confict, 92% of Armenians described relations with Russia as good, but by 2024, 66% of respondents described relations with Russia as “bad” or “very bad.” In spring 2026, 55% of respondents said they did not trust Russia.

By 2024, 66% of respondents described relations with Russia as “bad” or “very bad”

The situation could still have been salvaged after 2020. Nagorno-Karabakh was officially not part of Armenia, and Russia had every formal right not to help Yerevan maintain control over the region. But the events that followed cemented the Kremlin’s reputation as an unreliable ally.

After the loss of Karabakh, Baku escalated the conflict by bringing the conflict to Armenian territory itself on several occasions. In September 2022, Azerbaijan’s armed forces launched an offensive, crossed the state border, and seized additional territory. Hundreds of people were killed in the process, making it clear that Armenia would struggle to defend itself against external threats on its own.

Yerevan had options, including through the Collective Security Treaty Organization. Armenia formally appealed to its military allies for assistance, but in response it did not even receive political support. Instead, the allies said it was necessary to establish where exactly the border between the two states ran.

Yerevan thus directed its appeals to the West, but Brussels asked it to definitively abandon any claims to Nagorno-Karabakh. In return, the EU was prepared to send a civilian mission to Armenia that would provide political, economic, humanitarian, and even military assistance. Pashinyan agreed, thereby depriving Moscow of its exclusive control over developments in the South Caucasus.

Leverage and countermeasures

The Armenian economy remained dependent on Russia even eight years after the 2018 Velvet Revolution. Suffice it to say that, before the recent sanctions were imposed, 90% of Armenia’s agricultural exports went to Russia. According to the latest official data from Armenia’s Statistical Committee, Russia accounted for 35.6% of the republic’s total exports in the first half of 2026.

But contrary to expectations, Russia’s restrictions have neither crippled the Armenian economy nor triggered a serious collapse – at least not yet. There will be losses in the long term, but the Armenian government nevertheless remains focused on finding alternatives.

Against this backdrop, the European Union is reaching out to Yerevan. Brussels has already allocated tens of millions of dollars in assistance to strengthen the economy under the “Armenia Growth Plan,” while also partially opening its markets to Armenian products. As a result, fruits and vegetables from Armenia have appeared on the shelves of stores in France, Poland, and the Netherlands.

Of course, Russia still has other levers of pressure. One is natural gas., which Armenia continues to buy from Russian despite Moscow making it clear that prices could be revised soon. Additionally, the 102nd Russian military base is still stationed in Armenia, while Russian Railways operates Armenia’s railway network. 

If necessary, however, the Armenian authorities will make use of these cards, as Prime Minister Pashinyan has already said:

“There is a lot of talk now, mainly from the opposition, about the possibility of this or that becoming more expensive. But it may turn out that, for what was provided free of charge in Armenia for 30 years, Armenia will start demanding $2 billion. I am not hinting at the railway – I am saying directly that it is the property of the Republic of Armenia, and there is no other option.”

For the first time since the collapse of the Soviet Union, Russia no longer has any clear-cut levers of pressure over Armenia. Those that remain are purely economic. 

With a peace agreement between Armenia and Azerbaijan potentially on the horizon and the Armenian-Turkish border set to reopen, Yerevan’s European trajectory is becoming increasingly clear. Notably, Russia is unlikely to be able to do much about it. Once the country rids itself of Moscow's remaining levers of influence in the economy, Armenia will finally be able to make its own independent political choices.

According to OSINT analysts, two Il-976 SKIP aircraft arrived at the Novaya Zemlya archipelago in the second half of August. In addition, an A-50U radar plane, four An-26 military transport aircraft, one An-74D, and several helicopters were spotted at the Rogachevo airbase.

As The Barents Observer notes, this may indicate that Russia is about to begin new tests of the Burevestnik, which is believed to potentially leave a radioactive trace during flight. The outlet also pointed out that a group of ships typically used during missile tests, including for search operations, has been spotted in the Barents and Kara Seas.

Iversen also concludes that Russia is preparing for a missile test. As he told The Insider:

“Everything now seems to be in place for actual flight tests of Burevestnik, conforming to the patterns of the previous test seasons.

With the arrival of the second IL-976, the same number of main support aircraft as in the past are present at Rogachevo: the two IL-976s plus an A-50 Mainstay.

There is a significant number of chartered civilian ships supporting the Burevestnik program, and most of them up there now have also participated in previous years. Yesterday, for the first time this season, they sailed out to positions both east and west of Severny Island, in a pattern I have good confidence on being associated with tests. They are now returning towards Pankovo, and since this was the first time, I think this was a rehearsal / dry run.

As far as I know, there have not been any detections of radiation or nuclides by the Norwegian or other international radiation monitoring networks after the flight tests at Novaya Zemlya. This doesn't mean that Burevestnik doesn't emit a radioactive trail at all, and the wind patterns at the time of a test matter too, when it comes to detecting it.”

The Insider previously reported that Vladimir Putin has made repeated claims that the Burevestnik test was successful. The missile is reported to have no range limitations thanks to its nuclear power unit. By 2019, according to U.S. intelligence and Western analysts, the missile had undergone at least 13 tests, of which only two were considered partially successful. In the West, the Burevestnik has been nicknamed a “tiny flying Chornobyl,” and experts note that it currently poses a bigger threat to Russian residents than to adversaries abroad.

The Burevestnik is commonly linked to an accident at a testing site near Nyonoksa in Arkhangelsk Region in August 2019 — an explosion that killed five Rosatom employees. Two more people —  reportedly military personnel — died later, likely from acute radiation sickness.

Several others received significant doses of radiation, and background radiation levels in the city of Severodvinsk spiked sharply for a time.

In October 2025, Chief of the General Staff of the Russian Armed Forces Valery Gerasimov reported to Putin on a successful test flight of the Burevestnik, saying the missile had stayed airborne for around 15 hours and had covered a distance of 14,000 km. The Defense Ministry did not release any footage of the missile’s flight. The Russian president then announced the completion of the missile’s testing, ordering preparations of the infrastructure for its deployment.

According to Ukrainian military officials, drone experts, and specialists who examined the wreckage, operators had directed the aircraft toward a specific gas station, but during the final stretch of its flight it selected a target independently, using AI. The system was reportedly trained to recognize propane tanks. However, the drone did not reach its intended target, failing to maneuver around a building near the gas station and exploding nearby. The blast killed 19-year-old college student Tetiana Bubynets, 41-year-old Oleksii Svirin, and 48-year-old Roman Karpii.

Kateryna Bondar, a senior fellow at the Center for Strategic and International Studies (CSIS), called the attack the first documented instance in which a Russian drone using an autonomous system caused civilian deaths. Russia had previously tested drones that use AI for independent targeting, but no deaths from such attacks had been reported.

Ukrainian experts had discovered Nvidia Jetson Orin mini-computers in the wreckage of other Russian drones. According to the Ukrainian side, the absence of remote-control antennas on the aircraft, combined with the installed computing modules, was one indication that these drones had operated autonomously. Researchers also stated that they examined unencrypted data on the module and found it to contain images of the terrain and code showing which categories of objects the system had been trained to recognize and attack.

NYT shared photographs of the recovered hardware with Nvidia, and the company confirmed that the images showed its Jetson Orin — a civilian computing module that costs several hundred dollars, designed in particular for robotics and computer vision systems. Nvidia denied selling these components in Russia, but admitted they are widely available through third-party resellers, stating that the manufacturer cannot track the subsequent movement of each device.

This is not the first time a Jetson Orin has been found in Russian weaponry. On Aug. 12, Ukraine’s Main Directorate of Intelligence (HUR) reported discovering the same module in a new Russian S-71M Monokhrom cruise missile. According to markings published by Ukrainian intelligence, the Jetson Orin found there was manufactured in March 2025 — after sweeping Western export restrictions against Russia had already been introduced.

As Reuters previously reported, citing U.S. officials, China and Hong Kong remain major transshipment points for the supply of restricted technologies to Russia. According to Ukrainian authorities, about 60% of foreign components found in Russian weapons arrive via China.

When the first strikes began, I was at home with my family.

Before that, wars had broken out repeatedly in the Gaza Strip. There was a war in 2008, in 2012, in 2014, and in 2018. But I never thought the war that began in 2023 would last this long. No one expected it.

Because of this war, I lost everything. I had a home in the north of the Gaza Strip, but it was destroyed. All the neighborhoods where we lived, where we spent our childhood, have also been destroyed. Nothing is left.

“Because of this war, I lost everything. I had a home in the north of the Gaza Strip – it was destroyed”

My family left after the war began, in the third wave of evacuations, while I stayed here. I was not allowed to cross over into Egypt.

I signed up for evacuation three times, but my name never appeared on the lists. The last evacuation was on September 29, 2025. I wasn’t able to leave then either. New evacuations were promised afterward, but they never happened. Since then, I have continued to live in limbo, like so many people here.

Over these nearly four years, I have had to move almost 15 times. When you leave one place for another, it means the danger is already very close, and you most likely won’t be coming back.

There is no choice. The Gaza Strip is a small territory. You call your friends and say, “I can’t find a patch of land to put up a tent.” About two million people live here, and there is almost no free space. You put up a tent at a friend’s place, and the next day that place is already being called a camp.

“You put up a tent at a friend’s place, and the next day that place is already being called a camp”

Sometimes humanitarian aid arrives: a box of food or a communal pot of cooked food. I drink dirty, salty water. It comes through a hose from local pumps. Even the water that is brought in as "clean" cannot really be called clean. People get sick from it. But there is no other water – otherwise, we will die.

For the most part, people in the Gaza Strip live on humanitarian aid. It is provided by the UN, the World Central Kitchen, and other international organizations that continue to operate here. But even this aid is not enough.

Usually, food is distributed once a day, at around 11 a.m. or noon. Most often, it is rice, peas, or beans. People stand in line with large pots. Food is handed out until it runs out. If you don’t make it in time, you go hungry. People have been getting food this way for about a month and a half now.

“Food is handed out until it runs out. If you don’t make it in time, you go hungry”

Normal life has practically come to a standstill here. It is impossible to work, the banks are not operating, there is almost no money, and prices are exorbitant. Even when food is available for sale, many people simply cannot afford it. Everything is extremely expensive, and finding food is not always possible. A few months ago, a chicken cost about 150 shekels (around $50). There was a time when a kilogram of sugar cost 500 shekels (about $150).

For a whole year, we went hungry, eating once a day – water and some kind of pasta. Because of hunger, I lost 25 kilograms.

Before the war, I worked for an electricity supply company, doing administrative work. We had a good life. I earned about $400–500 a month. Of course, prices were different then, but it was enough for a normal life. We had our own home, a stable job, and lived peacefully. It is impossible to even compare our life then with our life now.

Now I receive aid – $100–120 a month. It is impossible to live on that kind of money. There are families of 10 people here, and even these payments do not reach everyone. When we receive humanitarian aid, we sometimes sell part of it to get at least some money.

There is no work, but there is corruption, and there are people who steal. There are those who hoard goods and then sell them at their own prices. There are those who create artificial shortages and operate through the black market.

The way we live today is like living in the jungle. I live surrounded by rats, mice, and lizards, without proper food, water, electricity, or internet. I curse this kind of life and those who have brought us to this.

“It's like living in the jungle – with rats and lizards. I curse this kind of life and those who have brought us to this.”

If it weren’t for solar panels, we would have forgotten what electricity is like a long time ago. To charge a phone, you have to go to someone who can charge it for you and pay two or three shekels.

To use the internet, we buy cards for 10 or 20 hours. They cost about $1. The internet comes and goes. If someone is far from a station or router, there is almost no connection. There is no individual internet connection either – it is shared.

Almost none of the large hospitals remain, and those that are still operating are doing so on a minimal basis. There are small medical posts, but there are very few medications. Many medicines are unavailable in pharmacies. From what I hear from acquaintances and sick people around me, there's a desperate shortage of medications.

I feel especially sorry for the children. We adults at least had a chance to see what a normal life was like. But for them, life began with tents. This is no life for children. They have no joy. There is only sadness in their eyes. They are growing up without a childhood. It is hard for them to find even ordinary slippers because everything is so expensive.

There are almost no schools left, and education has been reduced to a minimum. There are volunteers who agree to teach children. Sometimes organizations set up one or two tents and arrange for several female teachers to work there, so the children can at least receive some education. But there is no functioning education system now.

Where I live, there is neither Hamas nor police. No one thinks about us at all. The world has forgotten us civilians, and so has our own country.

But I continue to follow what is happening here and around the world. We listen to the news and want to know whether the war has ended, whether there has been any progress in peace talks, and whether conditions have emerged that would allow people to return.

The politicians who are supposed to represent us and try to stop the war live in hotels or abroad. They are far away because they do not want to live in the conditions we live in. We never see them. They promise that everything will be fine and stable tomorrow, and the next day you are drinking dirty water again.

“Politicians live in hotels or abroad. They promise that everything will be fine tomorrow, and the next day you are drinking dirty water again”

At the same time, there is no single attitude toward either the politicians or the war among the people who remain here. People are different – just like in Ukraine, America, or any other country. Everyone has their own opinion. There are people on the left and people on the right. I myself am neutral and mostly associate with people who are similarly neutral.

When people are poor and hungry, they argue all day long – including about the war. And everyone is tired of these arguments. Circumstances change people: war, hunger, and a constant sense of hopelessness.

Sometimes there are more explosions, sometimes fewer. You never know what will happen next.

When you come face-to-face with death, it stays with you forever. I came close to dying three times. Once, a house collapsed on top of us, but we managed to get out from under the rubble. I will never forget that.

I haven’t seen my family – my wife, children, and grandchildren – for four years! How can anyone live without their family for even a week?! Ukraine is my second home. My wife is from Melitopol, which is now under Russian occupation. After the evacuation, my family ended up in Odesa. I am very grateful to the Ukrainian government for managing to evacuate and save my family. But Odesa was also repeatedly attacked by Russia, and it was very difficult for the children psychologically. About a year and a half later, they moved to Egypt.

We can communicate only via WhatsApp, when we are able to connect at all.

My friend Svetlana, a Ukrainian from Vinnytsia, lives near me in this camp. She is here with her husband and children. They cannot return to their home – it is near the border, and there is constant gunfire there.

Here in Gaza, Svetlana tries to let the children out of the tent as rarely as possible. And not only because she is worried about their safety. Children in the Gaza Strip are now looking for ways to get food and some have started stealing, and Svetlana does not want her children to learn to do that.

Her children often ask her, “Mom, when are they going to come get us? When will we be evacuated? Why haven’t they taken us out yet?” She doesn’t know what to tell them.

There are many Ukrainians here, about 350 people, and they all want to go home. But it seems that Svetlana’s children have already stopped believing that it will ever happen.

We stay in touch with one another, organize demonstrations, and appeal to the Ukrainian authorities, asking them to evacuate us. I hope that Kyiv will take notice of us and want to help us.

We used to read about wars only in history books and never thought that one day we would have to go through one ourselves, especially on such a scale. I have been living in this reality for almost four years now. Every day I wake up hoping that tomorrow I will see my loved ones, my daughters.

I want the same life as any normal person anywhere in the world – I want peace and stability. We want to live without war. We are tired. We deserve a good life. We are ordinary people.

I will soon turn 60. What have I gotten from this war? Nothing but losses.

Flores recounted the story in an interview with lawyer Dmitry Zakhvatov, who had helped her flee Russia around ten days earlier. In a conversation with The Insider, Zakhvatov said that he learned of Flores’s relationship with the security services in the summer of 2005, and preparations for her evacuation had taken roughly a year.

How the FSB recruited Flores

According to Flores, she was recruited on Feb. 17, 2023, following a search of her Moscow apartment. That day, media reported that her phone and laptop had been seized and a message had been sent from her phone to her lawyer stating that she had been taken to the Investigative Committee. Flores now says that in reality she had remained at home with two FSB officers.

Zakhvatov told The Insider that the recruitment was preceded by prolonged psychological pressure: Flores had been detained multiple times, placed in temporary detention centers, subjected to surveillance, and had her home searched. According to the lawyer, the final search differed from the previous iterations. This time, one of the officers who entered the apartment addressed Flores in a markedly gentle tone before his colleague began applying intense pressure on her.

“First they worked her over psychologically like that, then threatened her into signing one document, then two days later they made her sign another,” Zakhvatov told The Insider.

As the lawyer stresses, Flores already had extensive experience dealing with the security forces. She had taken part in Pussy Riot protests and was detained multiple times. She knew she was being watched, and  Zakhvatov himself had previously helped her evade surveillance.

“It’s difficult to say she was completely unprepared. Nevertheless, under certain circumstances, if you find the right approach to a person and hit a vulnerable spot, then, as practice has shown, [recruitment] is possible,” he said.

“Harley”: tracking artists and activists for the FSB 

Flores herself recounted that during the process, the officers threatened her with criminal charges over posts she had made about Russian soldiers killing civilians in Bucha, and the officers also made threats about her family members. She was later taken to the security service’s building on Michurinsky Avenue, where she signed cooperation documents. According to Flores, she was given the operational alias “Harley” and was assigned a handler — an FSB officer named Ivan.

Flores’s first assignment, she says, was to compile profiles on contemporary artists from Russia and neighboring countries. She was subsequently required to gather information on potential law enforcement targets, including details about their associates, relatives, habits, and vulnerabilities including drug use, infidelities, and mental health. According to Flores, this data could be used as tools of pressure and blackmail.

Flores claims she tried to sabotage her work by withholding information that could be dangerous to people she knew, and she deliberately cut off contact with individuals whom the FSB assigned her to “develop.” At the same time, according to her, the security service gained access to her phone through surveillance software.

Zakhvatov told The Insider that Flores had indeed tried to avoid carrying out her assignments.

“She tried to wriggle out of things in every way she could. Sometimes it worked, sometimes it didn’t. But fortunately, no one was harmed,” the lawyer said.

Among those she was required to gather information on, Flores named street artist Phillip Kozlov, known as Philippenzo, who in the summer of 2023 created graffiti titled “Izrossilovanie” (a fusion of the words “Russia” and “rape”). Kozlov was later detained, received two consecutive 15-day administrative sentences, and became a subject in a criminal vandalism case. He subsequently left Russia.

The plot to kill Pyotr Verzilov

The most serious assignment, Flores claims, came in the summer of 2025. According to her, FSB officers proposed that she help organize the killing of Pyotr Verzilov, the unofficial spokesperson of Pussy Riot, with whom she had previously been in a relationship. Flores was to lure him to Serbia and arrange a meeting at a predetermined café.

“After that, I was supposed to step outside on some pretext,” Flores said. According to her, the plan was to then abduct and kill Verzilov.

For her participation in the operation, she was allegedly offered a reward of up to 3 million rubles ($36,000). Flores also claims that her handlers repeatedly asked her to find at least a partial image of Verzilov’s house in Ukraine in order to establish his location and place an explosive device nearby.

After receiving the assignment related to Verzilov, Flores reached out to Zakhvatov. They then began working on extricating her from the security service’s control and arranging her departure from Russia.

The lesson for other coerced informants

According to Zakhvatov, one of the key tasks was to recover Flores’s passport. They also initially considered a course of action in which the activist would pretend to agree to take part in the killing of Verzilov in order to create the opportunity for arresting the FSB team on Serbian territory, but the idea was ultimately abandoned.

“It was too dangerous for Rita. And most importantly, the plan lacked credibility. The FSB officers knew very well that Rita and Pyotr had been close. We thought that such a proposal might itself be a provocation on their part, or could trigger a serious loyalty test for Rita, which she most likely would have failed,” Zakhvatov explained.

After that, they focused on preparing the evacuation. The lawyer has declined to disclose how Flores managed to leave Russia.

Flores noted that she received money from the Russian security services in exchange for her cooperation. Initially she was given a one-time payment of 30,000 rubles ($360), and in the final months before her departure, she says, the FSB paid her 50,000 rubles ($600) per month.

Following Flores’s evacuation, Zakhvatov published an appeal to others who may have been recruited by Russian intelligence services and wish to stop cooperating. As the lawyer explained to The Insider, this is not a dedicated evacuation program for informants, so he does not expect a large number of such inquiries. However, according to him, the Flores case has demonstrated the need to create a dedicated communication channel for people in a similar predicament.

“Since this situation has arisen, we need to use it somehow to disrupt the recruiters’ game... If a person has encountered the same problem as Rita did, they can reach out and receive some form of assistance,” Zakhvatov told The Insider.

He left separate contact details for such inquiries on Element X, Telegram, and Proton email while urging people not to contact him from devices known to the Russian security services.

According to Zakhvatov, one of the most important things an informant who has reached safety must do is speak openly about their cooperation with the security service. Keeping this fact secret, the lawyer argues, allows recruiters to continue using it as leverage and compel a person to carry out assignments even after leaving Russia.

“You’ve already been hooked, you’ve already been reeled in, some trace has already been left. That trace means that at any moment — as the recruitment victim understands — you can be held accountable for it and can be forced to do things you don’t want to do... It’s important that people don’t stay silent,” Zakhvatov told The Insider.

According to the lawyer, this is precisely why it was important to make Flores’s full story public — detailing the methods that FSB officers allegedly used on her.

“People need to know about all these methods; they need to be publicized so that people understand how to handle such a situation correctly and avoid falling into this trap,” he said.

Flores herself also explained her decision to publicly disclose her FSB cooperation as coming from a desire to help others in similar situations.

“I suspect more people have been recruited. And I would like to help them. I am a living example that you can simply reach out to the right people, and they will help you one hundred percent,” she said.

According to data from Starboard Maritime Intelligence, the Wendrix left Mersin on July 31 and as of Aug. 23 is in the Gulf of Finland, reportedly heading for the Primorsk marine oil terminal in Leningrad Region. The tanker, which sails under the flag of Equatorial Guinea, is part of the “shadow fleet.” The Wendrix (formerly known as the Jasper) is on the sanctions lists of the EU, the United Kingdom, Ukraine, and Switzerland.

The delivery marks the fifth known gasoline shipment to Russia since the start of July. According to CAS and Kpler data, Russia has already received three tankers carrying gasoline originally loaded at a refinery in Vadinar, India, and delivered to Russia after transshipment in Egypt. Another batch came from Morocco (a country that has no operational oil refineries). Analysts estimate the total volume of seaborne gasoline deliveries to Russia during this period at more than 1 million barrels.

On Aug. 22, Deputy Prime Minister Alexander Novak told a United Russia congress that gasoline supplies to the domestic market are expected to increase. He said that several oil refineries have completed maintenance and resumed production. However, in order to cover the shortfall, Novak identified imports and the production of gasoline of environmental classes K2, K3 and K4 — which are of lower quality than the Euro-5 standard.

Russia’s fuel crisis, which began in May, saw another rise in intensity earlier this month. Between Aug. 10 and 15, at least six Russian regions reinstated or tightened restrictions on gasoline sales, and the Novosibirsk Region signed the country’s first agreement capping the retail markup on fuel. In July, officials declared that the crisis was easing — but a new wave of strikes on oil processing facilities, including the complete shutdown of the Orsk refinery, largely reversed that progress.

“Items stored at the warehouse will be hidden from the marketplace storefront and will not be available to order. Orders being shipped from this warehouse will be cancelled, and customers will receive refunds... We are temporarily not accepting seller deliveries for security reasons. We ask our sellers to choose alternative warehouses for shipment and submit delivery requests there. Logistics routes to the affected warehouse have already been cancelled and will be redistributed among other facilities.”

Two children were killed in the attack on Krasnodar Krai, reports regional governor Veniamin Kondratyev, who said drone debris fell on a private children’s center in Krasnodar. Seven more children and two adults were injured.

Subsequently, employees at Ozon’s warehouses in Adygeysk (Republic of Adygea) and Nevinnomyssk (Stavropol Krai) were evacuated due to the drone threat. “The facilities themselves and the goods inside were not damaged,” the press service reports. 

Another attack targeted an Ozon warehouse in Dagestan, sparking a fire and injuring several employees. The facility, which opened in November 2025 to serve as the company’s core logistics center in the North Caucasus,  has been shut down.

The first time Ukrainian drones struck an Ozon warehouse occurred on Aug. 22, causing a fire at a facility in Chapayevsk, Samara Region. The following day, a warehouse in Orenburg was struck. Previously, drones had hit dozens of Wildberries marketplace warehouses.

“We have discussed the matter with the German side at a high level. They know perfectly well that Ukraine was not responsible for the implementation and the very idea of implementing the relevant operation… We are always willing to help our partners. We are already doing so, of course. Our Prosecutor General’s Office is handling this. Our Ministry of Foreign Affairs is handling this. There are ongoing contacts. We are open to everything.”

To date, two people have been arrested at Germany’s request as part of its investigation into the sabotage of the Nord Stream and Nord Stream 2 pipelines. Both are Ukrainian nationals: Serhiy Kuznetsov and Volodymyr Zhuravlev. Kuznetsov was detained in Italy and extradited to Germany, while Zhuravlev was initially detained in Poland but was released after a Polish court refused his extradition. In August 2026, Zhuravlev was arrested yet again in connection with the case, this time in Croatia.

In late September 2022, a series of explosions damaged two pipelines: Nord Stream and Nord Stream 2. The explosions were recorded near the Danish island of Bornholm in the Baltic Sea. Shortly afterward, four leaks were discovered across three of the four pipelines in the Nord Stream network. German investigators believe that seven Ukrainian nationals took part in the operation: four divers (including Zhuravlev), an explosives specialist, the captain of the yacht Andromeda, and Serhiy Kuznetsov, who ran the operation.

In December, Der Spiegel reported that Ukraine’s Defense Ministry confirmed that Kuznetsov had been serving in Ukraine’s Special Operations Forces at the time the Nord Stream pipelines were damaged. In January, a ruling by Germany’s Federal Court of Justice stating that the pipeline explosions were “in all likelihood” organized “on behalf of a foreign state” was made public. The remainder of the document makes clear that the reference is to Ukraine.

The Ukraine–NB8 summit took place on Aug. 23 in Kyiv, bringing together the leaders of Ukraine, Lithuania, Latvia, Estonia, Finland, Norway, and Denmark.

“Notes requesting that adequate measures be taken to protect polling stations, including banning demonstrations near our overseas missions on election day, have been sent to the foreign ministries of all foreign countries,” Raider told state-owned news agency RIA Novosti. He added that Russian overseas missions will implement undisclosed additional security measures during the elections, requiring employees to take on “a double or triple workload” due to staff reductions at embassies and consulates.

According to the Foreign Ministry, Russia has set up 312 polling stations in 152 countries, including 62 states that Russian authorities consider “unfriendly.” Russia also plans to hold 125 early mobile polling sessions in 45 countries. However, in Germany, Poland, the Czech Republic, the Baltic states, and a number of other countries, the Foreign Ministry decided to limit voting to Russian overseas missions only, stating that it cannot ensure the security of mobile voting there. In Bahrain, Israel, Iraq, Yemen, China, and Kuwait, all voting will take place early.

Among the conditions for admitting veterans to teaching roles, the ministry lists professional screening, training, retraining, mentorship, and methodological and psychological support. Professional enhancement programs have been developed for veterans who have already completed retraining. The ministry has not disclosed the content of the courses, their duration, or the number of participants.

In 2025, the journal Chelovek i Obrazovanie (Man and Education) published a study titled “Developing the Teaching Potential of Veterans of the Special Military Operation Through Engagement with Life Safety Departments.” Its author, Nataliya Gomzyakova, is the deputy dean of Russia’s State University of Education.

The Insider reviewed the paper, which analyzes regulatory documents, academic papers, and “hands-on work experience.” The publication contains no surveys of veterans, students, or teachers, no quantitative data, no experiments, and no comparison of war veterans with other candidates for teaching positions.

Gomzyakova writes that “many” veterans possess pedagogical potential. Among their advantages, the author lists knowledge of modern military terminology, drone operation skills, tactical medical training, and the ability to generate an emotional response in students. The paper also describes war veterans as role models for acquiring “genuine traditional spiritual and moral values” and describes their integration into education as a “unique educational phenomenon” — without providing any further justification for these claims.

The bulk of the study focuses on veterans working not with schoolchildren but with students at pedagogical colleges — future instructors of the OBZR (Basics of Safety and Defense of the Fatherland) course. The author proposes involving war veterans in practical classes and workshops, faculty consultations, and even student assessment during exams. The Education Ministry has extended the conclusion about veterans’ pedagogical potential directly to working with children and teaching school courses.

The study was commissioned by the Education Ministry itself. In April 2026, the university announced that Education Minister Sergei Kravtsov had rewarded Gomzyakova for developing an “effective practical solution in the field of education.” Her work was among 25 studies recognized by the ministry.

In June, The Insider reported that the Vershina center, established at the State University of Education, was already preparing war veterans to work in schools and colleges. At the same time, Kravtsov announced that starting Sept. 1, the share of basic military training within the OBZR course would increase from 20% to 50%. In July, the ministry proposed making basic military training a separate mandatory course for students in grades 8 and 10.

War veterans were being invited to the classroom even before the center was launched. In May 2025, The Insider found hundreds of reports about veterans’ meetings with schoolchildren. In one such case, Alexander Glazov — a former Wagner Group fighter with a prior conviction for inciting minors to suicide — spoke to eighth-graders about “patriotism.” The school claimed that the organizers were unaware of his criminal record.

In early August, the opposition party Progressive Slovakia was the first to raise suspicions about the cameras’ Russian origin. The Interior Ministry initially dismissed the claims, but Slovakia’s National Security Bureau later confirmed that the devices had been manufactured by St. Petersburg-based LLC Simicon.

An analysis conducted by the Bureau uncovered numerous vulnerabilities. In particular, one of the camera models was found to feature a hidden slot for a second SIM card, unaccounted for in the technical documentation. It also emerged that the devices can receive commands via SMS from 12 phone numbers registered in St. Petersburg and Russia’s Kemerovo Region. In light of the findings, the Interior Ministry halted the testing of the new cameras.

The supplier, Cypriot company Sodasus Ltd, presented itself as the manufacturer during negotiations with Slovak authorities. However, as Neue Zürcher Zeitung reports, the entity appears to be a shell company — although it was registered in 2021, no evidence of any commercial activity could be found.

According to Slovak authorities, similar Russian-made road cameras are already in use in several EU countries. The National Security Bureau notes that cameras of the same models are sold by the Croatian company Neroline, which has been working with the administration of the city of Rijeka for 10 years.

In May 2025, the UK’s National Cyber Security Centre, along with intelligence agencies in the United States and several European countries, published a joint report revealing that hackers working for the Russian military intelligence had gained access to more than 10,000 cameras located near military facilities, railway hubs, and border crossings. The cameras were used to monitor the transfer of equipment and weapons to Ukraine.

According to the published data, around 80% of the compromised cameras were located in Ukraine, with the remainder found in Eastern European countries: Romania, Poland, Hungary, and Slovakia. The National Cyber Security Centre stressed that Russia was using this method to undermine channels of military and humanitarian support for Kyiv.

The Russian operation was carried out by the hacker group APT28 (also known as Fancy Bear), a unit of the GRU’s 85th Main Special Services Center (Military Unit No. 26165, Moscow). According to U.S. authorities, the unit is staffed by career officers of Russian military intelligence. Fancy Bear has previously been accused of hacking the email accounts of the U.S. Democratic National Committee and Hillary Clinton. It is also suspected of carrying out cyberattacks against the German Bundestag, the OPCW, and other Western institutions. In 2020, the EU imposed sanctions on GRU chief Igor Kostyukov and his subordinates from the 85th Special Services Center. 

According to Fedorishchev, the Samara Region came under a mass attack overnight, with Russian forces and mobile fire units shooting down and suppressing several dozen Ukrainian drones. In addition to the Ozon facility, the Kuybyshev oil refinery was also damaged.

The fire broke out at Ozon’s distribution complex in the Chapayevsk industrial park on Industrialnaya Street. Ukrainian monitoring channels published footage of the attack and the subsequent fire. According to Ukrainian channel Supernova+, the complex has a floor area of approximately 135,000 square meters, making it Ozon's fifth-largest warehouse in Russia.

As the independent outlet ASTRA notes, two defense industry enterprises — JSC Promsintez and JSC Polimer — are located in immediate proximity to the warehouse, about one kilometer away. Promsintez produces, among other things, TNT, ammonites and nitrobenzene, while Polimer manufactures weapons, ammunition, and explosives for the military. Both facilities have previously come under attack.

In addition, last night a fire broke out at the Novokuybyshevsk oil refinery, also located in the Samara Region. ASTRA identified the location of the fire from footage published by eyewitnesses. The plant belongs to Rosneft and has come under attack multiple times. Following a strike on April 18, both of the plant's primary oil processing units were shut down, according to Reuters.

Until now, Wildberries had been the primary target of Ukrainian strikes against Russia’s commercial infrastructure. By Aug. 19, The Insider had counted that 21 of the company's facilities had been hit across 16 Russian regions and annexed Simferopol, affecting a combined floor area of approximately 2.3 million square meters. Fourteen facilities totaling around 1.77 million square meters sustained significant damage, forcing some operations to be relocated to other sites.

The two sides left the key question of military cooperation unanswered, though reports did emerge on the eve of the meeting about a possible Serbian-Ukrainian drone development project, potentially funded by the UAE. Indirect military cooperation between Belgrade and Kyiv has been a focus of media scrutiny in recent years. According to the Financial Times, by mid-2024 the total value of Serbian weapons and ammunition that had found its way to Ukraine was around €800 million — even if in May 2025 Vučić denied the reports of military supplies after Russia’s Foreign Intelligence Service accused Serbia’s defense industry of “trying to shoot Russia in the back.”

For some analysts, it is clear that Zelensky’s visit to Belgrade would not have taken place had Washington and other Western countries not believed Ukraine had reached a turning point in the war. Russian authorities, for their part, sought to minimize the significance of the Serbian-Ukrainian summit through their propaganda media. Officially, however, Moscow shifted the focus away from the meeting itself to a controversial remark by Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung journalist Michael Martens. At a press conference in Belgrade, Martens asked Zelensky how Europeans can “help kill more Russians” — a remark that, predictably, drew an angry rebuke from the Russian embassy in Germany.

Who did the “Nazi grandchild” help?

The FAZ editorial team quickly distanced itself from the “ambiguous phrasing,” stating that the question did not reflect the outlet’s editorial policy. But in the days that followed, the scandal only grew. The Russian embassy in Germany threatened Martens with prosecution through German and Russian law enforcement agencies. And indeed, on Aug. 15, criminal proceedings were opened against Martens in Russia on charges of incitement of hatred or enmity, which carry a sentence of up to six years in prison.

Russian Foreign Ministry spokeswoman Maria Zakharova also condemned the world’s “vaunted human rights activists and humanists” over their deafening silence in response to Martens’s words. “For the so-called civilized world,” Zakharova said, “this Nazi grandchild said exactly what they all think — he just didn’t call it ‘inflicting a strategic defeat on Russia,’ but literally ‘killing Russians.’” 

The Moscow press picked up on the tone set by Zakharova and did its best to minimize the significance of Zelensky’s visit. The business outlet Kommersant, for instance, described the trip as an event “of a pre-electoral nature,” crowned only by the signing of a memorandum of understanding on agriculture.

The picture was rounded out by fringe Serbian politicians with negligible ratings, who told Russian state media that “the West is waging war against Russia,” that Serbs can only join the EU “as a humiliated nation,” and that the Ukrainian leader’s visit to Belgrade had “shaken” Vučić’s position ahead of a snap parliamentary vote coming up in October.

In short, Moscow signaled its lack of intention to make an original diplomatic move. The Russian Foreign Ministry had already made clear its attitude toward senior Kyiv officials being received in Serbia a month earlier, following the visit to Belgrade by Ukrainian parliament speaker Ruslan Stefanchuk.

At the time, Moscow complained that “hostile anti-Russian escapades had not received an appropriate response from the Serbian hosts.” It follows that by receiving Zelensky shortly afterwards, the “Serbian hosts” chose to ignore their Russian partners’ displeasure.

Not just an election stunt

Moscow is not in a position to derail such contacts, but the Kremlin and the Russian Foreign Ministry almost certainly understand that excessive pressure on Belgrade would push it further toward Kyiv and the West. In this sense, the scandal around the German journalist came at just the right moment, as it allowed Russian diplomacy to signal displeasure without directly attacking Vučić.

Despite Belgrade’s refusal to impose sanctions on Russia, the Kremlin has failed to halt the development of Serbia’s ties to Ukraine, let alone to make it an anti-Ukrainian ally. Zelensky’s visit, accompanied by constant reminders in the Western press about the indirect military cooperation between Belgrade and Kyiv, is a rather vivid illustration of this fact.

Despite Belgrade’s refusal to impose sanctions on Russia, the Kremlin has failed to turn Serbia into an anti-Ukrainian ally

Contrary to some assessments, the warm reception given to Zelensky in Belgrade is not a simple “election stunt” aimed at reassuring Brussels and pro-European voters. The visit was planned long in advance and with considerable care — not to mention that Serbia’s official election campaign had not yet begun.

Absent any election, political contacts between Belgrade and Kyiv have been intensifying in recent years. These have included meetings between Vučić and Zelensky on the sidelines of international summits, visits by senior Ukrainian officials — among them Foreign Minister Dmytro Kuleba — and two trips by Vučić to Ukraine in just over a year.

It became clear that an official meeting with Zelensky was in the works during the visit of Deputy Prime Minister Taras Kachka to Belgrade in May, when Serbia’s leadership confirmed its readiness to accelerate work on a free trade agreement. Incidentally, the visit was timed with the first-ever NATO-Serbia military exercises on Serbian soil. Notably, Serbia has not conducted military exercises with Russia since 2022.

Avoiding a choice between Kyiv and Moscow

Although Zelensky’s visit does not fundamentally alter Serbia’s foreign policy, it has been one of the diplomatic highlights in the Balkans in recent years. The visit confirmed that Serbia, despite its traditional ties to Russia — both at the political level and via the energy sector — is willing to maintain a dialogue with Ukraine.

The Serbian authorities have no intention of making a distinct choice between Kyiv and Moscow. They are prepared to maintain humanitarian assistance and closed-door contacts with Ukraine while refraining from joining the West’s sanctions campaign against Russia, which remains Serbia’s chief supplier of natural gas.

Vučić’s critics characterize this stance as contradictory and duplicitous. Montenegrin Prime Minister Milojko Spajić recently accused the Serbian leader of double standards, posing a question to him on social media: “How is it that Serbia is one of the most important sources of weapons and ammunition for Ukraine, while sending one signal to Russia and a different one to Europe?”

For Vučić himself — the central figure in all key decision-making — this is not a contradiction but a convenient balancing act. He seeks to develop relations with competing powers while avoiding commitments that would foreclose other options. And in fact, Zelensky’s visit will help Belgrade expand its room for maneuver, preserving elements of its policy toward both Western countries and Russia. 

For Vučić, cooperation with both Moscow and Kyiv is not a contradiction but a convenient balancing act

Vučić is demonstrating his usefulness to the EU and the U.S. during the war in Ukraine, all while stopping short of instituting a formal break with Russia. Some analysts see this as an attempt to win over the Trump administration by proving Serbia’s strategic value to Washington — an effort that has become increasingly visible with the launch of a U.S.-Serbia strategic dialogue in recent months.

Vučić’s view of the war and the world

In the past few years, Serbia’s foreign policy has been perceived as broadly pro-Russian — a perception that will persist even after Zelensky’s visit. A study by the Belgrade Centre for Security Policy found that the narrative portraying Ukraine as a puppet in a war between Russia and the West dominated Serbia’s pro-government press from early 2022 to mid-2025.

Echoing Kremlin rhetoric, Serbian government-controlled outlets portrayed Zelensky as an illegitimate president and Ukraine as a country subordinate to NATO and the West. Local tabloids amplified corruption scandals involving Zelensky’s entourage, writing that the entirety of Ukraine’s leadership was thoroughly compromised.

Many other facts about the Belgrade-Kyiv relationship were thus overshadowed — for example, the facts that Serbia has supported UN resolutions affirming Ukraine’s sovereignty, has taken in Ukrainian refugees, and has provided financial, humanitarian, and energy assistance that Serbian authorities estimate to be worth €60 million.

Following Zelensky’s visit, Vučić stated that Serbia had “lost nothing” by receiving the Ukrainian leader, and that “Ukraine has never been a hostile nation,” albeit while adding that Serbia “is not destroying its friendly relations with Russia.” Vučić reserves the key roles in the world for the United States and China, regarding the EU and Russia as less significant centers of power. Indeed, it is the strengthening of ties with Beijing and Washington that has been the main focus of official Belgrade’s efforts in recent years.

Vučić reserves the key roles in the world for the U.S. and China, regarding the EU and Russia as less significant centers of power

For Ukraine, whose main partners are in the European Union, Belgrade’s ambiguous geopolitical orientation presents no serious problems. Still, if Serbia’s pro-EU political opposition were to come to power in Belgrade, that would certainly represent a more favorable outcome for Kyiv.

For Russia, which claims serious influence in the Balkans and close ties with Serbia, the situation is more complicated. Belgrade’s rapprochement with Beijing and the rapid growth of Chinese investment have once again highlighted Russia’s limited capabilities, particularly during wartime. Beijing — which, unlike the Kremlin, does not demand a rejection of EU integration — has in effect replaced Moscow as Serbia’s key partner in the East.

Equally painful for Russia is Belgrade’s rapprochement with the United States and its bet on a strategic dialogue. All the more so since Washington’s new, more pragmatic strategy in the Balkans is aimed at displacing Russia from the region. 

The death toll from the attack on the shopping mall has risen to 14, reported Dnipropetrovsk Regional Military Administration head Oleksandr Hanzha. 121 people were injured, including 22 children. According to figures provided by Vilkul, 29 of the injured are in critical condition, including five children. He also reported that eight of the injured, including one child, were in surgery. A 14-year-old girl with serious injuries was transferred to a hospital in Dnipro.

Russian forces struck the mall in two waves. According to statements by Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelensky, several Russian drones struck one after another. He had previously reported that approximately half an hour after the first impact (which caused a fire), a second strike targeted emergency responders. National Police of Ukraine chief Ivan Vyhivskyi added that at that moment, police officers and rescue workers were evacuating visitors, providing first aid, and fighting the fire. The majority of people and emergency service personnel, he said, managed to reach a safe distance before the second strike.

According to Vyhivskyi, fire engulfed roughly a third of the floor area of the mall, with the threat of further strikes complicating efforts to put out the blaze.

Russia’s Ministry of Defense had not commented on the attack on the shopping mall in Kryvyi Rih as of the time of publication.

The detainees are being charged under articles covering terrorism and participation in a terrorist organization; the first of these carries a penalty of up to life imprisonment.

Law enforcement agencies previously reported the detention of three people in connection with the case: a former Wagner fighter, an "acquaintance of Kyivstoner" who worked as a driver, and a 16-year-old. A fourth man, who had rented warehouses to pick up the drones for the alleged attack, was killed during his arrest.

The FSB had not shared any information about the other suspects, stating only that several more teenagers "aged 13 to 16" were implicated after having allegedly activated SIM cards in the drones. Two Moldovan nationals who had by then left Russia were also purportedly involved. The names of the individuals in custody are not being disclosed.

The FSB reported the attempted attack on a defense industry facility in the Moscow Region in mid-July. According to the agency, the perpetrators intended to use FPV (first-person view) drones. They were allegedly even launched, but were shot down. The drones, disguised as a shipment of Spanish ceramic tiles, were transported to Russia from Ukraine via Slovakia, Poland, and Belarus.

The FSB named Ukrainian rapper Kyivstoner (Albert Vasyliev) as the mastermind of the attack. The performer has denied the allegations.

“Attention is cool. But not of this kind — f*ck that... Why the f**k? I'm ch*lling, bro, I've been playing Dota,” he later wrote on social media.

One of the “drone saboteurs” was detained in the Moscow Region city of Balashikha, as The Insider has established from the FSB’s July video. Balashikha is home to several facilities fulfilling contracts with Russia's Ministry of Defense.

The forms of this involvement can vary, from indirect support for one side to mediation efforts in disputes between countries friendly to Beijing. In Western analytical circles, such behavior is often described as opportunistic – aimed at capitalizing on chaos.

Yet viewing all of Beijing’s moves through this lens would be an oversimplification. China’s responses do indeed vary depending on how strongly its key interests are affected, the level of risk involved, and the opportunities that arise. Protecting national interests while maintaining relations with all sides is not a neutral position; it is a deliberate strategy in which the long-term strengthening of China’s position always takes precedence over short-term gains.

What drives Beijing

Until the mid-2010s, China and its position on international conflicts were noticeably more restrained. Before Xi Jinping came to power, the foreign policy of the People’s Republic of China was cautious and even reactive. This approach is often described using the well-known dictum of Deng Xiaoping: “Hide your capabilities and bide your time.” For nearly three decades, Beijing deliberately prioritized economic development over geopolitical ambitions, avoided unnecessary friction with the West, and avoided taking on the role of arbiter in other countries’ disputes.

The shift began after Xi took the helm of the country in 2012–2013. Within the Chinese leadership, there was growing discussion that Beijing's international status no longer corresponded to its dramatically increased economic power.

Foreign policy therefore became more assertive. China launched global initiatives, above all the Belt and Road Initiative, established its first overseas military base in Djibouti, and, most importantly, became more willing to defend its own interests. This meant not only greater involvement in global affairs but also an attempt to gradually reshape the international order.

China’s behavior in international conflicts is determined above all by a hierarchy of interests. These can broadly be divided into two groups. The first consists of core interests. When a conflict touches on them, compromises are effectively off the table, and Beijing’s actions become significantly more assertive. These absolute priorities include the country’s territorial integrity (including the Taiwan issue), economic development, and the stability of the political system.

When secondary interests are at stake, China’s approach can become more pragmatic. If a crisis does not threaten the country’s vital interests, Beijing can use it to strengthen its image as a responsible international player and expand its influence. Moreover, participation in such processes allows China to promote its own vision of international relations and present an alternative to Western approaches to conflict resolution.

When a crisis does not threaten the country’s vital interests, Beijing uses it to strengthen its image as a responsible international player

According to political scientist Rush Doshi, China pursues a long-term strategy in international politics aimed at displacing the United States from the regional and global. Ultimately, Beijing seeks to become the power that shapes the world’s destiny. Similarly, international relations scholar Oriana Skylar Mastro argues that China uses its “agents of chaos” – Iran, Russia, and North Korea – to create problems for the U.S. and its allies. In her view, these actions weaken Washington's power by diverting its attention and resources.

However, China rarely opts for direct confrontation with the West. The logic behind its foreign policy is best described by the Chinese concept of relationality, which contrasts with the emphasis that the Western school of international relations places on the rational calculations of individual states and their national interests. According to relationality proponent Qin Yaqing, China views the world not through the prism of individual countries’ interests but through the relationships that are constantly evolving among the participants in global politics. From the Chinese perspective, relations between states should be maintained despite disagreements. When conflicts arise, they should be contained in order to minimize the damage to those relationships. 

Closely linked to relationality is another important concept in Chinese foreign policy: the principle of peaceful coexistence. Formulated by Chinese Premier Zhou Enlai as early as 1954, this principle includes mutual respect for sovereignty and territorial integrity, mutual non-aggression, noninterference in internal affairs, equality and mutual benefit, and peaceful coexistence.

Beijing invokes these principles when commenting on international conflicts as well. In doing so, China demonstrates its willingness not to intervene directly in other countries’ disputes while at the same time demanding the same treatment for itself. This approach allows it to maintain relations with all sides even in tense situations.

Yet it would be inaccurate to portray Chinese foreign policy exclusively in pacifist terms. Since the founding of the People’s Republic of China in 1949, there have been numerous instances when the principles of respect for sovereignty, territorial integrity, and non-aggression gave way to military force. This was the case, for example, during the invasion of Vietnam in 1979 and the armed clashes with India along the disputed border in 1962. During the Maoist period, Beijing also actively interfered in the internal affairs of other countries, supporting communist insurgencies in the so-called Third World.

After the launch of the reform and opening-up policy in the late 1970s, the Chinese authorities no longer took such overtly adventurous steps, instead favoring gray-zone tactics, economic pressure, and diplomacy. Strategically, if China were to behave the way it alleges the U.S. does, Beijing would lose an important advantage: its image as a restrained and “constructive” player. For this reason, China generally adheres to the fundamental principles of its foreign policy, but it is nevertheless prepared to selectively depart from them when its core interests are threatened.

This combination of factors – the primacy of interests, a focus on relationships, and a desire to play a greater role in global affairs – allows China to take a flexible approach to conflicts. Chinese diplomatic strategy is thus aimed at building the desired type of relations with other countries while strengthening China’s image as a defender of peace. Beijing does not always succeed in this, however, and calls for peace are sometimes replaced by shows of force.

What kind of China are you today?

In responding to different crises, China actively adjusts its role and chooses the strategy it considers most appropriate. These roles can broadly be divided into four types: the coexisting titan, the uncompromising master, the wise judge, and the advocate of “everything good.”

Chinese diplomacy adopts the first role in its relations with the U.S. Although Washington and Beijing are not engaged in an armed conflict, their strategic rivalry is one of the major potential conflicts of the 21st century.

Even under the Biden administration, the U.S. National Security Strategy described China as its main long-term competitor. China, for its part, also acknowledges that its relationship with the United States is the most important in the world and that it needs to be managed carefully to avoid a crisis.

The contentious nature of the relationship stems from the fact that China poses a threat to the U.S. in virtually every key sphere. The rivalry between the two powers encompasses semiconductors, trade, the military sphere, technological development, as well as the struggle for influence around the world.

As a rising great power, China has its own vision of the future world order. In Beijing’s view, the existing international system should not be dismantled but reformed along multipolar lines. In the model of the world order that China openly advocates, it does not seek the emergence of a single hegemon but instead says it wants to create an order based on dialogue. Within this framework, the U.S. still has an important role, but in the long term Beijing hopes to secure Washington’s recognition of a multipolar world, respect for its “red lines,” and fairer competition.

China’s strategy is aimed at preventing open conflict, which is why Xi has consistently advocated building a “new type of great-power relations.” The idea is to acknowledge the differences between the two countries and continue competing while maintaining direct, high-level dialogue in the political and military spheres.

When conflict cannot be avoided, China responds to pressure with symmetrical measures. For example, during the latest tariff war of Donald Trump’s second presidential term, Beijing not only responded to U.S. tariffs with tariffs of its own, but also restricted exports of rare earth minerals. Even amid intense rivalry, the PRC seeks less to gain a decisive advantage than to preserve the status quo by keeping the competition within reasonable limits.

However, when disputes directly affect China’s core interests — territorial integrity, sovereignty, and national security — Beijing’s pragmatism takes a back seat. Geographically, most of these interests are concentrated in East Asia, a region where China expects to become the dominant power.

When it comes to territorial disputes, rhetoric about mutual benefit gives way to assertive and forceful action, as is most clearly evidenced in the case of Taiwan (and the debate over a possible Chinese attempt to forcibly annex the island by 2027). China insists that it does not want an escalation of the conflict over the island, but it is also unwilling to tolerate manifestations of political support for the democratic authorities in Taipei. Rather than openly seeking to alter the status quo in the Taiwan Strait, Beijing actively uses “gray-zone” tactics that include expanding the area of its naval exercises, conducting regular flights by military aircraft, and patrolling the waters around the island. This allows China to deter Taiwan’s allies from becoming involved lest they cross the threshold into direct armed confrontation.

When it comes to territorial disputes, rhetoric about mutual benefit gives way to assertive and forceful action

China responds similarly to other challenges of this kind. For example, Beijing often answers with forceful measures to what it considers unfriendly moves by Japan. In November 2025, when Tokyo's newly appointed Prime Minister Sanae Takaichi described a possible attack on Taiwan as an existential threat to Japan itself, China’s reaction was swift. Japan was hit by a barrage of restrictive measures, including the suspension of imports of Japanese seafood and the cancellation of flights. In this way, China demonstrates that any actions it considers to be an infringement on its sovereign interests will be met with the strongest possible response.

China also participates in conflicts as a mediator. This usually occurs in situations where Beijing has significant economic interests, the U.S. has a relatively weak presence, and the risk of being drawn into armed confrontation is minimal. In such circumstances, Beijing seeks to maintain an equidistant position from the conflicting parties while preserving working relations with each side until an agreement is reached.

One notable success of Chinese diplomacy was the normalization of relations between Saudi Arabia and Iran in 2023. Thanks to Chinese mediation, on March 10 of that year the two sides signed a joint statement in which they pledged, among other things, to restore diplomatic relations.

It was not by chance that China achieved this success. The PRC buys substantial volumes of oil from both countries and is a particularly important oil export market for Iran. Second, Beijing maintains good relations with both Riyadh and Tehran, whereas the U.S. could not credibly claim the role of a neutral mediator because of its decades-long confrontation with Iran. The combination of these factors enabled China to mediate in a distant conflict while simultaneously strengthening its image as a peace-loving power.

However, the latest escalation of the Middle East conflict – between Iran on one side and the U.S. and Israel on the other –  demonstrated the limitations of China’s peacemaking capacity. After the armed conflict in Iran entered a hot phase in late February, China’s Foreign Ministry condemned the actions of the U.S. and Israel and expressed concern over the developments. At the same time, Zhai Jun, the Chinese government’s special envoy for Middle Eastern affairs, engaged in shuttle diplomacy, visiting regional capitals in an attempt to maintain contact with all its partners.

As the conflict dragged on, Beijing again called on the sides to resolve their differences as soon as possible and return to dialogue. The results of China’s 2023 efforts did not go to waste: Iran and Saudi Arabia maintained diplomatic relations despite U.S. strikes against Iran launched from Saudi territory. 

In practice, however, this was the extent of China’s role in the conflict. Beijing’s actions demonstrated that Chinese diplomacy can help improve relations only when the parties themselves are willing to do so. In a hot conflict where Beijing lacks coercive tools comparable to those available to Washington, China’s peacemaking efforts prove ineffective.

There is, however, a fourth role China plays in international conflicts, one that has been most clearly manifested in its position on the war in Ukraine. After February 24, 2022, Beijing found itself in a difficult position. On the one hand, its key economic partners in the West expected China to pressure the Kremlin and work to stop the war. On the other hand, there is Russia, which Beijing needs as a counterweight in its strategic confrontation with the West.

To preserve its image as a constructive player, China had to adopt a position that many researchers describe as pro-Russian neutrality. Beijing continued to develop economic ties with Moscow, providing Moscow with dual-use goods and assistance in circumventing some sanctions. Formally, China does not supply Russia with lethal weapons, and in its official statements it continues to emphasize the importance of the principle of respect for territorial integrity – a message aimed at Western audiences. In reality, however, military cooperation with Russia is far broader than officially acknowledged.

At the same time, the war in Ukraine remains fairly remote from China’s vital interests. Although both Russia and Ukraine are important partners for China, it has little reason to intervene directly in the conflict. That is why Beijing’s policy on the issue remains highly abstract. In a peace plan published in February 2023, China called for a ceasefire and the start of negotiations, but offered no concrete measures for ending the war.

This once again shows that Beijing has no desire to act as the world’s policeman, certainly not when it comes to faraway conflicts that have little bearing on its interests. Instead, in such conflicts, China balances between the interests of the various parties, makes peace proposals largely for the sake of appearances, and waits for an opportunity to normalize relations and further develop ties.

China’s involvement in the war between Iran and the U.S. has taken on features broadly similar to its position on the conflict in Ukraine. According to media reports, Beijing is supplying Iran with dual-use goods, intelligence and satellite imagery, and, according to some reports, is also making commercial arms shipments. The Chinese side, however, denies all allegations of any involvement in military operations.

As in the case of Russia, Beijing has no interest in the fall of Iran’s regime – an important oil supplier – and is therefore prepared to support the combat capability of Iranian forces to some extent. However, this assistance is provided in ways that preserve as much room as possible for plausible deniability.

More than just calculation

In practice, Beijing’s involvement in conflicts does not always lead to success. By trying to balance between the opposing sides in the war in Ukraine, China’s close ties with Russia have in one way or another undermined the trust of Western countries. Although China’s peacemaking efforts have produced some successes, they are typically undertaken reluctantly. Meanwhile, attempts to impose its preferred order in the Taiwan Strait or the South China Sea encourage its rivals to strengthen their own military and political coordination with the U.S. 

Importantly, China’s strategy in different conflicts is not driven by material gain alone. Whenever fighting breaks out anywhere in the world today, the international community inevitably asks: what will China gain from it? The answer is most often sought in economic or geopolitical terms. However, if Beijing’s main objective truly were to maximize the benefits it derives from other countries’ conflicts, its actions would be far more aggressive.

For example, it would use crises to resolve disputes along its borders by force, or else impose more favorable terms of cooperation on Russia and Iran, both of which are already dependent on China to some extent. Yet this does not happen.

For Beijing, involvement in international conflicts is neither an end in itself nor a means of scoring political points. Moreover, when it comes to conflicts that are distant and have little bearing on its interests, China’s leadership seeks to distance itself by limiting its actions to calls for peace. By playing different roles depending on the situation, China is pursuing broader goals: strengthening its power, pushing for changes to the international order, and turning itself into a recognized center of influence.

China has ambitious goals: to strengthen its power, reshape the international order, and turn itself into a recognized center of power

In the view of China’s ruling elite, the desired global order has several distinctive features. First, there should be no single hegemon in the world, and international relations should be “democratized.” Second, great powers must respect each other’s sovereignty and “red lines,” recognize the legitimacy of different political systems (rather than just liberal democracy), and build relations on the basis of managed competition rather than direct confrontation. Third, in the future world order envisioned by Beijing, greater weight should be given not only to international organizations but also to countries of the Global South.

Judging by the statements and actions of the Chinese leadership, the transition to such an order should take place gradually and relatively smoothly, without immediately undermining the existing system. That is why maximizing the benefits of each individual conflict is not a priority. Instead, China’s strategy continues to put long-term relationships and the protection of its interests first – a foundation whose returns will become evident in the future.

In March 2025, a verdict was handed down in Paris in a case concerning the National Rally party's misuse of European Parliament funds. In popular discourse, the courtroom drama was often referred to as the “Marine Le Pen trial” — even though, in total, the court’s guilty verdict also named 23 other people, as well as the party itself. The prosecution sought a prison sentence (which, under French law, would in any case have been suspended) and a fine, but the central question was whether the judiciary would ban Le Pen from public office, leaving her ineligible to stand in the 2027 presidential election. It did, barring her from electoral politics for a period of five years. 

It is important to emphasize that the prosecution did not seek to prove that Marine Le Pen had personally enriched herself, as it had no substantial evidence to support such a claim. The case instead concerned her party's systematic use of European Parliament funds for its own internal needs rather than to support the work of MEPs. Thus, despite the undeniable violations and Le Pen’s central role in organizing such a scheme, the seriousness of the offense did not appear particularly great — not only to National Rally voters but also to a substantial part of the wider public. Critics of the first-instance court’s ruling argued that Le Pen should be defeated at the ballot box, not in court.

Marine Le Pen must be defeated at the ballot box, not through legal proceedings

Le Pen's public statements predictably accused various dark forces of working to bring about her “political death.” She and her allies challenged the verdict on appeal. But the slow pace of the French justice system offered little hope that the case would be reconsidered quickly enough for the politician to take part in the 2027 presidential election.

Then a miracle occurred. The appeals court agreed to deliver its verdict in the summer of 2026 — effectively dispelling any suspicions that the government was manipulating the justice system in order to eliminate a political rival. The ruling satisfied everyone: the guilty verdict was upheld, but Le Pen's ban on standing for election was eased. For the leader of the National Rally, the path to the most important election of her life was once again open.

France’s largest party

In 2011, Marine Le Pen inherited the National Front from her father, taking over a party in crisis. On the one hand, Jean-Marie Le Pen was well known, an eloquent speaker, and was recognized as an authority in right-wing conservative circles. On the other, his party’s reputation as a xenophobic, far-right movement prevented it from attracting broad electoral support.

The daughter Le Pen worked to rebrand the party, including changing its name and sidelining her aging father. However, its populist rhetoric was retained: the party continued to criticize the traditional political elites, the project of a united Europe, and any policy that could be conceivably portrayed as pro-immigrant. At the same time, the party abandoned any outright xenophobic rhetoric while actively reaching out to potential voters at the local level. 

Essentially, the National Front underwent a process of “normalization." Its candidates began winning races, and the public saw that the sky did not fall as a result. Le Pen herself made it to the second round of the presidential election against Emmanuel Macron twice, in 2017 and 2022, improving her result each time. The name change to National Rally in 2018 symbolized the party's partial break from its past.

The National Front underwent a process of “normalization,” becoming part of the routine political landscape

Marine Le Pen's years of sustained effort, aided by widespread discontent over Macron’s muddled political course and a succession of various crises, made the populist leader a recognized contender for the 2027 election. The trial nearly erased all these achievements — but it the end it left her in an even stronger position, with the first public opinion polls published after the appeals court handed down its verdict showing Le Pen winning a hypothetical second round contest against any of her likely rivals.

Nevertheless, there is still a long way to go. The election campaign will start only in September, practically at the same time as the Senate by-elections, whose outcome will have a major bearing on the mood of French voters. For now, preliminary polls provide only the first indications of what may be to come. Moreover, it is impossible even to make an approximate prediction of who Marine Le Pen’s main rival will be, and who she will most likely face in the second round. Her own “skeletons in the closet,” both past and recent, could also prove a significant obstacle on the road to victory in 2027, complicating her campaign and putting her on the defensive.

First, no one can say for certain whether she will be able to break through her electoral ceiling — the result of voters’ reservations about her name, her party’s past, and its legal troubles — and win more than 50% of the vote in the second round. According to polls conducted after the first court ruling in the Le Pen case, 49% of French voters wanted to see her run, while 51% did not. If voters’ attitudes have become more favorable today, that does not mean that those who remain skeptical of the party have definitively changed their minds.

Second, even French voters who opposed her being barred from running and welcomed her return are not prepared to turn a blind eye to the abuses that did indeed take place. Some details of the wrongdoing, in particular the fact that Le Pen’s personal bodyguard was listed as a parliamentary assistant (as well as her role as the main coordinator of the scheme), will certainly be used against her by her rivals. The verdict was guilty, and it remains guilty.

Third, Marine Le Pen has a reputation, if not as an admirer of Putin and Trump, then certainly as a politician belonging to the same camp as the two of them. Although she formally condemned Russia’s invasion of Ukraine, she has always been highly evasive when it comes to supporting Kyiv and has aligned herself with the position of former Hungarian Prime Minister Viktor Orbán. Neither Putin nor Trump is popular with French voters, and Le Pen will try to distance herself from them – something that is not always easy to do. In mid-July, Elon Musk, who is also not particularly popular among the French, openly voiced his support for Le Pen, which she was hardly likely to welcome.

Additionally, tensions inside the National Rally itself could also prove to be an obstacle (even if the party denies that such internal divisions exist). 

Young and ambitious

One way Marine Le Pen sought to bring new people into the party was by recruiting fresh talent. Jordan Bardella’s meteoric rise is an excellent example.

Bardella will turn 31 in September, and he embodies the party’s new course away from the National Front’s scandal-ridden past. Given his age, Bardella had no involvement in the aforementioned legal proceedings, as the abuses in question took place between 2004 and 2016.

For many years, Marine Le Pen built an extremely rigid system of control within the party, preventing any parallel centers of influence from emerging. Bardella was not exaggerating when he admitted that he “owed everything to her.” But after her defeat in 2022, Le Pen decided to focus on the 2027 presidential election while stepping back somewhat from the day-to-day running of the party.

At the end of 2022, Bardella became president of the National Rally — giving frequent interviews and speaking out boldly on political issues. It seemed that the two leaders were in complete agreement over the division of roles: Marine Le Pen as the party’s number one, with her sights set on the presidency, and Bardella as number two, with the prospect of becoming prime minister if Le Pen won.

But the trial and the harsh first-instance sentence somewhat disrupted this arrangement. Until the appeals court issued its ruling in July, no one knew whether Marine Le Pen would be able to run in the election.

Publicly, Jordan Bardella declared his full solidarity and “loyalty” to the party’s de facto leader, calling the verdict against her “political.” But he could not have been unaware of the results of polls showing that, if Le Pen were unable to run, his support in the 2027 presidential election stood at roughly the same level as hers – 34–37%. Moreover, this scenario was known to other National Rally leaders as well, and they could have begun considering the situation in terms of their own personal strategies.

Voters saw no problem with replacing Marine Le Pen, the party’s long-standing leader, with the young Jordan Bardella

Despite the public display of unity, the differences between Bardella and Le Pen are not merely generational (even if Bardella boasts more than two million followers on Tik Tok). He has consistently taken right-wing conservative positions, at times even liberal ones from an economic perspective, while Le Pen has sought to pay greater attention to social issues. These differences were not particularly significant while the party was gaining ground, but an election campaign will require greater clarity when it comes to questions of policy.

The previous balance of power has now been restored: Le Pen is the presidential candidate, and Bardella is in line to become prime minister. But one can only speculate about what the young man went through as he spent an entire year seeing his name at the top of the presidential polls, and how he now views his return to the number-two position.

Everyone against Le Pen

The National Rally’s greatest asset is its electorate, which has become disillusioned with the current political system. The fact that these voters were ready to support either Le Pen or Bardella with roughly equal determination says less about the candidates’ abilities than it does about the extent of French voters’ weariness with Macron’s inconsistent style of governance. Consequently, other candidates must present themselves as a credible alternative both to the incumbent president and to Marine Le Pen, whose lead in the polls is now so substantial that it is difficult to imagine her failing to reach the second round (though she has no chance of winning in the first round). 

Voters across the West in general have been moving to the right, and the French cite the migration crisis and declining security as their main causes for concern, in line with the National Rally's platform. Le Pen's opponent in the second round of the presidential contest will likely come from one of three distinct groups. 

The first consists of moderate center-right politicians who possess governing experience and have conventional political careers behind them. They include former prime ministers Édouard Philippe and Gabriel Attal, along with cabinet ministers Gérald Darmanin and Bruno Retailleau, among other contenders. Former prime minister François Bayrou, for example, is already proposing that a common bloc be formed.

The problem with the candidates listed above is that they all belong, in one way or another, to the old political establishment, making them relatively easy targets for criticism. Le Pen will blame them for all of Macron’s failures, real or perceived. Overall, as of today, Édouard Philippe is the closest of them to defeating Marine Le Pen in the second round.

The second group consists of left-wing politicians, but their initial prospects are far from promising. The leader here is the radical left-wing Jean-Luc Mélenchon, a gifted orator and a regular participant in presidential campaigns who in the past was able to attract more moderate left-wing voters, finishing third overall with 21.95% of the first round vote in 2022 (and fourth in 2017, with 19.58%).

This time, however, the split within the left-wing camp is so deep that uniting it will most likely be impossible. Among Mélenchon’s potential rivals is former President François Hollande, who was even less popular when he left office than Macron is today. However, the French tend to forget the bad things with time.

Finally, there is the third group, which contains zero names — at least for now. However, the emergence of an unexpected, anti-establishment candidate cannot be ruled out — for example, a prominent entrepreneur who could present himself as the savior of the country from Macron, Le Pen, and all the other politicians. Macron himself played roughly the same role back in 2017.

In short, the election campaign that begins in France in September promises to be both very interesting and highly challenging for Marine Le Pen. But the other candidates will also have to work hard to ensure that the roughly 51% of voters who do not like right-wing populists actually turn out in the spring to cast their ballots for whoever makes it through to the second round to take on Le Pen.

Damage has been recorded in three city districts. In Sviatoshynskyi district, an unspecified industrial facility was struck, according to the State Emergency Service of Ukraine. Warehouse premises are also on fire in the area. 

Residential buildings and infrastructure facilities have also sustained damage. A residential high-rise was hit, with its upper floors partially destroyed.

In Kyiv Region, seven people have been reported injured and one person killed.

Russia’s Ministry of Defense, meanwhile, claims that the targets in the capital included the Fire Point facility, which produces components for Flamingo missiles, along with the trading and warehousing complex of Ukrspecsystems (manufacturer of components for strike UAVs), the Antonov enterprise (drone development), and an ammunition depot. Outside the city, warehouse facilities storing fuel and “dual-use goods” were said to have been targeted. 

One video uses Der Spiegel branding to claim that the Greek government froze the financial operations of more than 500 companies linked to Merz and Swedish Prime Minister Ulf Kristersson. The entities were allegedly involved in laundering proceeds from drug trafficking and financed a paedophile network known as “04/09.” This likely refers to Operation Fever, a Polish police initiative that saw a network of more than a hundred criminals arrested across 12 countries on April 9, 2025. Matryoshka’s video also invokes the former head of Poland’s Military Counterintelligence Service, Radosław Kujawa, who allegedly described the events as “a victory for the Swedish and German opposition.” 

Another video, circulated with the caption “Sweden’s ruling coalition uses the same tactics against its political opponents as Germany’s CDU party,” uses the logo of Swedish broadcaster SVT. The video claims that Landa, a lobbying organization linked to the CDU, was spreading disinformation to discredit Swedish opposition figures.

Another clip, which mimics Euronews content, claims that German hackers broke into Sweden’s BankID identification system to influence the elections. 

Sweden’s Riksdag elections are scheduled for Sept. 13. The elected members of parliament will then choose a new prime minister. The ruling coalition — comprising the Moderate Party, the Christian Democrats, the Liberals, and the Sweden Democrats — faces a left-wing coalition of Social Democrats, the Left Party, the Greens, and the Centre Party. Polls show the left-wing coalition leading by around 10 percentage points (53.9% to 43.9%), making a change of government highly likely.

Several regional and local elections in Germany are also taking place in September. As The Insider reported earlier, Germany’s Federal Office for the Protection of the Constitution (BfV) issued an official warning about a Russian-led disinformation campaign. According to the agency, this month Matryoshka bots spread posts on X using the hashtag #TimeToDivideGermany, promoting the idea of re-dividing Germany into East and West while calling such a division a “historical necessity.” 

According to state prosecutor Gardi Anderson, investigators have identified a total of three suspects. Two were detained in Latvia after their arrest was authorized by an Estonian court. Law enforcement agencies of the two countries are working on transferring the detainees to Estonia. The prosecutor’s office intends to finalize the third arrest in the near future. The suspects’ names and nationalities have not been disclosed.

“We are investigating all theories, including whether what happened was an act of sabotage. At present we cannot disclose more detailed information about the lines of inquiry,” Anderson said. According to the prosecutor’s office, shortly before the fire, a local resident noticed suspicious activity near a Milrem Robotics building and reported it to emergency services.

On Aug. 18, Estonian Prime Minister Kristen Michal stated that investigators are looking into possible Russian involvement. “One of the theories under investigation is a possible act of sabotage with Russian participation,” he said. The Russian embassy in Tallinn did not respond to a request from Reuters for comment, and Estonian authorities have not yet publicly presented any evidence of Russian involvement in the arson.

The fire broke out overnight into Aug. 15 in a facility used by Milrem Robotics. No one was injured. The company develops unmanned ground military vehicles that are used in Ukraine. On Aug. 19, Milrem Robotics CEO Kuldar Väärsi told Reuters that the fire had not affected production, supply chains, or equipment deliveries to Ukraine. According to him, the company expects to have more than 200 of its robotic systems in Ukraine by the end of the year.

In recent decades, debate over the political consequences of the world’s digital transformation has only intensified.

The camp of technological optimists has included thinkers from a wide range of fields. Cyberlibertarian John Perry Barlow declared the internet a sovereign space without borders or governments. Silicon Valley pioneer Jaron Lanier saw open coordination among people online as a tool for developing global democracy. Sociologist Nicholas Negroponte believed censorship in the digital space was technically impossible. Sociologist Manuel Castells argued that networked structures would undermine the hierarchies of authoritarian states.

They were opposed by an equally eclectic collection of pessimists. Gilles Deleuze warned of the emergence of a flexible “society of control” through digital networks. Roger Clarke introduced the concept of “dataveillance” — surveillance through digital traces. And David Lyon argued that a total “surveillance society” was nothing short of inevitable.

It is still too early to draw any final conclusions, but so far authoritarian regimes have been largely successful in suppressing freedom of speech online by combining technical censorship with physical measures. In addition to tracking of online activity and user location, citywide video surveillance systems leave nowhere for real-world dissidents to hide. And with the emergence of generative AI, the world’s largest autocracies — China, Russia, Iran, North Korea, Turkey, and Belarus — have made a qualitative leap, integrating cutting-edge technologies into their existing systems of control while testing new methods of suppressing citizens’ rights.

Traditional authoritarian methods — censorship, espionage, propaganda, and force — required significant human and financial resources. AI has changed that, allowing the world’s most powerful tyranny, China, to scale up control while minimizing costs. Beijing has accumulated an enormous body of information that, with the help of modern language models, will allow the authorities to identify patterns in large datasets quickly, detecting new markers of social discontent faster and suppressing protests before Chinese citizens can take to the streets. Soon, a person detained on the basis of a neural network’s decision will face the continuous monitoring of their emotional state while in custody — carried out by AI-powered cameras that are already being tested in Chinese prisons.

“Catching-up” autocracies such as North Korea or Russia are not yet using AI to its full potential. Due to sanctions, they are forced to import the necessary chips through semi-legal schemes — and paying a premium for the privilege. Even so, they continue to actively develop their own surveillance programs using AI.

Importantly, authoritarian regimes are willing to sell and exchange technologies, accelerating their adoption and increasing their impact. Russia, for example, shared technology with the Iranian mobile operator Ariantel in order to help Tehran build its own equivalent of Russia’s SORM, the FSB surveillance system. SORM, which appeared in the mid-1990s, tracks a user’s browsing history and session times, records every call and text message, and stores intercepted data for years.

SORM has advanced significantly thanks to machine learning. Phone conversations are now transcribed by programs similar to the audiogram feature of Russian telecoms giant MTS, turning speech into text in real time, making it available for instant contextual analysis by the regime.

Data from SORM, such as a phone’s location (as determined through cell towers), is compared with footage from city surveillance cameras connected to facial recognition systems. Those systems are built on AI training and can identify people by analyzing their facial features, silhouettes, and movements. One such facial recognition technology, FindFace, developed by Russia’s NtechLab, has also appeared in Iran.

The free world faces an existential challenge: technologies created to unite humanity have become effective weapons for dividing and controlling it. To continue suppressing civil liberties with AI technologies, authoritarian regimes critically need access to powerful microchips — occasionally obtained through legal import exceptions, but more often delivered via gray supply chains for Western equipment or made at home thanks to investments in production capacity. 

Authoritarian regimes critically need access to powerful microchips

In addition to computing power, successful surveillance depends on the use of well-trained AI models capable of effectively processing large datasets for targeted monitoring.

China: How AI helps the world’s biggest Big Brother suppress dissent

Among today’s nondemocratic states, only China possesses the full set of necessary resources to build a surveillance system on its own. It has accumulated sufficient computing capacity — in part thanks to the successful domestic development of Huawei computing chips — and gathered vast datasets. allowing Beijing to truly compete with the free world when it comes to building a sovereign artificial intelligence system.

The main change brought by AI is the shift from simply accumulating information to processing it automatically in real time. Previously, Chinese state bodies collected terabytes of video footage and text logs that they physically could not analyze in full. Now, however, modern neural networks have made it possible to merge fragmented databases — biometric data, geolocation data, and financial transaction data — into a single system that can instantly identify patterns in citizens’ behavior.

Previously, censorship and online surveillance in China consisted of a system in which a user’s activity was compared with a list of stop words and phrases, a database of banned images, and an identification system based on financial transactions. Mobile operators also continuously tracked geolocation, internet browsing behavior, and other indirect indicators.

For example, if a WeChat user sent a nefarious sentence — “The Dalai Lama is right about everything,” for example, or “What happened in Tiananmen Square on June 4, 1989?” —  the message either would not be delivered or would be sent in an “invisible” mode, meaning its sender could see it but the recipient could not.

A message saying “What happened in Tiananmen Square on June 4, 1989?” either would not be delivered or would be sent as an “invisible” message

Under Chinese law, responsibility for content lies with IT companies themselves — Tencent, Sina, and ByteDance, to name a few major players — which can be punished for improper content that, for whatever reason, makes it through the automatic censorship barrier. As a result, companies employed so-called online public opinion analysts — in effect, censors — thousands of specialists who manually moderated content that automatic filters deemed suspicious.

Such measures were necessary, for example, when people used sarcasm, memes, hints, and homophones. In Chinese, some characters sound the same but are written differently, and to get around an automatic ban on the word “censorship,” or hexie, meaning “harmonization,” users wrote “river crab,” he xie, which sounds exactly the same. The automatic stop-word filter let the “crab” through, and only a human moderator could understand the context well enough to catch the subversive content and delete it.

Users could also turn text criticizing the authorities into an image, then flip it upside down or add noise. Before the development of modern computer vision, older optical character recognition (OCR) algorithms could not cope with such tricks. As a result, companies had to employ people who literally reviewed terabytes worth of graphic information.

The introduction of modern AI has removed the need to maintain large numbers of manual moderators. Instead, China has trained neural networks to instantly read context, understand sarcasm, recognize upside-down text in noisy images, and transcribe voice messages. Humans are now needed only as “supervisors” to train these systems and to make decisions on the most complex political cases.

Online censorship is supplemented by a dense street surveillance network of more than 600 million cameras. With AI integration, cameras have learned to identify individuals by their gait — useful when a person tries to hide their face with a hood, sunglasses, or medical mask, which reduce the accuracy of facial identification.

China’s Watrix has introduced gait-recognition algorithms that cut a person’s silhouette from a video stream and analyze their movements: stride length, body angle, arm movement dynamics, and the way joints work while walking. Based on these parameters, it creates a unique 3D model of movement. The system only needs to see a person from behind at a distance of up to 50 meters to identify them with more than 90% accuracy.

Neural networks have also been trained to recognize specific markers suggesting the start of a protest or unrest, detecting deviations from the normal rhythm of city life, such as a sudden acceleration by a group of people, chaotic movement, or an unusual gathering in a place where people usually do not linger.

Cameras also send an alert to a censor if they recognize a person unfolding a poster or banner, even before the writing on it has been read. The surveillance system is supplemented by the tracking of phone movement patterns through cell towers. For example, if several previously flagged citizens are observed to be following matching routes, the program alerts law enforcement to behavior it considers suspicious.

China is introducing AI into every part of the law enforcement and judicial systems, up to and including court decisions. Some provinces are testing prison cameras used for the continuous analysis of the emotions, facial expressions, stress levels, and mood of inmates.

The government actively subsidizes Chinese IT companies that develop new censorship algorithms and surveillance systems. This approach allows the state to develop innovative repression technologies almost for free thanks to the commercial competition among developers, allowing the companies to scale their AI products for export to other authoritarian countries.

As a result, citizens develop the feeling that they are constantly being watched. The knowledge that an algorithm monitors every step, transaction, and message pushes people to voluntarily adjust their behavior. In short, AI-enhanced systems successfully perform the task of normalizing obedience. Society enters a state of permanent self-censorship, trying to meet the criteria of “trustworthiness” dictated by the state system.

Society enters a state of permanent self-censorship, trying to meet the criteria of “trustworthiness”

In foreign policy, China uses AI to automate propaganda campaigns aimed against political rivals. In February 2026, OpenAI blocked a Chinese hacker who had tried to use ChatGPT to launch a campaign discrediting China’s international critics, including Japanese Prime Minister Sanae Takaichi.

OpenAI investigated users’ prompts and found that both Chinese models such as DeepSeek and Qwen and international models including OpenAI itself were being used in the disinformation campaigns against the Japanese prime minister. OpenAI noted that its models had not generated offensive images of Takaichi; instead, users had asked the system to create templates for negative comments and send fake complaints to Japanese politicians.

The incident exposed a large secret Chinese network involving hundreds of employees and thousands of bots. Using the smear campaign hashtag included in the chatbot prompt, investigators were able to find other materials already published online, including AI-generated memes mocking Takaichi that had been posted on Pixiv, a Japanese online community for artists.

The spread of Chinese models among U.S. business users may also serve as a kind of “soft propaganda.” Chatbots built on these architectures can quietly give end users a distorted worldview favorable to Beijing by engaging in the soft filtering of topics relevant to China’s domestic and foreign policy — avoiding questions about human rights in Xinjiang or Taiwan’s official status while presenting exclusively positive economic narratives that subtly shape pro-China attitudes among Western audiences.

Products by Chinese developers such as DeepSeek and Moonshot AI have become an important part of the everyday operations of many U.S. startups and large Silicon Valley corporations. They serve as a far cheaper but comparable alternative to Western options and a supplement to expensive models from U.S. market leaders such as OpenAI and Anthropic.

For some businesses, the difference in token costs between Chinese and U.S. models is as much as fivefold: $4.40 versus $25. That helps explain the fivefold increase in sales of tokens for Chinese-origin models as a share of all tokens on the popular U.S. marketplace OpenRouter, from 4% in January 2025 to 21% in June 2026 for DeepSeek and Z.ai combined.

The race for computing power: How independent is China from the U.S., and is it ready to help other autocracies?

To scale up its repressive machinery, China needs to buy powerful U.S. chips capable of efficiently training AI models while also developing its own chips so it no longer depends on the United States. In its quest to win the AI race, the White House has restricted chip exports to China since 2022, forcing Chinese companies to look for gray supply schemes.

Those sanctions, however, have been eased from time to time in order to accommodate tech powerhouse Nvidia’s access to the Chinese market. Nvidia, in turn, has repeatedly adapted its products to the sanctions, releasing reduced versions of its chips that do not possess sanctioned capabilities, meaning they can legally be exported to China. As a result, the flow of computing power has continued in one form or another.

In response to U.S. pressure, China has made a major push toward its own chip sovereignty. The result is Huawei’s Ascend 950PR architecture, unveiled in early 2026, which shows impressive performance. Although it lags behind flagship U.S. analogues such as Nvidia’s B200 when it comes to energy efficiency, memory bandwidth, and overall power, it has already become a full-fledged foundation for building sovereign AI ecosystems.

A striking example of synergy between Chinese hardware and software was the launch of the DeepSeek V4 large language model. Contrary to Western analysts’ forecasts, the highly powerful model was successfully trained exclusively on clusters of Huawei Ascend 950 processors. Its emergence proved that Beijing can create advanced AI without U.S. semiconductors.

Beijing can create advanced AI without U.S. semiconductors

Chinese IT giants such as ByteDance, Alibaba, and Tencent have begun investing heavily in Huawei Ascend 950 chips, seeking to fully protect themselves from sanctions risks. Nvidia CEO Jensen Huang has said that harsh U.S. sanctions only accelerate China’s forced shift away from American technologies and stimulate the development of strong local competitors. Over time, they will be able to push U.S. companies out of the Asian market, depriving them of a significant share of profits.

But until China achieves AI sovereignty, it will still have to rely on gray supply schemes through Asian intermediaries and shell companies. Singapore, Malaysia, and Japan have become the main hubs for these operations. The scale of the smuggling can be judged from charges brought by the U.S. Justice Department against the co-founder and top executives of Supermicro, a major U.S. maker of server equipment that was accused of helping smuggle advanced AI servers with Nvidia H200 and B200 chips worth more than 2.5 billion euros to Chinese customers through front companies in Southeast Asia.

In addition to the physical import of equipment, Chinese entities actively use “cloud” access schemes to bypass physical borders. Renting computing power in foreign data centers allows Chinese developers to train their repressive models remotely, effectively nullifying customs controls. To contain this flow, U.S. Big Tech companies, including Nvidia, are introducing strict whitelists and compliance checks for end users. In this way, they track suspicious spikes in activity by cloud providers in jurisdictions friendly to Beijing.

In early 2026, the U.S. administration approved limited shipments of H200 chips to China’s largest IT companies under the pretext of strict national security oversight. But Chinese authorities blocked the chips’ import. China’s customs authorities and regulators instructed local companies not to buy U.S. processors and suspended shipment clearance. With that move, Beijing sought to reduce its dependence on U.S. technology and to stimulate development of its own semiconductor production, such as Huawei Ascend.

But because local production capacity remains insufficient, the move only deepened the shortage, increasing demand for illegal supplies and prompting Beijing to ease chip import restrictions six months later. In May, the U.S. Commerce Department again allowed limited sales of Nvidia H200 chips to approved Chinese companies, including Alibaba, ByteDance, and ZTE, under strict conditions and monitoring. Then, after a short pause, China began allowing some technology giants to buy chips from the United States again.

At the same time, U.S. chips that are connected to the global network remain potentially vulnerable to digital oversight and remote tracking by the United States. Although there is no physical “kill switch” in processor architecture, manufacturers can record telemetry and geolocation markers. If data on a chip’s real location leaks onto the network and contradicts official procurement documents — for example, if a server is supposed to be in Malaysia but is actually pinging from a closed data center in Shenzhen — Washington immediately blacklists the intermediary company, permanently banning it from making new purchases from U.S. vendors.

In practice, however, this measure often resembles tilting at windmills. To fully avoid surveillance, authoritarian regimes use purchased chips only in closed, isolated circuits without access to the external internet. These fully autonomous “air-gapped” systems — which in practice train and run neural networks responsible for citywide video surveillance, biometric control, and other forms of internal AI repression — render any attempt at remote control by the United States useless.

Unable to legally buy advanced Western technologies, autocracies have built a parallel market for exchanging expertise and hardware-software solutions. China is the clear leader of this technological alliance, supplying Russia, North Korea, and Iran not only with hardware in the form of servers and processors, but also with ready-made machine learning algorithms.

Autocracies have built a parallel market for exchanging expertise and hardware-software solutions

Moscow, in turn, shares its expertise in cyberespionage, censorship circumvention, and human identification with Tehran and Tbilisi. This technological barter allows authoritarian countries to sharply reduce the time needed to introduce punitive tools, creating a common digital shield resistant to Western sanctions pressure.

Today, Beijing is the key supplier of technology to countries that have come under harsh Western sanctions, helping them acquire scarce physical semiconductors through well-established semi-legal channels while providing ready-made Chinese AI frameworks and models. As serial production of Huawei Ascend lines expands, China could become a full-fledged global exporter of turnkey digital dictatorship systems of the sort that would allow other autocracies to buy surveillance hardware and software packages that are entirely independent of Western licenses.

AI in service of the Kremlin: An upgraded “digital Gulag,” attacks on global chatbots, and “troll farms 2.0”

AI surveillance in Russia is being introduced with mixed success. Moscow’s Ministry of Digital Development, Communications and Mass Media has launched a large-scale project to create a single national video surveillance platform with a cost estimated at 2 billion rubles ($24.2 million). The initiative would integrate millions of outdoor surveillance cameras across the country into a single centralized system run by neural networks, allowing security agencies to automate the process of tracking citizens’ movements. As of May 2026, however, only about 7% of the country’s 15 million video cameras were connected to artificial intelligence.

Another example of major ambition and failed implementation involves an attempt by the FSB’s Second Service to use AI to automate its media-monitoring work. The department, officially responsible for “protecting the constitutional order and fighting terrorism,”  commissioned the Kazan IT company Mikord to develop a system called Pauk (lit. “spider”), which in Russian was short for the “Portal for Analytics and Content Management.”

The idea called for an AI agent to collect materials from Russian and foreign media in an external circuit, after which the data would be integrated with FSB materials in a closed circuit. By analyzing publicly available news, the system was intended to automatically identify “objects of interest” — namely political activists and opposition figures — and forecast protest sentiments in society at an early stage.

However, the security service’s attempt to put generative neural networks to work for political policing ended in failure after the Kazan-based company, which had received large state contracts thanks to its ties with former senior officials, failed to complete the project. Its developers simply proved unable to create a stable service meeting the requirements of a two-circuit architecture and integration with complex language models. As a result, the “Spider” project was suspended, and the FSB never got its AI assistant — leaving duty officers to continue monitoring media and drafting daily analytical summaries for leadership with the help of the automatic collection tools they already possessed.

Claims that AI models are being used for traffic filtering and internet blocking in Russia are not confirmed by technical experts, who say the hardware and software used by state regulator Roskomnadzor in particular EcoFilter systems — physically lack the computing resources needed to run terabit-level traffic through complex AI models in real time. But this does not prevent authorities from analyzing traffic with AI systems offline — a process that takes more time but still produces a list of “suspicious” domains to block.

Russia’s top leadership sees AI as a key element in countering so-called “color revolutions” and Western information-psychological influence. Moscow seeks to create chatbot responses fully controlled by ideology in order to preserve regime stability and neutralize internal threats. The Kremlin is deliberately isolating the domestic technology market, creating a phenomenon of “Russian sovereign AI” in which models such as YandexGPT and GigaChat are tightly censored after being trained exclusively on state-approved datasets. That allows the authorities to maintain the political narrative they need inside the country by denying citizens easy access to alternative sources of information.

Russia’s top leadership sees AI as a key element in countering “color revolutions” and Western influence

One of the most dangerous and technologically complex trends is the deliberate “poisoning” of search results — in effect, the manipulation of the databases on which popular Western chatbots are trained and from which they draw their information. Language models like France’s Mistral, OpenAI’s ChatGPT, Anthropic’s Claude, and Google’s Gemini have all been targeted by deliberate pro-Russian disinformation, leading to heavy pollution in answers on a range of social and political topics — the war in Ukraine in particular. 

Traditional “troll farms” that once saw employees manually writing comments on social media are moving to a new level, as AI helps them automate, customize, and scale disinformation campaigns. Previously, creating a convincing fake news story in a foreign language required professional translators and editors. Now, however, large language models can generate grammatically flawless texts in dozens of languages in a matter of minutes, making it possible to move beyond mere trolling by creating content that is almost indistinguishable from posts by real users.

Russian structures are actively testing AI in order to influence electoral processes in Europe. One vivid example was the recent election campaign in Germany, where far-right forces and hidden Russian actors gained a major online advantage by using virtual “AI influencers” — entirely neural-network-generated characters that ran blogs, promoted antigovernment narratives, and coordinated public opinion.

Kremlin-backed hacking groups are also actively using large language models to automatically search for zero-day vulnerabilities in Western software, to optimize malicious code, and to generate highly effective phishing campaigns, significantly increasing the speed and destructive power of cyberoperations. Neural networks also help hackers find software vulnerabilities more quickly and write more sophisticated phishing emails. Dutch intelligence services have warned that Russia is using AI to carry out hacking operations against European Union institutions, seeking to spy on employees of various EU bodies with autonomous AI agents.

Iran’s hijab controls, North Korean crypto theft, and crackdowns on protests in Belarus and Turkey

Iran is adapting AI facial-recognition technologies to monitor women’s compliance with headscarf laws and to suppress protests by deploying a large network of intelligent video surveillance integrated with the national biometric passport database. AI algorithms automatically identify women with uncovered heads in cars, shopping centers, and city streets, after which the system remotely issues fines, blocks bank accounts, and sends court summonses — all without direct police involvement.

North Korea, despite conditions of total economic blockade and strict international sanctions, has turned AI into a tool for financial espionage, cryptocurrency theft, and the covert sale of services. One of the most sophisticated methods for bypassing sanctions has been a large-scale scheme to place North Korean IT specialists in foreign companies under the guise of freelancers or remote employees, enabling them to earn hard-currency wages that go directly to the state while gathering key data on Western companies. In short, North Korea has built an extensive network of front people operating around the world.

Artificial intelligence has become a key factor in the success of this operation. Using generative AI tools, North Korean agents create fake resumes, generate high-quality profile photos, and use real-time deepfake technologies that allow candidates to change their appearance and voice directly in the video stream during interviews, adjusting their accent to match their chosen cover story — such as posing as freelancers from Canada or South Korea.

To counter the threat, Western corporations and their security teams have been forced to introduce strict verification protocols. Candidates are asked to turn sideways live on camera (which often breaks the deepfake algorithm), to show a physical passport at a specific angle, or complete unexpected logic tasks.

Nevertheless, North Korean-generated workers have managed to infiltrate dozens of leading European companies and gain access to their internal infrastructure and trade secrets. The campaign is continuous: every day, North Korean hackers use AI to generate hundreds of new fake identities, wearing down the security teams of Western corporations.

Hackers use AI every day to generate hundreds of new fake identities for North Korean IT professionals

Another important area of North Korean activity is cryptocurrency theft. Previously, writing complex malware required North Korean programmers to have extremely high levels of skill, but now large language models automate code writing, generate phishing emails without grammatical errors, and search for vulnerabilities in cryptocurrency exchanges. As a result, Pyongyang’s attacks have become more effective, providing Kim Jong Un’s regime with a steady flow of illegal funding. In 2025 alone, his hackers stole a record $2.1 billion in cryptocurrency, about 60% of the sector’s global losses for the year.

The main challenge for North Korea’s use of AI lies in hardware. Modern AI models require powerful advanced chips that cannot legally be exported to the country. Pyongyang, however, has learned to bypass restrictions by using older or gray-market Nvidia and Qualcomm chips while its engineers adapt heavy algorithms to function on less powerful hardware.

In Turkey, the authorities use AI to systematically suppress the domestic political opposition and to expand the punitive powers of the security services. The government has launched the development of a specialized AI service for automated profiling that identifies people who may be linked to terrorist organizations. Lawyers and human rights defenders warn that introducing this algorithm alongside vague anti-terrorism legislation allows citizens to be accused en masse of serious crimes without real evidence or judicial oversight.

This kind of algorithmic surveillance proved effective during a wave of antigovernment protests sparked by the arrest of Istanbul mayor Ekrem Imamoglu. Turkish security services used biometric neural networks to compare street camera footage with citizens’ social media profiles, making it possible to identify and detain about 2,000 protesters and independent journalists.

Like Turkey, the Belarusian regime is adapting AI technologies to expand state surveillance and systematically identify dissenters. The main tool of state control is the Republican Public Security Monitoring System, which operates on the Kipod AI platform. The system connects more than 13,000 cameras to the KGB’s centralized biometric databases.

The platform’s developer, the Belarusian company Synesis, was sanctioned by the European Union due to the fact that the platform’s algorithms were specifically adapted in order to identify and persecute peaceful protesters. The technology allows security services not only to track citizens’ movements in real time, but also to automatically alert the authorities when “unreliable” people are detected in public places.

A unique and especially dangerous feature of the Belarusian model is its capacity for so-called “retrospective investigation.” Security structures have used neural networks to scan and analyze vast video and photo archives from protest marches in 2020 and 2021. Artificial intelligence can reconstruct 3D models of faces and identify participants even from blurred footage or in instances when protesters’ faces were partially covered. As a result of this “delayed repression,” people have been searched, detained, and sent to prison years after taking part in protests.

At the same time, Belarusian security services have automated persecution in the digital space. Special AI scripts continuously parse Telegram channels and chats, collecting and processing large volumes of messages and metadata. The programs automatically analyze message histories, reactions, and comments, comparing digital traces with databases and allowing the authorities to identify opposition-minded citizens.

The free world against AI tyranny

The idea that artificial intelligence would be used mainly as a tool of commercial progress is gradually giving way to a broader understanding that its repressive effects may be just as impactful as dictatorships exploit the new technological tools at their disposal to scale up control at home while expanding their influence abroad. The danger of this new reality is that authoritarian regimes act synergistically, helping one another develop the tools that help all of them stay in power.

The main trend in the coming years will be the emergence of fully autonomous systems of “predictive repression” as the AI algorithms used by autocracies begin identifying and isolating potential centers of discontent before citizens themselves realize they are ready to protest. It will also mean creating generators of flawless AI fakes targeting Western populations ahead of elections — and at any other times the authoritarians see fit to take disruptive measures. 

Algorithms will begin isolating potential centers of discontent before citizens realize they are ready to protest

For the free world’s democratic institutions — built on openness and unrestricted access to information — this presents a challenge that needs to be countered. First, export controls must be radically tightened over the trade not only of cutting-edge semiconductors, but also of used ones, so as to fully cut off autocracies’ shadow supply channels. Additionally, it is important to create end-to-end content verification systems capable of recognizing AI disinformation and deepfakes in real time before they can poison search results and social media. Finally, the internal algorithms used by Big Tech companies to detect unwanted and malicious use of their products must be improved. Developers such as OpenAI, Microsoft, and Google should introduce proactive smart systems for monitoring API requests that are capable of recognizing behavior patterns by state hackers in real time and instantly blocking their accounts before commercial language models are used for cyberattacks or disinformation generation.

Democratic countries could aid in this effort by creating a legal framework for ensuring that AI is used for peaceable, productive means. State regulators could expand Know Your Customer rules to cloud-based AI services, making mandatory behavioral analysis of sessions part of cybersecurity standards.

Artificial intelligence has sharpened the historic confrontation between freedom and tyranny. In this technological race for survival, the democratic world no longer has the luxury of relying on laissez-faire market mechanisms to solve the problem. As the algorithms used by authoritarian regimes learn how to suppress freedoms faster than democratic institutions can respond, those democratic institutions will have to respond lest they suffer the same fate that the populations of autocratic countries are already suffering.

Horváth said investigators fully established the origin of the seized money and precious metals: they were indeed being transported as part of an interbank transaction between Austria’s Raiffeisen Bank International AG and Ukraine’s state-owned Oschadbank. Raiffeisen provided documents confirming the origin of the banknotes and metals, as well as payment by Oschadbank. NAV found that the assets were not of criminal origin and that there were no signs of money laundering or any other crime.

Hungarian law enforcement detained seven Oschadbank employees and two cash-in-transit vehicles on March 5. Oschadbank said from the outset that the shipment was a routine transfer being carried out under a contract with Raiffeisen and that the operation fully complied with international rules and European customs procedures.

The government of then-Prime Minister Viktor Orbán, however, claimed that it suspected money laundering. Then-Foreign Minister Péter Szijjártó suggested the cash could belong to the “Ukrainian military mafia,” while some politicians from the then-ruling Fidesz party claimed the money might have been intended to finance the election campaign of Hungary’s opposition Tisza party — seeming to ignore the fact that the valuables had confiscated on their way out of Hungary rather than on their way into the country.

The detained Ukrainians were deported from Hungary on March 6. Kyiv said they had been held in handcuffs for more than a day and were not allowed to contact their relatives or the Ukrainian Embassy. Ukraine’s Foreign Ministry described the Hungarian authorities’ actions as “hostage-taking,” “theft” and “state terrorism.” The cash-in-transit vehicles were later returned to the bank, while the money and gold remained in Hungary during the investigation. Oschadbank confirmed that the vehicles were returned on March 12.

After Hungary’s change of government, the seized assets were also returned to Ukraine. On May 6, Oschadbank said it had received back all $40 million, €35 million, and 9 kilograms of gold. Bank representatives confirmed that the packaging remained intact. Later, the decisions to deport the couriers and ban them from entering the Schengen Area were also annulled.

In June, newly elected Hungarian Prime Minister Péter Magyar said ex-PM Viktor Orbán should be held responsible for the incident. Magyar’s statement followed an investigation by the Hungarian outlet Telex, which reported that the operation against the Ukrainian couriers was carried out on orders from the office of the then-prime minister. Orbán, through his spokesman, insisted that the previous government and law enforcement agencies had acted lawfully.

The paper was facilitated by French mathematician Bernard Randé, a member of Solidarité FreeAzat. The association said Randé decided to support Miftakhov as a fellow mathematician and sent him a problem related to Chui’s conjecture, a modified version of an unsolved mathematical problem. Miftakhov, who was in custody, worked on it for about four months under conditions in which he had no access to the internet, no scientific library, and almost no opportunity to discuss the work with other mathematicians.

After Miftakhov solved the problem, Randé then helped prepare the result for publication in French. Solidarité FreeAzat had earlier said the article was expected to appear in RMS in early August. In July, the University of Pisa also formally invited Miftakhov to present the result at a scientific seminar in April 2027.

Miftakhov, a graduate student in the mathematics and mechanics department at Moscow State University, was first arrested in 2019. In January 2021, he was sentenced to six years in a general-regime penal colony in a case over an attack on a United Russia office. Investigators alleged that Miftakhov and other anarchists broke a window and threw a smoke bomb inside. Miftakhov pleaded not guilty.

He was released in September 2023, but was detained again immediately outside the penal colony — this time in a case of  “justifying terrorism.” The charge was based on an alleged conversation between Miftakhov and a fellow inmate. That prisoner, who later became the prosecution’s main witness, was subsequently killed in the war in Ukraine.

In the second case, Miftakhov was sentenced to four years in custody, with the first two and a half years to be served in prison and the remainder in a high-security penal colony. It was while he was held in the prison in Dimitrovgrad that he solved the mathematical problem Randé had proposed.

After completing the prison portion of his sentence, Miftakhov was transferred to IK-18 Polar Owl, a penal colony in the settlement of Kharp in the Yamalo-Nenets Autonomous District. Notably, Polar Owl is located down the road from IK-3 Polar Wolf, where the late opposition politician and anti-corruption activist Alexei Navalny was murdered with a deadly frog-derived toxin in February 2024.

In May, Miftakhov reported that shortly after his arrival at Polar Owl, prison staff and two inmates tortured him for several hours. He said they beat the soles of his feet with a wooden mallet, threatened him with sexualized violence, threatened to dunk him in a sewage manhole, blocked his breathing, and tortured him with electric shocks.

Russia’s Investigative Committee initially refused to open a criminal case into the matter, saying the torture allegations had not been confirmed. Then, on July 15, a court in Labytnangi ruled that the investigator’s inaction was unlawful and ordered the violations to be corrected.

The decision was discussed at a meeting chaired by Bakyt Sydykov, the Kyrgyz president’s representative for special assignments. Also present were officials from government agencies, the National Bank, and commercial banks. State agencies were ordered to complete checks of the remaining companies within a week.

At the meeting, representatives of Kyrgyzstan’s National Bank reported on steps to strengthen oversight of the country’s payment services and platforms. The measures are intended to increase the transparency of financial transactions and ensure compliance with both local law and the country’s international obligations.

State-owned banks in Kyrgyzstan are also tightening compliance controls. In the weeks leading up to Aug. 14, Eldik Bank ended business relationships with about 109 companies, while about 20 more are in the process of having their accounts closed. Over the same period, Aiyl Bank ended its cooperation with about 35 companies, and about 40 more are undergoing checks.

The Economy Ministry said banks will continue conducting detailed reviews of payment documents, identifying the final recipients of goods and services and determining the destination countries for commercial shipments.

Several Kyrgyz banks and financial firms have previously come under EU, U.S. and UK sanctions over their ties to Russia. In May, for the first time in the country’s history, Kyrgyzstan’s Justice Ministry suspended the activities of 50 companies suspected of conducting transactions exposing them to high sanctions risks.

Almost all of the ads bear the same headline: “Security for Wildberries and Ozon warehouses as part of a [mobile fire] group.” The ads urge applicants to sign a contract before the start of “mobilization processes,” promising a one-time up-front bonus of 3.1 million rubles ($37,000). The application deadline listed in the ads was Aug. 15 — two days before they actually appeared en masse.

A Verstka correspondent, posing as a job seeker, called the phone numbers listed in two of the ads. Recruiters said candidates would sign a one-year “special contract” with Russia's Ministry of Defense, then get to work defending commercial warehouses from drones. One recruiter said Wildberries itself had allegedly asked the ministry to arrange such security measures.

The recruiters assured the journalist that those who signed the contract would not be sent to the front lines in Ukraine. Nevertheless, the registration procedure does not differ from ordinary recruitment for the invasion: candidates are asked to hand over their documents, sign a contract with the Defense Ministry, and undergo training in Tula. One recruiter warned that without an application filed through him, the applicant would be sent by the enlistment office directly to the combat zone.

The phone numbers to which the correspondent was told to send documents were labeled in caller ID apps as “Olesya SVO” and “Central Military District enlistment office.”

Three Verstka sources connected to military recruitment efforts said the ads were a cover for recruiting contract soldiers. Two of the sources said recruiters disguise military service offers as civilian jobs because Avito strictly moderates such posts.

Media outlets have previously found hidden online offers for military service disguised as jobs for drivers of humanitarian cargo, guards at warehouses in Belarus, and vaguely defined “peacekeepers.” The new ads appeared amid a series of drone attacks on Wildberries logistics centers.

ARD did not name the suspect but said he was the same man who was arrested in Poland in 2025 in the same case. Germany sought his extradition at the time, but a Polish court refused the request. Investigators have now located the man in Croatia, and Germany will seek his extradition, ARD said.

Polish media previously identified the suspect as Volodymyr Zhuravlov, a Ukrainian citizen. After he was detained at Germany’s request, Polish Prime Minister Donald Tusk said it was not in Poland’s national interest to extradite Zhuravlov. Tusk said the problem with Nord Stream 2 was not that it was blown up, but that it had been built with money from European countries and had played a key role in Europe’s dependence on Russian energy.

The Nord Stream and Nord Stream 2 pipelines were damaged by explosions in September 2022, when three of the four lines in the pipeline network were hit.

As part of the investigation launched in Germany, another Ukrainian citizen — Serhiy Kuznetsov, the alleged leader of the group that carried out the explosions — was also arrested. His trial is set to begin in Hamburg in the coming weeks. Kuznetsov was detained in Italy and extradited to Germany in November 2025.

The frigate was spotted Monday, Aug. 17, off the coast of Fehmarn, a German island popular with tourists. The Telegraph linked the sighting to Vladimir Putin’s recent threats of a “mirror response” to EU countries detaining Russian vessels.

The Admiral Kasatonov is equipped with Tsirkon hypersonic missiles, which are capable of carrying nuclear warheads. The frigate entered service with the Russian Navy in 2020 and, as the newspaper noted, is one of the most modern ships in the Russian fleet.

It is the second Russian warship seen in the Baltic Sea in recent weeks. In early August, Russia deployed the Admiral Levchenko to the area. On Tuesday, Aug. 18, it was seen off the coast of Denmark.

OSINT analysts pointed to another important detail: the Admiral Kasatonov does not appear to be merely sailing in the Baltic Sea, but escorting the Portovyy LNG tanker. The Russian Forces Spotter project published a photo of the warship with the tanker, saying that the frigate had already been used this year to escort vessels from Russia’s “shadow fleet”( a term for ageing, poorly insured tankers used to bypass international sanctions or restrictions on Russian energy exports).

The analyst also noted that Russia is deploying “high-end naval assets” to protect its maritime trade.

“Quite a commitment of naval resources just to keep commercial shipping moving,” the analyst noted.

The Portovyy sails under the Russian flag and is used as floating LNG storage for Gazprom’s Portovaya LNG complex in Russia’s northern Leningrad Region. According to data from the vessel tracking platform Starboard Maritime Intelligence, the tanker has already left the Baltic Sea and is rounding the Norwegian coast. Notably, its listed final destination is another Russian port: Murmansk — usually a major hub for LNG exports, not a final destination for such cargo.

H.I. Sutton drew attention to that anomaly. The analyst said Murmansk is unlikely to be the final destination for the cargo, as Moscow does not need to “export gas to itself.” The shipment is more likely intended for East Asia, possibly China. If so, it would travel via the Northern Sea Route, traveling through the Arctic along Russia’s northern coast. The cargo may be delivered by the Portovyy itself or transferred to another tanker.

There is nothing unusual about LNG tankers transiting the Northern Sea Route, Sutton noted. However, such voyages typically begin from Murmansk, not from export terminals in the Baltic Sea. LNG cargoes from the Baltic Sea normally head south through the Mediterranean and the Suez Canal or around Africa.

During the summer season, the Northern Sea Route may be shorter and fairly easy for ships to navigate, and it may also help avoid risks from the war in the Middle East. But those are unlikely to be the decisive factors. The most likely reason for choosing this route is an effort to avoid Ukrainian naval drones, which have already succeeded in damaging LNG tankers outside the Black Sea.

“LNG cargoes are particularly vulnerable, and Russia is thus adapting to the Ukrainian threats to keep its important economic lifeline to fund its war in Ukraine,” H.I. Sutton concluded.

In March, Ukrainian forces were linked to an attack on the Arctic Metagaz LNG tanker in the Mediterranean Sea. Ukraine did not claim responsibility for the incident, but an investigation by Radio France Internationale later showed that the drones that attacked the vessel were launched from bases in Libya where Ukrainian troops were stationed.