Student List movement projected to have 141 seats in the new parliament, well clear of the 126 required for majority
The latest turnout projection by Ipsos/Cesid suggests a turnout of 60.8% by 5pm local time (4pm UK), with three hours still to go until the polling stations close.
That’s more than 13 percentage points higher than in 2023, and would be the highest turnout since mid-2000s.
“What hasn’t motivated me? There isn’t a single reason I could give that would keep me from showing up at my polling station at 6:20 in the morning.”
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© Photograph: Armin Durgut/AP
© Photograph: Armin Durgut/AP
© Photograph: Armin Durgut/AP
As Germany seeks a new partner to develop its next-generation fighter after the collapse of FCAS, it now faces two choices: join the Global Combat Air Program (GCAP) or forge a new partnership with Sweden and Spain.
If the proposal materializes, Europe could have three sixth-generation fighter programs: GCAP and the French initiative.
In June 2026, the Friedrich Merz administration pulled the plug on the FCAS (Future Combat Air System) that it was pursuing with France and Spain, over irreconcilable differences between industry partners Airbus (representing Germany and Spain) and France’s Dassault Aviation.
Berlin has been seeking a partnership to develop a sixth-generation aircraft ever since.
Earlier this month, reports indicated it held “exploratory talks” about joining the GCAP led by the UK, Japan, and Italy, and British Prime Minister Andy Burnham officially raised Germany’s involvement in GCAP.
However, Airbus had also earlier hinted it could potentially partner with Swedish defense manufacturer Saab to develop its sixth-generation fighter.
German defense officials have reportedly encouraged Berlin to seek a new fighter-aircraft collaboration with Sweden and Spain rather than join an existing deal involving the United Kingdom.
The internal ministry assessment notes that forming a new German-Swedish-Spanish partnership is “the more advantageous and promising” than joining the current GCAP. The evaluation does not, however, indicate that Defense Minister Boris Pistorius has approved the recommendation or that it represents a final government decision.
Airbus had been exploring alternatives even before formally exiting the FCAS manned fighter program.
In May 2026, shortly before the collapse, Michael Schoellhorn, head of Airbus Defense and Space, told the Swedish newspaper Dagens Industri that he was looking forward to working with Sweden and Saab on a new next-generation fighter.
He emphasized Saab’s deep expertise in combat aircraft design and production and noted that discussions with the Swedish and German governments were already underway.
After the FCAS collapse, Schoellhorn said the company remained open to joining forces with Britain, Italy, and Japan for the GCAP, provided Germany secured a significant share of the work and meaningful leadership.
“What we’re ready to do is to join something or to build something where we have a significant portion of the work and the leadership. That’s currently being explored,” he said.
Days after Germany pulled out of FCAS, a group of companies led by Airbus, operating under the banner “Team Gen 6,” also submitted a position paper to the German government outlining a sixth-generation fighter concept, underscoring industry’s push for influence over the path forward.
Airbus has since invested heavily in the new path.
With a decision still pending and talks ongoing with both sides, Germany can swing either way. However, the German Defense Ministry’s inclination toward a new partnership with Sweden and Spain reflects the complexities of joining GCAP, now at an advanced stage.
Edgewing, GCAP’s industrial joint venture to design and develop the next-generation fighter, is led by Leonardo (Italy), Mitsubishi Heavy Industries (Japan), and BAE Systems (the UK), and is advancing toward the aspirational milestone of flying its first demonstrator by 2027 and fielding the aircraft by 2035.
For Germany, joining the GCAP program at this stage could be thorny. Although the UK and Italy have openly expressed willingness to welcome more partners into the GCAP, Japan has been reluctant, concerned that renegotiating everything with a new partner would delay the program.
In fact, Tokyo—which needs to replace its F-2 combat jet with a sixth-generation fighter amid tensions with China—had earlier blocked cash-rich Saudi Arabia’s entry for similar reasons.
Even if Japan conceded, reopening delicate talks on industrial participation, production shares, and intellectual property could cause friction.
In that scenario, Germany may be offered a junior role, with limited say over design, architecture, and key decisions, which could be unacceptable to both Airbus and Berlin. British industry representative in the program, BAE Systems, is already believed to dominate it and has reportedly been unwilling to share technology with other partners, as Italian Defense Minister Guido Crosetto alleged earlier in April 2025.
This could limit the German industry partner’s room to maneuver within the program.
Moreover, the German Defense Ministry’s assessment specifically targets BAE Systems, citing bad experiences during the Eurofighter program (pursued jointly by the UK, Germany, Spain, and Italy).
The Ministry has reportedly accused BAE of prioritizing exports over German and Italian development interests and warns that British dominance would be incompatible with a partnership of equals.
Another disadvantage for Germany in joining the GCAP is a clear mismatch between operational requirements and the aircraft’s design philosophy.
The GCAP is reportedly being built around a maritime scenario, whereas Berlin would want an aircraft suited to its own geography and continental use, much like the Eurofighter or the F-35A Lightning II it is acquiring from the US.
Beyond these overarching issues, the existing GCAP members already have different priorities. Japan wants to replace the F-2 with a new fighter by the mid-2030s, while the UK and Italy reportedly want GCAP to create a state-of-the-art “system of systems,” a fighter that can operate with a swarm of drones, on a less strict timeline.
Admitting a new partner could further complicate the program’s internal workings.
In contrast, Germany’s collaboration with Sweden and Saab appears much more promising, at least in theory.
For one, if Germany forges a new partnership with Sweden and Spain, it would gain industrial influence and an equal partnership from the start, better alignment with continental European operational needs, and a more balanced industrial starting position.
For example, FCAS got off to a decent start in 2017, with all partners onboard and a division of work, but it eventually stalled over disagreements on work-share arrangements, with French contractor Dassault refusing to cede space to Airbus in developing the Next-Generation Fighter (NGF), the program’s centerpiece.
In its next partnership, Germany would want more influence and a greater workshare that actually benefits its industry.
The three countries could establish an Airbus–Saab joint venture, potentially using Saab’s Gripen E as a technological stepping stone or baseline while developing a new aircraft.
Both sides bring vast experience developing combat aircraft, which would come in handy for the new program. Moreover, bringing Spain into this partnership would give Airbus continuity and likely stronger bargaining power within the grouping.
That said, building a new partnership from the ground up also carries significant risks. The partners would need to establish governance structures, align requirements, agree funding shares, define intellectual property rules, and negotiate work-share from scratch.
This would push fielding past 2035, potentially into the late 2030s or beyond. Moreover, the exact problems that killed the FCAS manned fighter—work-share, leadership, and IP control—could easily reappear between Airbus and Saab, two strong design houses with distinct cultures.
Despite these risks, a pure continental European next-generation fighter partnership would preserve greater decision-making autonomy and manufacturing work for German, Spanish, and Swedish industry. More importantly, it would support long-term European defense-industrial capacity without the complications of late entry into an existing program with set architecture and priorities.
Saab is already conducting independent studies on sixth-generation technologies and has publicly stated it remains open to collaborations, including on fighter aircraft. “Saab remains open to a variety of collaborations and partnerships across a wide range of defense-related areas, including fighter aircraft.
Large-scale cooperation projects of this kind are typically addressed at the political level, with participation decisions made by the governments concerned,” a Saab spokesperson was quoted as saying in the POLITICO report. “Consequently, any questions about possible Swedish involvement should be directed to the Swedish government.
As always, Saab stands ready to support Sweden’s future fighter requirements,” it added. Meanwhile, Airbus boss Michael Schöllhorn shed some light on the company’s relationship with Saab in an interview with Handelsblatt earlier this week, emphasizing that they had “always worked well” together.
For now, it remains to be seen which way Chancellor Merz’s government will swing. The choice is between accepting a subordinate but potentially faster role within a mature program, or insisting on industrial leadership and requirements fit, at the cost of delays and the risk of repeating past mistakes and failures.
The post Third 6th-Gen Fighter Program Bubbles in Europe as Germany Explores Spain-Sweden Deal appeared first on EURASIAN TIMES.
Oleg Zaslavskii has worked at V. N. Karazin Kharkiv National University (KhNU) for almost forty years, studying general relativity, gravitation, and black hole physics. But two papers he coauthored with a Russian colleague who has spoken out against the war have cost him his funding. For ten months now, Zaslavskii has gone without a salary and has been unable to propose new research projects. In wartime, should sanctions policy take an individual’s stance into account — or does any interaction with someone from a Russian institution automatically count as cooperation with Russia?
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In Ukraine, state funding for researchers is tied to specific research topics. Rather than allocating money in the abstract — “to an institute” or to an individual scientist — the state funds research projects (naukovo-doslidni roboty in Ukrainian) approved by the ministry or by an academy of sciences. A scientist’s salary can be pieced together from several such projects: the same person might be appointed at 0.5 FTE on one project, 0.25 FTE on another, and another 0.25 FTE on a third. If a project goes unfunded, or a researcher isn’t included in it, they don’t get paid. For researchers funded under this model, then, access to funding competitions is directly tied to their ability to earn a living.
For astrophysicist Oleg Zaslavskii, this system has had critical consequences: after publishing with a Russian coauthor, he lost the right to compete for research funding from the Ministry of Education and Science of Ukraine (MES). How did this happen?
On February 6, 2024, the MES sent Ukrainian universities and research institutions a letter titled On the Need to Terminate All Forms of Scientific (Scientific and Technical) Cooperation with the Russian Federation and the Republic of Belarus. The document imposed restrictions on authors of joint publications with staff of Russian and Belarusian institutions: a ban on taking part in MES research funding competitions in 2024–2026 and removal from expert and advisory roles within the ministry’s system. In addition, the MES would cut off funding for any research projects whose state registration numbers appeared in such publications.
“Even though I’ve been working at the university for about forty years and have a strong research record, I don’t have official permanent-staff status. Like many of my colleagues, I’m still a ‘day laborer,’” says Oleg Zaslavskii. “One consequence of this funding model is that you’re much more dependent on the administration: if for some reason it decides to get rid of someone, it doesn’t even need to issue a separate dismissal order. All it has to do is leave them off a new project, or off the continuation of an old one. That’s exactly what’s happening to me now: I’ve been stuck without pay for eight months. I can’t propose new projects either. The vice-rector for research, A. V. Panteleimonov, citing the MES letter On the Need to Terminate All Forms of Scientific (Scientific and Technical) Cooperation with the Russian Federation and the Republic of Belarus, won’t let me submit new projects.”
Zaslavskii stresses that these joint papers did not list any Ukrainian state research registration numbers. That, however, did not save his funding.
“This is the principle of collective responsibility,” he explains. “Nothing matters — not who the Russian coauthor is (even if he signed letters against the war with Ukraine), not how important the topics I work on are, not the fact that I published these papers as a private individual. What’s more, other project leaders are afraid to take on a Ukrainian author who’s been caught collaborating with Russians (their project could get cut just because some ‘criminal’ like that is somehow involved). I’ve already been shut out of Ukraine’s main competition, the NRFU [the National Research Foundation of Ukraine, the country’s main state grant-making foundation, established to fund research and development on a competitive basis — T-invariant]. You’d think the ban wouldn’t extend to the nauka.gov.ua competition: there, selection will be done automatically, based on data from scientists’ profiles. But if I’m not put on a current project in the next few days, my candidacy won’t even be considered — I don’t count as a full-time staff member.”
The Kinematic Censorship of Black Holes
What exactly does Zaslavskii study — and what were the two papers that cost him his funding actually about?
In 2009, physicists Bañados, Silk, and West described a theoretical effect that came to be known, after their initials, as the BSW effect: if two elementary particles fall into a rotating black hole and collide near the event horizon, the energy of their collision can, in theory, grow without bound. On Earth, accelerating particles to extreme energies requires building giant machines like the Large Hadron Collider. A black hole could serve as a free supercollider, offering a glimpse into the mysteries of quantum gravity. But the original BSW effect describes an idealized mathematical model. It was Zaslavskii who made the concept “physical” by answering fundamental questions about how the process would actually work in reality. He proved that the effect is not a mere fluke of the equations but a universal property.
Zaslavskii succeeded in extending the theory to a wide range of black holes. In particular, he studied the effect not only for rotating black holes but also for electrically charged ones, where the particle acceleration mechanism works differently. Real black holes, moreover, may be surrounded by matter — plasma and gas, for example. Zaslavskii proved mathematically that the BSW effect persists even when the gravitational influence of this surrounding matter is taken into account.
If collision energies can approach infinity, one might expect the cosmos to be constantly rocked by micro-explosions of unimaginable power, capable of spawning new universes or tearing space apart. Zaslavskii answered the question of why this doesn’t happen. By investigating the physical limits of the process, he formulated the principle of kinematic censorship.
A black hole’s gravitational field really can accelerate particles to mind-boggling energies. But the geometry of spacetime itself “vetoes” truly infinite energy. For a collision to reach enormous energies, one of the particles has to move along a very specific, “critical” trajectory. Zaslavskii calculated that gravitational attraction and centrifugal forces near the event horizon act as a natural filter: they “blow away,” or screen out, particles headed for a dangerous collision, keeping physical quantities from becoming truly infinite.
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Until recently, physicists did little research on black hole interiors, since no information can get out of them. Zaslavskii took on the task of describing, mathematically, the extreme gravity inside the event horizon. His recent papers (including one of the very papers he wrote with his Russian colleague) tackle a notoriously difficult problem involving coordinate systems. If you fall into a black hole, an outside observer will see you slowing down at its edge forever. In reality, though, you’ll cross it in a fraction of a second. Zaslavskii and his coauthor developed and refined a mathematical framework (a modified “Lemaître time”) that makes it possible to describe the physics of matter moving from our space into a black hole’s interior smoothly — without mathematical discontinuities or “catastrophes” in the formulas.
His research shows that black holes are not just dead gravitational graves but highly complex dynamic systems that constantly interact with the surrounding universe at both the quantum and the macro level.
In the papers that got him into trouble, Zaslavskii and his coauthor explore the “fail-safes” the universe has built into black holes to prevent an explosion of infinite energy — in other words, “kinematic censorship.”
In one of the two papers, for example, the physicists work through an extreme scenario: a collision at the event horizon between a particle emerging from a white hole and a particle falling into a black hole. You’d expect the energy to be colossal. But the researchers proved mathematically that kinematic censorship kicks in. For physically realizable particles, the laws of relativity cause their velocities to drop. No “infinite energy” is born in our reality — the universe hits the brakes in time.
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In their second joint paper — the other one that caused the trouble — the researchers considered more complex black holes: ones that rotate and carry an electric charge. From the point of view of an outside observer, including one on Earth, time freezes at a black hole’s horizon. There, the ordinary equations of physics start to glitch and “spit out” spurious infinities. To get around this dead end, the researchers used what is known as Lemaître time — a time scale “tied” to the clock of the infalling observer. For the infalling observer, though, time passes perfectly normally, and they cross the boundary in a matter of seconds.
Using this frame of reference, the coauthors were able to analyze particle collisions immediately after the horizon is crossed. According to their work, the principle of kinematic censorship continues to hold even inside rotating, charged black holes. The authors’ mathematics describes in detail exactly how the properties of spacetime change during those first fractions of a second of the fall, confirming that black holes remain extreme objects — but the laws of physics don’t break down inside them.
When Publishing Stops Being a Private Matter
T-invariant asked the Ministry of Education and Science of Ukraine (MES) to comment on the situation. Below is a full translation of the response from Hryhorii Mozolevych, Director General of the MES Science Development Directorate, with the original capitalization preserved [Ukrainian official documents often write “russia,” as well as the abbreviations “rf” (Russian Federation) and “rb” (Republic of Belarus), in lowercase — T-invariant].
“The aggressive war that russia has been waging against Ukraine since 2014 has been accompanied by the systematic use of science as an instrument of propaganda and of attempts to legitimize the occupation. Beginning in 2014 with the occupation of the Autonomous Republic of Crimea and the city of Sevastopol, and continuing during the full-scale military invasion of Ukraine by the rf, the aggressor state has seized more than 1,500 Ukrainian educational and research institutions. The occupation administration of the rf uses these institutions to promote its geopolitical agenda, to justify the attempted illegal annexation of Ukrainian territories, and to assimilate the population.
More than 2,000 Ukrainian educational institutions, research institutions, and libraries have been destroyed or damaged, forcing thousands of scientists to flee conflict zones in order to save themselves and their families.
Hundreds of higher education institutions and research institutions located in the temporarily occupied territories of Ukraine, together with their intellectual and information resources, archives, libraries, collections, publications, know-how, trade names and symbols, technologies, and equipment, have been seized by the occupation administrations and, in essence, stolen by the rf.
The position of the MES remains principled and unchanged: any official scientific cooperation with representatives of the rf and the rb is unacceptable until the territorial integrity of Ukraine is fully restored and the damage inflicted is compensated.
The state policy prohibiting joint scientific activity is based on a number of legal and regulatory acts. In particular, the Cabinet of Ministers of Ukraine, by Resolution No. 355 of March 24, 2022, denounced the Agreement in the Field of Education and Science with the Russian Federation, and by Resolution No. 417 of April 9, 2022, the Treaty on Cooperation in the Field of Science and Technology with the republic of Belarus was denounced. The key document is Law of Ukraine No. 2299-IX of June 19, 2022, On the Termination of the Agreement between the Government of Ukraine and the Government of the Russian Federation on Scientific and Technical Cooperation. In addition, pursuant to clause 20 of part one of Article 4 of the Law of Ukraine On Sanctions No. 1644-VII of August 14, 2014, the types of sanctions include the termination of cultural exchanges, scientific cooperation, educational and sports contacts, and entertainment programs with foreign states and foreign legal entities. The said acts require the termination of scientific cooperation with institutions of the aggressor state, including at the level of joint scientific publications.
Furthermore, by letter No. 1/2000-24 of February 5, 2024, the MES informed all higher education institutions and research institutions of Ukraine, as well as the principal administrators of budget funds within whose sphere of management/under whose authority higher education institutions and research institutions fall, of the need to terminate all forms of scientific (scientific and technical) cooperation with the rf and the rb.
Consequently, any cooperation with representatives of the aggressor state, the rf, as well as the rb (with whose support the aggression against Ukraine is being carried out), including cooperation at the level of joint scientific publications, the implementation of research projects, etc., should have been terminated in compliance with the requirements of the legislation of Ukraine.
In response to your question regarding the possibility of publishing joint articles without indicating a Ukrainian affiliation, we hereby inform you that the determining factor for the prohibition of cooperation is the coauthor’s legal affiliation with the state institutions of the aggressor, which imposes corresponding obligations on such a person. Any person working at an institution of the rf is part of the aggressor’s scientific system, and the results of his or her research directly or indirectly serve the Russian military potential.
The MES does not regulate the private correspondence of citizens; however, it emphasizes that if contacts develop into a scientific result (joint publications), they cease to be ‘private’ and become a form of scientific interaction. The use of intellectual property to create joint products with representatives of the rf constitutes a violation of the legislation and the national interests of Ukraine. An article’s association with a Russian institution automatically renders such a publication unacceptable for any reporting purposes, as well as for the defense of dissertations or the conferral of academic titles in Ukraine, regardless of whether or not the Ukrainian scientist indicated his or her affiliation.
State policy in the sphere of scientific activity in wartime cannot be based on individual exceptions. At the same time, this policy does not provide for depriving a scientist for life of the opportunity to hold academic positions or to engage in science in Ukraine.
With regard to authors in respect of whom facts of cooperation with institutions of the rf have been recorded in articles submitted for publication after the adoption of Law of Ukraine No. 2299-IX, the MES applies clearly regulated institutional restrictions. Such restrictions include:
* the termination of MES funding for research whose state registration numbers were indicated in the identified joint publications, with the subsequent completion of this research in full at the expense of the HEIs’/RIs’ (higher education institutions’/research institutions’) own resources;
* a ban on the authors of the identified publications participating in MES competitions for the funding of research and development announced during 2024–2026 inclusive;
* the deprivation of the authors of the identified publications of any formalized expert and advisory functions within the MES system;
* a warning to HEIs/RIs that, in the course of conducting scientific activities, carrying out research projects, and the mandatory pre-defense/review of their materials at meetings of the academic (scientific, scientific and technical) council, failed to identify and stop the cooperation of their employees with employees of institutions of the rf, with additional measures to be taken subsequently at the HEI/RI level in the event of recurrence.
Thus, what is at issue is a temporary restriction of access to state funding and expert councils, participation in competitions, etc., and not a complete prohibition of professional activity.
Monitoring of scientific works is carried out by the State Scientific and Technical Library (SSTL) of Ukraine exclusively on the basis of metadata recorded in the Scopus and Web of Science databases in the form in which they were transmitted by publishers. The state authorities of Ukraine do not independently generate or alter publication metadata.
If a Ukrainian scientist finds himself or herself in a situation of involuntary or unwanted coauthorship with representatives of the rf and seeks to avoid the legitimization of the aggressor’s institutions and subsequent sanctions, he or she must initiate a procedure to correct the scientific record. Matters of initiating the retraction (withdrawal) of a publication, making changes to metadata, and interacting with the editorial office of the journal or the administration of the databases fall within the exclusive competence of the authors themselves, the academic integrity commissions of their institutions, and the publishers.
In accordance with the practice of the Committee on Publication Ethics (COPE), the procedure provides for the following:
* corrections (Corrigendum) to a published article are made upon agreement of all coauthors, as confirmed by the designated author (the corresponding author), after which the publisher publishes the correction as a stand-alone document of the scientific record;
* if it is impossible to change the list of authors or their affiliations owing to a lack of consent, the Ukrainian scientist has the right to demand the withdrawal (retraction) of the article;
* in the event of a documented correction of the relevant records in the Scopus or Web of Science databases, this information is updated during the next stage of monitoring, and the publication may be excluded from the list of works subject to restrictions.
Thus, scientists must respond independently and in a timely manner to the circumstances identified, taking the necessary steps within the limits of their authority and in accordance with the generally accepted practice of scholarly communication and the standards of academic integrity.
The timeliness of such actions is of decisive importance, since until the correction is made, the erroneous record remains in the database and is objectively reflected in the results of bibliometric analysis.”
The MES response makes clear that what matters to the ministry is not the Russian coauthor’s citizenship, his political views, or the subject of the research, but his affiliation with a Russian research institution. Zaslavskii regards these publications as the product of private professional collaboration outside his university work. The MES operates on a different logic: a joint publication is in and of itself a form of scientific interaction with the aggressor state. Nor does the absence of Zaslavskii’s Ukrainian affiliation change anything: what the MES considers decisive is his coauthor’s institutional ties to Russia. Publications, meanwhile, are monitored on the basis of Scopus and Web of Science metadata.
The way out that the MES proposes deserves particular attention. The problem is that international scientific journals and Committee on Publication Ethics standards do not allow an affiliation to be removed or a paper to be retracted for political or administrative reasons if it involves no plagiarism or falsification. In effect, the MES is demanding that scientists take steps that cannot be carried out in practice under international publishing ethics. The MES also stresses that this is a temporary restriction on access to state funding and expert roles, not a ban on practicing one’s profession.
Free to Work, Just Not Funded
Did Zaslavskii really lose his job primarily because of the joint papers with his Russian colleague — papers that, he says, were written outside his official duties and working hours? KhNU Vice-Rector for Research and Teaching Anton Panteleimonov responded to T-invariant’s inquiry.
“Until December 31, 2025, inclusive, Professor O. B. Zaslavskii worked at V. N. Karazin Kharkiv National University in the position of senior research fellow, performing research work funded by the MES of Ukraine. In this connection, your assertion that ‘this scientific collaboration was carried out independently and outside his official university duties and working hours’ is not entirely clear. It should be noted that the inclusion of a researcher in the research team is determined by the staffing table of such work and by the initiative of its principal investigator. The principal investigators of research projects related to Professor O. B. Zaslavskii’s field of research did not take the initiative to include him, understanding that the university risks losing budget funding for research and also bears reputational and financial risks. At the same time, Professor O. B. Zaslavskii is not restricted from submitting competitive applications for vacant academic and teaching positions, provided that he meets the requirements of current legislation, in particular fluency in the state language [Ukrainian — T-invariant].”
We also asked what options remain for continuing research when a scientist has been cut off from MES funding. Anton Panteleimonov replied that the question lies outside the purview of the Kharkiv National University administration.
Ripple Effects
Oleg Zaslavskii holds a Doctor of Sciences degree in physics and mathematics [the higher doctorate, above the PhD, in Ukraine and other post-Soviet countries — T-invariant] and is the author of more than 250 papers in astrophysics and gravitation. According to Scopus, his h-index is 31 and his publication count exceeds 250; on Google Scholar, his work has been cited about 4,500 times. Predictably, it isn’t only Zaslavskii himself who has been hurt by what happened, but also the people around him. What worries him most is the fate of his PhD student, Hryhorii Ovcharenko: “He’s an absolutely brilliant young scientist. But because of my problems, he can’t defend his dissertation. As Panteleimonov explained to me, only KhNU staff members can supervise PhD students. When my student came to me, I was ‘on a project.’ Then the project ended, and now I’m stuck without funding and my student can’t defend.”
With would-be students, the situation is simpler, though no less disheartening. Early this year, a researcher from Thailand wanted to come to work with Zaslavskii as a postdoc. But that turned out to be impossible: Zaslavskii currently has no active projects at the university.
“Cutting all ties between institutions and ending funding for (formerly) joint projects with the aggressor is completely natural — no argument there,” Zaslavskii insists. “That’s the state’s responsibility. But when it comes to individual contacts and joint publications in fundamental theoretical science (which don’t require any special funding), the state has no business meddling at all. Whether such cooperation between a Ukrainian and a Russian scientist is acceptable in any given case is purely a question of ethics. In my case, it absolutely is.”
Zaslavskii’s colleagues have also come to his defense. Yurii Bolotin, a professor at KhNU and chief researcher at the National Science Center “Kharkiv Institute of Physics and Technology” (NSC KIPT), writes:
Vojtěch Pravda, PhD, deputy director of the Institute of Mathematics of the Czech Academy of Sciences, also spoke out in support of Zaslavskii:
“I am a person who considers himself a strong supporter of Ukraine (for example, my family has accommodated two seniors from the Kharkiv region since April 2022). I have also refused multiple times to referee papers submitted by Russian physicists to international journals. In each case, however, I make a careful check to see whether the authors have signed any Russian anti-war petition. In such cases, I do not consider the authors pro-war or anti-Ukraine, but instead brave, responsible citizens. This is exactly the case with [the coauthor of Oleg Zaslavskii’s recent papers], who signed two such petitions in 2022. Therefore, I would urge you to take this fact into account and not terminate Oleg Zaslavskii’s contract. Ukraine has gained a lot of respect in Central Europe thanks to its brave soldiers and citizens. In my view, missteps like this one regarding Oleg Zaslavskii, who is very well known in the international physics community, would not serve Ukraine’s reputation well abroad. Finally, I would like to point out that Oleg Zaslavskii’s student, Hryhorii Ovcharenko, whom I had the pleasure of teaching in an advanced general relativity course, without any exaggeration belongs to the top 1–2% of students by Central and Western European standards. He has the potential to become one of the top Ukrainian physicists. It is therefore very important for him to be able to complete his PhD thesis at your university.”
Roman Konoplya, a leading researcher at the Institute of Physics of the Silesian University in Opava (Czech Republic), also urged that Zaslavskii’s case be considered on its merits:
“I fully understand that the current circumstances created by Russia’s aggression against Ukraine have led to exceptionally difficult decisions for Ukrainian academic institutions. Nevertheless, I respectfully hope that Dr. Zaslavskii’s case can be considered on its individual merits. In particular, I do not believe that peaceful scientific collaboration in fundamental theoretical physics should, by itself, be interpreted as support for the policies or actions of any government. This is especially true when such collaboration concerns purely academic research with no military relevance and when the coauthor has publicly opposed the Russian aggression against Ukraine. Science has traditionally served as a bridge between individuals rather than governments, and preserving this principle whenever possible benefits the international scientific community.”
Why Zaslavskii?
Andrei Rostovtsev, a cofounder of Dissernet [a volunteer network that exposes plagiarism in Russian dissertations and academic publications — T-invariant] who writes the Plagiarism Navigator column, pointed out that joint Russian-Ukrainian papers are easy to find in OpenAlex [an open international aggregator of scholarly metadata that tracks connections among millions of publications, authors, and academic institutions worldwide — T-invariant]. We had no trouble finding more than five joint papers in which one author is listed on the relevant institute’s website as an employee of a Russian institution and another as an employee of a Ukrainian one. In other words, Zaslavskii is not the only Ukrainian scientist who continues to publish with Russian colleagues. But his is the only case we know of in which a scientist has lost the ability to keep working because of such publications. We asked the Ukrainian coauthors of these papers whether they had faced pressure over their joint publications but received no response.
Andrei Rostovtsev is convinced that what matters in this case is not the Russian coauthor’s citizenship or affiliation but Zaslavskii’s own stance and his criticism of the current state of Ukrainian science. Oleg Zaslavskii has repeatedly criticized how science funding is distributed in Ukraine and warned of the risks of self-isolation for the Ukrainian scientific community, the severing of international ties, and brain drain. He has also spoken about systemic mistakes in reforming the Academy of Sciences.
“It’s worth noting that KhNU rector Tetyana Kaganovska ‘cribbed’ her dissertation: 40% of the third section of her doctoral dissertation was lifted from the work of her Russian colleague Pavel Vostrikov, ‘Organizational and Legal Problems of Training, Retraining, and Professional Development of Civil Servants.’ And a substantial part of the fourth chapter was copied from another work by Russian colleagues Shidov and Khapov, ‘Personnel Rotation as an Element of Business Career Management.’ Zaslavskii is known for his position that ‘Ukrainian science is dying.’ So the situation looks more like crooks settling political scores with a scientist for speaking his mind,” says Andrei Rostovtsev.
Oleg Zaslavskii’s story shows how general wartime restrictions play out in a specific case. The MES position is unequivocal: a joint publication with a scientist affiliated with a Russian institution counts as a form of scientific cooperation, regardless of the research topic, the coauthor’s political views, or the circumstances under which the paper was written. The system makes no provision for individual exceptions.
In Zaslavskii’s case, the consequences have gone beyond the two publications. He lost the right to compete for MES funding, was not included in any new projects after his previous one ended, and was left without a salary. The university attributes this to the risk of losing budget funding; Zaslavskii himself sees the approach as collective responsibility in action. His colleagues propose taking the circumstances of each case into account, while Andrei Rostovtsev suggests that the scientist’s long-running conflict with the Ukrainian science system may also have played a role.
PREVIOUSLY IN T-INVARIANT
- Kseniia Minakova: “During the war, I realized I’m a scientific nationalist” (in Russian)
- How Ukrainian Scientists Are Surviving the War (in Russian)
- The Marshall Plan for Ukrainian Science
- Black Mark in the “White List”: What threatens Russian scientists by forcing them to donate to Ukraine?
- “The Great Russians’ Phase Transition to the Inertial Phase of Ethnogenesis.” How Russian Scientists Are Studying the War in Ukraine
- Instead of a Reservoir, the Toxic Dust of War: What will become of the Kakhovka Hydroelectric Plant site? (in Ukrainian)
- St. Petersburg — Warsaw — Kyiv: How Archaeologist Butyagin Answered the Question “Whose Crimea Is It?” (in Russian)
- One Man’s War Is Another Man’s h-Index: How the War in Ukraine Opened a Loophole for Global Citation Trading (in Russian)
- Scientific Spoils: How Russian Plagiarists Appropriated Ukrainian Texts
- Ease of Translation: How, with the Start of the War, Translation Plagiarism from Ukrainian Has Gained Popularity in Russian Academic Circles
So the question here is not whether Ukraine should restrict scientific cooperation with Russia in wartime. The restrictions already exist, and their logic is clear. The real question is whether they should be applied automatically or leave room for individual cases to be considered on their merits.
Should a country at war, short on money and time, spend its energy on individual cases? At first pragmatic glance — no. At a second, even more pragmatic glance — perhaps it should, once you recognize that it is cheaper to let a particular scientist and his students remain part of world-class international science than to spend the effort needed to train new scientists from scratch. Over the past four years, Ukrainian science has suffered terrible losses. Several dozen scientists have been killed at the front, and thousands have left the country because they could no longer continue their work. How Ukraine will make up for these intellectual losses is a serious question with no easy answer for now. But when researchers work at an international level without leaving a country that is defending itself, showing the whole world that even under the harshest conditions Ukrainian scientists remain at their posts, it is vital to find a legal and administrative way for them to keep doing their work. They are working for the future of Ukraine as a country with full-fledged higher education and first-rate science.
The post <h1>Caught in a Superposition: How a Kharkiv Astrophysicist and Ukraine’s Ministry of Education and Science Fell Out over Collective vs. Individual Responsibility</h1> appeared first on Т-инвариант / T-invariant.
Ukrinform/Ukrinform/Sipa USA
A major drone maker said Ukrainian soldiers surprised it by packing one of its drones with more explosives than the company ever thought it could carry.
When loading up an attack drone with explosives, combat units are limited by how much weight it can carry and still fly. Batteries, cameras, and other essential equipment also take up some of that capacity. That doesn't stop soldiers from pushing the equipment to its limit.
"One of the most surprising videos I've seen recently is that one of the units has managed to put the huge explosive part on our drone," Oleg, an executive at TechEx, told Business Insider.
The drone was carrying "something like five or seven kilos, and they managed to fly into the building and put it completely to the ground with one single FPV."
"I was like, 'How do you literally put this amount of explosives on one single FPV?' But it managed to carry this on and did the mission," the TechEx exec said, speaking on the condition that he be identified only by his first name for security reasons.
TechEx lists a maximum payload of two kilograms for three of its NATO-codified fiber-optic drones: the Stalker XO-10 China-Free, Stalker XO-15 MAX PRO, and Stalker XO-13.
Weight is a major constraint for Ukraine's drone makers, who are constantly trying to accommodate more firepower and bigger batteries, as well as heavier weapons and cameras. It's a constant trade-off, with every gram mattering.
Soldiers fighting for survival often push beyond advertised limits. Last year, a sergeant major in a heavy bomber company told Army Inform, Ukraine's defense ministry media, that while a Bat drone can fly up 8 kilometers and carry up to 12 kilograms, his unit pushed it to fly a little farther and carry a little more.
Weight is an important consideration for TechEx drone development. The company advertises its "ultralight fiber optic reel" as one of its product advantages. Last year, Ukraine's Ministry of Defense characterized TechEx's Stalker series as having a "record-low spool weight among Ukrainian fiber-optic drones."
Jose Colon/Anadolu via Getty Images
The struggle with weight is particularly acute for fiber-optic drones because, in addition to gear like batteries, they have to carry the spool containing the fiber-optic cable that trails behind them, maintaining a connection with the drone operator. The cable makes them resistant to enemy jamming, but the added weight limits how many explosives they can carry. The cable spool can weigh several kilograms on some drones.
Olha, a TechEx representative, told Business Insider that the company developed its own technology to reduce spool weight, making "tiny tweaks and changes" to how the spool is assembled and the fiber is wound into it. Those adjustments allow the company to keep the spool lightweight while maintaining a stable connection and minimizing the risk of the cable breaking during flight.
The company needs the "perfect balance" to make sure it stays reliable and durable, as not all drone pilots have a wealth of flying experience, Oleg said.
The company faces trade-off decisions. Extending the range of its fiber-optic drones, for instance, would require larger cable spools, potentially leaving less room for explosives, Olha said. But not every drone needs a heavy payload. For some, speed and agility matter more.
Ukraine's soldiers often surprise the manufacturers of their weapons with how they use and adapt their gear, with troops sometimes repairing and modifying equipment near the front lines and experimenting with new tactics.
Kuldar Väärsi, the founder and CEO of Estonian ground robot maker Milrem Robotics, previously told Business Insider that Ukrainian soldiers used the company's technology in ways it was not expecting, including adding and attaching things to the robots. "Ukrainian troops are really creative, and they really find very simple ways how to get even more out of the equipment," he said.
2CR
How gear is used in the field often informs how Ukraine's defense companies update and modify their products. Soldiers give feedback to firms like TechEx every day, and companies send their own employees close to the fight to gather feedback and make changes.
Oleg said that TechEx receives direct feedback from soldiers constantly, resulting in weekly changes to its products. Without changes, a product in Ukraine "within three months, it will be outdated, and nobody will use it, because the industry is moving extremely fast," he said.
TechEx encourages soldier experimentation, including by making its drones with parts that are interchangeable. Soldiers can swap components to repair damaged drones or combine parts to create configurations the company never designed.
"Part of what I think TechEx is really great at is the ability to customize," Olha said.
Twist Robotics
Ukraine has created drones that act as flying relay towers, allowing its drones conducting missions to fly farther while making them harder for Russia to jam.
In a war where drones gather intel and account for more than 95% of Russia's front-line losses, Ukraine wants its operators to keep control of their drones over longer distances with stronger signals that are harder for Russia to break.
One solution is the signal repeater drone, a flying signal booster that operates between a pilot and a mission drone, relaying commands to the aircraft and sending back video and intelligence to the operator. Able to fly much higher than a ground antenna, airborne repeaters can extend a drone's range and help preserve the connection under pressure.
It increases the mission drone's operational range by extending how far it can fly while staying connected to its pilot. It's a similar principle to how wifi repeaters work.
Ukrainian arms maker Twist Robotics makes a signal-repeating drone, born from its Saker Scout drone.
Rostyslav Olenchyn, the company's co-founder and chief information officer, told Business Insider that the drone was widely used for reconnaissance and strike operations, but this war changes rapidly, with arms and warfighting technology quickly becoming obsolete. And without updates, this drone was at risk of falling victim to that pattern in the cat-and-mouse technology race.
Drones needed to be effective at longer ranges, and the Saker Scout's range was "not enough" for many missions. So, the drone was redesigned "for another objective. It became the signal relay station," Olenchyn said.
Ukrinform/NurPhoto via Getty Images
The Saker Scout, able to also be used in other combat roles, can extend the operational range of drones by more than 50 kilometers, according to the company.
The concept of using aircraft as signal middlemen isn't new. Militaries have used helicopters and planes to relay communications between assets and forces disconnected by the terrain, though usually troops rather than drones. These crewed aircraft, however, struggle to operate over Ukraine, but while such air assets are few and far between, drones are prolific.
Large crewed aircraft cannot "necessarily survive in the heavy saturated air of the battlefield," where drones and air defenses are a threatening presence, Olenchyn said. "So the small, versatile platform was a solution." He said that serial production of the Saker Scout with this function started in 2023.
The company's strike drone, the Signal Hunter, can also be used as a relay.
Other Ukrainian companies are also working in the space, with some updating existing drone types and some designing new ones. Roboneers, for example, developed a version of its Wardog drone that can carry relay equipment weighing up to three kilograms, and Skyriper makes the Skyriper-R Airborne Repeater, a dedicated drone with the single function of acting as an airborne repeater.
Volodymyr Zinovskyi, the CEO of the Ukrainian defense firm TAF Industries, told Business Insider that his company started making relay drones last year at the request of units, describing the technology as going from optional to essential.
Brave1, Ukraine's state-backed innovation platform, wrote last year that "the use of UAVs over long distances or in difficult terrain requires the use of repeaters - special devices that help increase the range of a stable signal several times."
Some Ukrainian drones are built for this relay mission, while others can be fitted with add-on repeater equipment.
Twist Robotics
Beyond overcoming geographical challenges, airborne repeaters also help counter Russian electronic warfare by strengthening the communications link between operators and mission drones, making it harder to disrupt, though Russia can still target the relay itself.
An analysis published by the Center for Strategic and International Studies, a US think tank, last year described the creation of relay systems as a response to growing electronic warfare tactics, including the ability that both sides have to trace drone control signals back to their source for strikes on operators, priority targets in this war.
Dmytro "Liber" Zhluktenko, a former drone operator who now serves as a lessons-learned analyst with Ukraine's 413th Unmanned Systems Regiment "RAID," told Business Insider that Ukrainian forces are "keeping somewhat a stable radio link by mass utilizing signal repeaters."
He said that some uncrewed repeater aircraft are fixed-wing drones, while some are repurposed bomber-type drones. Instead of bombs, it just carries the signal repeater," he said.
"We optimize those signal repeater carriers to just stay in the air for an extremely long time, like one hour plus," he said. "That's their only job: to be in the air." Working with strike drones, they give operators a "great radio link over the target."
Oleksiy, the commander of the 2nd UAV engineer platoon of the International Defense Legion of Ukraine, told ArmyInform, the official information agency of the Ministry of Defense of Ukraine, last year that his unit uses repeaters on drones to expand the radio horizon of the drones they want to use and fly further to target Russia.
Russia is using the technology too, including to help attack drones fly deeper into Ukrainian territory.
And these lessons aren't limited to the Ukraine war. The US military is also experimenting with ways to extend drone operations and keep operators connected from farther away. The Marine Corps, for instance, has experimented with using helicopters as FPV motherships, as well as handing off control after launch.
Though different from Ukraine's airborne repeater work, both address a similar battlefield problem, which is that drones are only useful if operators can launch them, control them, and keep receiving information at tactically relevant distances.
Olenchyn said that updates, like the signal repeating ability, are critical in combat. He said that every two weeks, the company has "a new update, new kinds of techniques, new kinds of drones or functionality which are released."
Is Turkey now globally recognized as a major military-industrial power?
The question assumes significance as, in a span of 48 hours, Turkey has signed two significant agreements that enhance its military-industrial power projection.
In Doha on October 21, it signed the Badr Memorandum of Understanding with Pakistan, Qatar, and Indonesia for joint defense production, integrated manufacturing chains, and technology sharing.
In Ankara on October 22, it signed a Strategic Partnership with Canada, including a formal Agreement on Defense Industry Partnership, alongside deals on energy and air transport.
Four senior ministers signed the Badr Memorandum (BMU): Pakistan’s defense minister Khawaja Muhammad Asif, Turkey’s defense minister Yasar Guler, Qatar’s Deputy PM Sheikh Saud bin Abdulrahman Al Thani, and Indonesia’s Deputy Defense Minister Marshal Yusuf Jauhari.
Prof. Dr. Haluk Görgün, President (Secretary) of the Presidency of Defense Industries (SSB) in Turkey and regarded as the “architect” of the BMU, was present at the signing ceremony.
Incidentally, Badr refers to the Battle of Badr in 624 AD, when the Prophet Muhammad and his followers defeated their opponents in one of Islam’s earliest battles in the Arabian Peninsula.
Turkey’s defense ministry explained the name “Badr” as “full moon”. It said that “the four participating nations complement one another through this pact, which holds significant military and economic importance”.
In a statement, it added that “by leveraging the capabilities of each country in the field of military production, cooperation and integration will be achieved, defense industry capacities will be developed, and the needs of allied and friendly nations can thus be met.”
Similarly, the statement made by the Qatari Defense Ministry said the “Badr” Memorandum of Understanding “aims to foster cooperation in the field of defense manufacturing, enhance defense capabilities among the four countries, and promote collaboration in technical defense training, as well as in research and development areas, thereby contributing to the creation of solutions and industries worthy of the evolution of modern defenses”.
According to Arda Mevlutoglu, managing director of Ankara-based Mergen Analytical Strategies, the BMU’s implications could extend well beyond the four participants. “We may be witnessing the emergence of an interconnected network of defense and security arrangements extending from the Gulf to South and Southeast Asia, rather than a single formal alliance”.
Under the agreement, each country will bring its own resources and skills to the table.
“Turkey contributes technological expertise, systems integration and a mature defense industry; Pakistan and Indonesia offer manufacturing capacity, skilled workforces and sizable domestic markets; and Qatar provides investment potential and demand. Together, the four nations could establish integrated supply chains, allowing these countries to jointly develop, manufacture and sustain defence systems”, Mevlutoglu told Al Jazeera.
This means each member brings a complementary, not equal, asset. Turkey provides the industrial core, with establishments like Baykar (drones), TAI (aerospace), Aselsan (defense electronics), Roketsan (Missiles and munitions), STM (naval systems), and proven export models like the TB2 and Akıncı unmanned air-combat vehicles.
But Turkey seeks scale, co-production markets, and capital. Qatar can provide the finance. Pakistan and Indonesia can serve as markets.
Reportedly, Pakistan wants to diversify its military imports and not rely solely on China. It wants technology transfer and self-reliance through collaborations.
Indonesia is an emerging market and production base. Jakarta has bought Turkish weapons before — Kaplan tanks, MILGEM-derived frigates — and wants to build its own defense industry under Prabowo’s doctrine, with access to NATO-standard tech without full Western political conditions. The doctrine is championed by President Prabowo Subianto, who is aggressively executing a multifaceted supplier-diversification and co-production strategy.
However, the BMU is not the Mecca Pact of August 2026 that Turkey, Pakistan, and Saudi Arabia signed in Riyadh and reportedly contains a collective defense clause—an attack on one is an attack on all. It is an industrial MoU.
But one could argue that the initiative reflects Gulf countries increasingly looking toward the Global South and fellow Muslim countries, as recent Middle East conflicts have exposed vulnerabilities tied to dependence on foreign suppliers, technology restrictions, and supply chain disruptions.
By anchoring a defense-industrial coalition with Qatar, Pakistan, and Indonesia, Ankara seems to have signaled that it could be the technological and industrial nucleus of the Global South. And the global validation of its strategy has come through “the three-year action plan” with Ottawa.
Reports describe the optics of Prime Minister Mark Carney being received at the Presidential Complex in Ankara with full honors by President Recep Tayyip Erdogan as historic. Carney is the first Canadian Prime Minister to make a dedicated bilateral visit to Turkey, although he traveled to Ankara in July to attend the NATO summit.
The visit resulted in the signing of three agreements: a Defense Industry Partnership between SSB Chairman Haluk Gorgun and Canadian Foreign Minister Anita Anand; an Air Transport Agreement; and a Joint Declaration on Energy Cooperation.
Remarkably, a few years ago, the two countries’ defense relations had virtually collapsed.
In October 2019, Canada imposed an arms embargo on Turkey after “Operation Peace Spring” in northeastern Syria. It was a military offensive launched by the Turkish Armed Forces and the allied Syrian National Army (SNA) against the Kurdish-led Syrian Democratic Forces (SDF) and the People’s Protection Units (YPG).
In October 2020, Canada suspended and later canceled export permits for L3Harris Wescam camera and targeting systems after confirming they were used on Turkish Bayraktar TB2 drones supporting Azerbaijan in the Nagorno-Karabakh conflict.
In fact, Canada adopted a presumptive-denial policy for military exports to Turkey. The Turkish defense industry saw Canada as a technology chokepoint.
However, over the last two years, Canada and Turkey have rebuilt their defense relationship. In January 2024, Ottawa quietly lifted arms-export restrictions and returned to a case-by-case assessment. In July 2026, at the NATO Summit in Ankara, the two defense ministers signed a “Statement of Intent” on military dialogue.
“In an increasingly complex global security environment, rising geopolitical uncertainties, and evolving humanitarian challenges, a strong and resilient Canada-Turkiye partnership is essential, providing a foundation to mitigate shared threats and capitalize on new opportunities,” said a joint statement by Carney and Erdogan on Thursday.
Canary’s own statement was more emphatic: “Today’s new Agreement on Defense Industry Partnership will connect Canadian and Turkish companies to work together, creating good jobs at home, export opportunities abroad, greater security for our citizens, and contributing to a stronger NATO alliance”.
The partnership’s three-year action plan rests on four pillars: trade and investment; defense and security; energy; and ties between people.
On trade, investment and innovation, the two leaders agreed to “work toward the successful conclusion of a Canada-Turkey Free Trade Agreement”. They will also expand bilateral trade and investments in priority sectors, including energy supply, defense production, aerospace, and artificial intelligence (AI).
On defense and security, Carney and Erdogan “underlined their intent to deepen bilateral and multilateral cooperation”. They also agreed to “strengthen cooperation in support of peace and security in the Euro-Atlantic region and beyond, including Ukraine, South Caucasus, and the Middle East, in particular Gaza”.
The three-year action plan calls for exploring co-development in aerospace, defense production, AI, critical minerals, LNG, and nuclear energy.
Of course, what Canada has agreed is not about Turkey alone. Carney is in the middle of a full-scale trade war with Washington. President Donald Trump’s tariffs and rhetoric questioning Canadian sovereignty have forced Ottawa to pursue a deliberate diversification strategy.
Carney has already reset ties with Saudi Arabia, India and China — all strained under his predecessor Justin Trudeau. Turkey, with 87 million people, NATO’s second-largest army, and a growing industrial base, fits perfectly into his “reliable partners” and “collective resilience” narrative.
For Turkey, the gain is more strategic than commercial. A G7 member and a Five Eyes country, which once embargoed it, Canada now legitimizes its defense industry as a partner. No wonder Erdogan was quick to link Thursday’s agreement to his pet project — “the Defense, Security and Resilience Bank” , announced by nine countries at the NATO summit in July 2026 to finance defense production.
Few will contest that Turkey’s defense industry has grown steadily. From an import-dependent country with 20% local production in 2002 to over 80% today, with $7.1 billion in exports in 2024, it is now a top-15 arms exporter. The fact that both Canada, which embargoed it, and Indonesia, which has options from South Korea and France, want co-production with Turkey is the recognition of Turkey’s defense ecosystem.
Apparently, the narrative has shifted from “Turkey buys” to “Turkey builds with.” Both the Badr agreement and the deal with Canada use the language of “joint production and technology sharing”, not a “buyer-seller” arrangement.
Secondly, Turkey is building a parallel architecture. A formal NATO ally, it is also becoming the leader of a non-Western defense network.
Thirdly, it is showing “Sanctions Resilience”. Western restrictions for its intervention in Syria and the controversy over its buying the S-400 from Russia seem to have taught Turkey to indigenize. Now that indigenization is proving to be its selling point.
However, some reality checks are needed. Turkey’s achievements need not be projected as triumphalism.
After all, both the Agreements made at Doha and Ankara are MoUs and framework agreements. No specific defense program has been identified that would allow assessment of impact on regional military balance. “Badr” has no factory, no joint venture company yet. In defense deals, MOUs are one thing, but their eventual shape is a different matter.
Second, there is the technology ceiling. Turkey still depends on Western subsystems — engines for Kaan and Altay, critical minerals processing, and high-end semiconductors. Canada can help with the latter, but Ottawa’s case-by-case export control means strategic tech will still be gated.
Engaging pragmatically with strategically vital G20 and NATO allies without requiring complete alignment on all domestic values, Canada is meeting this moment with what it calls “values-based realism”.
It is “pragmatically” dealing with other countries, but it will not cross a line when its commitment to the fundamental values of freedom, human rights, sustainability, and solidarity is challenged.
So, it remains to be seen how long Canada will remain silent on the widely reported sweeping and unprecedented nationwide crackdown by the Turkish government on dissent and civil society, heavily focusing on the systematic dismantling of LGBTQ+ and HIV-advocacy organizations.
However, all this does not detract from the fact that Turkey is emerging as a second-tier military-industrial power like South Korea and Israel. Its products are innovative and export-driven. But it has miles to go before reaching the status of the US, France, and Russia, which set global standards.
The post Canada Deal Cements Turkey’s Position as a Military-Industrial Power. Comes After Makkah & Badr Pacts appeared first on EURASIAN TIMES.
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