Giant flags of Nato’s 32 members hang in the Mall, part of the 75th anniversary celebrations for the most successful military alliance in history, as its cheerleaders unfailingly note. The display should recognise that some members are more equal than others. The dozen-odd countries that still fail to spend their promised 2 per cent of GDP on defence should have modest pennants only. The Stars and Stripes should be by far the biggest flag, reflecting US military clout. But the Biden administration’s dithering and distraction, and the looming prospect of a Trump presidency, also make Old Glory look tattered.
Other flags are out of place too. Hungary’s green-white-red tricolour should be flapping rather closer to the Russian embassy in Kensington Gardens, reflecting Budapest’s unhelpful (to use a diplomatic euphemism) approach to Ukraine and its cosy Kremlin ties. Slovakia’s flag should dangle there too, after election results that have put dodgy pro-Putin politicians in power in Bratislava.
Instead, we should fly flags from countries in Russia’s firing line: Ukraine, under daily bombardment, and Moldova, facing a blizzard of non-military threats. Neither is a Nato member, yet our security will be gravely weakened if they fall.
Darkness and stormy winds would complete the picture. For amid the backslapping Nato is in a mess, and muddled about its future. It is already failing to help Ukraine, where retreat, even collapse, risks overshadowing the anniversary summit in Washington in July.
Indeed Nato would be hard-pressed to defend itself against a Russian attack, most likely in the Baltic Sea region, that could come in three years or less. Frontline countries see the threat clearly. Lithuania is fast-tracking construction of a big ammunition factory. Like the other Baltic states, it is building border fortifications. Invasion must be resisted from the first inch. Some allies think that is scaremongering.
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The alliance is in reality a system of committees, whose plans and promises are only as strong as its member states. Their worst habit is grand but empty statements and gestures. At a time when every crumb of kit and money should be sent to Ukraine, for example, Nato is conducting its largest exercise since the Cold War, Steadfast Defender. This showcase offers grand days out for distinguished visitors but does nothing to stop Russian commanders pummelling defenceless Ukrainian cities such as Kharkiv.
Not that cities within Nato are much better defended. Under the alliance’s current thinking, only military targets merit protection against air and missile attack, and not many of those. These defence systems are costly, so the countries that most need them — the Baltic states — can least afford them.
This gap is one of many. The Nato command structure is a mess, reflecting political fixes rather than military logic. Years of cheeseparing mean stockpiles are skimpy, infrastructure inadequate, logistics flimsy, equipment outdated. Promises of rapid-reaction forces, not least from Britain, reflect wildly optimistic assumptions.
This “let’s pretend” approach rests on outdated, complacent thinking: any war will be brief, just one to two weeks, because the West’s technological edge will enable it to strike devastating blows against Russia; fear of American nuclear weapons will prevent retaliation.
Planning for such brief, well-structured jousting matches is comforting but unreal. “Russia has quantity,” says a defence minister in a frontline state. What happens if their air defences block our limited number of high-tech long-range strike weapons, and if our own defensive systems are exhausted? The alliance’s plans rest heavily (read: totally) on American help in a crisis. But the US is already switching both high-tech and heavy capabilities to the Indo-Pacific region, to counter China. That means less for us.
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The alliance’s European members could in time make up for missing American muscle. Replacing US technological and strategic leadership would be much harder. The nuclear guarantee, never tested, is hugely vulnerable to political change in Washington. Imagine a social media post from a newly elected President Trump reading: “Europeans expect OUR Country to pay for THEIR Defense and risk Nuclear War for them — FORGET IT!!!”
Nato is also ill placed to deal with other weaknesses. Europe’s defence industries are fragmented. Military procurement is constipated. Civilian safety and environmental rules hamper “military mobility”: moving troops and equipment around in a hurry, with all the disruption this brings. Russia also uses non-military weapons, such as disinformation, subversion, cyberattacks, bribery and blackmail. Hitting a country’s morale and its decision-makers can win the war before it starts.
On paper, Nato has plans to remedy many of its weaknesses by 2030. But it must do much more and much faster. Military commanders need the authority to react quickly if Russia holds a menacing snap exercise: that means more disruption, as tanks thunder across farmland and warplanes screech across the skies.
But without the Americans, none of this will work. The possibility of a post-Nato era poses huge questions for Britain. The EU is already playing a bigger role in defence. If re-elected as head of the European Commission, Ursula von der Leyen wants to rationalise EU military production. Where does that leave our arms manufacturers? And what role should our nuclear weapons play in European security? Has anyone seen that blue flag with the yellow stars?
