Espace : après les drapeaux sur la Lune et une Tesla dans l’espace, une exploration postcoloniale est-elle possible ?

Source: The Conversation – in French – By Jacques Arnould, Expert éthique, Centre national d’études spatiales (CNES)

La Tesla Roadster d’Elon Musk, dans l’espace. Falcon Heavy Demo Mission/SpaceX

La galaxie d’Andromède, la planète Mars, les missions Apollo hier et Artémis aujourd’hui : avez-vous remarqué combien d’astres et de missions spatiales portent des noms de dieux romains ou grecs ? Certaines conceptions de la conquête spatiale reflètent des doctrines colonialistes. Comment les dépasser ?


Souvenez-vous : le 6 février 2018, Elon Musk a envoyé vers Mars sa propre Tesla, avec, à bord, un mannequin habillé d’une combinaison spatiale. Le message était clair : la colonisation de la planète rouge par le milliardaire américain avait commencé ! Certes, huit ans plus tard, les fusées de la société SpaceX n’ont pas encore atteint la surface de Mars et les projets de colonie restent à l’état de magnifiques images de synthèse ; pourtant, l’enthousiasme ne fléchit pas chez les aficionados de l’espace, et l’inquiétude chez bien d’autres : jamais nous n’avons été aussi près d’une colonisation de l’espace.

Pour la réaliser, bien des défis technologiques et humains restent à relever ; mais l’affaire est suffisamment sérieuse pour y appliquer une analyse et une critique sérieuses. Nous savons trop bien de quelle manière les humains ont colonisé notre Terre. Voulons-nous agir de même dans l’espace ?

Nous irons conquérir la Lune

Elon Musk n’est pas le premier à vouloir conquérir une planète. Ce projet a toujours été associé aux rêves et aux réalisations de voyage dans le ciel. N’en prenons que deux exemples, non dénués d’humour.

Le premier est une satire, issue d’un journal anglais, The Examiner. Le 3 janvier 1808, il prête à Napoléon des propos guerriers de conquête et de colonisation de l’espace :

« Alors je pourrai constituer une armée de ballons, dont Garnerin sera le général, et prendre possession de la Comète. Cela me permettra de conquérir le système solaire, ensuite j’irai avec mes armées dans les autres systèmes, enfin – je pense –, je rencontrerai le Diable. »

Le second exemple est sorti des archives des imageries d’Épinal : dans la forme d’un cerf-volant, un zouave grimpe hardiment une échelle appuyée sur la Lune. « Nous irons conquérir la Lune », claironne la légende ; au même moment où les frères d’armes du zouave sont engagés dans la colonisation de l’Afrique du Nord.

L’espace, une « terra nullius » à explorer, à envahir ?

Jusqu’à preuve du contraire, l’espace extra-atmosphérique présente une propriété assez rare sur notre planète : il est inhabité (je rappelle ici que les scientifiques n’ont pour l’instant aucune preuve de l’existence de la moindre forme de vie, de la moindre biosphère extraterrestre). En terme juridique, l’espace pourrait donc être considéré comme une terra nullius, selon l’expression latine qui désignait des terres « sans habitants » – à l’époque, il s’agissait plus précisément de dire « sans populations chrétiennes » – et, par suite, n’appartenant à personne.

Dans le passé, cette doctrine, validée par le pouvoir religieux, a justifié la prise de possession de ces territoires par les souverains (chrétiens) d’Europe ; et c’est une perspective que les inspirateurs du droit de l’espace et les législateurs spatiaux ont tenté d’écarter en proposant de déclarer les corps célestes patrimoine commun de l’humanité.

Ainsi, le traité de l’Espace, adopté par l’ONU en décembre 1966, a déclaré l’espace bien commun et a été signé par les grandes puissances de l’époque, États-Unis et Union soviétique en tête : l’espace appartient à tous ; son exploitation est possible… comme l’illustre la lucrative activité des satellites de communication.

vue d’artiste d’une colonie spatiale
Dans les années 1970, l’idée d’établir des colonies dans l’espace était en plein essor. Ici une vue d’artiste de champs à l’intérieur d’un vaisseau spatial.
NASA Ames Research Center, CC BY

Toutefois, lorsque l’accord sur la Lune, proposée par l’ONU treize ans plus tard, propose de déclarer l’astre des nuits patrimoine commun de l’humanité et donc d’y interdire toute forme d’exploitation, les puissances spatiales refusent de le signer. Il n’est aujourd’hui ratifié que par 18 États dépourvus de grandes ambitions spatiales.

Devons-nous conclure que les puissances spatiales, établies ou en devenir, caressent des rêves de conquête et de colonisation ? La décision de l’administration Obama de l’hiver 2015 de soutenir et de préserver les initiatives de ses entreprises nationales en matière d’exploitation des ressources spatiales, suivie par des initiatives analogues de la part des gouvernements du Luxembourg, des Émirats arabes unis et du Japon, pourrait faire penser à la politique des comptoirs lancée par les puissances européennes à partir du XVᵉ siècle. Les défis technologiques à relever sont aussi importants que les débats juridiques et politiques à résoudre.

Quant à l’immense vide spatial et, notamment, le domaine des orbites autour de la Terre : ce territoire était incontestablement inhabité jusqu’à l’arrivée du premier Spoutnik, puis du premier cosmonaute. Toutefois, il possède à son tour une caractéristique singulière, celle d’être impérativement à usage commun, du simple fait de la mécanique céleste : tout corps y est en mouvement et n’occupe un point de l’espace que très brièvement. Le seul mode possible d’appropriation relève de la saturation, autrement dit d’une occupation par le nombre : fin 2025, entre 50 et 65 % des satellites en orbite autour de la Terre appartenaient à un seul opérateur, SpaceX.

S’il est inapproprié de parler d’une « colonisation des orbites circumterrestres », il est à craindre que les règles et les lois qui gouvernent l’usage de cet espace soient celles du plus fort, du plus nombreux, du premier arrivé.

Pouvons-nous décoloniser le passé spatial ?

Que pouvons-nous conclure ici ? Qu’à formellement parler la colonisation de l’espace lui-même n’a pas encore commencé et que, par voie de conséquence, l’enjeu actuel et à venir constitue moins à décoloniser l’espace qu’à en empêcher la colonisation future.

En revanche, force est de constater que l’esprit des 70 premières années de l’entreprise spatiale a bien été imprégné par certains traits communs aux politiques, aux récits, aux symboles de la colonisation. À l’époque des missions Apollo, n’était-il pas question de « conquête de l’espace », plutôt que de son exploration ? Si planter un drapeau sur le sol lunaire n’a jamais été interprété comme une volonté d’appropriation, le geste a tout de même été effectué pour affirmer la supériorité technique des États-Unis et, donc, une forme de suprématie politique.

Aussi symbolique quoique moins violente est l’habitude de baptiser les astres et leurs topographies en s’inspirant des mythologies et de l’histoire de l’Occident. Entamer la décolonisation de l’espace peut alors consister à recourir désormais à d’autres mythologies pour baptiser les corps célestes que découvrent les astronomes. Baptiser Oumuamua, en hawaïen « l’éclaireur », l’objet interstellaire repéré le 19 octobre 2017 en est une illustration.

Que dire dès lors des revendications émises par plusieurs peuples amérindiens lors de missions lunaires, qu’il s’agisse de celles des années 1960 ou celle plus récente menée début 2024 par la société états-unienne Astrobotic ? Pour ces populations, la Lune appartient au domaine du sacré : y poser des vaisseaux robotiques, habités ou transportant les cendres de Terriens, n’est-ce pas accomplir un sacrilège, autrement dit une forme extrême de colonisation ?

Vers un futur postcolonial

Les raisons ne manquent donc pas de porter dans les affaires spatiales le souci de décolonisation qui marque aujourd’hui de nombreux discours à propos de l’espace, quitte à y inclure l’apport des ingénieurs allemands (éventuellement nazis) dans le développement spatial de pays, comme les États-Unis et la France, ou encore la politique menée par la France sur le territoire guyanais afin d’y implanter la base spatiale de Kourou, qui succéderait en 1968 à celle d’Hammaguir après l’indépendance de l’Algérie.

Ce souci est indispensable ; mais il n’est pas suffisant.

Le processus de décolonisation doit conduire à une perspective postcoloniale, autrement dit à l’instauration de politiques, de gouvernances des activités humaines dans l’espace qui soient autant que possible débarrassées des principaux caractères néfastes de la colonisation : la soumission violente et l’exploitation brutale d’une partie de l’humanité par une autre, l’exploitation jusqu’au saccage de ressources communes, la destruction de cultures et de traditions ancestrales, etc.

Dans cette perspective, les discours, les revendications et les programmes spatiaux de certains acteurs du NewSpace (les stations spatiales de Jeff Bezos, les colonies martiennes d’Elon Musk) peuvent susciter bien des soucis, bien des craintes, tant ils mettent en avant les seuls intérêts de ces entrepreneurs, les seuls plaisirs ou la seule sécurité de quelques privilégiés.

De plus, l’argument de l’espèce humaine interplanétaire est loin d’être moralement convaincant. Où est-il « écrit » que nous devions nous répandre au-delà des frontières terrestres, au détriment de possibles biosphères extraterrestres ? À quel « échantillon » humain pourrions-nous confier le soin des expansions extraterrestres ? Ou, pour le dire autrement, quelle partie de l’humanité serait « laissée » sur une Terre dont nous savons l’avenir menacé ?

N’oublions pas pour autant les récits d’hier et d’aujourd’hui qui décrivent des communautés humaines installées durablement dans l’espace. Non pour alimenter les rêves de paradis retrouvé, comme ceux imaginés par le gourou du NewSpace que fut Gerard O’Neill, mais pour mener le travail critique imaginé par Thomas More dans son célèbre ouvrage, l’Utopie.

Publié dans sa version finale en 1518, ce petit ouvrage, « non moins salutaire qu’agréable » selon les mots mêmes de son auteur, invitait ses premiers lecteurs à partir pour une cité totalement imaginaire, un non-lieu aussi bien qu’un non-temps, qui servait de miroir pour porter un regard critique sur leur propre société. Le philosophe britannique ne cherchait ni à rompre brutalement les liens avec un passé ni à s’échapper dans un futur idéalisé, mais avant tout à remettre l’être humain au centre du souci commun, à lui construire un futur à la mesure de sa condition, celle éprouvée dans le passé et dans le présent, celle pensée et espérée pour le futur.

The Conversation

Jacques Arnould ne travaille pas, ne conseille pas, ne possède pas de parts, ne reçoit pas de fonds d’une organisation qui pourrait tirer profit de cet article, et n’a déclaré aucune autre affiliation que son organisme de recherche.

ref. Espace : après les drapeaux sur la Lune et une Tesla dans l’espace, une exploration postcoloniale est-elle possible ? – https://theconversation.com/espace-apres-les-drapeaux-sur-la-lune-et-une-tesla-dans-lespace-une-exploration-postcoloniale-est-elle-possible-275159

The novel that changed my mind – ten experts share a perspective‑shifting read

Source: The Conversation – UK – By Anneliese Hodge, PhD Candidate, Ecotoxicology, Plymouth Marine Laboratory

Alphavector/Shutterstock

Our beliefs aren’t fixed. They’re shaped, stretched and sometimes overturned by the ideas we encounter as we move through life. For many of us, novels are the moments where that shift happens.

For World Book Day, we asked ten academic experts to share a work of fiction that has challenged their assumptions and changed their thinking in a lasting way.

1. A Kestrel for a Knave by Barry Hines (1968)

A Kestrel for a Knave by Barry Hines showed me that my potential could not be defined by anyone but myself. The novel made me realise how easily labels from teachers and colleagues can become self-fulfilling. If you’re consistently told that you’re bad at something, you often end up believing it; like the main character Billy, and like myself, when my A-Level biology teacher told me I wouldn’t amount to anything in science and that I should quit.

Hines shows that potential isn’t determined by the people who underestimate you. Learning thrives when it is fuelled by passion and determination, and Billy’s dedication to training his kestrel Kes mirrored my own dedication to become a scientist.

The novel reminded me that the most meaningful growth happens when you trust your abilities more than the limitations other people put on you.

Anneliese Hodge is a PhD researcher in biological sciences

2. Beautiful World Where Are You? by Sally Rooney (2021)

Beautiful World Where Are You? follows the lives and loves of two friends for a period in their late 20s. It is the novel that changed my mind in relation to writing about sexual consent, at least, writing explicitly and positively about it.

I thought that consent was a subject rarely tackled by writers, unless to violate it or teach teenagers. In the latter case, it was usually done in a responsible style – not something stylish or sexy. Choosing a formative diet of 19th-century novels from the western canon undoubtedly biased my perceptions. Beautiful World shattered them. Its graphic sex scenes are peppered with the language of consent. Alright? OK? Can I? Do you want? Yes.

Rooney normalises seeking and giving clear, continuous consent, regardless of gender. Consent is integral to these scenes and part of the pleasure for characters and – if her bestseller status is any indication – readers.

Sarah Olive is a senior lecturer in English literature

3. Purple Hibiscus by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie (2004)

I grew up Roman Catholic in an all-boys school, and I first read Purple Hibiscus as a teenager, when faith was not a question but a climate of incense, rosaries and the quiet mathematics of guilt.

The novel follows Kambili, a Nigerian teenager navigating family, politics and belief under a father whose strict Catholicism masks violence and silence. One scene, in which he pours boiling water over her feet while praying for her soul, captures that terrible fusion of devotion and control.

Across the novel, Adichie unsettled me. I had assumed to question the church was to wound God. She showed me that devotion and questioning can live in the same breath, and that faith is deepened by honest attention rather than unexamined obedience.

This insight continues to shape my thinking about identity, scholarship and everyday moral life, including on African diaspora faith and international development.

Edward Ademolu is a lecturer in cultural competency

4. The Years by Annie Ernaux (2008)

The Years by Annie Ernaux changed my mind on how a life can be narrated.

Childhood by Nathalie Sarraute had already pushed the boundaries of autobiography in 1983 by splitting the narrating self and exposing the inconsistencies of memory. Ernaux masterfully continued along that path, showing how the images and memories that shape us are at once both personal and collective.

The book’s protagonist is approached through descriptions of photographs taken over the years by family members and others. These passages are interwoven with images, events and stories cutting across generations.

What emerges is a fragmented, patchwork portrait that is able to provoke the strongest emotions – immensely more than in a narration where the illusion of the singularity of a life is maintained. And this is probably because of its strange realism, allowing proximity through impersonality. Reading it, I encountered a life as an open space, a theatre of memory where I could wander, moving in and out, getting closer or just passing by.

Cecilia Benaglia is associate professor of French and comparative literature

5. Ministry for the Future by Kim Stanley Robinson (2020)

Kim Stanley Robinson’s Ministry for the Future opened my eyes. Not only to the future reality of climate change, but it also made it clear to me that my naive belief that we could engineer our way out of the problem was very far from the truth.

I’d never read a more visceral description of what living and dying in a world ravaged by climate change would feel like. When the temperature climbs and we hit 100% humidity it’s simply impossible for the human body to cool itself, leaving the power grid straining to keep up with demand as those who can afford it attempt to stay alive with air conditioning.

Nothing short of a fundamental shift in what we value and how we act as a collective can get us close to avoiding the worst consequences of the climate crisis, and whichever way we choose the world will change beyond recognition. We just have to pick which path to follow.

Richard Sulley is a senior research fellow in sustainability policy




Read more:
Top climate books to look out for in 2026 – recommended by experts


6. Never Let Me Go by Kazuo Ishiguro (2005)

In Never Let Me Go, humans are farmed so their organs can be harvested by benefactors whenever needed. The book raises numerous moral questions but the core question for me is – how far will we go to meet a human need?

History suggests that we will damage our natural environment and destroy human lives, societies and even civilisations, to meet some human needs. We face this question now regarding technology such as AI and genetic engineering. They meet human needs of quick data processing or improved health outcomes, but present untold negative risks. Our activities around fossil fuels and minerals raise similar concerns.

This core question, raised by my reading of the novel, has shaped my career. It led me to leave a career in business to retrain as a philosopher so that I could combine business theory with philosophy. I now explore ways of continuing to innovate, but do so more awake to the potential harms and perhaps to make trade-offs that favour human dignity rather than economic progress alone.

Athol Williams is a senior fellow in strategy, leadership & ethics




Read more:
Kazuo Ishiguro said he won the Nobel Prize for making people cry – 20 years later, Never Let Me Go should make us angry


7. The Bluest Eye by Toni Morrison (1970)

Toni Morrison’s The Bluest Eye had a deep impact on me. It changed how I understand racism. The novel shows that racism is not just built into institutions and systems. It also shapes how people see themselves and the world around them. In the book, whiteness is treated as the standard for everything – beauty, goodness, success, and even what it means to be fully human.

The novel details how Pecola Breedlove, an African-American girl growing up in post-Great Depression Ohio, internalises anti-Black racism and develops a crippling inferiority complex through her desperate yearning to have blue eyes. The psychopathological effects of internalising anti-Black racism lead to Breedlove’s eventual insanity, which in a way constitutes her only protection from the misogynoir world.

What is further instructive about Morrison’s work is that it shows what literature, rather than highly technical theory, can do – connects us at a deeply emotional level, helping forge cultures of empathy and care.

Paul Giladi is a reader in philosophy

8. Middlemarch by George Eliot (1871)

Middlemarch calls itself a “study in provincial life”. It traces a picture of how – even in the 19th century – shifts in religion and science created complicated webs of human relationships.

I read the novel when I was 16, an age at which few people’s ideals are taken particularly seriously. Nevertheless, its central character, Dorothea, gave me a hugely formative model of an unapologetically clever, ardent woman shut out from formal education and struggling to find a meaningful channel for the intensity of her faith. Dorothea keeps searching for meaning, no matter how often she stumbles.

Middlemarch changed my mind by teaching me a kind of consolatory optimism: that whether we place our faith in religion or science, both can set us out “with a glorious equipment of hope and enthusiasm and get broken by the way”. To persist, we need “patience with each other and the world”.

Miranda Jane Mourby is a PhD candidate in law

9. Flowers for Algernon by Daniel Keyes (1966)

Back when I was 17, youthfully arrogant and thinking intelligence to be the only virtue worthy of measure, an unassuming sci-fi novel found me.

Flowers for Algernon is told through progress reports penned by the main character, Charlie. Charlie is born with a very low IQ, and is chosen to become the first human subject for an experimental treatment that enhances his IQ over time, eventually making him a genius. The treatment is not successful long term – and so what goes up must also come down.

Transhumanism is the philosophical movement in favour of transforming the human condition through technology, including enhancing cognitive abilities. Flowers for Algernon changed my naïve acceptance of the transhumanist core premises, as the novel forces you to ask instead: What makes intelligence good? Who is this enhancement for, and who does it benefit? How do we define what makes humans “better”?

In these days of tech billionaires investing in gene-editing and hailing the coming of artificial general intelligence, words from this novel still echo in my head: “Intelligence and education that hasn’t been tempered by human affection isn’t worth a damn.”

Sarah Moth-Lund Christensen is a fellow in AI and In/equality

10. Convenience Store Woman by Sayaka Murata (2016)

Whenever I’m asked if I “live to work” or “work to live”, I think of the adage: “I do not dream of labour.” My position has been troubled once, namely by Sayaka Murata’s Convenience Store Woman.

Murata’s novel follows Keiko, a convenience store worker who is socially shamed to leave her job and find a husband. Despite establishing a fake relationship with her workshy former colleague Shiraha, she still earns scorn from their respective families. Keiko ultimately leaves, determined to work at a convenience store again.

Initially, I was tempted to read this as a sad ending. Considering the novel’s critique of how society forces people into specific “norms” against their better judgement, I suddenly paused; was I missing the point?

This is not to say that the novel presents Keiko’s return to low-wage work as a fully positive thing. There is a gothic quality to Keiko’s view that she is a mere appendage of the store’s ecosystem. However, the ending made me consider: as a reader, was I adding to socially prescribed assumptions of what a “happy” ending might look like?

Lillian Hingley is a researcher and tutor in English

Has a novel ever changed your mind? Let us know in the comments below.

The Conversation

Richard Sulley receives funding from The Grantham Foundation for the Protection of the Environment

Anneliese Hodge, Athol Williams, Cecilia Benaglia, Edward Ademolu, Lillian Hingley, Miranda Jane Mourby, Paul Giladi, Sarah Moth-Lund Christensen, and Sarah Olive do not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and have disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.

ref. The novel that changed my mind – ten experts share a perspective‑shifting read – https://theconversation.com/the-novel-that-changed-my-mind-ten-experts-share-a-perspective-shifting-read-274073

Is legal uncertainty softly killing remote-work innovation?

Source: The Conversation – France – By Kseniya Navazhylava, Associate Professor, Audencia

As France debates the “end of the golden age of remote work”, both workers and
employers face growing confusion: are today’s working from home practices really compatible with emerging work habits in in the public and private employment sectors — and more importantly, with the law?

New research suggests that legal uncertainty does not empower HR managers to innovate. Instead, it pushes them to take on extra responsibilities that weren’t in their job description.

Could unclear regulations be the “silent killer” of innovation in remote-work strategies? Recent research carried out in Kazakhstan’s technical-gas industry during the healthcare crisis offers an unexpected insight from Central Asia that might shed light on the situation in France. Although far removed from the French context, the case study offers some universal common ground: when regulations lag behind reality, remote-work policies become fragile, inconsistent, and difficult to innovate.

A climate of doubt – on both sides of the employment relationship

Recent articles in The Conversation highlighted the questions that have dominated public debate since early 2024, when several major tech firms in the US publicly rolled back their remote work policies. In Europe, Danish firm [Novo Nordisk] ended remote jobs after massive layoffs, while in France, workers went on strike to protest over reduced remote work]. The result: a widespread sense of uncertainty.

Employers wonder whether remote work truly maintains productivity, and whether offering it to some workers (for example, administrative staff) but not others (such as plant workers) creates new inequalities.

In the meantime, employees are unsure about how they are monitored, how much data is collected, and whether remote work places them at greater risk of job loss.

France, grappling with these tensions, can learn from countries where legal uncertainty has long shaped HR decisions. During the Covid-19 crisis, Kazakhstan faced a similar fog surrounding unclear rules and shifting expectations around remote work — and the lessons are telling.

Improvised solutions and the limits of ‘empowerment’

In this climate of uncertainty, companies often resort to improvised and sometimes intrusive practices. Some managers judge employee performance through teams’ connection status. Others rely on constant connectivity, webcam checks, or software tracking mouse or keyboard movements. And many fall back on “management by objectives,” asking employees to retroactively justify their work.

Training exists to help managers navigate these new modes of work but it is often described as superficial, sometimes delivered by people who do not remote work themselves.

In these moments of ambiguity, a familiar concept resurfaces: empowerment. The assumption is that frontline workers “know best”, and should therefore make autonomous decisions. While autonomy can indeed boost productivity and satisfaction, it also brings risks: blurred work–life boundaries, difficulty disconnecting, and increased stress. More importantly, the rhetoric of empowerment may hide a deeper issue: it shifts responsibility downward, asking employees and HR teams to fill the gaps left by insufficient or outdated regulations.

When unclear laws block innovation

This is where the Kazakhstan study I conducted with my fellow researcher Meruyert Ibraimova offers crucial takeaways. Our research shows that when labour law is vague or overly rigid, as may currently be the case in France, companies struggle to modernise their HR practices, especially during crises.

Unclear employment regulation has several consequences:

1) It slows innovation, precisely when organisations need agility.

2) It pushes HR teams into defensive decision-making, focused on avoiding
legal mistakes rather than rethinking work.

3) It can even force professionals to take legal risks, stretching or bypassing norms simply to keep operations running.

For example, our research demonstrates how during Kazakhstan’s healthcare crisis, the absence of clear rules on employee presence forced HR managers to improvise.
With no legal guidance on who could work remotely and who had to remain on-site, some plant workers were required to ensure the production of oxygen and other gases, while blue-collar employees stayed at home. These decisions disrupted principles of workplace equity and put the organisation at risk legally but were made to enable employees to maintain life-saving activities. Similarly, the managers had to make executive decisions on whether oxygen would be exported to long-term strategic clients, or local hospitals. Instead of empowering HR managers, these examples show how they are obliged to take on responsibilities and absorb the burden of inadequate laws, thus bearing risks that should be shared or eliminated through clearer regulation.

France at a crossroads

While today’s debates often lament the “lack of innovation” in remote-work practices, the obstacle may not lie in managerial creativity or employee willingness. The real bottleneck may be legal uncertainty itself.

If France wants to move past improvised monitoring systems, inconsistent rules, and growing mistrust, it must address the underlying issue: its remote work regulation is out of sync with the realities of digital working practices. Despite that, examples of innovative remote-friendly working approaches exist. WeProov, one of Europe’s leading app-based providers of digital vehicle inspection solutions, attracts unique talent by enabling employees to work from anywhere in the world ,and invests in trimestrial team-building sessions to support group cohesion.

In Japan, Microsoft’s Work Life Choice Challenge rethought how work was organised and measured, from 4-day working weeks without decreasing the pay to data-driven measurement of productivity rather than presence in the workplace.

Without a clearer framework, companies will continue to experiment in isolation, workers will remain unsure of their rights, and HR teams will bear disproportionate responsibility. As a result, “innovation,” the kind that makes remote work sustainable, equitable, and productive, will remain dangerously out of reach.


A weekly e-mail in English featuring expertise from scholars and researchers. It provides an introduction to the diversity of research coming out of the continent and considers some of the key issues facing European countries. Get the newsletter!


The Conversation

Kseniya Navazhylava ne travaille pas, ne conseille pas, ne possède pas de parts, ne reçoit pas de fonds d’une organisation qui pourrait tirer profit de cet article, et n’a déclaré aucune autre affiliation que son organisme de recherche.

ref. Is legal uncertainty softly killing remote-work innovation? – https://theconversation.com/is-legal-uncertainty-softly-killing-remote-work-innovation-276083

Espace : après les drapeaux sur la Lune et une Tesla dans l’espace, une exploration post-coloniale est-elle possible ?

Source: The Conversation – France in French (2) – By Jacques Arnould, Expert éthique, Centre national d’études spatiales (CNES)

La Tesla Roadster d’Elon Musk, dans l’espace. Falcon Heavy Demo Mission/SpaceX

La galaxie d’Andromède, la planète Mars, les missions Apollo hier et Artémis aujourd’hui : avez-vous remarqué combien d’astres et de missions spatiales portent des noms de dieux romains ou grecs ? Certaines conceptions de la conquête spatiale reflètent des doctrines colonialistes. Comment les dépasser ?


Souvenez-vous : le 6 février 2018, Elon Musk a envoyé vers Mars sa propre Tesla, avec, à bord, un mannequin habillé d’une combinaison spatiale. Le message était clair : la colonisation de la planète rouge par le milliardaire américain avait commencé ! Certes, huit ans plus tard, les fusées de la société SpaceX n’ont pas encore atteint la surface de Mars et les projets de colonie restent à l’état de magnifiques images de synthèse ; pourtant, l’enthousiasme ne fléchit pas chez les aficionados de l’espace, et l’inquiétude chez bien d’autres : jamais nous n’avons été aussi près d’une colonisation de l’espace.

Pour la réaliser, bien des défis technologiques et humains restent à relever ; mais l’affaire est suffisamment sérieuse pour y appliquer une analyse et une critique sérieuses. Nous savons trop bien de quelle manière les humains ont colonisé notre Terre. Voulons-nous agir de même dans l’espace ?

Nous irons conquérir la Lune

Elon Musk n’est pas le premier à vouloir conquérir une planète. Ce projet a toujours été associé aux rêves et aux réalisations de voyage dans le ciel. N’en prenons que deux exemples, non dénués d’humour.

Le premier est une satire, issue d’un journal anglais, The Examiner. Le 3 janvier 1808, il prête à Napoléon des propos guerriers de conquête et de colonisation de l’espace :

« Alors je pourrai constituer une armée de ballons, dont Garnerin sera le général, et prendre possession de la Comète. Cela me permettra de conquérir le système solaire, ensuite j’irai avec mes armées dans les autres systèmes, enfin – je pense –, je rencontrerai le Diable. »

Le second exemple est sorti des archives des imageries d’Épinal : dans la forme d’un cerf-volant, un zouave grimpe hardiment une échelle appuyée sur la Lune. « Nous irons conquérir la Lune », claironne la légende ; au même moment où les frères d’armes du zouave sont engagés dans la colonisation de l’Afrique du Nord.

L’espace, une « terra nullius » à explorer, à envahir ?

Jusqu’à preuve du contraire, l’espace extra-atmosphérique présente une propriété assez rare sur notre planète : il est inhabité (je rappelle ici que les scientifiques n’ont pour l’instant aucune preuve de l’existence de la moindre forme de vie, de la moindre biosphère extraterrestre). En terme juridique, l’espace pourrait donc être considéré comme une terra nullius, selon l’expression latine qui désignait des terres « sans habitants » – à l’époque, il s’agissait plus précisément de dire « sans populations chrétiennes » – et, par suite, n’appartenant à personne.

Dans le passé, cette doctrine, validée par le pouvoir religieux, a justifié la prise de possession de ces territoires par les souverains (chrétiens) d’Europe ; et c’est une perspective que les inspirateurs du droit de l’espace et les législateurs spatiaux ont tenté d’écarter en proposant de déclarer les corps célestes patrimoine commun de l’humanité.

Ainsi, le traité de l’Espace, adopté par l’ONU en décembre 1966, a déclaré l’espace bien commun et a été signé par les grandes puissances de l’époque, États-Unis et Union soviétique en tête : l’espace appartient à tous ; son exploitation est possible… comme l’illustre la lucrative activité des satellites de communication.

vue d’artiste d’une colonie spatiale
Dans les années 1970, l’idée d’établir des colonies dans l’espace était en plein essor. Ici une vue d’artiste de champs à l’intérieur d’un vaisseau spatial.
NASA Ames Research Center, CC BY

Toutefois, lorsque l’accord sur la Lune, proposée par l’ONU treize ans plus tard, propose de déclarer l’astre des nuits patrimoine commun de l’humanité et donc d’y interdire toute forme d’exploitation, les puissances spatiales refusent de le signer. Il n’est aujourd’hui ratifié que par 18 États dépourvus de grandes ambitions spatiales.

Devons-nous conclure que les puissances spatiales, établies ou en devenir, caressent des rêves de conquête et de colonisation ? La décision de l’administration Obama de l’hiver 2015 de soutenir et de préserver les initiatives de ses entreprises nationales en matière d’exploitation des ressources spatiales, suivie par des initiatives analogues de la part des gouvernements du Luxembourg, des Émirats arabes unis et du Japon, pourrait faire penser à la politique des comptoirs lancée par les puissances européennes à partir du XVᵉ siècle. Les défis technologiques à relever sont aussi importants que les débats juridiques et politiques à résoudre.

Quant à l’immense vide spatial et, notamment, le domaine des orbites autour de la Terre : ce territoire était incontestablement inhabité jusqu’à l’arrivée du premier Spoutnik, puis du premier cosmonaute. Toutefois, il possède à son tour une caractéristique singulière, celle d’être impérativement à usage commun, du simple fait de la mécanique céleste : tout corps y est en mouvement et n’occupe un point de l’espace que très brièvement. Le seul mode possible d’appropriation relève de la saturation, autrement dit d’une occupation par le nombre : fin 2025, entre 50 et 65 % des satellites en orbite autour de la Terre appartenaient à un seul opérateur, SpaceX.

S’il est inapproprié de parler d’une « colonisation des orbites circumterrestres », il est à craindre que les règles et les lois qui gouvernent l’usage de cet espace soient celles du plus fort, du plus nombreux, du premier arrivé.

Pouvons-nous décoloniser le passé spatial ?

Que pouvons-nous conclure ici ? Qu’à formellement parler la colonisation de l’espace lui-même n’a pas encore commencé et que, par voie de conséquence, l’enjeu actuel et à venir constitue moins à décoloniser l’espace qu’à en empêcher la colonisation future.

En revanche, force est de constater que l’esprit des 70 premières années de l’entreprise spatiale a bien été imprégné par certains traits communs aux politiques, aux récits, aux symboles de la colonisation. À l’époque des missions Apollo, n’était-il pas question de « conquête de l’espace », plutôt que de son exploration ? Si planter un drapeau sur le sol lunaire n’a jamais été interprété comme une volonté d’appropriation, le geste a tout de même été effectué pour affirmer la supériorité technique des États-Unis et, donc, une forme de suprématie politique.

Aussi symbolique quoique moins violente est l’habitude de baptiser les astres et leurs topographies en s’inspirant des mythologies et de l’histoire de l’Occident. Entamer la décolonisation de l’espace peut alors consister à recourir désormais à d’autres mythologies pour baptiser les corps célestes que découvrent les astronomes. Baptiser Oumuamua, en hawaïen « l’éclaireur », l’objet interstellaire repéré le 19 octobre 2017 en est une illustration.

Que dire dès lors des revendications émises par plusieurs peuples amérindiens lors de missions lunaires, qu’il s’agisse de celles des années 1960 ou celle plus récente menée début 2024 par la société états-unienne Astrobotic ? Pour ces populations, la Lune appartient au domaine du sacré : y poser des vaisseaux robotiques, habités ou transportant les cendres de Terriens, n’est-ce pas accomplir un sacrilège, autrement dit une forme extrême de colonisation ?

Vers un futur post-colonial

Les raisons ne manquent donc pas de porter dans les affaires spatiales le souci de décolonisation qui marque aujourd’hui de nombreux discours à propos de l’espace, quitte à y inclure l’apport des ingénieurs allemands (éventuellement nazis) dans le développement spatial de pays, comme les États-Unis et la France, ou encore la politique menée par la France sur le territoire guyanais afin d’y implanter la base spatiale de Kourou, qui succéderait en 1968 à celle d’Hammaguir après l’indépendance de l’Algérie.

Ce souci est indispensable ; mais il n’est pas suffisant.

Le processus de décolonisation doit conduire à une perspective post-coloniale, autrement dit à l’instauration de politiques, de gouvernances des activités humaines dans l’espace qui soient autant que possible débarrassées des principaux caractères néfastes de la colonisation : la soumission violente et l’exploitation brutale d’une partie de l’humanité par une autre, l’exploitation jusqu’au saccage de ressources communes, la destruction de cultures et de traditions ancestrales, etc.

Dans cette perspective, les discours, les revendications et les programmes spatiaux de certains acteurs du NewSpace (les stations spatiales de Jeff Bezos, les colonies martiennes d’Elon Musk) peuvent susciter bien des soucis, bien des craintes, tant ils mettent en avant les seuls intérêts de ces entrepreneurs, les seuls plaisirs ou la seule sécurité de quelques privilégiés.

De plus, l’argument de l’espèce humaine interplanétaire est loin d’être moralement convaincant. Où est-il « écrit » que nous devions nous répandre au-delà des frontières terrestres, au détriment de possibles biosphères extraterrestres ? À quel « échantillon » humain pourrions-nous confier le soin des expansions extraterrestres ? Ou, pour le dire autrement, quelle partie de l’humanité serait « laissée » sur une Terre dont nous savons l’avenir menacé ?

N’oublions pas pour autant les récits d’hier et d’aujourd’hui qui décrivent des communautés humaines installées durablement dans l’espace. Non pour alimenter les rêves de paradis retrouvé, comme ceux imaginés par le gourou du NewSpace que fut Gerard O’Neill, mais pour mener le travail critique imaginé par Thomas More dans son célèbre ouvrage, l’Utopie.

Publié dans sa version finale en 1518, ce petit ouvrage, « non moins salutaire qu’agréable » selon les mots mêmes de son auteur, invitait ses premiers lecteurs à partir pour une cité totalement imaginaire, un non-lieu aussi bien qu’un non-temps, qui servait de miroir pour porter un regard critique sur leur propre société. Le philosophe britannique ne cherchait ni à rompre brutalement les liens avec un passé ni à s’échapper dans un futur idéalisé, mais avant tout à remettre l’être humain au centre du souci commun, à lui construire un futur à la mesure de sa condition, celle éprouvée dans le passé et dans le présent, celle pensée et espérée pour le futur.

The Conversation

Jacques Arnould ne travaille pas, ne conseille pas, ne possède pas de parts, ne reçoit pas de fonds d’une organisation qui pourrait tirer profit de cet article, et n’a déclaré aucune autre affiliation que son organisme de recherche.

ref. Espace : après les drapeaux sur la Lune et une Tesla dans l’espace, une exploration post-coloniale est-elle possible ? – https://theconversation.com/espace-apres-les-drapeaux-sur-la-lune-et-une-tesla-dans-lespace-une-exploration-post-coloniale-est-elle-possible-275159

Artemis, Chang’e, Chandrayaan… en quoi la course à la Lune des années 2020 diffère de celle des années 1960

Source: The Conversation – France in French (2) – By Alban Guyomarc’h, Doctorant en droit spatial et en droit international privé, Université Paris-Panthéon-Assas; École normale supérieure (ENS) – PSL

Quelques-uns des lanceurs qui doivent propulser des sondes et des humains vers la Lune cette année ou la prochaine : SLS pour la Nasa, Longue Marche-5 de l’agence spatiale chinoise (CNSA), LVM3 pour l’agence spatiale indienne (ISRO). Nasa/ CNSA/ISRO

En 2026 est prévu un lancement très attendu – et déjà reporté plusieurs fois : celui d’Artemis 2, la deuxième mission du programme d’exploration lunaire Artemis, débuté en 2017 par la Nasa et ses partenaires. Fin 2026, c’est la Chine qui doit envoyer une mission robotisée au pôle Sud lunaire, Chang’e 7, tandis que l’Inde prépare l’alunissage de Chandrayaan-4 pour 2027.


Dans la mission Artemis 2, qui doit emmener quatre astronautes survoler notre satellite naturel avant de revenir sur Terre, tout semble baigner dans un parfum de guerre froide, comme un écho lointain du programme Apollo. La fusée SLS (pour Space Launch System), haute de cent mètres, rappelle la Saturn-5 qui propulsait autrefois les astronautes vers la Lune. La capsule Orion évoque le Command Module d’hier, panneaux solaires en plus. Même la rhétorique états-unienne réactive l’idée d’une nouvelle course lunaire : non plus contre l’URSS, mais face à l’autre hégémon du moment, la Chine. Et puis il y a la destination elle-même, la Lune, dont le sol s’apprête à être foulé de nouveau.

La pièce qui se joue devant nous paraît familière. Tout y a comme un air de déjà-vu. Pourtant derrière ce décor rétro se dessinent des lignes nouvelles. Si l’on adopte les perspectives des relations internationales et du droit, le programme Artemis permet d’illustrer deux évolutions majeures : l’émergence d’un axe de compétition Nord-Sud dans l’exploration lunaire et la disruption du cadre juridique applicable dans l’espace.

La nouvelle carte de l’exploration lunaire

Alors que la « conquête spatiale lunaire » des années 1960 ne comptait que deux superpuissances, l’URSS et les États-Unis, notre satellite naturel est aujourd’hui une destination prisée des programmes d’exploration, l’intérêt pour la Lune ayant crû au cours de la dernière décennie après un relatif désintérêt dans la période post-Apollo. Il faut prendre au sérieux cette internationalisation des ambitions d’exploration, et partant, savoir regarder les différents modèles d’exploration proposés ; tout en les rattachant à leur contexte culturel et géopolitique d’origine.

À partir de 2017, en réaction, notamment aux avancées spatiales chinoises dans les domaines de l’exploration, les États-Unis lancent progressivement le programme Artemis, visant à ramener des astronautes sur la Lune entre la fin des années 2020 et le début de la décennie 2030.

Annoncé en mars 2021, son pendant sino-russe, le programme ILRS (pour International Lunar Research Station) se propose des objectifs analogues, quoiqu’avec un calendrier différent. Il associe les compétences de deux puissances spatiales importantes que sont la Russie et la Chine. La première a déjà visé la Lune à l’été 2023 avec sa mission Luna 25 ; la seconde développe une série de missions lunaires Chang’e, depuis le début des années 2000, dont le septième opus, Chang’e-7, est une mission robotisée (et non habitée) qui doit décoller pour le pôle Sud lunaire fin 2026, avec un programme scientifique ambitieux.

Dans le sillage de ces deux programmes massifs que sont Artemis et l’ILRS, on trouve toute une série de missions plus modestes, optant pour une exploration robotisée de la surface de la Lune.

L’Inde, par exemple, poursuit ses lancements dans le cadre du programme Chandrayaan (Chandrayaan-3, a atteint le pôle Sud de la Lune en août 2023) et le pays ne cache pas ses ambitions dans le domaine du vol habité.

Parallèlement à ces projets, le Japon conduit une série de missions robotisées, dont certaines en coopération avec des start-up, et notamment ispace, une entreprise basée au Japon, aux États-Unis et au Luxembourg. Ce dernier se veut le fer-de-lance de la prospection de ressources spatiales à l’échelle européenne. L’Europe, via l’Agence spatiale européenne (ESA), développe, au-delà de ses coopérations avec la Nasa, une série de programmes lunaires futurs, et notamment l’atterrisseur lunaire Argonaut, pour début 2030.

Enfin, d’autres États se greffent à des missions lunaires existantes, c’est ainsi que la mission japonaise Hakuto-R1 embarquait en 2022 un rover émirati, Rashid ou que la mission chinoise Chang’e-6 a permis le placement en orbite lunaire du satellite pakistanais d’observation lunaire ICUBE-Q en 2024.

Les concepteurs des programmes Artemis et ILRS ont vu dans cette internationalisation des ambitions lunaires l’occasion de faire de la Lune un terrain de coopération ; ce qui constitue, là aussi, une nouveauté.

Les États-Unis coopèrent ainsi avec les États européens, notamment via l’ESA, avec le Japon ou encore avec le Canada. En face, la Chine et la Russie ont souhaité coopérer, selon des modalités qui demeurent floues, avec le Venezuela, l’Afrique du Sud, l’Azerbaïdjan, le Pakistan, la Biélorussie, l’Égypte, la Thaïlande, le Kazakhstan et le Sénégal. Si l’attention des chercheurs à l’égard d’Artemis est acquise, les travaux sur le réseau de coopération de l’ILRS sont encore assez rares.

In fine, cette carte de la coopération lunaire dit aussi beaucoup des évolutions de la géopolitique spatiale du siècle, qui ne tourne plus autour d’un axe Est-Ouest hérité de la guerre froide, mais autour d’un axe Nord global-Sud global – même s’il faut noter la participation d’États du Nord global à des missions lunaires chinoises, et notamment la participation du Cnes, l’agence spatiale française, à la mission Chang’e-6.

La disruption unilatérale du droit applicable

C’est encore dans le cadre du programme Artemis qu’il faut replacer deux innovations juridiques faisant de la Lune le terrain de ruptures majeures pour le droit de l’espace.

Ayant principalement pour objet la question de la propriété des ressources spatiales, ces ruptures sont venues troubler la relative stabilité du cadre constitué jusqu’alors par le traité de l’Espace de 1967, et dans une moindre mesure, par l’accord sur la Lune de 1979. Par l’article II du traité de l’Espace, l’espace extra-atmosphérique et notamment les corps célestes sont frappés d’un principe de non-appropriation ; tandis que dans l’article XI de l’accord sur la Lune, les ressources spatiales sont constituées en patrimoine commun de l’humanité.

Mais l’intérêt manifesté par quelques entreprises états-uniennes pour le sol lunaire et ce qu’il contiendrait d’exploitable (le conditionnel est vraiment de mise) a réveillé leur imaginaire juridique, ensuite relayé par le droit de la première puissance spatiale.

Ainsi, la première rupture date du Space Act de 2015, quand les États-Unis ont introduit en droit interne la possibilité de s’approprier légalement les ressources extraites dans l’espace. La proposition est pour le moins en délicatesse avec le droit international applicable, et notamment avec le principe de non-appropriation évoqué précédemment – ce que n’ont pas manqué de remarquer certains États aux Nations unies, dès 2016.

Néanmoins, elle a depuis fait florès, et on retrouve aujourd’hui des textes analogues en droit japonais, luxembourgeois ou encore émirati. Un groupe de travail spécifique fut même lancé aux Nations unies sur le sujet.

La seconde rupture juridique amorcée par les États-Unis concerne les accords Artemis, dont les sections 10 et 11 viennent consacrer, d’une part, la possibilité de s’approprier les ressources spatiales et, d’autre part, la possibilité de dessiner des zones de sécurité autour des installations lunaires. Là aussi, la conformité au droit de l’espace est a minima questionnable.

Mais c’est surtout la méthode employée qui interroge : les accords Artemis ne sont pas en soi un accord multilatéral concernant le droit applicable à l’exploration des corps célestes. Leur juridicité même est régulièrement questionnée. Par ailleurs, les États signataires des accords Artemis n’en ont pas négocié le contenu ; ils se sont contentés d’y adhérer, avec des contreparties variables. Néanmoins, grâce à ces signatures, l’initiative unilatérale de la première puissance spatiale mondiale prend des airs d’initiative internationale – et rend mainstream l’interprétation du droit applicable dans sa version états-unienne, ceci sachant que l’on compte aujourd’hui plus d’une cinquantaine d’États signataires des accords Artemis.

Ces deux ruptures juridiques d’origine états-unienne placent la nouvelle vague d’explorations lunaires sous l’égide d’un droit de l’espace en voie de renouvellement, tant dans son contenu que dans la fabrique de la norme spatiale. Les premières missions à toucher le sol lunaire auront donc un rôle majeur dans la définition du droit futur de l’exploration des corps célestes.

L’exploration lunaire rattrapée par les enjeux des années 2020

À côté des dynamiques nouvelles qui redessinent le paysage lunaire en ce début de siècle, d’autres facteurs rappellent combien celui-ci est aussi rattrapé par les contraintes au cœur des années 2020. Il est alors impossible de ne pas évoquer la question du coût environnemental et budgétaire de ces programmes.

Les grands programmes d’exploration ont toujours coûté cher : des 250 milliards de dollars du programme Apollo, on passe à une estimation basse du coût global du programme Artemis jusqu’à l’année 2025 de l’ordre de 93 milliards de dollars, soit plus de 78,6 milliards d’euros (un seul lancement Artemis est estimé à 4 milliards de dollars, plus de 3,3 milliards d’euros). Des montants tentaculaires comparés au budget spatial annuel français (2,5 milliards d’euros par an depuis plusieurs années) ou européen (l’ESA a voté un budget record d’environ 22 milliards d’euros pour trois ans).

D’ailleurs, la sécurisation budgétaire (et in fine politique) des programmes lunaires états-uniens a été un enjeu récurrent au cours de l’année 2025, les États-Unis finançant, puis dé-finançant, puis refinançant tout ou partie du programme lunaire, quitte à sabrer quelques-uns des domaines de coopération sur le sujet, notamment avec l’ESA.

Il faut aussi questionner la dimension écologique des programmes lunaires, quoique ce ne soit pas tellement une préoccupation états-unienne. Le lancement d’Artemis 2 intervient dans un monde marqué par l’intensification des effets du changement climatique. Cette concomitance interroge quant à l’adéquation de ces programmes à leur contexte environnemental et laisse aussi ouvert un autre chantier de réflexion, important à conduire, et notamment en Europe : qu’est-ce qu’une ambition lunaire correctement dimensionnée à notre époque, à la fois budgétairement et environnementalement ?

Car au-delà de la question classique et attendue de la priorisation des investissements, la question qui se pose est celle de la définition d’autres modèles d’exploration spatiale possibles – en ce sens, Artemis et l’ILRS ne fixent pas nécessairement le la de ce que devrait être une ambition lunaire en 2026.

The Conversation

Alban Guyomarc’h est membre du Groupe de travail “Objectif Lune” de l’Association Nationale de la Recherche et de la Technologie (ANRT), groupe de travail dont il coordonne les travaux. Dans le cadre de ses recherches, il est également membre du PEPR Origines de la vie, dans le cadre duquel il conduit ses recherches doctorales au Collège de France.

ref. Artemis, Chang’e, Chandrayaan… en quoi la course à la Lune des années 2020 diffère de celle des années 1960 – https://theconversation.com/artemis-change-chandrayaan-en-quoi-la-course-a-la-lune-des-annees-2020-differe-de-celle-des-annees-1960-276469

Donald Trump campaigned against ‘endless wars’. So why is he risking another one in Iran?

Source: The Conversation – Global Perspectives – By Jared Mondschein, Director of Research, US Studies Centre, University of Sydney

US President Donald Trump has summed up his rationale for attacking Iran fairly simply, saying “this was our last best chance to strike”.

Not known for adhering to any particular lasting strategy, Trump sees each day in the White House as an episode in a reality show in which he seeks an advantage over his rivals, if not to vanquish them. And Iran certainly qualifies as one of America’s most enduring rivals.

To be sure, Trump’s claim that Iran posed an imminent threat to the US is hard to justify. After all, Iran’s military and proxy groups have never been weaker.

It’s also hard for him to claim that Venezuela or Islamic State operatives in Nigeria, Syria and Iraq posed imminent threats to the US. Nonetheless, the Trump administration struck all of them over the past year.

As much as Trump may have campaigned against nation-building and “forever wars” when running for president, he certainly never campaigned against military strikes, particularly ones that entail minimal danger to American lives.

Trump campaigned in 2016 on strengthening the US fight against Islamic State. And once in office, his administration not only helped eliminate the IS caliphate – finishing the job started under the Obama administration – but also killed IS leader Abu Bakr al-Baghdadi.

The first Trump administration was also behind the assassination of Iranian commander Qassem Soleimani in a brazen attack near Baghdad airport.

It is likely for this reason his administration decided to go for the death blow now, when the Iranian government is at its most vulnerable.

There were also specific circumstances that have made Trump more open to limited military actions in the past:

  • long-lasting, bipartisan frustration with an adversary
  • the support of regional US allies and partners for a strike (or at least their toleration)
  • US capability to mitigate potential responses.

And there was another undeniable factor: the increasing confidence that comes from the perceived success of previous actions. Many expected the Trump administration’s capture of Venezuelan President Nicolas Maduro to result in chaos, for instance, but that has yet to happen.

Trump in 2019: ‘Great nations do not fight endless wars.’

Decades of antagonism

This is undoubtedly a war of choice, not necessity. That said, the Trump administration is likely hoping the US can be less involved in the Middle East after this war, if it results in a different Iran.

The sentiment that fuels Trump’s antagonism towards NATO allies is the same that is motivating his war against Iran: the US wants to do less overseas.

Such a statement may appear ironic given the administration has undertaken America’s largest military attack since the invasion of Iraq 23 years ago. But this is presumably the administration’s end game with Iran, risky as it may be.

Half a century ago, Iran was second only to Israel among Middle Eastern countries with close working relationships with the United States. The post-1979 Islamic Republic, however, upended the region’s power dynamics. Iran’s top foreign policy priorities for decades have been projecting hostility towards the United States and Israel.

In that time, Democratic and Republican administrations alike have labelled Iran the world’s foremost state sponsor of terrorism.

For years, Iran has proudly supported Hamas in Gaza, Hezbollah in Lebanon, the Houthi rebels in Yemen, Bashar al-Assad’s regime in Syria, and Shia militant groups in Iraq. Such groups have killed hundreds of Americans and tens of thousands of others across the Middle East. Iranian agents also sought to assassinate Trump and other senior US officials.

Iran and its proxy groups have cost successive American administrations – both Democratic and Republican – enormous political capital and resources for decades.

It should also be said the vast majority of Iranians are against the regime and have never felt more optimistic about a brighter future since the Islamic Revolution in 1979.

Limiting factors moving forward

US Defence Secretary Pete Hegseth has tried to distinguish the Iran war from the “forever wars” of the past, saying, “This is not Iraq, this is not endless”.

The administration is likely aware of other key differences, too.

Compared to George W. Bush’s war against Iraq in 2003, Trump has lacklustre support for the Iran strikes.

Democratic lawmakers have called the attack both unconstitutional and against international law.

Only 55% of Republicans support the attack, despite the fact Trump himself enjoys an approval rating among members of his party of around 80%.

The Trump administration hasn’t helped itself with its incoherent messaging, either. It has used a number of justifications for the strikes, including stopping an imminent Iranian attack, destroying Iran’s ballistic missiles, preventing it from acquiring nuclear weapons, cutting off support for its proxy militant groups, and regime change.

Most recently, the administration said it had to join Israel’s offensive against Iran because it was going to be drawn in by Iran’s response anyway. And Trump refused to rule out boots on the ground in Iran.

These conflicting messages don’t help sell the operation to a wary public, particularly one that is far more concerned about the economy than the Middle East. After all, the last time a foreign policy issue played a significant factor in a US election was arguably more than 20 years ago.

So, why engage in such an expensive and risky endeavour that even his own base doesn’t fully support?

One reason is the US constitution allows the president to do a lot more to change the dynamics on the ground in Iran than it does in the United States. The judicial branch, for instance, has limited Trump’s “Liberation Day” tariffs and deployment of federal troops domestically. Foreign policy is one area where he can be a man of decisive action.

But Trump knows a long war is not feasible. The US, Israel and their regional allies and partners face the real prospect of running low on munitions to continue defending against Iran’s far cheaper drones for the weeks or months that Trump says the war may continue.

The Islamic Republic of Iran is also facing an existential battle for its survival. The regime’s will to fight and ruthlessly effective internal security forces – combined with low US domestic support for war – means time may be on its side.

Facing increasing levels of domestic opposition, we can expect the Trump administration to try to avoid a long-term conflict in Iran. As history shows, however, it still needs an exit strategy.

The Conversation

Jared Mondschein does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.

ref. Donald Trump campaigned against ‘endless wars’. So why is he risking another one in Iran? – https://theconversation.com/donald-trump-campaigned-against-endless-wars-so-why-is-he-risking-another-one-in-iran-277370

Russia wanted a new world order. This wasn’t the one it had in mind

Source: The Conversation – Global Perspectives – By Mark Edele, Hansen Professor in History, The University of Melbourne

Four years ago, Vladimir Putin escalated his war against Ukraine to an all-out assault. The plan was for a quick and lively campaign and a speedy takeover of a country the Russian president thought shouldn’t exist.

Victory would reassert Russia’s status and hasten a shift from a unipolar to a multipolar world; instead of one great power (the United States), we’d have several. Russia would, of course, become one of the “greats”.

So, how’d that go?

Four years on, Russia has not found itself among fellow great powers willing to divide up the globe.

A middle power despite its great power cravings, Russia has instead been forced into a growing dependence on China while having to deal with a multitude of hostile middle powers, which often thwart its ambitions.

A greater failure is hard to imagine.

Careful what you wish for

In recent days, Russia had to watch on helplessly as the US and Israel – following Russia’s playbook – ignored international law and attacked Iran, a close Russian ally.

When Iran’s foreign minister asked his Russian counterpart for help, Sergei Lavrov sounded more like a European politician than an advocate for a new world order.

He condemned the “unprovoked act of armed aggression […] in direct violation of the fundamental principles and norms of international law”. He called for a “peaceful solution based in international law, mutual respect and a balanced consideration of interests”.

As The Guardian put it, Russia has found out a

rejection of the old rules of geopolitics have not necessarily played into its favour.

Russia underestimated the extent to which the old order gave it room to manoeuvre. Then, as long as others played by the rules, breaking them could give Russia a tactical advantage.

But once others also opted for raw power, the limits of Russia’s abilities became obvious.

Reality checks

The first reality check came on the battlefield.

Russia lost the battle of Kyiv, had to retreat from much of what it had occupied in the north of Ukraine, and was forced into a grinding war of attrition in the east.

Ukraine lost big swathes of territory in the south, which allowed Russia to establish a land bridge between Donbas and Crimea (which it illegally occupied in 2014).

But Ukraine’s government retained control of 80% of its territory. It also held onto its use of the Black Sea, a vital link to world markets.

Unable to advance meaningfully on the ground, Russia tried a criminal air war targeting civilian infrastructure, hoping to freeze Ukraine into submission.

Such tactics rarely work, but do cause untold misery and suffering for civilians.

Meanwhile, Ukraine is fending off Russia’s attempt to enforce Ukraine’s capitulation at the negotiating table.

Being a great power isn’t cheap

All Russia’s efforts are complicated by the emerging multipolar world order it had so desperately hoped to conjure into being.

Ukraine has been supported by a coalition of middle powers that are slowly finding their feet in this new reality.

Russia has discovered the hard way that its geopolitical fantasy of being a great power in this new multipolar world order comes with one tiny problem: it can’t afford it.

Its population is both declining and ageing. Its GDP (adjusted to purchasing power) is in the same ballpark as that of Japan or Germany (rather than the much larger India, to say nothing of the US or China).

And its economy is dominated by hydrocarbon exports destined for a bleak future in a quickly decarbonising world.

As one of the most consequential middle powers of the Euro-Asian landmass, with a permanent seat on the UN Security Council, and a sizeable military armed with nuclear weapons, it could cause significant damage trying to assert its desired great power status.

But the results were opposite to intentions.

From bad to worse

Unable to subdue Ukraine, Russia’s power projection suffered elsewhere. Its once-close relationship with Israel is on the rocks. It lost its foothold in Syria and has proved unable to support its allies in Iran and Venezuela.

In a lawless international order, it is too inconsequential to dictate the play.

While US President Donald Trump at times treats Putin as an equal, nobody else does.

True, China has celebrated a “no-limits partnership” with Russia, its biggest neighbour.

But it neither took clear sides in Russia’s Ukraine war, nor sent weapons. Instead, Beijing used Russia’s isolation to cement a relationship in which it clearly has the upper hand.

India increased its purchase of Russian oil (now at a steep discount) and continued to buy Russian weapons, but as part of a multi-vector geopolitical strategy.

Rather than a fellow great power, India saw Russia as an opportunity to be exploited in its ongoing quest for an autonomous foreign policy.

Fantasy and reality

Ukraine, meanwhile, lost the clear support from the US it had enjoyed at the start of the war, but has been supported financially and militarily by a flexible coalition of middle powers.

According to the latest data, the nearly US$75 billion (A$105 billion) in military aid the US has provided since the start of the war has amounted to only 30% of the total tally.

The remaining 70%, and all ongoing military support in the past 12 months, came from middle and smaller powers, led by Germany (20%), the United Kingdom (9%), Norway (8%) and Sweden (7%).

Thus, Russia’s war on Ukraine did hasten the emergence of a multipolar world.

It just wasn’t the one Russia had in mind.

The Conversation

Mark Edele receives funding from the Australian Research Council.

ref. Russia wanted a new world order. This wasn’t the one it had in mind – https://theconversation.com/russia-wanted-a-new-world-order-this-wasnt-the-one-it-had-in-mind-277195

Does regime change ever work? History tells us long-term consequences are often disastrous

Source: The Conversation – Global Perspectives – By Matt Fitzpatrick, Professor in International History, Flinders University

The latest US-Israeli bombings in Iran differ from last year’s, because one of the stated aims this time is regime change.

Engaged in the mass murder of civilians at home and fomenting violence abroad, the current Iranian regime has few friends internationally.

Many would be glad to see Iran undergo a far-reaching program of political reform. For many in the Iranian diaspora, regime change imposed from outside is better than none.

But the historical record of imposed regime change, particularly as undertaken by the United States, is patchy at best.

Things rarely go to plan, and the long-term consequences are often disastrous.

Afghanistan and Iraq

Some immediate examples spring to mind.

Still fresh in the public mind would be the shocking scenes of desperate Afghans trying to leave Kabul in 2021 as the United States conceded it could not permanently defeat the Taliban.

This admission came after two decades, thousands of deaths of US and allied troops and tens of thousands of Afghan deaths.

Many would also remember then-US President George W. Bush’s disastrous speech in May 2003 about America’s regime change efforts in Iraq, begun in March that year. Here, Bush addressed the press while standing in front of a huge banner that said “Mission Accomplished”; the implication was regime change had been achieved in just a few months.

In fact, what followed was another decade of US fighting to try to stabilise Iraq, with actions arguably not wound up until 2018 or even beyond.

Once again this came at a huge cost to civilian lives, with The Lancet estimating as early as 2004 that around 100,000 “excess deaths” had occurred as a result of the US attempt to effect regime change there.

Thereafter, Iraq was continuously wracked by violence and civil war. Notably, ISIS took advantage of its weakened state to establish its “caliphate” on Iraqi territory, leading to yet another wave of US intervention.

But US attempts to impose regime change have a much longer and equally unsuccessful history, as well.

From the Bay of Pigs to Iran

The phrase “Bay of Pigs” has become a synonym for the inability to overthrow a government.

Aimed at overthrowing Fidel Castro in Cuba in April 1961, not only was then-US President John F. Kennedy’s foray into regime change unsuccessful (Castro died in his sleep with his regime still in control of Cuba at the age of 90 in 2016), it also led to the execution of CIA operatives there.

The US also faced the embarrassment of having to swap tractors for the freedom of the Cuban exiles who had carried out the failed invasion for them.

In 1953, the US and Britain actually did succeed in overthrowing Iranian Prime Minister Mohammad Mossadeq after he’d announced Iran’s oil industry would be nationalised in response to Western oil companies’ intransigence on royalties and control.

This regime change effort by the US did “succeed” in the short run, but it led to a series of events that culminated in the repressive regime the US aims to replace today.

Mossadeq’s toppling led to the shah of Iran, Mohammad Reza Pahlavi, becoming an absolutist monarch in the cruellest tradition.

His savage repression led in no small way to the 1979 Iranian revolution, which became the vehicle for the present theocratic government to come to power.

It is one of the ironies of history that the son of the dictatorial shah is now presenting himself as the logical candidate to bring democracy to a new Iran.




Read more:
Iran’s exiled crown prince is touting himself as a future leader. Is this what’s best for the country?


From the colonial era to WWII

Some might reach further back and argue regime change in Germany worked after the second world war.

It is worth remembering, however, that this was far from a simple process. It involved occupying Germany for more than a generation, decades of trials against ex-Nazis and splitting the country in two for more than 40 years.

As the epicentre of the Cold War, this is hardly an experiment in regime change that could be easily replicated.

Earlier examples of regime change from the colonial period provide similar lessons.

Large armies of invading colonial forces were able to pull down governments in Africa and Asia and prop up unpopular ones.

But once the occupying forces sought to remove their militaries or lost the will to resort to massacres to reinforce their rule, the shift towards decolonisation or self-rule became increasingly irresistible.

In the Dutch East Indies, French-ruled Vietnam, British India and the Belgian Congo, governments imposed by external powers were rarely viable once the threat of force was removed.

Czechoslovakia’s Prague Spring protests in 1968 – an effort to throw off Soviet-imposed rule – were quickly crushed by the USSR, showing once again that regime change “works” for as long as you are prepared to enforce it with violence.

By 1989, however, the Soviet Union’s appetite for enforcing its hegemony across eastern Europe had waned, leading to a largely peaceful transition to democracy across the region.

A failure to learn from history

Today’s US leaders are unlikely to accept the counsel of history.

But they would do well to remember the simple message of former US Secretary of State Colin Powell’s “Pottery Barn” rule for attempts to overthrow governments: you break it, you own it.

At present, however, the view from Washington seems to be that you can just break states and hope someone else will fix it for you.

The Conversation

Matt Fitzpatrick receives funding from the Australian Research Council He is currently president of the History Council of South Australia.

ref. Does regime change ever work? History tells us long-term consequences are often disastrous – https://theconversation.com/does-regime-change-ever-work-history-tells-us-long-term-consequences-are-often-disastrous-277221

Why surging oil prices are a shock for the global economy – but not yet a crisis

Source: The Conversation – Global Perspectives – By Stella Huangfu, Associate Professor, School of Economics, University of Sydney

Global oil markets have reacted swiftly to escalating tensions in the Middle East as the United States and Israel continue their assault on Iran.

After oil tanker traffic through a key chokepoint, the Strait of Hormuz, stopped,
the benchmark oil price, Brent crude, jumped about 6% to over US$77 a barrel. It initially spiked as high as US$82, its highest level since January 2025.

A roughly US$10 jump in a matter of days is a significant move and delivers an immediate inflationary jolt for oil-importing economies.

What does this mean for households, businesses and central banks?

Why oil still matters

Oil may no longer dominate the global economy as it did in the 1970s, but it remains embedded in modern production.

It feeds directly into petrol prices, diesel, aviation fuel and shipping, and shapes the cost of transporting and producing everything from food to manufactured goods. When oil prices rise quickly, the effects spread beyond energy markets.

Economists call this a “negative supply shock”: the result is production becomes more expensive. Companies can absorb higher costs or pass them on to consumers. In practice, they usually do both.

The result is an uncomfortable mix of higher inflation and slower economic growth.

The inflation impact will weigh on central banks

The most immediate effect is at the petrol pump. Higher crude prices lift fuel costs and push up headline inflation. For households already facing cost-of-living pressures, that can be felt quickly.

For example, when the price of oil goes up by $10 a barrel, the rough rule of thumb is that the price of gasoline for US drivers could rise by about 25 cents a gallon. Elsewhere, such as Australia, it’s estimated at around 10 cents a litre more for every US$10 rise.

Transport and logistics costs also increase, and some of those higher costs filter into the broader price level over time.

How much inflation rises depends how long the disruption to oil markets lasts. A brief spike might add only a few tenths of a percentage point to inflation. A sustained increase would be more problematic.

Central banks are watching closely. Inflation in the US and Europe has eased from post-pandemic peaks. In Australia, inflation has fallen from its pandemic highs, but recent data show renewed upward pressure. Reflecting those concerns, the Reserve Bank of Australia raised the official cash rate in February.

An oil shock could weaken global growth

Higher fuel costs risk adding fresh momentum to inflation now, arriving at precisely the wrong time, just as policymakers at the US Federal Reserve and the European Central Bank were hoping it was coming under control.

In one of the first comments from a central banker on the economic impact of the conflict, the Reserve Bank of Australia’s governor today noted the supply shock could add to inflation pressures.

However, Governor Michele Bullock also warned that a prolonged impact on energy markets

could have adverse effects on global economic activity and result in downward pressure on inflation. It is not obvious how this might play out.

Oil-driven inflation is particularly challenging for central banks. Raising interest rates cannot affect the supply of oil. Unlike demand-driven inflation – where strong consumer spending can be cooled by higher interest rates – supply-driven inflation reflects higher production costs.

If central banks lift rates to contain prices, they risk slowing growth further. But the interest rate rises cannot directly lower oil prices.

Pressure on household budgets

Higher oil prices also squeeze household budgets.

When families spend more on fuel, they have less to spend elsewhere. Since household consumption typically accounts for around 60% of the economy in advanced economies, even modest shifts in spending can matter.

Businesses face similar pressure. Higher energy and transport costs reduce profit margins and can delay hiring or investment.

The effects vary by country. Europe is a major net energy importer. While Australia exports coal and gas, it relies heavily on imported oil and refined fuel. That leaves both economies exposed to higher global oil prices.

The United States is more mixed: higher prices support its energy sector, but still lift costs for most households.

The current jump in the oil price is not enough to trigger a global recession. But it adds another headwind as global growth moderates.

How does this compare with 2022?

The obvious comparison is the oil price surge following Russia’s invasion of Ukraine in 2022.

Then, crude prices briefly climbed above US$120 a barrel, intensifying already high inflation. In response, the US Federal Reserve hiked rates rapidly to rein in inflation.

Today’s situation is less extreme. Prices are well below those peaks, global demand is softer, and interest rates in the United States, Europe and Australia are several percentage points higher than they were in early 2022. Inflation has been trending down in most major economies.

Still, households may be more sensitive now. After years of rising prices and higher interest rates, consumer confidence is fragile. Even moderate increases in petrol prices can influence spending.

The key question is whether this is temporary, or the start of a sustained climb.

What if prices rise further?

If oil prices continue moving higher – especially toward US$100 a barrel – the risks would increase.

Inflation would be pushed higher. Central banks could face an uncomfortable choice: tolerate higher energy-driven inflation or keep interest rates higher for longer.

Financial markets would adjust quickly, and volatility could rise.

The most serious scenario would involve supply disruptions that constrain global output, increasing the risk of slower growth combined with persistent inflation.

A shock, but not yet a crisis

For now, the 6% jump in oil prices represents a clear inflationary impulse and a moderate drag on growth. It complicates the outlook, but does not resemble past energy crises.

What matters most is persistence. If prices stabilise, the impact should be manageable. If they continue to climb, oil could again become a central driver of global inflation – and a renewed challenge for central banks.




Read more:
The oil price surge is just one symptom of a supply chain network that is not fit for this age of global tensions


The Conversation

Stella Huangfu does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.

ref. Why surging oil prices are a shock for the global economy – but not yet a crisis – https://theconversation.com/why-surging-oil-prices-are-a-shock-for-the-global-economy-but-not-yet-a-crisis-277228

Why did Iran bomb Dubai? A Middle East expert explains the regional alliances at play

Source: The Conversation – Global Perspectives – By Andrew Thomas, Lecturer in Middle East Studies, Deakin University

US-Israeli joint strikes on Iran over the weekend have seen war break out in the region once again and the death of Iran’s supreme leader. Iran has retaliated with volleys of ballistic missiles and drones targeted at Israel, but also several of its Persian Gulf neighbours.

Iran has launched hundreds of missiles and drones across the gulf, at targets in United Arab Emirates (UAE), Saudi Arabia, Oman, Bahrain, Kuwait and Qatar, grounding planes as a result. This is in spite of none of these nations coordinating officially with the US and Israel in their initial operations.

This is a deliberate strategy by the Iranian government, designed to exact early and substantial costs on its neighbours and overall stability in the region.

An unpopular neighbour

In spite of Iran’s relative size and military power in the region, the Iranian government is not well liked by its neighbours. At best, Iran is seen as a rival, at worst an adversary.

Saudi Arabia and Iran have spent more than a decade in a proxy war over Yemen.

Iran also claimed historical ownership over Bahrain as recently as December last year.

The rest of the gulf states, namely the UAE, Kuwait, Oman and Qatar, have fostered more pragmatic relations with Iran by keeping regular diplomatic channels open and offering to mediate disputes within the Gulf Cooperation Council.

Despite simmering tensions, Iran has never been in a direct military confrontation with any of these states.

So why send the bombs?

Almost all of the gulf states have one important thing in common: they all have security guarantees from the US and host US military bases.

Iran sees this as one of the most effective ways it can retaliate for a few reasons. Firstly, these bases are firmly in the range of its most plentiful ballistic missiles.

Bases in the gulf also have significant strategic value to the US. The base struck in Bahrain over the weekend was the headquarters of the US Fifth Navy Fleet.

Al Udeid Airbase, just outside of Doha, the capital of Qatar, was also targeted with Iranian ballistic missiles. Al Udeid is home to US Central Command (US-CENTCOM), coordinating military operations across the region. It’s also home to 10,000 US troops – the most in the area.

However, Iran is aware of how sophisticated US early warning systems are and likely doesn’t expect to significantly damage US infrastructure.

What’s the aim then?

Instead, the strategy is to make the region less stable and ensure all its neighbours feel it. It’s effectively vowing that if operations continue, the relative peace and prosperity the gulf has enjoyed will come to an end.

Iran is hoping its neighbours will see this as a war of choice by the US and Israel, with them being dragged into the hostilities. Gulf states will be forced to either double-down on their alliance with the US or work toward deescalation.

It’s not clear if this strategy will pay off. It’s possible this could lead to even more military pressure on Iran if the gulf states become more involved in operations.

At the same time, the increasingly strained relations between the gulf states and Israel over the last two years would likely make several of them reluctant to get more involved.

It’s also impossible for Iran to keep this strategy up indefinitely. Even though it has the region’s most extensive and varied arsenal of missiles, at some point it will run out of ordnance. Other countries may choose to just wait it out.

Iran has made this kind of action a signature of its long-held “forward defence” strategy – attacking targets far away from its borders to show the depth of its reach. Using its drone and missile arsenal is simply one way to tell the region, and the world, the regime will not go quietly.

Dragging the whole region into chaos

Alongside this, Iran has a damaged, but still far-reaching network of independent proxies across the region. Groups in Yemen, Iraq and Lebanon are likely to stay loyal to the Islamic Republic and employ long-term insurgent strategies in its name.

The Lebanese paramilitary group Hezbollah has already fired projectiles into Israel. This has restarted hostilities across the Lebanese border, opening up another front for Israel.

The Strait of Hormuz, through which 20% of the world’s oil travels, is another part of the region Iran can weaponise. Already, two oil tankers have been attacked in the strait and the price of Brent Crude has risen 13%.




Read more:
Trump and Netanyahu want regime change, but Iran’s regime was built for survival. A long war is now likely


Put another way, the extent of these attacks are a signal. These are not the same as the calculated deescalatory strikes Iran conducted in 2024 and 2025.

This war is existential for the Islamic Republic. Its strikes across the gulf are designed as a reminder that it will do all it can to drag the entire region into chaos, uncertainty and instability to save itself.

At a minimum, Iran wishes to create political consequences for all involved. The question is whether the regime will survive long enough for these consequences to have an effect.

The Conversation

Andrew Thomas does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.

ref. Why did Iran bomb Dubai? A Middle East expert explains the regional alliances at play – https://theconversation.com/why-did-iran-bomb-dubai-a-middle-east-expert-explains-the-regional-alliances-at-play-277218