The NATO Lake

With Finland and Sweden joining the NATO, the Baltic Sea is now often referred to as the NATO Lake. The alliance controls more than 95 per cent of the Baltic’s coastline and all of its sizeable islands, as well as the western entrance through the Kattegat and both sides of the Gulf of Finland, Russia’s only maritime route to Kaliningrad. The Baltic states are classic examples of how geography shapes both economic and political trajectories. Oliver Moody of The TImes has a well-researched book Baltic: The Future of Europe, on the significance of this piece of Europe for the stability and future of European security.

Estonia is a global leader in e-governance, having built a resilient digital society with secure online voting, digital ID systems, and real-time government services. Finland is known for its universal conscription, fortified borders, and a doctrine of total defense that prepares civilians and infrastructure alike for national emergencies. Latvia faces a key challenge in the deep mistrust toward its Russian-speaking minority, who are often viewed as potential fifth columnists for Russia—a tension that complicates national unity and security policy. Lithuania, the most vocal Baltic critic of Russian aggression, combines strong military modernization with a proactive foreign policy, investing heavily in NATO cooperation and information warfare resilience to counter hybrid threats. Sweden has abandoned centuries of neutrality in response to shifting geopolitical realities, accelerating military spending, reinstituting conscription, and joining NATO to reinforce its strategic position in the Baltic Sea.

One nugget of information that I gleaned was how naval warfare has always been Russia’s Achilles Heel:

It’s a centuries-old insight that Russia is very, very wary at sea. In many wars, the Russian fleets went back into their ports after a short while and were used only to defend the ports. That was the case in the Crimean war. It was the case in the Second World War, and the first. After all, the one time they did it differently, in the Russo-Japanese war [1904–5], it ended in a catastrophe. Now it’s the same. They withdrew again, even though they had superiority at sea, because the entire fleet is not set up to fight.

Russia’s Baltic fleet is currently depleted by the war in Ukraine and risks being split in two in its home waters. Nor has the Russian navy acquitted itself with any distinction in the Black sea. The Ukrainians have sunk a third of its warships, which have proven vulnerable to missile and drone strikes. Moscow has been reduced to rigging up netting in its ports to try and shield them. Nor are the Russian ‘bubbles’ of layered missile systems in the Baltic everything they have been cracked up.

And in the European mainland, overseeing all these developments nervously are Germany and France – two countries that have been struggling to rearm themselves after decades of peace and a cosy dependence on Uncle Sam.

For centuries, Danzig/Gdańsk, Königsberg/Kaliningrad, Riga, Reval/Tallinn and even St Petersburg were part of the German cultural world. For better and for worse, Germany has profoundly shaped these places and has in turn been shaped by them.

Strange are the ways of history.

Map Source