Agrégateur de flux

Women cooperative in Merzouga, Morocco. Credit: Forus/Both Nomads

By Mavalow Christelle Kalhoule
BRUSSELS, Belgium, Oct 30 2025 (IPS)

Thirty years ago, world leaders gathered in Copenhagen and made a promise: people would be at the center of development. This November, Heads of State and Government will meet again in Doha, Qatar, for the Second World Summit for Social Development or WSSD2.

For civil society, the Second World Summit for Social Development is a call to action to reshape social contracts, rebuild trust, and mobilise for implementation and accountability so that “leave no one behind” becomes more than a slogan. And civil society can help make that happen, not as bystanders, but as solution providers and accountability partners.

At the same time, governments also expect the private sector to share and take up responsibilities, not only by creating jobs, but by driving social development more rapidly and on a larger scale

“Solutions” are already here, in the form of community-rooted “fixes” and strategies.

Civil society and movements are working hard: from expanding social protection for informal workers, to youth alliances linking skills training with decent, safe jobs. Investments in the care economy are creating fair work, easing the burden on women, and improving childhood and support for older people. Civic groups are making local budgets transparent, while digital inclusion programs are designed with persons with disabilities and rural communities.

These ideas have been adopted and funded. What they need now is political will, stable support, and true collaboration between governments, civil society, and communities.

From slogans to systems: a practical agenda for Doha and beyond

To move from aspiration to action, we propose five concrete steps that governments, United Nations agencies, and civil society can take together starting in Doha.

1) Set up a national platform for social development in every country by mid-2026.
Give it a public mandate, a diverse membership, and a simple job: translate the declaration’s three pillars into a country plan with milestones, budget linkages, and annual public reviews. Include unions, employers, women’s rights groups, youth networks and Older People’s Associations, organisations of persons with disabilities, faith groups, and local authorities. Build in independent monitoring and a public dashboard so people can see progress and gaps.

2) Protect and expand social protection with a focus on those most often left out.
Adopt or update a national social protection strategy that commits to at least a two-percentage-point annual increase in coverage until universal floors are reached, as the declaration encourages. Prioritise universal child benefits, disability-inclusive schemes, and lifecycle guarantees for older persons. Publish grievance mechanisms and coverage maps down to district level.

3) Link promises to money.
Ask finance and planning ministries to table, within 12 months, a “social spending compact” that identifies protected budget lines for health, education, and social protection, lays out debt management measures that shield social spending, and commits to transparent tax reforms to broaden fiscal space fairly. Invite multilateral banks to align country frameworks and provide concessional windows for social policy, as the declaration urges.

4) Close the digital divide as a social policy priority, not a tech afterthought.
Treat access to affordable internet, digital assistive technologies, and digital public infrastructures and assistance as an enabler of social rights. Co-design digital inclusion targets with communities and invest in last-mile connectivity, inclusive ID systems, and digital literacy, while safeguarding rights and privacy.

5) Build accountability into the calendar.
Use the UN Commission for Social Development in early 2026 as the first checkpoint: each government should present its national platform’s workplan, spending compact outline, and coverage targets. Regionally, UN commissions can convene mid-year stock-takes. Civil society will publish parallel reports that track delivery, spotlight gaps, and lift up solutions that can be scaled.

The promise — and the gaps — of Doha

The already agreed Doha Political Declaration restates the three pillars of social development and links them explicitly to human rights and non-discrimination. It nods to today’s realities: deepening inequalities; demographic shifts; and the digital divide that keeps billions offline.

There is progress to welcome. For the first time, the text recognises the rights of older persons. It commits to universal social protection, including “social protection floors” that guarantee basic income security and essential services throughout the life course.

But the text is cautious where courage is needed. Financing is the missing bridge. The declaration references recent global financing discussions (including the Seville outcomes under the Financing for Development track), yet stops short of specifying how countries will protect social spending while tackling debt, or how multilateral banks will resource social policy at scale.

It says little about crisis settings: places where conflict, disasters, or displacement make social development both hardest and most urgent.

Universal health coverage appears, but without the strength advocates for sexual and reproductive health and rights or for non-communicable diseases hoped for.

And while the declaration acknowledges digital transformation, it does not spell out practical steps to close the divides that map so closely onto poverty, geography, gender, and disability.

None of that should deter us. As Essi Lindstedt of Fingo in Finland, reminds us “This is not only the time for declarations, it’s the time for delivery”.

The negotiation window may be closed, but the implementation window is wide open. The real work begins in capitals, municipalities, and communities, channeling the urgency and hope of citizens for dignity and wellbeing. “Poverty should not be seen as natural. Social policy can end poverty. Therefore, social policy should be managed as a global investment that enables every person, community and country to chart their own course to thriving.”

“We must go to the grassroots. Since Copenhagen, in the Sahel and particularly in Chad, our communities continue to struggle for access to water, to the land, healthcare, education, food, and essential infrastructure. We are facing security challenges, the simple fact of living together. All of these challenges are deeply interconnected and addressing them means putting human dignity at the center of development. Across the whole chain of actors — economic, social, and political — we must never lose sight of the most vulnerable,” says Jacques Ngarassal, of CILONG, the civil society network in Tchad.

“We need to ensure social cohesion”.

From closed negotiations to open implementation

That is where civil society comes in. National coalitions and grassroots organisations are already demonstrating that social progress is possible when communities lead.

The declaration invites this by calling for “multi-stakeholder engagement” and stronger national coordination to avoid policy silos. We should take that invitation literally, insisting on inclusion while modeling it: intergenerational, gender-responsive, disability-inclusive, locally led.

The next stage must therefore shift the focus from consultation to co-creation. Governments cannot deliver on the declaration alone. When it comes to financing what matters – civil society can connect those dots domestically.

As Carlos Arana of the Asociación Nacional de Centros (ANC) in Peru noted, many countries face “policy incoherence”: ambitious social plans undermined by debt pressures and austerity. Others are excluded from concessional finance because they have crossed an arbitrary income threshold, even where inequalities remain deep.

“We see two realities today. On one hand, our societies have moved toward greater equality; yet on the other, deep inequalities persist. We can say we have made some progress, but at this moment, what matters most is not to go backward. Around the world, there is growing concern about the weakening of democracies as conservative forces regain strength. This rollback is most visible in social policies and in the shrinking spaces for participation that many of our countries opened decades ago,” adds Josefina Huamán, Executive Secretary of ANC which is also the secretary of la Mesa de Articulación de Asociaciones Nacionales y Redes de ONGs de América Latina y el Caribe.

“In my own country, for example, spaces created 20 years ago to build consensus between the State, civil society, and political parties have eroded. They have weakened because a ruling class, empowered elites who perhaps never truly disappeared, have reclaimed hegemony. What is vanishing is that participatory spirit — the affirmation of men and women of all ages and backgrounds as active subjects in democracy. This conservative, or even neoconservative, resurgence is something we are witnessing clearly in Latin America — in Bolivia, in Argentina, in Peru — and it should deeply concern us all.”

The solution is to rethink how we measure and resource progress. Moving “beyond GDP” means judging success by well-being, equity, and sustainability. It also means linking Doha’s commitments to the broader Financing for Development agenda and to reforms of the international financial architecture.

Civil society is already leading: generating citizen data, advocating tax justice, and pressing for transparency in public spending. Governments and donors must now back these efforts with coherent policy and long-term, flexible funding.

The Doha Declaration closes one chapter and opens another. Civil society is ready. Open the door, and we will help carry this agenda from the conference hall to the places where it matters most: the neighborhoods, villages, and city blocks where trust is rebuilt and futures are made.

As Zia ur Rehman, Executive Director of the Pakistan Development Alliance and Chair of the Asia Development Alliance, reminds us:

“The true legacy of the Second World Summit for Social Development will not be the text agreed in Doha, but the accountability and hope we build afterwards. Civil society has shown we are ready. The question now is whether leaders are willing to meet us halfway.”

IPS UN Bureau

 

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Excerpt:

Mavalow Christelle Kalhoule is Forus Chair

Zahlreiche Internetnutzer und internationale Medienberichte hatten fälschlicherweise angenommen, ein neues Gesetz schreibe auch Fußgängern eine Geschwindigkeitsbegrenzung vor.

Taiwan’s T-Dome is designed to protect the island from missile strikes, aerial incursions, and potential amphibious operations.

It has identified over 36,000 sq km of mineral-rich land with a potential for 3,000 mines in the region. These could trigger conflict.

Source : © European Union, 2025 - EP

Source : © European Union, 2025 - EP

This paper presents the dynamically evolving web of military agreements among EU member-states concluded by EU member-states outside the EU framework, identifying two distinct categories of such agreements: a) defence partnerships/agreements, which contain explicit mutual defence clauses, and b) defence industrial or operational cooperation schemes, focusing primarily on capability development, joint military structures or operational readiness. After briefly outlining why such agreements remain relevant and necessary in today’s security environment, the paper develops four future scenarios for EU defence cooperation:

• Scenario 1: An archipelago of alliances, characterised by fragmentation and the presence of ad-hoc alliances between EU member-states (and possibly like-minded third countries), where national governments take the lead.
• Scenario 2: A pragmatic adaptation to diversity, with the emergence of defence clusters, within the EU political and institutional framework, based on existing bilateral and plurilateral agreements, where national governments retain control.
• Scenario 3: A Brussels nexus, where Europe progresses towards defence integration through layering and developing a defence mosaic, which gradually unites under an EU umbrella, fostering a more coordinated network of partnerships led by both the European Commission and national governments.
• Scenario 4: An EU common defence, entailing full operationalisation of Article 42.7 TEU and the EU upgrade as a security provider.

The paper concludes with a set of policy recommendations, tailored to each potential trajectory.

To move from Scenario 1 to Scenario 2:

• Foster regional defence clusters for niche capabilities

To transition from Scenarios 1 and 2 to Scenario 3:

• Create a European Defence Agreements Register
• Invest in Defence Projects of Common Interest
• Render bilateral/plurilateral agreements compatible with Article 42.7 TEU

To advance toward Scenario 4:

• Operationalise Article 42.7 TEU

Read here in pdf the Policy paper by Spyros Blavoukos, Professor at the Athens University of Economics & Business; Head of ELIAMEP’s EU Institutions & Policies Programme and Panos Politis Lamprou, Research Fellow, ELIAMEP.

Introduction 

Military agreements represent the most tangible expression of security and defence cooperation. They translate (or transform) shared intent and objectives into structured and potentially legally binding commitments. In simpler terms, they embody trust, mutual benefit, and common concerns or threats. The coalitions of the willing on Ukraine indicate such common perceptions and stance, demonstrating some EU member-states’ willingness to mobilise beyond the existing Union’s cooperation schemes (e.g., the Common Security and Defence Policy missions and operations). They reveal that security and defence cooperation (even on the ground) is no longer optional, showing Europe’s strategic commitments as well as the political geography of European security. Nonetheless, the expanding landscape of treaties, pacts and memoranda also carries a paradox: the more these agreements multiply, the more complex and challenging coordination becomes. Thus, security and defence cooperation outside the EU framework consists of a dense web of interconnected elements, which are indirectly linked but lack a single central command and well-defined objectives. 

This paper analyses the dense and complex landscape of military agreements concluded by EU member-states outside the EU framework. Hence, it deliberately excludes EU-level instruments, tools, and policies, such as the CSDP military missions and operations[1], the Permanent Structured Cooperation on Defence (PESCO)[2], the European Defence Fund (EDF)[3], the European Peace Facility (EPF)[4], or Military Mobility-related initiatives[5], as these are either treaty-based or closely linked to EU foreign policy actions. We also consciously leave aside schemes of cooperation established within or in the context of regional security organisations, like NATO and the OSCE.[6] Our focus remains on intergovernmental, bilateral or plurilateral, agreements in which national governments retain ownership of their (binding) commitments and political decisions, outside such institutional frameworks.

Our objective is to evaluate whether and how these agreements can contribute to a more coherent and credible EU defence. Drawing on our previous related work, this updated and expanded version posits that the proliferation of different types of agreements reflects both the EU’s cooperative instinct and its fragmentation. In particular, EU member-states have signed a multitude of military agreements, each reflecting specific political imperatives or regional security logics. The result is a dense web of cooperation frameworks that coexist, overlap and sometimes compete. To make sense of this complex reality, our analytical approach distinguishes between two kinds of military agreements, which differ in the level and depth of commitments undertaken by the signatories. In that respect, we identify:

1. Defence partnerships/agreements, which contain explicit mutual assistance and/or defence clauses, and
2. Defence industrial or operational cooperation schemes, which focus primarily on capability development, joint military structures or operational readiness.

The paper is organised into five chapters. The first introduces the conceptual and theoretical background, explaining why the EU’s liberal foundations and the member-states’ willingness to retain national sovereignty make such agreements possible and desirable. The second outlines the various types of agreements, categorised into two main groups. The third chapter explains why military agreements concluded by EU member-states outside the EU framework are necessary, considering the existing multifaceted constraints. The fourth chapter develops scenarios for the future of EU defence cooperation, based on the dense network of existing agreements. The fifth chapter offers policy recommendations aimed at improving the Union’s defence, coherence, and strategic autonomy. 

Liberalism and the persisting need for military agreements

For over seven decades, the European integration process has been guided by the liberal conviction that cooperation is both rational and necessary. Based on the liberal understanding, democracy and (economic) interdependence diminish the incentive for conflict. Understanding why EU member-states choose to cooperate, even in sensitive areas such as defence and outside the official framework of the Union, requires grounding this behaviour in the liberal school of thought of international relations, which emphasises interdependence, international law and shared values as foundations of peace.

Modern liberal theory mainly stems from three principal strands. The first, associated with John Locke, lies in the belief that individuals possess inalienable rights to life, liberty and property, and that states, as collective persons, inherit these rights in the form of political interdependence and territorial integrity. The second, developed by Adam Smith, Baron de Montesquieu and Joseph Schumpeter, articulates commercial liberalism, leading to liberal pacifism. The third, promoted by Immanuel Kant and Giuseppe Mazzini, advances a republican liberalism, which links democratic governance to international peace.

Doyle (1997) reformulated Kant’s ideas into the theory of a “separate peace” among liberal democracies: liberal states, constrained by representative institutions and guided by respect for rights, are peaceful with each other, though they may be in tension with non-liberal regimes. This assumption was first tested by Babst (1972), who evaluated Wright’s (1965) list of all major wars fought since 1500. His study indicated that “the existence of independent nations with elective governments greatly increases the chances for the maintenance of peace”. As classical liberals (e.g., Kant, Mazzini and Jeremy Bentham) anticipated, democratic institutions and greater interdependence would reduce uncertainty and increase predictability, thereby encouraging cooperation and international peace. Furthermore, based on Kant’s book “Perpetual Peace” and his definitive articles, Doyle (2006) explains that Kant “appears to have in mind a mutual nonaggression pact, perhaps a collective security agreement”.

When Kant’s triangle of peace is applied to the European project, one may understand why the Union’s evolution from an economic community to a political and security actor has been gradual yet persistent. Ikenberry (2001) underlines that in its most advanced manifestation, the international order includes an exercise of state power that is constrained and regulated by a framework of rules and institutions, and that states choose to participate in it motivated by self-interest, willingly exercising self-restraint. The EU epitomises this dynamic as it constitutes both a product and a guarantor of liberal internationalism. However, liberals often exhibit realist-like scepticism about the feasibility of fully surrendering national sovereignty, thus recognising the limitations of cooperation.

Considering the aforementioned, alongside the deteriorating geopolitical environment and the fragility of the international order, the proliferation of military agreements can be understood as a pragmatic expression of Europe’s liberal logic of cooperation, reconciled with the reality of state sovereignty. The EU’s defence architecture and its Treaties reveal a persistent reluctance among member-states to transfer full authority over defence policy to supranational institutions. The field of defence, which is deeply integrated into national identity, remains the ultimate bastion of sovereignty. Military agreements concluded by EU member-states outside the EU framework act as bridging instruments between the liberal aspiration for collective security and the member-states’ imperative to retain authority over the use of their armed forces.

This bridging is ever more relevant, considering the fragility of today’s international order becomes evident. The current strategic environment is characterised by aggression, hybridity, and great-power competition. Specifically, although Russia’s illegal annexation of Crimea in 2014 did not challenge the long-held assumption of enduring peace in Europe, the Russian invasion of Ukraine in 2022 did. It brought war and hostility back as methods of statecraft, exposing Europe’s vulnerabilities. Moreover, hybrid threats (including, but not limited to, cyber-attacks, threats and sabotage against critical infrastructure and disinformation campaigns) have blurred the lines between peace and war. As German Chancellor Friedrich Merz stated in September 2025, “we are not at war, but we are no longer at peace either”. On the international stage, the EU finds itself navigating a shifting geopolitical landscape. This is exemplified by the United States’ (US) shift of focus towards the homeland and the Western Hemisphere, prompting Europe to reassess its long-held reliance on the North Atlantic Treaty Organisation (NATO).

In this context, the warning expressed in August 2025 by the former Chief of the Defence Staff of France, General Thierry Burkhard, that “a weakened Europe may find itself tomorrow as a hunted animal” captures the sense of urgency. A united Europe that fails to coordinate its defence risks becoming a prey to its predators. To avoid such a devastating fate, Europe must confront the structural weaknesses that have long undermined its capacity for collective action. The EU continues to face persistent defence (capabilities) gaps, given the years-long military underspending and intra-EU legal and political constraints. Concerning readiness, the European (national) armed forces remain unevenly equipped and trained with disparities in deployable capabilities. At the same time, they continue to rely heavily on the US and NATO for specific high-end strategic enablers, further perplexing the complex EU-NATO relationship. Interoperability also remains limited, with different weapon systems and military doctrines often making joint action cumbersome at best.

These challenges in delivering the public good of security at the EU level are not technical. They are, in principle, political. They reflect divergent threat perceptions and strategic cultures across the Union. For some member-states, defence means strengthening (or sustaining in life) NATO. For others, it also includes deepening EU defence integration. This divergence has led to a proliferation of security and defence agreements, all reflecting different understandings of what European security (should) looks like. We are discussing these agreements in the following section.

Typology of military agreements: methodology and characteristics

Methodological approach and visualisation

Our categorisation of bilateral and plurilateral agreements concluded by EU member-states outside the EU framework in this paper is based solely on publicly available sources, including official treaty texts, national government press releases and other relevant documents. The visualisation of these agreements depicts the density of interactions and interconnections between member-states. For reasons of readability, when a stronger link already exists (e.g., a treaty with a mutual assistance or defence clause, which is shown in red), secondary agreements (e.g., defence industrial agreements) between the same states are excluded. The list is non-exhaustive and constitutes the product of a dynamic classification process, constantly monitored and updated.[7]

Figure I: Map of military agreements concluded by EU member-states outside the EU framework (interactive version)

Created with flourish.studio.

 

Figure II: Network graph with military agreements concluded by EU member-states outside the EU framework  (interactive version)

Created with flourish.studio.

Partnerships with defence/mutual assistance clause

 

Table I: Partnerships/agreements with defence/mutual assistance clause Treaty Name Party A Party B Year Mutual defence
clause Reference to EU mutual assistance clause – 42.7 TEU Reference to NATO collective defence clause – Article 5 Washington Treaty Treaty of Aachen France Germany 2019 Article 4.1 Article 4.1 Article 4.1 Strategic Partnership Agreement France Greece 2021 Article 2 Preamble Preamble Quirinal Treaty France Italy 2021 Article 2.1 Article 2.1 Article 2.1 Friendship Treaty France Spain 2023 Article 9 Article 9.2 Article 9.2 Treaty of Nancy France Poland 2025 Article 4.2 Article 4.2 Article 4.2

 

The first category includes the most formalised and politically significant layer of military cooperation in Europe. These are bilateral treaties that contain explicit references to mutual defence, assistance or solidarity clauses, usually framed around deterrence and shared threat perception. The dataset identifies five such key partnerships/agreements currently in force among EU member-states. These include the Franco-German Treaty of Aachen (2019), the Franco-Greek Defence Agreement (2021), the Franco-Italian Quirinal Treaty (2021), the Franco-Spanish Friendship Treaty (2023), and the Franco-Polish Treaty of Nancy (2025). Each contains clauses referring to mutual assistance in the event of an armed attack by a third country.

Defence industrial cooperation and operational cooperation schemes

Table II: Defence industrial cooperation and operational cooperation schemes Scheme Name Party A Party B Other Parties Year EUROCORPS France Germany Belgium, Luxembourg, Poland, Spain 1992 EUROMARFOR France Italy Portugal, Spain 1995 German/Netherlands Corps (1GNC) Germany Netherlands 1995 BeNeSam Belgium Netherlands 1996 Organisation for Joint Armament Co-operation Belgium France Germany, Italy, Spain, Finland, Lithuania, Netherlands, Poland, Sweden, Luxembourg, Greece 1998 Baltic Defence College (BALTDEFCOL) Estonia Latvia Lithuania 1999 Multinational Engineer Battalion “Tisa” Hungary Romania Slovakia, Ukraine 2002 5+5 Defense Initiative France Italy Spain, Malta, Portugal + Algeria, Libya, Mauritania, Morocco and Tunisia 2004 Movement Coordination Centre Europe (MCCE) Austria Belgium, Canada, Croatia, the Czech Republic, Denmark, Estonia, Finland, France, Germany, Hungary, Italy, Latvia, Lithuania, Luxembourg, Netherlands, Norway, Poland, Portugal, Romania, Slovakia, Slovenia, Spain, Sweden, Turkey, United States, United Kingdom 2007 NORDFECO Finland Sweden Denmark, Norway, Iceland 2009 Central European Defence Cooperation Austria Czech Republic Croatia, Hungary, Slovakia, Slovenia 2010 European Air Transport Command (EATC) France Germany Belgium, Italy, Luxembourg, Netherlands, Spain 2010 BeNeLux Air Defence Belgium Netherlands Luxembourg 2015 Dutch–German Air and Missile Defence Task Force (D/GE A&MD TF) Germany Netherlands 2016 European Intervention Initiative (EII) France Belgium Estonia, Denmark, Finland, Germany, Italy, Netherlands, Norway, Portugal, Spain, UK, Sweden 2018 Motorized Capacity (CaMo) Belgium France 2018 Belgium-Luxembourg Binational Air Transport Unit Belgium Luxembourg 2020 Lublin Triangle Lithuania Ukraine Poland 2020 Quadripartite Initiative — QUAD France Cyprus Greece, Italy 2020 European Sky Shield Initiative (ESSI) Germany UK Austria, Belgium, Bulgaria, Czechia, Denmark, Estonia, Finland, Greece, Hungary, Latvia, Lithuania, Netherlands, Poland Romania, Slovakia, Slovenia, Sweden, Portugal 2022 Nordic Air Force Cooperation Denmark Finland Norway, Sweden 2023 Belgian-Luxembourg
reconnaissance
battalion Belgium Luxembourg 2023 Weimar+ France Germany Poland, Italy, Spain, United Kingdom, Ukraine 2025

 

If collective defence treaties represent Europe’s political spine, industrial and operational cooperation schemes form its muscle and nervous system. These frameworks focus less on legal guarantees and more on capability development, joint military and command structures and interoperability. They bring substance to political commitments without, however, going the extra mile of providing explicit security guarantees. This category encompasses a wide variety of initiatives, some of which have multinational command structures and pools of shared personnel and/or resources. Others are more narrowly defined, focusing on specific capability domains, operational functions or vague commitments.

Key insights

France clearly stands out and naturally emerges as the central node of the bilateral military agreements with a defence clause, functioning as a strategic anchor. Its bilateral treaties combine political symbolism with operational cooperation, reaffirming Paris’ long-standing role as the EU’s key defence player.

These bilateral defence treaties are more than mere legal agreements; they often serve for the EU defence as strategic multipliers, enhancing the credibility and operational capabilities of the EU’s collective mutual assistance clause under Article 42.7 of the Treaty on European Union (TEU). In reality, they embody political will in action. The Franco-Greek agreement, for instance, is a clear expression of solidarity, complementing and supporting Article 42.7. The same principle applies to NATO’s Article 5, whose activation is not automatic, as it requires a unanimous political decision within the North Atlantic Council. In the case of Greece, the defence agreement also provides an additional layer of protection against Türkiye.

Box I: A French nuclear umbrella for European states? As doubts grow about the reliability of the US commitment to the security of the Old Continent, the idea of the French President, Emmanuel Macron, to extend France’s nuclear deterrent to other European states has gained attention. Nevertheless, serious obstacles remain. In the aforementioned agreements, France has not committed to expanding its nuclear deterrence to any of its partners. There are two main reasons for this. First, expanding the nuclear umbrella would strain France’s budget, which is already under pressure. Any decision to extend coverage to multiple member-states would require substantial additional investments (e.g., in delivery systems or in C2 platforms), even if a cost-sharing mechanism was in place, which is not. Second, French strategic culture is deeply rooted in nuclear independence. Extending the nuclear deterrent umbrella could imply either delegation or shared competence over nuclear use, and this constitutes a red line for the overwhelming majority of political forces in France.

The second category of agreements concerns operational cooperation and defence industrial collaboration, encompassing a wide range of institutional, bilateral, minilateral and plurilateral arrangements that enhance Europe’s military interoperability, capability development and readiness. In contrast to collective defence treaties, which focus on security commitments, these frameworks primarily aim to develop and partially manage quasi-shared capabilities, coordinate operations and strengthen transnational defence-industrial cooperation.

A key example of operational cooperation is EUROCORPS, a multinational headquarters established in 1992. It provides a standing multinational command structure capable of planning and leading EU and NATO operations. Until present, EUROCORPS’ structures have been used for 8 missions abroad and 5 alert duties. It often serves as the Force Headquarters for EU Battlegroups. It does not constitute a permanent combat unit but a deployable high-readiness headquarters capable of commanding forces up to corps level.

Industrial cooperation mechanisms also form an integral part of this category. For instance, the Organisation Conjointe de Coopération en matière d’Armement (OCCAR), which was signed in 1998 and entered into force in 2001, aims to increase armaments cooperation, improve efficiency and reduce costs. As stated in its convention, OCCAR “shall coordinate, control and implement those armament programmes that are assigned to it by Member States and coordinate and promote joint activities for the future, thereby improving the effectiveness of project management in collaborative projects, in terms of cost, schedule and performance”. It manages major European projects, such as the A400M transport aircraft, the BOXER armoured vehicle and the FSAF surface-to-air anti-missile systems.

The category also entails a strong regional dimension. For example, the Central European Defence Cooperation (CEDC) exemplifies the growing importance of minilateral initiatives among like-minded and geographically close EU member-states. It serves as a security and defence platform, allowing participants to tackle “common regional challenges and threats” and initiate “projects among armed forces and capacity-building”. It has a clear focus on the civil-military dimension, as highlighted by the international military exercise “Cooperative Security”, which centred on managing the migration crisis and explored the role of armed forces in supporting civilian authorities during such contingencies.

Alongside structured initiatives, looser and more flexible forms of quasi-geopolitical cooperation also emerge. They function primarily as political consultation and coordination platforms rather than binding frameworks. A prominent example is the Weimar+ format, which constitutes an expansion of the Weimar Triangle between France, Germany and Poland. It reflects European states’ preference for flexible and issue-specific (i.e., Russia’s war of aggression against Ukraine) cooperation.

All in all, the second category illustrates the scope of this network, a dense and decentralised system linking smaller and medium-sized member-states across the EU. Unlike agreements with a defence clause, where France dominates, this operational network is polycentric. It demonstrates that even smaller member states participate and can play a role in European military cooperation. Cross-regional ties are evident, indicating that cooperation often may extend beyond simple geographic blocs. Nonetheless, cooperation usually follows geographical (e.g., BeNeSam, CEDC) or functional logic (e.g., EII, which brings together politically ambitious, willing and capable states under a French framework for expeditionary readiness).

The added value of bilateral/plurilateral agreements for EU member-states

In today’s evolving security architecture, the space within which European defence cooperation can develop is not unlimited. It is conditioned on three key constraints that delimit the extent of EU cooperation and enhance the added value of bilateral and plurilateral schemes of cooperation: a) political and strategic constraints, rooted in the contradiction between national sovereignty and European integration, b) national constitutional and legal limitations, stemming from national laws and neutrality commitments, and c) institutional inefficiencies and ambiguities within the EU treaties. These constraints explain why EU member-states conclude military agreements outside the EU framework: they are not acts of defiance against the Union, but rather indicators of flexibility and adaptability. Hence, these agreements serve a dual purpose. First, they allow willing groups of member-states to act together more quickly and flexibly, avoiding the institutional bureaucratic procedures that often characterise EU-level processes. Second, they accommodate functional differentiation as not all member-states share the same threat perceptions or strategic priorities, allowing each state to collaborate without requiring a one-size-fits-all policy.

The enduring contradiction between sovereignty and integration

The most persistent cleavage shaping EU defence arises from the competing imperatives of national sovereignty and integration. National governments continue to consider security and defence as the hard core of statehood, which cannot be transferred to a supranational government. The deployment of armed forces, the use of force and nuclear deterrence are still perceived as sovereign prerogatives, often tied to national parliaments and domestic public opinion.

This deeply rooted attachment to national sovereignty contrasts with the integration logic of the European project that is built upon the premise that pooled sovereignty can yield positive collective outcomes (e.g., trade). However, defence remains a field where integration is politically and emotionally charged, and it usually collides with national political realities, such as divergent threat perceptions, strategic cultures, and domestic political and economic incentives. For instance, Warsaw may perceive Russia as an existential threat, whereas Madrid or Rome may view instability in the Sahel as their primary concern. A more extreme example would be the case in which member-states transfer the ultimate decision to go to war to Brussels. In addition, national leaders naturally tend to privilege formats that maintain visible national control, as one of their objectives is their reelection.

It is precisely because of these divergences that the treaties themselves reflect a cautious approach. Article 42.2 TEU explicitly states that “[t]he common security and defence policy shall include the progressive framing of a common Union defence policy. This will lead to a common defence, when the European Council, acting unanimously, so decides”. The wording of “progressive framing” and the requirement of unanimity are deliberate, as they acknowledge that the member-states do not yet share the same strategic culture (or levels of ambition). In essence, the treaties codify the political reality. As a result, defence cooperation in Europe tends to proceed horizontally, through intergovernmental agreements, rather than vertically through supranational mechanisms. These flexible formats preserve autonomy while enabling coordination.

Constitutional and legal constraints

Beyond politics, legal and constitutional constraints further narrow the scope for a common EU defence. Some member-states, notably Austria, Ireland and Malta, are bound by constitutional and/or policy commitments to neutrality. These obligations limit their participation in EU defence structures. For instance, Malta is hesitant to participate even in EU defence industrial initiatives. In fact, it does not participate in PESCO, nor do Maltese entities benefit from EDF funding. The neutrality of these countries illustrates how constitutional politics and national identity perceptions act as a brake on integration, insulating national decision-making from supranational influence. While differentiated integration has been advanced as a second-best pragmatic solution, allowing groups of member-states to deepen cooperation and coordinate their actions without requiring universal participation, this approach inevitably results in a fragmented EU defence landscape, according to which multiple security logics exist rather than one unified defence posture.

This tension becomes particularly evident when examining Article 42.7 TEU. While it constitutes (at least in theory) the EU’s mutual assistance clause, committing member-states to assist one another subject to armed aggression by a third state, legal constraints exist and have even been integrated into the text. In particular, the article explicitly refers to the fact that its implementation “shall not prejudice the specific character of the security and defence policy of certain Member States”. This constitutes a safeguard in the protection of the neutrality or non-alignment of certain member-states, granting them an exemption from any collective (quasi-)military obligation. In practice, this clause formalises the existence of institutional coexistence of solidarity and differentiation within the EU’s architecture, proving that a fully-fledged common defence remains incremental and politically sensitive.

Furthermore, fiscal frameworks can create another layer of constraint. Germany’s constitutional ‘debt brake’, in force until its reform in March 2025, exemplified how economic governance can indirectly shape defence policy. The rule limited Berlin’s ability to mobilise funds and prepare for the era in which we are currently living. This highlights that the domestic legal basis can paralyse strategic ambition and impede or delay collective EU defence efforts.

The ambiguity and inefficiency of the treaties

The EU treaties encourage the development of a common defence. However, in practice, this wording remains vague. It acknowledges the possibility of common defence but makes it conditional on unanimity (e.g., Article 42 TEU). The EU’s mutual assistance clause also carries legal ambiguity, particularly because of its unspecified scope and the lack of effective, clearly defined mechanisms for implementation. In other words, the clause’s pledge of solidarity lacks the institutional strength and concrete obligations needed to turn it into real action. The Niinistö report suggests further operationalising this clause, but it does not include a specific roadmap. Similarly, the Strategic Compass, while reaffirming the significance of the clause, fails to translate this commitment into actionable measures or concrete and specific examples.

The EU Battlegroups further illustrate this institutional paralysis. Although fully operational since 2007, they have never been deployed, mainly due to political hesitation and financial obstacles. In fact, unanimity and cost-sharing disputes repeatedly blocked their activation and their deployment on the ground.

At the same time, Article 41.2 TEU explicitly prohibits using the EU budget to fund “operations having military or defence implications”. This provision does not allow the Union to finance (from its budget) the activities that could render its defence credible, nor does it incentivise intra-EU cooperation. The Commission’s main defence-related initiatives have focused primarily on strengthening the European defence industry and supporting the development of dual-use infrastructure.

In a nutshell, this set of constraints infuses bilateral/plurilateral schemes of cooperation between EU member-states and constitutes the basis for alternative future scenarios regarding the future of EU defence collaboration.

Future Scenarios

Figure III: Four future scenarios

The EU and its member-states stand at a strategic crossroads. The dense network of existing defence and military agreements demonstrates both the potential and the limits of the Union’s collective effort. Yet, as the security environment grows increasingly volatile, they must confront a fundamental question: what form should European defence take in the coming decade and what role should we envisage for the existing bilateral or plurilateral schemes of collaboration?

Four distinct, yet interconnected, scenarios can be envisaged for the evolution of Europe’s defence landscape. Each reflects a particular balance between sovereignty and integration, political ambition and institutional constraint and between regional pragmatism and supranational coherence. A combination of the four is also possible.

Scenario 1: Fragmentation and ad-hoc alliances

Codename: Archipelago of Alliances

Key players: National governments

In this scenario, the EU security architecture continues to evolve through bilateral and ad-hoc arrangements, without an overarching framework of coordination. EU member-states respond to threats in a decentralised manner, guided primarily by national threat perceptions, political preferences and historical ties. The absence of a unifying strategic centre leads to a proliferation of overlapping treaties, memoranda of understanding and initiatives. This fragmented model fosters a form of cooperation in which smaller or militarily weaker member-states align themselves with stronger partners for security guarantees. In this context, the EU serves as a platform for discussion and consultation, rather than for actual decision-making. Its institutional mechanisms (e.g., Article 42.7 TEU or the Rapid Deployment Capacity) remain underutilised or symbolically invoked.

As national governments become the key players, the Union’s strategic posture loses coherence. Europe moves towards a system reminiscent of the pre-integration era, notably an archipelago of alliances rather than a continent of collective defence.

Scenario 2: Regionalisation and the rise of defence clusters within the EU

Codename: Pragmatic adaptation to diversity

Key players: National governments

A second, more structured outcome would be the regionalisation of EU defence through the regional clustering of these bilateral/plurilateral agreements. In this scenario, geopolitical geography and shared security concerns drive the creation of sub-regional clusters with robust defence cooperation. Instead of a single European defence identity, the continent is witnessing the emergence of multiple, partially overlapping regional coalitions, led by EU member-states with the possible participation of like-minded third countries. France, as the EU’s biggest conventional military power and only nuclear power, would likely act as a cross-regional anchor, participating in multiple clusters to expand its strategic reach. In the Mediterranean, for example, the EuroMed-9, excluding Malta, could form the nucleus of a southern defence cluster, prioritising issues such as maritime security, migration-related instability and counterterrorism. This regional cluster will significantly contribute to the development of a more robust NATO strategy for the southern neighbourhood.

Regionalisation could enhance the EU’s responsiveness to local security dynamics and promote specialisation and pooling of resources. However, it risks fragmenting strategic coherence, as regional agendas diverge. Coordination across clusters would remain weak, and Brussels’ role would primarily be consultative. This scenario thus represents a pragmatic adaptation to diversity, which may be effective regionally but limited in forging a unified EU defence posture.

Key players in this model remain national governments, which could even establish region-based multinational commands to ensure interoperability and efficiency, without surrendering national control to supranational institutions.

Scenario 3: Nested integration and the EU’s defence mosaic

Codename: The Brussels nexus

Key players: European Commission and national governments

The third scenario envisions an EU that achieves defence integration through layering rather than centralisation. Here, existing bilateral/plurilateral military agreements are gradually clustered under an EU umbrella, creating a dense but more coordinated network of partnerships. In this institutional nesting, Brussels becomes a hub for connectivity not by commanding armies but by harmonising industrial, technological and operational cooperation. Under this scenario, the European Commission, working closely with the European Defence Agency (EDA), leads efforts to standardise procurement, strengthen the defence-industrial base, and foster interoperability among national forces, taking further the existing collaboration between member-states in the context of these agreements. Member-states retain control over operational decisions and deployments, but they recognise that industrial and technological sovereignty can only be achieved collectively. The EU framework would act as an integrative layer connecting national and regional initiatives.

Key actors in this scenario are the European Commission and national governments, which operate through the Council and the EDA. This model is institutionally feasible under current treaties, but its success would depend on sustained political will and financial commitment.

Scenario 4: Full operationalisation of Article 42.7 – Towards common defence

Codename: EU common defence

Key players: EU

The most ambitious scenario includes the full operationalisation of Article 42.7 TEU and the transformation of the EU into a quasi-defence alliance, relying on the acquis militaire created through these bilateral/plurilateral agreements. In this scenario, EU member-states agree binding mutual defence commitments at the EU level and establish a common protection umbrella guaranteeing the security of all member-states, building on the content of the most ambitious bilateral/plurilateral agreements. This scenario entails a unified command structure, shared funding mechanisms and common strategic culture. The EU effectively evolves into a European pillar within NATO. Regional clusters may persist, serving as platforms for niche capabilities (e.g., Arctic warfare, maritime surveillance). National sensitivities regarding command structures and budget would need to be reconciled. In this future, the EU will finally embody a common defence in substance, not only on paper, marking the end of fragmented security.

Scenario-based policy recommendations

At this moment, Scenario 1 is what we experience in reality. There is an archipelago of alliances, where European ad-hoc alliances of diverse scope and depth multiply and fragmentation persists. The Defence Readiness Roadmap announced by the Commission and the High Representative on 16 October 2025 may pave the way for moving closer to Scenarios 2 and 3. In particular, forming capability coalitions between member-states to foster capability development and to broaden burden-sharing is the right way to go. In addition to these proposals, the following scenario-based policy recommendations aim to strengthen the EU’s defence collaboration and rationalise its cooperation frameworks.

From Scenario 1 to Scenario 2:

Foster regional defence clusters for niche capabilities: Recognising strategic diversity among EU member-states, the EU could encourage regionally focused defence clusters that complement the Union’s collective framework. For instance, the Nordic and Baltic member-states could specialise in Arctic and hybrid security, while the southern member-states could focus on maritime security. Such clusters should remain open and interoperable, functioning as pilot structures that can later be integrated into a broader EU framework. This resembles the logic underpinning PESCO projects, which should be further enhanced and utilised to create a conducive environment for Scenario 2.

From Scenarios 1 and 2 to Scenario 3:

Create a European Defence Agreements Register: A comprehensive mapping of existing bilateral/plurilateral agreements should be undertaken to identify overlaps, inefficiencies and redundancies. The main objective would be to understand the number and depth of existing schemes of cooperation, compare them, and attempt to consolidate and harmonise them. A single, regularly updated European Defence Agreements Register, coordinated by the European External Action Service and the respective national ministries, could serve as a monitoring tool that would facilitate closer coordination and prevent duplication. For example, if a plurilateral initiative already exists in a specific domain, two states could join it instead of establishing a bilateral agreement.

Invest in Defence Projects of Common Interest: These projects shall be universal and open to all EU member-states, with a 360-degree geographical coverage, meeting the most significant EU defence needs. In addition to the already announced projects (i.e., ANTIDRONE ETC), the creation of a “maritime shield” will signal the EU’s move to the Brussels nexus scenario.

Render bilateral/plurilateral agreements compatible with Article 42.7 TEU: Member-states shall prioritise the signing of new or the revision of existing bilateral/plurilateral military agreements, ensuring the inclusion of explicit defence clauses compatible with Article 42.7 TEU. Such clauses will entail clear legal obligations and well-defined procedures for invocation. 

Moving to Scenario 4:

Operationalise Article 42.7 TEU: The EU should translate its mutual assistance clause and its principle of solidarity into practice. This requires strengthening the Military Planning and Conduct Capability (MPCC) and ensuring that the EU Rapid Deployment Capacity becomes a genuinely deployable tool. A clear roadmap of what happens after the invocation of the clause, an effective burden-sharing mechanism and command arrangements are indispensable. Formal links with NATO structures are vital, provided that they can only be established and function well if all NATO Allies recognise each and every EU member-state.  Notably, the European Parliament, through a recent resolution, explicitly called on member-states to “activate Article 42(7) TEU where such gross aggressive actions amount to an armed attack or contribute to preparing an imminent attack” and urged both the EU and the member-states to establish “operational procedures and mechanisms” in case a country triggers this clause. In simple words, the resolution underscores the urgent need for clear and well-defined procedures. It is noteworthy that a first draft of this resolution went even further in its ambition, proposing that military support for member-states invoking Article 42.7 should be financed through the EPF and that any member-state opposing such use of the EPF would contravene “its duty of loyalty and solidarity”.

The four scenarios outlined in this paper illustrate the strategic crossroads at which the EU now stands. Whether it continues as an archipelago of ad hoc alliances, evolves into regional clusters, consolidates a Brussels-centred nexus, or advances towards a true common defence, each path reflects a distinct balance between current needs and the aforementioned existing constraints. In all four scenarios, the problem is not the absence of cooperation, but the failure to achieve implementing coherence. Fragmentation, as envisaged in Scenarios 1 and 2, may offer flexibility, but without a centre of gravity, the EU’s collective power diffuses. Pragmatically, Scenario 3 is the most feasible one to pursue at this moment, but its main challenge is to strike the right balance between the two levels (i.e., EU and bilateral/plurilateral) for providing the public good of security. Scenario 4 is the most ambitious one, paving the way for an EU army.

[1] EU military missions and operations allow member-states to deploy troops abroad for a wide range of tasks, as set out in the Petersberg Declaration adopted at the Ministerial Council of the Western European Union in June 1992.

[2] PESCO is a treaty-based framework for all member-states, excluding Malta, “to jointly plan, develop and invest in collaborative capability development and to enhance the operational readiness and contribution of armed forces”.

[3] The EDF constitutes the Commission’s main tool to support research and development in defence. It has a budget of approximately 7.3 billion EUR for the current Multiannual Financial Framework 2021-2027, with 2.7 billion EUR allocated for research and 5.3 billion EUR for capability development.

[4] The EPF is an off-budget tool aimed at enhancing the EU’s ability to promote peace and stability worldwide. It is structured in two pillars: a) operations, which finances the common costs of CSDP missions and operations with military or defence implications, and b) assistance measures, aiming to finance non-EU countries and international organisations to strengthen their military and defence capacity.

[5] The facilitation of the movement of military troops and assets has become a top priority for the EU, which has launched several strategic documents and initiatives related to military mobility, including but not limited to the Military Mobility Action Plan 2.0 or the Military Mobility PESCO project.

[6] For example, we do not take into consideration Air Policing missions in the framework of NATO.

[7] The authors would like to thank Mr. Fivos Badekas, undergraduate student at Athens University of Economics and Business (AUEB), and Mr. Christos Pagonidis, Intern at ELIAMEP, for their research assistance.

 

Orthodoxe et russophile, la petite province autonome moldave a le regard tourné vers l'est. Moscou voit en elle un avant-poste précieux sur le front occidental, et tâche d'y consolider son emprise. Mais d'autres puissances s'intéressent aussi à cette région carrefour, habituée aux influences (…) / Moldavie, Russie

Das EU-geförderte Milliardenprojekt gilt als Schlüssel, um die Iberische Halbinsel enger an Frankreich und Deutschland anzubinden und den Umstieg vom Flugzeug auf die Bahn zu fördern.

Merlyn Sandoval next to the rainwater collection tank built on the small plot where she lives, in the village of San Jose Las Pilas, in eastern Guatemala. She and her family participate in a program to alleviate the effects of the drought in the Central American Dry Corridor. Credit: Edgardo Ayala / IPS

By Edgardo Ayala
SAN LUIS JILOTEPEQUE, Guatemala, Oct 30 2025 (IPS)

Water scarcity that relentlessly hits the rural communities in eastern Guatemala, located in the so-called Central American Dry Corridor, is a constant threat due to the challenges in producing food, year after year. But it is also an incentive to strive to overcome adversities.

The peasant families living in this region struggle to counter hopelessness and, with the help of international cooperation, manage to confront water scarcity. With great effort, they produce food, aware of the importance of caring for and protecting the area’s micro-watersheds."Unfortunately, last year the rainy season also ended in September and we harvested almost nothing, there was no rainy season, there was no water. So it's difficult for us here, that's why they call it the Dry Corridor, because we don't have water" –Ricardo Ramirez.

“We are in the Dry Corridor, and it’s hard to produce the plants here, even if you’ve tried to produce them, because due to the lack of water (the fruits) don’t reach their proper weight,” Merlyn Sandoval, head of one of the families benefiting from a project that seeks to provide the necessary tools and knowledge for people to overcome water insecurity and produce their own food, told IPS.

Sandoval is a native of the village of San Jose Las Pilas, in the municipality of San Luis Jilotepeque, in the department of Jalapa, in eastern Guatemala. Her community has been included in the program, funded by Sweden and implemented by several organizations, such as the United Nations Food and Agriculture Organization (FAO), together with the Guatemalan government.

The initiative, which began in 2022 and ends this December, reaches 7,000 families living around the micro-watersheds of seven municipalities in the departments of Chiquimula and Jalapa, in eastern Guatemala. These towns are Jocotan, Camotan, Olopa, San Juan Ermita, Chiquimula, San Luis Jilotepeque, and San Pedro Pinula.

The project focuses on creating the conditions to promote food and nutritional security and the resilience of the population, prioritizing water security that allows for food production.

“The strength of the (project’s) goals lies in the training and the action of the micro-watershed concept… people were trained depending on whether they were upstream, downstream, or in the middle of the watershed,” Rafael Zavala, FAO representative in Guatemala, told IPS.

He added: “The area is highly expulsive of labor due to migration, and this causes women to be the heads of households.”

The San Jose River basin is one of the watersheds being targeted for protection and preservation due to its importance for the water security of the towns in San Luis Jilotepeque, in eastern Guatemala. Credit: Edgardo Ayala / IPS

Drought and poverty

A report from the United Nations Development Programme (UNDP) indicates that the area included in the program shows a significant deterioration of livelihoods and a scarcity of economic opportunities.

It adds that in the department of Chiquimula, 70.6% of the population lives in poverty, while in Jalapa, the figure reaches 67.2%.

The Central American Dry Corridor, which is 1,600 kilometers long, covers 35% of Central America and is home to more than 10.5 million people.

In this belt, over 73% of the rural population lives in poverty and 7.1 million people suffer from severe food insecurity, according to FAO data.

Central America is a region of seven nations, with 50 million inhabitants, of which 18.5 million live in Guatemala, the most populous country, with high inequality and where a large part of poor families are indigenous.

In the home of Merlyn Sandoval’s family in San Jose Las Pilas, the granary for storing the corn and beans, which are so difficult to produce due to the lack of water in the area of eastern Guatemala, is never missing. Credit: Edgardo Ayala / IPS

Learning to Harvest Rainwater

As part of the project, the young Sandoval has learned the key points about micro-watershed management and has developed actions to harvest rainwater on her plot, in the backyard of her house. There, she has set up a circular tank, whose base is lined with an impermeable polyethylene geo-membrane, with a capacity of 16 cubic meters.

When it rains, water runs down from the roof and, through a PVC pipe, reaches the tank they call a “harvester,” which collects the resource to water the small garden and the fruit trees, and to provide water during the dry season, from November to May.

In the garden, Sandoval and her family of 10, harvest celery, cucumber, cilantro, chives, tomatoes, and green chili. In fruits, they harvest bananas, mangoes, and jocotes, among others.

Next to the rainwater harvester is the fish pond where 500 tilapia fingerlings are growing. The structure, also with a polyethylene geo-membrane at its base, is eight meters long, six meters wide, and one meter deep.

When the fish reach a weight of half a kilo, they can be sold in the community.

“The harvesters fill up with what is collected from the rains, and that helps to give a water change for the tilapia and also to give water to the fruit trees,” said Sandoval, 27.

The young woman also produces corn and beans, on another nearby plot, of approximately half a hectare. These plantings, more extensive than the garden and fruit trees in the backyard, cannot be covered by irrigation from the tank.

Ricardo Ramirez shows the inside of the macro-tunnel (a small greenhouse) where he has managed to harvest cucumbers, tomatoes, and green chilies, and where the plants of the new tomato planting can already be seen, on his small farm in eastern Guatemala. Credit: Edgardo Ayala / IPS

As a result, these crops, in this region of the Dry Corridor, are always vulnerable to climatic fluctuations: they can be ruined both by lack of rain and by excess rain during the same rainy season, from May to November.

Sandoval has already lost 50% of her harvest due to excess rain, she stated, with a hint of sadness.

This has also happened to Ricardo Ramirez, another resident of San Jose Las Pilas, who has experienced these fluctuations of lack and excess of water in his crop of corn and beans, staples in the Central American diet.

“Unfortunately, last year the rainy season also ended in September and we harvested almost nothing, there was no rainy season, there was no water. So it’s difficult for us here, that’s why they call it the Dry Corridor, because we don’t have water,” said Ramirez, 59, referring to his bean crop, planted on two plots totaling half a hectare, of which he has lost roughly half.

From the rainwater collection tank, Ricardo Ramirez manages to drip-irrigate the crops in the macro-tunnel, as this type of greenhouse is called. The system has allowed him to harvest produce despite water insecurity in eastern Guatemala. Credit: Edgardo Ayala / IPS

Green Hope

However, the support from the program driven with Swedish cooperation funds has been vital for Ramirez, not only to stay afloat economically as a farmer, but also to bet, with hope and enthusiasm, on the land where he was born.

Through this international initiative, Ramirez was also able to set up a rainwater collection tank with a capacity of 16 cubic meters, as well as an agricultural macro-tunnel: a kind of small greenhouse, with a modular structure covered by a mesh that protects the crops from pests and other bugs.

Inside the macro-tunnel, he planted cucumbers, tomatoes, and green chili, among others, and watered them by drip irrigation through a hose that carried water from the tank, just three meters away.

“From one row I got 950 cucumbers, and 450 pounds (204 kilos) of tomatoes, and the chili, it just keeps producing. But it was because there was water in the harvester and I just opened the little valve, gave it just half an hour, by drip, and the soil got wet,” Ramirez told IPS, while checking a bunch of bananas or guineos, as they are known in Central America.

All of that generated sufficient income for him to save 2,000 quetzales (about 160 dollars), with which he was able to install electricity on his plot and also buy an electric generator to pump water from a spring within the property, for when the collection tank runs out in about two months.

In this way, Ramirez will be able to maintain irrigation and production.

San José Las Pilas has a community water system, supplied by a spring located nearby. The tank is installed in the high area of the village so that water flows down by gravity, but the resource is rationed to just a few hours a day, given the scarcity.

Nicolas Gomez still has to walk two hours, like many others, to get water from a river when his collection tank runs out during the dry season in eastern Guatemala. Credit: Edgardo Ayala / IPS

Long Walks to Obtain Water

However, not everyone is as lucky as Ramirez, to have a water spring on their property and to irrigate gardens when the collection tank runs out.

When that happens, Nicolas Gomez has to walk almost two hours to reach the San Jose River, the closest one, and carry water from there, loading it on his shoulder in containers, to meet basic hygiene and cooking needs.

“So now, in the rainy season, we have water stored in this tank. But for the dry season we have nothing, we go to the river to fetch water, to a spring that is quite far, about a two-hour walk, that’s how hard it is for us to obtain it,” said Gomez, a 66-year-old farmer who has also suffered the climate onslaughts of drought and excess water on his corn crops.

Gomez lives in Los Magueyes, a rural settlement, also within San Luis Jilotepeque. Poverty here is more acute and visible than in San Jose Las Pilas. There is no community water system or electricity, and families have to light themselves with candles at night.

“Life here is hard,” stated Gomez, amidst the smoke produced by the wood-fired stove he was using to cook a meal when IPS visited on October 21.

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