Irina Tsukerman is a New York-registered human rights and national security lawyer, geopolitical analyst, and journalist. She earned a B.A. in International/Intercultural Studies and Middle East Studies from Fordham University in 2006 and a J.D. from Fordham University School of Law in 2009. She is president of Scarab Rising, Inc., editor-in-chief of The Washington Outsider, and fellow of the Jerusalem Center for Security and Foreign Affairs and the Arabian Peninsula Institute. Her work focuses on foreign policy, information warfare, security, and Middle Eastern affairs. She serves as Written Content Vice Chair of the American Bar Association’s Science and Technology Committee.
In this interview, Scott Douglas Jacobsen and Irina Tsukerman discuss Italian citizenship by descent, academic integrity controversies involving Jason Arday and Claudine Gay, the Saudi-Türkiye-Pakistan defense pact, regional security, and Ukraine’s air-defense challenges. They examine institutional vetting, plagiarism, geopolitical alliances, Patriot shortages, European defense capacity, civilian protection, Russian sports reintegration, and Laura Loomer’s reversal on Ukraine. Tsukerman emphasizes evidence, legal distinctions, strategic uncertainty, and the need to separate allegations, symbolism, and narratives from established facts. Interview conducted August 8th, 2026.
Scott Douglas Jacobsen: Welcome back to Everywhere Insiders with our one and only Washington outsider, Irina Tsukerman. Today’s sources include AP News, Reuters, and The Times. Italy’s highest court has strengthened citizenship claims by descendants of Italian emigrants. The Court of Cassation ruled that children who were already Italian citizens by birth did not automatically lose that citizenship if a parent later acquired another nationality while they were still minors. The decision resolves a long-running legal dispute known as the “Minor Issue.”
That is a little incongruous to me. When I think of something longstanding, I typically think it is no longer minor. But it is known as the Minor Issue, and it has been a longstanding dispute. Thousands of ancestry-based citizenship cases involving families who left Italy in the late 19th and early 20th centuries have been affected. Some descendants may now be trying to reconnect with Italy. The ruling came from the United Sections, or Sezioni Unite, the Court of Cassation’s highest-level panel for resolving conflicting legal interpretations.
The central dispute was whether children who possessed Italian citizenship by birth automatically lost it when an Italian parent later acquired a foreign nationality while the children were minors. The court concluded that, under the historical citizenship laws at issue, they did not. Children born in countries such as the United States who acquired citizenship there at birth could retain their Italian citizenship even if a parent subsequently naturalized there. Because their Italian citizenship remained intact, they could transmit it to subsequent generations under the historical rules at issue in the case.
Lawyer Marco Mellone, who represented applicants in the case, said the ruling reversed the restrictive interpretation adopted in a series of decisions beginning in 2023. The decision strengthens claims by families whose citizenship lines had been considered interrupted solely because of the Minor Issue.
On a humorous note, I can only imagine Italian-American comedians making jokes about this. If they are performing at a comedy cellar in New York City, there are going to be a lot of “I am actually Italian now” jokes, and I am sure those are forthcoming. With regard to resolving this so-called Minor Issue, what are your thoughts on the potential relief for these families and descendants?
Tsukerman: This is not the first citizenship-by-descent issue of this kind that I have heard about. Poland has its own complicated historical citizenship questions, although the legal circumstances are different. Under Poland’s 1920 citizenship law, citizenship within families was governed by rules that treated men and women differently. A child born within marriage acquired the father’s citizenship, while a child born outside marriage acquired the mother’s citizenship. Polish women could also lose Polish citizenship through marriage to a foreigner when the marriage resulted in the acquisition of foreign citizenship.
Those historical provisions can create breaks in the chain of citizenship claimed by descendants today. Whether Polish citizenship can now be confirmed depends on the historical facts of the individual case and the citizenship laws in force at the relevant time. Restoration of citizenship is a separate legal procedure available in specified circumstances to former Polish citizens who lost their citizenship under earlier laws.
These historical rules raise a broader question about why acquiring another citizenship should affect citizenship transmitted within a family. Not all countries permit dual citizenship, but many do. From a contemporary perspective, it can seem strange that the legal actions of a parent could determine whether a minor child retained citizenship that the child had acquired at birth.
I am not surprised that Italy’s Court of Cassation rejected the recent restrictive interpretation. However, this decision does not resolve every question surrounding Italian citizenship by descent. Italy separately changed its citizenship law in 2025, generally restricting automatic citizenship by descent for people born abroad to two generations, subject to statutory conditions and exceptions. The scope of those restrictions remains the subject of separate litigation.
It is worth distinguishing the Italian legal system from the American system. Italy does not apply the common-law doctrine of binding precedent in precisely the same way as U.S. courts do. Nevertheless, a ruling by the Court of Cassation’s United Sections carries particular interpretive authority because that panel is tasked with resolving conflicting interpretations of the law. The decision provides authoritative guidance to judges handling similar Minor Issue cases and may also influence how Italian administrative authorities and consulates assess citizenship applications.
My question is this: to what extent is the Court of Cassation seeking to establish a consistent interpretation that allows people who historically retained Italian citizenship to have that citizenship recognized? What are the remaining legal limits on those claims?
Or is there a broader thought process behind that? Are they looking at it as a rights issue concerning Italian citizens? Is there a more pragmatic economic consideration, in the sense that people from wealthy countries such as the United States could potentially contribute economically if they feel they have legal ties to their family’s country of origin? Or could Italy’s demographic challenges create a broader political interest in encouraging some descendants of emigrants to return, invest, do business, or reside there?
I am not sure that any of those considerations played a role here. It seems to me that the court concluded that the restrictive interpretation of the historical citizenship law was legally incorrect. Whether the ruling has wider political or legal repercussions remains to be seen. I would want to see how other cases are resolved and whether a broader pattern emerges.
Jacobsen: I noted this case to you earlier, and, to the credit of the mainstream or establishment media, they picked it up several days later. I had been watching the story develop, and it raised a broader issue for me involving highly visible institutional “firsts.”
When I toured Harvard University, there was considerable attention given to historic firsts involving women in Harvard’s presidential leadership. Those milestones can matter because they represent progress toward equality. At the same time, when an institution celebrates someone’s identity as part of a historic first, questions about that person’s qualifications or conduct can become entangled with larger debates about representation and merit.
A related controversy has arisen at the University of Cambridge. Jason Arday, who became the youngest Black professor in Cambridge’s history when he joined the university in 2023 at age 37, has resigned. He was Professor of Sociology. Cambridge announced a new investigation after receiving information concerning his qualifications and honorary appointments, while separate allegations concerned plagiarism and other aspects of his academic record.
I think we are broadly on the same page regarding the underlying value. Equality matters, and historically excluded groups achieving genuine firsts can be significant. But if institutions fail to apply rigorous standards, that can create broader consequences for people from the same groups who later earn similar positions on their own merits.
Arday resigned from Cambridge and Jesus College on August 5, 2026, with immediate effect. His resignation came after the university announced that it had opened a new investigation following information concerning his qualifications and honorary appointments. He had also faced allegations that parts of his academic work, including his 2015 PhD thesis, reproduced material from earlier scholarship without appropriate attribution. Arday has denied plagiarism, although he has acknowledged mistakes in his academic work. Liverpool John Moores University, which awarded his doctorate, had previously investigated allegations concerning his thesis and cleared him of wrongdoing. Cambridge later opened its own inquiry after receiving new information.
In his resignation statement, Arday said, “Criticism is an inevitable part of academic life. What I have experienced has gone far beyond scholarly disagreement. The relentless accusations, speculation and public commentary have taken a profound toll on me and on those I love.”
His statement was distributed by the Good Law Project, which had supported him during the controversy. An earlier letter circulated by the organization and signed by academics and politicians described the allegations as a smear campaign intended to undermine Arday and other Black people in positions of influence. Other commentators and journalists have argued that the scrutiny concerns legitimate questions about academic integrity and the accuracy of claims associated with his career. The controversy has therefore developed into two overlapping disputes: one about the factual accuracy and academic integrity of Arday’s record, and another about whether race influenced the intensity or framing of the scrutiny.
On July 24, The Times published an analysis of Arday’s 2015 doctoral thesis and alleged that passages were identical or nearly identical to material in earlier academic work. Those claims remained allegations rather than an institutional finding of plagiarism. Arday denied plagiarism while acknowledging mistakes that he attributed in part to inadequate supervision during his doctorate.
British media also questioned claims associated with Arday’s charitable fundraising and endurance activities, including a claim that he had helped raise £5.5 million for charity through athletic challenges. Arday later said that the money had been raised collectively with others over approximately 20 years rather than by him alone.
Cambridge subsequently said that it had begun an investigation after receiving new information concerning Arday’s qualifications and honorary appointments. Arday resigned after that investigation was announced. His resignation should not itself be treated as a finding that the allegations were proven.
We have three points of contact. First, the University of Cambridge opened an investigation after receiving new information concerning Jason Arday’s qualifications and honorary appointments, and Arday resigned shortly after the investigation was announced. Second, Arday says the controversy went beyond ordinary academic disagreement, took a serious personal toll on him and those close to him, and contributed to his decision to resign. Third, critics have alleged plagiarism and raised questions about the accuracy of other claims concerning his academic credentials and achievements. What is your take?
Tsukerman: These cases are different. In the case of Claudine Gay, there were documented instances in which language was paraphrased or reproduced without sufficient attribution, and Harvard required corrections. Harvard’s review concluded that the problems did not constitute research misconduct under its standards because it did not find the conduct reckless or intentional. It would therefore be inaccurate to say that Harvard formally found Gay guilty of research misconduct. Gay resigned as Harvard’s president in January 2024 amid the plagiarism controversy and criticism surrounding her congressional testimony on campus antisemitism.
The Jason Arday case is different and potentially broader because the questions raised have extended beyond alleged plagiarism. Critics and media investigations have challenged claims concerning parts of his academic biography, qualifications, honorary appointments, charitable fundraising, and athletic accomplishments. Arday has denied plagiarism and dishonesty. Liverpool John Moores University, which awarded his doctorate, had previously examined allegations concerning his thesis and cleared him of wrongdoing. Cambridge subsequently opened a new investigation after receiving additional information, but Arday resigned before that process produced a publicly announced conclusion.
The comparison that comes to mind is George Santos in the United States, although the cases are very different in seriousness and legal status. Santos, the former Republican congressman from New York, fabricated substantial portions of his personal and professional biography and later pleaded guilty to wire fraud and aggravated identity theft. He was sentenced to 87 months in federal prison. President Donald Trump commuted his sentence on October 17, 2025, after Santos had served 84 days, resulting in his release.
I agree in part with one strand of feminist criticism concerning the phenomenon sometimes described as men “failing upward.” Some men do fail upward, and Santos could be viewed as an extraordinary example of someone whose documented fabrications did not initially prevent his political advancement. His case was not simply a matter of being left-wing or right-wing. He made false claims about his education, employment, wealth, family background, and other aspects of his biography.
With Arday, the relevant question is whether inadequate institutional due diligence allowed disputed or inaccurate claims to remain unexamined as his academic profile grew. That question should be distinguished from concluding in advance that every allegation against him is true. Cambridge’s decision to investigate indicated that the new information warranted formal examination. It did not constitute a finding of misconduct.
As for plagiarism, I have always wondered why people take that risk because properly citing another scholar’s work is usually straightforward. Academic scholarship is frequently derivative in the ordinary sense that researchers build upon existing literature, replicate approaches, challenge previous findings, or synthesize earlier work. None of that is inherently plagiarism. The problem arises when someone uses another person’s language or ideas without appropriate attribution.
As for the argument that prominent Black academics are being specifically targeted, I would not make a categorical judgment. Plagiarism and research-misconduct controversies have involved academics of many racial backgrounds. At the same time, Gay described receiving racist threats and attacks during the controversy, while Arday and his supporters have said race played a role in the campaign against him. Legitimate scrutiny of academic records and racial hostility directed toward the people being scrutinized can coexist.
Their prominence also increased public attention. Claudine Gay was Harvard’s first Black president and its second woman president. Jason Arday became the youngest Black professor in the history of the University of Cambridge when he was appointed in 2023 at age 37. Those distinctions made them unusually visible figures within their institutions.
That visibility does not establish that criticism of them was racially motivated, nor does it establish that all criticism was neutral. Each allegation has to be evaluated on the evidence. There are highly accomplished Black academics who have never faced comparable allegations, just as academics of other racial backgrounds have faced serious allegations of plagiarism or research misconduct.
Precisely because Gay and Arday occupied historically significant positions, the controversies surrounding them attracted attention beyond what might have occurred with less prominent academics. The appropriate standard should remain the same: examine the evidence, apply consistent academic standards, distinguish documented findings from allegations, and avoid treating either someone’s identity or the politics surrounding a controversy as proof of guilt or innocence.
People in unusually prominent positions are inherently subject to more scrutiny. Their cases are also more interesting to the public because relatively few academics occupy comparable positions.
Another issue is that only a subset of academics attracts this kind of ideological scrutiny. Critics often focus on academics whom they perceive as beneficiaries of diversity, equity, and inclusion policies. That perception does not establish that a particular person was hired because of DEI considerations, and it would be inaccurate to assume that every Black or female academic falls into that category.
Certain academic fields also attract more political controversy than others. Critics sometimes portray disciplines such as sociology, gender studies, or parts of the humanities and social sciences as more subjective than fields such as physics. I doubt the political framing would be identical in a physics department, although plagiarism, research misconduct, falsification, and other ethical violations occur in the natural sciences as well. Misconduct is not confined to any particular discipline.
Jacobsen: A personal footnote. I worked in many restaurants. I wore a lot of uniforms and did janitorial work, dishwashing, food preparation, and whatever else needed to be done.
I remember working in a pub where people would get extremely drunk and tell elaborate stories about their exploits, how grand their lives were, how they had met the president of Ireland or the Taoiseach years earlier, and so on. The stories usually ended with the evening. Nobody was appointing them to anything based on those claims. You would simply think, “He is drunk and embellishing his story.”
The difference in an institution is that claims contained in a professional biography can affect hiring, prestige, promotion, and public credibility. That makes verification much more consequential.
At the University of Cambridge, in defense of the other faculty members and administrators, people normally assume that colleagues have already gone through substantial institutional vetting. There can be failures in peer review and appointment processes, but at a university of that stature, one reasonably expects a high standard of scrutiny.
When someone tells exaggerated stories about themselves in an ordinary social setting, the consequences can be trivial. When someone reaches one of the world’s leading universities as a professor, particularly while being publicly identified through a distinction such as becoming Cambridge’s youngest Black professor, inaccurate claims can have much wider consequences. They can affect the individual, the institution, colleagues, students, and others associated with the appointment.
That is why I think this is an interesting story. It illustrates how the consequences of embellishment depend heavily on context. A tall tale told in a small-town pub may disappear by the following morning. Claims appearing in an academic biography, appointment process, or public institutional profile can affect careers and reputations. In Arday’s case, we should still distinguish allegations from established findings. Cambridge opened an investigation into new information concerning his qualifications and honorary appointments, but Arday resigned before that inquiry produced a publicly announced conclusion.
Tsukerman: Speaking of plagiarism controversies, another famous political example is Joe Biden’s 1987 presidential campaign. Biden used portions of a speech by British Labour leader Neil Kinnock without attribution during a campaign appearance. Kinnock had described his family’s Welsh coal-mining background and the educational opportunities that became available to his generation. Biden adapted elements of that narrative to describe his own family’s experience.
The episode was more complicated than copying an entire speech word for word. Biden had credited Kinnock when using the material on previous occasions, but failed to attribute him during the appearance that became the focus of the controversy. The episode contributed to broader scrutiny of Biden’s record, including a plagiarism incident in law school, exaggerated claims about his academic record, and other instances of unattributed borrowing in speeches. He withdrew from the 1988 presidential race in September 1987.
Jacobsen: Yes. Whatever arguments people later made about Biden’s age, speech impediment, or verbal mistakes during his presidency, those explanations do not apply to conduct from 1987, when he was 44. The Kinnock controversy has to be judged on what happened at the time rather than through explanations concerning his much later public-speaking difficulties.
Tsukerman: Biden was a prominent white male politician, so his case illustrates that plagiarism controversies and intense scrutiny are not confined to Black academics, women, or people associated with diversity initiatives. High-profile people attract scrutiny because their positions carry consequences and discrepancies in their records are considered newsworthy. Biden withdrew from the 1988 presidential race in September 1987 after scrutiny that included his failure to attribute Neil Kinnock during one speech, an earlier plagiarism incident in law school, exaggerated claims about his academic record, and other instances of unattributed borrowing.
There is also a difference between political and academic accountability. Politicians are primarily accountable through elections, party mechanisms, ethics procedures, criminal law where applicable, and public pressure. A candidate exposed for misconduct may withdraw, lose an election, or survive politically.
Universities operate through different institutional structures. Faculty members, administrators, and presidents can be subject to employment contracts, tenure rules, research-integrity procedures, governing boards, and internal disciplinary processes. Universities therefore have formal procedures for investigating credible allegations concerning academic misconduct or qualifications.
I would not say that universities must automatically dismiss anyone who becomes controversial. The appropriate response depends on the evidence, applicable rules, and findings of the relevant investigation. In Jason Arday’s case, allegations concerning plagiarism and aspects of his biography remain distinct from proven misconduct, and Cambridge’s investigation should not be treated as though it had reached a final conclusion.
The same distinction matters with Claudine Gay. Gay resigned as Harvard’s president in January 2024 but remained a tenured professor at the university. Harvard’s governing board identified instances requiring corrections while saying its review did not find research misconduct under Harvard’s standards. Her continued employment was therefore not equivalent to Harvard paying a dismissed employee after termination.
Her compensation is also more complicated than saying that she continued receiving her presidential salary. Harvard’s subsequently released tax filings showed that Gay received more than $1.5 million in total compensation for calendar year 2024. She spent much of that year on a post-presidential sabbatical before returning to the faculty. The total compensation figure included more than base salary alone and should not be described simply as payment for remaining president.
Jacobsen: That distinction makes sense. When I worked at a horse farm, employment was much simpler. If somebody resigned with two weeks’ notice or was dismissed after the relevant notice period, the employer did not continue paying that person’s former wages indefinitely. Universities, particularly institutions such as Harvard, operate under much more complicated contractual, tenure, and compensation arrangements.
There was a woman who worked with us for about 25 or 35 years cleaning stalls. She was great. To give you a sense of her humor, she had a rather explicit bumper sticker on the back of her car. “If you’re going to ride my ass, then you can at least pull my hair.” That was her style of morning humor.
She and I interacted almost every weekday morning, and I would do the stalls on weekends. Eventually, she gave her two weeks’ notice, left, and that was essentially the end of the employment relationship. That is a fairly ordinary work experience for many people.
That is why elite academic employment can look so unusual by comparison. In Claudine Gay’s case, however, we should be precise. Harvard’s review identified citation problems and required corrections, but the university said it did not find research misconduct under its standards. Gay resigned as president in January 2024 but remained a tenured professor. Her compensation arrangements were considerably more complicated than an ordinary faculty salary.
I saw something similar, although at a lower scale, when I was involved in student governance and participated in university committees and CASA committees. At Athabasca University, Canada’s major open and online university, senior executives were well compensated. The President’s employment agreement was several hundred thousand dollars for the salary.
Tsukerman: As a case study, the broader situation is concerning. I also do not think the fact that some critics of Claudine Gay, such as Christopher Rufo, are politically controversial eliminates the responsibility of universities to conduct their own rigorous investigations.
If an institution does not want its standards to be defined by outside activists or partisan critics, one answer is straightforward: conduct strong internal vetting and research-integrity reviews. If there are concerns about selective enforcement, institutions can develop systematic procedures that apply the same standards to everyone rather than reacting only after a prominent controversy emerges.
Jacobsen: Next story. This one is directly in your area. You posted about a related development this morning.
Saudi Arabia, Türkiye, and Pakistan signed a significant mutual-defense agreement on August 7, 2026. My first thought was Iran, particularly because Iran is not part of the arrangement, although the three governments have said the pact is defensive and is not directed at any particular country.
The agreement was signed in Mecca by Saudi Crown Prince and Prime Minister Mohammed bin Salman, Turkish President Recep Tayyip Erdoğan, and Pakistani Prime Minister Shehbaz Sharif. It is known as the Mecca Joint Defense Agreement. Its central collective-defense provision states that an armed attack against one of the three countries will be regarded as an attack against all three.
That brings together three significant military and strategic actors: Saudi Arabia, with its enormous financial and energy resources; Pakistan, which possesses nuclear weapons; and Türkiye, a NATO member with one of the alliance’s largest militaries and a substantial domestic defense industry. This is not a minor diplomatic declaration. It potentially alters regional security calculations across the Middle East and South Asia.
There has been criticism from Iran, but the Iranian response has not been uniform. Ebrahim Rezaei, a member of the Iranian Parliament’s National Security and Foreign Policy Commission, criticized the agreement and argued that a “paper agreement” with Türkiye and Pakistan would not provide Saudi Arabia with security. He also criticized Riyadh’s historical reliance on American security guarantees.
Iran’s Foreign Ministry subsequently took a more accommodating position. On August 10, spokesman Esmaeil Baghaei said Iran had no reason to fear the agreement and described greater regional self-reliance in security as potentially constructive, provided such arrangements were inclusive, reflected regional realities, and addressed what Tehran considers the principal sources of instability.
There is an interesting distinction between criticism from an individual Iranian parliamentarian and the more measured position of Iran’s Foreign Ministry.
I appreciate the subtler cattiness of putting the word “paper” in front of “agreement,” compared with some of the rhetoric we hear from American figures such as Vance, Trump, or Hegseth. It clearly struck a nerve with at least some Iranian political figures. At the same time, Iran was not included in the agreement.
As you know far better than I do, this is occurring in the aftermath of the U.S.-Israeli war with Iran and Iran’s subsequent retaliation across the region. Separate from whatever ethical judgment one makes about American and Israeli military operations, neighboring countries have to consider their own security.
Iran has launched missiles and drones against countries across the Gulf and wider region, particularly states hosting U.S. military forces. Attacks during the conflict have affected Bahrain, Kuwait, Qatar, Saudi Arabia, the United Arab Emirates, Jordan, and Oman. These operations have included attacks on military installations and commercial shipping, while missiles, drones, and interception debris have also affected civilian and commercial infrastructure. The geographical scope of Iran’s retaliation has therefore been unusually wide.
The United Arab Emirates has experienced significant disruption and attacks during the conflict. In May, the UAE said its air defenses engaged Iranian missiles and drones, including an attack that caused a fire at an oil facility in Fujairah. More recently, the UAE said an Iranian missile targeted an ADNOC vessel.
What are your thoughts about this joint effort involving Saudi Arabia, one of the world’s major oil producers; Pakistan, a nuclear-armed state; and Türkiye, a major NATO military power?
Tsukerman: I will start with the geopolitical dimension and then address something more controversial.
The geopolitical dimension is clear. This agreement did not emerge overnight. Reuters reported that the process had developed over nearly three years before the formal signing. Some officials had previously played down the likelihood of a formal trilateral pact, so the eventual agreement represented the culmination of negotiations that had largely developed outside public view.
I was not surprised that it progressed quietly behind the scenes before being announced. That style of discreet negotiation is consistent with Saudi diplomacy.
As for the Iranian criticism that this is merely a “paper agreement,” it is more substantial than that description suggests. The pact creates a formal collective-defense commitment under which an armed attack against one of the three states is treated as an attack against all three. Turkish Foreign Minister Hakan Fidan compared its mechanism to NATO’s Article 5 while emphasizing that the agreement is defensive and not directed against Iran or any other country.
There was substantial defense cooperation among these countries before the agreement. Pakistan and Saudi Arabia have longstanding military ties, while Pakistan and Türkiye have developed extensive defense-industrial cooperation. Türkiye and Saudi Arabia have also expanded their defense relationship. The agreement therefore institutionalizes existing relationships rather than creating military cooperation from nothing.
There is also a broader regional framework involving Egypt. Türkiye, Saudi Arabia, Pakistan, and Egypt have cooperated in a grouping referred to as the R4. After the Mecca agreement was signed, Fidan identified Egypt as a possible future participant in an expanded defense arrangement. Egypt is not currently a party to the mutual-defense pact, but the existing four-country dialogue could provide a basis for further cooperation.
Pakistan and Türkiye already have particularly close defense relations, which makes their participation together unsurprising.
Türkiye is also developing a civilian nuclear-energy sector. The Akkuyu nuclear power plant is the centerpiece of that effort, and Ankara has pursued plans for additional nuclear capacity. Türkiye remains a party to the Nuclear Non-Proliferation Treaty and has repeatedly affirmed its commitment to the treaty and to peaceful uses of nuclear energy. There has been political speculation about whether Türkiye might someday seek nuclear weapons, particularly after President Erdoğan questioned why some states possess them while Türkiye does not, but there is no publicly established Turkish nuclear-weapons program. A civilian nuclear program should not be conflated with a demonstrated military nuclear capability.
Regarding whether this defense deal matters, I think it does in at least two important ways.
First, Saudi Arabia faces serious security pressure around two of the world’s most consequential maritime chokepoints. To the east is the Strait of Hormuz, where the conflict with Iran has sharply disrupted regional security and international energy shipping. To the southwest is the Bab el-Mandeb, where the Iran-aligned Houthis in Yemen have repeatedly threatened Red Sea shipping and attacked Saudi territory and infrastructure.
Those are not new vulnerabilities. Saudi planners have worried about both fronts for years. What has changed is the intensity and simultaneity of the pressure.
There is also an Iraqi dimension involving Iran-aligned armed groups. Iraq’s Popular Mobilization Forces, or PMF, are an umbrella of predominantly Shiite armed factions that were formally incorporated into Iraq’s security forces in 2016. Some factions remain closely aligned with Iran and continue to operate with substantial autonomy from the Iraqi state.
The Iraqi government has pledged to bring weapons more firmly under state control. Some powerful Iran-aligned factions have agreed to begin handing weapons to the authorities, while others have resisted disarmament. Prime Minister Ali al-Zaidi has pledged to disarm non-state armed groups, but dismantling or fully integrating the most powerful factions remains politically and militarily difficult.
From Riyadh’s perspective, this is therefore not simply about an abstract Iranian threat. Saudi Arabia is confronting vulnerability in the Persian Gulf, instability around the Red Sea and Yemen, missile and drone threats, and Iran-aligned armed networks elsewhere in the region. The Mecca agreement gives Saudi Arabia another layer of deterrence by formally linking its security to two major military powers.
Whether the agreement ultimately functions like NATO in practice is another question. The pact establishes collective defense, but its operational mechanisms are still being developed. Fidan said a ministerial committee and a permanent secretariat in Saudi Arabia would oversee implementation. The collective-defense language is significant, but its practical limits will become clearer as those mechanisms develop or if the alliance faces an actual crisis.
There are also potential problems involving Iraq and Syria. Iraq and Türkiye are trying to advance major transport and energy corridors linking the Gulf with Türkiye and Europe. The most prominent is Iraq’s Development Road project, planned to run from the Grand Faw Port in southern Iraq northward through the country and into Türkiye. Qatar and the United Arab Emirates, rather than Saudi Arabia, joined Iraq and Türkiye in the four-country memorandum supporting the project. Saudi Arabia nevertheless has a strong interest in regional transport and energy routes that reduce vulnerability associated with the Strait of Hormuz.
The Development Road has faced obstacles involving financing, governance, political competition, legal questions, and security. Armed groups and regional instability also complicate infrastructure planning throughout Iraq. Saudi Arabia is trying to widen its strategic options and reduce the risks of relying too heavily on any single maritime or security arrangement.
Saudi Arabia cannot accomplish all of that alone.
China can be an important partner in investment, infrastructure, technology, weapons sales, telecommunications, and cybersecurity. But Beijing has generally avoided assuming the kind of expeditionary military-security role in the Middle East historically played by the United States. It maintains a military support base in Djibouti and deploys personnel for missions such as peacekeeping, evacuations, and anti-piracy operations, but it has not established an American-style network of defense guarantees for regional partners.
Pakistan illustrates that limitation. China is one of Pakistan’s most important strategic and economic partners and a major investor through the China-Pakistan Economic Corridor, but Pakistan also maintains important financial, economic, and security relationships with Gulf states, Western countries and institutions, the International Monetary Fund, and other partners.
Chinese nationals and Chinese-funded projects in Pakistan have repeatedly been attacked. Beijing has pressed Islamabad to improve security, and Pakistan has responded with specialized protection arrangements. In January 2026, the two countries announced a new special security unit in Islamabad, joint police training, and a rapid-response mechanism for terrorist threats. Beijing has still not deployed large Chinese ground combat formations to assume direct responsibility for protecting CPEC.
That illustrates the distinction. China may deepen defense cooperation and press local partners to protect Chinese interests, but its approach remains different from an American-style security guarantee.
Pakistan, likewise, should not automatically be assumed to fight every Saudi or Turkish conflict in the Middle East. The Mecca agreement creates a significant collective-defense commitment, but Pakistan’s response to a particular crisis would depend on the circumstances, the interpretation of the agreement, domestic politics, and consultations among the three governments.
There is also a widespread perception in parts of the Gulf that the United States has not always been a predictable security guarantor. That perception has been reinforced at different times by changing American regional priorities, Washington’s responses to attacks on Gulf infrastructure, disagreements over Iran, and successive administrations’ efforts to reduce direct military involvement in the Middle East.
I would describe that as a problem of confidence rather than saying the United States has objectively “proven unreliable.” Saudi Arabia continues extensive military relations with Washington while diversifying its relationships with China, Russia, Türkiye, Pakistan, India, and other powers. That diversification predates the present crisis and reflects Riyadh’s broader pursuit of strategic autonomy.
There are also different currents within Saudi policymaking and society. Not every Saudi policymaker has identical views about the United States or the West, and the kingdom’s contemporary foreign policy has become increasingly multipolar.
There is some basis for Iranian skepticism about how seamless this trilateral relationship will be. Saudi Arabia and Türkiye have experienced significant periods of rivalry and distrust despite their current rapprochement.
Some of those tensions have historical roots. The First Saudi State fought Ottoman and Ottoman-Egyptian forces in the early nineteenth century, and Ibrahim Pasha’s forces captured Diriyah in 1818. That history forms part of the background to Saudi-Ottoman relations, although Ottoman-Arab relations varied greatly across regions and centuries.
Modern Saudi-Turkish tensions have more immediate causes. Ankara and Riyadh supported different actors after the Arab uprisings, disagreed over political Islam and the Muslim Brotherhood, took opposing positions during the Qatar blockade, and experienced a severe rupture after the 2018 murder of Jamal Khashoggi inside the Saudi consulate in Istanbul. Relations later improved as Erdoğan and Mohammed bin Salman pursued reconciliation and expanded economic and defense cooperation.
Khashoggi also reflected the overlapping histories of the two countries. He was a Saudi citizen born in Medina to a prominent family with Turkish roots; his surname derives from the Turkish Kaşıkçı, meaning “spoon-maker.”
He became an internationally prominent Saudi journalist and critic of the government after holding senior editorial and advisory roles.
The broader point is that historical memory, competing regional ambitions, ideological differences, nationalism, and previous diplomatic crises place natural limits on trust between Riyadh and Ankara.
The new defense pact should therefore be understood as a strategic convergence produced by present security conditions, not proof that earlier differences have disappeared. States can cooperate closely when they perceive common threats or complementary interests even while distrust remains in other areas.
Whether those strategic interests prove stronger than the historical and ideological disagreements will be one of the most important questions surrounding this new arrangement.
I doubt that the three parties can go too far in some directions because substantial historical and strategic differences remain. Saudi Arabia and Türkiye, in particular, have gone through periods of serious rivalry despite their improved relations.
Pakistan has a different relationship with each. It has longstanding military ties with Saudi Arabia and close defense-industrial relations with Türkiye, while facing its own domestic political, sectarian, economic, and strategic constraints. Gulf concerns about Iran-aligned networks should not be confused with claims that Pakistan itself is substantially controlled by pro-Iranian factions.
This alliance has utility, but it is not comparable to Five Eyes, which developed through decades of deep intelligence integration among the United States, United Kingdom, Canada, Australia, and New Zealand.
It can provide a broader deterrent and defense posture, but much will depend on implementation: what assistance each state will provide, under what circumstances, and through which command or consultation mechanisms. Fidan has compared the collective-defense provision technically to NATO’s Article 5 and said a ministerial committee and permanent secretariat in Saudi Arabia would oversee development. That does not mean NATO-like integrated military structures already exist.
Then there is Pakistan’s nuclear capability.
A Pakistani nuclear umbrella for Saudi Arabia or Türkiye is one interpretation discussed by analysts because Pakistan is the pact’s only nuclear-armed member. It is not an established provision of the agreement. The public collective-defense clause does not specify nuclear sharing, deployments, or an explicit extended-deterrence guarantee, although Pakistan’s nuclear capability inevitably gives the pact an additional strategic dimension.
Saudi Arabia and Pakistan had already signed a bilateral Strategic Mutual Defence Agreement on September 17, 2025, with a similar collective-defense provision. Türkiye’s addition in the 2026 Mecca pact broadens that framework. Whether either arrangement develops into an explicit Pakistani extended nuclear-deterrence commitment remains unresolved.
There is another aspect worth considering, but symbolism should be distinguished from evidence.
Religion remains relevant to Middle Eastern geopolitics as belief, political identity, legitimacy, symbolism, or some combination of these. It therefore matters that the agreement was signed in Mecca rather than Riyadh.
Riyadh is Saudi Arabia’s political capital, while Mecca has unique religious significance as the site of the Grand Mosque, the Kaaba, and the Hajj. Choosing Mecca gives the agreement unmistakable Islamic symbolism.
The harder question is what that symbolism means. Saudi Arabia, Türkiye, and Pakistan are Sunni-majority states, and some commentators have described the arrangement as a possible “Sunni NATO.” The signatories, however, reject the characterization of the pact as a sectarian bloc or an agreement directed against Iran.
Mecca may have been chosen partly to emphasize solidarity among major Muslim states, but the location alone does not establish an explicitly Sunni ideological alliance against Shia Iran.
The absences are also notable. The United Arab Emirates, Bahrain, Qatar, Egypt, Jordan, and other Sunni-majority states are not parties. That does not necessarily indicate ideological rejection, and Fidan has specifically identified Egypt as a possible future member.
I would therefore describe the pact as a trilateral strategic coalition with strong religious symbolism rather than an established sectarian bloc.
Domestic politics also complicate any ideological reading. Saudi decision-making is highly centralized under Crown Prince and Prime Minister Mohammed bin Salman, so I would be cautious about describing the government as divided into clearly identifiable sectarian factions without evidence.
Türkiye likewise contains religious-conservative, secular, nationalist, Kemalist, and other political currents. Social prejudice toward Arabs, South Asians, migrants, and other groups exists in segments of Turkish society, but it would be inaccurate to generalize those attitudes to Turks as a whole.
The stronger point is that nationalism and religious solidarity do not always align. Türkiye, Saudi Arabia, and Pakistan can all invoke Muslim solidarity while continuing to pursue distinct national interests.
That is why I would hesitate to call this an ideological triumvirate based solely on the signing ceremony.
There have been earlier attempts at political coordination among Muslim-majority states outside the traditional Saudi-led order, including the 2019 Kuala Lumpur Summit involving Malaysia, Türkiye, Qatar, Iran, and initially Pakistan. Pakistan ultimately did not attend amid disputed reports that Saudi pressure influenced the decision.
The current trilateral agreement is materially different because it contains an explicit collective-defense commitment, giving it more concrete security significance than those earlier political alignments.
Whether it develops into a broader ideological or institutional project will depend on whether other states join, military and intelligence structures deepen, and the parties coordinate effectively in future crises.
As for why Mohammed bin Salman signed the agreement rather than Saudi Defence Minister Khalid bin Salman, there is nothing anomalous about it. Mohammed bin Salman is Crown Prince and Prime Minister, and a major mutual-defense agreement carries state-level political significance beyond routine defense-ministry cooperation.
Khalid bin Salman would still be expected to play an important role in implementation. Mohammed bin Salman signing alongside Erdoğan and Shehbaz Sharif places all three signatories at the highest political level represented in the agreement, reinforcing its diplomatic significance.
Jacobsen: That is also symbolic.
If somebody who had previously expressed reservations about this broader direction is nevertheless publicly associated with such an agreement, that could be interpreted as a signal about where decision-making authority lies.
The next item will probably become a series because there is quite a lot here. I want to do a quick highlight-reel commentary and then put an X on it. Maybe that will leave you a little time for poetry and wine. Something Italian.
We had another series of Russian attacks overnight. Here in Kyiv, the air-raid alerts lasted for several hours, so I slept in the living room.
For anyone reading this later, Ukraine has developed a rapidly evolving counter-drone defense system. I would not assign a fixed interception rate, but reasonable estimates are probably 70 percent on a bad day, 90 percent normally, or 97 to 98 percent on a good day without tying those figures to a particular attack. Interception rates vary depending on the number and type of drones, their routes, electronic warfare, available interceptors, and how Ukrainian authorities classify drones that are shot down or otherwise neutralized.
Ukraine has reported high interception rates against drones in some recent attacks. During the August 5 barrage, Russia launched 115 drones, 24 ballistic missiles, and four additional Zircon or Onik missiles. Ukraine’s air defenses failed to stop any of the incoming missiles. Seventeen people were killed and at least 44 were wounded in Kyiv and the surrounding region.
Both sides are innovating rapidly. Ukraine combines mobile fire groups, electronic warfare, interceptor drones, conventional air-defense systems, and other technologies against Russian drones. Russia continues adapting its drones, routes, communications, and tactics.
Ballistic missiles are much more difficult.
Patriot is Ukraine’s principal defense against Russian ballistic missiles. AP describes it as the only system currently in Ukraine’s arsenal capable of intercepting ballistic threats such as Iskander-M and Kinzhal missiles. Other air-defense systems may possess some anti-ballistic capability in other configurations, but Patriot is the system on which Ukraine currently relies for this mission.
The immediate problem is that Ukraine has too few Patriot interceptors. The August 5 attack demonstrated the consequences. Russia launched 24 ballistic missiles and four other high-speed missiles, and Ukraine reported stopping none of the incoming missiles. Seventeen people were killed in Kyiv and the surrounding region.
That creates a grim routine during these large attacks. You wake up, confirm that you are alive, open the computer, and start checking the casualty figures. How many people were killed? How many were injured? Which districts or cities were struck?
Russia has intensified its ballistic-missile campaign during 2026 while Ukraine has faced severe shortages of air-defense interceptors. Zelenskyy said supplies of defensive missiles during the first half of 2026 had fallen to one-third of their 2025 level.
President Trump announced at the NATO summit in Ankara that the United States would give Ukraine a license to produce Patriot systems. However, the status of that commitment subsequently became uncertain. On July 31, Trump said the United States had not yet agreed to the arrangement and was still discussing it. Even if licensing proceeds, production would take years to establish at scale because of complex supply chains, sensitive technology, training, certification, and manufacturing requirements.
Ukraine therefore still needs substantial near-term deliveries from existing Western inventories while any domestic production capability is developed. AP reported that even a pilot production line could take at least 18 to 24 months, with further time needed before finished weapons became available.
Zelenskyy has also made his first official visit to Serbia since Russia’s full-scale invasion. He arrived in Belgrade on August 7 and held talks with Serbian President Aleksandar Vučić during the visit. Serbia maintains traditionally close ties with Russia and has refused to join Western sanctions against Moscow, but it supports Ukraine’s territorial integrity, has provided aid, and has promised assistance with postwar reconstruction. Belgrade is balancing its relationship with Moscow against closer relations with Kyiv and its aspirations for European Union membership.
Ukraine, meanwhile, has dramatically expanded its long-range strikes inside Russia.
One major target has been Wildberries, Russia’s largest e-commerce retailer. Since July 18, Ukrainian drones have attacked at least 20 Wildberries sites across Russia. A Reuters review of satellite imagery found that at least 1.18 million square metres of warehouse space, more than one-fifth of the company’s capacity, had been damaged or destroyed. The attacks have caused fires, inventory losses, disruption to the logistics network, and serious losses for businesses dependent on the platform.
Ukraine says the Wildberries campaign is intended to increase the economic cost of the war and has accused the company of supporting Russia’s war effort because its platform carries items including night-vision equipment, ammunition pouches, and helmets. Wildberries and the Kremlin deny that the company supplies the Russian military.
Ukraine has also continued attacking Russian oil refineries, depots, and other energy infrastructure. Those strikes are intended to reduce refining capacity, disrupt fuel supplies, and increase the economic costs of sustaining Russia’s war.
Jacobsen: What else? Is there anything more basic that is important?
Moving into your home territory, Laura Loomer recently visited Ukraine. During the trip, she met Ukrainian political and religious figures, including President Volodymyr Zelenskyy. She also visited religious and cultural sites in Kyiv. Rabbi Moshe Reuven Azman is the chief rabbi of Kyiv’s Brodsky Synagogue and one of several rabbis who have been described as a Chief Rabbi of Ukraine. The title has historically been claimed by more than one rabbinical leader.
I have been to the Brodsky Synagogue twice, once for Shabbat and once for Shavuot. Yesterday, I was having lunch directly across the street from it and telling my friends, “That is where Laura Loomer was.”
Her visit is particularly interesting because Loomer has substantially changed her public position on Ukraine. She had spent years criticizing U.S. assistance to Ukraine, minimizing Russia’s invasion, and amplifying Russian propaganda. During her July 2026 visit, she acknowledged that she had been wrong about aspects of the war, said she had been influenced by Russian propaganda, experienced air-raid conditions, met Zelenskyy, and publicly adopted a much more supportive position toward Ukraine.
What are your three rapid thoughts on the shortage of anti-ballistic missile interceptors, Russia’s attacks on Ukrainian cities, and American or other political personalities visiting Ukraine and publicly changing their positions?
Tsukerman: Ukrainians are not simply waiting for somebody to provide additional missiles or anti-missile technology. Ukraine is working with European partners to develop its own anti-ballistic capabilities.
Ukraine and nine other European countries formally launched the Integrated Anti-Ballistic Missile Coalition in Paris on July 13, 2026. Its flagship project is FREYJA, a joint European anti-ballistic missile program. The participating countries are Ukraine, Denmark, France, Germany, Italy, the Netherlands, Norway, Spain, Sweden, and the United Kingdom. Ukraine is expected to contribute interceptor-missile technology, while European partners can provide radars, sensors, and other critical components.
Zelenskyy gave a further update on FREYJA in August, saying the program was actively underway. Developing, testing, manufacturing, and deploying an effective anti-ballistic system at scale will still take time.
In the meantime, Ukraine remains heavily dependent on existing Western systems, particularly Patriot, to counter Russian ballistic missiles. Shortages of Patriot interceptors have become one of Ukraine’s most serious air-defense vulnerabilities. Russia’s August 5 barrage illustrated the problem: Ukrainian defenses failed to stop the incoming missiles, and 17 people were killed in Kyiv and the surrounding region.
Ukraine has sought additional Patriot systems and interceptors from the United States and other operators for years. Kyiv has also sought the right to manufacture Patriot technology domestically.
Trump’s announcement should not be confused with an immediately executable manufacturing agreement. AP reported that the pledge left unresolved exactly what Ukraine would be licensed to manufacture. Patriot production involves Lockheed Martin, RTX’s Raytheon business, complicated supply chains, technical documentation, training, manufacturing arrangements, export controls, and government approvals. Ukrainian officials said the licensing details still had to be finalized.
The president can make the political decision to permit licensed production, but that does not mean a factory can begin producing operational interceptors the following day.
There are legal, industrial, technological, contractual, and security processes that have to follow. Experts cited by AP said even establishing a pilot production line could take at least 18 to 24 months, with additional time required before finished weapons became available. Ukrainian Patriot production could therefore become important for long-term air defense, but it cannot solve the immediate interceptor shortage.
That distinction is crucial because Ukraine needs interceptors now.
I would also avoid interpreting administrative or industrial delays as deliberate obstruction without evidence. A complicated weapons-technology transfer can take substantial time even when there is political support. Governments can also accelerate bureaucratic processes when they regard something as an urgent national-security priority. The relevant question is whether Washington is moving as quickly as battlefield conditions require.
That brings us to the recent Russian attacks.
There is an understandable temptation to connect changes in Trump’s rhetoric or assistance policies directly with the timing of Russian attacks. But correlation is not evidence of causation. Large Russian missile and drone attacks involve intelligence gathering, target selection, mission planning, allocation of missiles and drones, coordination among launch platforms, and attempts to overwhelm Ukrainian air defenses.
We therefore cannot say that Putin calls Trump, persuades him to withdraw assistance, and then immediately orders an attack because he has received a “green light.” There is no publicly established evidence demonstrating that sequence.
What we can say is that Moscow closely monitors Western military assistance and Ukrainian air-defense capabilities. Russian planners have a strategic incentive to exploit shortages of Patriot interceptors and other weaknesses in Ukraine’s defenses. Russia has intensified its use of ballistic missiles while Ukrainian interceptor stocks remain constrained.
Changes in American policy can therefore affect Russia’s strategic calculations without requiring an explicit authorization or direct coordination. If Moscow concludes that Ukrainian interceptor stocks are depleted or future Western deliveries are uncertain, that information can influence its operational planning.
The Laura Loomer story illustrates a different dimension of the conflict: information warfare and political persuasion.
Her change of position is significant because she had previously been a prominent American critic of Ukraine and had amplified narratives favorable to Russia. After visiting Ukraine, experiencing an air raid, meeting Ukrainians directly, and sitting down with Zelenskyy, she publicly acknowledged that her previous views had been influenced by Russian propaganda.
That does not mean every element of her politics has changed. It has not. But her public position on Ukraine shifted substantially.
That matters because Loomer has influence within parts of the MAGA political ecosystem and access to President Trump. Her visit therefore had a potential audience beyond her own followers. Ukrainian officials clearly regarded the visit as valuable because it allowed a prominent former critic of Ukraine to see conditions in the country directly. Zelenskyy’s office publicly welcomed that aspect of her trip, even though it said no Ukrainian government institution had organized the visit.
There is also a Jewish dimension to the visit. Loomer is Jewish, and her discussions in Ukraine included questions involving Zelenskyy’s Jewish identity, antisemitism, and Russian narratives about Ukraine. Her earlier rhetoric about Zelenskyy had included inflammatory language, making the shift particularly notable.
I would separate these developments into three categories.
First, Ukraine’s immediate military problem is the shortage of ballistic-missile interceptors. Domestic and European programs may reduce that dependence over time, but they cannot solve the immediate vulnerability.
Second, licensed Patriot production in Ukraine could become strategically important, but the political commitment has not yet become a finalized industrial arrangement. Production at scale would take years and cannot replace near-term deliveries from existing inventories.
Third, figures such as Laura Loomer show why visits by skeptical foreign political personalities can matter. Direct exposure to the war can alter perceptions in ways that distant reporting or social-media arguments sometimes do not.
Her reversal is a striking example. She acknowledged having amplified Russian propaganda and substantially changed her public position after visiting Ukraine. Whether that affects Trump administration policy is a separate question, but reaching a prominent former critic has political value.
I am not sure what it will take to change Trump’s mind, or whether changing his mind is even the central issue at this stage. Europe also has an opportunity to do more.
I would not say that European countries have simply refused to act. European governments have transferred Patriot systems, interceptors, and other air-defense equipment to Ukraine during the war. The immediate problem is a broader shortage of advanced interceptors. AP reports that the shortage has become more acute as the U.S.-Israeli war with Iran has consumed large numbers of Patriot and THAAD missiles, while production cannot immediately replenish depleted stocks.
Those concerns are not theoretical. European governments must support Ukraine while maintaining sufficient air-defense capacity for their own security.
After more than four years of full-scale war, however, the shortage also exposes a serious failure of defense planning. European states knew that Russia was consuming enormous quantities of missiles and drones, that Ukraine depended heavily on Western interceptors, and that sophisticated air-defense munitions take years to replenish. Production capacity should have been expanded earlier and more aggressively.
That criticism applies to successive American administrations as well. The Biden administration substantially expanded military assistance to Ukraine, including air defense, but Western production capacity remained inadequate for a prolonged high-intensity war. The Trump administration inherited that structural shortage while introducing additional uncertainty concerning future American commitments.
I would not say that Ukraine must develop its defenses without serious assistance from anybody. Ukraine has received substantial support from the United States, European states, NATO members, and other partners. The more accurate conclusion is that the scale and predictability of interceptor supplies have not kept pace with Russia’s expanding ballistic-missile campaign.
Zelenskyy said after the August 5 attack that Ukraine had received only one-third as many air-defense missiles during the first half of 2026 as during the same period in 2025. That decline is particularly serious because Russia has simultaneously intensified its ballistic-missile attacks.
There is also an important financial development from the European Union. On April 1, the European Commission announced that €1.4 billion in windfall profits generated by immobilized Russian central-bank assets would be directed toward support for Ukraine. The underlying Russian sovereign assets remain immobilized. The money comes from revenues generated by those assets rather than from confiscation of the principal itself.
That distinction matters. The EU did not simply confiscate €1.4 billion from the Russian central bank. The funds came from extraordinary revenues generated while Russian assets remained immobilized under sanctions. Ninety-five percent was allocated through the Ukraine Loan Cooperation Mechanism and five percent through the European Peace Facility.
The EU has also established a much larger €90 billion Ukraine Support Loan for 2026 and 2027. Approximately €60 billion is allocated to defense support and €30 billion to general budget assistance. The framework also permits narrowly defined procurement derogations when Ukraine and European suppliers cannot provide urgently required defense products in sufficient quantities or within the required time.
The more important strategic question is whether European governments regard Ukraine merely as a recipient of assistance or increasingly as part of Europe’s own security architecture.
There has been movement toward the latter view. But the gap between political commitments and industrial capacity remains substantial. Europe and the United States still do not produce enough high-end interceptors to satisfy Ukrainian battlefield demand while rapidly replenishing their own inventories.
That is the basic takeaway regarding civilian protection. I do not expect Russia voluntarily to reduce its attacks on Ukrainian cities. Its missile and drone campaign has repeatedly struck populated areas, transport and energy infrastructure, warehouses, businesses, and other civilian locations. During the August 5 barrage, Russian attacks on Kyiv and the surrounding region killed 17 people and wounded at least 44. Ukraine’s air defenses failed to intercept any of the incoming missiles.
At the same time, comparisons of civilian deaths caused by Russian and Ukrainian attacks require precision.
Ukrainian long-range strikes inside Russia have killed civilians, including in recent attacks in Belgorod. Those deaths should not be minimized. Civilians retain protection under international humanitarian law regardless of nationality.
The scale and pattern nevertheless differ substantially. Russia has conducted a sustained nationwide missile and drone campaign against Ukraine, causing extensive civilian casualties and repeated damage to populated areas and civilian infrastructure. Ukrainian long-range strikes have caused far fewer civilian casualties and are generally described by Kyiv as targeting military, logistical, industrial, or energy infrastructure connected to the war. AP reported 1,396 civilian deaths in Ukraine during the first half of 2026 alone.
That does not make every Ukrainian strike lawful. Each attack must satisfy the rules of distinction, proportionality, and precautions under international humanitarian law; deliberately targeting civilians or carrying out an indiscriminate attack would be unlawful regardless of which side did it.
So I would not describe all civilian casualties from Ukrainian strikes as merely “incidental” without examining the specific attack. The stronger factual point is that the documented scale of civilian harm caused by Russian attacks is far greater.
As for commentary in publications such as The Independent, reporting civilian deaths on both sides is not inherently “whataboutism.” Journalists should report civilian deaths wherever they occur.
The problem arises when reporting presents those incidents as equivalent without accounting for differences in scale, context, the initiation of the war, targeting patterns, and military circumstances.
Nor would I infer insincerity from critical or balancing coverage alone. Motive requires evidence.
The stronger criticism is that discussion can flatten profoundly unequal circumstances into a superficial “both sides” framework. Accuracy requires acknowledging civilian harm from Ukrainian attacks while recognizing that Russia launched the full-scale invasion and continues a much larger and more sustained missile and drone campaign against Ukrainian territory.
I am also noticing a gradual reintegration of Russian athletes and sporting institutions into parts of international competition. In July 2026, the IOC provisionally lifted the suspension of the Russian Olympic Committee and advised federations that they no longer needed to vet Russian athletes as a condition for neutral participation, although the guidance is not binding and some sports retain stricter rules.
That does not mean Russian athletes have simply returned without restrictions. At the 2026 Winter Olympics in Milan-Cortina, eligible Russians competed as Individual Neutral Athletes, without the Russian flag, and athletes who publicly supported the war or had contractual ties to the Russian military or national-security agencies were barred.
World Boxing has adopted a comparable neutral-athlete procedure. Russian delegations cannot use national flags, uniforms, or anthems, and athletes are vetted for support for the war and certain military or security ties.
So there is partial reintegration, but some international sports bodies still treat support for the invasion as grounds for exclusion.
The political dispute is whether those safeguards are sufficient. Ukraine and its supporters warn that restoring Russian institutional participation risks premature normalization, while the IOC increasingly emphasizes that individual athletes should not automatically be punished for their government’s actions when they have not supported the war.
I would also avoid treating the invasion as automatically “their war just as much as Putin’s” merely because someone holds Russian citizenship. Responsibility does not attach equally to every citizen, and individual eligibility rules should focus on an athlete’s own conduct.
The reintegration nevertheless shows that Russian sporting institutions are seeking normalization. The motives behind particular IOC or federation decisions, whether legal, institutional, commercial, political, or some combination, have to be demonstrated rather than assumed.
The larger concern is that cultural and sporting institutions may return to more ordinary relations with Russia before the underlying conflict is resolved. That normalization can carry political significance.
Speaking of complicated forms of support, Laura Loomer remains a conspiracy-oriented political commentator despite changing her position on Ukraine. Her reversal should not be read as a wholesale transformation of her worldview. AP describes her as having promoted conspiracy theories and misinformation before acknowledging during her Ukraine trip that she had accepted Russian propaganda about the war.
What motivated the reversal is less clear.
Loomer has been involved in bitter disputes with figures such as Candace Owens and Tucker Carlson within the broader MAGA ecosystem, and her strong support for Israel has placed her on the opposite side of some internal foreign-policy debates. That context may matter, but it does not establish the cause of her Ukraine reversal.
In particular, there is no basis to conclude that revenge against Owens or Carlson caused the change.
Loomer’s own explanation is that visiting Ukraine, speaking directly with Ukrainians, experiencing the war, and reconsidering information she had consumed convinced her that she had fallen for Russian propaganda. She acknowledged having amplified false narratives about Ukraine, including claims portraying the country as dominated by Nazis.
Her support for Israel and disagreements within the MAGA coalition may also have influenced how she reassessed political alliances and information sources, but that remains an interpretation rather than an established explanation.
I would also be cautious about claims that somebody behind the scenes must be supplying her with sophisticated talking points.
Her recent arguments are more detailed than some of her earlier commentary on Russia, but political figures routinely absorb information from journalists, researchers, officials, activists, briefings, social-media networks, and people they meet during foreign travel. Without evidence identifying an adviser or organized messaging operation, an unseen expert should not be inferred.
Her description of Chechen units deployed by Russia as “Putin’s jihadists,” for example, refers to a real element of Russia’s war effort but uses a politically loaded label. Forces associated with Chechen leader Ramzan Kadyrov have fought for Russia and are integrated into Russian state security structures.
Kadyrovite units are predominantly Muslim Chechen formations loyal to the Kremlin, but they are not ordinarily classified as jihadist organizations comparable to al-Qaeda or ISIS. “Pro-Kremlin Chechen forces” or “Kadyrovite units” is more neutral terminology.
Her wording therefore does not by itself demonstrate an unusually advanced understanding of Russia’s relationships with Islamist movements. It may also reflect her longstanding tendency to interpret geopolitical questions through the language of Islamism.
Could she change position again? Certainly. Political commentators do change positions, but predicting another reversal would be speculation.
Her criticism of Russia is now unusually explicit. She has acknowledged being influenced by Russian propaganda and departed substantially from her earlier hostility toward Ukraine, creating a reputational cost if she reverses herself again without explaining what evidence changed her view.
There is also a political paradox. Loomer may be useful to Ukraine precisely because she reaches audiences conventional pro-Ukraine figures often cannot. But the more aggressively she attacks influential personalities within that audience, the more she risks losing credibility with the people Ukraine would most want her to persuade.
That tension matters more than trying to determine whether her conversion is completely sincere. The measurable question is whether her arguments change opinions among people who previously accepted pro-Russian narratives.
Jacobsen: Thank you for the opportunity and your time, Irina.
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Scott Douglas Jacobsen is a Writer and Editor for The Good Men Project with more than 2,000 publications on the platform. He is the Founder and Publisher of In-Sight Publishing (ISBN: 978-1-0692343; 978-1-0673505) and Editor-in-Chief of In-Sight: Interviews (ISSN: 2369-6885). He writes for International Policy Digest (ISSN: 2332–9416), The Humanist (Print: ISSN, 0018-7399; Online: ISSN, 2163-3576), Basic Income Earth Network (UK Registered Charity 1177066), Humanist Perspectives (ISSN: 1719-6337), A Further Inquiry (SubStack), Vocal, Medium, The New Enlightenment Project, The Washington Outsider, rabble.ca, and other media. His bibliography index can be found via the Jacobsen Bank at In-Sight Publishing comprised of more than 10,000 articles, interviews, and republications, in more than 200 outlets. He has served in national and international leadership roles within humanist and media organizations, held several academic, media, and research institution fellowships, and currently serves on numerous international boards. He is a member in good standing in numerous media organizations, including the Canadian Association of Journalists, PEN Canada (CRA: 88916 2541 RR0001), and Reporters Without Borders (SIREN: 343 684 221/SIRET: 343 684 221 00041/EIN: 20-0708028), and others.
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