(EN)The New Rules of Power — Green Fuel, Fear, and the Hidden Battlefield — Café con Leche — Episode #20

THEME 1: When “Green” Becomes Negotiable — SAF, Power, and the Politics of Scarcity — Café con Leche — Episode #20

Sustainable Aviation Fuel is presented as the solution that allows aviation to continue growing while emissions fall. It promises continuity without sacrifice: planes keep flying, economies remain connected, and climate targets are met through technological substitution rather than structural change.

But from a global political economy perspective, SAF is not simply a cleaner fuel. It is a politically constructed market built on mandates, subsidies, certification regimes, and deeply uneven global supply chains. And as with any market created faster than its material base can sustain, it begins to bend the meaning of the very thing it is supposed to deliver.

The United Kingdom’s SAF mandate illustrates this dynamic clearly. By legally requiring airlines to blend increasing shares of “sustainable” fuel — rising toward 10% by 2030 — the state is not merely supporting a transition; it is manufacturing demand.

This demand is then translated into financial value through tradable certificates, long-term investment signals, and policy-backed expectations of future scarcity. In Susan Strange’s terms, this is structural power in action: the power to shape markets, define legitimacy, and determine the conditions under which others must operate.

But when the structure expands faster than the underlying resources, the system enters a phase of tension. At the centre of that tension lies feedstock scarcity. The most commercially viable SAF pathways today rely heavily on waste-based inputs — particularly used cooking oil and animal fats.

These materials are attractive because they can be framed as circular and low-carbon. Yet their supply is inherently limited. There is simply not enough genuine waste oil in the world to meet the rapidly expanding demand created by SAF mandates across Europe and beyond. This mismatch between policy ambition and physical availability is not a technical issue; it is a political economy problem.

Once “waste” becomes valuable, its definition becomes contested. The category itself begins to stretch. What counts as used cooking oil? How many times must oil be used before it qualifies? Who verifies its origin, and at what point in a fragmented, transnational supply chain?

These questions are no longer academic. Investigations and policy debates have raised concerns that virgin or lightly used palm oil may be entering supply chains under the label of waste, particularly through intermediaries in Southeast Asia.

In this context, sustainability is no longer a fixed property of a fuel. It becomes a claim — one that must be certified, traded, and, crucially, believed.

This is where geopolitics enters the story. The UK and Europe do not control the feedstocks on which their decarbonisation strategies depend. Instead, they rely on global supply chains that stretch into regions where governance standards, economic incentives, and state policies differ significantly.

Malaysia’s palm oil sector, for example, operates within a domestic political economy shaped by subsidies, export pressures, and development priorities. When global demand for “waste” oils rises — and when those oils command premium prices in European markets — local incentives shift.

The risk is not simply fraud in a narrow legal sense. It is systemic adaptation: a restructuring of supply chains to meet external demand, even if that means blurring the line between waste and production.

The controversy surrounding major producers such as Neste highlights the fragility of this system. Even in the absence of proven wrongdoing, the allegations themselves point to a deeper issue: the credibility of the certification regime.

SAF depends on trust — trust that feedstocks are what they claim to be, that emissions reductions are real, and that environmental harm is not simply displaced geographically.

But trust is difficult to sustain in a system where verification is complex, intermediaries are numerous, and financial incentives reward volume over scrutiny.

The more valuable “sustainable” inputs become, the greater the pressure on the mechanisms designed to guarantee their integrity.

Finance amplifies this dynamic. SAF is not just a fuel; it is an asset class emerging within the broader landscape of green finance. Certificates, subsidies, and regulatory mandates transform fuel into a vehicle for investment, speculation, and compliance.

Airlines purchase SAF not only to reduce emissions, but to meet regulatory requirements and signal alignment with net-zero commitments. Producers invest in capacity based on expectations of future demand. Governments design policies to attract capital into domestic production.

In this system, value is not derived solely from the physical fuel, but from the policy framework that surrounds it. And when policy creates value, it also creates incentives for that value to be captured — sometimes in ways that stretch or undermine the original environmental objective.

What emerges, then, is a structural contradiction. The UK seeks to decarbonise aviation while maintaining growth. It mandates a transition to sustainable fuels while relying on supply chains it does not control.

It defines sustainability through certification systems that must operate across vastly different political and economic contexts. And in doing so, it creates a system in which the meaning of “green” is increasingly contingent — shaped not only by environmental science, but by market pressures, geopolitical relationships, and institutional capacity.

The result is a paradox at the heart of the green transition: the more the UK mandates “green fuel”, the more it depends on a supply chain where “green” itself becomes negotiable.

In this sense, SAF is not just a technological solution. It is a test of whether climate policy can maintain credibility in a world of globalised production and uneven governance.

If the underlying structures reward expansion over verification, and growth over constraint, then sustainability risks becoming less a material reality and more a negotiated outcome.

And once that happens, the transition itself becomes a site of power — where definitions, standards, and claims are contested, traded, and, ultimately, politicised.

THEME 2: Security, Fear, and the Social Contract — Why Finland and Sweden Chose NATO — Café con Leche — Episode #20

In classical political theory, the state exists to solve a fundamental problem: fear. For Thomas Hobbes, life without authority — in the famous “state of nature” — is not freedom, but insecurity.

It is a world where violence is always possible, where trust is fragile, and where survival depends on constant vigilance. His conclusion was clear: individuals surrender part of their freedom to a sovereign in exchange for protection. This is the social contract.

But Hobbes was not only writing about individuals. His logic can be scaled up — from citizens to states.

In international politics, there is no global sovereign. There is no world government capable of guaranteeing security. The system remains, in many ways, Hobbesian: anarchic, uncertain, and shaped by the ever-present possibility of conflict.

States, like individuals, must find ways to escape vulnerability. For decades, Finland and Sweden pursued a strategy of neutrality. This was not naïve idealism, but a calculated position within a relatively stable European order.

Their security model relied on distance, diplomacy, and the assumption that large-scale war in Europe was unlikely. That assumption collapsed with the Russian invasion of Ukraine.

Suddenly, the Hobbesian reality of international politics became visible again. War was no longer theoretical. Borders were no longer stable. The idea that geography alone could guarantee safety began to erode.

In this new environment, neutrality started to look less like independence — and more like exposure. This is where Hobbes becomes geopolitics.

If the social contract is about trading autonomy for security, then NATO represents a collective version of that contract. By joining NATO, states accept constraints — alignment, obligations, and strategic integration — in exchange for a credible security guarantee.

Article 5 is the core of this logic: an attack on one is an attack on all. In Hobbesian terms, it is the closest thing the international system has to a sovereign.

For Finland and Sweden, the decision was not ideological. It was structural. They did not suddenly become more “pro-Western”. They recalculated risk.

The key shift was not identity — it was threat perception. When the cost of remaining outside a security structure exceeds the cost of joining it, the social contract becomes rational at the level of the state. Security, in this sense, is not about values. It is about survival.

This is also where Susan Strange adds a deeper layer. Power is not only about military force, but about the structures that shape options. NATO is not just an alliance — it is a security structure that defines who is protected, how risk is distributed, and where vulnerability lies.

From this perspective, Finland and Sweden did not simply “choose” NATO. They moved into a structure where security is collectively organised — and where the costs of isolation had become too high.

The lesson is broader. When the system becomes more uncertain, states behave less like idealists and more like Hobbesian actors. They seek protection. They hedge against worst-case scenarios. They prioritise survival over autonomy.

Because in the end, the social contract — whether between citizens or states — is built on a simple exchange: Less freedom / For more security. And when fear returns to the system, that trade-off becomes not only rational — but inevitable.

THEME 3: From Globalisation to Alignment — Why the EU Is Rebuilding Supply Chains with Trusted Partners — Café con Leche — Episode #20

Globalisation was built on a simple principle: produce where it is cheapest, ship where it is needed, and assume that the system will hold. For decades, efficiency was the organising logic of the global economy.

Supply chains stretched across continents not because they were safe, but because they were cost-effective. But that logic is now breaking down.

The emerging agreement between the European Union and Australia reflects a deeper transformation — one in which trade is no longer neutral, and supply chains are no longer apolitical.

Instead, they are being actively redesigned around trust, alignment, and strategic security. At the heart of this shift lies a fundamental problem: dependency.

Over the past two decades, global supply chains — particularly in critical sectors such as rare earths, lithium, and battery components — have become heavily concentrated in China. This concentration created efficiency, but also vulnerability.

The same networks that lowered costs also exposed economies to disruption, coercion, and geopolitical leverage.

The EU–Australia deal is therefore not simply about trade expansion. It is about restructuring dependency. Australia possesses vast reserves of critical minerals essential for the energy transition — lithium for batteries, rare earths for wind turbines, and other inputs required for electrification.

By deepening ties with Australia, the EU is not just securing resources; it is rebuilding the architecture of its supply chains around a partner it considers politically reliable.

This is the essence of what economists and policymakers now call friendshoring. Production and sourcing are no longer organised globally, but selectively — concentrated among countries that share political values, institutional trust, and strategic alignment.

In this model, resilience replaces efficiency as the primary objective. But this shift comes with trade-offs. Friendshoring is, by definition, less efficient than globalisation at its peak.

It often involves higher costs, duplication of infrastructure, and the deliberate exclusion of certain suppliers. Yet these costs are increasingly viewed as the price of security.

The question is no longer “what is cheapest?” but “what is sustainable under geopolitical stress?”

The EU’s strategy reflects a broader transformation in the global political economy: the merging of industrial policy, climate policy, and security policy. The energy transition — often framed as a purely environmental challenge — is in reality a geopolitical reordering of supply chains.

Who controls the inputs of decarbonisation will shape the distribution of power in the decades ahead. In this context, the EU–Australia deal is not an isolated agreement. It is part of a wider pattern: a gradual fragmentation of the global economy into overlapping blocs of trust.

These blocs are not closed, but they are selective. They privilege alignment over openness, resilience over efficiency, and strategy over neutrality.

Globalisation is not ending. But it is being reconfigured. The world is moving from a system defined by interdependence to one defined by managed interdependence — where connections remain, but are increasingly filtered through the lens of geopolitical risk.

And in that world, supply chains are no longer just economic networks. They are instruments of power.

THEME 4: Mediation as Strategy — Why Pakistan Is Positioning Itself at the Center of a Geopolitical Crisis — Café con Leche — Episode #20

In geopolitics, mediation is rarely neutral. States do not step in to resolve conflicts out of pure goodwill — they do so because crisis creates opportunity.

And in moments of escalation, those who can speak to all sides often gain something far more valuable than peace: relevance.

This is precisely what we are witnessing with Pakistan as it positions itself between Iran and the United States. At first glance, Pakistan’s role appears diplomatic — facilitating messages, encouraging de-escalation, and offering to host talks.

But beneath this surface lies a more strategic calculation. Pakistan is not just trying to stop a war. It is trying to reinsert itself into the global order.

For years, Islamabad has found itself increasingly constrained. Tensions with India, instability along the Afghan border, and diplomatic isolation have limited its room for manoeuvre.

Acting as a mediator offers a way out of that isolation. By becoming indispensable in a high-stakes crisis, Pakistan transforms from a regional actor under pressure into a global interlocutor that major powers must engage with.

But mediation is also driven by fear. The conflict between Iran and the United States is not distant for Pakistan — it is dangerously close. The Persian Gulf is not just a geopolitical theatre; it is a lifeline for energy flows, trade routes, and regional stability.

Any escalation risks spilling over into Pakistan’s own strategic environment. This risk is amplified by Pakistan’s deep ties to Saudi Arabia. A mutual defence agreement means that a wider regional war could pull Islamabad directly into the conflict.

More critically, Pakistan’s nuclear capabilities — historically supported by Saudi financing — raise the stakes even further. What begins as mediation could quickly become entanglement.

This dual logic — opportunity and constraint — explains Pakistan’s behaviour. It is not acting as a neutral broker, but as a state navigating structural pressures.

On one side, it seeks diplomatic relevance and international legitimacy. On the other, it is attempting to prevent a regional escalation that could force it into a conflict it cannot control.

What makes Pakistan uniquely suited to this role is its position between worlds. It maintains working relations with Washington, channels of communication with Tehran, and strategic ties with Gulf monarchies.

It is neither fully aligned nor fully isolated. In an increasingly fragmented international system, this kind of in-between position becomes a source of power.

Yet the limits of this mediation are clear. The exchanges between the United States and Iran are not negotiations in the formal sense, but indirect communications — messages passed, positions signalled, warnings issued.

There is no guarantee that this process will lead to de-escalation. In fact, it may simply manage the conflict rather than resolve it.

And that, perhaps, is the deeper reality of modern geopolitics. Mediation today is not about ending conflicts. It is about containing them, shaping them, and surviving within them.

In this sense, Pakistan’s role is not an exception — it is a reflection of a broader shift. As global power becomes more fragmented, middle powers are no longer passive. They are becoming active managers of instability, leveraging crises to secure their place in the international system.

Because in a world defined by conflict, sometimes the most powerful position is not to win the war — but to stand in the middle of it.

THEME 5: The New Battlefield of Power: Espionage in the Age of Digital Platforms — Café con Leche — Episode #20

In contemporary geopolitics, power is no longer exercised solely through military force, economic coercion, or territorial control. Increasingly, it is projected through the quiet acquisition of information.

The recent exposure of a Chinese intelligence operation targeting employees of European institutions through professional networking platforms illustrates a deeper transformation in the structure of global power.

This case is not simply about espionage; it represents a shift toward a system in which knowledge itself becomes the primary terrain of competition.

According to European security sources, Chinese intelligence services approached dozens of individuals linked to the European Union and NATO using fake LinkedIn profiles, gradually building relationships that led to the exchange of sensitive information.

What began as seemingly legitimate requests for paid analysis evolved into access to non-public and, in some cases, classified material. This method reflects a new model of intelligence gathering — one that is embedded within the infrastructure of everyday digital life rather than operating outside it.

This transformation marks a departure from traditional espionage practices. During the Cold War, intelligence operations depended on physical proximity, human handlers, and covert exchanges.

Today, however, digital platforms have become the new operational environment. LinkedIn, originally designed to facilitate professional networking, can be repurposed as a recruitment tool.

In this context, platforms function as strategic nodes through which information flows can be accessed, redirected, and exploited. Power, therefore, is no longer defined only by control over territory but increasingly by control over networks and access points.

A key feature of this new model is its economic logic. Reports indicate that individuals recruited through these operations were compensated with payments ranging from hundreds to thousands of euros for analytical reports and insights.

This introduces a market dimension to intelligence gathering. Rather than relying on coercion or ideological alignment, states can now leverage financial incentives to acquire information.

In doing so, espionage becomes partially commodified. Individuals, often unknowingly, are integrated into global intelligence supply chains as providers of valuable knowledge.

This dynamic blurs the boundary between legitimate professional activity and strategic vulnerability. Many of those targeted were academics, analysts, or former officials — individuals whose roles inherently involve producing and sharing knowledge.

In open societies, such exchanges are fundamental to innovation and policy development. However, this openness also creates opportunities for external actors to extract information under the guise of normal professional interaction.

The very conditions that enable intellectual productivity thus become potential entry points for exploitation. For the European Union, this presents a structural dilemma.

The EU is built upon principles of openness, transparency, and the free exchange of ideas. Yet these principles also expose it to asymmetric strategies employed by external powers operating with fewer constraints.

The challenge, therefore, lies in reconciling openness with security. Tightening controls risks undermining the liberal foundations of the system, while maintaining openness may leave critical vulnerabilities unaddressed.

Moreover, the temporal dimension of such operations is significant. Intelligence officials suggest that these activities have been ongoing for years, forming part of a broader, long-term strategy.

Unlike traditional espionage, which often focuses on specific targets or short-term objectives, this model is cumulative. It relies on the gradual accumulation of insights over time, creating a continuous flow of information.

In this sense, intelligence gathering begins to resemble other systems of global extraction, such as supply chains or financial networks, where value is generated through sustained, incremental processes.

Perhaps the most striking aspect of this transformation is its invisibility. There are no overt confrontations, no immediate crises, and no clear indicators of escalation. Instead, power is exercised through subtle, often undetectable interactions.

By the time the effects become visible, the information has already been transmitted and integrated into strategic decision-making processes elsewhere. This challenges traditional notions of security, which are often oriented toward visible threats and identifiable actors.

In conclusion, the emergence of platform-mediated espionage signals a fundamental shift in the nature of global power. The case of Chinese intelligence operations targeting European institutions is not an isolated incident but part of a broader trend in which information, networks, and access have become central to geopolitical competition.

In a world defined by connectivity, the ability to access and exploit knowledge may prove more decisive than control over physical resources. As such, understanding and responding to this new form of power will be one of the defining challenges for states in the years ahead.