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A succession of geopolitical crises—including the Russia–Ukraine war, the Israel–Hamas conflict, and escalating tensions between the United States and Iran—has begun to destabilize the international order that remained relatively stable in the post–Cold War era.

Long-dormant geopolitical rivalries are reemerging, and states are responding to heightened security uncertainty by increasing defense expenditures and strengthening military capabilities. These developments are driving a surge in global demand for defense assets and elevating the defense industry as a central pillar of South Korea’s diplomatic strategy.

In particular, these shifts in the international environment merit close attention, as they present an opportunity to expand the scope of South Korean diplomacy beyond the mere promotion of defense exports. Unlike conventional industrial cooperation, defense cooperation inherently facilitates the development of long-term military and security partnerships.

The acquisition of weapons systems requires sustained collaboration in areas such as training, maintenance, and capability upgrades, thereby fostering enduring strategic relationships between partner states. Accordingly, defense cooperation should be understood not simply as a transactional export activity, but as a critical instrument for expanding diplomatic influence.

Since the onset of the Russia–Ukraine war, European countries have increased their defense budgets and accelerated military modernization efforts. In this context, the competitiveness of South Korean defense products is well established in the international market. South Korea’s defense industry combines high performance with cost efficiency and maintains a manufacturing base capable of meeting demanding delivery schedules. Notably, its ability to supply large volumes within short timeframes constitutes a significant competitive advantage in the global defense market.

This competitiveness is once again drawing heightened attention amid rising instability in the Middle East, particularly in the context of recent US–Iran tensions. As the threat of missile and drone attacks intensifies, demand for missile defense systems to protect energy infrastructure and other critical facilities is increasing, leading to growing interest in South Korea’s air and missile defense capabilities. In addition, the need to replenish air defense assets depleted during recent conflicts is expected to further drive demand in the near to medium term.

At the same time, as the concept of economic security has gained prominence, the scope of defense cooperation has expanded beyond traditional weapons systems. Whereas such cooperation historically centered on platforms such as tanks, fighter aircraft, and self-propelled artillery, it is now increasingly extending into sectors including shipbuilding, energy, and advanced technologies.

For example, icebreakers supporting Arctic shipping routes, LNG carriers facilitating energy transport, and military support vessels represent emerging areas of defense cooperation that integrate security and economic interests. These trends underscore the evolution of defense cooperation into a domain closely linked to a nation’s broader strategic industries.

South Korea, in particular, possesses competitive strengths across a range of industrial sectors, including shipbuilding, nuclear energy, semiconductors, hydrogen, and construction. When integrated with defense cooperation, these capabilities can generate substantial synergies. Combining defense cooperation with energy and infrastructure projects offers a strategic advantage in expanding partnerships with counterpart countries and establishing durable, long-term frameworks for cooperation.

Defense cooperation also plays a critical role in South Korea’s economic security. As an export-driven economy with a high dependence on imported energy, South Korea is particularly vulnerable to disruptions in energy supply. In this context, strategies that integrate defense and energy cooperation can contribute meaningfully to strengthening economic resilience.

In particular, the parallel pursuit of defense and energy cooperation with Middle Eastern countries can enhance mutual interdependence and support the development of stable, long-term partnerships.

Given these dynamics, the South Korean government should leverage defense cooperation as a core instrument of its diplomatic strategy. By expanding both economic and security cooperation with a diverse set of partner countries through defense collaboration, South Korea can position itself as a strategically significant actor in the international system.

Countries that develop cooperative relationships with South Korea are likely to recognize that its stability and security are directly linked to their own interests, thereby reinforcing its diplomatic standing.

However, realizing these opportunities will require robust diplomatic support. Defense cooperation extends beyond commercial transactions and depends heavily on intergovernmental coordination, with political trust and strong diplomatic relations playing particularly critical roles. Accordingly, a more systematic approach to defense diplomacy is needed—one that effectively leverages overseas diplomatic missions and established channels.

Moreover, because defense cooperation inherently involves long-term commitments, it should be pursued within a strategic and forward-looking framework. Defense diplomacy should be oriented toward the establishment of enduring partnerships, with particular emphasis on integrating defense cooperation with industrial and energy collaboration.

In sum, ongoing transformations in the international order present a significant opportunity for South Korea to expand its diplomatic influence through defense cooperation. Such efforts can contribute not only to strengthening industrial competitiveness but also to enhancing diplomatic reach.

By broadening both economic and security cooperation with a diverse range of partners, South Korea can lay the foundation to emerge as both a technological leader and a diplomatic powerhouse.

Accordingly, defense industry cooperation should be recognized as a strategic opportunity to expand the horizons of South Korean diplomacy. By advancing a diplomatic strategy centered on defense cooperation in response to shifting global dynamics, South Korea can establish itself as a key partner in international security cooperation.

The present moment represents a critical inflection point for South Korea to advance as a diplomatic powerhouse through the effective use of defense diplomacy.

The author is professor at Seoul School of Integrated Science and Technology)

US President Donald Trump arrived in Beijing on Wednesday for a new round of face-to-face talks with Chinese President Xi Jinping from May 14 to 15, at a particularly delicate moment in global politics and the international economy.

The meeting marks the first in-person discussion between the two leaders since the Busan agreement last October, during which both sides agreed to suspend further escalation of the US–China trade war for one year.

While a flare-up in the Middle East delayed the summit by a month, the easing of tensions with Iran has finally cleared the path for what many view as the most consequential diplomatic inflection point of 2026.

Amid a fragile global recovery and uncertainty in international markets, the Beijing meeting is being closely watched to determine whether both powers can move from “crisis management” toward a more sustainable form of strategic equilibrium, with significant implications for global economic stability.

During their first meeting on Thursday morning, President Xi congratulated the United States on its 250th anniversary, while President Trump praised Xi as “a great leader,” setting a warm and friendly tone for the opening of the summit.

President Xi noted that China and the United States should be partners rather than rivals, emphasizing that the relationship between the two countries carries implications not only for their peoples but also for the future of the world. President Trump described the gathering as “the biggest summit,” highlighting that a top business delegation accompanied him.

A US official said the two sides are expected to continue discussions on establishing new mechanisms for trade and investment coordination, with cooperation in agriculture, aerospace, and energy also likely to feature prominently.

Beijing, meanwhile, has framed the visit as an opportunity to stabilize bilateral ties amid growing global uncertainty. In remarks on Monday, China’s Foreign Ministry emphasized the need to expand mutually beneficial cooperation, manage differences, and “inject greater stability and certainty into a turbulent and changing world.”

Guidance from Strategic Analysts

Analysts broadly agree that the summit reflects a shared short-term interest in stabilizing China–US relations, even as deeper strategic tensions remain unresolved.

Zhao Hai, director of the International Politics Program at the National Institute for Global Strategy, argued that the primary “product” of this summit should be predictability. For the private sector, specific policies are often less damaging than the volatility created by uncertainty over what policies may emerge tomorrow.

This view mirrors the “managed strategic competition” framework championed by former Australian Prime Minister Kevin Rudd. The goal in Beijing is not necessarily to bridge a decade-long trust deficit during a three-day summit, but rather to prevent further accidental escalation. He emphasized that careful coordination and transparent dialogue are essential to maintaining long-term stability.

Economic Frictions and Business Impacts

While Chinese state media frame economic relations as both a stabilizing foundation and a key driver of broader China–US ties, US tariff policy continues to sit at the center of bilateral disagreements.

Beijing views these measures as “unreasonable restrictions,” while the Trump administration continues to use tariffs as its primary tool of economic leverage.

John McLean, chairman of the China–UK Business Development Centre, noted that shifting US tariff policies are creating deep uncertainty, prompting many companies to delay or reconsider long-term investment plans.

Economic data, however, presents a more nuanced picture of self-inflicted costs. A recent study by the Kiel Institute, a leading German economic research body, found that foreign exporters absorb only about 4% of the tariff burden, while the remaining 96% falls on US businesses and consumers.

These findings underscore that although tariffs are often framed as measures to protect American industries, their indirect effects continue to influence pricing, supply chains, and investment decisions.

For small and medium-sized enterprises, the consequences have been particularly severe. Philip Crawley, who operates a laser equipment import business in California, reported that tariffs imposed last year cost his company millions of dollars, forcing it to slow operations, reduce employee pay, and postpone hiring plans.

Glen Calder, president of Calder Brothers in South Carolina, said his steel costs increased by 25% even before US tariffs took effect, as markets anticipated higher trade barriers.

Strategic competition may be conducted at the state level, but its economic consequences are often absorbed by businesses, workers, and consumers navigating unpredictable policy environments.

Continued Investment Interest in China

Perhaps the most surprising aspect of the current climate is the resilience of corporate interest. Despite ongoing challenges, many US businesses continue to view China as a critical market.

According to the American Chamber of Commerce in China, around 60% of American companies still plan to invest in the Chinese market, reflecting enduring confidence in China’s economic opportunities.

The rationale is clear: China accounts for roughly 17% of global GDP, contributes approximately 30% of global economic growth, and is projected to export nearly $4 trillion worth of goods in 2025.

Its sheer economic scale and growth potential make it difficult for companies to overlook, providing strong incentives to maintain or expand investment even amid uncertainty.

Looking Ahead: Cooperation and Strategic Stability

President Xi noted during today’s meeting that success for one country can represent an opportunity for the other. China has maintained a relatively consistent stance toward Washington, rooted in the belief that the Pacific is large enough for both powers.

This summit offers a rare opportunity to clarify intentions and move beyond the zero-sum rhetoric that has dominated much of the 2020s.

Reducing uncertainty in trade, investment, and technology would benefit businesses and global markets alike, reinforcing the idea that long-term stability is a shared asset rather than a concession.

Reducing the “noise” surrounding trade and technology is not merely a diplomatic victory — it is the oxygen global markets need to breathe again.

Every May, as the Himalayan snows begin their slow retreat, tens of thousands of devotees make their way to Pashupatinath. They come from the villages of Gorakhpur and Varanasi, from the lanes of Patna and Lucknow, from the ghats of Kathmandu itself. They pour water, they ring bells, they press their foreheads to cold stone. Nobody asks them for a visa of the soul. Nobody requires them to demonstrate diplomatic credentials before they weep. The river Bagmati runs through all of it, indifferent to the boundary markers that politicians have spent decades arguing over.

This is the lived reality of the India-Nepal relationship—a reality that the current Mansarovar controversy risks obscuring behind the brittle language of sovereignty and cartographic assertion. Nepal’s government has formally objected to India routing its Kailash Mansarovar Yatra through the Lipulek Pass, dispatching diplomatic notes to both New Delhi and Beijing. The objection is constitutionally grounded, historically defensible, and yet politically awkward—because it arrives precisely when the two countries are attempting to lay the groundwork for the first substantive bilateral engagement between the present leaderships, possibly anchored by a Foreign Secretary-level visit from Vikram Misri to Kathmandu.

The timing is not ideal. But the deeper problem is conceptual. The Lipulek dispute, which escalated acutely in 2020 when India inaugurated a road through the contested tri-junction, has become something of a litmus test for Nepali nationalist credibility. The 2020 constitutional map amendment—incorporating Lipulek, Kalapani, and Limpiyadhura—was passed unanimously in the House of Representatives. Even the Nepali Congress, otherwise the most India-friendly major party, voted for it. Raising the issue is therefore not optional for any Nepali government that wishes to maintain its domestic legitimacy. The question is not whether to raise it, but how, and through which register.

The choice to frame it through the Mansarovar Yatra is where the current approach runs into difficulty—not because Nepal’s underlying territorial claim is weak, it is not, but because the Yatra is among the most emotionally resonant religious traditions shared between the two peoples. India's External Affairs Ministry was swift to remind everyone that Lipulek has been the traditional route for this pilgrimage since 1954, a date that predates the current cartographic dispute by decades. For the millions of Indians for whom Kailash-Mansarovar is not a geopolitical talking point but the final ambition of a devout life, Nepal's objection lands not as a reasonable territorial assertion but as an interruption of something sacred. That is the perception problem, and it is one that no amount of legal justification fully dissolves.

When the mountain brought two countries back together

There is an instructive irony here that deserves to be stated plainly. When India and China—adversaries who fought a war in 1962, who exchanged blows at Galwan in 2020, and who have maintained an uneasy armed standoff across thousands of kilometres of disputed Himalayan terrain—decided to resume their slow diplomatic normalisation, one of the early symbolic gestures was the reopening of the Kailash Mansarovar pilgrimage route through Nathu La in Sikkim. The pilgrimage became a soft-power bridge thrown across a very hard political chasm. Religion—specifically the Hindu and Buddhist reverence for Kailash as the abode of Shiva and the site of cosmic origin—did what decades of boundary commission meetings could not: it created a shared frame of reference for two governments looking for a reason to talk without losing face.

This is not an anomaly in Himalayan history. It is the pattern. The religious geography of the region—Pashupatinath, Muktinath, Janakpur, the temple towns of the Tarai, the monasteries of Mustang—has historically functioned as a connective tissue that survives political ruptures. When Indo-Nepal relations hit their lowest point during the 2015-16 crisis, it was the Char Dham circuit, the Ramayana Trail linking Ayodhya to Janakpurdham, and the quiet continuity of cross-border pilgrimage that kept ordinary people connected even as their governments exchanged cold diplomatic language. The temples did not shut. The devotees did not stop. The river ran on.

India too has consistently recognised this. Prime Minister Modi's first bilateral foreign visit in 2014 was to Nepal, and he chose to go to Pashupatinath first, not to the parliament. He performed rituals at the temple, addressed the Constituent Assembly, and spoke of a connectivity agenda framed in developmental rather than purely strategic terms. Whatever one makes of that visit's long-term outcomes, the underlying instinct was sound: anchor the relationship in its civilisational depth before engaging its geopolitical complications. Both countries share that instinct—they have simply not always acted on it simultaneously.

The mandate and the moment

Nepal’s present government carries something that its recent predecessors did not: a mandate explicitly built on the triad of family, religion, and nation. This is not peripheral to the Mansarovar question—it is central to it. A leadership whose political identity is rooted in religious nationalism, and which has among the most consolidated popular mandates in recent Nepali political memory, is actually better positioned to separate the question of Lipulek’s territorial status from the question of Kailash’s sanctity than any of its left predecessors were.

The contrast with previous governments is instructive. When Prachanda raised Kalapani, his standing as a former Maoist guerrilla complicated the reception in New Delhi—every nationalist assertion was filtered through the lens of his political history. When the left coalition made the 2020 map amendment, it came wrapped in anti-imperialist rhetoric that, whatever its domestic utility, narrowed the space for quiet resolution. The present government's nationalism is of a different register—cultural, religious, civilisational—and that register is precisely the one in which the Mansarovar question is most naturally resolved.

The precedents

The history of India-Nepal relations is littered with crises that resolved more quietly than they began. The 1950 Treaty of Peace and Friendship—long resented in Nepal as a document of unequal power—has been renegotiated in spirit if not fully in letter through accumulated bilateral agreements over seven decades. The 1996 Mahakali Treaty, which governed the Tanakpur barrage dispute and laid the groundwork for the Pancheshwar Multipurpose Project, was a case study in how two countries can separate a politically charged water dispute from its developmental logic and find a workable arrangement. The treaty was controversial in Nepal, but it demonstrated that sustained technical engagement can produce outcomes even when the political atmosphere is hostile.

The 2014-2015 period produced a series of agreements that received remarkably little public attention given their scope: a power trade agreement enabling Nepal to export electricity to India, a petroleum pipeline agreement, an updated Air Services Agreement, and the launch of the Ramayana Circuit as a joint tourism initiative. None of these required a summit. None generated newspaper front pages. They were the product of sustained secretariat-level engagement between the two foreign ministries—exactly the kind of quiet, functional diplomacy that Misri’s reported visit to Kathmandu is intended to revive and build upon.

The 2023 reset under Prime Minister Dahal produced something similar. Despite the political baggage he carried, Dahal visited India early in his tenure and returned with a package of agreements that included renewed hydropower cooperation and a loosening of the third-country clause that had previously blocked Nepal from exporting power to Bangladesh through Indian territory. The boundary issue was not resolved. It was placed in a bracket—not ignored, but set aside so that functional cooperation could proceed. That bracketing is the real art of India-Nepal diplomacy, and it has a respectable track record. 

The pilgrim as diplomat

There is a concept in Indian classical statecraft—Kautilya is explicit on this—that distinguishes between the objectives of confrontation and the objectives of negotiation, and counsels the wise king to identify the arena in which he has the greatest structural advantage. For Nepal in its relationship with India, that arena is not military, not economic, and not cartographic. It is moral and civilisational. Nepal's most enduring leverage lies in its position as the birthplace of the Buddha, as the custodian of Pashupatinath, as the country through which the sacred geography of the subcontinent runs with unusual density. That is soft power of a very high order, and it is diminished—not enhanced—when turned into a tool of border assertion.

The lakhs of Nepali and Indian citizens who cross each other's territories daily—for work, for worship, for weddings and funerals—are not thinking about Lipulek. They are thinking about the aunt in Bahraich, the brother-in-law in Chitwan, the temple in Janakpur that their grandmother described on her deathbed. This is the living substrate of the relationship. The political class in Kathmandu has at times consistently overestimated how much the territorial dispute exercises the common people of both countries, and underestimated how much the pilgrimage does. The elite’s map and the devotee’s road are not the same document.

A Nepal that facilitates the Mansarovar Yatra with grace—even while formally and firmly reserving its position on Lipulek’s status—gains considerably more than it concedes. It positions itself as a responsible and generous custodian of regional religious life. It builds goodwill with a constituency in India that cuts across every political party: the devout. And it creates the conditions under which the harder conversations about Kalapani can happen without the emotional charge of an interrupted pilgrimage poisoning the diplomatic atmosphere before it has a chance to form.

What conducive diplomacy looks like

The path forward is not complicated in its logic, even if demanding in its execution. Nepal can formally register and maintain its territorial position on Lipulek through proper diplomatic channels—that is its sovereign right and indeed its constitutional obligation—while signalling, clearly and without ambiguity, that the religious passage of pilgrims will not be obstructed pending the resolution of the boundary question. This is not a concession on sovereignty. It is a recognition that religious pilgrimage and territorial negotiation are different categories of action, to be handled by different instruments on different timelines. They do not need to be collapsed into a single confrontation.

India, for its part, carries its own responsibility in this. A bilateral relationship of this depth and this history is not well served by diplomatic language that foreclose conversation. The characterisation of Nepal’s parliamentary map as having no basis in historical facts is, whatever its legal merits, not the register in which a durable resolution gets built. The Sugauli Treaty of 1816 is a serious historical document. Nepal’s parliament voted unanimously on the map. These are political facts, and they deserve to be engaged rather than dismissed. A more productive formulation—one that a confident and responsible India is fully capable of offering—would acknowledge the existence of genuinely differing positions while affirming a shared intent to resolve them through dialogue. That preserves every substantive position while leaving the door open rather than shut.

The Misri visit, if it materialises as expected, should concentrate on the deliverables where genuine progress is achievable: hydropower export agreements, the Ramayana and Buddhist Circuit as joint tourism infrastructure, cross-border rail connectivity and the post-earthquake reconstruction assistance whose pace has disappointed on both sides. These are areas where Nepal’s developmental priorities and India’s neighbourhood-first agenda are genuinely aligned. The boundary will be resolved—or not resolved—through a separate, slower, more technical process. What the present moment calls for is not a grand settlement but a functional reset: enough trust to allow the relationship to breathe again, enough goodwill to let the pilgrim walk.

There is, finally, something worth saying about the weight of the Mansarovar pilgrimage itself. Kailash is not simply a destination. In Hindu cosmology, it is the axis of the world—the place where Shiva meditates in eternal stillness, where the great rivers are born, where the distance between the human and the divine narrows to almost nothing. For the pilgrim who completes the parikrama of that mountain, the journey has not been about India or Nepal or China. It has been about something that those categories cannot contain. That the road to that mountain passes through contested terrain is a geopolitical fact. That the mountain itself transcends geopolitics is a spiritual one. Wise statesmanship—in Kathmandu and in New Delhi both—has always known the difference. The present moment asks both capitals to act on that knowledge.

CK Lal, in a recent column, writes about the authoritarian aesthetics of the middle class. He revisits an old adage, “Gods do not speak, kings do not listen.” The irony today is that leaders are elected, yet many prefer to communicate through (un)social media rather than engage in direct conversation. 

Balen, standing today not as the mayor of a city but as the Prime Minister of Nepal, would face a very different political environment in which the stakes are higher, scrutiny sharper, and public expectations far greater. National leadership is not just about taking decisions or delivering visible results. It requires engaging the public directly, answering difficult questions, and showing through both words and actions that power remains answerable. 

It’s easy to understand why people are drawn to this kind of leadership. It comes from frustration with traditional politics, a demand for transparency, and a desire for more direct authority.  But those ideals only matter when they are tested under real pressure. A real test of any Prime Minister is whether they remain open and accountable when criticism intensifies.  

Accountability is not about rhetoric. It shows in practice. It means speaking to the press, taking criticism seriously, and explaining decisions, even unpopular ones. A democratic government cannot depend on silence or tightly controlled communication. Once in power, leaders must accept that their decisions will be questioned.

Nepal’s recent history shows a familiar pattern. Leaders come to office promising change, but over time they pull back from scrutiny. Press conferences become rare, interviews controlled, and criticism deflected. This growing distance between the state and the public has eroded trust. If this pattern continues at the national level, it will deepen an already fragile sense of democratic confidence.

Nepal’s problems don’t exist in isolation. They feed into each other. Economic instability, unemployment, corruption, federal tensions, and weak governance cannot be addressed in isolation. They require consistent public engagement. Policies must be explained, problems acknowledged, and mistakes addressed openly. When decisions are made behind closed doors, public trust begins to erode. 

There are also concerns about institutional freedoms. The use of police force against   student unions raises questions about academic autonomy and the shrinking space for dissent. Strict border enforcement without viable economic alternatives has increased hardship in vulnerable communities. References to military monitoring of “anarchic activities” suggest an expanding role for security institutions in a democratic setting. At the same time, limited consultation and reliance on ordinances have drawn criticism for weakening decision-making.

Avoiding the media might help control the narrative in the short term, but it weakens leadership over time. It creates suspicion, invites speculation, and leaves others to shape the narrative. A Prime Minister who does not speak openly risks losing the trust that sustains authority.

Facing the public is not performance. It is part of the job. It means answering questions without evasion, engaging criticism without defensiveness, and allowing journalists to probe decisions and reasoning. In a democracy, this is not a burden on leadership but a core responsibility. Strength is shown not by avoiding scrutiny, but by handling it.

Nepal’s constitutional framework relies on checks and balances, with the media playing a crucial role. Open engagement strengthens democratic culture. Avoidance weakens it. Accountability operates both at the level of individuals and institutions.

At the same time, leadership today comes with constant pressure. Every decision is examined, every statement politicized, and every mistake amplified. The instinct to withdraw and rely on controlled communication is understandable. But that instinct must be resisted. Leadership is not about comfort. It is about taking responsibility in full public view.

In the end, authority comes not from controlling information but from explaining it clearly. Clarity will not eliminate disagreement, but it helps people understand decisions. Where there is understanding, trust can survive even in disagreement. Without it, even sound policies can seem arbitrary.

This matters especially in Nepal’s still evolving democracy. Citizens are more informed, more vocal, and less willing to accept one-way communication. They expect dialogue, accessibility, and responsiveness. Leaders who recognize this shift strengthen democratic practice. Those who resist it risk becoming disconnected from the public.

Criticism should not be seen as a threat. It is part of how democracy works. Journalists are not automatically adversaries, and public frustration does not always signal opposition. Both reflect a system still finding its footing. Engaging with them strengthens legitimacy.

A Prime Minister who holds regular press briefings, answers unscripted questions, and explains policies clearly would stand out in Nepal’s political landscape. Such an approach would not eliminate criticism, but it would build trust in how decisions are made and communicated.

We’ve seen the alternative before: limited access, controlled messaging, and a growing gap between the state and the public. Over time, that gap turns into a perception of detachment and opacity. Once that perception takes hold, it is difficult to reverse.

This isn’t about expecting perfection. No leader is without mistakes. What matters is how those mistakes are handled. Acknowledging errors, correcting courses, and doing so openly are signs of credible leadership.

To govern at the highest level in Nepal is not just to exercise authority, but to sustain public confidence in it. That confidence cannot be built through silence or selective disclosure. It requires consistency, openness and a willingness to remain answerable.

A Prime Minister does not stand apart from the public. They stand before it. These questions of leadership are shaped by a broader political environment where visibility and immediacy often take priority over long-term reform. As Chandrakishor argues in his column, “D for Dopamine Government” politics is drifting toward immediacy and spectacle, raising a deeper question: when visibility outweighs substance, can governance still remain accountable?