2.1 Structural Uncertainty

At the international-systemic level, hedging is premised on structural uncertainty (Goh, Reference Goh2006; Jackson, Reference Jackson2014; Ciorciari, Reference Ciorciari2019; Haacke, Reference Haacke2019; Korolev, Reference Korolev2019; Lai & Kuik, Reference Lai and Kuik2020; Smith, Reference Smith2020) – the first (independent) variable in our model. Smaller states have stronger incentives to hedge when uncertainty about the state of great power competition is high, and policymakers are ‘uncertain’ about the directions and outcomes of the international order transition (He & Feng, Reference He and Feng2023, p. 15). Hedging works in the face of uncertainty, whereas certainty over great powers’ capabilities and intentions is believed to lead to clearer alignments (Haacke, Reference Haacke2019, pp. 393–394). Dealing with uncertainty is the goal of hedging.

Hedging literature defines uncertainty vaguely as a condition related to the nature of the international environment after the end of the Cold War bipolarity (Ciorciari, Reference Ciorciari2019; Korolev, Reference Korolev2019, p. 423). Uncertainty appears to overlap with other terms describing the intensity of great power competition, such as, for example, ‘permissiveness’ of the regional geopolitical environment, which Smith (Reference Smith2020, pp. 590–592) considers to be inversely related to the level of enmity between great powers and the initial key factor hedging states must consider. Similarly, Tessman (Reference Tessman2012) talks about a ‘deconcentrating international environment’ under which second-tier states tend to adopt hedging strategies; during the ‘concentrated’ structures, bandwagoning is a better strategy. This conceptualization resembles Beeson and Higgott’s (Reference Beeson and Higgott2014, pp. 224–225) notion of ‘hegemonic decompression’, under which smaller powers can better exercise their agency. According to Fortier and Massie (Reference Fortier and Massie2023, p. 5), second-tier states can only hedge when they perceive the balance of power as ‘ambiguous’ and neither the rising nor declining great power as an imminent security threat. These characteristics make the international environment open-ended and more ‘uncertain’. Korolev (Reference Korolev2019, p. 425) defines structural uncertainty in terms of great power confrontation, arguing that when such confrontation intensifies, the structural uncertainty decreases, and smaller states start experiencing increasing difficulties with both equidistancing from great powers and pursuing counteracting policies that constitute hedging. Ripsman, Taliaferro, and Lobell (Reference Ripsman, Taliaferro and Lobell2016, pp. 45–57) talk about ‘clarity’ of systemic imperatives as a key dimension of the system that pertains to the scope of information that the system provides and reflects ‘clarity of signals and information the international system presents to states’. High clarity, in turn, is characterized by ‘clear threats’ – states that display revisionism or hostility to harm other states’ territorial integrity or core interests, possess the capabilities to do so, and carry a sense of imminence that they will use those capabilities to inflict harm (Ripsman, Taliaferro, and Lobell, Reference Ripsman, Taliaferro and Lobell2016, p. 46).Footnote ⁴ This, in turn, links the discussion to the concept of the ‘threat environment’, which also implies identifying potential adversaries and assessing their military capabilities and intentions (Stein, Reference Stein, Huddy, Sears and Levy2013; Tu et al., Reference Tu, Tien and Hwang2024).

Drawing on the above conceptual analysis, this study defines structural uncertainty by two interrelated components: great powers’ capabilities, which determine power structure in a region, and intentions, captured through the great powers’ actual balancing behaviour against each other, which determines the level of pressure on smaller powers in the same region. The two are related because balancing intentions materialize, and balancing becomes more feasible, after accumulating sufficient capabilities. The first indicator (capabilities) concerns the structural power distribution and is operationalized through the most widely used, even though considered crude, indicators of national power – Gross National Product (GNP) and annual defence spending. It can be argued that the idea that uncertainty affects hedging outcomes is less intuitive when it comes to the capabilities (compared to intentions) due to the seemingly straightforward nature of this indicator. However, in the real world, state capabilities can be less certain than they might seem. Nor is it always certain what specific states are capable of when having a given level of material capabilities. As the case of Georgia in Section 3 demonstrates, despite Russia’s massive military modernization programs in the early 2000s and its more-than-obvious power preponderance vis-à-vis Georgia in 2008, authorities in Tbilisi believed that Russia remained backward militarily and, therefore, would not dare to invade the way it did. Even during the Cold War, when there should have been no uncertainty about the US and Soviet capabilities, analysts document a dramatic divergence in and controversy over the Western estimates of the trends in Soviet defence spending and defence policy (Noren, Reference Noren1995), suggesting that some estimates, used in US successive presidential administrations for official purposes, tended to be significantly biased, contributing to US foreign policy decisions that were not in the nation’s best interests (Holzman, Reference Holzman1989). These examples show that the perceptions of the structure of international politics at a given time matter, and the information derived from the seemingly obvious basic indicators of state capabilities (GDP and military spending) may not be accurate and reliable and may, at best, indicate the direction of the structural change, thus highlighting the need for geopolitical prudence – our model’s third variable.

The second, behavioural indicator of structural uncertainty (intentions) is captured through Buzan and Wæver’s (Reference Buzan and Wæver2003) idea of geopolitically charged Regional Security Complexes (RSC), which helps assess the regional intensity of great power balancing and connects the global power structure with regional security patterns, in which smaller states will usually find themselves locked into an RSC with their neighbours. As they consolidate, such RSCs become contentious, great-power-dominated regional settings of security interdependence where states’ security concerns become intertwined so that actions by one member of the complex inevitably reverberate in others’ security considerations. Within the most geopolitically charged RSCs, the states’ security cannot be considered separate from each other (Buzan & Wæver, Reference Buzan and Wæver2003, p. 46). Competing great powers involved in an RSC formation try to prevail in their peer competition. They intrude into each other’s areas of strategic interests, making the geopolitical environment less permissive and pressuring RSC’s smaller members to take sides. The geopolitical environment becomes less permissive, and uncertainty declines, reducing the wiggle room for smaller powers to hedge. To further operationalize an RSC’s intensity, this study draws on Götz’s (Reference Götz2019) suggestion that the level of external pressure on a country [and, hence, uncertainty] is a function of the security relationship between the actual or potential rivals of that country and states or territories in its immediate vicinity. External pressure increases [and uncertainty decreases] when a rival great power displays willingness to engage smaller powers surrounding the other great power in substantive military cooperation, such as troops deployment or defence agreements, or increase its presence in that power’s area of priority strategic interests (Götz, Reference Götz2019, p. 5).

The RSC theory is useful in the context of this study because it provides a conceptual lens for gauging the change of structural uncertainty levels in a region through its idea of the varying intensity of great power ‘penetration’ of an RSC, thus helping demonstrate the variation of the model’s independent variable. RSCs are substructures/subsets of the international system, embedded in the global polarity and affected by the global-level great power security dynamics (Buzan & Wæver, Reference Buzan and Wæver2003, pp. 45–51). As such, they are expected to be penetrated by the great powers that, projecting their influences and rivalries into the rest of the system, are drawn into a region along the lines of rivalry existing within it (Buzan & Wæver, Reference Buzan and Wæver2003, p. 52). Thus, RSCs can be extensively penetrated by global powers’ interests, in which case regional rivalry patterns will align with the global powers’ ones. Alternatively, they can be less penetrated, in which case the regional dynamics will have a substantial degree of autonomy from the patterns set by the great powers. Depending on the degree of great power penetration, RSCs can evolve from the regular ones, characterized by minimal great power penetration, to the great power-dominated or heavily penetrated ones, in which regional or global great power interests significantly affect the RSC’s internal dynamics, to, eventually, ‘overlays’ – conditions when great power interests come to dominate a region so heavily that any local patterns of security relations virtually ceases to operate (Buzan & Wæver, Reference Buzan and Wæver2003, pp. 61–62).Footnote ⁵ This process of RSC intensification reflects the decline of structural uncertainty from high to zero.Footnote ⁶

Informed by this conceptualization, the structural uncertainty environment for the Southeast Asian cases (the Philippines, Malaysia, and Vietnam) is assessed through the analysis of an RSC formation in the Indo-Pacific involving the US and China, whereas that for the post-Soviet cases (Georgia and Ukraine) is assessed through the RSC involving Russia, on the one hand, and the EU and the US, on the other. This study, thus, looks at two RSCs: an Indo-Pacific RSC, increasingly penetrated by the dynamics of US–China rivalry; and the post-Soviet RSC, defined by the competition for influence between Russia and the EU/US. The two RSCs are treated separately because, while the US has significant entanglements in both regions (and operates at both the global and regional levels), the polarity in both regions is defined by competition with different powers, which makes them mutually exclusive to a significant extent. China’s interests and the dynamics of its system-level competition with the US do not heavily penetrate the geopolitical milieu around either Ukraine or Georgia, while Russia–EU and Russia–US rivalries do. Similarly, Russia’s role in the Indo-Pacific RSC is insignificant compared to that of the US and China. These patterns generate two sufficiently distinct sets of regional security interdependencies, especially from the standpoint of the smaller powers in focus, to differentiate the two RSCs. Simultaneously, regarding the Southeast Asian cases explored in Section 4, it is possible to talk about the South China Sea ‘subcomplex’, embedded in the larger Indo-Pacific RSC, or, alternatively, the Indo-Pacific RSC can be presented as a wider ‘supercomplex’ of which the South China Sea RSC is a part, along with, for example, the Taiwan Strait RSC. These definitional variations do not change the idea of an interconnected and increasingly geopolitically charged regional environment in which the three Southeast Asian states reside, but recognize some variety in security interconnectedness across a wider regional pattern.

At the same time, while the great power rivalry increasingly penetrated and affected the two regions over the period covered in this study, resulting in dropping levels of uncertainty, both RSCs fell short of an overlay completely defined by great power rivalry and characterized by zero levels of structural uncertainty.Footnote ⁷ In Southeast Asia, Malaysia, Vietnam, the Philippines, and other states continue to possess significant agency and actorness to play an important role in the regional security dynamics and how the regional security agenda is defined and framed (e.g., through ASEAN), making the interests within the region more pronounced. The more contingent, exposed, and difficult geopolitical environment of Georgia and Ukraine is still defined by the actors in the region (including Russia and the EU, with the latter not always being on the same page with the US) in a way that brings the pressures of local geographical proximities to the fore and shapes the main security dynamics of the region; Ukraine’s hedging prior to the war itself has brought regional specifics to the game. It is, therefore, more accurate to characterize the two RSCs as becoming heavily penetrated (with the degree of penetration increasing over the last two decades or so) but not overlaid because their regional-level dynamic remain significant.Footnote ⁸

Understood this way, structural uncertainty is a variable rather than a constant. As some argued, different states face different degrees of complexity and uncertainty, and the clarity of each state’s external environment varies across time and space, revealing different amounts of information about strategic constraints and opportunities (Goldman, Reference Goldman2011, p. 140). External pressure is a ‘continuum’ (Götz, Reference Götz2019, p. 102), and strategic environments can be permissive and restrictive depending on the imminence and magnitude of threats and opportunities (Ripsman, Taliaferro, & Lobell, Reference Ripsman, Taliaferro and Lobell2016, p. 53). Therefore, different geopolitical environments are either more or less certain, or relatively uncertain, depending on the degree and intensiveness of great power rivalry, with the war or imminent conflict posing an immediate threat to states’ survival and autonomy having the highest certainty (as in overlays). It is, thus, more accurate to talk about the level of uncertainty and its impact on the likelihood of hedging success or failure. While it does not dictate the specific behaviour of states, it generates dispositional pressures that frame the overall thrust of hedging behaviour, affecting the variance in hedging states’ choices of tools, tactics, and policies. In this study, uncertainty is higher when great powers’ capabilities are unknown or unclear (or not accurately read), and the relevant RSC does not clearly signal a high intensity of great power balancing because great powers do not increasingly engage smaller powers in each other’s area of priority strategic interests in substantive military cooperation. The level of uncertainty is lower when capabilities are clear and allow balancing, and the RSC indicates great powers’ strong intentions to balance.

2.2 The Availability of Protective Options

The second variable affecting hedging outcomes is the availability of a protective option. According to Ciorciari (Reference Ciorciari2019, p. 546), for Southeast Asian states to hedge effectively, a credible US security commitment is needed; otherwise, there will be little choice but to accommodate Beijing. Similarly, Smith (Reference Smith2020) highlights that smaller states hedge more comfortably with an agreed regional security architecture that can mitigate external threats, if not prevent great power aggressive behaviour. The availability of a protective option reflects the possibility for smaller powers to turn to external defence partner(s) for protection in time of need and is related more to regional geopolitics than the international structure.

The availability of a protective option enters the model as a mediator variable – it mediates the causal impact of the independent variable (structural uncertainty) on the dependent variable (hedging), or, in other words, structural uncertainty affects hedging outcomes through the protective option variable. Specifically, when structural uncertainty drops and great power rivalry intensifies, the availability of a protective option becomes critical (but simultaneously surrounded by growing strategic complexity that smaller states must deal with), which incentivises smaller states’ cultivation of protective options as a hedge against the worst-case scenario (causal pathway B on Figure 1). In turn, the availability of such options has direct implications for hedging outcomes because it can help mitigate or reverse such a scenario (pathway C). In other words, the protective option variable serves to illustrate important aspects of the causal relationship between the independent and dependent variables. This idea can be traced in some literature on hedging. For example, Ciorciari (Reference Ciorciari2019, p. 525) talks about hedging as the development of protective options that smaller powers’ governments can activate if security conditions worsen. Cultivation of protective options by pursuing security cooperations and diplomatic ententes is, therefore, ‘embedded’ in smaller powers’ hedging strategies (Ciorciari, Reference Ciorciari2019, pp. 541–545). Similarly, various scholars have analogized hedging with the cultivation of a form of ‘insurance’ as a way to set up a fallback protection option if the external threat comes to pass (Lake, Reference Lake1996; Foot, Reference Foot2006; Medeiros, Reference Medeiros2005; Tessman & Wolfe, Reference Tessman and Wolfe2011). Cultivating too little protection (or ‘insurance’) through hedging results in the insufficiency or absence of adequate protective measures when the security environment deteriorates and can leave smaller states exposed to intensifying external threats, increasing the chances of hedging failure.

Protective options do not need to be alliances and can take the form of flexible alignments without rigid formal agreements delineated by behavioural actions, as long as there is an indication of the commitment to protect in time of need. The general appeal of these more flexible limited alignments is that they can help address smaller powers’ security risks without becoming inevitably embroiled in great power hard balancing, which leaves cooperation opportunities with the competing great powers open (Goh, Reference Goh2005; Kuik, Reference Kuik2008; Tessman & Wolfe, Reference Tessman and Wolfe2011). Smaller states can also hedge against security risks by cultivating multilateral protective options, which can include organizations and third countries not directly involved in the RSC but that can provide means to mitigate possible aggression by competing major powers. The cases of Malaysia and Vietnam demonstrate how hedging states can use regional institutions and reach out to other extra-regional great powers to cultivate protective options. Empirically, the availability of a protective option can be captured as credible self-help capabilities (which is unlikely for smaller powers) or the availability of unwavering commitment from a larger defence partner or a security institution to provide political and military support commensurate to the smaller power’s needs in the time of crisis and the level of the great power’s reassurances before the crisis.

At the same time, being an ally of a competing great power does not automatically cancel hedging as long as the great power relationship falls short of open confrontation. South Korea, Japan, Australia, Canada, and other explicitly aligned states have been studied as hedging cases in the literature (Chan, Reference Chan2019; Koga, Reference Koga2018; Kuik, Reference Kuik2021, pp. 8–9; Fortier & Massie, Reference Fortier and Massie2023; He & Feng, Reference He and Feng2023). However, whether a cultivated protective option is an alliance based on a tight security pact or not should have implications for hedging outcomes in terms of the security-autonomy trade-off. Tighter alliances generally entail explicit defence commitment, extensive joint exercises, and other institutional attributes conducive to strong defence cooperation. In these cases, under declining uncertainty, smaller states can either switch, voluntarily or not, to balancing or bandwagoning, depending on their pre-existing alliance relationship, thus pre-emptively edging hedging behaviour, as did Australia and Canada (Fortier & Massie, Reference Fortier and Massie2023; He & Feng, Reference He and Feng2023). It is even more so if one or both rivalling great powers are the only actors for possible protection, in which case they will expect and compel their smaller allies to do more for the alliance to facilitate balancing. In return, the great power will ramp up its security guarantees, further tightening the alliance with the small power. Doing so, however, can render the smaller state highly dependent on its protector and undermine the government’s autonomy while displaying hostility toward a potential rival, limiting the available policy options. In these cases, it is, therefore, possible to talk about a hedging failure as a loss of autonomy more than territorial sovereignty.

Whether the protective option is in the form of a flexible alignment, a multilateral arrangement, or a conventional alliance, its availability and activation under the conditions of intensifying great power rivalry are not always straightforward; even in rock-solid alliances, the dangers of abandonment or inadequate assistance exist (Snyder, Reference Snyder1984). This is illustrated by the case of the Philippines in Section 4, when the Philippines’ President Rodrigo Duterte, obviously knowing that the US is Manila’s treaty ally, was not confident in the US’s commitment to defend the Philippines in case of direct military confrontation with Beijing. Thus, as structural uncertainty about intensifying US–China rivalry declined and Manila’s relations with Beijing deteriorated, resulting in a greater need for protection, Duterte worked on re-cultivating the protective option by utilizing a hedging strategy. Once Washington re-confirmed its commitment to the security alliance with the Philippines and strengthened the bilateral security cooperation, thus activating the protective measures, the Philippines switched from hedging to a balancing posture against China. Things become trickier when the protective options available to smaller states are in the form of an informal alignment without rigid security commitments. In this case, the availability of the protective option is ambiguous, and smaller states’ governments are in danger of believing there is access to protection in times of need when, in fact, there is no such access.

2.3 Geopolitical Prudence

The challenge of assessing structural uncertainty and the availability of protective options brings us to the third variable – decision-makers’ geopolitical prudence. A few studies have alluded to the importance of prudence for hedging. Generally, hedging requires a ‘sensible’ strategic response to uncertainty (Ciorciari, Reference Ciorciari2019, p. 526). Kuik (Reference Kuik2021, pp. 3, 7) associates hedging with an ‘instinctive behaviour’ and a ‘survival instinct’, highlighting policymakers’ capacity to anticipate threats and avoid dangers. Smith (Reference Smith2020, p. 591) characterizes smaller states’ perceptions as ‘giving value’ to systemic changes and affecting the assessments of the regional geopolitical environment. Ciorciari and Haacke (Reference Haacke2019, p. 372) also see hedging as a ‘prudent form of behaviour’ that relies on adequate risk assessments. Wilkins (Reference Wilkins2021, p. 9) talks about ‘manual hedging’, highlighting the role of policymakers’ capacity to steer hedging based on their assessment of risks and threats. Jones and Jenne (Reference Jones and Jenne2021, p. 3) highlight the importance of a ‘pragmatic understanding’ of international politics and present hedging as ‘a counsel of prudence’ that must fit strategic ends to limited means without ignoring specific situations that affect policy deliberation. Quoting Aristotle’s Rhetoric, they argue that the wisdom of prudence is meant to ‘determine not ends but means to ends, that is what is most useful to do’ (Jones & Jenne, Reference Jones and Jenne2021, p. 18). In other words, hedging requires self-awareness, restraint, and the capacity to do ‘not what is beautiful to say but what is necessary in practice’ – pragmatic, not dogmatic, things (Jones & Jenne, Reference Jones and Jenne2021, pp. 15–26).

Geopolitical prudence is hard to operationalize and is an inevitably imperfect name for policymakers’ capacity to assess and manage external risks and threats in each geopolitical environment to avoid falling victim to great power rivalry (Ciorciari, Reference Ciorciari2019; Haacke, Reference Haacke2019; Lai & Kuik, Reference Lai and Kuik2020; Smith, Reference Smith2020). It includes carefully evaluating the international system, key players’ national interests, and leaders’ assessments of risks and opportunities in their nation’s relations with the potential hedging target (Gerstl, Reference Gerstl2022, pp. 4, 23). The practice of prudence, thus, can be seen as situational. It is meant to help smaller states confronted by great power rivalry achieve a practical and context-specific understanding of international politics that emphasises contingency, historical example, immediate facts and specific situations, as well as adjustment to international events and agendas, and is informed by calmness of mind as the antidote to zealotry, passion, and enthusiasm (Jones & Jenne, Reference Jones and Jenne2021, p. 18).

Therefore, prudence is operationalized in connection to the other two causal variables in the model – as decision-makers’ capacity to make prudent judgements about the level of structural uncertainty (i.e., capabilities and behaviour of the great powers within the same RSC) and the availability of protective options, and modify their hedging behaviour in the context of a specific case. Specifically, to avoid hedging failure, smaller states’ policymakers need to accurately assess the distribution of power and the intensity of balancing between the key competing great powers within the RSC, as well as their partners’ security commitments, to avoid a situation where they believe there is a protective option when, in fact, there is none. This makes prudence a moderating variable that affects the strength of the relationships between the independent and dependent variables (path A) and between the mediator and dependent variables (path C in Figure 1).

Defined in this way, the conception of prudence requires further specification. Drawing on the philosophical works of Edmund Burke, Confucius, and Machiavelli, Jones and Jenne (Reference Jones and Jenne2021, p. 20) discern ‘active’ and ‘reactive’ prudence. Active prudence entails a clear willingness to take greater risks to explore possibilities open to action, whereas reactive prudence focuses on modest goals, including limited order, peace, and accommodation (Jones & Jenne, Reference Jones and Jenne2021, p. 20). At the same time, the less risky reactive prudence is characterized by ‘scepticism toward any radical transformation of the world’ (Jones & Jenne, Reference Jones and Jenne2021, p. 20). It is this reactive prudence that is believed to be the most important, but often neglected, tool for hedging that should inform smaller powers’ behaviour (Jones & Jenne, Reference Jones and Jenne2021, p. 25). It is identifiable in some Southeast Asian states’ approaches to diplomacy. For example, Lee Kuan Yew of Singapore emphasized ‘pragmatism’ or ‘practical reasoning’, based on restraint and checking excess, which must be the central principle guiding smaller Southeast Asian states’ behaviour amid intensifying US–China rivalry (Mahbubani, Reference Mahbubani2017).

This discussion of the more risk-averse (reactive) vis-à-vis more daring (active) prudence dovetails well with the risk-mitigation versus gains-maximization logics of hedging distinguishable in the literature; hedging appears as a form of behaviour beset with a trade-off between these two hedging goals. According to Gerstl (Reference Gerstl2022, p. 113), states hedge to minimize security risks and maximize economic benefits.Footnote ⁹ Tunsjø (Reference Tunsjø2013, pp. 26–27) suggests that hedging combines shorts and longs and implies ‘forgoing maximum possible profit to manage and minimise risk’. Ciorciari (Reference Ciorciari2009, p. 168) views hedging as a strategy designed to optimize the ‘risks and rewards’ of security cooperation with great powers. Kuik (Reference Kuik2008, Reference Kuik2016) argues that hedging can mitigate risks and maximise benefits, suggesting that a hedging state can pursue ‘risk-contingency’ and ‘returns-maximizing’ policy options. Smith’s (Reference Smith2018, p. 10) conceptualization breaks down hedging into a low-cost–low-reward cautious/modest hedging, which signals ambiguity and creates levels of uncertainty amongst the targets of the hedge, and a high-cost–high-reward brazen/assertive hedging when the state manoeuvres to achieve the outcomes it desires. Continuing this logic, Gerst (Reference Gerstl2022, pp. 112–113) further suggests that hedging can have negative incentives of avoiding an alignment (or being forced to align) with a great power and positive incentives, such as reaping political, economic, or security benefits from all great powers.

Indeed, smaller states’ leaders and ruling elites can aim for different levels of risk mitigation: some can be more risk-averse, while others may have a greater appetite for gain, trying to maximize the fruits of engagement (Ciorciari, Reference Ciorciari2019; Jones & Jenne, Reference Jones and Jenne2021). This orientation affects the accuracy of governments’ assessment of potential threats and choice of adequate hedging mechanisms. Like in financial markets where gain-seeking investors suffer major losses, gain-maximizing leaders of smaller powers are more prone to risk miscalculation, leaving their states more vulnerable to external predation (Ciorciari, Reference Ciorciari2019). As demonstrated in the following, it is even more so when great power rivalry within an RSC intensifies and pressure on smaller powers grows, resulting in the two logics of hedging (risk-mitigation and gains-maximization) starting to contradict each other and work at cross purposes. Prudence can thus be understood in terms of risk-mitigation versus gains-maximization under declining structural uncertainty.

Therefore, in the context of our theoretical model, prudence has to do with how smaller states’ governments assess structural uncertainty and protective options and adjust their behaviour. Regarding structural uncertainty, a more prudent risk-mitigating approach will differ from the less prudent gains-maximizing approach in terms of the smaller powers’ conception of their agency and actorness in the context of intensifying great power rivalry. More specifically, a risk-mitigating approach would require smaller powers’ acute awareness of the limits of their agency, demonstrated through explicit acknowledgements of limited self-help capabilities and great power rivalry being a ‘given’ exogenous factor that smaller states cannot significantly change. Thus, prudent leaders would hedge their own bets only, trying to avoid sensitive issue areas that are objects of great power rivalry (i.e., great powers’ economic and security stakes in a region), displaying reluctance to elevate specific areas of disagreement (e.g., a territorial disputes or other disagreements with larger powers that are not by default the object of great power rivalry) to the level of systemic great power competition because doing so, while might promise larger gains, is more likely to embroil the hedging smaller powers into great power confrontation.Footnote ¹⁰ Prudent smaller states would proactively reach out to extra-regional powers or organizations to diversify strategic links and foster a multipolar environment, which extends the room for hedging.

In contrast, the less prudent gains-maximizing approach to assessing structural uncertainty would entail enacting an idealized conception of actorness, in which smaller states aim to change great power behaviour or transform the trajectory of great power politics in their favour, underestimating the risks.Footnote ¹¹ In this case, the scope of smaller power hedging would trespass into the economic and security stakes of the competing great powers and indicate a willingness to link specific regional issues in a relationship with a great power, which are not an object of systemic great power rivalry, to competition between the great powers. This would also involve a more brazen back and forth between the competing great powers and weaker attempts to reach out to extra-regional actors to diversify the stakes. When structural uncertainty declines, such an approach is more likely to lock smaller powers into an irreconcilably binary – either one great power or the other – geopolitical configuration, making them more exposed to great powers’ competing interests.

Regarding the availability of a protective option, a more prudent risk-mitigating approach differs from the less prudent gains-maximizing approach in terms of different degrees of security commitments from their larger partners or security organizations that smaller hedging states will deem acceptable when they hedge. Smaller powers adopting a more brazen gains-maximizing approach to hedging appear more willing to be involved in complex issues of great power rivalry without clear security commitments from either one of the competing great powers or organizations and/or third parties/countries that are not directly involved in the great power rivalry. In contrast, the risk-mitigating approach would require hedging smaller powers to seek unwavering confirmation of a commitment from a larger defence partner or a security institution to provide political and military support in a time of crisis.

If a government is prudent, it is most likely to be prudent in its assessments of both structural uncertainty and protective option, in which case hedging is least likely to fail even in a heavily penetrated RSC, unless the great power rivalry develops into an open confrontation, turning the RSC into an overlay. However, some variations, such as when smaller powers’ leaders are more prudent in assessing the protective option than structural uncertainty, or vice versa, depending on the circumstances, cannot be ruled out. While these variations can have implications for the hedging outcomes, such uneven or partial prudence will still help reduce the likelihood of unequivocal hedging failure (the loss of both security and autonomy). A prudent risk-mitigating approach to structural uncertainty helps expand hedging opportunities, thus minimizing, or at least delaying, the need to activate the protective option, making the accurate assessment of it less critical, even though not unimportant; at the same time, it can buy time to clarify and confirm the availability of protection and modify behaviour accordingly. Similarly, while prudence towards the availability of the protective option may not revert great power rivalry, it can help prevent a situation when a smaller state confronts a great power without security guarantees.

The last point about the theoretical model that requires mentioning is the dynamic nature of interaction between the three causal variables: the level of structural uncertainty affects the role of the other two variables (protective option and geopolitical prudence). The idea of ‘interaction’ between causal variables of different levels of analysis in international relations can be traced in neoclassical realist theoretical models, where systemic (independent) variables affect the scope of the role of the unit-level (intervening) variables. While neoclassical realism does not specify how exactly particular intervening state-level variables are influenced by the independent variable, it contains the idea that the role of state-level factors changes depending on the intensity of systemic pressure, which is relevant to our discussion. Ripsman, Taliaferro, and Lobell (Reference Ripsman, Taliaferro and Lobell2016, pp. 93, 146) highlight that a state’s response to external threats is determined by an interaction between the external environment and unit-level factors in which ‘not only should the IVVs [intervening variables] interact with the DVs [dependent variables] …, but the intervening variables themselves can also be influenced by … independent variables (IVs)’. Thus, in a highly restrictive strategic environment, characterized by apparent systemic imperatives, international-level factors will have a greater impact on states’ foreign policy. In contrast, in a less restrictive environment with unclear systemic imperatives, there is more room for unit-level factors to play a causal role. The impact of domestic-level forces on foreign policymaking is a function of the relative permissiveness of a state’s strategic environment coupled with the clarity of systemic imperative (Ripsman, Reference Ripsman, Lobell, Ripsman and Taliaferro2009, pp. 186–187; Götz, Reference Götz2021, p. 8). Fordham’s (Reference Fordham, Ripsman, Taliaferro and Lobell2012, p. 270) analysis of the interaction of international political environments and domestic interests in the US context also suggests that ‘the effects of domestic and international variables depend on one another’. International considerations enter the model ‘interactively with the domestic political process determining the interests of the faction that happens to control the state’ (Fordham, Reference Fordham, Ripsman, Taliaferro and Lobell2012, p. 255). Unit-level factors are also believed to condition whether states can react to international stimuli promptly and effectively (Götz, Reference Götz2021, p. 4).

While the nature of the system-unit interaction in foreign policy formation remains a source of confusion within the neoclassical realist literature (Götz, Reference Götz2021, p. 2),Footnote ¹² the above insights into interactions between causal variables of different levels inform our conceptualization of the relationship between our three variables in generating impact on hedging outcomes. As previously mentioned, the degree of structural uncertainty affects the likelihood of hedging success or failure. It makes hedging easier or more difficult, but does not independently determine the outcome. High structural uncertainty is associated with low systemic pressure on smaller states and high systemic permissiveness. The system is rarefied/decompressed. Hedging becomes easy, the need for access to protective options less urgent, and the costs of mistakes lower, reducing the need for geopolitical prudence and allowing for some degree of imprudence (in the form of idealized self-agency and willingness to take risks without firm security guarantees). As the structural uncertainty level drops from high to low and balancing dynamics between great powers becomes more pronounced, systemic pressure on smaller powers intensifies, the room for strategic manoeuvre shrinks, and smaller powers become pressed to take sides in great power competition. As this process unfolds, the risks of conflict grow, as does the need for access to protective options and demands on policymakers’ prudence. But now, access to a protective option is surrounded by greater strategic complexity that smaller states must navigate. The costs of misjudgements about structural uncertainty and the availability of protective options soar, making policymakers’ geopolitical prudence critical.

3.1 Georgia: Declining Uncertainty and Imprudent Assessment of Protective Option

In the lead up to the Russia-Georgia war of August 2008, Georgian President Michael Saakashvili intensively cultivated ties with the US to reduce dependence on Moscow and create a protective option against potential Russian aggression. Georgia eagerly assumed the role of a ‘beacon of liberty’ in the Caucasus. It supported the most controversial aspects of US foreign policy by stationing more than 2,000 Georgian soldiers in Iraq, which made Georgia the third largest contingent in the coalition. It also signed a transit agreement allowing NATO to transport troops and equipment through Georgian air, sea, and land space (Cooley & Mitchell, Reference Cooley and Mitchell2009; Mouritzen & Wivel, Reference Mouritzen and Wivel2012, p. 65).

The US reciprocated generously. It made Georgia its most important partner in the region and provided significant political, economic, and military aid, even after Saakashvili failed to live up to his promise of democratic reforms (Cooley & Mitchell, Reference Cooley and Mitchell2009, pp. 33–34; Mouritzen & Wivel, Reference Mouritzen and Wivel2012, p. 107). Washington strongly supported Georgia’s NATO membership, despite Russia’s vehement resistance, and played a critical role in boosting Georgia’s defence capabilities through military aid and training programs, such as the Georgia Train and Equip Program (2002–2004) and Sustainment and Stability Program (2005–2007). The ubiquitous presence of US advisors in the Georgian military, US-Georgia joint military exercises, unprecedented personal ties between the two governments, and Saakashvili’s unparalleled access to the highest levels of the George Bush administration, along with bipartisan support that he had, signalled close alignment and boosted the Georgian leadership’s confidence (Mouritzen & Wivel, Reference Mouritzen and Wivel2012, pp. 98–99).

However, despite this seemingly obvious tilt towards the US, Saakashvili’s behaviour was not unequivocal. Like other post-Soviet countries, Georgia could not leave post-Soviet Russia’s sphere of influence and used hedging strategies to navigate the geopolitical complexities. While moving closer to the West, Saakashvili tried to advance relations with Russia, vowing to ‘do everything’ for that and stating that Georgia ‘needs Russia as an ally, as a powerful partner’ (Saakashvili, Reference Saakashvili2004). Saakashvili was ready to work on signing a bilateral friendship treaty with Russia and wanted Moscow to help the Georgian government resume control over Abkhazia and South Ossetia (MacFarlane, Reference MacFarlane and Nodia2016). He also emphasized that ‘our main goal is the convergence of the American, Russian, and Georgian interests’ (Osetinskii, Reference Osetinskii2004). His first official state visit was to Moscow, where he came ‘to make friends’ and assured that if Russia’s peacekeepers withdrew from their bases, Georgia would not permit rights to any third country or take other steps that might undermine Russia’s interests, to which Russia responded positively (Peuch, Reference Peuch2004). In April 2004, epitomizing his hedging approach, Saakashvili emphasized that the ‘Russia or the West?’ binary choice is problematic and infeasible and even made parallels between Russia and the US as possible guarantors of Georgia’s territorial integrity.

Saakashvili’s hedging was not in vain. Putin’s National Security Council secretary, Igor Ivanov, facilitated the peaceful resignation and exit of Saakashvili’s predecessor, Eduard Shevardnadze, after the Rose Revolution (MacFarlane, Reference MacFarlane and Nodia2016). In May 2004, after Saakashvili visited Moscow, Russian and Georgian diplomats cooperated on the removal of Aslan Abashidze, the leader of the Adjarian local government, which helped to solve a political crisis in Georgia and restore Georgian government control over the Adjara autonomous region (Kakachia et al., Reference Kakachia, Nodia and Shelest2013, pp. 80–90). The Russian foreign minister Sergei Lavrov even agreed to withdraw four Russian military bases from the Georgian territory that Russia was officially allowed to retain according to an agreement signed in 1995 (Sokov, Reference Sokov2005, pp. 2–4). In this context, Georgia’s National Security Concept of 2005 ranked the presence of Russian military bases in Georgia as a low-security risk and did not perceive Russia as a serious military threat (Merabishvili & Kiss, Reference Merabishvili and Kiss2016, p. 164).

These hedging initiatives started to crumble amid declining uncertainty around the intensifying US–Russia rivalry. The significant advancement of military cooperation with the US and the April 2008 Bucharest NATO summit’s declaration that Georgia would inevitably join the alliance (NATO, 2008) consolidated Russia’s perception of NATO as an imminent security threat. The demonstrable willingness of the US to engage Georgia in substantive military cooperation further intensified the hard balancing mentality in Moscow, making the geopolitical fault lines and the directions of US–Russia regional contestation more explicit. Immediately after the Bucharest summit, Russia published The Russian President’s Instructions to the Russian Federation Government with Regard to Abkhazia and South Ossetia that pledged support for the two breakaway republics and stressed that Moscow would ‘protect its citizens’ (Putin, Reference Putin2008). Russia also started arming separatists there (Asmus, Reference Asmus2010). Simultaneously, the US, well informed of the growing tensions, officially supported the Saakashvili administration’s commitment to winning the two regions back (Mouritzen & Wivel, Reference Mouritzen and Wivel2012, p. 98). Washington took the stance that this was a question of Georgia’s territorial integrity, even though Georgia had governed neither of the two regions. Russians, in turn, on multiple occasions, have ‘made it clear that they were not going to allow these regions [Abkhazia and South Ossetia] to be absorbed by Georgia, even under a federal formula’ (Cooley & Mitchell, Reference Cooley and Mitchell2009, p. 32). The precipitating RSC increased demands on policymakers’ prudence and the need for protective options.

However, the Georgian leadership appears to have misjudged both the level of structural uncertainty – by operating based on an inflated conception of its agency vis-à-vis Russia and US–Russia rivalry – and the availability of a protective option in the form of the United States – through its willingness to become involved in highly contentious issues of US–Russia rivalry without clear security commitments from either great power. It severely underestimated Russia’s capabilities and intentions. Even though the US and its allies and their emboldening military support of Tbilisi might have contributed to this misperception (Mouritzen & Wivel, Reference Mouritzen and Wivel2012, p. 110), evidence suggests that it is the Georgian leadership that displayed the lack of prudence. According to Nino Burjanadze, Speaker of the Georgian Parliament (9 November 2001–7 June 2008) and acting President of Georgia (25 November 2007–20 January 2008), Putin, in a direct conversation, warned Saakashvili that under no circumstances should he contemplate any military operation as long as Russian peacekeepers are stationed in Abkhazia and South Ossetia, ‘otherwise the response will be rapid and fierce and may include military means’ (Pozner, Reference Pozner2017). However, Burjanadze said, ‘Saakashvili was somehow confident that Russia will not dare to interfere militarily into what the international community viewed as Georgia’s domestic problem’ (Pozner, Reference Pozner2017). Moreover, Saakashvili’s immediate surroundings had people arguing that ‘we have new tanks, but the Russians – rusty ones’ (Pozner, Reference Pozner2017), which further distorted Goergia’s assessment of its own capacity to deal with Russia and contributed to an inadequate perception of external threats.

The gravest miscalculation was that the Georgian government behaved as if it had a protective option when, in fact, it had none. The unwavering confidence that the US would step in and defend Georgia was consolidated one month before the war, when the US Secretary of State, Condoleezza Rice, went to Georgia and assured Saakashvili of the support of the US in resolving the country’s tensions with Abkhazia and South Ossetia by stating that ‘we will do everything that we can to help resolve these conflicts’ (RT, 2008). Together with the US’s active involvement in the South Caucasus, Georgia’s support of Bush’s worldview and foreign policy, alliance-like military cooperation between the two countries, and the personalized nature of US-Georgia friendly relations, these reassuring statements from the top US officials made a strong and emboldening impression of the availability of a protective option for Georgia.

It must be admitted that the US made it explicit that it did not want to become involved militarily (Mouritzen & Wivel, Reference Mouritzen and Wivel2012, p. 101). Washington repeatedly advised Georgia to avoid a military confrontation with Russia: ‘Do not get involved in combat with Russia under any circumstances!’ (Blank, Reference Blank, Svante and Frederick Starr2009a, p. 118; Asmus, Reference Asmus2010, p. 3). In May 2008, Rice asked Burjanadze to pass a message to Saakashvili that in no way should he start, or be provoked to start, a military operation against Russia because the US would not go to war with Russia for Georgia (Pozner, Reference Pozner2017). However, in the broader context of US-Georgia strategic cooperation, these otherwise straightforward messages failed to remedy Georgia’s grave misperception that US protection is available and Washington would intervene to save its loyal friend, at least through economic sanctions or diplomatic deterrence, if not direct military intervention. This gravely imprudent assessment of the situation resulted in Georgia’s decision to attack Tskhinvali on 7 August 2008, which triggered Russia’s disproportional military response.

While other factors might have also contributed to Saakashvili’s decision, evidence suggests that the Georgian leader misjudged the availability of the protective option. As documented by Blank (Reference Blank2009b, p. 436), Saakashvili’s ‘ability to go around the regular channels of official communication with Washington facilitated a situation in which innocent and inadvertent statements by US officials encouraged Georgian officials who heard what they wanted to hear and allowed them to disregard other voices as not being authoritative’. Cooley and Mitchel (Reference Cooley and Mitchell2009, pp. 35–36) also suggest that the ‘warmth’ and the increasingly personalized relationship between the two administrations in the months preceding the war should not be underestimated. While the official warnings from the US may have been clear, it was equally clear to the Georgian leadership that there would be no consequences for ignoring them (Cooley & Mitchel, Reference Cooley and Mitchell2009, p. 36). Various US officials, lobbyists, and supporters who could regularly be seen in Tbilisi sent very different messages to the Georgian government, creating a background of encouragement that Georgian leaders heard over official discouragement (Cooley & Mitchel, Reference Cooley and Mitchell2009, p. 35). Asmus (Reference Asmus2010, pp. 141–144) documents the worries of the Swedish foreign minister Carl Bildt following his dinner with Saakashvili the evening after the NATO Bucharest summit that, despite all the warnings, the Georgian leader might have been misreading the encouraging signals from Washington. Similarly, Mouritzen and Wivel (Reference Mouritzen and Wivel2012, p. 74), having interviewed Georgian Minister for Reintegration Temuri Yakobashvili and former Foreign Minister Eka Tkeshelashvili, concluded that Saakashvili and the rest of the Georgian leadership ‘had apparently believed that the United States could deter Russia from the kind of large-scale invasion that took place’ in August 2008. Burjanadze’s statement that in 2008 Saakashvili was surrounded by people, such as Member of the Parliament Giga Bokeria, who believed that while Bush was in office, Tbilisi could proceed and resolve the Abkhazia and South Ossetia issues (Pozner, Reference Pozner2017) confirm these assessments. Saakashvili even suggested that Bush would decide to bomb the Russian army to defend Georgia (Pozner, Reference Pozner2017).

When Russia invaded Georgia on 8 August 2008, the expected support never materialized. Not only did the US and its NATO allies not engage directly, but they also refused to impose economic sanctions or intense diplomatic pressure on Russia (Asmus, Reference Asmus2010, p. 187). The US government stressed that the Georgia–Russia conflict would not be allowed to interfere with US–Russia cooperation on many issues of shared interests (Nichol, Reference Nichol2008, p. 29). Antonenko (Reference Antonenko2008, pp. 25–26) notes that ‘only after Russian troops crossed into Georgia proper and started to bomb towns was the West ready to issue strong statements pressuring Russia to withdraw’. The US response, however, never went beyond the rhetorical. Once ‘it was clear that Georgia had lost both Abkhazia and South Ossetia for good and the West could and would do nothing about it’, the US decided to leave it to French President Nicolas Sarkozy to negotiate a cease-fire agreement between Russia and Georgia (Antonenko, Reference Antonenko2008, p. 26). According to Mouritzen and Wivel (Reference Mouritzen and Wivel2012, p. 109), ‘all that was left for the United States was to pick up the pieces and focus on damage control’. Soon after the war, the American Government offered to ‘reset’ relations with Russia and began negotiating the new Strategic Offensive Reduction Treaty in Moscow (Korolev, Reference Korolev2018, p. 902; Smith, Reference Smith2020).

From the perspective of the Georgian government, the US let Georgia down, and Saakashvili did not try to hide his disappointment and confusion about that:

Regardless of whether Saakashvili’s criticism of the US for misguiding Tbilisi and then failing to provide the much-needed support is defensible or not, the Georgian government displayed geopolitical imprudence concerning both the dropping level of structural uncertainty and the availability of a protective option, which resulted in the dramatic foreign policy failure and the end of hedging.

3.2 Ukraine: Misreading the Structural Certainty

The 2014 Ukraine crisis is an example of hedging going awry due to geopolitical imprudence in the form of Yanukovych’s idealized conception of his capacity to extract maximum benefits from both Russia and the EU. Yanukovych underestimated the dangers of adopting a primarily gains-maximizing approach to hedging under the conditions of an increasingly binary structural environment that Ukraine faced due to intensifying great power rivalry between Russia and the West and the collision between their irreconcilable geopolitical projects – the EU’s Eastern Partnership and Russia’s EAEU.

After becoming the president of Ukraine in February 2010, Yanukovych hedged his bets between Russia and the West by cosying up to Moscow while striving to sign an Association Agreement (AA) with the EU. Yanukovych stated: ‘I intend to establish stable, strong partnerships with the European Union, Russia and the USA … ’ and ‘Ukraine continues to work towards integration to the European Union … Russia is not preventing us from implementing the reforms we are undertaking in terms of this goal … ’ (Armandon, Reference Armandon2011, pp. 1–2). Given Ukraine’s relatively equidistant standing between Russia and the EU in terms of trade and energy relations in those years, this attempt to avoid choosing between the two poles of power was understandable from the standpoint of mitigating potential risks of deterioration of Kyiv’s relations with either of the two sides. However, in the context of increasingly incompatible geopolitical agendas of Russia and the West, Kyiv prioritized gains maximization over risk mitigation, playing both Russia and the EU against each other. Such behaviour became infeasible as Ukraine’s geopolitical environment was being increasingly penetrated by Russia’s and EU’s geopolitical interests, and Kyiv’s persistent pursuit of it resulted in dramatic hedging failure.

The increasingly adversarial regional bipolar structure, formed by Russia’s claim of its sphere of influence and the West’s upfront rejection of it (i.e., Russia’s and the West’s strong intentions to balance against each other), presented Ukraine with an uncompromising ‘either-or’ option. After invading Georgia in 2008, Russian President Dmitri Medvedev stated that Moscow had demarcated ‘a traditional sphere of Russian interests’ in which it is entitled to pre-eminence (President of Russia, 2008), to which the then US Vice President Joe Biden rebutted that ‘We will not recognize any nation having a sphere of influence’ (The White House, 2009). The Kremlin tried to thwart the EU’s expansion and expand its own sphere of influence through the EAEU, while EU members regarded the Eastern Partnership initiative, specifically the AA offered to Ukraine, as an instrument to wrest their neighbours from Moscow’s grip (Charap & Colton, Reference Charap and Colton2018, p. 100). When Lavrov asked, ‘What is the Eastern Partnership? Is it a sphere of influence?’ (Pop, Reference Pop2009), some European experts wrote, ‘The answer, of course, is yes … In the post-Soviet space, neutrality is not an option for Europe … . We must face up the fact that we are engaged in a systemic competition’ (Stelzenmüller, Reference Stelzenmüller2010). Neither Russia nor the West was public about it, but, as Smith (Reference Smith2020, p. 593) documented, there was certainly enough murmur to suggest that a potential win-win scenario whereby Ukraine could participate in both regional projects was infeasible. Russia and the EU were more interested in prevailing in the intensifying geopolitical rivalry than in mitigating it (Charap & Colton, Reference Charap and Colton2018, p. 117). The RSC in which Ukraine found itself became increasingly certain and geopolitically charged.

The positions of Russia and the West clashed in 2011 in response to Yanukovych’s attempts to hedge his bets by meeting both Moscow and the EU halfway. The head of the Customs Union Commission (the precursor of the EAEU), Sergei Glaziev, said, ‘We cannot make any progress outside of the Customs Union … The only option for Ukraine is full participation in the Customs Union. All other formulas have no basis to them, and we have informed Kyiv about that’ (Kommersant.ru, 2010). In response, in December 2012, EU officials stated that it is ‘impossible for Ukraine to align with both the EU and the Customs Union at the same time. Ukraine should choose which path to take … Even partial accession to the Customs Union … would be problematic’ (Focus, 2012). The US Secretary of State Hillary Clinton chimed in by claiming: ‘It [the EAEU] is not going to be called that [Soviet Union]. It’s going to be called customs union, it will be called the Eurasian Union and all of that, but let’s make no mistake about it. We know what the goal is, and we are trying to figure out effective ways to slow down or prevent it’ (Klapper, Reference Klapper2012).

Moscow issued Kyiv an ultimatum when the Director of the Economic Cooperation Department of the Russian Foreign Ministry, Alexander Gorban, stated, using a somewhat metaphorical language, that ‘Ukraine wants to simultaneously maintain two vectors: both to join the EU … and to participate in the Customs Union, but only in those areas where it can gain. But things don’t work that way. You cannot be just a little bit pregnant’ (Newsru.com, 2012). In turn, the European Commission President Jose Manuel Barroso reminded that Ukraine could not simultaneously have a free trade area with the EU and be a member of the Customs Union with Russia: ‘Our position was clearly defined … This is not possible.’ (UKRINFORM, 2013). Thus, the EU has explicitly ruled out any possibility of a trilateral arrangement involving Russia. Russia, in turn, stated that signing the AA with the EU would be ‘suicidal’ for Ukraine and warned that it would tighten the customs procedures should that happen (RT, 2013). To make Ukraine abandon an EU trade accord, Russia offered Ukraine $15 billion in credits, lower gas prices, abolishing customs duties and other barriers to bilateral trade. However, should Ukraine sign the AA with the EU, it would, according to Putin’s advisors, ‘lose its independence’ and would ‘stop being a full partner’ of Russia (Gotev, Reference Gotev2013). As Putin said in September 2013: ‘We say it is your choice … but keep in mind that we will be forced to defend our market and implement protective measures’ (President of Russia, 2013).

By that point, the geopolitical feedback offered by the RSC was clear: both competing poles of power put an ‘in or out’ binary choice in front of Ukraine. As noted by Smith (Reference Smith2020, p. 595), the bipolar geopolitical pressure reached a point where the potential to cultivate a scenario whereby Ukraine could benefit from both Russia’s and the EU’s regional projects was minimal and hard to achieve even for the most gifted diplomatic operators. However, Yanukovych, displaying an idealized conception of his agency in European geopolitics, was trying to precisely achieve that, hedging to reap benefits from Russia and the EU, thus becoming deeply involved in competing great powers’ interests. By doing so, he failed to heed the signals from the system, misjudging both the level of structural uncertainty and the degree of protection the EU was willing to offer.

Yanukovych’s political behaviour was described as a ‘bulldozer’ (Kutsenko, Reference Kutsenko2018), crude horse-trading (Charap & Colton, Reference Charap and Colton2018, pp. 121–122), and brazen hedging (Smith, Reference Smith2020) aimed at stoking EU–Russia geopolitical competition to maximize Ukraine’s clout and Ukrainian elites’ capacity to collect lucrative rents and pocket as many favours as possible from both Russia and the EU. Yanukovych tried to advance alignment with both powers. Such hedging seemed to work at the beginning of Yanukovych’s tenure when Brussels rewarded Ukraine for creating distance from Russia through political cooperation, softer democratic conditionality, financial aid, and access to European markets, and Russia acted similarly but using its geopolitical toolkit, including manipulation of gas prices, to reward Ukraine’s turn away from the EU (Tolstrup, Reference Tolstrup2014, p. 207). However, Yanukovych’s gains-maximizing hedging continued when the regional environment became congested into a tighter bipolarity, indicating a lack of geopolitical prudence. In November 2012, after both Russia and the EU unequivocally ruled out any possibility of trilateral arrangements, the Ukrainian ambassador to Moscow said that ‘today we don’t say either yes or no to the Customs Union membership … but the answer will more likely be yes than no’ if Ukraine’s trade with the Union grows and the EU’s economic problems deepen (Zerkalo nedeli, Reference nedeli2012). Yanukovych wanted to buttress his bargaining position with Brussels by demonstrating he had other options (Charap & Colton, Reference Charap and Colton2018, pp. 116–117).

In May 2013, in the last stages of the AA negotiations with the EU, Ukraine signed a memorandum on cooperation with the Eurasian Economic Commission (the executive body of the EAEU), which granted Kyiv observer status. Russia interpreted it as Ukraine’s firm intention to join the EAEU. According to Glaziev: ‘since observer status is granted only to the states who want to join our integration project … since we granted Ukraine this status … that means that Ukraine intends to join our Union’ (Sidorenko & Kolesnikov, Reference Sidorenko and Kolesnikov2013). Ukraine never refuted this interpretation. However, the same day the memorandum with the EAEU was signed, Yanukovych, ignoring Putin’s warnings, called Barroso to reassure him that signing the memorandum did not contradict the AA and agreed to sign the agreement at the forthcoming November 2013 Vilnius summit (Charap & Colton, Reference Charap and Colton2018, p. 117). Russia responded with heavy-handed measures. It imposed temporary trade sanctions on Ukraine, significantly damaging Ukrainian exports, and threatened gas price hikes to send a strong message that if Kyiv were to proceed with the AA, its bilateral ties with Russia would be significantly disrupted, which, according to some estimates, could reduce Ukraine’s export to Russia by 17 per cent yearly, annually cutting Ukraine’s GDP by 1.7 per cent (Charap & Colton, Reference Charap and Colton2018, p. 119).

This pressure did not stop Yanukovych’s attempts to squeeze benefits from both Russia and the EU. He continued pushing forward with the AA; the document’s final draft was formally approved on 18 September 2013. The EU was ready to sign it despite the deterioration of democracy in Ukraine. However, while sending positive signals to the EU and pondering Brussels’s willingness to provide financial compensation to offset the costs of Moscow’s expected retaliation, estimated by Yanukovych at $160 billion, which the EU eventually declined, the Ukrainian leader met secretly with Putin three times in October–November to discuss the details of a financial-support package from Russia to compensate for the potential losses of not signing the AA (Koshkina, Reference Koshkina2015, p. 25). According to Smith (Reference Smith2020, p. 588), such a brazen back and forth between Brussels and Moscow under the conditions of intensifying great power competition was an enactment of an idealized conception of Ukraine’s actorness that ignored the stark geopolitical realities.

Instead of diversifying strategic options, Yanukovych’s hedging exacerbated Russia-EU policy competition over Ukraine. Russia felt desperate about losing its sphere of influence, while the EU almost gave up on democratic conditionality, including demanding the release from prison of Yanukovych’s primary political rival, Yulia Tymoshenko, to snatch Ukraine away from Moscow. Under extreme pressure from Russia, Kyiv ordered suspending the signing of the AA just a week before the Vilnius summit. However, Yanukovych continued his strategy by calling for the establishment of a ‘trilateral commission’ with Russia and the EU to discuss trade relations and the renewal of active dialogue with the countries of the Customs Union on trade and economic issues (Charap & Colton, Reference Charap and Colton2018, p. 121). Even after signing the agreement with Moscow and committing to closer ties with Russia, Yanukovych kept telling the EU leaders that he would eventually sign the AA (Smith, Reference Smith2020, p. 594).

Abruptly reneging on the promise to sign the AA with the EU triggered public protests in Kyiv that went out of control, resulting in what became known as the Maidan Revolution, which effectively plunged the country into war with Russia and ended Ukraine’s hedging between Russia and the West. Ukraine also lost control over significant parts of its territory due to Russian annexation. While the external geopolitical environment that is outside of Kyiv’s control weighed heavily in this unfortunate outcome and Ukraine’s strategic trade-offs were never easy, Yanukovych’s inflated conception of his agency vis-à-vis the larger powers resulted in imprudent judgement about the level of structural permissiveness in the region and Ukraine’s capacity to juggle the stakes of great power politics that failed his hedging. The feedback from the structure, comparative evidence from Georgia, and Russia’s military presence and manipulation of separatism in the former Soviet republics should have sent a powerful message incentivizing Yanukovych to, if not give up on European integration, adopt a more cautious approach to navigating great power rivalry.

Ukraine, like Georgia, also ended up without a protective option when the worst-case scenario materialized, even though Kyiv did not count on it as Tbilisi did.Footnote ¹⁴ The EU supported Ukraine during the crisis by imposing sanctions on Russia and eventually signing the AA with Kyiv. However, that was too little too late: Crimea was annexed, separatist movements in eastern Ukraine were instigated, and functional relations with Russia were destroyed, resulting in Ukraine’s growing dependence on the Western military and economic help. Russia was willing to pay an enormous price to pursue its geopolitical interests in Ukraine – a price that neither the EU nor NATO was willing to consider. Neglect of security dynamics and reluctance to explicitly address the geostrategic tensions with Russia in Ukraine have been seen as significant weaknesses of the EU’s approach (Raik, Reference Raik2019). Economic sanctions, in turn, failed to modify Russia’s course of action. The EU did not get involved directly to defend Ukraine. Nor did it or NATO provide Ukraine with explicit security guarantees.

When Russia invaded Ukraine on 24 February 2022, the Ukraine crisis, lingering since 2014, had turned into an all-out war between Russia and Ukraine that further exemplified the lack of reliable protective options for Ukraine, resulting in a greater loss of autonomy and sovereignty. The gravity of the situation triggered multiple rounds of Western anti-Russia sanctions of unprecedented scale. A few weeks into the war, the US and its allies also started to send various weapons systems to Ukraine to buttress its combat capabilities. However, despite the US Secretary of Defense Lloyd Austin’s statements in October 2021 that ‘we [US and NATO] are reassuring and reinforcing the sovereignty of countries [Georgia and Ukraine] that are on the frontlines of Russian aggression’ (US Department of Defence, 2021), this strong reaction falls short of the protective option necessary for preventing or averting serious harm caused to Ukraine by Russia. Either Ukraine’s NATO membership or NATO’s direct military involvement to defend Ukraine remained a distant prospect at the time of writing (more than two years after the invasion). While the West did support Ukraine with weapons, the provided weapons were not always the ones Ukraine needed the most, and more than two years into the war, they failed to tip the balance in favour of Ukraine on the battlefield.

Ukraine’s NATO membership also remained a vague prospect. On 25 February 2022, Zelensky asked: ‘Who is willing to give Ukraine a guarantee of NATO membership?’ (Aljazeera, Reference Aljazeera2022). On 6 March 2022, more than a week after the invasion, UK Prime Minister Boris Johnson stated that ‘Ukraine had no serious prospect of NATO membership in the near future’ (Johnson, Reference Johnson2022). Five days later, on 11 March 2022, High Representative of the European Union for Foreign Affairs and Security Policy Josep Borrell admitted that the West had made a mistake to have promised Ukraine NATO membership: ‘I am ready to admit that we made a number of mistakes … There are moments that we could do better, there are things that we proposed and then could not implement, such as, for example, the promise that Ukraine and Georgia will become part of NATO … I think it’s a mistake to make promises that you can’t keep’ (Daily Sabah, Reference Sabah2022). On 30 September 2022, Zelensky officially applied for an expedited NATO membership. However, NATO Secretary-General Jens Stoltenberg, during his press conference in Brussels on the same day, highlighted that ‘NATO is not party to the conflict’ and that ‘a decision on membership, of course, must be taken by all 30 allies and we take these decisions by consensus’ (Jozwiak, Reference Jozwiak2022) revealing that NATO was not ready for Ukraine’s membership.

NATO member states, individually or together, were also reluctant to get involved militarily to defend Ukraine. NATO Ministers of Foreign Affairs, at the extraordinary meeting in Brussels on 4 March 2022, rejected the idea of imposing a no-fly zone over Ukraine, triggering indignation of the Ukrainian leadership and Zelensky openly questioning NATO’s ability to defend anyone, even its members (TASS, 2022b). According to UK Prime Minister Johnson, the war in Ukraine ‘is not a NATO conflict and will not become one’ (Johnson, Reference Johnson2022). Zelensky stated that ‘we are defending Ukraine alone. Who is ready to fight alongside us? I don’t see anyone … Everyone is afraid’ (Aljazeera, Reference Aljazeera2022). To Zelensky’s repeated request to ‘clear the sky’ over Ukraine, Stoltenberg repeated that despite all the support provided to Ukraine, ‘the alliance is not a party in the conflict’ and, hence, will not introduce a no-fly zone (Jozwiak, Reference Jozwiak2022). In turn, Kuleba assessed that ‘NATO as alliance and an institution can do very little if anything’ to help Ukraine and, in fact, ‘did nothing’ (Bloomberg, Reference Bloomberg2022).

The West imposed unprecedented sanctions on Russia and supported Ukraine with weapons. However, economic sanctions failed to change Russia’s behaviour, and the weapons were not always the ones Ukraine needed the most. More than two years into the war, they failed to tip the balance in favour of Ukraine. According to Zelensky, ‘we could not resolve [with NATO] issues of delivering certain types of weapons to Ukraine’, which indicates a ‘lack of courage’ on NATO’s part (Haneneva, Reference Haneneva2022). While the scale of military assistance was significant, it was not sufficient, and the decisions to provide more advanced types of weapons to Ukraine were slow, and, according to Zelensky’s Office, ‘falling far short of our real needs’ (Klimova, Reference Klimova2022). Ukraine has lost a significant amount of strategic autonomy and sovereignty over large parts of its territory.

4.1 Geopolitical Prudence about Structural Uncertainty

As a starting point, the Philippines, Malaysia, and Vietnam had no illusions about their capabilities and were acutely aware of the dangers of intensifying great power rivalry, thus demonstrating a more realistic conception of their agency vis-à-vis the great powers. According to the National Security Council of the Philippines, the country’s ‘armed forces remain one of the weakest in Asia, putting in doubt our ability to protect and defend our sovereignty and territorial integrity’ (Office of the President of the Philippines, 2018, p. 9). Similar official self-awareness characterizes Malaysia’s high-level discourse. According to former Malaysian Prime Minister Mahathir Mohamad, the country does not possess the capacity for hard balancing against China and prefers ‘some other less violent ways not to antagonize China too much, because it is beneficial for us … We realize we are a weak nation and China is a powerful nation, and, you know, powerful nations will do what they like. Weak nations will have to submit, to a certain extent’ (Beddall & Yusof, Reference Beddall and Yusof2019). Vietnam has also displayed abundant awareness of the power imbalances in the region and eschewed seeking open confrontation with China while maintaining relations with the US (Gerstl, Reference Gerstl2022, p. 108).

The three countries displayed awareness of the risks of becoming involuntarily involved in a conflict between China and the US or being forced to bandwagon with either side. The same cannot be said about Georgia and Ukraine, which operated as if the Russia-West rivalry was not real, even when their more contentious RSC became non-permissive.

The Philippines’ former president Rodrigo Duterte (2016–2022), despite his notorious populism, adopted, as Heydarian (Reference Heydarian2017, p. 2) put it, ‘the mantra of pragmatism and conflict avoidance’, making prevention of outright conflict in contested areas the priority of his administration, even when China deployed significant military assets to, and de-facto controlled, Scarborough Shoal and other Manila-claimed SCS areas. Moreover, right after the Hague tribunal overruled China’s claims over the waters within its Nine-Dash Line in 2016, Duterte’s administration decided not to capitalize on this symbolic victory, recognizing that the award ‘remains unenforceable’, as the then foreign minister Teodoro Locsin explained (Romero, Reference Romero2019). Instead, Duterte assessed China’s intentions and capabilities and ordered his diplomats to ‘create an environment where we [the Philippines] can sit down and talk directly’ to China; otherwise, China ‘might not just even want to talk’ (Heydarian, Reference Heydarian2017, p. 2). According to Gerstl’s (Reference Gerstl2022, p. 72) analysis of Duterte’s public statements and interviews, Duterte and his bureaucracy were well aware of China’s power and the Philippines’ limited influence. They viewed Beijing’s actions in the SCS as a part of a ‘greater game of geopolitics’ that affected the Philippines.

After the Hague tribunal ruled against China in 2016, Beijing’s offer to Manila resembled Russia’s binary offer to Ukraine in 2014, when Moscow tried to make Ukraine abandon the EU trade accord. Beijing made it clear that the Philippines stands to gain a lot if it eschews the confrontational strategy of the previous Aquino administration. However, it would face stark consequences if Manila leverages the arbitration award to pressure China and continues facilitating the US’s military pivot to the region. Faced with the pressure, and despite being a treaty ally of the US, Manila decided to de-escalate and minimize the risks of being embroiled in a great power conflict rather than test the credibility of China’s warnings. Duterte displayed determination not to provoke China: ‘I will not go to war because we will not win it. It will be a massacre. I will not waste the lives of Filipino soldiers and policemen’ (Heydarian, Reference Heydarian2017). The then Secretary of National Defense, Delfin Lorenzana, stated that while the Philippines needed ‘balanced ties’ with both superpowers, it must avoid getting involved in their conflicts (Gerstl, Reference Gerstl2022, p. 81). Duterte further called China a ‘good’ and ‘fair’ neighbour and agreed to shelve the sovereignty issues with China or address them through bilateral negotiations (de Castro, Reference De Castro2022). ‘If it costs a third world war, what might be the point of insisting on the ownership of the waters? It does not bring prosperity’, Duterte said (Huang & Steger, Reference Huang and Steger2016).

Duterte administration did not give up on its alliance with the US but modified and refashioned the joint bilateral military exercises with the US that were perceived as directed against China to avoid provoking Beijing. This included the suspension of joint patrols and major military exercises in the SCS in exchange for improved economic and diplomatic ties with China, including a modus vivendi in the disputed areas (Heydarian, Reference Heydarian2017, p. 14). Thus, instead of trying to align with both great powers, as Ukraine’s Yanukovych did towards Russia and the EU, Duterte made it clear that he would not side with the US to balance against China because, he believed, the US’s stronger military engagement in the Indo-Pacific might cause a direct conflict with China in the SCS that would spiral out of control and crush the Philippines (de Castro, Reference De Castro2022; Gerstl, Reference Gerstl2022, p. 72). He signalled that while security cooperation with Washington is important, a stronger US military presence in the region may not improve the national security of the Philippines. While this policy has not resolved the Philippines’ strategic dilemmas, it has helped Manila navigate the great power rivalry and mitigate its risks.

Another Southeast Asian state – Malaysia – has been known for its championship of regionalism, which helped to insulate Southeast Asia from great power rivalry. The Malaysian government made the issue of navigating the US–China rivalry a top foreign policy priority and tried not to upset either side. Malaysia demonstrated prudence regarding its geopolitical environment, trying to minimize risks, which proved a workable hedging strategy.

Malaysia downplayed the negative impact of the SCS dispute and assuaged China’s assertiveness by displaying respect towards China’s role in global politics. Mahathir pursued a ‘quiet strategy’ and a ‘low-key approach’ (Suzuki & Lee, Reference Lee2017, p. 115) in the SCS to avoid fuelling China–US rivalry. He favoured the status quo while criticizing the internationalization of the SCS territorial disputes (Gerstl, Reference Gerstl2022, pp. 49–53). Mahathir also downplayed the occasional face-offs with China over territorial claims and the associated security risks while being willing to meet China halfway (Suzuki & Lee, 2018; Gerstl, Reference Gerstl2022). Malaysia prioritized the more universal UNCLOS (United Nations Convention on the Law of the Sea) instead of the more region-specific and controversial CoC (Code of Conduct for the SCS) as an instrument of conflict resolution. This step helped avoid conflicts over regional rule-making (Suzuki & Lee, 2018). While these measures did not resolve the SCS dispute, they helped Malaysia avoid antagonizing China while maintaining good relations with the US.

Aware of the increasing irreconcilability of alignment with the US and strong partnerships with China, Malaysia avoided brandishing strategic cooperation with Washington and consistently reassured Beijing that it would not join any attempt to contain China. In contrast to Ukraine’s unquestioning posture towards the European Association agreement that irritated Russia, Malaysia openly questioned Obama’s Trans-Pacific Partnership (TPP) as being unfair to smaller states and ‘taking a stand that is almost anti-Chinese’ (Council on Foreign Relations, 2018). This helped mitigate Beijing’s concerns about the rise of anti-China geoeconomic blocks in the Indo-Pacific. Mahathir criticized Washington’s power projection in the SCS but quietly supported US involvement in the region without becoming a formal US ally (Pakiam, Reference Pakiam, Singh and Cook2019, p. 206). Recognizing Beijing’s sensitivity towards the US’s geopolitical initiatives in the Indo-Pacific, Malaysia viewed closer cooperation with Washington as a source of potential risks, and its close military cooperation with it was deliberately kept low-key with no intention of a military alliance (Kuik, Reference Kuik2013). Nor did Mahathir criticize China regarding Xinjiang, mentioning China’s supreme power and warning against doing ‘something that will fail, and in the process, also, we will suffer’ (Gerstl, Reference Gerstl2022, p. 56). Suzuki and Lee (2018) argue that China-aware behaviour is not unique to Mahathir but also characterizes the administrations of Abdullah Badawi (2003–2009) and Najib Razak (2009–2018).

Along with displaying greater sensitivity to China’s geopolitical interests and keeping cooperation with the US low profile, Malaysia’s hedging also involves pursuing equidistance between China and the US and explicitly uttering concerns about both great powers. Such an approach helped mitigate risks, in contrast to the more brazen gains-maximization behaviour of Saakashvili’s Georgia and Yanukovych’s Ukraine under greater external pressure. Malaysian former foreign minister Saifuddin Abdullah emphasized in 2019 that ‘both superpowers are there in the South China Sea without invitation from any of the ASEAN member states’ and that both must be aware that ‘as much as we are not going to stop them from being there, we are also not very pleased that both of them are too active in the region’ (Bland, Reference Bland2019). Eight years earlier, in June 2011, at the 10th Shangri-La Dialogue in Singapore, the then Malaysian Prime Minister Najib Razak openly expressed his concerns about the growing possibility of great power rivalry in the region and emphasized that while both China and the US are Malaysia’s partners, ‘it is not about taking sides. We must replace the old bilateralism of the Cold War not with a new bilateralism, but a multilateralism that can rise to the task ahead’ (Kuik, Reference Kuik2013, p. 159). Malaysia also responded cautiously to the AUKUS pact and the associated submarine deal, warning that it might trigger ‘a nuclear arms race in the Indo-Pacific region’ and ‘provoke other powers to act more aggressively in the region, especially in the South China Sea’ (New Straits Times, 2021). While the sustainability of Malaysia’s hedging can be questioned, prudent reading of great power rivalry has helped Malaysia avoid siding with either China or the US or becoming involved in the strategic rivalry between them.

The third case – Vietnam – also displays prudence about its structural environment. Hanoi’s awareness of the limits of its capacity vis-à-vis China and the dangers of becoming entrapped in the China–US rivalry is manifested in how it views China and engages with China and the US. As Hai (Reference Hai2017, p. 1) demonstrates, Hanoi views China’s power as a ‘constant feature of political life’ in Vietnam and constantly tries to live with it and benefit from it. Thayer (Reference Thayer, Storey and Yee2002, p. 271) captures this in his ‘tyranny of geography’ concept, according to which the Vietnamese are fully aware of their ‘geographic misfortune’ of bordering on China and try to find ways to coexist with their giant neighbour. Similarly, Hai and Kim (Reference Hai, Kim, Walton and Kavalski2017, p. 197) describe Vietnamese’s perception of China as a ‘force of nature’ like floods and storms that feed into the deltas and ‘to which Vietnamese, like reeds, must once bend while remaining firmly intact’. Such a force can be ‘terrifying and destructive’, but when harnessed, it can be ‘nourishing and productive’ (Hai & Kim, Reference Hai, Kim, Walton and Kavalski2017, p. 197). China is like a ‘tide’ that Vietnam can ride if it is aware of the potential dangers and adjusts its behaviour accordingly (Hai, Reference Hai2017). This way of approaching China differs from Ukraine’s and Georgia’s bolder approach to Russia, even though the latter can also be viewed as an element of the ‘tyranny of geography’.

Aware of its positionality vis-à-vis China, Vietnam’s leadership has tried to maintain a pragmatic and flexible dialogue with Beijing and promote cooperation to mitigate risks in bilateral relations (Gerstl, Reference Gerstl2022, p. 96). While the elites are divided on how exactly to maintain relations with China – whether through shared socialist ideology or economic, political, and defence-security enmeshment – all agree on the necessity to do that (Thayer Reference Thayer2017, p. 2), which explains why Vietnam has refrained from actions that China would deem confrontational, such as actively pursuing international legal arbitration in the SCS. Even during tense episodes in the bilateral relationship when structural uncertainty seemed to disappear, such as after the 2014 Haiyuan Shiyou 981 oil rig crisis that involved Chinese vessels ramming Vietnamese ships, the Vietnamese called on China to discuss the management of the incident and, after China withdrew the oil rig, started reconciling with Beijing, pushing for more dialogue and cooperation (Hai, Reference Hai2017).

Like Malaysia, Vietnam opted for low-profile cooperation with the US not to provoke China. It assured China that it had no intention to align with Washington to balance against China’s rise. Thus, in 2013, Vietnam did not agree to a strategic partnership with the US even though officials from both sides considered the idea (Gerstl, Reference Gerstl2022, p. 115). Instead, Vietnam favoured just a Joint Statement on Comprehensive Strategic Cooperation (Thayer, Reference Thayer2017, p. 6). Being aware of the sources of threats and reluctant to test the capacity and intentions of China, Vietnam persisted with its ‘three no’s’ policy (no foreign troops on Vietnamese soil, no allying with one country to counter another, and no military alliances with foreign powers) and, while generally supporting US’s presence in the SCS, restricted the extent to which it cooperates with the US by insisting on conducting only ‘naval exchange activities’, as distinct from ‘naval exercises’, with the US Navy (Thayer, Reference Thayer2017, p. 13). The US’s attempt in 2023 to formally upgrade ties with Vietnam to commemorate the 10th anniversary of the Joint Statement on Comprehensive Strategic Cooperation faced resistance in Hanoi due to the intensifying China–US competition and Hanoi’s reluctance to be part of it (Guarascio, Reference Guarascio2023). Like Malaysia and the Philippines, and unlike Georgia and Ukraine, Vietnam trod the great power relations carefully and managed to sustain its hedging (Table 1).

4.2 Prudence and Approaches to Protective Options

The Philippines, Malaysia, and Vietnam are different in their alignment arrangements. However, the way the three states approach alignment with the competing great powers (China and the US) is different from how Georgia and Ukraine manoeuvred between Russia and the West. Unlike their post-Soviet counterparts, they were cautious and reluctant to take bold moves without explicit confirmation of security guarantees.

Despite being a US treaty ally, the Philippines questioned Washington’s defence commitment when facing intensifying US–China rivalry, seeking confirmation of the US’s willingness to fight for the Philippines if need be. This starkly contrasts Saakashvili’s Georgia, which, in a much more pressing situation, assumed US military support that never materialized. Manila became hesitant about the availability of a protective option after the US failed to explicitly guarantee its military support in the event of conflict over disputed features within the Philippines’ 200-nautical-mile exclusive economic zone (EEZ) and repeatedly equivocated on whether the two countries’ Mutual Defense Treaty (MDT) covers the Philippines’ territorial disputes in the SCS (Heydarian, Reference Heydarian2017). Washington did not deter China in the Scarborough Reef standoff in April–June 2012 and failed to enforce the China–Philippines mutual withdrawal agreement. Despite de-escalating, China did not fully disengage and eventually took complete control of the shoal. The US conducted regular aerial surveillance and maritime patrols in the area, but that was not enough to stop China. More broadly, the US struggled to uphold the rule of law and prevent China from building massive artificial islands in the region.

While it is convenient to write Duterte’s behaviour off to his persona or idiosyncrasies within the Philippines’ domestic politics, the ambiguity of the US’s security guarantees, concerns regarding the US’s reliability as an ally and its inability to change China’s behaviour in the region, and the imperative to avoid a military confrontation with Beijing, incentivized Duterte to be more prudent about the availability of protective option when dealing with US–China rivalry. Manila did not take the US’s support and reliability for granted, and Duterte raised concerns about the reliability of his treaty ally. Some argued that the ‘obstacles of geography’ faced by the US, unlike the PRC, also contributed to Duterte’s reassessment and open questioning of American security guarantees should war erupt in the SCS (Andrade, Reference Andrade2020). Moreover, Duterte openly questioned American security guarantees should war erupt in the SCS by stressing that the 1951 MDT did not guarantee US support in a crisis and questioning the Philippine-US Enhanced Defense Cooperation Agreement (EDCA) signed by the two allies in 2014. In the context of China enhancing its de facto control of the SCS, the then Secretary of Defense Lorenzana also asked the US to clarify the scope of application of its defence obligations under the 1951 MDT (de Castro, Reference De Castro2022). According to Duterte, ‘America has failed us … the US will not fight to die for us … I would only ask the US ambassador, “Are you with us [in the South China Sea]?”’ (Heydarian, Reference Heydarian2017, p. 2). In this context, Duterte attempted to diversify his security options by engaging in a more multifaceted foreign policy by reaching out to China and Russia – ‘I will be chartering a new course on its own and will not be dependent on the United States’ (Heydarian, Reference Heydarian2017, p. 1).

Duterte may not have done exceptionally well in forging the Philippines’ relations with China and the US. Some might consider his behaviour clumsy, reckless, counterproductive, and driven primarily by political populism rather than prudence. Moreover, his foreign policy can be viewed as a contingent consequence of the shift in US strategy following the election of Donald Trump in 2016. However, the fact remains that when the external geopolitical environment became challenging, whether due to Trump’s own populism or not, Duterte and his diplomats decided to reassess and re-cultivate Manila’s protective options instead of taking them for granted. Without explicit confirmation from Washington that the US would defend the Philippines in a war with China, the Duterte administration decided not to test the US commitments and preferred not to continue antagonizing China. If the US’s failure to stop China in the SCS was a sufficient reason for the Philippines to question the availability of a protective option, why did the EU’s and US’s incapacity to stop Russia’s provocations fail to send a warning call to Georgia and Ukraine, prompting them to exercise caution? The two post-Soviet states, especially Georgia in 2008, acted like they had rock-solid security guarantees against Russia’s invasion, which was never the case.

Duterte’s foreign policy manoeuvring had worked because the US responded with reassurances and clarifications of its commitments to MDT and the implementation of the 2014 EDCA. When visiting Manila in March 2019, US Secretary of State Michael Pompeo said: ‘As the South China Sea is part of the Pacific, any armed attack on Philippine forces, aircraft or public vessels in the South China Sea will trigger mutual defence obligations under Article 4 of our mutual defence treaty’ (Panda, Reference Panda2019). In separate talks with Duterte, Pompeo stated that ‘our commitments under the treaty are clear. Our obligations are real.’ (Manila Bulletin, 2019). In November 2020, the Philippines suspended the Philippine-US Visiting Forces Agreement (VFA) termination, initiated earlier by Duterte, which arguably placed the alliance on a firmer footing. The Biden Administration was quick to reaffirm security commitments to the Philippines and the MDT specifically and deployed U.S.S. Theodore Roosevelt and the U.S.S. Makin into the SCS in early April 2021 for operations in support of a ‘free and open Indo-Pacific’ (de Castro, Reference De Castro2022). In July 2021, the US Secretary of Defence, Lloyd Austin, thanked Duterte for his decision regarding the VFA and called the Philippines a ‘vital treaty ally’ (Dziedzic, Reference Dziedzic2021). Having reconfirmed its protective option, the Philippines continued to hedge instead of bandwagoning with China, which might have happened had it not had the protective option.

The successive Ferdinant Marcos Jr. administration took measures to strengthen the alliance with the United States in the context of deteriorating relations with China and Joe Biden’s attempts to reinforce the US’s Indo-Pacific alliances to counter China. Instead of focusing on domestic anti-insurgency operations, Marcos prioritized external defence and approved a wider US military presence in the Philippines by allowing rotating groups of American military forces to stay in four more Philippine military camps. This decision allowed US forces to establish staging grounds and surveillance posts in the northern Philippines across the channel from Taiwan and in western Philippine provinces facing the SCS. On 22–26 April 2024, for the first time in years, the annual US–Philippines combat-readiness exercises took place within the contested Spratly Islands and included sinking a mock enemy ship and practising a scenario of a foreign invasion of the Philippine archipelago, indicating a step forward in US–Philippines defence cooperation and increasing concerns over China’s increasingly assertive actions. China strongly opposes the exercises and the growing US–Philippines military cooperation. The Philippines’ authorities, in turn, stated that the alliance with the US and the joint exercises are ‘very important to show China that you may have all the ships that you have, but we have a lot of firepower to sink all of them’ (Associated Press, 2024). This shift has reestablished the protective option in the form of a military alliance with the US and made balancing elements in Manila’s China policy more pronounced, arguably marking a transition from hedging to balancing.

Malaysia and Vietnam do not have treaty allies and, therefore, cannot easily transition from hedging to balancing. However, they have displayed prudence in their approaches to potential protective option arrangements. Careful not to incur hostilities, they tried to mitigate the risk of having to make binary choices between China and the US and extend their hedging space by reaching out to other significant actors. In contrast, Georgia and Ukraine became locked up between irreconcilable Russia and the West without reaching out to other powers and regional multilateral platforms.

Malaysia maintained equidistance between China and the US instead of trying to deepen engagement with both great powers to reap maximum benefits; the latter was Yanukovych’s course of action that led Kyiv into a buzz-saw of Russia-West rivalry. Despite the US being the only power that can credibly balance China in Southeast Asia, the Malaysian government recognized that a closer alignment with the US would reduce the chances of Malaysia benefitting from China’s economic growth and make the overall geopolitical environment more uncompromising. Malaysia acted to send a subtle warning to China that Malaysia welcomes the US’s presence in the region but also that it would not overstep what is ‘acceptable’. Malaysian Defence Minister Hishammuddin bin Hussein explicitly denied that Malaysia would allow US spy planes to take off from the Malaysian base in Sabah. Doing so reassured China that strengthening Malaysia’s relations with the US was not directed against China (Suzuki & Lee, 2018, p. 122). Malaysia also clarified that cooperation with Japan is welcomed only in the economic sphere and ruled out the possibility of any security alliance with Tokyo (Suzuki & Lee, 2018, p. 122). Thus, Malaysia managed to keep cultivating a relationship with the US as a possible protective option against Beijing while keeping amicable relations with the latter, making room for hedging.

Vietnam is an example of consistent attempts to diversify strategic partnerships to circumvent the binary – US or China – geopolitical configuration and thus insulate itself from US–China rivalry. Hanoi tried to strengthen its ties with the US. However, unsure about the degree of support the US may provide in Vietnam’s open confrontation with China, it did it within a broader context of diversifying its strategic partnerships. Shortly after US Secretary of Defense Lloyd Austin and US Vice President Kamala Harris visited Hanoi in August 2021, Vietnamese Prime Minister Pham Minh Chinh had a meeting with Chinese Ambassador Xiong Bo in which he reassured Beijing that ‘Vietnam does not align itself with one country against any other’ (Kuik, Reference Kuik2021, p. 8). This concurs with Emmerson’s (Reference Emmerson and Emmerson2020a, p. 30) argument that ‘it makes sense for Vietnam and other member states to look for extra-regional partners while improving their national capacities for physical deterrence … ’. As a senior member of the Politburo, Dinh The Huynh, stated during his visit to Washington in 2016, Vietnam would like to work with the US and relevant countries ‘to boost ASEAN’s central role and build ASEAN-led mechanisms to form regional architecture in the 21^st century’, emphasizing Vietnam’s hope for ‘the active role of countries inside and outside the region’ in keeping peace and stability in the SCS (VietnamNet, 2016).

Driven by these considerations, Vietnam has established sixteen strategic partnerships and ten comprehensive partnerships with various countries, including Australia and the US (Thayer, Reference Thayer2017, p. 4). Quite telling was Hanoi’s foreign policy gambit of reaching out to Russia on 30 November 2021, when Vietnamese President Nguyen Xuan Phuc visited Moscow to meet with Putin and consolidate the bilateral comprehensive strategic partnership. In a joint statement following the meeting, both parties pledged to deepen cooperation in defence and security by broadening bilateral contacts and strengthening cooperation in military personnel training (TASS, 2021). Reaching out to another great power (Russia) when intensifying US–China rivalry increasingly corners Hanoi into a binary choice is an attempt to foster a multipolar environment and create an extra hedge in relations with China and the US.

This hedging logic is also reflected in Putin’s visit to Hanoi on 20 June 2024. Despite risking angering the US, Vietnamese President To Lam welcomed Putin two years after Russia’s invasion of Ukraine and announced that Putin had contributed to ‘peace, stability and development’ in the Asia-Pacific region and the world and that the two countries wanted ‘to push up’ defence and security cooperation (Ratcliffe, Reference Ratcliffe2024). The two leaders were also reported to have signed more than a dozen bilateral cooperation agreements and had discussions about creating ‘a reliable security architecture in the Asia-Pacific’, expressing ‘identical or very close’ positions on key international issues (Strangio, Reference Strangio2024). According to some reports, security issues and arms trade were the paramount reasons for Putin’s visit, even with Russian and Vietnamese media focusing mainly on economic cooperation (Hutt, Reference Hutt2024).

While Russia is an unlikely protective option in the sense that it can hardly ‘protect’ Vietnam militarily if its hedging involving China and the US fails, the breadth and depth of Moscow’s strategic cooperation with both Beijing and Hanoi put Russia in a unique geopolitical position, making it more valuable for Vietnam than just a regular arms and energy trade partner. As emphasized by Victor Sumsky, director of the ASEAN Centre at the Moscow Institute of International Affairs, in the context of the SCS dispute, ‘special relations with both Beijing and Hanoi are a resource that should not be underestimated’, and the ‘Moscow needs to think more about how to neutralize … unhappy trends’ in the region (Sumsky, Reference Sumsky2012). Some Russian experts even argued that Russia should show consistency in its partnership relations with Vietnam and encourage the formation of some sort of China–Vietnam alignment (Mosyakov, Reference Mosyakov2013). In the context of intensifying US–China rivalry, Beijing is willing to accept Russia–Vietnam military cooperation, even though reluctantly, because it helps slow down the strengthening of Vietnam–US alignment. A termination or decline of large-scale arms sales by Russia to Vietnam would lead to the latter’s stronger tilt towards the US. This explains why, despite resisting the internationalization of the SCS dispute and pressuring American, Indian, and Malaysian energy companies not to cooperate with Vietnam in the SCS, China remains largely silent about Russia’s involvement in Vietnam’s offshore energy projects (Torode, Reference Torode2011).

Vietnam, as a hedger, understands that. While competing with China over the SCS, Hanoi also tries to cooperate with China. A close strategic partnership with Russia creates new channels for engagement with Beijing and helps mitigate potential risks of escalation. Vietnam’s Russia policy is not simply an attempt to fence off the Chinese threat. Unlike the US, Japan, or other partners, Russia remains close to China, so strategic cooperation with Moscow not only provides Hanoi with the required access to energy technologies and advanced military hardware but also creates an extra gateway for engaging with China. In contrast, closer cooperation with the US would result in taking a side in the US–China rivalry, which would mean a confrontation with China.

The discussion of the Philippines’, Malaysia’s, and Vietnam’s approaches to protective options requires mentioning the role of ASEAN, which provides the three countries not only with a platform for regular meetings and negotiations but also a tool for directly engaging Beijing, mediating and managing the territorial disputes with China, and indirectly balancing against it – which makes ASEAN a quasi-protective option. Thus, the Philippines, while promoting direct bilateral engagement with China on the SCS, still uses ASEAN mechanisms as the main multilateral channel for talks and negotiations on the dispute and, for that, articulates its position in line with the wording and phrasing of ASEAN (Gerstl, Reference Gerstl2022, pp. 77, 85). Malaysia, too, utilizes its important role within ASEAN to strengthen its bargaining position and promote its interests in the SCS vis-à-vis China. The then Malaysian Deputy Prime Minister Anwar Ibrahim, when elaborating on how Southeast Asian Nations can best defend their territory against China, stated that ‘the best option is to work with other small countries in ASEAN to defend our security position’ (Radio Free Asia, 2019). This is why Malaysia strongly supports the ASEAN–China negotiations on the CoC, supports ASEAN-led patrols of the SCS, and uses ASEAN to conduct talks with leading Japanese and American politicians (Gerstl, Reference Gerstl2022, p. 56). Similarly, Vietnam regularly cites ASEAN’s position when stressing its national interests and uses ASEAN forums and channels to multilateralize the SCS dispute (Do, Reference Do2017, pp. 95–123).