Introduction

The theme of paradise has long preoccupied European thought. While medieval Christianity located paradise beyond this world, Renaissance humanism revived the classical ideal of Arcadia: a pastoral landscape of harmony between humanity and nature.1

Centuries later, this imagery remains central to the marketing of Mediterranean tourism. Advertisements promise pristine landscapes, authenticity and an escape from the pressures of modern life. But does this European paradise still exist?

The closer one looks, the more this idyllic realm begins to resemble something very different. Behind the postcard scenery lies an economic structure whose long-term consequences receive far less attention than its immediate prosperity. In the twenty-first century, the commercialization of the Arcadian ideal has evolved into a socio-economic monoculture—a Mediterranean variant of the Dutch disease.2

This essay argues that the Mediterranean Trap is not tourism itself, but the structural dependence that emerges when tourism becomes the dominant economic logic of a society, crowding out innovation, reshaping demographic patterns and gradually eroding national resilience.

The Unusual Suspect

Croatia is an unusual suspect because it has never been exclusively Mediterranean. Its geography and historical development have always been shaped by the intersection of Central Europe, Southeastern Europe, and the Adriatic Sea.3 These layers of history, which the Annales School calls the longue durée,4 created a country with political and economic traditions that reach far beyond the Mediterranean world.

Throughout Southern Europe, tourism increasingly drew upon the Arcadian myth of a slower pace of life and harmony with nature. But only a few countries in the Mediterranean embraced this strategy as comprehensively as Croatia.

Unlike Spain and Italy, where mass tourism had already taken off during the post-war Mediterranean tourism boom of the 1950s and 1960s5, Croatia was a relative “latecomer” in tourism; although the Yugoslav era was one of planned and subsidized tourism, it had not yet reached that scale, and following the geopolitical upheavals and the War of Independence in the early 1990s, Croatia’s tourism industry came to a near standstill.6

As a result, Croatia could avoid many of the structural problems that had already occurred in the older Mediterranean tourist economies. This allowed it to elevate the promise of timelessness to an economic dogma. The advertising slogan “The Mediterranean as it once was”7 became the strongest expression of this and commercialized a literary refuge.

Croatia was not necessarily the kind of place one would expect to find an Arcadia. On the contrary, Croatia’s past has been marked by defensive battles on the border between the West and the East. This struggle lasted for centuries. 8

Yet, this historical rupture made the promotion of Croatia as a peaceful Mediterranean destination politically and economically attractive after independence.

The Arcadian myth therefore served not only as a marketing choice, but as an essential post-war survival strategy. The strategy was neither irrational nor accidental.

In reality, tourism was one of the very few economic sectors capable of quickly bringing in much-needed foreign currency.9

At the time, it also perfectly fitted the narrative of the era of hyperglobalism10 in which tourism, services, and international integration were perceived as almost guaranteed roads to prosperity.

Rebranding Croatia as a peaceful Mediterranean destination therefore served both an economic and a political purpose, especially as it allowed the country to present itself as an untouched alternative to its commercialized Mediterranean peers.

The Economic Trap

Croatia’s post-war strategy in tourism proved to be very promising: it brought in foreign currency, created jobs, and was able to improve international visibility.11

This was not necessarily a given, considering the circumstances at that time and the fact that Croatia is geographically more diverse than the Mediterranean campaign suggested. Accordingly, the promotional material first showcased Croatia's diversity through images of coastlines, mountains, and fields, only to later group these distinct landscapes under the slogan “The Mediterranean as it once was.”12

The campaign nevertheless succeeded in reshaping Croatia's international image.13 The beauty of the country and the authentic Mediterranean flair of Istria and Dalmatia, which was also not yet overcrowded, became ever more attractive to tourists.

By the early 2000s, Croatia had regained most of the ground it had lost during the war, and GDP had surpassed its pre-war level and was expanding rapidly (Figure 1).

From this perspective, given the challenges faced at the time, the strategy appeared relatively successful.

Despite continued growth in tourism, Croatia was hit by the economic crisis in 2008. Croatia’s traditional industrial and export sectors were hit particularly hard, causing the country to slide into a six-year recession.14

Indeed, the 2008 crisis marked a watershed moment, and tourism steadily became the centerpiece of Croatia's recovery strategy.

While this approach generated foreign exchange and sustained economic activity, it failed to deliver typical long-term developmental benefits, despite strong headline figures. As the European Commission notes, Croatia's tourism sector is characterized by high import leakage, pronounced seasonality, and comparatively weak spillover effects on the rest of the economy, limiting its contribution to long-term growth.15

In this context, joining the EU in 2013 coincided with the onset of a more intensive investment wave in an already rapidly growing tourism sector. This led to an unprecedented surge of ‘apartmentization.’ Growing demand for tourism-related real estate, combined with the expansion of short-term rentals, transformed large parts of the Adriatic coast into a yield-oriented property market.16

This marked the culmination of Croatia's growing specialization in tourism, reinforcing a pattern of deindustrialization and expanding dependence on non-tradable sectors.17

What was at first a transitory source of foreign exchange quickly became a permanent monoculture. Eurostat data show that tourism generated 10.5% of Croatia's gross value added in 2022, the highest among all available data for EU member states. Other estimates, which also consider the indirect and induced impacts, place the total contribution of tourism at about one-fifth of Croatia's GDP.

This degree of dependence, combined with the highest level of seasonality in the European Union,18 suggests that Croatia no longer controls tourism; instead, tourism more and more shapes investment patterns, labor allocation and political priorities across the wider economy, bolstering a path-dependent model of development.

But Croatia is not alone in this development. All over Southern Europe, tourism has steadily evolved from an important economic sector into a broader model of growth.19

The main difference is that Croatia's transformation unfolded over a much shorter period.

Whereas Spain, Greece, and Portugal slowly transformed into tourism-driven economies over several decades, much of this structural change occurred in Croatia within a little over a decade following the global financial crisis.

Beyond its effects on growth and sectoral specialization, tourism may also generate broader inflationary pressures. Recent research on Croatia argues that in highly tourism-dependent economies, tourism demand can contribute to inflation through multiple transmission channels, extending its economic effects beyond the tourism sector itself.20

The Demographic Trap

In Mediterranean Europe, demographic decline has become one of the defining structural challenges of the twenty-first century. Low fertility, outward migration and rising housing costs mutually reinforce one another.

These dynamics are especially illustrative in Croatia.

Like most of Europe, Croatia’s fertility rate remains below replacement level. Despite a slight recent increase in births,21 the birth rate remains below 1.5 (Eurostat, 2024), well below the 2.1 needed for generational replacement.

While Croatia is no exception within the broader group of Mediterranean countries, the opposite is actually true regarding the severity of its birth rate: In 2024, its fertility rate (1.46) was the highest among EU Mediterranean states examined here, exceeding Portugal (1.41), Cyprus (1.38), Greece (1.24), Italy (1.18), Spain (1.10), and Malta (1.01), according to Eurostat. Only France remained a notable exception, with a fertility rate of 1.61, reflecting its distinct demographic and economic structure.

Croatia's demographic decline predates tourism and EU accession. But the 2008 financial crisis and the EU's open mobility regime deepened a generalized South-North migratory flow that, besides Croatia,22 impacted Italy, Spain, Portugal, and Greece.23

Moreover, in highly touristed cities along the Southern European coastline, such as Barcelona, Seville, or Lisbon, the practice of converting apartments into holiday rentals has increased the already large gap between local incomes and housing costs. Although historic centers may keep their architectural charm, they are losing permanent residents, local shops, and year-round community life.24

This tension has also manifested itself in housing markets, as recently published Eurostat data indicate. Croatia recorded one of the largest annual increases in house prices and, by far, the highest increase in rents among the countries shown (Figure 4).

Of course, these developments cannot be ascribed to tourism alone. Still, they fit within the overall pressures that arise in housing markets oriented toward tourism.25

But the demographic consequences affect more than just housing.

Indeed, the most recent research points to the fact that tourism leads to an increase in everyday living costs for local residents. Taking a sample of 1.3 billion retail price observations, Kuliš, Mikulić, and Srhoj (2026) find that during the summer season, grocery prices in Croatia's most tourism-exposed coastal municipalities increase significantly relative to those in the inland municipalities, describing this as a tourism-led cost-of-living externality. 26

Such pressures further reduce the attractiveness of remaining in tourism-dependent regions, particularly for younger households and workers outside the tourism sector.

Also, the labor market reveals a related contradiction. Tourism creates income and employment, but a heavily seasonal service economy offers a narrower range of stable, knowledge-intensive career paths than a diversified economy.27

This has led to a labor replacement cycle familiar to Spain and Italy: as young, educated locals emigrate for professional advancement, employers rely more heavily on third-country nationals to fill hospitality and construction roles.28 In Croatia, the number of guest workers has already surpassed 100,300 (according to the Ministry of Interior )29, a massive shift for a country of its size.

Again, this shows a growing divergence between the jobs created in the economy and the opportunities needed to retain the domestic population.

The demographic trap is thus not only a matter of population decline. Instead, it reflects a deepening misalignment between the economic frameworks bolstered by tourism and the demographic stability required for long-term resilience. After all, the challenge is as much structural as it is demographic.

The Strategic Trap

Across Southern Europe, strategic debates are increasingly intersecting with tourism-dependent development models. Coastal regions simultaneously host critical energy infrastructure, ports, naval facilities, and some of Europe’s most important tourism destinations. This means that at the local level, economic development, environmental concerns, and strategic priorities compete for the same geographical space.

A second consequence is what may be described as the visibility dilemma. Tourism-dependent coastal economies derive part of their commercial value from perceptions of tranquility, environmental quality, and visual attractiveness.

Strategic infrastructure, by contrast, require highly visible ports, energy installations, industrial facilities, or military activity. In other words, in developing infrastructure that enhances national resilience and security, governments will be faced with very difficult decisions about trade-offs in preserving the images on which tourism depends.

The LNG terminal on Krk has significantly strengthened regional energy diversification and the North–South Gas Corridor, highlighting the strategic value of critical infrastructure in the Adriatic.30

However, the process of planning and constructing this facility also shows that spatial competition between strategic and tourism-related uses has become one of the most important issues that can only be understood by placing tourism into a wider frame of spatial, environmental, and political constraints instead of being an issue of technical decision-making only.31

The case of Krk illustrates the tension that surrounds strategic infrastructure projects and also how tourism-related dependence leads to a form of strategic vulnerability.

Unlike manufacturing and diversified exporting sectors, tourism is very sensitive to perceptions of safety, stability, and accessibility. This fragility became obvious during the COVID-19 pandemic when mobility restrictions led to the near-total collapse of international tourism, exposing many economies to significant risk due to their dependence on visitor flows.32

Furthermore, other external shocks can negatively affect the perceived safety of a tourist destination. This includes the migratory pressure towards frontline states,33 such as Greece, Italy, and Spain, and increased geopolitical tensions in the Eastern Mediterranean and the Middle East.

Regional instability is a case in point for countries like Greece and Cyprus, which are affected by the negative spillovers of tensions in their neighborhoods, despite the absence of conflict on their own territory.34 Likewise, terrorism, cyberattacks, or disinformation campaigns may generate economic consequences that are disproportionate to their physical impact by discouraging visitors, reducing investor confidence, and triggering official travel warnings.

Thus, a country whose prosperity depends heavily on the voluntary spending of foreign visitors becomes increasingly vulnerable to external political, security, and psychological shocks over which it exercises only limited control. Tourism therefore represents not merely an economic sector but a structural vulnerability. The greater a country’s dependence on maintaining the perception of stability and paradise, the more constrained its strategic autonomy becomes during periods of international crisis.

The strategic consequences of this dependency can lead to a gradual restriction of national sovereignty.

For this reason, the “Mediterranean Trap” extends beyond economics. When national prosperity depends on sustaining an idealized Arcadian image, preserving that image itself becomes a strategic constraint.

Mediterranean Europe

Despite their different historical paths, Southern European countries are exhibiting convergent structural dynamics, such as a growing dependence on tourism, greater stress on housing markets, demographic decline, and ever more challenging economic diversification processes.

Croatia’s trajectory was unusually compressed. Late reconstruction after the war and delayed integration into world markets did not make it exempt from the “Mediterranean Trap”. On the contrary, they accelerated a process that has been much more extended throughout southern Europe.

In the popular imagination, historical cities such as Venice and Dubrovnik appear to occupy a geographical and temporal zone seemingly exempt from the pressures of economic and social modernity. The Mediterranean ideal is now symbolized around the world by these two cities.

However, this image is detached from both the historical development and current realities.

MacCannell’s concept of staged authenticity35 is relevant here. Tourism gradually transforms local culture into a performance for external consumption and progressively erodes the authenticity that preceded it. Here, the contradiction inherent in staged authenticity becomes clear: the marketed promise of untouched heritage is replaced by commercial performance. Venice sells a stylized vision of la dolce vita, while Dubrovnik transforms its historic core into a set for Game of Thrones. Though the narratives diverge, the economic logic driving them is precisely the same.

Furthermore, the very success of this image transforms the societies that sustain it. High housing costs, the transformation of living space into tourist accommodation, and the displacement of younger generations all signal an increasing distancing between the Mediterranean as a space marketed globally and the Mediterranean as a lived social reality.

As a consequence, Southern Europe is undergoing demographic shifts caused by minimal birth rates, delayed starts to independent living, and youth migration. Throughout the Mediterranean, young people remain in their family homes longer than the European average because of expensive housing and job insecurity. This postponement of independence diminishes overall fertility rates, particularly as the cost of living continues to climb.

Tourism is clearly not the only explanation for these developments. Nevertheless, an economic model characterized by seasonal employment, rising housing costs and relatively low value-added appears ill-suited to reversing them.

The widening gap is also political. As Javier Carbonell (2025) argues, economic upheavals and precarity are altering the political landscape in Southern Europe. Young men, particularly those without a college education, are gravitating toward the political right. In several European countries, including southern European nations such as Croatia and Portugal, a significant gender voting gap has emerged among voters under 25. Young men are much more likely than young women to support far-right parties.36

Fernand Braudel understood the Mediterranean through its enduring structures and long historical continuities.37 Yet one of the region’s most powerful contemporary continuities may now be the dominance of an economic and cultural model built around the external consumption of Mediterranean space.

This pattern, however, is not geographically inevitable. France, despite possessing a major Mediterranean tourism economy, has not experienced the same degree of structural dependence because tourism remains embedded within a more diversified national economy and a wider network of inland economic centers.

The Mediterranean Trap is not an inevitable geographical destiny. It arises when the Mediterranean image evolves from a mere source of income into the primary organizing principle for economic development, housing, and political decision-making.

The Forgotten Alternative

However, path dependency does not mean a certain outcome is inevitable. It simply means that choosing a different path is more difficult.

Alternative development paths are not unique to Croatia. Northern Italy,38 the Basque Country and Catalonia39 in Spain, demonstrate that Mediterranean economies have long combined tourism with advanced manufacturing, technology and export-oriented industries. These examples suggest that the “Mediterranean Trap” is neither geographically predetermined nor economically unavoidable.

Croatia provides a revealing case because these alternative trajectories emerged alongside a rapidly expanding tourism economy.

One of the clearest examples of an alternative path is Sveta Nedelja. Once a largely agricultural municipality, it has become one of Croatia’s leading technology clusters. The local Rimac Group underlines how investing in knowledge-intensive industries can generate greater innovation- and human capital-based value-added growth than the seasonal tourism model.

Even more impressive is the transformation of the Slavonian city of Osijek. Slavonia, the region in which Osijek is located, was once considered Croatia’s “breadbasket” and relatively wealthy. In recent decades, it has experienced emigration, economic stagnation, and war-related damage that affected Slavonia in particular.

Instead of reviving heavy industry or competing with coastal tourism, Osijek has pursued a different development path. Driven by the Osijek Software City initiative and close cooperation with the local university, the city has emerged as one of Croatia’s leading technology hubs, further reinforced by Jabil’s new production facility in Nemetin.40 By focusing on technology and skilled labour, Osijek has developed a modern comparative advantage.

These examples do not suggest that Croatia should completely abandon tourism but rather continue to diversify economically, as they demonstrate something more fundamental: alternative development paths have existed throughout this post-war transformation.

The country’s geographical diversity produced not only different landscapes, but also different economic models. While the Adriatic became more dependent on tourism, continental Croatia took a path that cultivated resilience through innovation, manufacturing, and technology.

The Croatian case illustrates the broader strategic choice facing tourism-dependent economies: whether tourism remains one pillar of development or evolves into its dominant organizing principle.

Of course, such a model shift implies a much more complex vision of the Croatian state and how it perceives itself, one that integrates the geographical, historical, and human factors besides the technical aspects.

Croatia also possesses assets that many Mediterranean economies lack. One of these is its exceptionally large diaspora (3.2 million)41 in relation to its resident population (3.9 million).42

This global network is perhaps most visible in Croatia’s disproportionate sporting success43, where the diaspora frequently provides elite talent44 and reputational capital that reinforces a strong national brand. But the importance of the diaspora is not only symbolic or demographic; it is also reflected in its continuing economic contribution.

This contribution remains economically significant. In 2024, personal remittances received by Croatia amounted to approximately 7.2 per cent of GDP, compared with less than one per cent in Spain, Italy, Greece and Portugal (Figure 6). This shows that the Croatian diaspora continues to play a far greater economic role than in most Mediterranean economies.

Furthermore, it also highlights Croatia’s continued reliance on income generated abroad more than on productive activity within the domestic economy.

Several Croatian demographers, including Stjepan Šterc, therefore argue that long-term revitalization requires not only demographic policies, but also decentralization and a more systematic integration of Croatia’s diaspora into the country’s economic and institutional development.45

Conclusion

The allure of Arcadia has always been that it offers an escape from history, as a timeless refuge from the demands of progress, conflict, and change.

For decades, Mediterranean Europe, and Croatia in particular, successfully sold this escape to the world. In the immediate post-war era, turning the Adriatic coast into a commercialized paradise was a rational, perhaps even necessary, strategy to generate rapid wealth and rebuild a battered nation. It was a beautiful illusion, and for a brief moment, the reality of uncrowded beaches and slow-paced life almost matched the myth.

But as this essay has argued, the commercialization of paradise carries a steep price. When the logic of the tourist resort becomes the dominant logic of the state, it acts as a quiet, structural anesthetic. It hollows out housing markets, crowds out productive innovation, and drives the youngest and most ambitious citizens into exile, only to replace them with precarious seasonal labor.

Moreover, in an era of renewed geopolitical rivalry, the “Mediterranean Trap” morphs from an economic constraint into a strategic vulnerability. A society that prioritizes the aesthetic expectations of foreign vacationers over critical infrastructure, productive capacity, demographic resilience and the viability of its border regions slowly forfeits its own strategic autonomy.

At least in theory, the choice facing Croatia and its southern European counterparts is not between tourism and industry, but between treating tourism as one component of a diversified economy and allowing it to become the dominant organizing principle of the state. Therefore, the real choice is between substance and scenery.

The technological resurgence of cities such as Osijek, the innovative clusters of continental Croatia, and the diversified industrial economies found elsewhere in Southern Europe demonstrate that alternative development paths remain possible. They show that the region possesses the intellectual, institutional, and industrial capacity to thrive in the twenty-first century.

To escape the “Mediterranean Trap”, it is essential to realize that long-term sovereignty cannot be sustained by rental yields and postcard views.

Arcadia was never meant to become an economic model.

Paradise may attract visitors, but it cannot by itself sustain a nation.

Introduction – The German Self-Delusion

In its self-perception, Germany is still a stable and prosperous middle power, the economic anchor of Europe and internationally respected as the former “Exportweltmeister.” This image, rooted in the post-war Wirtschaftswunder and the reputation of German engineering and industrial discipline, continues to shape the country’s political rhetoric and public consciousness.

The reality is moving in a different direction. Germany’s economic strength is under pressure, its strategic thinking has weakened, and its ability to shape international affairs is much more limited than it used to be. A country that once combined industrial capability with a predictable, reliable foreign policy now depends heavily on external security guarantees, struggles to define its political direction, and faces growing dysfunction at home.

Germany still benefits from the reputation it built in the past, but the foundations behind that reputation are no longer as strong. Economic challenges, demographic trends, political fragmentation and overstretched institutions all reduce the country’s ability to act with confidence. These factors now seriously limit Germany’s geopolitical role and make it harder for the country to meet the expectations it once set for itself.

The Economic Decline

Germany’s economic decline is no longer a distant scenario but something that is already happening. Core industries that once formed the basis of German prosperity are moving production abroad, investment levels remain weak, and a heavy and inflexible bureaucracy slows down even basic projects. The industrial confidence that defined Germany for decades is fading. At the same time, demographic pressure increases: an ageing society, a shortage of qualified workers and migration patterns that are neither integrated nor strategically planned all put the system under strain.

These problems are not simply the result of global trends. They are also the outcome of political decisions that have weakened Germany’s strengths. The nuclear phase-out removed one of the country’s few stable and low-emission energy sources without providing a real alternative. The expansion of renewables was presented as a major national project but was implemented unevenly and without a coherent energy strategy. The result was a growing dependence on Russian gas, a vulnerability that was visible for years yet largely ignored. Regulatory choices have added further pressure. Germany agreed to the EU-wide phase-out of combustion engines despite the country’s deep reliance on automotive engineering as its central industrial asset. Combined with high energy costs and a dense administrative environment, these decisions have accelerated the relocation of production.

The outcome is a gradual but unmistakable self-deindustrialization. A country that once defined itself through industrial capability, technological precision and economic stability is now confronting the erosion of exactly these pillars. Without a competitive industrial base and a reliable, affordable energy system, Germany cannot play the role it still imagines for itself in Europe. The gap between Germany’s self-image and its actual economic capacity continues to grow, and this gap has direct consequences for the country’s geopolitical relevance.

Strategic Disorientation and Dependence on Security Policy

Most noticeably, Germany also lacks a coherent strategic culture. Since the end of the Cold War, political leaders have avoided defining clear national interests and have instead relied on moral language or general calls for “European solutions.” This approach, has created a foreign policy that often reacts to events rather than shaping them. Key decisions are delayed, inconsistent or symbolic, and Germany frequently appears unsure about its role in international affairs.

In fact, the security dimension makes this even clearer. The Bundeswehr is not in a condition to defend the country on its own, nor is it able to fulfil all expectations within NATO. Decades of underinvestment, fragmented structures and a slow, bureaucratic procurement system have left the armed forces without the necessary equipment, personnel or resilience. The announcement of a “Zeitenwende” has so far changed little in practice. Large parts of the force remain under-equipped, and reforms move forward only slowly.

This situation creates a high degree of dependence on the United States. Without American deterrence, Germany would not be able to secure its own territory or even maintain minimal strategic stability. The gap between political rhetoric and military reality is significant, and it undermines Germany’s credibility among allies. A state that has long relied on economic strength and diplomatic prestige now faces the reality that it cannot guarantee its own security.

Erosion of international credibility

Furthermore, Germany’s credibility in several parts of Europe appears to be similarly damaged. The long-standing partnership with France still exists on paper, but both countries now pursue different priorities, and the idea of joint leadership inside the EU carries far less weight than before.

Beyond this, Germany’s standing in the wider Union has suffered because of specific policy choices.

For example, during the eurozone crisis, many southern European states felt that Germany pushed for austerity without fully considering the social and political consequences. These impressions have remained and still shape the way governments in the region view Berlin.

However, most significantly in Eastern Europe, the trust gap is even clearer. Germany’s approach to migration and asylum since 2015 was widely perceived as unilateral and disconnected from the security concerns of countries like Poland, Hungary or the Baltic states. For governments in Warsaw, Budapest, Prague, Bratislava and Zagreb, Germany’s decisions during the 2015 crisis created not cooperation, but vulnerability. States on the EU’s external border faced immediate pressures that Berlin often underestimated.

What made the situation more difficult was, that these states were morally disparaged by Germany.1

From their point of view, simply for trying to secure their borders. This was considered, as an attack on their sovereignty, a responsibility they could not delegate.

At the same time, Berlin’s long tradition of seeking close economic and political ties with Russia created deep frustration in Warsaw, Vilnius, Riga, and Tallinn. For many of these states, Germany appeared inconsistent and overly optimistic about Moscow, even as the regional situation became increasingly unstable.

Moreover, outside Europe, the picture is similar. The United States sees Germany mainly as a beneficiary of American security guarantees rather than a country willing to carry a fair share of the burden. China respects Germany’s economic role but treats it cautiously on political questions. In the global South, Germany is often viewed more as a donor than a strategic actor with a clear sense of direction.

Taken together, this points to a broader development. Germany’s ability to shape debates has declined, and many partners now measure Berlin by its current performance rather than its past reputation. The result is a gradual loss of influence in areas where Germany once played a central or stabilizing role.

What remains of Germany’s influence?

Nevertheless, Germany still possesses elements that could form the basis of power. Thus, the country has a large population, a strong scientific and industrial tradition, and a central position within the European Union. In theory, these factors could allow Germany to act as a stabilizing power. But in practice, the gap between potential and performance has grown wider. Political hesitation, institutional overload and the lack of clear strategic priorities limit the country’s ability to use its remaining strengths.

While, Germany continues to rely on its past reputation as an economic powerhouse and reliable partner, yet many of the foundations that once supported this image are weakening. Partners notice this discrepancy. Some still expect leadership from Berlin, while others have already adjusted their expectations downward. As a result, Germany often ends up in an uncomfortable position: too large to fully retreat from responsibility, but not prepared or willing to act with the consistency and clarity that leadership requires.

The result is a kind of strategic limbo. Germany has the formal attributes of a middle power, but far less of the practical capacity needed to shape outcomes. Without a clear plan for economic renewal, energy security and a realistic approach to foreign and security policy, Germany risks becoming a spectator in a region where it once played a decisive role.

Conclusion

As a matter of fact, Germany is in a situation where how it sees itself and what it can actually do have drifted apart. The country still has strengths, but it struggles to turn them into real influence. The political system is often too divided, institutions are slow, and there is no clear idea of what Germany wants to achieve in the long run. In addition, many political decisions in the past have further divided and polarized the population. Regaining political trust here is almost impossible, especially with half-baked promises and actions. All of this limits the country’s ability to act.

In this condition, Germany cannot be an independent power, and it certainly could not exist outside the NATO framework, as some people sometimes imagine. Without credible armed forces and without a functioning security concept, such ideas have no basis in reality. Germany depends on the alliance because it currently has no alternative.

If the country wants to play a meaningful role again, it needs a more stable political foundation, a stronger economy and a clearer sense of direction. Otherwise, it will continue to rely on the reputation of its past while its actual capacity becomes smaller. The real question is whether Germany can rebuild the basics it needs to be taken seriously again — at home and abroad.

Or is the question for Europe rather whether its eastern part can compensate for the fatigue of the western part?

Sources / Further Reading

• Eurostat – “Industrial production data 2024”
• European Commission – Autumn Forecast 2024
• Bundeshaushalt – Budget 2025
• Destatis – Migration & demographics 2024
• NATO – Defense expenditure report
• IW Köln – Studien zur Deindustrialisierung
• IfW Kiel – Energieabhängigkeit & Russland
• OECD – Germany economic outlook
• Ifo Institute – Standort Deutschland reports

Demography is often treated as a background variable, a statistical constant that policy reacts to. In the past, the issue of demographics was too often ignored, and when it was addressed, it was viewed in a negative context. Immigration was considered the only solution. It is now time to rediscover our own population as a country’s most important resource. In fact, population trends shape the future of nations more deeply than GDP charts or defense budgets. In an era of great power rivalry and cultural uncertainty, demography should not be seen as a burden or a fatality, but as a strategic lever.

The ultimate resource is people—especially skilled, spirited, and hopeful young people endowed with liberty—who will exert their wills and imaginations for their own benefits, and so inevitably they will benefit the rest of us as well

– Julian L. Simon, The State of Humanity

The Strategic Dimension of Demography

Although recent decades have been characterized by a view of population growth as a negative phenomenon leading to increased environmental pollution, resource scarcity, social problems, and wars, the connection between Europe’s decline in global importance and its demographic problems is undeniable. But not only that, internal problems were also fueled at the same time by a situation in which the native population was declining in number while non-European groups continued to grow. Such and similar situations have repeatedly led to bloody conflicts and the displacement or worse of entire population groups throughout human history.

At the same time, it should be emphasized that, historically speaking, growing populations have enabled expansion, economic growth, innovation and the survival of civilizations. Furthermore, a declining and aging population lacks the strength for expansion, growth, or innovation. In addition, modern states are facing labor shortages and the depletion of pension and social security funds as the number of contributors declines. Added to this are a dwindling sense of national identity and social conflicts over distribution.

It is important to note that the current situation in Europe is particularly devastating for younger generations, who are paying into empty coffers on the one hand, and on the other hand have even less influence on society due to the predominance of older people, while at the same time competing with migrants and other minorities. This is explosive for society as a whole and a source of conflict and polarization.

Despite being in the minority at the time, Julian L. Simon challenged the Malthusian narrative, arguing that humans are the ultimate resource. His insight is worth revisiting: Population is not merely a number to be managed; it is a force to be mobilized.

Some states have recognized this. What are their approaches?

National Responses – Case Studies

1. Israel: Facing existential threats since its founding, Israel built a society that links national identity, military service, and family policy. A relatively high fertility rate (2,9), especially among secular and religious Jews, is not accidental but culturally supported and politically incentivized. Israel’s high population growth is achieved through three key factors: firstly, a strategic diaspora policy, a family-oriented society, and national cohesion. Some critics would argue that the situation in Europe is not comparable and that it is only Orthodox Jews who have high birth rates, but the statistics tell a different story. In addition, many European countries with large diasporas (e.g. Ireland, Croatia and Poland) have laws similar to Israel’s Law of Return. There is therefore no reason for European countries not to pursue similar policies based on their own preconditions.

2. Ireland (past example): In the 19th and early 20th centuries, there was large-scale migration emigration from Ireland. However, the preservation of culture, strong ties with the diaspora, and a strong Catholic identity enabled to remain a demographic core. These links with the diaspora played an important role during the Irish War of Independence and has repeatedly attracted foreign investment, leading to return migration of people of Irish origin. This return migration peaked in the 1990s during the so-called Celtic Tiger era. In 1961, the population was only 2.8 million, while in 1996 it was already 3,626,087 due to the return of the diaspora and a relatively high birth rate in a traditionally Catholic society. Today, the population is over 5 million. However, it must be said that this additional growth is mainly due to foreign immigration and that the birth rate has also fallen since then. Nevertheless, Ireland is, at least historically, an example of how a large diaspora can be successfully integrated and the population stabilized.

3. Hungary and Poland: The demography of both countries is linked to national sovereignty. Political measures include tax breaks for families, housing construction programs1, and blunt rhetoric presenting demography as a matter of survival. Although critics say these measures are merely symbolic or ineffective, they represent a shift in political thinking. Still, it’s a step in the right direction. Critics should also realize that demographic measures can only have long-term effects, so premature criticism is unproductive. Hopefully, these measures will be expanded and have enough time to develop a long-term impact. If successful, it can be said that Poland and Hungary could have the potential to serve as role models for much of Europe.

4. Croatia (emerging): Croatia’s population has declined dramatically since independence. Efforts have recently been made to reverse this trend through programs to encourage diaspora Croats to return, financial incentives, and cultural campaigns. This change is a sign of the growing awareness that population strategy must be integrated into national security policy. It appears that the government is relying on dynamics similar to those previously seen in Ireland, namely the consistent involvement of the diaspora, which has a strong emotional connection to the country, through incentives and the emphasis on current economic growth. The Croatian diaspora is relatively large and was very active in supporting the independence movement. It is mostly very patriotic, and there are parallels here with the Irish diaspora. At the same time, however, some members are suspicious of the government and angry that such measures were not taken earlier. Nevertheless, although late, the government’s measures are necessary. Considering the Croatian diaspora’s attachment to their old homeland and the simultaneous economic downturn and internal problems in countries with large Croatian communities, there is a good chance that these measures will be successful in the long term and stabilize the population, as in Ireland.

Beyond Pessimism – A Call for Strategic Demography

Western Europe largely treats declining fertility as a demographic fate to be managed by immigration. This may ease short-term labor needs but does not resolve the deeper issue of societal continuity. In many of these countries, there is an eroding community, ethnic and religious conflicts, distribution struggles, and a polarized society. As already mentioned, the younger generations in particular are the ones who suffer from such dynamics. This text therefore clearly advocates a departure from these failed policies and an approach that prioritizes the native population and considers demographic developments to be the most important indicator of a society’s stability. Strategic demography means:

• Treating demographics as crucial to a country’s survival

• A pro-natalist policy as the highest priority

• Restriction of foreign immigration and halting illegal immigration

• Rebuilding trust in national institutions and the future

• Supporting families not only materially but symbolically

• Integrating diaspora communities not as foreigners but as extensions of the national body

Conclusion: A Matter of Civilizational Will

Julian L. Simon once wrote: “In the long run, the most important economic effect of population size and growth is the contribution of additional people to our stock of useful knowledge.”2 But beyond economics, population is a question of will. Nations that want to survive must act like it. Demography is not destiny, but it does reward those who treat it as strategy.

Further Reading

• Zbigniew Brzeziński, Strategic Vision: America and the Crisis of Global Power (Basic Books,2012)

• Center for Strategic and International Studies (CSIS), Reports on Demographic Security

• Pierre Chaunu & Georges Suffert, La Peste blanche: Comment éviter le suicide de l’Occident (Éditions Gallimard, 1976).

• Croatian Bureau of Statistics (DZS) – https://dzs.gov.hr/en

• Patrick Deneen, Why Liberalism Failed (Yale University Press, 2018)

• Eric Kaufmann, Shall the Religious Inherit the Earth? (Profile Books, 2010)

• Stephen Kotkin, Uncivil Society: 1989 and the Implosion of the Communist Establishment (Modern Library, 2009)

• Julian L. Simon, The Ultimate Resource 2 (Princeton University Press, 1996)

• Julian L. Simon, The State of Humanity (‎Cambridge, Mass.: Blackwell Publishers, 1995)

Since then, a reader with 2014 front-line experience pointed out a crucial nuance: Ukraine in 2014 was not Ukraine in 2022. Cohesion hardened and will was absorbed into institutions. This essay traces that evolution and reads it alongside Croatia 1991, where cultural memory turned into organization under fire.

We’ll move in three steps: Croatia 1991 → Ukraine 2014 → Ukraine 2022, then extract the constants and the lessons for Europe.

Croatia 1991: how memory became organization

The drive for independence turned a constitutional crisis into a security vacuum. Belgrade signalled it would not “let Croatia go”; Serbian paramilitaries entrenched roadblocks in the former Military Frontier; and the Republic of Serbian Krajina (RSK) declared itself. The JNA shifted from nominally federal force to active participant.

Croatia had no standing army, faced an arms embargo, limited recognition, and fractured politics between post-communist elites and nationalist currents. In contrast, most of society favored independence but was not aligned with specific ideological lines. As a result, they mainly supported Franjo Tuđman and the HDZ, which drew from diverse backgrounds and promised self-determination.

The slide to war was rapid: ambushed police, escalating skirmishes, then sieges. Two episodes became moral anchors. Vukovar—a months-long defense ending in destruction and atrocities—etched the war’s stakes into national memory. Dubrovnik, shelled despite its UNESCO status, signalled that even cultural heritage offered no shield. In response, the state improvised: volunteers and diaspora financial aid filled the first gaps; the Battle of the Barracks unlocked weapons; ad-hoc formations were regularized into the HV; command and logistics tightened.

What mattered strategically was the conversion: cultural memory, historic statehood, and the antemurale self-image (borderland sentinel) provided the narrative frame; the government then absorbed that will into institutions—law, command, supply. Under pressure, identity became capacity. That sequence—will before structure, then will within structure—is the template that later reappears, in altered form, in Ukraine.

As President Tuđman reflected before the UN General Assembly on September 22, 1992:

“The creation of our independent State was the outcome of the indestructible moral strength of the Croatian people, based on a firm national awareness that has burned for centuries as an eternal fire in our hearts. A nation may have existed from time immemorial, but if it lacks the moral strength and an awareness of its unique individual being, of its nationhood and statehood, it will disappear from the stage of world history. The Croatian people yearned for their State and rallied to achieve it.”

This “eternal fire”, moral strength as the forge of cohesion, propelled Croatia from vacuum to victory 1995.

Croatia’s arc (1991–1995)
Identity: cultural memory, statehood tradition, antemurale frame.
Capacity: volunteers → regularization (HV), Battle of the Barracks (arms), centralized C2/logistics.
Outcome: 1995 operations (Bljesak, Oluja) restore control.
Takeaway: Will before structure → will within structure → decision.

Ukraine 2014: will before structure

While in Croatia a broad majority backed independence from the outset and mobilized quickly, Ukraine’s starting point in 2014 was different. In the 1991 referendum, over 90% voted for independence across most regions, yet the post-1991 landscape showed regional gradients rather than neat lines: Ukrainian predominated in the west, while Russian was common in everyday use in parts of the east and south. These patterns overlapped with diverging geopolitical preferences.

Tensions sharpened when President Yanukovych suspended the EU Association Agreement, triggering the Maidan protests and his subsequent departure. The crowds in Kyiv were diverse; early confrontational capacity, however, often came from volunteer networks at the margins, including nationalist groupings and football ultras, that moved fast while state chains of command faltered.

Russia’s reaction escalated the crisis: the annexation of Crimea (March 2014) was followed by the emergence of the self-proclaimed “people’s republics” in parts of Donetsk and Luhansk, backed by cross-border support in logistics, personnel, and materiel.

Ukraine’s regular forces at the time were under-resourced, command cohesion was uneven, and mobilization pathways were incomplete. These gaps were attempted to be filled by early volunteer battalions.

Exactly, as one veteran stated:”Ultras and volunteers held the line first; the broader society joined later.”

Takeaway: will appearing before structure → sets the baseline for what changed by 2022.

Ukraine 2022: will within institutions

What was missing in 2014 had been built by 2022. When Russia launched its full-scale invasion, societal will met functioning pathways: general mobilization, the expansion of Territorial Defence Forces (TDF), clearer command and logistics, and rapid absorption of foreign assistance. Civic energy did not substitute the state; it flowed through it.

Meanwhile, local authorities, veterans’ networks, and civil-society groups synchronized evacuation, supply, and information defense. Within weeks, volunteers who had improvised in 2014 now plugged into legal structures; reservists had units to report to; digital tools (from open-source ISR to payment/coordination platforms) shortened reaction times. International support mattered, but it worked because national cohesion and institutions could absorb it.

Leadership messaging framed the fight in civic-patriotic terms, such as home, law, and sovereignty, while also highlighting a common, broader Ukrainian identity.

President Zelenskyy captured this stance in his address to the United Nations General Assembly in 2022:

“The UN Charter proclaims the equality of nations, and we proved that Ukraine is equal among the equals. The UN Charter protects that inviolability of borders, and we conform our state borderline by expelling the occupiers outside.”

The result was a different sequence than in 2014: resistance everywhere, organized quickly. Territorial units covered cities and roads; the regular forces concentrated on manoeuvre; national logistics and the private sector adapted at speed. In short, will was no longer ahead of structure; it was inside it.

Ukraine’s arc (2014 → 2022)
2014: uneven cohesion; volunteers plug gaps; state learning.
Absorption: laws, reserve pathways, TDF build-out.
2022: nationwide mobilization; stronger C2/logistics; fast integration of support.
Takeaway: Cohesion became capacity

Common threads and key differences

Both cases follow a similar arc: will precedes structure; structure absorbs will; capacity produces effects. In Croatia (1991–95), a broad national memory and a clear state tradition enabled rapid conversion once command, logistics, and arms were in place. In Ukraine, 2014 began with fragmented will and thin institutions; by 2022, will had become nationwide and institutions could absorb it.

Key differences matter. Croatia’s war unfolded amid the collapse of a communist federation and a fluid regional order. Zagreb faced an arms embargo and relied on covert procurement while UNPROFOR deployments created buffers that constrained counter-offensives. Decisive operations followed in 1995 after years of force-building; politically, the rejection of the Z-4 plan by the RSK leadership closed a negotiated track and preceded the military outcome.

Ukraine, by contrast, has received sustained international support since 2022, yet faces a nuclear-armed great power and a far larger theatre. The 2014 moment is analogous to Croatia’s 1991 in terms of sequence (will before structure), but Russia ≠ Yugoslavia in scale or escalation risks. Where “Croatian scenario” is invoked in Kyiv, it is best read as sequence (institution-building first, decisive phases later) rather than as a one-for-one template. Even if a full reconquest proves difficult, Croatia’s peaceful reintegration of Eastern Slavonia (Erdut Agreement, 1995–98) and post-war Western integration and recovery offer concrete precedents for the political endgame.

Lessons for Europe

Croatia mobilized along a historical-statehood frame with strong cultural markers; Ukraine’s cohesion matured into a broadly civic-patriotic form, with regional and linguistic variation, each society finding the mobilization that fit its realities.

Therefore, European security ultimately turns on the ability to convert national attachment into organized capacity. Two constants emerge:

1. Cohesion before kit. Kit (the full loadout of a soldier, from weapons to body armor and gear) matters, but armies fight as part of a political community, not in a vacuum. Whether the binding story is mostly civic (rule-of-law, sovereignty, shared institutions) or partly ethnocultural, it must be thick enough to mobilize beyond comfort.

2. Will within institutions. Will that lives only in the street burns out; will that runs through law, command, reserves, logistics and local government becomes endurance. 2014 Ukraine showed will before structure; 2022 showed will within structure. Croatia (1991–95) moved along the same arc—narrative → organization → decision.

For Western Europe, the message is practical rather than romantic: build civic patriotism and channels for participation (reserve systems, territorial defense, civil preparedness, local logistics, information defense). Switzerland and Estonia already point in this direction; others still rely too heavily on outsourcing security.

Mobilization = Narrative × Institutions × Practice

A country that can explain why it fights, who carries which burden, and how support flows from society to the front is far harder to break than one that relies on technology and outsourcing alone.

Where do you disagree, or what did I miss? If this was useful, consider subscribing and sharing.

Author’s note: The aim here is analytical, not sentimental: to map how national will hardens into institutions and produces effects over time. Croatia ’91–’95 and Ukraine ’14→’22 share a sequence but diverge in scale and risk (Russia ≠ Yugoslavia). Part I is here.
Scope limits: I focus on mobilization, command/logistics, reserve pathways, and political signalling—not on full campaign histories.
Thanks: Several readers with 2014 experience prompted this update; their insights improved the piece. Remaining mistakes are mine.

If this was useful, consider sharing it with one person who cares about will → institutions → capacity.

Sources & Links

• Atlantic Council, Croatia’s remarkable national journey is a source of hope for Ukraine, Atlantic Council, 2023 https://www.atlanticcouncil.org/blogs/ukrainealert/croatias-remarkable-national-journey-is-a-source-of-hope-for-ukraine

• Caspersen, Nina, The Thorny Issue of Ethnic Autonomy in Croatia: Serb Leaders and Proposals for Autonomy, European Centre for Minority Issues (ECMI), 2003 https://www.ecmi.de/fileadmin/redakteure/publications/JEMIE_Datensätze/Focus3-2003_Caspersen.pdf

• Commission on Security and Cooperation in Europe (CSCE), The December 1, 1991 Referendum/Presidential Election in Ukraine, Commission on Security and Cooperation in Europe (CSCE), 1992 https://www.csce.gov/wp-content/uploads/2016/06/120191UkraineReferendum.pdf

• Communications Service of the International Criminal Tribunal for the former Yugoslavia, CASE INFORMATION SHEET “VUKOVAR HOSPITAL” (IT-95-13/1) MRKŠIĆ et al., International Criminal Tribunal for the former Yugoslavia (ICTY), 2009 https://www.icty.org/x/cases/mrksic/cis/en/cis_mrksic_al_en.pdf

• DeCoste, Stephen and Miers, Jeff, WIZARD WARFARE: Ukrainian Technological Developments Overview, The Johns Hopkins University Applied Physics Laboratory LLC, 2024 https://www.jhuapl.edu/sites/default/files/2025-01/WizardWarfare_final.pdf

• ECMI, Identity and Nation-Building in Ukraine: Reconciliation of Identities from a Conflict Prevention Perspective, European Centre for Minority Issues (ECMI), 2020 https://www.ecmi.de/fileadmin/user_upload/Research_Paper_125.pdf

• European Centre for Minority Issues (ECMI), Focus3-2003_Caspersen, European Centre for Minority Issues (ECMI), 2003 https://www.ecmi.de/fileadmin/redakteure/publications/JEMIE_Datensätze/Focus3-2003_Caspersen.pdf

• Estonian Defence Forces, 2024 https://mil.ee/en/defence-forces

• FOI, Ukraine’s volunteer battalions – advantages and challenges, Swedish Defence Research Agency (FOI), 2015 https://www.foi.se/rest-api/report/FOI%20Memo%205312

• Harvard Center for Geographic Analysis, ArcGIS Web Application, Harvard Center for Geographic Analysis, 2025 https://harvard-cga.maps.arcgis.com/apps/webappviewer/index.html?id=2fa308aa641d43139d3a5b5b59081a5a

• ICTY, Prosecutor v. Milan Martić Judgement, International Criminal Tribunal for the former Yugoslavia (ICTY), 2007 https://www.icty.org/x/cases/martic/tjug/en/070612.pdf

• International Criminal Tribunal for the former Yugoslavia (ICTY), Prosecutor v. Milan Martić - Trial Judgement (Case No. IT-95-11-T), International Criminal Tribunal for the former Yugoslavia (ICTY), 2007 https://www.icty.org/x/cases/martic/tjug/en/070612.pdf

• Kofman, Michael et al., Lessons from Russia’s Operations in Crimea and Eastern Ukraine, RAND Corporation, 2017 https://www.rand.org/pubs/research_reports/RR1498.html#citation

• Magas, Branka and Zanic, Ivo (eds.), The War in Croatia and Bosnia-Herzegovina, 1991-1995, Frank Cass Publishers, 2001 https://api.pageplace.de/preview/DT0400.9781136340925_A24428919/preview-9781136340925_A24428919.pdf

• Marijan, Davor, Storm, Croatian Homeland War Memorial & Documentation Centre, 2010 https://centardomovinskograta.hr/wp-content/uploads/2019/05/izdanja2/1-400_engleski_oluja_final_25_05_10-opt.pdf

• Nomos Verlagsgesellschaft, Revolution, Glory and Sacrifice: Ukraine’s Maidan and the Revival of a European Identity, Nomos Verlagsgesellschaft, 2022 https://www.nomos-elibrary.de/document/download/pdf/uuid/484cf93e-eb19-383d-b25e-a9b7a654e37e

• OpenDemocracy, The Ukrainian soccer ultras: allies of the resistance, openDemocracy, 2014 https://www.opendemocracy.net/en/civilresistance/ukrainian-soccer-ultras-allies-of-resistance

• Pavlovic, Srdja, Reckoning: The 1991 Siege of Dubrovnik and the Consequences of the “War for Peace”, York University, 2004 https://www.yorku.ca/soi/_Vol_5_1/_HTML/Pavlovic.html

• RUSI, Ukraine’s Territorial Defence Forces: The War So Far and Future Prospects, Royal United Services Institute (RUSI), 2022 https://www.rusi.org/explore-our-research/publications/commentary/ukraines-territorial-defence-forces-war-so-far-and-future-prospects

• Security Council Report, Chapter VII S/RES/713 (1991), Security Council Report, 1991 https://www.securitycouncilreport.org/atf/cf/%7B65BFCF9B-6D27-4E9C-8CD3-CF6E4FF96FF9%7D/Chap%20VII%20SRES%20713.pdf

• Šebetovsky, Mario, The Battle of Vukovar: The Battle That Saved Croatia, United States Marine Corps Command and Staff College, 2002 https://apps.dtic.mil/sti/tr/pdf/ADA407751.pdf

• Smytsnyuk, Pavlo, Revolution, Glory and Sacrifice: Ukraine’s Maidan and the Revival of a European Identity, Nomos Verlagsgesellschaft, 2022 https://www.nomos-elibrary.de/document/download/pdf/uuid/484cf93e-eb19-383d-b25e-a9b7a654e37e

• Swiss Federal Administration, Military Service, Swiss Federal Administration, 2025 https://www.ch.ch/en/safety-and-justice/military-service-and-civilian-service/military-service

• UN Digital Library, Resolution 743 (1992), United Nations, 1992 https://digitallibrary.un.org/record/137965?v=pdf

• UN General Assembly, Address at the 47th session of the UN General Assembly (A/47/PV.7), United Nations, 1992 https://docs.un.org/en/A/47/PV.7

• Uppsala Conflict Data Program, Basic Agreement on the Region of Eastern Slavonia, Baranja, and Western Sirmium (The Erdut Agreement), Uppsala Conflict Data Program, 1995 https://ucdpged.uu.se/peaceagreements/fulltext/Cro%2019951112.pdf

“However small and weak a state may be in comparison to its enemy, if it foregoes a last supreme effort, we must say there is no longer any soul left in it.”
— Carl von Clausewitz, On War

The soul of a nation—that invisible cohesion of popular will, identity, and unshakeable solidarity—is the true core of any effective defense. Without it, even the best-equipped army will collapse.

Donald Trump, in his unmistakably blunt style, summed up the Afghan collapse with cutting clarity:

“No, general, they’re paid more than any soldier in the world. And when that payment stops, they’re gone. And that’s exactly what happened.”

As crude as it may sound, this statement touches on the same core truth Clausewitz articulated over two centuries ago: wars are not decided by weapons alone, but by the will to fight. The contrast between Afghanistan and Ukraine illustrates this dramatically.

Afghanistan: Training Without Cohesion

For two decades, Western governments invested billions of dollars into the Afghan National Army. At its peak, the Afghan National Defense and Security Forces—including the army and police—numbered more than 300,000 on paper. They were equipped with modern gear, trained by NATO advisors, and backed by U.S. airpower. On the surface, it seemed formidable.

But when the decisive moment came in 2021, the structure collapsed within weeks. Entire units abandoned their posts, weapons were left behind, and provincial capitals fell—often without a shot fired. It was not a lack of rifles or training manuals that decided the outcome; it was the absence of cohesion.

Afghanistan’s political order had never truly rooted itself in society. Ethnic divisions, endemic corruption, and a weak sense of national identity meant that the army fought for salaries and survival, not for a homeland. Once the external scaffolding was removed, there was nothing holding the system together.

Ukraine: Cohesion Under Fire

Ukraine entered the war in 2022 with serious weaknesses. Corruption had long plagued the state, its armed forces were mid-reform, and many Western analysts doubted its ability to withstand a full-scale Russian invasion. On paper, the balance looked overwhelmingly in Moscow’s favor.

Yet when the attack came, Ukraine did not collapse. Instead, it mobilized. Civilians queued for weapons, territorial defense units sprang up in every region, and even in occupied areas, resistance networks emerged. The army absorbed Western support quickly—but it was the willingness of society to fight that made the decisive difference. A testimony to this fighting spirit is the fact that, in the first few weeks alone, over 100,000 civilians volunteered for territorial defense.

Here, identity and cohesion were critical. The Russian narrative that “Ukraine is not a real nation” shattered in the face of a population ready to endure bombardment and sacrifice for sovereignty. Unlike in Afghanistan, where loyalty to the state was transactional, Ukraine demonstrated that national will can transform vulnerability into resilience.

Lessons for Europe

The contrast between Afghanistan and Ukraine should serve as a warning to Europe. Military assistance, advanced technology, and formal alliances matter—but they cannot replace national will. Without shared identity and societal buy-in, armies are hollow.

Western Europe often speaks the language of deterrence while remaining trapped in legalistic routines and short-term politics. But resilience is not built in committees. It requires societal cohesion, citizen readiness, and a culture that embeds defense into the national fabric.

Small states like Finland, Estonia, and Lithuania understand this. Their size leaves no room for illusions: survival depends on readiness. And this readiness begins with society. For instance, Finland’s universal conscription model and the “Sisu spirit” aren’t just policy—but cultural DNA.

For larger states, the lesson is the same. Resilience is not measured in GDP or the number of tanks, but in the willingness of citizens to stand together when it matters most.

Clausewitz famously wrote:

“War is merely the continuation of policy by other means.”

This timeless insight reminds us that real policy—the kind that endures—must be rooted in the nation’s soul, not in abstract ideals.

Francis Fukuyama’s vision of “the end of history,” where liberal democracy triumphs without the messiness of conflict, lulled many into complacency. But Afghanistan’s collapse and Ukraine’s defiance teach the opposite: prioritize national cohesion over utopian dreams.

Only then can policy wield war’s “other means” effectively—and turn potential defeat into unbreakable resolve.

Source & Links

• Carl von Clausewitz, On War (translated by J.J. Graham), Project Gutenberg, 1874 (original 1832)
  https://www.gutenberg.org/files/1946/1946-h/1946-h.htm

• CSIS (2025), Will, Cohesion, and Resilience, Center for Strategic and International Studies.
  https://www.csis.org/analysis/chapter-2-will-cohesion-and-resilience

• Francis Fukuyama (1992), The End of History and the Last Man, Free Press.
  https://books.google.com/books/about/The_End_of_History_and_the_Last_Man.html?id=NdFpQwKfX2IC

• Emilia Lahti (2019), “Embodied Fortitude: An Introduction to the Finnish Construct of Sisu”, International Journal of Wellbeing, 9(1), pp. 61–82.
  https://doi.org/10.5502/ijw.v9i1.672

• RUSI (2023), Ukraine’s Territorial Defence Forces: The War So Far and Future Prospects, Royal United Services Institute.
  https://www.rusi.org/explore-our-research/publications/commentary/ukraines-territorial-defence-forces-war-so-far-and-future-prospects

• SIGAR (2023), Why the Afghan Security Forces Collapsed, Special Inspector General for Afghanistan Reconstruction.
  https://www.globalsecurity.org/military/library/report/sigar/sigar-23-16-ip_why-the-afghan-security-forces-collapsed.pdf

• Donald Trump (2021), Cullman Rally Speech Transcript, Alabama.
  https://www.rev.com/transcripts/donald-trump-cullman-alabama-rally-speech-transcript

  Where do you see Europe’s biggest gap: will, manpower, or leadership? (One word is enough)

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On 19 September 2025, three Russian MiG-31s violated Estonia’s airspace for about twelve minutes; this recent incursion was not only a violation of sovereignty but also a calculated message. A test. A signal. A warning.

In the era of hybrid war, pressure rarely arrives as columns of tanks. It comes in gray zones: airspace violations, drones, cyberattacks and psychological operations.

Small and medium-sized states in particular are forced to respond to these threats and embrace resilience. The challenge for small states is not whether they will become targets, but how they can endure.

Why Resilience, Not Dominance

Realism treats survival as the core problem of anarchy1. Building on that, John J. Mearsheimer argues that great powers often pursue hegemony not as an end in itself, but as the safest way to survive.2

For small states, the implication is different: they must be ready not just to defend themselves, but to endure in a world shaped by hegemonic ambitions.

Geography, alliances, and national cohesion matter just as much. Halford J. Mackinder’s Heartland3 and Nicholas J. Spykman’s Rimland4 highlight why control of key regions confers power. But what about those caught between empires?

Some small states endure not through dominance, but through resilience. Strategic resilience means absorbing shocks, recovering fast, and staying united under pressure. Resilience combines deterrence with endurance and turns survival into strategy.

Theory alone doesn’t secure borders. So how do small states make resilience real?

“Small and medium-sized states cannot absorb the same level of punishment as continental-sized states, a small state in the midst of adversaries, such as Israel, has to be particularly passive, or particularly aggressive, in order to survive. It is primarily a matter of geography.”

–Robert D. Kaplan, The Revenge of Geography (2012), p. 34.

Finland: Cold Borders, Cold Logic

Finland shares a 1.309 km border with Russia and a long history of hard lessons. From the Winter War of 19395 to the Cold War, it survived not through neutrality alone, but through strategic clarity and national resolve.

In Finnish doctrine, survival is not about appeasement, but about preparation. The country’s “total defence” concept involves the entire society: government, military, economy, media, and civilians are expected to function under threat, not collapse.

Where Western Europe outsourced its security to distant alliances, Finland built a conscript army, maintained a robust reserve, and drilled the population for crisis scenarios. Military training is widespread. Infrastructure is hardened. Trust in institutions remains high.

Culturally, the concept of Sisu, often translated as stubborn perseverance – defines the national spirit. This is not bravado, but sober resilience under pressure. Even before joining NATO, Finland invested in cybersecurity, maintained independent weapons production, and prepared for hybrid threats. NATO membership only formalized what Finland had practiced for decades.

In a world of fractured lines and proxy threats, Finland reminds us: resilience is not improvisation.

Estonia: Cyber, Conscripts, and Clarity

Estonia exemplifies innovation and agility. With just 1.37 million people and flat, exposed terrain, Estonia has no illusions about its vulnerability. Instead of denial, it has built a culture of readiness.

At the heart of Estonia’s security model is the principle of Total/Comprehensive Defence. Like Finland, it relies on conscription and a trained reserve, but adds a twist: heavy investment in cyber resilience, civic mobilization, and digital continuity.

The Kaitseliit (Estonian Defence League), a voluntary paramilitary force, includes twenty thousands of civilians. In a crisis, they become the backbone of national resistance.

The 2007 cyberattacks on Estonia were a wake-up call. Since then, Estonia has become a pioneer in digital security. It hosts the NATO Cooperative Cyber Defence Centre of Excellence and backs up government data in so-called “data embassies” abroad.

Most striking is the cultural clarity: it assumes war might come and prepares accordingly. Defense is a societal responsibility6, not a state monopoly.

Estonia shows what 21st-century resilience can look like: distributed, digital, and deeply rooted in civic trust.

Israel: Depth, Duty, and Deterrence

If Finland represents stoicism and Estonia agility, Israel stands for depth — strategic, societal, and psychological. With limited geographic buffers and regional adversaries, Israel builds resilience through internal cohesion.

At the core is the people’s army: compulsory service plus large, active reserves, embedded in national identity and supported by a security culture that prizes innovation, societal responsibility, and economic capacity.

Israel plans as if it may have to stand alone: sustained investment in air superiority, intelligence, and calibrated ambiguity; the foundation is psychological. Shaped by trauma and sharpened by conflict, this ethos has made Israel resilient in ways few other democracies can match7.

Despite recurring shocks and domestic tensions, the baseline holds: readiness, unity in crisis, and rapid adaptation. Israel doesn’t just endure pressure — it converts it: setbacks trigger learning cycles, organizational reform, and capability upgrades faster than adversaries can adjust.

In Israel’s model, resilience is not passive. It is dynamic.

Although the existential threat is different, the contrast with Western Europe could not be more stark.

Western Europe: Comfort over Resilience?

In much of Western Europe, national defense became a political afterthought. Military service looked outdated; security felt outsourced to alliances, diplomacy and interdependence.

Germany once fielded a strong citizen army. France talks strategic autonomy. The UK, though nuclear-armed, is stretched thin across global commitments. What changed?

Prosperity made war unthinkable. Comfort replaced vigilance. Elites and voters assumed the post-1945 order would endure. But wars didn’t stop; rather, they changed form: from tanks to influence, from invasions to drones, from uniforms to cyber.

Herfried Münkler called Western societies “post-heroic,” unable to tolerate casualties; Martin van Creveld asked how the West’s “ferocious soldiers” became “pussycats8.”

These are polemics, but they point to a truth: comfort erodes resilience.

Today, Baltic leaders urge NATO to shift from air policing to air defense, and EU ministers are planning a “drone wall” on the eastern flank. Meanwhile Germany openly debates the return of conscription and has introduced a draft military service law outlining a six-month model.

While Finland and Estonia re-armed and rebuilt civil defense, much of the West relied on habit and hope. Even as drone incidents and airspace violations multiplied.

What Small States Teach Us

Finland, Estonia, and Israel are not superpowers. But they think and act like strategic adults.

They invest in what matters: people, training, terrain, trust. They do not expect others to fight their wars. They build resilience before it is tested.

The war in Ukraine has driven this lesson home: Victory depends not only on weapons, but on will9. Mobilization, civilian readiness, and cohesion are not footnotes to military power. They are its foundation.

The takeaway is not that every small state must be militarized, but that every state must cultivate strategic resilience before the crisis hits.

In a world of renewed conflict and coercion, resilience is no longer a luxury. It is a condition of survival.

And while big powers may shake the map, it is often the small ones that remind us what it means to hold the line.

Strategic frontiers are not drawn by size, but by resolve.

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